William crouches over the body. Pete looks garish like this, his sallow skin too much of a contrast against his dark hair, against the red marks marring his throat. The paleness is so extreme that it almost looks like makeup, something unnatural, something William could wipe away.

Brendon paces behind him. "I still don't get why we're not leaving him in a ditch somewhere for the humans to find," he says, his voice sharp. "He's been missing for a day and a half now."

"Let them search," William says, distracted. He reaches out, his hand hovering over Pete's eyelids. There's no movement there, no breath of life at all. He could be stone. William finds it fascinating. "Better for him to be a permanent missing person than to turn up dead--three boys from the same community turn up dead in a week, and too much attention will be drawn."

"And it's *really* better for his face to be on every fucking milk carton in the country? Dude, he's like. Semi-famous, isn't he? You know there'll be a scene."

"I want to see it happen," William says. "I want to keep him here, under our watch, I don't want him buried under the ground."

Brendon huffs. "There's no real process to *watch,* you know that. He'll just wake up like one of us, no different except for the pointy teeth. Are you seriously going to sit here staring at him like that for three days? That's fucking creepy."

William pulls his hand back. "You're growing petulant. Go eat something."

He feels Brendon's glare tickle the back of his neck. "You're acting *ridiculous.*"

William turns his head to glance at him. "I won't tell you twice."

Brendon's pacing stops, and after a moment William hears him blow a loud breath out before the door slams behind him.

William turns back to Pete, kneeling. He knows there's no process to watch, knows he won't be able to see the chemical changes in Pete's body; one moment he'll be dead, and the next he'll be awake. William's seen it happen before, and it's nothing remarkable.

He finds himself reaching out again, his fingers brushing over Pete's eyelashes this time. Nothing remarkable.

***

William leaves the room only to feed, prowling close to his home and returning immediately after he's found someone to fill him. On the second night, something catches his eye on the steps to the warehouse: when he bends down to look, he recognizes his own handkerchief, bloodied and dirtied. It's the same one that he left on the outskirts of Travis's territory two weeks ago. It's tied in a knot around a diamond stud, the same kind Travis and his friends wear in their ears.

So Travis took the invitation, then. William tucks the kerchief in his pocket and moves inside. This is something to pore over later, once Pete is no longer asleep, once he's no longer waiting.

His boys seem to be worried about him: Brendon and Spencer try to distract him, Spencer sliding his hands around William's waist from behind and kissing the back of his neck while Brendon darts in quick, kissing his lips and unzipping his fly, wrapping his fingers around William's cock. And William leans into it for a few moments, lets Brendon's tongue lick into his mouth and Spencer's teeth dig lightly into his shoulder before he pushes them away.

"Oh, come *on,*" Brendon says, and Spencer's grip tightens on William's waist.

William takes Spencer's hands, lacing their fingers together. "Not *now,*" he says.

"Why *not?*" Spencer is grouchy, frustrated, and William steps away when Spencer tries to lean in and nuzzle him.

"Not in the mood." William kneels at Pete's side again, ignoring the narrow-eyed look Brendon is giving him.

William is almost not paying attention when it happens--it's near sunup and his mind is sleepy. He's lying down next to Pete's body on the floor, staring into space, when he hears Pete moan.

He sits up swiftly, leaning over him. Brendon is there, too, standing and hovering, his gaze darting from William to Pete.

William reaches out to clasp Pete's wrist. Pete's eyes open sluggishly, blinking against even the dim light of William's room. William watches his pupils dilate and his eyes move, taking in his surroundings.

William stretches his lips into a grin that exposes his fangs. "Hello. Welcome back."

"Jesus *christ!*" Pete yanks his wrist out of William's grasp and jumps to his feet, stumbling. "What the fucking--where--" he whirls around, disoriented, panicked.

"You!" he finally yells, pointing an angry finger at William. "You, Bill, I remember now, you--you roofied me or something, dude what the *fuck*--"

Brendon's fist connects smoothly with Pete's temple, and he falls to the floor unconscious. Brendon stands over him, moving him with his toe so that he's lying on his back.

"He remembered you. Remembered his human life." Brendon's voice is thoughtful, disengaged.

"I fucking *gathered* that." William curls his hands into fists on his thighs. This shouldn't have happened.

Brendon sighs. "You know we should just kill him, don't you? He's still retained his humanity, doubtless his morality. We should just put him down--he'll never be one of us."

William shakes his head. He crawls over Pete's sleeping form, straddles his waist and touches his fingers to the scars on Pete's neck--with his new resilient body, they'll immediately begin to fade. He moves his hand to touch his mouth, pushing between Pete's lips and feeling the teeth, the lethal sharpness of Pete's canines. The edge catches William's thumb and draws blood.

Brendon makes a 'tsk' sound. "Give me a break! William, you can't seriously think--you *know* how these things always turn out!"

William ignores him. When he removes his fingers from Pete's mouth, a drop of blood from his thumb paints Pete's lip.

"We're not killing him," he says, standing.

Brendon looks crestfallen. "But--but it's just not going to *work.* He's still going to think like a human and he'll hate us and run away and it'll *suck!* Man, you know I'm right."

William cups Brendon's neck and strokes underneath his jaw. "Brendon. Do you remember what it was like, right after I bit you?"

Brendon's eyes widen and then narrow, and he purses his lips. "Sort of. Um. It's all kind of..."

"A blur?" William brings him in close to speak into his ear. "Do you remember how little mind of your own you had? Do you remember how the hunger was all you could think about, how your head felt clouded and murky for months, how I was your whole world?"

Brendon breathes out shaky against William's cheek, and William smiles. "Do you honestly think you would have had the strength of will, at that age, to resist killing even if you remembered every minute detail of your humanity and every moral you were supposed to uphold?" He lets go and stands back, feeling Brendon shudder at his absence.

"I--" Brendon licks his lips, shaking his head a little as if to clear it. "But it was still natural, with me, wasn't it? I--it won't be the *same*--"

"When he wakes up he'll be so desperate for blood that he'll bite his own mother if she's near enough. And the more he kills, the more he'll be *willing* to kill, the more he'll be one of us." Blood begets more blood. William remembers his own first few years, how his savagery grew the more bodies Gabe gave to him. It's not difficult to work out the way this works, what he'll have to do to ensure Pete stays his.

Brendon stares at him, his eyebrows drawn together. "If you say so. I still think this is a bad bad idea."

William shrugs. "It's a good thing that I put so much stock in your opinion, then." He steps over Pete, leans down again to brush Pete's hair out of his face. "Lock him up in the basement. I'll go from there."

***

Nick Scimeca and Jon Walker are still new themselves, barely a few days old and misty-eyed, hovering close to Spencer and Brendon's side. There were no difficulties with their awakenings: they remember nothing of their human life, they've taken eagerly to killing, and their eyes gleam with a single-mindedness, a pureness of spirit, that's entirely inhuman. They're natural vampires and perfect footsoldiers.

They're kneeling before Pete now, caring expressions pasted on their faces despite the fact that William knows they don't know Pete from a random passerby on the street. But Pete will know them, and that's what matters. William stays back in the shadows, watching as Pete stirs, moaning slightly.

"Nn," he murmurs, his eyes blinking open and his arms already twisting in the shackles around his wrists. "What's, I... Jon?"

"Shh." Jon's hand cups Pete's cheek almost tenderly, and he smiles. "Yeah, Pete. It's me. You okay, man?"

"Holy--" Pete's eyes are wide and he pushes himself up, sitting upright, staring back and forth between Nick and Jon. "Holy *shit.* You guys, I--everyone thinks you're *dead.*"

"Oh, pfft," Nick scoffs. "Misunderstanding, you know?"

"No, I don't--how is this even. What's going *on?*" Pete's voice is tinged with hysteria, and William recognizes the slight glazed look in his eye: he's been a vampire for hours now and hasn't fed once. The hunger's getting more urgent for him, confusing the situation even more.

"Ssh," Jon says again, his hand stroking again over the skin of Pete's face. "It's okay, you're with us now. You're just tied up because we were worried you'd hurt yourself. You were kind of lashing out, man. It was freaky."

Jon is a good actor, William notes. He's doing this only on William's orders, yet his whole manner radiates simple concern and warmth for a friend. Pete would still be panicking if he were more alert and awake, but in his confused state it's enough to calm him.

"I was? I--what *happened?* The last thing I remember... some dude *hit* me." Pete's speech is beginning to slur, and William can see the sweat glistening on his forehead.

"Hey, forget that," Nick says. "None of that matters now. You're with friends, okay? We're going to take care of you." He smiles, and William can't quite see it from his angle, but he knows that Nick is showing Pete his fangs.

"*Fuck*--" Pete scrambles back, or tries to--Jon's hand is firm on his cheek, holding him. Jon's lips are bared as well, his teeth exposed.

"You're with *friends,*" Jon says, repeating Nick's words. "You're with us now. It's all gonna be okay. It's gonna be *great.*"

"Oh god. Oh god, what is this, who the fuck are you, oh god..." Pete tries to twist his face away and move back but William knows how weak his body must be from hunger. Jon's hand moves from Pete's cheek to his jaw, and William watches as he pries open Pete's mouth, stretches his lips over his own fangs.

"You're with us now," Jon says firmly, and Pete's sob is muffled by Jon's fingers.

"I think that's enough," William says, stepping forward. Jon quickly takes his hand away and Pete scrambles back, pressing himself against the wall.

"You," he pants. "Bill, you--what did you--"

"You'll call me William, please" Jon and Nick draw back as William kneels down in front of Pete.

"Fuck you," Pete snaps, and William sees a glint of stubborness in his eye behind the feverish stupor. ""Where the fuck *am* I?"

"That doesn't matter. You're home now." William can't help himself, he wants to touch this, and he leans forward to run his hand up Pete's bare chest and ribs.

Pete's muscles tense under his fingers. "You, fuck, god, you turned me into some kind of monster. Christ this isn't real, this can't--I'm dreaming. I'm dreaming and--"

"You're just a predator," William says, his hand moving up to Pete's shoulder. "It's nothing monstrous--"

Pete moves quick, quicker than William could have predicted he'd be, and his teeth sink into the flesh of William's hand. William yells and jerks his hand away as his blood flows down Pete's chin, his thumb almost torn completely off.

Nick and Jon are on Pete, slamming his shoulders hard back against the wall and yelling, incoherent roars as Pete snarls and strains against them with his teeth snapping on the air.

"Let him go," William says. "It's a good sign--he's hungry." He inspects his hand, hissing when he tries to move his thumb. It will heal, eventually, but in the meantime it *hurts.* He grits his teeth and squeezes his hand, trying to slow the blood flow a little.

"You sick fuck," Pete says, panting and slumped in Nick and Jon's arms, the momentary exertion of strength having left his new body exhausted. "You're insane, you're crazy, you're not even, you're just..." The tip of his tongue snakes out between his lips, licking William's blood off his chin.

"Let him go," William says, and Nick and Jon release him. Pete scrambles back away from them, pressing his back against the wall, his right hand moving to touch the cuff around his left wrist, feeling the metal. His eyes flit back and forth between the three of them, his gaze wavering between dazed and sharp.

"Do we feed him yet?" Jon says

William shakes his head. "I'll wait a while longer. Let him sleep a bit more." They turn to leave, and William expects another outburst but Pete just snarls softly, almost under his breath. William can hear the chains clink and rattle as he closes the basement door behind him.

***

William brings a dead body with him the next time he comes down. It's been two days since William's visit with Nick and Jon and Pete still hasn't fed. There's a gray cast to his skin and his fangs are out; he's restless, pacing as much as his chains will allow and scratching at himself, constantly moving and jittery. As William watches he keeps stretching his lips over his teeth in snarls and grimaces before smoothing his hand over his mouth, his fingers touching his teeth, learning the new shape of his face. William wonders what he's constructed in his mind to explain the teeth--he doubts that Pete has accepted the simple truth already.

"I brought you something," William says, and Pete lunges at him as much as his chains will allow. Not gunning for William but rather the body in William's arms, wild eyes focused on its neck and his nostrils flaring to smell what he needs.

William tosses it to him and Pete fumbles and grabs for it, his hands clumsy. His teeth bite down messily on the neck, and William listens to him drinking down the spilling blood in big gulps. He sinks to his knees, bent over the body and pulling it in close to his chest. The corpse is that of a young woman, and her arm sticks out at odd angles as Pete buries his face in her neck, her wrist pale and almost blue-ish in the basement light as blood drips down her fingers.

The idea of drinking from a corpse fills William with distaste, but nevertheless he wants to give Pete dead bodies only right now instead of live flesh. Yes, it's stale blood even when the corpses are still warm, but William doesn't want Pete to drain someone whose heart was still beating. William remembers the shock of feeling a human die in his arms and against his lips that very first time, and it had been unsettling even though he'd taken eagerly to vampirism and had no moral quibbles about killing. Watching the way Pete guzzles, William imagines that if he were killing a human right now the shock would push him over the edge. It might cement his human morals even further in his mind or just drive him mad, and either way William would lose him.

William smiles and kneels in front of him, waiting for him to finish. A slight hunger pricks in the back of his own mind as he watches Pete's fingers clench and dig into her skin and hears the grunts and slurps coming from his mouth. William has always found this beautiful, the visceral nakedness of an animal doing exactly what it was made to do. He wishes Pete could see himself.

Pete doesn't stop until the blood has crusted and dried on the girl's arm, no longer dripping. He lifts his face slightly, still bent over her body and blinking sluggishly. William watches as his mind catches up to the rest of him, sees the exact moment of realization dawn on his features.

"Oh," Pete says and pushes the body off of him, scrambles backward until he slumps against the wall. His eyes are wide and his lips are stretched in a grimace of horror. "Oh my god, oh my god, what--what the--"

"You were hungry," William says. He pushes the corpse to the side and kneels in front of Pete.

Pete keeps staring at the corpse rather than William, and there's shock written all over his face. Blood is caked around his lips, and when William reaches out to touch his shoulder he turns away and vomits. Nothing but liquid splashing against the stone ground, but he keeps gagging even when nothing else comes up.

William wrinkles his nose and takes his hand back. "That won't change anything."

"F-fuck you," Pete pants, curling in over himself. "You're some kind of twisted fucking--oh my god--just. Just let me out of here."

"Where would you like to go? You just drained every drop of blood from a human girl's body. Somehow I think you'll find it difficult to return home, back to your parents, back to playing catchy songs with your friends." William takes a fresh handkerchief from his jacket pocket and pulls Pete up, props him against the wall and starts wiping his face clean.

Pete shoves him away hard, his muscles already getting stronger. "This isn't fucking real!" Pete shouts, getting to his feet and swaying slightly. "This is--you roofied me or something, you've got me locked up and drugged somewhere and this is just some kind of sick trip, some kind of *game* you're playing--"

"It's not a game--not exactly," William says, standing with him. "And I think you know what's real."

Pete backs away from him, spitting at the ground and wiping frantically at his mouth. "This is a fucking joke. This is some kind of--sick cult, or a trick, or some *fucked*-up goth thing. You fuck, I can't. You fuck!"

He reaches the stairs and dashes up them, only to find the door to the rest of the building shut and locked. Pete slams his whole body against it and the wood shudders but holds, and no one comes when Pete rattles the doorknob and yells.

William walks to the base of the stairs and looks up. "I'm not letting you go yet. You'll run away and hurt yourself."

"Oh yeah, you're fucking concerned for my *welfare!*" Pete twists away from the door and jumps, throwing himself at William and knocking him to the ground.

Having the momentum and the element of surprise gives Pete the upper hand at first, but he's weak as a kitten compared to William, and he doesn't know how to fight well in his new body yet. It's easy enough for William to shove him off and roll them until he's on top, straddling Pete's waist and pinning his arms to the floor.

"I wonder if I should go ahead and let you hit me until you get it out of your system," William muses, thinking aloud as Pete struggles under him. "Would that help, maybe?"

Pete bucks, shoving his hips up and kneeing William in the back, almost throwing him off. "Get *away* from me, you fucking pervert!"

William leans down and catches Pete's mouth in his own, biting down on Pete's bottom lip. He tastes rank and new, acidic and raw and William takes the kiss he wants. He pushes his tongue into Pete's mouth and grabs Pete's jaw to keep him from twisting away, licking in at the roof of his mouth and along his teeth.

"Nn--*god,*" Pete says, twisting away as soon as William stops the kiss. "This isn't *happening.*"

"Shhh." William trails his lips over Pete's cheek, learning the contours of his face. He licks at his earlobe and feels Pete shudder beneath him. "Will it make you feel better if I tell you that it isn't?"

"Go to hell." Pete's face is craned as far away from William's mouth as possible, his cheek pressing against the floor, and he's finally gone limp. "You're just--you're so--you're *crazy.*"

"This is all a dream. You were right about the drugs: you're really still naked in my bed, sweating and tossing and turning, imagining all of this. You always had a vivid imagination, didn't you?"

"Shut up," Pete whispers.

"Poor boy. You've never even tried acid before, and this seems rather a hellish introduction to it." William presses a kiss to where Pete's jaw connects to his neck; the lack of a pulse is almost startling, new.

"Or maybe you're actually dead, maybe I killed you and this is your mind hallucinating, a fantasy of distorted life before you get sucked into hell. You've seen that movie, haven't you?"

"Jacob's Ladder," Pete mutters, his jaw working. "I was never in Vietnam."

William shrugs and leans up to look Pete in the eye. "Believe whatever you want to believe. It doesn't really matter."

Pete closes his eyes. "Go away," he says, sounding curiously young, pre-pubescent. "Please, please, I..."

William takes pity on him. Pete's mental defenses are stronger now that he's no longer human, and it takes more effort to will him to sleep, but he still slips easily enough into unconsciousness, his head lolling back and his features relaxing. William picks him up and props him against the wall, locking the chains around his wrists again. He'll get one of the boys in here to clean up the vomit; he leaves the body.

***

"This is so fucking pointless," Pete groans. He flops his head back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

"God, you are such a whiner." Patrick rolls his eyes and tosses the pages of lyrics that he was going through on the bale. "It's not pointless."

It *is.*" Pete shifts on the couch until he can put his feet in Patrick's lap; Patrick throws him an irritable look, but his wrist settles on Pete's ankle regardless. "It's not just pointless, it's--it's wrong."

"Now you're just being overdramatic. It's just a bridge issue, okay? We'll fix it, the song will come out great. You know this."

"No, I'm serious," Pete says, and suddenly, he is. "It's. It's *wrong.* Something is wrong with this song."

Patrick shakes his head. "It's not the song that's wrong. It's you."

Pete stares, then laughs, nervously, even though he doesn't find that funny. "What? Gee, thanks, Trick."

"You know I'm right," Patrick says, his voice calm. "You're wrong. Something inside you is wrong."

Pete feels his mouth get dry. "No. No, that's--you said it was just the bridge, we can fix it--"

"You came back wrong," Patrick says, and suddenly Pete notices--

"Whoa, whoa," Pete says, alarmed, swinging his feet off of Patrick's lap. "Dude, you're bleeding, your neck--"

"I know," Patrick says, and holy fuck, holy *shit,* at first Pete just noticed it as a scratch but now there's a big gaping hole in Patrick's neck and the blood is just pouring out. Patrick closes his eyes and slumps back against the couch, unearthly pale, still bleeding.

Pete screams and jerks awake, his arm flailing and hitting the wall painfully. His eyes adjust immediately, showing him with perfect clarity every detail of the darkness in the basement: the wet walls, the body in the corner, the concrete stairs leading up to the door out. A far-away part of his mind notes that he's no longer chained up.

"Hush," someone--William--says, and Pete feels fingers on his own neck. He recoils, shouts and thrashes out but William still has him. He yanks him in again and his fingers are like steel on Pete's neck. "You were dreaming."

He was, Pete knows. He was dreaming, he was--there was--

"Tell me about it?" William says, and Pete can't. He doesn't remember already, and he can tell that William knows that by his smile.

It was an important dream. It was real, it was--

"It *wasn't* real," William says, and. Did Pete say that aloud? "I know, your sense are still all new and adjusting, but I can promise you." He moves his fingers up over Pete's jaw, his lips, his nose, feeling him. "*This* is your reality, baby. Are you hungry?"

The dream is completely faded to black in his memory, and maybe he wasn't even dreaming in the first place, maybe he slept soundly for all he knows, and yes. Oh, fuck, yes, he's hungry. It's gnawing at the back of his throat and behind his eyes, under his fingernails, in his hips, and he finds his whole body curving toward William because, fuck, the hunger, he just. Wants. Needs.

"Talk to me first," William says. "I'm curious. You yelled at me so much the other day, when I gave you that girl, and I've barely heard the sound of your voice since. You used to be such a conversationalist."

"Fuck you," Pete says, not feeling creative. He feels rage and horror surge in him momentarily, outweighing confusion, and he goes for William's neck, lunging and moving to strangle him.

He ends on his stomach, William pinning him down with a hand on the back of his skull, grinding his jaw against the floor. "You sound like a broken record," William says, sounding annoyed. "If you must insult me, at least use fresh language."

"So fucking sorry," Pete spits when the pressure eases on his jaw. "You perverted sick fucking son of a bitch, is that better? I'm going to get out of here and rip your fucking throat out even before the police can fucking get your ass in jail." And the image is vivid in his mind, sinking his teeth into William's throat and ripping, tearing, dislodging vertebrae and tendons and flesh, and the hunger whines inside him again. Pete squeezes his eyes shut and tries, tries to think about anything but that beautiful grotesque feeling of ripping *in,* and it's not his imagination--it's his memory, he's done it before, her body is rotting in the corner.

"Yes, that's better," and Wiliam's hand moves from holding Pete's head down to stroking him, combing through his hair. "I'll let you feed now. Brendon!"

He shouts the last word, his voice sharp and clear, and Pete hears the door open. He jerks with his whole body, mustering all the strength he has to get up, escape the door the door but William's hands press him back down against the floor, immobilizing him.

"Yes, thank you, just leave it by the foot of the stairs," William says, and Pete hears footsteps of someone coming down, hears the soft thud of something being tossed to the floor.

"Anything else?" He hears another voice say, higher than William's, hesitant.

"Mm. No, that will be all." Footsteps, again, and Pete strains but he can't free himself before he hears the door click shut again.

William lets go, standing up, but Pete doesn't try to move. He can feel blood on his jaw from where William ground it into the floor. He stays staring at the wall, trying to ignore the sound of William's footsteps as he walks to whatever his boy brought down, the sound of William dragging it over.

There's a thump when William sets it down beside Pete, and Pete can smell the body, fresh. A wave of hunger hits him strong enough to white out his vision. When he snaps back into himself he's cradling the body (the boy, it's a boy) to his chest, poised over the neck.

He shoves it away and scrambles back, "Oh fuck, jesus, *no* you're not making me--"

William is laughing. Giggling softly, almost under his breath, a hand over his mouth. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he says. "And no, I'm not making you, merely... providing. Your choice whether you take advantage of the free meal or not."

He turns and walks back up the stairs, glancing back at Pete over his shoulder. Pete wants to make a run for it, because William is going to open that door, but if he moves even a muscle--that body, that boy. He'll.

"Pleasant chatting with you, as always," William says, before the door opens, letting a sliver of dim light in before it closes again and Pete is alone.

The boy has hair bleached blonde with dark brown roots. He can't be--he's maybe twenty, at the outside. Wearing jeans with holes over his knees and a plain black t-shirt and a hemp necklace. His eyes are open, his lips are slightly parted and Pete--Pete had him, in his arms, he can remember how still-warm it was.

Pete's canines are out and sharp and digging into his lower lip. He squeezes his eyes shut and makes himself move backwards until his back is pressed against the wall. Then he moves sideways along the wall until he's in the opposite corner from the bod-the boy.

Pete can't. He won't let himself.

He should--what he needs is an escape plan. Yes. There's a way out of here, the whole situation, he just needs to find it. Guys escape from prison all the time, at least in the movies and on TV, and. And Pete can do this. He's always been good at planning, right?

He opens his eyes. His nostrils flare: every time he breathes in, he can smell it. The boy. He looks away from the--him and stares at the wall, breathing through his mouth, but that's--he can almost taste it in the air. He stops, and...

He doesn't need to breathe. His mouth is shut and he's not taking in air through his nose, but his lungs aren't burning. No instinct is kicking in, forcing him to take a breath. If he thinks back, he's only--he's only been breathing when he notices himself doing it, when he remembers to.

No. That's--no. Pete breathes through his mouth. He can deal with the weird taste.

He just needs a plan, something to focus on. He's probably going to be rescued, the police are probably searching, and he'll get out of here and write a true crime novel about all of this. I was locked in the basement with a bloodsucking serial killer and lived to tell the tale. It'll sell well, he thinks. But he can't rely on that happening, he should--he can get out of here himself.

He walks along the wall, running his fingers along it, searching for cracks. Maybe he can dig a hole, find another way out, *something.*

He can see it out of the corner of his eye.

He can see it out of the corner of his eye.

His feet turn, taking him away from the wall towards the opposite corner, and Pete's whole body shakes when he kneels down and reaches forward.

William returns. Pete doesn't know how much time has passed--minutes, hours, days, a fucking year. He's sitting against the wall that has his chains, and he doesn't move to get up when the door opens.

William crosses the room to the body, turning it over with his foot. It's lying in a pool of dark liquid, and the gash on its neck is already crusted with dried blood. William looks over at Pete and Pete can't look back, can't be defiant. He hasn't bothered to wash the same dried blood from his chin.

Pete flinches away when William reaches for him, something in his hand, but it's just a cloth, white and wet. William smoothes it over Pete's face, washing away the blood, and Pete wants to reject the affection but he can't--he doesn't move away.

"Was that a dirty trick on my part?" William says, sounding regretful. Pete closes his eyes and wills himself asleep, away from here, dreaming or just in blackness, but he can still feel the wet cloth trailing over his mouth, followed by William's fingers. "I'm sorry. I felt it necessary."

"Leave me alone," Pete mutters, and he wants to laugh at himself for not having anything better than that.

William makes a clucking sound. "You didn't do anything wrong, here. This is just who you are and who I am, our part in the food chain. You've done nothing worse than enjoy a steak or a hamburger."

"I'm a fucking vegetarian," Pete snarls, and feels a brief wave of strength as he shoves William away and stands.

William laughs, sprawled on the floor, and doesn't move when Pete dashes across the room to the stairs and up to the door. The laughter rattles around Pete's skull as he examines the door with his hands, sliding his fingers in between the wall and the door, trying to find some kind of weak spot or giving point or *something* to pull on. He's stronger now, he *knows* it, so much stronger, he can break down a simple god damn door.

"If you do manage to get out, say hello to Brendon for me. Oh, and Nick and Jon, I'm sure they'll be happy to see you."

Pete backs up and kicks the door. It rattles, but doesn't give. Pete kicks again and again and hits it and hears himself shouting, distantly, registers pain in his hand--

William is beside him suddenly, grabbing him and stilling his movements. Pete tries to struggle but the door is at his back and he knows, he knows it won't give.

William strokes his thumb down Pete's hipbone, and his other hand braces himself on the door next to Pete's head. Pete never realized he was so tall, the first time he met him.

"You're not the one who killed them," William says. "You're not at fault for that, at least."

"No, that would be you," Pete says, and it doesn't come out as vicious as he'd hoped. "Get--just get--" He puts his hands on William's shoulders, shoves him as hard as he can but William is as immovable as the door. Pete's hand twist and clench in his shirt, and William's hand moves to close around his wrist.

"I'm not going anywhere," he says, and pulls Pete in. The kiss is wet and soft, almost chaste before William pushes his tongue in between Pete's teeth, sliding in and stroking Pete's tongue and the roof of his mouth. William's hand grips the back of Pete's head, holding him there.

William's breath is hot on his tongue and Pete's skin crawls until it's over, until William's hold loosens and Pete can wrench himself away, stumbling against the door since there's nowhere else to go.

"You're disgusting," he says, and spits. It lands on William and slides down his cheek, and William laughs and backhands Pete. The force of it sends Pete reeling halfway down the stairs.

"You appreciated it before. And you will again, I think." William has a kind smile, one that makes his features look sweet and feminine. Benevolent or some shit like that, Pete thinks. "You'll find that I'm quite likable once you get to know me."

Pete pushes himself to his feet, and suddenly he's exhausted and scared and it hits him, that he's stuck here with this psychotic tall skinny bastard who's ten times stronger than him and likes to put his tongue in Pete's mouth and there's no way out. That door isn't going to open, he doesn't know where he is, and he's been drinking human blood. There's no way out.

William is still looking at him. "You're not going to tell me to go fuck myself?"

"Go," Pete says, but he can't even make himself finish the sentence.

"You look tired. Why don't you go back to sleep?" William suggests, and Pete sinks back down to the floor and stays there.

***

"Dude, you are fucking *out* of it today." Travis rocks back on his heels and runs his tongue over his teeth. "You're miles away, I can tell."

William tugs on the brim of his hat, sighs and pushes a lock of hair behind his ear. "I'm distracted, yes. Sorry."

Travis shrugs. "''sokay. Just, hey, anything I should know about?"

William raises his eyebrows and thinks of Pete bent over the last meal William had given him, the arch of his back and the shadows and lines of his body in the basement. "Nothing I feel like telling you."

Travis just laughs at William's rudeness. "Yeah, well, fuck you, too." He leans against the fence behind him, slouching down. "Did you actually wanna *talk* about anything since you dragged me out here or are you just gonna stand there and sulk over whichever twink has your head all messed up?"

William blinks at him, surprised, and Travis rolls his eyes. "Yo, I'm not *stupid.* Or blind."

William lets go of his hat and rubs his palm over his thigh, sliding his hand into his pocket to keep from fidgeting. "No, you're not. And yes. Let's talk."

He moves to lean on the fence next to Travis. "How did you take over your part of town the way you did?"

Travis gives him a suspicious look. "Still don't know why I should tell you."

William glares. "I'm not interested in encroaching on your questionable territory. I told you, I want us to work together to take the city. If you're satisfied with just your pithy slice of the ghetto, by all means leave."

"Hey, hey." Travis works his fingers through his hair, wrapping one curl around his index finger and pulling on it. "I'm interested, okay? I just want to take it slow, baby," he says, smirking.

"My intentions are true. I shan't be forward," William says, mock-solemn, and Travis snickers.

"Okay," he says. "It's all about the cops, man. We staked them out for a while, figured out which ones always patrolled our stomping grounds, and took them one by one. The trick is to not let the humans think they died, you know? We grabbed them before three-day weekends, or arranged, like, fake mini-vacations, and then they go back to work a few days after getting bit like it ain't no thang."

William's a little impressed in spite of himself. "You went to the trouble of arranging a leave of absence for every cop you took?"

Travis shrugged. "It was easy after we got a couple guys on the inside, but yeah. Any cop that ever checks out the South Side, he's ours. They report murders and muggings every once in a while to keep things looking mostly normal." He grins. "Did you read that article the other day about crime decreasing in the inner city?"

William wouldn't have figured Travis as the type to read human newspapers. "What else?"

Travis shrugs. "We took the heads of human gangs first, that was really useful. They keep their people loyal and I keep them loyal. But really, the cops, that makes you golden."

William smiles. "The golden ticket. Hmm."

Travis snorts. "Right, yeah. That's it. So now I'm wondering what the hell *you* could have to offer *me.*"

"I'm older and stronger than you," William says, shrugging. Travis shoots him an incredulous look and William bares his fangs.

"I've been here for decades, and have more children than you could possibly know of. There is not a single monster in this city that does not know my name. I realize your people treat you like a king and so you might fancy yourself on the same scale, but we both know that isn't true. Cut the bravado, please. You know what I can bring to the table."

Travis narrows his eyes, and William stands away from the fence, stops slouching and draws himself to his full height.

Travis looks away. "All right, yeah," he mutters, then says louder, "Okay. You wanna work together, we can try that, I guess."

"I'm sure you'll find me a rewarding partner," William says, putting his gloved hand on Travis' shoulder. His thumb brushes Travis' neck and Travis blinks at him, his eyebrows going up slightly.

"I'll bet," Travis murmurs, and reaches up to wrap his fingers around William's wrist. William lets him pull him in, and the kiss is lazy and speculative, Travis' lips working against his, both of them exploring the boundaries.

William flashes to Pete's mouth open for him, the taste of him and his new sharp teeth against William's tongue. He left Pete chained to the wall an hour and a half ago, sleepy and still cradling the body he'd drained. William wonders how he is.

"Mm," Travis says against William's lips. "I should get back to 'Sashi and DeJesus."

"Yes," William says, curling his hand in the fabric of Travis' shirt. "I ought to be on my way as well. Tell them hello from me."

Travis snorts and kisses William's cheek, nuzzling and sniffing him. "Will do. We should talk some more later, yeah?"

"Of course," William says, stepping back. He tips his hat to Travis. "I'll see you around."

***

"Dude," Joe says. "I seriously don't think you can do that in chess."

"No, dude, it's travel chess!" Pete insists, steadying the table in the tour bus to keep the chessboard from over-turning. "The rules are different."

"No they're not. That's a wrong move you just made." Joe meets his eyes, and Pete thinks huh, no lisp.

When he glances down at the board again, the black squares are red instead.

When he wakes up, it feels like swimming. Like when he was a little kid and reveling in the novelty of being allowed to play in the deep end of the pool by diving down as deep as he could and staying there as long as he could, until his lungs started to burn and his arms were sluggish when he finally fought his way back up. Someone is singing.

"Different types who wear a day, coat pants with stripes and cutaway, coat perfect fits-"

Pete's eyes blink open slowly. It's a nice voice. It's not--he remembers someone else singing this, someone whose voice was throatier, more. This guy kind of sounds like a girl.

"--Puttin' on the ritz," and he can feel the singer's voice vibrating in his chest, because they're lying together and he's curled around Pete, his sternum pressed against Pete's back.

Pete's dream nags at the back of his mind, even though he can't remember what it was. And this song--he's heard someone else sing it, sing it *to* him, who--

Who's singing it now? the alert part of his brain screams at him, and Pete's stomach lurches. William is singing with his lips brushed up against Pete's ear now, "If you're blue and you don't know where to go..."

Pete recoils and tries to roll away, tries to slam his elbow back into William's ribs, but William's hands clamp down on his arms and wrap around his middle.

"Oh, please, you liked that," William says. "I know you did. It made you smile in your sleep."

"I don't--" Pete snarls, and manages to wrench one arm free and reach blindly backwards, smacking William and kicking back at the same time. But William grabs him again and rolls them fast so that Pete is on his stomach, pinned to the floor before he can even blink.

"Come let's mix, where Rockefellers walk with sticks--mm." William stops singing. "But if you *have* become bored of this, I can try something else. I take requests."

"You're a fucking vampire lounge singer? Get *off* me." Pete bucks, but William just grinds against his back. No, grinds against his *ass,* because he's moved down and Pete can feel William's thighs squeezing his hips.

"Mm, you called me by what I actually am," William says, rolling his hips against Pete again. "That's good. Progress. You can admit it now. Dressed up like a million dollar trooper, tryin' hard to look like Gary Cooper..."

Another grind, and Pete thinks he can feel William starting to get hard, even though the layer of his pants.

"Someone's going to find me down here eventually," Pete says, talking loud over William's singing. "You know that, don't you? My family, my friends won't just stop looking, and they'll find you eventually, you sick fuck, they'll find me and I'm going to fucking rip you apart when I get out of here, I'm going to break all your limbs and claw your eyeballs out and pull your jaw apart and make you scream--"

"*Oh,*" William moans, pushing his dick hard against Pete's ass and Pete bites down on his lip against a scream, pushing the side of his face against the concrete floor. He doesn't know where that fucking came from, he's only ever been in two fights in his life and he's never wanted to rip someone's throat out, never wanted to--

His teeth cut his lip and his own blood fills his mouth, trickling down his chin to drip on the ground. It tastes coppery and makes something flare bright inside his chest, and William runs his thumb over the inside of Pete's pinned wrist like he can tell.

"Are you getting hungry yet?" he croons, his mouth suddenly right by Pete's ear.

"No," Pete lies. "Fuck off."

William sighs and licks Pete's neck behind his earlobe, sucks a kiss there. "I find you so lovely."

"I'm a charmer," Pete grits out, and gathers all his strength to try and buck William off of him, but William just squeezes his legs harder around Pete's hips.

"You *are,*" William says, and he sounds genuinely admiring, almost awed. "It's what first impressed me about you, the way you held command onstage, the way you captured the audience. And you'll be even better now, even more mesmerizing, and you'll have more than just a few pathetic groupies and scene kids at your disposal. There's so much I can give you, Pete."

And Pete knows that there's not a single fucking thing that William could give him that he wants. Not even--

The hunger in his chest flares again, and Pete licks the coppery taste off his bottom lip. "Don't--"

"I *want* to give it to you," William says, humping him again. "I want to give you everything. And then you can help me take even more."

"You're *insane,*" Pete says, and William runs his tongue down the side of Pete's neck before sitting back up. He stops grinding, thank *god,* but then Pete hears him call for Brendon, and oh, *no*--

He smells the body the instant the basement door creaks open, and Brendon's footsteps down the stairs echo throughout the room. He's whistling, Pete can't tell the melody, and he stops in front of them. His shoes are at Pete's eye level.

"Where do you want me to leave it?" His voice sounds bored, and as he talks an arm slips down, swimming into Pete's line of vision, the knuckles dragging on the floor.

"Stay for a moment," William orders. "Help me shackle him."

Brendon sighs and Pete sees the body--the woman--thunk to the floor in front of him. His mind registers that she's blonde and skinny and his mom's age before William climbs off of him and Pete reacts automatically, rolling and springing to his feet, lunging at William.

But Brendon has him before he can even make contact, dragging Pete roughly to the wall and pushing him down, slapping away his blows. He has Pete by one arm and William has him by the other, and Pete feels terror climb up his throat when the cold metal of the cuffs snap around his wrists.

"I hate to do this," William says, looking regretful as he locks Pete's wrists into the chains. "I hope it won't be necessary soon."

"What, you're too much of a fucking pussy to let me fight?" Pete snarls, straining at the chains. And he knows that's a joke, knows it's ridiculous because William can hold him down effortlessly, knows he's weak, but he can't just. He has to keep shouting at him, has to keep talking.

Brendon stands, dusting off his hands. "Is that it? Can I go now?"

William looks up, glares. "Out," he says.

Brendon rolls his eyes and Pete finds himself staring at the body across the room instead of watching him leave. Her hair is slightly grayed and she's wearing a blue sweater and--he can see her veins, light blue over her wrists--

William leaves Pete's side to cross the room to it, crouching down and brushing the long hair off of the neck. The smell and the sight and there's a buzzing in Pete's ears and he wants, needs it so much that he's afraid to open his mouth and try to speak.

William picks her up and drapes the body over his arm like a coat, coming back to Pete. Pete is already straining against the bonds, leaning and reaching forward as much as he can even though no no he can't and this isn't him but the scent. There's--the buzzing in his head is worse.

William puts a hand on his shoulder and pushes, and Pete's legs bend and buckle until he's on his knees. Her wrist is just out of reach of his mouth, his teeth the blue veins--

"You should see yourself," William says softly, before dropping to his knees himself and cradling the body between them, pulling the head back to expose her neck like an offering, and Pete leans forward and buries himself in it.

***

"I think it's someone he knew, maybe," Nick says, nodding at the unconscious boy in his arms. "He recognized me and freaked out, anyway, thought I was a ghost, so I thought that maybe he might know Pete, too?" He looks at William, ready for approval.

William grins and smoothes his hand over the sleeping boy's forehead, brushing his hair away from his face. Though he doesn't know the name, he remembers this boy's face from Fall Out Boy shows. At the very least, he was a fan, if not a personal acquaintance of Pete's. His t-shirt advertises 504 Plan.

"Thank you," he says to Nick. "Really, you've been incredibly helpful."

Nick grins. "Want me to break the neck for you?"

William shakes his head. "No. I'm taking this one down to him alive."

Pete is awake and pacing, and he looks up when William opens the door. His jaw clenches and his nostrils flare, but he doesn't speak: his gaze is fixated on the human in William's arms.

William closes the door behind him. "Good evening. Are you hungry?"

Pete takes two steps back as William descends the stairs. "I don't want," he says, his voice thin and gravelly. "No."

William shrugs. "Suit yourself." He sits down with his legs crossed and pulls the human into his lap. He feels the boy start to stir, and puts a hand on his forehead. He stills, sleeping deeply again.

Pete stares. "What the fuck do you want with me? What are you even--what are you trying to *do?*"

William frowns. Pete hasn't been this coherent in several days. "I'm just taking care of you."

"Fuck you." And that, really, is more like it. William smiles and combs his fingers through the hair of the boy on his lap.

"I'd love it if you would. Come over here, please, take advantage of me."

Pete roars and punches the wall, the crack of the impact reverberating around the room. There's an imprint on the wall and his hand is bloodied, but not broken as it probably would have been if he were human.

"Hate you," he says, more subdued. "I really, I--I want to fucking kill you."

"That's so sweet," William says. "Please, come here, I have something for you."

Pete moves fast, already faster and stronger than William had expected him to be, running at William and attacking him. But William is still faster, and he drops the body to grab Pete and flip him, throwing him hard to the ground. He yanks the boy over to them before Pete has a chance to recover.

"Here," he says, pushing the boy's wrist against Pete's mouth. Pete jerks back but then moves forward, biting down and grabbing the arm, the grip of his fingers leaving bruises.

William keeps a finger on the boy's pulse, feeling carefully as it slows and forcibly pulling him away before it stops completely. Pete whimpers, reaching for the human for more, but William bats him away, pushing the human to the side. The boy will probably die from the blood loss, but he's not quite dead. Pete's not ready for that yet.

Pete stares at the boy, licking blood from his chin before wincing and looking away. William saw no recognition in his eyes.

"Oh, god." Pete flings an arm over his face, hiding his eyes and muffling a groan against his forearm. William bends over him, petting his chest and tracing his collarbone.

"Shh," he says. He can hear Pete's ragged breathing, each exhalation almost a sob. "It's going to be all right. It's already getting easier for you, isn't it? You'll see, soon everything will be fine."

"God," Pete shudders out again, his breath stuttering almost in laughter. William smiles and hums, the melody of an old jazz standard he remembers from those first few years after Gabe turned him. It's been stuck in his head since he woke up.

"I've got a mission, it's just a simple thing," he sings. "I've one ambition, the right to bring you coffee in the morning, two kisses in the night...." His thumb fits perfectly in the hollow of Pete's throat, where his sternum meets his collarbone. He's paler now than he was when William first met him, and the dark ink of the collar of thorns stands out even more against the shade of his skin.

"It's my desire to do as I'm told, to have what you require and never have it cold dear-"

"*Stop,*" Pete says, the loudness of his voice echoing in the room. He rolls, curls in on himself away from William's hand, covering his ears. "I fucking hate your shitty singing voice, just fucking *stop.*"

"Your coffee in the mooornin,'" William continues, smiling, "Your kisses in the night." He lies down behind Pete, spooning against him and rubbing his hand up over Pete's shoulder. Pete's skin is so cold and William feels a twinge of protective sympathy. He wants to warm him.

He keeps singing. "It isn't formal, but with a weddin' ring, it's natural and normal to give you everything dear, from coffee in the moooorning, to kisses in the night." He brushes his lips over the back of Pete's neck to emphasize the lyrics, humming against him. Pete tenses.

"What, you want me to fucking marry you?" Pete snarls, and William curls an arm around his chest to keep him from getting away. "Is that it? Am I like your--your vampire *bride* or something?"

William snorts. "No."

"Then *what?* God, what, what are you *doing* just fucking *tell* me--" Pete starts struggling, wild in William's arms and he *is* getting stronger, fueled by his meal and it takes more effort than usual for William to gain the upper hand and subdue him, pin him to the floor.

"I'm helping you," William says. "Coming of age is always a tricky process. You need someone to guide you through it."

"I'm twenty years old, I don't need to fucking come of age," Pete spits out, and William feels a thrill in his stomach, because Pete was twenty-four when William found him. He's already forgetting things.

"You do," William says. "You're brand new." He leans in and kisses Pete. He can taste the blood from Pete's meal, tangy, and Pete whimpers into William's mouth. He isn't kissing back but he did open his mouth for William, and his head tilts back, giving.

His whimper turns into a high moan when William runs his hand down Pete's chest and squeezes his cock, rubbing until he's half-hard. The kiss breaks off and William pulls back to look at him, to see Pete's eyes unfocused and dazed and his teeth biting down hard on his lower lip.

"Do you still think this is a dream? Are you still waiting to wake up?" William strokes him firmly from the base of his cock to the tip, enjoying the feel of Pete completely hard in his hand, pushing up into it.

William isn't pinning him down anymore, and Pete's hand reaches out, his arm flailing before he clutches William's shoulders, his fingers digging in and clinging. William can feel his own excitement building as he strokes faster, Pete's pre-come slicking his palm.

When Pete comes he sounds like it's being torn out of him, the sound jagged and deep in his throat. His body goes limp afterwards, the semen on his chest wet and glistening in what little light exists down here.

William runs his tongue between his fingers, licking Pete's come off his hand before moving to Pete's abdomen and chest, cleaning the rest off him. Pete makes a whimpering sound and his hand goes to William's hair, alternating between trying to push him away and tugging him closer. William presses a kiss to his navel and runs a hand between Pete's legs, dragging his nails along Pete's inner thigh.

"Don't," Pete says softly, his fingers kneading in William's hair. "Don't stop, don't, no..."

William slides one fang over Pete's skin, barely grazing it, and pulls back to see the sharp line of red appear, blood slowly trickling over Pete's skin. Pete gasps and arches, and the shallow cut is already healing over as William watches, but it's still fascinating. William kisses the cut and Pete groans.

***

"Oh my god," Patrick is saying, exasperated with that cute little grouchy look on his face. "This is ridiculous, Pete, how could you have forgotten your own song? You *wrote* this."

"It'll come back to me," Pete says, and wow, where the hell are they? Some dark parking lot, in the back of a venue maybe? Where's the rest of the band?

"No, this is bullshit, and it's rubbing off on me. I can't even remember the notes now," Patrick says, and above them a streetlight bulb goes out with a popping sound.

Pete's eyes adjust immediately as soon as he wakes up and opens them. It barely even feels dark down here, now.

"Sweet dreams?" William says. Pete's head is in his lap, and if he thinks back he can remember falling asleep as William sang to him.

"No," Pete grunts. He sleeps deep these days and never dreams.

William combs his fingers through Pete's bangs. "You need a haircut," he says. "You're getting all shaggy. But, hm, maybe we should keep the beard. You wear it well."

Pete had no idea he had a beard. He reaches up, touches the scruff on his chin. This wasn't always there, he thinks. But he can't imagine feeling anything different.

William moves to take his fingers, squeezing his hand. "You look so childlike in your sleep. Peaceful and young. Are you hungry?"

The answer is always yes. Pete struggles to sit up and William lets him, scooting so that his legs are on either side of Pete and wrapping his arms around Pete's shoulders, resting his chin on Pete's shoulders. He never stops touching him. "Yeah," Pete says.

William kisses Pete's ear and the door to the basement opens. Pete tenses, but it's just Jon, bringing a body down. It's male, been dead a while, and Pete stares up at Jon's face while he lays it down gently next to William and Pete.

Jon looks back, his eyebrows raised, and there's a nagging feeling in Pete's chest. Jon doesn't come down here very often, Brendon is usually the one who brings the food, but his face is still familiar to Pete. Pete thinks he knew him from before, maybe, but. But that doesn't make sense, does it? That's impossible. He thinks.

Pete moves toward the body before Jon even closes the door, but William's touch changes from casual to vice-like in a split second, pulling Pete's arms behind him and tightening a hand in Pete's hair, yanking Pete's head back and making Pete yelp at the twinge of pain.

"Tell me," William says, twisting Pete's arm behind him at an unnatural angle that makes Pete shout and try to move, which makes the pain worse. "Before you eat, tell me someone from your past."

"I--my mom--" Pete gasps as William twists more, the pain making his eyes water.

"I want *names,*" William says.

Pete grits his teeth and breathes through his nose, tries to think of someone, fuck, anyone. A name. "Patrick," and William pulls harder on his hair. Pete's pretty sure he pulls some of it *out.*

"Who was Patrick? Where did he live, what was he like, what did he look like? Tell me everything."

"He--we--" The pain is wrestling with the hunger, both clouding his mind and Pete feels struck dumb, feels his brain washed clean. He can only conjure up vague images, argyle, glasses, a green hat, drums--

William dislocates his shoulders and Pete screams. "I don't know! I don't know, I can't I don't *please.*"

"Oh," William says softly, and pops Pete's shoulder back in place. The pain makes the edges of Pete's vision go gray for a second, and then William lets him go and Pete falls forward, clutching his shoulder.

The hunger swims to the surface again, overriding the pain and Pete reaches out blindly until his fingers touch flesh and he can pull the body towards him. His teeth sink into the neck and it makes everything clear and calm for a few long moments, the blood flowing and settling something inside him. He closes his eyes and it's like he's not even there anymore, like he's playing onstage again, music humming through him and Patrick and Joe and Andy beside him, the beat vibrating through his toes. It's the best feeling in the world.

The flow stops after a while, and when Pete pulls back the head lolls back. The corpse stinks and the blood is already crusted and dried on the grayish skin of its neck. Pete's stomach turns and the clarity and calm is so far away that it's like it never existed at all. This is it, this is his best feeling in the world, and it's a rotting body with glassy eyes and not a drop of blood left.

"You're so beautiful when you're drinking," William says. "You look--angelic."

Pete bursts out laughing.

William smiles at him as Pete's guffaws turn into giggles. He looks like a proud father, and Pete realizes as his laughter finally dies down that he's still clutching the body, his fingers making marks on the cold skin. He makes himself let go.

"It's true," William says, and reaches out to wipe a smear of blood from the corner of Pete's mouth. "It's beautiful and sacred, what you're turning into."

"Yeah, right," Pete rasps out, and the sarcasm doesn't come out in his voice very well. He doesn't sound like himself but he's not sure what he sounded like before.

He grabs William's wrist and tugs, and William leans in. Pete squeezes his eyes shut and moves forward for the kiss, his mouth already open for William's.

William moans into his mouth and pulls Pete closer, the corpse falling to the floor between them, forgotten. The kiss is deep, William's tongue searching far back in Pete's mouth, and Pete's hands go to William's hips automatically. Go to undo his pants, movement learned from every time William asks this of him.

He's aware of William pushing the corpse out of the way, and then William gives him one last firm kiss on the lips before his hands are on Pete's shoulders, pushing and guiding him down. Pete bends, his lips brushing the tip of William's cock twice before he opens his mouth and sucks.

"Yes," William hisses, his fingers tensing on the back of Pete's neck. Pete closes his eyes and slides his mouth down, choking more than a little before he lets himself come back up. There's no rhythm to his suction but that seems to be the way William likes it. It makes him buck up into Pete's throat and sigh and moan and twist his fingers in Pete's hair.

Pete braces one hand on William's thigh, digging in his fingernails. He sees shapes swirl over the inside of his eyelids as he squeezes them shut harder and sucks, pulls with his mouth and presses William's cock to the roof of his mouth with his tongue. William's hips buck and Pete gags; he can hear the gurgling sounds coming from his own throat, and he knows he's probably slobbering. William just pushes his head down further and Pete goes with it, sucking as much as he can until William comes. Pete doesn't swallow it all, can't, and when he gags again it gets all over his chin.

Pete pulls off and the effort to lift his head from William's lap is too much. He lies there and William's fingers card through his hair. Pete feels revulsion and loathing wash over him, for both of them, and he wants to be asleep again. Forever, fucking forever, and--and he's pretty sure that he's felt like that before, before all this, wanted to end it before. He wishes he'd killed himself when he had the chance; he can't figure out a means to do it now. He doesn't have the self-control to keep himself from feeding, William won't kill him no matter what Pete does, and slitting his wrists doesn't work. His wounds just heal. He managed to break his own neck, once, but it just hurt a fuck of a lot and then William came down and chained him to the wall and held his neck in place until the bones healed in the right way.

William's hand moves to loosely wrap around Pete's neck, his thumb stroking Pete's adam's apple. "Thank you," he says, and Pete can recognize the satisfied, slurred warmth in his voice that he always gets after sex. He sounds like a cat curled up in a beam of sunlight after eating a meal.

William lies back and pulls Pete down with him, tugging Pete to lie against his side. He's warm and smooth and Pete lets his head rest against William's chest. He can feel the vibrations against his cheek when William hums and the sound lulls him into eventual sleep.

***

The first couple of weeks, Pete's level of lucidity fluctuates each time William visits. Sometimes he'll seem practically braindead, confused and mute and heavy-lidded. Other times he'll be sharp and alert and jeering at William, pissed off but seemingly accepting of his new state. But whether or not he's capable of clarity, he attacks William every time.

It never lasts. William doesn't even need to fight to beat him: Pete always ends up face down on the floor with William above him. He doesn't know how to fight in a way that could even challenge William, let alone take him down. As time passes, his attacks become less determined until they stop altogether.

Pete's body stretches out beautifully, not long but perfectly shaped. If William gets him when he's weak enough he doesn't struggle when William pushes him onto his stomach, kicks his legs out from under him and grabs his wrists, stretching his arms above his head and pinning his wrists to the floor. His head bows, exposing the back of his neck and William can lie over him like this, cover his body completely and trace the shape of his ribs while he whispers in Pete's ear.

If he continues to struggle it's more difficult. William finds himself using more force than necessary, gripping Pete's hair and pushing his face down, digging his knee into Pete's back to hold him and pressing his forearm down hard against the line of Pete's shoulders to make him *still.* Sometimes William loses his temper and snarls and bites him, next to the top vertebrae on his neck. It usually makes Pete scream. But William doesn't drink from him--blood from a vampire doesn't provide the same service as human blood, it's not filling. He just rips into the skin and watches blood trickle from the wound, down Pete's skin to drip onto the floor as Pete pants or sobs or groans.

"You're the prettiest thing I've ever seen," William often says against his ear. "All the ink over your skin, all your self-inflicted scars..."

He talks to Pete about everything. William tells him just how much he enjoys Pete's body, he tells him how he watched him when Pete was human, he tells him how excited he is to have Pete by his side, he tells him how proud he is of Pete and how paternal he feels. He tells him about the police officers on the graveyard shift he recently bit and turned, "They were easy and boring, they're already back on their feet and aware of what they are, they're not special like you." He tells him about Travis and their plans for Chicago and how important Pete is going to be. He tells him that he's going to be at William's side, the perfect lieutenant, about how perfect it's all going to become.

Pete often snarls and tells him to shut the fuck up or just talks on his own, lyrics or a melody or just gibberish--just words to keep out the sound of William's voice. William doesn't stick to topics relevant to the present day: he finds himself musing about his own early days with Gabe, back in 1919. He tells Pete how scared and excited he was and how much he idolized Gabe, how exhilarating it was to travel the country with him. He tells Pete how Gabe used to bring humans home to show William what to do. Not just how to feed, but also how to cut and burn and break and how pretty they looked with blood and tears mingling on their skin.

"But not as pretty as you," William says, because it's true. Pete gets more beautiful every day and it makes William catch his breath every time.

He sings to Pete, something Gabe never did with him, but he knows the relationship Pete has with music. Singing to him becomes the highlight of William's night and he finds that he can't leave Pete alone for more than a few hours at a time. William becomes too impatient to him stew in solitude and finds himself losing sleep and putting off his own hunting to come visit Pete. Pete gets closer and closer to where William needs him to be with every visit and the progress is exhilarating. Addictive. William can't wait.

***

Pete wakes to the feel of someone's hands (not William's) on his wrists, undoing the chains. His eyes blink open and he sits up as the chains drop away; he recognizes the two guys as Ryan and Spencer. William has talked of them before. They step back when he stands, but Spencer meets his eyes, smiling.

"Nice to finally meet you," he says, his eyes flashing a dull metallic color and his fangs gleaming in the light.

Pete grunts. Across the room he can see William, his head bent in conversation with two others, and Pete goes to him automatically. William looks up at his approach, grins wide and slips a hand around Pete's waist, pulling him in.

There are so many people down here. Pete's not used to it and he leans into William, grateful for the presence of his body.

"Tonight's the night," William says, nuzzling the top of Pete's head. "I'm taking you out on the town."

The familiar hunger stirs in Pete's gut. Glancing up, he can see that the door to the basement is wide open, letting in light. He doesn't know how he didn't notice before. "You are?" he says, echoing.

"Mmm." William's fingers touch Pete's chin, tilting him up for a brief kiss. "You're finished and ready. I can't wait to see you kill someone."

He can see what William wants, the picture in his mind as vivid as if William had painted it himself. He can see chasing someone, grabbing them, alive and conscious and running away instead of the limp bodies William has brought him. He can feel what it would be like, biting into someone who's still struggling, and it's dizzying. He shakes his head to clear it, and finds William smirking at him.

"I'm hungry," Pete says, scowling, and William laughs.

"Yes. That's sort of the point." William nods at Brendon, who's standing across from them and tapping out a quick rhythm on the basement floor with his foot. There's something tucked under his arm.

"Here," Brendon says, shoving it into Pete's hands. It's cloth, pants and a shirt and a vest--

"You'll look so good, all dressed up and fancy," William says, licking the shell of Pete's ear. "Put it on for me?"

The pants are ironed and pressed. Brendon tosses a pair of shiny black shoes to the ground at Pete's feet, as well. Pete rubs his thumb over the stiff material of the vest and nods.

Pete follows William and Brendon and Ryan and Spencer up the stairs out of the basement, and then outside, and the sky is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Deep purple-black and it doesn't end and it reminds Pete of something, sleeping maybe, blackness just on the edge of his mind every time he wakes up--

William's hand finds his, tugging Pete forward to walk with them, and Pete obliges. William raises an eyebrow as if he can tell how the chilly breeze on Pete's skin feels almost as good as feeding, how the sight of the building against the sky dizzies him and almost makes him stumble. Pete swallows and feels the sharp edge of his teeth against the inside of his lip.

"Look at him, he's a child," he hears Brendon say in front of him. "I don't see what you've accomplished aside from dumbing him down."

William runs his thumb over Pete's knuckles. "You'll see tonight. He's made so much progress." William grins at Pete, and Pete thinks, honeymoon. He smiles back, excited though he doesn't know for what exactly. Every smell, every sight every touch of air on his skin makes him want this more.

"Where are we going, anyway?" Spencer jabs Brendon in the ribs with two fingers, and Pete can see his smile--his teeth--in profile. He wants the same thing Pete wants, the same thing they all want. Solidarity. "I hope you didn't pick someplace lame again."

"Soon we'll be able to go anywhere we like," William says, voice dreamy. "That's the beauty of owning the city."

"Yeah, well, we're not *going* just anywhere," Brendon says, nudging Spencer back with an elbow and turning to William. "You wanted someplace special, didn't you? We're crashing a PETA party."

Spencer groans and William and Ryan laugh. "That's *delightful," William says.

Brendon beams. "They're celebrating! They made a fur store downtown go out of business. I read about the party in The Reader."

"Vegetarians taste sour," Ryan says, bumping Brendon's shoulder, jostling him against Spencer. "Can't we find something else?"

Brendon sticks out his tongue. "You can go find a schmuck down an alley by yourself if you're dead set against my plan, party pooper."

"Hunting's always better in a group," William says, turning to Pete. "It's more than just feeding yourself to surprise, more than just killing, it's....."

"What?" Pete prompts when William trails off. He rubs his thumb over William's hand, mirroring William's earlier gesture.

"You'll see," William says, shaking his head. Pete supposes he will.

They turn a corner and the buildings loom. "I think I've been here before," Pete says. "This street, it's familiar, I think. I know it."

"Nah," Spencer says, dismissive. "You must be confusing it with someplace else. Easy to confuse it, in the dark." He meets Pete's eyes. "You've never been here before."

"Maybe it's deja vu because you dreamed about a neighborhood that looked like this?" Brendon says. "Dude, that happens to me all the time. Super annoying."

"I guess," Pete says.

They walk and walk and turn another corner and then suddenly light and noise makes Pete flinch back for just a second. There's a house overflowing with people and loud music, humans everywhere. Pete can feel buzzing between his ears again, electric and static and just getting louder. William's grip on his hand tightens and when Pete looks down his knuckles are white.

"I'm starved," Ryan says, and Brendon cracks his knuckles.

"We can just go nuts, can't we?" he says, and his voice sounds. Different. Serious. "That's the whole point of your scheming with Travis, right? Instead of sneaking around we can just bust this up."

"Absolutely," William says.

Pete had no idea Brendon, Ryan, and Spencer could move so fast. They're walking along, Brendon talking over his shoulder to William and Ryan with one arm draped on Spencer's shoulder, and then suddenly. Suddenly they're moving, fast and graceful and Brendon has a skinny boy a foot taller than him in his arms in the time it takes Pete to blink. The boy screams loud and Brendon's teeth tear into his flesh and Pete's hunger builds from a static-y buzz in his head to a roar that drives him forward.

He's aware that William's no longer holding his hand, aware of the situation devolving into chaos. Humans scream and run all around him, people in the house streaming out onto the lawn, giving into some stupid instinct that makes them run towards the violence and death instead of staying in. Stupid prey flashes in Pete's mind, in a voice that sounds like William's, and Pete feels his lips stretch wide open in something that isn't a smile.

He feels strong, strong in a way that's completely new and foreign and exhilarating and wonderful, and when his hand closes around someone's arm they stop running. He's holding them and he realizes that they're struggling and hitting him but it doesn't even matter, he doesn't even feel it and it's almost in slow motion when he draws them in, yanks their head back to get at the neck. He can hear their heartbeat and it's beautiful and he loves this, he thinks. Loves it.

The skin gives so easily under his teeth, smooth against his lips and then there's blood filling his mouth. William was right, exactly right because this is so much better than it's ever been, because the human is struggling and kicking Pete's shins and screaming and it makes every drop taste better and Pete keeps going, tightens his hold and swallows and swallows and--

"Pete?!"

The voice isn't William's but he knows it. Pete looks up without taking his mouth away from his food and sees.

Argyle and knee socks and garage band and a van crashing into trees and his mother's basement and dear god I wish I was tall and stump up the volume. Patrick is staring at him, face flushed and eyes round and terrified, and as Pete stares back he sees William come up behind him. William's movements seem almost languid, grabbing Patrick and pinning his arms and yanking his hair to expose his neck. Patrick screams.

The whole world accelerates and snaps and Pete drops the girl in his arms and moves, throws himself, tackling them both to the ground and yanking Patrick out of William's reach. There's a different kind of roaring in his ears now and his knuckles are bloody from catching on William's teeth every time he punches him.

He can hear Patrick yelling something, words that don't make sense to Pete's ears and Pete just wants to keep hitting until William--until fucking Billy--is pulverized into the ground. He sees William's face, eyes wide with shock and surprise before they narrow and William catches his wrist, grabs him and he's still so much stronger. Pete feels the blow and then he's on his back, wind knocked out of him and William's hands around his throat, squeezing and wrenching and ripping, pushing up on his jaw so hard that Pete thinks his neck might break. He'd be happy about that but for once, for once he doesn't want to die. He wants to live to rip William's fucking heart out of his ribcage.

The pain makes his vision gray and then he hears a cracking sound and William's hold loosens slightly, enough that Pete can see again. William's head is turned and he looks vaguely annoyed, blood on his temple, and Pete sees Patrick holding a brick out of the corner of his eye. Pete's fist flies up, hitting William with enough force to get him off and let Pete scramble to his feet. He lunges forward again to finish the job but Patrick's hands are on him, tugging at him, trying to hold him back.

"Fuck, Pete, fuck!" Patrick yells, his voice panicked and in Pete's ear. "What are you even, shit, let's just go--"

"What the fuck?" he hears someone else yell next to his ear, someone else (Joe, Trohmania, lead guitar) staring at him with wide eyes and then stumbling back. Andy's there, too, eyes fixed on Pete, on Patrick pulling him away and Patrick is yelling at them, "Run!" and "Fuck, guys, come on" and "it's *Pete.*"

The four of them run and stumble and trip over each other until Andy says "Here, in here," and Pete gets shoved into the backseat of a car. Andy's behind the wheel and the tires scream as they pull away from the curb before the car door is even closed.

Everything is loud, the engine, the traffic, everyone in the car talking at once and Pete's head is in Patrick's lap. He can hear Patrick saying something, "Oh my god Pete we thought oh my *god* your *teeth* oh jesus" and someone's fingers--no, Patrick's--touching his face. Wiping away blood. Pete dimly hears Joe in the front seat, "What was that? What the fuck was that?"

"Stop," Pete says, catching Patrick's hand. "Stop the car, I need."

Andy pulls over sloppily, making the car lurch, and Pete shoves the door open and spills out onto the street, his knees hitting gravel. He throws up, blood and his own stomach acid splashing the curbside and. A memory flashes in his mind, on his knees in the basement throwing up blood the first time--the first time he. It had just been a dead body then, William had fed him so many bodies, and tonight Pete can't remember if he. He knows he let go of the girl to save Patrick, but he can't remember if her heart was still beating.

He gags again, dry heaving because there's nothing left to vomit. He can hear Patrick, Joe and Andy getting out of the car, and he can't believe he forgot their names. (He can't believe he can remember them now.)

Patrick kneels down next to him, and Pete doesn't look up to meet his eyes. He remembers in a flash, the girl in his arms, struggling as he bit her. He doesn't know if she's still alive. He dry heaves again.

"Okay," Pete says, and he can hear how dull his voice sounds. He can feel gravel under his fingernails. He can feel all of it flooding back, all of it, his whole fucking life and the basement and it doesn't seem like the two should coincide at all. Patrick, Joe and Andy and William and Brendon (and Jon and Nick, oh god) can't possibly exist in the same reality, one of them can't be *real.* Maybe the whole basement was a dream. Except for how his teeth are still sharp and digging into his lip. Except for how he just threw up blood.

Patrick's hand is on his back, shaking a little. "We thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere, or that you'd eloped with someone or been kidnapped, or." His voice is shaking, too, quavering. "It's been a month and a half."

"I was," Pete says. "All of the above."

Andy and Joe crouch down on his other side. "Um, this is seriously, like. Fucked up," Joe says. "What happened back there? Who were those freaks? What happened to your mouth, where've you *been?*"

Pete laughs, and it maybe comes out more hysterical than he'd meant, and Patrick's hand slides so that he's hugging Pete's shoulders.

"How about you, um, explain later. For now, let's just--here, we'll take you back to the apartment." The one Patrick shares with Joe, Pete realizes. The one he used to live in, too. It's really only been six weeks?

"Okay," Pete says again, and Joe touches his other side, his fingers encircling Pete's arm.

"Yeah, let's get you home," he says.

"Jesus," Andy mutters under his breath, but he says "Yeah" and stands, walking back over to the car and getting in the driver's seat.

***

William comes to with wet grass against his cheek. His head is throbbing and fuzzy and it takes a moment for him to get his bearings--the wound on his head from being hit with a brick is already almost healed, but that plus the blows from Pete that knocked him out--

Pete. William sits up and scrambles to his feet, twisting around wildly to look for him. He shouts his name, yells for him even though his heart is already sinking, even though part of him already knows what he'll find.

William couldn't care less that Pete struck him. He doesn't even care that Pete interfered with William's meal, he just needs to find him and bring him home.

The party is pretty much dead. Bodies litter the lawn and William can see Spencer with someone against the wall of the house, his face buried in their neck and their head lolling back. William can hear far-off screams, but for the most part the action has passed. He picks through the unconscious humans and the corpses, but it's useless. Pete's gone.

He feels Brendon's hand on his shoulder, pulling at him, and William dimly realizes that he's dropped to his knees. "William. William, hey, are you--whoa, you don't look all right. Have you not eaten yet? Where's Pete?"

"You didn't see?" William says, and Brendon kneels in front of him and frowns, both hands on William's shoulders.

"Ryan and I were inside the house--we found the hosts. We just now came out." Brendon touches his fingers to William's temple, feeling the dried blood there. "What the hell? You're hurt?"

"It'll heal," William says. He can feel fury building in his throat, behind his eyes. "Pete is--Brendon, find him for me, you need to--" he grabs Brendon's wrist, squeezing hard. "Find his friends. We need to kill them."

Brendon cringes from William's grip. "Oookay. Dude, why? What--" His eyes widen as understanding hits him. "Oh. Oh, shit. Pete's gone, isn't he."

William slaps him. "No he fucking *isn't," he snarls. "We're going to find him. We're going to find him, bring him home, I'll have him again. Be *quiet.*"

"What's going on?" Spencer walks over to them, wiping his mouth. "William, where'd your hat go?"

William gets to his feet. "Fuck. We need--okay, we can. He'll probably go to his friends' apartment, we can find out where they live, take him back--"

Spencer's hand is on William's lower back, steadying him, and William realizes that he was swaying. "Hey. Hey, um, maybe we should get back. The sun is going to be up soon," and how long had William been unconscious?

Ryan trots up behind Brendon as Brendon stands, rubbing his cheek where William slapped him. "We should do this more often," Ryan says, and William snarls and takes a step towards him but Spencer's hand tightens around his waist, holding him back.

"*Home,*" Spencer hisses in his ear, and William knows that hurting any of his boys won't actually help anything. He grits his teeth and nods. He'll find Pete, he'll find him, he'll bring him back and start over completely if he has to but he won't lose him.

The boys make William sleep when they get back to the warehouse. He doesn't want to, he doesn't *need* to; what he needs to do is find Patrick Stump and tear his throat out and get Pete back. (And how could William have been so *stupid?* Recognizing Patrick only after the fact, attacking Pete's best friend in front of him by accident. Why were Pete's friends even there? How could William make a mistake like this?)

But Spencer and Brendon and Ryan push him into bed and cover his body with theirs, touching him and whispering at him until the sun rises and William's exhaustion takes over and he falls asleep.

He wakes up a few hours later, before the sun has even set, and drags Brendon out of bed as well. "We don't have time to waste," William snaps when Brendon groggily complains. "Every second he's with them is a second he forgets who he is. We need to get him back here."

Brendon rubs a hand over his face. "Okay," he says, his voice muffled before he takes his hand away. "Okay, I'll send Jon and Nick to try and find him, but. It might already be too late."

William grits his teeth. "You're wrong."

Brendon looks at him. "Okay."

"You're *wrong,*" William insists. "He was one of us. He was mine. He was--we just need to remind him."

William remembers Pete's old apartment, the one he shared with his bandmates when he was human. As soon as the sun sets he takes Brendon and Ryan and Spencer there, destroying the front door to the building and leaving the door to the apartment off its hinges, but it's empty.

"They were here," William says, pacing through the hallway between the two bedrooms. He can smell Pete and all his friends, smell fear and sickness and anger. "They can't have left more than a few hours ago."

"They must have known you were coming," Brendon says. "They're not going to come back here now."

"What the hell--?" A pudgy man is silhouetted in the doorway, the superintendent or a neighbor, perhaps. "I'm calling the police."

"Dinnertime," William says, smiling as Ryan grabs the man by the scruff of his collar and yanks him inside the apartment, covering his mouth to muffle the screams. He drags the body over to William and William gives him a grateful smile before he bites down. It's a little unwise, killing haphazardly in territory that isn't his (yet), but William hasn't eaten for days. He doesn't care.

He sits down on the edge of the stained ratty couch, picking at a loose thread in the arm. "They'll come back. Everything they have is here. We can wait."

William sends Brendon down to stake out the lobby of the building and Ryan and Spencer out on the street, to trap Pete and his boys if they catch that something's wrong and bolt before coming in to their apartment. William curls up on the couch.

He's hungry, but he can't feed yet, not before he gets Pete back. Every second that passes with Pete out there, free instead of at William's side, will bring Pete closer to who he was instead of who William helped him become. There's a sick feeling in the pit of William's stomach, and he wonders whether the scent of Pete on the furniture is left over from a month and a half ago or fresh from tonight.

He's dimly aware of the hours passing, and then Brendon is shaking his shoulder. "Hey," he's saying, "Hey, look, we need to go. It's almost dawn. They never showed."

They return home and William locks himself in his room. He ignores Brendon's repeated knocking on his door. He hasn't eaten in two days.

He wakes up from a dream of Pete writhing beneath him that leaves him hard and aching and hungry. Brendon is there as soon as he stumbles out of bed and gone when William yells at him to get him someone to eat.

He goes out again that night, combing through every place William can think of from Pete's old life that his friends might have taken him, but it's no use. William can feel Brendon's eyes on the back of his neck all through the night, can feel everything he's not saying to him, and finally William snaps at him, shoving him against a wall. "Well?"

Brendon pushes William's hands away, meeting his eyes defiantly. "This is stupid," he snaps back. "Come on, even if we manage to find Pete he's not gonna be on our side anymore! I know that you really liked him or whatever, but. We can find you someone else to turn, okay?" His tone turns pleading, and he reaches up tentatively to touch William's shoulder, but William steps back away from him.

"No," William says. "I--we need *him.*"

"No, we don't," Brendon groans. "It's not like he was the vampire messiah or something, okay? We can bite like *ten* other humans to take his place, I promise."

William just shakes his head.

He takes Brendon and Ryan and Spencer out again the next night, to search instead of hunt. And the night after that and after that, and William can feel uncertainty and dread crawling beneath his skin every time the sun rises and he doesn't have Pete back. His boys don't say anything but he knows how pointless they think this is. They think that William didn't do a complete job with Pete and that now they've lost him forever; they think William failed. They think Pete doesn't belong to him.

William doesn't give himself room to worry if they're right. He knows Pete, knows what he looks like with his skin turned inside out and his guts and psyche exposed, and he knows what he's *done* to Pete. Pete isn't complete without William. William's more certain of that than he is of anything.

It doesn't matter that Brendon and Ryan and Spencer think that spending three weeks straight just looking is a waste of time. It doesn't matter how long it takes, or that the search has made William lose his appetite, or that he hasn't slept without dreaming of Pete since he first escaped. William's not going to let his conviction slip away, and he's not going to lose what belongs to him.

***

He needs to run. He needs to get the fuck out--

"We need to get the fuck out of here."

They turn to look at him, three sets of eyes (three heartbeats).

"Um, you just got back," Joe says, and Patrick says "Pete--"

"No," Pete says, walking through the living room to the kitchen, the bathroom, twisting around to see everything. This whole place, he lived here, he doesn't remember any of it. "No, this is no good. This is bad, he's going to come here and find me and--" kill all of you, but he remembers the way Patrick had screamed in William's hands and shuts his mouth with a click. "Grab whatever shit you need, we just have to *go.*"

"The fuck are you even *talking* about?" Joe says, his voice rising in anger. He follows Pete into the kitchen but stays a few feet away, and Pete feels hungry. "And--and how about you tell us what the fuck is going on, huh? Like--like how you were fucking *gone* for weeks and we thought you were *dead* and now you--" Joe stops, breathing hard. Patrick and Andy come up to stand behind him; Pete steps further away from them.

"What's going on?" Andy says, his voice quiet. Three humans, Pete thinks, the most he's been around since--

They all smell like food.

"What's going on," Pete repeats to himself and laughs. He bares his teeth, well-aware that the fangs are still out and sharp and probably still have that girl's blood on them. He touches the small scar on his neck, two bite-marks, tilting his head so the light hits it. "What the hell do you think is going on?"

"No way," Joe says, shaking his head. Patrick and Andy's eyes are wide. Pete can smell the fear and panic and adrenaline and sweat from running away. A few hours ago they were enjoying a party, he realizes. They were celebrating a victory against animal cruelty.

"What. Pete, what are you saying," and Patrick's voice is shaking just a little around the edges. Pete remembers, This is all a dream. William told him that, he thinks. Didn't he?

"This is some fucked-up cult or gang thing," Andy says.

"Yeah," Pete says. "It's a gang thing. A gang that ate a bunch of people tonight." He looks at Patrick.

Patrick touches his neck, and Pete can't remember if William succeeded in actually biting him or not. Things are beginning to blur. All he knows--

"We need to get away," he says again. "He's powerful, and he wants--he'll be looking for me. We really really need to go."

They're clustered close to each other, across the room away from him, and Pete can feel the unasked question, why should we even trust you? It's not like he's still their bassist. Not like he's still even remotely the guy they knew. The human they knew, and fuck, Pete wants to be gone.

"Fuck this," he says, brushing past them out of the kitchen. "You guys can go or stay but I can't, I can't be here he's not going to fucking get me again." He's never been a good actor, but maybe, maybe if he just puts on bravado and acts like it's no big deal, reverse psychology--

"Whoa, hey, let's not get all--" Patrick says, and Pete feels a hand on his arm. And suddenly veins and human breath are right *there* and Pete feels hunger swim up hard behind his eyes for an overwhelming split second before he jerks away.

"They got Scimeca and Jon," Pete said. "That's what happened, they fucking killed them and then they were there when I woke up and they were fucking vampires, okay? Joe, you wanna be a midnight snack? Andy, you wanna wake up all evil and undead? We need to fucking *leave.*"

"And where the hell are we supposed to*go*?" Joe says, his voice rising.

"Anywhere!" Pete yells. "Anywhere, anywhere not in the city, just--do you guys have friends, family not in Chicago? The less obvious, the better, I can't--I can't stay with my family or anyone he knows I know, he'll find me too easily."

"Okay, geez, fuck," Joe says, at the same time that Patrick says, "We don't. Pete. You were with them."

Patrick's voice is quiet and sad and he meets Pete's eyes. The other guys look at him, tooPete knows Patrick saw him with an innocent girl in his arms, chowing down on her neck. He saw the blood.

"Yeah," Pete says. He was with William. Family. "Yeah, he. He kept me. I couldn't--" and he can feel himself start to shake because he doesn't know how this can be real when that was, too, and he doesn't know who he is without William and he wants to go back and he's hungry.

He's aware of crumpling to the ground, sitting and bowing his head and the guys are all staring at him. "We should go," Pete hears himself say again, he doesn't know how many times, and it's the only thought he can hold on to.

"I have second cousins in Milwaukee," Andy says. "They live in this huge building, they might have room for all of us."

"Fuck," Joe mutters. "We can come back, right? We're not talking about picking up everything and leaving our whole lives?"

"Yes. We're coming back," Andy says, making the decision for all of them, and Pete can feel Andy's eyes on him.

"Fuck," Patrick says, echoing Joe. "Okay, let's just--okay. We don't need much, right? Just some spare clothes and our toothbrushes and stuff?"

"We just need to go," Pete says, uselessly.

The guys are moving quickly now, grabbing duffel bags and heading to their rooms for clothes. "We are," Pete hears Patrick say, and then Patrick's crouching down in front of him, his hand on Pete's shoulder again. When Pete glances up the first thing he sees is the paleness of Patrick's neck; he knows Patrick notices, but he doesn't flinch away. Pete lets himself lean forward until his forehead bumps the center of Patrick's chest. He can feel the heartbeat there, steady and real and alive, and Patrick's hand rests lightly on the back of his neck.

**

William wakes up one day to find Gabe sitting on his bed.

"Wha?" William flails a hand out when Gabe pats his cheek, jolting him out of sleep, but Gabe grabs his wrist and pins it to the bed.

"Surprise," Gabe said. "A little bird told me that I needed to make a visit to your neck of the woods, and boy, they were right. You look *terrible.*"

"I just woke up," William says, irritated, twisting his wrist in Gabe's grip. "Let me up."

Gabe leans down, his nose bumping William's. "I heard about your little runaway. Brendon tells me you were... attached."

William grits his teeth and looks away. This is Brendon's fault. Of course. "He didn't run away, he was taken from me. And Brendon doesn't know what the hell he's talking about."

Gabe laughs at him and lets him go, sitting up. "Wow! Wow, you've got it worse than I thought. Taken from you, huh? Poor baby."

William meets his eyes steadily. "This doesn't concern you, Gabe."

Gabe bounces on his knees a couple times, making the bed frame creak, before he moves off the bed, flipping William's sheets off of him. "Come on, up. Get up."

William rolls onto his side, his back to Gabe. "I was sleeping. It's the middle of the day."

"Whatever," Gabe says. "You're stewing in your own pathetic misery over a stupid obsession, and it's really unattractive. Get your ass out of bed."

"Fuck you," William snarls over his shoulder. "You weren't here, you don't know a damn *thing.*"

Gabe grabs his shoulder, not gently, and pulls him off the bed, throwing him to the floor. William doesn't bother to fight back. "Grow up, Billy. You sound like a little brat."

William slumps against the wall. "I told you. You don't know a thing about it."

Gabe crosses his arms and glares. "So tell me. Tell me why this backwards impotent vampire who was never one of us in the first place has you angsting like a goth-y teenager."

"You want me to cry on your shoulder?" William sneers.

"If you start crying I will drive a fucking stake through your whiny heart, I swear to god."

William makes a fist, pressing the pads of his fingers hard against his palm. "I don't have anything to say to you and I'm tired. Go away."

Gabe's foot lashes out, taking William by surprise, and the kick lands hard in his ribs. Pain sparks through him and William yells, scrambling to his feet to strike back but Gabe dodges his blows and dances out of the way.

"Christ, listen to yourself! You're an insult to your whole fucking species. An insult to *me.*"

William's lip curls. "You don't care about what I do with myself. Don't pretend that I've *offended* you."

Gabe pinches the bridge of his nose. "Okay. Okay, look, let's try this. You can tell me everything about this Pete fellow and get it off your chest and I'll look understanding and nod and won't even make fun of you until you're finished. How's that?"

"Fuck off," William says.

"Or I could beat you up some more," Gabe says. "God, you try my patience. What did I do, anyway? What did I do this time to make you so pissy with me? We haven't even spoken in months!"

"You--" William cuts himself off before he can utter 'You wouldn't understand,' the juvenile sentence leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. "Why do you want us to speak now?" he says instead.

"I told you, dumbass, Brendon called me." Gabe crosses his arms and sniffs. "And I was concerned by these claims that you weren't your old self, but it's apparently worse than I thought. I didn't realize you'd been transformed into a heartsick sulking teenager."

"You're concerned. I'm touched," William says, crossing his arms as well. "But I haven't transformed into anything. I just need to get Pete back. I might have to start the naturalization process over almost from scratch, but the longer I let him stay away the more work it will be to bring him back in."

Gabe looks at him for a moment. "You're so full of shit."

William snarls and moves to brush past Gabe and out of the room, but Gabe catches his arm. "No, seriously, do you even hear yourself? He attacked you because he recognized and cared for a human you were snacking on. He's gone for good. He might as well be one of them now, and you know it."

William hits him, his knuckles striking Gabe's cheek and making his head snap back. "Don't!" he yells. "He's not fucking human, not anymore, you didn't *see* him--"

"You think he was yours?" Gabe yells back. "You think you made him belong to you, is that it? You were naive enough to really think you could control him completely?"

"I don't care what you think," William spits it out, the lie ugly and obvious on his tongue. He remembers Pete so well, the bend of his head when he was feeding the gleam of thoughtful intelligence in his eyes when William explained his plans with Travis to him and the first time William visited him without getting told to go fuck himself. He can feel Gabe's words cutting into everything, the suggestion that Pete might not come back to him tainting everything.

"He was a project you were invested in, I get that," Gabe says, and William swings at him but Gabe blocks and hits him back, making William stumble--Gabe so rarely moves with the speed he's capable of that it always takes William by surprise when he does. "You don't want to admit that you failed, that he's not really yours."

"That's not--" William feels himself taking steps back as Gabe moves forward, edging backwards until his back is in the corner of his room and Gabe is standing in front of him, his eyes impossible to look away from. "He was, he was *mine,*" William hears himself insisting.

Gabe shakes his head and leans forward, his hand bracing on the wall beside William's head. "It was stupid to let yourself believe that," he says, his voice not unkind. "I know you wanted him to be your knight in shining armor or whatever, but it doesn't work like that with us. I thought you would have learned that by now."

William curls a hand in Gabe's shirt, clenching his fist in the fabric. "I'm not surprised that's how you see things. You've never been attached to a damn thing in your life."

Gabe blinks at that, surprise written over his face, and William feels slightly vindicated. "What's that supposed to mean?"

William pulls him forward, kissing Gabe on the mouth. "Of course the idea of wanting someone permanently is foreign to you. Of *course* you wouldn't understand taking the care to shape and mold someone you turn for your very own."

Gabe makes a noise against William's lips and pulls away. "Fucking hell. So you think I never lavished enough attention on you as a child, is that it? You don't want to make the same mistakes you think I did? Wow, what a sob story."

William tries to push him away but Gabe's other hand slams against the wall, trapping him. William grits his teeth and stares up at the ceiling. "Yes, I'm pathetic. Now you know. Please leave."

"Fuck that," Gabe says. Both of his hands touch William's cheeks, wrenching his head down to face Gabe. "You were never my favorite son because I've never *had* a favorite son, because none of you were all that interesting to me. That's probably not fair to you or anyone else I've sired, but I don't really care that much. You need to get your head out of your ass and realize that none of us owe each other anything, because we're fucking *vampires* and immortality means that you're never going to get what you want and keep it forever."

Gabe's voice keeps rising and he shakes William hard, slamming him against the wall and he's the one leaning in for a kiss this time. William bites his lip and does his best to draw blood because he can't get *out* of this, because Gabe is all around him and William can feel himself breaking down.

"I just wanted him," William says, pulling away. "I still, I know him and I want him and I know I can bring him back--"

"He's vermin," Gabe says, fluttering kisses along William's throat. "He's not one of us, he's a waste, forget him--" William pushes hard against Gabe's shoulders, tries to shove him off but Gabe just sucks hard on the spot where William's neck meets his collarbone, his teeth nicking the skin.

They end up on the floor, somehow, and William turns his head to the side and lets Gabe get his hand around William's dick and stroke. He can feel the panic and loss at Pete's disappearance slowly get replaced by the buzz of arousal and fury, and he knows that he'll follow Gabe's words and advice whether or not he wants to.

He closes his eyes and listens to Gabe's harsh panting in time with the slick sounds of his hand on William's cock. William pushes up against his fingers and when he comes, Gabe makes a pleased sound and brings the hand he stroked with up to William's mouth. William finds himself licking his own come off of the web of skin between Gabe's thumb and forefinger as Gabe sighs.

"You can obsess over finding Pete and convince yourself you're in love with him and spend the rest of your days pining, I suppose," Gabe says. "But I know you, and I know that you don't actually want to be that guy. It would be such a tragedy for you to waste your potential on moping about after someone who doesn't even deserve you."

"Mm," William stops sucking on Gabe's index finger and looks up. "Did you just compliment me? Will wonders never cease."

"I compliment you all the time," Gabe says. "Right now, for instance, I'm telling you that you have a fucking gorgeous mouth that would be perfect for, say, blowing me."

"Thanks ever so," William says, rolling his eyes, but Gabe is already moving smoothly so that his knees are on either side of William's face, and William leans his head back and parts his lips.

Afterwards, Gabe stands and offers a hand up to William on the ground. Gabe pulls him up and into a rough embrace, smacking him on the back in a way Gabe probably thinks is manly. William stiffens and pulls away; he doesn't think that Gabe would try to lavish affection on him out of pity, to somehow make up for any past slighting, but even a hint of that isn't welcome.

"So, look, do you have your groove back or should we go on a killing spree or something?" Gabe says.

Gabe's hand is still on William's shoulder, squeezing. William ignores the question. "What do you want? You didn't just come here to give me spiritual guidance."

"Oh, come on, I did so. You don't give me credit for *anything.*"

William slings an arm over Gabe's shoulders and walks with him out of the room into the hall. "Yes, I'm funny that way. Just tell me, don't make me sniff it out."

Gabe gives him a melodramatic sigh and his arm fits around William's waist. "Okay, fine, if you're just going to badger me about it." A snakelike smile spreads across his face, and--it's rare that William sees that smile. Something prickles at the base of William's spine. "I brought you someone."

"Oh?" They round the corner into the biggest room in the warehouse, the entryway, and William sees Brendon and Jon and Ryan clustered around someone sitting down with their legs crossed. William catches a flash of blonde hair.

"William, this is Maja."

The vampire stands, glancing at William with a bored look in her eye. She's beautiful, and if Gabe meant for William to be impressed by that he succeeded, but when she takes a step towards them she limps slightly, and William can see the edge of an ugly-looking burn on her shoulder peeking out from her sleeve.

"I'm pleased to meet you," she says with a strong accent that William can't quite place, and takes his hand. William can already feel how strong she is.

"Likewise," he says, glancing at Gabe. "What brings you here?"

"Ah," Gabe says, and Maja flips her blonde hair back over her shoulder.

"He thought I might like Chicago," she says, baring her teeth in a blood-curdling smile, and William thinks, Swedish? German? "New England was beginning to... bore me."

"I've told you, New York is not part of New England," Gabe says, sounding long-suffering. He moves so that he can touch both of their shoulders, grinning. "I told Maja about the work you and Travis are doing here, and she wants in on the fun."

Gabe isn't telling the whole truth. "Right," William says. "Of course. And how'd you get so injured, Maja?"

Maja hasn't taken her eyes off him since they were introduced, and when he asks the question her eyes narrow. "It's nothing. Not a big deal."

Her hand is still in his, and William squeezes hard, making her snarl. She digs her fingernails into his hand, drawing a little blood, and William lets go. "What the hell kind of trouble are you bringing into my city?"

"Whoa, whoa, let's not get upset, we're all friends here," Gabe says. "We just got in a little scuffle, that's all."

"You say 'we' like you helped at all," Maja says, glaring at him. "Coward."

William laughs and Gabe coughs. Gabe's self-preservation instinct has always been strong. "Uh-huh. Who was this tiny scuffle with?"

Gabe sighs and rolls his eyes. "Oh, just Gerard Way and his little band of termites. Nothing *happened,* really, it was just, you know. A thing."

The sleeve of Maja's dress slips down further, exposing a burn further on her shoulder and arm. "So, what? Way's dead now, right?"

"Um," Gabe says, and Maja hisses softly.

William stares, incredulous. "He's still *alive?* He--my god, you're running away from him to Chicago. What the hell is happening in Jersey?"

"I'm *not* running away," Maja says, her voice loud and fierce, and William wonders how old she is; she strikes him as very young, only a few years old. "I just need to recuperate."

"Right, yeah, it's not so much running away as it is a strategic retreat. Besides, I'm heading back home in a few days. He'll be taken care of." Gabe's face darkens, and William wonders why the hell he waited until *now* to get serious about his uppity-humans problem.

"You won't be going with him?" William says to Maja.

Maja's nostrils flare. "We decided it would be best for me to relocate here for now." She looks down, eyelashes fluttering, and it's like watching a lioness try to be coy. "If... you'll have me."

She glances up again, eyes wide now and William feels sparks. He can see why, despite Gabe's truthful claims of never having a favorite son (or daughter), he'd go to the trouble of whisking her away from danger and asking William to take care of her. Which William has no doubt is what he's doing; but despite her injuries, William isn't sure how much care Maja needs.

"Of course. You're welcome here," William says, and Gabe makes a pleased noise and claps his hands.

"Excellent! You'll be good for each other, I'm sure. And--" he turns to William, grinning. "I've heard your scheming with Travis. I'm sure Maja will make herself useful in any plans of city-wide domination you cook up together."

Maja grunts and produces a pack of cigarettes seemingly out of nowhere, sticking a cigarette between her lips and lighting it in almost the same motion. "I'll do my best," she says, smoke snorting out her nose, and William's sure she will.

They go out hunting together that night, and unabashed glee spreads over Brendon's face when it becomes apparent that William isn't going to ask him to search Chicago tirelessly for Pete again. William realizes he wants to find him, still, wants to push Pete down and squeeze his throat and extinguish him if he can't have him (and he can't, William knows that, knew it from the exact moment Pete snapped--he hates that Gabe was right). But instead he lets Gabe touch his elbow as they walk out into the street and listens to Brendon rattle off enthusiastic suggestions of which human gathering spot they should feast on. Maja is on his other side, new and possibly dangerous but definitely interesting, and Gabe suggests they visit Travis and invite him along for the fun.

This is his city. The ownership buzzes beneath William's city when they find Travis, when he throws his head back and laughs at seeing them, then pulls Gabe into a bear hug and says yeah, sure, he'll join in. William can feel the gaze of several of Travis's vampire policemen on the back of his neck, and thinks, this is bigger than Pete. Let him leave William and go back to humanity; let him try and seek revenge, even, if he wants. This is William's city.