Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > A Little Less Lost Boys, A Little More Light
Here Comes The Sun
0 reviewsA night visitor, a bad morning. Takes place in the FOB vampire universe.
0Unrated
A Little Less Lost Boys, A Little More Light II -
"Here Comes The Sun"
by ingrid
0o0o0o0o
They order Mexican food for dinner. Its smell fills the room and Peter sits on the other side of the room, far away from it. Sitting in the worn recliner, hugging his knees to his chest, he stares at the wall, his face pale in the dull lamplight.
At the table, Patrick picks at a bit of fajita filling without enthusiasm. Andrew eats with gusto, because nothing can stop him when he's hungry while Joe absently plucks at the strings of his instrument, pretending to fiddle with tunings that are perfectly fine.
It's been tense like this for over a week, ever since the night of Peter's turning. No one's sure what to do ... what to say ... or if there's really anything to say.
Sorry, dude. Sucks being turned. Try not to eat us, okay. Want a smoke?"
For Patrick it's even harder. He's closer to Peter than anyone, close in ways few people understand and he wants nothing more than to be strong for Peter's sake, but inside, he's reeling. Death had always been a few seconds away, ever since they chose this life, but never once did he think of what would happen if one of them were turned and lived.
And Peter -- his Peter had to be the one they did this to. For the love of God ... why?
Patrick tosses the fork down, his appetite gone. Andrew picks up his abandoned food and proceeds to eat it without blinking. "It was a shit night, huh?" he asks around a mouthful of food.
Patrick shrugs. "Not really. Eighteen down, we're all still here. It was all right."
What he doesn't say is the eighteen vampire punks taken down were all Peter's doing, due to his newfound strength. Patrick also doesn't mention that the only reason he's still around is because of Peter's fearless intervention at a crucial moment.
He can still feel the vampire's blood-hot breath against his neck. There are two raw fang scrapes just below his ear and Patrick forces himself not to scratch at them. His skin is prickling everywhere with the chill of disaster avoided and he glances over at Peter who hasn't moved from the chair in hours.
Shit. He looks like hell, Patrick thinks, rising from the table, quietly kneeling by Peter's curled up form.
"Hey," he says, taking Peter's hand and rubbing his thumb in circles over the smooth skin of his knuckles. Peter used to have rough hands - lizard hands, they used to joke - but now they are smooth as a baby's cheek.
Everything about Peter is slowly being reborn into its immortal shell. His whole being is becoming shinier somehow -- there's a new, preternatural glow to his hair, his skin ... his eyes, which have a dark, crimson depth to them that wasn't there before.
It's terrifying, but just one more thing they won't talk about ... not yet.
"Hey," Peter replies listlessly. He's still staring at the wall and Patrick wonders if things are starting to look different to him -- if he were beginning to see things through a vampire's predator eyes, the eyes that can see things in the darkness no human being ever could.
"You know, I was thinking," Patrick says, pushing himself up to sit on the chair's worn arm. "Maybe we could spend tomorrow night doing something else, besides hunt or rehearsal. Because this life, it's getting predictable, man."
Peter laughs dryly. For a second, he looks like his old self. "Predictable? I guess it might be, in a completely insane way." He shifts in the chair, leaning his head against Patrick's chest. "So what do you want to do? Play a video game or, what ... make macaroni art? I have some glitter somewhere."
Patrick rests his cheek on the top of Peter's head. He can smell the acrid scent of that night's battle still clinging to his hair. "Glitter is love," he grins, closing his eyes and tugging Peter closer. "I don't know. Just hang out, catch something on DVD or ... anything. Anything but ..." He pauses. Anything but what we've dedicated our lives to ...
"Yeah, that sounds good." Peter nods, relaxing in Patrick's embrace. "One night can't hurt."
For a moment, Patrick is happier than he's been in a long time, with Peter in his arms, fitting perfectly against him as always. He can almost forget, almost imagine all this had never happened ...
There's a knock at the door.
Immediately, Andrew jumps to his feet. They have enough security -- cameras, motion sensors, trip lights -- to ensure that no one will ever reach their door without them knowing long in advance, so this is an unpleasant surprise.
"I'll get it," says Peter, climbing out of the chair, his lips pulled back, showing fang. "Get behind me."
Reluctantly, Patrick does as Peter commands. Andrew is already reaching for his sharpened stakes, taking one in each hand. There's a queasy electricity running through them all -- part anger, part terror -- and Patrick's heart skips a beat when Peter yanks the door open.
No one's there.
His quick eyes scan the narrow hall, until, looking down, he sees a small gift box, neatly tied shut with a silky red bow. Peter picks it up, even as Patrick cries, "Wait! Let me scan it ..."
Too late. Peter flicks it open with his thumb and his eyes fill with rage as he slowly pulls out the contents.
It's a single white glove.
The Dandy's glove. Some claim his name is William, but no one knows for sure. All they know is that he's the vampire that purposefully turned Peter into what he is now and that Peter has sworn to kill him, but killing him isn't going to be all that easy, considering his strength.
His immense power ... and whatever strange plan he has in store for Peter.
A plan Peter obviously doesn't give a shit about. All he wants is vengeance. Now. "Motherfucker," he breathes, the glove shaking in his hand. "You want me, you bastard? Okay, you can have me. "
Patrick's throat tightens with panic and he pushes past the other to get to the doorway. "Pete, wait ..." he begs, but it's too late.
Peter is gone, faster than the human eye can see. Behind them, the security cameras show his running form, racing through the wet streets as the digital clock below shows that it's only an hour ... an hour until sunrise.
0o0o0o0o
"No, I don't see him," Patrick growls into the phone, pacing through the empty streets of downtown.
Andrew's on the other end, talking on his cell from somewhere on the west side of the city. They aren't in danger now, as the sun is so close to rising, but Peter isn't safe, not by a long shot.
He has no idea where Peter thought he was taking off to, or maybe there's some other method vampires use to find each other, Patrick can't say. There is a lot about these creatures he doesn't know, even with the hours -- the years -- of studying he's put in.
They don't give up their secrets easily and it's mostly better to kill them first, wonder about them later.
Maybe the bastard was just trying to lure Peter out into the sunlight, which would be the stupidest trick in the world on paper, but it seems Peter and his mindless rage fell for it, Patrick thinks dully. He was never good at keeping track of time anyway, if his endlessly buzzing alarm was any indication, back in the days before all this happened.
In those days, Pete could sleep through anything, but no longer in the sunlight, not anymore.
There's a rustle coming from a nearby alleyway and Patrick takes a deep breath before calling out, "Pete?"
Silence. Patrick is about to start panicking when there's another sound, then a loud crash of a garbage can tipping over.
He runs into the dark crevice, not caring what could be waiting, just hoping ... praying ... "Oh Christ. Pete," he murmurs, bending over the shivering form lying on the dirty cement. It's Peter and he's too weak to move. Instead, he's lying face down, his head buried in his arms.
Above the building, the sky is lightening and Patrick curses himself for not having kept the car. Quickly, he looks around and notices that the building's basement entrance is slightly ajar and without hesitation, he pulls Peter up and drags him down into the basement, pushing the heavy door shut behind them.
It's cluttered, smells rank, but it's dark. Very, very dark and Patrick sets Peter down before flicking on his keychain flashlight, searching his surroundings within the thin beam of light. There's a lot of junk, mostly boxes and wiring for electric work, but there's also a huge, empty crate and a pile of thick canvas sheeting and that's all Patrick needs.
"It'll be like playing camping again, Pete," he wheezes, pulling the crate over and creating a makeshift tent over it with the canvas. "Remember? When you put a blanket over the kitchen table? You thought you had this whole world to yourself, away from Mom. Remember that, how great it was? Well, this is gonna be great too. You'll see."
Peter can only groan in reply, and there's a beam of morning's light coming in from a crack in the doorway, almost touching him.
Moving fast, Patrick drags Peter into the improvised shelter, pulling yet more thick canvas atop himself and Pete, leaving just enough space for himself to get a tiny bit of air. The crate wall is on one side, and Patrick puts his body on the other, pressing up against Pete, holding him close, trying to shield him as best he can.
It's all he can do. Now, they have to wait, maybe sleep a bit, but Patrick knows he's going to be awake, probably until sunset.
Peter is already been taken by the vampire's death slumber, his breathing so light and sparse, as to be almost nonexistent.
Patrick curls closer, biting his lip hard, his head and heart both aching. "Damn it, Pete," he whispers, running his hands through Peter's sweat-damp hair. "Damn it to hell. We have to be smarter than he is. We have to be ... or I'm going to lose you."
The thought nearly chokes him. He can't lose Peter. Not to this thing that's taken over his body, not to the bastard who turned him ... not even to Peter's own rage which was going to kill him. Kill them all.
No. Patrick was not going to let that happen.
Not tonight -- not ever.
"Here Comes The Sun"
by ingrid
0o0o0o0o
They order Mexican food for dinner. Its smell fills the room and Peter sits on the other side of the room, far away from it. Sitting in the worn recliner, hugging his knees to his chest, he stares at the wall, his face pale in the dull lamplight.
At the table, Patrick picks at a bit of fajita filling without enthusiasm. Andrew eats with gusto, because nothing can stop him when he's hungry while Joe absently plucks at the strings of his instrument, pretending to fiddle with tunings that are perfectly fine.
It's been tense like this for over a week, ever since the night of Peter's turning. No one's sure what to do ... what to say ... or if there's really anything to say.
Sorry, dude. Sucks being turned. Try not to eat us, okay. Want a smoke?"
For Patrick it's even harder. He's closer to Peter than anyone, close in ways few people understand and he wants nothing more than to be strong for Peter's sake, but inside, he's reeling. Death had always been a few seconds away, ever since they chose this life, but never once did he think of what would happen if one of them were turned and lived.
And Peter -- his Peter had to be the one they did this to. For the love of God ... why?
Patrick tosses the fork down, his appetite gone. Andrew picks up his abandoned food and proceeds to eat it without blinking. "It was a shit night, huh?" he asks around a mouthful of food.
Patrick shrugs. "Not really. Eighteen down, we're all still here. It was all right."
What he doesn't say is the eighteen vampire punks taken down were all Peter's doing, due to his newfound strength. Patrick also doesn't mention that the only reason he's still around is because of Peter's fearless intervention at a crucial moment.
He can still feel the vampire's blood-hot breath against his neck. There are two raw fang scrapes just below his ear and Patrick forces himself not to scratch at them. His skin is prickling everywhere with the chill of disaster avoided and he glances over at Peter who hasn't moved from the chair in hours.
Shit. He looks like hell, Patrick thinks, rising from the table, quietly kneeling by Peter's curled up form.
"Hey," he says, taking Peter's hand and rubbing his thumb in circles over the smooth skin of his knuckles. Peter used to have rough hands - lizard hands, they used to joke - but now they are smooth as a baby's cheek.
Everything about Peter is slowly being reborn into its immortal shell. His whole being is becoming shinier somehow -- there's a new, preternatural glow to his hair, his skin ... his eyes, which have a dark, crimson depth to them that wasn't there before.
It's terrifying, but just one more thing they won't talk about ... not yet.
"Hey," Peter replies listlessly. He's still staring at the wall and Patrick wonders if things are starting to look different to him -- if he were beginning to see things through a vampire's predator eyes, the eyes that can see things in the darkness no human being ever could.
"You know, I was thinking," Patrick says, pushing himself up to sit on the chair's worn arm. "Maybe we could spend tomorrow night doing something else, besides hunt or rehearsal. Because this life, it's getting predictable, man."
Peter laughs dryly. For a second, he looks like his old self. "Predictable? I guess it might be, in a completely insane way." He shifts in the chair, leaning his head against Patrick's chest. "So what do you want to do? Play a video game or, what ... make macaroni art? I have some glitter somewhere."
Patrick rests his cheek on the top of Peter's head. He can smell the acrid scent of that night's battle still clinging to his hair. "Glitter is love," he grins, closing his eyes and tugging Peter closer. "I don't know. Just hang out, catch something on DVD or ... anything. Anything but ..." He pauses. Anything but what we've dedicated our lives to ...
"Yeah, that sounds good." Peter nods, relaxing in Patrick's embrace. "One night can't hurt."
For a moment, Patrick is happier than he's been in a long time, with Peter in his arms, fitting perfectly against him as always. He can almost forget, almost imagine all this had never happened ...
There's a knock at the door.
Immediately, Andrew jumps to his feet. They have enough security -- cameras, motion sensors, trip lights -- to ensure that no one will ever reach their door without them knowing long in advance, so this is an unpleasant surprise.
"I'll get it," says Peter, climbing out of the chair, his lips pulled back, showing fang. "Get behind me."
Reluctantly, Patrick does as Peter commands. Andrew is already reaching for his sharpened stakes, taking one in each hand. There's a queasy electricity running through them all -- part anger, part terror -- and Patrick's heart skips a beat when Peter yanks the door open.
No one's there.
His quick eyes scan the narrow hall, until, looking down, he sees a small gift box, neatly tied shut with a silky red bow. Peter picks it up, even as Patrick cries, "Wait! Let me scan it ..."
Too late. Peter flicks it open with his thumb and his eyes fill with rage as he slowly pulls out the contents.
It's a single white glove.
The Dandy's glove. Some claim his name is William, but no one knows for sure. All they know is that he's the vampire that purposefully turned Peter into what he is now and that Peter has sworn to kill him, but killing him isn't going to be all that easy, considering his strength.
His immense power ... and whatever strange plan he has in store for Peter.
A plan Peter obviously doesn't give a shit about. All he wants is vengeance. Now. "Motherfucker," he breathes, the glove shaking in his hand. "You want me, you bastard? Okay, you can have me. "
Patrick's throat tightens with panic and he pushes past the other to get to the doorway. "Pete, wait ..." he begs, but it's too late.
Peter is gone, faster than the human eye can see. Behind them, the security cameras show his running form, racing through the wet streets as the digital clock below shows that it's only an hour ... an hour until sunrise.
0o0o0o0o
"No, I don't see him," Patrick growls into the phone, pacing through the empty streets of downtown.
Andrew's on the other end, talking on his cell from somewhere on the west side of the city. They aren't in danger now, as the sun is so close to rising, but Peter isn't safe, not by a long shot.
He has no idea where Peter thought he was taking off to, or maybe there's some other method vampires use to find each other, Patrick can't say. There is a lot about these creatures he doesn't know, even with the hours -- the years -- of studying he's put in.
They don't give up their secrets easily and it's mostly better to kill them first, wonder about them later.
Maybe the bastard was just trying to lure Peter out into the sunlight, which would be the stupidest trick in the world on paper, but it seems Peter and his mindless rage fell for it, Patrick thinks dully. He was never good at keeping track of time anyway, if his endlessly buzzing alarm was any indication, back in the days before all this happened.
In those days, Pete could sleep through anything, but no longer in the sunlight, not anymore.
There's a rustle coming from a nearby alleyway and Patrick takes a deep breath before calling out, "Pete?"
Silence. Patrick is about to start panicking when there's another sound, then a loud crash of a garbage can tipping over.
He runs into the dark crevice, not caring what could be waiting, just hoping ... praying ... "Oh Christ. Pete," he murmurs, bending over the shivering form lying on the dirty cement. It's Peter and he's too weak to move. Instead, he's lying face down, his head buried in his arms.
Above the building, the sky is lightening and Patrick curses himself for not having kept the car. Quickly, he looks around and notices that the building's basement entrance is slightly ajar and without hesitation, he pulls Peter up and drags him down into the basement, pushing the heavy door shut behind them.
It's cluttered, smells rank, but it's dark. Very, very dark and Patrick sets Peter down before flicking on his keychain flashlight, searching his surroundings within the thin beam of light. There's a lot of junk, mostly boxes and wiring for electric work, but there's also a huge, empty crate and a pile of thick canvas sheeting and that's all Patrick needs.
"It'll be like playing camping again, Pete," he wheezes, pulling the crate over and creating a makeshift tent over it with the canvas. "Remember? When you put a blanket over the kitchen table? You thought you had this whole world to yourself, away from Mom. Remember that, how great it was? Well, this is gonna be great too. You'll see."
Peter can only groan in reply, and there's a beam of morning's light coming in from a crack in the doorway, almost touching him.
Moving fast, Patrick drags Peter into the improvised shelter, pulling yet more thick canvas atop himself and Pete, leaving just enough space for himself to get a tiny bit of air. The crate wall is on one side, and Patrick puts his body on the other, pressing up against Pete, holding him close, trying to shield him as best he can.
It's all he can do. Now, they have to wait, maybe sleep a bit, but Patrick knows he's going to be awake, probably until sunset.
Peter is already been taken by the vampire's death slumber, his breathing so light and sparse, as to be almost nonexistent.
Patrick curls closer, biting his lip hard, his head and heart both aching. "Damn it, Pete," he whispers, running his hands through Peter's sweat-damp hair. "Damn it to hell. We have to be smarter than he is. We have to be ... or I'm going to lose you."
The thought nearly chokes him. He can't lose Peter. Not to this thing that's taken over his body, not to the bastard who turned him ... not even to Peter's own rage which was going to kill him. Kill them all.
No. Patrick was not going to let that happen.
Not tonight -- not ever.
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