Work Text:
“I don't want to fight you, Michael,” David said as they traded blows in the dimly lit room, shadows pooling heavily around the edges. “You're one of us. You're meant to be more!” His voice was earnest. Michael knew he meant ever word.
“Never! I won't be a killer like you!” He couldn’t be a killer like David. It wasn’t an option he’d let himself consider despite his fondness for the vampire.
He didn’t want to fight David either. But he had to.
“You are a killer.” David stepped out from the gloom and advanced on Michael, steps slow but deliberate. Prowling.
Michael growled at him, hackles raised. He couldn’t let him keep talking. If he did, Michael might listen. Might falter. David’s words were always so saccharine when he wanted them to be. They’d snare Michael in before he knew what was happening, get under his skin. That’s how he wound up in this mess in the first place, half dead and fighting for Sam’s life. Michael cursed those idiotic Frog brothers for starting this war in the first place.
Michael snarled, fangs bared, and lunged at David. His first swipe caught nothing but air. The second caught David’s shirt and some of the flesh beneath. That was where his luck ran out. He knew he was outmatched by David, but he thought he’d last longer than this, do a little more damage. His heart sank at the thought of failing Sam, of being the reason his little brother got hurt. But a traitorous part of him thrilled at being pinned to David’s chest, struggling but unable to break free.
“Let me go!” hissed Michael, thrashing. It was useless. Fatigue weighed at his limbs not just from the fight but the hunger that had been gnawing away at him for days leaving him hollowed out. Weak.
David chuckled in his ear. “I don't think so. But I do know what would help you calm down a little.” David brought his wrist to his mouth and bit down. The mouthwatering scent of blood diffused into the air instantly. Michael was salivating before David’s wrist pressed against his lips.
“No!” Michael jerked away, straining his neck to get as far away from temptation as possible while every instinct in him screamed to give in, to feed. To finally put an end to the excruciating hunger, the itching in his gums. To let his monster take over.
“Don't fight me, Michael. I know you want it. You must be starving. Take it. I'm giving it to you.” Michael fleetingly wondered if this is what Adam felt like in the garden of Eden. Michael felt his resolve slipping, wane to begin with and now paper thin.
A furious whine left Michael's lips, eyes wild and locked on the dripping blood as he warred with himself, a battle he was quickly losing. His lips parted, breath quick and irregular. Agitation flooded him as he watched the wound begin to close in real time, secreting David’s blood away behind smooth, pale skin and out of reach.
His hunger won out. David knew it too, as soon as the tension drained from his heavy limbs. He didn’t try and stop Michael from wrenching one arm free. He used it to grab the offered wrist and bit down hard as instinct drove him to increase the dwindling blood flow.
Michael moaned as blood spilled over his tongue, an explosion of flavor. It was salt and iron and something he thought was just David and oh so amazing and he felt like he'd never be able to stop. As he drank, David's grip on him loosened. There was no point in restraining him when he was locked in right where David wanted him.
Michael fell to his knees, pupils blown wide, both hands grasping at David's wrist and holding it to his mouth in a death grip. As if David would take it away. Michael knew he wouldn’t, but knowing and riding the wave of blossoming instinct were two very different things.
This felt right. Michael couldn’t explain it, didn’t have the words. He’d never been good with them anyway. He felt David’s blood intensify the more he drank. Could feel it inside of him, touching him, changing him, molding him in its image. Michael’s blood felt hot, pounding for David in perfect step with his slowing heart.
The hunger that had plagued him for days retreated as he grew intoxicated on David. The agony it had caused, cramps twisting his empty stomach until it felt like it was shredded and mangled, was now a fading memory. He couldn't stop. He felt like he’d never be able to stop. He didn’t want to. And in that moment, Michael didn't care. Thoughts of right and wrong, should and shouldn’t, drifted away on a tide of crimson leaving him only with what he wanted.
Michael was adrift in his voracious stupor and barely registered David's hand carding through his hair, whispering sweet nothings and encouragement to drink his fill because David 'had already fed well that night and had plenty to spare.' He ground his teeth into David’s wrist in response, ripping open the already broken vessels further as he sucked at the wound. If he leaned into David’s touch, no one had to know.
The hunger had dissipated but Michael wouldn’t let go. The thought of it set his bones aching with loss. He felt like he could feel the other man weaving into his veins, changing him, working to finish what his dalliance with the bottle had started. Blood dripped down Michael's chin, falling, staining his jeans, creating a soft patter on the floor where it missed the denim.
His mind was hazy and his belly pleasantly full that he didn't notice when the others filed back into the room with a quarry of combative teenage boys. Dwayne restrained Sam while Paul had a Frog in each arm, locked in a bruising hold as they struggled to break away from their captors and what they likely thought to be certain death.
Evidently the vampires hadn’t found much resistance from the inexperienced teenagers with their amateur booby-traps and even less from Star and Laddie who’d they’d left cowering upstairs, more than willing to recuse themselves from any violent conflicts.
“Let go of us, you goddamned shit-suckers!” yelled Sam, pale and shaking but not out of fight. He kept up his struggle until he saw Michael down on his knees in front of David, latched onto the bleached blonde vampire's wrist. Michael idly wondered what was going through Sam’s brain. It couldn’t be anything good. He knew what this looked like, what it was. He’d be furious with himself for it later. But now he felt too satiated to care, ironically alive as he drank his way closer to death.
“Mike!” he shouted, eyes wide in horror. “Let my brother go, you asshole!”
The Frog brothers shied away from the scene in front of them, muttering about rotten traitorous vampires switching sides. He thought one of them gagged.
The reality of their situation was finally hitting, fear scent oozing enticingly through the room. It prickled Michael’s instincts, engaging a prey drive that hadn’t been there a few days ago. Hell, maybe not even a few hours ago. It set Michael’s teeth on edge with anticipation. But that was wrong, wasn’t it? These were kids, right? The fog rose thicker behind his eyes.
A dark chuckle shook free from David’s chest. “I'm not holding him here. Am I, Michael?” he asked, sliding his hand free of Michael's curls and under his chin to tilt his face up. Michael blinked owlishly at him, drops of blood spilling from the corners of his lips. “He’s the one who won’t let me go.” David sounded smug, although Michael thought that might be his natural state.
Michael knew his eyes were gold edged with red, glassy, brow sharpened into the monstrous features of a transformed vampire. He could see himself reflected in David’s gaze as he kept drinking, throat working rhythmically to swallow David down. He felt like he could drink forever. That thought may have been a bit louder than he’d intended, tickling into David’s brain.
'You're doing so well, Michael,' David intoned through their telepathic link which grew stronger with each mouthful. 'But you do need to stop soon or you'll have all of my blood in your veins,' he chided. David’s skin had gone pale, paler than normal. There was obvious truth to his words. Michael wasn’t having it.
He growled, locking his jaw stubbornly in place.
“Ah ah ah, that's enough now.” David said, gripping the back of Michael's head and wrenching him off by his hair. Blood seeped slowly from David’s mangled wrist, just out of reach. “That's a good boy.”
Michael bared his teeth up at David, mouth dripping with gore. Michael’s stomach was pleasantly full, the hunger pains of the last few days faded into oblivion but that didn’t mean he’d wanted to stop. The taste of iron and recalcitrant life coated his tongue. He licked his lips, chasing more. He didn’t acknowledge the tingle David’s words of praise sent down his spine. Wasn’t ready do deal with the implications on top of everything else piling up on him.
“I know, I know. We'll get you more later,” David soothed, resuming his petting to pacify Michael after the rough treatment. 'I'll do in a pinch, but there's nothing like fresh human blood,' whispered through Michael's mind.
Michael shook his head in an attempt to clear it, thoughts sluggish in a blood-induced haze, and slumped back against the wall. David’s hand trailed after, stayed on his head, oddly comforting. He felt like he was under water. Once David’s blood had touched his lips he’d been driven by a single manic purpose and now that it was achieved there was nothing he could do but sit back and ride out the consequences.
His body was changing again, becoming less human, like the night in the cave that seemed both so long ago and only yesterday. He’d felt drunk after drinking from that cursed bottle, same as now. His mind fogged as David's dead blood worked its way through him, new instincts growing in his brain stem as his humanity faded with every shallow breath and slow beat of his heart.
“Mike! Mike, come on man, get up!” Sam yelled, voice cracking.
Michael didn't move, didn't acknowledge he'd heard Sam call out. He wasn’t sure if he had. Blood rushed through his head, roaring in his ears and drowning out the sounds around him. He sat there, slumping further like a rag doll as change forced itself over his body. He blinked slowly. The yellow tinge faded from his unfocused gaze, face settling back into a familiar human shape. Blood clung to his mouth and chin, slowly drying into dull, rusty trails.
“Now, now, kids. There's no need to yell.” David smirked as he licked the remaining blood off of his wrist and sauntered forward. The closer he got, the more the teens struggled. Alan whimpered when David stopped in front of him (although he’d deny it if ever asked).
“Now what to do with you,” David mused aloud, finger tapping his chin in a mockery of deep thought. “More trouble than you’re worth, aren’t you? What do you think, Paul?”
Paul’s lips stretched wide and he laughed, yanked on the Frogs, jerking their heads back painfully with fists twisted in their hair. “I dunno, what should we do with them Dwayne?”
Dwayne grinned, fangs on full display. “Who wants to know?” he growled.
Sam jumped, legs shaking, straining to get away from the vampire holding him tight. It was no use. He’d never been strong like Michael, his build slender and twiggy.
Sam’s hushed whimpers shook Michael from his stupor, the scent of fear pouring off his little brother. Michael frowned. Sam shouldn’t be afraid. Not while he was there. Didn’t he know Michael would always protect him?
He lurched up on shaky legs before stumbling towards the others, willing the limbs to cooperate even though they felt like jello.
“Come on guys, they're just kids.” His voice came out more pleading than he would have liked, but he was worried about Sam’s safety and potential for longevity despite his current less than stellar brain function. He knew what they were capable of. Watched them slaughter without mercy on the beach just the other night. They hasn’t hesitated then. But they were now. Maybe Michael could fix this, but he’d be dammed if he knew how.
“They're kids that tried to kill us. Almost killed Marko.” David’s face was as flat as his voice.
Michael paused, perking up. “Marko's not dead?” What? How? Sam and his friends had been screaming their heads off in the cave, swore they’d ended him with a stake through the chest. They’d been covered in blood, absolutely reeked of the stuff. Michael hadn’t thought anyone would be able to lose that much and live.
“Missed his heart,” said Paul grimly. “Some vampire hunters you little fuckers are.”
Maybe Michael could work with this. Marko’s supposed death had been the main fuel behind Michael taking David’s vendetta at face value.
“Then nobody's dead. We can just let it go,” Michael argued. He knew it was weak but he had to try.
Dwayne shook his head. Michael’s hope of avoiding further bloodshed plummeted.
“That's not how this works, Michael. We let them walk away and they’ll try again. Even you know that.” David’s eyes were hard enough to cut steel.
Michael could feel the emotion radiating off of him like a miasma: fury at his home being violated: rage at one of his pack being injured (especially under his watch): but most of all the fear of almost losing a brother. The insurmountable loss it would have caused.
Michael understood. He’d feel the same way if something like that happened to Sam. Hell, he did feel that way because it was happening right now. His hind brain was screaming at him to protect Sam while giving the Frogs a less favorable label as threat to him and his pack (pack? Where did that come from?).
Dwayne looked him dead in the eye. 'Exactly.'
“Sammy didn't do anything,” Michael tried again, easing his way closer to his brother. “He didn't even have a stake.”
He reached for Sam, slowly pulling the boy towards himself, eyes seeking silent permission from Dwayne. Sam slipped easily out of the other vampire's hands and Michael pulled him close.
“Uh, Mike,” Sam started, eyes wide in panic. “You got a little …” He gestured to Michael's chin.
Shit. How the hell had he already forgotten about feeding from David? He probably looked like a damn crime scene. The others were coated in blood the night of the bonfire slaughter. He doubted he looked much different.
He hastily moved to rub the traces of blood off himself. Mostly he just smeared the gore further over his mouth and neck where it wasn’t already dry and flaky.
Clattering footsteps sounded from the front porch before the door crashed open. Marko slipped through. Michael’s chest eased a little at the sight of him, comforted by seeing him in the flesh despite the reassurances he hadn’t died. Blood soaked through his white crop top and stained his patch jacket. It was dry through, and while he seemed a little stiff Michael could smell no fresh blood on him. The wound was healing, if not fully there yet.
“We've got company,” Marko said.
David raised his brow, a silent request to elaborate.
“Max is almost here. He's got that lady he's been obsessing over with him.”
“Mom?” Michael asked. “My mom's here?” The sound of car doors slamming answered his inquiry for him. He could hear her calling for him and Sam from outside, worry thick in her voice. “Why is she here?”
He was panicking. It was the worst timing imaginable. The last thing he needed was his mom caught up in this mess, too. But also, selfishly, he didn’t want her to see him like this.
“This is gonna be a pain in the ass,” Paul groaned.
Michael cursed under his breath. Two sets of footsteps sounded across the front porch.
David’s voice sounded in the back of his head, told him to hide. Not to go far, no, but to get out of sight. The others must have gotten the same message because almost as if it were rehearsed Michael and the other boys released their captives and slunk back. Michael slipped into the shadows along the back wall and the others managed to secret themselves away out of sight over thresholds and around doorways. The impression was eerie, as if they were never there.
Sam faltered, looking unsure of himself. His weak human eyes had trouble picking them out of the darkness. Sam’s eyes glossed right over him. Michael couldn’t see his pack mates either but he could feel them where they stood, a sixth sense he was slowly growing into.
They left no escape for Sam and the would-be hunters, though, with the boys blocking all the obvious exits.
“Sam? Michael?” Lucy called, voice tight with worry that morphed to panic once she saw the state of the room. She gasped as her eyed roved over the damage. The couch was flipped over, upholstery split and spilling yellowed stuffing onto the floor like soft entrails. An antique rocking chair was splintered, slats broken from where Michael and David had crashed violently into it.
Her eyes locked on her youngest, clothes rumpled but no more tattered than they had been after the expedition to the cave. His shoulders were hunched where he huddled with his Rambo wannabe friends.
“Sam, what’s going on? Are you alright? Where’s Michael?”
Sam and the Frogs erupted in a discord of noise, shouting explanations over top of each other that contradicted and made no sense. Sam was trying to downplay the who vampire thing while the Frogs paid lip service to Nosferatu. Lucy couldn’t get a word in edgewise.
But the strange thing was Max. Michael eyed him warily. The man was still, stiff. Lacking the composure Michael would have expected after their one brief meeting. Something was off about him that had the hairs on Michael’s arms standing on end.
Max’s nostrils flared, eyes narrowing behind wire rimmed glasses until they were barely visible slits. Was he scenting them? What the hell?
“What have you boys done?” Max demanded, booming voice cleaving through the chaos with the heft of a butcher’s knife. Michael watched him nervously from where he was concealed, shifting his weight. Dread pooled in the pit of his stomach, taking up residence where his hunger had been.
The room froze. Lucy turned to Max, a question in her eyes. Her expression was still open. She hadn’t picked up on the wrongness. Michael wanted to pull her away from him, drag her to safety. But he wasn’t sure what was happening either. He held his ground, unease growing as it bled into him from his pack, amplifying it with an invisible loudspeaker.
Max stormed over to the boys, each step laced with a severity Michael hadn’t thought the video store owner capable of. He grabbed Sam’s sweater roughly and examined it. Michael stifled a snarl.
“What did you do?” Max repeated himself with a furious hiss.
“Max, what’s gotten into you?” Lucy exclaimed, pulling Sam out of Max’s grasp, her protective instincts flaring. Finally.
“It looks like they’ve taken issue with my boys, Lucy. And here I’d thought they’d all get along after David brought Michael into the fold.” He scowled, furiously cleaning his pristine glasses before slipping them into his breast pocket.
“What are you talking about?” Lucy’s voice trembled.
“It was you I was after all along, Lucy. After all, boys need a mother. Heaven known mine run rampant, misbehaving, rude things that they are. They need a mother’s touch to civilize them. Make them productive members of society. That’s where you come in, my dear. You’re guiding hand will get them back on track. And how can you say no now that Michael’s joined the family?” he said with a cruel grin, mouth stretched unnaturally wide.
Lucy backed away from Max with Sam in her arms. The Frogs followed, stakes drawn and aimed.
“What have you done with Michael?” Lucy demanded.
Max widened his eyes in mock surprise. “Why, nothing at all, Lucy. My boy David, on the other hand … He appears to have misplaced the correct bottle. Don’t you think so, Michael?” Max turned his focus to Lucy’s eldest, causing the rest of the room to follow his gaze.
Lucy gasped when she saw him, hands flying to her mouth.
Michael swallowed thickly, uncomfortable at the attention on him. He was hardly invisible where he stood, the shadows only just dark enough to keep him from being noticed peripherally. His shallow cover fell away around him, leaving him feeling vulnerable and exposed. He knew he looked terrible, covered in David’s blood. It wasn’t how he’d wanted his mom to see him. Not ever. He shuffled his feet, eyes cast to the floor.
“You were supposed to be mine, not David’s!” Max hissed. “Now you’ve got his blood in your veins. Oh well. What’s done is done. David will have to be taught a lesson so he won’t step out of line again, and you’ll learn soon enough that even though I’m not your sire, I’m the highest authority you’ll ever know.”
“So you ARE the head vampire!” Sam shouted. “I knew it!”
“Not this again, Sam! Vampires aren’t real! I’m sure there some perfectly logical explanation for … All of this.” Lucy trailed off. She couldn’t think of any.
Lucky for her, she didn’t have to. Max’s facial features shifted into that of a monster before her very eyes.
“Things may not have gone to plan, but I’ll still have you, Lucy. I’m not going to change my mind about that.” He bared his fangs at them with a savage growl. Any kindness present in his eyes faded into selfish malice.
Lucy screamed loud enough to curdle blood, echoing powerfully off the walls and painfully in Michael’s ears. It overlapped with Sam’s should for Max to stay the hell away from his mom!
Michael agreed with Sam. Max needed to go. But he needed an opening. He slunk around the edge of the room, working toward a strategic position to make his move when opportunity presented.
With twin battle cries, the Frogs readied their stakes and rushed Max.
“Die, vampire!” shouted Edgar, stake raised high. Too high. He’d never hit the heart from that angle.
Max scoffed. He grabbed the boy’s wrist and twisted hard enough to snap bone. The stake fell uselessly from his limp hand as he shouted in pain, face pale and drawn. Maybe a little green. With hardly a thought, he tossed the boy aside before backhanding his brother, sending Alan and his weapon flying. The two of them stayed down, battered and broken. Edgar’s arm hung at an unnatural angle.
Sam charged next, slipping through Lucy’s arms when she tried to hold him back. He didn’t have a weapon. He didn’t stand a chance. Michael was too far away to stop him from his suicide mission.
Max’s arm wrapped around Sam’s neck, leaving him a vampire’s hostage for the second time that night. With a twisted grin, Max extended his free arm to Lucy, beckoning her closer. Her for her son was the unspoken ultimatum. Of course she couldn’t say no. What mother could when her child was in danger? She cringed back as her feet carried her reluctantly forward, lashes heavy with unshed tears.
An echoing growl crept up from Michael’s chest. How dare this asshole come into his grandpa’s house and threaten his mom and kid brother. Michael had had enough. It was time to act.
He snarled, fangs dropping and bones shifting in response to his rage. He launched himself at Max. Sam managed to slip from Max’s grasp, suddenly the lower priority. Once he was out of the way, Michael didn’t hold back. Claws tore through suit cloth and flesh alike, spilling yet more blood onto the stained hardwood beneath their feet.
“You damn brat!” the elder vampire spat. He sent Michael careening into the wall with a heavy blow he landed once recovered from the initial assault.
Fuck. He was strong. Michael’s head was ringing. He shook it to clear it but all that accomplished was causing black spots to dance in front of his eyes.
“You’ll learn to respect your elders whether you like it or not. And I’m very much of the opinion this will be one lesson you will not enjoy.” His smile said he would, though.
Michael’s ears perked up. Was that..? La Cucaracha sliced obnoxiously through the night. Grandpa was back from the widow Johnson’s early. Maybe the crazy old man would be distraction enough to turn the tide. But wait… The sound of gravel crunching under tires was getting a little too close…
With the deafening crash of splintering wood and shattering glass, Grandpa’s truck smashed into the house going full throttle in reverse. Once Grandpa slammed on the brakes sharpened fence posts hurtled into the room like a wall of wooden death. Michael seized the opportunity and shoved a Max forward while he was distracted by the unfurling chaos. His path aligned with an airborne post and, with a sickening squelch, he was impaled through the heart. Michael dove back to avoid getting run through himself. It didn’t look like it was all that fun of an experience.
Max screeched, shrill and agonized. Michael grasped at his ears, scuttling away from the dying head vampire. With one final anguished scream, he exploded into flame as he lurched back into the hearth.
For a moment Michael was worried the fireball would spread to the tinder-dry rafters and set the house ablaze but it extinguished itself just as quickly as it consumed Max. The elder vampire was nothing more than a pile of ash and two glittering fangs of pearly white.
Stunned silence filled the room until it was broken by a gleeful cackle.
“Holy fuck, that was awesome!” Paul laughed as he and the boys reappeared out of seemingly nowhere.
“Did you see his face?” Marko crowed in delight, the devil glinting in his cherubic eyes.
“It was quite the show, I’ll give you that.” David lounged against the wall as though he’d always been there, a smirk on his handsome face and eyes dancing with delight. He lit the cigarette behind his ear and inhaled, lips pulled up at the corners.
“Good riddance,” Dwayne muttered from off to the side, eyeing the sparse remains with distaste.
Michael slowly pulled himself up into a sitting position and took brief stock of himself. The aches and pains dusting his body were minor. He’d be fine.
His eyes sought out his mom and brother, crouched with the Frogs and covered in soot on the other side of the room. His grandpa had just climbed out of his truck and sidled over to Lucy, eyes warily darting to the vampires, distrustful.
Michael spared his pack a glance. They didn’t look like they were about to start shit again, so he refocused his priorities.
“Everybody OK?” Michael asked softly as he slowly climbed to his feet, jaw stinging and body aching from light bruising.
Small feet sounded on the landing above the stairs. Laddie tore down them wearing a huge grin. Star was quick to snag him before he’d made it halfway, caging him in her arms. Her face was pinched with worry and more than a little fear. Michael’s eyes widened. Their heartbeats raced, strong and fully alive.
They were human again. He definitely wasn’t.
Michael softened. Star never wanted to be a vampire and while he’d never asked her how she wound up with David and the others he assumed it wasn’t a happy story. Laddie never should have been given Max’s blood in the first place. That had been pretty fucked up. He could tell the other’s thought so, too.
Dwayne had seethed quietly over the child-vampire, when the hunger tore through the kid and left him writhing in pain. Michael knew he never would have allowed Laddie to turn if there’d been any choice in the matter. To do that to someone so young was abomination.
They had a chance at a normal life now. Laddie could go home to his family. Star would never have to have blood on her hands. They’d get a happy ending.
Because they’d drank Max’s blood. And Max was dead. Now they were free.
Unlike Michael. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel about that. He wasn’t sure how he did feel about that. Maybe he’d freak out when he had time to think on it later. Or maybe not. Right now he was more okay with it than he suspected he should be, or even would have been a few days ago. Because he was damned now, wasn’t he? His fate sealed by the unholy taste of David’s blood on his lips.
“Mom? Sam?” Michael said, drifting closer to them. “You alright?” He couldn’t see anything visually wrong with them. Their hearts were pounding away in their chests, sour fear and warm adrenaline coating them, but he couldn’t scent any pain.
“Stay back, bloodsucker!” Edgar yelled, clumsily pulling a jar of holy water out of his pocket with his good arm, uncorked it with his teeth, and flung it at Michael. Fuck. He should have seen that coming.
Michael hissed a curse, stumbling backwards as the water hit his shirt, soaked through, and began to burn.
In the blink of an eye, David was on him and yanked, the thin fabric tearing easily under strong hands and exposing his chest, reddened and raw where the water had made contact but not yet blistered. The poisoned fabric fell to the floor with a wet smack.
“What the fuck did you do that for?” he snarled, eyes glinting at the shaking teen. “Fucking hurts!” Didn’t the little morons realize he was on their side here? He’d been pretty damn invested in making sure the kids made it out of here alive, but the burning pain on his chest almost had him reconsider.
David growled low in his throat, poised to prowl towards the little asshole before Grandpa’s voice cut sharply through the dust and din.
“Now how about we all just calm down, huh? This don’t need to get any uglier than it already has.”
David’s eyes flicked to the old man. “And what exactly do you propose?” he asked sarcastically. “We hold hands and sing Kumbaya?”
Grandpa was unimpressed. “Hardly. But it seems to me like we’ve all been through enough tonight. My house definitely has. Your head vampire is dead. Seems like you’re all pretty happy about that. You’re welcome, by the way. Not that I’ve got any problems with one less blood sucker in Santa Carla, mind you. So there, we’ve done you a favor. Now, these kids are morons who are in over their heads. What say you we let bygones be bygones and leave well enough alone?”
David didn’t look convinced, still eyeing the Frogs with murderous intent. Which, yeah, they did trespass in the vampires’ lair and commit attempted homicide unprovoked. Mostly. But still.
Michael stepped up to David’s side. He glowered at the Frogs but refused to sign their death warrant. “Come on, David. They’re just dumb kids.”
“Dumb kids who almost killed Marko. And look what they just did to you.” His eyes narrowed at the burns, though they were already fading. Still hurt like a bitch, though. It’d be itchy soon, like a bad sunburn.
“Exactly. They hurt me and Marko. Shouldn’t it be up to us?”
David frowned. “Marko?”
“Yup?” His voice sounded from the fireplace. Hands covered in soot, he popped up triumphantly with two gleaming fangs in hand. “What? I wanted a souvenir.”
Dwayne rolled his eyes.
“What do you think, Marko?” David asked.
Marko looked thoughtful, head tilted to the side theatrically in contemplation. He looked nothing like the vicious maniac Michael knew he could be when he wanted to, cherubic looks aside. “They fucked up my jacket,” he said, dancing back toward his pack and draping himself across Paul’s shoulders dramatically, rattling his newly acquired fangs like the world’s saddest maraca. “I just finished this one, too,” he pouted, plucking at the torn material. “I think they owe me a patch.” His eyes went steely, hard gaze fixed on the kids. “At some point I’ll come to collect.”
Well, that wasn’t ominous at all. But if that meant everyone walked out of here tonight no worse off than they already were, Michael would take it.
Grandpa cleared his throat. “So what do you say? We leave you alone, you leave us alone, we all go our separate ways. Everyone’s happy.”
“What? Grandpa, no! We can’t do that! What about Mike?” Sam shouted.
“What about him?”
“He’s still a half vampire! We’ve got to fix him!”
“Yeah? And how do you suppose we do that?”
Sam looked unsure. “We…We kill the new head vampire? The one whose blood Mike drank?”
The mood in the room shifted at Sam’s suggestion, loosing the burgeoning lightheartedness beginning to grow. The pack coalesced, converging around David protectively. Even Michael wore an intense frown, brows pulled low over fierce blue eyes. Kill David? There was no way. He shifted closer to his sire, his bare shoulder brushing against black wool.
“Open your eyes, Sammy. Its too late for your brother. He may still only be half, but he’s already one of them. Just look at him. He won’t let you lay a hand on that blonde one.”
Sam’s eyes snapped to Michael’s. His expression fell as he saw the truth in Grandpa’s words. The old man wasn’t wrong. Michael didn’t want to fight, but hell would freeze over before he let anyone kill David. The sentiment echoed through the pack. David’s lip ticked up.
“Besides,” Grandpa continued, “You don’t go after a pack like theirs and win. A lone vampire, that’s a beast that’s vulnerable. Put in some effort and get a little lucky and you can take it out. A pack, though? One this big? You might manage to get one, maybe two, but trust me boy, they’d get all of you. Its best to let it go. There’s no winning to be done here. You’d only find more death.”
Lucy’s eyes welled with tears. “Oh, Michael,” she said mournfully. Star slowly eased down the stairs with Laddie in tow, wrapped her arms around Lucy’s shoulders. Lucy’s lip wobbled. She accepted the comfort, sliding her own hand over top of Star’s and squeezing.
Michael took a tentative step toward his mother. And then another. No one moved to stop his approach this time, but he paused before long, not even halfway across the room. He didn’t know what to say to reassure her. He wasn’t sure if there was anything he could say to make any of this less bad, less hard on her. He stood there at a loss, hovering between his old world and his new one.
Grandpa cleared his throat. “Not to be rude or anything, but I’d appreciate if everyone undead would get the hell out of my house.”
David didn’t fight the baldfaced eviction. “Let’s go, boys. Besides, we’ve got some celebrating to do.” He grinned, placing a guiding hand on Michael’s shoulder and pulling him toward the ruined entryway, picking their way over debris and around mangled framing, splinters sharp and uninviting. He paused for a moment, turning back around. “But to be clear: if any of you step foot in our place again, they’ll never find what little is left once I’m through with you. Got it?”
The Frogs and Sam nodded their heads so fast it was almost comical, their eyes wide.
“Good. And Star? You might wanna think about getting out of town.” It wasn’t a suggestion.
She gulped and nodded. “A few days. I’ve got to get Laddie settled. Then I’ll be gone,” she promised.
David gave her a slight nod, allowing the grace period. Her shoulders loosened minutely.
On his way out, Dwayne paused to scoop up Michael’s jacket from the back of the couch and tossed it to him in one smooth motion.
“Thanks,” he said, shrugging into the unblemished leather, not yet broken in from when he’d bought it. He was glad to be at least partially covered again, although the glossy feel of the liner was strange to his sensitive skin, a heavy contrast to his usual cotton t-shirts and flannels. He left the front open so it wouldn’t press on his still healing burns. He had one foot out the ruined door when his mother called to him.
“Michael?”
He paused. “Yeah, Mom?”
“Will you come back?”
He hesitated, thinking about it. The silence grew. His pack waited for him outside. Could he? Would it be a good idea with what he was now, with what else he’d likely be after the ‘celebration’ tonight? He didn’t know. But he also couldn’t stand to be the reason his mother’s expression was falling farther each moment the lull stretched on.
“I’ll try,” was what he settled on, and he meant it.
But just because he meant it didn’t mean it would happen. With nothing more to say, he turned his back on them and slipped out of the broken house and into the night.