Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1 – My old aches become new again, my old friends become exes again

~

“Now, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, wolf.”

It’s not the worst greeting Patrick has received in his life, but he can’t say it’s his favorite either, not by a long shot. Still, it draws a smile on his lips because of the person it comes from.

“It’s surprisingly nice to see you too, Weekes,” Patrick answers their guest as he moves aside to let him in. He’s alone in greeting their visitor, since Pete is still out on clan business with Travie. Given the exchange they’re having, it’s probably best this way. “And I have a name, you daft leech.”

Dallon responds to those words with a resounding laugh, head shaking slowly. “Fair enough, Patrick.”

“Oh, so we go from ‘wolf’ to ‘Patrick’, do we?” Patrick teases him with just a hint of skepticism in his voice.

“Would you prefer ‘Mrs. Wentz’?” Dallon doesn’t even hesitate with his answer, which tells Patrick he’s probably been hoping for a chance to work the teasing title into their conversation.

“Would you prefer to sleep outside in the sun?” Patrick counters with a cocked eyebrow, and yet, the smile persists.

“God, I wish I’d found you before Wentz did,” Dallons comments with a playful wink.

“I’m not a fucking collectible,” Patrick points out with an eloquent glare, which immediately prompts the vampire to laugh.

“He did buy you, though, didn’t he?” Dallon’s tone is mostly teasing, there’s clearly no malice behind it, which is the only reason Patrick doesn’t respond with claws across Dallon’s ridiculously handsome face. Before Patrick can reply at all, however, he adds, “I’m just joking, I know the reason you got here is far less important than the reason you stayed.”

Well, look at that, Dallon isn’t quite done surprising him, it seems.

“It’s insane, the moment I’m convinced I want to punch you, you say shit like that,” Patrick huffs, and there’s a smile working its way back onto his lips, which only grows when Dallon simply laughs in response.

It’s been two months since the High Council, since Dallon surprised everyone present – especially Patrick – and single-handedly convinced the council to pass a law that forbids the killing of werewolves. Single-handedly-ish, since he had the significant help of the pack saving the vampires present, of course. Still, Patrick hasn’t forgotten that werewolves owe him a debt of gratitude. He has a feeling Dallon hasn’t forgotten either.

“Let’s go, the others are waiting in the living room.”

Even though this is the first time Dallon visits them – his initial visit was delayed –, they decided against a formal affair. They figured a friendly, informal get together would probably convey the idea of friendship better than a stuffy, official dinner. They will have dinner, of course, but like they did with the Ways, they plan on making it a spontaneous event, rather than a strictly regulated, assigned-seats kind of deal. It worked out well enough with the Ways, after all, and given the unrest and instability that has been spreading in most vampire districts after the High Council, this alliance – and possibly even friendship – is of crucial importance.

The moment they walk into the living room, everyone present turns to look at them, but it’s William who comes up to them first, and offers Weekes a bright smile. “It’s good to see you, Dallon.”

“Oh good, I thought I was about to receive a dreaded Beckett nickname,” Dallon jokes with a wide grin.

“Don’t be silly, you already have one,” William counters with a shrug, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Mikey helped me come up with it.”

“Of course he did,” Patrick interjects with a roll of his eyes.

Dallon seems torn between the urge to ask about it, and the knowledge that he probably shouldn’t. Thankfully, Gabe steps in before he has time to make a decision. “I want it on record that I don’t feel comfortable with the nickname, however accurate it might be,” he states with a chuckle, than hands Dallon a glass of blood and wine.

“Y’all really want me to ask, don’t you?” Dallon laughs as he gladly accepts the offer, and walks further into the room, clearly put at ease by the relaxed and friendly greeting he’s received from the clan so far.

“I wouldn’t tell you even if you asked,” William informs him with a playful smirk. “You gotta earn it.”

Dallon chuckles at that and takes a sip from his glass; it doesn’t escape Patrick that he hesitates just a second before doing so, the ingrained mistrust all old vampires inevitably develop in order to stay alive clearly coming to the surface. And yet, he drinks after just a moment, in a show of trust that they’ve somehow earned.

Andy, who hasn’t spoken so far, addresses him a sympathetic smile, but it’s Joe who speaks, clearly voicing what both werewolves are thinking. “We didn’t get a chance to meet in Vegas, I’m Joe, and this is Andy,” he pauses, and even though Dallon probably already knows this, he seems to appreciate the introduction, and responds with a genuine smile and a nod. “It’s nice to meet another friend-shaped vampire.”

Dallon can’t help a small laugh at that, but it’s light and genuinely amused, not mocking. “I’ll admit, I’ve never heard it phrased like that,” he comments, then takes another small sip from his glass. “I like it, and I’m very happy to meet you in person, although your shadows were very lovely.”

Joe smiles at those words, at the implied gratefulness for what the werewolves did back in Nevada.

Right then, a noise from the hall distracts them, and a handful of seconds later, Pete and Travie are walking into the room. They’re laughing about something, and the good humor carries into the greeting Pete extends to Dallon.

“Weekes, about time you showed your face around here.” Pete walks over to their guest and gives him a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Unless you’ve been hitting on Patrick again, then your face might need rearranging.”

Dallon doesn’t seem inclined to take that threat seriously, probably because Pete speaks it with a wide grin on his face, as if he already knows the answer but won’t let it bother him.

“I was hitting on him the moment he opened the door, of course,” Dallons admits with an unashamed smirk. “But in my defense, I thought they were lying about you surviving whatever the hell you shot yourself and Urie with.”

That simple and seemingly harmless comment, spoken in such a playful and off-handed manner, is enough to remind Patrick of how close he actually got to losing Pete. The memory stings Patrick unexpectedly, his heart dropping for a moment to the bottom of his chest; he does his best to stop the feeling from showing on his face, which remains schooled in a quiet smile. Good thing he’s gotten better at poker.

Pete, however, must have felt it through their bond, because he glances at his mate almost apologetically. It’s just a flash, and it’s gone by the time he turns to Dallon again, but it’s enough for Patrick to steer his mind away from it, from the pain and the anguish of those weeks, which still lie incredibly close to the surface of his thoughts.

This is not the time nor place for it, but he has to admit he’s surprised it still affects him that much, even after months.

As he forces his thoughts back to the here and now, he realizes Dallon’s jab wasn’t an innocent joke or a blunder, it was most likely a deliberate shot at the secret they just will not give up – the deadly content of the bullet. Other Regents have tried to figure that out, either by asking out-right or sending someone to gather intel, so it’s not surprising that it’s at the forefront of Dallon’s mind too.

Patrick feels his defenses slowly build themselves back up, and only now sees that, while Dallon’s flirting had no effect on him, his charming, friendly manner – aided by Patrick’s gratefulness for his role in stopping the killing of werewolves – did lull Patrick into dangerous territory without him realizing it. Dallon might be an ally now, possibly even a friend, but that does not mean he can’t be ruthless, if it serves him. No one gets to the Regent seat without some bloodshed, not even Pete, and certainly not Dallon Weekes. And it’s far too early into their alliance to trust him with a secret like the osmium bullet. Patrick doesn’t think he’ll ever feel ready to share it with anyone, if he has to be honest.

“Well, sorry to disappoint you, I’m still alive and kicking,” Pete counters with a confident smile. “And kicking harder than ever, I might add.”

“Yes, I’ve heard… born vampire, last of your kind.” Dallon’s words are still amicable, but there is an edge to his smile, a carefulness that is not easily missed.

“That we know of,” Travie corrects him with evident delight, as if instilling that doubt is his new favorite past time.

It is.

“Alright, enough poking each other,” William declares with a roll of his eyes; it’s enough to disperse the vague hint of tension that started to form, and to bring the conversation back to easier, friendlier tones. “Dinner’s waiting.”

“By all means, lead the way,” Dallon agrees, seemingly happy enough to follow the other vampire’s lead and move away from more delicate topics.

And yet, Patrick knows there’s no chance in hell he’s willing to drop the matter entirely.

~

Dinner turns out to be a pleasant affair, with Dallon making a rather unequivocable statement by sitting between Pete and Patrick – and for once, it has nothing to do with his flirting. Placing himself between the Regent and his mate is yet another show of friendship, as vampire customs dictate, a move that seems to mollify Pete a little bit.

By the time they call it a night, Patrick feels like maybe they didn’t start off on the worst foot, even though there are certainly crinkles they need to work out. It’s not surprising, really – if there’s one thing Patrick has learnt in the eleven months since he first arrived at the house, it’s that vampire politics are hell to navigate, and he basically married into vampire royalty. Things are even more complicated now that everyone knows about Pete’s true nature, and being the unofficial liaison between werewolves and vampires does not make Patrick’s position any easier. Sure, being the Alpha of the biggest surviving pack and the actual mate to a Regent vampire, it felt natural that the role should fall to him, but that doesn’t mean Patrick doesn’t feel the pressure.

Sometimes it’s all he feels.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Pete points out as he joins Patrick on the bed, his features only partially illuminated by the light on Patrick’s nightstand, the only one still on.

“What thing?” Patrick’s already lying under the bed sheets, but he turns onto his side to face his mate when Pete slides into bed next to him.

“Getting lost in your head.” There’s a trace of reproach in Pete’s tone, but it’s so faint it could just as easily be pure concern.

“Nah, I’m just thinking about how hot Dallon looked tonight,” Patrick deflects shamelessly, his grin only half-hearted.

“Funny,” Pete deadpans with a playful glare, lying on his side as well so that he’s facing the werewolf. “What is it?”

Patrick looks at him then, the vampire’s pale features half-draped in darkness but his eyes bright and attentive, ready to catch any sign of distress. Patrick considers lying, but only for half a second, because he knows Pete would see through it in a heartbeat. So he lets go of his natural reticence and speaks.

“He’s a charming son of a bitch,” Patrick admits with a defeated sigh. “He was in the house five minutes, and he had everyone wrapped around his finger. Including me.”

“Well, he earned some pretty solid goodwill with his stunt at the Council,” Pete reasons with a slow nod, and Patrick finds himself releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“I know, but it’s more than that,” Patrick admits, looking down for a moment. “He has a way of making you feel like you’re his favorite person, and I nearly fell for it.”

“Nearly.” Pete’s remark is aimed at reassuring him, it’s clear, and yet it doesn’t quite succeed.

“It just feels… dangerous. What if he’s after the bullet?”

It’s Patrick’s main fear, that Dallon is putting on a show for the sole purpose of finding out what was strong enough to kill Urie. What could be strong enough to kill Pete. It’s hard to forget what happened to born vampires, that it was regular vampires who thought they were too dangerous to keep existing, and ultimately eliminated them.

“I don’t think he is,” Pete claims quietly after a few seconds.

“He brought it up within three minutes of you being there,” Patrick points out with a skeptical look.

“I think he’s just piqued he can’t figure it out,” Pete reasons, his tone calm, unaffected. “He likes knowing things and he hates feeling at a disadvantage.” That sounds like Dallon, from what Patrick has seen of him – he seems like the type who likes being in control at all times. “Plus, I think he wanted to be the one to end Urie.”

“I mean, he kind of was, he ripped off Urie’s head,” Patrick points out.

They’ve been over the night of the High Council a million times, by now Pete is aware of pretty much everything that happened while he was wounded and unconscious. Including the fact that while Urie was succumbing to his wound, Dallon decided not to take any chances, and just tore Urie’s head clean off. Considering what they later discovered about Dallon and how he lost his beloved to Urie’s cruel whims, the act seems more than justified, if a little gruesome.

“I still don’t think we should be too worried,” Pete considers as he scoots closer. “But if it makes you feel better, we can ask Mikey to come over,” he continues with a small shrug. “He knows Dallon better than any of us, they knew each other long before we sent him into Dallon’s bed.”

“Don’t you think it’ll be awkward?”

“That’s Mikey’s problem,” Pete answers with a grin, then adds, “Besides, it might be a good distraction so Dallon stops hitting on you.”

“I don’t think he’s actually hitting on me, I think he’s just committed to the bit,” Patrick objects with a roll of his eyes.

“Don’t underestimate how hot you are, little wolf,” Pete reminds him with a wink, hand playfully running up Patrick’s side and tickling him softly.

Patrick squirms away as he grabs Pete’s wrist, effectively stopping him. His glare, however, is far less convincing than his grip. “Do not tickle me.”

“Or what?” Pete taunts him shamelessly, his other hand sneaking closer. Patrick darts to grip that one too.

“Do you really wanna find out?” Patrick asks with an eloquent look, although his lips are still trying to curve into a grin.

“No, not really,” Pete admits, leaning closer so that his lips brush Patrick’s as he speaks. “I’d rather just kiss you until you forget Dallon even exists.”

Patrick smiles at those words, his hold on Pete’s wrists releasing as he scoots closer once more. “Dallon who?”

Pete laughs silently, and this time his hand settles on Patrick’s hip. “Good wolf.”

Patrick’s responding laugh gets lost in the kiss they share, slow and unhurried, and yet still carrying a trace of playfulness. And Patrick is more than happy to set his worries aside for a few hours.

~~

Dallon wakes up from a confusing nightmare with a start, and the unfamiliar surroundings only fuel his rattled response further; his fangs extend as he sits up, and his eyes scan the room in search of possible threats. It takes a solid ten seconds before his mind clears enough for him to remember where he is. And, especially, that there’s no danger.

Wentz and his clan might be secretive little shits at times, but at this point there’s very little doubt about them being a potentially solid ally. And Wentz isn’t the type to sneak into his room and murder him in his sleep – Dallon knows that if they ever ended up on opposite sides, the born vampire would face him in a fair fight. Or shoot him with whatever crap was in that damn bullet they’re so jealous of.

He runs a hand over his face as his emotions slowly subside and he gets back in control of his own racing mind. Maybe he shouldn’t have come on his own. But then again, he hasn’t really allowed himself to get close to anyone else, not since losing Nora. What would have been the point? To give Urie someone else to kill just to torment him? It just seemed pointless at best and masochistic at worst. Sure, his clan is loyal to him, in the same way soldiers are loyal to a general they respect, and his second-in-command is devoted to a fault. But love? Family? Friendship? Those things haven’t been on the table for a long time, for him.

Absurdly enough, his tired mind jumps from that thought to a surprising face emerging from the fog of his nightmare. Uh, odd that he would be the one to come up in his miserable ramblings. Maybe it’s chance, or maybe it’s because he’s the closest thing he’s had to a friend in a very long time. Which is pretty fucking depressing, considering Mikey only reappeared in his life because he was after intel. And a good fuck. Those two tend to go hand in hand with him.

“Get a grip, Weekes,” he mutters to himself as he stands from the bed, all hope of further sleep abandoned.

Maybe he should take a walk to clear his thoughts. After all, when Wentz presented him with the guest room, he also told Dallon he’s free to roam the house, if he wishes to do so.

It’s a significant show of trust, one Dallon genuinely appreciates, and it almost makes him feel guilty for immediately bringing up the damn bullet when Pete arrived. Almost. He can’t quite let that go, he spent so much time trying and failing to find a way to kill Urie that knowing a solution was seemingly within easy reach just infuriates him. He failed over and over again, until all he was left with were anger and bitterness and a feeling of complete and utter helplessness. And then along came Wentz with his silly little gun, and ended centuries of torment like it was nothing.

Well, not exactly nothing, since it almost killed him too. But ultimately, it didn’t. Because of the witch. Because of Patrick.

Dallon finds himself smiling softly at the memory of Patrick fending off an entire room of vampires so that the witch would take care of Pete instead of unsealing the doors. It was a bold move, and yet he remembers Patrick didn’t even hesitate, he truly was ready to fight off anyone who tried to interfere. It was brave and absolutely fucking insane, but it worked. And it was the moment Dallon decided he would find a way to help him. Help his cause. Help Nora’s cause. Because somewhere along the way, revenge and hatred consumed him so much that he lost sight of what she would have wanted, of what love was meant to look like. Patrick reminded him of that with his absolute, fierce devotion to his mate. No wonder Dallon has taken a strong liking to him.

And okay, fine, Dallon also actually thinks the werewolf’s criminally hot. But that’s beside the point, he would never actually try and step between him and Wentz – he likes all of his limbs fully attached, thank you very much – but it’s fun to fool around and tease him a bit. Besides, Wentz doesn’t seem to mind too much.

His wandering thoughts seem to have finally met a comfortable place to stop, and Dallon paces the room a couple of times, stretching a bit. He’s contemplating actually taking a walk around the house – it’s still a few hours until sunset, but there’s a storm outside, which means weak sunlight – but before he can decide, he feels something. A vibration, a sort of echoing hum that travels through the air, gradually growing louder and louder until it’s a disturbingly high-pitched whine.

What the hell?

He has no idea what this is, but it sounds like an alarm of some kind, which is not a great sign. So much for being in no danger. He throws on a t-shirt and walks out into the hallway, just as Joe emerges from the door opposite his.

“What is it?” Dallon makes sure his tone doesn’t betray the urgency he feels, although it takes quite the effort.

“Intruder alert, someone’s trying to get into the property,” Joe explains, and the werewolf doesn’t seem worried about hiding his own apprehension. A moment later, Andy emerges from the room as well, hand still rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

Uh, so the two of them are a thing, then. Cute.

“Well, whoever it is, it can’t be a vampire,” Dallon reasons as he suddenly remembers it’s still day out, which means the unexpected visitor must be some other type of creature, or a human.

“We’ll go check,” Joe declares with a glance at the other werewolf, who simply nods in return – it seems the adrenaline is doing a quick job of waking him up. “Stay put.”

Dallon rolls his eyes at those last two words, and the moment the werewolves head downstairs at a rushed pace, he joins them without hesitation. At Joe’s confused look, Dallon states, “I don’t like being told what to do.”

“Clearly,” Joe huffs with a chuckle. “Try and stay out of the sunlight, at least. We don’t want a diplomatic incident because we accidentally barbecued you.”

“I’ll do my best,” Dallon retorts with a grin, just as they reach the entrance hall. Sure, the sunlight might be dulled by the stormy clouds, but it’s certainly still lethal and he’s in no hurry to burn to a crisp. However, he definitely wants to see what the hell is happening, because from their reactions, he can guess this isn’t a common occurrence.

The alarm is blaring at this point, the sound mixed with the thunder from the storm still raging outside, and just as Joe approaches the door, Pete and Patrick also rush into the hall. Joe stops then, and gives way to the Regent, but stands behind him, ready to have his back. Andy does the same, as do Pete’s kindred as they finally reach the hall. William stands back with Dallon at the base of the stairs, safe from the sunlight.

There’s palpable tension in the air as Pete slowly approaches the door, but just as he’s about to open it, the doorbell rings.

The fucking doorbell rings.

What a polite intruder.

“Who the hell--” Pete mutters, visibly confused by the unexpected sound, and finally opens the door.

And there on the threshold, in full daylight, stands Ryan Ross, clothes drenched in rain.

What the actual fuck?

“I claim sanctuary.”

~

Chapter Text

Chapter 2 – They say the devil that you know is better than the devil that you don’t

~

“Ross? What the hell are you doing here?” Pete voices the thought that’s going through everyone’s mind at that moment, shock still holding him frozen there, fingers loosely wrapped around the handle.

“I claim sanctuary,” Ross repeats with a monotone voice, but his eyes burn with resentment as he speaks. “Unless you’ve forgotten what that means, too.”

Patrick feels a shiver of uneasiness run down his spine at those words, at the blatant implication that Ryan Ross knows about Pete’s lost memories. How? That part was never revealed outside their circle of allies, and Patrick finds it hard to believe any of them have betrayed that secret. The flash of a memory pops into his mind, the moment Ryan outed Pete as a born vampire during the High Council. Which makes this the second time Ross has proven himself well-informed. Too well-informed. Patrick suspects Urie is to be blamed. Even dead, the fucker is still creating trouble.

“Come in,” Pete simply says, then, and Patrick looks at him in shock.

“Pete, we can’t trust him,” Patrick points out, and his confusion must have shown clearly on his face, because Pete offers him an apologetic smile.

“We don’t need to, but he’s claimed sanctuary, so he’s welcome to stay,” Pete answers, and his look is enough to tell Patrick he should go along with it, explanations will come. Patrick just nods, then, and turns to look at the unexpected visitor.

Ryan, on the other hand, cocks an eyebrow at the werewolf, as if he expects – or dares? – Patrick to protest some more. In response, Patrick stands back and makes way for Ryan to walk inside. However insane that feels.

As he moves, Patrick notices Dallon and William standing on the opposite end of the hall, where the dim sunlight can’t reach them. Neither look particularly thrilled by this development, but Dallon’s expression holds something more than mere concern. It’s hard to read it, but it looks awfully like confusion, or mistrust. It seems he, too, hasn’t forgotten how Ross stood by Urie for decades before his last-minute change of heart.

Patrick looks back to their newest ‘guest’ when the door shuts, and the miserable state Ryan is in stirs his more compassionate side. The vampire’s clothes are soaked through, his stubble is unkempt, his eyes are sunken and he appears to have nothing with him if not the wet clothes on his back. Given the situation, there’s a high likelihood that he lost his seat as Regent, and that he’s been forced to run, but Patrick can’t be certain. So he asks.

“What happened to you?” Patrick speaks with as much gentleness as he can muster, considering who he’s addressing.

“Sanctuary means I forfeit my freedom in exchange for protection,” Ross answers with a glare in the werewolf’s direction. “None of which requires conversation.”

Patrick is taken aback by the thread of anger he can feel beneath the apparently monotone voice, but it’s Ryan’s eyes that truly speak volumes. It’s clear that this is the last place he’d rather be, so the fact that he’s standing there tells them he didn’t have a choice. He’s a cornered animal, and Patrick knows how dangerous that can be.

So he lets it go, and nods instead.

“I’m afraid all we can offer on such short notice is a cell in the basement. We’ll make it as comfortable as possible,” Pete offers with a tight smile, as if offering courtesy is asking a lot of him.

“Fine.” Ryan doesn’t seem exactly thrilled, but accepts anyway, and Patrick can’t even imagine how humiliating it must be to go from Regent to prisoner in a basement cell. It doesn’t feel right.

Patrick might not know everything that this ‘right to sanctuary’ entails, but he remembers that Ryan ultimately voted for Urie’s execution, and that he lost his own kindred at the hands of Patrick himself. Which earns him some degree of compassion, at least.

“My old room,” Patrick intervenes with an interrogative look in Pete’s direction, silently asking confirmation on whether or not that room would be fit to contain a vampire.

“It’s not sunlight proof,” Pete points out, then seems to realize that doesn’t appear to be an issue for Ryan. “Never mind, I have a feeling that’s not a problem.”

No one addresses that particular issue at this point, mostly because Ryan hasn’t proven himself to be very inclined to answer questions. Plus, Patrick figures they’re all operating under the assumption that Ross is Urie’s kindred, given his immunity to sunlight and their tight relationship.

“It’s not,” Ryan deadpans, but it seems that Patrick’s intervention surprised him enough to soften some of his harshness.

“Alright, then it can work,” Pete agrees with a nod, then gestures at Travie, who leads the way upstairs, possibly to inspect the room first.

“This way,” Patrick offers, and him taking the lead feels like the natural thing; it used to be his room, after all.

Absurdly enough, he appears to be the one who resents Ryan the least for being there, but then again, he has his reasons. He knows Pete would be devastated if he lost one of his kindred, and Patrick remembers the way he threw Smith into the sunlight without a second thought. Until the Council, he hadn’t had a pressing reason to feel guilty about it, but seeing the crushing pain in Ryan’s eyes when he found out, witnessing his current misery and knowing he had an active part in adding to it… well all of it is piling up to change that.

Ryan follows him without a word, apparently unfazed by the fact that Patrick has taken over. If anything, he seems almost relieved to be putting distance between himself and Pete. By the time they’ve reached the room, the silence is almost deafening, but Patrick doesn’t try and break it.

Travie is waiting in the hallway, and when he gives them the okay, Patrick walks into the room, followed by Ross.

“The door over there is a bathroom, and there are still some clean clothes in the wardrobe. They might not fit you very well, but we’ll get you more,” Patrick explains as he turns around. “Someone will be back soon with some blood, so you can feed.”

“Not Wentz,” is Ryan’s immediate reaction, jaw clenching. “I don’t want to see his face.”

“Shouldn’t you hate me more?” Patrick can’t help asking it, can’t help wondering why Ross resents Pete so much. “I’m the one who killed--”

“Do not say his name,” Ryan growls, losing his composure for the first time since arriving at the house. “Ever.”

Patrick stands his ground, doesn’t let the reaction scare him back, but he accepts the words with a nod. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

“I did what I had to do, to protect my own,” Patrick counters in a calm tone, and it almost feels like he’s trying to convince himself as well, not just the vampire. “But yes, I’m sorry it came to that.”

“You’re sorry it came to a cold-blooded execution?” Ryan taunts with a bitter, humorless laugh.

So he knows. Patrick isn’t sure how, nor does he care really, but he figures Urie’s vampires told him. It doesn’t take a stretch of the imagination to know that those many werewolves against a handful of vampires was not a fair fight. Patrick can own that much.

“Yes, I’m sorry it came to a cold-blooded execution,” Patrick repeats, unfaltering, and the admission seems to surprise Ross.

Patrick turns to leave, then, but stops after a couple of steps. Ryan’s reticence to talk seems to have retreated in light of his anger, so maybe Patrick should take advantage of that. So he turns back.

“They drained William of nearly all of his blood, left him in a pool of it in the bathtub in that motel room,” he recounts, and while his voice is still calm, the heat behind his words is unmistakable. That seems to get through Ryan’s curtain of hatred, a crack showing in his demeanor. “Whoever told you left out that part, didn’t they?”

Ryan doesn’t answer, which is enough of an answer on its own. At least now he knows all the facts, not just what Urie’s minions wanted him to know.

“I won’t apologize for saving my own, but I am sorry Urie used Sm-- used him as cannon fodder for his fucking power trip,” Patrick concludes, holding the vampire’s gaze.

At those words, Ryan squares his shoulders and schools his expression into neutrality to hide the pain that shines through for a moment. “Get out.”

Patrick doesn’t protest, just nods and walks out of the room. The moment he turns the key in the lock, he feels his shoulder sag under the weight of his own guilt.

~

“Okay, what the actual fuck is this ‘sanctuary’ thing?”

Dallon turns to look at Patrick when the werewolf waltzes into the living room, demanding answers. Can’t really blame him, considering he looked absolutely befuddled by the whole thing. And yet, he went along with Pete’s plan without hesitation. God, those two are sickeningly sweet and dangerously dumb at the same time.

“Let me tell you, Wentz, you’re doing a shit job at educating your Regent consort,” Dallon points out with a shit-eating grin.

“I mean, he has a point,” Patrick agrees with a roll of his eyes. “Just get me a copy of your damn code or something.”

Pete glares at Dallon, who simply shrugs nonchalantly. When the born vampire speaks, however, he turns to Patrick. “Claiming sanctuary means that he asks to be put under the protection of the clan, in exchange for his freedom, if the Archon deems it necessary.”

“So we’re forced to protect him, but we don’t have to be nice about it,” Patrick rephrases with a nod.

“Precisely.”

“He clearly hates us,” Patrick points out, as if that particular detail still confuses him. “Why didn’t he go to Walker, or Wilson? Why us? We’re half-way across the country.”

“Those are excellent questions,” Travie agrees with a sigh. “I’m sending out a few feelers to figure this out, because I don’t like it one bit.”

“Things have been particularly unstable over there,” Dallon comments with a small sigh. “It’s the reason I’ve had to delay my visit.”

“Unstable how?” Pete’s concern is quite obvious, but the lack of surprise tells Dallon that at least he expected this. Not that dumb, then.

“Nevada was taken over by Flowers and his clan, and those districts that were aligned with Urie are undergoing… leadership changes,” Dallon explains, and it takes significant effort to keep from sounding smug about it. “Violent leadership changes.”

“I mean, we expected this,” Travie admits with a small shrug, and yet his expression is far from nonchalant. “There’s a chance that Walker and Wilson were deposed, maybe even killed. Or maybe they’re on the run, just like Ross.”

“Either way, he couldn’t go to them,” Patrick reasons, offering a possible answer to his own earlier question.

“If he was ousted from his seat as Regent, why wasn’t he killed?” Dallon wonders out loud. “And how the fuck is he standing in broad daylight without turning to ash?”

There’s an exchange of looks among the members of Wentz’s clan, the secretive act back in full force. Just as Dallon is about to roll his eyes and call them out on it, Pete speaks.

“Urie was a born vampire, and all direct kindred of a born vampire are immune to sunlight,” Pete explains with a sigh. “Which is the kind of information we’d like to keep to a restricted circle.”

A restricted circle he might become part of, it seems. Fucking finally.

And their explanation is very interesting, except…

“Urie didn’t have any kindred,” Dallon informs with a cocked eyebrow.

“Well, Ross proves that he did,” Patrick counters with a shrug, pointing vaguely upstairs.

“Believe me, I spent nearly a century studying that son of a bitch, trying to find a weak spot. A kindred, a loved one, something he cherished. There was nothing.” Dallon speaks quietly, his voice controlled, but inevitably some of his anger and resentment seep through. “He didn’t love anyone but himself. He didn’t care about anything but power and chaos and causing pain.”

Patrick frowns at those words, but it seems they make something click, because he says, “He would have never shared that power, he would have never allowed someone around him to be that strong.”

“Exactly,” Dallon confirms with a decisive nod. “He didn’t have any kindred, trust me.”

“But that makes no sense,” William protests with a shake of his head.  

“Y’all are missing a key point here,” Gabe points out with a somber look, his demeanor uncharacteristically serious. “He got past our defenses, walked past our magical shields.”

“The alarm was triggered,” Dallon counters with a frown.

“But the barrier didn’t keep him out,” Gabe objects quietly.

“And the pack left him alone because of that, despite the alarm,” Mike intervenes, and it’s clear that he now feels that had been the wrong decision. Patrick, however, addresses his second in command a reassuring smile, silently telling him he did the right thing.

No wonder Patrick is such a beloved leader – Dallon has seen how fierce he is when defending his own, and now his compassion is shining through in his lenience towards Mike. Nora would have adored him.

“We need Vicky,” Pete declares with a sharp nod, and Travie immediately fishes his phone out of his pocket. “We need to figure out why the barrier didn’t work on him.”

Dallon has an idea as to why, but he won’t be the one to voice it. Because he’s pretty sure that accusing Pete of being Ross’s real sire would earn him a kick out of that restricted circle he’s trying to become part of. Especially since no one else has brought up that possibility yet, and he’s rather certain Pete would remember siring the piece of shit currently sitting upstairs as their prisoner. Wouldn’t he? So he’s keeping it a secret, for some reason. That’s the only explanation that makes sense. He knows Urie didn’t have any kindred, and Pete is the only other born vampire alive.

That they know of.

Travie’s words suddenly seem even more ominous, and far less of a joke.

Fuck.

~

“What if you turned him and you don’t remember?” Patrick finally voices the question that has been tearing at his heart the whole time they were in the living room. Now, in the privacy of their room, he feels like he can let it out.

“There’s no mention of him in the journals,” Pete protests with a shake of his head, but it’s clear he’s not as certain as he wishes he could be.

“Maybe it was before the journals, before-- before the curse.” Patrick wants to be wrong about it, but he knows it’s a possibility at this point. If Urie truly didn’t have any kindred as Dallon so adamantly claims, that means Ryan was turned by a different born vampire. “How old is he? Could he have been turned by another born vampire before they were killed?”

“It’s possible, I don’t have a precise number, but he’s old,” Pete confirms with a sigh; Patrick can attest to that, he’s been in the room with Ross alone, and his aura speaks of someone powerful – even more powerful than Dallon, who they’ve discovered is already an impressive four hundred and fifty, give or take a decade.

“Maybe that’s why he was able to walk through the barrier, because he’s stronger than we think?” Patrick knows it’s a bit of wishful thinking, but he’s willing to grasp at the most desperate of straws if it offers an alternative to the idea that the barrier let him through because it recognized him as Pete’s kindred.

“That barrier was set up to keep Urie out,” Pete objects, immediately crushing the illusion of a different explanation.

“Fuck,” Patrick whispers as he sits on the edge of the bed and runs a hand over his face.

He isn’t sure why the possibility of Ryan Ross being one of Pete’s kindred is so scary to him, but it is. Maybe it’s because that would make him a tangible sign of a past they thought dead and gone. Or maybe it’s because Ross stood with Urie against them, against his own supposed sire, until the very last moment. The way Ross refuses to deal with Pete directly doesn’t help either – William ended up being the one to bring him blood, earlier –, and it makes Patrick wonder why. What could Pete have done that’s so terrible as to turn one of his own kindred against him, if that’s what Ross is?

“Hey,” Pete calls out softly, walking to stand in front of him. Reluctantly, Patrick looks up at the vampire and offers a small apologetic smile when he realizes his mind has been spiraling again. “Let’s not jump to conclusions, okay? Let’s wait for Vicky, she might have a reasonable explanation.”

“What if we don’t like the reasonable explanation?” Patrick asks softly, his hands moving to rest on Pete’s arms, drawing him closer.

“Then we’ll deal with it, the same way we’ve dealt with everything else before it,” Pete reassures him, and Patrick feels his heart unclench slightly at the serene way Pete is able to talk about this. He wishes he could be that calm, but calm hasn’t been his strong suit lately.

“By shooting it?” It’s a lame attempt at a joke, but Pete laughs anyway, and Patrick feels his breath come a little easier.

“Shooting it is always an option, just not through my shoulder, this time,” Pete counters with a chuckle.

“Don’t even joke about that,” Patrick protests with a glare and a slap to Pete’s arm. “I still have fucking nightmares about it,” he whispers, looking away from his mate.

And really, he feels a little stupid because he’s the one that mentioned shooting in the first place, Pete just played off his joke with his own. And yet, it’s enough to prompt that familiar dread, the same Dallon’s comment triggered earlier.

Pete steps back a little, then, and pulls Patrick to his feet. Moments later, the werewolf finds himself wrapped in a hug, and he buries his face against Pete’s neck. The embrace is comforting and warm, and it eases the anxiety that inevitably surfaces every time the memory of the Council comes to his mind. He’s lost so much in his life, the thought of how close he got to losing Pete as well is something he hasn’t learned how to deal with very well, yet.

“I’m sorry,” Pete whispers, lips brushing Patrick’s temple.

Patrick tries to relax in his mate’s arms, and wills his mind to move away from the mental image that’s seared into his memory. Pete looking at him, then turning the damn gun onto himself and just shooting into his shoulder. His mind refuses to yield, the scene playing over and over again. “I can’t stop seeing it.”

Patrick can feel the pain his words cause, he can feel Pete’s guilt about it, and he almost takes his words back, but before he can, Pete is holding him tighter, lips pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “Do you remember that first sunrise?”

The question catches Patrick a little off guard, but he nods, thinking back to the morning they stood at the window together, watching as the sun rose over the trees; it was Pete’s first sunrise in centuries, the first he would remember seeing, and the happiness they shared in that moment crashes through the memory like a wave. And just like that, Patrick feels his chest expand in a calming breath, the anguish of the previous tormenting memory receding and leaving room to something light, something good. Something Pete knew would break through the curtain of misery more effectively than any word.

“I love you, little wolf,” Pete whispers then, and the werewolf finally moves back just enough to look at him.

“You have a shit sense of humor sometimes, but I love you too,” Patrick mutters with a soft smile, and really, he wouldn’t blame Pete if he protested that statement. Because Patrick usually loves his sense of humor and they both know it.

“I’m sorry,” Pete repeats instead, the shadow of his guilt still lingering in his eyes. And it’s clear he’s not talking about the joke anymore. The apology runs deeper, down to the pain his choice back at the Council caused Patrick. The pain it still causes him.

“I know,” Patrick accepts with a nod, and his hand moves to run through Pete’s hair, gentle, comforting. “It’s okay, moonbeam, I’m okay.”

I’ll be okay, eventually, he adds in his own mind.

Pete’s smile warms the way it does any time Patrick uses that nickname, which isn’t very often. But this particular occasion calls for it, and it works, because Pete’s guilt is washed away by the love Patrick sends out through their bond. He doesn’t resent Pete for the joke, especially since he’s the one who served it to him on a silver platter. He knows Pete would never knowingly hurt him, and he’s aware that his own reaction is still a little too overwhelming for him to handle it in a completely rational way. It’ll get better. It always does.

“Let’s go to bed,” Pete proposes in a quiet voice, but despite his own words, he’s hesitant to step back. “We can worry about everything else tomorrow.”

Patrick agrees with a silent nod, but before letting go, he presses a kiss to the corner of Pete’s mouth, which prompts another sweet smile from the vampire. “Don’t think I’m going soft on you, leech,” he jokes half-heartedly, but it seems it’s enough to pull a short laugh from his mate.

“I would never dare,” Pete teases right back, and to lighten the moment a little further, he follows his words with a soft slap to Patrick’s ass.

“Dick,” Patrick mutters, but his smile comes easier now, wider, and the weight on his chest finally relents.

They change into their sleepwear in comfortable silence, and minutes later they’re lying in bed, Pete’s chest pressed against Patrick’s back, and his arm draped protectively over him. It takes a few minutes before Patrick can convince his mind to let go, to put to momentary rest the million thoughts swirling around. It’s an effort, but finally, he feels sleep taking over, Pete’s solid coolness against him working wonders in calming his mind and his nerves. It always does.

Patrick doesn’t know exactly when he falls asleep, he just knows that he does, and while his dreams are somewhat troubled, the nightmares remain at bay. He isn’t sure how much later it is when that changes. He becomes more agitated, his mind struggling with something dark, something it doesn’t quite comprehend. He feels his throat constricting, a vice tightening around it and making it hard for him to breathe. He starts panicking when he becomes aware that he’s waking up, and the feeling is not going away. He blinks a few times, eyes adjusting to the darkness as his mind finally registers that no, this isn’t a nightmare.

He isn’t dreaming.

“Urie sent you, didn’t he?” Pete growls, hands tightening their hold on Patrick’s neck. He’s straddling the werewolf, pinning him to the bed as he chokes him – his fangs are elongated, and his icy blue eyes are fixed on Patrick, but there isn’t any trace of recognition there, just fury. “Tell me!”

“Pete, stop--” Patrick manages to choke out, voice cracking. He punches Pete’s arms, and thrashes under his hold, but the vampire doesn’t relent, doesn’t seem to recognize him. “Pete!”

It must be some kind of waking dream or hallucination, but Patrick has no idea how to wake him up from it. Or to escape his vicious grip. He never really had to worry about how much stronger than him Pete is, not until this very moment.

Patrick’s vision starts getting blurry, darkening at the edges. He should turn into his wolf form, fight back, but he fears how Pete would react to it in his state. So instead, he claws at Pete’s hands in a last, desperate attempt at escaping. He can feel Pete’s blood flow onto his neck from the slashes his claws are creating on his wrists, but all that does is enrage the vampire further.

Right then, the door slams open, and Patrick is vaguely aware of a figure launching itself onto Pete, struggling to pull him off Patrick.

“Wentz, what the fuck are you doing?” Dallon shouts as he tries to yank Pete away from the werewolf. When he doesn’t succeed, he walks over to a chair and breaks it so that he can use one of its legs as a stake.

“No!” Patrick protests, but it comes out as a strangled rasp.

“He’ll be fine,” Dallon growls, and sinks the stake into Pete’s back.

Right then, Gabe and William rush into the room as well, and the last thing Patrick sees before he passes out is the stake emerging from Pete’s chest, right through his heart.

~

Chapter Text

Chapter 3 – The road outside my house is paved with good intentions

~

“How’s Patrick?” Dallon jumps up from his seat when Ryland walks into the living room.

“His throat needs time to heal, his voice will be fucked for a few days, but he’ll be okay,” Ryland informs with a sigh. “There seems to be no permanent damage, luckily. You stepped in just in time.”

Dallon feels his chest expand in a relieved breath, and nods slowly in response to the vampire doctor. Good thing he couldn’t sleep – again – and was exploring the house, or he might not have caught the smell of blood in time.

“Is he awake?” William asks, taking a step forward.

“No, I’ve sedated him, it’s better if he sleeps for a few hours, it’ll speed up his healing,” Ryland explains, then glances behind himself. “And it’ll give you a chance to figure out what the fuck is going on.”

“Is Wentz awake?” Dallon asks next, which is the natural follow up question to the doctor’s statement.

“Not yet, but his tissues are almost completely regenerated.” This time, it sounds like Ryland is completely baffled by what he’s saying. “I’ve never seen a vampire survive a stake through the heart.”

“Perks of being a born vampire,” Dallon comments with a trace of bitterness in his voice. At the others’ inquisitive looks, he shrugs and adds, “What? D’you think I never tried to stake Urie?”

“You did?” Under different circumstances, Dallon would be offended by Travie’s skeptical tone. Right now, he has other priorities.

“I staked the piece of shit twice, and both times it did fuck all,” Dallon confirms with a sigh. “After the High Council, I figured it had to be a born vampire thing.”

“You figured?” Gabe looks like he’s about to punch him, and oh, Dallon is ready to punch back. They don’t get to be indignant, not about this of all things.

“Yeah, well, you haven’t exactly been forthcoming with information, so it’s fuck around and find out for me,” Dallon argues with an eloquent glare, which seems to deflate Gabe’s mounting anger.

“What if you’d been wrong?” William wonders in a quiet voice.

Dallon doesn’t answer immediately, he looks down for a second as he contemplates that very real possibility. Having no certainty, he acted on his own assumptions. He could very well have been wrong. And yet, what else could he have done?

“Was I supposed to let him kill Patrick?” Dallon asks when he looks up again, and makes sure to meet their gazes one by one.

None of them answers, which is enough to prove his point. They are all aware that they couldn’t have stopped Wentz otherwise, he was too strong, too angry to listen to reason. And whatever the hell happened, they need to figure it out, and fast.

Ryland, it seems, has heard enough and excuses himself to walk back to the room where Pete is recovering.

“Has Pete been restrained?” William asks with a hint of apprehension.

“How?” Travie counters, shaking his head. “Vicky is on her way, but she can’t restrain him by herself, she’d need the rest of the triad, or at least Ray.”

“And we can’t risk this information falling into the wrong hands,” Gabe points out with an eloquent glare. “Remember what happened to born vampires when they started going insane?”

“Pete is not going insane,” William protests instantly, angry his mate would even suggest that.

“We know, but other people might not agree.” Travie’s voice is reasonable enough that it appeases William, but it hardly does the same with Dallon.

“How do we know that he’s not going insane?” Dallon looks at all of them in turn, obviously critical. “He was about to kill his own mate, we had to tear him off Patrick and it took a stake through the heart to do so. That seems insane enough to me.”

And then it happens again, that exchange of looks, the secretive little non-verbal communication these fuckers always activate whenever Dallon stumbles onto some bit of new information. It’s starting to get on his nerves, really, because at this point, it’s pretty clear Dallon’s on their side. Why else would he have risked his own neck to save Patrick?

“It’s complicated, it’s--"

“It’s bullshit, that’s what it is,” Dallon interrupts William before he’s done speaking, his glare furious. “Tell me, or I’m out of here.”

Again, there’s a silent exchange among the three of them, but this time it seems the consensus is that Dallon’s presence and alliance is more important than whatever secret they’re so hesitant to share.

“Pete was cursed,” William starts, and while it’s clear Travie isn’t on board with sharing the information, Gabe and William outvoted him. How they communicated all of that just looking at each other is honestly fascinating. “About five hundred years ago, when the other born vampires were slaughtered, he… well, he asked to be cursed so that his memories would be erased, and any new memory wouldn’t stay longer than a century or so.”

“Wait, so he’s been operating on a buffer of a hundred years of memories for the past five centuries?” Dallon can’t believe what they’re telling him – they must be making it up, because it sounds too insane to be true.

And yet, his mind offers up a memory from the High Council, one that has confused him to no end so far – he distinctly remembers Urie mocking Pete for ‘fumbling around in the dark, tormented by something he couldn’t remember’. This would explain those words. It would explain quite a few things, actually.

“That’s a very effective way to put it,” Gabe admits with a cocked eyebrow. “That’s basically it. And because memories couldn’t build up, he didn’t go insane.”

“What does this have to do with his psychotic break?” Dallon is willing to give them the benefit of the doubt, but this still sounds unhinged.

“Right before the High Council, he had this curse broken,” William explains, leaning back in his seat. “The witch who did it said the lost memories wouldn’t come back, but he might experience echoes.”

“We think that’s what happened last night,” Travie adds, finally resigned to the fact that Dallon is privy to yet another one of their secrets.

Dallon takes a moment to process all of the information, his perplexity a little tamed. It sounds plausible enough, and he figures Pete would be the type to lift the curse now that he’s got a mate – and really, who would want to forget someone like Patrick? So Dallon is willing to give this insane bit of news a chance to prove itself true, even though he’s not quite completely convinced.

And then something clicks in his mind, something seemingly unrelated, but the more he thinks about it, the more it makes sense.

“That’s why his scent changed,” Dallon reasons, almost speaking to himself. “I thought it was just the mating, but it was too different to be just that. And his aura was never…” His aura was never this powerful before, was it? Which means… “Fuck, the curse was binding his powers too, wasn’t it?”

And really, it’s funny to see how panicked the three vampires look at this additional piece of information they clearly hadn’t planned on sharing. And which they’ve indirectly confirmed given their reactions.

It’s once again William who provides the voice of reason. “I mean, at this point, we might as well tell him.”

“We’ve told him enough, he can talk about everything else with Pete when he wakes up,” Travie asserts with a glare towards his clan-mates.

Dallon contemplates the idea of pushing it, of demanding more, but he decides against it and counts this conversation as a win. He’s discovered more than he thought he would, and while he’s still not completely sold on most of it, it’s enough to question Wentz about it, when he’s conscious. And possibly not murderous.

Right then, Ryland walks back into the room. “Pete’s awake, and very confused.”

Travie, Gabe and William head for the door instantly, but just before walking out, William turns back and calls out to Dallon, “Let’s go.”

Dallon doesn’t have to be told twice.

~

Pete is sitting up in bed in one of the unoccupied guest rooms, his ruined t-shirt discarded on the floor. He’s looking down at his chest, hand rubbing the spot where the wound has already healed, the scar fading minute after minute.

“Which one of you fucking staked me?” Pete sounds both absolutely baffled and somewhat amused too. Not the combination Dallon expected.

Well, at least he’s not murderous.

“I did,” Dallon immediately claims, his tone careful but not hesitant. “Are you back to being yourself?”

“What d’you mean?” Pete asks as he looks up from his chest, frowning. “Why the hell did you stake me?” He seems to notice something else, and quickly adds, “Where’s Patrick?”

William glances at his clanmates for a moment, then inquires softly, “You don’t remember anything?”

Pete’s amusement disappears completely, confusion and concern taking over instead. Did he think this was some kind of elaborate prank? Is he actually insane?

“Remember what?” Pete whispers, dread starting to seep into his eyes as well. “Where’s Patrick?”

Again, his kindred hesitate, clearly uncertain as to how to break the news to him, so Dallon steps up. Sure, he likes Wentz, but he likes Patrick more, and he’s not going to let them pussyfoot around it.

“You had some kind of psychotic break,” Dallon informs him, trying to be direct but not blunt. “You attacked Patrick, and I had to stake you so you wouldn’t kill him.”

Okay, so maybe he was a little blunt.

“Weekes, your bedside manners suck,” Ryland points out with an eloquent look.

“You’re joking, right?” Pete stands from the bed, alarmed despite his words. “I would never hurt him, you know that.”

“We think it might have been an echo of your old memories,” Gabe informs him in what is a surprisingly gentle tone. “Maja warned us it could happen.”

Okay, that is new information. So Maja Ivarsson is the witch who broke the curse. Dallon files that away for later consideration. Even though he doesn’t remark on it, Pete’s eyes move to him, the concern only growing, so Dallon reassures him, “Relax, I know about this alleged curse.”

Pete turns to look at his kindred then, but it seems he decides that’s of secondary importance right now, and instead asks, “How’s Patrick? Where is he?” The urgency and pain in his voice mollify Dallon a little bit – he can only imagine how devastating it is to find out you almost killed your own mate, and you can’t even remember it.

“He’s going to be okay, he’s resting,” William informs as he walks over to him. Gently, he takes Pete’s arm and guides him back to the bed. Pete doesn’t resist at first, too shocked, but soon enough, he recovers enough to shake his arm out of William’s hold. “Pete, you need to--"

“I need to see Patrick,” Pete interrupts him, voice almost shaking with emotion. “Everything else can wait.”

No one tries to stop him when he heads for the door, but Dallon reaches for the makeshift stake resting on the floor, the one Ryland extracted from Pete’s chest. “Just in case,” he comments as he walks out of the room as well.

~

Patrick wakes up slowly, almost sluggishly, his mind struggling to lift up from the muddled fog of his sleep. His eyes are heavy, it’s an effort to open them, but when he finally manages to, he blinks a few times. Gradually, the room comes into focus, the faint light coming from the bedside table lamp casting a weak glow on his surroundings. The moment he tries to turn his head to look around, however, pain shoots through his neck and makes him freeze.

Why is he in pain? What the hell happened?

Memories flood back in, then, the moment he woke up with Pete’s hands around his throat, the unseeing fury in Pete’s eyes, consciousness slowly slipping away from him, and then… a stake. Pete was staked through the heart. Fuck.

Confusion leaves room to panic and he sits up, ignoring the pain. “Pete,” he tries to call out, but his voice is a hoarse whisper, nothing more.

And then Pete is right there, and Patrick feels his heart leap in his chest as relief nearly drowns him.

“I’m here,” Pete reassures him, speaking softly, and sits down on the edge of the bed next to him.

“You were-- Dallon staked you, I saw--” Patrick croaks, and every word brings a new wave of pain to his throat. His attention, however, is focused on the streaks of faded red on Pete’s cheeks. Dried tears.

“I know, but it’s okay, I healed,” Pete breathes, and suddenly, Patrick remembers what they’ve found out about born vampires – they can’t be killed with a stake through the heart. It seems that part of the legend is true… thankfully. His heartbeat slows down, his head moving in a slow, careful nod. “Ryland says you shouldn’t speak.”

“Fuck that, what the hell happened?” Patrick rasps, speaking through the pain, and reaches out to cup Pete’s cheek with his hand. “You were--" His other hand rises to his neck then, knowing it’s clear enough without him saying anything else. And even were his voice not fucked, he isn’t sure he’d have the guts to say it out loud.

“I don’t--" Pete starts, voice breaking as if speaking were painful for him too. “I don’t remember, but I almost--" Again, he stops, eyes shutting against the tears pooling there. “I almost killed you, Patrick.”

“Hey,” Patrick calls softly, thumb stroking Pete’s cheekbone gently. “You didn’t. I’m right here.”

“Because Dallon staked me,” Pete protests, voice rising a little bit, but he gets it back under control again before he adds, “How can you be so calm about this? I almost--”

“I know it wasn’t you,” Patrick whispers with some effort. He remembers the look in Pete’s eyes – that wasn’t his mate, that was someone else entirely. Someone who scares the shit out of him, sure, but that stranger is not his mate. “I don’t know what the fuck happened, but that wasn’t you.”

“The guys think it was an echo,” Pete explains with a sigh, and while he doesn’t seem convinced by Patrick’s words, he seems willing to accept them, accept that his mate does not, in fact, hate him. “Like Maja said.”

Patrick nods slowly – yeah, that makes sense. It certainly makes more sense than Pete suddenly losing his mind and going American Psycho on him. Sure, they should verify with the witch, but he wants to make sure he can yell at her, before they summon her; so for now, he doesn’t mention it.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Patrick.” Pete’s whispered apology breaks through his thoughts, the pain dripping from his voice and bleeding through their bond almost knocking the breath out of Patrick. “I don’t know how to apologize for this, how to make this right.”

Patrick feels his heart break at those words, at the absolute desperation lacing Pete’s tone, and he feels his own tears rising to his eyes. Without a word, he pulls Pete closer and wraps his arms around him, his face immediately finding the crook of Pete’s neck.

“Stay with me,” Patrick pleads softly, knowing fully well that Pete will protest, will try and distance himself now. He knows his mate well enough to anticipate that, to anticipate that Pete is planning to do something extremely selfless and extremely dumb, like leaving the house, like running away.

“I can’t, what-- what if it happens again?” Pete objects, but doesn’t pull back, doesn’t break their embrace.

“We’ll figure something out.” Patrick’s voice is starting to fade, what little he manages to say comes out hoarse and broken. “Just don’t-- don’t leave me, okay? That’s how you can make this right.”

“Patrick--”

“Promise me, Pete.” This time, it’s Patrick who pulls back, but only just enough to look at Pete in the eye. “I won’t lose you to this.”

Pete is about to protest again, he can tell, so he shakes his head, halfway between pleading and threatening. It seems to be a winning combination, because Pete finally relents and nods, shoulders sagging. And yet, Patrick won’t let it go.

“Say it,” the werewolf whispers, hand moving to run through Pete’s hair.

Pete hesitates just a moment, eyes searching Patrick’s as if to catch any sign of uncertainty. He won’t find any. Eventually, he seems convinced enough to say, “I promise I’ll stay.”

Patrick lets out the breath he’s been holding, and his lips finally relax in a faint smile. Slowly, he lies back down on the bed, emotionally exhausted by the exchange but also oddly tired. He figures that Ryland must have sedated him, which he isn’t a great fan of – he’ll have to talk to the doctor about that, later. For now, however, he simply pulls Pete along with him, until he’s lying down next to him.

Suddenly, a thought pops into his mind. Dallon. What if the others saw him stake Pete and misinterpreted it? What if they hurt him? After all, Dallon saved his life, and Patrick is pretty sure he remembers the vampire reassuring him that Pete would be fine, which means he knew what he was doing. He could have dreamed that part, however.

In the end, his curiosity and his concern win over the pain in his throat. “Where’s Dallon?”

“Sitting outside in the hallway with a stake,” Pete answers with a little smile.

Patrick feels relief wash over him, along with a surprising wave of amusement. Because all he can picture now is Dallon sitting cross-legged outside the door, toying with a stake like he’s Buffy the fucking vampire slayer. And really, his mind needs a little levity right about now, so he indulges this mental image of Dallon in a blond wig for just a moment longer.

~

“We need to talk.”

Dallon is so lost in the maze of his own thoughts that Pete’s voice catches him off guard and he nearly jumps out of his skin; hopefully he recovers quickly enough that the older vampire doesn’t notice. He stands from his seat on the floor, stake still firmly in his grip, but it would seem there will be no need for it for now.

“Alright, Mr. Understatement,” Dallon responds with a shrug, but he’s not really fooling anyone. He’s got questions lined up and ready to go, and he knows Pete can tell.

Without a word, Pete leads him to the library, Dallon following a few steps behind; once they’re inside and the door is closed, Pete turns to look at him, his expression not at all what Dallon anticipated. There’s a lot more gratitude and a lot less hostility than he would have expected from someone he actively staked through the heart six hours earlier.

“Thank you,” Pete breathes with a meaningful nod, the pain in his eyes so glaringly obvious Dallon is caught off guard.

“Okay, not what I expected,” Dallon admits with candor as he takes a seat on one of the armchairs. And he’s not lying – he expected Pete to play it off, or play it tough, not to show himself vulnerable. Maybe it’s his own way to show that he’s done being a secretive little shit. Dallon dearly hopes so.

“You saved Patrick’s life.” Pete’s voice is quiet but steady, not a trace of hesitation.

“That I did, yes,” Dallon concedes, the hint of a smile forming on his lips. “And staked you in the process.”

“William says you knew it couldn’t kill me,” Pete observes, and this time he almost sounds inquisitive, as if he doesn’t fully believe it.

So that’s why William went into Patrick’s room earlier, while Dallon was out in the hallway, playing royal guard with his stake. He figured the younger vampire wanted to check on his friends – which, granted, he probably did – but apparently he also wanted to update Pete on the conversation his kindred had with Dallon. Whether it’s to make sure Pete won’t be mad at Dallon or at them, he doesn’t know.

“I assumed it couldn’t kill you, since it couldn’t kill Urie,” Dallon confesses openly, knowing it’s pointless to try and twist the truth. He operated on limited intel and was lucky. “Honestly, my priority was saving Patrick.”

Pete’s stance relaxes at those words, and whether it’s the honesty or the message, he seems to appreciate them. “They were right to trust you with the information about the curse,” he admits with a small nod.

“Some of the information about the curse,” Dallon points out with a cocked eyebrow. He knows that this is the perfect moment for it, that Pete feels well-disposed towards him, and that he should take advantage of it, before the born vampire clams up once more. So he does. “Look, I get it, I’m paranoid about shit too – I mean, you had to send Mikey Way to try and fuck some information out of me, so you know I understand the appeal of keeping secrets,” he admits with a chuckle.

“You knew why he was there?” Pete sounds both surprised and guilty, which tells Dallon the born vampire probably thought he’d been sneaky about it too. Bless his dumb heart.

“Of course I did, he showed up out of the blue along with one of your kindred, it wasn’t your most subtle moment.” Dallon nearly laughs at how Pete clears his throat and looks away for a moment. “It’s fine, I gave him what I thought was enough for you to relax and know I’d back you against Urie.”

“But not enough to compromise your position if I failed,” Pete continues for him, and Dallon nods.

“So yeah, I get being paranoid, but c’mon, you can’t treat me like an ally when it suits you, and then shut me out the rest of the time,” Dallon argues with an eloquent look, but he’s careful to keep his tone reasonable. “It’s pretty obvious I’m on your side of this, but I can’t help you if I don’t have all the pieces.”

Pete seems to think it over for several seconds, his expression serious but not hostile. He paces the room a couple of times, and when he comes to a stop, he’s facing Dallon. “What do you want to know?”

“I’m tired of feeling like a bottom tier ally. Way and Conrad… I want to be on equal ground,” Dallon demands, looking straight at the vampire. “I think I’ve earned that much.”

“You have,” Pete concedes with a sigh, and takes a seat across from him.

What follows is possibly the most insane conversation Dallon has ever had in his life. He listens as Pete explains about the curse, how it was not just acting on his memory but binding his powers too. And his kindred’s powers. He explains about sunlight not hurting them either now, but makes sure to point out stakes can kill them, so Dallon should try and avoid staking them and limit that to Pete. The born vampire also offers information about Maja’s role in all of that, and the help she indirectly provided before the Council.

There’s not much Pete remembers about his own dealings with Urie in the past, because those memories are long gone, but at least he owns up to the fact that he and Urie used to be close, at some point, before the curse came into play – well, technically, Urie is one of the main reasons the curse came into play in the first place. And really, seen in that light, Dallon can’t really blame him for wanting to wipe his memory clean – if he could erase Urie from his own mind, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

As far as Ryan Ross is concerned, Pete is supremely unhelpful. He confesses to having no idea whether he’s the fucker’s sire or not, but he’s honest enough to admit it’s a possibility. Not one he likes to think about, from the way he talks about it.

It’s a refreshing breath of honesty after all the secrecy and cloak and dagger bullshit, and Dallon is almost overwhelmed with the amount of information he’s been missing. No wonder he always felt ten steps behind these idiots – he was. But not anymore, it seems.

Any question he comes up with, Pete answers – up until he gets to that damn bullet.

“There’s something out there that can kill me that easily, can you really blame me for wanting to bury that knowledge?” Pete simply answers when Dallon asks about it once more. “Patrick thought I was dead, I nearly was, and it broke him.” There’s a pause, just long enough to make sure Dallon won’t object. “So if I’m burying this knowledge, it’s to protect him, not myself.”

“Is it really that powerful?” Dallon doesn’t mean to sound skeptical, but he inevitably does.

“Well, it’s been two months and I’m still recovering my strength,” Pete admits with a bitter chuckle.

“Still recovering? You mean you’re stronger than this?” Dallon can’t help the hint of uneasiness that bleeds into his voice. He remembers how difficult it was to pry him off Patrick, how unyielding his grip was, how unaffected by the wounds causing him to bleed out from his wrists.

“Yeah, I’m halfway there, according to Maja,” Pete confirms with a somber look. “That’s why I need you to be up to date.”

“What d’you mean?”

“Let’s be honest, you’re not my ally, Dallon, you’re Patrick’s,” Pete starts with a small grin, and thankfully, he doesn’t seem bothered by the fact that Dallon doesn’t even try to deny that. “Which means you’ll look out for him, even if it means staking me.”

“But you won’t risk me using whatever else was in that bullet,” Dallon concludes for him, the realization slowly dawning on him. Okay, seen in this light, he can’t really begrudge Pete’s decision to keep that one giant detail a secret still.

“Exactly,” Pete confirms as he stands from his seat. “At least, not yet.”

Not yet.

The implications those two words hold drop on Dallon like a boulder on his heart. Not yet, but maybe at some point.

If Dallon is reading the room correctly, and he usually does, Pete is implicitly asking him to be his contingency plan in case he needs to be stopped, and not just with a stake. He knows none of his kindred would have the heart – nor the strength, probably – to do it. Dallon, however, is older and stronger than them, and his loyalty lies with Patrick, not Pete. If any of them could plant a bullet in Pete’s heart, that’s Dallon.

And yet, this selfless move, the fact that he’s making sure Patrick will be protected no matter what, even from him, makes Dallon like him a little bit more. Fuck. He’s not supposed to get sentimental about these people, he’s supposed to secure an alliance, not friendship. However, it seems there’s not much difference between the two, when it comes to this clan. He tries to remind himself that making friends isn’t a liability anymore, Urie isn’t around to use this against him, to ruin everything positive and good in his world. He’s fucking free. And yet, he isn’t sure he remembers how to be a friend.

What he knows is that these people might be worth giving it a try.

So fuck it, he’ll try. What’s the worst that can happen?

“Not yet,” Dallon agrees after a long moment of silence, and sees gratitude flash in Pete’s eyes.

~

Chapter Text

Chapter 4 – I'm having bad dreams, and nothing you can do will keep the bad things away from me until I fall asleep

~

“Stop treating me like I’m a fucking invalid, Pete, I’m fine,” Patrick mutters with a roll of his eyes when Pete hurries to help him stand from the bed.

It’s been two days since the attack happened and so far, Pete hasn’t experienced any other echo – well, aside from one extremely vivid nightmare. Luckily, however, it didn’t bleed into real life, and no one had to be staked. Dallon offered to from outside in the hallway, of course, but Patrick knows it was mostly a joke. An odd sense of humor, that one, and yet it would seem both Patrick and Pete are starting to appreciate it more.

Aside from that single incident, it’s been a quiet forty-eight hours, and while Patrick still hasn’t recovered the full use of his voice, speaking has grown marginally less painful. Movement, however, still causes him to flinch from time to time, which is what prompted Pete’s run to aid.

“I’m just trying to be helpful,” Pete counters, rising his hands in surrender.

“You’re fussing,” Patrick corrects him with an eloquent look, but his expression soon softens into a little smile. “I’m okay, I promise.”

“You’re in pain,” Pete objects, his expression almost daring Patrick to deny it.

“I’ve been in pain before, I can manage,” Patrick points out instead as he moves to get his clothes from the chair nearby.

As he walks past the mirror, he catches sight of the black-blue bruises around his neck; it makes him falter for a moment, but he pointedly ignores it the same way he’s been ignoring it for the past two days. He does a quick job of putting on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, then hesitates for just a moment.

They’re expecting Vicky to arrive in an hour or so, and he doesn’t want to walk down to see her with those bruises on display. Sure, they trust her enough to consult her on Ross and the shield around the house, but Patrick doesn’t quite feel comfortable talking to her about what’s happening to Pete. Granted, she and Travie have been together for a few months, now, but she’s still an outsider, and her main loyalty is to her High Priestess – who happens to be someone Pete has already had… differences with. Plus, it wouldn’t feel right to ask her to choose between her loyalty to Ashlee and her loyalty to Travie.

Silently, he walks over to the closet and fishes out a turtleneck sweater, which he wears instead of the t-shirt. When he turns around, Pete’s expression is a blend of concern and confusion.

“Let’s keep it under wraps, for now,” Patrick considers, voice still barely more than a whisper. “I’d rather talk to Maja about this.”

“You’d rather talk to Maja?” Pete repeats, and Patrick is relieved to see a hint of amusement seep into his tone.

“Yeah, well, I’d rather not, but she’s our best bet,” Patrick admits with a little smile. “I like Vicky, and she’s a good ally, but--”

“But she reports to Ashlee,” Pete finishes the sentence for him, and Patrick nods his agreement. Pete seems to think it over for a few more seconds, then takes a deep breath. “Alright, I’ll talk to the others.”

“Travie won’t like it,” Patrick considers with an apologetic look.

“Travie understands the importance of protecting information,” Pete counters with a reassuring smile. “He was so pissed when I debriefed Dallon without him,” he adds, and while it’s spoken mostly in jest, Patrick knows it’s true.

“It was the right thing to do, though,” Patrick insists, thinking back to the conversation he and Pete had about it.

The day after the attack, when Patrick woke up from his sedation and asked Pete to stay, they discussed bringing Dallon into their inner circle, especially after William came in to check on them and informed them of the conversation he, Gabe and Travie already had with him. They agreed that Dallon’s intervention in saving Patrick deserved a show of trust on their part, and a significant one at that, not just a friendly dinner. The one thing they both agreed on keeping secret was the content of the bullet.

“It was,” Pete agrees with a nod, walking closer to his mate as he jokingly adds, “I still think he’s hoping to get some, though.”

Patrick rolls his eyes at those words, but can’t help the soft laugh they pull from him at the same time. “Moron.”

“No, but hear me out,” Pete teases as he pulls Patrick into a gentle hug, arms wrapped loosely around the werewolf’s waist. “I don’t think you’ve noticed that you’re really hot. Like, top tier ass game.”

“Shut up,” Patrick huffs, his hands lifting to rest on Pete’s shoulders. “You’re the absolute worst at compliments.”

“Really? Then why are you smiling?” Pete taunts him, and playfully pinches Patrick’s ass.

“Because I love you,” Patrick rebuffs without hesitation, and the way it transforms Pete’s playful grin into a quieter but warmer smile has him leaning closer to press a kiss to his lips. “And because you’re an idiot.”

Pete laughs silently at those words, but there’s something sad creeping just behind it, something sad trying to hide in his eyes. One of his hands lifts slowly and his fingers trace Patrick’s neck delicately through the fabric of the turtleneck. Patrick isn’t sure what he expects, if he fears Patrick might tense up or flinch away, but it’s clear he’s hesitant in his movement.

“You love me even when I don’t deserve it,” Pete whispers, and it feels like he’s almost talking to himself more than Patrick.

The words feel like a spear through Patrick’s heart, the idea that Pete feels unworthy of being loved is one he absolutely detests, because nothing could be further from the truth. He opens his mouth to speak, but then stops. Instead, he closes his hand around Pete’s wrist, and guides his hand closer, until it’s wrapped around his neck. Pete’s eyes widen a little at the gesture, and tries to pull his hand away, but Patrick doesn’t relent, and in the end, Pete gives in and rests his fingers around the curve of Patrick’s throat.

Patrick can feel the way his hand shakes, as if the vampire’s afraid his fingers will betray him again and squeeze against his will. It doesn’t happen, though, and even though the touch is painful on the bruised skin, Patrick leans into it.

“There isn’t a single fucking moment in which you don’t deserve to be loved, Pete,” Patrick whispers, eyes staying locked with Pete’s.

“How can you trust me like this after what happened?” Pete wonders in a voice so soft Patrick’s pretty sure he couldn’t have heard it without his supernatural hearing.

“Because you didn’t put these bruises on me,” Patrick counters, and his lips relax into the hint of a smile when he feels Pete’s thumb moving along his pulse, gentle, soothing. “The person who did it is dead, you killed him when you wiped your memories.” Patrick sees the doubt in Pete’s eyes, the hesitation, so he adds, “He may be reaching out from beyond the grave, but we’ll kick him back in and seal the fucking casket.”

“What if we can’t?” Pete breathes, eyes closing for a moment.

Patrick knows that’s a possibility, he knows there’s millennia of memories that could surface and take over any time Pete’s guard is lowered, any time his conscious mind falters. He knows they still have no idea how frequent and how intense these echoes can get. He knows there might not be a way to stop them, which would make Pete a walking time bomb.

He knows all of that, just as he knows that the opposite could be true as well. These echoes could vanish, could fade, they could be easily solved. Given their luck, it’s improbable, but still possible.

Most of all, he knows they don’t know enough, yet. And he won’t let Pete’s sense of self-sacrifice jump to deadly conclusions.

“We’ll find a way,” Patrick responds with more conviction in his voice than Pete probably expected. “Even better, I’ll bully Maja into finding a way.” Pete smiles at those words, and gives a reluctant nod of agreement. “Or I’ll hunt down Hecate herself, I don’t give a fuck.”

Pete’s shoulders finally relax at that statement, at the absolute iron certainty Patrick puts behind his words and his smile. He might be a little worse for wear after the emotional turmoil of the Council, he might still be dealing with the trauma of almost losing Pete, but that only fuels his determination. And it certainly doesn’t mean he’s not fit to fight, whatever the fight might be.

“God, I love you so fucking much,” Pete whispers, and this time, when his hand moves away from Partick’s neck it’s just so he can pull the werewolf into a tight hug.

“As you should,” Patrick jokes against the vampire’s shoulder, the pain in his neck ignored as he lets himself enjoy the wave of absolute love that comes through their bond.

~

Vicky the witch, as it turns out, is a feisty brunette who’s nearly a whole foot shorter than Travie; they make quite the picture as the vampire himself escorts her into the library with an arm around her shoulders and his lips to her ear. It’s pretty obvious they’re together, which makes Dallon a little curious about Pete’s choice to keep the ‘echo incident’ from her. It seems the secretive ways of the Wentz clan don’t discriminate. Which is kind of a consolation, really.

“Alright, what’s so urgent and so secret that Travie couldn’t tell me over the phone?” Vicky asks as she walks away from her boyfriend with a parting pat on his ass, which prompts a chuckle from him. Right then, however, she notices Dallon sitting on one of the armchairs and stops dead in her tracks. “Hold on, who’s that?”

“Dallon Weekes, enchanted.” Dallon knows better than to offer his hand to a witch, but he makes sure both his smile and his nod are friendly.

“The infamous Dallon Weeks,” Vicky’s smile lights up with recognition, and her whole demeanor changes, the defensiveness leaving her immediately. “Big fan of your new law.”

“Glad to hear it,” Dallon responds with a somewhat confused smile. He’s certainly not used to his name being met with such a joyful reaction.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re all in the Dallon Weekes fan club,” Travie comments with a roll of his eyes, and really, Dallon has never been more tempted to flirt with a witch than in this moment, just to mess with Travie a little bit. He refrains, however, and instead just winks playfully at the tall vampire and blows him a kiss.

“Anyway,” Pete interjects with a look of amused exasperation directed at Dallon. “We need your help with our barrier.”

“The spell around the house?” Vicky’s surprise is evident, but not alarmed, which Dallon chooses to take as a good sign. “It doesn’t feel off, it should be working just fine.”

“It does, kinda,” William confirms with a shrug.

“It let someone through,” Mike informs with a concerned look, his impatience clearly burning just beneath his skin.

The young werewolf has proven himself to be an excellent second in command for the pack, from what Dallon has seen. He’s good-natured and loyal, but he’s not afraid to speak up if things don’t sit right with him, or if he thinks his Alpha is being disrespected in any way. During his conversation with Pete, Dallon discovered that Mike was the original target of the attack in which William was kidnapped and injured, and that the scar on his cheek is a reminder of his close call. No wonder he’s so loyal to Pete and the clan as well, given that William nearly sacrificed himself to save him.

“What d’you mean?” Vicky’s question brings Dallon back to the moment, his mind refocusing on the matter at hand.

“About three days ago, the alarm went off, but the barrier didn’t stop the intruder,” Pete explains calmly – it’s not lost on Dallon that Patrick is letting everyone else do the talking. “Luckily, he didn’t attack us. He just walked up to the door and rang the doorbell.”

“Is it possible the spell knew he had no ill-intentions?” Gabe asks with a cocked eyebrow.

“No, not this spell,” Vicky denies with a slow shake of her head. “I mean, if you want to upgrade it, there are some spells that can read intent, but clairvoyance on such a big scale is beyond our skills, even as a triad and even with Ray’s help. It would take a whole coven, or… well, Maja.”

“I don’t think we need an upgrade,” Pete reassures her with a little smile. “We just need to figure out why the barrier let him through.”

“Well, the spell is woven so that people who belong to the clan and to the pack can access without trouble,” Vicky explains, her expression still somewhat perturbed.

“I see,” Pete mutters with a thoughtful nod.

Is he really not going to ask? Does Dallon have to be that guy? Fine, he’ll be that guy.

“Is it tied to Pete’s bloodline in any way?” Dallon is very aware of everyone turning to look at him as he asks this, and he squares his shoulders as he addresses them. “What the hell are you all looking at me like that for? That’s what we’re trying to figure out, isn’t it?”

Pete glares for a moment, then gives a resigned sigh as he admits, “It is.”

“I’m lost, who is it that the barrier let through?” Vicky’s tone is now a mix of curiosity and suspicion, as if she’s finally figured out she doesn’t have the full picture.

“Ryan Ross,” Dallon answers before Pete can find some other way to talk around it. “In broad daylight.”

Vicky looks at him in silence, her expression completely devoid of amusement now as she processes the new information she’s been given. And probably tries to assess whether Dallon is messing with her or not. He wishes he was.

“There is a blood component to the spell,” Vicky confirms at last. “Since the vampires who belong to the clan are either Pete’s kindred or share a mating bond with a kindred, we implemented the blood element to make it more secure.”

“Which means Ross could share Pete’s blood,” Patrick whispers, speaking for the first time since Vicky arrived.

“It could be, but we shouldn’t jump to conclusions,” Vicky objects immediately. “The spell was built around Pete and his kindred – a born vampire and his kindred, and if Ross can stand outside in daylight, that means he’s the direct kindred of a born vampire.”

“That’s what the spell might have recognized,” Gabe points out with evident relief in his voice. “It might have nothing to do with the bloodline, it could just be an affinity.”

“How do we figure it out?” Dallon asks the witch, his eyes following her intently. She seems sincere enough, and he hopes she’ll have a solution at hand. He doubts they’ll be that lucky, though.

“We need his blood, it’s the only way to know for certain,” Vicky responds somewhat apologetically. “Is he still here?”

“Yes, but he's under sanctuary,” Pete informs with a sigh. “Which means we can't take it against his will.”

“And he’s not likely to help us, if we ask,” William points out.

“We could withhold fresh blood until he’s willing to cooperate,” Travie proposes with a small shrug.

“He’s under sanctuary, we’re not gonna torture him,” Patrick immediately protests, and the way he raises his voice makes it croak a little – and yet, it’s enough to make Travie back down and offer an apologetic nod.

Dallon smiles softly at the passion with which Patrick opposes that option and defends their prisoner – someone who up until months before was their enemy, someone who up until months before stood by Urie and happily did his bidding.

And then voted to kill him off.

That bit still baffles Dallon, if he has to be honest. Sure, he gets that Urie got Smith killed, but when he thinks back to the Council, is that enough to justify the hatred he saw in Ross’s and Walker’s eyes? The speed with which they switched sides? Or is it maybe possible that there’s more to it? Some detail they’re missing?

It could be. Dallon knows first-hand how deceptive and manipulative Urie could be, after all. So maybe this is worth looking into.

“We need someone to get close to him, get him to talk and cooperate without breaking sanctuary,” Pete considers, pacing a little in front of the cold fireplace. “But I don’t think I’m the right person for it, he hates me and I don’t even remember why.”

“Don’t look at me, he completely ignored me when I brought him blood,” William offers with a small shrug.

“If I remember the intel correctly, and I do…” Travie starts with a cocked eyebrow, attention landing on Dallon of all people. “You used to be close to that bunch, a while back.”

“Your intel isn’t accurate,” Dallon deadpans, and it takes all of his self-control to keep the anger at bay as he speaks. “I never had anything to do with Ross and Walker,” he explains, jaw clenching. “And my relationship with Urie was… complicated. Not the stroll in the fucking park you lot think it was.”

“Complicated or not, it means you have more in common with Ross than any of us,” Gabe reasons quietly, his tone careful, as if he understands he’s treading on thin ice. And yet, Dallon hates to admit he has a point.

Dallon looks around the room then, and takes a deep breath as he ponders the idea they’re suggesting. If he’d known being admitted into the inner circle would entail befriending one of Urie’s minions to gather intel, he would have minded his own fucking business. But no, he had to be nosy and play politics and build an alliance and… and fucking make friends with these people.

He’s about to answer and tell them to take a hike, when Patrick speaks instead and cuts him off.

“It’s okay if you’re not up to it, Dallon, it’s bound to bring back bad memories,” the werewolf points out with a quiet, apologetic smile, the look in his eyes showing sympathy and reassurance.

Everyone else seems to realize what he’s referring to, what they’re truly asking of him, and suddenly, expectation turns into many different things around the room. Embarrassment for Pete, guilt for Gabe, reproach towards the others for William.

Fuck.

“You just had to be a sweetheart about it, wolf, didn’t you?” Dallon huffs as he runs a hand through his hair, eyes staying on Patrick. How can he fucking refuse now? “Fine, I’ll do it.”

“Are you sure?” Patrick asks, and that single question and his concerned look, tell Dallon that no, Patrick wasn’t using some kind of reverse psychology. He genuinely tried to offer him an out. Which only cements Dallon’s decision further, because he’s nothing but a sentimental, masochistic idiot with a soft spot for a kind-hearted werewolf.

How is this his fucking life now?

And yet, he’s smiling a little as he huffs an exasperated and slightly dramatic, “I’m sure.”

~

Patrick feels like it’s been a million years since he’s last sat in the sunroom during nighttime, just enjoying the light of the moon. He can feel the power of it gently surrounding him, healing him, helping his mind unwind and slow down. He knows it would feel even better if he turned into his wolf form and went outside, but he isn’t sure whether his injury would be obvious to the pack if he did.

He hasn’t talked to them yet, he’s instructed Mike to tell them he was mildly injured and that he’s recovering in the house. But he knows it’s just a matter of time before he has to face them and explain what is going on. And it’s not that he’s scared, he knows they consider Pete one of their own, they wouldn’t turn on him, but he hates that he has no answers for them, no certainties.

So he hides in here like a coward.

It’s Joe and Andy who finally find him about an hour later, half asleep but awake enough to hear them approach.

“Hey, where’s Buffy?” Joe jokes with a small grin, looking around the room.

“Upstairs, I think. I sneaked away, and I’m pretty sure Dallon doesn’t know about this room yet,” Patrick admits with just a hint of amusement tinting his words.

“D’you need us to tell him to back off?” Andy offers as he takes a seat across from Patrick, his expression perfectly serious.

“I appreciate the sentiment,” Patrick answers with a chuckle. “But there’s no need, he’s just trying to be helpful.”

“By staking Pete?” Joe teases, smiling.

“By standing guard when Pete sleeps, just in case,” Patrick corrects his friend with a roll of his eyes.

“I mean, it makes sense he’d take on the task, he’s the oldest vampire in the house after Pete – well, barring Ross, but I don’t think he’d help,” Andy reasons, just as Joe takes a seat next to him.

“That’s debatable, I get the feeling Ross would be happy to stake Pete,” Joe counters with a cocked eyebrow.

“Yeah, let’s not give him ideas, please,” Patrick interjects, head shaking slowly. “I wish Dallon didn’t have to do it either, I honestly feel bad about dumping this on him,” he continues as he lets out a small sigh. “He’s not part of the clan, he has no obligation to help us, he just came over to visit and found himself stuck in this mess.”

“He doesn’t seem to mind too much,” Joe observes, but there’s no trace of teasing in his voice. Good, because Pete teasing him about Dallon’s supposed crush is more than enough for Patrick.

“Hopefully he’ll get Ross to cooperate, so we can solve at least one mystery,” Andy comments with a little smile.

Patrick nods silently at those words, and reaches for the mug he placed on the coffee table maybe an hour before. The tea has gone cold, but he drinks it anyway – it actually feels better than drinking it hot, considering how his throat is still recovering. He tries not to think about that too hard, but when his friend speaks again, he makes it quite impossible.

“How are you holding up?” Joe asks quietly, gesturing vaguely at his own neck.

“I’m healing,” Patrick simply says, his smile not reaching up to his eyes this time.

“Physically,” Andy adds for him, his concern clear in his expression. “It’s everything else that’s worrying us.”

“I’m--” Okay? Patrick pauses, because lying to his friends feels disloyal and honestly stupid when they can probably see through it. So he decides to be as honest as he can bring himself to be in this moment, which is all he can offer without feeling like he’s coming apart at the seams. “It’s not the easiest thing I’ve had to deal with.”

Both Joe and Andy seem to understand that’s the closest they’re going to get to his actual state of mind, and they don’t push it further. Patrick loves them to bits for it.

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Joe asks instead, looking straight at his friend.

Patrick once again pauses before he answers, because the truth is that he has no idea how they can help. But the fact that they’re offering to, showing him he doesn’t have to face this alone, is enough to hearten him – more than he expected.

“Just make sure the pack knows they’re in no danger, I would never--" Patrick stops in his tracks, and takes a deep breath. Is it true, though? Are they in no danger? What if Pete gets out of control? What if Dallon fails to stop him? “They’ll be in no danger, I’ll make sure of that.”

“How?” Andy asks, and it’s clear he’s having the same doubts Patrick is having, and Joe isn’t very far behind.

“Leave that to me,” Patrick just says, because he can’t bring himself to say out loud what he’s thinking, what his mind is suggesting. He can’t bring himself to admit he’s planning on locking Pete into his own house. And yet, that seems like the only solution at hand to make sure he can keep his pack safe, and stay by Pete’s side at the same time. Leading the pack away would not guarantee their safety, not with the unrest spreading after the Council. But he can’t allow the possibility of Pete losing control and going after them either. “I’ll talk to Maja tomorrow.”

“I thought she said not to summon her again,” Joe points out, worried.

“Leave that to me as well,” Patrick answers with a resolute nod.

“Is Vicky staying?”

“No, she left an hour ago, she’s needed back at her coven,” Patrick informs with a sigh – and there’s a trace of relief there. At least he won’t have to put up a show, and there’ll be no risk of anyone accidentally letting something slip. “Mikey’s coming over, though, and he might have intel that can help us with Ross, or a contact that can help us with Pete.”

Right as Joe is about to answer, they hear shouting coming from the upper floor of the house. All three of them jump to their feet and head for the staircase. Patrick, however, stops dead in his tracks when he reaches the entrance hall, and gestures his friends to stay back. 

Pete is standing there, a wild look on his face and blood on his mouth, neck and clothes, and Patrick feels his spine run cold. Because Pete doesn’t look injured, which means the blood must be someone else’s. Patrick tries not to think about that, tries to focus on the emergency at hand – waking Pete from this echo before more blood is spilled.

“Pete,” Patrick calls out softly, and the vampire immediately turns to look at him, but there is no recognition in his eyes.

Just like the other night.

Except this time, it’s not fury that’s showing in his eyes. It’s fear.

“Where am I?” Pete mutters, looking down at his bloody hands before returning his attention to Patrick. “Who are you?”

“You’re among friends,” Patrick tries to reassure him, but doesn’t step closer. Directly behind Pete is their front door, and one wrong move could send him running. And that would be a problem.

“I don’t have friends,” Pete objects, his tone growing harsher, defensive.

Fuck. This isn’t going to work, Pete is never going to relate to his present, not in this state.

“You’re safe, Urie can’t find you here,” Patrick tries instead; hopefully, it’s a better strategy than before. Hopefully, it’s what Pete needs to hear to calm his terror.

“What do you know about Urie?” Pete immediately asks, suspicious, anger flashing in his eyes.

“I know he’s a dick and a piece of shit, but he can’t get you here,” Patrick answers honestly, and takes a tentative step forward. When Pete doesn’t react negatively, he takes another, then stops. “You were hurt, your memory is a little scrambled, but I promise you’re safe here.”

“No,” Pete whispers, shaking his head. “No, this must be some kind of fucking mind game he’s set up.”

“Pete--” Patrick starts, but before he can even think of anything to say, Pete is turning around and running straight for the front door.

Fuck.

~

Chapter Text

Chapter 5 – We're the new face of failure, prettier and younger, but not any better off - bulletproof loneliness, at best

~

Dallon gets up from the floor, a pained groan slipping past his clenched teeth. He’s bleeding and he’s in pain, but he’ll be damned if he lets Pete do anything stupid. He can hear Patrick trying to reason with his mate, but he has a feeling it’s not going to yield anything good; Pete was frantic with panic, desperate to find a way out of what – to him – is an unfamiliar house, full of unfamiliar scents.

Which means Pete is going to try and leave.

Dallon doesn’t waste time and heads for the window, then jumps down into the garden with unnatural agility. He ignores the way he’s still bleeding from the deep wound on his neck where Pete bit him, and instead holds on tight to the stake as he circles the house in the quietest way possible. He knows that if Pete gets loose, he might hurt someone – he might even find the pack living in the forest on his property. And who knows how he might react, when faced with an entire pack of werewolves?

No, he needs to be stopped.

By the time he reaches the front door, he can hear Patrick’s voice trying to convince Pete he’s safe. Considering Pete’s response, he’s not very successful, and moments later, the door is flung open, as Dallon expected.

This time, however, Dallon is ready for it, and sinks the stake into Pete’s heart before Pete realizes what’s going on. Thank fuck the born vampire is not yet at full strength, or his reflexes would have been too fast for Dallon to act in time.

“Pete!” Patrick shouts as the vampire falls to the ground, unconscious. And then he notices Dallon, and his panic seems to deflate, in favor of plain relief. It doesn’t last long, however, because his eyes drop to Dallon’s injured neck. “Fuck, are you okay?”

“Couldn’t quite get him the first time,” Dallon informs as he rests his shoulder against the doorframe, and brings a hand to his bleeding wound. “I’ll be fine, it’s a nasty bite, but he missed anything vital.”

Patrick nods his understanding, relief back into his eyes, but before he can speak again, Joe and Andy reach them too.

“Let’s take Pete back to his room,” Joe proposes, and addresses Dallon a thankful nod. “Then we’ll call Ryland.”

“I don’t think it’s necessary,” Dallon argues with a shrug. “Just pull out the stake and he’ll heal.”

Andy looks at Patrick, then, clearly waiting for his Alpha to actually give the order. Patrick simply nods his assent, then steps back to allow Andy and Joe to collect Pete from the ground. It’s clear that the werewolf is conflicted, torn between following them and staying with Dallon, so Dallon solves the dilemma for him.

“Go take care of your vampire, I’ll be okay,” Dallon reassures him, waving off the beginning of an objection he can see forming in Patrick’s expression. “I need a snack and a shower, and sadly, I don’t think you want to help with either. Unless you’re offering to, in which case absolutely, be my guest.”

“Yeah, you’re definitely fine,” Patrick huffs with a roll of his eyes.

“Is that a no on the shower, then?” Dallon teases with a small grin.

Patrick just glares at him at those words, but there’s something else in his eyes, something very akin to gratitude and… well, warmth. “You’re very good at deflecting, Weekes, I’ll give you that,” Patrick admits as he heads for the stairs.

Dallon watches him go, then slowly steps inside and closes the front door. Now that the adrenaline is subsiding, the wound feels more painful, and the fact that it hasn’t stopped bleeding yet tells Dallon that it’s probably a little more serious than he thought. He’s pretty sure it has something to do with Pete being a born vampire, because he distinctly remembers Urie’s bites taking longer to heal, especially those he inflicted with the purpose of hurting him.

Forcing his mind away from that particular thought, Dallon heads for his room, and once he’s inside, he walks over to the mirror in the corner. Yep, the bite still looks fresh, the healing slower than it should be. He’s survived shit like this before, he’ll survive it again, but it does make him wonder how long they can keep Wentz at bay before someone gets killed in the process.

Half an hour and a shower later, the wound has stopped bleeding, and Dallon can finally get dressed in clean clothes. He debates whether to go check on Wentz, but decides against it – he’s done his part, after all, and while he’s apparently taken on the role of bodyguard, he’s no babysitter. He’s sure they’ll find him if they need him.

Instead, he heads down to the kitchen, hoping to find some blood he can drink to speed up his healing. The moment he steps into the room, however, he regrets his decision, because the dynamic trio in its entirety happens to be sat around the table, deep in conversation. Great, there goes his quiet 4 am snack.

The moment they spot him, it’s William who jumps up and heads in his direction, while Gabe and Travie observe him from their seats.

“Dallon, are you okay?” Beckett asks with genuine concern, and that somewhat quietens Dallon’s internal grumpiness at his plan for solitude being disrupted. He’s definitely not used to living with so many people, but he has to admit having someone who shows interest for his wellbeing even if he’s just a guest isn’t that terrible of a feeling. “We just got back and Joe told us what happened.”

“I’m fine, I’m healing,” Dallon waves him off with a shrug. “It would go faster if I had a nice cup of B positive, though.”

“I’ll get you some, take a seat,” William offers with a little smile, then takes off to retrieve the blood from wherever it is they keep it.

Dallon looks at the other two vampires, then, but his hesitation is answered by Gabe moving a chair back to make room for him, silently inviting him to join them. Well, that’s new. They were clearly discussing something when he arrived, and he expected he’d be merrily sent on his way with the blood so they can continue their conversation in peace and privacy. Being invited into it is genuinely a surprise.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, man, but you look like shit,” Travie comments as Dallon finally takes a seat. “How much blood did you lose?”

“A lot,” Dallon deadpans, not too keen on the topic. “Pete caught me off guard, I wasn’t fast enough with the stake.”

“Why the hell was he sleeping in the middle of the night?” Gabe wonders out loud, clearly confused.

Oh, right, they don’t know about that part, and neither does Patrick. Yeah, he probably should have mentioned it earlier.

“He wasn’t.”

The words hang in the air for a few long seconds, their significance fully impacting the other vampires. This is new, Pete succumbing to an echo while fully awake is not something they anticipated happening, although they probably should have. William walks back right then, holding a mug of blood, and hands it to Dallon, before taking his seat next to Gabe. The tense silence probably clues him in on the fact that something is very wrong.

“What’s going on?”

“We’re in a fuckload of trouble, that’s what’s going on,” Travie mutters under his breath, running a hand over his face.

William’s concerned confusion turns to Dallon, who sighs as he repeats, “Pete wasn’t asleep when the echo took over.”

“Shit,” William whispers, leaning back in his chair.

Dallon takes a long sip from the mug and allows himself a moment to appreciate the fact that William took the time to warm it to just the perfect temperature. It makes him almost reluctant to speak his next words, but ultimately, he knows someone needs to say it, and he has a feeling he’s the only one willing to say it out loud.

“If these things can happen at any time, Pete is a walking time bomb,” Dallon points out, and all three vampires turn to look at him – with wildly different expressions. William’s concern has turned into defensiveness, while Travie looks like he swallowed a bag of nails; Gabe, on his end, just looks utterly defeated. “If he gets loose, he might do some real damage.”

“We can’t give up on him!” William’s instant protest almost draws a smile from Dallon – Beckett might be the only vampire in the clan who isn’t Pete’s direct kindred, but he has never once faltered in his defense of his Archon. What the hell has Wentz done for these people to make them so fiercely loyal?

“I’m not suggesting we do,” Dallon reassures him with a tired sigh. “But we need to contain him.”

William seems appeased enough by those words, and when he speaks, it’s in a quiet tone, “Joe said Patrick plans on consulting Maja.”

“In the meantime, no one leaves, we need all hands on deck,” Gabe instructs, nodding his head. And while he doesn’t sound particularly optimistic, Dallon can tell he’s trying not to let his fears get in the way of approaching this rationally. “It’s not fair we keep relying on Dallon to take care of this.”

“I mean, it is the weirdest holiday I’ve ever been on,” Dallon jokes quietly, which surprisingly pulls a reluctant chuckle from Travie. Uh, so he does have a sense of humor. Cool.

“This isn’t what we had in mind either,” William admits with a little smile. “Thank you for everything you’re doing.”

Dallon finds himself at a loss for words for a moment, because despite everything, he didn’t expect them to actually thank him. What he’s been doing just feels like the natural thing to do, he’s the oldest and strongest vampire among those currently present, so it makes sense he’d be the one to keep an eye on their super powerful and super unstable Archon. And okay, mostly he’s had Patrick’s wellbeing in mind, but the longer he spends with these people, the more he’s surprised to find that he actually wants to help them.

Still, he downplays his part in it with a small wave of his hand, and deflects with another joke, “Now that trying to murder Urie isn’t an option anymore, I needed a new hobby anyway, and staking Wentz is definitely more fun than crocheting.”

William huffs a small laugh at that, and reaches over to slap him playfully behind the head. “You’re an asshole.”

“I know, thank you.” Dallon hides his grin by taking an extra-long sip of the blood.

~

“What did I tell you about summoning me?” Maja’s stern voice comes through the smartphone speaker loud and clear, and her face is a perfect match for how annoyed she sounds.

“I’m not summoning you, I’m videocalling you,” Patrick points out with a sarcastic smile.  

“Same difference,” Maja huffs, clearly unimpressed by his choice of semantics. “What do you want, wolf?”

“We need your help with Pete,” Patrick’s tone grows somber at those words, and his shift in expression must be clear to the witch, because she also turns deadly serious, if not a little alarmed.

“What’s going on?”

“We think he’s experiencing echoes of his old memories, and it’s getting dangerous,” Patrick explains calmly, even though he feels anything but. Finding out that Pete’s latest echo of the previous night started when he was fully awake has made the matter infinitely more urgent. “He loses control of himself, doesn’t remember where he is or who we are.” Reluctantly, Patrick tilts the phone down to show her his neck, the bruises fading but still visible. “He nearly choked me to death the other night.”

“The other night? How long has this been going on?” Maja asks, clearly alarmed at the sight of his injury.

“It started four days ago,” Patrick recounts, frowning. “The first time it happened, he was sleeping, but the second one happened while he was fully awake.” There’s a pause, but then Patrick can’t help adding, “You said he could experience brief echoes, not that he would become a part-time psychopath.”

“Yeah, because that’s not how echoes work,” Maja objects with a shake of her head. “Are you sure that’s what’s happening?”

“No, that’s why I’m calling you,” Patrick admits, and it takes all of his self-control to keep his voice neutral, and not give in to the sarcastic comeback that’s burning on the tip of his tongue. “We need to figure it out, and we need--”

Patrick pauses, because he isn’t sure how to say it without sounding like he’s speaking about a rabid animal instead of his mate.

Maja, however, ends the sentence for him. “You need to contain him.”

“The second time he wasn’t-- he was just scared, but he tried to fight his way out of the house,” Patrick explains, feeling his blood run cold once more at the memory, at how close Pete got to making it outside.

“How do you snap him out of it?” Maja asks, and it’s clear her mind has shifted gears, she’s trying to figure this out.

“We don’t,” Patrick admits. “So far, both times he stopped because Dallon staked him.”

“What the hell is Dallon Weekes doing over there?” Maja sounds skeptical and entirely focused on the wrong thing.

“He’s visiting,” Patrick answers rather drily, then adds, “Look, we need to figure it out, before someone ends up dead. And you’re the only one who has any idea how any of this works.”

Maja is silent for the next few seconds, clearly thinking it over in her head. Patrick does his best to keep quiet, to give her time to make a decision, but he’s determined not to go down without a fight. If she refuses, he plans on bugging her until she changes her mind. He was not joking when he told Pete he would bully her into helping.

Luckily, it seems it won’t be necessary, because Maja gives what Patrick considers an overdramatic sigh, then caves, “Fine, I’ll be there tomorrow, I need to take care of something first.”

Patrick feels relief flood him like a wave, and he nods his head a couple of times before he forces himself to speak. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Maja huffs, rolling her eyes. “But you call me a bitch one more time, and you’re on your own.”

“I’ll call you fucking empress of the universe, if you can fix this,” Patrick promises with the hint of a smile.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

With that, the videocall ends, and Patrick lets himself fall back onto the armchair in the library. And that’s when he notices the figure standing at the door, watching him. Pete.

“You’re never gonna call her that, let’s be real,” Pete teases him, though it’s weak and unconvincing.

“She doesn’t need to know that.” Patrick’s smile is equally tired, but he doesn’t hesitate to walk over to his mate. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a fucking landmine,” Pete admits quietly, and while it’s clear he’s a little hesitant to let Patrick get close, he also probably knows if he steps back Patrick won’t react well.

It’s bad enough that Pete insisted on sleeping in a cell in the basement, in the hopes that if another echo took over, it would be enough to contain him. Patrick put up with that because it wasn’t completely unreasonable, but he’s not willing to let this whole issue drive a wedge between him and Pete, neither an emotional one, nor a physical one.

“Did you get any sleep?” Patrick asks as he takes a seat on one of the sofas, then invites Pete to sit with him.

Pete pauses just for a moment, then slowly makes his way over and sits as well. “Not really, you?”

“Not much,” Patrick admits, then glances at the vampire as he adds, “I spent a few hours with the pack, they were getting worried about me.”

Pete tenses visibly at those words, as if he expects the rest of the conversation to take a turn for the worse. “How did they take the news?”

“They want you to know they’ve got your back,” Patrick reassures him with a little smile, which only grows when he sees surprise take over Pete’s previously concerned expression. “Did you really think they’d turn against you?”

“I nearly killed their Alpha, I honestly expected them to demand my head on a stake,” Pete confesses in a whisper, as if he still quite doesn’t believe that isn’t the case.

“They’re concerned, of course, but they understand that it wasn’t really you who did that.” There’s no point in lying, there is a fair amount of worry going around the pack, but at this stage, they’re still willing to trust Patrick’s judgement on the matter. And Patrick’s judgement is that they’ll find a way to deal with this before Pete becomes a threat for the pack – or anyone else outside the property.

“You heard Maja, though, echoes are not supposed to work like this,” Pete reasons, and his statement confirms that he heard most of the call. “What if I’m--” he pauses, clearly unwilling to finish the sentence. It takes evident effort, but eventually, he makes himself speak. “What if I’m going insane?”

“I don’t think we should be jumping to conclusions, Pete,” Patrick counters, shaking his head. “I get that you’re scared and confused, but--”

“And you aren’t?” Pete jumps in, turning a little in his seat to face the werewolf.

Patrick hesitates then, conflicted between telling the truth or a reassuring lie. He knows, however, that no matter how good he is at lying, no matter how convincing he comes off when tricking other people, Pete always sees through it.

“I’m terrified,” Patrick admits after a few seconds, his voice barely a whisper.

Pete closes his eyes at those words, and Patrick can feel the pain through their bond, he can tell how guilty Pete feels in that moment. And more than anything, Patrick wishes he could say something to soothe that, to lighten that burden, to show Pete it’s okay, that they’re going to get through this together.

The words, however, get stuck in his throat, and this time it has nothing to do with his injury, and everything to do with the fact that he has no idea what to say, no idea how to make this better.

So instead, he just reaches over and takes Pete’s hand in his own.

~

For maybe the eleventh time since leaving his room, Dallon tells himself he should have refused this stupid assignment. After all, he’s not part of the clan, he has no obligation to actually help them with this whole Ross situation, and he certainly is no expert in extracting information. And yet, here he is, walking down the hallway to reach the room where Ross is kept under enchanted lock and key.

Truth is, he did talk himself into telling Patrick and the others he changed his mind, but when he found Pete and Patrick in the library earlier the look of absolute defeat in the werewolf’s eyes was too heartbreaking for Dallon to pile on with his refusal. So he didn’t.

And while he thinks he’s going too fucking soft on these people, he’s also not completely incapable of empathy; he understands right now the clan has bigger issues at hand, issues Dallon can’t really help with, aside from periodically staking Pete to calm him the fuck down. Which Maja’s intervention will hopefully put a stop to, because Dallon’s never been a fan of extreme sports that could easily get him killed.

Yeah, this isn’t exactly the diplomatic stay he envisioned when he left Utah.

He stops in front of Ryan’s door, a blood bag in his hand since William figured Dallon could be the one to bring over the food now that he’s taking on this task. Also read: William can’t stand being ignored by Ross.

In the end, Dallon decides strategy is overrated after all, and he just goes for it.

“Rise and shine, princess,” Dallon chirps as he walks into Ryan’s bedroom without as much as a knock on the door.

“Fuck off,” Ross simply states as he glances up from the book he’s reading.

“Should your lunch fuck off too?” Dallon dangles the blood bag in front of him, eyebrow cocked as he challenges Ross to actively refuse the meal.

However, the other vampire’s response surprises Dallon, because of all the possible reactions he expected, he would never have imagined Ross would laugh. And yet, that’s what he does, even though his laugh is devoid of genuine amusement and filled with bitterness instead.

“So you’re Wentz’s errand boy, now?” Ross taunts as he places the book down.

Okay, that does sting his ego, Dallon has to admit it – he does not like being called an errand boy, no matter whose. So he promptly responds with a sarcastic, “Better than being his charity case.”

“Aww, did I hurt your feelings?” Ross mocks with just the hint of a grin, and yet, there’s something that hardens in his eyes at the words ‘charity case’.

Uh, so Dallon isn’t the only proud one in the room. That’s an interesting road to explore.

“You know, I can’t imagine why your clan kicked you out, you’re such a ray of sunshine,” Dallon states with a cocked eyebrow, and once again sees Ryan’s expression shift, annoyance clearly showing. Without another word, he tosses the blood bag in Ryan’s direction. “Drink, asshole.”

Ross catches the blood bag and looks at it with a frown, clearly discontented. “Beckett usually brought this in a mug, or a glass.”

“Well, then maybe you should have been nicer to him,” Dallon points out as he rests his back against the closed door and crosses his arms. “Now you’re stuck with me, and I’m not Beckett. I have no obligation and no wish to be pleasant to you.”

“I can see that,” Ryan mutters under his breath.

“What, did I hurt your feelings?” Dallon has no qualms being petty and turning Ryan’s earlier question against him.

Ross simply glares in response, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he opens the blood bag and proceeds to drink from it, his eyes closing and his expression betraying the discomfort of drinking cold-from-storage blood. Well, boohoo, Dallon is in no way inclined to feel bad for him, not given the welcome he received.

The movement of drinking from the bag, however, causes the sleeve of Ryan’s oversized sweater to slide down just enough for Dallon to notice something on his forearm. A scar. The scar of a healed bitemark, which can only mean one thing… a marking bite. Uh, he had no idea Ross has a mate. Or had.

His mind immediately jumps to Spencer Smith. Could that be why Ross switched sides so quickly when he found out Urie caused Smith’s death by sending him after Wentz’s clan? It’s certainly a possibility, one that guts Dallon unexpectedly. Losing a mate is the kind of pain he wouldn’t wish on anyone, not even Ross – and whether Smith was his mate or not, the fact that Ross came here of all places to ask for sanctuary, and came alone, means said mate is probably dead, whoever it was.

That new discovery puts a damper on his hostility towards the other vampire, but he decides not to say anything. Considering how proud Ross seems to be, Dallon has a feeling he wouldn’t react well if the topic was brough up. However, it’s definitely interesting information, and Dallon files it away for later consideration.

“Are you going to stand there and stare at me like a creep every time I eat?” Ross mutters when he’s finished, and tosses the empty bag back at Dallon.

Dallon catches it and offers a grin in return as he teases, “What can I say, you’re an asshole, but you’re pretty when you drink.”

Ross stares at him for a moment, the teasing clearly catching him off guard, but as soon as he recovers he rolls his eyes and huffs a quiet, “Fuck off, Weekes.”

Dallon has to admit, it’s an incredibly satisfying reaction, and he wonders if he could maybe mess with Ross a little bit more on this front, next time – maybe even fluster him. It would definitely be a more fun route than open hostility and mean shots. And idly flirting with people just to spark interesting reactions is kind of his thing, isn’t it? You’re stuck doing this dumb spying task, at least embrace your strengths, Weekes.

“As you wish, princess,” Dallon responds as he moves away from the door just enough to open it.

Ryan’s sole answer to that is to show him the middle finger, and Dallon can’t help laughing to himself as he walks out and locks the door. Okay, so maybe not his finest moment of socialization, but all in all, it wasn’t half bad as a start – at least he found out about the marking bite, and Ross seemingly has no idea he saw it, which puts them at some kind of advantage, if they can find out more.

Dallon walks away, then, mind still going over the exchange he had with Ross; he makes a brief detour to throw away the empty blood bag, then heads for his room. It’s nearly dawn, Pete is locked up in the cell in the basement, and the dynamic trio has taken over guard duty for once, so Dallon feels like he’s earned a good day’s sleep – or what his nightmares will allow him to have.

The moment he turns the corner, however, he stops in his tracks. Because there’s a shadow at his door, clearly waiting for him, back resting against the wall in a relaxed pose. He knows that shadow. He would know it anywhere.

Despite his better judgment, Dallon feels his lips distend in a smile as he resumes approaching.

“Now, what could you possibly be after this time, Mikey?” Dallon teases as he reaches the other vampire in the dim lighting of the hallway. “I’m all out of secrets.”

“I highly doubt that,” Mikey counters with a grin of his own. “But I’m not here for secrets.”

“Oh, so you’re here for sex,” Dallon comments as he stops in front of the vampire, barely a step away.

“There’s nothing hotter than a smart vampire,” is Mikey’s way of confirming Dallon’s words, and his hand reaches out to toy with the buttons of Dallon’s shirt. The fucking minx. “Say the word and I’m gone, of course. I’ve got my own room.”

Even in the darkness, he can see the playful glint in Mikey’s eyes, like a light for the moth that is Dallon’s poor judgment. He knows he should say that damn word and send him packing, that this is possibly a bad idea in the midst of everything that’s happening. And yet, why should he deny himself what little comfort he can find by opening his bed to Mikey – it has worked before, after all. And Mikey is a damn good fuck, that also deserves to be taken into consideration.

“You’ve been in the house what, two hours?” Dallon teases, but steps closer so as to pin Mikey against the wall, hands on the other vampire’s hips.

“Twenty minutes,” Mikey corrects him, and now his fingers move up to run through Dallon’s hair.

“And everyone else is already busy, right?” Dallon points out with a playful grin.

“No idea, you’re my first choice.” Mikey sounds sincere enough as he admits this, and Dallon has dealt with him for long enough to be able to tell when he’s lying and when he’s not.

“You actually mean that.” Dallon doesn’t mean to sound so surprised, but he does. He has no illusions about what’s between him and Mikey, it’s always been a matter of trading secrets or fending off loneliness, but it seems that along the way, maybe he isn’t the only one who started thinking this could involve some kind of odd friendship.

“Stop being a dick,” Mikey chides him, fingers pulling on his hair a little bit to drive his point home. “Unbelievable as it is, I actually like you, asshole, and I just missed you.”

Dallon feels his lips curve in a smile at those words, and when he speaks, it’s by leaning so close his lips brush Mikey’s. “I missed you too,” Dallon admits, and surprisingly, it’s not a lie either.

~

Chapter Text

Chapter 6 – I will always land on you like a sucker punch, singing I am your worst nightmare

~

“So, they tell me you’re in charge of poking Pete with a stick any time he goes psycho,” Mikey comments as he shifts so that he’s half-lying on his stomach, his chin resting on Dallon’s chest.

Dallon shakes with silent laughter at the wording Mikey chose, but keeps his eyes on the ceiling. “Who’s they?”

“Travie. He’s the one who let me in and told me what’s going on,” Mikey informs, fingers trailing along the curve of Dallon’s hipbone. “Honestly, I’m surprised you’re still here.”

“What d’you mean?”

This time, Dallon looks down at Mikey, only to find the other smiling up at him. The temptation to run his hand through the other vampire’s hair is too strong, and he finds himself unable to resist – nor does he see why he should resist, really. Mikey always makes sure to look so stylish and put together, and it’s charming, sure, but Dallon much prefers this version of him, with messy bed hair and a lazy smile on his lips. It always feels like his most genuine side. And really, it’s not fair that not only is Mikey great in bed, but that he also looks this hot after they fuck – no wonder he’s weaponized this talent.

“Well, your whole thing is that you don’t get sucked into other people’s drama.” Mikey doesn’t sound bothered, only mildly amused, especially as he adds, “Are you going soft?”

“Did it feel like I’m going soft?” Dallon taunts, and for good measures, he tugs playfully at Mikey’s hair.

“Not what I meant and you know it,” Mikey laughs, and bites playfully at Dallon’s chest in retaliation.

Dallon squirms a little, his expression too entertained to really pass for the glare he intended to address Mikey. Truth is, he isn’t sure what to say – why is he sticking around? Well, he knows the answer by now, he just isn’t sure if Mikey will laugh at him once he hears it. Or why the other vampire is asking in the first place.

“Are you asking for a friend?” Dallon teases, but it’s only half a joke, and they both know it.

“No,” Mikey huffs with a playful glare, and pinches Dallon’s side. “I’m asking because I like this version of Dallon Weekes who sticks around to help his friends.”

Dallon takes a moment to look at Mikey, to read the smile on his face, and there’s no mocking there, the sentiment seemingly genuine. “I like these people,” he admits at last, although he’s still hesitant to use the word friends. Not because he doesn’t want to consider them as such, simply because it’s still hard to overcome his guardedness in the matter.

There’s a beat of silence, and Dallon has the distinct impression that Mikey is debating whether to speak what’s on his mind. After a few more seconds, it seems he decides in favor, because he says, “What you did during the High Council took guts, and it earned you a lot of respect and gratitude from a lot of people, not just Wentz and his clan.”

“I didn’t do it alone,” Dallon reminds him – if anything, the altruistic actions of the werewolves were the key in convincing his fellow Regents, not his own words or influence. He just said the right thing at the right time.

“Kindness looks good on you, Weekes, but modesty does not become you,” Mikey objects with a cocked eyebrow, and his words prompt a laugh from Dallon. Mikey’s expression, however, soon softens into another smile.

“Are you telling me I wasn’t kind before?” Dallon teases with another tug on Mikey’s hair, but there’s no malice behind it. He knows it’s true, Mikey said it right earlier, he never let himself get dragged into people’s drama, he never let himself care, because he knew caring about anyone would give Urie more ammunition to use against him.

It seems Mikey’s mind has gone into a similar direction, because his voice is quieter when he answers, “You couldn’t afford the luxury of being kind, now you can.”

Dallon shouldn’t be surprised by those words, Mikey has always been uncannily perceptive, it’s what makes him an excellent intel agent, and yet, it catches him off guard to hear him say it, to realize that someone knows, or at least senses what life has been like for him until very recently. And maybe it’s been taking a bigger toll on him than he thought, because now that he’s finally allowing himself to reach out and experience something other than mistrust and diffidence, he’s slowly realizing how lonely he’s been feeling. How hopeless. And oh, it pisses him off to think of everything Urie has taken from him, directly or indirectly.

“I still have enemies, you know,” Dallon points out, his voice a little softer now, and yet, he can feel his guard rising back up a little. He might be trying to turn a new page, but letting Mikey in still feels too new, too scary, too risky. Small steps.

“Not like him,” Mikey objects with a small shrug. “And you have friends now.”

“Well, I have people who are offering accommodation and food in exchange for my services as a stake wielder,” Dallon corrects him with a small laugh. Then, he remembers his newest assignment and figures it’s as good a change of topic as any. “And also my alleged potential to get Ryan Ross to help them out.”

“Yeah, I heard about that too,” Mikey admits, and the change in his expression is evident, an entertained grin taking over. “How’s that going?”

“Poorly.” Dallon has no qualms confessing that. “You’re the expert, how do I get him to talk and cooperate?”

“Sleep with him,” Mikey suggests with such candor and nonchalance that Dallon takes a few seconds to overcome his surprise and actually answer.

“I am not sleeping with Ryan Ross,” Dallon finally responds, his voice a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Any other suggestion?”

“Well, if you wanna take the boring route, suit yourself.” Mikey smirks up at him, and Dallon can’t help chuckling at how unashamedly cheeky the other vampire can be, when he wants. It seems, however, that Mikey’s willing to help. “He’s under sanctuary, so withholding blood is off the table. The next best thing is isolation. It’s gonna get to him, so you can be his escape from that.”

“So what, I go… keep him company?” Dallon sounds precisely as skeptical as he feels.

“Vampires are social beings, and you’d be surprised how quickly isolation gets to you,” Mikey confirms, finger once again dancing along the curve of Dallon’s hipbone.

No, I wouldn’t. I know exactly what that feels like, Dallon thinks to himself, but refrains from saying it out loud. As far as he’s concerned, they’ve already gotten way too close to a heart-to-heart for his comfort.

“I’ll give it a try,” Dallon decides with a small sigh, although he isn’t really sure how much he likes the idea of spending time with Ross. Sure, those few minutes he spent with him earlier have already yielded interesting information, even without Ross saying much, so maybe Mikey is on to something. Speaking of which. “Do you know anything about his mate?”

Mikey seems surprised by the question and the way it basically pops up out of the blue, but soon enough he’s shaking his head slowly. “As far as I know, he doesn't have a mate.”

“Uh.”

“What does ‘uh’ mean?” Mikey inches a little higher, so that his chin is now resting on Dallon’s collarbone and his lips are within brushing distance of his jaw. Oh, Dallon knows this, he recognizes the shift in interest in the conversation – they’re no longer idly chatting. He’s definitely gotten Mikey’s attention.

“I saw a marking bite on his arm,” Dallon informs, his eyes moving back to the ceiling. “It was just a glimpse, but I’m sure it was a healed bitemark.”

There’s a moment of silence, and Dallon smirks to himself – he just knows Mikey’s curiosity is piqued now, and while it was honestly unintentional, Dallon can see how this could play in his favor. How this will probably play in his favor. Because Mikey can’t bear not knowing something this crucial, he can’t stand feeling a move behind on the chessboard – a trait Dallon not only likes in him, but shares as well.

“Do you want me to investigate it?”

And there it is.

“You can’t help it, can you?” Dallon laughs, and looks at the other vampire once more. “You just need to know.”

“And you’re not curious?” Mikey counters with a grin, unbothered by being called out on it, and not even close to denying it. “It could help you out.”

Mikey definitely has a point. And he usually has a price too.

“What’s it gonna cost me?” Dallon asks with a roll of his eyes.

Mikey’s grin grows mischievous as he leans closer, lips placing a soft, teasing kiss against the curve of Dallon’s jaw. “Nothing you’re not happy to give.”

Dallon isn’t exactly surprised, and yet, he’s caught off guard by his instinctual reaction to the idea. He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like that it would turn this, the two of them sleeping together, into some kind of transaction. It’s never really been a problem before, and yet, this time it feels different. And he’ll be damned if he knows why.

“My dick’s not for sale, Mikey.” Dallon’s tone is still light, but it’s clear there’s an edge to it, which Mikey’s instinct immediately picks up on.

The younger vampire moves back a little, then, and sits up just enough to look at Dallon, his expression an enigmatic mix of pleased surprise and coyness. “You are going soft,” he whispers, as if he’s not sure he believes it either.

“Just because I’d rather fuck you like this, not as your whore?” Dallon counters, and this time, his expression leans into that edge, into the discomfort he feels at that idea.

Mikey, however, doesn’t seem bothered by his wording, or by that reaction. If anything, his expression grows softer, his smile warmer. “Dally, you big softie.”

“Don’t call me that,” Dallon objects with a full-on glare, now. “And I’m not a fucking softie.”

“Hey, it’s okay, I mean, you’ve got to know by now that I don’t do steady,” Mikey considers as he moves closer, his lips brushing Dallon’s. “But if I did, you’d be it.”

Dallon is genuinely caught off guard by that, by the genuine look of affection he can see in Mikey’s eyes. It feels so strange, so foreign, to be looked at with something other than diffidence or cold respect. It makes Dallon wonder once again how long it’s really been since he’s had a real connection, someone who actually wants him around because they like him, not because of convenience or necessity. Someone who makes him feel welcome and wanted.

Yeah, it’s definitely been a while.

“So it’s you who’s going soft,” Dallon counters after a few seconds, and his expression relaxes into a smile.

“When the occasion calls for it,” Mikey admits with a laugh, and before Dallon can answer, they’re kissing again, and he forgets all about intel and Ross and everything else he’ll need to worry about at sundown.

~

Patrick slept like shit. He isn’t sure if it was the tense anticipation of Maja’s arrival, or the fact that he hates sleeping alone in the bed he usually shares with Pete. He suspects it’s the latter, because it reminds him a little too much of the weeks after the Council, when he didn’t know if he’d ever see Pete again. And it’s no secret that he’s been struggling to overcome that trauma, so adding this situation does not help in the slightest, however necessary it clearly is to try and contain Pete.

When he walks downstairs at sunset, the first thing he notices as he approaches the library, is a pair of familiar scents. So Mikey made it, after all, and he’s not alone.

“Frank!” Patrick greets with a genuine smile as soon as he walks into the room, and his friend walks over immediately. “I didn’t know you were coming too.”

“My Alpha’s in trouble, of course I’m here,” Frank counters, and before he’s even done speaking, he’s pulled Patrick into a hug. The only other person in the room for now is William, who simply smiles and sips from his mug of warm blood.

Patrick allows himself a moment to enjoy the hug, to let himself feel the loyalty and love Frank’s words convey. When he pulls back, he feels like his heart is a little lighter. Not by much, sure, but enough to allow him to face the day with a little bit less anxiety.

“Are you sure Gerard doesn’t need you home? Things have been hectic after the Council,” Patrick considers as he pulls back, genuinely concerned that Frank’s presence, as comforting as it is, might be more needed elsewhere.

“Gee’s still doing the rounds in the district, but he hasn’t met much pushback,” Frank reports with a small shrug. “He can do without me for a few days.”

Right then, Dallon and Mikey walk into the library. Together. Laughing about something in a way Patrick can only define as… cozy. Uh, interesting. Pete did say they knew each other even before Mikey was sent to do his bedroom spying on Dallon, but this is not exactly what Patrick expected. Still, if it keeps them from flirting with him, he’s all for it.

His hope is short-lived, however, because Mikey’s greeting to him is, “Patrick, I leave for a few months, and you get hotter? How dare you?”

“It’s nice to see you too, Mikey,” Patrick responds with a roll of his eyes, and yet, the fact that Mikey’s acting like himself, and not walking on eggshells around him, is oddly comforting.

Dallon looks at Mikey, then, his expression a mix of wild amusement and confusion. “You slept with Patrick?”

“He wishes,” William steps in with a laugh, then seems to realize something. “You both wish, actually,” he pauses for a second, clearly amused as he adds, “Who knew you’d have so much in common?”

It’s Mikey’s turn to look at Dallon, clearly surprised, but there’s no need to voice his question. Dallon simply shrugs and nods his head in Patrick’s direction. “I mean, he’s hot.” And that, apparently, is enough explanation for Mikey.

And Patrick feels like maybe, just maybe, he’s still sleeping, because this feels a little bit like either a very deranged dream, or a hilarious nightmare.

“I should just let Pete have at you both next time he goes psycho,” Patrick finds himself joking, his huffed laugh catching even himself off guard. Well, at least he still has a sense of humor – good to know.

“That would be fair,” William agrees with an entertained grin.

Right then, Travie walks in, holding his phone. “Maja called, she’s coming by car, she’ll be here in ten minutes.”

“No teleportation?” Patrick isn’t sure why that worries him, but then again, it’s Maja they’re talking about, so ‘worried and diffident’ is his default setting.

“She says she has someone with her who couldn’t be teleported,” Travie explains with a frown that shows he’s just as skeptical as Patrick.

“Alright, let’s hope she’s not bringing along more trouble,” Patrick mutters more to himself than to the vampire. “How did the day go?”

“Pete didn’t sleep much, but at least we had no echoes,” Travie reports with a nod, and Patrick doesn’t miss his brief glance at Dallon.

Of the entire clan, Travie is the only one who’s still not completely sold on their newfound friendship with Dallon. That sparks a thought in Patrick’s mind, one he isn’t a big fan of. Did Travie set Mikey on Dallon? Is that why the two of them look so cozy? He’s tempted to call the vampire aside and ask him, but before he can, Gabe and Pete also join their impromptu meeting.

“Hey, stranger,” Patrick greets his mate, but refrains from following the instinct that tells him to kiss Pete – he’s not really at ease with public displays of affection. Instead, he walks over to stand by his side, proximity soothing his worry a little bit.

“Hey,” Pete whispers back, his smile sweet as he presses a small kiss to Patrick’s temple. “How’s it going with your fan club?” he asks a moment later, his grin amused as he looks at Dallon and Mikey.

“I’ve warned them I’m gonna set you loose on them, if they don’t cut it out,” Patrick informs with a little smirk of his own.

“You’re no fun,” Mikey huffs with a roll of his eyes, while Dallon simply laughs.

It’s not long before Mike, Joe and Andy join them too, and ten minutes later on the dot, Travie gets a call from Maja, who’s at their gate. He goes out to let her and her mysterious guest in, while William procures blood for the vampires, and snacks for the werewolves and Maja. It’s as close to a dinner they’ll probably get for now, not that anyone’s particularly hungry. So much hinges on this meeting, on the hope that Maja will have some kind of solution, or at least answers, and the tension is almost palpable.

When Travie comes back, he’s wearing a perplexed look on his face, and Patrick gets an idea of why when Maja walks in, followed by…

What the actual fuck?

Patrick watches as Maja’s guest joins them, and everyone’s eyes immediately focus on the guy who trails in after the witch. He looks to be in his early thirties, with short, aquamarine hair and mismatched eyes – one blueish-grey, the other green. He looks around as he walks in, but he appears to be entirely clueless as to where he is and why, but also completely unbothered by the presence of the supernatural beings in the room.

Which is odd, considering that he’s a fucking human.

“Not exactly the warm welcome I was expecting,” Maja comments in the stunned silence, hands resting on her hips.

“You brought a human here?” Pete is the first to react to her words, but it’s clear his shock speaks for all of them.

“Dude, what the hell do you mean, ‘a human’?” The boy protests with an unconvinced laugh, looking around. “Is this some kind of prank?”

“Awsten, these are the people I told you about,” Maja explains with a patience that honestly surprises Patrick.

“Oh, right, the ‘vampires’ and ‘werewolves’,” Awsten replies with a roll of his eyes, and both words are accompanied by air quotes. “Lady, maybe you should have been the one locked up in a psych ward, not me.”

“You… you took him out of a psych ward?” This time it’s Patrick who voices what’s going through everyone’s mind.

“It’s a long story, I’ll get to it,” Maja waves him off, and focuses entirely on the human. “Awsten, I need you to focus, remember what I told you in the car.”

“Wait, that wasn’t a hallucination?” Awsten asks, and his demeanor grows a little uncertain.

“No, you’re clear of the meds that were messing with your mind,” Maja informs him with a gentle smile. “You’re not crazy, you’ve never been crazy, and here’s your chance to see for yourself.”

Patrick watches the exchange with so many questions crowding his mind that he feels like it might burst open, but he waits to see how this whole thing unfolds. It’s definitely not how he expected the meeting to begin, but hey, he figures he needs to trust the process. However insane it looks.

“What d’you expect me to do?” Awsten looks at the witch for guidance, but soon after his words, his eyes move to the people around the room.

“Breathe, and look,” Maja instructs softly, moving to stand next to him.

“Look at what?” Awsten appears to be as confused as Patrick feels, which isn’t a great sign, really.

“Your file said you used to call them colors,” Maja reminds him. “Don’t look with your eyes, look with your instinct. You must know what I mean, think back, before the meds, before the hospital, before they brainwashed you into thinking it was all in your head.”

Awsten doesn’t look overly convinced, and Patrick doesn’t either, but after a few deep breaths, the boy nods his head and closes his eyes. It’s like he’s trying to remember something, a lost recollection, or some forgotten muscle memory. There’s absolute silence in the room, not a word from any of them as they all observe this odd human breathe and concentrate. Yeah, maybe Patrick is still asleep and having the weirdest dream of his life.

And then, suddenly, Awsten’s eyes snap open, and they immediately turn to William. There’s a moment of evident shock, and then he mutters, “Holy shit, you’re right, he’s not… he’s not human. His colors are all… different.”

“That’s right, he’s a vampire,” Maja confirms with a smile, then points at Patrick. “Now look at him.”

Awsten’s attention moves to Patrick, and the werewolf feels a shiver run through his spine at the vacant look in the boy’s eyes. It’s like he’s not seeing Patrick, but seeing through him, like he’s seeing a level of reality inaccessible to the rest of them. It weirds him the fuck out, if he has to be honest.  

“He’s different, brighter, he burns with it,” Awsten mutters with a frown.

“He’s a werewolf,” Maja informs, and Patrick could almost swear her voice shows a hint of warmth.

The boy’s eyes now move again, and the moment they land on Pete, he takes a startled step back, and then another. “What the hell is that? He’s--”

“Quit tormenting the kid, witch,” Dallon intervenes, and Patrick is surprised to catch genuine irritation in his voice.

“That’s enough for now, Awsten,” Maja soothes the boy, her hand moving to rest gently on his arm even as she addresses Dallon a brief glare. “You did very well.”

That seems to snap him out of this pseudo-trance, and he blinks a few times, clearly alarmed. “What the actual fuck? Did that just happen for real?”

“You’ll learn to control it better, the way you used to do as a kid,” Maja reassures him, and Patrick is reaching the end of his fuse, at this point.

“Maja,” the werewolf starts, trying to keep his voice even and not completely succeeding. “What the hell is going on? Who’s this guy and why did you bring him here?”

Maja sighs, and gestures Awsten to take a seat – the boy, clearly still too stunned to do otherwise, obeys and sits on one of the armchairs. He’s clearly locked in his own head right now, possibly trying to make sense of what he just experienced.

“This is Awsten, and I brought him here because his abilities might be useful to us,” Maja explains as she reaches for one of the cookies William set out. “Also, I couldn’t leave him in that psych ward anymore.”

“His abilities? So he’s not human?” Joe asks, looking at the boy, who is still lost in his own thoughts. Is he even listening to them? Can he hear them?

“Oh no, he’s one hundred percent human,” Maja informs, then bites into the cookie. “One of his ancestors was probably a mage, and sometimes when mages and humans have children, abilities can pop up a few generations down the line.”

“Why was he in a psych ward?” Dallon voices precisely the same question Patrick was about to ask, and does so with clear concern.

“His family locked him up about eight years ago, they thought he was insane,” Maja recounts, then takes a moment to chew on the cookie before she adds, “Turns out he’s just an oracle, so I broke him out.”

“You broke him out? You didn’t get him discharged?” It’s Andy who voices the common concern now, and when Maja just shakes her head, he protests, “People will be looking for him.”

“I gave him a makeover, so he wouldn't be recognized.” Maja gestures vaguely in Awsten’s direction, way too nonchalant about the whole thing.

“So that’s why his hair is that color,” Mikey comments with a cocked eyebrow, and yet, of the entire group, he’s the outlier – he doesn’t seem worried, just intrigued.

“I chose it,” Awsten speaks out of the blue, looking straight at Mikey. “It’s a good color.”

“It is,” Mikey agrees with a smile, as if humoring a child.

Awsten narrows his eyes slightly at the tone, but evidently decides against speaking his mind and instead goes back to his quiet demeanor. His attention, however, focuses on the plate of cookies, but he seems reluctant to take one, as if he’s afraid to be reprimanded. Patrick is about to tell him it’s okay, but once again, Dallon beats him to it and takes a seat across from Awsten, then pushes the plate gently towards the boy in silent invitation.

Awsten looks at the vampire, then, his eyes scanning over him as if to assess whether he should trust Dallon or not. Patrick has no idea what thought process he goes through, but after a few seconds, he nods and takes one of the cookies. And much to Patrick’s surprise, Dallon smiles at the boy.

Uh, look who’s got a soft side, after all.

“What’s an oracle?” Mike asks a moment later, effectively distracting Patrick from the scene.

“An oracle is a human with clairvoyant abilities,” Maja explains as she also takes a seat. “Awsten here can see your auras, which is what he did earlier, and he can glimpse into different times of your lives.”

Well, if he can see auras, that explains why he was scared shitless by Pete's – considering how overwhelming it feels, Patrick can only imagine how fearsome it must look, even now that Pete’s strength isn’t quite at peak levels.

“Wait, the kid can tell the future?” Mikey sounds a little too interested in that possibility.

Maja, however, immediately puts a damper on his obvious hopes. “Not on command, no,” she points out with an eloquent look. “He catches glimpses of the future, at times, but what concerns us is his ability to see the past.”

“Pete’s past,” Patrick specifies, and it’s not a question, but Maja nods anyway.

“Next time he experiences an echo, Awsten might be able to tell us more about it.”

“So let me get this straight,” Dallon begins, glaring at the witch. “You took a traumatized kid out of a mental health facility and now you’re planning on locking him in a room with a feral vampire?”

“You make it sound so much worse than it is,” Maja objects with a roll of her eyes, but Patrick honestly thinks Dallon makes it sound exactly as bad as it is. “I’ll be there, so he’ll be perfectly safe, and he was miserable in that damn hospital anyway.”

“Does this mean you have no way of stopping Pete’s echoes?” Patrick feels his stomach drop at the thought, all of the hope he had put into this meeting evaporating.

“I need to know more before I answer that question,” Maja admits with a sigh, then turns to look at Pete, who has been observing the conversation in silence. “I’m not even sure what it is that you’re experiencing.”

“If it’s not the echoes of his memories, what could it be?” Patrick almost doesn’t want to ask, because there is no universe in which Maja’s answer is going to make things any better.

“Best case scenario? A curse of some kind,” Maja informs, her expression growing somber.

“Worst case scenario?” It’s Pete who asks, because there is no way in hell Patrick could have, not with the knot that has formed in his throat.

Maja looks reluctant to speak her most pessimistic hypothesis, but it’s clear Pete won’t let it go. “Well, you got so close to death that I barely pulled you back.” A pause, and then she finally says, “And considering that the poison might have reached your brain, it may be that the damage is causing your mind to… well, collapse onto itself, for lack of a better term.”

“So you’re saying I’m the one who belongs in a psych ward.” Pete’s tone is matter-of-factly, but Patrick can see past it, through their bond he can feel Pete’s horror at that possibility, even though he doesn’t let it show on his face.

“No, I’m saying that’s the worst case scenario, there’s a whole range of other possibilities, so it’s early to book a padded room,” Maja counters with a cocked eyebrow. “Let me figure this out first.”

“What if that’s what’s happening? Can you fix it?” Pete looks straight at the woman, as if to catch any sign of lying. It turns out, there’s no need to.

“No, it’s beyond my abilities – beyond anyone’s abilities, really,” Maja admits, and it clearly pains her to say it. “Short of a miracle, it would be a death sentence. It would just be a matter of how many people you take down on your way there.”

The dismayed silence that falls onto the room feels like a frozen hand crushing Patrick’s heart.

How is it that every time this witch comes into his life, she tries to fucking nuke it?

Fucking hell.

~

Chapter Text

Chapter 7 – What good comes of something, when I'm the ghost of nothing?

~

“You know, eating alone in your room is not team player behavior, Weekes.”

Dallon stops in his tracks, the mug of warm blood in one hand and his phone in the other. He turns to look at Maja, and while he doesn’t feel like the witch should get to question his actions, he decides to humor her.  

“It’s not for me, I’m in charge of feeding Ross,” Dallon informs without bothering to hide the lack of enthusiasm for the task.

“Ross is here?” It’s clear from Maja’s surprise that she had no idea, and she forgets all about her teasing of Dallon.

“Uh, yes? He arrived a few days ago.” Has it really only been six days since that happened? It feels like a fucking month. “He claimed sanctuary, so he’s locked up.”

“Why am I only finding out about this now?” Maja questions with her hands firmly planted on her hips.

And really, Dallon knows she’s the most powerful witch in the world, but that’s not going to stop him from being snarky. “Well, between you dropping a traumatized human onto our lap and telling us Pete’s mind might be melting, people probably forgot to mention it last night.”

“Shit,” Maja mutters under her breath, then turns around and walks away without another word.

Dallon takes a deep breath, but it doesn’t help much. He didn’t sleep at all during the day, didn’t even answer Mikey’s knock on his door, and instead just spent the whole day in bed, thinking about the mess he’s gotten himself into. His mind kept jumping between the grim options Maja offered in explanation for Pete’s condition, and the look of absolute and complete loss in the eyes of that human kid when he realized that no, he was never crazy after all – when he realized that he spent eight years locked up in a mental health facility for no fucking reason. Dallon is pretty sure that part went unnoticed in the aftermath of Maja’s words about Pete, and yet, Dallon can’t stop thinking about it.

However, he elected not to go see the human. He doesn’t need more on his plate, not right now. It’s bad enough that he’s let himself get in so deep with everything else. Instead, he took up a mug, warmed some blood and headed for Ryan’s room. After all, there’s a whole houseful of people who can take care of the kid, he certainly doesn’t need Dallon to worry about him.

After a brief, perfunctory knock, Dallon unlocks Ryan’s room and walks in. “Dinner time,” he announces, but it’s no surprise that it’s a lot less chirpy than last time. He’s all but abandoned his plan of messing with Ross via flirting. He’s definitely not in the mood for it, not tonight.

“You knocked,” Ross simply states, turning around from where he’s looking out of the window at the dark forest outside.

“Honest mistake, my mind was elsewhere,” Dallon jokes half-heartedly, and walks over to hand him the mug.

Ross glares at him briefly, but it’s tempered by evident surprise as he takes the mug and feels the warmth of it on his hands. Without a word, he takes a long sip, and this time, his expression shows no signs of discomfort, the blood a far more pleasant meal than last time.

Dallon debates whether to walk out and leave him to it, but that would hardly advance his mission here. And he wants nothing more than to get this over with, and have one less thing to worry about. So he’ll stick around and see if Mikey’s suggestion is any good. Although he doubts six days are enough for isolation to truly get to Ross in a significant way.

“I thought you had no wish to be pleasant to me,” Ryan mutters after another long sip, his mouth still hidden by the raised mug.

“If this is what you call pleasant, your standards must be pretty low,” Dallon comments with a cocked eyebrow and just a hint of teasing – considering he’s exhausted and in a foul mood, he doesn’t see how his attitude could ever be described as pleasant.

“My standards are fine, asshole, it’s my expectations of you that are low,” Ross corrects him, and this time, his tone is back to the hostile sarcasm of last time. “And for good reason, it seems.”

“Alright, civil conversation is still off the table, I see,” Dallon responds with an unimpressed sigh. “Suit yourself, hope you choke on that blood.”

Without as much as another glance at the other vampire, Dallon turns around, fully determined to leave. He’s too tired to deal with this right now, this stupid fucking task can wait. They have bigger fish to fry right now than Ryan Ross’s ego trip and stupid proud attitude.

“Wait,” Ross calls out, and Dallon contemplates ignoring him and just walking out.

In the end, he stops, and turns around, but Ross doesn’t say anything. He seems on the verge of speaking, but ultimately, he doesn’t. For some reason, the stubborn silence he’s met with even after complying with Ryan’s request infuriates him.

“What the fuck is your problem with me?” Dallon asks, spreading his arms. “I get it, you’ve got beef with Wentz and his clan, but I’m not Wentz and I’m not part of his clan, I've never done anything to you.”

Once more, Ross simply looks at him, a frown disturbing his features as he contemplates whether he wants to speak or not. It would seem Dallon’s words hit some kind of target, and yet, Ross doesn’t speak. Instead, he looks away, unable to hold his gaze any longer.

Again, Dallon turns around, and this time, his hand is already on the handle when Ryan’s voice reaches him.

“You got out.”

It’s quiet, barely more than a breath, but Dallon hears it loud and clear. And it stops him dead in his tracks. Is that the reason Ross resents him? Because he managed to escape Urie’s clutches? Except he didn’t, not until he tore off Urie’s head himself. There was no escaping Urie, no matter the distance you put between yourself and his cruel little kingdom. Nora’s death was proof of that. Dallon’s continued torment and self-imposed isolation to protect those around him were proof of that. Ross has to know, how can he not?

“No, I didn’t,” Dallon just mutters, but doesn’t turn around. “There was no getting out with your friend Urie, and you know it.”

“He wasn’t my friend.” Ryan’s protest is immediate and fierce, his voice still quiet but charged with anger at the implication.

Dallon would like nothing more than to walk out and forget about this conversation, but he can’t ignore the avenue this is opening, the chance this is offering to gather a little more intel. So he sucks it up, and turns around, his back resting against the door. “You two looked cozy to me.”

“You don't know what you're talking about,” Ross objects, and while it still holds some fire, it sounds mostly defeated now.

“Then tell me,” Dallon encourages him with a surprisingly patient tone.

And sure, this is part of his mission here, but there’s more than that. He’s starting to suspect that his first inkling that there was more to Ross and Urie’s relationship than met the eye might turn out to be true. It wouldn’t shock him, of course, he knows Urie’s manipulative ways too well to be caught off guard if that proves to be the case. And yet, he’s not going to assume it to be true, unless Ross says it, unless Ross speaks up.

“What's the point? My secrets are the only thing keeping me alive.” Ryan’s voice drips with bitterness as he says this, and Dallon watches him for a moment, long enough to realize that Ross truly believes the only reason Pete hasn’t killed him is because of the intel he might provide.

“We need some of your blood, Ross,” Dallon confesses with a humorless chuckle. He knows it’s a gamble to reveal this, but if Pete doesn’t like how he goes about this, then too bad, he should have picked someone else.

“What?” Ross is genuinely shocked, and for good reason, if he thinks he’s actually on death row.

“We do, but Pete won’t even take a sample of blood from you against your will because you’re under sanctuary, and you think he’s planning to kill you?” Dallon asks with just a hint of disbelief in his tone. “D’you think Patrick would stand by and let something like that happen?”

Mentioning Patrick is clearly a mistake, because Ryan’s expression hardens. “He certainly had no qualms killing Spencer.”

“Wildly different circumstances,” Dallon objects with an eloquent tone, but changes the topic back to Pete anyway. “Look I don’t know what went down between you and Pete, or when, but he’s not the vampire you think he is. You’re safe, here.”

“Am I supposed to take your word for it?” Ross inquires with evident skepticism.

“You could always talk to him,” Dallon proposes, and only after saying it realizes it’s probably a terrible idea right now.

It would appear, however, that there’s no risk of Ross taking him up on that offer. “Yeah, I think I’ll pass.”

“Suit yourself,” Dallon mutters, and when Ryan hands him the empty mug, he walks over to take it, then stands there for a moment longer. “But deep down, I think you know it’s true, or you wouldn’t have claimed sanctuary here of all places.”

After that, he’s heading once more towards the door, but again stops when Ryan speaks. “I appreciate you taking the time to warm the blood.” It’s unexpected, and a very verbose way to avoid actually saying the words ‘thank you’, but it still mellows Dallon a little bit. Honestly, with the couple of nights he’s had and the black mood he’s in, a little civility goes a long way.

“I was a bit of a dick the other day, I just wanted to try a different approach,” Dallon admits as he opens the door, and glances back at the other vampire.

“I was a bit of a dick too,” Ryan admits with a small, noncommittal shrug.

“Better luck next time, I guess,” Dallon half-jokes, and surprisingly, it earns him just the vaguest hint of a chuckle from Ryan before he walks out.

Once the door is locked, Dallon heads down to the kitchen to place the mug in the dishwasher, and maybe mix himself some dinner too. His plans don’t get very far, however, because Pete intercepts him before he’s even reached the stairs.

“How did it go with Ross?” Pete asks, but it’s clear his mind is elsewhere, that he’s asking out of duty and not really out of interest.

“Pointlessly taxing on a mental and emotional level, but better than last time,” Dallon informs with a cocked eyebrow. “What are you up to?”

“I was looking for you,” Pete admits, and takes something from his pocket. A piece of paper. He hesitates for a few seconds, moving it around in his hand as he looks at Dallon closely, and something at the pit of Dallon’s stomach freezes.

“Pete, what’s that?” Dallon speaks quietly, as if he’s almost hoping Pete won’t hear and won’t answer.

Instead, Pete hands him the piece of paper and simply says, “Worst case scenario.”

With that, he’s gone, walking away and disappearing into the dimly lit hallway, presumably towards the room he shares with Patrick.

Dallon tries to ignore the way the little piece of paper weights like a small boulder in his hand, but ultimately, he unfolds it and reads it. There’s a single word on it, unknown to him, but there is no doubt in his mind what it is.

‘Osmium’

~

“Hey, little wolf,” Pete calls softly as he walks into their room; Patrick is at the window, but turns around as soon as he hears those words.

“Hey, did you get any sleep?” Patrick walks closer, but he can tell by the look on Pete’s face that his question is a little pointless.

“Did you?” Pete turns the question onto him with a little smile, the concern in his eyes still evident. “You need to rest.”

“I would, if you just came back here,” Patrick reminds him, and places both his hands on Pete’s chest, the touch comforting enough to distend his lips in a little smile. “Stubborn bat.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Pete insists, and his hand rises to Patrick’s neck, fingertips skimming along the fading bruises.

Patrick takes Pete’s hand in his own then, and places a small kiss on its palm before pressing it against his cheek. The cold touch feels familiar and comforting, and it soothes some of the uneasiness he feels at the pit of his stomach. “Have you spoken to Maja?”

“She wants to keep an eye on me in the cell, so she can witness an echo herself,” Pete explains with a sigh, clearly not thrilled about having her there. She can teleport out if needed, but Patrick guesses that Pete still feels like it’s an unnecessary risk. Patrick tends to disagree – she can take care of herself, and the more she knows about these echoes, the better their chances. “Last I saw her, she was helping the human kid settle in one of the guest rooms,” he adds, and Patrick does his best to ignore once more how weird it is that a human is now living in their house.

“I guess we should let her do her thing, then,” Patrick comments with a nod.

“She wants to keep the kid in the cell too, to see if his abilities are triggered.” Pete’s tone is clearly disapproving of this idea, and this time Patrick has to admit it sounds moderately insane.

“Let’s hope she knows what she’s doing with him, he looked so… lost,” Patrick mutters as he moves closer, and his hands move up to join at the back of Pete’s neck.

“She wants us to take him in,” Pete informs with just the hint of a smile. “She’ll help us with this, and with Ross, but in exchange, she wants us to give him a place to stay where he’ll be safe, once all of this is over.”

“I mean, I’m not sure I would call this a safe place for a human to be, but I have a feeling it will be an upgrade for the poor kid,” Patrick agrees with a sigh – at this point, he’d agree to pretty much anything as long as it ensures Maja will do everything in her power to help them.

“By the way, we forgot to tell her about Ross, she was so pissed she had to find out from Dallon.” Pete’s tone grows lighter as he says this, almost amused, and Patrick can just imagine Maja’s angry little frown and her belligerent hands-on-hips pose. It pulls a smile from him too.

“Ross can wait, let’s figure out what’s going on in this handsome head of yours first.” Patrick leans a little closer, his forehead resting against Pete’s.

“Maja said people are looking for him, and they might track him here,” Pete objects with a sigh, but welcomes the contact with a smile.  

“Great.” Patrick takes a deep breath before he mutters, “I assume we can’t really hand him off to whoever comes knocking, can we?”

“Not unless he goes willingly,” Pete confirms with an apologetic smile. “I won’t break sanctuary.”

“I know you won’t, you stubborn leech.” And yet, as he says this, there’s a smile on Patrick’s lips, because this is precisely why he loves Pete so much – his heart of gold and his sense of honor. Even when it complicates things, he would never want Pete to change who he is.

“Bat, leech… I mean, pick one, what am I?” Pete laughs softly, clearly teasing him.

Love of my life, moonbeam, pain in the ass… all things Pete would expect. So instead, Patrick decides to get creative. “Overgrown mosquito,” he answers as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and the laugh it pulls from Pete is so immediate and so genuine it warms his heart.

And for a moment, with the playful banter and the teasing, it’s like they’re back to normality, back to a time before this whole mess started. It’s a moment of bliss, the weight of it all lifting just enough for Patrick to breathe easy for a moment. Reality, however, has other plans, because there’s a cautious knock on the door mere seconds later that shatters that happy and fleeting illusion.

“What?” Pete calls out, clearly unhappy about their moment being interrupted.

“Maja says she needs to talk to you guys,” William answers from outside the door, and he has the sense to sound apologetic, even though it’s clearly not his fault.

“Alright, we’ll be down in minute.”

They hear William walk away, and Patrick takes a deep breath as he steps back – does he need to brace himself for more bad news? Honestly, he’s not sure he could take that right now. As he turns around, his eyes stop on the standing mirror in the corner of their room, but his interest isn’t focused on the reflecting surface. Instead, what catches his attention are the good luck charms hanging from the corners of the frame on both sides. The children of the pack made them for Pete when he was ‘lost’ – as they called it – so that he would be okay and make his way home. Patrick feels a tentative smile form on his lips at the memory, and without hesitation, he walks over.

“What are you doing?” Pete asks with a hint of confusion.

“They worked once, didn’t they?” Patrick takes one and slips it in his pocket, just in case. “I used to carry some of them with me when you were… well, before you came back.”

When Patrick turns around, the smile on Pete’s face almost breaks his heart. It’s both sweet and melancholy, as if there’s a part of him that already believes he’s doomed, but he’s putting up a fight against that knowledge for Patrick’s sake.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Patrick chastises him, pointing an accusing finger. “We’re solving this.”

“You heard Maja,” Pete points out, but his smile doesn’t relent.

“I did, but you didn’t.” Patrick walks over, eyes never leaving Pete’s. “You just latched onto the worst case scenario.”

“And you latched onto the best case scenario, Patrick, but we need to be ready to face the possibility that--”

“I latched onto jackshit, I’m very aware of the possibilities, but that doesn’t mean I’m done fighting,” Patrick protests, and this time, his finger pokes Pete’s chest accusingly. “And I can’t fight alone, Pete, so get over this half-doomed shit and fight with me.”

Pete seems a little caught off guard by that reaction, by the fire that burns behind Patrick’s words and behind his eyes. And really, Patrick is a little surprised himself, but seeing the resignation in Pete’s look just incensed his determination to prove him wrong, to show him they can still get through this, together. And if it turns out he was delusional all along, then so be it, but he won’t lie down and take it. He’s done enough of that in his life. He’s done losing.

Pete appears to sense most of that, if not all, through their bond, and slowly but surely, Patrick can see the shift in his eyes, in his smile. There’s still fear there, of course, but the gloom leaves room to something else, to something fiercer and more familiar. Love. It comes off him too, like a wave, gentle at first, but gaining strength with each second.

“God, I love it when you go all Alpha on me,” Pete admits after a few moments of charged silence, playfulness seeping back into his voice. “Mark me down as impressed and horny.”

It’s enough to lift the weight resting on Patrick’s heart, at least a little bit, and he chuckles as he pokes Pete’s cheek this time. “Idiot.”

“You love me,” Pete counters with a grin.

“More than the fucking moon, so keep that in mind if you feel the temptation to give up,” Patrick responds, his smile coming a little easier now. “Now, let’s go see what the witch wants.”

Pete simply nods at those words, but as they’re heading for the door, his hand slips into the back pocket of Patrick’s jeans and he leans close enough to whisper in his ear, “You know, maybe next time you should make me wear the collar, Alpha.”

The words are followed by a playful pinch to his ass, and Patrick does his best to ignore the effect the words have on him, because this is not the right time to get a boner. Not when they’re on their way to see Maja. In retaliation, he glances at Pete with a smirk that is half promise, half challenge.

“Earn it, then,” Patrick simply says, then takes off and leaves a smiling Pete a few steps behind.

Well, if that’s going to help Pete keep his morale high, who is Patrick to refuse it?

~

“Took your sweet time,” Maja comments when Pete and Patrick walk into the library to join her.

Patrick takes a deep breath, reminding himself he needs to be nice to the witch, but his words still come out a little pointy. “We were discussing some things.”

“Well,” Maja starts, unimpressed by Patrick’s excuse. “While you were discussing some things, I set up additional barriers around the property, since people might come looking for Ross soon.”

“And not all of them might take no for an answer,” Pete concludes for her, and she nods her agreement.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna get rid of him? You’ve got enough on your plate,” Maja suggests with a small shrug.

“We won’t break sanctuary.” This time it’s Patrick who says it, and he catches the faint trace of a grateful smile on Pete’s lips.

“Besides, we still don’t know for sure if he’s my kindred,” Pete points out, the sigh that follows his words a little frustrated. “Dallon’s working on getting more intel, but Ross is royally pissed, so it’ll take time.”

“You’re placing a lot of trust in Weekes,” Maja observes, and it doesn’t take a genius to tell she’s clearly skeptical about it.

“He saved my life, when the first echo happened, and even though he has no obligation to, he’s risking his own life to help us out,” Patrick reminds her with an eloquent glare. “Pete nearly killed him too, the second time.”

Maja seems surprised to hear that, and Patrick can see her expression shift as she processes that new bit of information. Apparently, it’s enough to appease her on the topic, at least for now.

“Dallon’s welcome to stay for as long as he deems necessary,” Pete interjects as well, then adds, “And he’s the only one of us who has any hope of cracking Ross, given their respective history with Urie”

“You’re hoping they find common ground,” Maja comments, eyebrow cocked in pleased understanding, as if she hadn’t considered that option before. “Alright, let’s see how that goes.”

“If Ross is Pete’s kindred, and he was turned before the curse, is it--” Patrick pauses for a second, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. “Is it possible his presence is triggering Pete’s memories?”

Maja doesn’t answer immediately, she takes her time to ponder that question carefully, before she gives her verdict. “Pete’s mind shouldn’t be able to access those memories at all, they should be gone,” she reasons, and yet, she doesn’t sound adamant about it. “But it is possible that maybe some of those memories are clinging to the sire-kindred bond, like some kind of parasitic infestation.”

“Thank you, that is a lovely image to now have in my head forever,” Pete mutters with a grimace, and Patrick can’t help smiling a little. 

“Echoes usually manifest as nightmares,” Maja explains, clearly reasoning out loud.

“I’ve been having those.” Pete’s admission comes as no surprise to Patrick, but he never suspected that those nightmares Pete has been having after the Council could be the echoes Maja warned them about. He always figured they were just the result of the events – after all, Patrick had them too.

“It’s possible the connection is making them stronger, somehow. Strong enough to bleed into your conscious mind,” Maja theorizes, and while she doesn’t sound completely sold on it, she’s not as skeptical as Patrick expected her to be. “That is, if there truly is a connection.”

Right then, something clicks in Patrick’s memory, and he wants to slap himself for not noticing it sooner.

“There has to be a connection to Ross,” Patrick points out in a whisper.

“Why d’you say that?” Pete’s tone is clearly confused, but Maja gestures him to continue, clearly interested.

“Think about it, this started when Ross got here, and both times an echo has happened so far, it was after we discussed Ross,” Patrick recounts, shaking his head. He’s a fucking idiot for missing this. “The first echo was the night he arrived, and he was clearly on your mind, we talked about him right before we went to sleep, right before it happened.”

“The second echo was when we discussed Dallon approaching him, and the possibility he might be my kindred,” Pete continues, now clearly on board with Patrick’s line of thinking. 

“Well, then if the connection is real, we should brace for another echo soon,” Maja points out with a concerned look in Pete’s direction. “We should move this to the cell, I’ve fortified that too, just in case.”

“I’m coming too,” Patrick objects immediately, his tone adamant.

“You’ll have to stand outside the cell,” Maja tells him, shaking her head. “I can’t protect you and Awsten, and I need him in there.”

Patrick almost protests, but eventually manages to bite back the words. If this is going to get them a step closer to understanding what’s going on, he can work with standing just outside the cell. It’s better than having to sit this out completely. Deep down, he’s hoping that if they can prove this is somehow connected to Ross – whether it’s a sire-kindred bond, a curse, or something else – then it means the worst-case scenario can be struck off the list.

He knows it’s pointless to ask Maja right now if that’s the case, she clearly needs more information to answer that, but Patrick will hold on to this idea like a buoy in the ocean, for now.

“Fine, let’s go.”

And never in a million years would Patrick have thought he’d be hoping to see Pete succumb to another echo. This time, however, they’ll be ready for it.

~

Chapter Text

Chapter 8 – I’m a young one stuck in the thoughts of an old one’s head

~

Patrick hates having to stand outside the cell, his field of view reduced to the small opening in the door that’s normally used to check on prisoners. And that’s kind of what he’s doing, he’s checking on a prisoner – his own mate. So far, nothing out of the ordinary has happened, Maja has been instructing the human kid on what to do if Pete starts experiencing an echo, and Pete has been trying to sleep on the uncomfortable cot in the corner. At least there’s no stake in sight, for once – Maja’s methods of containing Pete are certainly less gruesome than Dallon’s.

About an hour into the wait, Patrick hears footsteps approaching in the dark basement corridor, and soon enough, Travie joins him with a greeting nod.

“How is it going?”

“Nothing’s happened so far,” Patrick reports with a small sigh, then glances inside the cell at Pete’s lying figure.

“Did Maja really bring the kid in there?” Travie asks as he tries to catch a glimpse of the witch, his tone holding a note of disbelief.

“She did,” Patrick confirms, sounding less than thrilled about it.

“I don’t like it, I don’t like any of this,” Travie mutters as he shakes his head slowly. “I don’t like that Maja can’t tell what’s going on without using some poor kid she kidnapped from a mental hospital, I don’t like that we’re basically powerless to help Pete.” There’s a pause, and Travie looks like he’s debating whether or not to add what’s still on his mind. In the end, he does. “And I certainly don’t like that this all started the night after Weekes got here.”

Patrick doesn’t even bother trying to hide his surprise at the implied accusation Travie’s words hold – and yet, maybe he should have seen it coming. “It was the same day Ross got here,” Patrick points out calmly, then adds, “Is that why you’ve been on the fence about Dallon?”

“I get that he helped out big time at the Council, but can we really trust him as much as you’re doing?” Travie inquires, and while his tone is collected and reasonable, Patrick still feels his defensive side perk up.

“He saved my life, Travie,” Patrick deadpans, looking straight at his friend. “And then he stayed to help, and risked his own life to make sure Pete wouldn’t escape.”

“Well, he could be causing this so that he has a chance to play the hero and earn our trust,” Travie insists with a shrug. “You know, the arsonist-firefighter strategy.”

Patrick just stares at Travie then, and takes a moment before he answers – he understands Travie’s paranoia, he does, he hasn’t forgotten his years on the run, the mistrust they hardwired into his brain. And yet, he can’t really fathom Dallon doing something like that. And then he remembers something.

“Did you set Mikey on him?”

“I tried to, but Mikey sent me packing,” Travie admits with a sigh. “He said I was being a paranoid dick.”

Patrick can’t really hide his smirk completely at those words, but covers it with a cough when Travie just glares. “Pete says Mikey has known Dallon for a long time, so if he thinks you’re barking up the wrong tree, maybe you are?”

Travie doesn’t look overly convinced by Patrick’s argument, and a moment later, he comments, “I have a feeling there’s something going on between those two.”

“Yeah, there might be, but that doesn’t change the fact that Mikey knows him better than any of us,” Patrick points out with an eloquent look. “Unless you’re telling me you’re now paranoid about Mikey too.”

Travie seems reluctant to answer, as if he’s reticent to admit that Patrick has a point. Eventually, he shrugs and offers a muttered, “Of course not.”

“Good.” Patrick can’t deny the relief he feels at those words – it’s one thing for Travie to be doubtful about Dallon, but Mikey has proven to be a loyal friend, not just a solid ally. He’s about to remark as much when a noise from inside the cell catches his attention, promptly followed by Pete’s voice.

Patrick rushes to the door and looks inside, and Travie does the same a moment later. Pete is standing next to the bed, his expression alarmed and confused as he takes in his surroundings. “Where the fuck am I?”

“Fuck,” Patrick whispers as he realizes that the vampire standing there isn’t his Pete, but the other Pete, the one who tried to kill him, the one who tried to flee. The one who should be long dead, and yet keeps forcing his way into Pete’s current life.

“Pete, relax, you’re safe here,” Maja tries to reassure him, and Patrick is tempted to tell her to save her breath, last time Patrick tried this strategy, it ended with a stake in Pete’s heart.

What happens afterwards, however, shocks Patrick into silence.

“Maja?” Pete’s voice carries both confusion and a clear edge of anger, but there’s recognition there too. That’s new. So this Pete already knew Maja. “Are you behind this?”

“Behind what?” Maja’s tone is conversational, unbothered, as if she weren’t locked in a cell with an enraged born vampire and a defenseless human kid.

Right then, steps echo from down the corridor, and moments later Dallon is walking towards them – he addresses Patrick a silent question, his inquisitive expression enough for the werewolf to figure out what he’s asking. Is it happening? Patrick simply nods, silent, and Dallon joins him and Travie at the door, but stands a step back, content to just listen. Patrick is surprised he’s there at all, but he figures Dallon must have his own reasons to have come.

“I keep waking up in this place, I don’t-- I don’t recognize it,” Pete recounts, clearly angered. “There was some wolf in bed with me, I think Urie sent him to try and kill me, and then I tried to flee and someone staked me.” There a pause, but it’s brief, and Pete’s tone grows accusatory as he adds, “And now you’re here.”

The words hit Patrick like a brick. Other Pete remembers the previous echoes? What the fuck does that mean? Is this more than mere memories surfacing? Is there a whole other consciousness hiding inside Pete’s mind?

Maja seems to be contemplating the same questions, because she’s silent for a long moment, and when she speaks, it’s to address the kid. “Awsten, remember your job here,” she reminds him with a tone that is miles away from her previous nonchalance. “Pete, I know it’s hard to believe, but we’re not when you think we are.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Pete growls, taking a menacing step forward.

Out of the corner of his vision, Patrick sees Awsten shrink back against the wall, his eyes wide as he clearly tries to focus and do what’s expected of him. It seems he succeeds, because he gasps audibly and cowers back as close to the corner as he can, clearly terrified by what he sees. By Pete.

“Bad colors, it’s… it’s wrong,” Awsten mutters to himself, shaking his head. “He’s not the same.”

“Answer me, witch!” Pete nearly shouts, ignoring the human entirely as he takes another step towards the witch.

“You’re not really here, Pete, this is the twenty-first century,” Maja explains, but it’s clear she’s just buying time for Awsten to observe Pete. “You’re an echo, a memory taking over your current body.”

“You’re lying,” Pete protests, and clutches at his head, as if there’s suddenly something hurting him, something trying to take control back. Pete? The real Pete? “This is Urie messing with me, and you’re helping him, you traitorous harlot.”

“Awsten, focus! What else do you see?” Maja urges the kid, taking advantage of Pete’s sudden struggle with himself. Dallon steps forward then, but Patrick can see that his eyes are on Awsten, not Pete or Maja.

“Thread, rope, golden,” Awsten whispers, and then suddenly he’s looking at the door, at Patrick on the other side of the small opening. “To him.”

“The mating bond,” Maja comments with a nod, and gives the kid an encouraging but impatient smile. “What else?”

“Another thread,” Awsten mutters, then suddenly looks upwards towards the ceiling. Another thread? “Smaller, tattered and bloody and old, and going up and up and up.” There’s a pause, and Awsten starts shaking as his eyes widen even more, his unseeing gaze stopping at a place above Pete’s head. “There’s blood dripping, black blood and pain and-- it’s bad, it’s poison.” Awsten’s voice fades as he hyperventilates, pressing impossibly close to the wall. “Get me out! Get me out, get me out, get me out!”

Maja rushes to him, trying to calm him, and Patrick wishes he could open the door to go in and retrieve the poor kid, but Maja sealed it with magic. This was a fucking bad idea.

“Let the kid out, Maja!” Dallon calls out, and the fury in his voice catches Patrick off guard.

Right then, Pete seems to recover from his temporary skirmish with himself, and growls menacingly at Maja first. A moment later his eyes move and land on the door instead, and the second he sees Patrick, he lunges at the metal barrier between them.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” Pete is beyond furious as he grips the bars in the opening, trying to pull the door open. Good thing Maja enchanted it, or he would have succeeded in a single powerful tug.

Travie jumps away, Dallon takes a single step back, while Patrick doesn’t move, and instead meets Pete’s eyes with a determination he didn’t know he still had, not when his heart is shrinking in his chest with each passing moment. “Pete, look at me.”

“He sent you, didn’t he?” Pete insists, baring his fangs at Patrick. “I should have killed you faster.”

Patrick feels a dagger sink in his heart at those words, but breathes through it, tries to ignore it, reminds himself this isn’t the real Pete, his Pete. But it’s a version of Pete, an angry, scared, trapped version of him. And maybe Patrick is being too nice, being too careful. Maybe there’s a way to get through to him, and that way is not with gentleness and reassurance. He can’t deal with this version of Pete the same way he deals with his Pete. So he changes tactics.

“Look at me, you fucking leech,” Patrick growls, getting as close as he dares to the bars. That seems to catch Pete off guard, and the vampires hesitates. “Look at this,” Patrick demands, and exposes the side of his neck, where Pete’s marking bite is clearly visible. “I’m your fucking mate, you stupid son of a bitch.”

“What-- no, that’s not--” Pete shakes his head, but fury mixes with confusion, because now that they’re standing so close to each other, with just the metal door and a magical barrier keeping them apart, Pete might have caught his scent. Their scent. And this time, his mind isn’t as addled by rage or fear as it was on their other two encounters. “What kind of sorcery is this?” he nearly shouts at Maja, who is still trying to calm a terrified Awsten.

“Don’t fucking look at her, look at me,” Patrick insists, rattling the door to make his point. Pete’s attention snaps back to him, and there’s a hint of surprise there, as if he didn’t expect Patrick to still be there. “Feel your left shoulder, you’ll find my claw marks.”

Pete scoffs at him, but Patrick simply glares, and it seems that look is as effective on this Pete as it is on his Pete. After a silent standoff lasting nearly a minute, the vampire gives in and his hand rises. It dips beneath the collar of the t-shirt, reaching for his shoulder, feeling the skin in the front. His expression grows angry as he fails to feel anything, but the moment his fingers dip behind the curve of the shoulder and he feels the scars there, he freezes.

“Take a breath and calm the fuck down, and you’ll feel it, you’ll feel the bond,” Patrick tells him, voice still stern, but easing into softness for the last couple of words.

Pete simply looks at him, clearly still skeptical, and angry, but now also wondering – it’s clear in his expression he’s starting to doubt. “It doesn’t make sense, I don’t-- I don’t remember you.”

“Because you’re not from this time, we haven’t met yet when you’re from,” Patrick explains calmly, but doesn’t break eye contact. “Look at your clothes, at our clothes, you have to know this isn’t your century.”

Pete looks down at himself, then, and the fact that he’s actually listening to Patrick feels like a miracle. For the first time since this mess started, Patrick feels like they’re making progress. Because this Pete is not an unthinking feral version of himself, he’s sentient, he’s capable of reason. He might be a ghost, but he’s a ghost they can talk to, they can bargain with.

“I’m your mate, Pete,” Patrick repeats, voice steady, and it’s a struggle to keep the tenderness from it. For some reason, he feels like this Pete wouldn’t react well to it. “And this place you’re trying so hard to escape from is our fucking house, these people are your friends, your clan, your fucking family.”

“I don’t have--” Pete starts, anger flaring up once more, but Patrick doesn’t let him finish.

“You didn’t,” Patrick corrects him, decisive. “Now you do, this is your future. You have friends and family who love you, who fight alongside you, who helped you kill Urie.”

“Urie-- Urie’s dead? That’s not possible.” Pete sounds like he would love nothing more than to believe it, and yet, he’s not allowing himself to.

“It is,” Patrick insists, then gives a frustrated sigh. “I wish we’d kept his head, so I could fucking show you.”

“You beheaded him?” Pete asks in complete shock, as if that single bit of information does more to convince him than anything else. It makes sense, he probably still remembers how to kill a born vampire, at this stage.

“After shooting him with a lethal bullet, long story,” Patrick confirms with a nod. “But I didn’t behead him, he did,” he adds, jerking his head in Dallon’s direction – he knows the vampire is still standing merely inches behind him, ready to step in if necessary.

Pete pauses at those words, a frown appearing on his face as he looks at Dallon first, then Patrick – anger is almost completely gone from his eyes now, there’s confusion there, diffidence and caution, and something that almost resembles… guilt.

“You’re the one who staked me,” Pete states, looking straight at Dallon.

“And I’m ready to do it again, if you try to hurt him, or the kid,” Dallon warns with an eloquent glare.

“Who is he, your side piece?” Pete mocks with a bitter chuckle, turning to Patrick.

“He’s my friend, and he’s the one who saved me when you--” Patrick stops, because for some reason, the idea of repeating it out loud, of talking about it with this version of Pete, causes a knot to form in his throat.

“I was trying to kill you,” Pete whispers suddenly, remembering the first echo. “I almost killed you.”

“You almost did, yes,” Patrick admits in a very quiet voice, and the moment Pete’s eyes move down to the fading bruises on his neck, Patrick feels his hope ignite. Beneath all the anger and fear and pain, this is still Pete, after all. The guilt showing in his eyes proves it, even if it only lasts for a few moments, even if he chases it away with a grimace and a shake of his head.

“Why am I here?” Pete sounds almost fearful as he asks, and this time, when he looks at Maja, his rage doesn’t surface. “Witch, what the hell is happening to me?”

“We’re trying to figure it out,” Maja answers, her arms still wrapped around Awsten’s shaking frame. “If you cooperated, it would go a whole lot faster.”

Those words cause Pete’s shoulders to square, his expression hardening as he steps back towards the bed. “You’re getting nothing out of me,” he warns with a glare. “I’m not taking any chances.”

“Can you at least stop trying to run?” Patrick does his best to keep the disappointment from his tone. This is still a win, he reminds himself.

“No,” Pete deadpans, then looks away from Maja and back to Patrick. “But I will stop trying to kill you, wolf. Just in case you’re not lying.”

“I’m not lying,” Patrick insists, glaring a little. “You can feel the bond, can’t you?”

Pete doesn’t answer that, he simply stares at Patrick with something so similar to resentment that it nearly causes him to step back. Maybe they haven’t made as much progress as he thought, but it’s still better than the savage, snarling creature they started out with.

“If you’re not lying, tell me what happened to my kindred. Are they still alive?” Pete challenges, holding Patrick’s gaze fiercely.

“Travie and Gabe?” Patrick is genuinely shocked to hear that Pete remembers them, since they were turned after the curse, and this is clearly a version of Pete older than that.

“Who the hell are Travie and Gabe?” Pete shakes his head, his expression showing both confusion and a hint of anger returning. Behind him, Patrick can hear Travie step closer, but not quite in sight of Pete.

“Wait, you mean you-- oh fucking hell,” Patrick breathes as he realizes what this means. “How many kindred do you have, Pete?”

“Two,” Pete mutters, hesitant, as if he fully expected Patrick to know. Which makes sense, this Pete knows nothing about the curse, he doesn’t know his memories will be erased at some point. And Patrick has a feeling he won’t believe it, even if they explain it to him.

“Who are they?” Patrick holds his breath after he asks, hoping with all his strength Pete will tell them.

“Whether you’re my mate or Urie’s lackey, you should already know that,” Pete points out, a new wave of suspicion rising in his eyes.

Fuck.

“You never told me about them,” Patrick admits, and while it’s the truth, it’s an extremely simplified version of it.

Which Pete seems to sense. His anger returns, his jaw tightening as he turns to address Maja once more. “Get out of here, and leave me the hell alone.”

Maja doesn’t hesitate to take this chance, and guides Awsten to the door. As soon as the witch unseals it, Patrick opens it to let them out, knowing the residual barrier should keep Pete inside. The vampire just watches, his eyes bright with fury and mistrust now, and by the time the door locks once more, Patrick knows that whatever connection they managed to find is now lost. Which is only further confirmed when Pete turns around, deliberately shutting down any attempt at conversation.

Travie joins Patrick at the door again, now, and voices what Patrick has been trying to avoid thinking about. “How the fuck do we snap him back to normal?”

“I have no clue,” Patrick breathes, eyes following the vampire as he paces the cell, clearly trying to figure out a way to escape. “We can’t keep staking him, he’ll never trust us if we do.”

“I’ll never trust you either way,” Pete snaps at him from across the cell.

“Well, then all we can do is wait,” Maja informs with an apologetic tone, clearly addressing Patrick and ignoring Pete’s words completely. “Unless we try and find out more about that second thread Awsten saw.”

Patrick turns around to look at her just in time to see Awsten push her away, clearly upset. There are tears streaming down his face, and he’s shaking like a leaf, his voice barely more than a whisper when he speaks. “Stay away from me, you crazy bitch,” he mutters as he stumbles backwards. “Why-- why would you make me-- that monster in there-- I’m not-- I’m not going back!”

“Awsten, calm down, you were never in any danger,” Maja reassures him as she steps closer, but the boy just shakes his head, fearful. “We still need your help.”

“I’m not going back in there,” Awsten insists, voice trembling and weakening, laced with desperation, as if he doesn’t believe he has the strength to fight it, to resist her. As if he’s opposing something he knows will happen anyway – it’s heartbreaking to watch.

“Of course you’re not, kid,” Dallon declares as he steps forward and, to Patrick’s surprise, takes Awsten into his arms. The boy flinches a little at first, possibly because of Dallon’s cold touch, but when the words sink in, he stills. “Don’t worry, you’re never going back in there,” he adds in a softer tone.

At that further reassurance, Awsten nods quietly and slowly presses closer to the vampire, welcoming the shelter he’s offering, all but hiding in Dallon’s protective hold.

“But we do need him to--” Maja starts, but doesn’t get far.

“Leave him alone, witch,” Dallon warns, flashing his fangs at her, which shocks Maja enough to make her fall silent. “You’ve tormented him enough, he’s done being your fucking magical experiment.”

Patrick watches the scene in stunned silence – Dallon’s fiercely defensive stance is definitely a new and unexpected side of him, but one Patrick appreciates very much. And it makes him realize how callously they’ve all been treating the kid’s involvement in this thing, how selfishly they’ve been ignoring the harmful effects it could have on him to be locked in a room with… well, Awsten said it, with a monster. As he looks at the trembling, traumatized human, Patrick feels almost nauseous with guilt.

Surprisingly enough, before Patrick can say anything about it, it’s Travie who steps up to support Dallon. “Weekes is right, you’ve put him through enough.”

Maja looks at Patrick then, clearly expecting him to back her up. And Patrick has to admit he feels a little bit of petty satisfaction in having to let her down. 

“Leave the kid alone, we’ll figure it out without his help,” Patrick decides, and his tone leaves no room for argument. In Pete’s absence, he’s in charge, and he’s willing to pull rank if he has to. It seems it won’t be necessary, however.

“Fine,” Maja lifts her hands in surrender, clearly not thrilled about it. “I’ll stand guard until the real Pete is back.”

“You’d fucking better,” Dallon mutters as he leads Awsten away and towards the stairs, and as he walks, he addresses Patrick and Travie a grateful nod.

Patrick watches them walk away, and once they’ve disappeared around the corner, he turns back towards the cell. “What a fucking mess,” he mutters to himself as he realizes that sure, their plan worked.

Except now they have more questions than ever, and nearly zero answers.

Fucking fantastic.

~

It’s well past dawn and Dallon is finally heading to bed, but he doesn’t harbor much hope that he’s actually going to get some sleep. He knows he needs to try, because he’s exhausted and he’s starting to feel a little hazy, and in this state he’s of no use to anyone, least of all himself. Maja is in charge of containing Pete this time around, and while Dallon managed to calm Awsten down enough for him to fall asleep – aided by a mild sedative Ryland provided –, the process was harrowing.

Dallon is starting to figure out why he felt the need to step in and tear the poor kid away from Maja’s clutches, but he’s not exactly happy to dwell on it. Seeing Awsten trembling and helpless and terrified resonated with some of his darkest memories, waking a protective side he didn’t even know he had. He’s been defenseless and at someone’s mercy before, he knows what it’s like to feel weak and vulnerable and surrounded by indifference. He knows what it’s like to be a toy in someone’s cruel hands, and he’ll be damned if he lets Maja treat the kid like some kind of magical accessory.

Her heart might be in the right place, but that doesn’t change the fact that Dallon won’t allow her to traumatize the kid any further. It seems Patrick is on his side of this, which Dallon is immensely relieved about.

He's so lost in his own tired mind that he doesn’t perceive that someone is approaching until it’s too late, and he feels their presence right behind him. He reacts instinctively and reaches for the stake he’s been keeping latched to his belt; a heartbeat later, he has the other vampire pushed against the wall, the tip of the stake hovering just inches from their chest. And then he realizes who it is.

“I was hoping you’d put something in me, Dally, but I was thinking more dick and less stake,” Mikey jokes as he presses his finger to the tip of the stake, toying with it, before he pushes it down and away from himself. The chuckle that follows his words is slightly breathless, effectively revealing that he’s not as unruffled as he would probably like Dallon to think.

“Mikey, what the fuck are you sneaking up on me for?” Dallon breathes as he drops the stake back into its latch. “I could have killed you, you moron.”

“You’ve been avoiding me, I wanted to ambush you,” Mikey answers as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Well, good fucking job,” Dallon mutters, and finally steps back. “I’m going to bed, I’m not in the mood.”

“Has that been working for you?” Mikey asks without missing a beat. “Locking yourself up in your room by yourself, and not sleeping?”

“I’ve been sleeping just fine,” Dallon lies through his teeth, even though he’s not sure why.

“Oh, so the ‘death warmed over’ look is a fashion choice, then? How Victorian of you,” Mikey taunts as he crosses his arms, his scowl even more eloquent than his words.

Dallon simply glares at him, then, but doesn’t really protest. Between sleep deprivation and the blood loss from Pete’s bite he still hasn’t fully recovered from, he knows he looks haggard and tired and generally like he could use a century-long nap; and yet, he’s not a great fan of Mikey pointing it out.  “What do you want, Mikey?”

“I want you to get some sleep and possibly a decent meal,” Mikey answers as he moves away from the wall. Instead of walking away, he moves closer to Dallon, and takes his hand into his own. “C’mon, asshole.”

Dallon is too baffled to really say anything as he allows himself to be led back to his own room, Mikey’s hold on his hand gentle but firm, leaving no room for objection. He isn’t really sure what’s going on, why Mikey feels like it’s his job to make sure Dallon sleeps, or eats; their interactions normally revolve around sex, not taking care of each other. This is new, but for some reason, Dallon can’t find it in himself to push Mikey away right now, even though he probably should. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, or maybe the lack of warmth in his life, he isn’t sure – what he knows is that it’s easier to play along than to fight this.

Once they’re in Dallon’s bedroom, Mikey lets go and turns around to face him instead. “Clothes off.”

“I told you, I’m not in the mood,” Dallon huffs, starting to feel like maybe he should have resisted this after all, if this was Mikey’s plan all along.

“We’re not having sex,” Mikey responds with a roll of his eyes. “Just trust me.”

With those words, Mikey’s off to the en-suite bathroom, and a moment later Dallon can hear the water running. What the hell is he up to?

Letting out a tired sigh, Dallon decides to humor the other vampire and places the stake on the desk, before taking off his clothes. Once he’s naked, he walks over to the bathroom, only to find that Mikey has been filling up the tub for him. For some reason, the gesture catches him completely off guard and he smiles as he leans against the door frame, watching Mikey pour some bubble bath soap into the water.

“You know, I can still run my own bath,” he points out, but there’s no harshness in it, and just a hint of amusement.

“I don’t doubt it.” Mikey doesn’t sound particularly perturbed by his comment, nor does he seem to mind the fact that Dallon is standing there completely naked.

“Do you plan on joining me in there?” Dallon inquires as he moves closer, just as Mikey shuts off the water and straightens.

“If your highness allows me.” Mikey’s playful response is paired with a shit-eating grin, and really, Dallon has never wanted to simultaneously kiss someone and punch them more than in this moment.

And yet, he finds himself smiling as he reaches for Mikey’s jeans and starts undoing the button. “We’re still not having sex.”

“You know, believe it or not, I am capable of interacting with people without a dick in my ass,” Mikey points out with a slightly exasperated laugh.

“I know that, smartass,” Dallon counters, and tugs him closer none too gently by the hem of his jeans. “I’ve just never seen it.”

“Call me a slut one more time, I dare you,” Mikey challenges him, but his tone is light, clearly entertained.

“That’s not what I was doing,” Dallon protests instantly, his hands stilling in the process of pushing his trousers down. “I just meant we never really just… talk.”

“We aren’t ‘just talking’, I’m trying to help you relax,” Mikey corrects him, and apparently he’s growing impatient, because he takes off his t-shirt and drops it on the floor.

“Why?” Dallon doesn’t mean to sound so skeptical, but it comes out anyway.

“Because you need it.” Mikey’s voice is still mostly amused, and he slaps away Dallon’s hands so he can take off his jeans.

Dallon steps back then, watching as the other vampire discards what’s left of his clothes. The question, however, slips out before he can think better of it. “No, I mean, why do you care?”

Mikey stares at him like he’s trying to figure out whether Dallon is messing with him or not. When he understands that no, Dallon’s question is genuine, he shakes his head unbelievingly.

“For such a smart guy, you sure are supremely dumb sometimes,” Mikey mutters, and slowly gets into the tub. Then, he looks at Dallon and gestures at the water. “C’mon, get in, before I change my mind and kick your ass on my way out.”

Dallon briefly thinks about objecting, mostly to Mikey’s words, but ultimately decides that the bath looks too inviting. And Mikey does too. Whatever the reason he’s doing this, Dallon can’t deny it feels nice to have someone who cares, someone who’s willing to take care of him. So he gets into the bathtub and sits between Mikey’s legs, then leans back against Mikey’s chest.

A sigh of relief slips past his lips as the warmth of the water envelops him, just before Mikey’s hands run along his arms, and his lips press against the spot just beneath Dallon’s ear.

“Patrick told me what you did for the human kid,” Mikey whispers, and there’s a smile in his voice, but his tone is affectionate, not a trace of mocking. “It was sweet of you.”

“No one’s looking out for him,” Dallon points out with a sigh. “You would have done the same, if you’d seen how fucking terrified he was. He was shaking so hard he could barely stand.”

Mikey makes a noncommittal sound, which prompts a little smile from Dallon. Mikey might play aloof and indifferent to other people’s plights, he might pretend he’s above it all and only in it for the intel, but Dallon is starting to know better. He’s discovering a softer side of Mikey, he’s learning that his insight doesn’t just come from him being preternaturally perceptive. There’s some empathy in there too, and his current effort to soothe Dallon’s restlessness proves it.

“God, you feel so tense, no wonder you can’t fucking sleep,” Mikey whispers as he kisses a path along Dallon’s shoulder.

“It’s been a tough week.” Fucking understatement of the year.

“When’s the last time you slept through the day?” Mikey asks quietly, his lips still brushing Dallon’s skin.

“1981, give or take a century,” Dallon admits with a bitter chuckle, and a moment later wonders why on earth he allowed himself to confess that. He needs to get a fucking grip.

Mikey doesn’t react immediately – he seems to be pondering something, his hands still moving along Dallon’s arms slowly, soothingly. A few seconds later, however, he appears to have made a decision, because he whispers a quiet, “Sit up for a moment.”

Dallon obliges, although he’s a bit disappointed to break the contact of their bodies. Still, he doesn’t say anything, and just waits for Mikey’s next move. He’ll be damned if he admits he was enjoying the tenderness of Mikey’s touch and lips, he’s already let his guard down enough for one night.

A moment later, Mikey’s hands are lathered in soap and back on his skin, this time on his shoulders, and without a word, he starts to knead some of the tension out. Dallon groans a little at the change in intensity, the delicate touch growing firmer, but it works miracles. It feels fucking fantastic, and Dallon has a hard time keeping silent as Mikey’s thumbs work out kink after kink, helping his muscles relax and let go of the tension that has been building up for fuck knows how long.

The way Mikey’s lips also find their way back to his skin from time to time helps him relax further. The kisses placed at the back of his neck, or right between his shoulder blades, send pleasant shivers down his spine as he allows himself to enjoy this, to enjoy a rare moment of bliss in the midst of all the drama.

By the time Mikey stops, several minutes later, Dallon’s skin feels a little sensitive and his head is a little floaty, but his shoulders have lost most of their stiffness, and he lets himself be guided back against Mikey’s chest.

“Better?” Mikey whispers in his ear, and Dallon doesn’t need to see the smile to know it’s there.

“Mmh,” Dallon mumbles, eyes still closed, even though he can’t quite remember when he’s closed them. “I’m gonna need you to do that every day for the rest of my life.”

Mikey’s chest shakes with silent laughter at those words, and he gives Dallon’s shoulder a small, playful bite before he answers, “I told you, I don’t do steady.”

“’s a fucking shame.”

Just as he says it, Dallon finds himself thinking that it truly is a shame, because he could definitely get used to this. Used to Mikey being around more. Used to them exploring more than just sex. The moment he catches that train of thought, he chases it away, and blames it on his tired mind and the flush of endorphins currently flooding his body. There’s no need to get sentimental, not about Mikey of all people – he doesn’t do steady, after all.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” Mikey warns him with a chuckle.

“Wasn’t that the whole point?” Dallon asks, but opens his eyes anyway.

“Part of the point.”

And then Mikey moves his arm so that his wrist is presented to Dallon – a silent offering, one that surprises him even more than everything that has just happened. When Dallon doesn’t move, Mikey sighs and places a reassuring kiss to the side of his neck. “Go ahead.”

The temptation to accept it is strong – he’s been feeding, sure, but not nearly enough to replenish the amount of blood Pete’s bite caused him to lose. It felt awkward to ask for more blood, he is keenly aware that he’s still just a guest in the house. And vampire blood would help him recover faster. So why is he hesitating?

Who is he kidding, he knows why. He knows that feeding on a vampire is not like feeding on a human. He knows it opens him up to a level of connection he hasn’t experienced in a long, long time. And the last time he did experience it, it was used to hurt him, to torment him. The memory of it is trying to crawl back into his mind, and he has to actively push it away.

Mikey seems to sense something is off, because his lips once again brush Dallon’s ear as he whispers, “You know I wouldn’t hurt you, right?”

Does Dallon know that? Mikey’s never really given him any reason to doubt it, sure, but there’s no denying that he knows just how good Mikey is at manipulating people to gain what he wants. And how hard it is for him to resist when information is within grabbing distance. It’s dangerous territory, especially given Dallon’s past and the secrets he wants to keep buried.

And yet, there’s a voice at the back of his mind telling him to do it, to take a leap of faith for once, that Mikey might be the one who deserves that trust – wasn’t he just telling himself Mikey’s a better guy than he wants people to believe? He can’t keep everyone at arm’s length forever, unless he wants to go completely insane. And right now, he doesn’t want to keep Mikey at arm’s length. The idea grows louder and louder until he’s left with no choice but to surrender to it.

“Okay,” he finally whispers as he slowly takes hold of Mikey’s arm, and then his fangs are sinking into the vampire’s wrist, and blood floods his mouth and his mind.

Dallon feels all of his previous fear and uncertainty melt away as he drinks, a sort of contented peace washing over him like the gentle waves of a calm ocean. It’s so drastically different from last time, when Urie used this to torture him, and he knows it’s Mikey’s doing – he’s keeping his promise, he’s not hurting Dallon, he’s not using this to dig into his mind for information; instead, he’s offering a moment of respite, of tranquility, as his blood flows into Dallon and heals him.

And right then, Dallon realizes that if he were still capable of it, falling in love with Mikey would be so easy.

But he won’t – his heart has been damaged beyond the possibility of love, and Mikey doesn’t do steady. So there’s no point even considering that, why would his mind go there?

~

Chapter Text

Chapter 9 – But I'll just stay alone because alone is safer than with you

~

For the first time in a long while, when Dallon wakes up it’s not a nightmare that rouses him but the soft buzzing of his phone. Mikey is still asleep next to him, and it takes Dallon a few moments to remember why. When his mind finally catches up and offers very blurred recollections of what went down, he feels a shiver of unease run down his spine.

Fuck.

Did all of that really happen? Did he really feed on Mikey? Did Dallon actually open his mind to him?

Yes, it did, and yes, he did.

Fuckfuckfuck.

Dallon is an idiot, there’s no other way to put it. He’s an idiot and now he’s panicking.

Whatever it was that came over him last night, he should have resisted it. He can’t believe how big of a risk he allowed himself to take by feeding on Mikey. He can’t believe how reckless he was, how pliable, how ready he was to let his guard down. And why? Just because Mikey showed him a little bit of tenderness? Hell, it’s Mikey, he’s the best at what he does, and what he does is manipulate people so he can get intel and fuck – he doesn’t do tender, he doesn’t do… whatever the fuck it was that happened yesterday. Whatever the fuck Dallon allowed to happen.

As he slowly gets up from bed and starts to get dressed as silently as possible, his mind keeps replaying the previous night – the basement, Awsten’s agitated state, how absolutely drained he felt after it all, how dazed with exhaustion, and then giving in to Mikey, the bath they shared, the peaceful feeling of Mikey’s blood. They moved to bed afterwards, and somehow it felt more intimate than sex, the two of them lying there, naked and tangled together and kissing until Dallon fell into the deepest sleep he’s experienced in a very, very long time. He slept for – he checks his watch – ten hours? Is that a fucking joke?

He remembers talking himself into it, convincing himself he was simply experiencing a new, softer side of Mikey. How the fuck could he be that naïve? That moment of weakness could have cost him dearly. He blames it on his exhausted state and the emotional turmoil of taking care of Awsten, as much as Mikey’s cunning sweetheart act. Dallon should have seen it for what it was right from the start.

Is he really so starved for affection that a crumble of it has him eating out of Mikey’s hand – or his wrist – like an idiot? It would appear so.

But he’s clearheaded now, the blood and the nearly ten hours of sleep he got have sharpened him back to himself. It feels almost like a miracle, but a dangerous one. None of it should have happened the way it did.

Sure, whatever it was Mikey was after, he didn’t get it this time – by sheer luck, or maybe because he’s playing it safe and taking the long con route. Dallon isn’t sure which, but he’s going to make sure the other vampire doesn’t get a chance to try again. All he has to do is to push Mikey away, end whatever the fuck it is that’s happening between them. It’s the only safe course of action.

Now, if only he could stop the dull pain that settles in his chest at that thought, that would be fucking great.

Once he’s dressed, Dallon retrieves his phone and leaves his room like a thief, without even turning to look at Mikey, who is still lying in his bed, naked. Dallon isn’t sure if he’s still asleep or not, but he doesn’t want to know. Right now, he needs to put as much distance as he can between himself and the mess he almost made.

Without much deliberate thought behind it, he finds himself heading for Awsten’s room on the other side of the house, but when he peeks inside, the kid is still asleep, so he steps back and closes the door once more. And then rests his back against it, taking a moment to clear his mind.

Should he leave? Staying here is starting to feel dangerous, and not because of Wentz. He’s starting to trust these people a little bit too much for comfort. And he’s definitely getting way too caught up in their drama. Of course he doesn’t regret stepping in to protect the human kid, no one else was in a hurry to, but what happened in the cell was messed up. Whatever haunting alter ego shit is going on with Wentz feels bigger than any of them expected.

And yet, can he really leave? He promised Patrick he would help with Ross, and he promised Pete he would stick around, in case there’s need to handle the worst case scenario. At least that last part seems unlikely – Pete’s mind isn’t unravelling, it’s just… overcrowded. Which is good, because Dallon has made no steps to procure osmium and has no intention to, at this point. The shit’s crazy rare and unbelievably dangerous. How the hell did they even find out about it?

And then there’s the kid. If Dallon leaves, who’s going to make sure Maja doesn’t get her witchy claws on him once more? Dallon isn’t really sure it’s a good idea to care, but despite his reservations, it would appear that he already does. And at this point, he feels like there’s only so much he can be in denial about, and he can allow himself to admit he just wants the kid to be safe. He sees a version of himself in Awsten, a version that was trapped and tormented, a version no one came to rescue. Dallon now has the chance to be that rescue.

Which means that, at least for now, he’s going to stay.

“You look gloomy.” Patrick’s voice comes from down the corridor and cuts through his thoughts.

Dallon turn his head, waiting for the werewolf to catch up to him. “It’s a gloomy sort of night.”

“Is the kid okay?” Patrick asks with a nod towards the door.

“Still sleeping,” Dallon informs with a shrug. “He needs peace and quiet.”

Patrick offers an apologetic look at those words, and glances away for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “I'm sorry you got stuck in this mess, Dallon,” he admits with a sigh. “I hope you know I would understand if you chose to leave.”

“I would ask if you're being nice or kicking me out, but it's you, so I know the answer,” Dallon responds, his expression still resembling a smile, even though he’s not quite there. Is it that obvious that leaving is what Dallon has been contemplating? Or is it just chance that Patrick’s mind landed on that issue as well?

“Your opinion of me is way too high,” Patrick huffs, and it’s obvious that he believes that.

“So you're kicking me out?” Dallon teases, knowing fully well what the answer is going to be.

“Of course not,” Patrick protests, and glares a little. After a few moments of silence, he adds, “Well, if you’re up to it, we’re having an emergency meeting in the library to figure out what the fuck happened with Pete yesterday.”

Dallon isn’t exactly thrilled about it, but it beats wallowing in self-pity over his poor life choices, and he needs a distraction from his thoughts. “Alright, lead the way.”

It seems, however, that luck isn’t on his side, because as they start walking down the hallway, Patrick comments, “So, you and Mikey look cozy.”

“We’re just friends, nothing more,” Dallon states, and he doesn’t mean to sound so defensive, but it’s out before he can stop it.

He can tell Patrick is surprised by the decisiveness in his tone, the werewolf’s eyes darting over to him for a moment. “Didn’t mean to overstep.”

“You didn’t,” Dallon reassures him, and makes himself offer a little grin as he puts on his usual nonchalant act. “I just don’t want you to think I’d ever cheat on you, my one true love.”

Patrick rolls his eyes at those words, but clearly relaxes. “You’re an idiot,” he mutters, bumping his shoulder against Dallon’s. “But I’m happy we’re friends.”

“Ouch, right in the friendzone,” Dallon jokes, and yet, this time his smile feels a little easier. Yeah, there’s no way he’s leaving this fucking house until the mess is sorted. And yet, his weakness for Patrick doesn’t feel as dangerous as his now obvious weakness for Mikey, for some reason. “I’m glad we’re friends too.”

Patrick’s smile softens at those words, almost as if he didn’t expect Dallon to return the sentiment. And in that moment, Dallon realizes he isn’t the only one that has been wary about the trust he’s been placing in this new friendship and alliance. Patrick has taken a big leap of faith on him, that much is clear – and Dallon feels guilt rear its ugly head.

“C’mon, I think everyone else is already in the library,” Patrick says after a moment, heading down the hallway, but Dallon doesn’t move. When Patrick notices it, he stops and turns, clearly curious. “What?”

Damn all this talking of friendship and trust. Damn Pete Wentz and his secret assignments. Damn Dallon’s sense of loyalty. He can’t really keep silent about it, can he? If he does, he betrays Patrick’s trust, and if he doesn’t, he betrays Pete’s.

But Pete said it himself – he’s Patrick’s ally. Patrick’s friend. So Wentz will have to deal with it.

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

~

“Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz the fucking third,” Patrick all but roars as he storms into the library, where most of the clan is already gathered, along with Maja, Mike, Frank and Mikey.

“Oh oh, you're in trouble,” William teases with an entertained grin, but when he sees the look of absolute fury on Patrick’s face, he coughs and looks away.

Patrick knows they should probably have this conversation in private, but he is so outrageously furious he’s almost shaking, and he’s not sure he won’t claw his mate’s face to shreds. Holding off so they can be alone is so far off the table it’s not even in the same room.

“You told Dallon about the damn bullet?” Patrick walks over to Pete, a finger poking him in the chest, claws extended. “We had a fucking deal!”

“It was just a contingency plan, just in case.” Pete’s jaw tightens after he answers, and his eyes fire daggers at Dallon. Oh no, he doesn’t get to do that. He doesn’t get to be pissed at Dallon for telling him the truth.

“Don’t look at him, look at me!” Patrick growls, and the moment their eyes meet, he sees Pete recoil a little. And no shit, Patrick’s pretty sure Pete has never seen him this angry. Because he hasn’t been this angry in a very long time. “I’m the one you betrayed!”

Pete seems caught off guard by those words, and the sheer rage dripping from them. And Patrick feels his chest tighten and catch fire with how furious and hurt and disappointed he is. It feels like a dagger lodged firmly in his heart, sinking deeper with every beat.

“Patrick, I--” Pete pauses, but there’s something he wants to say, it’s clear.

“You what?”

“I was just trying to spare you some pain,” Pete whispers, but holds his gaze, unrelenting.

“How fucking dare you?” Patrick mutters through clenched teeth, stepping back now. “You asked Dallon to shoot you with a deadly bullet to spare me some pain? Do you even hear yourself, you fucking idiot?”

“You heard Maja, if this is my mind collapsing, it’s a death sentence,” Pete reminds him – as if he needs reminding.

“And you promised we’d deal with this together,” Patrick counters, his voice lowering but not losing any of its anger. “I’m your fucking mate, how could you go behind my back like this? What gave you the right to decide I would ever give up on you?”

That seems to finally hit the mark, because there’s a moment of frozen silence in the room, Pete clearly at a loss as to how to answer that question. And Patrick hopes that he doesn’t, because if he does, if he tries to defend his actions one more time, Patrick will fucking punch him. With or without the entire clan present.

“Do you-- do you guys want the room?” William asks hesitantly, eyes warily moving between them, as if he’s afraid their fight might get physical.

“No,” Patrick nearly growls.

“Maybe we should talk,” Pete suggests instead, taking a step closer, but Patrick addresses him a glare so full of white hot fury that it stops him in his tracks.

“I’m in no shape to talk to you without clawing your stupid face to pieces, so no, we don’t need the room,” Patrick insists, and this time, Pete accepts his words with a nod and a step back.

The silence that falls onto the room is both tense and awkward. Luckily, before it becomes too overwhelming and forces Patrick to leave and vent his anger somewhere else, it’s Mikey who breaks it.

And he does so in a way that distracts Patrick from his own boiling thoughts.

“And here I thought I was having relationship problems with Dallon dumping me in his bed like a coward,” Mikey jokes with a wink in Dallon’s direction – and yet, there’s something pointed in the way he says it, something that travels beneath his words, something meant just for Dallon. It seems to hit its mark, because Dallon looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, right now.

Oh, so Patrick did press a delicate button earlier. Selfishly, he’s glad for the diversion, which allows his anger to scale down a little bit.

“Alright, before this turns into a fucking Dr. Phil episode, let’s regroup and focus on the issue at hand,” Maja encourages with a roll of her eyes, clearly unimpressed with the drama that is unfolding.

“Please start with some good news,” William nearly begs, and contrary to the witch, he’s clearly uneasy with the tension in the room.

“Well, good news is that Pete is a moron, and there was no need to make a death pact with Weekes after all, because the worst case scenario is no longer an option,” Maja announces, arching an eyebrow at the born vampire, as if to underline he truly is an idiot. 

And while those words do lighten Patrick’s heart by about a million tons and help him breathe a little easier, the mention of Pete’s death pact is enough to prompt another deadly glare towards his mate, who simply clenches his jaw and keeps silent. Good choice.

“So what’s going on?” It’s Joe who voices everyone’s question.

“My working theory is that the second thread that Awsten saw connects Pete to Ross, somehow,” Maja explains as she starts pacing the room. “We need to figure out what kind of connection it is, because I don’t think it’s a sire-kindred bond.”

“What makes you think that?” Patrick inquires, and manages to keep his tone level, this time.

“Well, Awsten saw your mating bond, he called it a golden sort of rope, but then he saw another thread, just one, and we know Pete has at least four kindred, so if that second thread was a sire-kindred bond, there should have been more.”

“Wait a second, slow down,” Pete jumps in, clearly confused. “What the hell is this about me having four kindred?” 

Maja turns to look at Patrick, silently asking him to explain; Patrick glares for a moment, then takes a deep breath and speaks. “Past-Pete asked about his kindred, but when I mentioned Gabe and Travie, he had no idea who I was talking about,” Patrick explains as patiently as he can manage considering his still simmering anger. “And then he said he had two kindred, but refused to tell me about them.”

“Did he at least confirm if one of them was Ross?” William sounds both hopeful and fearful as he asks this, but Patrick just shakes his head.

“He got spooked by the fact that his alleged mate didn’t know about them, and shut down,” Travie reports with a small shrug.

“How did you manage to snap him out of the echo?” Dallon suddenly asks, and it’s clear he hopes they’ve found a way that does not involve him having to stake Pete again.

“I didn’t – he eventually fell asleep, and when he woke up, he was back to normal.” Maja’s tone as she explains shows a clear thread of frustration – she obviously doesn’t like not being in control, not having the situation in hand. “It’s like there’s a second consciousness hiding somewhere in Pete’s mind, and it takes over whenever his thoughts focus on Ryan Ross.”

“So it’s not just echoes of his memories, it’s a full on past version of Pete?” Gabe interjects, and once again, the question is one that is shared by most people in the room.

“Yes, as far as I can tell, because he remembers past echoes,” Maja confirms, frowning. “I think it’s because of that thread Awsten spotted, I think this consciousness is like a parasite, surviving thanks to that connection.”

“So if we sever it, Shadow Pete should go away,” William proposes with just a hint of uncertainty in his tone, as if he doesn’t believe it could be that easy.

“Shadow Pete? Really?” Pete asks with a groan, but William simply shrugs.

And Patrick has to admit that the name fits. It is, after all, a darker and elusive version of his mate.

“It’s easier said than done, we need to figure out what kind of connection it is, and why Awsten said it was poisonous.” Maja sounds positively exasperated at this point. “Oracles and their fucking cryptic visions.”

“Could it be a curse?” Patrick asks with a frown. “Awsten also said it was tattered and black blood was dripping from it.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Maja admits with a sigh. “If it’s a curse and we sever it the wrong way, it might hurt one of them, or both.”

“What do we do, then?” Pete sounds just as frustrated as he looks, but Patrick has zero sympathy for him right now.

“We could ask Awsten to take another look--” Maja starts, but she’s swiftly interrupted.

“The kid is off limits,” Dallon declares, his tone leaving no room for debate. “You’re done traumatizing him to make up for your incompetence.”

“Watch it, Weekes,” Maja warns, her expression morphing into a threatening look.

Patrick is shocked to see Dallon step forward instead of back, his menacing glare mirroring Maja’s, and the way he towers over her certainly helps convey the message effectively. “If I see you anywhere near him again, I’ll carve your eyes out.”

Okay, that is not something Patrick expected. Sure, Dallon stepped in the day before to rescue Awsten, but it’s clear the vampire has taken the kid to heart, for some reason. Not that Patrick doesn’t agree with his stance, of course, what happened in the cell was fucked up, and he should have stopped Maja before she even took the kid inside the cell. And yet, he let his selfish desire to find answers overshadow his conscience.

But he can intervene now, before this staring contest escalates into something worse.

“Maja, I told you, leave the kid alone,” Patrick reminds her, his voice just as stern.

“Without his help, the only way to get answers is through Ross,” Maja points out, and this time she turns to Pete to seek support, since Patrick is still obviously opposed to her using the kid’s abilities again.

Patrick looks at Pete as well, his glare loaded with anger and a very clear warning. Do not test me, Pete.

Eventually, Pete shakes his head, and turns to look at Maja. “We’re not in the business of traumatizing kids,” he decides, then turns to Dallon. “Get Ross to talk.”

“It’s gonna take time,” Dallon admits candidly, knowing there’s no point in making false promises.

“I think we can afford time,” Pete reasons, shrugging. “The cell can contain me, and it seems that… Shadow Pete – fucking idiot name – can be reasoned with, so I say we wait it out until we know more.”

“We might be able to get some information from him too,” Patrick considers, thinking back to the precarious connection he managed to establish the day before. “If I can win his trust.”

“That could work,” Maja admits reluctantly, and still visibly morose about being denied access to Awsten’s abilities. “I’ll create a safe space for you in the cell.”

“I don’t think it’s necessary,” Patrick objects. “We need to build trust, just make sure he can’t get out.”

“That’s too dangerous,” Pete immediately protests, which doesn’t really surprise Patrick. Oh, but does it enrage him.

“He promised he wouldn’t hurt me,” Patrick points out with a glare. “Let’s just hope he’s better at keeping promises than you are.”

With those words, and the pain they cause to flash in Pete’s eyes, Patrick takes his leave from the room, slamming the door on his way out.

~

Dallon can’t decide who he least wants to run into right now.

Pete is almost sure to murder him on sight, but he should be locked up already. Patrick looked angry enough to tear through him for no good reason, even though before the meeting he did thank Dallon for revealing the clandestine pact he implicitly made with Pete. And Mikey… well, the jab might have been masqueraded as a joke, but it’s clear that Mikey is pissed at him for sneaking out like a coward.

So Dallon does what any sane, mature person would – he hides.

In Ryan Ross’ room.

“Looks like you’ve actually learned some manners,” Ross comments when Dallon walks in after a courtesy knock. A deliberate one, this time. The last thing Dallon wants right now is more drama, so he’s going to be on his best behavior. Plus, if he gets Ross to talk, Pete might decide not to murder him. So he might as well endure a few sarcastic remarks, if that’s what it takes.

“What can I say, charming is my default mode,” Dallon jokes with a small grin as he kicks the door shut, since both his hands are full.

When Ross notices the second mug, however, he frowns. “I appreciate the zeal, but I'm not that hungry,” he points out, and it seems his mood is marginally better than last time, which is promising. “You've been bringing me food every night.”

“It's not for you, it's for me,” Dallon admits as he hands him one of the mugs. At Ryan’s surprised look, he adds, “I need a break from out there.”

“Oh.”

Ryan seems baffled by that candid admission, and any sarcastic remark he might have had ready on the tip of his tongue stays there. So Dallon decides to strike the iron while it’s hot. Or better yet, take advantage of this lack of hostility while it lasts.

“Do you mind if I stay?” Dallon asks, and once again, he can tell Ross didn’t expect him to actually bother asking.

“Suit yourself, I guess,” Ryan mutters with a shrug, and his tone, while still devoid of hostility, harbors a trace of distrust.

Dallon is aware that this is a rather substantial change of tone from their last interaction, but he’s playing off that last exchange they had – better luck next time. Provoking Ross hasn’t worked so far, and he’s not really lying when he says he’s hiding in there to get a breather from the drama outside. Which is probably why Ryan believes him. Or mostly believes him.

Without a word, Dallon sits on the ground with his back against the door, and sips from his own mug.

A few minutes pass in complete silence, the awkwardness of it fading as both of them get used to the other’s presence. It’s odd, but Dallon finds himself actually relaxing and enjoying the meal, more than he would have if he’d consumed it alone, hiding in his own bedroom. Or in the kitchen, at the mercy of whoever walked in – for some reason, he suspects his death pact with Pete has pissed off more people than just Patrick. Namely, his whole fucking clan.

To distract his mind from those thoughts – he’ll have to deal with all of that once he leaves the room – he focuses on Ross instead. He already looks better than he did a week before; the regular feeding and the rest he’s getting have visibly improved his appearance. He’s still a little haggard, but the dark shadows under his eyes have faded and his previous unkempt beard has been shaved; there’s stubble in its place which actually fits him well.

“How long were you out there?” The question is out before Dallon can think better of it, and yet, he can hardly take it back now. Playing friendly is one thing, but he can’t give the impression he doesn’t have control of the situation. Or his own mouth.

“I didn't realize this would involve conversation,” Ryan comments with a cocked eyebrow, then takes a long sip from his mug.

Dallon rolls his eyes at those words. “God, you're such a bitch,” he mutters, shaking his head. “I was just trying to be nice and have a chat.”

Ryan doesn’t answer immediately, his expression unreadable as he looks over Dallon as if to assess whether he’s lying or sincere. After several moments, he finally asks, “Why?”

“Because I'm an idiot, apparently,” Dallon counters with a sullen glare. Ryan’s stare doesn’t relent, however, and soon enough, Dallon finds himself giving a proper answer. “It can't be easy to be locked up by yourself in a house full of people you hate. It’s bound to get lonely.”

“What makes you think I don’t hate you too?” Ryan inquires, and it’s spoken with such genuine curiosity Dallon can’t even get mad at him.

“Fair enough,” Dallon mutters, both of his eyebrows rising in a cynical expression. “I guess that’s my cue to leave, then.”

So much for trying a friendly approach. Ryan is like a fucking hedgehog – cute but prickly as fuck.

What Ryan does next, however, catches him a little off guard. Dallon watches as the other vampire moves to sit down on the floor with his back against the foot of the bed, directly in front of Dallon, just a few feet between them.

“I’m sorry, I was being an asshole again,” Ryan admits with a little smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. And yet, his apology is both unexpected and unexpectedly genuine.

“It’s fine, I’ve been told I bring out the worst in people,” Dallon jokes with a matching empty smile on his face, and yet those words leave a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. Because the person who actually said that to him did not mean it as a joke, and at some point even managed to convince Dallon it was true. It took him years to overwrite it, and sometimes he still struggles not to revert to it. He isn’t even sure why it came out right now, but it seems it was the right thing to say.   

“Well, that’s a shit thing to say to someone,” Ryan comments, arching an eyebrow, and yet there’s a spark of sad recognition in his eyes as he adds, “I bet I can guess who said that to you.”

“That obvious, uh?” Dallon looks down at the nearly empty mug in his hands, a humorless chuckle slipping out. “Let’s not talk about that narcissistic piece of shit.”

Ryan simply nods in response to those words, and sure, Dallon is dying to know how things stood between Urie and Ross, but right now doesn’t feel like the right time to push it. Pete said they can afford taking their time with this, so Dallon will take his time.

“What do you need my blood for?” It’s Ryan who breaks the silence this time, and his question causes Dallon to look up from his mug, caught completely off guard. When Dallon doesn’t answer, Ryan adds, “The other day you said you need my blood, what for?”

Dallon knows his answer needs to be sincere, because he can’t risk lying right now. Not when things seem to be working out with this strategy, and the two of them aren’t at each other’s throats. If he hopes to get any genuine information, he needs to be genuine in return. It’s risky, and could possibly backfire, but he’s hardly an expert on extracting information, so he’ll work off his instinct.

“So that Maja can find out if you're Pete's kindred,” Dallon admits with a shrug.

Ryan nods slowly in acknowledgement, his expression thoughtful as he finishes the blood in his mug with one long sip. Afterwards, he places the mug down on the floor next to him, and takes a deep breath. Dallon can tell he’s thinking it over, as if he’s considering cooperating. Which feels like a fucking trap, honestly – why would Ross cooperate this easily?

“I'm not giving you my blood, not with Maja roaming the house,” Ryan decides eventually, jaw clenching for a moment before he adds, “I don't trust her with it.”

Okay, that’s a more reasonable response, Dallon has to admit it. And he voices it too. “Can't blame you, really.”

Ryan seems surprised by those words, as if he expected Dallon to object. “So you're really not going to force me?”

It’s Dallon’s turn to frown, now, and he also downs the rest of his blood before he answers. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes, considering Wentz is involved,” Ryan admits almost instantly, his chuckle bitter and disillusioned. “He never had trouble taking what he wanted.”

Dallon feels unease slither down his spine like a snake as he asks, “What do you mean?”

Once more, Ryan seems to be pondering exactly what to share and how to share it, and in the end, it seems the direct approach wins out once more. “I'm his kindred, but not by choice,” Ryan confesses, his expression darkening. “He turned me against my will.”

Dallon feels his stomach clench at those words, and while his mind has trouble reconciling those actions with the Pete Wentz he knows, he reminds himself it’s a different version of him Ryan is talking about, one corrupted by thousands of years of memories. Yet, he has a feeling that hardly matters to Ryan.

“I'm sorry,” Dallon mutters, but doesn’t look away.

Ryan seems to appreciate his sympathy and the lack of pity in his tone, because he shrugs it off. “Oh that's the least messed-up shit he’s done to me.”

And that’s when it hits Dallon like a freight train. The bitemark. Fuck. Could it be that Pete is responsible for the mating bite on Ryan’s arm? But that doesn’t make sense, if Pete had a marking bite on him, Patrick would have noticed. A previous mating would have definitely been discussed in the meeting about Shadow Pete.

Should Dallon ask Ryan about it, then? He has a feeling that could easily be a conversation ender, and if he presses the wrong button now, all their progress today might be lost – possibly forever.

So once more, he follows his instinct.

“I’m not going to ask,” Dallon informs him, and it’s clear the other vampire expected the opposite. “But if you do want to talk about it, I’ll listen.”

It seems to be the right decision, because Ryan’s tense shoulders visibly relax, and his expression softens. “That’s surprisingly respectful of you.”

“You’re so good at backhanded compliments,” Dallon points out with a cocked eyebrow, his tone slightly critical, but mostly amused.

“I didn’t--” Ryan mutters, clearly flustered at his own misstep. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.” It takes him a moment before he regains his usual composure, and he adds, “I really do appreciate it.”

“And you’re so bad at saying thank you,” Dallon jokes, offering a genuinely amused grin along with his words, to let him know he doesn’t actually mind.

“Whatever, stop grinning like a fucking shark,” Ryan mumbles, and his foot reaches over to kick Dallon in the knee.

Dallon actually laughs at those words, but before he can find the right way to respond to that, he hears a familiar hum in the distance. The barrier alarm. Fuck.

“Sorry, duty calls,” he mutters as he stands, and watches as Ryan does the same, concern obvious in his expression.

As he opens the door, Dallon remembers what Patrick told him – someone is after Ryan, and they’re bound to track him here, at some point. Fucking perfect timing too.

Alright, let’s see how much more complicated this whole mess can get.

~

Chapter Text

Chapter 10 – Alone but surrounded, I'm breathing, I'm drowning, I haven't slept in days, but who's counting?

~

Patrick knows he’s supposed to go back to the house, that he should keep an eye on Pete just in case Shadow Pete decides to make an appearance. He also knows Pete is bound to come looking for him at some point, or send someone after him. He knows all of this, and yet, he can’t quite make himself walk back to the house just yet. He retreated to the pack’s camp in the forest after the meeting, dearly in need of a safe place where he could wait for his anger to abate a little. He even went for a run in his wolf form, which usually helps him settle any emotional outbursts. None of it worked, really. He’s still as furious as he was hours before, just more levelheaded about it. It’s progress, but it’s shit progress.

“Hey,” Mike calls out to him, cautious in his approach – which isn’t surprising, since he’s witnessed first-hand how mad Patrick currently is at Pete. “Still boiling hot angry, uh?”

“I could tear his fucking throat out right now,” Patrick admits with a defeated sigh, and half-heartedly throws a stick into the fire in front of him. It’s late summer, but there’s a chill in the night air that makes sitting by the fire pleasant – in about a month, it will be one year since Patrick arrived at the house, and yet, he feels like this has been his home for a lot longer than that.

“You’d regret it, later,” Mike points out as he takes a seat across from him.

“I don’t care about later,” Patrick mutters, jaw clenching as he feels a new wave of anguish tear at his heart.

“You can stay out here, if you don’t want to face this right now,” Mike reminds him, and Patrick feels a surge of love for his friend at the offer.

He knows the pack would close around him like a protective shield, if he asked them to. He knows they’d back him, no matter what. They consider Pete one of their own, but Patrick is still their Alpha, and that overrides everything else. Without a word, he digs into his pocket and fishes out the good luck charm he took from the bedroom. Pete’s name is carved on the thick leather strings dangling from the acorn that serves as the centerpiece – Patrick’s heart clenches as he looks at it and runs his thumb over the engraved name. Fucking idiot of a mate he has.

“I can’t,” Patrick finally whispers, eyes stinging a little as he closes his hand around the little object. It worked again, it seems – the worst-case scenario is off the table, Pete isn’t facing a death sentence anymore. That is, if Patrick doesn’t kill his mate himself. “He’s an asshole and a fucking moron, but he’s still my mate. And it’s still my responsibility to solve this mess.”

“I’m not defending him, but I do believe this came from a place of love,” Mike offers hesitantly, as if he’s afraid the anger might be directed at him for suggesting it.

“He thinks he’s being selfless, asking one of my friends to murder him so I don’t have to,” Patrick confirms with a bitter laugh. “And doing it behind my fucking back.”

“Yeah, that part’s especially fucked up,” Mike admits, a small sigh following his words.

“I know that if Maja had been right about his mind collapsing, I wouldn’t have had the strength to kill him myself,” Patrick confesses, his voice lowering to little more than a whisper. “But he had no right to cut me out of it entirely.”

“Tell him that, I’m sure he’ll understand,” Mike encourages with a little smile.

“Him understanding is not the problem,” Patrick whispers, looking down at the good luck charm in his hands. “The problem is that for the first time since I chose to stay here, with him, I don’t feel like I can trust him completely.”

That’s what hurts him the most, the breach of trust. If Pete could bring himself to lie to him about something this massive, what else might he lie about, in the name of protecting him? Where does it stop? And why has he sensed nothing through their mating bond? Not an ounce of guilt, or secrecy, or anything? Either Pete felt none of that, or what’s happening to him is interfering with their bond – either way, Patrick has never felt as disconnected from his mate as he feels right now. Not even while he was missing.

Patrick is about to express that feeling out loud, when something stops him. A low hum in the distance, the familiar vibration of the barrier alerting them that an intruder is at the gate. Fucking great, more problems.

“Secure the pack, I’ll go see what’s happening,” Patrick instructs as both he and Mike stand.

“Holler if you need backup,” Mike responds with a nod, and then he’s off to the rest of the pack to do as his Alpha said.

Patrick takes off in the direction of the gate, and by the time he reaches the driveway, there’s someone else hurrying down from the house. Pete, Maja and Dallon. At least the property is well defended, Patrick has to admit that.

“Who is it?” he asks as he joins the others.

“We don’t know yet,” Pete answers, and it’s clear he wants to say something else, but refrains. Patrick doesn’t know whether it’s because he realizes it’s not the time nor place, or because he can tell Patrick isn’t ready to talk, but he is relieved either way.

They reach the gate moments later, and much to their surprise, there are two people standing there. Two vampires. Patrick has never seen them, not even at the Council, and from the look on Pete’s face, they’re unfamiliar to him too. Maja, however, takes the lead as they approach.

“You can leave on your own legs, or crawl away in misery. Your choice.”

Okay, strong opening.

“Hand him over, witch,” one of the vampires answers, ignoring her threat entirely. He’s not especially tall, with black curly hair dyed red at the sides; the vampire standing next to him is slightly taller with shorter hair, his demeanor less aggressive, but still unaffected by the threat.

And really, either these guys have got massive balls, or have no idea who Maja actually is.

Something else catches Patrick’s attention – these guys are addressing her, not Pete. Why? If they’re after Ross, they should be demanding Pete to hand him over, what’s Maja got to do with all that? Unless they’re not after Ross at all. Which means…

“Give us the boy, and we’ll leave,” the other vampire offers, his tone less hostile than that of his friend.

Surprisingly, it’s not Maja who answers that, but Dallon. “The boy’s under my protection, so listen to the witch and leave while your legs are still attached.”

“Your protection? And who are you?” the first vampire inquires, clearly skeptical.

“Dallon Weekes, Regent of Utah,” Dallon introduces himself, unperturbed and confident. “And the last face you’ll see if you so much as think about the boy again.”

There’s a spark of recognition in the two vampires’ expressions, but Patrick can tell they aren’t exactly intimidated. If anything, they seem… intrigued. And okay, maybe a little bit intimidated now that they’re facing off against both a powerful witch and a Regent. Whether they know about Pete’s born vampire nature is unclear. If they do and look this unbothered, they’re either insane or stupid.

“We’ve heard about you,” the taller vampire comments, and takes a step forward. “You have no claim on the boy.”

“Neither do you, Joseph” Maja reminds him, tone harsh.

“You all seem to forget this is my property and my district, which makes it my decision,” Pete intervenes at last, his eyes turning icy blue as his fangs grow in a show of threat. His aura rolls off him in menacing waves, and the two strangers take a small step back when Pete advances. Yep, if they didn’t know about Pete before, they definitely know now. “The boy belongs to Weekes. Now leave, or I’ll feed you to the wolves.”

Patrick knows it’s his cue, and he steps up as well, a small grin tugging at his lips despite himself. He might be pissed to all hell at Pete right now, but the way he’s stepping up and using his authority to support Dallon’s claim has Patrick soften a little bit. Not that he actually believed Pete would hand over the boy just to spite Dallon for telling on him, but… well, Patrick can’t deny the thought has crossed his mind.

And he feels a tiny little bit guilty about it now.

Pete might have lied to him and betrayed his trust, but Mike was right, his stupid-ass decisions came from a place of love. Which doesn’t excuse them or make Patrick any less angry, but it does remind him that Pete would never harm an innocent kid in petty revenge. Patrick’s fury blinded him to that fact for a moment, and he’s rational enough to recognize how unfair such a thought was.

“This doesn’t end here, Wentz,” the vampire snaps, but both of them take another step back.

“It does,” Patrick answers instead, standing shoulder to shoulder with his mate.

It seems to send the right message, because the two vampires finally turn around and walk away, back to their car parked not far. Still, the four of them remain at the gate until the black Camaro has driven off and disappeared around the bend, hopefully taking the strangers back where they came from, never to be seen again.

Patrick doesn’t harbor much hope that will be the case, but hey, he’s been wrong before.

“Who the fuck was that and what do they want with Awsten?” Dallon doesn’t hesitate to face the witch, demanding answers.

“Tyler Joseph, and his guard dog Josh Dun,” Maja answers, and her words are followed by a tired sigh. “They’re some of Urie’s last recruits before you permanently dislocated his cervical spine.”

“Great, Urie fanboys,” Pete muttered under his breath.

“Why are they after Awsten?” Dallon asks again, determined not to let the witch avoid that question.

“His abilities, I guess.” Maja seems almost reluctant to admit it. “Oracles are extremely rare. Like ‘one in ten generations’ rare.”

Patrick looks at Maja, then, his perplexity probably written all over his face, and he can tell both Pete and Dallon are equally unconvinced. Joseph and Dun seem willing to challenge the most powerful witch alive, an Alpha werewolf and two Regents – one of which is a three thousand years old born vampire – to get their hands on a kid who can… see auras and occasionally glimpse the future? Yeah, Patrick’s not buying that.

It’s Pete, however, who beats him to the punch. “What are you not telling us about the kid?”

“I might have downplayed his abilities,” Maja admits with a small grimace.

“By how much?” Dallon nearly growls, once again standing toe to toe with her.

“A whole fucking lot?” Maja breathes, and Patrick has never seen her look as sheepish as she does now. He honestly didn’t think it possible before this moment.

“This isn’t a conversation we should have out here,” Pete points out, throwing a concerned look at the street outside the gate.

“Agreed,” Maja instantly concurs, and starts for the house without warning.

Dallon takes off after her, and it’s clear he doesn’t plan on letting her get away without getting some answers first.

Pete, however, hesitates and turns to Patrick instead. His expression has lost all previous harshness, and he looks almost fearful as he takes a step in Patrick’s direction. “Can we talk?”

“No.” Patrick doesn’t mean to sound as harsh as he does, despite everything. And yet, it seems Pete’s approach is enough to reignite his anger. “I’ll tell Mike to stand down, then join you in the house.”

Patrick doesn’t wait for Pete’s reaction, or his answer, and takes off in the direction of the forest instead. And yet, with each step, he feels a weak tug on the mating bond between them, as if Pete is desperately – and silently – begging him to stop and turn around.

Patrick doesn’t.

~

“The kid can do what?” Dallon does his best to keep his voice under control, but it rises anyway.

“Oracles have a special connection to the afterlife,” Maja repeats, but stands her ground – whatever sheepishness she showed outside is gone now. “And that connection allows communication.”

“He can talk to the fucking dead?” Dallon knows he sounds absolutely outraged. Because he is. Outraged and angry that the witch would hide something like this from them, after dropping the kid in their lap.

“Among other things, yes,” Maja confirms, squaring her shoulders.

“What other things?” Pete inquires, his glare as eloquent as his dry tone. It seems he too doesn’t appreciate being lied to – at least now he’s too pissed at Maja to remember he’s also pissed at Dallon. Small mercies.

“Look, very few people know the full extent of his abilities, and the fewer people know about him, the safer he is,” Maja objects calmly, doing a spectacular job of not answering Pete’s question. “Why do you think I asked you to keep him here and keep him safe?”

“Because you’ve been so worried about his safety and wellbeing, haven’t you?” Dallon challenges, stepping closer. “You locked him in a fucking cell with Pete’s psycho twin.”

“He was never in danger,” Maja retorts, and her tone shows a hint of exasperation.

“Not physically,” Dallon concedes, with a pointed look that broadcasts the rest of his thoughts before he even speaks them. “Newsflash, witch, traumatizing him so you can use him as your magical toy still classifies as harming him.”

“Is he a weapon?” Mikey asks out of the blue. Dallon looks at the other vampire, who joined them after they came back from the gate, and tries to figure out where that question is coming from. Mikey, however, looks thoughtful, concerned, and thankfully not like he’s planning on switching to Maja’s side. “Is he dangerous?”

“No, he’s not a weapon,” Maja tells him with a roll of her eyes. “But in the wrong hands, his abilities can be dangerous. That’s why I need him to be with good people.”

Dallon takes a deep breath then, and tries to put order to his thoughts. If Joseph and Dun know about the kid’s abilities, and they were Urie’s latest fanboys – recruited so recently that Dallon didn’t even know about them –, then their plan is probably to communicate with him for some godforsaken reason. Which makes it even more imperative to keep Awsten away from them, and safe. That is, unless their plan is even more unhinged.

The moment the idea pops up in his mind, Dallon feels his stomach drop to the bottom of his feet.

“Can he bring back the dead?” he asks quietly, looking at the witch straight in the eye.

Maja’s hesitation in answering is enough to confirm his deepest fear. “In the right conditions and with the support of a powerful enough mage… yes, he technically could.”

“Fuck,” Patrick breathes, clearly connecting the dots as well. “Those two clowns want to bring Urie back from the fucking dead?”

“Relax, they can’t,” Maja informs, raising both her hands. “He didn’t have kindred, so his bloodline died with him, and you need an active bloodline to bring someone back. Which those two idiots probably don’t know.”

Dallon would have never in a million years thought he’d ever want to hug Maja, but after her words, that’s exactly what he wants to do. He feels life flood back into his veins and he breathes out a sigh – and out of the corner of his eye, he catches Mikey’s concerned look just as it fades into relief.

“Thank fuck he didn’t have kindred,” Pete comments, and it’s clear he’s also reassured by her words.

“He would have never split his strength like that,” Maja considers with a shrug – and this time, her remark gets quizzical looks in return.

“What do you mean?”

“Born vampires yield part of their powers to their kindred, that’s why they’re also immune to sunlight.” Maja sounds like she’s explaining the most obvious thing in the world. Which is not irritating at all, considering she seems to be the only one in possession of this knowledge. Nope, not annoying in the slightest.

“That’s why born vampires eliminated their bloodlines, they wanted their strength back,” Mikey infers, and gets a confirming nod from the witch.

“Haven't you wondered why you couldn't beat him?” Maja asks Pete with a cocked eyebrow. “Your power is split, you have four kindred and at least two of them are still alive.”

That’s when Dallon realizes that between the emergency at the gate and the news about Awsten, he still hasn’t shared what he’s learned from Ryan. And now seems like the perfect moment to. “Three, actually.” All eyes in the room turn to him, and he sighs before he adds, “Ross is your kindred.”

“Fucking great,” Pete mutters, running a hand over his face.

“And now we know we’re getting another visit from Shadow Pete,” Patrick comments, clearly unhappy with that idea.

Right, Dallon forgot about Ross being the trigger. Which brings something else to the forefront to his mind. “He has a marking bite on him, but it’s gonna take a while before I can ask him about that.”

“I haven’t found out anything about a mate,” Mikey informs, and Dallon is surprised to find out the other vampire actually looked into it. 

“Of course you knew about it before we did,” Pete mutters sarcastically, and addresses Dallon a pointed look. “Anything else we should be informed of?”

Dallon tries to resist being petty – he really does, but Pete has no right to give him shit right now, not about this. Dallon agreed to help, and if Pete doesn’t like how he handles the information, he can find someone else to do it. “Other than you turning him against his will, you mean?”

Pete physically recoils from those words, and the look of absolute horror on his face makes Dallon regret his loud mouth instantly. “Are you serious?”

“That’s what he said, he seemed sincere,” Dallon confirms quietly, then turns to Patrick, who looks like he’s ready to throw up. “Maybe you should ask Shadow Pete about it, he’s bound to remember.”

Patrick simply nods his agreement, then looks at his mate with a sigh. It breaks Dallon’s heart to see the pain in his eyes and hear the strain in his voice as he addresses Pete. “We should go back to the cell, it’s almost dawn. We can talk about the rest tomorrow.”

When no one seems to have any objections to it, Patrick takes a deep breath and heads for the door. Pete follows him without a word, seemingly still in shock about what Dallon revealed – and possibly the way he revealed it. Good job, asshole, Dallon tells himself. As if Pete needed any more reasons to want to murder him.

“I’ll come reinforce the shield around the cell,” Maja offers as he follows Pete and Patrick out of the room, and her tone is just as subdued as Patrick’s.

It’s maybe five seconds after they’ve all left that Mikey speaks, and Dallon isn’t exactly surprised by his words. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” Dallon mutters, looking away from the other vampire. However, he can’t quite walk away just yet, there’s something that’s been buzzing at the back of his mind since the beginning of this conversation. “I need a favor.”

“What?” Mikey doesn’t exactly look thrilled nor inclined to help, which is hardly shocking.

“I need you to figure out which mental hospital Maja took Awsten from, and possibly hack into his patient file.” Dallon can tell Mikey’s surprised enough by his request that the disappointment and anger thankfully take the backseat. At least for now. “Get me some information about him, and change the record to regularly discharged. Hopefully it will draw less attention than ‘kidnapped by a tiny Swedish witch’.”

The words manage to pull a little smile from Mikey along with a nod, and his demeanor softens when he realizes Dallon’s actions are aimed at covering Awsten’s tracks. It’s probably not enough to make up for the stunt he pulled on Pete – twice, tonight –, but it’s a step in the right direction, it seems.

“Are you sure you want that kid to be your responsibility?” Mikey asks softly, a trace of concern showing despite his smile. “You heard Maja, people will come after him.”

“Let them try.”

And it might have been a slightly dramatic answer, sure, but one that seems to win him some more points with Mikey. Not that Dallon should care, since he’s the one who pushed him away.

But he does.

~

It’s the following night when Dallon finally heads to Awsten’s room. The kid hasn’t come out since two nights before, when Dallon led him away from the cell in the basement and spent the better part of the night reassuring him he was safe and trying to calm him down – in the end, he had to call in Ryland to give him a mild sedative. And with everything that has happened since, Dallon hasn’t really had a chance to check on him.

Just before he opens the door, he stops and reminds himself to knock. The last thing the kid needs is people barging into his safe space without permission – Dallon is sure he experienced enough of that when he was locked up in a padded cell.

“Who is it?” Awsten asks so softly it’s a miracle even Dallon’s vampire senses pick up on it.

“Dallon.”

There’s silence on the other side for several seconds, but Dallon waits it out; he figures the kid knows his name by now, or at least can recognize his voice. Now that he thinks about it, Awsten was introduced to them, but none of them were introduced to him, and aside from Maja, Dallon isn’t even sure the kid has properly interacted with any of them.

“Come in,” Awsten eventually answers, and he sounds marginally less intimidated.

Dallon opens the door carefully, and when he steps inside the room, he sees Awsten sitting crossed legged on the bed. The kid looks a little nervous, eyes following Dallon as he walks in and closes the door after himself. The first thing Dallon notices about him, however, are the dark circles under his eyes and his tired appearance.

“Are you okay?” Dallon asks instinctively, taking a step towards the bed. He realizes his mistake when Awsten curls up his legs against his chest and presses back against the headboard. “Relax, I won’t hurt you.”

“Are you here to take me down to the cell again?” Awsten asks quietly, clearly suspicious.

“No, of course not,” Dallon reassures him. “I told you, you’ll never have to go back in there.”

“I thought you were only saying that so that I’d calm down,” Awsten admits, but his shoulders do relax a fraction. “What do you want, then?”

“I’m just checking on you,” Dallon informs and slowly walks over to the desk on the right-hand side of the room, next to the bathroom door. It puts enough distance between them to ease Awsten’s nervousness, and it offers a place for him to sit – somehow, he feels like the kid would feel more threatened if he just stood in the middle of the room. “You look like you haven’t slept.”

“I didn’t, last night,” Awsten admits in a whisper.

Okay, that much is understandable, given the circumstances. Something else, however, is bugging Dallon, and he frowns as he asks, “Have you been eating?”

“I had some chips.” Awsten shrugs, pointing at the black backpack resting on the ground next to his bed.

“You mean no one has been bringing you food?” Dallon sounds as shocked as he feels – did no one in the house think of making him a sandwich? Not Beckett, not any of the werewolves? No wonder the kid looks like shit, his last proper meal was probably days ago. “Why didn’t you go down to the kitchen?”

Awsten looks at him like he’s insane, or stupid. Or both. “The house is full of vampires.”

“None of them will hurt you,” Dallon assures him, and yet, he has very little to show to support that, so far.

“The witch will,” Awsten whispers, hugging his legs. “She’ll take me back to the cell.”

Dallon feels his heart shrink a size or two at the haunted look in Awsten’s eyes, at the fear and loss he sees there, at the lack of understanding of why this is suddenly happening to him.

“You’re under my care now, she can’t touch you,” Dallon informs, hoping the boy can at least believe this.

“Really?” There’s skepticism in that word, but hope as well, and Dallon simply nods in confirmation. “Why?”

“Because I’ve been where you are,” Dallon admits in a quiet tone, and it’s surprisingly easy to be honest with him. Maybe it’s because he’s not a threat, or maybe Dallon just feels that, for once, there’s someone who might come somewhat close to understanding what he’s been through. “I won’t let her treat you like some kind of magical gadget.”

Awsten doesn’t answer those words, but he uncurls his legs and sits once more cross-legged. And then his eyes narrow a little, his gaze unfocused as he looks over Dallon, as if he’s seeing through him. A shiver runs down Dallon’s spine as Awsten’s abilities clearly reveal to him things Dallon can’t possibly imagine. All he can do is hope that his aura, or whatever else Awsten sees, doesn’t scare him off.

“Good colors,” Awsten mutters to himself, hinting at a smile. And just as it began, his little trance is over, his expression once more attentive and present. And visibly less nervous.

“What does that mean?” Dallon inquires – Awsten has mentioned colors before, both good and bad. “What colors?”

“Auras have colors, but not like in some new age bullshit sort of way,” Awsten explains, and stretches his legs in front of him. “Bright colors are good, they give out light and energy and… I don’t know how to say it, just… good vibes.”

“And bad colors?”

“Those suck out the light from the room, they feed on it, and make everything dark and terrifying and suffocating and just… miserable,” Awsten recalls, a frown marring his features now. “Vampires seem to have a little bit of that, from what I’ve seen, but some more than others.”

“Well, vampires are creatures of darkness by definition,” Dallon considers with a small shrug.

“I guess that’s why, I’m no expert,” Awsten admit, then offers a little tired smile.

“So does that mean I pass the vibe check?” Dallon jokes, leaning back in his chair.

“You do,” Awsten confirms, but soon enough his smile is replaced once again by a frown, something clearly bothering him. “The guy in the cell… he’s a fucking pit of darkness, but--”

“But he wasn’t that way when you first met him in the library,” Dallon finishes for him, and offers what he hopes is a reassuring nod.

“Yeah,” Awsten breathes, and it’s obvious that talking about Shadow Pete upsets him, but his curiosity seems to outweigh that. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, he was scary as shit already, but not that dark, just… overwhelming. Why is he different now? Who is he?”

“Let’s make a deal, kid,” Dallon starts, and stands from his chair. “Let’s get you something to eat, and then I’ll explain everything that’s going on.”

Awsten hesitates for a moment, eyes moving warily to the door of his room. “Can I-- can I eat in here?”

“Of course,” Dallon agrees, figuring it might actually be the best option, given the tensions floating around the house. “Do you like pizza?”

“I think we’ve established I’m not entirely insane,” Awsten counters with a small grin. “So yes, I like pizza.”

Dallon laughs at those words, and digs his phone out of his pocket to order some delivery. “Smartass.”

Awsten’s smile grows in reaction to that, and while he still maintains the distance between them, his demeanor is more relaxed now, his expression less tense. And Dallon figures any win at this point deserves celebration.

By the time the pizza arrives and Awsten settles with it on the bed, Dallon has moved to sit a little closer. He waits for the human to be done with dinner, before he keeps his promise and explains the situation. It takes well over an hour, considering Awsten has zero knowledge of the supernatural, so Dallon has to start from the basics – vampires, clans, districts, High Councils, werewolves, mages, Urie and his reign of terror, and the events that both led to his demise and originated from it. When he gets to Pete’s identity and current issue, Awsten finally understands what he experienced in the cell, and it doesn’t take him long to grasp the whole picture.

It helps that he’s remarkably smart and quick-witted, and once he relaxes and allows himself to speak openly, Dallon realizes he also has a sharp sense of humor.

“So you’re thinking that second thread I saw is the origin of all this mess,” Awsten reasons, clearly thoughtful.

“Current working theory, yes,” Dallon confirms, then offers an apologetic smile as he adds, “I gotta ask, do you remember anything strange about it?”

“You mean aside from it dripping with black poisonous blood?” Awsten’s sarcastic response actually heartens him, because at least he knows he can approach the topic without sending him back into a panic.

“It’s the poisonous part that confuses us,” Dallon admits with a shrug. “How is it poisonous?”

“I don’t know how to explain, it’s just… toxic,” Awsten answers, clearly frustrated that he can’t quite express himself properly. “It made the air unbreathable for me.”

“Could be a curse, then,” Dallon mutters under his breath.

“I don’t know, but it felt like… it sounds insane, but it felt like pure hatred,” Awsten admits, his frown showing he’s not fully convinced about his own words.

And yet, that makes sense to Dallon, considering Ryan’s strong resentment against Pete. After all, Pete turned him against his will, so it makes sense that whatever it is that’s linking them would be contaminated by bitterness, hostility, even hatred. He’s not sure it’s enough to explain what Awsten experienced, but he has a feeling Maja might find the information valuable.

Awsten’s soft chuckle distracts him from his thoughts, prompting a curious look. “What?”

“I’ve never talked about this stuff with someone who actually believes me,” Awsten confesses with a little smile, a trace of wistfulness in it, and more than a little sadness. “They convinced me I was crazy, but it turns out I was fucking right, and it’s the world that’s insane.”

Dallon feels his heart shrink a little at the grief he can hear in his voice, in those words, in the thought of years lost, just because no one was willing to believe him. To a vampire, eight years are the blink of an eye, to a human they must have felt like an eternity.

“Do you have any family?” Dallon finds himself asking, although he knows that even if the kid does have family somewhere, he can never go back to them. He would be easy prey for creatures like Joseph and Dun, if he did. However, considering he has all but disappeared from a mental health facility, Dallon figures it’s better to find out if someone from his old life might come looking for him as well.

Awsten’s expression sobers as he looks down - it would seem Dallon has managed to hit a sore spot without even trying. Congratulations, Weekes.

“I have a younger sister, she was the only one who didn’t think I was odd, but she… she ran from home when she was sixteen and I have no idea what happened to her,” Awsten recounts, all traces of his smile gone. “My mom and dad just… they gave up on me. Locked me up in that fucking place, forgot I was ever their problem, buried the shameful family secret,” he pauses, voice trembling a little, and uses his hoodie sleeve to wipe his eyes before the tears can fall. “So no, I have no family left, I’m alone.”

“Well, kid,” Dallon whispers with a sad smile, and when Awsten looks at him, he adds, “That makes two of us.”

~

Chapter Text

Chapter 11 – If you could see the things that I see when I sleep you'd be paranoid like me

~

“It’s been three days, Patrick, are you seriously going to sit there in silence the entire time?”

Patrick looks up from his book at Pete’s words, and he’s genuinely tempted to ignore him. Instead, he offers a very dry, “You’re not the one I’m here to speak with.”

“Yeah, well, the fucker’s not showing up, so we might as well talk,” Pete insists, but doesn’t stand from the bed.

Shadow Pete hasn’t been around much, and even when he last took over two days before, right after Pete discovered the truth about turning Ross, he barely spoke to Patrick and answered none of his questions. Despite his alter ego being MIA, however, Pete is still adamant about keeping his distance from Patrick, just in case. Physical distance, because emotional distance is Patrick’s choice, right now.

“Talk about what, exactly?” Patrick addresses him a scorching look, but it seems that with each passing day, it’s becoming less and less effective.

“About this,” Pete insists, gesturing between them. “I get that you’re pissed, but--”

“I’m not pissed, I’m furious,” Patrick corrects him, and closes the book with a loud thud.

Pete accepts that with a sigh, then resumes speaking, his voice holding so much pain that it almost breaks through Patrick’s armor of anger. “How do I fix this?”

“I don’t know,” Patrick admits, jaw clenching as he realizes how true his words are. He doesn’t know how they can move past this, not when he still feels so unbelievably angry. “I need time.”

And that’s when Patrick feels it, a wave of emotions washing through their bond – guilt, shame, self-loathing. It’s the same combination he saw in Pete’s eyes when he woke up after the attack, when Pete wanted to leave to protect him. Another one of his stupid ideas. But always just to protect him.

Fuck.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Patrick whispers, and does his best to ignore the way his eyes burn as he fights back tears.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Pete admits in a quiet voice, and Patrick realizes this is the first time Pete has actually apologized about this.

“No, you don’t know,” Patrick objects, standing from the armchair they’ve brought down to the cell to make his stay more comfortable. “You keep trying to protect me from the wrong thing, Pete. You keep trying to protect me from you.”

“And for good reason,” Pete counters, his voice regaining heat. “If Maja had been right about my mind collapsing… I couldn’t risk hurting you again, or worse. I nearly killed you, and I--”

“But you didn’t kill me, and I could have turned into my wolf form, I could have escaped.” Patrick has never openly admitted this, but they both know that was an option all along. An option he only briefly considered, and discarded immediately – he clearly remembers that.

“Why didn’t you?” Pete stands from the bed as well, but still doesn’t step closer.

Patrick remains silent at that question, at the implied challenge in it, his anger turning into something different, something heavy and sour and dangerous in his chest. Something like cold realization. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” he admits at last, looking away.

“Exactly,” Pete whispers, dejected. “You would have let me kill you rather than risk hurting me. That’s… please tell me you see how insane that is.”

Patrick feels his fury turn to ice, his heart aching with each beat as he realizes where Pete is going with this, what his reasoning behind his choice was. What unwitting part Patrick played in it without even realizing it. “I was acting on instinct.”

“I know, and that’s exactly why I had to make sure you’d never be in that position again.” Pete moves closer despite his own reticence to, and Patrick looks at him once again.

“You could have simply talked to me,” Patrick counters, and while his anger has significantly subsided, it’s still there, simmering under the surface. He understands Pete’s decision better now, he understands how insane his own reaction was during that first echo, and he realizes what an impact it had on his mate. But he can’t quite let go of the fact that Pete thought it was better to act behind his back instead of voicing his concerns.

“It wasn’t just that, I didn’t want you or the boys to have to be the ones to…” Pete pauses, leaving the sentence hanging, because it’s clearly painful to finish it. “It was bad enough that you’d have to watch me die, how could I ask you to be the one to kill me?”

Patrick looks down at those words, at the anguish he can hear in Pete’s voice and feel in through their bond. “It wasn’t your burden to carry, Pete, not alone at least”

“I wasn’t alone.” Pete objects as he takes one more step. “I asked Weekes because I knew he would look out for you, even if that meant shooting me.”

“It was a cruel thing to ask of Dallon,” Patrick whispers, but the heat has left his words. “And I’m glad he told me, because that wasn’t a call you should have made on your own. Dallon isn’t your mate, I am. What the fuck happened to facing this together?”

“I’m sorry,” Pete admits as he takes the final step that separates them. “I’m sorry I went behind your back, but I was-- I was desperate and terrified, and all I could think about was making sure you’d be safe, no matter what happened to me.”

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Patrick mutters once again, but when Pete pulls him in a hug, he doesn’t resist.

“I know,” Pete whispers, face buried against Patrick’s neck.

“And I’m still angry,” Patrick mumbles as he gives in, his arms wrapping around Pete.

“I know that too,” Pete admits, lips pressing a tender kiss just beneath his ear. “Your anger burns with the fire of a thousand suns, little wolf.”

“Don’t little wolf me, you dick,” Patrick objects, pulling back just enough to look at him. The moment his eyes meet Pete’s, he lets out a sigh and shakes his head. “Promise me you’ll never lie to me like that again, swear it on my fucking life.”

Pete rests his forehead against Patrick’s, his expression deadly serious as he answers, “I swear I won’t.”

Patrick takes a deep breath, and while it feels nice to hear him promise it, he knows there’s a part of him that can’t quite fully believe him, right now. The betrayal is still too fresh, the wound to their trust still open. And it would be disloyal to pretend otherwise.

“I’m not sure I can trust that, but it’s a start,” he concedes, and Pete accepts it gracefully.

There’s a flash of pain in his eyes, but it’s gone as he realizes Patrick isn’t pushing him away anymore. And that’s when Patrick feels it, a familiar wave of love coming through their bond – except there’s something wrong with it, like radio interference on a broadcast. So whatever’s happening to Pete really is affecting their bond. Somehow, that offers an additional bit of solace – at least this way he knows why he couldn’t sense Pete’s lies.

“I need you to promise me something too,” Pete leans back just enough to look him in the eye, his expression deadly serious now. “If this fucked up version of me tries to hurt you again, promise me you won’t let him, you won’t hold your punches this time.”

Patrick nods silently, knowing he owes Pete this much, angry or not. Knowing now that his own thoughtless actions – or, well, lack of action – contributed to Pete’s bad decision. “I promise.”

Pete offers a relieved little smile, his hands moving up to cup Patrick’s cheeks gently. “I love you,” he whispers, tilting his head up to press a kiss to Patrick’s forehead, and something inside Patrick’s heart breaks a little. Because he didn’t lie, he’s still royally pissed off, but right now he wants nothing more than to kiss his stupid mate and feel the comfort of their bond.

So when Pete starts to move back, Patrick stops him and pulls him in a proper kiss, all of the pain and anger and bitterness of the past few days melting into it. Pete seems caught off guard at first, but it only takes a moment before he responds, and Patrick can feel him smiling into the kiss. For a few seconds, for the time the kiss lasts, their bond regains its strength, and it’s like Patrick gets a breath of fresh air after days of barely keeping his head above water.

When he steps away, he feels Pete’s hands linger on his sides for a moment longer, but then he’s stepping back too, restoring the physical distance he so firmly believes would make a difference in case Shadow Pete shows up. Which they both know is ridiculous.

“Now sit down and try to get your evil twin on the line,” Patrick mutters, moving back to the armchair. “He needs to catch words too.”

Pete chuckles at those words, but as he sits back down on the bed, Patrick can tell there’s a shadow in his eyes. They haven’t really talked about what they discovered about Ryan Ross, but Patrick knows this isn’t the version of Pete who can offer answers on it – nor the version of Pete responsible for such a heinous act.

And that, despite their fight, is such a fucking relief that Patrick could cry.

~~

In the week that has passed since Joseph and Dun showed up, things have grown calmer around the house. Shadow Pete has been an elusive little shit, and when he does show up, he mostly refuses to speak – although he has kept his word so far, and hasn’t tried to hurt Patrick a single time. Meanwhile, Dallon has been dividing his time between Awsten and Ross, helping the former get used to his new reality and spending more and more time with the latter. It’s the most interaction Dallon has had in a very long time, and while it was exhausting at first, he’s beginning to get used to it.

What he isn’t used to, however, is Mikey completely ghosting him. Sure, whenever there’s a meeting he’s there, but he hasn’t tried to approach Dallon once since… well, since that night. And while that’s exactly what Dallon resolved to do – end whatever it was that was going on between them –, now that that’s accomplished he feels… bad. In all honesty, he feels like an asshole, and maybe, just maybe, he misses Mikey, but he’s far from admitting that to him or to himself.

Because that would be stupid, there was never anything between them, so there’s nothing to miss.

“You’re zoning out,” Ryan points out with an amused look.

“Sorry, it’s been a loaded couple of weeks,” Dallon admits, forcing his mind back to the here and now.

“I’ve figured,” Ryan comments, looking straight at him. They’re sitting on the floor in what has become their usual spot, Dallon with his back against the door, and Ryan with his against the foot of the bed. “You never told me what that alarm a few days ago was.”

“Idiots looking for trouble.” Dallon downplays it with a wave of his hand, then takes a sip from his blood, which has almost run cold. Ugh.

“I honestly thought it was someone looking for me,” Ryan admits with a small shrug. “But I guess it wasn’t, since I’m still here.”

Dallon glares a little at those words, and places the mug on the floor. “You’re under sanctuary, we won’t hand you off, unless you agree to it.”

“So Wentz is just planning on keeping me here forever?” Ryan sounds bitter and skeptical as he asks, and Dallon does his best to remember he has good reasons to be, when it comes to Pete.

“Well, you’re free to go, if you’ve come up with a better plan,” Dallon reminds him with an eloquent look. When Ryan doesn’t answer and just glares, he adds, “Thought so.”

“There’s no need to be an asshole about it,” Ryan mutters, and really, Dallon should not find that sulking expression as cute as he does. What the hell is wrong with him? “Your intel gathering mission might suffer.”

“Hey, that’s like forty percent of the reason I’m here, tops,” Dallon objects with an unapologetic grin. It would appear his honest approach is paying off, because Ryan doesn’t sound pissed off as he says that; if anything, he seems… entertained.

“Really? And what about the rest?” Ryan inquires, eyebrow cocked in a somewhat skeptical expression – and yet, there’s amusement too.

“You’re good company,” Dallon admits with a shrug; he’s not lying either, he’s come to enjoy their daily chats, even though they’re never longer than the time it takes them to drink their mug of blood. Dallon has noticed, however, how both of them tend to draw it out more and more. What started as ten minutes is now a full half-hour.

Ryan seems surprised by the admission, there’s a smile trying to form on his lips, but Ryan stops it before it can fully bloom. And Dallon finds himself thinking it’s a shame, because it would be nice to see him smile for once, wouldn’t it? Which is a completely unreasonable thought for Dallon to have, what the actual fuck? This is still Ryan Ross, Urie’s sidekick – at least as far as he knows, which is admittedly very little. And he’s tired of tiptoeing around the issue; there are questions that are becoming more and more difficult to bite back every day, and they’re not the questions Wentz wants him to ask.

So he decides to start asking them. Maybe it will help with these absurd intrusive thoughts about Ryan’s fucking smile.

“Speaking of intel,” Dallon starts, leaning back against the door. “Do you know Joseph and Dun?”

Ryan’s expression sobers when he hears the names, and for a moment Dallon fears he won’t get an answer. Moments later, however, Ryan nods slowly.

“Urie recruited them a few years ago, used them as undercover spies, promised them a place in his inner circle,” Ryan recounts, his tone clearly broadcasting it’s not a particularly pleasant topic. “Why? Have they crawled out of the woodwork?”

“In a way. They’re after someone I--” Dallon stops short of the words ‘care about’. Old habits die hard. “Someone I’m in charge of protecting.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Ryan comments, but it seems knowing the reason for the questions has improved his willingness to provide information – namely, this isn’t to help Wentz, but Dallon. “They’re vicious, cunning and persistent.”

“Of course they are,” Dallon breathes out, a tired sigh following his words.

“If they weren’t, Urie wouldn’t have picked them,” Ryan points out, sounding just as gloomy.

Dallon hesitates at those words. This is his chance, the opening he was hoping for, but for some reason, it takes a few seconds for him to push the words out. “Is that why he picked you?”

Ryan’s eyes snap back to him, slightly narrowed, and Dallon can tell his guard is back up. There are several moments of silence, during which it seems that he’s debating whether to answer or end the conversation, and Dallon fears he might have undone days of progress with one single question. Good job, Weekes.

Surprisingly, Ryan’s shoulders slowly lower, the tension that seized them when Dallon spoke appearing to abate at least a little bit. When he speaks, however, there’s a hint of venom in his voice. “He picked me to spite Wentz.”

Oh.

“Because you’re his kindred?” Dallon offers, hoping to keep the exchange going.

“I wasn’t his kindred yet, when Urie came after me the first time,” Ryan admits, his voice lowering, as if he’s reluctant to speak but unable to stop completely. Much to Dallon’s shock, he continues unprompted. “I met Pete when I was human, about twenty, I was new to the city and I ended up working for him,” he recounts, eyes moving to the floor between them. “I was there for a couple of years or so, and things were… well, wildly inappropriate, but I didn’t care, I was in love with that piece of shit, because I was young and stupid and he was rich and charming and it seemed like he could get away with anything he wanted.”

Okay, that is not something Dallon expected to hear. Nor something he’s particularly eager to repeat in front of Patrick, if he has to be honest, especially since the werewolf is still pretty angry with his mate.

“And then one day, Urie showed up, and I remember there was some kind of fight between them when Urie tried to convinced me to leave with him,” Ryan continues. “The following day I woke up and Wentz was gone, the house was empty, and I was out on my ass.” There’s a brief pause, as if Ryan contemplates stopping there, but then decides there’s no point in holding back now. “I went on with my life, and I was stupid enough to think they were done with me.”

“But they weren’t,” Dallon whispers softly.

“Fifteen years later, both Wentz and Urie showed up at my house, out of the blue,” Ryan confirms with a bitter chuckle.

“Together?” Dallon can’t help sounding shocked.

“Wentz first, then Urie – now I know Urie wanted to turn me, but Wentz did it first.” Ryan’s voice is little more than a whisper as he continues, but the anger in it is obvious. “I was some kind of prize in their fucking game.”

“That’s… fucked up,” Dallon admits, a frown creasing his brow. “When was that?”

“Around 1540, more or less,” Ryan recalls, shaking his head. “And yes, it’s fucked up, especially considering what Wentz did next.”

“Wiped his memory clean,” Dallon mutters, and Ryan nods in confirmation.

“His memory and his conscience,” Ryan adds, bitterness dropping from every word. “I was devastated – he came back into my life, tore it to shreds and then abandoned me again. So guess who picked up the pieces?”

“Urie.”

Ryan doesn’t need to nod this time, the cynical expression on his face is enough confirmation. “I was easy prey.”

Dallon feels a cold vice around his heart at those words, at how deeply they resonate within his own soul, and he finds himself speaking before he can think better of it. “I know what it's like to be under his spell,” he whispers, jaw clenching.

Ryan’s eyes snap back up to him, curiosity and caution fighting for dominance.

“He was so charming at first, so hard to resist, so easy to fall in love with,” Dallon recalls, a sour feeling coating his throat as he speaks, as if the words are burning him on the way out. “And by the time you realized that he was just using you, that you were doing his dirty work for him… then it was too late, you were compromised and he was your only option.”

“And if you did resist him, then he'd get vindictive,” Ryan continues for him, sadness taking over his expression.

“There was no getting out with him,” Dallon whispers, repeating his own words from their previous exchange. “I left, and to punish me, he took everything I had, everyone I loved, but he never killed me.” Dallon looks away then, knowing he can’t quite stand looking at Ryan as he adds, “I wasn't enough of a threat, he just wanted to torment me, make me pay. I was fucking entertainment to him.”

“I know, I--" Ryan’s voice breaks and he stops for a moment. “That’s why I stayed, he used Spencer against me.”

“Your kindred?” Dallon asks quietly, and makes himself look at Ryan again.

“My kindred, and Jon’s mate,” Ryan informs in a pained whisper. “We weren't Urie’s allies, we were his fucking hostages.”

“Why did Spencer follow him?” Dallon knows he’s pushing it now, but at this point, it feels like the right thing to do. Because this isn’t about gathering intel anymore, this is personal. And it’s cutting so deep Dallon can feel his soul bleeding somewhere in his chest.

“Urie brainwashed him, used his own blood to poison Spencer’s mind.” It’s obvious it’s causing Ryan a lot of pain as well to talk about this, his voice strained and his eyes shut now, as if he’s trying to prevent tears. Dallon doesn’t have kindred, never had them, and he can’t even begin to imagine the amount of pain Ryan is feeling. “Spencer would have never hurt Beckett in such a cruel way, if he’d been in his right mind.”

Dallon knows exactly the kind of brainwashing Ryan is referring to, because Urie used it on him too – only, it wasn’t to make him loyal, it was simply so he would be forced to relive his worst memories over and over again, for hours at a time. It was Urie’s favorite form of torment when Dallon was still his captive, and the reason why Dallon is now reticent to drink from another vampire, to open his mind to them. The reason why trusting Mikey with it freaked him out so badly afterwards.

Dallon takes a deep breath, his chest almost hurting with it, but he can’t bring himself to say anything. He can’t share this with Ryan, he’s already shared too much for comfort, and this is not something he’s ready to talk about. It’s the source of his nightmares, the way Urie keeps tormenting him even from beyond the grave.

It’s Ryan who breaks the silence eventually, his voice still weak, but his words a clear attempt at lightening the mood.

“Fuck, you’re good at this intel gathering shit,” Ryan mutters as he wipes his eyes quickly with a hand, obviously embarrassed by the few tears he wasn’t able to hold back.

Dallon responds with a surprised chuckle, shaking his head. “I’m a vampire of many talents,” he jokes with a small wink, and feels relieved when his attempt at humor is met with a roll of eyes and not a glare.

“I can’t wait to discover more of them,” Ryan retorts, and this time the smile makes it a little bit further before Ryan bites it back.

“Careful, or I might think you’re flirting,” Dallon teases him as he stands from his seat.

Ryan does the same, then hands him the mug that’s been empty for a while now. “You wish, Weekes.”

“I do.” Dallon grins at the glare this response earns him, and yet, there’s a glint of something else in Ryan’s eyes, something he can’t quite place.

“Quit being a dick and get out,” Ryan huffs with an exasperated look.

Dallon laughs and heads for the door, but stops with his hand on the handle. His expression sobers a little, his smile turning softer as he watches the other vampire walk over to the window.

“Say the word, and all of this stays between us,” Dallon offers quietly.

Ryan turns around, then, and watches him in silence for a moment, clearly trying to decide whether those words are genuine or a trap. “Why?”

“Because you’re not the enemy, Ryan.”

Dallon knows fully well this isn’t part of the deal he made with Patrick. However, he’s pretty sure none of what came to light tonight is relevant to what’s happening to Pete, and Ryan has been through enough because of the born vampire, he’s entitled to a little compassion, and to the dignity his secrets grant him.

Ryan tilts his head to the side, as if looking at Dallon from a different angle might reveal something more about him, something hidden. Which is ridiculous, because Ryan now probably knows more about him than anyone else in the house, barring Mikey.

“Tell them, I don’t care,” Ryan finally decides, but his tone isn’t hostile.

Dallon simply nods in reply, genuinely surprised Ryan would be that indifferent about the information.

He walks out without another word, and as he heads for the kitchen, he becomes very aware that there is one crucial detail he did not ask about – the one that might actually help them understand what’s going on with Pete. The bitemark. Dallon was so caught up in finding out about Urie that he forgot to try and work that into the conversation, and now it’s too late.

Which means his work with Ryan isn’t quite done yet. And that, surprisingly, brings a smile to his face.

~

Patrick stops in front of the door, and hesitates for a moment before knocking softly. There’s a plate in his other hand, one of Joe’s world famous sandwiches in it, and dangling from his elbow is a bag of clothes. 

“Who is it?” the voice from within asks, cautious.

“Uh, Patrick,” the werewolf responds, then quickly adds, “Dallon said you agreed to see me?”

“Come in,” Awsten’s answer doesn’t sound overly convinced, which isn’t really all that surprising. They surely did a number on the poor kid, and Patrick was regrettably an active part of it.

He opens the door, surprised to find it unlocked – then remembers the key to this particular room has been lost for some time. Great, so they gave the traumatized human the only room he couldn’t lock himself in, how fucking thoughtful of them. And that after they accidentally almost starved him, which Dallon was rightfully furious about. Geez, no wonder Awsten doesn’t want to interact with any of them still.

It’s high time Patrick starts making amends.

“Hi,” he calls out with a cautious smile. “I brought you a sandwich.”

“I can see that,” Awsten mutters from his spot on the bed – he’s sitting with his back against the headboard, legs hugged to his chest. His expression is sullen, as if he’s not happy to be having this conversation at all.

“I also brought you the clothes you and Dallon ordered, they got here this morning,” Patrick continues, and places the bag with the clothes on the floor, while the plate ends up on the desk – because there is no way in hell Patrick is going to try and approach the human, that is bound to end badly given how nervy he looks.

“Why did you want to talk to me?” Awsten inquires, and while his voice is a little shaky, he’s clearly determined to get an answer. “I’m not going back into that fucking cell.”

“What?” It takes Patrick a second to realize that that’s the reason Awsten is so guarded, he thinks Patrick is there to try and talk him back into the cell. “That’s not why I’m here, why would you--” And then it hits him. “Did Maja come talk to you?”

“She tried, but Dallon sent her packing,” Awsten admits with a shrug. “Why are you here, then?”

Patrick takes a deep breath, resolving to deal with the witch later – getting angry now wouldn’t help. If anything, it would probably freak out the kid. “I’m here to apologize.”

“You-- what?” Awsten looks absolutely baffled at that notion.

“I’m here to apologize,” Patrick repeats, offering a little smile. “The clan and I have been horrible to you, we let Maja put you through that shit in the cell, and we… we forgot to feed you, for fuck’s sake.” Patrick stops for a moment, and takes a deep breath before he continues, “As hard as it might be for you to believe right now, and rightfully so considering how awful we’ve been so far, I want you to know you’re welcome in this house, and none of us will hurt you.”

“Not even the witch?” Awsten sounds particularly skeptical about this part.

“Let me handle the witch,” Patrick assures him with a nod. “You’re free to roam the house, no one will harm you, and if you want a room you can actually lock, we can move you from this one.”

Awsten seems interested in that option, because he lifts his head, revealing more of his face now. “Can I have a room near Dallon’s?”

“Of course, you can have any room you want,” Patrick agrees instantly. Sure, a locked door is hardly going to stop a vampire or a werewolf, or even a witch, but if it helps the human feel safer, then it’s the least he can offer. “I truly am sorry for being a shit host so far.”

“I’ve had worse,” Awsten offers with the hint of a smile. “And none of them ever apologized for it.”

“I know you mean well, but that’s fucked up,” Patrick admits candidly, which prompts a small laugh from the boy.

“I like you, you’re honest,” Awsten confesses with a grin, visibly relaxing. “Dallon’s right about you.”

“Dallon’s opinion of me is way too high, please keep that in mind,” Patrick informs with a roll of his eyes. 

“He said you would say that,” Awsten points out, amused. “But I’ve seen your colors, you burn bright.”

Not bright enough to stop Maja from bringing you into that cell, Patrick thinks to himself.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” is what Patrick says instead. He lets a beat pass, before he asks, “Is there anything else you need, aside from clothes?”

Awsten hesitates then, clearly conflicted about speaking up. In the end, what he says is, “I don’t really know. I haven’t owned stuff in a long time.”

Patrick feels a pang of sympathy for him, and at the same time, he remembers feeling the same way when he first became part of the clan. After years of privation, it’s jarring to have access to resources again, to material commodities you’ve had to go without for a long time. He can only imagine what it feels like to have freedom be one of those commodities – he was only Pete’s prisoner for a few weeks, not eight years.

“Well, if you think of anything, just say the word,” Patrick offers with a nod. “The house has a library if you’re bored, and there’s a television in the living room no one ever uses, if you want.”

“Thank you,” Awsten responds, clearly grateful for the offer. “I’m not much of a reader, but I might give the TV a try.”

“Good,” Patrick states as he heads for the door. “I’ll leave you to the sandwich. And I’ll tell Dallon to help you choose your new room.”

Awsten just addresses him a nod, then, his smile a little more relaxed now. The moment Patrick has turned around and his hand is already on the door handle, however, the kid speaks again. “You should take the right.”

“What?” Patrick turns to look at him, confused, but freezes when he sees the vacant expression on Awsten’s face. His eyes are glazed over, and while he’s technically looking in Patrick’s direction, the werewolf has a feeling Awsten is seeing something else entirely.

“The path on the right, that’s the way out,” Awsten repeats with the hint of a frown. “Left will kill you all.”

What the actual fuck, is the kid having… a vision? Of the fucking future?

“Awsten, what do you see?” Patrick asks quietly, hoping to get a little more clarification.

Instead, Awsten’s trance ends, his eyes focusing again as he blinks a few times, then frowns when he sees the look on Patrick’s face. “What?”

“Nothing, enjoy your sandwich,” Patrick whispers, offering a weak smile before he walks out and closes the door after himself.

He stops in the hallway, his mind going over what Awsten said, and his thoughts get stuck on one simple, yet terrifying sentence.

Left will kill you all.

Well, that’s not fucking ominous at all.  

~

Chapter Text

Chapter 12 – Take the pain, make it billboard big and swallow it for me

~

Dallon’s in the living room, enjoying a quiet moment to himself after the latest meeting – this clan sure loves gathering in the library and sharing whatever depressing new shit they’ve found out about the current mess they’re trying to handle. And they’re definitely comfortable being in each other’s pockets all the time. Sure, it makes for great collaboration, but Dallon’s far from used to it, even after almost three weeks in the house.

Despite this, he reported on what Ryan told him, but while his plan was to simply debrief Pete and Patrick, they insisted secrecy wasn’t necessary and the rest of the clan had a right to know too. Which wasn’t awkward at all, when he had to tell everyone in the room the extent of Pete’s asshole behavior, and his past relationship with Ryan during his human years. The silence that followed his words was just as eloquent as the look on Pete’s face – the born vampire looked like he was ready to throw up. Patrick wasn’t far behind. Dallon hopes this won’t refuel the tension between them, not when it finally seems like Patrick has abandoned his murderous plans.

All in all, the new information might not be of much help in trying to figure out how to help Pete, but as Patrick pointed out, it might be a new avenue to try and get Shadow Pete to talk. The alter ego hasn’t shown much of himself, and has been quite reticent to speak – using this type of direct information might change that. Hopefully.

“There you are,” Mikey comments from the doorstep, distracting Dallon from his thoughts. “I’ve got something for you.”

Dallon turns to look at the other vampire, genuinely surprised Mikey is addressing him directly. They’re still in a strange limbo, Mikey has been avoiding him most of the time outside of meetings, and Dallon has kind of been doing the same. He can’t tell if Mikey has moved on or if he’s still angry and expects them to talk about what happened – as perceptive as Mikey is, he’s also so fucking hard to read when he wants to be. And Dallon has no idea which of the two options he dreads the most.

“What is it?” he asks quietly, watching the other vampire

“Awsten’s file,” Mikey answers as he sits down next to him on the sofa, and hands him a folder. “The kid’s a fucking genius.”

Dallon’s interest is immediately hooked, and he opens the file, everything else pushed aside for now. The header at the top shows the name of the facility: East Hollow Psychiatric Center.

“Awsten Knight, thirty-three, born January 17, one sibling, father’s a lawyer, mother’s a teacher,” Dallon reads under his breath. “Uh, his name is spelled with a ‘w’.”

“Tell me about it, it took me a million years to find him just because of that,” Mikey mutters with a roll of his eyes. “It says he was in college, studying computer engineering, top of his classes, incredibly bright mind, and then one day in class he just… lost it.”

Dallon glances at Mikey, eyebrow arched as he realizes there’s some wistfulness in his tone, as if he’s upset about what he’s saying. “Lost it how?”

“Stood up, started screaming about a fire in the basement, and they had to restrain him, call an ambulance,” Mikey recounts, reaching over to turn the page and show Dallon where the report is.

“Could have been the stress,” Dallon offers, eyes moving back to the page.

“Yeah, except a week later, the fire actually happened, exactly where he said,” Mikey objects with a sigh. “And because he was seen on campus, they accused him of starting it.”

“Fuck,” Dallon whispers, eyes scanning the police report Mikey found. “Did they press charges?”

“They did, but there wasn’t enough evidence for a criminal case,” Mikey explains, and once more directs Dallon to the document attesting that. “But there was enough to kick him out, and apparently enough precedents in his behavior to have him committed to that fucking hospital.” Once more, Mikey’s voice holds a trace of sadness, as if he resents the notion of Awsten missing out on his potential. “Wanna know the worst part?”

“There’s a worst part?”

Isn’t being locked up for that long the worst part? Other than it being absolutely outrageous, of course. Aren’t there laws stopping that? What did they think he would do, if set free? Or maybe Awsten was onto something when he talked about his parents, maybe they wanted to bury the embarrassing family secret, and with his father being a lawyer, maybe they found a way to make his hospitalization permanent. The thought infuriates Dallon beyond words.

“The day he freaked out about the fire, they sent down someone in the basement to check, and found some unstable beams in the ceiling, so they closed off that area,” Mikey explains quietly. “When the actual fire started, those beams collapsed and blocked the passageway, but there was no one down there because they’d closed it off,” Mikey pauses, jaw clenching for a second before he continues, “There was supposed to be an entire class in one of the labs. They would have been trapped down there.”

“Awsten saved them,” Dallon whispers, eyebrows rising in surprise.

“And instead of thanking him, they branded him a lunatic and his own family locked him up,” Mikey remarks with enough anger in his voice to prompt Dallon to look at him instead, the file momentarily forgotten.

And in turning to Mikey, his eyes catch movement by the door – Awsten, half-hiding behind the frame. When he realizes Dallon has seen him, he steps back and freezes, clearly panicked.

Dallon almost stands from the sofa, but he knows any sudden movement might send the human running off. And given that it’s the first time Awsten has voluntarily ventured out of his room – which is now next to Dallon’s – to explore the house, the last thing Dallon wants is for him to regret it and regress back to self-isolation.

So instead, Dallon smiles reassuringly. “Awsten, come in.”

Awsten seems to realize Dallon isn’t angry with him for clearly eavesdropping on their conversation, and takes a tentative step forward. He stops when Mikey also turns to look at him, and Dallon almost intervenes again, but it seems there’s no need, because a moment later, Awsten walks the rest of the way in.

“Did-- did those people really survive because of me?” Awsten asks in a whisper, moving to sit next to Dallon.

“They did,” Mikey confirms with a smile, his anger now gone, or at least pushed aside for the kid’s sake. Dallon appreciates it so much he nearly wants to kiss Mikey. “What you experienced was a vision of the future, not a psychotic break.”

Awsten simply nods at those words, as if he’s aware of it, but appreciates the confirmation anyway, because so many people have been trying to convince him otherwise, in the past eight years. “It happens sometimes, but I almost never remember them, so I don’t know how often,” he admits with a small shrug. “The docs gave me meds for it because they thought they were hallucinations, like everything else – hell, they even convinced me they were hallucinations.”

The look on the kid’s face at those words is a painful mix of melancholy, anger and resentment, which makes Dallon want to hunt down the people who chipped away at his mind and soul like that. Well-meaning or not, they made the past eight years of Awsten’s life hell, from what little the kid has been telling him. Which isn’t much, but Dallon never pushes it, he simply listens to whatever Awsten feels comfortable sharing – it’s a miracle he’s even talking about it at all, all things considered.

“I’m guessing the meds did jack shit,” Mikey offers with a sympathetic look.

“They just messed with it, sometimes made it worse, gave me actual hallucinations,” Awsten admits in a quiet voice, but there’s heat behind it, there’s anger. “They messed with everything, the visions, the colors, the voices.”

“The voices?” Dallon asks, making sure to keep his tone light, even though this detail is brand new to him, and more than mildly concerning.

“They’re rare, they only happen with blood,” Awsten explains, but there’s caution in his voice, as if he fears they too might start thinking he’s insane, now. “I mean, when blood is like, out in the open.”

Dallon sees something shift in Mikey’s expression, understanding seemingly dawning on him a few moments before Dallon figures it out too. The voices of the dead. The moment he meets Mikey’s eyes, he gives a silent warning to let him handle it, which earns him a nod, then turns to look at Awsten.

“That’s also part of your abilities,” Dallon reassures him with a little smile. “I think those might be--”

“Dead people, I know,” Awsten finishes for him, but he’s clearly relieved that Dallon and Mikey believe him. “I don’t really like to talk about that part of it.”

“It’s okay, we don’t have to.” It’s Mikey who reassures him, beating Dallon to the punch. “I have something better in mind.”

Both Dallon and Awsten are clearly surprised by those words, and both look at him with a dose of caution in their expressions – albeit for different reasons. Dallon has no reason to think Mikey has any nefarious intentions, he seemed genuinely upset about what Awsten has been through, but he can’t help being on guard anyway. “Mikey, what--”

“Shush, old man,” Mikey stops Dallon with a wave of his hand, which prompts a smile from Awsten, who is the target of his next words. “You were locked up way too long, you missed out on a lot, so how would you feel about a crash course?”

“About what?” Awsten frowns, a little uncertain still, but definitely interested.

And that’s when Dallon realizes what Mikey is offering. Fuck, now he nearly does kiss Mikey, because that is the sweetest fucking thing he could have done for the kid; it’s a way to offer him a piece of his life back, a purpose that’s not tied to his abilities. “Mikey here is a computer nerd of the highest rank,” Dallon informs the human with a playful smile, and it earns him a roll of eyes from the other vampire.

“Are you serious?” Awsten all but beams, his reticence melting away as he realizes what Mikey is offering. “I haven’t gotten my hands on a computer in so fucking long.”

“Then let’s get you back in the game, because that brain of yours? Fucking gold, kid,” Mikey responds with a smile that is so genuine it warms something inside Dallon’s chest. Something he’s been pushing down and away.

To distract himself from that, Dallon closes the file in his hands, knowing he’ll have time to deep-dive into it later, and turns to Awsten instead. “Alright, I’ll get my credit card, so you can order whatever you two geeks need,” he informs, and a moment later, he finds himself surrounded by Awsten’s arms.

“You’re a fucking cool old man,” Awsten teases then, and presses a playful kiss to his cheek.

And really, Dallon can’t even pretend to be mad about it, because his smile would instantly give him away.

~

Patrick wakes up with a start and realizes he’s dozed off on the armchair; his neck instantly protests at the sudden movement, as well as the arm on which he’s fallen asleep. It would seem Shadow Pete won’t kill him, but this fucking armchair might, one of these days. He sits up and stretches his neck, then stands and does the same with his back.

He’s lost track of how many days he’s spent in there, but the more he stays, the less tense he is. It helps that this whole situation has given him and Pete time to talk things out a little bit more, and while his anger is far from extinguished, it’s now more manageable. He hasn’t made much progress with Pete’s alter ego, however, as those few times he’s shown up, he’s all but stonewalled Patrick. The werewolf’s far from giving up, though.

In an attempt to restore circulation to his legs, Patrick paces the cell a few times, eyes fixed on Pete’s lying figure, seemingly asleep.

His assumption is proven incorrect soon enough, when the vampire moves to lie on his back, and his eyes immediately zero-in on Patrick.

“You’re persistent, I’ll give you that,” Pete’s voice sounds slightly off, and it takes Patrick less than a second to realize why.

“You’re back,” Patrick mutters without much enthusiasm, even though intercepting Shadow Pete is precisely the reason he’s been sacrificing his vertebrae to the fucking armchair in the first place.

“Not by choice,” Pete points out, and stands from the bed as well.

“That’s not entirely correct,” Patrick objects with an eloquent glare; he knows he needs to strike fast, before Shadow Pete shuts him out as he usually does. “It’s because of your shit choices that you’re here.”

That seems to catch the born vampire’s attention. “What d’you mean?” 

“Ryan Ross,” Patrick simply says, and the change in Shadow Pete’s expression is immediate and dramatic. “I mean, I knew you were a piece of shit back then, but I didn’t imagine you’d be that messed up.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Pete growls in such an angry tone that Patrick knows instantly that he’s pushed the right button, this time. He was reticent to use Ross before, because they didn’t know the whole story, and last time Patrick found himself at a disadvantage in knowledge, it caused Pete to shut him out. But now they know enough to confront him about it, and Patrick isn’t going to shy away from it.

“I know what Ross told us,” Patrick points out, voice dripping with challenge.

“Ross is here?” Pete looks genuinely shocked by that notion, his anger momentarily forgotten. “Is he okay?”

“Like you give two shits about him,” Patrick retorts, glaring with hostility. “After what you put him through, you want me to believe you’re worried?”

“Think what you wish, but he’s… he was always important to me,” Shadow Pete mutters, taking a further step forward.

“So important that you washed your hands of him and left him at Urie’s mercy,” Patrick accuses, and this time it’s him moving closer, close enough to come face to face with the born vampire.

“What?” Pete seems genuinely confused at those words, even alarmed. “No, I made sure Urie couldn’t get to him.”

“By turning him?” Patrick inquires with evident skepticism. “Well, bad news, the moment you abandoned him and went to get your mind wiped, Urie swooped in.”

“Get my mind-- wait, I actually went through with that?” Pete whispers, staggering back as if Patrick’s words had physically hit him. “That was a last resort kind of measure.”

“Yeah, you always seem to have one of those lined up, don’t you?” Patrick mutters bitterly, and the confused look on Shadow Pete’s face prompts him to shake his head. “Never mind, present you is also kind of a dick, sometimes. But not as bad as you.”

“But he has no memory of what I did?” Pete asks cautiously, as if he’s reticent to believe it.

Patrick nods, then hesitates, because this Pete knows about the curse, or at least that he had that intention. Which means he might believe him, if he tells the truth. “You were going insane, so you asked Maja to curse you.”

“I thought I could hold out against it,” Pete mutters, and sits back on the bed.

“What you did to Ryan proves you couldn’t,” Patrick reasons, and instead of allowing his anger to take over again, he decides on a different approach. “You destroyed his human life, you turned him against his will, and then you abandoned him, that’s… that’s the kind of shit Urie did, not you. The real you.”

Pete looks up at him, clearly conflicted between objecting and accepting the accusation. Which is enough to tell Patrick he believes it to be at least partly true. “I turned him so Urie couldn’t,” Pete admits in a quiet voice. “And the bite was to make sure Urie couldn’t claim him any other way.”

The bite? What bite?

Does he mean…

Oh, fuck.

“The mating bite on his arm is yours?” Patrick can’t keep the fury from his voice this time. “What the fuck is wrong with you, you sadistic son of a bitch? You forced a mating on him too?”

“It’s one-sided, he refused to mate,” Shadow Pete objects, but it’s not as heated as Patrick expected it. “But I knew this way Urie couldn’t trap him in a bond.”

“Well that did jack shit, because Urie found a way to trap him anyway,” Patrick informs, and runs a hand over his face.

Pete sounds genuinely pained when he asks, “How long?”

“As far as I know, until we killed him, so about five hundred years.” Patrick’s voice is subdued now, because as angry as he is, he doesn’t like the idea of inflicting any more pain. Shadow Pete or not, he is clearly distraught about this. “When Ryan tried to leave, Urie used his kindred as leverage.”

Shadow Pete nods slowly, as if what Patrick is saying tracks with him, as if he realizes it’s a reasonable explanation. And then Pete says something Patrick wouldn’t have expected to hear in a million years. “Can I talk to him?”

It takes the werewolf several long seconds to debate what the best answer would be, but in the end, he knows he can’t deny this request outright. “I will ask him, but I won’t force him to,” he decides, eventually. “You’ve hurt him enough.”

Pete accepts that with a nod, and keeps his eyes on the floor of the cell, while Patrick slowly walks over to his armchair. His mind is working a mile a minute, connecting the dots on what he’s discovered; what Awsten saw now makes a lot more sense, even though Patrick wishes it didn’t. That tattered second thread is the one-sided mating bond Pete forced on Ross to try and keep him from Urie. Dallon’s idea that the poisonous black blood dripping from it might be Ryan’s hatred for Pete also works well with this scenario, especially now that they know what happened between them.

As to how they can fix this mess, Patrick has no idea, but he hopes Maja will have a solution, a way to break off this dreadful connection Ross has been forced to endure. No wonder he hates them with a passion – Pete ruined his life, and Patrick took the one person Ryan actually loved.

This time around, they really suck at being the good guys.

~

Dallon knows this is potentially a bad idea. A spectacularly horrible idea. The worst he’s had in a while.

Still, he slips the flask into his pocket before he leaves his room, and heads to the kitchen. Awsten is geeking out with Mikey over… GPU connectors, 8-pin cables, bandwidth, and all kinds of technical terms that Dallon has no fucking clue about, which along with the rest of their conversation was enough to give him a headache. So he’s left them to it. It’s the third day in a row they’ve spent on whatever their computer project is, and Awsten has been glowing more and more with each passing second he gets to indulge in it – it’s like something inside of him is coming back to life. So Dallon lets him, and watches from afar, unbelievably thankful to Mikey and pathetically unable to express it.

Of course, as it often happens when he walks into the kitchen, he finds half of the occupants of the house there. It seems the kitchen table is their favorite informal meeting place, and there’s always a kettle boiling, or some blood ready to warm up. It’s cozy and familiar, and while Dallon has been invited to join them a number of times – and even accepted in a couple of instances –, he’s noticed those invitations have kind of dried up since his death pact with Pete was revealed. And while he can’t really blame them for it, it just strengthens his perception that maybe he’s no longer as welcome as he once was.

“Ross duty?” Frank asks when Dallon walks in, his smile perfectly friendly.

“Like clockwork,” Dallon confirms with a nod.

William watches him silently, expression stern and so different from his usual affable demeanor. “Are you planning on making some secret pact with him too?”

Dallon freezes at those words, and turns to look at the other vampire; it seems he isn’t the only one who was shocked by the hostile words, because both Frank, Mike and Gabe look at William like he’s suddenly lost his mind.

“William, what the hell?” It’s Mike who speaks up first, his tone indicating he’s not just surprised, but angry as well.

“It’s fine, I’ll just get the blood and leave,” Dallon decides in a quiet voice.

“No, it’s not fucking fine,” Gabe mutters, but he’s addressing his own mate, not Dallon. “What the fuck has gotten into you?”

“Into me? He’s the one who was willing to kill Pete!” William protests, visibly furious about that possibility.

“So that you wouldn’t have to,” Frank points out quietly, and Dallon would rather be anywhere else than right here, right now. Literally, he’d rather be on the edge of the crater on an active volcano instead.

“Look, I just want to get the damn blood and I’ll leave.” Dallon sighs, turning around to head for the storage room where they keep the blood. He retrieves two bags, then comes back, only to find Gabe and William locked in what is clearly a fight. Because of him. Fucking great.

“Quit that,” Dallon finds himself snapping, and it surprises them enough to shut them up. “William’s right to be pissed, you all are. Pete asked for my help, and I said yes, and none of you have to like it, because I didn’t do it for you.”

“No, you did it for me,” Patrick interjects from the threshold, then glares at William. “Leave him alone, Bilvy, I’d be dead if it weren’t for him.”

“I know, but Patrick--” William starts to protest, but Patrick stops him right away.

“If you wanna be mad at someone, be mad at Pete, he’s the one who had the shit idea,” Patrick counters, and it’s clear he’s not in the mood to revisit the topic.

Dallon takes advantage of their exchange to move to the counter, where he pours the blood in the mugs, and starts warming it up. Once he’s done, he turns around, and heads for the door without a word, one mug in each hand. He can tell Patrick wants to say something else, but Dallon doesn’t let him, and instead walks out without another word.

As he walks away, he can hear conversation resume in the kitchen, and given the angry inflection of Patrick’s voice, he figures their argument is far from over.

His bad idea isn’t looking so bad now, after all.

Once he reaches Ryan’s room, he knocks once, then walks in and locks the door behind himself. Which isn’t something he usually does, and it immediately catches the other vampire’s attention.

“Are you planning on murdering me?” Ryan teases with the hint of a grin, and just a tiny little bit of genuine concern.

“No, idiot,” Dallon responds while he hands over one of the mugs. Slowly, he fishes the flask from his pocket and shakes it a little. The liquid inside sloshes around, catching Ryan’s focus instead. “Care to get high with me?”

“Excuse me?” Ryan’s expression is an entertaining mix of shock and outrage, with just a hint of unbelieving laughter thrown in there. “What the fuck have you got in there?”

“Laudanum,” Dallon informs with a grin. “Not pure, unfortunately, that’s hell to find, but it’s decent grade. Good enough to unwind and disconnect for a bit.”

Ryan’s shock is far from gone, but there’s a trace of concern now in his eyes. “Is this a good idea?”

“Hell no, but I need a break from this fucking house and this fucking clan,” Dallon admits with a sigh, then slowly uncaps the flask and pours some of the liquid in his own mug. “I thought you might need that too, given their latest request.”

A request Dallon hated conveying to Ryan, and if he has to be honest, he resents Patrick a little for not asking the captive vampire himself. After everything he found out, asking Ryan to meet with Pete – and not just that, but the version of Pete who actually hurt him – was enough to make him nauseous. He did it, he took the time to explain everything that’s going on with Pete, then asked him, but hated himself for it. Surprisingly, Ryan didn’t seem to resent him, and instead simply brushed off the request with a simple ‘fuck them’. Whether that was his genuine reaction, or him simply masking how he truly felt, Dallon can’t be sure.

Ryan thinks the offer over for a few long seconds, clearly tempted but hesitant, biting on his bottom lip in a way that makes Dallon have thoughts that are not only inappropriate, but dangerous too. Because he’s about to get high with Ryan, and the last thing that needs to be on his mind is kissing him. It wouldn’t be the first time the thought has occurred, he can’t deny it, but it still feels risky right about now.

“Fuck it,” Ryan mutters at last, and extends his mug too.

Dallon smiles as he pours some of the laudanum in Ryan’s drink, then closes the flask and places it back in his pocket. He made sure to pour equally for the two of them, and not to overdo it – he doesn’t do this often, but sometimes it’s nice to just unwind and forget reality for a bit. 

“I’m not getting high on the floor like some damn junkie,” Ryan considers a moment later, and instead of sitting at his usual spot, he sits on the bed, back against the headboard. Then, surprisingly, pats the spot next to him in clear invitation.

“Careful, I might think you’re trying to have your way with me,” Dallon teases him shamelessly, but complies and sits next to him.

“Hey, you’re the one who’s trying to drug me,” Ryan points out with a faint grin, then takes a long sip from his mug as if to counter his own point.

“I’m not trying to do shit, I just offered to share,” Dallon protests, his own mug rising to his smirking lips, and after he’s taken a generous swig, he adds, “I’m just being nice.”

“Mh, sure,” Ryan hums, relaxing back against the headboard.

A strange but comfortable silence settles between them, their closeness certainly new, and yet somehow it feels like it’s the natural progression of their dynamic. They couldn’t just keep sitting on the floor, facing each other and keeping a distance that has stopped making sense by now. Especially after their conversation about Pete and Urie, and the way their lives were turned into nightmares because of the born vampires. It created a new sort of understanding between them – the common ground they found is a minefield, sure, but it’s one both of them are used to navigating at this point. After that, it became easier to talk to each other, to confess little things about their past, to find solace in the fact that there is, after all, someone who can finally fucking understand.

After another long sip from his mug, Dallon finds himself turning to look at the other vampire, a quiet smile tugging at his lips.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You’ve literally been doing nothing else since I got here,” Ryan observes with a cocked eyebrow, but there’s teasing in his voice that reassures Dallon it’s an affirmative answer.

“Bitch,” Dallon huffs, laughing, then asks, “What’s your plan? Once you get out of here, I mean.”

“You know I don’t have one,” Ryan whispers, the levity in his eyes dying out. “If I leave this place, I’m as good as dead.”

Dallon hesitates then, because the idea that has been inching closer to the surface of his mind in the last few days is a little bit insane. Then again, his entire life is a little bit insane, right now, what with getting involved with this clan, and now Awsten becoming his… what, ward? The kid would be old enough to fend for himself, sure, if only there weren’t all kinds of supernatural assholes out there hoping to exploit his abilities. Which means Awsten is stuck with him, at least for now.

So yeah, there’s enough insanity to justify indulging this idea too.

Dallon’s shoulders rise in a small shrug as he comments, “I mean, Wentz isn’t the only one who can grant sanctuary, last time I checked I was still Regent too.”

Ryan’s response is to stare at him for several silent seconds, eyes widening and filling with cautious hope. “Are you messing with me, Weekes?” he whispers after a bit, almost unbelieving. “Because if you are, I will fucking kill you.”

Dallon chuckles, his head moving in a slow negative motion; after all, Ryan has every right to hate his current predicament, and Dallon is bound to go home at some point, when this entire mess is resolved – or earlier, if the clan decides they’ve had enough of his help. So why shouldn’t Ryan come with him? He might not be as strong as Pete, but his clan is solid, and his vampires are loyal to a fault, so if he brings Ryan home as a friend, not a foe, they’ll respect it. And they’ll defend Ryan’s right to sanctuary just as fiercely as Pete and Patrick are doing.

“I’ll think about it,” Ryan breathes, somewhat still skeptical he’s actually been offered a way out.

“Fair warning, I’ll be here for a while still,” Dallon informs with a smile. “I know you hate them, but these people are my friends, and I promised I’d help them solve this mess.”

“Then we might have a problem, because if this bitemark truly is what’s tormenting Wentz, then I don’t want it gone,” Ryan observes, and it’s clear that’s enough to crush his newly born hopes. “He deserves to suffer.”

“I know, and I agree, what he did to you was… fucked up,” Dallon considers, then finishes his mug in one long swig. “But you’re punishing an innocent version of him too.”

Ryan looks down at those words and finishes his blood as well, before reaching over to place the empty mug on the nightstand. “I know,” he breathes, dejected. “But I’m not ready to let go, to let him get away with it.”

“Maybe it’s not him you’re keeping prisoner,” Dallon suggests, meeting Ryan’s eyes in an honest look of sympathy. “My offer stands, if you decide to cut ties with him.”

It feels like a good compromise, the solution to Pete’s current situation, in exchange for safe haven away from people Ryan despises. The vampire seems to think about it, clearly conflicted and maybe a little resentful that Dallon’s offer comes with strings attached. But they’re well-meaning strings, because Dallon is sure that this connection is somehow tormenting Ryan too, even though he’s not sure how.

“I’ll think about it,” Ryan repeats at last, then takes a deep breath and shakes his head a little, a frown taking over his expression. “Now stop talking about sad shit, I don’t wanna be sad-high.”

Dallon chuckles in response, and leans back further against the headboard. “Sorry, my bad,” he admits with a smile. “What would you like to talk about?”

“I don’t know, literally anything else,” Ryan huffs, and Dallon can tell his eyes are already starting to glaze over, his shoulders relaxing. “What do you do when you’re not coming here?”

“If I say I’ve recently adopted a human, will you laugh?” Dallon asks with a wide grin, and while he thinks revealing too much about Awsten might be unwise, he sees nothing wrong with sharing this much.

“Adopted how?” Ryan sounds extremely entertained by the notion, and there’s a smile growing on his lips.

“Long story, but his family kind of gave up on him, and he’s ended up in the middle of this whole mess, so now I’ve taken him under my wing,” Dallon recounts somehow confusedly, but it seems Ryan doesn’t mind.

“Wait, are you sleeping with him?” Ryan glares pointing a finger at him.

“No, absolutely not!” Dallon protests, and playfully tugs at Ryan’s finger, drawing him closer. “Why, are you jealous?”

“Why on earth would I be jealous, Weekes?” Ryan rolls his eyes, but leans closer anyway, his smile full for once, relaxed.

Dallon simply smirks and lets go of his finger, but doesn’t move back. “God, you're hot when you aren’t being a bitch,” he whispers before he can think better of it. Yep, the laudanum is definitely working. “I don't think I've ever seen you actually smile before.”

Ryan looks down for a moment, trying to bite back said smile, but it’s clear it’s a lost cause, what with the drug easing his mind for once. “There wasn't much to smile about when he was around,” he admits quietly.

“And now?” Dallon teases, resting his forehead against Ryan’s.

Ryan hesitates, his eyes searching Dallon’s for a few long seconds; he seems to like what he finds, because a moment later he whispers, “Maybe.”

It’s a split-second decision, and Dallon isn’t even sure it’s a good one, but before he can think better of it, or think at all, he’s leaning closer, and their lips touch. The kiss is tentative at first, almost fearful, but when Ryan leans in instead of pulling away, all hesitation evaporates. Dallon kisses him like it’s second nature, like they do this all the time, and it feels so right, their fit so perfect he finds himself smiling against Ryan’s lips. All thoughts of sanctuary and mating bites are gone; Pete, Patrick and the clan are distant, irrelevant memories – right now there’s just the warmth of two broken souls finally catching a break, finally enjoying a little bit of peace.

It’s minutes before either of them breaks the kiss, and when it happens, Dallon isn’t sure who pulls back.

“What are we doing?” Ryan whispers on his lips, sounding slightly breathless.

“Trauma bonding,” is Dallon’s cheeky answer, which earns him a playful bite to his bottom lip.

“Fuck you,” Ryan laughs, and yet, when Dallon tugs him closer, he doesn’t hesitate to straddle his lap.  

“Not when we’re high,” Dallon objects, still smirking. “Ask me again tomorrow.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Ryan’s smile melts into another kiss, then, his fingers trailing in Dallon’s hair as they resume making out. Dallon’s hands settle on Ryan’s hips, pulling him closer, their chests pressed together as they kiss and kiss and kiss, slow and unhurried and just taking their time exploring each other, exploring whatever the hell this is – maybe it’s the laudanum, sure, but Dallon has a feeling all the drug’s done is tear down the walls they’ve surrounded themselves with, the walls that kept all of this in. It’s liberating, and it makes it easy to let go and forget everything else.

At least until the distant hum of the barrier alarm breaks through the haze of Dallon’s mind, disrupting this perfect moment of bliss.

“For fuck’s sake,” Dallon finds himself muttering against Ryan’s lips.

“Do you have to go?” Ryan whispers, ducking his head to nuzzle Dallon’s neck and place an open-mouthed kiss beneath his jawline, clearly trying to entice him to stay and ignore the alarm.

“God, I wish I didn’t,” Dallon admits, eyes closing for a moment. “But it might be Joseph and Dun again.”

Ryan leans back at those words, and reluctantly moves away from Dallon’s lap. There’s clear disappointment in his eyes, but surprise too, and that’s when Dallon realizes he never told Ryan that the mystery visitors from last time were Joseph and Dun. It seems unimportant right now, however, as he stands from the bed and heads for the door.

“Hold that thought,” Dallon teases with a playful wink, and Ryan simply flips him off and falls back onto the bed with a discontented groan. A sentiment Dallon wholeheartedly shares.

Whoever it is at the gate, they’d better have a fucking excellent reason to be there.

~

Chapter Text

Chapter 13 – Every last time I come home, I take my last chance to burn a bridge or two

~

Dallon all but marches down the hallway, belligerent and royally pissed off that the one time he’s actually allowed himself a moment of recklessness and fun and making out with Ryan fucking Ross, it has to be cut short by this fucking stupid alarm. It doesn’t help that the laudanum is still in full circulation, making everything hazy and slightly disorienting.

As he’s reaching the stairs, he sees someone else walk in his direction from the opposite side. Awsten.

“What’s happening?” Awsten asks, but surprisingly, he’s less scared than Dallon expected. Still clearly unnerved, of course, but he’s not hiding out in his room. Maybe he’s finally coming out of his shell – which is great, really, just not right about now.

“Unexpected visitor,” Dallon explains as he turns to face the boy, and sways just slightly on his feet. “Go back to your room and lock the door, kid.”

“Stop calling me-- wait, are you high?” Awsten’s eyes widen as he looks at the vampire, and his gaze clearly zeroes in on Dallon’s dilated pupils; either the kid’s very observant, or Dallon is more obvious than he thought. Probably the latter.

“As a fucking kite in a hanging tree,” Dallon admits with a shrug.

“That makes no sense,” Awsten points out, frowning and now clearly concerned.

“It does to me,” Dallon objects with a roll of his eyes.

“How does a vampire even get high?” It’s obvious Awsten is focusing on the wrong thing here, especially with the alarm still blaring and people downstairs gathering in the entrance hall.

“Awsten, not right now,” Dallon breathes, summoning the peak of his patience. “Go back to your room.”

Right then, someone else comes down the hallway, and Dallon feels like the universe must hate him, there’s no other explanation.

“Awsten, it’s safer if you go back--” Mikey starts, but Awsten doesn’t let him finish.

“To my room, I know,” Awsten huffs, glaring at him first, then Dallon. “Geez, you two are acting like I’m a fucking toddler.”

“Because you are, in this house,” Dallon points out candidly, the shadow of a smirk tugging at his lips, because damn, that’s a funny picture in his mind.

Considering the unimpressed look Mikey addresses him, and the middle finger he gets from Awsten, it’s probably only funny to him. Thanks, laudanum.

“I don’t like you high,” Awsten mutters, then walks down the hallway and towards his room with a scowl on his face that’s genuinely adorable – something Dallon thankfully keeps to himself. He has a feeling that after his toddler joke, Awsten wouldn’t appreciate being called adorable.

“You’ve got to be joking,” Mikey mutters under his breath once Awsten has walked around the corner. “You’re fucking high, right now?” 

“So what? God forbid a guy kicks back and relaxes once in a while,” Dallon counters, his tone a little bit more defensive than he likes, but he’s past worrying about that at this point. And really, the outrage on Mikey’s face is ridiculous – how the fuck was Dallon supposed to know someone would show up tonight? Awsten’s the clairvoyant one, not him.

“And did you kick back and relax before or after you fucked Ross?” Mikey’s tone is ice cold now, his voice controlled and quiet in a way that sends a shiver of discomfort down Dallon’s spine. Before he can answer, and possibly dig himself a deeper hole, Mikey adds, “You reek of him.”

“We didn’t--" Dallon starts, but doesn’t get very far.

“I don’t care, Dallon,” Mikey stops him, and when he speaks again, there’s an undercurrent of bitterness to his voice. “Go back to your boyfriend, you’re in no shape to be helpful downstairs.”

With that, Mikey’s walking away, but even in his slightly hazy state, Dallon can see the tension in his shoulders and the way he pointedly avoids looking back. Yep, Mikey’s definitely angry. Which, in turn, makes Dallon irrationally irritated – what the fuck does Mikey have to be angry about? They’re not together, they’re not even a thing anymore, since Mikey has been all but ghosting him. So no, Mikey doesn’t get to be pissed about this, and if he is… well, Dallon doesn’t give a fuck.

Except there’s a dagger twisting in his chest in a spot suspiciously close to his heart.

As Dallon stands there, he realizes walking downstairs is probably a bad idea, at this point. And going back to Ryan seems dangerous, given his current state of emotional turmoil. He wasn’t joking earlier, he doesn’t want things to go further with him while they’re high – if it happens, and part of him really wants it to happen, it needs to be when they’re both sober.

So in the end, he trudges back to his own bedroom, mood soured and heart stinging for reasons he really does not want to get into, especially not when he’s high and more prone to emotional sincerity.

He slams the door on his way in, out of pure spite, then drops face-first on his bed with a groan. He’s never going to be able to sleep, so his best bet is to wait out this ruined high, until he’s sober enough to join the others downstairs.

It’s maybe five minutes later that his door opens quietly, but Dallon doesn’t turn around. “Are you sulking or crashing?”

Awsten.

“Sulking,” Dallon mutters, voice muffled by the duvet.

“Can I come in?” Awsten’s voice is cautious and maybe still a little bit sullen – yep, Dallon managed to piss off two people in two minutes, it has to be some kind of record even for him. And yet, Awsten is there. Why?

“I can’t promise I won’t be a dick, I’m still high,” Dallon warns sincerely, turning his head just enough so that his words are a little clearer.

“I know,” Awsten breathes, then walks in and closes the door. “Did you really sleep with Ross?”

Dallon glares at the boy, which he’s sure Awsten can see even in the dimly lit bedroom. “You need to stop eavesdropping.”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Awsten simply says, his shrug as unconvinced as his tone.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Dallon mutters, then slowly sits up on the bed. “And it’s really none of your business.”

Without a word, Awsten walks over and sits down next to him; he’s clearly conflicted about something, so Dallon lets him cook and waits to hear what is on his mind. He’s learned it’s the best way to get something out of Awsten, especially if it’s something he’s afraid to talk about.

“Mikey’s colors are different when you’re around,” Awsten whispers out of the blue. “They’re brighter, stronger, but it also looks like he’s… well, like he’s in pain. And I kept wondering why that is, until tonight.”

Dallon really does not want to hear the answer to that question, but he has a feeling he’s going to hear it whether he asks it or not. So he does. “And why is that?”

“You broke his heart,” Awsten states with such a natural tone that it feels heavier than if he’d screamed it.

“You’re reading him wrong, kid,” Dallon mutters, ignoring the way Awsten’s words cut at something deep in his chest. “Hearts were never involved, least of all his.”

“Are you sure?” Awsten has the good sense to sound uncertain as he asks this, and Dallon almost reminds him he’s known Mikey a grand total of five days. He bites it back, however, because belittling Awsten seems like an unnecessarily cruel defense tactic – he might be high, but he’s not completely out of his mind.

“Look, things with Mikey have been complicated for a while,” Dallon admits, shaking his head. “And yeah, he’s pissed, but I assure you it’s because he thinks Ryan is playing me.”

At least, that’s the explanation Dallon’s mind has come up with, and he’s going to stick with it – mostly, because it’s reasonable. It makes sense Mikey would doubt his ability to stay neutral if he’s sleeping with Ryan.

Which he isn’t.

Yet.

“And because you’re high and there’s an emergency,” Awsten adds with a glare, and pokes him in the chest. “How did you get high? You’re a fucking vampire.”

“Laudanum, it’s the only drug that works on us,” Dallon explains, glad to move away from the topic of Mikey. He lies down, then, a sigh rushing past his lips when his head sinks a little in the soft pillow. “And if it were actually an emergency they would have come to get me,” he objects, pointing in the general direction of the ceiling. “No alarm anymore.”

He isn’t sure when exactly it stopped, but the fact that it has and that no one has called him means they have it under control.

“So we’re safe?” Awsten asks, and there’s an undeniable trace of concern in his voice. Ah, so that’s why he’s there – he’s not snooping, he’s just scared.

“You’re with me, of course you’re safe,” Dallon answers candidly, glancing at him in the dim lighting of his room. “I made you a promise, didn’t I?”

“You did.” Awsten’s smile is faint but it’s there, and it seems Dallon’s words marginally reassure him. There’s clearly something else chewing at him, however, and it comes out a few moments later. “Can I sleep here, just in case?”

Dallon is surprised by that request, but it’s made in such a small, vulnerable voice that he feels like an asshole just thinking about refusing it. Awsten might be coming out of his shell, he might sass Dallon any chance he gets and call him ‘old man’, and geek out with Mikey over microchips and motherboards, but beneath all that he’s still a deeply traumatized kid who’s been thrown into a den of monsters.

“Of course,” Dallon whispers, moving aside to make room for him.

Awsten’s smile turns a little less uncertain, then, and he slowly lies down as well. What Dallon doesn’t expect, however, is the kid hesitantly pressing against his side, seeking comfort.

“I promise I’m not trying to make it awkward, I’m just… if I can touch you, I know you’re real, you’re not in my head,” Awsten whispers against his chest, voice a little unsteady. “The nightmares make it hard to tell, sometimes.”

“You’re not making it awkward,” Dallon reassures him, and wraps his arm around the boy. “But I’m afraid I’m not a very warm person.”

“Biologically or emotionally?” Awsten teases him softly, relaxing a little at the reassurance.

“Both, I guess,” Dallon admits with a small shrug.

“Bullshit,” Awsten whispers, curling up against him. “You’re the first person who actually gives a damn about me.”

Dallon feels his heart shrink a little at those words, at the painful truth they hold – Awsten’s family all but abandoned him, and sure, Maja rescued him from the hospital, but then proceeded to exploit him for his abilities – and who knows how long she knew about him being locked up and did nothing about it until she needed him. Dallon might not be the most empathetic vampire in existence, but he can empathize with being scared and alone, fighting something that’s much bigger than you.

“I’m sorry I called you a toddler, kid,” Dallon says quietly, remembering the way he teased the boy.

“I’m not a kid either, I’m thirty-three,” Awsten points out, but his tone is a lot less bothered than it was earlier.

“And I’m older than Shakespeare,” Dallon huffs with a roll of his eyes. “So kid it is.”

“Okay, grandpa,” Awsten mutters against his chest, but there’s a smile in his voice.

“Do not call me grandpa,” Dallon groans, running his free hand over his face.

“I can call you daddy and make it real awkward,” Awsten teases openly, and this time, there’s a small laugh following his words.

“Do not ever,” Dallon immediately protests, looking down at the human with a glare.

“Don’t worry, old man, I’m just messing with you,” Awsten reassures him, voice slightly muffled from where he’s still curled up against Dallon’s side, and Dallon takes a moment to realize the kid has relaxed, fear seemingly receding enough to leave room to his usual cheeky personality. Good. And then, what he says next actively shatters Dallon’s heart into a million pieces. “You know, I wish I had an older brother like you, maybe I wouldn’t have ended up in that fucking hellhole.”

The words echo in Dallon’s mind, sounding off the walls he’s built around himself and cracking them like a small but powerful wrecking ball. The soft, vulnerable tone in which Awsten spoke them showcases just how hesitant he is to express such a genuine sentiment, especially to someone he’s met so recently, and yet, he ultimately felt safe enough to say it. It’s a win in and of itself, one that prompts warmth to spark in Dallon’s chest.

He just had to go and get attached to this kid, didn’t he? Oh, fuck it, he guesses he can deal with being an older brother figure, even if the concept is absurd, given how much older than Awsten he is.

For a few long moments, he isn’t sure how to answer, however, because there’s no way in hell he’ll admit that to the kid. Eventually, he does the only thing that makes sense, he presses a kiss to the top of Awsten’s head. “Goodnight, kid,” he whispers, a smile settling on his lips.

~

“I’m sorry, but Ross is under sanctuary, so we won’t be handing him over, unless he agrees to it.”

Pete speaks the words in a calm but adamant tone, letting their guest know there is no room for bargaining.

“After everything Urie did, you’re really protecting his sidekick?” Billie Joe sounds more shocked than actually irritated, which Patrick takes as a good sign.

“Ross and Walker were strongarmed into helping Urie,” Pete informs with a sigh. “And it was partly because of me, so yes, I will protect him.”

Patrick holds his breath at that admission, because as inclined as Pete is to trust Billie Joe with some of the intel they’ve gathered lately, Patrick’s a little more skeptical. Sure, he doubts anyone would take up arms against Pete for taking in Ross, but it’s inevitable that this stance in his defense might cost them some goodwill among the Regents.

“Now, I know you like being a cryptic little shit, but what the hell do you mean it’s partly because of you?” Billie Joe inquires, clearly unimpressed by Pete’s vagueness.

Pete takes a moment before he answers, and looks in Patrick’s direction, as if to check he’s still on board. They decided to be as honest as possible, without actually revealing anything that can be used against them – unfortunately, however, revealing the connection between Pete and Ross seems inevitable. It would look so much worse if it came out anyway after they tried to hide it.

“Ross is my kindred, and Urie targeted him to spite me,” Pete explains as briefly as possible.

“Well, that would have been useful information to have,” Billie Joe points out, now clearly irritated.

“There were good reasons why that wasn’t public knowledge, you’ll have to trust me on that,” Pete responds, and yeah, they can’t exactly explain that the main – and excellent – reason is that they had no fucking clue either.

“After everything Urie put us through, do you really think we’d protect Ross if we thought he was genuinely on Urie’s side?” Patrick jumps in, addressing the Regent directly.

Billie Joe takes a deep breath, his eyes moving from Patrick to Pete, then back to the werewolf. He seems to be weighing everything he’s found out, possibly deciding if it’s enough to convince him to let this go. Eventually, he gives an exasperated snort and shakes his head.

“Fine, keep the bastard,” Billie Joe mutters, and while he’s clearly discontented with his own decision, he sticks to it. “But I’m not the only one after him,” he warns, eyebrow cocked.

“We know, but we’re also not the only district on his side either,” Patrick counters, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees surprise flash on Pete’s face for a moment. And really, what’s so shocking? They’ve both seen the way Dallon speaks about Ross, about what he’s been through – it’s clear he would never hand him out to Billie Joe either. Actually, Patrick suspects there might be a little more to it than mere sympathy, but that’s not a consideration for the here and now. “Dallon Weekes shares our concern about upholding sanctuary.”

“Dallon Weekes?” Billie Joe repeats, unbelieving. “Urie’s fucking archenemy?”

“Second archenemy, thank you,” Pete corrects him with a grin. “But yes, Dallon’s on our side of this, which only makes it more clear Ross is not fair game. And it would be good if the word spread.”

“What about Walker?” Billie Joe asks then, clearly conflicted. “You said he was also strongarmed.”

“Smith was Ross’s kindred and Walker’s mate,” Patrick explains. “Urie brainwashed him, kept him under his thumb, used him to control them.”

“That’s fucked up,” Billie Joe admits, looking away for a moment. “And you’re positive this intel is accurate?”

“I mean, you saw it yourself at the High Council, both Ross and Walker turned on Urie the instant they found out Smith was dead,” Pete remarks with a small shrug.

Once again, Billie Joe takes some time to think the information over, his eyes now fixed on Pete exclusively, as if he’s contemplating how to address his next concern. Ultimately, he seems to decide the direct approach might just be the best one.

“Are you willing to take responsibility for him, then?” Billie Joe asks bluntly. “He’s your kindred and you’ve granted him sanctuary, so if he turns out to be a piece of shit like Urie, it’s you who will have to clean up his mess.”

Yeah, no big deal, considering Ross hates their guts and would gladly slit their throats in their sleep. And yet, Patrick knows exactly what answer Pete is about to give, and he won’t stand in the way. After all, after everything they’ve done to Ross, they owe it to him.

“If he turns out to be a piece of shit it’s probably my fault anyway,” Pete admits with a bitter chuckle. “I’ll take responsibility for this.”

“Fine, then, suit yourself,” Billie Joe huffs, shaking his head.

“Do you know anything about Walker?” Patrick asks before he loses the chance to. “We haven’t been able to locate him.”

Travie tried, Mikey too, but so far neither have managed to track him down. It would have certainly earned them some cookie points with Ross if they managed to find Walker before he was killed, but it’s starting to look hopeless.

“Maybe,” Billie Joe admits somewhat reluctantly.

“Billie Joe,” Pete starts, his tone holding both warning and disbelief. “Did you kill Walker?”

“Not yet,” Billie Joe admits with a sigh that is way too dramatic. “I should have, because now you’re gonna try and guilt me into handing him over, aren’t you?”

“You have him?” It’s Patrick who asks, outraged – when was he planning to share that detail? Never, probably.

“I caught him while he was trying to get to Canada – cut right through my territory,” Billie Joe tells them, then glares at Pete. “We’ve been trying to get some intel out of him.”

“You’ve been torturing him,” Pete translates, matching the stern look on the other vampire’s face.

“To my defense, I had no idea Urie was blackmailing him,” Billie Joe justifies himself, raising his hands in a defensive gesture. “He surely didn’t tell me, since he has refused to speak at all.”

“What would it take for you to hand him over?” Patrick inquires then, a little horrified by the fact that Billie Joe is discussing torture so offhandedly. In all honesty, they all have at some point – Travie certainly didn’t tickle intel out of McCracken and Gutierrez – but somehow, it feels different with Walker. He’s not innocent, not by a long shot, but if he truly was only doing Urie’s bidding to try and keep his mate alive and safe, then can Patrick fully blame him? He isn’t sure what he wouldn’t do to save Pete, in that same situation.

“He’s in no shape to travel right now,” Billie Joe informs, then sighs when he realizes they’re not going to take that as an answer. “However, I could be persuaded to hand him over when he’s better, in exchange for a little favor.”

“What favor?” Pete asks, eyes narrowing.

“I’ve heard Ross isn’t your only guest,” Billie Joe starts, cautious. “There’s a human here. An oracle.”

“Forget it, we’re not handing over the kid,” Patrick immediately refuses, furious.

“Whoa, slow down, I don’t want the kid,” Billie Joe assures them with a laugh. “He’s a fuckload of trouble anyway, I just want a vial of his blood,” he explains after a moment.

“What for?”

“If you don’t know, I’m not gonna be the one to tell you,” Billie Joe answers with a cheeky grin. “It wouldn’t harm him, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Pete glares at their ‘friend’ after those words, but it’s clear he’s not sold on the deal. Which Patrick is thankful about – sure, he wants to get Walker, but not at the expense of Awsten’s safety, not when they’ve harmed the kid enough for a lifetime already.

“I need time to think it over,” Pete decides at last. “Stay for dinner, spend the day, and by the time you’re ready to leave tomorrow night, I’ll have an answer for you.”

Billie Joe’s smile is both amused and unbelieving, because sure, Pete has agreed to think about this deal, but he’s also made it clear with that invitation that Billie Joe’s welcome extends to exactly one day, not longer.

“Alright, think it over, who am I to refuse such warm hospitality?” Billie Joe agrees eventually, and stands from his seat.

The three of them head out of the library, and into the living room, where the clan has been socializing with Billie Joe’s seconds-in-command, Dirnt and Tre. The atmosphere in there is somewhat less tense than Patrick expected, but it only takes one look at Travie to understand they should be on guard.

It’s not Billie Joe and his clan that worry Patrick, however. Because there is one little problem Pete possibly failed to consider when inviting Billie Joe to stay after they discussed Ross.

Shadow Pete.

~

“What could Billie Joe possibly want with the human’s blood?”

Pete doesn’t bother keeping his voice down, since Billie Joe and his deputies are outside, visiting the pack along with Patrick – who appeared to be both pleasantly surprised by the request and reasonably cautious. Before leading the trio there, he warned Mike to keep the children away, along with some of the older members, to make sure their real number isn’t too obvious. Dallon appreciates the strategy – they’re a big pack, sure, but keeping the vampires wondering just how big is a smart move.

So, given that the newest guests are outside the house, they have convened in the library to discuss Billie Joe’s request. William and Travie are sitting on one of the sofas, Mikey is by the window – as far from Dallon as possible, it would seem –, while both Pete and Maja are standing, the vampire pacing the room nervously. Thankfully, Pete saw it fit to consult Dallon on this, considering his sort of guardianship over the kid – which is absurd since Awsten is an adult, but given how he’s being hunted by supernatural beings for his abilities and has no means to defend himself, guardian is kind of the correct term for Dallon. Not that he would ever say it in front of Awsten, the kid would probably punch him.

“I don’t know, but he’s not getting it,” Dallon responds with a shrug. By now, he has sobered up, and earlier even managed to fall asleep, which makes him resent Pete a little bit for waking him up. “Also, the human has a name.”  

“Awsten’s blood carries some of his abilities,” Maja explains, making a show of using the name. “But they could also use it to track him.”

“Yeah, that’s a hard pass,” Mikey jumps in, surprising the others present, but not Dallon. Considering how much time he’s been spending with Awsten and how well they get along, it seems natural that Mikey would take the kid’s side. And despite the tension currently between them, Dallon is grateful to him for it.

“That’s the price to get Walker out,” Pete informs with a sigh.

“Jon Walker?” Dallon must have heard the name wrong.

“Billie Joe has him, and let’s say he hasn’t been very hospitable to him,” Pete confirms, looking at Dallon first, then Mikey. “I feel like a vial of blood is a reasonable sacrifice to save Walker’s life.”

“Not if they can use it to track Awsten and hunt him down,” Dallon instantly protests, even though part of him wishes he could agree to the deal. The idea of getting Walker to safety appeals to him, because he knows how much it would mean to Ryan, and it’s about damn time something goes right for him – it might even convince him to get that bitemark off his arm. But there’s no chance Dallon will agree to it, if it puts Awsten in danger.

“I could neutralize it,” Maja offers with a sigh, clearly unhappy about having to do more work. And really, it’s a miracle she hasn’t taken off in her usual purple magic cloud by now, Dallon has to give her credit for persistence. “Contaminate it enough that they won’t be able to use it to track him, but if they test it, it’ll check out.”

“And what happens when Billie Joe figures it out?” Mikey asks with a cocked eyebrow.

“We’ll smile real big and kick his ass if he tries anything,” Pete declares with a soft chuckle.

“I’m starting to think that’s your strategy for everything,” Travie comments, offering a look that’s somehow even more skeptical than Mikey’s.

“I never claimed I was good at making plans,” Pete simply responds, unapologetic.

“Nope, that’s clearly Patrick’s job,” Travie concurs with an eloquent glare, then gives a sigh. “But I don’t see what else we can do.”

“If you can assure me Awsten won’t be in danger, I’ll talk to him about it. I don’t think he’d say no, as long as Maja’s not the one to draw the blood,” Dallon reasons, and when he catches the perplexed look on the witch’s face, he explains, “He’s terrified to be in the same room as you.”

“Understandable,” Maja accepts, somewhat disappointed, but not surprised. “I will make sure they can’t track him, or harm him.”

“Alright, then we can ask Ryland to draw the blood, he’s the doctor after all,” Pete declares, then turns to look at Dallon. “Can you talk to the kid tonight? I want to send Billie Joe on his way as soon as the sun sets tomorrow.”

“I’ll talk to him before dinner,” Dallon agrees, then sees the chance to voice the doubt that has been nagging at him since he found out Billie Joe would be staying at least until the next sundown. “Speaking of, what if your alter ego comes out to play while Billie Joe is around?”

“You and Patrick think way too alike,” Pete comments with a cocked eyebrow. “We figured our best bet is to fake an emergency early into dinner, and I’ll pretend to leave to deal with it.”

“And instead hide out in the basement?” Dallon concludes, somewhat favorable to the plan, but not completely sold. “You can’t lock yourself up, though.”

“I’ll go with him,” William interjects, speaking for the first time since the beginning of the conversation. “It makes sense he wouldn’t leave alone, anyway.”

“Alright, sounds sane enough considering insane is now the standard,” Dallon remarks without enthusiasm, even though for once the plan is not that complicated and might possibly play out just fine. Maybe.

Given that they all seem to agree with that sentiment, a curt nod from Pete disbands this impromptu meeting, and Dallon heads for his room, so he can wake Awsten and talk to him. He’s halfway down the hallway when William catches up to him, and stops him with a gentle grip on his arm. “Hey.”

Dallon turns around, surprised and a little on guard, but there’s no trace of William’s hostility from the beginning of this absurdly long night. The change is almost jarring, but this is a far more familiar version of him. Yet, Dallon answers with a cautious, “Hey.”

“I just-- I wanted to apologize for being a dick earlier,” William admits quietly, his hand retreating and dropping by his side.

“You weren’t being a dick, you’re pissed, I get it,” Dallon counters with a shrug, which seems to surprise the other vampire.

“Why did you accept?” William asks in a whisper. “Pete’s fucking idiotic death pact, I mean.”

“He was acting out of concern for Patrick, and I figured if anyone had to take him out, it would be cruel to let his own clan do it,” Dallon reasons openly, then takes a deep breath. “I was trying to be kind.”

“Then why did you fold and tell Patrick?” William seems almost persuaded by his words, but he still sounds a little doubtful.

“Because Patrick’s the first friend I’ve made in a very long time, and I realized that protecting him doesn’t mean lying to him, he had a right to know,” Dallon explains quietly. “I was still willing to take on the task, but I couldn’t do it in secret, that would have meant betraying him.”

William looks at him for a few, silent moments, clearly thinking it over in his head, and weighting everything Dallon has told him. Eventually, when he does speak, it’s after a deep sigh. “Fucking shit situation Pete put you in,” he admits in a breath.

“Yeah, this hasn’t exactly been a relaxing holiday,” Dallon concurs with a chuckle. “But hey, at least I haven’t had a chance to get bored.”

“I’m sorry I added to the bullshit with the way I treated you,” William apologizes once more, and then, much to Dallon’s surprise, steps forward and hugs him. Yep, he’s definitely not used to Beckett’s expansiveness, but he has to admit it’s sweet. Dallon returns the hug somewhat awkwardly, his hand patting William’s back briefly.

“It’s fine, really,” Dallon answers, just as William steps back again. “Mikey’s not joking when he says you’re really physical with your affection, is he?” he adds with a brief laugh and a playful tone, which hopefully conveys he doesn’t truly mind.

“Oh, shut up, like you mind getting physical,” William teases with a small grin. “I can smell Ross on you, and the hu—Awsten too.”

“I’m not sleeping with Awsten!” Dallon immediately protests, disturbed by the implication. He doesn’t miss, however, the way William makes sure to use Awsten’s name like Dallon requested earlier, and the effort is genuinely appreciated. No wonder everyone loves Beckett, he’s objectively the most empathetic vampire Dallon has ever met.

“But you’re sleeping with Ross?” William taunts, rolling his eyes.

“What if I am?” Dallon challenges, mostly just to mess with him a little bit.

William’s reaction is instantaneous, his grin turns into an unbelieving scowl and he points an accusing finger at Dallon. “Is that why Mikey’s pissed at you?”

Dallon’s humor dries up immediately at those words, his expression hardening as he steps back from the other vampire. “Mikey should mind his own fucking business. What does he care, anyway?”

William stares at him in shocked confusion for a moment, then mutters, “I can’t figure out if you’re actually clueless, in denial or just a dick.”

“Look, I appreciate your apology, William, I do,” Dallon responds, then takes deep breath. “Let’s leave it at that, shall we?”

William simply nods in agreement, although it’s clear from the look on his face that he’s far from appeased. Well, too bad, he’ll have to deal with it on his own, because Dallon is getting out of this conversation right now. With a silent nod he turns around and walks down the hallway, but the entire time he can feel William’s eyes following him.

Why the fuck does everyone have to be in each other’s pockets so much in this house? He’s not clueless, and he’s pretty sure he’s not in denial, which leaves the third option. Dallon is probably a dick, but that’s nothing new, is it?

~

Chapter Text

Chapter 14 – Oh, the things that you do in the name of what you love, you are doomed but just enough

~

“How was dinner?”

Pete is lying on the bed on his side, and the way his eyes immediately zero in on Patrick, filled with concern, tells the werewolf he’s dealing with his own version of Pete. Thank fuck. Considering his current state of mind, he has no fucking patience to deal with Shadow Pete.

“Awkward as fuck, Dallon and Mikey are having some kind of passive aggressive fight and kept taking shots at each other, and Maja wasn’t much help either because she was having too much fun egging them on,” Patrick recounts with a groan – the burden of conversation fell entirely on him, with occasional rescues from Gabe, Travie and Joe. Andy was his usual quiet self, and Mike elected to sit out the dinner entirely.

“Yeah, don’t get involved with that, Dallon nearly bit my head off earlier,” William recounts with a grimace as he stands on the doorstep – he stayed with Pete while the rest of them were engaged in that painful dinner and Patrick envies him so much for getting to skip it. “But we did clear things up.”

“Good,” Patrick responds with a little smile – he knows William was angry with Dallon about the death pact, and while his protectiveness of Pete is genuinely sweet, Patrick can’t help feeling his anger was misplaced, this time. It would seem the vampire finally agrees with him. “How were things here?”

“Mostly quiet,” William reports, gathering his things from the armchair. “Shadow Pete showed up, ignored me entirely, and then fell asleep and Pete came back.”

“That sounds like heaven, honestly,” Patrick huffs with a tired sigh. “Go get some sleep, I’ve got it from here.”

William nods his assent to that, then bids Pete goodnight and heads upstairs, locking the door of the cell. There are a few moments of silence, during which Pete just watches Patrick intently, as if to try and decide if he should say what’s on his mind. In the end, he opts in favor.

“On a scale of ‘pretty chill’ to ‘sit on a lit fire’, how mad are you still?” Pete inquires with a little smile.

“Too tired to be mad,” Patrick admits with a chuckle, because sure, he’s still working through his anger, but damn, the way Pete asked that is just too adorable to ignore. Also, he means it, he’s too tired to be mad, right now. “Why?”

“Well, my alter ego has been pretty consistent with not trying to kill you anymore,” Pete points out as he shifts to the side of the mattress, making room on the single bed they’ve brought in to replace the original cot. “And I feel like we could both fit on his thing.”

“I see,” Patrick muses with a cocked eyebrow, and it’s a struggle to hide the smile that wants to appear on his lips. “Is that why you had the bed brought down?”

Pete shrugs then, a little sheepish, but he’s not hesitant in his answer. “I miss you,” he admits. “I miss sleeping with you, and I miss waking up with you, and I fucking miss feeling whole.”

Patrick doesn’t answer that, mostly because he isn’t sure how – that last bit about feeling whole, that’s precisely how he’s been feeling too since this whole mess started, since they’ve had to keep their distance. And then the fight just made it worse, and Patrick has been yearning for contact, for comfort, for his mate. For things to go back to fucking normal. Pete was keeping him at arm’s length because he was scared his past self might hurt him again, but it seems he’s finally accepted that’s unlikely to happen; and besides, Patrick has promised to defend himself if that were to be the case.

And yet, he feels like he shouldn’t give in this easily, he’s still angry beneath it all, and just because he’s too tired to feel it right now, it doesn’t mean it’s not there.

Concern grows in Pete’s eyes, along with resignation, when Patrick doesn’t say anything. “Alright, never mind,” he whispers, and the pang of pain that comes across the bond feels like a gut punch to Patrick.

Yeah, there’s no fucking way he can sit this out on principle. Fuck principle. He wants his mate back, and it’s physically painful to fight it, at this point.

Without a word, Patrick kicks off his shoes, then slowly climbs onto the unoccupied part of the bed. It’s a stretch, it is clearly built for one fully grown adult, not two, but he’ll be damned if he lets it stop him. Instead, he presses closer to Pete, who instantly wraps his arm around him, and the relief that floods through the bond is almost enough to drown the werewolf. But at least it’s good drowning.

“I miss you too, you fucking asshole,” Patrick finally whispers, burying his face in Pete’s neck. “I miss us.”

Pete presses a gentle kiss to his temple, his hand moving along Patrick’s spine in soothing motions, and Patrick finds himself letting go of the last of his reserve. Pete fucked up, sure, but the way he’s holding him, the way he’s touching him, the love that comes out of him wave after wave… it reminds him once again that Pete would never knowingly hurt him. It makes it easier to believe this wound can and will heal, with time. With love.

“I’m sorry,” Pete whispers into his ear, as if he can read his thoughts – he can’t, but he can probably feel Patrick’s emotional turmoil through their connection.

“I know.” Patrick leans back just enough to look at his mate, then, and the look of genuine apology in Pete’s eyes is enough to prompt his next words. Words he probably should have spoken sooner. “I forgive you.”

Pete seems caught off guard by that, as if he believes he doesn’t quite deserve it yet – of course he would think that. But it’s not up to him to decide that, and Patrick is tired of hurting, tired of feeling this wedge between them. Pete has apologized, profusely and repeatedly, and he’s promised to never betray him like that again. It’s up to Patrick now to choose whether he wants to believe him, to give this wound a chance to heal. And forgiveness has to be the next step.

“I’m not saying I’m not angry, it will take a while to get over that part,” Patrick admits softly, eyes never leaving Pete’s. “But I love you, Pete, and I do forgive you.”

Pete’s expression softens at those words, a wave of sadness taking over as his hand moves up until it’s resting on the side of Patrick’s neck, thumb moving gently over his pulse. And Patrick knows what Pete is about to say before he even opens his mouth.

“You love me even when I don’t deserve it.” 

There it is. Pete has said this before, he has believed this before, and what happened between them clearly reinforced this notion. A notion Patrick loathes.

“You fucked up, Pete, you betrayed my trust,” Patrick whispers, holding the vampire’s gaze resolutely. “But that doesn’t mean, and never meant, that you don’t deserve to be loved.”

Pete accepts the words with a soft smile, maybe not completely convinced, but the fact that he’s not contesting Patrick’s statement is a good start. What Pete says instead is, “I’m a fucking idiot.”

“You are, moonbeam,” Patrick agrees, but it’s with a smile that’s warmer than anything he’s felt in the last few weeks, since this mess started. The effect it has on Pete is immediate, the pet name telling him more than Patrick’s words or smile ever could. They’re not okay yet, but Patrick’s willing to go in that direction.

In response, Pete just pulls him closer, their bodies pressed together on the small bed, and ducks his head to press a small, tender kiss to the corner of Patrick’s mouth. “God, I love you so fucking much,” he whispers on Patrick’s lips, voice breaking a little.

Patrick feels something untangle in his chest, the dull pain there easing by a considerable fraction as he catches Pete’s lips with his own in a slow kiss. And right now, he wishes they could just stay like this, forget about everything else, about Billie Joe, Shadow Pete, Awsten, even Dallon – just stay like this and reconnect, nurture the bond that has been so unstable, so hard to feel lately.

But he knows they can’t, he knows the moment they leave the cell at dusk, everything will become real again, dangerous again. That is, if they even get the entire day to themselves.

That thought prompts Patrick to voice a warning, “If Shadow Pete shows up, I’m getting off this bed.”

“He doesn’t get to touch you,” Pete agrees with a small nod, but there’s a faint curve to his lips, the remnants of a smile. “It’s a miracle I get to touch you.”

“Not inappropriately, you don’t,” Patrick corrects him, but there is a hint of teasing in his voice. “You’ll have to earn that, leech.”

“Fair enough,” Pete admits with a soft chuckle, and yet his hand moves down to playfully pinch Patrick’s ass, which causes the werewolf to squirm and slap his arm.

“Behave, or I’m going back to my armchair,” Patrick warns with a glare, but it doesn’t have much fire behind it, and they both know it’s an empty threat. Pete, however, chooses not to risk it, it seems, because his hand moves back to settle on Patrick’s hip instead.

There is a long moment of comfortable silence, and Patrick closes his eyes as he breathes in Pete’s scent, his face once more buried in his mate’s neck. The proximity is working wonders on both his mood and the tightness in his heart, and it becomes easier to relax in Pete’s arms. It’s been his safe place since they got together, and the fact that it can still be that to him means more than he could put into words.

It’s Pete who breaks the quiet, but he resumes stroking Patrick’s back soothingly, as if he anticipates his question might not be welcome. “Aside from the awkwardness, did anything happen at dinner that we should worry about?”

“No, Billie Joe and his guys were on their best behavior,” Patrick informs with a small sigh. “He really wants that vial, it seems.”

“What about the kid? Is he willing to give some of his blood?” Pete inquires quietly, fingers playing along Patrick’s spine.

“Yeah, Dallon was right about him, his only condition is that Maja needs to stay away,” Patrick confirms, and his words are swiftly followed by a chuckle. “I think we’ve finally found someone who dislikes her as much as I do.”

“C’mon, she’s behaving,” Pete objects with a small laugh. “Compared to last time, she’s being very cooperative.”

“Yeah, and I allowed her to traumatize that poor kid,” Patrick mutters, his expression darkening. Pete definitely isn’t the only one who has made rash and irresponsible decisions lately.

“Dallon seems to really care about him,” Pete considers, and his voice shows a trace of surprise. “I wonder why.”

“I think the kid reminds him of something he’s gone through,” Patrick reasons, voice soft. “It’s the same reason he gets along so well with Ross. Shared trauma, I think.”

“That’s bleak, but hey, if it helps him get out of his super paranoid solitary shell, I’m all for it.” Pete sounds surprisingly serene about it, especially considering that Dallon is the person who outed his stupid ass death pact. After a moment, he adds, “He’s a good guy, deep down, and he’s a good friend to you.”

“Does that mean you don’t want to rip him to shreds?” Patrick asks with a surprised grin. “He’s been avoiding you so hard.”

“Tell him he can relax, I won’t murder him,” Pete laughs quietly, his chest shaking with it.

Patrick smiles at those words, one reason for concern melting away at least. Another one, however, pops back into his mind as he thinks back to his conversation with Dallon.

“He did tell me something else,” Patrick starts, his tone more somber now. “Maja is looking into ways to remove the bite, but Dallon says Ross won’t have the bite removed because he wants to punish you… well, old you.”

Pete takes a deep breath after those words, clearly thinking them over before he decides how to react. “I can’t really blame him, after everything we’ve found out.”

“Dallon hopes that if we can get Walker back, Ross might relent and agree to break the bond,” Patrick continues, and this time at least, his words carry a note of optimism.

“Well, then all we’ve got to do is wait and hope, it’s gonna be a while before Walker can travel, according to Billie Joe,” Pete considers with a small nod, but his tone is also lighter, as if he’s also holding on to that possibility.

And really, what choice do they have? Either they break sanctuary and force Ryan to get that bite removed, or they wait and watch, and hopefully get rid of Shadow Pete in a way that doesn’t compromise their morals. More than they’ve already been compromised, lately.

~

The following night, right after dusk, Dallon watches with a sigh of relief as Billie Joe and his vampires get into their car and drive off. The clan pulled off Pete’s “emergency” ruse, and while dinner was excruciating, it served its purpose of buying time. Now the Idaho Regent and his deputies are on the way back to their district to nurture Walker back to health so they can bring him over and exchange him for a vial of Awsten’s blood in a few weeks.

Hopefully, the kid doesn’t change his mind in the meantime, but Dallon doesn’t think it’s likely. Once he was told why they need the blood, who Walker is and what happened to him and Ryan, the kid seemed pretty adamant about wanting to help with this. He still requested to stay in Dallon’s room, not really trusting the presence of Billie Joe, but other than that, he seemed less spooked than the day before.

Small steps, Dallon tells himself.

Now that their guests have left, Awsten is back to roaming the house without fear, more or less. So Dallon’s not all that surprised when he walks into the living room and finds him watching TV, a bowl of milk and cereal in his hands.

“Hey kid, what are you doing?” Dallon asks as he leans against the back of the sofa behind Awsten and ruffles his hair playfully.

“Researching vampires,” Awsten mumbles with his mouth full, and points at the screen with a smile.

“And you thought you'd start from What we do in the shadows?” Dallon gives a small, amused laugh at the choice of vampire show.

“It's fun,” Awsten simply states, his shoulders rising in a shrug.

“True, but not very accurate, I fear,” Dallon objects, still entertained by the turn the conversation has taken.

“So you don't yell ‘Bat!’ before turning into a bat?” Awsten asks, tilting his head backwards to look up at Dallon with a pout.

“No turning into bats, sorry,” Dallon confirms with a grin, then watches as Awsten straightens his head and takes another mouthful of cereal.

“That’s lame,” the kid mutters, but it’s clear from the smirk on his face that he’s just teasing Dallon. “So I’m not your familiar?”

“No, you’re not, that would be fucked up,” Dallon protests instantly, shaking his head. He has explained a lot about vampire society to Awsten since they first started talking, and he’s mentioned that some vampires keep humans as pets and blood slaves, but he’ll be damned if he lets Awsten even suspect he’s one of them. “You’re not a pet, Awsten.”

“Good,” Awsten breathes, his smile softer now.

And Dallon is glad he doesn’t ask what he is, because that question has no answer yet – and maybe they’re both aware of it. It’s too early for the word family to be thrown around, even though Awsten all but implied he sees Dallon as an older brother figure, and there’s too much imbalance in their relationship for it to be a proper friendship. For now, Dallon just thinks of Awsten as someone who needs his help and protection, someone he wants to keep safe – labels just complicate things.

“So, who’s your favorite?” Dallon asks as he rests his chin on top of the boy’s head, bringing his mind back to easier topics. “And why is it Laszlo?”

“I mean, Laszlo is iconic, isn’t he?” Awsten agrees with a laugh, and yet he doesn’t seem surprised Dallon guessed his favorite first try. “Do you want to stay and watch with me?”

“Maybe later, I have my jailer duties to attend to,” Dallon answers, and to soften the refusal, he presses a kiss to the top of Awsten’s head; he’s noticed the way this type of tender gestures always help Awsten’s mood, which goes to show just how starved for affection the kid really is. Yet something else Dallon suspects they have in common. “If you want, I’m sure William would love to keep you company.”

Dallon has been pushing Awsten to try and get a bit more acquainted with the rest of the clan, with meagre results so far. The only ones he’s seen him actually talk to in a somewhat relaxed manner are Joe and Andy. And hey, it’s a start.

“I don’t think William likes me,” Awsten admits with a small grimace. “He always looks like he’s afraid I might break into a million pieces.”

“He’s not used to having humans around, that’s all,” Dallon reassures him as he straightens and stretches his back. “He’s a sweetheart, he just needs time to figure out how to interact with you.”

“Well, if he drops by I’ll give it a try,” Awsten promises with a smile, once again tilting his head backwards so that he’s looking at Dallon upside down. “Are you going to tell Ryan about his friend?”

Dallon has thought about it, but ultimately he’s decided to keep the deal they made with Billie Joe a secret from Ryan until Dallon sees living – well, undead – proof of Walker’s presence, once he’s brought over. Billie Joe isn’t a scumbag, as far as Regents go, but Dallon wouldn’t put it past him to try and fool them – you know, kind of the same way they’re trying to fool him.

“Not yet, I don’t want to get his hopes up until the deal is done.”

“Good thinking,” Awsten considers as he takes another mouthful of cereal. “Say hi to Ryan from me.”

“Will do,” Dallon agrees with a somewhat perplexed smile – Awsten has never really met Ryan, but it seems that hearing his story was enough for him to take a liking to the vampire. And Dallon’s not really going to complain about it.

With one final playful ruffling of Awsten’s hair, which earns him a middle finger and a laugh, Dallon walks out of the living room and into the kitchen. As always, there’s someone at the table, but this time, it’s just William, who’s drinking some blood and apparently doom-scrolling on his phone.

“Awsten’s in the living room, watching What we do in the shadows,” Dallon informs as he prepares two mugs of blood, as usual. “You should join him when you’re done eating.”

“I’m not sure he’d like me to,” William hesitates, clearly conflicted. “I think he thinks I’m weird.”

“You are weird, William, and I mean that in the nicest way possible,” Dallon points out with a small laugh. “Also, he thinks you don’t like him.”

“That’s not true, he’s a lovely kid, I’m just--” William pauses, somewhat embarrassed by what he’s about to say. “I’m not really sure what to say to him, he’s so… young.”

“He’s not that much younger than Mike,” Dallon informs, and while yes, that’s technically true, Mike is a werewolf and a former alpha, someone who knows very well their world and its rules. The same can’t really be said for Awsten, who’s not only new to their supernatural dynamics, but he’s also been shut off from the world for the last eight years. So yeah, Dallon can’t really blame William for feeling awkward around him.

“I know, but I don’t--” William takes a deep breath before he makes himself finish that sentence. “I don’t wanna accidentally scare him or something.”

Dallon smiles at that confession, but doesn’t insist any further. “Look, all I’m saying is that if you wanna go there, I’m sure he won’t mind,” he considers as he takes the two mugs, which are ready by now. “But if you don’t feel like it, don’t force it.”

William nods quietly in response to that, and Dallon leaves him to the blood and doom-scrolling, and walks out of the kitchen. He doesn’t bump into anyone else on his way to Ryan’s room, but when he knocks and walks in, the other vampire is nowhere to be seen. The door to the bathroom, however, is ajar, and water is running, which tells him that Ryan is probably in the shower.

“Bad timing?” Dallon calls out, placing both mugs on the desk.

The water shuts off, and Ryan appears on the doorstep, wearing just a pair of jeans. Instead of answering Dallon’s question, however, he crosses his arms and says, “You didn’t come back, last night.”

“I didn’t,” Dallon admits quietly, but doesn’t look away. “Billie Joe Armstrong showed up, and then Awsten just-- he needed my help.”

“Awsten?” Ryan asks with a frown. Right, Dallon never told him the kid’s name; but Ryan connects the dots on his own. “Is that the human you told me about?”

“That’s him, and he says hi,” Dallon reports, even though it feels a little silly to. Ryan, however, seems to find that cute, because there’s the smallest of twitches at the corner of his lips, and the smile almost wins. Almost.

“What does Armstrong want?” Ryan asks a moment later, walking further into the room.

“You.” Dallon sees no reason to sugarcoat it, they both know there might be more Regents coming here, demanding Ryan’s head. “Pete and Patrick stood their ground, he left an hour ago, empty-handed.”

“Am I supposed to fall to my knees and cry grateful tears of joy?” Ryan inquires, the sarcastic bite back in his tone.

“No,” Dallon quips, feeling irritation grow at the tone directed at him. “But it would be nice if you managed not to be an asshole about it.”

Ryan’s expression changes at those words and the harsh tone Dallon speaks them with, and he takes a tentative step forward. “I’m sorry, I--”

“You can’t accept that the people you hate so much actually kept their word about protecting you, it pisses you off,” Dallon observes, jaw clenching as he steps back, restoring the distance between them, fully intentioned to turn around and leave. “I get it, but that’s not a good reason to be a dick to me.”

“I know,” Ryan whispers, all hostility gone from his tone, replaced with something suspiciously similar to guilt. “I didn’t mean to.”

“You never mean to, and yet here we are,” Dallon counters with a glare.

“Actually, when I’m a dick it’s usually on purpose,” Ryan admits with a sad little smile. “But not to you, I promise.”

Dallon feels his irritation fade a bit at those words, at the apology he can still hear in them. It’s enough to change his mind about leaving, at least for now. But he can’t help asking, “Why not?”

“Because you don’t deserve it,” Ryan promptly answers, and this time, when he walks closer, Dallon lets him. “Even though you didn’t come back.”

“You really wanted me to?” Dallon asks quietly, watching as the other vampire halts barely a step away. The temptation to reach out and touch him, run his hand through his hair and pull him closer is so strong Dallon has to make a genuine effort not to.

“I did,” Ryan confesses, his shrug not really that convincing at feigning nonchalance. “We were kind of in the middle of something.”

“We were,” Dallon concedes, and the fact that Ryan is bringing it up gives him some hope that the other vampire does not, in fact, regret what happened. Dallon can’t deny he’s been afraid of that since he sobered up. “Does that mean we should talk about it?”

“We probably should,” Ryan agrees quietly, but there’s a small, relieved smile forming on his lips; it seems Dallon isn’t the only one who was worried about regrets.

A moment later Ryan reaches over to hook his finger in Dallon’s shirt, right above the lowest button, and pulls him closer so that there’s no more distance left between them. Dallon goes willingly, his own expression relaxing into a smile, now.

“We’re both sober now, aren’t we?” Ryan considers, head tilted slightly up. Their height difference isn’t extreme, it’s a few inches, but this close it’s enough to have him look up at Dallon. “Last night you said to ask you when we’re sober.”

“I did.” Dallon’s hands finally move, then, and settle on Ryan’s naked sides. Yep, he’s still very aware that Ryan’s only wearing his jeans. “Why, what would you like to ask me?” he teases with an unashamed grin.

“Really? Who’s being a dick now?” Ryan quips with a playful glare, his other hand moving up to trail in Dallon’s hair.

“Just because I want to hear you say it?” Dallon tilts his head down a little, just enough so that his lips brush Ryan’s as he adds, “What is it that you want, Ryan?” 

In retaliation, Ryan tugs playfully on Dallon’s hair, but doesn’t withdraw; his stubborn silence doesn’t last long either, and when he speaks, it’s with a somewhat exasperated smile. “I want you to get in the shower with me, Weekes,” he confesses as the fingers of his free hand slowly start working the buttons of Dallon’s shirt open, one by one. “And I want you to fuck me stupid.”

Dallon curses under his breath at those words, and sure, he’s the one who wanted to hear it, but fuck, he didn’t expect Ryan to sound so hot while saying it. “How odd,” Dallon teases a moment later, voice dropping an octave. “That’s exactly what I was thinking too.”

Ryan’s mouth distends in a knowing smile at those words, and leans closer until his lips close on Dallon’s. The kiss starts off a lot more confidently than it did last time, and Dallon realizes that maybe he wasn’t the only one left wondering and fantasizing after their making out session was cut short. Still, he doesn’t regret waiting, because it feels so much better to know that the eager way Ryan is kissing him is all him, and no drug.

Slowly but surely, Ryan starts walking backwards in the direction of the bathroom, and Dallon follows suit, never breaking the contact of their lips, even as his own hands join Ryan’s in getting rid of his shirt – when the hell did it get so many fucking buttons? By the time they reach the bathroom, Dallon has kicked off his shoes, his shirt is long gone, and both of their trousers are undone.

“If the alarm goes off, I will personally murder whoever is at the fucking gate,” Ryan warns in a breathless whisper, then bites Dallon’s bottom lip to drive his point home even more.

“If the alarm goes off, they’re on their fucking own,” Dallon agrees with a soft laugh, just as he’s finally pushing off the last of his clothes.

Ryan does the same, then reaches over to turn on the shower once more, and Dallon takes a moment to be grateful for his timing in catching the other vampire just as he was about to step into the shower. Maybe the universe has decided to start aligning things for him, at last. Sure, there are two mugs of perfectly good, warm blood forgotten on the desk, but who gives a damn when he’s got Ryan naked and pulling him into the shower with a coquettish smile that promises things Dallon hasn’t dared imagine, yet.

It should feel dangerous, rash, maybe even irresponsible, but it doesn’t. All he can think about as he pushes Ryan against the wall of the shower and pins him there with his own body, is how well they fit together, how natural this all feels.

The one dissonant note in all of it is a nagging little thought at the back of his mind, reminding him this isn’t the first time he’s felt this way, lately. Except it wasn’t with Ryan.

Dallon stubbornly ignores it, and instead drowns the thought in another heated kiss, while his hands move down to fit perfectly against Ryan’s hips. When Ryan’s fingers close on his hardening length a moment later, the thought all but melts away, forgotten.

At least for now.

~

Chapter Text

Chapter 15 – Keep your magic, save your savage little games, I’ll admit we’re both to blame

~

It’s been two weeks since Billie Joe’s visit, and so far it’s been a waiting game on all fronts. No other Regent has dared come up to their gate demanding Ross’s head on a silver platter, but Patrick knows it might still happen – hopefully, however, Billie Joe has been spreading word of what he discovered about him and Walker during his stay. Pete continues to sleep in the cell, although Shadow Pete has made no further attempt to escape on the few occasions he’s surfaced, and Patrick has been dividing his time between his mate and the pack.

And it’s after a meeting with the pack that Patrick decides to drop by the kitchen and have a cup of tea. It’s just after dusk, the late autumn air already growing cold and unwelcoming – luckily, the tents and RVs still retain the enchantments made by Ray and the triad last year, which means another warm winter for the pack. It will take a while still before they can leave the property and establish themselves in actual houses; the atmosphere among vampires is still too unstable, with some clans rebelling against the new law and Regents working to silence the dissidents – some with more enthusiasm than others. It's nothing unexpected, of course, but it adds a layer of trouble to their already complicated situation.

Truth is, before this whole mess started Patrick was working on acquiring the neighboring property, which used to be a boarding school – it’s a massive complex, and it would be perfect for the pack to move in and renovate, except that with everything that’s been happening, its acquisition has been moved to the back burner for now.

Patrick knows that Travie, Gabe and William have been keeping an eye on Pete’s district throughout this whole mess, but luckily, those who were particularly rowdy were dealt with right after the Council, by Pete himself. The presence of Dallon – the proponent of the law itself – is sure to have had a stifling influence on those few who still felt brave enough to raise their heads against it. Challenging a born vampire Regent is already insane, challenging him while another powerful Regent is present is downright suicide. Yet another way Dallon has helped them, albeit indirectly.

And really, in the time he’s been with them, more than a month now – hell, has it really been that long? –, Dallon has gone above and beyond for a friendship that was basically nonexistent when he first stepped into the house. Things were friendly between them, sure, and there was a very good chance of a solid alliance, but Patrick remembers his own fears of that first night, when he suspected Dallon of being after the bullet and its content. How ironic, considering that when he did find out about it, he downright refused to have anything to do with osmium.

Dallon, however, has his own district to run, and his own problems to deal with, and it’s inevitable he will have to return home at some point, even if he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to, for now. It probably has less to do with Pete’s current problem, now – after all, they have answers now, and a theoretical solution, if Maja can pull it off –, and more to do with his relationship with Ryan Ross. It isn’t lost on Patrick how much time the two of them have been spending together, nor the fact that Dallon has Ryan’s scent on him more often than not. Patrick hasn’t pried, but it’s not like they’re being secretive or subtle about it. And then there’s Awsten, but considering how close he’s grown to Dallon, it’s reasonable to think that once the Regent leaves, Awsten will go with him. And really, if Maja has something against it, she can suck it.

Patrick is so lost in those thoughts that when he walks into the kitchen, he nearly walks straight into Frank, who’s standing two steps inside the threshold.

“Hey,” Patrick greets with a smile, walking around his friend. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just--” Frank answers with a small frown, scratching his forehead absentmindedly. “I was looking for Mikey, but I can’t find him anywhere.”

“Oh, he left as soon as the sun went down,” Patrick informs, shrugging. “He said something about some supplies he needs for Awsten, and wanting to get some fresh air. Kinda sounded like an excuse though,” he adds a moment later. “Is everything okay?”

Frank takes a deep breath and walks over to the table to take a seat. “I think he’s avoiding me,” he admits with a sigh. “I kinda cornered him about Dallon.”

“About Dallon?” Patrick feigns nonchalance as he starts making tea – it’s been kind of the elephant in the room for a while, the way Mikey and Dallon seemed to be extremely cozy when Mikey first arrived, then went through a passive aggressive bickering phase, and now they straight up avoid each other unless Awsten is involved.

“C’mon, we’ve all seen it,” Frank huffs with an eloquent look, and Patrick drops the act. “Mikey’s never been like this, but he insists he’s fine.”

“He’s not fine,” Patrick deadpans. “He hasn’t made a single joke about my ass in weeks, and while I bless his vampire soul for it, it’s weird.”

“It’s hard to tell with him, because he’s just like Gee, he plays everything close to the vest, but I think he’s in love with Dallon,” Frank admits with a whisper, as if he’s afraid to contemplate the possibility. “Which is shit luck, since Dallon is all over Ross.”

Patrick hesitates, and before he can speak the kettle whistles and he pulls it off the fire. He pours himself a mug of tea, then lifts a second mug in silent question, to which Frank responds with a nod. “Back when Dallon told me about his stupid ass pact with Pete, we were talking, and he seemed very touchy about Mikey,” Patrick recounts as he joins Frank at the table with the two mugs.

“Touchy how?”

“Well, defensive,” Patrick explains with a small shrug. “But they seem to get along just fine whenever Awsten’s around. It’s like they’re--” he hesitates to say it, because it sounds ridiculous.

Frank, however, says it for him. “It’s like they’re divorced parents playing nice for their kid.”

Patrick tries to stifle the smile that curves his lips, but it’s impossible, because if that isn’t the most absurd and adorable thing he’s ever heard, he doesn’t know what is.

“So let me get this straight,” Patrick starts with an exasperated chuckle. “Pete is body-sharing with an asshole past version of himself. Ross refuses to break the connection that’s causing this problem because of his own vampire-version of daddy issues. Regents are lining up to snatch either Ross or ‘Awsten the traumatized human crystal ball’ at the first chance they get… and those three thought that what we were missing was a fucking love triangle?”

“Dude, you couldn’t make this shit up,” Frank mutters as he rubs his eyes, his amusement clearly mixed with exasperation.

“You really couldn’t,” a voice comments from the doorstep, and they both turn to look at Awsten, who’s watching them both with arched eyebrows. “Can the traumatized human crystal ball get some tea too?”

“I’m sorry, Awsten, that was--” Patrick starts, clearly mortified that the kid heard his words.

“Not the worst I’ve been called,” Awsten stops him with a shrug. “But can we please stop leaning so heavily on the trauma part?”

“You’re not a human crystal ball either, I was just being an asshole,” Patrick insists, but still gets up to retrieve a third mug.

“I know, relax,” Awsten responds, then slowly takes a seat at the table, which surprises both werewolves. They expected him to get his tea and go, especially considering Patrick’s blunder; but it would seem the kid truly doesn’t mind it. “At least the crystal ball part is original,” he adds with a small grin.

Patrick smiles at those words, and on his way back to the table retrieves some cookies as well – triple chocolate chip, which he knows to be Awsten’s favorites. “Peace offering,” he half-jokes as he sits down and hands the boy both the tea and cookies, which are received with a grateful nod.

“I think you’re right about Dallon and Mikey,” Awsten blurts out a moment later, looking down at his mug. “They think I can’t tell, because they’re idiots and sometimes they forget I’m not an actual child, and that I can see their fucking auras… but yeah, they’re clearly hurting each other.”

“I don’t think we should meddle, though,” Frank reasons with a sigh. “It’s only gonna make things worse.”

“You should let Ryan out of that room,” Awsten comments in a seemingly disconnected segue. “Maybe if Mikey and Ryan got a chance to know each other, there wouldn’t be so much tension all the fucking time.”

“Honestly, I think the tension would get worse,” Patrick muses, a lot less optimistic about the outcome.

“Well, in that case, it might push them to talk it out once and for all,” Frank argues with a shrug. So much for not meddling, uh?

Patrick thinks it over for several seconds – it’s not the first time he’s considered the idea of expanding the boundaries of Ross’s captivity. He’s talked about it with Pete too, and his mate is cautiously favorable, although they both doubt Ross would appreciate coming face to face with his sire, considering he’s still refusing to talk to Shadow Pete.

“Everything else aside, Awsten’s got a point, Ross has been locked up for over a month,” Patrick admits quietly, his mind travelling back to his own arrival at the house, to how claustrophobic he felt. “If we hope to build some kind of relationship with him, and convince him to sever his connection to Pete, maybe we should give a show of trust.”

“Maybe not too much trust at first,” Frank suggests, clearly concerned. “Revenge could still be too tempting.”

“Supervised time outside his room,” Patrick proposes, thinking it over. After all, that’s what Patrick got at first, too. Then, something else jumps to the forefront of his mind and he turns to Awsten. “Dallon told me you’ve met Ross… what do you make of him?”

Awsten is clearly surprised to be asked his opinion, which is probably something that doesn’t happen too often. “I like his colors,” the kid admits quietly, as if he’s afraid to speak his mind, to be shut down. When it doesn’t happen, he continues, “I don’t think he’s evil, but there’s a lot of pain dimming his light.”

“Pain we are responsible for,” Patrick whispers dejectedly, hands wrapping around his mug.

“If it helps, it does get better when Dallon’s around,” Awsten informs with a sad smile. “So I don’t think it’s an act, I think they really do care about each other.”

Patrick doesn’t say it, but that is precisely what he was worried about, the reason he asked for Awsten’s assessment – his abilities sure come in handy, no wonder so many people want to get their hands on him. And granted, it’s not an exact science, the kid could be wrong, but it’s undeniable that something needs to be done and Ross needs a little bit of space to breathe. If nothing else, at least in the name of common decency.

“I’ll talk to Pete, then, see if he agrees,” Patrick decides with a nod. “I’m sure Dallon won’t resent us at all for asking more of him,” he adds with an amused roll of his eyes.

“Nah, he won’t mind,” Awsten interjects with a shrug, his tone growing lighter.

“Let’s just hope we’re throwing water on the fire, not gasoline,” Patrick huffs, then takes a long sip from his tea.

“Well, you’ll have to keep me updated on that,” Frank interjects with an apologetic smile. “Is this a bad moment to tell you I need to head back?”

“By yourself?” Patrick can’t help the tinge of concern that colors his words.

“Well, since Mikey is staying, I’ll take a plane during daytime and I’ll be home before dark,” Frank explains, which effectively quietens Patrick’s fears.

“Is everything okay? Is Gerard in trouble?” Patrick inquires, and while he’s sad to see his friend go, his main concern is Frank’s safety.

“Everything’s fine, but my absence is starting to get noticed, especially by the werewolves that are coming forward,” Frank informs, then takes a long sip from his mug. “They think Gerard’s hiding me somewhere.”

“If you need someone from the pack to come along, I’m sure we can find some volunteers,” Patrick offers with a nod, knowing that it’s the least he can do after his friend came over from Jersey just to support him.

“It might actually be a good idea,” Frank agrees, smiling gratefully, and reaches over to take one of the cookies.

“Be careful!” Awsten nearly shouts, alarmed, and points at the cookie.

“What?” Frank’s alarmed confusion is probably mirrored on Patrick’s face, because that’s precisely how he feels. Is this another one of Awsten’s visions? The kid doesn’t seem to be in a trance, however.

“Isn’t chocolate toxic to werewolves?” Awsten asks, looking between them with wide eyes.

“Why would--” Patrick stops dead in his tracks when he realizes the reason behind the kid’s question. “Awsten, we’re not dogs.”

“I know,” Awsten admits, and his expression seamlessly morphs into a cheeky, smug grin as he adds, “And I’m not a traumatized human crystal ball.”

Frank bursts into laughter so genuine and so heartfelt that it’s impossible for Patrick to keep from smirking as he admits defeat, “Well played, kid.”

~

“Awsten came by earlier,” Ryan informs with a quiet smile as he watches Dallon retrieve his clothes from the floor. He’s lying in bed, still naked, head propped up on his hand, but his eyes stay on Dallon the whole time. “He brought me some cookies then remembered I can’t eat them, so he went back and got some blood instead.”

Dallon can’t help smiling in response as he puts on his trousers. “He’s a sweetheart like that, sometimes.”

“He really is,” Ryan agrees with a hint of warmth in his voice, which is more than he usually allows himself to show. And Dallon can only feel grateful he and Awsten seem to get along just fine. “When he got here, he could barely stand holding the mug.”

“Blood makes him uncomfortable,” Dallon responds, and while it’s technically not a lie, it’s also not the full truth.

“Yeah, because he can hear the dead screaming from it,” Ryan points out with an eloquent look, which freezes Dallon mid-motion as he’s putting on his shirt.

“So he told you, uh?” Dallon offers an apologetic little smile, even though he doubts Ryan is genuinely angry at him for hiding Awsten’s abilities – if that were the case, Ryan would have brought it up before they had sex, not after.

“Yeah, he did,” Ryan confirms, eyebrow cocked in a skeptical look. “Interesting detail you failed to mention, him being an oracle and all.”

“It wasn’t my secret to tell,” Dallon admits candidly, and sits on the edge of the bed, shirt still undone. “He’s been denied agency over his own life for long enough.”

The change in Ryan’s expression is subtle, but Dallon has learned to read him well – which makes sense, considering how much time they’ve been spending together. And sure, most of that time has been spent in bed, but the hours and hours spent talking rival those spent having sex.

There’s a twitch at the corner of Ryan’s lips, the precursor to a smile, and while it doesn’t fully bloom, the look in his eyes softens visibly. If there’s anyone who understands and appreciates the value of agency and free will, it’s Ryan.

“That is so fucking sweet of you I can’t even get mad now,” Ryan breathes, reaching over to toy with Dallon’s undone shirt. Slowly, Ryan tugs him closer, until their lips meet in a quiet, gentle kiss.

Suddenly, there’s a hesitant knock on the door, as if the person outside isn’t convinced they want to be heard. Dallon knows exactly who it is, even before the visitor speaks, but doesn’t say anything yet. Awsten’s abilities aren’t the only thing he kept from Ryan.

“Can I come in?” Patrick calls from the hallway.

Ryan’s stance changes immediately, his expression hardening and his shoulders tensing as he pulls back. One look at Dallon tells him all he needs to know, which is that this is hardly a surprise visit to him. “What is this, an ambush?” Ryan hisses, clearly annoyed.

“Play nice? For me?” Dallon whispers, resting his forehead against Ryan’s. “I promise it’s worth it.”

Ryan doesn’t answer immediately, and instead pulls back from that contact and stands from the bed. Without a word, he retrieves his own clothes and starts getting dressed, eyes avoiding Dallon completely.

“Give us a moment,” Dallon calls out, because he doesn’t want Patrick to give up and walk away.

“Alright, I’ll be out here when you’re ready,” Patrick agrees quietly, but doesn’t sound surprised by the fact that this isn’t going smoothly. And Dallon can’t really blame him, he isn’t shocked either.

“What’s going on?” Ryan asks as he slips on his sweater, then runs a hand through his hair as he turns to look at Dallon.

“You’ve been locked in here for like five weeks,” Dallon points out in a calm, patient voice, hoping it doesn’t simply piss off Ryan even more.

“I know exactly how long I’ve been here.” Ryan’s tone is ice cold, a jarring call back to their first interactions, which doesn’t sit very well with Dallon. It makes something in his chest twist painfully, especially with how quickly Ryan reverts to it despite their tender moment instants earlier. The speed with which Ryan’s walls go up would be impressive, if it weren’t so fucking frustrating.

“They’re just trying to be nice,” Dallon whispers, taking a step towards the other vampire, who thankfully doesn’t move back. “Let you come out and spend some time in the house, with me, with Awsten, with whoever you want.”

“They’re giving me yard time.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement dripping with bitterness.

“They’re trying to make amends,” Dallon counters softly, and this time, he knows exactly the reaction he’s going to get.

“Piss-poor amends,” Ryan huffs with a humorless chuckle.

Dallon takes that in stride, doesn’t let it discourage him and instead answers, “They have to start somewhere, don’t they?”

Ryan studies him for a moment, then, his lips in a tight line as his eyes search Dallon’s face carefully. “Are you behind this?”

As much as Dallon would like to take credit for this, he knows he can’t. He’s been too preoccupied with their developing relationship – and the ridiculous amount of sex they’ve been having – to stop and think of the fact that while he enjoys being shut away from everyone and everything in this room with Ryan, the other vampire is probably getting cabin fever from it.

“It was Awsten’s idea, apparently,” Dallon admits with a soft smile. That seems to catch Ryan completely off guard, and it clearly makes his resolve to question this falter. “Pete and Patrick were already discussing it, but it was Awsten who convinced them.”

Once more, Ryan doesn’t answer, and Dallon takes advantage of his hesitation to step closer. His hand moves up to cup the side of Ryan’s neck, his thumb rubbing along the other vampire’s jawline in gentle strokes. It’s a touch that never fails to soothe him, and Dallon smiles when Ryan leans into his hand just a little, just barely, but it speaks louder than his next words.

“What’s the catch?” Ryan whispers, and while he sounds almost resigned, Dallon can see something else in his eyes, something similar to acceptance.

“Can’t roam by yourself, there needs to be one of us with you,” Dallon informs with a small nod.

“That’s just logical,” Ryan objects with a glare. “I asked what’s the catch.”

“There’s no catch, Ryan,” Dallon assures him, a quiet smile on his lips. He knows this paranoia, he shares it, he understands it – so he can’t really fault Ryan for being skeptical.

“So I don’t have to see Wentz?” It’s clear this is Ryan’s main worry, the thing he has refused adamantly so far.

“You don’t,” Dallon confirms, then gestures at the door. “Ask Patrick, that’s why he’s here.”

Ryan is clearly not thrilled about the idea of talking to Patrick, but he seems to realize it could be worse, that it could be Pete out there, and that they could be using this partial freedom as a bargaining chip instead of giving it freely.

Slowly but resolutely, he steps back and turns to the door, then seems to remember he can’t open it. “Come in,” he calls out instead, voice monotone but no longer holding open hostility.

Patrick opens the door a few moments later, and while there’s a cautious look on his face, his step is confident. Dallon realizes his shirt is still undone, and quickly buttons it with an embarrassed cough. “I assume Dallon has filled you in?” Patrick asks quietly, his expression somber.

“Do you really want nothing in exchange for this?” Ryan asks bluntly, eyes slightly narrowed.

“Just that you don’t leave the property,” Patrick confirms, but they all know it’s pointless – leaving the property would mean leaving protection. “And be careful if you approach the pack, they don’t know you yet.”

“You mean--” Ryan looks genuinely baffled by that last part, and it takes him a second to recover his cold composure. “I can talk to them?”

“You can talk to whoever you want,” Patrick confirms with a resolute nod. “You voted in favor of Dallon’s law, so the pack owes you a debt of gratitude.”

“No, they don’t,” Ryan whispers, shaking his head as he looks away. “I’ve done horrible things to your kind.”

“I know,” Patrick responds just as quietly. It’s clear it’s difficult for him to say the next words, but when he does, they sound genuine. “But I know your hand was forced into it.”

Ryan looks at the werewolf again, then, once more surprised and maybe a little remorseful, and Dallon would like nothing more but to step closer and wrap his arms around the other vampire. He knows what Urie put him through, what that psycho demanded of him, the kind of cruel tasks he would assign just to torment him, because he knew Ryan wouldn’t refuse, no matter how horrified he was. All to try and keep Spencer safe.

At last, Ryan nods slowly, accepting both Patrick’s words and his offer for partial freedom. And then, he does something that catches Dallon completely off guard.

“Thank you, wolf.”

The whispered words sound odd in the silent room, and Dallon knows what a hard time Ryan usually has saying them, which makes this even more remarkable. Patrick might not know this, but he does look like he understands the significance of the moment, because he gives a small, meaningful nod.

“It’s the least we can do,” Patrick responds softly, then adds, “And hopefully just the beginning.”

“I’m not talking about my yard time,” Ryan counters, voice monotone and expression somber, and yet his eyes never leave Patrick’s.

There’s no need for him to say anything else, it’s clear at this point that he’s thanking Patrick for understanding his situation with Urie and the reasons behind his past actions against his kind, even though the werewolf clearly does not know the level of detail Dallon does. And it’s better this way.

“We’ve all done things that keep us up at night.” Patrick’s own words are spoken in a sad, remorseful tone, and Spencer’s unspoken name hangs in the air between them, heavy as a boulder. There’s a moment of meaningful silence, in which Ryan accepts those words with a stunted nod, then Patrick heads for the door. “I’ll leave you two to it, then, I’m sure Dallon will be more than happy to show you around.”

With that, the werewolf walks out of the room, leaving them behind in awkward silence. Dallon only lasts maybe half a minute before he moves closer to Ryan and whispers, “Are you okay?”

“I need a moment, Dallon,” Ryan counters, shaking his head, and steps towards the window.

Dallon takes a deep breath and bites back the words dancing on the tip of his tongue – he knows there is nothing he could possibly say that can make Ryan feel better right now, ease the grief and guilt that the conversation has brought to the surface. And yet, he can’t help hoping that despite the pain, it might be a step forward for both Ryan and Patrick.

“I’ll come back in a while,” Dallon offers quietly, then heads for the door without waiting for a response he knows he won’t get.

Sure, he and Ryan might have gotten very close in the past weeks, they’ve grown to care about each other a lot, but when Ryan shuts down like this, he knows the only thing that helps is space. And solitude. He’s been there, he understands the urge to shut out everything and everyone, and while it hasn’t been particularly effective for him, maybe it will be for Ryan.

With a cloud of gloom hanging over him, Dallon heads for his own room, but before he can reach it, he bumps into the last person he should talk to right now. He’s tempted to ignore Mikey entirely, after all they’re getting good at that, aren’t they? Except that the more it goes on, the harder it is to ignore the way it squeezes his chest in a painful vice.

“Hey,” Dallon whispers, and only then realized it’s possibly the lamest way he could have started the conversation.

Mikey seems surprised to be addressed at all, and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “What?”

Yeah, what? Well, there is something Dallon has been wondering about, something that has been nagging him since his conversation with Patrick earlier that night, when he informed Dallon of his proposition for Ryan, and of the fact that Frank is returning to New Jersey. Patrick failed to mention Mikey at all, which was either a strategic choice or simple chance, but either way, Dallon was left wondering.

“I heard Frank’s heading back,” Dallon starts off, trying to sound nonchalant, and possibly failing miserably. “Are you--”

“No, I’m not leaving,” Mikey cuts him off, voice flat and expression neutral. “I’m staying for Awsten, he still needs my help.”

“Oh,” Dallon just breathes, and something in his chest twists unpleasantly.

Mikey seems irritated by his reaction, and his expression falters into annoyance. “Don’t act like you give a shit if I stay or not.”  

“I do give a shit,” Dallon instantly protests, his own irritation growing to match Mikey’s. “You’re the one who started ghosting me, don’t act like this is all my fault,” he adds, gesturing between the two of them, because that’s the only way he could possibly give a definition for ‘this’.

“Are you serious?” Mikey huffs, anger and disbelief fighting for dominance in his eyes. “I tried to open up to you, and you shut me down, you pushed me away-- hell, you sneaked out of your own fucking bedroom to avoid me, you fucking coward.”

“Well, excuse me if I set boundaries, Mr. I don’t do steady,” Dallon counters with just as much anger in his own voice now. “I think your message was loud and clear.”

“Wait, is that why you--” Mikey’s words die on his tongue, and this time his fury is mixed with something beyond confusion, some more akin to distress. He seems to realize something, and his shoulders sag under the weight of it. “You’re a fucking moron, Dallon.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Dallon objects, clearly piqued by the insult and confused by Mikey’s reaction to his words.

And then Mikey steps forward and pushes him against the wall, hands balling into fists around the fabric of his shirt, to which Dallon’s reaction is… well, to let himself be pushed, because what the actual hell is happening?

“It means that I love you, you asshole, and I’ve been in love with you since we fucking met,” Mikey blurts out, his grip relenting a little. “That day, that was me trying to tell you, trying to show you, and see how you’d react. And guess what? You ran away.”

Oh.

So that peace Dallon felt when he drank from Mikey, that warmth, that sense of complete safety… that’s what it was. Love.

God, he is a fucking idiot.

And yet, he can’t help hanging on to that sentence, that shield Mikey always puts up. “You said you don’t--" Dallon doesn’t get very far into repeating it, however.

“I was scared, you fucking idiot,” Mikey cuts in, clearly exasperated that Dallon can’t figure that out. “You’re the reason I don’t do steady, I couldn’t be with anyone, because the only one who mattered was you, but you… fuck, you built a fucking fortress around yourself.”

“You know why I did that,” Dallon breathes with barely enough voice to be heard, because he’s too overwhelmed, too shocked by everything that’s unfolding.

“I know, I get it, and I waited,” Mikey confesses in an equally quiet tone, but it can’t hide the pain in his voice. “But now that he’s gone, I was hoping there was a chance you might--” Mikey doesn’t finish that thought, but it doesn’t take much to figure out what he means. “I hoped there was a chance. For us.”

Dallon doesn’t miss the way Mikey says that last part in the past tense, as if he’s ready to give up that hope. That thought alone is enough for Dallon’s heart to sink in his chest, and he realizes he doesn’t want that, he doesn’t want Mikey to give up on him. On them.

Words get stuck in his throat, because how the fuck is he supposed to say that after the way he clearly broke Mikey’s heart? And hey, look at that, Awsten was right after all.

It’s Mikey who speaks again, however, voice still quiet, as if he’s afraid of saying his next words. “So either you’re too much of a coward to admit you feel the same, or I’m a hopeless idiot for thinking you could ever love me back. Which one is it?”

Dallon knows exactly which of the two options it is. He might have tried his very best to ignore it and push it away because he didn’t think Mikey actually had feelings for him, because he talked himself into his usual paranoia, into shutting Mikey out because that was the safe option. But oh, he knows.

And so he answers in the only way that is possible right now, the only way his mind and his body will let him answer. He pulls Mikey into a kiss, and feels the other vampire press against him instead of pushing him away like he expected. His hands grip Mikey’s hips tightly, as if he’s afraid the other vampire might actually dissolve like a daydream, as if he fears he might open his eyes and find him gone. The kiss only lasts a few moments, just enough for Dallon’s denial to crumble like the house of cards it always was and for his feelings to tear into his chest like a flood. Then he’s pulling back, his hands staying on Mikey for a moment longer, still afraid to let go.

“It’s not that easy, is it?” Mikey murmurs without opening his eyes.

They both know what he’s referring to, there is no need to say Ryan’s name, because it might as well be a giant neon sign hanging on the wall right now.

“I’m sorry.” Dallon’s voice is barely more than a whisper, but he’s sure the other vampire heard it, because he feels Mikey tense beneath his hands, and their eyes meet again.

Dallon braces for another fight, but his apology prompts an unexpected reaction from Mikey. His hands retreat from Dallon’s shirt, leaving it wrinkled, and instead rise to cup Dallon’s face gently, almost tenderly. “Make up your mind, Dally,” Mikey whispers with a sad smile, and the silly nickname feels like a knife twisting in Dallon’s heart. “I’ve waited this long, I can give you time, but I won’t wait forever.”

Dallon can’t possibly bring himself to speak, not with the knot that has lodged itself in his throat, so he simply nods, silent. Mikey presses one last kiss to his lips, then, and steps back slowly. Moments later, he’s gone and Dallon feels his heart tear itself in two, one half desperate to go after him, and the other half pulling him in the opposite direction. Sure, his feelings for Ryan are young, but there’s no denying there are feelings involved, a connection that runs deep into their shared pain and into their shared hopes. 

For someone whose heart is supposed to be too damaged to feel love, he sure did a great job falling in love with two people. Which does not complicate things at all.

Fuck.

~

Chapter Text

Chapter 16 – So we can take the world back from the heart-attacked, one maniac at a time we will take it back

~

“I assume Ryan hasn’t changed his mind, yet?”

Patrick nearly jumps out of his skin at the question, and looks up from his book. Pete fell asleep a couple of hours earlier, and while they now regularly share the bed in the cell, Patrick decided to stay up a little bit longer instead. It appears it was the right choice, since Shadow Pete has seemingly decided to grace him with his presence.

“Geez, quit jump-scaring me when you get here,” Patrick hisses as he places his book down. 

“Jump-scaring?” Shadow Pete asks, clearly unfamiliar with the term – as he would be.

It’s not that obvious, however, because Patrick has noticed on more than one occasion how Shadow Pete uses words and expressions that shouldn’t come naturally to him, not to mention his accent being surprisingly modern. He suspects it’s a matter of him and Pete sharing the same brain and said brain being modern-day Pete’s. Considering that Patrick is many things but a neurolinguist isn’t one, he’s long decided to accept it as it is, and not really question the mechanics of two consciousness sharing one brain.

“Never mind,” Patrick huffs with a dismissive wave. “And no, Ryan hasn’t changed his mind.”

It’s been a week since Ryan has started roaming the house, and aside from a very awkward encounter in the kitchen between him, Patrick and William, things seem to be going smoothly enough. Most of his time outside his room is spent wherever Dallon and Awsten are, and while Dallon is usually in charge of supervising him, William is the only other person Ryan has accepted as chaperone for his movements. And of course, that’s enough for William to have flipped his attitude completely – now that Ryan doesn’t ignore him anymore, he feels much more well-disposed towards their prisoner.

The one thing that has surprised Patrick the most, however, is that the tension between Mikey and Dallon seems to have mysterious abated, and even when the two of them are hanging with Awsten, and Ryan joins them, it doesn’t seem to disrupt the precarious peace. Maybe Awsten was right, maybe Mikey and Ryan spending some time together and getting to know each other will be a good thing, after all.

“D’you think there’s any hope he will?” Pete asks quietly, bringing Patrick’s thoughts back to the here and now.

“I don’t know, he might.” Patrick isn’t too hopeful, but then again, they do have an ace up their sleeve with Jon Walker’s arrival. Which shouldn’t be too far off in the future – last they heard from Billie Joe, the vampire was still too weak to travel, but back on his feet. The Regent must have done a real number on that poor son of a bitch.

“So what’s the plan, wolf?” Pete sits up on the bed as he asks, and stretches his back – it’s the exact same movement Pete does when he wakes up, and it almost pulls a smile from Patrick. “We spend the rest of eternity in this cell until one of us actually goes insane?”

“That’s the gameplan until I find a better one,” Patrick confirms with a shrug, and while lying to Pete always feels wrong, he doesn’t think it’s a good idea to tell Shadow Pete they plan on erasing him from existence.

It would seem, however, that there might be no need. “I guess that if you’re right and I’m just a cluster of memories, I’ll fade at some point.”

Patrick doesn’t answer immediately, mostly because he isn’t sure what to say. How would he feel if he woke up tomorrow and discovered he wasn’t a real person, but the mere projection of one, an echo destined to disappear?

“What is he like?” Pete asks out of the blue, a frown on his face. “This new me, I mean.”

“My Pete?” Patrick smiles at the question, which is both unexpected and welcome. It’s a clear sign Shadow Pete is starting to open up, his hostility and his distrust slowly but inexorably fading in favor of what Patrick hopes is acceptance.

“Your Pete,” the vampire repeats, the faint hint of a smile on his lips too.

“He’s selfless, and brave, and funny as hell when he wants to be, and a bit of an asshole at times,” Patrick begins, leaning back in his armchair. “He’s honorable and loyal, and he has a heart of gold.” There’s a brief pause before he continues, “He stood up for my people when no one else did, and he risked everything he had when we became mates, but he never faltered, never doubted it.”

“Sounds like a great guy,” Shadow Pete whispers with a wistful chuckle, as if he can’t really believe that is the future that awaits him.

“It’s you, under all those layers of memories and guilt and pain,” Patrick corrects him with a quiet smile.

“The asshole part especially,” Shadow Pete jokes with a small grin. “What did he do to earn the title?”

“Well, when he first started having this echoes – you coming out to play – we didn’t really know what it was, and Maja said it might be his mind slowly collapsing,” Patrick recounts, and while it’s not a topic he particularly likes revisiting, he doesn’t want to be the reason this surprise round of conversation ends. “So he made a death pact with my friend Dallon,” he pauses, mostly for effect. “Without telling me.”

“Yep, that’s an asshole alright,” Shadow Pete declares, but he’s clearly skeptical about the next part, “Dallon, that’s the guy who staked me, right? And how was he supposed to kill me?”

“Osmium,” Patrick just says, and when he sees no recognition in Pete’s eyes, he adds, “It’s a metal we found to be toxic and lethal even to born vampires.”

“You mean Thanatium? Small crystal-like rock that looks like a piece of moon stone?” Pete inquires, and when Patrick nods, he blinks a few times; this time he seems both surprised and impressed. “That’s an extremely well-guarded secret, how the hell did you find out?”

“We found it in a witch’s grimoire from the 1200s,” Patrick offers with a small shrug.

“As one does,” Pete huffs, amused by Patrick’s nonchalant answer.

“Pete shot Urie with it, and then Dallon tore off his head,” Patrick informs, hoping the mention of Urie won’t cut the conversation short. “You know, just to be sure.”

Pete, however, seems more fascinated than irritated, this time. “Shot him? You fashioned it into bullets?”

“One bullet,” Patrick recalls, his voice growing somewhat quieter as he adds, “They were struggling, and Pete shot him through his own shoulder so that Urie couldn’t dodge it.”

Shadow Pete’s fingers immediately rise to his left shoulder and feel the skin there; they stop, and Patrick figures he found the small, circular scar beneath his collarbone. There is a matching exit wound scar on his back, right under Patrick’s clawmarks. “And he survived?”

“Barely,” Patrick whispers, a familiar pain lashing at his heart at the memory.

The vampire seems to sense it through their bond, and looks at him intently, clearly surprised by the strength of that feeling. And then he smiles. It’s nothing like Pete’s broad, sunshine smile, it’s muted and tentative, but it holds a trace of empathy Shadow Pete has never shown before.

“How did we meet?” the vampire asks quietly.

Patrick is caught off guard by that question, by the shift in the conversation, but he jumps on it without hesitation, glad to get away from the painful memory of the Council. “He bought me,” Patrick informs, curious to see the vampire’s reaction.

“Excuse me?”

Patrick can’t help a small laugh at the shocked tone of Pete’s question. “My kind has been hunted for decades, and I was captured by a piece of shit of who planning to auction me off,” Patrick recounts, smiling. “Pete bought me and took me here, and endured a lot of foul language while he tried to convince me I was actually safe.”

“Well, that is certainly one way to find a mate,” Shadow Pete comments with a shake of his head.

Patrick chuckles in reaction to those words, but he can hardly argue with his sarcastic tone – it is an unusual way to meet, after all. There seems to be a lull in the conversation, then, and Patrick decides to take advantage of this incredibly rare talkative moment Shadow Pete is having.

“Can I ask you something?” Pete doesn’t say anything, but gestures him to go ahead. “Who is your other kindred? We might be able to find out where they are, and if they’re okay.”

Pete’s expression grows harder at those words, his defenses slowly building back up, and Patrick regrets his question instantly.

“Leave them alone,” Pete just says, surprisingly civil compared to his reactions in the past.

Patrick simply nods, afraid that anything he might say could cause Pete to shut down even more.

Surprisingly, it’s the vampire who speaks again, his tone somewhat less harsh, but not as friendly as it was during their conversation. “Can you get me writing supplies?” he asks, catching Patrick off guard. At the werewolf’s interrogative look, he adds, “I think it’s time I have a conversation with this new version of me.”

Right. That’s actually really smart, why haven’t they come up with it sooner? Present Pete and Shadow Pete might not be able to talk to each other directly, but they can communicate through writing – albeit rather slowly, since Shadow Pete only surfaces from time to time. And then the idea morphs into something else, something that might actually work better.

“Look into your right front pocket,” Patrick instructs with a little smile.

Shadow Pete hesitates, but then does as told, perplexed when he fishes out what to him must be an odd piece of black glass. “What’s this?”

“That’s a smartphone, it’s a communication device, and it can record videos,” Patrick informs, and when he’s met with a blank look of confusion, he stands from the armchair and walks over to the bed. “Let me show you.”

~

Dallon walks into the living room with the bag he just collected from the delivery driver at the gate. Awsten has gotten comfortable enough roaming the house and the grounds, including some brief interactions with the pack, but Dallon isn’t quite at ease with the idea of letting him anywhere near the gate. If Ryan is right about Joseph and Dun, he doubts they’ve given up, and they might try to lure the kid outside to take him.

So instead, he hopped down to the gate himself and collected Awsten’s delivered dinner.

“Here you go, kid,” Dallon says as he places the bag on the coffee table in front of him and takes a seat next to the human.

“Thanks,” Awsten answers distractedly, his attention focused elsewhere. As if often happens lately, Awsten isn’t watching TV but instead sitting cross-legged on the sofa with the laptop Dallon got him on his lap. Today, he seems to be looking at…

“Is that you?” Dallon leans a little to the side to get a better view of the screen, and yep, that appears to be a picture of a much younger version of Awsten, he couldn’t have been older than twenty, maybe twenty-two. It’s odd to see him with regular brown hair, almost as if it’s not the entirely same person in that picture, in a way.

“I found my old social media accounts,” Awsten confirms with a little smile, and turns the laptop to make it easier for Dallon to see. “God, that haircut was atrocious.”

“I think you looked cute,” Dallon counters with a shrug.

“I mean, I’ve always been and always will be cute,” Awsten objects with a grin. “But that doesn’t mean that haircut should have ever existed. Fuck, it’s a miracle I ever got laid.”

Dallon can’t help laughing in reaction to those statements, genuinely amused, and reaches over to playfully ruffle Awsten’s hair, which has by now faded from aquamarine to mint. “Oh, I’m sure you’re going to get laid a lot more with this new hairstyle,” he teases with a shameless grin.

“Hey, I would, if you weren’t hogging all the hot single guys in here,” Awsten jokingly protests, and it’s clear he feels so very proud of his jab. That’s what Dallon gets for telling him about his situation with Ryan and Mikey, but he looks so proud of his joke Dallon can’t really bring himself to be annoyed. “Also, there is a disappointing lack of girls in this clan.”

“Well, there’s--"

“No, the witch does not count,” Awsten immediately stops him, and the shudder that follows his words is more real than Awsten would probably be willing to admit. Sure, he’s not giving into blind panic every time he bumps into Maja anymore, but he’s far from being comfortable or feeling safe around her. “I guess Pete’s other kindred might count, but she’s not here.”

“Wait, you know who that is?” Dallon can’t hide his shock as he asks this, which only abates when Awsten shakes his head in a negative motion, seemingly also confused.

“Do you really think I wouldn’t have told you, if I knew?” the kid points out, rolling his eyes. “I just know it’s a woman. And when I say that I know, I mean that I literally just found out when I said it.”

“How?”

“Fuck knows,” Awsten huffs, clearly frustrated, and places the laptop on the coffee table, then reaches for his dinner. “These powers are fucking confusing, sometimes,” he admits, and it’s clear his good humor from earlier is a little soured now. “I get glimpses of stuff and people and information, and I don’t know what to do with it, half the time it doesn’t even make sense.”

“Well, this time it does, and Patrick might find this information useful,” Dallon comments, hoping to soothe his frustration a little.

Awsten seems to understand that’s the purpose of his words, and his expression softens a little, his smile relaxing as he gets the takeaway box of food from the bag. “Thanks,” he mutters somewhat sheepishly. “Also for the food.”

Dallon responds with a smile and a wink, then gestures at the box. “What is it this time?”

“Kung pao chicken,” Awsten informs, and fishes the chopsticks out of the bag as well. The look on his face when he opens the container and the smell of the food hits him is honestly adorable – he looks like a child on Christmas morning. “I’m rediscovering all my favorite foods.”

Dallon feels his heart grow a little bigger at the sight of how happy Awsten is for something this simple, and oh, he swears he will murder anyone who tries to take Awsten’s freedom away again. They’ll have to go through him and his entire clan. And Mikey.

And possibly Ryan? Dallon has watched them get to know each other more now that Ryan is free to get out of his room, and Awsten has clearly taken a strong liking to him. Ryan’s more guarded – as always – but Dallon has caught him joking and goofing around with the kid on a couple of occasions, which is a good sign.

The thought of his clan, however, brings back to mind that he has to answer an email from his second-in-command, and he gestures at the laptop while Awsten starts eating. “Can I? I need to send an email.”

“Sure, go ahead,” Awsten mumbles around a mouthful of food.

“I hate typing on my phone,” Dallon comments as he takes the laptop, and logs onto his email account.

He finds that there have been three further emails since he last checked. None of them bring bad news, but it’s clear that his clan is starting to wonder when he’s going to head back, and if everything is okay. He can’t exactly tell them what is going on, if anyone intercepted his email and word got out, Pete and Patrick would be in a fuckload of trouble.

“Who’s Otto?” Awsten’s question interrupts his thoughts, and only then does Dallon notice the boy has been reading along with him.

“My second-in-command,” Dallon answers, then tilts the lid of the laptop down a little. “And this is a private conversation.”

“Why? You’re telling him absolutely nothing but vague bullshit,” Awsten objects with a shrug. “Also, friend is a quicker word.”

“I can’t risk anyone intercepting these emails and finding out what’s going on, and I can’t even be sure it’s actually him writing,” Dallon explains, and ignores the last part of Awsten’s comment. Sure, Otto has been a loyal second-in-command for decades now, but considering Dallon’s habit of keeping everyone at arm’s length and his unemotional style of leadership, he doubts Otto would consider them friends. “And I don’t trust phone lines, even secure ones are too easy to hack into.”

“I get it, I’d be paranoid too, if I’d gone through what you did with Urie, but you can’t cut all meaningful communication with your clan and expect them not to worry,” Awsten reasons with a small frown, then takes another bite from his food.

“They’ll have to hang in there, and trust that I’m doing alright,” Dallon decides with a small shrug. “I won’t put Pete and Patrick’s clan in danger, this mess is too big to risk it.”

“Well, I guess you’ll have to wait for this Otto guy to get here, then,” Awsten simply states with a shrug.

“Is this another one of your intuitions?” Dallon arches both eyebrow, surprised by how confident that statement was.

“No, it’s just logic,” Awsten reasons, rolling his eyes. “You’re his Archon, you’re vague-posting in your emails, and he also can’t be sure it’s you writing. Sure, he might call, but since he probably knows how paranoid you are about that, he’s just going to come here to see for himself.” There’s a brief pause, then he adds, “I mean, that’s what I would do.”

“And if I tell him not to, he’s going to be even more suspicious,” Dallon muses, and he has to admit Awsten has a point. That is the logical thing, and also what Otto is likely to do.

The kid simply nods, then takes the final bite of his dinner, the container empty by now. “You never talk about your clan,” he comments after a moment as he places the take out box on the coffee table. “What are they like?”

“Loyal, brave, worn out from decades of putting up with Urie’s shit,” Dallon recounts with a little smile. “You’ll meet them, if you decide to come with me when I go home.”

“Wait, are you serious? Can I really come with you?” Awsten’s whole demeanor lights up as he asks that, as if until that moment he didn’t believe it was even an option.

“Of course, kid, did you think I was gonna leave you behind?” Dallon can’t help sounding a little shocked, but then again, maybe he shouldn’t. Everyone in Awsten’s life has abandoned him so far, it’s only natural he would assume Dallon was going to do the same. It breaks Dallon’s heart on such a deep level he can’t really say anything else.

Awsten, however, smiles so brightly that the entire room seems to light up, and a moment later Dallon finds himself held in the tightest, warmest hug of his life. “You’re my favorite old man,” Awsten mutters against his chest. “Don’t tell Mikey.”

“I absolutely will, first chance I get.” Dallon laughs softly at those words, his own arms wrapping around Awsten as he presses a kiss to the top of his head. His words earn him a slap to the back of the head, but he can tell Awsten is silently laughing too.

“And don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful to Patrick and the others for allowing me to stay here,” Awsten admits when he pulls back, and resumes his cross-legged position on the sofa. “But I wanna stick with you.”

Dallon is about to answer that, but someone does it for him. “Such cruel betrayal,” Mikey jokes from the doorstep, his tone and the laugh following his words clearly signaling he doesn’t mean it.

“I’m his favorite old man,” Dallon immediately reports with a grin, which earns him another small slap from Awsten, this time on his arm.

“Of course you are,” Mikey concurs with a shrug as he walks over to take a seat on one of the armchairs facing them. “I was never competing, of course, because I’m not old.”

“How old are you?” Awsten immediately jumps on the chance to ask that, of course.

“A hundred years younger than him,” Mikey chirps, offering a proud smile as if his words somehow prove his point.

“So like three hundred and something?” Awsten guesses, and Mikey simply nods his head. “Wait, if you’re both so old, you weren’t born in this country.”

“We were born in the old world,” Dallon confirms with a nod, then adds, “Of the vampires in the house, I think only Travie was actually born here.”

“That’s so cool, though,” Awsten admit, his tone and his smile showing how fascinated he is by this whole thing. Three hundred years must feel like a ludicrous amount of time to be alive to a human.  

Right then, steps come from the hallway to their right, and soon enough Ryan walks through the door. William pops his head in a moment later. “Delivery complete, I’m off to get supplies with Gabe,” William informs before taking off, clearly in a good mood.

Ryan rolls his eyes at the words ‘delivery complete’, but his attention soon enough shifts to the group sitting in the living room. He seems to realize he disrupted their conversation by walking in, and Dallon sees the uncertainty flash in his eyes for a split second. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Surprisingly, before Dallon can answer, it’s Mikey who says, “You’re not interrupting.”

“The vamps here were having an age contest,” Awsten informs with a grin, and gestures at Ryan to join them. “Let’s see if you can beat them.”

“I think I might win on that front,” Ryan jokes as he walks closer, and takes a sit on the other armchair facing them. “Or lose, depending on what you’re going for.”

Dallon watches him intently, and sees that the reaction he got helped him relax a fraction; it’s been a week since he was allowed out of the room, and this isn’t the first time he’s joined them, but it’s clear that he has a hard time believing he’s actually welcome to. And really, Dallon can’t blame him completely. He still can’t believe how natural it feels to hang out all together, despite the obvious tension that should have been there. But it’s not there, and Dallon knows it’s mostly because Mikey has shown himself true to his word, he’s stepped back, willing to give him time to figure himself out.

And secretly, Dallon’s pretty sure Mikey is actually starting to like Ryan and his dry sense of humor, which possibly makes everything even harder on him. And yet, there he is, laughing and joking with Awsten. If it’s a mask, it’s a damn good one, and one Dallon hopes with all his heart doesn’t hurt to wear.

And Ryan… well, they haven’t really discussed it openly, but Dallon has a feeling Ryan might suspect there is – or there was – something between him and Mikey. He can’t be certain, of course, because he’s been too much of a coward to bring it up so far, and he knows that needs to change. He just needs to find the right moment.

Dallon realizes the conversation has gone on, but he was too lost in his thoughts to follow it. The next thing he hears is Awsten saying, “Okay, you win, five hundred and-- wow.” Such an impressed reaction pulls a quiet smile from Ryan, who simply shrugs in response. “You guys would have come in real handy during my history tests.”

“I’m going to say this in the most delicate way possible, sweetie,” Ryan starts with a grimace, but he’s not the one of finishes that thought.

“Vampires don’t give two shits about human history,” Mikey informs with a small grin.

“Oh,” Awsten huffs, expression morphing into a frown, but not a particularly perturbed one.

“You have such a way with words,” Ryan mumbles with a roll of his eyes, but still chuckles as he glances at Mikey.

“That’s actually my full last name, Way With Words,” Mikey jokes, his grin showcasing how proud he is of that particularly bad pun.

“That’s not even a dad joke, it’s just a bad joke, Mikes,” Awsten comments, and yet his words are mixed with genuine laughter.

“Agreed, the High Council has executed people for less,” Ryan concurs, and this time, his smile is a little fuller, if only for the few seconds this banter continues.

Dallon watches the exchange with barely restrained amusement and a considerable amount of relief, and realizes that at some point, somehow, and in different ways, these three people have made their way into his heart and decided to settle there. Who knew there would be so much room in such a small, crooked space?

“So you really don’t care about humans?” Awsten asks a moment later, and Dallon can tell there is a bit of sadness behind it.

“There is one human we care about,” Mikey corrects him with a wink, which causes Awsten to relax a little and smile.

“We just don’t care about their history,” Dallon adds a moment later, shrugging. “We remember some of the stuff that went down, sure, but that’s it for most of us.”

“If you want a human history expert you should go to Bilvy,” Mikey suggests, and this time Awsten isn’t the only one who is surprised.

“So he’s not just in charge of giving terrible nicknames, then,” Dallon comments with a brief laugh.

“Wait, so William is the one who came up with your nickname?” Awsten bursts out laughing, and it’s clear from his reaction that he knows what that name is – Dallon still doesn’t. Of course William told everyone except him.

“Mikey helped, I’ve been told,” Dallon answers with an unconvincing glare. “And it would seem I’m the only one who still doesn’t know what it is.”

Awsten’s grin turns giddy and a shade of mischievous Dallon hasn’t seen yet, and he turns to address Mikey a silent question. Mikey just laughs and gestures him to go ahead, while Ryan watches with a confused smile.

“Vaddy,” Awsten simply said, and it takes a moment for Dallon to figure out that’s the nickname. “Get it? Vaddy, as in vampire daddy.”

Silence falls on the room for a handful of seconds, only to be broken by the most unexpected of sounds: Ryan’s wholehearted laughter. “I fucking love that,” he comments when he manages to speak clearly.

Dallon wishes he could share the hilarity, especially since Ryan looks fucking gorgeous when he laughs. Instead, he groans and buries his face in his hands. “I’m going to tear Beckett into pieces so small Saporta will need fucking tweezers to collect him.”

For some reason, that only elicits more laughter from the others.

Fuckers.

The lot of them.

~

Patrick steps out of the house and takes a deep breath, the cold winter air soothing after the stuffy warmth of the cell. It’s been a week since he taught Shadow Pete how to use a smartphone to film messages to his other self, and the conversation between the two has been… odd, stunted but nevertheless a significant step forward. Pete definitely needs to work out some issues about his past, and who better to do that with than his own past self? It’s a version of therapy Patrick is pretty sure has never really existed before. Hopefully, it will help both versions of him, and not make things worse.

With a hopeful heart – that’s fucking nice for a change –, he heads towards the edge of the forest; the camp is still alive with movement, a bonfire burning, and while the youngest are already asleep, most of the adults are still around. There is a sweet smell in the air, and when he walks closer he realizes it’s apples.

“Hey, Alpha,” Sisky greets him with a wide grin, just as Butcher walks over with two glasses. “Butcher and Joe made some hot apple cider, want some?”

“Yeah, why not,” Patrick accepts with a nod, and Butcher immediately hands him one of the glasses, and the other to Sisky, then takes off to get another one for himself. “Good to see them cooking up something other than their moonshining.”

“Yeah, the children wanted something sweet,” Sisky agrees, laughing. “But hey, they’ve been thinking of opening a brewery, and I think they should go for it.”

“That actually sounds… like a good business idea,” Patrick admits, unable to keep the surprise from his tone. Which is a little unfair.

Sure, everyone in the pack likes to make fun of Joe and Butcher for their tendency to experiment in their alcoholic concoctions, but so far, they’ve been pretty successful – and with their non-alcoholic recipes too, it would seem. And the fact that they are actually planning for a future that does not involve running and hiding heartens Patrick beyond words.

Patrick takes a sip of the apple cider and hums softly, the sweet taste pleasant and just spicy enough. Yep, they definitely have some talent with this kind of thing. “So, how’s the pack holding up?” he asks as he takes a seat at the bonfire.

“Well enough, it still feels insane to be able to stick around and enjoy some peace,” Sisky admits with a small chuckle as he takes a seat next to him. “I mean, relative peace, given everything that is happening,” he quickly adds, clearly in a rush to show he isn’t disregarding the trouble with Pete and Ross.

“Don’t worry, I get it,” Patrick reassures him with a smile. “It’s a big, big mess, but at least we have a home where we can be safe while we try and solve it.”

“Exactly,” Sisky agrees, just as Butcher comes back, along with Mike.

“Has Ross come around, yet?” Patrick’s curiosity is too strong to resist – he has been trying to give their prisoner space, but he can’t help wondering.

“Once, with Bilvy,” Mike confirms, a small frown on his face. “Not a super friendly guy, is he?”

“The guy hunted werewolves until five minutes ago, no wonder he feels awkward around us,” Butcher mutters, then takes a sip from his glass, probably to try and hide his sullen expression. “I get it, he was forced into it, but it doesn’t change that what he did was fucked up.”

“Yeah, but what we did to his kindred was also fucked up, Butcher,” Patrick points out with a cocked eyebrow. “Smith was brainwashed and controlled by a psychopath.”

“We couldn’t know,” Butcher objects, but it’s clear that the thought disturbs him, because guilt flashes in his eyes.

“We couldn’t, but that doesn’t change we’re the reason he’s dead,” Sisky whispers, mouth half-hidden by his glass.

“Urie is the reason he’s dead,” Patrick corrects him, looking down into his glass. “But we-- I’m the one who took his life.”

There’s a moment of silence after his words, the fire crackling lively in front of them and casting shadows all around. It’s Butcher who breaks the quiet with a soft, “We’ll give Ross a chance.”

“Thanks.” Patrick offers a grateful, albeit muted, smile. “I don’t think he’ll be here for long, though,” he admits after a few moments. “I think he might leave with Dallon, once he goes home.”

“And you’ll let him go? Without breaking the bond with Pete?” Mike inquires, genuinely surprised.

“Dallon won’t leave until that’s solved,” Patrick reassures him, and takes a sip from his glass before he adds, “And hopefully, that’ll be soon.”

The cracking of twigs and dry leaves signals the approach of someone, two sets of steps – one decidedly lighter and more subtle than the other. A vampire and a human. Soon enough, Dallon and Awsten emerge into the light of the bonfire, and Patrick notices that while the human looks excited and a little anxious, the vampire simply looks concerned.

“I need to talk to the witch,” Awsten declares after a moment, then realizes how abrupt he was and adds, “Sorry, hi guys.”

A round of surprised greeting welcomes him – they all know of his fierce dislike for Maja, they’ve all been instructed not to let her anywhere near him if the chance arises, so his request catches them all off guard, not just Patrick.

“Maja’s temporarily back to her coven,” Patrick reports, which normally would have garnered a big happy smile from the human. This time, instead, he huffs impatiently. “What do you want with her?”

“I had an idea,” Awsten just states, oddly secretive. Uh, bad sign. 

“He had a terrible idea,” Dallon corrects with a glare. “And I accidentally made it worse.”

Patrick looks at Awsten first, then at Dallon, and contemplates asking his packmates for a moment alone with the duo. Before he can, it’s Mike who gets up and gestures Sisky and Butcher to come along; the three werewolves walk away, clearly trusting their Alpha to loop them in when the time is right. And really, Patrick doesn’t know how he’s earned that much trust, but he cherishes it more than words can express.

Once they’re alone, Patrick turns to the human and asks, “What’s going on?”

Awsten hesitates, the way he’s fidgeting with his hands showing how nervous he is. And yet, when he speaks, he does so with a determination that Patrick doesn’t expect. Nor does he expect what he says.

“I want to bring Spencer Smith back.”

In the silence that follows those words, Patrick swears he could hear a pin drop all the way in fucking Wisconsin.

~

Chapter Text

Chapter 17 – We’re throwing stones at a glass moon 

~

“You want to do what?”

Patrick watches as Maja’s expression shifts from annoyed and vaguely confused at being called over yet again, to downright unbelieving in less than a heartbeat.

After Awsten dropped the fucking hydrogen bomb he called an idea on him, Patrick returned to the house with him and Dallon, and phoned Maja – he still won’t summon her, as promised, just in case she uses that as an excuse to send him packing. Maja, of course, wasn’t particularly happy to be interrupted once again during her coven duties, but teleported over not even a couple of hours after their call. Needless to say, she was surprised to find herself facing the kid, since he has been avoiding her like the plague for weeks.

And sure, now they’re all standing in the library – Mikey and Pete joined the impromptu meeting as well –, and Awsten is the one who informed her of his idea, but despite this, the human still looks like he does not enjoy being in the room one bit. Actually, he looks like he’d rather be literally anywhere else on the planet. And frankly, Patrick admires his determination, because even as uncomfortable as he clearly is, he hasn’t taken a single step back. It helps that Dallon and Mikey are standing on either side of him, of course.

“I said I want to bring Spencer Smith back,” Awsten repeats, his voice a little shaky, but still holding enough conviction to get the message across that he’s not backing down. “And I want you to help me. You owe me.”

“I owe you?” Maja repeats, as if to convince herself she’s heard right. “Me? The person who got you out of that psych ward?”

“Yeah, just so you could lock me in a cell with him.” Awsten nods his head in Pete’s direction, and it’s clear his presence does not make this any easier on the kid, but it’s non-negotiable. This is too big, and it impacts Pete as well. “You gave me enough nightmares for a fucking lifetime, so yeah, you owe me.”

“The cheek on this kid,” Maja mutters with an unbelieving chuckle. She seems to think it over, her eyes moving over Awsten first, then the two vampires standing with him. His guardians, quite literally. “Who says it’s possible?”

“Dallon said it’s part of my abilities,” Awsten responds, then takes a deep breath when he realizes he probably did not sound as confident as he wanted to.

“Did he, now?”

“In my defense, I didn’t think he’d actually go for it,” Dallon comments with a shrug.

After all, he did say he accidentally made Awsten’s idea worse, and now Patrick is getting an inkling as to how. It makes sense Awsten does not know the extent of his abilities, and while it’s certainly his right to find out, it has clearly backfired now. But has it? If this is truly possible, Patrick isn’t so sure it’s such a bad idea. It won’t erase the centuries of torment Ryan has gone through, but at least having Smith back might ease his grief. And selfishly, Patrick knows it might ease his own guilt as well.

“Is it really possible?” Pete asks when the witch stays silent, evidently too busy glaring at Dallon to speak.

“Yeah, it’s possible but that’s--” Maja stops, clearly biting back her words.

“That’s what?” Dallon eggs her on, a frown on his face.

“Mages don’t like to say the n-word,” Maja responds with an irritated look, but her words seemingly only serve to confuse the vampire – and Patrick can’t blame him.

“Good,” Dallon concedes, baffled. “But what does that have to do with this?”

“Not that n-word, you idiot,” Maja groans, rolling her eyes in a clearly exasperated way. “The other one.”

“Nipple?” Dallon offers, and by this point, Patrick figures he’s just messing with the witch. He knows the vampire enough by now to be able to tell.

“Necromancy.” Maja speaks the word through her teeth, clearly resentful that she has to do it at all.

“Ah, see? You do say it,” Dallon gloats, a smug grin on his lips confirming Patrick’s suspicion.

Maja simply glares at him, silent for a few moments, then turns to address Patrick, “Wolf, you need to make better friends.”

“Nah, I’m good,” Patrick chirps with a wide smile, then winks playfully at Dallon, a silent ‘good job’.

“I swear, y’all are lucky I don’t fucking pack up and leave right now,” Maja huff, annoyed, hands moving to her sides in a belligerent pose Patrick has grown familiar with. “It’s dangerous magic you’re asking me to mess with.”

“Is it possible or not?” Awsten butts in, matching her pose in what is probably an involuntary move, but it makes for a striking, absurd moment. A thirty-three years old human openly facing off against the oldest, most powerful witch in the world.

Maja doesn’t answer him immediately, her eyes once again focusing on him and possibly trying to figure out if there’s a chance he might let it go. At last, she seems to decide that’s unlikely. “Technically his entire bloodline is alive, so it might be possible.”

“But?” Mikey voices the unsaid word they’ve all heard in the witch’s tone.

“If we brought him back, he wouldn’t be a vampire, not in the way you mean it,” Maja explains, her expression now somber and unbelievably serious. “He’d be a ghoul.”

“A corpse-eating dog?” Awsten sounds rightfully horrified by that possibility

“For the love of Hecate, will people ever stop reading Lovecraft? That fucker desperately needed therapy and a kick in the teeth, he spread more misinformation about supernatural creatures than an army of reddit users ever could,” Maja complains with an exasperated groan. She clearly feels very strongly about this, which Patrick finds both interesting and oddly funny. Of course Maja would have beef with a long-dead human author, why not?

“So what’s a ghoul?” Pete asks patiently, and it would seem Patrick isn’t the only one who found the outburst funny, because the vampire is clearly fighting back a grin.

“They are a class of lesser vampires,” Maja explains, either oblivious to or ignoring their amusement. “They are weaker than regular vampires and need to feed on either vampire blood or dead man’s blood, because their human side is completely gone so they have no affinity with living humans anymore.”

Patrick is surprised to hear that last part, he knows dead man’s blood is highly toxic to vampires, which is why they are extremely careful when procuring blood for storage. He knows William and Gabe usually bag the blood themselves when they go see their ‘paid donors’ as they call them; pre-bagged blood is not something any of the vampires in the house trust. So to find out there is a creature that feeds on it is completely unexpected. It would seem he’s not the only one who’s taken by surprise.

“Why have we never heard of this kind of creature?” Dallon asks a moment later, beating Patrick to it.

“Because the only way to make a ghoul is to bring a vampire back from the dead, which is an exceedingly rare occurrence, since you need an oracle, and a mage powerful enough and insane enough to do it,” Maja admits, gesturing at Awsten first, then at herself. Which might be indicative that she’s close to accepting.

“Why, is it forbidden?” Patrick wonders out loud, because yeah, he wants Smith back, but the last thing they need right now is to piss off the entire mage community.

“Not forbidden, but heavily frowned upon,” Maja informs, her words followed by a deep sigh. “Although part of it is envy, because it’s a once in ten lifetimes opportunity to flex your powers.”

“So you’ll do it?” Awsten sounds both hopeful and a little scared, but it would seem his courage has recharged now that he knows it’s truly possible.

Maja hesitates in her answer, eyes moving over the people present in the room. They’re clearly asking a lot of her, this is way bigger than a simple barrier around the cell, or breaking off a half-baked mating bond; this might cause her trouble with her fellow mages. Patrick knows, however, that they won’t find another witch powerful enough to help them with this – and she knows that too.

“It won’t be easy,” Maja concedes at last, and Patrick sees a bright smile take over Awsten’s face, while Mikey and Dallon exchange a concerned look. “It will require some rare ingredients, lots of courage on your part, kid, and I cannot guarantee success.”

“Why courage on his part?” Dallon jumps in, suspicious.

“Because Awsten will need to cast his consciousness into the Underworld and guide Smith back.”

Maja’s words feel like a wave of icy air rolling across the room. That sounds a lot worse than anything Awsten has been through so far, including his experience in the cell. Patrick can tell it causes both Mikey and Dallon to recoil, and just as Mikey is about to protest, it’s the human who speaks instead, albeit in a shaky voice.

“I’ll do it.”

“Not alone, you won’t,” Dallon instantly protests, turning to look at him in shock.

“Vampires are technically dead, so if you cross into the Underworld with Awsten, your consciousness will stay there for good,” Maja warns the vampire, shaking her head.

Fucking great.

Fine.

Before he can really stop and think about it, and possibly talk himself out of his very impulsive idea, Patrick takes a step forward. “I’ll help him, then.”

“What?” Pete’s question is in equal measure shocked and alarmed, but Patrick doesn’t let that get to him.

“I put Smith there after all, it’s only fitting I help bring him back,” Patrick reasons, and addresses his mate a small, reassuring smile. Now, if only he could reassure himself that this isn’t a fucking horrible idea, that would be great.

“Fine, I’ll guide both of you,” Maja mutters with a roll of her eyes. “You lot are insane, all this trouble for that asshole upstairs who’s too spiteful to even give up the bond tormenting Pete?”

“Ryan is a friend, he’s in pain and I want to help him,” Awsten simply states, a sentiment both Dallon and Mikey seem to understand and share.

“And we’re the root cause of literally everything bad that’s ever happened to him,” Pete points out with a cocked eyebrow. “So yeah, we’re doing this.”

Maja simply lifts her arms in a helpless gesture, as if she can’t believe she’s dealing with such childish stubbornness. Patrick, meanwhile, has never been prouder of the people currently standing in the room.

“Fine, I’ll draft a list of ingredients I need for the spell, and you, Wentz, are bankrolling it, so get your checkbook out, because it’s gonna cost a fortune,” Maja declares once she’s gotten over her little dramatic moment. “Oh, and we’re gonna need bones from Smith’s human bloodline.”

“I’ll take care of that, and the ingredients,” Mikey jumps in with a resolute nod.

“Let me guess, you know a guy?” Patrick teases him with a playful grin.

“I know several guys, most of whom intimately, and some even owe me favors,” Mikey corrects him with an unashamed grin and a wink. “Besides, I’ve been here for weeks and I haven’t been much help so far.”

“Your life both fascinates and scares me,” Patrick admits with a short laugh.

“Tell me about it,” Awsten huffs, his grin wildly amused and a little baffled. “And hey, you’ve helped me.”

Mikey ruffles the human’s hair playfully after those words, a move Awsten tries to stop by swatting at the vampire’s hand. “That was hardly a chore, kid.”

Patrick can’t help smiling at the scene, at the bond that seems to have formed between Awsten, Mikey and Dallon. It’s certainly an unexpected development, but a welcome one.

He just hopes they all won’t come to regret this objectively ill-advised adventure into the Underworld.

~

Dallon may or may not be an idiot.

Maybe, just maybe, he should have kept his mouth shut when Awsten first came to him with the idea of using his abilities to have Ryan speak to Spencer; maybe he shouldn’t have informed Awsten of the extent of his abilities, or at least the extent Dallon is aware of. The moment the kid understood he might be able to physically bring Spencer back from the dead, there was no stopping him. And sure, he has a right to know what he’s truly capable of – they’re his powers after all –, and Dallon can’t deny he would love to give Ryan a chance to reunite with his kindred, but this all feels ridiculously dangerous.

Venturing into the Underworld seems like a monumentally bad idea, and while knowing that Patrick will be there alongside Awsten brings a little bit of comfort, Dallon hopes he won’t regret opening his mouth and tearing the lid off this specific Pandora’s box. But it’s out now, Mikey plans to leave tomorrow to gather the ingredients and hunt down the bones of Spencer’s human bloodline, and Maja has started preparations.

On top of all that, Dallon isn’t thrilled to have added yet another secret he needs to keep from Ryan, but Maja warned them the ritual might fail, it’s too complex to predict the outcome; there’s no point giving Ryan hope he might see Spencer again, and then have him lose that too. It would be cruel beyond words.

Of all the secrets he’s keeping from Ryan, however, this and Jon Walker’s imminent arrival aren’t exactly what’s weighing the most on his heart. He’s keeping them to protect Ryan and spare him further heartache in case the plans fall through, it’s justifiable. The other secret, however, he’s keeping out of pure cowardice.

But how is he supposed to tell Ryan he’s in love with him but also with someone else? At the same time. He’s been asking himself this question every day for the past couple of weeks, and he hasn’t found the right way to speak up, yet.

When he walks into Ryan’s room after the meeting in the library, however, it starts to become clear that he might not need to say anything. That it might be too late to say anything.

“So is tonight the night we’re going to talk about it?” Ryan asks from where he’s sitting on the bed, a book in his hands. “Or should we keep pretending it’s not there?”

“Talk about what?” Dallon walks over to the bed and sits down next to him, genuinely confused. “Pretend what’s not there?”

“You and Mikey.” The words freeze Dallon into place, eyes moving to Ryan’s seemingly impassive face. When he doesn’t say anything, Ryan adds, “I’ve been hanging out with you guys for two weeks, Dallon, and I’m tired of pretending I’m fucking blind.”

“Look, I--” Dallon starts, but luckily, he doesn’t get a chance to continue, because he has no idea how to.

“I get it, you guys have history, but you could have fucking told me it’s not over,” Ryan mutters as he stands from the bed and puts a little more distance between them. “Considering that we’re fucking, it would have been nice to know, instead of having me third-wheeling and clueless about it.”

Considering that we’re fucking. 

“Is this-- is this just sex, for you?” Dallon asks, knowing fully well that’s not the topic at hand, but unable to move past Ryan’s words.

“You have the nerve to ask that right now?” Ryan’s unbelieving tone is laced with a trace of anger, which should warn Dallon to back off. Should being the key word.

“Is it?”

Ryan looks at him, completely silent for several long seconds, then takes a deep breath. “You don’t get to ask about my feelings, Dallon,” he whispers, hurt showing in his eyes for a flash. “Not right now, not until you’re finally honest with me.”

“I never meant to lie, I just… I didn’t know how to tell you,” Dallon admits in a quiet tone, and stands from the bed as well; when he tries to move closer, however, Ryan steps back.

“Tell me what, that you’re only fucking me so I’ll give in and help Wentz?” Ryan accuses with enough pain and bitterness in his voice to break Dallon’s heart into a handful of jagged pieces. “That this was all just an act, a way to get me to talk and cooperate?”

“No,” Dallon instantly protests, and steps forward, but once again Ryan moves back. “That is not what’s going on here, Ryan, I swear.”

Ryan’s jaw clenches, his mouth set in a thin line that betrays the anger he feels, his eyes bright with pain. “Then what’s going on?”

Dallon hesitates, but he knows that if he fumbles now, there’s a good chance Ryan will kick him out, and possibly never speak to him again. So he needs to be honest. More honest than he’s been even with himself. And he can’t beat around the bush.

“Everything that’s between us is real, it was never a trick, never an act,” Dallon assures him, but this time, he doesn’t try to move closer. “And I don’t know what this is for you, if it’s just sex, but I…” he pauses, breath stuck in his throat.

“You what?”

“I love you, Ryan,” Dallon breathes, the words falling off his lips more easily than he anticipated, and yet the sense of dread does not disappear. Because now comes the rest of it. “But I also love him.”

Ryan is clearly surprised by the confession, and Dallon hates that he doesn’t know which part of it is causing the shock he can see battling the anger in his eyes. Did he really think Dallon had no feelings for him? After everything they’ve shared, after the way they’ve opened up to each other?

“I see,” Ryan whispers a moment later, a thoughtful look taking over his expression, as if he’s trying to figure something out. “Are you sleeping with him?”

“No, not since we--" Dallon stops, unsure of how to phrase it. “I wasn’t sleeping with him anymore when you and I first hooked up.”

God, he hates that phrase – ‘hooked up’ –, this is so much more than that to him, but he isn’t quite sure that’s the case for Ryan, anymore. It seems, however, that his words untangle some kind of knot for Ryan, because his stance relaxes a fraction, his shoulders lose tension, even though his expression is still marred by a frown.

“You should have told me from the start.” Ryan sounds less angry than before, but the bitterness is still clearly there.

“I couldn’t have done that even if I’d wanted to,” Dallon admits with a humorless chuckle as he thinks back to how stubbornly he ignored his own feelings about Mikey back then; at Ryan’s inquisitive look, he adds, “But I should have told you the moment I pulled my head out of my ass about Mikey and stopped being in denial about my feelings for him.”

“And when was that?” Ryan asks, taking a hesitant step forward.

“A couple of weeks ago,” Dallon mutters, knowing exactly how bad it sounds. “I’m sorry.”

“So the entire time we were hanging out, he knew?” Ryan sounds genuinely confused by that notion; Dallon simply nods his answer, not sure it’s a great idea to add anything, really. “Why has he been so nice to me, then?” Ryan wonders quietly, as if he’s asking himself, not Dallon.

“Because he likes you,” Dallon offers with a muted smile, which grows a little when he sees surprise flash in Ryan’s eyes. “And because he knows I’m the one to blame, not you.”

“This is fucked up,” Ryan breathes, but this time, when Dallon takes a step towards him, Ryan lets him. “I spent the last few days thinking you were playing me, thinking you-- fuck, I want to fucking smack your stupid face.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did,” Dallon concedes, and takes another step, which brings him within reach of the other vampire.

And yet, he doesn’t reach out, doesn’t touch him. He knows he has no right to, that he deserves every ounce of Ryan’s anger and disappointment. That he fucked up. Despite this, however, he can’t quite let go of the question he asked earlier, the question he’s dying to ask again. He holds back, for now, but he knows he won’t be able to walk out of the room without asking it. Because if this is just sex for Ryan, if this is nothing more than a past time to kill boredom during his imprisonment, Dallon isn’t sure he can keep it up.

“I’m not going to hit you, Dallon, I’m not insane,” Ryan huffs, shaking his head. “Even if you deserve it.”

“Does that mean you don’t hate me?” Dallon offers with a little smile, just a sliver of hope in it.

Ryan watches him for a few moments, eyes moving over Dallon’s face as if to try and figure out how to answer that. At last, he moves closer, erasing the distance between them, “No, I don’t hate you, asshole.”

Dallon feels his chest expand with a breath that carries so much relief with it, he’s nearly dizzy. His arms move slowly, but when Ryan doesn’t push him again, he wraps them around the shorter vampire. “And this, for you… is this--?”

“It’s clearly not just sex for me, Dallon,” Ryan answers before he can even ask the full question. “Which means you’re not getting any until you’ve made up your fucking mind about this.”

Yeah, because that’s going to be easy.

“Are we okay?” Dallon whispers against his better judgement, but he needs to know where they’re standing, just how badly he fucked up.

“I’m okay with the half of you that’s in love with me, the rest of it… I don’t know how I feel,” Ryan admits with a cocked eyebrow. “Hell, I should just go and fuck Mikey, that would balance the scale, wouldn’t it?”

Dallon feels a twist in his chest at those words, but he can’t really object, Ryan has every right to be angry about it, to lash out. And deep down, Dallon wonders if maybe the two of them wouldn’t be better off without him, after all. So far all he’s done is break their hearts and betray their trust, so maybe the two of them might actually be better for each other than he could ever be for them. There’s a reason he thought his heart was too damaged to love – maybe it’s simply too damaged to love properly.

He doesn’t voice that, however, and instead sets those thoughts aside, plunges them into the bottomless pit that lives in his heart.

“I’m sorry I kept this from you,” Dallon simply repeats, voice barely audible.

“I know you are,” Ryan concedes, and this time, the bitterness is gone, replaced by something softer, as if he’s realized the effect his previous words had on Dallon. “Just make up your mind, because this isn’t fair to us.”

Dallon nods silently, aware that Ryan is right; and yet, how is he supposed to choose?

The tightness in his chest eases when Ryan presses closer to him, lips finding his in a kiss that holds more than any word he’s said; Ryan might not feel ready to voice his feelings out loud, but the tenderness of that kiss makes Dallon feel like an idiot for ever doubting him.

~

“How are your conversations with yourself going?” Patrick inquires as he walks into the cell right before dawn, ready to spend another day in captivity with his mate.

If he has to be honest, this is starting to feel… pointless. Shadow Pete hasn’t been aggressive in a long time and, deep down, Patrick doubts that he would even try to run at this point. Sure, Ryan has straight up refused to see him so far, but Patrick is pretty sure Shadow Pete is hoping that might change, which means he would stick around even without the barrier keeping him there.

“It’s the most absurd experience of my life, but it’s going… well, I think?” Pete admits with a brief laugh.

“Has he told you anything about your fourth kindred?” Patrick knows this is something that’s eating away at Pete, and for good reason. If his last kindred hates him as much as Ryan does, then they might have more trouble coming their way at some point.

“Nope, but he was really shocked that I know it’s a woman,” Pete comments, his tone a little wistful now. And hey, at least Awsten’s intuition has told them that one bit of information – they’d hoped it would be enough to convince Shadow Pete to reveal more, but it would seem not. “He says that we need to leave her alone, that even if she’s alive she probably wants nothing to do with me.”

“That’s promising,” Patrick mutters as he rubs his forehead. “Did he say why?”

“No, he just said it’s not the same as Ryan, Urie wasn’t involved,” Pete reports as he sits on the edge of the bed. “I don’t understand why he’s so stubborn about this.”

“Well, now you get a taste of what it’s like to deal with you when you get fixated on something,” Patrick teases him lightly, hoping to cheer him up a little bit. It seems to work, because Pete rolls his eyes and laughs.

“I mean, I get why you call me a stubborn bat,” Pete concedes, and when Patrick moves closer to the bed as well, he makes room for the werewolf to sit. “You’ve done some impressive work with him, you know?”

“What do you mean?” Patrick takes a seat next to him, but turns just enough to keep his eyes on the vampire’s face.

“Well, the first time he came out he was feral and he nearly killed you,” Pete reasons, and Patrick feels subtle but unmistakable relief when Pete says ‘he’ and not ‘I’. “And you’ve managed to break through to him, and reason with him, and make him trust you.”

“It wasn’t all me,” Patrick protests, fully aware that the circumstances and everything they’ve learnt from Ryan helped considerably.

“No, but it was mostly you,” Pete counters with a shrug. “And probably the fact that it doesn’t matter which version of me you meet, you’re always going to have me wrapped around your finger, little wolf.”

Patrick can’t help smiling at those words, a familiar warmth reaching him through their bond – there is still static there, but it comes and goes, and right now it seems to be leaving the connection alone. “I don’t think I have him wrapped around my finger just yet,” Patrick objects at last.

“I beg to differ, I see the way he talks about you.” Pete smirks as he says this, and slowly moves to lie down on the bed; Patrick isn’t far behind, and soon enough they’re lying on their sides, facing each other. The bed is still too small, but they’ve gotten used to it by now. “Just promise me you won’t dump me for my younger version,” he jokes as he playfully runs his finger along Patrick’s side.

“Don’t worry, he doesn’t stand a fucking chance against you,” Patrick reassures him, his hand moving up to tuck a strand of Pete’s hair behind his ear. And he means it – they might still be working through the consequences of their fight, but there is no universe in which Patrick would ever pick Pete’s past self over the version currently holding him.

“Good,” Pete mutters with a small grin, then tilts his head just enough to press a soft kiss to Patrick’s lips.

Patrick just melts into that touch, allowing himself to forget everything for a few minutes; these moments of calm have become so rare and precious that whenever one happens, Patrick is instinctually afraid of what’s going to interrupt it. Another visitor? More drama? A fucking unicorn that comes charging out of a mirror? At this point, he wouldn’t be surprised.

This time, however, nothing happens. Their kiss lasts just long enough for Patrick to fully let go of his fears and by the time he pulls back and buries his face in Pete’s neck, he’s ready to accept that maybe the universe doesn’t hate him as much as he thought. At least today.

“I’m sorry,” Pete whispers out of the blue, and Patrick frowns, unsure of what he’s referring to. He leans back just enough to look at his mate, concerned that he might have missed something extremely obvious. “About the boarding house,” Pete adds when he sees the confusion on Patrick’s face. “With everything that’s been happening I dropped the ball on that.”

Patrick feels a rush of affection for his mate, and he moves his fingers to trail softly through his hair, his touch hopefully reassuring. “It’s okay, moonbeam,” Patrick responds. “It’s been abandoned for twenty years, I don’t think a couple of months will make that much of a difference.”

“Yeah, but if we miss the deadlines then we’ll have to start the whole paperwork circus from scratch,” Pete reasons with a sigh; and yet, a smile still sneaks onto his lips at the nickname.

“So be it,” Patrick mutters, shoulders lifting in a small shrug. “Besides, if the ritual goes well, we might have a bargaining chip Ryan won’t be able to refuse, so the end of this mess might finally be in sight.”

Everything is already in motion for it, Mikey’s ready to leave at sundown to retrieve the ingredients, and Maja is already preparing… well, whatever the hell she needs to prepare. They’re moving at record speed for this, because apparently it needs to happen on a new moon and that’s about ten days away, and none of them feels like waiting another whole moon cycle. That would mean another whole month, more or less, and who knows if Awsten will still feel as brave if he has that long to properly think it through?

Patrick just hopes they’re not going to regret their decision to rush it.

“Would you really use Smith as a bargaining chip?” Pete asks with a cocked eyebrow, clearly skeptical.

“Well, not really a bargaining chip,” Patrick concedes, a little regretful about his choice of words. “But I’m pretty sure if we bring him back, Ryan might be reasoned with to finally break the fucking bond.”

“And maybe have a conversation with old me first?” Pete offers, a little uncertain. “I know he doesn’t deserve it, but-- he did what he did to Ryan to try and save him from Urie, and yeah, it was a fucked up way to try and help but…”

“But it came from a place of love?” Patrick finishes for him and when Pete nods in agreement, the irony is not just clear, it’s slapping him in the face. Oh, he’s heard this before. “We’ll see what we can talk Ryan into.”

“You mean what Dallon can talk Ryan into,” Pete corrects him with a little grin. “They’ve gotten so close I wouldn’t be surprised if Dallon changed Ryan’s mind without the need to wait for Smith to be back.”

“I wouldn’t hold my breath,” Patrick objects, clearly less optimistic about it. “When are things ever that easy?”

“There it is, I was wondering where my pessimist little wolf was at,” Pete teases him, which prompts Patrick to roll his eyes, but before he can protest, Pete kisses him once again, and Patrick just lets it go and laughs against his lips instead.

After all, Patrick knows he’s probably right, but there’s no need to be cruel, there’s no need to shoot down Pete’s hopes, especially if they help him deal with everything that’s happening. So he doesn’t.

~~

It takes about a week to prove Patrick wrong.

He hesitates with his hand hovering just inches from the wooden door, a strange sense of nervousness making him kind of nauseous. This isn’t the first time he’s talked to Ross since the vampire got here, sure, but this is the first time Ross is the one to initiate contact. Truth be told, when Dallon relayed the message that the vampire wanted to talk to him, Patrick genuinely thought it was either a joke, or a setup of some kind.

So here he is, unable to bring himself to knock, because deep down he fears what might come of this conversation. Especially considering everything that is happening unbeknownst to Ryan – Mikey has been away for a week now, and will soon be back with the ingredients for the ritual, and Jon Walker has finally been deemed fit to travel.

“I can hear you out there,” Ryan suddenly calls out from inside the room. “Just come in already.”

Patrick clears his throat, cursing himself for hesitating and possibly revealing how nervous he is about this. Telling himself to stop being a coward, he knocks briefly, then unlocks the door to finally walk in.

“Took you long enough,” Ryan comments with a cocked eyebrow.

“Sorry, you just-- surprised me,” Patrick admits with a small shrug. “You’ve never asked to talk to me before.”

“Yeah, well, call it character development or whatever,” Ryan counters, clearly sarcastic. So yeah, they’re still not on friendly terms, it seems. “I want to make a deal.”

“Oh.” Patrick doesn’t mean to sound as surprised as he does, and there is even a trace of skepticism in there, but thankfully, Ryan doesn’t seem to mind. “What kind of deal?”

“I’m tired of this stupid waiting game,” Ryan announces, slowly pacing the room as he speaks. “I’ll talk to Wentz, the old Wentz, but I have conditions.”

“Anything,” Patrick immediately says, although he regrets it a moment later, because ‘anything’ is a little bit too much, considering this is still someone who would probably gladly slit their throats. So Patrick specifies, “Anything that doesn’t involve murder.”

Ryan chuckles at those words, seemingly genuinely amused, but it’s gone soon enough. “Nothing of the sort,” he assures, then stops and faces Patrick. “But if I have to endure talking to that piece of shit, I want to be sure it really is the same Wentz who turned me, I want to be sure you’re not trying to trick me, so it can’t happen here.”

“What do you mean?”

“When Wentz turned me, we were still in the old world, and we can hardly pop back there for our chat,” Ryan tells him, voice tight at the mention of that event. “However, there is a place that will remind him of that day, remind him of something only the real Wentz from back then would know. It’s east of here, a couple of districts over.”

“What place?” Patrick asks, because while this isn’t an unreasonable request, he can’t help feeling uneasy about it.

“If I told you, that would defeat the whole purpose,” Ryan counters with a roll of his eyes. “I can tell you it’s in a cemetery, but I can’t tell you more.”

Patrick takes a deep breath, evaluating this odd but reasonable request. It makes sense Ryan wouldn’t trust them about Shadow Pete’s identity, especially if he has a way to verify it; it seems that anyone who’s dealt with Urie for an extended period of time has a tendency to paranoia, and Patrick can’t really blame him for it. He can, however, pose conditions of his own.

“I think it can be arranged, but I can’t let the two of you go alone,” Patrick considers; Shadow Pete is still too unreliable to be trusted on his own outside the house. “Someone else will have to come along.”

Ryan doesn’t seem to be particularly thrilled by that, but doesn’t outright refuse. “Let me guess, you?”

“No, I was thinking Dallon might be a better choice,” Patrick admits with a little smile. “You two are close, and he’s used to dealing with this version of Pete.”

Once again, Ryan hesitates at that proposition, and for a second Patrick fears he might have sabotaged the one chance they have to unfreeze their current stand-off. Shadow Pete won’t disappear until Ryan agrees to have the bite removed, and that won’t happen until the two of them hash out their grievances, at least to a reasonable degree.

At last, however, Ryan gives a curt nod. “Fine, Dallon can come.”

“Good, I’ll talk to Pete and Dallon, we can organize it for tomorrow night?” Patrick immediately jumps onto the technical details, hoping it will cement the vampire’s decision and not leave too much room for reconsidering it.

Right then, however, a familiar buzz starts off in the distance, hitting the house like a wave. The barrier alarm activates moments later, signaling the presence of someone unexpected at their gate. It’s too early for this to be Billie Joe coming over to hand off Walker and retrieve his vial of Awsten’s blood – which Ryland has already collected and Maja has already tampered with –, and Mikey would have called ahead to let them know he’s coming back.

So this has to be someone else. Someone with shit timing.

“Go check your gate, wolf,” Ryan comments, and his smirk shows that he’s caught Patrick’s irritation at being interrupted at such a delicate time. “Tomorrow night works fine for me, it’s not like my calendar is overbooked.”

Patrick nods in agreement, then heads for the door. He’s halfway out of the room when he stops, and turns to look at Ryan again. “Thanks for giving this a chance,” he says, hoping his tone conveys he genuinely feels grateful about his change of mind, and the hope it offers to finally resolve this mess.

“Don’t thank me yet, it might not go the way you’re hoping it will go,” Ryan warns him with a skeptical look, then turns around, quite clearly letting him know he has nothing else to say about the matter.

Patrick rationally knows that Ryan probably acts differently around Dallon and Mikey and Awsten and in general the people he doesn’t hate, but man, he is such a prickly asshole. With a sigh, he locks the door after himself and heads downstairs, only to be met with both Pete and Dallon in the entrance hall.

“Honestly, if the alarm is going to go off this often, you should ask Maja to change the sound to a fucking David Bowie song,” Dallon comments as the three of them head down to the gate together. “He might actually get a kick out of it, if he ever visits.”

“Bowie’s dead, Dallon,” Patrick points out with a roll of his eyes, but still chuckles at the idea, which right now doesn’t sound all that bad, really. It definitely would be more pleasant that the blaring siren.

“Technically yes,” Dallon concedes, and Patrick doesn’t miss the smirk he and Pete exchange before he adds, “He couldn’t really lead the vampires of England as a human, could he?”

“You’re joking,” Patrick deadpans, staring at him wide-eyed as he stops dead in his tracks. Dallon and Pete continue on, and moments later, Patrick unfreezes and hurries to catch up. “Dallon, tell me you’re joking.”

Dallon just laughs, the asshole, and before Patrick can get either him or Pete to admit to the joke or confirm that world-shifting comment, they’re at the gate, and they have other things to focus on.

Namely, the vampire standing outside.

He looks deceptively youthful, but his aura doesn’t feel overly powerful, so he must be relatively young. He has dark eyes, and shoulder-length, brown curly hair framing his sharp, attractive features; and most importantly, he is currently glaring flaming daggers at Dallon.

“You irresponsible piece of paranoid idiot,” the stranger starts, pointing his finger at Dallon through the gate. “Would it fucking kill you to let your clan know you’re actually okay instead of sending cryptic as fuck emails?”

“Hello, Otto,” Dallon simply says, his smile holding more warmth than Patrick would have expected given the way he was addressed. “I missed you too.”

~

Chapter Text

Chapter 18 – And it’s so hard to look at the downside

~

“This is what you’ve been dealing with?”

Otto has been pacing nonstop while Dallon brought him up to speed with everything that has happened since his arrival two months before, but now he stops and faces his Archon, clearly overwhelmed by everything he’s been told.

“See why I had to be cryptic in my emails?” Dallon points out with an eloquent look, and spreads his arms in a helpless gesture. “If any of this got out, it would make things a lot worse for Pete and Patrick.”

“Yeah, because it’s a big fucking mess,” Otto agrees, but it’s clear he’s not truly agreeing with his point. Which is only further confirmed when he adds, “And the second staking a three thousand years old born vampire becomes part of your routine is the moment you call for backup, Dallon.”

“You had enough to think about, back home,” Dallon objects, waving off the comment.

“And you never thought walking away from this would be a good idea?” Otto continues, gesturing to his surroundings – they’re alone in the drawing room, but it’s clear that he means to include the people in the house in his question. “This isn’t your mess to fix.”

“I thought about leaving, but no, it never sounded like a good idea,” Dallon retorts, matching the other’s critical tone. “It might not be my mess, but these people are my friends, and they needed my help, so I stayed.”

More than anything else he’s said, those words seem to catch Otto completely off guard. But instead of fueling his rant about Dallon’s decision to stay and get involved, they have quite an unexpected effect. Because for some godforsaken reason, Otto starts grinning like a lunatic.

“The ice has fucking melted at last,” Otto cheers unashamedly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dallon knows exactly what it means, but he’ll be damned if he admits it.

“Dude, you’re my Archon and I love you, okay? But you’ve been locked in your self-made cage of ice and brooding and solitude like a fucking hermit for decades,” Otto happily explains, and he’s clearly not holding back. Nor does Dallon miss the declaration of affection he drops in there, which surprises him to no end. “And I get it, we all do, trust me, you had your damn good reasons. But man, it’s good to see you finally give in and connect with someone.”

“Go ahead, tell me how you really feel,” Dallon mutters dryly, eyebrow cocked at Otto.

“Hey, I didn’t travel fourteen hundred miles to be enigmatic about shit,” Otto defends himself with a shrug.

“Clearly,” Dallon concedes with a roll of his eyes, and yet, there’s a smile tugging at his lips, and he does nothing to stop it.

It’s unusual to see Otto this way, there’s no trace of his typical reserved, quiet demeanor, but then again, the situation is so out of the ordinary that it makes sense it would push him out of his own comfort zone, the way it did Dallon. And the fact that he traveled all that way on his own just to check on Dallon speaks volumes about how sincere he was about caring about his Archon. So maybe Dallon was wrong, maybe Otto does consider them friends, after all. Odd way to find out, for sure.

“Anything else I should know about?” Otto asks, a quiet smile still playing on his lips.

“Uh, a couple of things,” Dallon admits with a sigh.

Explaining everything that has happened with Pete and his past with Ryan, and their half-bond causing all the issues, and the echoes… that was easy. That didn’t require Dallon to reveal anything about his own personal involvement with Ryan, or Mikey. But he knows he owes Otto the full truth, especially after the dangerous distance he’s travelled. After all, it’s bound to come out sooner or later, especially if Ryan truly decides to come home with him under sanctuary. Or if Mikey is the one that comes home with him instead. That is, if Dallon doesn’t screw up and lose both of them, which is a very real possibility.

And then there’s Awsten – how does he explain to his second-in-com-- oh, screw it, how does he explain to his friend that he has all but adopted a fully grown adult human who also happens to be an extremely rare oracle with valuable powers that doom him to get hunted by the most ruthless creatures out there? Not to mention that he spent years in a psych ward, abandoned by his family, chock-full of meds that dulled his powers in favor of actual hallucinations, and still carries the psychological consequences of being mistreated and gaslighted about his own abilities for eight fucking years.

Somehow, in a rather stunted and reticent way, Dallon manages to bring Otto up to speed on all of that too, and while his friend sits and listens in silence – no pacing now –, it’s clear that he expected this even less than the whole mess with Pete.

“Well, that’s one way to turn a diplomatic visit into a humanitarian mission,” Otto comments when Dallon is finally done explaining. “So this human is now your… what, charity case?”

“Awsten is not a charity case,” Dallon instantly protests, jaw clenching in anger. The intensity of the reaction seems to catch Otto off guard, and the younger vampire raises his hands in apology. “He is…” he continues, but stops short of actually saying the word. Because it feels absurd to call him ‘family’, and yet, that’s what the kid is becoming to him.

“He’s your friend,” Otto finishes for him, and this time his smile is softer, holding a trace of affection too.

“Friend is a good word for it,” Dallon concedes with a nod, even though he feels like that’s a little reductive. However, this is hardly the moment for semantics, especially since there’s something else he needs to talk to Otto about. “And since you’re here, I need to ask you a favor.”

“Anything, boss,” Otto instantly replies, his expression still relaxed, but his nod sharp.

“I need to leave with Pete and Ryan tomorrow night,” Dallon explains with a sigh. “Shadow Pete is still too unreliable, and I’m the one who has some experience staking him, just in case he needs to be stopped.” Otto doesn’t look particularly happy to hear that, but doesn’t interrupt. “Considering that Ryan is his kindred, he’s strong enough to help me with it, if need be.”

“You’re placing a lot of trust in Ross,” Otto comments, eyebrows rising. “I mean, I get that you’re close, but are you sure he’s not playing you?”

“And then I’m the paranoid one, uh?” Dallon teases with a chuckle. “I trust Ryan, he’s not the one I’m worried about.”

“Who is?”

“Joseph and Dun,” Dallon admits, standing from his seat. “I feel like they’re out there, lying in wait for us to let our guard down.”

“You think they’re gonna try and get Awsten while you and Pete are away?” Otto inquires, concern clearly showing in his expression now.

“I’m afraid they might be stupid enough to try, yeah,” Dallon confirms, running a hand through his hair. “And Armstrong might come around too while we’re away, and I don’t trust him not be tempted to snatch him.”

The Regent said he doesn’t want anything more than Awsten’s blood, but Dallon is far from trusting his word on it. Especially if he comes around while Pete is not home. Sure, Patrick is a force to be reckoned with, but considering everything he’ll have on his plate, Dallon doubts Awsten will be a priority.

“So you want me to play bodyguard.” Otto speaks this as a statement, not a question, but Dallon nods anyway. And silently feels very grateful he did not say ‘babysitter’.

“Mikey’s going to be home tomorrow, and he’d take a sunlight bullet for the kid, but I’ll feel better knowing you’re also keeping an eye on him,” Dallon confesses with a smile.

“I’ll keep him safe and sound,” Otto promises with a meaningful nod.

“Thank you.” Dallon takes a deep breath, then, and gestures at the door behind him. “C’mon, let’s get out there now, I know Travie has some questions, since you have more recent news from the western districts.”

“Wait, so you’re really going to tell me you’re stuck in a love triangle with Mikey fucking Way and Ryan Ross, and not elaborate?” Otto protests, genuinely shocked and a little disappointed by that realization.

“I said nothing of the sort,” Dallon instantly objects, glaring.

“You said you’re in a relationship with Ross, but also in a situationship with Mikey, and that, my tall and lanky friend, is a love triangle if I’ve ever seen one,” Otto counters with zero intention of backing down, apparently.

“Keep yapping, and it’ll also be the last thing you see,” Dallon warns with an eloquent look, which only prompts a wildly amused grin from Otto. “Let’s go.”

Otto follows him to the door without further questioning, but the smirk on his lips does not go anywhere, much to Dallon’s (affectionate) exasperation.

The moment they walk into the library, Dallon is surprised to find that Travie isn’t the only one waiting there. Awsten is standing at the farthest end of the room, clearly pretending to look for a book on one of the shelves; he’s terrible at playing uninterested, because he’s obviously darting looks in their direction every few seconds.

As soon as Dallon introduces Otto and Travie, and leaves them to their questions, Awsten drops all pretenses and gestures him to come over. Dallon complies, rolling his eyes at the human. “What are you doing here?”

“So that’s Otto,” Awsten whispers to Dallon, but his eyes stay on the younger vampire, who is currently talking to Travie on the other side of the room. “See? I was right about him showing up.”

“That, you were,” Dallon concedes with a chuckle.

“Loyal, brave, tired… that’s all you told me about your clan,” Awsten points out, and for a moment Dallon is confused about where he wants to go with this. “You forgot hot, apparently.”

Oh, shit. Not this.

“Do not,” Dallon warns with a stern look, careful to keep his voice low.

“Why not?” Awsten addresses him a genuinely shocked look, complete with sullen frown. He is one micro-expression away from pouting, but Dallon won’t budge.

“He’s a hundred years older than you,” Dallon points out with an eloquent look.

“You’re a hundred years older than Mikey,” Awsten objects, eyebrow cocked, clearly piqued at having been told what to do, or in this case not to do.

“That’s different,” Dallon simply states, glaring at the human.

“Really? How?” Awsten places both his hands on his sides, clearly belligerent.

“We’re both vampires, for starters,” Dallon points out with a tone that implies it’s the obvious answer and more than enough to justify his warning.  

“That’s speciesist,” Awsten accuses with a pointed finger at the vampire.

“Awsten,” Dallon starts, but the human waves him off.

“Fine, I’ll drop it,” Awsten mutters with a glare. “Go on your field trip with Pete and Ryan, and leave me here with the hot vampire I can’t even flirt with, apparently.”

“Are you trying to guilt trip me?” Dallon narrows his eyes as he asks this.

“Is it working?” Awsten asks, his expression morphing instantly from a sulk to a hopeful smile.

“No.” Dallon rolls his eyes again, but gives a small laugh.

“Ugh, fine, I’ll behave,” Awsten promises with a sigh that is just a smudge too dramatic for the situation at hand. “But I hope you feel bad, I haven’t gotten laid in a long, long time.”

“Look, try to stay out of trouble, and out of Otto’s pants, okay?” Dallon simply responds, his own expression softening. “Hopefully this field trip, as you called it, will convince Ryan to break the bond, and we can all finally go home.”

“And you be careful, out there, I don’t like that it’s only the three of you.” Awsten’s tone carries a clear trace of concern, but it’s obvious that the kid is trying to conceal it, possibly because he doesn’t want Dallon to worry about him, or actually feel bad about leaving him behind. Awsten wanted to come along, but it was Ryan who was adamant in saying no – a decision Dallon wholeheartedly agrees with. Although he hates leaving him behind, the kid is definitely safer in the house.

“Don’t worry, kid, I’ve got thick skin,” Dallon reassures him with a genuine, affectionate smile. “I’ll be home in no time.”

Awsten simply nods in response to those words, concern once more pushed behind the curtain, probably far from gone, however. “Are you at least going to introduce me, or should I just ignore Otto altogether?” he asks a moment later, returning to a lighter, teasing tone.

Dallon chuckles quietly at those words, and glances at Otto, who is apparently done talking to Travie. He gestures at the younger vampire to come closer, and once Otto is standing there, facing them, he says, “Otto, this is Awsten.”

“The infamous Awsten,” Otto comments with a friendly smile. “I like your hair.”

“I like your face,” Awsten responds in what he was clearly hoping would be a funny, flirty comeback. Considering the way he cringes a moment later, he realizes it probably sounded way better in his head. “Sorry, I kinda forgot how to flirt.”

“Don’t worry,” Otto offers with a genuine laugh. “You can practice on me.”

“No, he cannot,” Dallon corrects him, glaring a warning at the younger vampire.

Awsten simply rolls his eyes at him, while Otto bites back a grin and addresses Awsten what he thinks is a subtle wink. 

Yeah, for some reason, Dallon feels like leaving these two alone is probably the most dangerous part of this whole mission.

~

“This is a bad idea,” Patrick whispers as he walks up to Pete and busies his hands with fixing the creases on his t-shirt. “I should come along.”

“I don’t think Ross would take that well, and we need to convince him to cooperate and break this damn bond,” Pete argues quietly, his tone reasonable but far from thrilled.

Patrick knows the vampire has been in communication with his past self through video messages, and while Pete has shared some of what they’ve said to each other, he also knows there are things Pete isn’t ready to talk about. What heartens him a little bit is that Shadow Pete has agreed to play nice and not try to escape while they’re off the property – it would seem his priority is to actually get a chance to talk to Ryan, and he appears to have accepted the fact that he isn’t in his own century anymore. Just to be sure, however, Dallon has promised to keep his stake handy and his guard up.

Still, none of that manages to quieten Patrick’s uneasiness. The prospect of extended separation is one that ramps up his anxiety, bringing back unpleasant memories of the time after the High Council, when he had no idea where Pete was or whether he was even alive. The thought of going through that again is enough to make his heart drop to the bottom of the ocean. And the fact that this whole expedition was organized in less than 24 hours does nothing to ease Patrick’s mind – quite the opposite.

“I know, but I have a bad feeling,” Patrick admits after a few moments of silence.

“Well, now you know how I felt when I watched you take off to try and find the pack,” Pete informs with a soft smile.

“God, that feels like a lifetime ago,” Patrick breathes as he rests his forehead against Pete’s chest. The vampire wraps his arms around him, and Patrick smiles as he lets himself be pulled into a proper hug. “Don’t do anything stupid, out there.”

“Like what?” Pete whispers to his ear, clearly amused.

“Like give your back to Ross,” Patrick admits in a voice so quiet it’s almost inaudible.

Pete seems surprised that Patrick’s concern revolves around his kindred, the feeling comes across clearly on their bond, and yet, Patrick doesn’t recant his words. He has no reason to mistrust Ross, Dallon has vouched for him, and Awsten has seen nothing truly worrisome in his aura, but revenge has a way of sneaking up on people, and Ross might find himself tempted to take advantage of their isolation to try and hurt Pete.

“I’ll be careful,” Pete promises, then presses a kiss to Patrick’s temple. “I think Ross just wants closure too, so he can move on with Dallon and leave this behind.”

“I hope so.” Patrick pulls back a little, just enough to look up at the vampire. “He deserves a chance to finally be happy, and you deserve to have your life back.”

“We deserve to have our life back,” Pete corrects him, arching an eyebrow.

Patrick accepts those words with a silent nod, because now is not the time or place to discuss his sense of guilt over Smith’s death and his hopes that the ritual can actually bring him back. And yet, Pete knows him well enough to know exactly what is going through his mind, to know that he doesn’t quite feel deserving of forgiveness just yet. Pete is taking the steps he needs to take in order to start making amends to Ross, but Patrick has yet to begin.

“Stop carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, little wolf,” Pete whispers with a sad smile, addressing that feeling he can sense through the bond.

“It’s not the world, Pete, it’s my own choices,” Patrick objects, then takes a deep breath to try and steer his mind away from that. “Is your bag ready?”

Pete hesitates just a moment, then decides to accept the change in topic. With one last kiss pressed to Patrick’s lips, he slowly steps back. “Yeah, we leave as soon as the sun goes down.”

“I should have suggested Gabe instead of Dallon, that way you could have traveled during daytime too,” Patrick reasons with a sigh, once again regretting his lack of foresight.

“I’m not sure Ryan would have gone for that, I think he only accepted to have Dallon tag along because they’re close,” Pete considers as he walks over to the mirror – he can’t see his reflection, of course, which makes Patrick wonder what he might want with it. A moment later, he understands. Pete picks up one of the good luck charms hanging from the mirror frame, the ones the kids from the pack made, then turns around with a smile. “They have a two out of two track record,” he comments with a grin, and slips the small object into his pocket. “Does it help with your anxiety?”

“A little,” Patrick admits with a smile that comes a little easier.

“While we’re away, you should have Vicky back and explain what’s going on,” Pete reasons as he walks over to his backpack, and starts checking everything is in place. “Travie says she’s growing suspicious of the fact that he’s only been visiting and not inviting her over for nearly two months.”

“I think it’s time to fill her in, at least we have a reasonable explanation and a solution at hand, now,” Patrick admits, and while he’s not overly enthusiastic about involving yet another person in this mess, he knows it’s time they’re honest with their friend. “And Maja could probably use her help for the ritual.”

“Speaking of, Mikey’s a few hours out, he’ll be back tonight, but at this point, the ritual will have to happen next month, because we won’t be back in time for new moon,” Pete informs as he picks up the backpack. “Billie Joe might get here too before we come back, depending on how long it takes to reach this mysterious cemetery.”

“Stop worrying, Mr. Archon, I can play boss for a few days, I’m your Regent Consort,” Patrick reminds him with a roll of his eyes and a laugh. “We’ll place Jon in the last guest room we’ve got left.”

“And keep an eye on Awsten too, Billie Joe is normally trustworthy, but the kid’s too valuable and he might be tempted to lure him away,” Pete reasons, clearly going through some kind of checklist. 

“Awsten’s not a cat, he’s not gonna get lured away,” Patrick objects, once more rolling his eyes. “Besides, Dallon set his guy on him.” Which is to say, Otto has been tasked with keeping Awsten safe, and Awsten has tasked himself with the most awkward flirting Patrick has ever seen – it’s adorable, really.

“What else?” Pete mutters to himself, backpack now hanging from his shoulder. “Ah, yes, one more thing.”

“What?” Patrick asks with a patient tone, then frowns as Pete walks over to him.

A moment later, Patrick finds himself in Pete’s arms again, and he smiles in the kiss as the wave of love washes over him from their bond. “Just so you don’t forget that I love you,” Pete whispers on his lips.

“Sentimental bat,” Patrick mutters back, but it’s clearly playful, and it pulls a brief laugh from the vampire. “I love you too, moonbeam,” he adds after a moment, voice softer. “Come back to me in one piece.”

Pete smiles as he steps back and nods in silent promise, then adjusts the backpack and takes a deep breath. “Let’s head downstairs, the others are waiting.”

Patrick takes a moment to try and push aside his concern, and tells himself he’s just being paranoid about this whole thing. After all, Pete is a born vampire, almost at the peak of his strength by now, and he can take care of himself, even if things go south for whatever reason. And while Patrick does his best to convince himself of all this, jury’s out on how effective it actually is.

By the time they reach the library, there’s a small gathering there. Travie and Gabe are off to one side, speaking to Maja, while Dallon seems to be introducing Otto to Mike, Joe and Andy. Awsten is at the back of the room; the uncomfortable look on his face and the way he keeps to the corner tells Patrick he’s still not a big fan of crowded rooms. But at least he’s out of his shell enough to be there at all. Small steps. 

After placing his backpack down, Pete walks over to Dallon; however, it’s Otto he addresses, with a friendly smile on his face. “This is a bit of a bizarre moment for our clan, but please know we appreciate your visit.” Pete greets him with a nod. “And I promise we’re not always this dysfunctional.”

“Don’t lie to our guest, Pete,” Patrick interjects with a wide grin, clearly joking. “We’re absolutely always dysfunctional, but it’s usually in a fun way.”

“Eh, fair enough,” Pete admits with a shrug, but doesn’t lose his smile.

Otto laughs at the exchange, and visibly relaxes his stance – did he think he would be met with hostility? Did he think Pete would be angry about him staying? Whatever the reason, it’s clear the young vampire was on guard, and the informal, friendly approach served its purpose.

“Well, I appreciate your hospitality,” Otto responds in a quiet but warm enough tone to suggest he isn’t saying it out of obligation.

Right then, William and Ryan walk into the library as well, and Pete turns to look at them. The moment Ryan sees him, his expression hardens and he stops a few steps away, while William joins his mate. It’s the first time they’ve crossed paths since Ryan showed up at their door two months before, and the tension between them is instantaneous.

“The sun’s going down in a few minutes,” Ryan informs with a monotone voice that holds so much ice Patrick feels a shiver run down his back. “We should get ready to leave.”

“We’re all set,” Dallon informs him, eyes darting between Ryan and Pete a couple of times; Patrick shares the concern he can read on his friend’s face, but doesn’t say anything. “The van is out front.”

Even though it’s only the three of them travelling, they opted for the cargo van so that Dallon has a safe, sunlight-proof space to retreat to in case something goes wrong and they break down along the way. William took care of setting it up with some supplies they might need, including blood. And a GPS tracker that Travie insisted on installing on it. It seems Patrick isn’t the only paranoid one.

“Good,” Ryan simply says, and turns his attention to Dallon instead.

For a split second, Patrick sees something in his expression other than coldness and indifference – and yet, he can’t quite place it. Is it affection? Regret? Concern? It’s hard to say since it lasts less than a breath, but it feeds Patrick’s unease instead of quieting it. His attention gets diverted when Awsten approaches Ryan timidly, almost warily.

“Please be careful,” Awsten mutters, clearly upset – Dallon told them Awsten wanted to go along, but Ryan refused to let him. Which is a decision Patrick can appreciate, but it’s clear the human is not okay with watching both of them leave while he stays behind.

“Don’t worry, kid, we’ll be back before you even notice we’re gone,” Ryan reassures him with what resembles a genuine smile – and yet, it’s not quite there all the way.

Dallon watches the exchange silently, and it’s clear he wants to intervene but is holding back. It seems that instinct eases when Awsten steps forward and hugs Ryan, which appears to catch the vampire off guard. And yet, Patrick is shocked to see Ryan return that hug in an affectionate way rather than the cold one he expected. Maybe Pete is right, maybe all Ryan wants is to be done with this mess too and have a chance to move on with the people that have clearly become important to him – Dallon and Awsten.

It's a heartening thought, and Patrick clings to it as they move to the front of the house, where the van is waiting. They exchange brief goodbyes and last-minute warnings to send updates regularly. They expect to be away for a few days, not longer, and while Patrick still doesn’t know where exactly they’re headed, at least Travie’s tracker will allow the rest of them to monitor their journey. Not that Ryan knows about it, of course, because Patrick is pretty sure it would be enough to cause him to call off the entire thing.

As the van starts down the driveway and towards the gate, Patrick takes a deep breath as he mentally repeats that Pete can take care of himself, and that he’s only going to be away for a few days. That’s the plan.

But let’s be honest, when have things ever gone according to plan for them?

~

Chapter Text

Chapter 19 – Come inside, twist the knife like it’s something to do, I’m a voluntary victim

~

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Otto inquires with a frown as he joins the others into the living room; the table has been pushed to one side to create a large empty space, and most of the ingredients for the ritual are already in place. “Maybe we should wait for Dallon and Pete to be back.”

“Oh, c’mon, think what a nice surprise it will be,” Awsten argues with a smile, and Patrick watches him address Otto what he believes is scientifically classified as ‘puppy eyes’. Very effective, it would seem, because Otto’s reaction is to huff a small laugh and roll his eyes in a surprisingly affectionate way. Yeah, two days since Dallon left, and Awsten has the young vampire wrapped around his finger already – which is impressive, really, because his flirting has not gotten any better.

“That, and if their conversation doesn’t go well, this might sway Ross in your favor anyway,” Vicky comments with a shrug. 

The witch joined them a day after the vampires left on their mission, as soon as Travie invited her over. At first, she was understandably upset about being left in the dark for so long, but once she understood the magnitude of what has been going on and the possible repercussions in case it got out, she conceded their point and understood why they had to keep it under wraps. What she did not appreciate, however, was being ambushed with a necromancy ritual, and it took a long conversation with Maja to convince her to take part in it.

“That’s a good point, but I agree with Otto, I feel like we’re rushing into this,” Mikey remarks, expression as skeptical as his tone. “Maybe we should wait for them to be back.”

“That would mean waiting for the next new moon, at least, maybe longer,” Maja informs as she walks into the room carrying a large, black chalice, and Patrick sees Awsten step back and slightly behind Otto, clearly still ill at ease with the witch’s presence. “We have the ingredients, we have the right conditions, why wait another whole moon cycle?”

Somehow, Mikey’s contacts were able to procure even the most obscure of ingredients; the bones of Smith’s human family were slightly more complicated, but Mikey managed to track them down and retrieve what looks like… a femur? Gross. Despite his efficiency, however, Patrick knows Mikey was disappointed about having missed the departing vampires by no longer than a couple of hours. Whether it was because he wished to accompany them or just because he’s concerned about their so-called mission, Patrick isn’t sure. Frank wasn’t joking when he said Mikey plays everything close to the vest, just like his brother.

“Wait, don’t we need Pete and Ryan’s blood for this?” Awsten suddenly inquires, clearly upset about this possible wrench in the plan.

“No, we just need their bloodline to be active, as an anchor to bring Smith back, but we don’t physically need their blood,” Maja explains with what Patrick is sure she means as a reassuring smile.

“Yeah, it’s bad enough that we’re performing necromancy, let’s leave blood magic out of it,” Vicky mutters, shaking her head.

“Cheer up, sweetie, think of how good this will look on your resume,” Maja jokes with a playful wink in the other witch’s direction.

“Yeah, but Ashlee’s gonna have my head,” Vicky counters with a grimace, and yet, she does not express any wish to leave. It truly must be a once in a lifetime opportunity for a mage to perform such a ritual, if it pushes her to defy her own High Priestess. Patrick feels immensely grateful for it, if he has to be honest.

“Well, if you get kicked out of your coven, you’re welcome to join the clan,” Patrick offers with a friendly smile, which earns him a surprised look from Travie. “And I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I agree with Maja, we have the right conditions at hand, we have everything we need, and our oracle is ready and willing – we really shouldn’t tempt fate and wait.”

Mikey and Otto exchange a look after his words, and it’s clear that they’re both thinking about the kid’s role in all this – because sure, Awsten is ready and willing, but it’s pretty obvious he has no idea what’s about to happen. None of them do, Patrick included. Except, of course, Maja.

“So how do we do this?” It’s Awsten who asks it, his tone showing more bravery than probably any of them expected, especially since he’s addressing Maja directly.

“First of all, you and Patrick will drink the potion that will allow you to enter the Underworld,” Maja explains, gesturing at the black chalice she brought with her. It looks particularly menacing now that they know what it’s for. “Once you’re in there, I’ll evoke Smith’s spirit, so that you’ll have less trouble finding him.”

“So we don’t have to wander the Underworld?” Patrick asks with obvious relief.

“Move as little as you can, it is not an easy place to navigate,” Maja recommends, her expression now grave. “When you find Smith, Awsten will see a thread connected to him, but it’ll be torn, that’s his life thread, the one you need to reconnect to bring him back.”

“Reconnect to what?” Awsten sounds less than thrilled, possibly because of his past experience dealing with ‘threads’ and bonds.

“That’s the tricky part,” Maja admits, which honestly surprises Patrick, because to him all of these parts sound tricky. “You’ll see it, but you’ll have to use your abilities to figure it out.”

“That is vague as fuck,” Patrick points out with a glare.

“Well, the only other time I’ve attempted this, that’s as far as we got,” Maja confesses with a sigh, as if she’s reluctant to admit this. And for good reason, because she has failed to mention any other attempts before, and now Patrick understands why – it did not work.

“We should call this whole thing off,” Otto mutters, shaking his head. His hand reaches over to rest on Awsten’s arm, to catch his attention, and when the human turns, Otto looks at him with such a serious expression it clearly catches Awsten off guard. “This sounds way too dangerous.”

Surprisingly, instead of rejecting that concern, Awsten’s lips stretch in a little smile. “I’ll be okay.”

“Otto’s right, you can’t go into this blind,” Mikey reasons, walking over to him as well.

“Look, I get that you’re worried, but it’s my abilities, my choice, and my life.” Awsten sounds a lot more determined now, his initial enthusiasm turned into steel resolve. “I’m tired of feeling like a passenger in my own body, like I have no fucking power over what these abilities mean for me.”

Everyone present remains silent after those words, keenly aware of the pain that underlies them, even though they were spoken with a calm and thoughtful tone. Patrick watches as both Mikey and Otto teeter on the edge of objecting, but ultimately decide against it. Mikey gives a resigned nod, his expression broadcasting his concern, while Otto simply watches Awsten with faint sadness and just the hint of an affectionate smile.

“Alright then, let’s get to work,” Maja chirps after several moments of silence, and Patrick takes a deep breath. “The potion will be ready in minutes, and you two should sit down here before you drink it,” she instructs as she points to the empty space they’ve made in the center of the room. “We’ll need some pillows.”

“On it,” Travie responds, walking out of the room.

Once everything is ready, Patrick and Awsten sit in front of the pillows scattered on the floor. While Maja busies herself with preparing the chalice, Awsten turns to look at the werewolf and offers a little smile. “Thanks for helping me with this.”

“I’m the one who killed Smith, it’s the least I can do,” Patrick admits, his own smile a weak mirror of the kid’s more resolute one.

Who would have thought that the lost, trembling, traumatized shadow of a human who walked into their library with Maja two months before would come such a long way. Most people would turn tail if faced with what they are about to experience, but Awsten sits there, determined to all hell. Quite literally.

As they prepare to start the ritual, William and Gabe join them in the living room, quickly followed by Mike. It feels odd to be doing this surrounded by so many people, but in a way, it feels comforting too. It’s scary enough to think that they’re about to dive head-first into the Underworld, at least their friends are there to protect them while they’re vulnerable.

“Alright, drink up,” Maja encourages as he hands the chalice to Awsten first.

The kid takes it, and this time there is a trace of hesitation in his movement; after a few deep breaths, however, Awsten takes a long sip from the chalice, then hands it back to the witch. Without a word, it passes to Patrick, who grimaces at the bitter smell that comes from the concoction. He tries not to think too hard about the ingredients that went into it, and takes a long sip, his eyes squeezing shut at the disgusting taste.

“Alright, now what?” Otto asks, clearly apprehensive.

“Now we wait for them to die,” Maja responds in such a natural, matter-of-fact way that it takes a moment for her words to register.

When they do, however, Patrick growls a warning at her. “What the fuck do you mean?”

“Don’t worry, it’s only temporary, you’ll come back,” Maja reassures him with a grin that tells him she is having a lot more fun than she should have with microdosing the information. Whether it’s for dramatic effect, to ensure no one chickens out or just to get back at Patrick for dragging her into this mess, he isn’t sure. “But you’ll technically be dead in this world, while your spirits travel to the Underworld.”

“Dallon is going to murder me,” Otto mutters, his usual cool demeanor lost – he looks like he’s about to be sick, and Patrick feels a pang of sympathy for him. Yeah, Dallon will 100% murder him.

“You and me both,” Mikey agrees, running a hand over his face.

“And Pete will murder me for doing this while he’s away,” Patrick admits with a groan, then addresses the witch. “And both he and Dallon will rip you to shreds.”

“I’d like to see them try,” Maja huffs with a roll of her eyes. “Now be quiet, Vicky and I need to get ready.”

Patrick takes a deep breath, which does nothing to ease the anger he feels towards Maja and her questionable methods. He glances at the human sitting next to him, only to find Awsten glaring daggers at the witch, clearly upset about being kept in the dark about this particular detail and definitely a lot more scared that he was before. Slowly, Patrick reaches over to place his hand over Awsten’s shoulder and offers what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry, we’ll come back and I’ll help you kill her,” Patrick jokes, and while it feels a little lame, it’s enough to break through the human’s emotional reaction, who simply nods in response. With a deep breath, he turns to the witch again and asks, “So, how long--”

Patrick doesn’t get to finish the question, because a sudden wave of pain comes over him, gripping his stomach like a steel vice and making it impossibly hard to breathe. He’s vaguely aware of Awsten gasping for breath next to him, but he’s quickly growing too disoriented to fully understand what’s going on, and before he can try and fight the darkness taking over his vision, he feels himself fall backwards onto the pillows.

And then everything turns black.

Who would have thought death would be so swift?

~

Patrick feels himself fall for much longer than expected, and once he lands, it’s not on soft pillows. Actually, it feels like he doesn’t land at all, he just feels like his motion gets slower and slower, until it’s nil. He opens his eyes warily, although surprisingly without much effort, and the sight that meets him cuts his breath short. He’s on a stone path, and everywhere around him is a forest of sorts – tall trees surround him and their luminescent leaves light the environment enough for him to see he is indeed sitting, but hovering a few inches from the ground. The light is cold, resembling that of the moon, and it does not spread very far beyond his immediate area.

It is, however, enough to locate Awsten where he “landed” a few feet away from him. The human is looking around and taking in their surroundings as well, his eyes wide and clearly afraid, although there is a spark of amazement too. And for good reason. 

“Are you okay, kid?” Patrick tries to ask, but no sound comes out of his mouth. Has gone mute? Has he gone deaf? Has he just gone insane? Third option sounds about right.

And right then, the eerie silence of that place hits Patrick like a cold shower. How the hell are they supposed to do this if they can’t even communicate?

Suddenly, he hears something – Awsten’s voice. “I’m good… I think.”

The human seems to realize that his own voice does not come out of his mouth, and yet, Patrick hears the words, as if they were broadcast directly into his mind. It takes him a moment longer to realize that communication is possible, just not in the usual way. “I think we’re talking through our minds?”

“I guess?” Awsten doesn’t sound overly convinced, but moments later, he seems to realize something. “Right, no body, no vocal cords,” he whispers, looking at Patrick wide-eyed.

“That’s very… logical,” Patrick admits, genuinely impressed that Awsten figured it out so quickly. Dallon has said multiple times that the kid is extremely bright, after all, but Patrick has to admit he always thought Dallon was exaggerating a little bit out of affection.

“Alright, next step, we find Smith,” Awsten reasons, slowly moving to try and get to his feet.

Patrick does the same, and the moment his feet touch the stone path, he feels a spark of energy shoot through his body. Well, through his consciousness, really. The forest seems to shudder around them, as if their arrival has only now been noticed. By whom, Patrick does not want to know.

“Remember what Maja said, let’s not move around too much,” Patrick reminds the kid as he walks closer to him, eyes roaming their surroundings for any sign of danger. Danger he honestly wouldn’t know how to fend off.

Maja said she’s going to summon Smith so they have an easier time finding him, and Patrick hopes with all his might that the witch moves her bitch ass fast. For now, however, Patrick takes a tentative step forward, careful to stay in the middle of the path. For some reason, he has a feeling that straying too close to the mysterious luminescent trees would be a very bad idea, especially since he can now see that their bark is pitch black and exuding some kind of faint dark mist.

Out of the blue, a voice echoes from the forest, causing the glow of the leaves to dim. It’s a woman’s voice, rich and ethereal, and it prompts a strange feeling of familiarity in Patrick. “What do you seek, trespassers?”

The two of them freeze in place, and the only movement Patrick dares to allow himself is to look around, to try and find the source of that voice. “We mean no harm,” he calls out, hoping the mysterious woman can hear him the same way Awsten can.

“Nor would you be capable of it, here,” the woman responds, unbothered. The voice sounds more focused now, as if it’s gradually concentrating in a single point ahead of them. “So what do you seek?”

“We’re here to save someone,” Awsten answers instead, voice trembling a little.

This time, the sound that reaches them is not words, but laughter – melodious, with a hint of echo to it, and quite clearly amused by the response offered. Awsten frowns at that reaction, obviously as confused as Patrick feels, but doesn’t say anything else. Slowly but surely, the glow of the leaves returns to its original state, and then, much to Patrick’s shock, it starts to drip down from the branches to form tendrils of soft, pale light. The threads wrap themselves into a sort of cocoon, then slowly fade until the light is gone and there stands a woman; she’s tall, as pale as the moon itself, with long black hair woven into a braid that reaches her waist, and her dress is the same dark blue as the sky right before dawn. Once again, Patrick gets a sense of familiarity, a feeling of having met her before, even though he’s pretty sure he hasn’t.

“Well, that’s not Smith,” Patrick mutters quietly, eyes never leaving the figure standing several steps away from them.

“I would have never guessed that, thanks,” is Awsten’s soft, sarcastic response, but at least it tells Patrick the kid isn’t freaking out.

“Am I to understand you’ve travelled here to retrieve a soul?” the woman inquires as she approaches, her step slow but confident.

“We want to bring someone back, yes,” Patrick confirms, not really sure it’s the wise thing to do – and yet, lying to this woman is probably an even worse idea. 

“Are you-- are you in charge of this place?” Awsten’s voice is barely there, as if her proximity is making him exponentially more nervous.

“Do you really not know who I am?” she asks with a benevolent smile, a hint of amusement in her expression. She turns to Patrick, then, and looks him in the eye as she adds, “Wolf, you disappoint me.”

Now that she has walked closer, Patrick can see her eyes are mismatched, one as black as a moonless night, and one ice blue, the same color as Pete’s eyes in his vampire form. And that’s when the pieces all click into place and it dawns on him, who exactly is standing there, facing them, and he feels his legs go a little weak at the magnitude of how royally they have fucked up. Because no one has ever met her and lived to tell the tale.

“Hecate,” Patrick whispers, voice betraying the fear that is now rushing through his mind. Awsten seems to catch onto Patrick’s feelings, because his own expression grows fearful, and he steps closer to the werewolf.

The goddess, however, does not lose her smile and instead walks towards them. “Fear not, wolf,” she reassures him. “You may be trespassers, but I am not unreasonable.”

“So you’re not about to smite us?” Patrick asks with what tries to be a smile, and miserably fails.

“You walk with the hallowed,” Hecates responds with a delicate gesture towards Awsten, who simply frowns in reaction. “And you are bound to my dear child.” Right, she created born vampires, which technically makes her Pete’s… mother, in a very odd way. And okay, Patrick knew that on an abstract level, but actually hearing her remark on it is just fucking insane. “Therefore I will hear your case, and decide accordingly.”

“Our case?” Awsten breathes, and the way his voice breaks tells Patrick the human is downright terrified now. And for good reason – he might not know who is standing before them, he might not understand the magnitude of the trouble they’re in, but he is certainly smart enough to instinctively know they’re in danger.

“This soul you wish to bring back with you, who is it? And why have you risked so much to… save it, as you put it?” Hecate walks closer as she speaks, and Patrick has to fight the urge to step back.

“Spencer Smith, he’s… he was a vampire, kindred of Ryan Ross,” Patrick starts, not sure how much information she needs and how much she might already have – after all, this is Pete’s bloodline they’re talking about. “I’m the one who killed him.”

“And you regret doing so?” Hecate inquires, head tilted slightly to the side as she circles them slowly, as if to study them.

“He was brainwashed by Urie, I had no idea when I killed him,” Patrick admits quietly, hesitant to name another one of her “children” – one they actively murdered.

Hesitant or not, the name catches Hecate’s attention immediately, and she narrows her eyes at him, which is enough to chill Patrick down to the bones he currently does not have. She does not, however, comment on it, and instead resumes walking in slow circles, watching them closely.

“Pete and I… we’re trying to make amends, to make it up to Ryan for everything we’ve taken from him,” Patrick continues, even though he has no idea if he’s chosen the correct approach; all he knows is that he cannot possibly lie to her. Ever. That would be a catastrophically bad idea. “This is how I can try and give back what I took.”

“And you, oracle?” Hecate inquires of the boy, looking straight at him.

“Ryan is my friend and he’s in pain, so I want to help,” Awsten whispers, and the way he’s literally shaking on the spot makes Patrick want to reach over and wrap an arm around him. Which would be pointless, since they’re both incorporeal right now.

Hecate, however, seems surprised by that simple yet direct answer, and the corner of her mouth twitches slightly, as if she’s tempted to smile.

“Very well, I’ve heard enough,” Hecate decides, moving away from them now. “Someone will come for you once I’ve made my decision, be it Spencer Smith or a hellhound.”

With those words and the heavy silence that follows them, Hecate dissolves into the same tendrils of light she came from, and seemingly returns to the glow of the leaves.

Be it Spencer Smith or a hellhound.

Fucking great.

“I swear to everything that’s holy, if Maja knew about this and didn’t tell us, I will claw her face off,” Patrick mutters morosely.

All Awsten says in response is a quiet, “If we make it out of here alive.”

~

Dallon is pretty sure he’s not surviving this trip.

Or, at least, he’s not surviving it with his sanity intact.

They’ve been on the road for two days by now, they’ve crossed two districts without incidents, travelling by night and stopping by day, but none of it has been even remotely close to amicable. The tension between Pete and Ryan is palpable, and those few times Pete has tried to strike up casual conversation, all Ryan has offered in exchange were monosyllables; Dallon tried to do his part, but most of the time, it just ended up being him and Pete exchanging awkward and stunted small talk.

At least Shadow Pete hasn’t shown up. Yet.

Things between him and Ryan haven’t been all that much better; Pete’s presence clearly puts Ryan on edge, and this hardly seems like the time to have a conversation about their relationship, anyway. But there’s more than that, Ryan seems distant, like his mind is elsewhere, as if he’s already projecting himself into the conversation ahead and anticipating the conflict that might come from it. He certainly doesn’t seem to be in a forgiving mindset, which does not bode well for Pete. And that makes this whole trip feel like a colossal waste of time.

Truth be told, Dallon was surprised when Patrick told him about this idea of Ryan, and between the abruptness of this decision and Otto’s arrival, Dallon hasn’t had a chance to confront Ryan about it, and about the need to go to some specific location for it. It does feel somehow oddly timed, what with it coming barely a week after their conversation about Mikey and the consequent stillness between them. Part of Dallon hopes that this is Ryan’s attempt at moving past his grudge so he can let go of the bond, and finally move on; another, smaller but louder part of him, however, is uneasy about this whole thing. Something is not right, and Dallon can’t quite put his finger on what it is – is he just being paranoid again, or is there something he’s not seeing?

At least news from home is good, Otto and Awsten seem to be getting along well – hopefully not too well -, and Mikey has made it back safe and sound, and with everything he set out to find. If this trip doesn’t go well, at least once they’re back they can attempt the ritual and try and bring Spencer back – that might help ease Ryan’s grief a little bit. He hasn’t gotten an update from Otto in a few hours, which tells him everything should be okay.

“We’re nearly there,” Ryan’s voice breaks through his thoughts, and brings him back to the here and now.

“Thank fuck,” Dallon mutters under his breath, and stretches his back as he shifts in his seat. “How long is it until dawn?”

“Four more hours, we have plenty of time,” Ryan confirms, his voice as tight as his expression. Then, he turns to Pete and gestures at the exit ramp coming up. “Get off here, it’s the next town over.”

“Alright,” is Pete’s only answer as he complies and takes them off the highway and onto local streets once more. Ryan reaches over, then, and inputs an address on Pete’s maps app, then sits back in silence.

Dallon can see it’s a cemetery in a small town ten minutes away. He’s about to fish out his phone and let the others know, but decides against it. There’s a GPS tracker in the van anyway, so he’s pretty sure Travie hasn’t missed a single movement they’ve made.

By the time they pull up to their destination, Dallon can’t wait to be done with this, just so he can put his paranoia back to sleep. Ryan is the first to get out of the van, quickly followed by Pete, and lastly, Dallon. The cemetery is deserted – as it should be at 3 am -, and very scarcely illuminated; there’s no moon to make it easier to see, and if it weren’t for their vampire senses, they would be walking around in near-complete darkness. As it is, Dallon can make out some of the headstones, the names unknown and the dates varying from very recent, to extremely old. Well, extremely old in human terms.

Ryan leads the way, and the other two vampires follow him deeper into the cemetery, towards what in the distance looks like a very old mausoleum.

“Pete, now would be a great time for your old self to come out and play,” Dallon suggests as they walk, his sarcasm evident even in his quiet tone. “You know, the whole point of us coming here.”

“I know,” Pete hisses with a glare, then gives a helpless shrug. “I don’t really know how to let him take over.”

“Yeah, maybe we should have addressed that before we drove all the way here,” Dallon points out, rolling his eyes.

“Well, usually it’s enough to talk about Ryan to trigger it, but for some reason it’s not happening, even though I literally spent two days next to him,” Pete counters, evidently frustrated, and look ahead to the approaching stone structure.

“Maybe that’s the problem, maybe you need distance,” Dallon suggests with a cocked eyebrow.

Pete doesn’t look overly convinced by his theory, but before he can argue against it, they arrive at the mausoleum and Ryan stops. There is a name carved into the stone above the door, and while it’s obvious this has been here for a long time, it’s still readable. The moment Dallon reads it, however, he feels a cold shiver run down his back and he turns his attention to Ryan.

“Why does this say Ross?” he asks in a quiet whisper.

“Ask him,” Ryan simply says, nodding his head towards Pete, who looks absolutely lost.

“You’re asking the wrong me,” Pete admits, walking closer to the mausoleum, as if proximity might help him make sense of this.

Dallon knows Pete and Ryan were still in the old world when they met and when Pete turned him, so this is just confusing. Is this where Ryan’s descendants are buried? Even so, they probably moved here from the old world much later than Pete’s curse came into effect, so he wouldn’t remember them. Why would this be the place that proves to him he’s actually speaking to the same Pete who turned him?

And then something happens, a perceivable shift in Pete’s aura; Dallon looks at him and sees the exact moment the look in his eyes changes, and his stance turns from quiet tension to sudden alertness. The urge to reach for the stake dangling from his belt is strong, but Dallon resists it – at least for now.

“Ryan,” is the first word out of Pete’s mouth, his eyes immediately focusing on the other vampire. There is surprise in his tone, maybe a hint of fear, and definitely a whole lot of confusion. “Where are we?”

Oh, great. The whole point of coming here was so Shadow Pete could recognize the place and prove he actually is who he says he is, and this… well, this is not going according to plan. “Pete, are you fucking serious?”

Shadow Pete turns to look at Dallon as if only now realizing he’s standing there, and Dallon doesn’t miss the way his eyes dart down to the stake at his side for just a moment.

Before Ryan can actually say anything, however, a blur of motion catches all of them off guard. Two shadows move quick, one going straight for Ryan, while the other one grabs Dallon before he can react. A cuff is slapped onto his wrist, and Dallon feels a spark of magic travel through his system; it doesn’t take much to realize he’s been weakened with some kind of magical item, because as hard as he struggles, he can’t quite free himself from the grip holding him.

To add to his horror, when he looks up, he sees that the other assailant has Ryan in a tight grip, and a stake resting on his chest, ready to sink in. Ryan must have been weakened too, because his struggles amount to very little as well.

And that’s when Dallon sees it, who the person holding Ryan is.

Tyler Joseph.

Fuck.

“Stay put or he dies, Wentz,” Joseph warns in a calm but resolute tone.

“Let him go,” Pete growls in response, fangs out and eyes icy blue – and yet, he doesn’t move.

“You don’t give the orders here,” the vampire holding Dallon warns, and Dallon recognizes the voice as Josh Dun. Of course.

Normally, the three of them against Joseph and Dun wouldn’t even be a struggle, but with the stupid cuff weakening him, and Ryan with a stake pointed at his heart… well, that changes the odds. There is no doubt in Dallon’s mind that Pete could easily still kill both Joseph and Dun without breaking a sweat, but that would most certainly mean Ryan’s death – and possibly Dallon’s too. Pete would never risk that, but then again, this isn’t the Pete he knows. There is a very real chance this Pete does not care enough to hold back.

“You’re all coming with us,” Joseph informs, and despite his calm demeanor, there is subtle threat in his voice. “Whether you come dead or undead, it’s up to you.”

“What do you want?” Pete asks through gritted teeth; it’s clear he’s struggling to hold back, but his eyes are locked on the stake threatening Ryan’s heart.

“Well, we’ve incapacitated them, so that leaves you,” Dun says, then Dallon feels him reach for the stake strapped to his side. A moment later, he throws it at Pete. “Time to go to sleep.”

“You must be joking,” Pete growls as he watches the piece of wood roll to a stop near his feet. “You want me to stake myself?”

“It won’t kill you,” Joseph reasons as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “But this one will kill Ross, if you don’t cooperate like a good boy.”

Fuck. Dallon is pretty sure they’re both about to die, because there is no way in fucking hell that Shadow Pete is going to stake himself to save Ryan. And beneath the adrenaline rush and the anger, Dallon feels his heart sink in his chest at the déjà vu he’s living – maybe this is his curse, watching the people he loves being killed right in front of him while he can’t do anything to save them.

“Pete,” is all Ryan says, and there’s enough in that word to make it sound like both a plea and a threat.

Pete looks at him, clearly conflicted, then briefly glances at Dallon, who is still pointlessly trying to break free; his desperation, however, must come across clearly enough, because a moment later Pete whispers a soft, “Fine.”

What?

“Good choice,” Joseph comments with a small grin, then gestures at the born vampire. “Go ahead, we won’t kill you while you sleep, we need you alive.”

Pete bends down slowly to retrieve the stake, then turns it onto himself.

Fuck, if they do survive, Patrick is going to kill Pete for letting himself be talked into this, and Dallon for letting it happen. And yet, there is nothing he can do as he watches Pete push the stake into his own heart, effectively staking himself, his eyes on Ryan the entire time. Moments later, the born vampire falls to the ground, unconscious.

The silence of the dark cemetery is broken a few seconds later when Ryan speaks. And yet, his words take a moment to register.

“Well, that was easy,” Ryan comments with a chuckle, then steps away from Joseph, who responds with a laugh.

And Dallon feels like a bucket of ice water was just poured over his head. “Ryan?”

Ryan turns to look at him, then, his apologetic expression only serving to let the truth sink in even deeper.

This is a trap.

This was always a trap.

And they walked into it with their eyes closed like fucking idiots.

Dallon is about to speak again, demand answers, but before he can, something hard hits the back of his head and he falls to his knees, and then to the ground. He hears Ryan call out his name, but it feels distant, like an echo, and a breath later everything goes dark.

~

Chapter Text

Chapter 20 – So go fight off all your demons, maybe you’ll find someone to keep

~

“It’s been what, two hours?” Awsten huffs as he paces back and forth on the path. “What’s taking so long?”

They haven’t moved much from the spot where they landed, mostly because there’s no point to. Hecate said she would either send Spencer Smith or a hellhound their way, and whatever happens, it’s out of their hands now. Hopefully they convinced the goddess that their cause is worthy and their intentions good, but Patrick isn’t overly optimistic, especially since he’s never heard of anyone who met Hecate and lived to tell the tale. Then again, she did say he ‘walks with the hallowed’, which means Awsten’s oracle nature might be an unexpected advantage in that sense. Really, it’s a tossup, at this point.

“Are you in a hurry to meet a hellhound?” Patrick inquires with a cocked eyebrow, then realizes it came out with far more bite than he intended. “Sorry.”

“Dallon can be a royal cunt sometimes, but you’re good competition,” Awsten simply comments, clearly unimpressed and a little sulky. “I just want this nightmare to end, one way or another.”

Patrick nods slowly, and watches as Awsten stops pacing and sits down on the ground next to him instead. “If we make it out of here, what’s the first thing you’re gonna do?” he asks, hoping to distract the kid – and himself – a little bit.

“Kiss Otto,” Awsten answers candidly, a small grin forming on his lips. “Possibly before Dallon gets back, so he can be angry at everything all at once, and I can get away with one apology for all of it.”

Patrick gives a small laugh at that honest answer, and shakes his head. “I mean, that’s a solid plan.”

There is a long moment of silence, the eerie stillness around them unsettling, which is probably why they don’t resist long without speaking. “I’m going with them when they leave for Utah,” Awsten informs when the lack of sound becomes unbearable.

“I know, we all figured you’d go with them,” Patrick admits quietly, his smile hopefully showing he doesn’t mind the decision. “We weren’t exactly the best hosts, what with nearly starving you and letting Maja… well, be Maja.”

“I told you, I’ve had worse, at least you’ve tried to make up for it,” Awsten objects with a small grin, clearly relieved that Patrick didn’t seem to be angry about his decision. “I still appreciate you guys taking me in these couple of months.”

Patrick simply nods in acknowledgement of those words, because he doesn’t really feel like they deserve the gratitude. All they’ve provided is a roof and walls, Dallon and Mikey did what really mattered.

“Once I have a better grip on these abilities, you get to call me,” Awsten adds a moment later. “Not Pete, not Maja, but you… well, if you need it, I’ll help you out if I can.”

“Why?”

“You came on this fucking suicide mission with me,” Awsten answers with a broad gesture to the creepy luminescent forest around them. “And you didn’t try to talk me out of it.”

Patrick is about to answer those words, genuinely touched that, despite his own shortcomings with the kid, Awsten still feels like he deserves friendship. Something stops him before he can voice that, however. There is a figure approaching them from the shadows ahead, barely visible beyond the glow cast by the leaves. As it moves closer and closer, Awsten sees it too and jumps to his feet. Patrick stands too, and braces himself for whatever might be coming.

“What the actual fuck? You?” the figure asks as he comes close enough for the light to illuminate his features. Spencer Smith.

Patrick feels relief wash through him like an avalanche, and he smiles up at the pitch black night in silent gratitude to Hecate. He has a feeling she’s still watching them.

“We’re here to bring you back,” Patrick explains with a nod, taking a step towards the dead vampire.

“Last time I saw you, you threw me to your wolves in broad daylight,” Spencer points out, and steps back to maintain the distance between them. “And now you expect me to believe you want to bring me back to life?”

Patrick feels those words hit him straight in that corner of his heart that has been chewed at by his guilt. Of course it wouldn’t be as easy as that. “I know, and I’m sorry, but you nearly murdered my friend,” Patrick counters, aware that he can’t back down from this confrontation. “And I didn’t know you were being brainwashed by Urie.”

That seems to give Spencer pause, as if Patrick’s words just reminded him of something. Slowly, his expression grows from angry to confused, until it lands to something close to disgust. “Beckett,” Spencer mutters under his breath. “I had them bleed him out in that tub.”

“You did, but it wasn’t your doing, was it?” Patrick asks quietly, and this time, when he steps closer, Spencer does not move back.

“He said--” Spencer starts, but stops after a breath, and looks positively nauseated by now. “He said I was to kill as many of you as I could, especially the wolves, he said it had to be painful,” he admits as he closes his eyes. “He was so convincing… why was he so convincing?”

“Ryan told us Urie was using his blood to control you,” Awsten offers with a sympathetic look.

“Ryan? Where is he?” Spencer’s head snaps up at the name, a different light in his eyes at the mention of his sire.

“He’s okay, he’s alive, and he misses you,” Awsten tells him with a gentle smile. “We can bring you back,” he offers a moment later; then, much to Patrick’s surprise, he adds, “But I won’t do it if you don’t want it.”

It takes a moment for Patrick to figure it out, but then he gets it – Spencer is slowly remembering his last moments on earth, which means that as long as he’s down here, he can forget everything Urie put him through. It’s a blessing and a curse, of course, but Patrick has to admit he agrees with Awsten, it has to be Spencer’s choice whether he comes back or not. Whether he’d rather leave everything and everyone behind and forget his old life, or give it another shot.

Spencer looks at them, eyes wide with the impossibility of the choice put before him. “What about Jon?”

“We’re working on that, he was captured but we’re getting him back,” Patrick admits with a small nod.

“Why?” Spencer seems just confused now, all traces of anger gone. “We’re your enemy, why are you helping us?”

“You’re not, Urie was the enemy, and he’s dead,” Patrick informs him with a little smile. “Ryan came to us for sanctuary, that’s how we found out everything you’ve been through.”

Spencer looks down at those words, as if to hide the shame that fills his eyes at the memories. It can’t be easy to come to terms with everything he’s done now that Urie’s control over him has faded, now that he sees his actions for what they were.

“I want to see Ryan, and Jon,” Spencer whispers to himself, voice breaking a little. “I want the life that was taken from me.” He looks up then, and straight at Patrick. “Not the life you took, the life he took.”

Awsten nods slowly in response, and Patrick watches as she kid walks closer to Spencer and reaches for something Patrick can’t see. It must be the thread Maja talked about, Spencer’s life thread.

“I think I know how to do this, but it’s better if we all hold on to each other, just in case,” Awsten comments with a frown, and it’s clear his words do not really reassure Spencer much. Patrick can’t help but feel the same. “I don’t want anyone to be left behind by mistake.”

At that second comment, Patrick and Spencer rush to hold on to each other’s arms, while reaching out to place their free hands on Awsten’s shoulders – it’s not a physical touch, not really, it’s more of an entwining of energies, a connection that replaces the contact they would have established if their bodies were there. They make quite the silly picture, but Patrick is okay with looking silly, if it means he won’t risk being trapped down here forever. Awsten closes his eyes then, clearly concentrating, and Patrick swallows all the questions that he was about to ask. Let the magic oracle kid fucking focus, he tells himself, biting his tongue.

Moments later, Awsten opens his eyes again and Patrick sees they’ve gone completely white – it’s unsettling, but the kid seems alright, so he figures it’s part of him using this specific ability. At least, he hopes. A few tense seconds later, Awsten’s free hand reaches up as if to grab onto another thread. Slowly but confidently, his hands move together and the motions he makes resemble that of a knot being fastened. A very tight, very secure knot, Patrick hopes.

Suddenly, the pitch black sky opens up and a blinding light seeps through the crack right above their heads. Slowly, they start being pulled up, which only prompts them to hold on even more tightly to each other – spiritually speaking. As the glow of the forest grows more and more distant, Patrick looks down against his better judgement, and catches the glimpse of a figure standing in the path. A tall, pale woman with hair black as night. Hecate is watching them leave, but her smile, although mostly benevolent, holds a trace of concern that is clear even at that distance.

“Good luck, wolf, you’ll need it.”

A single sentence spoken by the goddess, echoing in Patrick’s mind, and then everything goes blindingly white and he loses consciousness.

~

Patrick wakes up with a start and a sharp intake of breath, chest burning as if he’s been holding his breath in for a long time. Which he probably was, considering he was technically dead. The room slowly comes into focus as he makes himself inhale and exhale deep and slow to calm his racing heart. His thankfully beating heart. He’s alive, thank fuck.

“Patrick, are you okay?” It’s Joe’s voice that reaches him first, and when he finally manages to take in his surroundings, he realizes the other wolf is kneeling next to him.

“I’m fine, I think,” Patrick chokes out, and the sound of his own voice seems almost foreign. How long were they down there?

Slowly and with some effort, he sits up and looks to the side, where Awsten is still lying on the floor – and Spencer Smith is lying between them, unconscious. Well, at least they fucking did it.

Awsten is awake, but it’s clear he’s downright exhausted, and for good reason. If Patrick understood the whole thing correctly, the kid basically pulled them all back into the world of the living by using Spencer’s life thread, which he apparently successfully reconnected. It must have been excruciatingly tough and a big demand on his human energy. Honestly, Patrick feels like it’s kind of a miracle Awsten made it back alive.

“You okay, kid?” Patrick asks, voice still raspy but slowly coming back.

Awsten simply gives him a thumbs up, but doesn’t move to try and sit up, breathing shallow and coming in short, irregular huffs. Instead, Otto kneels down next to him, clearly concerned. “Awsten, what’s wrong?”

“He needs to rest,” Maja answers for him, which earns her a weak, muttered “No shit, Sherlock,” from Awsten.

Otto seems to relax a fraction at the sarcastic quip, and returns his attention to the human without as much as a second look at the witch. Yep, Otto’s definitely joining the anti-Maja club. “C’mon, you’ve done enough here, I’ll take you up to your room,” he offers, and slowly and delicately takes Awsten into his arms.

“I’m not a fucking child,” Awsten protests in a whisper, but it’s clear that there isn’t much fight behind it, nor that he’d be in any shape to walk on his own legs.

“No, you’re not,” Otto agrees with a grin. “You’re a cute princess.”

“You’re lucky I’m too weak to kiss you, fucker,” Awsten mumbles, but there’s a smile on his lips now, and he’s resting his head against Otto’s shoulder instead of fighting him.

Otto simply laughs in response to those words, and it’s the last thing Patrick hears from them before they leave the room and head upstairs to Awsten’s room.

“Those two are fucking before the week’s over,” William comments with a highly entertained grin, which earns him a roll of eyes from Patrick and a playful smack on the back of the head from Gabe. “Hey! We were all thinking it!”

“Anyway,” Maja interjects, clearly exasperated. “I see you’ve been successful.”

“Did you know?” Patrick asks, all mirth gone from his tone as he slowly gets to his feet. He’s still a little unsteady, but both Joe and Mike are by his side now, ready to help. “Did you fucking know, you psycho?”

“Know what?” Maja seems genuinely caught off guard, which is the only thing stopping Patrick from actually clawing out.

“That we’d have to convince fucking Hecate herself to let us take Spencer’s soul?” Patrick counters, anger giving him more energy than he probably has right now. He might not be as exhausted as Awsten, but their adventure has certainly taken a toll on him as well.

“You met Hecate?” Vicky whispers with equal parts awe and horror. “And she let you live?”

“Believe me, I’m as shocked as you are, but you can’t see it because I’m fucking pissed,” Patrick claps back, then points a finger at Maja. “Did you know?”

“Okay, full disclosure, I did know you’d be questioned about your motives,” Maja admits with a small shrug. “But I had no idea it would be Hecate doing the questioning.”

“Well, it was,” Patrick growls, taking a step towards the witch. And it seems his fury broadcasts clearly enough, because she takes a small step backwards. That’s a first. And a satisfying one at that.

“Look, all’s well that ends well,” Vicky interjects in what is clearly an attempt at mediation. “Let’s get Spencer some dead man’s blood, I’m pretty sure he needs to feed.”

That is enough to distract Patrick from his anger and finally take a look around the room. Which is when he realizes some of his friends are not there. “Where are Travie and Mikey?”

“So, funny story,” William starts with an embarrassed smile that does nothing to reassure Patrick. “Billie Joe showed up.”

Of course he did.

“Fucking peachy timing,” Patrick mutters, then takes a deep breath. “Is he still here?”

“Yeah, he got here like half an hour ago, Travie and Mikey are keeping him busy,” Gabe informs with a nod.

“Alright, I’ll go deal with that,” Patrick declares, and takes exactly one step towards the door before he realizes he can’t just walk out and leave Spencer there, unattended.

Vicky has a point, Spencer needs to feed, but Patrick doesn’t want to task Gabe and William with it. Mostly because, brainwashed or not, Spencer is the one who had William bled out in a bathtub; and second, he feels like it’s better if vampires stay away from dead man’s blood unless strictly necessary.

“Joe, Andy, can you take care of Spencer? I think we have one sunlight-proof guest room left, you can use that one,” Patrick instructs a moment later – they technically saved that for Jon Walker, but what the hell, they’re mates, they can share.

Much to his surprise, William steps forward and says, “I’d like to help with that.”

“Are you sure?” Patrick inquires, and he can see Gabe is just as confused by that request. “He’s the one who--”

“I remember, believe me,” William stops him with an eloquent look. “But that’s the point, I want to see the look on his face,” he explains with a shrug. “If he’s sorry, I’ll forgive him, if he’s not, I’ll rub it in his face that I survived and he didn’t.”

“That’s…” Patrick stops, because he doesn’t quite know how to end that sentence. Mean? Fair? Petty? Funny in a very dark way? In the end, he simply nods and lifts his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Fine, go ahead.”

“Thank you, pet,” William chirps with a wide smile.

Patrick turns to Gabe then, who immediately understands the silent question. “Yeah, no, I’m coming with you, Alpha, because I’m not sure I won’t rip Smith to shreds if he’s not sorry.”

“Alright, let’s go get the final piece of the puzzle,” Patrick declares as he heads out of the room, followed by Gabe.

Hopefully, the Jon Wlaker hand off will go smoothly, and then Patrick can take a shower and sleep for a fucking week. Or seven.

~~

“You promised not to hurt Dallon.”

“No, we didn't. We said he wouldn't die, not that he wouldn't be in pain.”

Dallon is vaguely aware of the conversation going on in the room; he’s in pain – as planned, apparently –, dazed, but slowly regaining consciousness. He’s dangling from the ceiling, suspended from a hook by the chain joining his wrists, his feet barely scraping the floor. He’s been in this position for hours now, drifting in and out of consciousness, and his muscles are screaming bloody murder, but it’s unlikely his jailer will give the tiniest of fucks. The cuff weakening him is still in place, which makes recovering much slower than it normally would be.

“You don’t need him, just let him go,” Ryan insists, and by now, Dallon can focus his eyes enough to see the two figures speaking – neither of them seems to have noticed he’s now awake, and he does his best to keep it that way.

“If we didn’t need him, he’d be dead,” Dun counters with a chuckle, then turns towards the door. “You did your part, Ross, now sit back and let us do ours.”

With that, Dun walks out of the room without as much as a glance towards Dallon; and thank fuck for that, because so far, any time he’s received the attention of that fucker, it has resulted in some kind of physical torment – he doesn’t need to look down at himself to know he’s covered in bruises and cuts, which are not healing nearly fast enough for the pain to subside.

On the other side of the room, Pete is still lying unconscious on a cot, the stake still planted firmly in his heart. Dallon can’t be sure, but by his estimate, they were captured about twenty-four hours before, and who the fuck knows if there are long-term effects to being staked that long. He surely hopes not. He figures they must be in some kind of abandoned store or warehouse; ruined cardboard boxes litter the floor of the room, the walls are covered in graffiti and there’s an old dusty fuel drum in the corner. Thankfully, the only window has been boarded up, which protects him from sunlight.

Once Dun is gone, Ryan turns to look at Dallon and realizes that he’s regained consciousness. Silent at first, he walks closer, which makes it impossible for Dallon to keep ignoring him. After a few moments, the vampire whispers, “Hang in there, Dallon, I’ll talk them into letting you go.” 

A whole different brand of pain chews at Dallon’s heart as he turns to Ryan, who has the gall to look genuinely concerned. Yeah, well, he should have thought about it before he sold them out to Joseph and Dun. The moment Ryan steps even closer, Dallon uses what little energy he has left and kicks him back – it’s lame, and it hits much lower than Ryan’s chest, which was the intended target, but it sends a clear enough message and keeps him at a distance.

“Go fuck yourself,” Dallon hisses through gritted teeth. “Fucking traitorous son of a whore.”

Ryan seems taken aback by those words, but he covers it up quickly. Just not quickly enough. “It was never the plan to capture you, I made a deal for Wentz, you were supposed to be left alone.”

“That does not fucking make it better,” Dallon counters with a mix of anger and disbelief. “And it’s not Wentz they’re after, you fucking idiot, they’re playing you.”

“No, don’t try to mess with me,” Ryan answers with a glare. “You said it, they’re after someone you’re in charge of protecting,”

“They’re after Awsten, you stupid son of a bitch.” Dallon feels his voice tremble a little, and he’s not sure what’s doing it, whether it’s the rage he’s feeling, or the absolute fucking terror at the idea they might get their hands on Awsten.

“You’re lying,” Ryan objects, but there’s a trace of horror in his eyes at the possibility that Dallon might be, in fact, telling the truth.

“Why do you think they need me?” Dallon taunts with enough venom in his voice to send Ryan back a step. “They’ll use me to get to him and I swear to fucking hell if they do get to him, if they hurt him…” Dallon nearly growls, his fury dripping from every word. “If something happens to Awsten, there won’t be a fucking rock you can hide under, I’ll find you. I don’t care if you're under sanctuary or on the fucking moon, I will find you and tear you to pieces.”

“I would never put him in danger!” Ryan protests, stepping forward once more. “He wanted to come on this fucking trip, I’m the one who stopped him. And I won’t let them get to him.”

“Wake the fuck up, you’re not in charge of this, they are,” Dallon mutters, shaking his head as much as his current position allows him to. “What did they even promise you in exchange for this?”

Ryan doesn’t answer immediately, as if he’s trying to decide whether he wants to or not. Dallon feels his chest burn with the anger and fear coursing through his blood, but doesn’t ask again. What does it matter at this point? Ryan betrayed them. What difference can the reason possibly make? He might have had a good excuse for playing good soldier under Urie, but this? This is entirely on him.

Eventually, Ryan answers quietly, looking away, “Safe passage into Canada.”

Dallon feels his eyes sting at the new wave of pain that drips from his heart after those words. “So everything was a lie, all that talking about coming to Utah with me, all of it was bullshit.”

“I never lied to you about my feelings,” Ryan objects, but it’s weak, as if he’s struggling to get the words out. “But you were never going to pick me over Mikey, and I had to cut my losses.”

Dallon simply stares at him, a whirlwind of disbelief, pain and fury clawing at his ribcage, along with the cold realization that Ryan will not help him, will not free him. Ryan has picked his side, and Dallon knows he won’t change his mind, not until he sees that Dallon’s right, that he’s being played. And by then, it will be too late.

“Get out,” Dallon whispers, closing his eyes against the tears that threaten to fall.

“Dallon, I won’t let them--”

“Get the fuck out!” This time it’s a shout that comes out, voice breaking just enough to show how hopeless Dallon truly feels.

Any other moment, he would worry about preserving his dignity, about playing it tough, but right now he does not give a damn. Right now, he just wants to be alone with his pain. This is nothing new, he’s been through this before, the torment, the torture – he just never thought he would go through any of this because of Ryan, because of someone he loves. Not again. It rings all too familiar, like a sick déjà vu, and it makes his throat tighten and his blood boil.

So the moment Ryan opens the door to walk out, Dallon whispers a bitter, “You’re no better than he was.”

And he sees the exact moment the words hit their target, the way Ryan almost physically recoils from them.

Now, if only hurting Ryan made this fucking situation any better.

A handful of seconds later Dallon is alone, eyes downcast to the dry puddle of blood beneath his feet. He’s resilient, but there is only so much he can bleed before it becomes too severe to recover. And unless the cuff comes off, he has very little chance of getting free. At least they’ll keep him alive for now; if his idea is correct, they’re only keeping him so they can use him as leverage to force Awsten to do their bidding. And once they find out Awsten can’t do what they want him to do – bring Urie back – then both Dallon and Awsten will be as good as dead.

He needs a plan, and he needs it yesterday.

~

“Someone finally got laid,” Mikey teases with a small grin when Awsten walks into the library where the others are chatting. The instantaneous shade of bright red that takes over the kid’s face causes Patrick to stifle a laugh.

“Leave the kid alone.” Patrick pokes Mikey in the arm, then offers the human a playful wink, which is met with even more blushing. Well, it would seem Awsten kept his resolution from the Underworld and kissed Otto… and then some. Good for them.

“Dallon’s right, you lot are nosy as fuck,” Awsten mutters as he moves to an empty armchair and curls up in it. It’s surprising to see him join them so willingly, but maybe their little adventure – and surviving it – has given him a bit more confidence. The fact that Maja is temporarily back to her coven might also be a heavily contributing factor.

Moments later, Otto walks into the room as well – they’re the opposite of subtle, really – and, with a greeting nod, sits on the armrest of Awsten’s armchair.

Before Mikey can tease them any further, Patrick brings the attention back to the matter at hand. “So, Spencer is still unconscious but recovering, and Walker is… well, he can walk on his own legs, which is big progress, according to him,” he recaps so that Awsten and Otto are up to speed as well. “They’re sharing our last sunlight-proof room, and while it’s going to be a while before they’re in optimal shape, at least they’re both alive. Undead. You get it.”

“What’s the bad news?” Mike asks from the other side of the room, ever the pragmatic and optimistic type.

“People might come after them – well, not Spencer, since everyone thinks he’s dead, but definitely Walker,” Patrick explains with a small sigh. “And Billie Joe might figure out we tampered with Awsten’s blood before giving it to him.”

“What do we do if he comes back?” Mikey sounds mostly entertained and not all that concerned about that possibility.

“Pretend we’re not home,” Patrick offers with a grin. “I mean, I guess he’ll take the loss and be a little grumpy and uncooperative for a few decades, but we’ll survive it.”

“Any news from the school trip?” Joe asks instead, diverting the topic onto something Patrick feels a little more pressing.

“Pete has been telegraphic in his texts, but he’s kept in contact,” Patrick admits with a cocked eyebrow.

“Dallon has been pretty dry too, but he texted that everything’s fine,” Otto contributes, and when Patrick looks his way, he sees Awsten’s head is resting on the vampire’s thigh. Considering how long it took Awsten to get comfortable around everyone else – and he’s not quite there yet with a lot of them –, the fact that he’s so close to Otto after a handful of days is adorable, really. Dallon had better not be a dick about it.

“What about the tracker?” Andy interjects from his seat next to Joe.

“Last night they travelled to a cemetery, stayed there about an hour, then drove to a motel,” Travie reports, hands toying with his smartphone. “They haven’t moved yet, tonight.”

“Maybe they’re just talking it out?” William offers with a shrug, and it might have sounded more convincing, if it weren’t for the small alarm bell ringing at the back of Patrick’s mind. 

“Has anyone actually spoken to any of them?” Patrick inquires, an uneasy feeling sneaking up his spine. Pete texted him, and Otto says Dallon did the same – but it would seem no one has actually heard from them.

“You think they’re not the ones texting?” Mikey looks a lot less entertained now that he’s caught onto Patrick’s concern.

Travie doesn’t say anything, and instead dials a number on his phone and puts it on speaker. It goes straight to Pete’s voicemail. Another number. Straight to Dallon’s voicemail. Okay, not a good sign.

“Maybe there’s no service?” Joe doesn’t sound at all convinced, but Patrick can appreciate the instinct to try and find a reasonable explanation.

“Try Ryan’s,” Awsten suggests without raising his head from Otto’s leg.

“Ryan doesn’t have a phone,” Patrick objects, but his tone loses conviction before he’s even done speaking. Did anyone search Ryan when he arrived at the house? They must have, right? And yet, try as he might, he can’t remember any of them doing it. They were all shocked by his presence, and Ryan was soaking wet and carrying nothing but the clothes on his back – and yet, he might have had a phone on him. Patrick can’t fucking believe they were so careless.

“I think he does,” Awsten mutters, and there’s a frown on his face now. Slowly, he sits up, expression confused as he tries to make sense of something. He’s hesitant to speak again, as if he’s not sure it’s a good idea, but a few breaths later he asks, “Who are Joseph and Dun?”

Oh shit.

“Awsten,” Mikey calls, and catches the boy’s attention. “Why do you ask?”

“The other day, a few hours before they left, I got this… glimpse, vision, intuition, call it whatever the hell you want,” Awsten recalls, and it’s clear he’s making an effort to remember. “It was Ryan speaking on the phone with these two vampires, Joseph and Dun. I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure if it was something old, or something that hasn’t happened yet…” he trails off, uncertain, possibly intimidated by the concerned looks around him. “I’m sorry, I--"

“It’s okay, sunshine,” Otto reassures him, hand moving to rest on his shoulder in a comforting gesture.

“I thought they were friends,” Awsten explains, a trace of alarm sneaking into his voice, which has now grown quieter. “Who are they?”

“Bad news,” Patrick huffs, running a hand in his hair.

“Urie’s minions, they’re after you,” Mikey informs the human with an apologetic look that does nothing to hide his own concern.

“I didn’t--” Awsten looks both mortified and troubled, his voice barely more than a whisper now. “Why didn’t Dallon tell me? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“We didn’t want you to worry,” Mikey admits with a shrug. “You’re perfectly safe as long as you’re with us.”

“But the others aren’t,” Awsten mutters, a trace of anger surfacing in his voice.

“This clan has some serious information sharing issues,” Vicky protests, hands on her hips in a pose that is way too reminiscent of Maja for comfort. “Did you really think keeping your clairvoyant human in the dark about the people hunting him was a good fucking idea?”

“The good witch has a point,” Awsten concurs with a surprising surge of confidence.

“Wait, so we’re thinking Joseph and Dun got to our guys?” Joe asks, clearly alarmed.

Fuck fuck fuck.

“We need to get to that motel,” Patrick decides, looking at Mike – the order is implicit. Hunting party. Now. “Hopefully they’re safe and sound, but if they’re not, we need to track them down from there.”

Mike is already heading for the door to gather the pack when Travie’s phone suddenly rings. “It’s Pete.”

The room freezes as Travie answers on speaker, but the voice that comes through is not the one of their Archon. “Check your phone, wolf,” is all the voice says, and Patrick feels his spine run ice cold as he fumbles for his smartphone.

When he does manage to get it out, he sees a new message notification; he holds his breath as he clicks it, and soon enough a picture appears on the screen. And that’s when Patrick feels the ground under his feet shift and his heart drop to the bottom of his stomach.

Pete.

With a stake through his heart.

Seemingly dead, but Patrick knows he’s not dead.

Yet.

Beneath the picture is a single sentence.

‘Give us the oracle and your vampire won’t lose his head.’

~

Chapter Text

Chapter 21 – Bones will break and blood will spill when death is crawling up the hill

~

Patrick is pretty sure he’s never been this terrified before, and try as he might, he can’t quite keep his emotions completely at bay. He’s pacing the library, smartphone still gripped in his hand but ignored now. What is he supposed to do? Should he go after them? Should he track them down using the scents that are hopefully still around the van? Will that prompt Joseph and Dun to hurt Pete? Born vampire or not, Pete is extremely vulnerable while staked, they could easily kill him if they wanted. How did they even manage to incapacitate him?

They might try tracking Pete’s phone, but he doubts the bastards would be stupid enough to allow that – they probably smashed it now that they’ve made contact and sent their demands. The next time they hear from them, it won’t be from Pete’s number, he’s sure.

A glance at Travie tells him the vampire is already trying that, eyes glued to his screen as he taps quickly. When he looks up, however, his expression is enough to understand Patrick’s suspicion was right. Travie simply shakes his head and offers a quiet, “No tracking the phone.”

Maybe he should wait for further communication and try and come up with a plan instead. They want Awsten, so as long as they think they might have a chance to get the boy, they won’t hurt Pete. Maybe Patrick can stage a hostage exchange and then overwhelm them with the help of the pack? It could work, but it could also backfire. They might have contingencies in place, or they might have more vampires than expected on their side.

They might have Ryan on their side.

Considering what Awsten saw, or perceived, or whatever, that’s a very real possibility.

“What are we gonna do?” Otto inquires, clearly incensed about the situation – and for good reason, his Archon is missing and they have no evidence he is even still alive.

That lack of knowledge haunts Patrick as well, but he chooses to think the bastards are keeping Dallon around to use as leverage once they get Awsten. It’s the best case scenario, at this point, and Patrick clings to it like a lifeline.

“I’m trying to come up with a plan,” Patrick responds, but doesn’t stop pacing.

“We have a plan,” Awsten objects, standing from his armchair. Everyone turns to look at him, but this time he doesn’t let that intimidate him, and while he’s clearly scared, he’s equally determined. “They want me, right? So you hand me over and get the others back.”

“We’re not handing you over!” Mikey instantly protests, moving to stand next to the human.

“If they’re after my powers, they won’t kill me,” Awsten reasons with a shrug.

“They want you to bring Urie back,” Patrick informs with a dark look. “Which is impossible, because his bloodline is dead.”

“See? They need me alive and cooperative,” Awsten insists, looking at Mikey first, then at Patrick. “You can come save me once you’ve gotten the others out of there.”

“It’s insane.” Mikey sounds as horrified as he looks, and even as he shakes his head, he doesn’t take his eyes off the human. “I’m not handing you over to those animals.”

“The instant they figure out you can’t bring Urie back, you’ll be useless to them, and they’ll kill you,” Patrick objects, and finally stops his back and forth.

“So we don’t tell them,” Awsten simply responds, and Patrick wants to simultaneously hug him for being so selfless and hit him for being so fucking stubborn. After a long moment of silence, the kid adds, “We don’t really have any other option, and I need to get Dallon out of there.”

Patrick takes a long breath, heart still hammering in his chest. If he makes the wrong move, Pete is dead. If he bluffs, Pete is dead. Mikey’s right, it’s insane, and yet Awsten also has a point – it’s their only option. The question is, can Patrick live with the knowledge that he’s deliberately sending a defenseless human into a trap? Even if they do manage to save Pete and Dallon – and Ryan, if he turns out to be innocent, by some miracle –, Dallon will never forgive him for sending Awsten to his death.

“When they call, tell them it’s on,” Otto intervenes, and while his voice is steady, it’s clear he’s not saying it lightly. “Tell those bastards you want all of them back, in exchange for Awsten.”

“Would you really send him in there?” Mikey sounds downright outraged, and he walks over to Otto, ready to get in his face. “He’d be helpless.”

“I mean, you have sunlight bullets and I can shoot a gun,” Awsten protests quietly, sulking.

“You can?” Mikey nearly does a double take at that.

“I grew up in Texas,” is all the answer Awsten gives.

“I think you’re all underestimating Awsten,” Otto points out, which earns him a warm, careful smile from the human. “He walked into the Underworld, came face to face with Hecate herself, and survived. Give him some fucking credit.” There’s a brief pause before he adds, “Of course I’m not suggesting we actually hand him over, but he can definitely play his part if we stage an exchange and use it as a diversion to free the others.”

Patrick has to admit Otto does have a point – the kid has been through a lot, before and after arriving at the house, and while he’s still clearly traumatized and volatile, he might not be as fragile as they all think. He held his own in the Underworld, and pulled the three of them back to the world of the living even though they went into their mission underprepared and underinformed – thank you, Maja.

And after all that, he has certainly earned the right to make his own decisions, however insane and suicidal they might be. After all, who’s Patrick to judge? He mated with a Regent vampire and walked into a vampire High Council when it was open season on werewolves – he’s had some experience with insane and suicidal ideas. And a staged exchange might actually work, if they plan it right.

Fuck, he can’t believe he’s actually giving in.

“Fine,” Patrick breathes, much to Mikey’s shock. “But we need to be smart about this.”

“Good to know you’re not planning to just kick him out of a moving car,” Mikey mutters, clearly opposed to the idea; his sarcastic words earn him a glare from both Patrick and Awsten. “So how do you suggest we be smart about this catastrophically stupid idea?”

“Awsten’s blood can be used to track him,” Travie reminds them out of the blue. “It’s the whole reason we had to tamper with it before giving it to Billie Joe.”

“Why does no one tell me this shit?” Awsten mutters to himself, his frown clearly irritated; Mikey addresses him an apologetic look, which is met with a sullen glare.

“We can draw some blood, and I can track him with it, in case something goes wrong and we lose contact,” Vicky concurs with a decisive nod. “They have no way of stopping it, it’s not a GPS tracker on a van you can ditch, or a smartphone you can smash.”

How could Patrick forget about that? He should have thought about this detail way sooner, it would have made the whole discussion go a lot faster. It’s clear the last few months have taken a toll on him, on his ability to think on the spot and make a plan; he obviously needs rest, but fuck it, he can rest once they’ve solved this fucking mess once and for all. He can rest once Joseph and Dun are dust. And possibly Ryan too.

“Okay, then, when they call again, I’ll demand Dallon back too,” Patrick decides, taking a deep breath.

“And Ryan,” Mikey interjects, surprising everyone. “We shouldn’t let them know we suspect him. Always lead your enemy to think you’re dumber than you are.”

“I mean, we’ve been pretty fucking dumb, this time,” William comments under his breath, which Mikey concedes with a nod.

“Besides, if he’s innocent, we want him back, and if he’s not innocent…” Mikey trails off, his expression darkening.

“We still want him back,” Patrick finishes for him, and there’s no need to specify they all want revenge, if Ryan turns out to be the culprit.

“C’mon, while Patrick takes care of that, let’s go see Ryland and get a few vials of your blood,” Vicky prompts, looking at Awsten, who simply nods his assent. Clearly, he has a lot less trouble dealing with Vicky than he has dealing with Maja. Still, when the witch heads for the door, the kid reaches over to brush his hand against Otto’s in a silent, subtle request. Patrick watches them go, the vampire immediately taking Awsten’s side.

Yeah, Dallon had better be alive, and not be a dick about those two.

~~

For the next two days – or at least he thinks it’s two days – Dallon floats in and out of consciousness. They’re feeding him the bare minimum to make sure he can survive his injuries, but those injuries keep coming. It’s like Dun has some personal vendetta against him, but Dallon will be damned if he knows what it is.

Pete is still unconscious, still staked, and Dallon has lost all hope that he might magically just wake up and get them out of there. For maybe the hundredth time, Dallon mentally curses the born vampire for giving in and staking himself, all to save the bastard who actually betrayed them in the first place.

As if on cue, the door opens and just as Dallon prepares himself for another round of pain, he sees it’s Ryan this time, not Dun. And for some reason, he’s… sneaking into the cell.

“Dallon, are you okay?” Ryan whispers as he walks closer, and this time, Dallon doesn’t have the strength – physical nor mental – to kick him back.

“Do I look fucking okay to you?” Dallon spits, voice hoarse and unsteady.

Ryan hesitates then, and even through the daze of pain and a partially swollen eye, Dallon can see the look on his face – he looks scared, ashamed and… well, he looks like a cornered animal. Oh, so the other shoe must have dropped. Cold dread creeps up Dallon’s sore back and he takes in a shaky breath, but before he can ask, it’s Ryan who speaks. And it’s precisely what Dallon fears.

“Tyler sent demands,” Ryan admits in a murmur. “Awsten in exchange for Wentz.”

“Patrick will never agree,” Dallon declares, even though he does not feel as certain as he sounds. Patrick has a heart of gold, but half of that heart is currently on that cot, staked to temporary death. And Awsten is a human, a blip compared to a vampire’s lifespan, or even a werewolf’s. It doesn’t matter that Awsten is Dallon’s family, Patrick won’t put him first, not when Pete is involved.

“They accepted to trade him, in exchange for all three of us.” Ryan sounds positively nauseated as he says this, as if the magnitude of how badly he fucked up is finally dawning on him. And it doesn’t escape Dallon that he says ‘three’. So either they haven’t figured out Ryan’s role in this, or they want him back to personally skin him.

“Have they told you why they want Awsten?” Dallon asks quietly, his anger still boiling beneath the surface, but he pushes it aside. Because despite everything, maybe there is hope that Ryan is not a complete bastard, maybe there’s hope he can be talked into freeing him and Pete.

Ryan doesn’t answer that question, he simply shakes his head, as if he’s afraid to ask. Instead, he promises, “Awsten won’t be in any danger, I promise, I won’t let them hurt him.”

“They don’t want to hurt him, they want to use him,” Dallon counters, his voice weak but resolute. “They want to bring Urie back from the dead.”

Dallon sees the exact moment those words sink into Ryan’s mind and heart, the exact moment terror surfaces and takes over everything else. Ryan doesn’t know that they can’t actually bring him back because his bloodline is extinguished, and Dallon isn’t about to tell him. Because he can weaponize that terror - he knows that terror, because he shares it, he feels it too. For him, however, it stems from the knowledge that the moment Joseph and Dun figure out Awsten is useless to them, they’ll kill him.

“No,” Ryan whispers, shaking his head again. “No, they can’t--”

“You should have talked to me,” Dallon states, hoping to strike the iron while it’s hot. “You’re hurt and lashing out against Pete, I get it, but you can be better than them,” he pauses, making sure he has Ryan’s attention before he adds, “You can be better than him.”

“I don’t think I can, I don’t think there’s anything good left in me,” Ryan whispers, eyes locked in a distant stare, as if he’s lost in his own mind, in his own mistakes. “This was never the plan, it wasn’t meant to go this way, you were never meant to get hurt.”

“Then fix it, take off this fucking cuff, pull that stake out of Pete’s chest,” Dallon insists, and the moment he tries to raise his voice, it croaks. “Give us a fighting chance so we can run and warn the others to stay away.”

Ryan wakes from his reverie and looks up at him, then, their height difference accentuated by Dallon’s current predicament, and the absolute devastation and resignation in Ryan’s eyes breaks what little part of Dallon’s heart wasn’t shattered already. “It’s too late, the exchange is in an hour. They didn’t tell me until now.”

“It’s not too late,” Dallon objects, a hint of desperation seeping into his voice. “You can still stop this. You can--”

Right then, the door opens and Joseph and Dun walk in, clearly surprised to find Ryan there. Shit.

“Visiting your boyfriend, Ross?” Joseph taunts with a cocked eyebrow, then addresses Dallon a critical look. “You’re going soft, Josh, I expected at least one limb to be missing.”

“Figured I’d leave more fun for when the kid gets here, in case he wants to be difficult,” Dun replies with a nonchalant tone.

“I thought you were letting Dallon leave with Wentz,” Ryan interjects, and Dallon can tell he’s doing his best to cover his alarm – with decent results, if they don’t look too closely.

Joseph’s reaction is to laugh in such a genuine way it baffles Ryan for a second. “No one’s leaving,” Joseph answers as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “When they get here, we’ll kill the wolf and whoever’s with him, and take the kid.”

“That’s not the plan,” Ryan growls through gritted teeth.

“Let us worry about the plan,” Dun comments with a chuckle, his derisive tone clearly getting on Ryan’s nerves. “Wentz, Stump and this fucker here killed my sire, none of them are getting out of here alive.”

Killed his sire? Wait, the only vampire they killed together was…

Oh.

Fuck.

So much for Urie’s bloodline being dead.

Ryan seems to have done the math as well, because he pales even further and clenches his jaw to try and keep his reaction under control. Dallon, however, knows him too well, he can see behind it, behind the studied indifference of his expression and into the void of despair that’s actually taking over. Fuck, if only Dallon had more time, he could have convinced Ryan to take off his cuff. That thought sparks an idea, however, and as absurd and unlikely to work as it is, he has to give it a try.

“If you’re going to kill me anyway, give me a minute with this backstabbing asshole,” Dallon nearly growls through his teeth, making a show of the anger that’s genuinely boiling under his skin. “We have unfinished business.”

Joseph snorts a laugh at his request, then looks at Ryan with a cocked eyebrow. He seems to be evaluating the request, which is more than Dallon actually expected; when Ryan himself gives a nod as if to second Dallon’s words, Joseph rolls his eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Try not to take too long,” he warns as he walks towards the door and gestures Dun to follow him. “And don’t do anything stupid.”

Ryan watches them leave in silence, and once the door is closed, he turns to Dallon and all pretenses melt. “I’m sorry, I didn’t--”

“Shut up and listen,” Dallon urges in a hurried whisper. “You need to take out Pete’s stake and feed him some of your blood,” he instructs quickly. “That’ll speed up his healing.”

“You don’t get it, Joseph and Dun are not alone, there’s at least fifteen other vampires out there, probably more,” Ryan objects, keeping his own voice low.

“They don’t stand a fucking chance against Pete, he’s a born vampire, and he’ll be an extremely angry one at that, once he wakes up,” Dallon insists, eyes moving nervously to the door. When Ryan hesitates, he continues, “You’re next, Ryan. After they’re done with us, after they’re done using you, they’ll remember you voted to execute Urie and they’ll kill you too.”

“Yeah, well, I’m dead either way, the moment Stump gets his hands on me,” Ryan huffs with a humorless laugh, shaking his head, and Dallon can’t help but hate how resigned he sounds.

Despite his ominous words, however, Ryan moves towards the cot; with a decisive move – as if he doesn’t want to give himself time to change his mind – he pulls the stake from Pete’s chest. The gaping wound bleeds a lot less than expected and Dallon hopes with all of his might that they’re not too late, that Pete can recover.

Without a word, Ryan bites into his own wrist and brings the gash to Pete’s lips; the born vampire doesn’t react at first, the blood just pooling on his lips, but soon enough his mouth opens and he instinctively bites into Ryan’s wrist. The younger vampire lets him drink, his eyes moving to the door from time to time, and his expression showing just how much he detests the idea of letting his sire drink from him. And yet, he lets him, he lets Pete take whatever he needs.

By the time Ryan pulls back, Dallon can see that the wound in Pete’s chest is already knitting itself back together – vampire blood quickens healing on its own, but blood from your own bloodline is possibly the best you can get. Dallon hopes with his entire broken heart that it’s enough.

“Take off this cuff,” Dallon whispers once Ryan walks closer to him again.

Ryan takes a deep breath, eyes closing for a few seconds, seconds Dallon does not think they can afford. Before he can point that out, however, they’re opening again and Ryan is moving closer, hands reaching to grab onto his bloody shirt, before one slides up to his wrist and snaps the cuff off. Dallon feels a wave of sparks wash along his body, his vampire senses returning to him as his body starts to work overtime on healing his injuries – he knows he will heal slowly, he’s lost far too much blood for it to go any faster, but he can manage. At least he’s not helpless anymore.

“Once I’m outside, barricade the door, hold it for as long as you can,” Ryan whispers, and rests his forehead against Dallon’s collarbone. “I’ll try and keep them distracted until Wentz is back.”

“They’re gonna figure out you freed us. If you go out there, they’ll kill you,” Dallon protests, and feels his heart ache with the need to stop Ryan and keep him there. Sure, Ryan fucked up big time, betrayed him on such a deep level it cuts into his soul, and Dallon is fucking furious with him, but that doesn’t mean he can accept watching him walk to his death. He’s tired of watching people he loves die.

“I know, but I’ll give them hell first,” Ryan promises with a sad smile, then leans up to press a small kiss to the corner of Dallon’s mouth. “I love you, Dallon, but I never deserved you.”

With those words and the devastating ache they leave behind, Ryan is out of the door, and Dallon blinks away the tears that he didn’t realize pooled in his eyes. Letting out a barely restrained growl of anger, he pulls at the hook with whatever strength he’s regained, and once it’s torn from the ceiling, he tears the handcuffs from his wrists as well.

It’s time to fight back, and Pete had better move his ass and come back to help him.

~~

“We should have brought more people,” Mikey comments for what is possibly the seventh time since they left the house.

“We did, they’re just half an hour behind us,” Patrick reminds him without taking his eyes off the street ahead.

They’ve been on the road nearly two days now, having to stop during the day to ensure Mikey gets to safe shelter against sunlight. He was adamant about coming along, and Patrick did not have the heart to say no, not when both Dallon and Awsten’s lives are at stake.

“Half an hour is a fucking century,” Mikey objects with a tone that does nothing to hide his disapproval.

“It’s enough to give them the illusion that we actually came alone, in case they’re monitoring us.” Patrick sounds more patient than he actually feels, if he has to be honest, but he knows he has to keep his head, stay rational, or this might go terribly wrong.

Travie, Vicky, Otto and Mike lead their backup, along with a substantial party from the pack, Joe and Andy included. They don’t really know what they’re going up against, how many vampires Joseph and Dun have on their side, and everything about this feels like walking straight into a trap. They have no guarantee that Joseph and Dun will keep their word and free their prisoners, there is a very good chance they might try to ambush them and just take the kid. After all, that’s the type of shit Urie would do, and they’ve clearly taken after their former boss.

Despite this very real possibility, Patrick knows they have no other choice but to show up, and hope for the best – but prepare for the worst. The idea is that once they approach the location of the exchange, Mikey will try and sneak inside to free Pete and the others, while Patrick will buy time and negotiate with the bastards.

In all of this, Awsten has been silent, clearly on edge, but he hasn’t lost an ounce of determination. Otto insisted on him taking a sunlight bullet gun, which Awsten wasn’t overly excited about, but ultimately accepted, and it did seem to give him some resemblance of confidence – or at least comfort. This way he’s not completely helpless, at least. Patrick just hopes the kid, who hasn’t shot a gun in nearly ten years, has decent aim.

Twenty more minutes pass before Patrick’s phone chimes, and he gestures at Mikey to take a look.

“It’s coordinates,” Mikey informs, voice tight with tension. Patrick can see him type away at the phone, probably putting the coordinates into their maps app, and soon enough, the phone is back on its support, showing the way.

Without a word, Mikey takes out his own phone, and looks up the address that corresponds to the coordinates.

“Where are we headed?” Awsten asks, leaning over a little to look at the small screen.

“It looks like a decommissioned logistics warehouse,” Mikey informs without looking up from his phone. “In the middle of fucking nowhere, of course.”

“An abandoned warehouse? Really? Is this a fucking Jason Statham movie?” Awsten grumbles quietly, and while in any other moment the comment would have made Patrick smile, he’s way too tense to, right now.

Hopefully, everything will work out fine, and he can laugh about this later.

“Guys, if…” Awsten pauses, clearly conflicted about what he’s about to say. “If things don’t go well, if I don’t make it out of there--”

“Don’t even think that,” Mikey instantly protests, turning to look at him.

“If I don’t make it out of there, please tell Dallon it’s not his fault,” Awsten continues, ignoring Mikey’s objection. “I know he’s going to feel responsible, but I don’t want him to, this was my choice.”

“You’re going to be fine, kid,” Mikey whispers, but still wraps his arm around the human’s shoulder to pull him into a comforting hug. Whether he’s trying to convince Awsten or himself, Patrick isn’t sure.

And really, Patrick wishes he could give them a little privacy, but that’s hardly possible in their current situation, so he simply keeps his eyes ahead and his mouth shut.

“Promise me, Mikes,” Awsten insists, but leans into the hug, clearly craving the physical reassurance as well as the emotional one.

“I promise,” Mikey concedes, and out of the corner of his eye, Patrick sees the vampire press an affectionate kiss to the top of Awsten’s head.

The rest of the drive is silent, and it’s clear that now that they have a definite destination, the reality of their situation has sunk in even further. There’s no going back now, they’re ten minutes away from coming face to face with either a trap and a fight, or a staged hostage exchange in which Patrick is supposed to let Awsten walk into danger. He isn’t even sure which one he dreads the most.

The moment they turn off the main road and into a rickety, secondary path, they notice something in the distance, right in the direction they’re headed. There’s a strange glow, which is unexpected giving that the whole area is abandoned, and the warehouse they’re going to is supposedly decommissioned. There shouldn’t be that much light, especially if Joseph and Dun are trying to lie low and not attract unwanted attention.

Tall grass limits their field of view as they wind through what looks like former crop fields, now overgrown with vegetation. As they turn one final bend, the warehouse finally comes into view at the end of the dilapidated road they’re on – and Patrick slams his foot on the breaks, causing the van to come to a sudden stop.

It’s Mikey who speaks first, and his voice is laced with dread and a hint of barely contained anger.

“Why is the fucking warehouse on fire?”

~

Chapter Text

Chapter 22 – Burn everything you love, then burn the ashes

~

Thirty minutes earlier

“Pete, you fucking better wake up,” Dallon grumbles to himself as he props a piece of wooden plank he found on the floor against the door.

It will do jack shit, he knows, but it might buy him what? Maybe seven or eight seconds? Better than nothing. It’s just a matter of time before the vampires outside try to break in, and while Pete’s wound is now fully healed, he hasn’t woken up yet. Dallon still isn’t sure he will wake up. He was staked for over three days, and who knows what kind of consequences that might have on a born vampire? There sure aren’t research papers about it.

Dallon’s own condition has somewhat improved, but he’s still weak, the blood loss affecting his reflexes and his strength – he’s not as useless as he would have been with that cuff on, but he’s certainly not at the top of his game. Still, it will have to be enough, it’s not like he has the choice to sit this one out.

Suddenly, a sound startles him. An abrupt intake of breath. A muttered curse.

Thank fuck.

Dallon walks over to the cot just as Pete slowly sits up, visibly confused. It takes a moment for him to get his bearings and maybe even remember what happened; it takes him another handful of seconds to do the math and figure out their predicament – a look at Dallon’s bloody, torn clothes and the bruises still marring him probably helps.

Dallon gives him time to adjust to being back before he asks, “Which Pete am I dealing with?”

“The angry one,” Pete growls, standing from the cot. Which tells Dallon fuckall, really. At his eloquent look, Pete adds, “Real Pete.” Good, at least Dallon knows he can rely on him. Small mercies. “What happened? Where’s Ryan?”

Right, he can’t remember that part, Shadow Pete took over before they got attacked.

“You got staked, I was weakened.” There will be time to dwell on details later. “And Ryan’s the one who sold us out to Joseph and Dun.”

If the situation weren’t so fucking dire and disheartening, Dallon would laugh at how quickly Pete turns around to look at him after those words. “What?”

“It’s a long story, but he knows he fucked up, so he freed us and then went out there to distract them while you healed,” Dallon informs, glancing at the door. Shouts suddenly sound from outside, and he knows they’ve run out of time. And so has Ryan. “Oh, and apparently Josh Dun is Urie’s kindred.”

“Even dead that piece of shit is the gift that keeps on fucking giving, isn’t he?” Pete mutters as he stretches his neck.

Dallon knows this is hardly the time to discuss it, but he has his own theory about Dun – he is pretty sure Urie turned him as a contingency plan. It tracks with what they know of Urie, he was reticent to share his power, but he wasn’t stupid, and if he knew about oracles and what they can do, it makes sense he would turn one very loyal kindred and task him with bringing him back if he was ever defeated. Always a move ahead on the fucking chessboard.

“Anything else I should know before we get out there and tear them apart?”

“Yeah, Patrick’s on his way here with Awsten, and hopefully a fucking army,” Dallon tells him as they approach the door. “They were told they’d get us back if they handed over Awsten. The exchange is set to happen in less than an hour, but it’s a trap.”

“Of course it is, and Patrick will know it’s a trap; he won’t fall for it.” Pete sounds absolutely certain as he says this, his unconditional trust in his mate evident and honestly quite frankly adorable despite the circumstances.

Which is why Dallon feels like an asshole when he has to burst his bubble. “He might feel like he has no other choice, as far as he knows you’re still staked and vulnerable. One machete chop away from pulling an Anne Boleyn.”

“You must be fucking fun at parties,” Pete mutters with a glare in his direction, and Dallon simply shrugs. “How many are there out there, other than those two clowns?”

“Ryan said at least fifteen, maybe more.” Dallon looks around the room as he speaks, looking for something they might use as weapons. Other than the discarded stake lying on the ground, he finds nothing.

So bare hands and fangs it is.

Pete places his hand on the wooden plank currently propped beneath the handle, but before pulling it away, he turns to Dallon. “Ready?”

“No, but I’d rather die out there than hide in here like a fucking coward,” Dallon states as he squares his shoulders and lets his fangs grow, then cracks his knuckles.

Pete’s own fangs glimmer in the dim light as he responds with a grin that is in equal parts feral and unhinged, his thirst for blood driven by revenge this time, not hunger. “That’s the spirit.”

Without further hesitation, Pete removes the wooden plank away and pulls the door open.

The room on the other side is massive, with rows of tall, metal racks that reach the ceiling; they’re covered in dust, mostly empty, but some of them are still cluttered with old cardboard boxes and other discarded shipping materials. Lighting is dim and flickering, only two of the dirty industrial lights lining the ceiling actually work, but that’s hardly a problem now that Dallon has got his vampire senses back. It’s clear this is some kind of abandoned warehouse, and it’s been deserted for some time, given that the iron structure has been eaten away by rust and the wooden support beams not only look dated, but rotting too. It’s painfully cliché, but also offers limited chances for them to simply sneak away. They’ll have to fight their way out.

They walk along the perimeter, dodging piles of boxes and fuel drums, and look for any opening that might lead to the outside; the only door in sight other than the one they came out of, however, is on the other side of the room, and in the middle stands absolute chaos. Ryan is fighting off a group of vampires, which means the ruse is up and Joseph and Dun know they’ve been betrayed.

Hopefully knowing Pete is out and about puts some fear of the devil into them.

They have no such luck, however, because a moment later Joseph and Dun walk into the room from the furthest door, and move to join the fight. Ryan does not stand a chance against so many enemies all at once.

All it takes is a glance at Pete to know he thinks the same, and without the need to say anything, they both abandon the cover provided by the racks currently hiding them. They did come out to fight, after all.

Pete moves faster than him, his meal of kindred blood clearly working wonders on his recovery, but Dallon doesn’t lag too far behind, and heads directly for the vampire currently holding Ryan in a chokehold. With a wordless growl, Dallon tears him away and onto the ground, then sinks his hand into the vampire’s chest and crushes his heart with his own fingers.

Yeah, so he might have a tad bit of anger to work out of his system.

Ryan looks at him in shock, as if he did not expect Dallon to actually intervene and save him. Before he can say anything, five more vampires are on them, and Dallon focuses on fighting them off. He’s vaguely aware of Pete facing off against both Joseph and Dun on his own, but for now there’s nothing he can do.

He sinks his fangs into another vampire’s neck and tears it out, then watches for a moment as the unfortunate bastard falls to the ground and bleeds out, his neck an unrecoverable mess. Then he turns to the next, who jumps him and pins him to the floor; his strength is starting to falter, but he struggles with everything he’s got left. He manages to get one hand free, and wraps it around the unknown vampire’s throat, squeezing with all of the strength he can currently conjure up. He feels the windpipe crumble, and then his grip tightens enough to allow him to break the fuckers neck entirely; once he’s dead, Dallon pushes him off of him and onto the ground.

Before he can stand, one more vampire is on him, but this time, it’s Ryan who pulls the attacker off of him, tears out his throat, then discards him to the ground. His bloody hand extends, then, and Dallon takes it, grateful for the help to get back on his feet.

“Can you handle the others? I need to go help Pete,” Dallon inquires, slightly out of breath. Kindred blood or not, Pete is still recovering from a very long staking and Dun is a born vampire kindred – he can use the backup.

“Go, I’ll take care of them,” Ryan agrees with a resolute nod. 

Dallon doesn’t hesitate and heads over to where Pete is locked in a struggle with both Joseph and Dun. Knowing well how to pick his fights, Dallon goes for Joseph, pulling him off Pete and throwing him back instead.

“I can’t wait to tear your spine out through your mouth,” Joseph mutters, clearly enraged.

“You need better hobbies,” Dallon simply quips back, then launches himself at the vampire.

They tumble to the ground, locked in a struggle to pin the other to the floor. When both fail, they roll away from each other and get to their feet – Joseph, however, is faster, and by the time Dallon stands, the other vampire grabs him by the shirt and hurls him onto a pile of fuel drums.

A pained shout is knocked out of him as he hits the metal containers with his back, the force of the impact sending the empty ones flying and denting the full ones. As he stands, a little unsteady, the smell of gasoline hits him like a punch. Joseph is on him again before he can register it, but this time Dallon manages to wrap a hand around his throat.

With considerable effort and what little strength he has left, Dallon manages to steal his move and throw the vampire against the nearby wall, hoping to break some bones. It seems to work, because Joseph doesn’t stand immediately, groaning in pain instead. Dallon takes that chance to catch his breath, but soon enough realizes his mistake.

Because Joseph isn’t recovering, he’s coming up with the fucking worst idea he could have possibly had.

“You know what else kills born vampires?” Joseph taunts as he stands, holding something in his hand. And by the time Dallon realizes what it is, it’s too late – Joseph flicks the lighter, then throws it onto the puddle of gasoline sitting on the floor.

Fucking unhinged son of a bitch.

Flames spread lightning fast and Joseph dives out of the way; Dallon does the same, but given that his reflexes are not as quick as they should be, he is still moving away when the puddle of fire reaches the pile of fuel drums. The explosion is contained – which means the majority of the drums were empty –, but it’s enough to spread the fire to the surrounding racks, which are full of cardboard boxes. It dawns on Dallon as he rolls on the ground to extinguish his singed clothes that the entire fucking place is a flammable mess.

The fire moves surprisingly quickly, devouring the old, dry materials like a starving beast; by the time Dallon is back on his feet, the flames are already starting to climb up the racks and burning dangerously close to the wooden support beams. It’s just a matter of time before the whole place is engulfed in a burning inferno. They need to get out yesterday.

Smoke begins to spread quickly, making it somewhat hard to see clearly, but Dallon still manages to locate Joseph where he’s sneaking up on Ryan from behind. Looking around, he reaches for a piece of rebar on the ground and takes off after the vampire – he’s not trying to be sneaky, he’s not trying to be subtle, he just wants to sink the piece of iron into Joseph’s neck and watch him choke on his own blood. Is that too much to ask after the week he’s had?

“Come here, you piece of shit!” Dallon shouts as he charges, anger and adrenaline doing what his now nearly depleted strength can’t.

Joseph turns around, surprised Dallon is still standing, and tries to intercept him, but Dallon hits him like a freight train and slams him onto the ground. In the impact, the piece of rebar ends up sinking into Dallon’s side, but he ignores the pain and pulls it out, before plunging it into the side of Joseph’s neck.

“I told you I’d be the last face you’d see if you went after the kid,” Dallon reminds him as he twists the rebar to ensure damage is extensive, but not deadly yet. “Who else knows about him?”

Joseph chokes, blood bubbling out of his mouth, and yet his lips twist in a grotesque caricature of a smile in response to Dallon’s question. The sound that comes out of his lips is hardly a voice, but the message is clear, “Fuck you.”

Dallon growls, then drives the rebar all the way through the vampire’s neck, and grabs it on either side. Pushing with whatever strength he has left, he uses the metal bar to snap Joseph’s spine and effectively kill him.

Breathing heavily, exhausted, Dallon rolls off him and onto his back, trying to catch his breath. The ceiling is now engulfed in flames, smoke is dense enough to make him cough, and he’s lost track of Pete and Ryan entirely. The wound on his side is bleeding profusely, his body struggling to heal it with how much he’s exerted himself. He tries to get onto his feet but finds that he can’t quite pull himself up.

Slowly and with some effort, he rolls onto his stomach, ignoring the pain in his side, and slowly crawls towards the exit. He has to trust that Pete and Ryan will find their own way out, he’s in no shape to help them, now – he can barely help himself. He’s made it a third of the way there when a beam high up snaps and part of the ceiling collapses right in front of him, blocking his way.

Cursing under his breath and coughing violently, he tries to find a path around it, but gives up when he realizes there likely isn’t one. He can see Dun’s decapitated corpse a few feet ahead, which means that Pete made it, and is probably outside. And that means that Awsten is safe.

Awsten is safe.

So maybe Dallon can rest. Just a moment.

His eyes close as the flames roar around him, but he’s too exhausted to bring himself to fight his way out.

After all, Awsten is safe.

~

Patrick drives up as close to the building as common sense allows, then jumps out of the van and runs straight for the warehouse. There’s a figure stumbling out of it, but between the brightness of the fire and the smoke, it’s hard to make out who it is. What gives him the first hint is the familiar tug on the mating bond – a tug he hasn’t felt since Pete left.

Without hesitation, he runs to the figure, and as soon as he’s close enough to see he’s not wrong, he feels his heart lift up in his chest and explode with relief. “Pete!” he shouts, eyes filling with tears as he throws his arms around the vampire.

Pete groans softly but wraps him in a tight embrace, his own relief a match for Patrick’s if the desperate way he clings onto his mate is any indication. Patrick buries his face in Pete’s neck, ignoring the fact that he’s covered in blood and smells like smoke and gasoline. The fact that Pete is there, alive, seemingly uninjured is a fucking miracle, everything else is secondary.

Vaguely, Patrick is aware of Mikey and Awsten joining them, so he reluctantly pulls back and wipes the tears that escaped his eyes. He’s far too happy to feel embarrassed about them, however.

“Where’s Dallon?” Pete asks a moment later, looking around with a frown. “I thought he was out already.”

“Dallon’s alive?” Mikey sounds more hopeful than relieved, as if he can’t quite allow himself to believe that yet.

“Last I saw him, he was stabbing Tyler Joseph through the neck and having a field day,” Pete informs, then turns around to look at the burning building, concern growing on his face at the realization that he’s the only one who’s made it out. “Ryan’s in there too.”

“He sold you out, didn’t he?” Patrick inquires, and tries his best to keep the ‘I told you so’ from his tone. He has never failed so spectacularly at something.

“Yeah, but he also bailed us out,” Pete admits, hand rising to run through his hair, which is a lost cause since it’s matted with blood.

“We need to go in and find them, then,” Mikey states, then turns just enough to address the human by his side, “Awsten, you--”

Except there’s no one there.

“Where’s Awsten?” Mikey looks around, alarmed, then turns to look at the burning warehouse in horror. Patrick follows his gaze just in time to see Awsten run into the main entrance.

Shit.

“Mikey stay here, call the others, tell them to hurry the fuck up,” Patrick instructs, because he has a feeling they’re going to need help, and possibly a healer or two. “And call Maja.”

When Mikey nods and reaches for this phone, Patrick turns and takes off in the direction of the building; there’s no need for him to look back to know that Pete is following him. When he reaches the door, he stops dead in his tracks, the blast of heat hitting him like a brick wall. He takes a deep breath, pulls the hem of his t-shirt up to cover his mouth and nose, then walks in.

Smoke has filled the room almost entirely, making it nearly impossible to see farther than three or four feet in any direction, and the heat is unbelievably intense. By the look of it – well, the feel of it, given the low visibility –, the place won’t take long to crumble under the angry roar of the fire.

“Awsten!” Patrick calls out, walking further into the room. There’s fallen debris burning everywhere, as well as dead vampires littering the floor – at least fifteen. Well, Pete and Dallon surely kept busy. Smoke gets even denser as he proceeds, and when he doesn’t get a response, he repeats, “Awsten, where the fuck are you?”

“This way!” calls a voice in the distance, and Patrick and Pete head in the direction of the voice.

They walk around a pile of collapsed ceiling panels just in time to see Awsten trying to drag Dallon towards the exit. He’s clearly struggling, Dallon is passed out and pulling deadweight is clearly too much for the human, especially with how violently he’s coughing. Just as Patrick heads his way to help, trying to find a path around the burning wreckage separating them, another section of the structure suddenly collapses and a wooden beam swings down from the ceiling.

“Look out!” Patrick shouts, but can only watch in horror as it hits Awsten square in the chest, sending him flying backwards.

Blood freezes in Patrick’s veins despite the catastrophic heat of the fire, and he frantically looks for a passage to reach the injured human. Awsten is on the ground, groaning in pain, and clearly unable to move – a blow like that would have been a lot even for a supernatural being, it’s a miracle the kid is even alive.

A shrieking of metal suddenly resounds from the ceiling, even louder than the roar of the fire, and Patrick looks up just in time to see through the smoke one of the steel beams bend and then snap under the weight of the ruined ceiling panels. Right above Awsten.

“Awsten!” Patrick screams, but when he tries to run through the burning wreckage to get there – screw getting a little burned, he needs to get Awsten away from there –, he feels Pete’s hand grip his arm, stopping him from walking into the fire.

It all happens in the span of a breath, the beam falls from the high ceiling, but before it can crush Awsten’s helpless figure, something cushions its fall, protecting the human. What the actual fuck? Are the witches already here?

Pete tugs him along, and finally they find a path around the burning debris that allows them to get closer, and much to Patrick’s awe and horror, he realizes that what shielded Awsten and stopped the beam is… Ryan.

“Get him out,” Ryan breathes out through clenched teeth, clearly struggling to endure the weight of the beam, and keep it and himself from crushing Awsten. “Get him and Dallon out!”

Patrick moves without hesitation and pulls Awsten’s now unconscious body out from beneath Ryan, the vampire’s arms now shaking visibly with the effort of holding himself and the steel beam up. The moment the human is out, Ryan lets go, his chest hitting the floor as he gets pinned to the ground by the heavy piece of rubble.

Pete instinctively tries to lift the beam, but Ryan swats weakly at him. “Not me, Dallon!” he growls, just as Patrick takes Awsten’s body in his arms as delicately as he can. Pete, instead, insists on trying to free Ryan, whose voice grows weaker as he speaks, “Pete, for fuck’s sake, save Dallon! Please…”

Pete hesitates then, and looks at his kindred with enough pain in his eyes that Patrick feels his heart shatter. Another shriek of metal high up reminds them they can’t wait around much longer, and Patrick reaches to touch Pete’s arm with his free hand. “We have to go.”

“Go,” Ryan insists, resting his cheek against the floor. “Get him out, please.”

Finally, Pete nods and steps back; without a word, he turns and walks over to where Dallon’s unconscious body lies, and picks him up easily. With one last look towards Ryan, Pete turns towards the path they came from, and reaches for Patrick’s hand to guide him along. The last thing they want is to get separated in this blazing inferno, especially with the smoke growing thicker and thicker.

Patrick feels his eyes sting as he follows Pete in the maze of debris, but he knows it’s not just the pungent effect of the smoke.

By the time they reach the entrance, Patrick can hardly breathe and the moment he steps outside, he feels his lungs try to suck in as much oxygen as they can. The effect is a violent cough that makes it hard to walk, but he fights through it and as soon as he’s at a safe distance, he gently places Awsten’s body on the ground. Pete does the same with Dallon, just a couple of feet away.

“Where’s Ryan?” Mikey asks as he drops to his knees between the two injured figures.

“Still inside, trapped,” Patrick informs between coughs.

“Patrick,” Pete starts, his own voice hoarse from the smoke and the coughing. There’s no need for him to finish speaking, however, because it only takes Patrick a glance to know what he’s about to say. He wants to go back in for Ryan. Of course he does, because it doesn’t matter that Ryan’s the one who caused all this, Pete’s stupid heart of gold will not abandon him.

And Patrick has never loved him more than in this moment.

“Let’s go,” Patrick just says, and before Pete can protest, he lifts a single finger in warning.

Pete gives a smile that, albeit small, contains so much love and so much warmth that Patrick is pretty sure it burns hotter than the fire.

Without another word, the two of them run back into the fire, side by side.

~

Dallon comes to and the first thing he feels is an outrageous amount of pain. He blinks his eyes a few times, tears blurring his vision and making it hard for him to realize it’s not the burning ceiling he’s looking at, right now, it’s the night sky with just a sliver of waning crescent moon. The roar of the fire, however, is not far, and as soon as he feels like he can move, he turns his head.

The burning warehouse is still in sight, but he’s clearly been brought out to safety – who did it, however, he has no idea. The next thing he registers is that Mikey is kneeling next to him, so he turns that way with some effort. And then feels his heart freeze in his chest. Because on the other side of Mikey’s kneeling figure is Awsten, clearly injured and passed out, and currently being examined by the vampire.

“What the hell happened?” Dallon croaks weakly as he starts to sit up, and Mikey turns to him with a devastated look on his face.

“He ran in there to try and save you,” Mikey informs in a whisper, then sits back. “He’s not-- his injuries are too extensive to--”

“No,” Dallon mutters to himself.

This isn’t what’s supposed to happen, Joseph and Dun are dead, Awsten is supposed to be fucking safe. Somehow he finds the strength to get to his knees and crawl over to where Awsten is lying; Mikey makes room for him, but doesn’t say anything.

“Awsten, wake up,” Dallon whispers, his hand moving up to stroke Awsten’s hair gently; mint is stained with blood now, and for the longest moment, Dallon fears he might be too late. “C’mon, kid, wake up.”

“Don’t call--" Awsten’s feeble voice comes out of a barely moving mouth, but it’s enough for Dallon to breathe again. “--me kid.”

“Look at me,” Dallon says softly, hand staying on the kid’s head.

Awsten doesn’t comply immediately, but when he does, familiar mismatched irises look up at him from eyes reddened by the smoke.

“Everything hurts,” Awsten breathes, flinching when he tries to move his arm; he evidently decides against moving at all, and simply tries to smile up at him through the tears welling up in his eyes. “I was trying to help.”

“I know you were,” Dallon reassures him, and tries to smile back despite the pang of excruciating pain in his heart. “But it’s my job to protect you, not the other way around.”

“Bullshit,” Awsten mutters weakly, and it’s clear he’s struggling to keep his eyes open. “You clearly need me.”

Dallon feels his eyes sting with tears at those words, and guilt guts him like a blade. “I’m sorry, kid.”

“It's okay, old man.” Awsten tries to smile up at him again. “You tried. No one else ever tried.”

The words break something inside of Dallon, something deep inside his heart, and he feels the tears run down his cheeks.

No, he can’t let this happen, not like this. He can’t let Awsten die.

He turns to Mikey, a silent question in his eyes, but Mikey simply shakes his head. “The others are still fifteen minutes out, and I can’t reach Maja.”

Even in the best-case scenario, Awsten does not have fifteen minutes. There’s blood trickling from the corners of his mouth, which means he’s bleeding internally, and the shallow, difficult breaths he’s taking tell him his lungs are compromised too. He might not be a doctor, but he has seen a lot of death. And this looks like death.

There is only one thing he can do, but he won’t do it unless Awsten agrees to it.

“Kid, look at me,” Dallon calls him again when he realizes Awsten is fading. It’s now or never. When Awsten blinks a few times and looks at him tiredly, he adds, “I can turn you, that’s all I can do to help.”

Awsten doesn’t seem to understand at first, his eyes unfocused and prompting Dallon to fear he might have waited a little bit too long. Then, things seem to click, and Awsten gives a small nod. “Surely beats dying,” he mutters, and his words are followed by a fit of coughing, which sends rivulets of blood down his chin.

Dallon hesitates for a second, realizing that yes, turning him into a vampire surely beats dying, but it also means Awsten will lose so much, right when he finally got his freedom back. Dallon can’t do anything to avoid that, but there is one thing he could preserve, one thing Awsten could still have. 

“Where’s Pete?” Dallon asks, looking around. “If Pete turns him, he’ll be able to stay out in the sun.”

Surprisingly, Awsten’s hand moves to grab his wrist, and while it’s clear the movement causes him a lot of pain, he doesn’t let go, not even when Dallon looks down at him.

“I don't want Pete to do it,” Awsten chokes out, shaking his head weakly. “He’s not my family, you are.”

Dallon feels his heart break at those words, which is a wonder in and of itself, since he didn’t think there was actually anything left to break. With a nod, he takes Awsten’s wrist in his hands, and guides it to his mouth – he tries to ignore the pain that the movement clearly causes Awsten and tells himself this is so the pain can end. As delicately as he can, he sinks his fangs into Awsten’s already weakening pulse and drinks.

Awsten closes his eyes at the feeling, and Dallon knows the bite is actually giving him some measure of respite and peace. It’s only temporary, of course, but it’s better than nothing. The moment Dallon has drunk enough for the turning to work, he pulls away – Awsten has already lost enough blood as it is. Without wasting any time, he bites into his own wrist, and brings the wound to Awsten’s mouth.

“This part’s a little gross, but I’ve seen you eat worse,” Dallon tells him, hoping that the lame joke somehow helps him through what he knows is the hardest part for the human. Not that he’s ever turned anyone before – this is the first time he’s allowed himself to entertain the idea with any degree of seriousness, let alone go through with it.

Awsten grimaces at the taste of blood, but drinks it anyway, closing his eyes as he clearly does his best to get over the natural human repulsion at the action. Soon enough, that feeling will be a distant memory. As he watches Awsten drink, Dallon feels a hand rest on his shoulder, and he turns his head to see Mikey is now standing behind him.

“Take care of him,” Mikey whispers, then presses a kiss to the top of Dallon’s head.

Before Dallon can ask what he means by that, Mikey is gone, running in the direction of the burning building.

“Mikey!”

Has he lost his fucking mind?

~

The smoke is a lot denser now, and Patrick struggles to navigate the burning rubble to the spot where Ryan lies, pinned down by the steel beam. After a few failed attempts, he and Pete finally make their way to him, only to find that more ceiling panels have collapsed on top of him, and that he’s passed out. Trying to work as quickly as possible considering the circumstances, they move as many pieces of debris as they can out of the way; soon enough, however, it’s apparent that they don’t have time to dig all the way to the beam.

So, instead, they both grab it and try to lift it. And fail.

“It’s too heavy,” Pete screams over the roar of the fire, then resumes working at removing the wreckage on top.

Patrick does the same, and a few more panels, burnt wooden planks and pieces of warped metal later, they go back to the beam and try to lift it. This time, it moves just enough that Ryan might sneak out, but he’s unconscious and even their attempts at calling him are not enough to have him wake up. Patrick tries to ignore what that might mean, and instead goes back to work, coughing louder and louder with each passing minute.

It’s just a matter of time before there’s not enough oxygen for him to stay conscious. And as much as he wants to save Ryan, it seems like an impossible feat. Pete seems to realize that too, because he throws a piece of metal away with a frustrated growl.

Just as the dire reality of the situation is starting to sink in, however, a voice echoes behind them.

Mikey.

Wait, Mikey?

“This way!” Pete calls out, and gestures Patrick to go back to the beam.

Mikey joins them a few moments later, his face half-covered by a scarf tied around his mouth. Smart.

“We lift, you pull him out!” Pete instructs

As soon as Mikey nods, he and Patrick lift the beam with every ounce of strength left in them. It moves up just enough for Mikey to grab Ryan’s arms and slowly and carefully slide him out of the pile of rubble. Once he’s free, Pete and Patrick let go of the beam, which crashes to the ground, along with everything still piled on top of it.

“Let’s go, this place is about to collapse!” Mikey shouts as he picks up Ryan, and Patrick nods in agreement.

It’s about time they get out for good.

Except fire is all around them now, the way they came from is obstructed by a burning wooden beam, and Patrick is starting to feel disoriented, at this point. He can’t see farther than two feet, and in the curtain of smoke, he thinks he sees two possible paths. Which one should he take? If he picks the wrong one, they might get trapped in there, and burn alive.

Pete instinctively starts walking towards the left path, but Patrick reaches out and stops him, the flash of a memory sparking through him like lightning.

Left will kill you all.

Bless Awsten’s fucking heart.

“This way!” Patrick shouts, and tugs Pete along as he takes the path on the right.

“This way’s faster, it’s closer to the exit!” Pete protests, trying to stop him.

“Trust me!”

And okay, maybe he’s insane trusting a fucking vision, but there must be a reason Awsten had it while Patrick was there, right? Every instinct in Patrick’s wolven nature is telling him to listen to it.

Pete gives in, then, and follows Patrick, Mikey immediately behind them. With some effort, they find their way through the blazing maze the warehouse has turned into; right as the entrance comes into view in the distance, a big portion of the ceiling to their left collapses, burying the path they almost took.

Almost.

The moment they cross the threshold to the outside, Patrick takes in large gulps of air, and as soon as they’re far enough to be safe, he drops to his knees and coughs his lungs out, eyes teary and swollen; he’s hurt and his clothes are singed, but fuck, he’s alive.

And Pete is alive.

And Mikey.

And possibly the traitorous asshole in Mikey’s arms is alive too.

Patrick feels delirious with oxygen deprivation, adrenaline and the knowledge that he was right, the kid was right, that a fucking vision just saved their lives, and his world is officially fucking insane.

~

Chapter Text

Chapter 23 – I will shield you from the waves if they find you, I will protect you

~

Dallon watches in horror as the fire consumes the warehouse, the sounds of crashes from inside getting more and more frequent. It’s only a matter of time before the whole structure collapses onto itself, and yet there’s no sign of Pete, Patrick or Mikey. Or Ryan.

Awsten is passed out on the grass, his body dying, but the vampire blood in his system already at work. Considering how badly injured he was, it will take time for the transition to occur, and while not a pressing issue right at this moment, he will need to feed as soon as it’s completed. Given that they’re stuck in the middle of fucking nowhere and everyone else is busy trying to burn alive, Dallon isn’t sure how he will get blood for him. Or get home.

Especially since dawn isn’t that far off, a couple of hours at most.

Finally, just as he’s talking himself into walking back into the damn warehouse of death to try and find the others, he sees three figures stumbling out of the main entrance. One of them is carrying someone, and that accounts for all four. Whether that fourth figure is alive or not, however, Dallon can’t quite tell.

Patrick collapses to the ground as soon as he’s far enough from the fire, clearly exhausted but laughing like a lunatic for some godforsaken reason. Pete, on the other hand, looks like he’s been through a minefield and stepped on every single fucking mine – then did it again. Behind them, Mikey walks slowly, carrying Ryan in his arms.

It strikes Dallon how delicate Mikey is in placing Ryan on the ground, how careful he is as he moves his hand over Ryan’s chest to try and feel if he’s breathing. And how relieved he looks when he realizes that Ryan is, in fact, alive. Well, undead. What-fucking-ever.

“He was crushed by debris,” Mikey reports as he drops on the ground next to Dallon, clearly worn out – both mentally and physically. “He’s hurt, but I think he’ll be okay.” Then, his attention immediately turns to Awsten. “Is he turning?”

“Slowly, but yes,” Dallon confirms quietly, a smile tugging at his lips despite how depleted he feels.

Because Mikey ran into the burning building to get Ryan. Even after everything Ryan did, Mikey still went back for him, still made sure he was alive. Sure, it could just be because Mikey wants to murder Ryan himself, but Dallon doubts it. The more likely explanation is that Pete told him that Ryan is the one who freed them – after selling them out, of course. So he suspects Mikey did it for him, for Dallon, to spare him the pain of losing Ryan like that, without the chance for closure.

Slowly, ignoring the pain in every muscle and joint, and the wound on his side, Dallon moves closer to Mikey, and rests his forehead against the other vampire’s shoulder. His hand reaches for Mikey’s, their fingers lacing together as Dallon breathes deep and slow, enjoying the soothing proximity. There’s so much he wants to say, so much he wants to pour out of his heart and into Mikey’s, but the words get stuck in his throat. Not because he doesn’t want to speak them – he’s way past that. No, he’s just overwhelmed, and exhausted and, honestly, at this point it feels like words wouldn’t begin to cover what he feels.

So instead, he lifts his head just enough to catch Mikey’s lips in a gentle kiss. The vampire freezes at first, but after the initial surprise, he leans closer and gives Dallon’s hand a meaningful squeeze. The kiss lasts just long enough for Dallon to forget half of his pain, his heart feeling fuller than it has in a long time. Still mostly broken, sure, but not a hopeless void anymore.

“Are you going soft, Dally?” Mikey teases against his lips, and there’s no need to see him to know he’s smiling.

“Yeah, I think I am,” Dallon admits with a soft huff of laughter.

By the time the others arrive, the flames have completely destroyed the warehouse, and most of it has collapsed. Pete and Patrick are both lying in the grass, allowing their bodies to recover as much as possible from the time spent wading through smoke and fire. The sky is growing lighter with the beginnings of dawn, and Dallon knows they had better get a move on, if they don’t want to end up a pile of ash to rival the building.

“I leave you alone for five fucking minutes,” Otto comments as he approaches them, and despite his critical greeting, Dallon can tell he’s relieved.

“I’ll be fine,” Dallon huffs in response; when he notices Otto’s eyes moving to Awsten’s unconscious, bloodied figure and widening in alarm, he adds, “He was injured trying to save me, I had to turn him.”

Much to his surprise, Otto kneels next to the human, his expression struggling to stay neutral and failing. “It’s not fair,” he whispers, and this time his pain is obvious. “It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have let him come.”

Dallon reaches over to place a hand on Otto’s shoulder, hoping to comfort him. “I have a feeling he wouldn’t have stayed home no matter what.”

Otto does not seem convinced, but nods anyway, and Dallon gets the distinct impression his concern is not simply due to the fact that he failed in the task his Archon gave him. He looks too… sad. And Otto is not one for showing emotion when he can help it – he’s usually very controlled in his reactions, but not this time. Which makes him wonder.

“What happened between you two while I was away?” Dallon asks after a few seconds, narrowing his eyes at Otto.

The change to Otto’s expression is as fast as it is comical despite the circumstances; he clears his throat and gives the least convincing shrug in the history of body language. “We should get everyone in the vans, dawn is an hour away,” Otto comments without looking at his Archon directly in the eye.

“Otto,” Dallon warns, then gives an exasperated sigh.

He’s about to add something else, but he’s stopped by Patrick’s hand resting on his shoulder. “Give them a break, they’re cute as fuck,” the werewolf intervenes, then winks playfully at Otto.

Dallon groans, face buried in his hands for a few moments to repress the urge to smack his second-in-command upside the head. He should have known it would end like this, he saw the sparks.

“Look, it’s not like we’re getting married,” Otto mutters, rolling his eyes. “We bonded, and then after his trip to the Underworld he was--"

“After his fucking what?” Dallon interrupts him, and this time, there’s both anger and disbelief in his voice. “Otto, what did you idiots do?”

“Otto!” It’s Patrick who chastises him this time, his expression now threatening as he gestures him to cut it off.

Otto scrambles to his feet before Dallon can grab him, and points at the vans with a flinch that tries really hard to be a smile and fails miserably. “I’ll go get the vans ready.”

With that, his deputy is off beyond his reach – for now. Dallon, however, does not relent, and turns to Patrick instead. “Tell me you didn’t do what I think you did,” he warns, looking at the werewolf first, then at Mikey.

“You’re my friend, I wouldn’t lie to you,” Patrick answers with a shameless grin, then walks away and towards Pete. Possibly to do damage control, because if they actually performed the ritual while they were away, if Awsten and Patrick actually went into the Underworld without telling them… oh, Pete’s going to be pissed.

“You can yell at us when you’re feeling better,” Mikey simply says, his quiet smile holding just a trace of apology. “Actually, you can yell at Maja, she deserves it more than any of us.”

Dallon looks at him for a moment, caught between disbelief and resignation – after all, what’s getting angry about it going to achieve? They’re all there, which means that if they did perform the damn ritual, it went fine. Or at least it didn’t kill them. Right now, that’s good enough.

“That, I can believe,” Dallon huffs, then shakes his head.

“C’mon, let’s get you in one of the vans,” Mikey responds with a warm smile as he stands, then offers Dallon his hand to help him up.

Which Dallon is immensely grateful for, because he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to stand on his own. Now that the adrenaline has subsided, pain and exhaustion are taking over quickly, but he’ll be damned if he admits it. Luckily, Mikey can tell he needs assistance without him having to ask, and Dallon is thankful he can preserve what little dignity his current condition has left him with.

Slowly but surely, everyone gets in the vans, and half an hour later they’re taking over half a dingy motel just off the main road. It’s not very comfortable, or clean, or pleasant, but it beats sleeping in the back of the van, at least. And it allows Dallon to take the longest shower of his life – it doesn’t matter that he has to sit down halfway through it, it still feels fucking fantastic.

While Mike goes out and procures some new clothes for Dallon, Pete and Patrick to replace the bloody, singed and torn ones, Vicky and Ryland do their best to offer their help as healers, but they can do very little against blood loss and exhaustion. What they can do, however, is reassure Dallon that both Awsten and Ryan will pull through, provided they get blood soon.

Considering that their plan is to drive directly home as soon as the sun goes down, he feels hopeful they will. Sure, it means the vampires will have to spend the next day huddled in the back of the vans, while Travie, Patrick and Mike drive, but that’s a small price to pay and a risk worth taking to be home as soon as possible.

Well, not exactly home for Dallon, but he can’t deny Pete and Patrick’s house has become his home away from home. After all, he’s been there for what feels like seven and a half centuries.

Hopefully, he will finally get to go home soon, but he’ll need to recover first, of course. It’s a long journey back to Utah and both him and Awsten need to be in good shape for it, but the end of this mess is in sight. After the stunt Ryan pulled, Dallon has a feeling he will agree to have the bite removed, and even if he doesn’t, he has messed up badly enough to have lost the right to oppose it.

As he lies on the shabby motel bed, his thoughts naturally progress from that consideration to the memory of the offer he extended to Ryan – coming to Utah with him under sanctuary. And as furious as he is with the older vampire, he’s torn about rescinding that offer. Ryan clearly can’t stay with Pete and Patrick anymore, Patrick would probably steal one of Maja’s cauldrons and cook Ryan in it, and rightfully so. Dallon doesn’t feel that much more forgiving, if he has to be honest, but he can be persuaded to spare a cell. Or a locked room.

The realization that he still feels protective towards Ryan disturbs him, and he pushes it away with a frustrated sigh. He’ll have time to think about what is wrong with him once he’s had some decent rest.

For now, he pushes Ryan out of his mind and instead turns to look at the sleeping figure next to him, only to find that Mikey isn’t sleeping, but silently watching him with a soft smile.

“Creep,” Dallon whispers jokingly.

“Asshole,” Mikey simply answers, but it’s mixed with laughter.

Silently, he moves closer until he’s pressed against Dallon’s side, his movements careful, delicate, mindful not to hurt him. Dallon wraps his arm around him, and any discomfort that brings is compensated by the feeling of warmth that spreads in his chest as he ducks his head and whispers a soft “I love you,” on Mikey’s lips.

Mikey’s smile in response to those words burns brighter than the fucking sun.

~~

By the time they all get home and settled the following night, the house feels more like a hospital for vampires than an actual house, but Patrick doesn’t mind.

Ryan is back into his old room, still unconscious and recovering from the burns and broken bones caused by fucking karma, as Patrick sees it. Now that Dallon has had a chance to tell him what exactly went down at the cemetery, how Ryan tricked Pete into staking himself to save his life, Patrick feels even less inclined to forgive him.

Pete was just as surprised to hear that his past version cared so much about Ryan to stake himself and make himself that vulnerable in order to save him. Shadow Pete hasn’t shown up yet, but Patrick has a feeling he will not be happy to find out Ryan betrayed him. Despite what happened, however, Pete is adamant in waiting for Ryan to wake up before they rescind the bond. Mostly, so that Shadow Pete can get the conversation with Ryan they all feel he has earned.

Other than that, Patrick is relieved to find out that while Pete is honorable, he’s not stupid nor stubborn enough to insist on Ryan’s consent on removing the bite. Ryan has officially lost that privilege.

Of their friends, Dallon is the one in the worst shape. He was tortured and bled for nearly three days, then fought and killed half a dozen vampires in a burning warehouse, including Tyler Joseph. On top of that, he also turned a dying Awsten, which took a fair toll on him. The fact that he’s even alive is a testament to how tough Dallon truly is. Not to mention his self-control in refraining from killing Otto, Mikey and Patrick when he found out about Awsten and Patrick’s trip to the Underworld and the danger they were actually in. In hindsight, telling him while they were all locked together in the back of the van was probably not the smartest of moves.

Awsten is still unconscious and will probably be for a few more days, but he’s getting blood regularly now that his turning is completed, which will hopefully help him recover a bit faster. No one, not even Maja – who has finally picked up the fucking phone – has any idea whether his abilities are gone or if he’ll retain them. For the sake a peaceful life for the kid, Patrick hopes he will be just a regular vampire.

Patrick and Mikey were lucky and got away with just smoke inhalation and minor burns, which are already healing. All in all, Patrick feels fucking blessed, considering he nearly died in that warehouse.

Pete is in surprisingly good shape for someone who was staked for days, although he is understandably tired. His own injuries and burns are already gone, and Maja confirmed that he’s all but recovered from the osmium, and his peak condition is probably what allowed him to heal so quickly. That, and the blood he received from Ryan when he was un-staked.

And then, of course, there are Walker and Smith, still in the guest bedroom and still recovering. Smith hasn’t woken up yet, and Walker still hasn’t left his side.

“Your mind is so fucking loud.” Pete’s voice is muffled by the pillow he’s buried his face in, but it still interrupts Patrick’s train of thoughts. Which was probably broadcasting his current mood through the bond.

“Sorry,” the werewolf whispers sheepishly, then rolls onto his side to face his mate on the bed. “I just can’t believe we all made it back alive or undead, even the backstabbing hagfish.”

Pete huffs a small laugh, then turns his head and looks at him with an exasperated smile. “Every time you mention Ryan, you come up with a new insult.”

“Well, I can’t stab him, so this is the next best thing,” Patrick offers with a small shrug, completely unapologetic. “I can see why William likes it so much, it’s fun.”

“He fucked up, but c’mon, he did free us and then saved Awsten,” Pete points out, and while yes, all of that is true, Patrick needs some time before he can see this rationally. Right now, Ryan is just the piece of sewer waste who nearly got his mate killed. “Doesn’t it count for anything?”

“It will, when I stop being so fucking pissed,” Patrick counters with an eloquent look. “In five-to-seven business centuries.”

“You don’t just hold a grudge, you cuddle it, don’t you?” Pete teases him playfully, turning onto his side and pulling Patrick closer.

Glaring a little bit, Patrick lets himself be tugged closer, and his hand moves to rest on Pete’s chest as he asks, “How can you be so fucking calm about this?”

“I’m just happy I’m alive, and you’re alive, and everyone is a version of alive,” Pete admits candidly, then his expression takes on a bit of pointedness as he adds, “And that Hecate did not smite you when you irresponsible idiots travelled to the Underworld without telling us anything.”

Patrick can’t really come up with a good comeback to that, so instead, he just offers a small, apologetic smile. “If it’s any consolation, it seemed like a terrible idea at the time too.”

“And you still went through with it?” Pete inquires, sounding equally unbelieving and frustrated.

“The conditions were there, we had the ingredients, we had Maja, Awsten was willing,” Patrick lists, knowing none of that was the true deciding factor. So he adds, “And then we wanted to have something to leverage the traitorous eel with, in case your conversation didn’t go well.”

“Eel? Really?” Pete cocks an eyebrow at him, clearly less impressed with this insult.

“Shut up, I’m running out of slimy, slithering animals,” Patrick mutters with a shrug, which prompts another huff of laughter from his mate.

“You do realize that you pulling that stunt with the Underworld means you can’t possibly ever give me shit about the death pact ever again, right?” Pete inquires a moment later, addressing him such an eloquent look Patrick feels any objections he was ready to come up slowly melt away behind his tongue.

Pete does have a point, there.

“Fine.” The word is spoken so quietly Patrick might even deny having said it, except Pete’s supernatural hearing surely picks up on it.

The vampire seemingly decides it’s an acceptable enough answer, because he simply nods in reaction. Pete is a lot more magnanimous than Patrick will ever be.

“So,” the vampire starts a few moments later. “What’s my mom like?”

“Do not call her your mom, it’s weird,” Patrick protest, burying his face against Pete’s chest. “And she’s terrifying.”

Pete laughs silently in reaction to his words, fingers trailing along Patrick’s spine soothingly. “Don’t worry, I don’t think you’ll ever meet her again.”

“I surely hope so,” Patrick admits, and even now that he’s safe in Pete’s arms, he can’t help the shiver that runs down his back. If this is the effect she has on the people she’s benevolent towards, Patrick does not want to end up on the wrong side of the goddess. Ever. “I think she might have spared us because you were in danger, and she wanted us to come save you.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Well, as far as we know, you’re her last child,” Patrick reasons as he leans back just enough to look up at him. “And then, when we were leaving, she wished me good luck, said I would need it.”

Pete is silent for several, long moments after that, his mind clearly lost in thought. Patrick takes advantage of that to just look at him, to take in his features, to take in the fact that after what feels an eternity, they’re back in their own bed – screw the cell, at this point, Shadow Pete is well-behaved enough that they can afford to go back to their own room.

“There’s something I don’t understand,” Pete says after a while, once more looking at him. “How did you know which path to take in the fire? Was it luck?”

Patrick can’t help the big smile that curves his lips at that question, and he shakes his head. “Awsten.”

“Awsten? He was outside, half-dead,” Pete comments with a confused frown.

“Two months ago, after the mess in the basement, I went to talk to him, to apologize,” Patrick recounts quietly, and when Pete nods his head to signal that he remembers it, he continues, “While I was leaving, he had some kind of vision. He said to take the path on the right, because left would kill us all. I didn’t know what he meant, at the time, but then in that warehouse… it just clicked.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Pete breathes, amazed. “We’re alive because the kid had a fucking vision two months ago?”

Patrick simply shrugs in response, because honestly, he’s still in fucking shock about it as well. Something Hecate said comes back to him, then, and he wonders if maybe she meant it as something more general, not just relating to that moment. “I walk with the hallowed,” Patrick repeats softly, smiling to himself.

“As soon as he’s better, we’re throwing him a fucking party,” Pete decides, and there is no ounce of him that is joking about that, Patrick can tell.  

“Just don’t invite Maja,” the werewolf suggests, his grin holding no trace of shame.

“Oh, don’t worry, after she takes care of Ryan’s bite, I have a feeling she won’t answer our phone calls for a long time,” Pete agrees, laughing. “She is done.”

“Good.” And okay, Maja has been a lot of help, Patrick is ready to admit that – but she has also been a royal pain in the ass and way too selective with the information she has shared about… well, pretty much everything.

He can’t wait for her to break the bond between Pete and Ryan, and for her to be gone. For Ryan to be gone. He wants his mate and his clan back, he wants some peace and quiet, and he wants to finally go back to healing the wounds the last few months have left behind.

He knows he can’t have all of that yet, it will take time.

This, however, this moment with Pete, just the two of them lying together in their bed… this is a good enough start on the way back to normal.

Whatever the fuck normal is, at this point.

~~

“You’re not supposed to be up,” Mikey comments critically as he walks back into the bedroom they now share.

“I’m not an invalid, Mikey, and I’m better,” Dallon protests with a roll of his eyes as he resumes getting dressed.

And it’s true, even though it’s only been a few days – five? six? Dallon has lost count – since they’ve come back, he feels a lot better; it probably has something to do with the fact that Mikey offered his own blood once again, and this time, Dallon is proud to say he did not freak out about it. Okay, only a little bit, at first. But once again Mikey kept his promise, he didn’t use the feeding to pry into his mind or to manipulate him; he simply offered what Dallon needed the most – peace and comfort. And love.

Sure, he’s still weak and recovering, but at least he can stand and walk around, and the pain is mostly gone. It will be a few more days before he’s back to optimal condition, but he can be patient. He’s been away from home for so long that one more week is not going to make a difference.

“Well, in that case you may want to know that Ryan is awake,” Mikey informs him with a patient smile.

“Good for him,” Dallon mutters as he buttons his shirt, but stops midway through the motion. “Did you go see him?”

“I’m the one who’s been taking care of him.” Mikey’s tone is so relaxed and nonchalant as he reveals this, that Dallon has to convince himself he heard the words right. At Dallon’s clearly shocked look, he shrugs. “Where did you think I was going when I wasn’t here with you these past few days?”

“I don’t know? Playing poker with William?” Dallon responds, genuinely surprised. “Why would you take care of him?”

“Because Ryland already has a lot on his plate with you, Awsten, Jon and Spencer; and Patrick would rather eat live worms than go anywhere near Ryan,” Mikey explains with a sigh. “And I get it, we’re all pissed at him, but--”

“Yeah, we are, so why does it feel like you’re about to defend him?” Dallon doesn’t mean to sound angry, but he can’t help it, because this is unexpected, and confusing, and mildly infuriating.

“Because right now, you’re angry with him--”

“I’m fucking livid.” Once again Dallon cuts him off, and he has to admit, Mikey’s being extremely patient, right now.

“But you won’t be angry forever,” Mikey continues, ignoring his interruption. “He literally shielded Awsten with his own body, held up the debris until Patrick got him out.”

As if Dallon needs reminding. The whole time he has lain in bed, recovering, he has thought about what Patrick told him – the way Ryan protected Awsten, the way he was ready to be left behind, the way he begged for them to save Dallon, not him. And the way Mikey’s the reason they were able to pull Ryan out of the rubble.

“So what, I’m supposed to forget he sold us out?” Dallon asks, jaw clenching.

“No,” Mikey breathes as he walks closer, and takes over the motion of buttoning his shirt, which Dallon has abandoned. “But you should talk to him.”

“And say what?” Dallon looks at Mikey straight in the eye as he asks, and he’s sure the other vampire can see how lost he feels right now, when it comes to Ryan.

Truth is, he wants to hate Ryan, he wants to cast him out of his mind and forget he ever had feelings for him. But he can’t. He has tried, he has tried pretty damn hard. And if he can’t hate him now that he’s so furious with him, what hope has he got to hate him once the anger boils down, like Mikey says? And yet, he won’t let these feelings get in the way of what he has with Mikey now, not a chance in hell.

“Maybe just listen to what he has to say?” Mikey offers with a sad smile.

“So he can hide behind excuses?” The venom just slips into Dallon’s tone despite his effort to hold it back – fuck, he hasn’t been this angry in a long time.

Mikey hesitates – Dallon can clearly see the way he pauses before he says his next words, “He wants to leave sanctuary.”

No.

“He can’t, he’ll be dead within the week,” Dallon’s reaction is instinctual, and it proves Mikey’s point like a charm. Angry or not, he still cares.

“I think that’s the point,” Mikey admits in a quiet tone, clearly concerned. “Suicide by angry Regents.”

“Now that he has Spencer back?” Dallon feels his heart twist in his chest at the thought that Ryan would contemplate something like that.

“He doesn’t know yet, I haven’t told him.” Mikey offers a little, wistful smile along with his words. “He hasn’t been exactly receptive to anything I’ve tried to tell him, and… well, I think it should come from you, or Awsten, anyway.”

Dallon just looks at him, then, confusion and concern struggling for dominance. He can’t quite understand why Mikey cares so much about Ryan, and at the same time, he can’t ignore that knowing what Ryan plans to do puts his anger in a different perspective. He’s devastatingly angry, sure, but it’s a far cry from wanting him dead.

“He’s the one who got between us,” Dallon points out with a sigh. “Why are you so adamant in making sure I don’t hate him?”

“He didn’t get between us, you’re the moron who fell in love with two people at the same time,” Mikey reminds him, and this time the smirk on his lips is playful. “And honestly? I’m just being realistic here, you’re never going to hate him.”

“So you… want me to be in love with him?” Dallon must be having a stroke, or a vampire version of it, because he doesn’t understand where this might be going.

“I don’t want it, but it’s there, isn’t it?” Mikey asks with a cocked eyebrow. When Dallon does not deny it – because in good conscience he cannot –, he adds, “So let’s take him with us.”

“Excuse me?” Yep, this is one hundred percent a coma hallucination.

“Part of your heart will always be his, and I’d rather share you with someone who’s there, than someone who’s not.” Mikey makes it sound so logical that Dallon doesn’t immediately realize how insane this sounds.

But then he does.

“You’d share me?” Dallon repeats, and feels incredibly dumb, because he can’t stop gaping like a fish.

“I’m not the jealous type, I’m not greedy, and honestly, as long as I get to spend my life with you, he can tag along,” Mikey agrees with a smile that shows he finds Dallon’s reaction quite comical. “Besides, he’s cute and I like him… betrayal aside, of course.”

Dallon stares again, silent, and wonders if maybe Mikey is just messing with him, or pranking him, or maybe testing him. And yet, he looks so deadly serious and so… placid about it. He’s clearly thought it through, which comes as a complete surprise to Dallon, because he never suspected Mikey would be okay with something like this.

“What if I don’t want him to… tag along, as you call it?” Dallon asks after several moments of silence.

“Then you let him go.” Mikey moves closer to him once more, and this time his hands rise to cup Dallon’s cheeks. “I’m not saying it has to be that way, I’m just saying it can be.” A pause, and a soft kiss pressed to Dallon’s lips. “It’s up to you, Dally.”

“Don’t call me that,” Dallon whispers, but the silly nickname still puts an involuntary smile on his face.

“Right, sorry, I meant vaddy,” Mikey teases him shamelessly, and to drive the point home, he gives Dallon’s bottom lip a playful bite.

Dallon groans at the other, worse, nickname, but doesn’t move away quite yet. Instead, he pulls Mikey into a proper kiss, the act by now so familiar and so soothing to his soul it settles the turmoil that Mikey’s proposal stirred in his chest. He still thinks it’s insane, but he can acquiesce on one point.

“I’ll go see Ryan, listen to what he has to say,” Dallon breathes after the kiss ends. “But first, I want to see Awsten, Otto said he’s awake.” Mikey’s surprise tells him he didn’t know this yet, and Dallon adds, “That’s actually why I was getting up.”

“That’s amazing,” Mikey admits, his smile growing brighter.

“Wanna come along?” Dallon offers, and before Mikey can even answer, Dallon has already taken his hand, and he’s guiding him towards the door.

Everything else can wait right now. Awsten is finally awake.

His kindred, his family.

Man, it still feels weird to think about those words in relation to himself. But between Awsten now being his kindred, and he and Mikey finally finding each other, a surprising notion is slowly sinking in: for the first time since Nora’s death, Dallon isn’t alone anymore.

~

Chapter Text

Chapter 24 – If home is where the heart is then we're all just fucked

~

“You look like absolute crap, old man,” are the first words out of Awsten’s mouth when Dallon walks into the room. They are spoken, however, with a big, bright grin on his face, and that’s enough for Dallon’s heart to feel about a million tons lighter.

“So do you, kid,” Dallon responds in kind, his own lips stretched in a smile.

“Bullshit, I’m the cutest fucking vampire to ever exist,” Awsten objects without missing a beat.

Dallon can’t help laughing at that, and crosses over to the bed, only to be pulled down into a hug the moment he’s within Awsten’s reach. And Dallon complies without hesitation, sitting on the edge of the bed as he leans into the embrace, relief washing over him. He’s never been a big fan of hugs, but this one just feels right, and it warms his heart. Besides, he has a feeling he might have to get used to it.

Eh, there are much worse things in life.

“Someone woke up with an attitude.” Mikey’s tone is playful, but he speaks his words from the doorstep, as if he doesn’t want to intrude on their moment.

“Mikes!” Awsten’s smile is audible in his voice. “Come here, group hug!”

Mikey laughs at that request, but evidently doesn’t hold back, because moments later, Dallon is sandwiched between them, and he can’t help joining the laughter. He feels absolutely silly, and yet happier than he has in a long time. Because not only Awsten pulled through, but he seems like his old self, with a touch of manic, which is to be expected at first after turning – after all, even in his weakened state, he’s currently stronger than he ever was as a human. Newly turned vampires are a handful, but Dallon is more than happy to have his hands full, rather than his heart bleeding.

“You three are so normal about each other,” a voice comments from behind them, and it carries a trace of barely concealed amusement.

Slowly, the group hug unfolds and Dallon turns to address Otto a playful glare, only to notice he has a mug of warm blood in his hands, supposedly for Awsten. “I wouldn’t try to be funny if I were you, I still have half a thought of making you walk all the way home to Utah,” Dallon warns, and it’s only partly a joke.

Otto simply gives his own version of a perfectly innocent smile, with just the hint of cheekiness, and walks over to give Awsten the blood.

“Don’t be mean to Otto,” Awsten protests as he takes the mug, frowning. “He’s a sweetheart and he was an excellent bodyguard while you were away.”

Yeah, Dallon does not want to know what kind of bodyguarding Otto did, or what part of Awsten’s body, specifically, he thought needed such excellent guarding. Not in the slightest. Because he has a feeling it would spike his blood pressure, which would be impressive for someone without a heartbeat.

“I really wasn’t, sunshine,” Otto counters with a shake of his head, and Dallon notices a trace of wistfulness in his eyes.

Yet, that’s not what he focuses on.

“Sunshine? Really?” Dallon glares at his second-in-command, who has the decency of looking sheepish when he shrugs.

“Quit being a dick to him,” Awsten objects again, giving Dallon’s arm what he probably intends as a playful slap, but actually ends up being a pretty impressive hit. Yep, the blood is doing its job.

“Hey!” Dallon rubs the spot slowly, but still gives a small laugh as he adds, “We’re gonna have to work on dosing your strength.”

Awsten looks down when he realizes his mistake, and tries to hide his embarrassment by taking a long sip from the mug. Dallon reaches over then, and squeezes his knee reassuringly, letting him know it’s okay, that he’s not angry about it. There is a lot he needs to teach Awsten about being a vampire, but it’s fine, they have time.

“Not so repulsive anymore, now, is it?” Mikey asks when Awsten places the mug down on his bedside table, and Dallon is grateful for the change of topic.

“It’s the best thing I’ve ever had,” Awsten agrees with a befuddled smile. “And thank fuck it doesn’t scream anymore. That would have been horrible as a vampire.”

“Does that mean your abilities are gone?”

Dallon doesn’t know what answer to hope for, if he has to be honest. Sure, not having those abilities anymore would make Awsten’s life easier, and safer, but at the same time, it feels unfair that they would be taken from him when he was starting to embrace them, and control them instead of letting them control him.

Awsten, however, doesn’t answer his question immediately, and the look on his face is… well, conflicted, from lack of a better term. When he speaks, Dallon understands why.

“I can’t hear the dead anymore, but I-- earlier I could see Otto’s aura,” Awsten whispers, as if he’s afraid someone outside the room might hear him, even with the door closed. Which is a legitimate concern. “So I think the rest might still be here?”

“No, it’s not,” Dallon declares resolutely, which clearly catches the young vampire off guard. “As far as anyone outside this room is concerned, you’re a regular vampire.” At Awsten’s cheeky look, he adds, “Fine, cute, but regular.”

“What about Patrick? And Ryan?” Awsten protests, frowning.

“This stays in our clan, no one can know, not even Patrick,” Dallon instructs with a deadly serious look. “And especially not Ryan.”

Awsten looks like he wants to object to that, but he must see something in Dallon’s expression that makes him rethink that, because he simply nods in acceptance. Moments later, however, he asks, “Is he okay?”

“He will be,” Mikey reassures him with a little smile. He knows they’re approaching a particularly difficult subject for Dallon, and probably guesses it’s a topic Dallon would rather discuss in private with Awsten, because a moment later he turns to Otto and he adds, “Let’s go, let’s give them a chance to catch up.”

Otto simply nods his head in assent, and follows the older vampire out of the door with one last smile at Awsten. God, could he be any more whipped? Awsten truly did a number on his deputy, didn’t he?

“What do you remember?” Dallon asks his kindred, happy to be distracted from the budding romance of which he still does not fully approve.

“I don’t really remember all the details, I remember being in a shitload of pain, and then you offering to turn me,” Awsten recalls, clearly focusing to try and dig deeper into his memory.

“You ran into a burning building to try and save me,” Dallon reminds him, and tries his best to sound reproachful, but there is a tiny smile on his face mitigating it. “It was reckless, you got hurt.”

“Yeah, I remember that.” Awsten’s eyes are closed as he speaks, voice soft. “Something fell down and hit me, and it hurt so fucking bad,” he continues, grimacing as he remembers the pain, or at least the phantom of it. “And then something was about to crush me, but it didn’t.”

“Because Ryan saved you.” It cost Dallon a lot to say it out loud, to be the one to inform Awsten of that. “He took the hit, and kept you safe until Pete and Patrick got you out.”

“So he’s not one of the bad guys, then?” Awsten sounds so desperately hopeful as he asks it that it nearly breaks Dallon’s soul, because he knows he’ll have to crush that hope. “Even if he was speaking to those two bastards?”

After a deep breath, Dallon proceeds to tell him everything from the beginning, from the betrayal in the cemetery, to the days in captivity – he spares the kid the details about the torture, of course –, and then how Ryan figured out he’s a giant fucking idiot for falling for Joseph and Dun’s lies, and how he ultimately helped them escape and fight their way out. Or, as Dallon puts it, too little, too late.

“Saving my life is too little, too late?” Awsten challenges, clearly piqued about that.

“If it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t have been there at all,” Dallon points out, adamant.

And that’s the crux of the matter, isn’t it?

Dallon might be able to get over the betrayal with time, after all Shadow Pete kind of deserved it and Dallon did tell Ryan he was in love with someone else after hiding it for weeks, which isn’t particularly stellar behavior on his part. He might even get over Ryan buying into Joseph and Dun’s bullshit – he was heartbroken and desperate for a way out.

The one thing Dallon isn’t sure he can forgive Ryan for, however, is causing Awsten’s death.

“I mean, I’m not saying he didn’t fuck up,” Awsten mutters, looking down at his hands. “But in the end he did come through.”

“Awsten, you died because of him,” Dallon blurts out, jaw clenching. “You died, and now you’re something you were never supposed to be. You’ve lost part of your abilities, the freedom to walk in daylight, and the chance to grow old and have a normal life.” Dallon stops when he realizes his eyes are stinging with tears, but he blinks them back. “So yeah, to me that’s too little, too late.”

Awsten seems genuinely stunned by the emotion that is probably showing in Dallon’s voice and general demeanor – and rightfully so, Dallon is not the type to let his feelings show so openly, to wear his heart on his sleeve. If anything, Awsten has made fun of his guardedness on multiple occasions, but none of that is in sight now. Right now, he’s holding nothing back – he owes the kid that much.

“I don’t want to be the reason you hate him,” Awsten mumbles, looking down once more, and this time, it’s his eyes misting over with tears. “I don’t want to be the reason you don’t give him another chance.”

“Who says I even want to give him another chance?” Dallon asks, trying to keep his voice neutral, but not quite succeeding.

“If you didn’t love him, what he did wouldn’t hurt so bad, right now,” Awsten reasons, in a surprisingly accurate read of the situation. Sometimes, Dallon forgets how smart the kid really is, even when it comes to emotional intelligence. Sometimes, Dallon forgets Awsten is not, in fact, a kid at all.

“I may still love him, but it doesn’t change what he did, what it cost you,” Dallon reasons, feeling like it would be disloyal to deny the obvious.

“It’s not that bad,” Awsten objects with a shrug.

“You died! How is it not that bad?” Dallon feels like maybe Awsten isn’t quite back to himself yet.

“Look I get it, no more sunlight, but I’m kinda used to it, I was locked up for eight years, how much sunlight do you think I got to enjoy back then?” Awsten reasons with a bitter chuckle. “And not hearing the screams of the dead every time there’s a drop of blood? Kind of fucking fantastic, believe me. The world’s never been so fucking quiet for me,” he continues, and to Dallon’s shock, he sounds genuinely relieved. “Aside from, you know, vampire hearing, but Otto says it’ll get better.”

“Awsten, it’s--”

“I get to live ten lifetimes to make up for everything I lost, I get to have a fresh start, without people hunting me for my abilities,” Awsten interrupts him with a quiet smile, eyes still glistening with tears. “And I finally get to have a fucking family.”

Dallon feels something in his chest twist at those words, at the emotion behind them, at the hope shining through Awsten’s words. He isn’t sure what to say, how to answer, so he doesn’t. Instead, he gently pulls the kid closer, into a tight hug that hopefully tells him that yes, he finally gets to have a family, and it’s a family that loves him.

“Push Ryan away if you want, but promise me I won’t be the reason you do it,” Awsten whispers against his chest, arms wrapping around him more gently than Dallon expected – the slap from earlier must have made him realize he doesn’t quite know his own strength yet.

“I promise,” Dallon finally breathes, closing his eyes.

There is a long moment of silence, and Dallon finds himself realizing that after all, this hugging business is not so terrible after all.

And then, Awsten speaks again. “Also, now I’m a vampire, so you can’t give me shit for sleeping with Otto.”

Dallon isn’t sure if he wants to laugh or cry at that, but he settles for answering with a deadly serious, “I will have him hanged, drawn and quartered.”

Awsten pulls back, then, and glares at him as he clearly tries to figure out if Dallon means it or not. “You’re a pain in the ass, old man.”

“Yeah, but now I’m your pain in the ass,” Dallon responds with a smile that comes surprisingly easily to his lips.

“That, you are.” Awsten’s smile is so bright that right then, it’s easy to believe that everything will be okay, after all.

~

Patrick is dozing in and out of sleep, his head resting on Pete’s shoulder as they both sit in the sunroom, enjoying the first rays of the crescent moon – it’s nearly at its third quarter by now, which means it gives off enough glow for Patrick to peacefully bask in it. It reminds him of Hecate and the glowing leaves of the Underworld, but surprisingly, it evokes a sense of tranquility, not fear. Hopefully it’s a sign that the goddess holds no ill will towards him, despite his trespassing.

Pete is just as relaxed, his hand playing distractedly with Patrick’s hair as he leans back and just rests.

It’s been a million years since they’ve had the chance to just sit and enjoy some peace, and Patrick forgot what wonders it works for their bond.

“I can see why he fights so hard to protect this,” Pete whispers out of the blue, and it takes Patrick longer than he’d like to admit to realize it’s not his Pete who spoke. The boundaries are getting somewhat blurry, even when it comes to their connection – it used to instantly react to Shadow’s Pete presence, kind of like a horse rearing, but now it’s barely a quiver. 

“About time you showed up,” Patrick responds, but doesn’t immediately move away. “I have some words you need to catch.”

Shadow Pete laughs silently, his chest shaking with the motion, and his fingers keep trailing in Patrick’s hair gently. It makes Patrick wonder how long he’s been here, really.

“I take it you know what happened in the cemetery,” Pete observes quietly, his tone growing somewhat apologetic. “You know I'm the one who staked us.”

“Yeah,” Patrick confirms, and keeps the rest of it to himself – he would have done it too.

“We made it out alive, apparently.” Shadow Pete sounds way too calm, considering his last memory must be of that damn cemetery.

“No thanks to you,” Patrick mutters, and even though Pete can’t see him rolling his eyes, he knows he can tell. He might not know Patrick as well as his own Pete does, but he knows him enough, by now.

“Did everyone survive?” This time there is a trace of concern in his voice, which genuinely surprises Patrick, because aside from Ryan, this version of Pete has no reason to care about anyone else.

With a sigh, Patrick finally sits up, breaking the contact between them; he turns a little in his seat to face the vampire and offers an apologetic look as he answers, “Yeah, including the piece of shit who tricked you and sold you out.”

Pete is confused for a second, then seems to realize what that means and his expression darkens. “I see.”

“He never wanted to have a conversation, he was leading you into a trap,” Patrick observes, and tries to be as delicate as he can, but really, he can’t do miracles.

In a few sentences, trying to keep it to the bare bones of it, he tells Shadow Pete what happened, that he was staked for over three days and then used as a bargaining chip to pull all of them into yet another trap. He sees Pete’s expression show a hint of relief when Patrick tells him of Ryan’s change of heart, his role in helping them escape – including giving him blood –, and ultimately that he’s currently upstairs, recovering.

Well, he would be recovering, if he didn’t refuse to feed. Which is the latest news Mikey has brought him. Ryan has been awake for three days now, but ever since regaining consciousness he’s refused to feed, or to see anyone. As far as Patrick knows, the only person who has a chance of getting through to him hasn’t been to see him, yet – and Patrick can’t really blame Dallon for it. The bastard didn’t just betray Dallon, he broke his heart too and caused Awsten’s death.

“What a fucking mess,” Shadow Pete mumbles once Patrick is done bringing him up to speed. There is a moment of silence, in which he probably processes everything that’s happened, and its consequences. Eventually, he says, “I assume that you’ll break the bond, now, which means my time here is coming to an end.”

So he has figured it out, that the bond is the thing keeping him here. And yet, he isn’t angry about it, if anything he looks… sad.

“That’s the plan,” Patrick admits with a sympathetic smile. “But you get to have your conversation first.”

“I don’t think he’ll talk to me,” Pete observes, clearly skeptical.

“Then you talk to him, and he listens,” Patrick states with a shrug. “His back is still broken, he’s bedridden, so it’s not like he can walk away from you.”

“That’s cold,” Pete comments with a look of genuine surprise. “You’re real angry, uh?”

“I would gladly feed him to a pit of pigs, right now,” Patrick admits without hesitation, then feels a familiar nagging at the back of his mind, reminding him that right now is not forever. “He’s still Pete’s kindred, so I won’t.”

“You won’t because you’re a good guy, and you’d regret it later,” Pete corrects him with a little smile.

“Stop sounding so much like my husband,” Patrick mutters, but he can’t help chuckling at how Pete-like that comment was – yeah, his mate was always there, beneath the messed up shit he did, beneath the madness slowly taking over.

“He's a lucky son of a bitch.”

Patrick is surprised by that statement, but even more so by the knowing smile on the vampire’s lips, and while it prompts a genuine smile to spread on his lips, he answers in the only way that feels appropriate, right now.

“I know.”

The laugh that his confident answer prompts from Shadow Pete is so genuine that Patrick can’t help joining it, and really, who the fuck would have thought that he’d be sharing laughs with the version of his mate that tried to choke him to death two and a half months before? A version that will soon be gone. Forever, this time.

That reminds him of something he and Pete discussed earlier, in anticipation of this moment. Something that might ease Shadow Pete’s grief a little bit.

“C'mon, let me show you something,” Patrick declares as he stands, then gestures for the vampire to follow him.

Pete does so after a moment of hesitation, and together they head upstairs, and to Pete’s study. Once they’re in front of the door, Patrick retrieves the key from around Pete’s neck – much to Shadow Pete’s confusion – and unlocks it. Leading him inside silently, he switches on the light, and closes the door after him.

“What’s this?” Pete asks, looking at the rows and rows of journals sitting on the shelves.

“This is your future,” Patrick explains with a quiet smile. “This is the five hundred years Pete has lived since the curse, free of madness.”

“He… recorded everything?” Pete looks around, absolutely astonished by the sheer quantity of journals surrounding him.

“He realized he was forgetting, so he started keeping journals,” Patrick confirms, walking over to one of the shelves. “I know that going through with the curse might feel like you’re losing, giving up, but you’re not.” Pete looks at him, then, but remains quiet. “You’re giving yourself a second chance. Your sacrifice is what allows this, Pete.”

“Why are you showing me this?”

“Because you’ve been a royal pain in the ass, and you almost killed me, but in the end… I’m glad I got to know you,” Patrick confesses softly, his smile holding a trace of sadness he can’t truly hide.

“Because it makes you appreciate your Pete more?” Shadow Pete jokes, but it’s clear the words have had some sort of impact on him.

“Exactly,” Patrick huffs, rolling his eyes.

“Ouch.” Pete laughs at the exchange, wonder leaving room for something else in his expression, something calmer – something that looks more like acceptance than resignation.

“I mean it, though,” Patrick resumes, shaking his head slowly as he looks around at the journals for a moment, then back to him. “I’m glad I got to know you, and I think you deserve a little peace.”

Shadow Pete looks at him in silence for a few seconds, his smile softening, giving in to a shade that resembles affection. Which is kind of unexpected. “So, what does it feel like, wolf?”

“What?”

“Making the same guy fall in love with you twice.”

For a moment, Patrick thinks Pete must be joking again – he has to be, right? Except he isn’t laughing now, and his expression looks more earnest than it ever has.

“A little cruel, I think,” Patrick admits in a whisper, because if Pete is being honest, if he truly feels that way, Patrick feels like he’s not giving him peace – not at all.

“God, I wish I could kiss you, right now,” Shadow Pete admits, running a hand over his face.

“Pete wouldn’t take that well,” Patrick warns, but doesn’t lose his smile.

“What’s he gonna do, stake me?” And just like that, with that joke, the subtle hint of tension that was starting to form vanishes, and Patrick laughs along with the vampire.

“I’m sorry to say, the curse does nothing for your sense of humor, that’s beyond saving,” Patrick informs with a grin, embracing the lightness that’s taking over the exchange once more.

As he leads them back out of the study, Patrick realizes that as crazy as it sounds, part of him is going to miss this version of Pete.

~

Saying that Dallon is conflicted would be the understatement of the fucking century.

Things are slowly improving for him, he’s regaining strength and physical pain is now gone, at last. He’s been spending some time with Awsten, teaching him the basics, helping him understand his strength before he accidentally breaks someone’s bones, and in general preparing him for what is now his life. He’s been telling him more about the clan too, about Geoff and Michael and Lucas, and he can tell Awsten is both excited about meeting them and nervous about joining the clan. Dallon, however, isn’t worried in the slightest, because he knows his guys, and he knows they’ll welcome him.

While physical pain isn’t an issue anymore, he can’t quite say the same about the sharp, painful feeling that keeps poking at his heart any time he walks past Ryan’s room. It’s been three days since he woke up, but Dallon still hasn’t been to see him; and Mikey has reported that Ryan is straight up refusing to feed, which makes his recovery extremely slow. He’s also refusing to see anyone, and as far as he knows, he hasn’t asked to see Dallon either.

And Dallon doesn’t know if he should feel infuriated by that, or terrified. Or both. Because it sounds like Ryan has given up, and Mikey’s prediction that he’s going to walk out there and just let himself be hunted down is looking more and more likely by the day. If he doesn’t starve himself to death first.

So Dallon has been swinging like a fucking pendulum between telling himself he has to do something about it, and telling himself he doesn’t give a shit. One of these two extremes is clearly a pathetic lie, but he hasn’t quite talked himself out of it yet.

“Hey, I was looking for you!” William’s voice breaks into the fog of his miserable thoughts, and Dallon looks up from the mug of blood he’s been sipping from at the kitchen table.

“I’m not that hard to find,” Dallon points out, shrugging.

William rolls his eyes but otherwise ignores his quip, and instead informs, “Spencer woke up.”

“Good, and?” Dallon inquires, and he’s pretty proud of how genuine his indifference sounds, even if it’s not.

“And that means it’s time you pull your head out of your ass and talk to Ryan.” William does not hold back, nor does he beat around the bush. “Patrick and Awsten did not face off against Hecate herself so that Ryan could let himself waste away, not knowing his kindred is back.”

“Then send Spencer to him. What makes you think he’ll even listen to me? He refuses to speak to anyone,” Dallon points out, holding William’s gaze defiantly. And oh, isn’t that a mistake?

“Oh, shut the fuck up, you’re the only one who can snap him out of it,” William counters, walking over to him. “The fucker is drowning in heartbreak, guilt and self-loathing, and you’re the only one who can do anything about it.” 

Dallon doesn’t say anything to that, because deep down, he knows William is right, he knows he is the only one Ryan might listen to. So why can he not bring himself to talk to him? Why does he have to be such a coward about it?

“I get it,” William whispers, resting his hand on Dallon’s shoulder.

“You get what, exactly?” Dallon challenges, because what the hell does William think he knows?

A lot, apparently. And he hits the target right on the bullseye, better than Dallon’s denial has allowed him to do so far.

“You’re afraid forgiveness might not be enough to bring him back, to save him.”

Dallon feels his heart twist at that thought, at the possibility that he might push himself to forgive Ryan, only to lose him anyway. Only to find out his forgiveness, his love, aren’t enough for him. It’s a devastating thought, and it freezes him into place, into inaction.

At his silence, William squeezes his shoulder affectionately, then surprises him by pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “That’s not a good reason not to try, Dallon, so move your handsome ass and go see him or I’ll drag you there myself.”

Dallon can’t help the huff of unbelieving laughter that rushes past his lips, and somewhere, deep in his heart, he finds a tiny little voice that tells him William has a point. That voice sounds suspiciously like Mikey’s.

Before he can say or do anything, however, the distant hum of the barrier alarm spreads through the kitchen, alerting both of them.

Ugh, for fucking real?

“This had better not be any more drama, surprise kindred or oracle hunter,” William groans dramatically. “We need a fucking break.”

Dallon couldn’t have said it better.

~

Chapter Text

Chapter 25 – I don't know where you're going, but do you got room for one more troubled soul?

~

“Gerard?” Patrick doesn’t mean to sound as absolutely bewildered as he does, but their friend is the last person he expected to see walk into the room.

Travie, who went down to the gate to check, walks in after him, chatting to Frank.

“What the--" Patrick starts, but it dissolves into a laugh, surprise morphing into happiness that not only it’s not more trouble knocking at their door, but it’s friends he hasn’t seen in a while. It almost feels too good to be true, and Patrick is tempted for a moment to make sure he’s not asleep and dreaming.

Everyone else in the room seems to share that sentiment, Dallon in particular, as well as Pete, who is back at the helm of his own body, thankfully. 

“Sorry to drop in on you unannounced,” Gerard starts with a grin that broadcasts he isn’t sorry in the slightest. “We’re on our way to visit Tomrad, and yesterday I got a weird text.”

“What kind of weird text?” Pete asks, a trace of concern already seeping into his voice. Maybe Patrick celebrated the lack of new trouble too early.

Gerard, however, doesn’t lose his smile, but turns his attention to his brother, who’s sitting on the sofa, visibly entertained. “Apparently, my brother is moving to fucking Utah for the foreseeable future,” Gerard explains with an eloquent look towards Mikey. “Figured I’d stop by and see what that’s about.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Patrick sees Dallon bite back a grin and play dumb, which does not end up being very convincing. “How odd,” the Utah Regents comments, barely holding back his amusement.

“I mean, Frank told me you lost your marbles over this one,” Gerard admits with a gesture towards Dallon and a playful tone that shows he isn’t being an asshole, just teasing his sibling. “But I wanted to see for myself.”

“Yeah, well, he lost his marbles over me too,” Mikey counters with a hint of piqued pride over his brother’s taunting. At Gerard’s chuckle, he adds, “I am, after all, the hottest Way.”

“You're so full of yourself,” Frank mutters, rolling his eyes affectionately.

Mikey grins at those words, and Patrick can hear it coming before Mikey even says it. “Actually, most of the time, I'm full of Dallon.”

“Mikey, for fuck’s sake,” Dallon groans, burying his face in his hands, while the rest of the room shares a good laugh. Is it a terrible joke? Sure, but it’s still funny. And it certainly proves that Mikey hasn’t changed a single bit. Patrick, however, is immensely relieved he’s not the target of those jokes, anymore.

“Well, since you’re here, why don’t you stop for a few days?” Pete offers, and it’s obvious that Dallon is grateful for the change of direction in the conversation. “I’m not sure we can offer much as accommodation, but we can make it work.”

“They can have Mikey’s room, he can stay with me,” Dallon suggests, shrugging. “Or sleep out on the balcony if he makes one more terrible joke.”

“Oh shut up, you love my jokes,” Mikey mumbles, shoving him playfully.

Patrick watches Dallon bite back yet another smile, but surprisingly, he doesn’t refrain from admitting the truth. “I do.”

“Well, in that case, we’d love to stop and rest for a bit, we’ve been on the road a while,” Gerard admits with a genuine smile, and Frank nods enthusiastically next to him. “Besides, I have a feeling you’ve got quite an interesting story to tell.”

“That, we do,” Patrick confirms with a huffed chuckle. “It’s not quite over yet, but we’re getting there.”

“Anything we can do to help?” Frank offers, no hesitation whatsoever in his words, or in Gerard’s approving nod. Seriously, Patrick could hug them both right about now.

“Not really, but thank you.” Patrick hopes to all hell that the affection he’s feeling towards them shows in his smile.

“This calls for a nice dinner,” Joe states out of the blue, standing from the sofa he’s sharing with Andy. “We haven’t had a decent meal all together in fucking forever.”

“It’s true, we’ve been too busy dealing with a level of bullshit that is honestly ridiculous,” William piles on, clearly frustrated, but equally relieved that they finally get the excuse for a bit of normality. “You guys are a blessing, to be honest.”

And Patrick can’t really blame him for feeling that way, nor can he disagree.

“See? Why can’t all of our friends greet us as blessings?” Gerard points out with a laugh, glancing at Frank.

“Because not all of our friends are William Beckett,” Frank responds earnestly, and yet joins in the laughter as well.

“Speaking of blessings,” Mikey jokes, which earns him a slap on the arm from William and an outraged “Hey!”

“Don’t be mean to my mate,” Gabe warns, and yet, he’s laughing as much as everyone else.

And forget dinner, this moment already feels like his life is finally piecing itself back together, and Patrick looks around the room with a big smile on his face. Sure, there are still loose ends to tie up, but for the first time in a long while, he feels optimistic. So he lets that feeling wash over the bond connecting him to Pete, and a moment later, he feels Pete’s hand close on his own.

He doesn’t need to turn around to know Pete is smiling too.

~

Dallon is genuinely shocked at how pleasant dinner was.

Aside from their brief cooperation during the High Council, and despite knowing Mikey rather intimately – he’s in the mood for understatements –, this was Dallon’s first time having a proper, prolonged interaction with Gerard, especially in such an informal setting. Luckily, it turns out the vampire is easy going and amicable, even with the nearly relentless teasing he aimed at Mikey. It was all in good fun, however, and Dallon finds himself realizing that it’s been a long while since he’s had the chance to kick back and relax at one of these gatherings, without having to worry about politics and secret cloak-and-dagger conspiracies.

By the time they break up the party, Dallon is in a good mood – a veritable rarity lately, considering everything still weighing on his heart. Mikey seems to notice it, and as they walk to what is now officially their room, he takes Dallon’s hand and stops him in the hallway.

“What?” Dallon asks with a confused smile.

Mikey simply nods his head to the nearby door, and that’s when Dallon realizes where they are. His shoulders tense instantly, and he feels somewhat ambushed, even though it doesn’t quite make sense. “Forgive him or cast him out, but he deserves closure too,” Mikey reminds him with a sad look, then lets go of his hand.

Dallon watches as the vampire walks away then, leaving him behind to make his choice. Because sure, Mikey may be willing to make room for Ryan in their lives, but he’s made it clear it’s Dallon’s decision in the end. And really, that’s still such a wild and baffling concept for Dallon, even though it probably shouldn’t be. It’s Mikey they’re talking about, after all, of course he’s okay with being in a… what is it even called, a throuple?

Taking a deep breath, Dallon looks at the dark wood of the door, as if by staring he could see through it without walking inside. When that proves to be impossible, he makes himself move, and closes a hand on the handle. It takes one more long moment of hesitation before he’s actually opening the door and walking inside.

“I don’t want to see anyone,” a weak voice croaks from the bed.

Dallon steps in and sees that Ryan is lying beneath the bedsheets, his eyes closed, clearly in pain. He’s emaciated, bruised and still recovering from the burns and injuries from the fire, but recovering way too slowly. Seeing him like this, so helpless and broken, makes Dallon’s stomach twist unpleasantly.

After a few moments of silence, Ryan still doesn’t look at him, but speaks again and adds, “Fuck off.”

So not all of him is lost, then, his attitude is still somewhere inside the shell lying on the bed.

“You’ve always been a prickly asshole,” Dallon comments, and he sees the exact moment Ryan realizes it’s him. His eyes snap open and immediately focus on him, the look in them a mix of distress and devastating grief.

“Dallon,” Ryan breathes, as if he’s not sure he’s actually there, as if he fears it might be some kind of hallucination.

“Mikey says you haven’t been feeding,” Dallon simply says, because he doesn’t know where else to start. Ryan doesn’t answer, and instead gives a small shrug that seems to cause a considerable amount of pain. So Dallon insists, “Why?”

Again, Ryan doesn’t say anything, eyes closing again, and for a moment Dallon thinks he might not answer at all. Eventually, however, he speaks and it feels like it’s a genuine effort for Ryan to say the words. “I was never supposed to make it out of that warehouse.”

“Pete isn’t in the habit of abandoning his own,” Dallon points out, and while he tries to keep the venom from his voice, he doesn’t quite succeed completely. “Even when they’ve stabbed him in the back.”

“What do you want me to say?” Ryan reacts, looking at him once more.

“That you’re sorry,” Dallon simply says, offering a shrug of his own.

“Of course I’m fucking sorry,” Ryan breathes, eyes blinking away tears – Dallon doesn’t know if those tears stem from physical pain, or anguish, but either way, they feel like little daggers in his heart. “But what’s being sorry going to do?”

Dallon doesn’t know how to answer that, doesn’t know how to react, how to deal with this. He knew he was walking into a difficult conversation, but the way Ryan is speaking, the way he’s entrenched himself in pain and guilt and shame… Dallon isn’t sure he can break through that. After everything Ryan has been through, thinking that this is what has definitely broken him hurts on a level Dallon did not expect.  

“Maybe being sorry won’t fix things, but talking to Pete would be a good starting point,” Dallon finally says, because at least that would be a step in the right direction.

“What I did to him does not change what he did to me,” Ryan reasons, jaw clenching in a surprising flare of anger.

“It doesn’t, but it balances the scales a whole fucking lot,” Dallon protests, and takes a step closer. “You have no idea what this clan has done for you, all you can see is your fucking hatred for a guy who has been dead for five hundred years.”

Ryan looks away at those words, which clearly hit very near their target. “I don’t have anything else left.”

“You do, you fucking ungrateful asshole,” Dallon counters, taking one more step closer to the bed. “While you were in here, wallowing in your hatred of Pete and plotting against him, he negotiated to get Jon Walker back from Billie Joe, and got him back alive,” Dallon tells him, making an effort to rein in his anger and speak calmly.

“What? Jon’s here?” Ryan’s eyes light up with something akin to surprise, the first sign of a positive feeling in this entire conversation.

“And while you were busy betraying us,” Dallon pauses, looking at him straight in the eye. “Patrick and Awsten risked their fucking lives to go into the Underworld and bring Spencer back.”

That last revelation seems to shatter something in Ryan, and he freezes, seemingly terrified, as if he will not allow himself to believe him, to hope. It’s painful to watch, but Dallon doesn’t stop.

“So yeah, Pete might have fucked you over, but in the end, he let himself get fucking staked to save you. And that has to count for something,” Dallon pauses just for a breath, then adds, “It has to be enough to earn him a fucking conversation.”

Ryan looks up at him with eyes full of tears at this point, and Dallon feels something inside of him crack, and then finally splinter into sharp little daggers; he sits on the edge of the bed, and reaches over to cup Ryan’s bruised cheek. “You broke my heart, you fucking idiot.”

“I know,” Ryan whispers, eyes closing. “I’m sorry.”

“Then prove it – talk to Pete, get closure, end this fucking mess,” Dallon whispers, thumb stroking along his cheekbone. “And then come home with me. With Mikey. With Awsten.”

“And do what? Watch you two have your happy ending from inside a cell?” Ryan asks, meeting his gaze once more as tears slide down from the outer corners of his eyes. There is no venom in his words, however, just pain. “I don’t think I can do that. I’d rather try my luck out there.”

“You wouldn’t be our prisoner,” Dallon tells him, and the moment he says it is the moment he realizes that Mikey was right – his feelings are still there, battered and bruised, but still burning. And maybe he can find it in himself to give Ryan another chance, if Ryan is willing to do his part. “Mikey cares about you too, and he’s… well, he’s surprisingly good at sharing.”

Ryan doesn’t understand what he means, at first, and Dallon can’t really blame him for it. It’s a fucking weird and unexpected dynamic, but the more he thinks about it, the more he thinks about the way Mikey took care of Ryan, the way Mikey speaks of him, and the fact that he ran into a burning building to save him… well, the more he thinks about all that, the more Dallon realizes that Mikey has grown to care about Ryan too. Maybe not as deeply as Dallon does, but it’s certainly there.

The moment the meaning of his words does dawn on Ryan, he blinks up at Dallon, utterly in shock. “Are you serious?”

“Believe me, that was my reaction too,” Dallon huffs with a chuckle, but the levity doesn’t last long. “We all need time to heal, Ryan, but that can’t start until you close the wound.”

Ryan looks at him in silence for what feels like an eternity, but despite his quiet reaction, there is a new light in his eyes. It looks a lot like restrained, fearful hope – it’s a spark, but it’s a spark that can ignite. Ryan isn’t lost to him, after all, he’s right there, he just needs to step over the mountain that is his pride and his hatred and his resentment. But that’s not something Dallon can do for him, he has to take that step himself.

Slowly, and with evident pain, Ryan moves his arm, and reaches up to take Dallon’s hand in his own. “I’ll talk to Pete,” he finally agrees, his expression set in a determined frown, unease at that thought fighting to take over, but eventually losing. Losing because it’s Ryan who makes the choice to push it away.

Dallon gives in to a little smile, then, and leans closer to press a kiss to Ryan’s forehead. When he pulls back, he knows exactly what should happen next. “I wasn’t lying earlier, Jon and Spencer are downstairs,” he informs quietly, the words lighting up Ryan’s eyes with renewed life. “Would you like me to get them?”

“Yes,” Ryan breathes, tears pooling in his eyes. “Yes, please.”

~~

Patrick paces the library nervously, checking his watch so often he starts to wonder if the hands are even moving at all. Shadow Pete has been in Ryan’s room for what feels like a decade, but it’s actually been just shy of two hours. Considering how much they have to talk about and work through, it’s not that long of a time, but Patrick can’t help feeling on edge about it. Hence the pacing.

“You’re giving me motion sickness,” Dallon complains from where he’s sitting on the armchair, scrolling through his phone.

“And you’re way too calm, cool and collected, right now,” Patrick counters, but still makes himself stop and stand still.

Dallon grins in response to his comment, but doesn’t address it. Instead, he locks his phone and slides it in his pocket, before asking, “So, what are you going to do, when we finally vacate all of your guest rooms?”

Patrick is honestly glad for the distraction, and moves to sit on the sofa across from him. “Before this mess started we were negotiating to buy the property next to this one,” he explains with a smile. “It’s an old boarding school.”

“Are you opening a school for the young and gifted wolves of Illinois?” Dallon teases, but it’s evident he did not expect such an answer.

“No, smartass.” Patrick’s playful glare is met with a cheeky grin. “It needs some renovations, but it would be perfect to house the pack. It’s massive, and the grounds share the same woods as this house.”

“That sounds like a lovely project to work on, Alpha,” Dallon admits with a pleasantly surprised smile.

“Yeah, it’s time the pack finally had a proper home,” Patrick agrees as he leans back and rests his feet on the coffee table. “It’s owned by the state though, so there’s a bunch of hoops to jump through and we don’t want to attract the wrong kind of attention.”

“Ah, yes, human bureaucracy,” Dallon mutters, his smile clearly sarcastic. “It sucks.”

“Who sucks?” Awsten asks as he waltzes into the library, evidently in high spirits. He’s finally up and about, and it would seem he’s not quite over what Pete calls the ‘manic phase’ of being a newly turned vampire, which apparently involves drastic mood swings. Although Patrick is starting to think that cheerfulness might just be his personality finally getting a chance to shine through.

“Real estate paperwork,” Patrick answers, watching him with a grin. “And the state government being a pain in the ass.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I walked into a boomer’s Facebook comment section,” Awsten teases them with an amused frown.

“I’m just trying to keep Patrick’s mind off the fact that Pete and Ryan are finally talking,” Dallon informs, which is a terrible way to keep Patrick’s mind off it, really.

“Oh shit, it’s actually happening?” Awsten asks, his expression suddenly growing more serious. “How is it going?”

“No screaming, no blood spilled, nothing is getting thrown,” Dallon lists on the fingers of his hand. “Better than I hoped, honestly.”

“I went to see Ryan too, yesterday, after Spencer and Jon left,” Awsten confesses, and this time, there’s a cautious smile on his lips. “I brought him some blood, and he actually drank it. So whatever you said to him worked.”

Patrick sees the relief flash on Dallon’s face before the vampire hides it, and really, if he thinks he’s being subtle, he’s so hilariously wrong. “So you’re really taking the slimy creature back to Utah with you?” And sure, he’s still trying to be creative with how he refers to Ryan, but the venom is already starting to fade from it.

“Can you please not call him that?” Dallon grimaces, while Awsten simply chuckles.

“I can call him much worse things, believe me,” Patrick warns him with a grin. “I’m being considerate, here.”

“Yeah, he’s coming home with us,” Dallon confirms, ignoring Patrick’s not-so-veiled threat of resorting to the worst of his nicknames for Ryan.

“I don’t think your car’s gonna fit everyone,” Patrick points out with a sudden realization.

Dallon arrived alone three months before, and now he’s leaving with a whole entourage – a whole family, really. Not only Mikey and Awsten are clearly going with him, but the fact that Ryan is going too means that Jon and Spencer will tag along. And then there’s Otto, of course.

“Between my car and Otto’s, we should fit,” Dallon considers with a small shrug, then turns to point a warning finger at Awsten and adds, “No, you’re not going with Otto.”

“You’re no fun.” Awsten pairs his sullen expression with a roll of his eyes, but it does nothing to soften Dallon’s resolution, it seems. Which Patrick finds absolutely ridiculous.

“Give them a break,” the werewolf huffs, glaring at his friend.

Dallon is clearly about to answer him, possibly with what part of Otto’s anatomy he’d rather break, but before he can speak, Pete walks into the room. He looks like he’s been through a harrowing couple of hours, but when Patrick stands and walks over to him, he offers a tired smile.

“This was long overdue,” Pete admits, which is enough to understand that yes, he’s still talking to Shadow Pete. “And honestly, it went better than I could have ever hoped for.”

“Good,” Patrick breathes with a relieved smile.             

There are a few beats of silence, during which Pete looks around at the room, while Dallon and Awsten take silent leave, probably to give them a little privacy – Patrick’s grateful for their discretion. Once Pete’s attention is back to Patrick, he admits, “I’m gonna miss this place.”

“It’s not goodbye,” Patrick reminds him with a quiet, sad smile. “You’ll be here again. In five hundred years or so.”

“It won’t be me, I’m just a fading echo,” Shadow Pete responds, but there is no bitterness in his voice. “It’ll be someone who actually deserves this.”

Patrick feels a tug at his heart at those words, at the implication that despite everything, Shadow Pete still feels like he isn’t worthy of something good, worthy of love. It makes him wish he could prove him wrong, show him that he can’t be faulted for his mind crumbling under the weight of the memories, under the influence of Urie’s malevolent presence. And remind him that the curse he will inflict on himself is proof that in the end, when it counts, he makes the right choice.

He doesn’t know how to tell him all that, how to convince him of it, so instead, he does something else entirely.

Without a word, Patrick moves closer and kisses him.

It clearly catches Pete off guard, because at first, he simply freezes; a handful of seconds later, however, he leans into the kiss, his hands moving up to cup Patrick’s cheeks gently, a stark contrast to the first time this version of Pete touched him. God, that feels like a lifetime ago. Before Patrick knows it, the touch of Pete’s hands grows more familiar, the bond stronger, and by the time he pulls back, he knows Shadow Pete is gone, and his Pete is back.

“I hope he’s earned that,” Pete whispers on his lips, but he’s smiling as he says it.

“He did,” Patrick confirms as he steps into Pete’s arms and buries his face into the vampire’s neck. “You did.”

Those two simple words hit something inside of Pete, and the effect ripples through their bond; maybe Pete needed to hear it as much as his old self did, after all. And maybe Shadow Pete caught him off guard the other day when he confessed to falling in love with him, but as Pete holds him just a little tighter, Patrick finally realizes something.

He would love Pete in every fucking timeline.

~~

Epilogue – Dear future self, I hope it’s going well

Maja shows up a couple of days later to perform the bond-breaking ritual, and then takes off before they can even say thank you. Pete was not joking when he said she is done. Plus, knowing that her precious little oracle is now a vampire without any special ability clearly disappointed her, to the point that she nearly wanted to strangle Ryan herself.

Unfortunately, the ritual sets back Ryan’s recovery, and it takes two more weeks before he and Spencer are fit to travel. In the meantime, both Patrick and William get a chance to finally clear the air with Spencer, who has apparently adapted splendidly to his life as a ghoul, and is just content to spend the majority of his time either with his mate or his sire.

Before Gerard and Frank leave for Missouri, the clan even manages to throw Awsten the ‘thank you’ party Pete mentioned – he really wasn’t joking about that, apparently –, which catches the kid so off guard that some blood-red tears make an appearance, but they get quickly hidden when Otto wraps him in a tight hug, and for once, even Dallon leaves them alone.

Dallon, on the other hand, is understandably restless, and by the time everyone is ready to leave a week after the party, he almost physically pushes everyone into the cars himself. Still, he makes time to say proper goodbyes, which surprisingly includes a brief but genuine hug – well, look at that, the ice is melting. Patrick watches as they drive off towards the gate, a little wistful to see his friends go, but glad to have the house back and Ryan out of stake’s reach. Yeah, it’s going to be a while before he can forgive the jackass, but at least he’s leaving the slimy animals alone in his insults now. Progress.

The next month is spent recovering and healing and just trying to get back on top of things. The clans that were still grumbling about Dallon’s law fall in line one by one, which is a relief. And it’s good they succeed in that sense, because the boarding house turns out to be a complete bust. By the time they get all the paperwork in order, and the permits and all the documents, it turns out the state has already sold it. Patrick feels like he’s let his pack down, but he’s not going to give up – he’s promised them a good home, and he’s going to keep that promise, even if he has to track down the new owner and dangle them from a fucking rooftop.

After they get back to routine, he and Pete even resume digitalizing the journals, after months of basically ignoring the task altogether. They’re in the study doing precisely that when Patrick hears William call him from the hallway, and he pops his head out, curious.

“What?”

“I stopped by the PO box on my way back,” William tells him, and hands him a package and two letters. “You’ve got mail, pet.”

Uh, odd. Who the hell would be sending him stuff?

Patrick brings the mail back in the study, and sets it down on his desk; Pete walks over, but it’s clear he’s more curious about Patrick’s concerned look than the actual mail. “What?” the vampire asks, eventually.

“What if it’s more trouble?” Patrick mutters, glaring at the package hard enough it might just catch fire.

“Just open it,” Pete huffs, pressing an affectionate kiss to his temple before going back to work.

Patrick takes a deep breath, then starts from one of the letters. It turns out to be… a bill. For Maja’s services. Patrick starts laughing, halfway between outraged and hysterical. “Maja’s billing us,” he informs as he hands the letter to Pete.

“I mean, fair, she stayed here so long her own coven is pissed at her,” Pete considers, but still looks at the missive, amusement dancing on his features. “What the fuck is ‘custodian fee’ for? It’s over twenty thousand grands!”

“Fuck knows, but I’m not calling her to ask.”

With a much more optimistic attitude, Patrick opens the second envelope. Inside is a handwritten letter and a… property deed? Patrick looks at the address of the property and the details, a wide grin spreading on his lips as he moves on to the letter. It’s brief, so he reads it out to Pete.

“Dear wolf, I’m sorry I promised your husband I’d kill him, and thank you for the very intense and stressful hospitality. I got two boyfriends, a kid and two in-laws out of it, so it’s only fair I give something back,” Patrick reads, and the smile on his face is so wide it hurts his cheeks. “Visit us when you’re done renovating your pack’s new home. Love, Dallon.”

“He’s the one who bought it?” Pete sounds just as astonished as Patrick feels, even more so when the werewolf shows him the deed with Patrick’s name on it. “Are we sure he’s not trying to score a third boyfriend?”

Patrick groans, then hits Pete upside the head with the letter. “Idiot.”

Placing Dallon’s missive down carefully – because to him, it’s just as precious as that property deed – Patrick turns to the last of the mail. The package isn’t very heavy, but it looks old, like he’s been around for a while. A long while. A look at the sender address reveals that this, too, comes from Maja.

Suddenly, Patrick decides to be very, very careful about opening it. He tears at the cardboard gently, under Pete’s perplexed gaze, and once the content of the package is revealed, Patrick feels a shiver of unease slide down his spine. Because inside is a wooden box that looks way too familiar for comfort.

“Isn’t that--” Pete starts, then looks over to one of the shelves, where a twin wooden box still lies. The sixth wife, where they found Pete’s missing journal.

“It’s locked,” Patrick informs after trying to open it, and gestures Pete to come over. The vampire does so without hesitation, and the moment his hand rests on the wooden surface, the magical lock clicks open and the covering panel slides easily when pushed. Exactly like last time.

Holding his breath, Patrick removes the cover to reveal a piece of cloth protecting something inside. Something that looks like a very old, very delicate letter. Careful not to tear it, he opens the cloth and leans down to examine the piece of old paper – by the look of it, it’s as old as the oldest journals in the room, and when Patrick picks it up, he notices a date on the top right of the paper, written in elegant handwriting.

A handwriting he’s grown very familiar with.

‘Dear Patrick and dear future self,

It may come as a surprise to hear from me when we’ve said goodbye just days ago. Truthfully, it has been days for you, it will be five hundred years for me, give or take.

What I thought to be some of the hallucinations brought on by madness I now believe to be my mysterious journey to your time. I dream of your strange world often, of your colorful communication device, but mostly, I dream of Patrick. He may very well be a figment of my insane imagination, but if he isn’t, if I am right, I need to write this. I need to let you know you have changed the course of history. Your own history.

I was ready to surrender to madness, to take the easy way out, but this experience has changed my mind. Seeing what awaits in the future, what my life can be like, the love I will get to experience… I’ve decided to go through with the curse. This version of me will end, so a better one may be born. And it’s all thanks to you – both of you. Yes, I see the paradox, and this is all way beyond my understanding, but I’m simply grateful for the chance I’ve been given. I have also told Ryan to stay clear of Urie, but I’m afraid he’s too angry to heed my warning.

I entrust this missive to the witch we call Maja, I hope it will find its way to you at the time I’ve instructed her to send it.

Yours faithfully,

Shadow

ps: leave Meagan alone, she will find you if she wishes.’

“So that’s what ‘custodian fee’ is for,” Pete mutters to himself, quite clearly shocked. “In hindsight, that’s pretty cheap.”

Patrick is too astonished to speak, his mind racing to grasp the repercussions of what they’ve just read. Shadow Pete was never a cluster of memories, he wasn’t a second consciousness, he wasn’t an echo; and the bond wasn’t keeping him alive, it was just calling him here, to their time. It was a bridge across the centuries, possibly fueled by Ryan’s hatred, probably unlocked once the curse was broken. A bridge to a real, live version of Pete, one who went back to his time and…

Fuck.

Feeling the beginning of a headache starting to form, Patrick reaches for a chair and sits down. 

“You-- we--” Patrick mutters, then shuts up and shakes his head.

“Yeah, it’s a trip,” Pete admits with a huffed laugh. “We’re actually the reason we’re here, right now.”

“I can’t believe we were messing with the past and we didn’t even know,” Patrick breathes, horrified at everything that could have gone wrong. “Thank fuck we didn’t break the bond as soon as we found out about it.”

“So my being a stubborn, honorable ass is actually a good thing, uh?” Pete teases with a grin.

“I never said it wasn’t,” Patrick counters, and finally feels his heartbeat slow down.

Pete takes the letter then, going through it one more time, before he places it back in its protective wooden box. “So her name is Meagan,” he comments with a sigh, clearly dissatisfied with how little information he got about his last kindred. “I wish he’d told us something more about her.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Patrick offers a sympathetic smile as he stands and walks over to his mate. “But if Shadow Pete said to leave her alone, maybe we should.”

After all, if she’s any kind of trouble, Patrick knows she’ll find her way to them, sooner or later.

“I can feel that, you know,” Pete comments, arching an eyebrow at him. “You’re being a pessimist little wolf again.”

Patrick laughs at being called a ‘pessimist little wolf’, which is honestly ridiculous given that it’s not even the first time, and he responds by pinching Pete’s side playfully. “What kind of wolf should I be, then?”

“A naked wolf would be an excellent option,” Pete instantly answers, his grin unashamedly flirty as he pulls Patrick flush against him.

“What about a wolf who blueballs you?” Patrick offers with a laugh, but his arms still wrap around Pete’s neck as he forgets all about the journals and the insane mail he’s received.

“I mean, I’m not kink shaming, but I am kink questioning,” Pete comments without missing a beat, and Patrick hits him playfully on the chest, before his forehead rests against Pete’s. For a long moment they stand like that, just sharing a smile and moment of hard-earned levity; after everything they’ve been through, Patrick almost forgot what this feels like. “God, no wonder I fell in love with you twice,” Pete suddenly whispers, expression softer, warmer.

“Sentimental bat,” Patrick mutters back, but he’s smiling so wide his cheeks are hurting again. After a moment, he pulls back, but his hand moves down to take Pete’s. “C’mon, moonbeam, we’ve worked enough for tonight,” he declares as he pulls Pete along towards the door, and as it always does, the nickname prompts a wave of love along their bond.

A bond that is back to its former glory, strong and secure, without any more interference.

Carrying its scars, but healed.

Unwavering.

And powerful enough to change history, Patrick reminds himself with a smile.

Yeah, he’s a lucky son of a bitch.

~~

end(ish)