Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Almost Sunrise
Patrick and Pete manage to find out some information about the rescued vampire, and Patrick has a near run-in with the vampire.
1Exciting
While Patrick made up the blend Pete needed, Pete made his way to the windowless holding room, determined to find something out about the nameless guy they had saved the previous night. As he neared the room he could hear the sound of faint shuffling, making him lift a brow as he opened the main door, revealing the jail cell reminiscent door. The figure in the room froze against the wall and Pete found himself on the other end of a curious arctic blue gaze.
“Why did you save me?” The figure rasped out, his voice box obviously still only somewhat healed.
“Tell me your name before I answer you,” Pete replied, his voice quiet but firm.
The male frowned as he pressed himself against the wall, his confusion spreading from his eyes alone to show on his face as well. “My name is Deacon,” he replied, swallowing with a wince. “Deacon Martin. Please tell me why you saved me if you don’t know me?” His raspy voice feigned a begging tone as his eyebrows pressed together in the middle of this forehead.
“It wasn’t my idea,” Pete answered, keeping his face blank as his mind turned, trying to figure out why he was showing emotion. He knew William hated it when his infamous Boys showed emotion other than pleasure or mischief. “My friend suggested we save you, but it wasn’t for your benefit.”
Deacon looked wounded by Pete’s words as a look of realization flooded his eyes. “So your words weren’t a dream... You only saved me so you could get to my Master...”
“Is your supposed Master aware you were left for dead?”
Deacon frowned and looked to the ground as he slowly nodded his head. “You’re going to have to kill me then so you won’t be wasting your time,” he whispered, his broken eyes looking up at Pete. “I’m not going to help you. And I won’t fight if you try to kill me.”
Pete stared at him until he heard footsteps to the side. He looked over to see Patrick coming to him, the blend in one hand, a packet filled with red in the other. “What the Hell is that?” Pete questioned, eyeing what was obviously a packet full of blood.
“Well... I took one from the stash we have incase you lose your fight,” Patrick answered softly as he handed Pete the glass that contained his blend. He looked at Deacon, who eyed him with a sad curiosity. “I see he made it...” He said, his voice hushed as he stared at Deacon, who had let the long hair of his mohawk fall to the side of his face, not covering the arctic blue orbs that stared back. “Can you talk yet?”
“I hope you don’t think you’re feeding him.” Pete spat before he took a long gulp of the blend. “He’s already said he’s not helping us, so we’re going to kill him as soon as I finish off this.” He carefully wiggled the glass containing his blend to indicate what he was talking about.
Patrick’s mouth opened in a silent gasp as he snapped his head to look at Pete. “We’re not killing him, Peter!” He exclaimed as he looked to the sad boy who had moved a little closer at the smell of the blood packet in Patrick’s hand.
“Like Hell we’re not!” Pete yelled back, his eyes darkening as he glared at Patrick, his temper being fueled by the same smell that was drawing Deacon closer to the room’s steel bar door.
“Pete, we are not killing him until we find out why Beckett dumped him off like that!” Patrick exclaimed before he yelped and jumped away when the sound of Deacon slamming against the bars startled him. He looked at Pete, who looked smug that Deacon had lost his control to his hunger, and shook his head as he looked to the boy whose eyes with black with hunger. “At least let him feed,” Patrick said softly as he looked at Deacon.
“Patrick, dammit, we are not feeding him!” Pete yelled as he took a step to Patrick, his own eyes beginning to turn black.
“Peter, finish drinking your blend,” Patrick said softly as he took off his over shirt and wrapped the packet in the shirt. He set the small bundle on the ground and slid it under the bars, the shirt keeping the plastic of the packet from ripping and spilling the blood on the floor.
Patrick watched as Deacon quickly removed the packet from the shirt and bit into the packet, drinking at the blood that spilled into his mouth. Once some of the blood reached his stomach, Deacon’s mind calmed and he looked at Patrick with apologetic eyes as he continued to drink. He turned his eyes to Pete who was obviously fuming as he began to stomp away, leaving Patrick standing there, watching him.
“Hi,” Patrick said with a small smile and a small wave. He titled his head in slight curiosity as Deacon, still drinking slowly from the bag, picked up the shirt and used his free hand to straighten it out. When Deacon moved to the bars and draped the shirt between two of them, stepping back, Patrick smiled and moved forward, his eyes staying on Deacon. He grabbed the shirt and pulled it back on, leaving it unbuttoned since he had a shirt on underneath. “Thank you. Can you tell me your name? Since I missed it?”
Deacon finished off the packet and licked his lips, his eyes returning to blue. “My name is Deacon,” he said, his voice clear and soft. “I’m sorry I won’t be of any help to you, Patrick,” he said as he stepped closer, his hand holding the empty blood packet through the bars. “Thank you for feeding me though.”
Patrick nodded as he took the packet amazed that Deacon hadn’t tried to attack him. “You’re welcome, Deacon... Even if you won’t help us hurt Beckett, would you please tell me why he wanted you dead?”
Deacon swallowed hard, pain etched into his features as he lowered his gaze. “I hurt him... He punished me for not following through an order, the punishment was starvation for two weeks... When I was finally fed again, it was by him, but I... I attacked him, I betrayed him, so he ordered my death,” his voice broke at the end as a tear slid down his cheek. “I wish you would have left me to die, Patrick,” he whispered as he went to a corner and slid down the wall, tucking his knees under his chin.
“Why did you save me?” The figure rasped out, his voice box obviously still only somewhat healed.
“Tell me your name before I answer you,” Pete replied, his voice quiet but firm.
The male frowned as he pressed himself against the wall, his confusion spreading from his eyes alone to show on his face as well. “My name is Deacon,” he replied, swallowing with a wince. “Deacon Martin. Please tell me why you saved me if you don’t know me?” His raspy voice feigned a begging tone as his eyebrows pressed together in the middle of this forehead.
“It wasn’t my idea,” Pete answered, keeping his face blank as his mind turned, trying to figure out why he was showing emotion. He knew William hated it when his infamous Boys showed emotion other than pleasure or mischief. “My friend suggested we save you, but it wasn’t for your benefit.”
Deacon looked wounded by Pete’s words as a look of realization flooded his eyes. “So your words weren’t a dream... You only saved me so you could get to my Master...”
“Is your supposed Master aware you were left for dead?”
Deacon frowned and looked to the ground as he slowly nodded his head. “You’re going to have to kill me then so you won’t be wasting your time,” he whispered, his broken eyes looking up at Pete. “I’m not going to help you. And I won’t fight if you try to kill me.”
Pete stared at him until he heard footsteps to the side. He looked over to see Patrick coming to him, the blend in one hand, a packet filled with red in the other. “What the Hell is that?” Pete questioned, eyeing what was obviously a packet full of blood.
“Well... I took one from the stash we have incase you lose your fight,” Patrick answered softly as he handed Pete the glass that contained his blend. He looked at Deacon, who eyed him with a sad curiosity. “I see he made it...” He said, his voice hushed as he stared at Deacon, who had let the long hair of his mohawk fall to the side of his face, not covering the arctic blue orbs that stared back. “Can you talk yet?”
“I hope you don’t think you’re feeding him.” Pete spat before he took a long gulp of the blend. “He’s already said he’s not helping us, so we’re going to kill him as soon as I finish off this.” He carefully wiggled the glass containing his blend to indicate what he was talking about.
Patrick’s mouth opened in a silent gasp as he snapped his head to look at Pete. “We’re not killing him, Peter!” He exclaimed as he looked to the sad boy who had moved a little closer at the smell of the blood packet in Patrick’s hand.
“Like Hell we’re not!” Pete yelled back, his eyes darkening as he glared at Patrick, his temper being fueled by the same smell that was drawing Deacon closer to the room’s steel bar door.
“Pete, we are not killing him until we find out why Beckett dumped him off like that!” Patrick exclaimed before he yelped and jumped away when the sound of Deacon slamming against the bars startled him. He looked at Pete, who looked smug that Deacon had lost his control to his hunger, and shook his head as he looked to the boy whose eyes with black with hunger. “At least let him feed,” Patrick said softly as he looked at Deacon.
“Patrick, dammit, we are not feeding him!” Pete yelled as he took a step to Patrick, his own eyes beginning to turn black.
“Peter, finish drinking your blend,” Patrick said softly as he took off his over shirt and wrapped the packet in the shirt. He set the small bundle on the ground and slid it under the bars, the shirt keeping the plastic of the packet from ripping and spilling the blood on the floor.
Patrick watched as Deacon quickly removed the packet from the shirt and bit into the packet, drinking at the blood that spilled into his mouth. Once some of the blood reached his stomach, Deacon’s mind calmed and he looked at Patrick with apologetic eyes as he continued to drink. He turned his eyes to Pete who was obviously fuming as he began to stomp away, leaving Patrick standing there, watching him.
“Hi,” Patrick said with a small smile and a small wave. He titled his head in slight curiosity as Deacon, still drinking slowly from the bag, picked up the shirt and used his free hand to straighten it out. When Deacon moved to the bars and draped the shirt between two of them, stepping back, Patrick smiled and moved forward, his eyes staying on Deacon. He grabbed the shirt and pulled it back on, leaving it unbuttoned since he had a shirt on underneath. “Thank you. Can you tell me your name? Since I missed it?”
Deacon finished off the packet and licked his lips, his eyes returning to blue. “My name is Deacon,” he said, his voice clear and soft. “I’m sorry I won’t be of any help to you, Patrick,” he said as he stepped closer, his hand holding the empty blood packet through the bars. “Thank you for feeding me though.”
Patrick nodded as he took the packet amazed that Deacon hadn’t tried to attack him. “You’re welcome, Deacon... Even if you won’t help us hurt Beckett, would you please tell me why he wanted you dead?”
Deacon swallowed hard, pain etched into his features as he lowered his gaze. “I hurt him... He punished me for not following through an order, the punishment was starvation for two weeks... When I was finally fed again, it was by him, but I... I attacked him, I betrayed him, so he ordered my death,” his voice broke at the end as a tear slid down his cheek. “I wish you would have left me to die, Patrick,” he whispered as he went to a corner and slid down the wall, tucking his knees under his chin.
Sign up to rate and review this story