Alan and Edgar weren't broken yet. It would take a lot more than having their senses of self and purpose being ripped from them to be replaced by ceaseless hunger for death and blood to break them. That was what Alan thought, anyway, but he hadn't snapped and healed and resnapped his own neck to fix it tonight. For Ed's part, he was feeling just a tiny bit broken.
Max watched them both with the aloofness of a bird, aware and yet seemingly prone to take flight at any second.
"You'll both need a lot of work," the head vampire remarked, examining his shirt cuffs to ensure they hadn't gotten stained. "I've got company this evening, so you'll have to make yourselves scarce now that you've eaten. Go anywhere you like for now, just remember to come see me tomorrow for your next lesson. Stay out of trouble, and we should all get along famously."
He turned to leave, a brush of wind tickling at his flattened hair, brushing it wildly.
"That's it?" Alan asked, incredulous. Edgar was still pitifully sobbing in his arms while his bones mended, and he was just going to leave them there? It wasn't as if they could go home. Enough people saw them go nuts in the comic shop. Their parents would definitely call the cops, if they weren't already there waiting. Killing machines or not, Alan wasn't exactly confident they could take them all on. They needed a better plan.
"I'm a proponent of pushing the baby bird out of the nest, as it were," Max patiently lectured them. Rambled might be a more accurate description, the guy loved the sound of his own voice. To illustrate that point, he just kept talking, "if it's really so difficult to find somewhere else to stay tonight, I can always lend you my sunroom."
A chill ran down Alan's spine, his skin throbbing from the very memory. The brothers exchanged a panicked look.
"We'll see you tomorrow," Edgar croaked, managing to sit up. The blood was finally doing its job, but Alan suspected it would be a good day or two before his brother was back to his normal – typical self.
"Ed," Alan put a hand on his brother's shoulder, "don't move too fast."
"I'm fine," Edgar snapped, eyes not straying from Max for even a moment. A simmering anger boiled beneath the surface, but for the first time in Alan's life his brother managed to temper his bravado.
Max nodded, seemingly satisfied. Alan didn't doubt he'd enjoy the sunroom option. Either way, he'd be happy. Why didn't the comics and training materials tell them head vampires could be giant assholes on top of soulless monsters?
A sudden thought struck Alan at that moment. Maybe there were a lot of things they missed. After all, they'd only ever looked at their comics and movies from the perspective of a vampire hunter. There were plenty of details they didn't care enough about to focus on. Like, maybe there were actually things useful for a vampire instead. Tips. Hidden advice.
He was deep in thought long after Max had departed to the sky, and a rusted-out tow truck pulled up in the parking lot. Max's cleanup guy.
"We could find a shed," Edgar mumbled, climbing to his feet with just a little help from Alan. He looked down at his shirt, wrinkling his nose. "Gonna need a buttload of hydrogen peroxide if we keep eating like this – hey, you think straws would work?" The way he drew his hand to his face and tapped his fingers against his chin left Alan with no doubt he was completely serious.
"Uh, maybe?" Alan replied, looking suspiciously at the guy with the tow truck. He looked like a fat Goth Gallagher. If he pulled a hammer and black watermelon out of the truck, Alan wouldn't have even flinched. Maybe he'd whack a few heads for easier cleanup? Seemed counterproductive. Before his untreated ADD could carry Alan further from his earlier and far more pressing thoughts, he grabbed his brother's shoulder and started to drag him across the parking lot.
"Hey!" Edgar smacked him away, "these hands are deadly weapons, dude, you don't just grab me like that!" He drew his hands up to illustrate his point. Alan gave his brother one long suffering look.
"Ed, you do not know karate. Didn't breaking your arm last summer teach–" he caught himself, shaking his head firmly, "we need to get back home. We'll sneak into the house through the back, maybe stuff socks around the closet or something. Then we can talk about a plan. You remember where that Max guy lived?"
Edgar scowled, nodding curtly, "I do know karate," he mumbled under his breath and looking away, "but I'm all ears for whatever you're thinking. We eat mom and dad."
"Not a bad idea, but not where I was going. You've got that backpack of toothbrushes, and I think with some heavy duty gloves we can use our emergency stash. We gotta hurry, though."
Edgar's eyes lit up, "justice," he agreed, firmly believing that simple word somehow illustrated Alan's point.
Much like a group of teenagers hunting for the mystery jerk of the week in a monster mask, the boys split up. Partly to find the best place to roost for the day, and partly because Dwayne and David were of the opinion that sometimes five could be a crowd. Paul disagreed, which was why Dwayne dragged him down the hall under a firm headlock until they gained some distance from Michael and David. Marko had gone outside to make sure all of the windows actually were fully blocked.
David's premonition, or memory, or whatever it was about their deaths in what would be just a few days now made them all just a little more cautious. They'd changed plenty of factors, but better safe than sorry. According to David's math, they had three days before the designated night at the Emerson slaughterhouse.
"The hair, the hair!" Paul complained, wrestling to pull his head from under Dwayne's arm. He held on just long enough before releasing Paul to watch him fly back against the wall, cracking the water stained plaster behind him. Chunks crumbled and fell at his boots.
Paul rubbed at his head, pulling away from the wall to ensure his painstakingly teased look had not been damaged. He gave Dwayne a dirty look, "dick."
Flattered, Dwayne nudged open the closest door in the corridor they'd gone down. Old buildings like this had a certain charm. Given that both he and Paul were certainly older than the place, he marveled at how quickly it must have aged.
The room he found himself in was some sort of office, packed from wall to wall with filing cabinets. Some were turned over, emptied out. A desk sat on its side by a covered window. Red graffiti on the ceiling flattered previous residents of the place with colorful language.
Paul, ever the keen eye, found a pair of torn panties hanging from a coat hook on the wall and flicked it with expert marksmanship right in Dwayne's face when he turned back to look at him. He let loose a shrill laugh, dodging a swipe at his head and crawling cat-like along the ground until he reached the window. From there he crawled up the wall and onto the ceiling, rolling over to lay flat against it and flip Dwayne the bird. He kicked up a knee and threw his other leg over it, crossing his arms behind his head. The prick was very proud of himself.
Dwayne raised one dark eyebrow and rolled his eyes, striding towards one of the filing cabinets.
"C'mon, you're gonna give up just like that?" Paul called out. He almost sounded disappointed as he attempted to taunt the other vampire. "Don't be like that, sweety."
"Sleep with one eye open, Pauly," Dwayne advised. He wasn't joking.
Yanking open a filing cabinet drawer, he easily broke the rusted look with what felt like very little resistance. Curiosity was something he'd never managed to escape in life or undeath. When he saw something interesting, he itched to explore. Forgotten medical records were especially tempting to peruse. The girl at the bowling alley liked to read. Shame he'd decided to eat her, he mused, grabbing a folder and flipping it open.
Grainy photos of metal tools and bleeding eyeballs were perhaps the most interesting little trinkets he found in the folder. The details themselves almost rivaled the pictures. A housewife who couldn't bring herself to smile when she cooked or laugh when her husband told a joke. The treatment didn't seem to fix her.
Dwayne idly wondered whether the same treatment would make Paul shut his damned mouth, when the other vampire began to obnoxiously whistle above and behind him.
"You're off key," Dwayne remarked, throwing the folder to the ground, just as Paul landed on the ground and clapped hands on his shoulders.
"Impossible," Paul replied, leaning close enough to whisper into Dwayne's right ear, "I'm a natural."
In another world, Paul was the one who got eaten several decades ago; maybe the girl at the bowling alley was the one Dwayne convinced David to add to the pack. Oh well, he supposed, reaching back to grip Paul's shoulders as well and bring him forward to fly into the air and once again fly into the wall. This time his flight was interrupted by a few filing cabinets.
What followed was an unevenly matched battle of muscle and wit. Unfortunately for Paul, he was unmatched on both levels. There was not a filing cabinet left standing, or an inch of tile left uncovered by scraps of shredded paper.
Dwayne kept his fangs buried in Paul's neck long enough to take the edge off both of their moods. It wasn't easy being away from home. Slowly, gently, Dwayne dislodged himself from Paul's throat, licking away the streams of blood several times until the flesh gradually puckered and staunched itself.
They relaxed, tension evaporating almost instantly. Licking his lips, Dwayne sat up and rolled off of Paul. He let out a deep sigh and stared up at the ceiling. It had been a very long night. Month. More than that.
Paul remained quiet, splayed on the ground, staring up at the ceiling. His hair spread about his head like a yellow spider. It might have been unnerving if Dwayne was easily shaken.
For so long, the idea of dying had faded into a dull buzz in their minds. Foreign. A novelty, really. When their hearts had stopped, that was it. Yet for months, David's revelations had haunted each and every one of them. In some ways, they'd become more cautious. Maybe worse.
Paul sat up, turning to look at Dwayne, their shared thoughts just shadows, words unspoken but still felt.
"I feel like Max," he mumbled, "scared. Like we have to be careful about shit now in case some twerps track us down when we're sleeping to stake us. It fucking sucks, man."
Fear. That was it. They'd become afraid. Now that it was out in the open, Dwayne felt an immense wave of relief. Stupid, really. He gave a soft laugh under his breath, shaking his head.
"Yeah," he agreed, "it does."
Paul sat up, looking at Dwayne with a wry smile, "so what do we do?"
Dwayne shrugged, "I don't know. I really don't."
A soft laugh echoed from the doorway. They turned to find Marko standing there, cradling a rat in his hands and gently stroking its fur. How he always managed to find new pets wherever they went would always remain a mystery.
"I think I've got a couple ideas."