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carbrakes-and-stakes · 3 years

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Reeducation & restraint

TIMING: A couple days ago LOCATION : White Crest General Hospital PARTIES : @notsoharsh & @carbrakes-and-stakes SUMMARY : Therapy, patience and suspicion.

Harsh cast another glance over the chart in his hands, frowning. He didn’t usually have much to do with physical therapy, but it was darker out earlier now and it never hurt to pick up a couple extra shifts where he could. It was just his job to get them in and out, no big deal. This one gave him pause though. Loss of limb wasn’t exactly anything new in White Crest, Harsh had seen his fair share of people in all parts of that process. What was weird were the doctor’s notes. Five weeks in, but healing like it had been months. That wasn’t totally out of the ordinary either. Well, in some terms. Plenty of things healed a lot quicker than run of the mill humans, enough that the staff at WC General had stopped worrying about it. Harsh couldn’t exactly fault them for that. With all the batshit things going on, complaining about people getting better too quickly would’ve been insane. Still, it made Harsh hesitate outside the room for a minute. There was no reason to be too concerned. He had helped plenty of patients who got better a little faster than they should have. This would be fine. Sticking his easy smile into place, he lightly knocked on the door before letting himself in. “Hey there, Mr. Babineaux. You ready to head home? Anything I can do for you before I get you out of here?”

A puzzled look on his face, Alain looked at the door. There was a vampire on the other side of that door, this much he knew. If he claimed that he was done hunting, his distaste for the species was not gone, and his resting frown intensified as the door opened. His eyes caught the name on the tag, and he replied with a stiff upper-lip : “I think I will be fine,” his hand reached for the back of his chair as he pulled himself up. Standing on his leg, the man gave the hospital worker a concerned look, wondering if he would just approach anyway. Reaching for his crutches, Alain noticed only then that his therapist had left them on the other side of the room. Of course. Biting on his cheek, he glanced from the crutches to the other man, then back at the crutches. “Would you mind?” If he was not thrilled about accepting his help, hopping around like a spring was out of the question too.

Apparently having just the one leg wasn’t going to keep this guy down. Harsh could respect that. He wasn’t sure if he should trust it though. If anyone was going to lose a limb and keep on swinging it would be some kind of hunter. Then again, there were plenty of corners of the supernatural world he had never even dipped a toe into. This could be nothing. “Huh?” He followed Alain’s glance and nodded. “Yeah, of course.” He crossed the room and grabbed the crutches. “Do you want me to wheel you out of here? I can grab a chair, it’s a lot faster,” he said, offering Alain the crutches. Those probably couldn’t be used as a stake… probably. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around much before. I’ll probably be helping you for the next couple weeks, we just switched shifts around. I’m Harsh, by the way. I like to try to get to know my patients.” Maybe if he could keep up the friendly smile, this would be fine. He was probably already overthinking things. This was fine.

The prospect of having to accept the vampire's help did not enchant Alain, but the man was so tired that he had decided, at least for this morning, to put aside his hatred for them and to let the vampire help him. He suspected, of course, that Harsh was only working here for the hospital's vital resource, weak people, and more conveniently, a pocket supply of blood. The hunter was pragmatic, and he actually saw little harm in vampires feeding like this. A person at the end of their life, or blood in their bags, would still do less harm, and would be a much less risky way of sustaining themselves. However, putting aside his hatred didn't mean all animosity was gone, and it was no wonder his shoulders seemed to tense as the vampire approached with crutches in hand. He could probably stab him with those, he told himself. The hunter found himself confused when he began to ask himself the following question: what had this vampire done to deserve such a brutal and arbitrary death. If Alain often asked himself this question when he was alone, this was the first time he had asked himself this in the presence of these individuals whom he had considered since his childhood as monsters, shadows in the night, and whose sole purpose (and these were again traces of the teachings received as a child) was to terrorize men, and destroy lives. “I lost my leg not long ago,” though his voice sounded harsh and dry, the expression on his face seemed a little more relaxed, as he watched the other man act in a respectable manner. “The next couple weeks,” he repeated, and you could read in his face that the revelation puzzled him, as if he doubted his ability to endure such promiscuity in the long run. Maybe this was an opportunity that life gave him, to learn to bear with these individuals? The hunter, confused, glanced away from the vampire for a few seconds. This was evidence that he didn’t feel in danger, although that didn’t last long. “Harsh, okay. You might as well call me Alain then. I don’t think I’ll stand being called Mr. Babineaux for too long,” being reminded that he was his father's son was not something he enjoyed, and although he could rarely avoid it, if he could, he made it known. The hunter wondered about confessing who he was, but since he also wanted to know if he could endure a vampire for the long haul, he kept that to himself, hoping it wouldn't come back to hit him in the face in the weeks to come. .

There wasn’t anyone around. This guy was down a leg. The doctor wasn’t supposed to come back to check in on him. How hard would it be to snap his neck and get him in a body bag? Harsh had done more with less. But no. There were still half a dozen happy little hearts beating away just down the hall. If Alain screamed, they would come running. And what if he wasn’t a hunter? What if he was just some poor asshole who lost his leg? The last thing Harsh needed was that kind of heat on him. No. No murdering. This would be fine. It was fine. Everything was fine. Not having to breathe came in handy when it came to hiding his rising nerves. “Ah, yeah, I sorta noticed that,” he said, with a light little laugh. “How are you adjusting? I know that kind of thing can’t be easy.” That at least was true. He had seen plenty of patients and plenty of others before White Crest who had lost bits of themselves. “Alain, got it. Nice to meet you. So do you want me to grab a chair? Or anything else to help get you out of here?”

“You asked why you never saw me before,” the hunter deadpanned, little amused by this little exercise in humor. The last thing he felt capable of doing, right now, was sharing jokes with this kind of people. The man hadn't done anything wrong except that he wasn't really a human being. Alain wondered how old the vampire was, or whether he had been living here for a long time. He always had a lot of questions when he met a vampire, but more often than not, he never really had the opportunity to ask them, and more often than not, it was the hunter’s fault that he couldn’t ask those. “Well, things are not easy, no,” he didn’t have to lie to this guy. Alain always tried to preserve people, and figured that they simply could not care for him, but he was not going to be so careful here. “I had to stop work ever since it happened, and that has not been fun. My house is in the middle of nowhere so I had to move out. The realtor was pretty nice though, I think I made a friend there. That’s about the only positive bit though,” he stopped in his tracks. He rarely was so talkative, but it did not really matter to him now. It just felt off. “I think the crutches will be enough,” glancing over at the door, he pursed his lips. “Though I could use help getting out of this maze,” he agreed.

Not the joking type, okay, good to know. But the guy wasn’t flipping out or trying to go for a pencil to stake him with. Maybe he was alright. Maybe he wasn’t. This shit was so hard to tell. At least when a slayer was coming at him, Harsh knew what he was dealing with and how to respond. This not knowing, playing nice, this was the stuff that got under his skin. He nodded sympathetically. “I’ll bet. That sucks, man. Is your new place more accessible? People really just don’t consider this kind of stuff when they’re building property. Where did you work? If you don’t mind me asking.” That was all pretty rough, slayer or otherwise. It was easy enough to pretend to care about. “Yeah, no problem. You wanna stop by the cafeteria on your way out? I think they’re making the good cake today,” he said as he moved to the door, holding it open for Alain before falling into step. He kept his pace even. As funny as it would be, making a guy on crutches rush to keep up with him would probably qualify as a dick move. “Is someone picking you up or are you driving yourself?”

“It is much better,” and yet, the hunter's eyes fell to the ground as he thought of his old home. Lost in thought, he stared in that direction for a few seconds. The vampire's question pulled him out of that state of inner contemplation, and if he normally would have avoided saying too much about his personal life, everything was already on his medical record. “I own the garage on the way out of town,” which reminded him that he would also have to sell his car for something he could drive : which meant switching to automatic. “I should be able to keep working. I’m doing the accounts these days. They’ve never been so tidy,” his eyebrows raised. If this was one thing he could have never imagined, it was his accounts ever being up to date. He had always hated paperwork and administrative work, and he still hated that, but this was a weight off his back. “The good cake ? I’m scared to ask,” he looked over at the other man and shook his head. “I’m not getting near any hospital food by choice, I had to eat only that for weeks,” Alain had a thing for exaggeration, but in this particular case, he was fair. “Well I was thinking of walking back home. I don’t live far from here now. About fifteen minutes away, I think,” walking with crutches might have not been fun, but he missed being outdoor, and he insisted on walking whenever he could.

That didn’t sound a whole lot better. Maybe Harsh was being too nosy, but he was supposed to be chatty and friendly with the patients. People never suspected the upbeat friendly guy was the one stealing blood. “Well that’s something. I know it can be hard to find brightsides with this kind of injury, but it’s good to keep looking anyway.” This guy didn’t seem like he wanted bullshit platitudes or assurances that everything was going to be perfectly fine. Good. Harsh was always garbage with those. Laughing, he shook his head a little. “The bad cake isn’t that bad, it’s just that the good stuff always goes so fast. The cooks here… I mean, they try their best, y’know? But it’s not exactly gourmet, which I’m sure you noticed. So when they make something good, I always try to grab extra.” The surprise on Harsh’s face wasn’t the least bit fake. Walking that long on crutches sounded like a massive pain. “Are you sure, man? I can see if someone can drive you or call you a ride or something, it’s no problem. Your charts are looking good, but you still shouldn’t strain yourself.” He frowned as they reached the doors, hesitating with one hand on the bar. “I don’t like letting you go on your own, man. It’s already dark out. I’ve seen way too many animal attacks in this place to feel good about sending you out there.”

“It’s something. I just want to keep moving now. I feel like shit happens to me whenever I stop, I gotta keep doing,” it was like that old Buster Keaton movie, where the hero ended up in trouble whenever he took some time to rest. Alain smiled at the memory of that film, his eyes dropped to the floor and he took a moment to look at his foot. He tried to avoid doing that, but having decided to keep going meant facing your problems. “You just cannot convince me of that. I … no,” he shook his head, determined to stay upright in his boots. “Yeah, I’m quite resilient,” he paused. “Quite stubborn too, although I’m working on it,” he added with a chuckle. As uncommon as his request was, the hunter missed walking for hours, and a few minutes wouldn’t hurt him, would they ? He couldn’t reveal that he could see in the dark, or that he didn’t fear many animals out there aside from bugbears. The thought of running across another one terrified him, but he doubted they were roaming freely around the streets of White Crest. “I’ll be fine, I was a zookeeper back in the days,” not a lie, although it was not usually something he shared. Still Alain doubted that the vampire would make the connection.

“I get that. Although, I kind of feel like weird awful shit just happens in this town to everyone, whether you’re moving or not.” But Harsh could understand that. He had never taken well to being in any one place for too long. It all got stifling after a while. White Crest kept things interesting at least, but even it would grow stale eventually. “Hey, being stubborn isn’t always a bad thing. Sometimes you need to keep going even if people tell you to stop.” That seemed decent enough advice for a patient. Though… if this guy was of the staking variety, that might not be the best thing to tell him. Harsh blinked, eyebrows rising. “A zookeeper? Where did you work? I didn’t think White Crest had a zoo.”

“That's not wrong,” the thought of leaving White Crest had crossed his mind often, but he had never been able to leave for very long. A few years ago, he left for Europe. He had been there for a little over a month. Alain told himself he would go there if he ever retired. And now that he had retired, at least from a very important part of his life, he wondered if it wasn't worth thinking about it again, a little more seriously. “I think everyone in this town has had, at least once, the urge to move out of here, including me,” the vampire's comment made him smile. He would once have had a carnivorous smile, but the one on his face was much friendlier, despite the negative assumptions he had. “I never said I worked in White Crest then,” he gave the guy a pat on the shoulder. This had to be the kindest gesture he’d ever given such a creature, and for a second, the hunter had the most puzzled look on his face, as if he expected his hand to catch fire, or the vampire to lash out. Nothing happened, however, so instead he smiled and shook his head. “I have quite a few stories to tell, although I’m not willing to share those yet.”

“You’re probably not wrong. I would be kind of concerned if there was anyone living here who hadn’t thought about leaving at least once.” The thought had crossed Harsh’s mind a number of times. It wasn’t the worst place to be a vampire, but with hunters… or maybe hunters all over, it wasn’t the best either. He blinked, the pat to his shoulder catching him by surprise. Maybe this guy was just normal after all. Or probably not a slayer at the very least. Harsh smiled easily in return. “Yeah? I’ll bet you do. Well, if you ever feel like sharing, I’m here a lot. I always like hearing a good story. If you’ve got any from that zoo, I’d love to hear them. Man, I can’t remember the last time I went to a real zoo.” He cast another glance outside, smile slipping a little. “Are you sure you don’t want help getting home? I could see if someone could cover for me for a bit and walk you there. I don’t like sending you out there alone.”

“Don’t trust anyone who claims that they don’t have a love-hate relationship with the town,” looking as a couple walked past them to go inside, Alain wondered just how many people came to the hospital everyday, and how many would have not ended up here had this town been normal. It still wasn’t natural for him to brush it away and tell himself that it no longer was his problem. How could it have been natural? Ever since he was little, he had been told that he had this debt : he had been given abilities, and in return for those, he had to protect others from this nocturnal threat that vampires posed. This had been the only thing that made him worthy to his family, and he now regretted not rejecting it sooner. Still, it only felt natural that it should happen now. Looking back at the things he had accomplished, at the rest of his life, now might have been the steadiest he had ever been. Life was not perfect, but he now had time to think about what he wanted, what HE wanted.

Approaching the doors, he wrinkled his nose as the cold wind hit his face. "You are very kind," this was more an observation than a compliment, although he'd let the vampire be the judge of that. "Quite stubborn are we?" Took one to know one. "Do as you wish, but I'm walking out. I'm sure you'll easily catch up with me if you find someone," an amused glint in his eyes, the slayer went out the door with his crutches, turning around to give the man one last look. Well, that had gone a lot better than he had expected. Speak about much ado about nothing, he told himself.

#wickedswriting #para #chatzy #para harsh #reeducation and restraint

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gemder · 4 years

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a bubbline wip, featuring a dissociative episode by our fave punk rock vamp. set shortly after Stakes.

She doesn't know how long she's been hovering over the couch like this, with her gaze trained on the bumps and dips on the ceiling and her bass planted in her arms. How many times has she sung that old song, so old and resilient it survived the death and rebirth of the world (and the both of hers twice over, now) just by hiding in the corner of her mind she doesn't like to visit? She can't see the sun or moon rise through the entrance to her hideaway from this part of the house, and the cave-imposed darkness tells her nothing of the time or how much of it has passed.

She doesn't dare budge from her spot. She's been turned twice now; she knows from experience that any sudden action, anything to startle her base thought process, could spark that bloodlust from last time. That was some ugly biz, if she remembers correctly. It's been a while, but something like an uncontrollable urge to drain the lifeforce of every living creature within 30 miles sticks to you. She's just going to have to wait it out, until the itch in the back of her throat dies down and she doesn't worry it'll become an insatiable burning for hot blood, no matter how long it takes.

Marceline has had an excessive amount of time to learn how to be alone; 1003 years, in fact. So why does it never get any easier? Why does being left never hurt any less? Why does she seem to be so completely destined for eternal loneliness? What asshat decided she deserved to spend the entirety of her neverending life without a single constant presence?

Mom went out with promises of keeping safe and finding food and I love you so much, sweetie, that alone is strong enough to bring me back to you. It took two weeks before little Marcy came to the conclusion that her mom wasn't coming back with food or supplies, or even returning empty handed. Simon let a stupid magical crown take over every single cell of his brain and wrote a bunch of scattered letters about it while it happened instead of, you know, telling the frightened 7 year old she was going to be left soon. Dad just up and left to go back to running the Nightosphere after a few weeks, with nary a parting word nor any notice. Her post-apocalyptic comrades had no choice but to flee from an otherwise inevitable extinction. Bonnie had to go and grow up, and in the process decide that her 900-something year old girlfriend wasn't mature enough.

(She checked that old, busted up camper as often as she could over the following months. There was never another life in that thing after she hopped down the little steps and let the screen door slam back with the carelessness of a 6 year old.)

(She found a decomposed corpse months later that just happened to be wearing some torn up rags that looked like her mom’s old sweater and jeans. It must have just been a coincidence, though; there were a lot of recently dead back then, and even more moth-eaten sweaters in the world.)

(“I’m trying to save you, but who's going to save me?” ‘I don't know, old man, maybe you could have saved yourself? You could have not purposely used the magical relic that was making you go bananas?’ If a 7 year old could make it through the apocalypse without magic then so could a fully grown man.)

(He left her to survive on her own in the name of being executive manager of hell and he still wonders why she wants nothing to do with him, why she used to have such a hard time so much as calling him “dad” when he’s never been anything like what she was lead to believe dads were supposed to be like.)

(She’s 1000 years old, how in the name of the nightosphere could she not be mature enough?)

(Over the years she’s replaced the world “hell” with “Nightosphere” the same way the being once referred to as “God,” back when even she was young, is now called by their proper name of Glob. The Nightosphere really is hell, so it fits.)

(Sometimes she takes the time to think about how she's the heir apparent to the actual, literal, real life hell, and how she's one of the oldest beings around these days, maybe the oldest to still really be sane, but still a messed up teen.)

(She doesn't know how old she was when she was turned; years and months and all that are hard to keep track of when the species that invented it is all but extinct. Is she old enough to drive? Probably. She does and can regardless, because screw the old ways. Old enough to drink, smoke, vote? Debatable. The point is that she’s 1000 years old but actually, like, 18. What the fuck.)

She drifts, both mentally and physically. She's had plenty of time and isolation to ponder the Big Things about life and the world and why and how things happened the way they did, and what it means. She will have an abundance of opportunities in the future to think about these things, too. Some day she'll reflect on this part of her life in the far away, nostalgia-filtered sepia tones she currently thinks of her childhood and adolescence. She'll remember when Finn and Jake were the heroes of Ooo, when Simon used to chase after princesses who will have long since passed, when she couldn't get over her ex-girlfriend who happened to be sentient candy. It will be distant and she will miss it terribly, the same way she misses her mother, and Simon when he was Simon, and fries in a long-abandoned diner. But it will be a wound long since closed and numbed, like the deep scar she got on her calf sometime in her early teens that still exists today, preserved in her immortality and a sentimentality that prevented her from insta-healing it away, sting and blood long gone.

She has forever to reminisce, but only right now to live in the present. She makes mental patterns in the bumps on the ceiling, and slowly loses grip on her body. She is a million miles upwards, where the sky holds no oxygen and the stars are still pinpricks in a sea of indigo construction paper. Like a kid poking holes in the top of a jar of lightning bugs, equipped with a fork and enthusiasm at being able to destroy something for the sake of encapturing something else. She is, at the same time, hovering above her uncomfortably hard couch. One of her hands slips from its place atop her bass, and Shwabl licks it from his spot next to her on the dusty carpet.

She doesn't hear the knock at the door. She is right there, but she is centuries back and in a different part of the continent entirely. She doesn't hear Bonnie getting increasingly agitated, trying and failing not to raise her voice at her through the door. She doesn't notice when Bonnie lets herself in regardless of Marceline’s lack of response, or when Shwabl jumps up to attention at the guest.

It's the “Marceline, what -” that breaks her dissociative spell. That tone of exasperation in that particular voice is a very familiar one, especially within the last decade. She comes to to find that there are fresh tears in the corner of one eye and the words to a song as old as her youth on her lips.

“Oh, hey Bombòn. How goes it girl?” Marceline has had a millennium to convince the world that she's chill and totally not a big mess, and it shows in the lilt to her voice that screams ‘I'm just chillin’’ and not ‘I've been dissociating and crying and probably singing for who-knows-how-long and I'm really messed up’. She still doesn't dare move from her spot, because moving around could still trigger what she's trying to wait out.

“It's been three weeks, Marcy. Three weeks, and all that heavy biz, and no one's heard from you since. Doesn't that seem even a little bit irresponsible to you? Didn't you think people would worry? Or even wonder ‘hey, what happened to that girl who saved all our butts and got revampified?’”

“Dude, I've just been chilling. You know how it is; jams, games, pets, it keeps a girl busy. It’s cool. Ice cold, in fact.”

Bonnie sighs. Marceline has heard that sigh a million and three times over by now, and she's learned to like that particular sound from the pink girl; it's the one thing about herself that she can't manage to sweeten to the point of oversaturation, until it (like the rest of her) is practically dripping sugar. Marceline likes to deal with the authentic rather than the idealized versions of people, because the latter rarely ever means anything good is coming her way.

(She rationalizes that the Ice King component of Simon, while not idealized, is not authentic in the least; the products of full humans getting mixed up with magic seldom are. The authentic Simon Petrikov is the one who found a 6 year old girl in the ruins of a suburban New Mexico town and still had enough selflessness in the aftermath of the apocalypse to comfort her and take care of her.)

The sigh doesn't lead to the reprimanding the vampire expects. Instead, she watches as Bonnie leans down in her peripheral vision to pet Shwabl, expression focused intently on the dog. She's doing that same schooled neutrality shit she used to do during those globawful trade meetings - the ones Marcy used to steal her away from the go gallivanting through the rock candy mines.

“What kind of sweet tunes have you whipped up, then? Lay it on me girl.”

Marceline lets her face adopt a smirk - the expression has become a reflexive habit after centuries of being a bitter undead loner - even as something in her stomach drops. Bonnie rarely asks about her music because she knows so much of it is personal, and that which isn't is vulgar or morbid and prone to being shared regardless, not to mention the fact that Bonnie’s interests definitely don't lie in the arts, or punk rock music, or most of the uglier parts of Marceline.

“You know my latest album is the epitome of personal mush, Bons. It's so personal I'd have to kill you if you heard any of it. But, I do have a new demo about a fisherman.”

Bonnibel definitely wants something out of her; she has that smile she reserves for Cinnamon Bun and Finn when he's going on about dumb 13 year old boy things, the one that's polite and reservedly encouraging, the one that Marcy has always found to be condescending although it always looks as sweet as its wearer who is literally made out of candy, almost as sweet as the girl’s public persona.

The thing about being 1000 years old and also a teenage girl is that you spend forever being a socially-minded person on some level or another, because back in the day that's how girls were socialized to be - social-driven creatures who cared more about what Allyson wore on Tuesday or what Theresa said about Serena in math class than anything practical. So Marceline has had a long time to notice the tells and ticks of the select few she surrounds herself with often enough to care about. PB smiles like her kindergarten teacher used to on particularly trying days when she thinks the people she's with are idiots but can't call them out for it. Her eyebrows droop when she's so tired that sheer willpower will no longer keep them up. She plays with her hands when she's nervous. She used to chew on her hair when she was younger and in the process of creating her kingdom, when stress was a new feeling she hadn't yet made a feedback loop out of.

This is totally, completely because of the sexist socialization of the old world, and nothing else. Totally not because they dated for a good chunk of time, or because one or the other might, maybe be having rose-coloured thoughts about the other again.

“Everyone and their granny has heard that one, Marcy. If you've had all this time to do nothing but groove and game then I wanna hear some tunes! Don't be a butt about it.” She's trying to gode the older girl, but Marceline is itching to get out of this particular conversation. Somewhere in her cursed, mostly re-dried blood she knows this is a test.

“I don't bust into your lab and start interrogating you about your experiments - can you just lay off, man?” she says it more harshly than she had meant to, but being yanked back to reality and immediately questioned over every move will do that to a person. “Tell me what's been going on in Candyland. You finally get all the earwax off of your junk?”

“You know if you did ask about my science experiments I would be happy to tell you all about them - well, the ones that aren't classified. It's called caring, Marce, it's a thing that friends do.”

A tense silence follows as Marceline thinks of something biting (but not petty!) to throw back at her.

“And yeah, actually, I did. The dingus left a huge mess but there's nothing my purple cleaner can't get rid of.”

Bonnie can't leave a single box unticked, can she?

“Glob, that stuff is nasty. The fumes make me gag, and I don't even need to breathe!”

The princess raises a brow at her. The queen furrows both of hers in frustration and fixes her gaze back on the bumps on the ceiling. When she was younger she used to make images out of the dips and dots in the kindergarten room ceiling; the RV’s was smoothed and didn't allow that particular part of her imagination to play around.

“And I think the expression you're looking for is sharing is caring, Bubs. It's a thing they used to say waaaaaaaay back in the day whenever the old people got tired of little kids fighting over toys.”

*******

this was gonna be a longfic feat. mutual pining by our fave disaster gays and more references to marcy’s life pre- and during the apocalypse bc i have a lot of feelings about Stakes. might come back to it, who knows!!!

#ash talks #ash writes #bubbline #bubbline fanfic #writing wip

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hbosscreations · 4 years

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Here is my @redvsbluesecretsanta gift for @ bi-vampire this year! They asked for a Freelancer fic with vampires and some Carolina/York or North/York, I hope that they enjoy it!

Carolina bit back a snarl as she rattled the door of the cage she’d been unceremoniously shoved into by a blonde haired vampire with purple leather pants and a dark green tank top. Sure, Carolina was glad to not have been out and out murdered instead of being captured, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t absolutely livid about the situation.

The cage was small, leaving Carolina slightly hunched and unable to sit or even properly stretch her legs.The sound of jingling chains pulled Carolina’s attention back to her partner, the reason she was trapped in a cage in the first place.

“York.”

“Yes, Carolina?”

York’s chains clanked as he shifted toward her. Why she’d ended up in a go-go cage and he’d ended up chained to a chair was beyond her, but it was more than a little annoying.

It was a temporary situation at best, she knew, they that didn’t mean she was happy about the two of them being captured. They’d gotten out of tight situations before, but this was a bit much.

“Do you remember what you told me before we left?”

“Maaaybe?”

Carolina flicked the padlock on the cage, letting the heavy lock bounce off of the metal bars over and over again.

“About how you’d done your research? About how this was just a little nest that needed to be taken care of, and we totally didn’t need backup? About how we were going to be doing a stake and run and be back home for dinner?”

He at least looked embarrassed about his screwup, which was appropriate, but not entirely helpful given that they’d been captured and bound by the very vampires they’d come to clear out.

“Yeeeaaah?”

York twisted his hand and ran a nail over his wrist, scrapping it against the skin until a small flap lifted, slowly peeling it away to reveal a tiny lockpick set hidden against his skin. He flipped the tools into his hands and got to work on the padlock chaining his wrists together and attaching him firmly to the metal chair bolted to the floor.

“When we get out of here,” York looked up to Carolina with a grin, “I’m thinking Chinese food. Something with crispy tofu. You?”

“If we get out of here, I am going to retrain you. You are going to pray for death by the time I’m done with you.”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time, Carolina!”

He struggled with the padlock, twisting the tiny tools around, his smile going from cheerful and carefree to something sharp and distressed. Just as York thought he might be close to getting it right, one of the picks fell from his fingers and bounced out of reach.

York groaned as Carolina leveled a frustrated glare.

“If I die here my father is going to kill you. If I get turned, he will stake you himself.”

“We’re not going to die here, Carolina. I have a plan.”

The door creaked open and the two snapped their attention to it. The blonde vampire that captured them slipped through the door and crossed her arms as she leaned against the wall, watching the two trapped humans. York felt a shiver building in his spine and Carolina bared her teeth.

“Relax, hunter, no one is dying today. Tomorrow, maybe, but not today.”

She’d caught them scoping out the place just after sunset, and before Carolina could pull her stake, she’d been tossed into a cage and York was strapped into chains.

Neither hunter had expected a vampire that old, that capable. Carolina’s father had trained her to hunt vampires since she was a child and her mother was killed in a vampire attack. She didn’t get surprised. She just didn’t.

Until she did.

York blinked innocently at the vampire, hoping his charming smile would distract her from the pick on the floor and from Carolina trying to murder her with the heat of her glare alone.

“Um, miss vampire? Maybe this is a stupid question, but…well, is there a reason I’m chained up? Aside from the obvious?”

The vampire swaggered over, smirking, and ruffled York’s hair before patting his cheek with just enough strength to make his cheek sting.

“You mean aside from keeping you restrained so you can’t murder us? Consider yourself a present for my brother. He likes idiots, and he needs to know how easily his ‘impeccably maintained perimeter’ was broken.”

Carolina felt her hackles raise as the vampire circled York’s chair before she slowly sauntered to Carolina’s cage and leaned against the bars with a wide smile.

“It’s cute that you think you’re getting out of there by pulling on that lock.”

“It’s cute that you think that purple hair and leather look is still relevant.”

“Really? You’re going to be that kind of chick? You’re going to rag on my hair when I’m literally wearing Barney the Dinosaur shades of purple and green? I mean, that’s your choice, but there are plenty of other things to criticize. At least my dye job looks good, Red. You might want to touch up your roots, btdubs, they’re looking pretty sad.”

The door creaked open again, and York blinked hard.

Another vampire moved into the room, moving directly to the vamp nearly pressed against the cage, and tugged her back by her wrists.

“South, is there a reason you’ve got humans in chains?”

She spun around and pulled Carolina’s cell phone out of her pocket, waggling it in front of his face.

“We’ve got hunters, North. That ‘little problem’ you’ve been trying to handle has caught the attention of people looking to murder us. If you’d let me handle it-“

“Thank you, South. I’ll take care of it. Is there a reason you bolted a chair to the floor?”

“He seems like your type. Now, can we please figure out who’s encroaching on our territory and drawing attention to us before someone competent shows up and tries to stab us with pointy sticks.”

York had clearly missed something during his research, such as the fact that the vampires he’d seen in the area were probably not the vampires destroying the nearby town. After all, no intelligent vampire did the kind of destruction that York had been tracking.

It drew too much attention.

And now, thanks to York’s shoddy research, he and his girlfriend were about to die.

North stepped up close to York, tipping his chin up with a chilly hand, and smiled down on him.

“Did you really think you were going to come here and kill us? That I would allow you to kill my sister? Destroy my family? No. Not today, not ever. I don’t enjoy killing, but I will not hesitate to rip the two of you to shreds to keep my people safe.”

York’s Adams apple bobbed nervously as he swallowed.

“I’ve been tracking a group of vampires eating their way along the coast. The trail led here, so we decided to take a look. And by the way, we are competent, we’re fully registered vampire hunters, and we’re very professional.”

“York,” Carolina hissed through gritted teeth, “Shut up.”

What was he thinking? Carolina was sure that her half blind idiot was about to get their throats torn out by a pair of angry vampires.

“Hey, I’m just being honest, and if honestly has the potential of keeping us alive, I’m a fan.”

“You think being licensed vampire hunters makes this better?”

Carolina’s lips curled unpleasantly. She understood what he was trying now, and while she was sure it was an incredibly stupid plan, he’d started it. They were committed.

“It means we don’t kill indiscriminately, but we can and will kill should the need arise. It means we are very careful, and it means that if we do not check in soon, there are people who will come looking, and they won’t be armed with just a few measly stakes. They also aren’t going to wait for you to tell your side of the story.”

Both vampires looked unimpressed at Carolina’s declaration, but she didn’t need them impressed, she just needed them spooked enough to let her or York free long enough for one of them to deal with the situation.

She knew she could take both of the vamps, Carolina excelled at multi-enemy fighting. York was capable in his own right, but it might be more of a struggle for him alone. He just needed to get the keys from the vampires and free Carolina. The rest would be cake.

“Papa North?”

The room stilled as the door slid open again, revealing two children as they entered. The little one, another blond with bright red eyes and a purple top clung to the elder boy’s hand.

“Delta,” North’s voice had the gentlest hint of scolding to it, “Theta, this isn’t where you two are supposed to be, and you know that. What’s going on?”

“We’re hungry,” Theta whined.

“Aww! Carolina, look! Babies!”

York grinned and wiggled in his seat, looking excited to anyone who didn’t know him, and terrified to Carolina. Carolina’s gut twisted in horror as she realized exactly what they’d stumbled into, and despite his pleased tone she knew that York was doing everything he could to hold himself together.

Babies wasn’t the right phrase, one looked to be a teenager and the other looked about eight years old, but that wasn’t the worst part.

They weren’t turned. The bright glow to both sets of eyes gave them away as natural born vampire children. Purebloods. And where there were two, there would be a nest.

It was no longer a mystery why these two were so nervous, it was now more of a question as to why they hadn’t just killed their human captives outright.

The little one detached himself from Delta and climbed North’s leg all the way to his arms and curled up their.

“I’m hungry, North. Can we eat now?”

York shot a look at Carolina before gently rattling his chains, catching the attention of the green-eyed teenage vampire. He glanced between York and the tiny lockpick that rested between his feet.

“Not now, Theta, but in just a few minutes. Come on, you two, go back to the nursery. South, can you take care of this, please?”

“I am not a fucking babysitter, North.”

But she plucked the boy from her brother’s arms and as she led the two out of the room, Delta gently kicked the lockpick over to York’s chair nonchalantly before the door shut behind them.

North leaned over and picked up the piece, tucking it into his pocket.

“He thinks he’s so sneaky. I won’t tell him otherwise, or he might actually get creative enough to fool me. Now, let’s deal with this situation so I can feed a flock of very hungry fledlings.”

North smiled a little tighter and fished a key from his pocket.

“We are aware of what’s going on, and we’re working on it. No need for hunters, licensed or unlicensed to come in and threaten us.”

He moved over to York and started unlocking the padlocks on York’s chains, letting them fall to the floor in a heap.

York blinked.

“You’re unchaining me? Why are you unchaining me when you can rip out my throat so easily while I’m chained up?”

North smiled and pulled York to his feet, dusting off his shoulders and nudging him toward Carolina’s cage before he opened the padlock and swung the door open wide.

“You came here to find out what is killing people, and only an idiot would think we would draw that kind of attention on ourselves with little ones around. Do some more research before stumbling into nests, or you may end up eaten by those of our kind who are more interested in making a point than either I or my sister are.”

He shooed Carolina and York to the door, letting a hand stroke gently along York’s spine before going to the second door and shutting it behind himself.

Carolina and York shared a look.

“That was interesting.”

“What just happened?”

Carolina put her hand on York’s shoulder and turned him toward the door, hoping to god that this was real and they weren’t about to be surprised and devoured.

“Why?”

“They don’t want trouble any more than we do. Come on, if we hurry, we can pretend we were just on a date any my father never has to know that we were almost murdered.”

“I like that plan.”

South glared at her brother as he watched the two humans race out of the mansion on the security cameras. They were going to have to move again to make sure they didn’t get return with backup and kill the nest.

He turned and smiled gently at South, leaving her rolling her eyes and sighing in frustration.

“You let them go.”

“I did.”

“Are you high? Did you eat a human with drugs in their veins? Are you full of cocaine and marijuana right now? Do you need an intervention?”

He cradled Theta carefully as he stood, the little vampire playfully biting North’s shoulder to remind his caretaker that he was still hungry.

“No, South. I just don’t feel like keeping prisoners, especially when we have plenty of willing donors so close by.”

“And you thought the cyclops was too cute to eat.”

“And I thought York was cute.”

#redvsbluesecretsanta #bi-vampire #fanfiction

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