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Maybe he wouldn’t come. Maybe the habit from life wouldn’t be enough to drag Jonah Magnus to Barnabas’s chapel.
In the departed state of life, it had only been for want of his friend.
Jonah carried very little faith inside him.
He had none, now, surely.
Barnabas wondered how much faith he had left himself. He’d blown out the candles, lowered the heavy wooden bar across the church doors for the first time he could remember.
And no sooner had he done that, then Jonah arrived.
There was a creak against the wood door, ornate but old. Desperately in need of replacement. The creak turned to a crack, causing Barnabas to start. Could he break through? The hand on the other side was certainly strong enough. Barnabas could feel the wood shifting under the pressure, up against his back as he pressed against it. As if his presence were enough to stop the barrage, instead of what was inciting it.
But it didn’t apply any further. Rules were binding to creatures like Jonah.
“Father, let me in.” Almost a croon, whispered against the wood. Teasing. As if he was only there to pull him on a nightly serenade. Barnabas shivered, as if he could feel the cold breath of the words against the back of his neck, slightly pouting now. “Barnabas. It’s cold .”
Barnabas didn’t answer, breath caught in his throat. The remnants of what was once a man waited, expectant.
“Please, Father. Is everyone not welcome in the house of-” A choked sound, as if the word were stuck in his throat.
A turn of anger, like a pin dropping. Jonah hated words being snatched from him. Even ones he didn’t believe in.
Slam . “Let me in.” He hissed. “Barnabas Bennett, you open this door right now.”
Barnabas didn’t answer. He didn’t dare to so much as twitch.
An exhausted sigh from the other side, the pressure lifting from the wood, a shifting outside.
“A confession, then. I’ve sinned, Barnabas. This very night.” A pause, trying to make this a conversation.
A real confession. Barnabas kept his breath and words in, heart twisting with worry. Who? Who had he gone to before him?
“Albrecht let me in.”
...Oh, he hated the relief that crossed him at the name.
Albrecht had been a fine enough person, kind even, but selfishly, selfishly... Barnabas was glad it had been him, and not someone he cared deeply for.
He’d always been a bit selfish.
Barnabas shakily raised his rosary to his lips, and took the burn in his straining lungs as ample punishment.
“He was going to take care of me, I think. He said he’d find a way. But I was so hungry.”
“...No, not hungry, though my stomach is full of him now. Every bit of blood in him.” A laugh, wondering. His voice carried on it's own, melodious. “I even tore out his organs, sucked the blood from each and every one of them. You should see me, Barnabas. I’m really a mess. I couldn’t stop.” There was a moment where Jonah sounded scared, before it was swallowed in want again. Demand, as Jonah was always prone to do. “But. I’m still so thirsty. I need more.”
“...Will you help me?”
Barnabas couldn’t hold it any longer, breathing out and taking in new air breath with a quiet gasp.
A light thump behind him echoed the sound, fingernails scratching down the wood. Trying to get to him. Desperate, probably not willful. Jonathan had told him it wasn’t a conscious choice to feed, not this early on. A fledgling couldn’t control itself without its sire. No matter how human it sounded. It could drain a whole town and still need more.
Barnabas wished Jonathan was here right now, instead of off dealing with the vampire who’d done this to Jonah.
He was, at least, spared from seeing Jonah, smeared with the blood and gore of Albrecht Von Closen.
But the scratching was still going, long lines of it, winding Barnabas’s shoulders up tighter and tighter.
“I know you’re there, Barnabas. Don’t pretend. I can hear you.” The scratching turned to small taps, one, two. One, two. One, two. Quickened, resonating deep in Barnabas’s chest. His heartbeat. “Talk to me, at least. You owe me that.”
Resentment, bitterness. Feelings pounding themselves relentlessly against his heart until guilt set in.
“Jonah,” Barnabas whispered.
"...Barnabas. Let me in." Jonah's voice was near his head, as if he knew his exact spot. "You can spare a little blood. You're why I'm like this."
"You agreed to-”
A slam on the door, the wood groaning under the hit. “Of course I agreed. With you and Jonathan both wheedling and negotiating. Oh, Jonah, it will be fine. ” Another hit, the door rattling under the strength of the undead on the other side.
“He won’t be able to get you.” Bang.
“Just wait there for us, we’ll stop him.” Bang.
“Liars.” Bang. “Liars. Liars. Liars. ” Bang, bang, CRACK. The wood split, not enough to destroy the door, but enough that Barnabas could feel the cold winter air creeping in through the new sliver in the wood. Barnabas reached a hand out, pressing against the door, a silent prayer that it would keep. That it wouldn’t give under Jonah’s rage.
This outcome wasn’t their fault.
No, that wasn’t the full truth. It wasn’t Jonathan’s fault.
Jonathan had asked, knowing Jonah’s strengths, his ability to get people to confide in him. His magnetic nature. He’d helped before, but never so directly.
Jonathan reassured him. A simple conversation, talking to the vampire sitting silently in the bar. A walk “alone” to draw it from the residents of the area. Preventative, before the creature killed anyone they knew. And then he and Jonathan would dispose of it. Primarily the disposal would fall to Jonathan, Barnabas’s role was one of support, prayers from the sidelines as Jonathan did all the heavy lifting.
Jonathan had been distracted for a minute . Or two. But it wasn’t their fault.
…No.
No, it wasn’t proper to lie in the house of the lord.
…It was Barnabas’s fault, if he was taking a moment to be honest.
A sin of negligence, a sin of lust.
Barnabas wanted to kiss Jonathan, a few drinks acting as numbing courage as they waited for Jonah’s signal. Jonathan had been so rapt, so focused, glaring over the rim of his glass at the seated duo. Watching their friend chatting away with a monster . Large and silent with unsettling eyes, regarding him with clear interest.
Jonathan’s lips curled when the vampire smiled at Jonah, when he leaned in to whisper something in his ear. Each action the creature performed seemed to send Jonathan into a worse cycle of disdain and fury. And Barnabas didn’t like that look on his face. Didn’t like the anger...and the jealousy. It sparked his own inside him. Long suffering and omni-present.
It was always Jonah and Jonathan.
Barnabas was there, sure. But Jonathan and Jonah understood one another.
Jonathan and Jonah were just so knowledgeable. Jonathan and Jonah chatted about creatures of the night. Jonah helped Jonathan find answers, Jonathan brought Jonah new stories. He’d find them slumped towards each other when they’d fall asleep mid-research. He’d see Jonah bump against Jonathan, and Jonathan’s lingering touches on Jonah’s wrist, the small of his back.
And Barnabas. Barnabas was there . Never interesting enough for the two of them. A loyal friend .
So he drew Jonathan’s face away from the scene, cupped between his hands, watching that rage soften as those dark eyes fixed on him instead.
And lord , it had been so nice to tip forwards then and kiss Jonathan. The first one they had. He was still rattled by it now, knowing that something in his heart had finally clicked into place.
It was meant to be. He’d make it work. He still wanted to make it work, even now.
...Even now that his desire had killed his closest friend. That he’d bought one intimacy with the cost of another’s soul.
Jonah had continued with their plan, assuming they would follow, but neither of them noticed him go.
...No. That’s not right again. Barnabas had looked up for a moment. Just one.
He’d seen the two standing, Jonah draining his glass and turning it neatly over on the table. The signal. Barnabas’s eyes flicked back to Jonathan quickly. Jonathan was looking at him softly, so softly. Kissed him again.
He hadn’t seen.
And it would just be a moment more. Just one. He was always so selfless as a priest. He deserved a couple of minutes of happiness, didn’t he? Jonah could wait. He’d be fine. He was always fine.
Of course, when they arrived to their meeting spot, there wasn’t a trace of him.
Jonathan had been crushed. Barnabas got to hold him, wracked with his guilt.
With his lack of regret for his decision.
Barnabas wondered if Jonah had been scared. If he’d known, before he died, that the others weren’t coming. What it must have been like for him, the man who was terrified at the mere mention of his own death, facing it.
Did he ask to be turned instead? Knowing he'd lose Barnabas, Jonathan, whose lives were dedicated to eradicating his kind?
...But now Jonah’s tantrum seemed to be over. His body slumped against the door, collapsing carefully to the ground.
There was so much he could say. So much he could do.
He could open the door, for one. Invite Jonah in and accept his fate.
Strong arms around his shoulders, teeth sunk into the hollow of his throat. Like a kiss. A kiss that would destroy everything.
But those were apparently the only kisses Barnabas knew anyway.
Barnabas said nothing, eyes to the ground, on his shoes.
When Jonah spoke again, he sounded tired, human, for just a moment. Small. His teeth clicked together, in the cold.
“...I’m so thirsty, Barnabas.”
Perhaps the change hadn’t fully dragged his humanity away yet. Yet. Hopefully he wouldn’t live long enough for it to do so. It’d be a mercy.
Barnabas’s heart twinged, and he sighed, ignoring the quietly animalistic scratching that followed the sounds he made.
“I know, Jonah.”