Chapter Text
As the horns pierced clear through his chest, the hunger that had pounded relentlessly against the shores of his being for as long as David could remember started to ebb. At first, he had just felt pain, excruciating, gut-wrenching pain, pain like the pain he had felt a million times before. Meaningless pain that would inevitably resolve, like clockwork, into nothing as his body healed itself, as it steadfastly refused to give up the chase. But the pain stuck this time. And then the hunger began to wash away, receding like low tide to reveal a peace that he had long forgotten. His eyes closed.
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It first dawned on Michael as he watched Dwayne spark and twitch, an arrow through his chest, pinned to the stereo like a butterfly. Seeing the vampire shatter in front of his eyes, he felt inexplicable, unexpected pangs of kinship and loss in close succession: something taken away, painfully, almost at the same moment that it had been offered. He grabbed Sam and ran. But the pain only twisted harder as he made his way up the stairs, his humanity washing away with the torrents of Paul’s blood that rained down from the ceiling. Every drop felt like it was being let from his own veins. His chest throbbed and ached with phantom pain, duller, more distant.
That’s when David found him and pushed him back down to the sparking wreckage, danced around him, all laughter and shadow. He didn’t have time to think as the vampire came at him, again and again, pushing until something inside him finally broke through to the surface. It was fast, exhilarating, disorienting: over almost as soon as it had begun.
As David went still, everything fell into place, heavy like lead. The adrenaline faded and realization dawned on him again, harder this time. He was like a wounded animal as he stared at David's lifeless body. Felt the horns goring through his own chest, tearing away everything that he had known before. He was, somehow, still half. He couldn’t explain the power coiled in his muscles, the predatory shape of his face, the inexorable pull of the blood that surrounded him. But the world remained different, unrecognizable. The change that had ripped through his body as they fought settled into his bones, unfolding and nestling deep within him. He felt, acutely, the gaping void where the creatures that he now understood to be his brothers had been. It was like the bloody shapes of David, Dwayne, Paul, and Marko had been carved out of him, amputated before he had even known them. Their loss seared him, cauterizing a wound. He couldn’t close his eyes: he just stared, broken-hearted, as light poured down over David’s body, horrified at what he had done, how completely he had misunderstood David, misunderstood himself.
His trance was broken only by Star’s screaming. He moved through the rest of the night on autopilot. Numbly going through the motions, driven by a fading memory of the need to protect his family, a reflex. And then it was all over. Max, reduced to nothing but black plumes of smoke. Michael’s heart started to beat faster; his breath came more naturally. He blinked his eyes in disbelief as his body flooded with very human pain, melted back to what it had been before. No, not what it had been before. He had been hollowed out, left resoundingly empty. He rattled with afterimages of David’s face: serene and ethereal, vicious and inhuman. Star and Laddie embraced, celebrating, and he found that he wasn’t relieved. The knowledge of what he’d done, what he’d lost was indelible. He had never been more sure about anything before in his life. A decision had already been made.
“Is everybody okay?” he asked, allowing himself to be pulled into a hug. The embrace was so fragile, so insubstantial, nothing like how David had held him when they had flown through the air.
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“What’re we going to do about this mess?” Lucy sounded tired, overwhelmed with the revelations of the night. After his dramatic entrance, his grandfather had left just as abruptly. Had retreated into his workshop with a root beer and a sigh.
One of the Frog brothers spoke up, “Should get ’em out of here. Make sure we destroy all the pieces so they don’t come back.”
“Come back!?” Sam sounded incredulous, “You gotta be kidding me.”
The kid nodded gruffly. “Yeah, can’t be too careful.”
“We should definitely burn them,” the other Frog added, “can’t come back from that.”
“Nobody’s burning anything,” Lucy took a deep, calming breath, “you’ve all done enough for today. What you need is a good night’s rest.”
“But mom,” Sam looked at her pleadingly, “we should listen to them, they know what they’re talking about.”
“No,” Lucy said firmly, “I’m the adult here. That’s final.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Upstairs. Now, Sam.” She nodded to the Frogs, “You too boys, go home.”
Michael tuned the chatter out. He needed to think.
It was decided that Star and Laddie would spend the night in the guest room, and soon everyone but Michael had been herded upstairs, too exhausted to fight against Lucy’s formidable will, against her unflagging kindness. Star hadn’t clung to him, hadn’t tried to draw him up to bed with her. Now that it was over, it seemed like she just wanted to put him, and everything else, behind her. He didn’t blame her, but he couldn’t really fathom it.
He had just been a way out for her, one she didn’t need anymore. And maybe that was all she had been for him. A way to keep running from what he really wanted.
Alone at last, Lucy folded Michael into her arms. He stilled as she ran her fingers through his hair, a comforting gesture that she had done countless times before. He faintly wished that it was enough. “I’m glad you’re back with us, sweetheart.” She pressed a kiss to his temple, smoothing out his curls, ignoring the blood and sweat that still coated his face in the way only a mother could.
“Let me take care of this, Ma,” he whispered gently, “I’ll get everything out of the way tonight. We’ll start fresh tomorrow.” She looked at him gratefully, giving him a final hug before heading upstairs. Michael watched her leave. That had been easier than he expected.
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Michael collected what was left of Paul first, gathering up the bones one by one, drying them off with reverent concentration, placing them methodically in a black garbage back. The bones were pristine, smooth. Weighed less than he would have thought. The holy water that still filled the tub, studded with blood-stained cloves of garlic, meant nothing to him; he regarded it curiously as it flowed through his fingers, innocuous, impotent. After carrying the bag out to the car, he went to deal with Dwayne. Singed and charred body parts lay scattered around the room, a burning smell still hung heavy in the air. He was surprised that he didn’t flinch, that his stomach didn’t turn as he set about his task. Every piece of the dark-haired vampire’s remains was painstakingly deposited into another bag.
He couldn’t put off dealing with David any longer. His heart caught in his chest when he finally approached the body. He looked so whole, compared to his brothers, so peaceful.
Alone in the quiet of the night, Michael couldn’t hide from the fact that he found him beautiful. He’d never been more attracted to anyone before, and David had seemed…interested, maybe. But he hadn’t had the guts to admit it to himself then and now it was too late.
He tipped the taxidermy over, reaching around to lift the body off the protruding horns into something resembling a hug. David was heavy, unwieldy. Stray tears stained his cheeks as he held the lifeless body in his arms. But the emotion was barely a whisper, a shadow of the bone-deep anguish that he had felt before, when he was still half, still connected to David, to the boys on a level that he couldn’t even begin to make sense of now. But somehow the absence of that pain hurt even more. Bits and pieces of the fight came back to him. David hadn’t wanted to kill him, hadn’t wanted to keep fighting, had tried to make him immortal.
With a sigh he carried the body out to the car, laying it out carefully in the backseat. He made his way from the driveway, keeping the lights off until he was on the road.
Michael drove, as if in a trance, to the sunken hotel. Moving carefully, he put what was left of Paul and Dwayne where Marko’s body had fallen. It had felt right to bring the bodies back to the hotel, to keep them together. He knew that he should burn them or leave them out in the sun. But he also knew that he wasn’t going to. He couldn’t betray them again, even in death. Even if he was no longer one of them.
The absoluteness of that realization weighed on him as he stared at what was left of David. He arranged his body on the bed in the lobby, the bed where he had gone seeking answers, had left more confused than before.
“Your blood wasn’t in my veins, was it?” Michael’s voice broke the silence that coated the room, the distinct lack of music, shouting, drunken laughter. “But mine still is.”
He reached for his pocket knife and sliced into his arm without hesitation. The blood welled up, hot and red. He swayed a little as he moved to prop himself up over the vampire’s body. He let his blood drip onto David’s lips, watched as it spilled uselessly down his chin, trickled past his neck, stained the sheets. Nothing happened, he hadn’t really thought it would. But it seemed only right: blood for blood. The only expiation he could hope for now. Soon exhaustion hit and he collapsed over the other boy’s body, mirroring it, covering it with his own limbs. He grew woozy as the blood kept trickling from his wrist.
When he came to a few minutes later, there was a sharp pain piercing his neck. He tried to move, but found that he was held in place by inhumanly strong arms. He moaned as it became too much and then passed back out.
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Michael felt weaker than he had ever felt in his life, limp and drained. He could barely open his eyes, couldn’t lift himself up. “What happened?” he mumbled, unsure of where he was. The events of the night were a painful jumble.
“You tell me, Michael,” David’s voice was low, barely a whisper.
He gasped, forcing his eyes open. The vampire was sitting at the foot of the bed, staring at him with an expression that he had never seen before. He looked paler than usual, dark shadows traced circles under his eyes, his lips were raw and chapped. His gloves and his jacket were gone. Two holes gaped, torn into the fabric of his shirt, but the skin underneath was pink, was healing.
“David,” his eyes widened further, his heart leapt in his chest, “you’re alive.”
“Alive? No, not alive,” David’s said slowly, “haven’t been alive in a long time.” The vampire leaned forward, taking Michael’s arm into his hands, examining it with an almost clinical air. “Michael,” he sighed, “what have you done?”
Michael tried to speak, but could barely move his lips, struggled to keep his eyes open. His wrist felt cold and wet where he had cut it. His vision swam. His neck throbbed. “Gonna kill me?” he slurred, as the room faded in and out, “…deserve it.”
“Was never going to kill you.” He brought Michael’s wrist to his mouth, hesitating for a moment before beginning to lick up the blood that still flowed from the wound. By the time the cut had healed, Michael was unconscious again.
***
There were still a few more hours before dawn, and if he wasn’t going to drain Michael, he needed to feed. Even if he did drain Michael, he was going to need to feed. That’s how it worked, that’s how it always worked. David got up and found his jacket where Michael had left it. He slowly made his way out of the cave. “Here we go again,” he observed, launching himself into the night sky.
When he returned, he was moving faster, surer. His chest was fully healed and his strength restored. He didn’t bother to wipe the blood from his chin. Michael was still asleep; he was so pale, looked half dead. He’d deal with him later. David made his way back to see what had become of Marko’s body. The vampire was laid out exactly where they had left him, a gaping hole through his chest. Two black garbage bags were resting nearby. He closed his eyes and then forced himself to look at the remains of Paul and Dwayne. He wondered what Michael had thought he was doing when he brought them back. Wondered if they had also tasted peace.
Steeling himself, he carried what was left of each of his boys back into the deepest reaches of the hotel, to a room that was impossible to reach except by flight. Buried them in shallow graves where the foundation of the hotel had crumbled to reveal moist layers of sand and dirt. It would be cruel to resurrect them, he thought bitterly, still feeling the sting of what had been taken from him, again. But he knew himself too well, had spent hundreds of years learning exactly who, exactly what he was: better to leave the option open.
The sun was going to rise soon. Its reign was absolute, unavoidable. He made his way back to the lobby, sitting down on the edge of the bed again. “Michael, wake up.”
Michael managed to open his eyes.
“So, you brought my boys back here with you too, huh? Betting your family isn’t gonna be too happy about that. What’d you tell them?”
Michael squeezed his eyes closed, groaning, “Shit.”
David shook his head. There was no way that they weren’t going to come straight back here looking for Michael, looking for the missing bodies of the vampires that had attacked them. A wave of anger washed over him; the emotion was familiar, felt good. He swallowed it down, there would be time for that later.
“Alright, let’s go.” David gathered him into his arms as if he weighed nothing. He had taken a lot of blood; Michael could barely hold his head up. He glided them silently to another room deep within the catacombs of the hotel where they would remain undisturbed. Laying the boy down on an old mattress, he let himself float up to the pipes that ran across the ceiling, falling instantly into a familiar, dreamless sleep.