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Nov. 1st, 2007 11:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wordslingingMade From the Sharpest Things, 4/?, 5/?
Fandom: Bandom AU.
Rating: PG13 so far, for language, violence and sort of vaguely implied if you squint sexuality.
Summary: Step 1: Watch the music video for "A Little Less Sixteen Candles..." Step 2: Listen to "Vampires Will Never Hurt You". Step 3: Mix liberally.
Warnings: It is 100% Pete Wentz and Gerard Way's fault that I'm writing this. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. If the fact that it's bandom vampire AU hasn't already sent you running, I don't think there are any more warnings I need to give.
Notes: Jersey is still stealing most of the airtime, but I'm on a big FOB kick after seeing them live, so they might get a little of their own back. Also, disclaimer: I know very little about any of The Used, personality-wise, besides Bert. So hopefully no one is any more OOC than making them evil vampires makes them already.
Previous chapters here and here.
While Ray and Bob work on shaping Frank into a hunter and Brian works on getting the information they need, Mkey's at home, trying to talk Gerard into trying a batch of Patrick's formula.
"I just don't know about this, Mikes," Gerard says, leaning in the doorway and eyeing the garlic warily as Mikey chops it.
"Pete says it really works," Mikey says, and Gerard fixes his brother with a look, one eyebrow raised.
"Yes, exactly. Pete, the guy you met on the internet who claims to be a vampire but also a vampire hunter, assures you that this stuff is perfectly safe for me to ingest. Are you seeing why I'm not completely confident about this?"
"So I guess it's a good thing you're immortal now, huh?" Mikey says dryly, scooping things into the blender.
Gerard sighs, walking over to where Mikey stands at the counter. "Mikey, look. I appreciate what you're trying to do here. I do. But...you can't fix this."
Mikey pauses with the lid of the blender in one hand, looking at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Gerard braces his arms on the counter, looking down at the Formica surface. "It means I'm a vampire now, and throwing junk in a blender isn't gonna change that."
Mikey puts the lid on the blender with more force than is strictly necessary. "I know that," he says, short and tight. "That doesn't mean it can't do you any good. Unless you want to keep stealing blood from hospitals?"
Gerard draws in a breath, lets it out slowly, and nods. "No, you're right. I'll try it."
Mikey gives a small, encouraging smile as he hits the button on the blender. "All right. I mean, at the very least, it can't hurt, right?"
Gerard eyes the swirling mess dubiously. "Think I'm gonna reserve judgment on that until after I taste it." He moves towards the cabinets for a glass. "You going out tonight?"
"Just to the Eyeball, probably, or Ray and Brian's," Mikey says. "I want to see how Frank's doing. I won't stay out too late."
"Okay." Gerard heads back over to the counter and lifts a hand to his brother's shoulder, squeezing gently. "Promise you'll be careful?"
"Sure. Promise me you're really gonna drink this?" Mikey counters as he shuts the blender off.
Gerard smiles a little crookedly, and nods. "Sure."
In some ways, things aren't all that different now (which just makes the whole thing weirder in the long run). Before, Mikey would go out, and Gerard would sit at home watching TV and drawing unless Mikey talked him into coming along. (One of the times Mikey talked Gerard into coming along was the night he met Bert. Gerard never reminds Mikey of this. Mikey never needs to be reminded.) But Mikey used to go to clubs or shows or house parties, and while he never really thought of himself as an emo kid or a hipster, those were pretty much the circles he moved in. Now he still moves in circles he doesn't really consider himself a part of, because they're the only ones he feels safe in anymore.
Not that hunters are exactly safe. More like dangerous in a good way. Most of the time.
Mikey makes it to the Eyeball without seeing any sign of Bert or his gang, and he's been there approximately three minutes when a fight breaks out over a pool game someone supposedly cheated in. Mikey does his best to skirt the edges of the fight to get to the bar, and still ends up uncomfortably close to getting a pool cue in the face, saved by someone's snagging him by the back of his hoodie and dragging him out of range.
"Hey, man," Frank says. He's perched on the bar itself, which is going to get him yelled at if Alex notices, a cigarette in his other hand, watching the fight with interest.
"Hey," Mikey says, and then, a bit awkwardly. "How's it going?"
Frank shrugs. "Bob's gonna teach me kung-fu and about twenty people offered to buy me drinks when I got here tonight. It's going."
"Word travels pretty fast among hunters, I guess," Mikey offers in response to the latter.
"Yep." Frank pauses for a drag on his cigarette, then smirks a bit. "Apparently I'm, like, being communally adopted by all the hunters in Jersey. If one more person feels the need to tell me about how we take care of our own and shit, I might have to punch 'em. Not that I don't appreciate it."
"Guys like us need to stick together," Mikey says. "--Am I gonna get punched for that?"
"Nah, I've only heard that one about ten times so far, so I've still got some tolerance for it." Over by the pool table, Worm, the bouncer, seems to be getting things settled down. He turns back toward the bar and spots Frank, who immediately slides off the bar and flashes Worm an innocent grin that's way more convincing than it should be before turning back to Mikey. "So hey, we found out who got my parents. And it kind of sucks, because he's one of Bert McCracken's boys and it'd probably be smarter for me to just leave Jersey than try to mess with them, but whoever said I was smart, right?--Mikey? You okay?"
Mikey ducks his head, sticking his hands in his pockets. "I'm fine. Um. You guys are gonna take on McCracken's gang?"
"Eventually, yeah, that's the plan."
Mikey considers how much is safe to say, and settles on, "I've met Bert McCracken. Would've been in a tight spot if I hadn't had some of your holy water on me, so thanks for that. Anyway, I wouldn't mind seeing them get taken down."
"You and half of Jersey, from what I've heard," Frank says. "Everyone wants 'em dead, but no one's made it happen yet. So," he finishes, with a manic grin that's a little scary, "sounds like I'm in for a good time."
"Good luck, man," Mikey tells him, sincerely. "Don't know that I can do much to help, aside from being the twenty-first person to offer to buy you a drink tonight..."
Frank laughs, briefly, and just like that he's a teenage boy again. "No thanks, but I appreciate it." He looks down at the cigarette held between his fingers, almost burned down, and then says, "You know what you can do, if you want to help out?"
Mikey glances at him, eyebrows raised. "Yeah?"
"Talk to me about something that has nothing to do with vampires for a while," Frank says emphatically. "TV, music, comic books, I don't give a fuck, just no vampires. You cool with that?"
"Absolutely," Mikey assures him, smiling a bit. "You want to go sit down somewhere I'm not gonna have to watch out for pool cues?"
They talk for a long while, and aside from the fact that they're in a hunter bar, it's almost like things are normal again and they're just two kids hanging out. When Frank offers to walk Mikey home, and says they ought to leave before it gets too late, it takes Mikey a moment to remember why.
"You packing?" Frank asks as they leave, and Mikey shrugs.
"Holy water. No weapons."
"Holy water doesn't count as a weapon?" Frank seems amused. "Have you seen what it does to 'em?"
"It doesn't feel like one," Mikey says, a bit defensively. It doesn't, even if he can't really explain why. Maybe it's that only vampires are hurt by holy water, and there's no chance of him accidentally hurting anyone human.
Not that there aren't vampires he wouldn't want to accidentally hurt, but there are only two, and he's not likely to run into either of them prowling the streets in Jersey.
Frank, it turns out, is packing more than holy water--he's got a wooden stake and a blessed knife. Mikey hopes that'll be enough--this is later than he's been out since before Gerard got turned, and Frank has to head back to the loft on his own after they get to Mikey's house. Mikey feels like he should extend an offer of crash space, but he's not sure he can depend on Gerard's being in the basement when dawn is still hours away.
They reach the house with Mikey still waffling, and he turns to Frank uncertainly. "Um. Are you gonna be okay heading back?"
"I'll be fine," Frank says, shrugging, and Mikey's not sure if he means that, or just doesn't really care anymore if he's in danger or not.
"Okay. Thanks for walking me home, dude."
"What, he doesn't get a kiss goodnight?"
Frank turns toward the voice and puts himself in front of Mikey in one fluid motion--Jesus, Mikey thinks, he moves like a hunter already--and slides a hand into the front pocket of his hoodie.
"Wouldn't expect one on the first date," he says, keeping his tone casual. "You wanna come out and say hi?"
There's a chuckle--light, friendly, nothing sinister about it, except for the situation they're in. "I could do that just fine from where I am. But I guess I ought to introduce myself, considering."
Mikey's first thought, as the figure seems to melt out of the shadows across the street, is that he looks weirdly like Frank at first glance. Not much taller, and similarly built, short sleeves revealing one arm mostly covered by tattoos, dark hair short in the back but falling in long bangs one just one side. But he looks older than either Frank or Mikey, and when he smiles, the fangs Mikey expects to see are there.
"Hi," he says conversationally. "I'm Jepha."
Frank's close enough that Mikey feels him tensing, about to spring, and he reacts instinctively, grabbing hold of Frank's arm.
"Mikey," Frank says, and his voice is calm and detached, "get the fuck off of me."
"So you can get yourself killed?" Mikey snaps. "No thanks. Even if you could take him, you really want to bank on the fact that he's alone?"
Jeph laughs again, and nods in Mikey's direction. "Smart kid. Not smart enough to get inside while he could, though, huh, Quinn?"
"Guess not," a new voice says, from behind them, and Mikey whirls around just in time to see another vamp--taller, with bleached hair--step between him and the front door.
"Boss has unfinished business with you, Mikey Way," Quinn Allman informs him, "And Jeph's got unfinished business with Frankie here. Nice of you to bring him along, make it easier for us."
Mikey reaches into his pocket with his free hand, still holding onto Frank with the other, and pulls out his flask.
"Come for either one of us and we'll see how easy it is," he says, with bravado he doesn't feel.
Quinn just grins at him, and over his shoulder, Mikey hears Jeph speak again.
"Ooh, we were kind of hoping you'd be up for doing it the fun way. See, some kids let beginner's luck and some holy water in their pocket go to their head. They get cocky."
"Which isn't such a good plan when one of 'em looks like he's about to wet himself, and the other looks like he wants to start something he doesn't have the chops to finish," Quinn finishes, and just then, Frank jerks his way out of Mikey's hold and goes for Jepha.
Mikey spins around, trying to grab Frank again, and in a heartbeat there's one hand around his throat and another circling his wrist, squeezing painfully when he tries to fumble the cap off the flask one-handed.
"Drop it, or this is gonna hurt a lot more than it has to," Quinn hisses.
Mikey lets his wrist go limp, like he means to obey--and then tries his best to fling the flask backwards over his shoulder. The cap's loose, and a few drops slosh out, resulting in an angry yell and a sudden spike of pain in his wrist as Quinn twists it savagely. Mikey lets out a cry as the flask slips from his fingers, then looks around desperately, trying to find Frank and Jepha.
They're struggling on the pavement a few feet away--Jeph arguably has the edge, given a vampire's strength and reflexes, but he seems caught off guard by the sheer ferocity Frank's fighting with.
...Mikey's pretty sure he's never seen a human try to bite a vampire before.
Then something collides with Quinn, the force of it sending Mikey stumbling forward as the hands holding him are ripped away, and a familiar voice shouts "Mikey, get the flask!"
He dives for it and scoops it up--some of the holy water's run out onto the pavement, but not all--and when he rolls to his feet, Gerard is struggling to keep hold of Quinn, trying to pin the other vampire's arms behind his back. Mikey's eyes go to the puddle of holy water on the ground, but there are moments between the Way brothers that would be weird if they didn't love each other so much, and before Mikey can say anything Gerard hauls Quinn over and shoves him down, stopping with Quinn's face less than an inch above the liquid's surface.
"I'd hold still if I were you, Allman," Gerard growls, and Quinn takes his advice.
Mikey runs toward the other struggling pair, splashing what's left of his holy water over both of them. Jeph shouts and twists, trying to cover his face, and Frank rises to his knees, drawing the blessed knife out of his sleeve. For a moment, he's poised and ready to strike.
He's also eighteen, and about to kill for the first time. A moment of hesitation is all Jepha needs. He lashes out with one foot, knocking Frank to the ground again, and when Frank recovers, rolling into a crouch, he's gone.
Gerard is still holding Quinn, one hand at the back of his head to keep him poised over the puddle.
"There's one reason you're not about to get a holy water facial," Gerard informs him. "I want you to take a message."
Quinn struggles, but half-heartedly, given how close his face is to the holy water. "Yeah?" he finally snarls.
"Tell Bert I'm ready to let bygones be bygones," Gerard says, "But if any of you mess with my brother again, I'll make sure you regret it."
"That's supposed to scare us, Way?" Quinn asks, almost laughing. "Threats from you?"
Gerard answers him calmly. Coldly. "You were never the brains of the outfit, Quinn, but indulge me for a second and imagine there's one thing, one single thing in the world that you still care about. Now think about what you'd do to protect it."
Mikey looks away quickly, swallowing hard past the sudden lump in his throat. Quinn sneers, but says nothing, and Gerard gives him a last threatening shake. "Mikey. Frank. I want you both inside before I let him go."
Mikey's never in his life heard Gerard talk like this. He sounds confident, sure. He sounds like a leader giving a command, and Mikey grabs Frank's wrist--Frank has been staring at Gerard and Quinn, first surprised, then with eyes narrowing--and drags him into the house.
As soon as they're inside with the door closed, Frank jerks out of Mikey's hold, expression shifting well into anger by now. "What the fuck, Mikey?"
"Frank--"
"That was your brother? He's one of them?"
Mikey folds his arms and forces himself to keep his tone level. "If by 'one of them' you mean a vampire, then yes, and this is exactly why I haven't told anyone. If you mean one of McCracken's, then no, he fucking isn't."
"Not anymore, anyway."
Mikey and Frank both turn to see Gerard leaning against the door. He looks tired, but he smiles wryly at them both.
"So you're Frank," he says, and Frank bristles, hands balling into fists, but doesn't say anything. "I'm Gerard, and I guess we both owe you an explanation."
"You can't tell Ray," Mikey says, and then winces as Gerard attempts to splint his sprained wrist. "Or Brian, or Bob. Please, Frank."
"Fuck that." Frank's kept his distance as they explain Gerard's story, arms folded defensively, but his weapons have stayed in their respective pockets, at least. "Sorry, Mikey, but I'm not keeping secrets from them. Not for a vamp."
"Not even a vamp who saved both our lives out there?" Mikey demands, and Gerard cuts in before Frank can reply.
"It's okay, Mikey. Not like I was gonna be able to hide in the basement forever." He rakes a hand through his hair, and adds, "Especially not if Bert and the others have it in for you. Which, by the way, were you planning on telling me about?"
"Not really," Mikey says, avoiding Gerard's eyes as he does so. "You didn't need more to worry about. And I was getting by okay."
"Yeah, well," Gerard nods toward Mikey's wrist, "That's not what I call doing okay, and I'm not gonna wait until you get hurt any worse than this."
He's still got that tone of command, though it's not as bad as it was outside. Outside, Mikey'd almost been afraid of him for a moment.
Gerard turns back toward Frank, spreading his hands. "I understand how you feel about my kind. But if nothing else, believe that I want Mikey safe. He's my family."
Frank still looks reluctant to take a vampire's word for anything, but at the same time, Mikey can tell that Gerard's remark about family hit home. "Okay," Frank says after a moment. "Say I believe you. What now?"
"I think I'd like to talk to Ray," Gerard says. "If he'll talk to me. Tomorrow night?"
Frank holds his eyes for a moment, then nods. "I'll ask him."
"And you should probably crash here 'til sunup, at least," Mikey points out. "Jeph and Quinn could be waiting right around the corner, for all we know."
"Yeah, I guess," Frank says, though he doesn't look thrilled about spending the night in a house with a vampire. "I'd better call him, then."
Call if you need to, Pete had written the last time they talked. Mikey knows he doesn't give out his number to just anyone, and he's been hesitant to use it. But he feels like he does need to talk to Pete right now, and typing out everything that's happened one-handed is more than he's up for right now.
He sees Frank settled in on the couch, then heads to his bedroom and closes the door, flopping down on his bed and pulling out his phone.
It picks up on the fourth ring, and a slightly wary voice says, "Hello?"
"Pete? It's Mikey Way."
"--Mikey!" The edge of hostility drops out of Pete's voice. "Hey. What's up?"
"Um. Lots of stuff. Are you busy right now?"
"Nah--checking comments, but there's nothing really worth writing back to tonight. Shoot."
"Well." Mikey pushes his glasses up briefly to rub a hand across his eyes. "I guess first, I should tell you about Frank."
"So what do you think?" Mikey asks eventually.
"I think you and your brother are lucky to have each other, for one thing," Pete says.
"Yeah, I know," Mikey says, and it sounds like he's smiling a little. "I just...I don't want him to go through anything worse than he already has."
"Hey, man, I get that," Pete tells him. "After I got turned, I didn't want my guys anywhere near vampires. Tried to talk 'em into leaving Chicago. But they wouldn't go without me, and I wanted to stay and fight."
"You guys were all friends before?" Mikey asks.
"Yeah. We were starting a band." Pete can't help but smile a bit, remembering those days. "We still play together, but, y'know, it takes a back seat to the hunting these days. Look," he stretches out on the threadbare couch, swinging his feet up onto the arm, "the thing is, you want to keep people you care about safe, and at first it seems like the best way to do that is to keep them from getting involved. But if there's one thing I've learned, it's that not being involved isn't any kind of guarantee of safety."
"What, and fighting is?"
"Fuck, no. But you learn how to fight back, you're at least doing something. You're not just prey having to run and hide from the predators."
"Not sure I like the sound of that," Mikey says. "Thing is, there aren't really many options I do like these days."
"I know, man," Pete says, not without sympathy.
He hears Mikey sigh into the phone. "Well, I'd better try to get some sleep. Thanks for talking."
"Anytime. Keep me up to date, all right?"
Patrick's leaning in the door of the room where he, Joe, and Andy sleep when Pete hangs up--Pete can smell him as much as hear him, which is never going to not be weird.
"Hey," Pete says, softly. "Did I wake you up?"
"Nah, couldn't sleep." Patrick wanders over and sits down when Pete pulls his legs up to make room, glasses off, hair sticking up a little in the back (he doesn't actually sleep or bathe with his hat on, much as Pete might tease him about it). "Who was that?"
"Mikey. That kid from New Jersey I told you about?"
Patrick's brow furrows for a moment, and then he nods as he remembers. "Oh, yeah. How's he doing?"
Pete shrugs. "Not exactly stellar, but his brother tried the formula and it seemed to work okay."
Patrick smiles a bit. "Yeah? Good to hear. We ought to get as much detail as we can about how that goes."
Pete snorts and nudges Patrick with a foot, too gentle for it to really be a kick. "What, you're not satisfied with just one lab rat anymore?"
"...No?" Patrick replies, as though it's ridiculous to suggest he would be. He also swats at Pete's foot, which of course means Pete has to nudge him again, after which Patrick forestalls any further shenanigans by wrapping a hand around Pete's ankle.
"I'm glad you and this kid found each other," Patrick says after a moment. "I mean, you know I had my doubts about the blog, but the fact that you've been able to connect like this...sounds like it's doing him good, and it kind of seems like it's doing you good, too."
Pete makes a neutral sound, because he's not sure he wants to have another conversation with Patrick about things that are or aren't doing him good, and he also can't think of a tactful way to point out that Patrick's fingers are still curled around his ankle. His skin feels almost decadently warm against Pete's.
"I don't know," he says eventually. "Sometimes I wonder if any of this does any good. If it makes any kind of difference."
Patrick's hand moves, his thumb stroking Pete's skin for a moment before he seems to realize what he's doing and lets go, a little too quickly.
"I wonder that all the time," he says. "But...I have to believe that it does."
"Why?" Pete's not really expecting an answer, but he gets one.
"Because the alternative is giving up. On Chicago." Patrick glances sidelong at Pete, who won't meet his eyes. "On you. And I won't do that."
Pete doesn't answer, and after a moment Patrick gets up, heading back toward the bedroom. He's almost past the sofa when Pete catches hold of his wrist and says, quietly, "Thanks."
Patrick turns his hand in Pete's grasp and clasps Pete's hand with his own, just for a moment, before they both let go.
Fandom: Bandom AU.
Rating: PG13 so far, for language, violence and sort of vaguely implied if you squint sexuality.
Summary: Step 1: Watch the music video for "A Little Less Sixteen Candles..." Step 2: Listen to "Vampires Will Never Hurt You". Step 3: Mix liberally.
Warnings: It is 100% Pete Wentz and Gerard Way's fault that I'm writing this. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. If the fact that it's bandom vampire AU hasn't already sent you running, I don't think there are any more warnings I need to give.
Notes: Jersey is still stealing most of the airtime, but I'm on a big FOB kick after seeing them live, so they might get a little of their own back. Also, disclaimer: I know very little about any of The Used, personality-wise, besides Bert. So hopefully no one is any more OOC than making them evil vampires makes them already.
Previous chapters here and here.
While Ray and Bob work on shaping Frank into a hunter and Brian works on getting the information they need, Mkey's at home, trying to talk Gerard into trying a batch of Patrick's formula.
"I just don't know about this, Mikes," Gerard says, leaning in the doorway and eyeing the garlic warily as Mikey chops it.
"Pete says it really works," Mikey says, and Gerard fixes his brother with a look, one eyebrow raised.
"Yes, exactly. Pete, the guy you met on the internet who claims to be a vampire but also a vampire hunter, assures you that this stuff is perfectly safe for me to ingest. Are you seeing why I'm not completely confident about this?"
"So I guess it's a good thing you're immortal now, huh?" Mikey says dryly, scooping things into the blender.
Gerard sighs, walking over to where Mikey stands at the counter. "Mikey, look. I appreciate what you're trying to do here. I do. But...you can't fix this."
Mikey pauses with the lid of the blender in one hand, looking at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Gerard braces his arms on the counter, looking down at the Formica surface. "It means I'm a vampire now, and throwing junk in a blender isn't gonna change that."
Mikey puts the lid on the blender with more force than is strictly necessary. "I know that," he says, short and tight. "That doesn't mean it can't do you any good. Unless you want to keep stealing blood from hospitals?"
Gerard draws in a breath, lets it out slowly, and nods. "No, you're right. I'll try it."
Mikey gives a small, encouraging smile as he hits the button on the blender. "All right. I mean, at the very least, it can't hurt, right?"
Gerard eyes the swirling mess dubiously. "Think I'm gonna reserve judgment on that until after I taste it." He moves towards the cabinets for a glass. "You going out tonight?"
"Just to the Eyeball, probably, or Ray and Brian's," Mikey says. "I want to see how Frank's doing. I won't stay out too late."
"Okay." Gerard heads back over to the counter and lifts a hand to his brother's shoulder, squeezing gently. "Promise you'll be careful?"
"Sure. Promise me you're really gonna drink this?" Mikey counters as he shuts the blender off.
Gerard smiles a little crookedly, and nods. "Sure."
In some ways, things aren't all that different now (which just makes the whole thing weirder in the long run). Before, Mikey would go out, and Gerard would sit at home watching TV and drawing unless Mikey talked him into coming along. (One of the times Mikey talked Gerard into coming along was the night he met Bert. Gerard never reminds Mikey of this. Mikey never needs to be reminded.) But Mikey used to go to clubs or shows or house parties, and while he never really thought of himself as an emo kid or a hipster, those were pretty much the circles he moved in. Now he still moves in circles he doesn't really consider himself a part of, because they're the only ones he feels safe in anymore.
Not that hunters are exactly safe. More like dangerous in a good way. Most of the time.
Mikey makes it to the Eyeball without seeing any sign of Bert or his gang, and he's been there approximately three minutes when a fight breaks out over a pool game someone supposedly cheated in. Mikey does his best to skirt the edges of the fight to get to the bar, and still ends up uncomfortably close to getting a pool cue in the face, saved by someone's snagging him by the back of his hoodie and dragging him out of range.
"Hey, man," Frank says. He's perched on the bar itself, which is going to get him yelled at if Alex notices, a cigarette in his other hand, watching the fight with interest.
"Hey," Mikey says, and then, a bit awkwardly. "How's it going?"
Frank shrugs. "Bob's gonna teach me kung-fu and about twenty people offered to buy me drinks when I got here tonight. It's going."
"Word travels pretty fast among hunters, I guess," Mikey offers in response to the latter.
"Yep." Frank pauses for a drag on his cigarette, then smirks a bit. "Apparently I'm, like, being communally adopted by all the hunters in Jersey. If one more person feels the need to tell me about how we take care of our own and shit, I might have to punch 'em. Not that I don't appreciate it."
"Guys like us need to stick together," Mikey says. "--Am I gonna get punched for that?"
"Nah, I've only heard that one about ten times so far, so I've still got some tolerance for it." Over by the pool table, Worm, the bouncer, seems to be getting things settled down. He turns back toward the bar and spots Frank, who immediately slides off the bar and flashes Worm an innocent grin that's way more convincing than it should be before turning back to Mikey. "So hey, we found out who got my parents. And it kind of sucks, because he's one of Bert McCracken's boys and it'd probably be smarter for me to just leave Jersey than try to mess with them, but whoever said I was smart, right?--Mikey? You okay?"
Mikey ducks his head, sticking his hands in his pockets. "I'm fine. Um. You guys are gonna take on McCracken's gang?"
"Eventually, yeah, that's the plan."
Mikey considers how much is safe to say, and settles on, "I've met Bert McCracken. Would've been in a tight spot if I hadn't had some of your holy water on me, so thanks for that. Anyway, I wouldn't mind seeing them get taken down."
"You and half of Jersey, from what I've heard," Frank says. "Everyone wants 'em dead, but no one's made it happen yet. So," he finishes, with a manic grin that's a little scary, "sounds like I'm in for a good time."
"Good luck, man," Mikey tells him, sincerely. "Don't know that I can do much to help, aside from being the twenty-first person to offer to buy you a drink tonight..."
Frank laughs, briefly, and just like that he's a teenage boy again. "No thanks, but I appreciate it." He looks down at the cigarette held between his fingers, almost burned down, and then says, "You know what you can do, if you want to help out?"
Mikey glances at him, eyebrows raised. "Yeah?"
"Talk to me about something that has nothing to do with vampires for a while," Frank says emphatically. "TV, music, comic books, I don't give a fuck, just no vampires. You cool with that?"
"Absolutely," Mikey assures him, smiling a bit. "You want to go sit down somewhere I'm not gonna have to watch out for pool cues?"
They talk for a long while, and aside from the fact that they're in a hunter bar, it's almost like things are normal again and they're just two kids hanging out. When Frank offers to walk Mikey home, and says they ought to leave before it gets too late, it takes Mikey a moment to remember why.
"You packing?" Frank asks as they leave, and Mikey shrugs.
"Holy water. No weapons."
"Holy water doesn't count as a weapon?" Frank seems amused. "Have you seen what it does to 'em?"
"It doesn't feel like one," Mikey says, a bit defensively. It doesn't, even if he can't really explain why. Maybe it's that only vampires are hurt by holy water, and there's no chance of him accidentally hurting anyone human.
Not that there aren't vampires he wouldn't want to accidentally hurt, but there are only two, and he's not likely to run into either of them prowling the streets in Jersey.
Frank, it turns out, is packing more than holy water--he's got a wooden stake and a blessed knife. Mikey hopes that'll be enough--this is later than he's been out since before Gerard got turned, and Frank has to head back to the loft on his own after they get to Mikey's house. Mikey feels like he should extend an offer of crash space, but he's not sure he can depend on Gerard's being in the basement when dawn is still hours away.
They reach the house with Mikey still waffling, and he turns to Frank uncertainly. "Um. Are you gonna be okay heading back?"
"I'll be fine," Frank says, shrugging, and Mikey's not sure if he means that, or just doesn't really care anymore if he's in danger or not.
"Okay. Thanks for walking me home, dude."
"What, he doesn't get a kiss goodnight?"
Frank turns toward the voice and puts himself in front of Mikey in one fluid motion--Jesus, Mikey thinks, he moves like a hunter already--and slides a hand into the front pocket of his hoodie.
"Wouldn't expect one on the first date," he says, keeping his tone casual. "You wanna come out and say hi?"
There's a chuckle--light, friendly, nothing sinister about it, except for the situation they're in. "I could do that just fine from where I am. But I guess I ought to introduce myself, considering."
Mikey's first thought, as the figure seems to melt out of the shadows across the street, is that he looks weirdly like Frank at first glance. Not much taller, and similarly built, short sleeves revealing one arm mostly covered by tattoos, dark hair short in the back but falling in long bangs one just one side. But he looks older than either Frank or Mikey, and when he smiles, the fangs Mikey expects to see are there.
"Hi," he says conversationally. "I'm Jepha."
Frank's close enough that Mikey feels him tensing, about to spring, and he reacts instinctively, grabbing hold of Frank's arm.
"Mikey," Frank says, and his voice is calm and detached, "get the fuck off of me."
"So you can get yourself killed?" Mikey snaps. "No thanks. Even if you could take him, you really want to bank on the fact that he's alone?"
Jeph laughs again, and nods in Mikey's direction. "Smart kid. Not smart enough to get inside while he could, though, huh, Quinn?"
"Guess not," a new voice says, from behind them, and Mikey whirls around just in time to see another vamp--taller, with bleached hair--step between him and the front door.
"Boss has unfinished business with you, Mikey Way," Quinn Allman informs him, "And Jeph's got unfinished business with Frankie here. Nice of you to bring him along, make it easier for us."
Mikey reaches into his pocket with his free hand, still holding onto Frank with the other, and pulls out his flask.
"Come for either one of us and we'll see how easy it is," he says, with bravado he doesn't feel.
Quinn just grins at him, and over his shoulder, Mikey hears Jeph speak again.
"Ooh, we were kind of hoping you'd be up for doing it the fun way. See, some kids let beginner's luck and some holy water in their pocket go to their head. They get cocky."
"Which isn't such a good plan when one of 'em looks like he's about to wet himself, and the other looks like he wants to start something he doesn't have the chops to finish," Quinn finishes, and just then, Frank jerks his way out of Mikey's hold and goes for Jepha.
Mikey spins around, trying to grab Frank again, and in a heartbeat there's one hand around his throat and another circling his wrist, squeezing painfully when he tries to fumble the cap off the flask one-handed.
"Drop it, or this is gonna hurt a lot more than it has to," Quinn hisses.
Mikey lets his wrist go limp, like he means to obey--and then tries his best to fling the flask backwards over his shoulder. The cap's loose, and a few drops slosh out, resulting in an angry yell and a sudden spike of pain in his wrist as Quinn twists it savagely. Mikey lets out a cry as the flask slips from his fingers, then looks around desperately, trying to find Frank and Jepha.
They're struggling on the pavement a few feet away--Jeph arguably has the edge, given a vampire's strength and reflexes, but he seems caught off guard by the sheer ferocity Frank's fighting with.
...Mikey's pretty sure he's never seen a human try to bite a vampire before.
Then something collides with Quinn, the force of it sending Mikey stumbling forward as the hands holding him are ripped away, and a familiar voice shouts "Mikey, get the flask!"
He dives for it and scoops it up--some of the holy water's run out onto the pavement, but not all--and when he rolls to his feet, Gerard is struggling to keep hold of Quinn, trying to pin the other vampire's arms behind his back. Mikey's eyes go to the puddle of holy water on the ground, but there are moments between the Way brothers that would be weird if they didn't love each other so much, and before Mikey can say anything Gerard hauls Quinn over and shoves him down, stopping with Quinn's face less than an inch above the liquid's surface.
"I'd hold still if I were you, Allman," Gerard growls, and Quinn takes his advice.
Mikey runs toward the other struggling pair, splashing what's left of his holy water over both of them. Jeph shouts and twists, trying to cover his face, and Frank rises to his knees, drawing the blessed knife out of his sleeve. For a moment, he's poised and ready to strike.
He's also eighteen, and about to kill for the first time. A moment of hesitation is all Jepha needs. He lashes out with one foot, knocking Frank to the ground again, and when Frank recovers, rolling into a crouch, he's gone.
Gerard is still holding Quinn, one hand at the back of his head to keep him poised over the puddle.
"There's one reason you're not about to get a holy water facial," Gerard informs him. "I want you to take a message."
Quinn struggles, but half-heartedly, given how close his face is to the holy water. "Yeah?" he finally snarls.
"Tell Bert I'm ready to let bygones be bygones," Gerard says, "But if any of you mess with my brother again, I'll make sure you regret it."
"That's supposed to scare us, Way?" Quinn asks, almost laughing. "Threats from you?"
Gerard answers him calmly. Coldly. "You were never the brains of the outfit, Quinn, but indulge me for a second and imagine there's one thing, one single thing in the world that you still care about. Now think about what you'd do to protect it."
Mikey looks away quickly, swallowing hard past the sudden lump in his throat. Quinn sneers, but says nothing, and Gerard gives him a last threatening shake. "Mikey. Frank. I want you both inside before I let him go."
Mikey's never in his life heard Gerard talk like this. He sounds confident, sure. He sounds like a leader giving a command, and Mikey grabs Frank's wrist--Frank has been staring at Gerard and Quinn, first surprised, then with eyes narrowing--and drags him into the house.
As soon as they're inside with the door closed, Frank jerks out of Mikey's hold, expression shifting well into anger by now. "What the fuck, Mikey?"
"Frank--"
"That was your brother? He's one of them?"
Mikey folds his arms and forces himself to keep his tone level. "If by 'one of them' you mean a vampire, then yes, and this is exactly why I haven't told anyone. If you mean one of McCracken's, then no, he fucking isn't."
"Not anymore, anyway."
Mikey and Frank both turn to see Gerard leaning against the door. He looks tired, but he smiles wryly at them both.
"So you're Frank," he says, and Frank bristles, hands balling into fists, but doesn't say anything. "I'm Gerard, and I guess we both owe you an explanation."
"You can't tell Ray," Mikey says, and then winces as Gerard attempts to splint his sprained wrist. "Or Brian, or Bob. Please, Frank."
"Fuck that." Frank's kept his distance as they explain Gerard's story, arms folded defensively, but his weapons have stayed in their respective pockets, at least. "Sorry, Mikey, but I'm not keeping secrets from them. Not for a vamp."
"Not even a vamp who saved both our lives out there?" Mikey demands, and Gerard cuts in before Frank can reply.
"It's okay, Mikey. Not like I was gonna be able to hide in the basement forever." He rakes a hand through his hair, and adds, "Especially not if Bert and the others have it in for you. Which, by the way, were you planning on telling me about?"
"Not really," Mikey says, avoiding Gerard's eyes as he does so. "You didn't need more to worry about. And I was getting by okay."
"Yeah, well," Gerard nods toward Mikey's wrist, "That's not what I call doing okay, and I'm not gonna wait until you get hurt any worse than this."
He's still got that tone of command, though it's not as bad as it was outside. Outside, Mikey'd almost been afraid of him for a moment.
Gerard turns back toward Frank, spreading his hands. "I understand how you feel about my kind. But if nothing else, believe that I want Mikey safe. He's my family."
Frank still looks reluctant to take a vampire's word for anything, but at the same time, Mikey can tell that Gerard's remark about family hit home. "Okay," Frank says after a moment. "Say I believe you. What now?"
"I think I'd like to talk to Ray," Gerard says. "If he'll talk to me. Tomorrow night?"
Frank holds his eyes for a moment, then nods. "I'll ask him."
"And you should probably crash here 'til sunup, at least," Mikey points out. "Jeph and Quinn could be waiting right around the corner, for all we know."
"Yeah, I guess," Frank says, though he doesn't look thrilled about spending the night in a house with a vampire. "I'd better call him, then."
Call if you need to, Pete had written the last time they talked. Mikey knows he doesn't give out his number to just anyone, and he's been hesitant to use it. But he feels like he does need to talk to Pete right now, and typing out everything that's happened one-handed is more than he's up for right now.
He sees Frank settled in on the couch, then heads to his bedroom and closes the door, flopping down on his bed and pulling out his phone.
It picks up on the fourth ring, and a slightly wary voice says, "Hello?"
"Pete? It's Mikey Way."
"--Mikey!" The edge of hostility drops out of Pete's voice. "Hey. What's up?"
"Um. Lots of stuff. Are you busy right now?"
"Nah--checking comments, but there's nothing really worth writing back to tonight. Shoot."
"Well." Mikey pushes his glasses up briefly to rub a hand across his eyes. "I guess first, I should tell you about Frank."
"So what do you think?" Mikey asks eventually.
"I think you and your brother are lucky to have each other, for one thing," Pete says.
"Yeah, I know," Mikey says, and it sounds like he's smiling a little. "I just...I don't want him to go through anything worse than he already has."
"Hey, man, I get that," Pete tells him. "After I got turned, I didn't want my guys anywhere near vampires. Tried to talk 'em into leaving Chicago. But they wouldn't go without me, and I wanted to stay and fight."
"You guys were all friends before?" Mikey asks.
"Yeah. We were starting a band." Pete can't help but smile a bit, remembering those days. "We still play together, but, y'know, it takes a back seat to the hunting these days. Look," he stretches out on the threadbare couch, swinging his feet up onto the arm, "the thing is, you want to keep people you care about safe, and at first it seems like the best way to do that is to keep them from getting involved. But if there's one thing I've learned, it's that not being involved isn't any kind of guarantee of safety."
"What, and fighting is?"
"Fuck, no. But you learn how to fight back, you're at least doing something. You're not just prey having to run and hide from the predators."
"Not sure I like the sound of that," Mikey says. "Thing is, there aren't really many options I do like these days."
"I know, man," Pete says, not without sympathy.
He hears Mikey sigh into the phone. "Well, I'd better try to get some sleep. Thanks for talking."
"Anytime. Keep me up to date, all right?"
Patrick's leaning in the door of the room where he, Joe, and Andy sleep when Pete hangs up--Pete can smell him as much as hear him, which is never going to not be weird.
"Hey," Pete says, softly. "Did I wake you up?"
"Nah, couldn't sleep." Patrick wanders over and sits down when Pete pulls his legs up to make room, glasses off, hair sticking up a little in the back (he doesn't actually sleep or bathe with his hat on, much as Pete might tease him about it). "Who was that?"
"Mikey. That kid from New Jersey I told you about?"
Patrick's brow furrows for a moment, and then he nods as he remembers. "Oh, yeah. How's he doing?"
Pete shrugs. "Not exactly stellar, but his brother tried the formula and it seemed to work okay."
Patrick smiles a bit. "Yeah? Good to hear. We ought to get as much detail as we can about how that goes."
Pete snorts and nudges Patrick with a foot, too gentle for it to really be a kick. "What, you're not satisfied with just one lab rat anymore?"
"...No?" Patrick replies, as though it's ridiculous to suggest he would be. He also swats at Pete's foot, which of course means Pete has to nudge him again, after which Patrick forestalls any further shenanigans by wrapping a hand around Pete's ankle.
"I'm glad you and this kid found each other," Patrick says after a moment. "I mean, you know I had my doubts about the blog, but the fact that you've been able to connect like this...sounds like it's doing him good, and it kind of seems like it's doing you good, too."
Pete makes a neutral sound, because he's not sure he wants to have another conversation with Patrick about things that are or aren't doing him good, and he also can't think of a tactful way to point out that Patrick's fingers are still curled around his ankle. His skin feels almost decadently warm against Pete's.
"I don't know," he says eventually. "Sometimes I wonder if any of this does any good. If it makes any kind of difference."
Patrick's hand moves, his thumb stroking Pete's skin for a moment before he seems to realize what he's doing and lets go, a little too quickly.
"I wonder that all the time," he says. "But...I have to believe that it does."
"Why?" Pete's not really expecting an answer, but he gets one.
"Because the alternative is giving up. On Chicago." Patrick glances sidelong at Pete, who won't meet his eyes. "On you. And I won't do that."
Pete doesn't answer, and after a moment Patrick gets up, heading back toward the bedroom. He's almost past the sofa when Pete catches hold of his wrist and says, quietly, "Thanks."
Patrick turns his hand in Pete's grasp and clasps Pete's hand with his own, just for a moment, before they both let go.
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Date: 2008-01-03 09:32 am (UTC)