FicWad

“Okay,” Andy tired hard to sound as though he was really giving Joe a chance to prove himself, but even he could hear the clipped and sceptical tone. He would just have to accept it. “Talk.”

Joe stared back, uncertain of what to say. All he knew was that Andy had been told that he had betrayed them and the information was personal and detailed enough to be convincing. He swallowed hard, more than a little scared; someone had managed to convince Andy that he had turned on them. But, without the knowledge of what he was said, Joe wondered what his chances were of convincing him otherwise.

“Go on!” Andy pressed as Joe paused for a few moments to gather his thoughts. “Or are you busy concocting a lie to get you out of this?”
“What can I say that you’ll believe?” Joe finally snapped in return. “I don’t even know what you’ve been told.”
“Just…” Andy’s voice softened slightly, “just tell me the truth.”
“I will… Andy, I can only tell you the truth, but it may not be enough, I don’t know what’s been said.”
“Just tell me!” Andy almost sounded tired instead of angry.

Nodding, Joe began with the night of the trap, explaining how he had woken tied up in Andrea’s home. Going on to detail her connection to them, the failed first rescue attempt and their lucky escape, Joe paused for breath.

“Then?” Andy prompted.
“Then we went back home, ours, not hers. I needed equipment, even for a daylight raid, I knew some would still be awake.”
“How did you know?”
“Sometimes, I read Trick’s notes. If something… if… if I’ve screwed up on a hunt, I discuss it with Patrick and we go over his notes. I learn what I can so I don’t make the same mistake twice.”
“Except trying to rescue us,” Andy replied kindly. “You did that twice.”
“That wasn’t a mistake,” Joe answered with a smile. “I got caught, but it wasn’t a mistake. You… you believe me?”
Andy sighed. “I’m not sure yet, keep going.”

Joe nodded; there was light at the end of the tunnel. He knew from Andy’s reaction that his belief in him was out of sheer wanting to believe than him being actually convinced.

“I gathered things we could reasonably carry; tasers, one of Patrick’s guns with the wooden bullets, crosses, as much Holy Water as I could carry and, of course, several stakes.”
“What did you say?” Andy cocked his head to one side, suddenly hearing something he hadn’t expected to.
“Uh… which bit?” he asked with uncertainty. Acutely aware that he was virtually on trial, Joe had no desire to condemn himself accidentally and from Andy’s tone there was no way to be sure if what his friend had heard was detrimental to his case or not.

“The equipment you took. Why did you take the Holy Water?” Andy replied, finally deciding to be a little more specific.
“Well…” Joe frowned. The answer should have been self-evident, especially to Andy, but there was really only one way to answer – state the obvious and hope it wasn’t so obvious after all. “Well, it burns them. I know you have to get pretty close, or they’ve actually got hold of me, so it’s a last resort thing. More desperate than practical really.”

The tension in Andy’s shoulders gave way to relief, but now his brow creased and his eyes welled. At first, unable to speak, Andy reached out and dragged his shocked friend into a hug. Uncertain over Andy’s reaction, Joe was prepared for a fight and took a few moments to realise that this was just the opposite. Slowly lowering his arms, he allowed them to settle on Andy’s back as his friend repeatedly apologised.

“I’m so sorry! Oh, Man! I can’t tell you how sorry I am! I kicked you, a lot! I can’t believe I did that. Most of all, I can’t believe I listened to Brendon!”
“Brendon? Brendon told you I betrayed you and you believed him?” Joe pushed back and stood open mouthed.

Already racked with guilt, Andy felt the hurt and disappointment in Joe’s tone all the more. It seemed so unreasonable, so stupid.

“He told you that I wasn’t captured because I’d set you up?” Joe asked.

Andy nodded. Taken out of context, the accusation seemed ridiculous and even more so that Andy had believed it.

“Yeah, but there was more,” Andy put up his own defence. “I wouldn’t have believed just that. He knew that the gun had jammed on our last hunt. He knew that Pete’s blend was failing.”
Joe’s brow furrowed at the words. “How could he know that?”
“He said you were replacing the Holy Water with ordinary water.”
“Well,” Joe nodded, “that would explain it, not the me doing it part, though.”

Andy smiled; he no longer doubted Joe and was relieved that he appeared to understand why he had been so easily convinced.

“I can believe that’s the reason it’s been failing, though,” Joe continued. “So there’s really only one person it could be.”
Andy shook his head. “I’m not blaming Patrick, I’ve already got this horribly wrong once and I…”
“Andy!” Joe interrupted. “I don’t mean Trick. I mean, the priest.”
“Oh… Oh!” Andy’s eyes widened as Joe realised the only person who could be to blame for Pete’s blends beginning to fail. “They got to him somehow?”
“Must have,” Joe sighed. “But even if he suddenly disapproved of Pete being a vampire, surely there’s no way he’d risk human lives by deliberately tampering with Pete’s drinks?”
“Or,” Andy frowned, “he no longer cares about human lives and perhaps can’t actually handle Holy Water any more?”

Joe sighed and nodded his head sadly; it made far too much sense.

“Would explain why Brendon knew. And that’s how you knew you were lied to?”
Andy nodded. “Because you didn’t know. But…” Andy looked down. “I should have known anyway.”
“Hey!” Joe pulled his friend back into a hug. “You’ve been locked in a cell in a house full of vampires, no idea what’s happening with Pete and Trick. Brendon messed with your head. I understand. Brendon’s a sly one; in the same situation, I’d have been tricked too.”
“Thanks, man,” Andy sighed with relief.
“Where are Pete and Trick?” Joe asked, finally satisfied that he was no longer under suspicion.
“They’ve got Pete in another cell, but they took Trick there. Must be nearly thirteen hours ago now. They,” Andy paused with a deep frown as he tried to explain. “They want Pete to kill Patrick. His first human blood.”
Joe’s eyes widened as he thought about his two friends and the terrifying scenario. “Pete won’t recover from that, it’ll break him!”
“I know,” Andy nodded sadly. “I think they know it too, that’s why they’re doing it.”

*

Patrick sat in the corner of the cell, his legs gathered up to his chest with his arms wrapped around them and his head lowered. To all intents and purposes he appeared to be asleep. He didn’t rule out the possibility that he had slept, but he simply couldn’t be certain. He was terrified beyond thought and reason. The coming of dawn had granted him a few extra hours, but those hours could only be spent staring at his best friend, the one who would kill him on waking.

Patrick knew that, in control, Pete would never hurt him. Lately, with the blend failing because of the lack of Holy Water, Pete had been forced to keep a much tighter rein on himself. To everyone’s relief, he had managed to do just that. Pete drank increasingly more animal blood but it never seemed to quench his thirst. He knew more than anyone exactly what he needed and when he wasn’t occupied with hating Beckett for turning him, he hated himself for how he was forced to live and feel. There was no way he would hurt his friends but he suffered in the process. His dark craving ate away at him in ways they could never understand.

But now, all his self-imposed inhibitions were gone. Drained and starving, Pete would now be a victim of his instincts. Those instincts would keep him alive at all costs. Knowing that it wouldn’t be his own fault wouldn’t really help.

He didn’t need to look at his watch again; he knew it was nearly sunset. Burying his face between his knees, Patrick tried to accept that soon enough that he would be dead and the best he could hope for was that it would be relatively painless.

Pete wasn’t known to be the earliest of risers, either as a human or a vampire, so the groan emanating from the other side of the cell came as something of a surprise to Patrick. Looking up, all Patrick could contemplate was a strangely naive and innocent thought about the power of hunger. Vaguely smiling to himself at the absurdity, he quietly thanked his brain for trying so hard to think about anything other than his impending death at the hands, or rather the fangs, of his best friend.

Almost at the same time, the outer door to the cell opened to reveal Brendon. Patrick glanced over, noticing immediately that all his overbearing arrogance seemed to have dissipated, only to be replaced by something resembling pensive determination. Patrick wondered what could have happened to him since his last appearance in the cell. It would be fair to say that Patrick’s interest was purely academic and fleetingly, he considered remembering the detail to write up in his notes in Brendon’s file. A sinking feeling hit him as he realised that he wouldn’t escape to write up those notes and, if honest, at least with himself, he would shortly be dead.

Ignoring Patrick completely, Brendon stared, somewhat sternly as Pete began to open his eyes. Still slumped against the bars, Pete’s first reaction on waking was to sniff the air. Despite his pensive, almost distant attitude on arrival, Brendon’s mouth curled into a smirk as the scent of Patrick’s blood filled Pete’s nostrils and fired his cravings and desperate needs once more.

Pushing himself to his feet, Patrick chewed his bottom lip nervously as the scene unfolded in front of him.

“Hungry, Wentz?” Brendon got straight to the point.

Both Brendon and Patrick witnessed Pete’s silent reply. Sitting up, still disorientated, Pete turned a pair of wild, empty eyes first towards Brendon before directing them towards Patrick.
By now, Patrick, seeing the hollowness in Pete’s eyes, had pressed up against the wall, his face desperately pallid from a combination of fear and the earlier draining he had received during the street fight. To Brendon’s clear amusement, Patrick pulled in his breaths in short, desperate gasps. There was no compassion in Pete’s eyes, no friendship and, Patrick reflected, not even any recognition. No, Pete was completely lost and beyond control. This was it, Patrick steeled himself, wishing it was easy to accept. He was about to die.

“Breakfast is served,” Brendon smirked as he used the remote control device to open the cells’ adjoining door.

Pete pulled frantically on the thick, studded belt wrapped tightly around his wrists, still holding him to the bars.

“Let me go!” he screamed at Brendon before turning his eyes to Patrick again.

All Patrick could see was the burning hunger, pain, need and desperation. There seemed to be nothing of Pete left; even what was left of his humanity had failed him. He was ready to kill.

“Let me go!” he screamed again. “Get this off me!”
“Do it yourself,” Brendon ordered. “You’re strong enough!”

Patrick watched, his heart in his mouth, pressing himself even further back against the wall as Pete strained on the belt. Already he could see the tension in the belt as part of it stretched and another began to tear.

“I don’t… I won’t believe that William wants you, Wentz, but even if he does, I’ll prove him wrong. I’ve worked too hard to be overthrown by you, but I’m not stupid, I won’t disobey William, no matter what.” Brendon grumbled to himself, attracting Patrick’s attention as he did. Offering him a smirk, Brendon continued. “Whatever happens, you’ll be dead, and your friends slaves. We’ve seen off every hunter group. Yours was the last, but you’re finished now. The city is ours!”
“We’re not finished yet!” Patrick replied defiantly, surprising even himself.

Brendon turned his eyes casually as one of the loops of leather wrapped around Pete’s wrists snapped.

“Oh, I beg to differ,” Brendon replied with a smirk. “I hope you don’t mind if I watch? I think I’m going to enjoy this!”