Why don't you just drop dead? - Bandom (Panic!), NC-17, Brendon/Spencer.

[gorgeousnerd]

Title: Why don't you just drop dead?
Fandom: Bandom: Panic! at the Disco, with Fall Out Boy and The Academy Is... (and more!)
Rating: NC-17
Length: 23k.
Characters/Pairings: Brendon/Spencer.
Disclaimer: None of the people on whom these characters are based drink blood in real life. (To my knowledge.)

Content notes: (unspoilery): (skip) Major and minor character death, violence and gore, underage drinking and drunkenness, abduction, captivity, mentions of torture, cursing, sexy stuff.
Content notes: (spoilery) (skip) Only unnamed characters stay dead.

Summary: Brendon wanted to be a rock star just like Pete Wentz. Spencer wanted to help Ryan out of his self-destructive cycle. Instead, they both end up undead and in the middle of an extremely dangerous clique war. Can they save their city from being torn apart by vampires and look dapper while they do it? (A Little Less Sixteen Candles AU.)

(Also on LJ and AO3.)

Fanart and mix

Master post - creepylicious

Author's notes: It's probably obvious to everyone who's into any of these bands, but as far as titles go:

-Part one's from Disloyal Order of Water Buffaloes by Fall Out Boy.
-Part two's from Get Busy Living or Get Busy Dying by Fall Out Boy.
-Part three's from Let's Kill Tonight by Panic! at the Disco.
-And the title for the whole story's from, of course, A Little Less Sixteen Candles by Fall Out Boy.

The story's dedicated to the indomitable hello_ilu, who is not only the reason this fic exists - you all should see the amazing TAI/Cobra/etc. primer on my desktop, and all the comments with links and answers, and the beta email - but was one of the first people I pestered when I first got into bandom and has been amazing about everything. Anything right in this story is because of hello_ilu; anything screwed up (or ~creative, like the deliberate disregard of real LA geography) is all on me.

I also need to thank inlovewithnight for answering my questions and furthering my TAI knowledge/fannishness, were_duck for also answering questions and being generally lovely, and rahnekat1 for sponsoring my first Panic! concert/my first concert with PStump this past Sunday and being the major reason I got to meet Patrick (!!!). And thanks to the usual suspects on my flist/rlist and so on for putting up with me for yet another Big Bang. This is it for now, I swear! (...until Werewolf Big Bang. Ahem.)

Last, but absolutely not least, my thanks and admiration to creepylicious for the art and mix. I've been in flappy-hands mode ever since I saw the first drafts of the art, and the music's been in constant rotation. Go leave lots of love in comment form!




Nobody wants to hear you sing about tragedy

Pete Wentz was a fucking god.

Brendon liked to think he was some kind of authority on rock shows, at least in the LA scene. He'd been to all the concerts a shitty fake ID could get him into and a shitty fast-food job could pay for; the bruises on his chest from the barriers were proof of that. But he'd missed Fall Out Boy for weeks thanks to his bosses scheduling him nights and cutting his hours, and he'd given up on seeing them until Shane had waved tickets in his face and offered to switch nights.

It's not like anyone on that stage was half-assing it. He knew the singer was Patrick, and he was good, really good. He didn't know the names of the lead guitarist or the drummer, but the few glances he threw in their direction startled him a little. Like, he kept forgetting there were other people on the stage, and if they'd been in any of the bands he'd seen before, he'd be their slave for life, basically.

But Pete. Jesus. He threw himself and his bass around like he had something to prove. Not to any record guys or even the crowd. And probably not to the rest of Fall Out Boy, if the exasperatedly fond looks Patrick threw him were any indication. Pete's eyes stayed closed almost the entire time, which was good because Brendon? His face hurt from grinning the ridiculous way he did.

The show ended, and Brendon tripped over himself to make it to the stage door.

Practically no one else was around: Fall Out Boy was known in the scene, but they hadn't made it yet, whatever that meant. There were people leaning in the alley, drinking and smoking and talking with the guys as they stowed their gear in a trailer, but judging by their shirts, they worked in the club. Brendon was the only one around who even looked close to a fan.

He waited until Pete had his bass stowed away to go up to him. The speech he had prepared for exactly this kind of moment ran through his head: Hi, I'm Brendon Urie, I play music, I have demos, do you need a keyboardist.

What came out of his mouth was this: "You're awesome."

Pete grinned. It was a little dorky, which was even cooler. God to mortal in five seconds.

-

After the next show Fall Out Boy played, Brendon managed to get his name out.

"Pete." As if Brendon didn't know. "You got anywhere to be? We're just heading to the bar for a drink."

So that's how Brendon ended up in a booth opposite Pete, clutching a beer like he'd drunk one before. The rest of the band was off at another table: Joe and Andy, the two band members he'd only just gotten names for, had nudged each other and made cracks about stalkers that Brendon pretended not to hear, and Patrick had dragged them off with a not-unfriendly smile in Brendon's direction. Maybe it had even been a little sorry.

"I think you're our first fan," Pete said. He was stretched across the side of his booth; he took up a lot of room for a guy his size. "Unless you really are a stalker."

Brendon shook his head. "No, I just...I go to a lot of shows. Concerts. You know."

Pete nodded like Brendon wasn't spewing crap out of his mouth.

"I do stuff, you know." Could he say 'you know' one more time?

Pete tapped his fingers on the table. "Like..."

Oh, right. "Music. I play piano and guitar and drums and stuff."

"Nice. You're in a band?"

"No, I just got here. My parents kicked me out."

Brendon clapped a hand over his mouth. He was in a bar with a half-drunk beer, and he couldn't have said underage louder if he'd danced on the table with his birth certificate glued to his chest.

But Pete didn't seem ready to toss him on his ear. Instead, he leaned in and looked serious. "You got a place to stay?"

"Oh yeah. I've got a job. And a roommate." If by roommate, he meant three guys from work who shared a studio, but what could he say, it was expensive living out here. "I'm working on everything else."

Pete grinned. "Then I'll help."

-

And then he did.

He let Brendon sit backstage at all their shows and help them carry out their gear. (Patrick tried to tell Pete that they couldn't pay a roadie, but Pete cheerfully told him Brendon was doing it for free, thankfully.) He took him around all the bands he knew. Patrick learned his name and said hello whenever he showed up. Andy called him "Pete's pet" and ruffled his hair, even though he couldn't be more than five years older than Brendon. Joe let him riff with his practice guitar and actually acted impressed.

He started spending more time in Fall Out Boy's practice space than his own apartment. Which Brendon figured they lived in, but he only saw their kitchen and their couch and their instruments tucked in a corner, so he didn't know. Either way, couch surfing after shows was easier than going home, so it was his place for half the week. He asked several times if they wanted rent, but Patrick finally grinned and told him it made him feel better about not paying him for the roadie services.

"And you're good about staying out of our shit," he said, which made Andy frown, but he didn't say anything. Brendon didn't know why he'd go poking around. It was their place, not his.

A few weeks after he started hanging out with them, they went back to the practice stage after the show. Joe said something about exercise, and Andy ducked after him. Brendon, running high on energy he hadn't gotten to use, bounced around the place. Pete snorted and grabbed his dog's leash.

"I'm going for a walk," he said. "Try not to trash everything while I'm gone."

Patrick frowned. "Just going for a walk?"

Pete grinned. He pulled off Patrick's hat and ruffled his hair, which made Patrick scowl even harder. "Where else would I go?"

Patrick looked over at Brendon.

"Relax," Pete said. Brendon let him hook his arm around his neck. "I wouldn't do anything with the kid here."

"You can do whatever you want," Brendon said, with a squeak.

"Maybe we should..." Patrick looked pointedly at Brendon.

"No."

The joking tone was gone from Pete's voice, the looseness to his limbs. He pulled away from Brendon and whispered in Patrick's ear quietly. Patrick whispered back.

Brendon wandered away. He wasn't a member of the band, and he'd only been around for a little while. Maybe he wanted to be more, but it took time. He could be patient. Even if it killed him.

Pete laughed and raised his voice to volume again. "Promise, Trick. Now will you stop worrying?"

"Probably not." But as Brendon turned, he was grinning.

Pete waved to Brendon. "I might be up for laying down some bass tracks when I get back. Feel like helping?"

"Really?" Brendon didn't squeak. But his voice did get a little higher.

"Go," Patrick said, pulling out a book and waving his hand in Pete's direction. "Before he passes out."

Pete snorted and left.

"Everything okay?" Brendon asked Patrick as he settled behind a desk.

"Fine." Patrick bent over his book, scratching over the pages with a pen.

"What's that?"

"What's it look like? My journal."

"Oh," Brendon said. He leaned over the table. Patrick started each entry with "Case number", which was...well, weird, but Patrick was disturbingly normal most of the time. Especially hanging out in a band. This was actually kind of comforting, knowing he was just as screwed in the head as everyone else.

"Journal." Patrick shoved at him. "Which means private."

Brendon blinked. "Right! Sorry."

He was just about to pick up Patrick's main guitar - he'd just invested in a new one, but it was still down tuned from the show, and Brendon felt lazy - when the front door opened again.

"Forgot something?" Patrick said.

"Never." It wasn't Pete's voice. Brendon looked up.

"Oh. Gabe." Patrick put down his pen and closed his journal. "You just missed him."

Gabe was...well, fucking tall was the first thing that came to mind. He wore a faded t-shirt that said Midtown across the chest, and he grinned when he noticed Brendon reading it.

"Darn," he said. "And who's this?"

"Gabe," Patrick said warningly, standing from behind his desk.

Brendon jumped to his feet and stuck out his hand. "Hi, I'm Brendon! I've been doing roadie stuff for the guys. You know."

"I do." Gabe laughed and shook his hand. "No wonder Pete's been avoiding me."

"Yeah. He knows what you do with jailbait."

Brendon frowned at Patrick. "I'm legal."

"Even better." It was Gabe's turn to sling his arm around Brendon's shoulders. "Gabe Saporta. I'm the lead singer of Midtown."

That explained the shirt. "Oh! I haven't been to many shows lately, but my friend Shane told me about the basement show you guys did a little while ago. He said it was great. I had no idea you were friends with Pete! That's so cool!"

"Hey, B?" Patrick said. "I think I left an amp in the van. Could you get it?"

"Sure!" He smiled up at Gabe and ran out.

The amp in the van was huge, and not something they usually took out of the van unless they were recording or playing a show. But Pete had said he was thinking of laying down something, so whatever. He stuck it next to the drums, dropping it with a thunk, and was very glad he'd been doing this for a while. But he needed water.

As he rummaged through the fridge, Patrick and Gabe's voices reached his ears.

"—pulling him in when he can't handle it."

"You're not his mom, Patrick. Let him decide what he can handle."

"He doesn't try to decide. That's the problem."

"Dude, chill. Hasn't he been in a better mood lately? Hasn't the band been doing better?"

Patrick fell silent. "Yeah. I guess."

"Then let him figure it out." Brendon heard the scuffle of sneakers on concrete. "I'll go catch up with him. You mind giving that Brendon kid my number?"

"No way."

"Worth a try. Catch you later."

Brendon smiled a little. Was Gabe trying to hook Pete up with someone in the industry? That'd be awesome, holy crap. And it'd explain why they were keeping Brendon out of it. Shit like this was hard to keep from getting leaked sometimes.

He bounced in place until he heard Patrick's pen scratching again, and then he ran back to the guitar.

-

Two things happened the night Brendon played with Fall Out Boy the first time.

The first was, well, he played with Fall Out Boy. On keyboard, even. He didn't have one of his own, so he borrowed Patrick's and mashed away on the keys. Joe outright laughed in his face when he saw how excited Brendon was, but Brendon didn't care. He cared that he got so excited he screwed up in a couple places, but no one seemed to notice, so that was good.

The second was a fight.

It wasn't anything Brendon hadn't seen at other shows: drunk asshole rushes the stage, no security to pull him off, the band kicks his ass and throws him out. But he'd never seen someone twice his size head straight for him, arms raised. He ducked before he could take a fist to the jaw.

But it didn't stop there. Brendon lost track of most of it, mostly because someone kicked the stand over and he took the keyboard to the ribs, but he knew a bunch of people jumped the barrier. It was obvious from the way feet tried to stomp him, feet that didn't belong to the band. Brendon covered his head and waited for it to stop.

When it did, he got a tap on the shoulder. Brendon blinked.

"Hey, you okay?" It was Dirty. Brendon hadn't hung out with him much, but he was usually around during shows. Brendon had never been more glad to see him.

"Yeah, totally." Except, when he took Dirty's hand and tried to get to his feet, his ankle give out. "Fuck."

"Don't worry," Dirty said. "There's an ambulance on the way."

He set Brendon on the drum riser and took the shoe off the foot with the hurt ankle. Brendon hissed, but considering how things swelled, it was better.

A groan caught his attention, and he looked around. There were a good dozen people on the stage, holding their heads and moaning. Most of the people had cleared from the floor except for bar staff cleaning broken glass and - oh crap, that was totally blood.

"Whoa." Dirty caught Brendon before he swooned too much. "You got some head trauma, dude?"

Brendon shook his head. He wasn't dizzy. But. Blood.

"What happened?" someone was asking nearby. "Weren't we..."

Another guy was blotting a bloody nose. "On the floor. But I don't know. I just remember that Pete shithead kicking me in the head."

"Pete beat them up?" Brendon asked Dirty quietly.

"And the other guys," Dirty said. "Uh. That's why they left. Don't want to get picked up by the cops, you know?"

Brendon put his head in his hands. Fuck. He had no health insurance, and now he was going to jail?

"But you're good. The event guys'll tell them what happened."

As sirens went off and red and blue lights flashed in the back door, there was a sinking feeling in Brendon's stomach. Not so much because he thought he was getting arrested. But because the guys had left him to do it.

-

Luckily, Dirty was right; the cops let him go to the hospital and didn't bother him. And a couple days before he was off his crutches, Pete threw a party. The timing was good: there hadn't been shows in a couple weeks, and everyone was getting antsy. Brendon most of all, if the way Patrick yelling at him to stay off his foot was any indication.

Patrick stuck Brendon in a corner with his foot up, and the crowd milled around him. He clutched a red cup and introduced himself to whoever Pete dragged over. Which was everyone.

Almost everyone.

They were talking to a girl with pink stripes in her hair and striped tights when Brendon spotted a guy walking into the party. He had style, in a real showy way: gray suits, fur, and top hats weren't exactly the scene standard, but Brendon liked it. Especially when two more guys in similar outfits came in behind him.

"What band are they in?" she asked Pete.

Pete took a long drink from his own red cup. When he lowered it, "Does it matter, Ashlee?"

Ashlee rolled onto the tips of her toes. "No. But I'm curious."

"Just stay away from them. The Dandies are bad news."

"Can't keep me away if they're coming over," she said with a grin. But she laughed when Pete frowned and said, "Fine, I'll circulate. But if you haven't kicked them out in a few minutes, I will say hi."

She bounced away.

"You too," Pete said. "Go find Patrick. Tell him Beckett's here."

"Who?" Brendon shifted up on his chair and grabbed his crutches.

But it was too late. The three Dandies, as Pete called them, stopped in front of Pete.

"Wentz," the one in the lead said. "Who's your friend?"

"No one," Pete said.

Brendon flinched. "Actually, I'm Brendon. And I can take a hint."

He tried to balance the crutches on the floor, but the dressed-up guy right in front of Brendon wouldn't move enough to let him leave.

"No, stay." The man held out a gloved hand. "I like to meet all Pete's friends. William Beckett."

Brendon shook his hand and gave him a closer look. He didn't seem like bad news. He was a little pale, sure, but a lot of bands didn't get sunlight. Brendon would probably burn to ash in sunlight himself, between his night shifts and the gigs.

"What's going on over here?" It was Gabe, worming his way through the crowd to stand next to Pete. "We got a problem?"

"Not at all." William looked at Pete. "Do we?"

Pete stared at him blankly for a minute. It wasn't until Gabe shook his shoulder that Pete smiled.

"No," Pete said. "You guys want a drink?"

"Always."

Gabe frowned at Pete, but he took Pete's lead and followed him to the makeshift bar.

"I hope to run into you again soon," William told Brendon, gaze steady. Goosebumps broke out on his skin.

When William started back through the crowd, and both of the guys at his shoulder followed, Brendon grabbed his crutches again.

It was tricky making his way through; he was pretty practiced at balancing, but he didn't quite have his old stamina back. When found Patrick hiding in a quiet corner by himself, scribbling in his journal, Brendon sagged next to him.

Patrick said, "What did I tell you—"

"Pete told me to tell you Beckett's here," Brendon said. "Gabe's with him, but I thought you might want to know."

Patrick jumped to his feet right away and climbed on top a couple shelves. When he could see over the crowd, he said, "You might want to get out of here."

"Why?" Brendon asked. "What's going on?"

Patrick looked at him seriously. Then he sighed and said, "There might be another fight. And you don't need to get trampled again."

"But—"

"Seriously, go home. I'll call you if we're not doing the show tomorrow, okay?"

Brendon got back up. He blinked hard and said, "Great. Sure. Whatever. See you then."

Patrick gave him a sad look, but he went to the bulk of the party. Brendon forced his way out.

-

Brendon didn't get a call, so he went to the show.

Everyone was there, looking like they always did. Dirty was schlepping already, since Brendon still wasn't quite ready to join in. But Andy grinned when he saw him.

"Glad you made it," he said. "Thought last time might've scared you off."

Brendon smiled despite himself. "Takes a lot more than that."

Pete and Patrick were in a corner talking. Brendon shot them a look, but he didn't go over, and they didn't seem to notice him.

The show was a lot better than the last one, but then, anything would be. Brendon got to sit down this time, and before long, he got into the music. The only thing that broke his stride was the hint of a bowler in the back of the room. He blinked, and it was gone.

Brendon looked around the stage. Everyone was doing their normal thing, and most of them had their eyes closed. Only Pete was looking out at the crowd, a bit dazed, but he grinned at Brendon when he caught him and went back to thrashing around.

After the show, while the others were loading up the van, Pete slung an arm around his shoulder. "We're all going for a drink. Think you can walk to the bar?"

Their usual bar was something like three blocks away. Not too terrible, and judging by the look on Pete's face, he wanted to talk. Brendon nodded.

"Awesome." Pete steered him out in the street. It felt oddly like sneaking out.

They called this part of the city Midtown, and...huh, maybe it was because of Gabe's band. Like Gabe, it was creepy in the middle of the night: it was slightly more old-fashioned than the rest of the city, but with red and green neon that gave it the look of a sinister Christmas. It also made the shadows darker, and as the lights blinked, everything shifted.

"You're twitchy," Pete said.

"I'm fine," Brendon said. Or squeaked.

"What'd you see at the show?"

Brendon stopped in place. "Huh?"

"I can see you when I'm playing, dude. You were doing your thing, and you stopped."

"I saw one of The Dandies, but that was it."

Pete smiled. "Yeah, Beckett said last night he might stop by."

"I thought..." Brendon frowned. "He was cool?"

"He's from Chicago," Pete said, like that answered the question. Maybe it did. He stopped in place. "I shouldn't have said what I said last night. You're not no one."

"I know," Brendon said. But he grinned. It was good that Pete knew it.

They turned into the alley that'd take them to the bar. Steam vented from one of the buildings, and as it cleared, Brendon noticed someone at the other end. But the bar's blue front lights kept him from seeing who it was.

Pete seemed to have the same problem because he shielded his eyes. But he raised his free hand after a second and waved.

Brendon heard footsteps behind Pete, so he turned, and he saw why Pete waved: it was two of The Dandies, slinking up with their hats tilted over their eyes.

"Hey," Pete said to whoever was behind Brendon. "Glad you guys made it."

"No problem." Brendon didn't recognize the voice right away, but he recognized William as he came up beside Pete and smiled. He had...fangs? Really?

"Pete," Brendon said, shaking his arm.

But as Pete grinned at Brendon, William sank his teeth into Pete's neck. Brendon shouted wordlessly as a trail of blood gushed down his front, but rough hands grabbed Brendon, and something sharp pierced his neck.

Much later, when Brendon tried to remember what exactly had happened, all he could remember was drinking something sweet, and what felt like the best orgasm of his life, hot and overwhelming and long, like it lasted a full day. For all he knew, it did.

-

"Brendon? Can you hear me?" A hand shook his arm. "Don't freak out."

Brendon yawned and stretched. His neck felt stiff, like he'd tensed up while he'd slept. "Why would I freak out?"

"Just don't, okay?"

Brendon opened his eyes. Pete stood over him, looking pale and nervous. He looked down at Brendon's legs, and Brendon looked the rest of the way down.

He was lying in a fucking coffin.

He kicked up and banged his legs on the closed part; judging by the hand on the part that sat up, Pete had raised it. God, he could've waken up in a closed fucking coffin. He kicked again because the plush interior kept it from hurting, but it wouldn't open.

"What did I say?"

Brendon took a breath. His chest hurt a little, like it wasn't used to his lungs moving. "Not to freak out."

"Okay." Pete looked around. "Just keep that in mind while I talk to you, okay?"

Brendon nodded.

"I tried the door." He pointed toward something, but the room was dark, and the walls were black, so Brendon could only make out hints of lines. "It wouldn't open. But I'll get us out of here, okay? I promise."

There was a coffin just behind Pete, also half open. The pillow inside was dented like someone's head had been there.

"Did you wake up there?"

Pete nodded. Brendon put a hand to his forehead. They'd been at the show, and then they'd been walking, and then...coffins?

"This is a stunt," he said, laughing a little. "Right? A prank?"

Pete shook his head slowly. "We're going to get out of here. And then we'll talk about this, okay?"

"No," Brendon said, shaking his head. "Something's not right. Something..."

He caught sight of Pete's mouth. Of the fangs sticking out just the littlest bit.

Brendon pushed backward and tripped out of the coffin. He landed lightly on his feet.

"What the fuck," he said. "What the actual fuck?"

"Brendon—"

He took three steps backward. And then he looked down at his ankle. It didn't hurt at all.

The door handle rattled, and the door popped open.

"Have a nice nap?"

Brendon didn't know the voice. He looked up at Pete, who was backed against the far wall, illuminated by a light from beyond the door. He was holding his hand over his face and wincing.

An arm reached forward and dragged Pete out. Brendon raised a hand, but the door was closed before he could call out, much less actually do anything. He ran for the door and rattled the knob, but like Pete had said earlier, it wouldn't budge.

"Let me out!" Brendon yelled, slamming his hand against the door. He barely made any noise; the door was too thick to make much of an impression. He beat the door until his hand was numb, and then he backed away. He felt dizzy.

His pocket buzzed, and he jumped about ten feet in the air before he remembered. Cell phone. That they apparently didn't take from him. He nearly dropped it in his hurry to take it out, but he flipped it open before it stopped going off.

"—lo? Brendon, can you...Pete...you—"

"Patrick?" Brendon said. "I'm trapped, and I don't know where, and they have Pete, and we woke up in coffins, and..."

"Bre—"

The phone beeped, and Brendon took it away from his ear. He was getting practically no reception in...well, wherever he was. Judging by the lack of bars, he was lucky to have gotten as much as he did.

He tried a text to Patrick's phone anyway: im trapped and they have pete help

His phone said it went through, but all he could do was wait.

-

Brendon didn't know how long it was before the door opened again and Pete fell in, bruised and bloody.

"Your turn soon," the man at the door said to Brendon, sounding vaguely bored. But Brendon didn't look at him as he dropped to the floor by Pete.

"Don't touch me," Pete growled, his back away from Brendon.

"Pete," Brendon said with relief. "I think I told Patrick that we're in trouble."

"He should know by now. We've been gone a couple days."

"What?" He put a hand on Pete's arm without thinking about it.

Pete hissed and bared his fangs. "I said, don't touch me."

Brendon jumped backward with a little gasp of surprise. This time, he noticed he actually did jump, about five feet in the air. He bounced off the wall and landed on the ground.

"What the hell?" he said.

Then he remembered. Not what happened, not exactly, but the sight of William and The Dandies in the alley, and the sight of white teeth sinking into Pete's neck.

Brendon's stomach growled.

He stuck his hand in his mouth, and sure enough, his canines were pointy. He tried to say "What the fuck?", but it came out sounding more like "Waff aff faff?"

Pete got to his feet. The bruises on his face were fading already; Brendon could see him better now than earlier. He could see the red on his mouth, and the size of his pupils.

"What happened?" Brendon asked.

Pete kicked one of the coffins. It fell over with a crack.

"I won't let them touch you," he said. Brendon had never heard him sound so pissed. "I'll get you out of here."

Brendon nodded. "Yeah. Of course you will."

-

Judging by the way Pete and Brendon both passed out on the floor at the same time, another day went by.

Brendon woke up with his stomach burning. He groaned and grabbed it, but the pressure was worse. If anything could be worse, that is.

"Brendon? What's wrong?"

He kept his eyes squeezed shut. He didn't want to see the room again. "God."

A hand touched his shoulder, and it stung. He jerked away, crying out wordlessly.

The door opened, and Brendon heard crashes and thumps. But whatever happened, hands grabbed his arms, and he was hauled to a standing position. He yelled and tried to yank free, but he was too weak to get his feet beneath him, much less pull away.

"Brendon! Don't fucking do it, no matter what! I'll get you!"

"Sure you will," a voice at Brendon's ear shouted back at Pete.

He managed to open his eyes as they climbed stairs. But Brendon's head was lolled back, so all he could see was the ceiling, with decaying paint and white molding.

They turned into a room with mirrors all around, cracked and distorted. He couldn't see his reflection in it, but then, he couldn't see the chair in the middle of the room in the mirrors, either. Pretty much all he caught was dim lighting flickering off the fractures.

Just as suddenly as they'd appeared, the hands let go of Brendon. He caught himself he fell over completely, but he swayed and toppled to one knee.

"Brendon," a voice said. "Lovely to see you again."

He looked up. William Beckett sat in front of him, holding a cup of tea primly and sipping from it. He put the cup on the saucer and handed it to a man to his right.

"Welcome to The Dandies," he said. "I hope you'll be more friendly than Pete?"

Brendon's mouth was dry. He tried to talk, tried to work up the saliva to get his tongue working, but nothing happened. He slumped instead.

Beckett didn't seem surprised. He jerked two fingers without looking away from Brendon.

Someone screamed, loud and high. Brendon covered his ears with his hands until two of The Dandies pulled his hands away from his ears.

"Drink or die," Beckett said, sounding a little bored. He ran his gloved hand on the fur on his shoulder.

A man dropped onto the ground in front of Brendon, his neck bleeding. Judging by his clothes, he'd been jogging recently, but Brendon didn't care about that. He smelled good. Like beer and steak, or Pop Tarts, or something equally as good. Brendon didn't realize he was smelling the air like some kind of weird combination of a snake and a dog until he was hovering right over him.

He also didn't realize The Dandies were talking until he stopped. It was like they were egging him on: variations on "Do it!" seemed to be the most common thing. But it felt like they were digging into Brendon's head with the words; he put his hands to his temples, like he could block it out.

And then, abruptly, it stopped. Just as abruptly, something loud crashed in another room.

"Get them," William said quietly. "You two, lock him away."

Brendon still didn't have the strength to fight as he was dragged into a side room and thrown in a closet. And he couldn't stop it before they threw the jogger in the closet with him. But Brendon could turn his head away and do his best to pretend it wasn't happening.

"Don't hurt me," the jogger said, pushing against the locked door.

Liquid dripped onto Brendon's hand. He didn't look at it.

-

Brendon passed out without killing the jogger. But he woke up with his hands digging into the man's shoulders and his mouth sucking his neck hard enough to bruise.

Brendon felt the exact moment the jogger's heart stopped.

-

The first rush of blood reminded Brendon of the first time he'd tried Coke. Not the drug - the hardest he got was pot - but he hadn't had soda with caffeine in his house as a kid. He'd been at a pizza party when he'd had it, around thirteen or fourteen, and he'd been wide-eyed for an entire day and so bouncy that he'd passed out almost right after the high passed.

But just because it was a rush didn't really mean it made Brendon any stronger. If anything, it made what was already there stronger. The exhaustion. The pain.

The hunger.

He pounded on the door around the corpse for hours before someone opened the door. The jogger's body fell, but Brendon managed to keep upright. Maybe the blood had helped after all.

"Ready to come out?" The group outside the door obscured Beckett for a moment, but Brendon spotted him, head tilted and bowler perfectly in place.

Brendon nodded.

They dragged the body away, and Brendon watched them with a sort of fascination. He'd never even seen anyone dead before. His parents hadn't even let him watch R-rated movies while he'd lived at home. He hadn't even seen a vampire movie until Shane had made him watch Underworld. He'd hidden behind a pillow half the time.

"Still hungry?" Beckett asked. He was easier to see, since the crowd had thinned.

Brendon blinked. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why me?"

Beckett waved a hand. "We're always expanding. Are you hungry?"

Brendon couldn't answer, and Beckett seemed to know. "Carden?"

One of the other Dandies stepped forward. It was the one who'd stood in front of Brendon at the party.

"Take him hunting," Beckett said. "And make sure he doesn't run."

He stepped away as Carden stepped forward with a couple of grinning vampires flanking him. They pulled Brendon out of the closet.

"After you," Carden said, sweeping his hands toward the open door. The words were polite, but they had an edge, and Brendon remembered how beaten Pete had looked.

Brendon took a deep breath. He could smell outside not too far away. It would've been cool if...

If.

He walked out.

-

The Dandies were...well, kind of boring.

Brendon didn't really want excitement like the first few days, of course. Even though it seemed more like a movie when he tried to remember it. But they forced him onto some random pedestrian the first night, threw him in the coffin room - which was decidedly lacking in Pete - after they were done, and left him to sit. And they did it again the next night.

The third night, Carden opened the door and held up a suit. "Feel like changing?"

Brendon was wearing his favorite t-shirt and jeans. He touched the shirt: it was Fall Out Boy merch, black with their name in artfully faded letters. He hoped Pete wasn't dead.

"No," Brendon said.

Carden grinned. "Beckett wants to see you."

He led him back to the mirror room, and this time, Brendon could see that they were in some kind of basement area. He didn't know what the house or building or whatever looked like from the outside; the exit they'd been taking was covered with bushes and trees, and if the vampires didn't lead him everywhere, he would've been incredibly lost. He didn't even recognize the streets they took him to, even though he was pretty sure it was Midtown. Just a part he hadn't seen.

Beckett sat in a chair in the middle of the mirror room. He was reading an old book this time, which he set delicately on a side table as Brendon came in.

"Enjoying your stay?" he asked.

"Where's Pete?" Brendon asked.

William didn't change expressions. "Gone. Don't you like our suits?"

Actually, even after everything, Brendon kind of did. They'd been really nice before he'd been turned, but now, when he focused, he could see the texture and quality of the fabric almost like he was holding it under a microscope. But not quite, since it didn't look really weird or creepy, like microscopic stuff normally did.

But he touched his shirt again. It seemed important. "Pete. Where is he?"

To his surprise, Beckett grinned. There was a fierce sort of joy to it. "I can show you, if you'd like."

Brendon nodded quickly.

"Who wants Pete Wentz?" William asked to the vampires milling around. A couple of raised their hands, and William pointed at one. Then he ran for the door Brendon had been using to leave the house.

Brendon followed as fast as he could.

He made sure to take a look around this time. They were coming out of a huge mansion, with pillars and marble, but it was falling apart; a domed part at the front had a gaping hole, and vines snaked up the sides. It wasn't at all familiar, but Brendon caught flashes of city lights from some kind of distance, and he realized they were in the hills above Midtown. That was something.

They descended into the city.

At the alley around the bar Pete liked, William held up a hand, and they stopped. "Pete's all yours," he told the vampire. "But don't kill him. And if he gets the upper hand, run."

Beckett drew back so he wasn't in immediate view, and as the others ran past, Carden pulled Brendon back against the wall. But Brendon knew this area. Maybe, if he got an opportunity—

"Don't think about it," Beckett said easily. "I don't need you badly enough that I won't stake you if you try to run."

Brendon blinked. "Wait, stakes? Really?"

Beckett held up a glove-covered finger to his lips, and Brendon shut up. He leaned around to get a better look.

The vampire was strolling down the street like he didn't have a care in the world. He tipped his hat to a woman, who started walking faster to get past him. He turned and fell into step behind her, and—

—something tackled him, punching like there was no tomorrow.

Three men ran forward. One carried a sword; another, a crossbow. They had to pull the fourth man off the Dandy he wailed on, and the one with the sword stabbed him.

The punching man turned toward Brendon and William, and Brendon froze.

Pete.

"I had him!" Pete yelled. Brendon could hear him like he was standing by his shoulder.

The man with the crossbow lifted his hat, and Brendon wondered why he didn't recognize all of them right away. He should've known Patrick anywhere. "You're being reckless, asshole."

"It's called being a good hunter." He shoved Patrick, and not kindly.

Patrick grabbed him by his...bullet proof vest? What? It had only been a handful of days since he'd been turned, how had he—

"Don't make me regret bringing you," Patrick said. "You said you had it under control."

"I do!" He shook Patrick off and stomped away at normal speed. Andy and Joe followed, and after a second, Patrick did as well.

Beckett turned to Brendon. "They raided the mansion and rescued Pete. But it isn't their first raid. They like to...make their presence known."

"Last?" Brendon said. "When?"

"Oh, two months ago now?" Beckett looked up at the sky as if it would give him answers. "Was it two months, Carden?"

"Something like that," Carden said.

"And the one before that was five months. They like to come around two or three times a year."

"But..." The way Pete and Gabe had been sneaking around. The fighting. Patrick's journal. "But the party."

Beckett's eyes practically glowed. "You think I can't make people more...agreeable?"

"You did something to Pete?" Brendon frowned. "But not me?"

"Pete insisted on keeping you in the dark," Carden said with a quiet laugh. "Even when Bill was working his mojo."

"I'm not against following requests," Beckett said.

Brendon's throat closed up a little. They were fucking vampire hunters, and Pete trusted him that little? If he'd known, he could've talked to Patrick, he might not have ever walked in the alley, he...

Beckett put a hand on his arm. Brendon felt goosebumps break out.

"I have plans, Brendon. Plans that need numbers."

He looked pointedly at the corpse in the middle of the street, and Brendon caught on. Join up, or die like the vampire that had been so sure he could take Pete on.

Brendon should be scared. But whether it was because he was some kind of predator now, or because he was still watching the street Pete had stormed off on, without a thought for Brendon or what he was going through, he wasn't. He didn't even care much.

Dying would be easier. Better, probably.

"You're going to tell me everything?" Brendon asked.

Beckett nodded. "I'm only the leader because I get things done. Not because I don't think the people around me have value."

Brendon bit his lip. Finally, he said, "What should I call you?"

"Bill," Beckett said. Beside him, Carden's face tightened.

Brendon nodded. "Tell me more, Bill."


And living's just a waste of death

The first night he was in LA, Spencer ran smack into the middle of a fight.

Okay, it wasn't quite that bad. He turned a corner, grocery bags in his hands, and a group of people blocked the sidewalk ahead. Spencer knew enough to know not to get in their way, so he shrank back against the building and waited. He'd cross the street, but he really didn't want to risk getting his ass kicked at all when he just spent forty bucks on groceries, thanks.

But it was definitely a fight. It didn't look like it at first, but guys started flying up the street and a woman ran away, screaming. One guy grabbed another by the throat, even. They weren't fucking around.

Spencer dropped his bags on the ground and pulled out his phone. He should've done it from the beginning.

By the time he got in touch with the cops and figured out where in the hell he was, the fight was mostly over, and the main fighter - a short guy with bangs in his face - kicked a couple of the guys on the ground before running off. Spencer hung around a couple more minutes, even though the ice cream was melting, but he never heard sirens. Oh well. The cops had his information; they could follow up if they needed.

Still. It was a hell of an omen.

-

Which was why he wasn't surprised when Ryan started disappearing.

The first night it happened, Ryan had stumbled in at dawn, eyes bleary and puffy. When Spencer asked - calmly, he thought, much more calmly than he felt - where Ryan had been, he'd said, "Getting laid, unlike some people." And he'd tightened his scarves around him and stumbled in his room.

Maybe he was getting laid. But Ryan had left his phone at home, and his entire address book was empty. It's not like he got the number of every person he slept with, or even most of them. But he didn't even have his work number programmed in. He didn't have Spencer's number. And then he was leaving his phone around.

The second night it happened, Ryan didn't come home. During Spencer's lunch the next day, he went by the bookstore where Ryan worked, and nothing. At sunset, when Ryan turned up again, Spencer didn't bother asking about anything. He stood in front of Ryan and said, "Let me help."

Ryan had shoved him away - not hard, but he got the idea across - and gone in his room.

Back in Vegas, Spencer's therapist had told him, in no uncertain terms, that Ryan's life was his life, and Spencer could only make him do things Ryan wanted to do. They'd talked about Ryan a lot. Maybe that was why Spencer had been so glad to move out-of-state with him. At least, this way, he could deal with the reality instead of talking about it all the time.

-

The fifth time Ryan didn't come home, Spencer finally found him in a random bar the next night.

He didn't want to go in. He was too young, and he didn't have a fake ID like certain jerks he'd moved to LA with, but that wasn't really the problem: most places wouldn't kick out someone who didn't try to buy a drink and left right away. No, what Spencer really had a problem with was why Ryan was in a bar in the first place.

When Spencer pushed through the crowd and found Ryan slumped at the counter, he reeked of beer. And he looked like a middle schooler. What bartender would give him alcohol?

"Damn it," he muttered. He shook Ryan's shoulder.

Ryan picked up his head. "Spence? Why're you here?"

Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose and took a breath. "Come on. You've got work in the morning."

Ryan shoved away Spencer's hand and nearly overbalanced off his stool. He grabbed the bar just in time. "No, I don't."

"Ryan—"

"Hey, it's the pretty one!"

A couple of guys with shaved heads and mohawks sauntered up, clapping Ryan on the back like they knew him. Spencer had never seen them before, and considering how often he went out after him, he figured Ryan didn't either.

But Ryan nodded at them. "You guys still going to the party?"

They exchanged looks and grinned. "Hell yeah! Let's get out of here!"

Ryan stepped off the stool.

"Ryan," Spencer said again. It didn't take sobriety to see this was a very bad idea.

But Ryan waved him away and followed the strangers through the crowd and out the door.

For a second, Spencer wondered if it was worth it. Chasing him down didn't seem to do any good. Maybe, if he backed off for a while, Ryan could get his shit together.

Maybe, maybe.

Spencer slipped through the crowd and out the door.

Thinking had let Ryan get out of sight. He looked toward the cars; none of them were running, and no one was pulling away, so Ryan was hoofing it. It meant Spencer had a chance to catch up. He looked at the two alleys nearby and wondered which to take.

And then he heard Ryan yell. "Get your hands off me!"

Spencer ran.

Ryan was pinned to the wall in the alley to his left, struggling against the two guys who'd taken him out of the bar. Spencer looked around for some kind of weapon. All he found was a broken wooden pallet next to an empty Dumpster, but it was better than nothing. He grabbed it.

"Hey!" he yelled.

The guys turned toward him. One of them hissed and showed off sharp canines. Great. He was dealing with gothy vampire wannabes on top of everything else.

He broke off a piece of the pallet. He could play this game. "Back off."

They let go of Ryan and let him fall to the ground. "Spencer?" he asked, like he wasn't sure what was going on.

"Run," Spencer said.

The fake vampires were closing in. They were taller than Spencer, and bulkier. Spencer wasn't a fighter, but he could buy Ryan time, at least.

"Run!"

As Ryan scrambled to his feet and stumbled away, the men rushed Spencer. Spencer ducked and managed to avoid them once, but before he could straighten, one of them grabbed Spencer in a headlock, and the other knocked the wood out of his hand.

"This one'll be better," the one holding Spencer said as Spencer choked and grabbed at the arms around his throat. "Less trashy."

The other one grabbed one of Spencer's arms and twisted it painfully. He tried to yell, but without air in his lungs, it came out as a strangled gasp.

And then the asshole bit him. If he lived, he was going to have to get a tetanus shot. Or a rabies shot. Maybe both.

The world swirled around him and started to go dark. The arms were gone from his throat, but something still pinched, like the asshole kept biting him. He didn't stop when Spencer tried to hit him with his hand. Spencer could only get in a couple hits, anyway; it felt like his arm was moving through water.

Just when he was about to pass out, the pinching disappeared, and he hit the ground hard.

Someone slapped his face. "Hey. Can you hear me?"

Spencer groaned.

"Fuck," the man said.

Spencer could kind of see someone - probably the guy who was talking - roll up a sleeve in front of his face. He felt something press to his mouth, metallic and sticky. He tried to push away, but an arm lifted his head and held him firm.

"Just drink. You'll feel better."

Spencer was having a hard time breathing, much less doing anything else. But the stickiness was in his mouth, and he swallowed reflexively.

Warmth flooded his body, followed by a rush of cold. He gasped around what was on his mouth, jagged and rough, and he convulsed.

"You can do it. Just a little bit more."

Spencer wasn't sure if he did or not. But he did let his growing exhaustion overtake him. It was just easier.

-

Spencer woke up in a bed.

It wasn't familiar. Not like he knew a lot of beds in Los Angeles - there was his, and Ryan's, and that was pretty much it - but this was way bigger than his twin, and the sheets smelled stale. He was cold, but the sheets were just too rank to deal with, so he pushed them away.

"You awake?"

The voice was familiar, but Spencer couldn't figure out how. He opened his eyes.

He was in a dark room with heavy curtains over the windows, even though the lack of light from behind them meant it was night. The furniture - a dresser with a circular mirror over it, the bed he was lying in, a night stand with curved legs - all looked old and worn, but with hints of wealth to them. And he thought he smelled cobwebs. Which was weird, because he couldn't remember smelling cobwebs in his life, but there was something in the air that his brain interpreted as "cobwebs".

And there was a chair with a man in it. He looked maybe Spencer's age, with pale skin and longish hair. He was kind of pretty, if not quite as pretty as Ryan: he rocked the thin and androgynous look, particularly with the nicely tailored suit he was wearing. He even had gloves on, and a bowler in his hand.

"I'm awake," Spencer said as he rubbed his neck. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

"We just met. Sorry. Um, my name's Brendon?" He gave a little wave.

The alley. Right. "What about Ryan?"

"Ryan?"

"My friend." He made a useless gesture with his hand. "The assholes who jumped me jumped him first."

Brendon smiled. "That was gutsy."

"Stupid, more like."

"No, it's really cool that you'd do that for a friend." Brendon smiled. "Or anyone. You probably wouldn't walk away from anyone getting attacked, would you?"

Spencer shrugged. "I hope not. But who knows?"

"Who knows," Brendon repeated, like it was something wise. "I think I saw him running off. He should be okay, if he went home right away."

God. Spencer hoped he did. Obviously, he wasn't in much of a place to check. "Awesome."

Brendon nodded. Then he cleared his throat. "So I kind of have to tell you something."

"Don't you want to know my name?"

"Oh." Brendon blinked. "Yeah, totally."

"Spencer Smith."

Brendon grinned until he showed teeth. With pointy canines. "Wow, that's a great name. Literary."

Spencer bit his lip. He wasn't going to make fun of the guy who saved his life. Even if he dressed like he wanted to hang out with Oscar Wilde and had fake vampire fangs. "Thanks, I guess."

"You're staring at my mouth."

Spencer winced. "Sorry."

"No, it's what I have to tell you." Brendon put his hat in his lap and leaned forward seriously. "I made you into a vampire."

Okay, that deserved an eye roll. He didn't even feel guilty about doing it. "Really."

"I did! Those two Lost Boys sucked your blood, and you were going to die from blood loss, and I was supposed to be making more vampires anyway, so I kind of...did it."

Great. Next thing Spencer knew, he'd be trying to feed him blood or something. Maybe fruit punch passed off as blood. He was kind of thirsty, but yeah. No way was he going to take anything from this psycho.

"You don't believe me."

Well, if he was going to bring it up. "No. I really don't."

"That's okay. I like showing off." Brendon stood, and put his hat and gloves on the seat. "Ready?"

Spencer should be moving. Leaving. Calling Ryan. Something. But he ached all over, so he figured a quick distraction while he figured out how to get away wouldn't be a bad thing. Or, at least, not any worse than what he'd already had. "Blow me away."

Brendon appeared on the other side of the room. And the room was big, bigger than Ryan and Spencer's whole apartment.

"How—"

Brendon stood at the foot of the bed a heartbeat later. And then he bounced in the air off the walls. It wasn't like a parkour thing; he was up in the air a good thirty seconds, and barely balancing on anything, before he touched down as lightly as he would if he was walking around.

At Spencer's stunned look, he gave a little bow. "Wasn't that cool?"

"I. Uh." Spencer gripped the blanket hard. He'd been dosed. It was the only explanation. "Did you give me something while I was asleep?"

"Check your mouth."

Spencer touched his teeth. His canines were way long, and sharp. "Doesn't prove anything."

Brendon blinked. "Huh."

"Can I just...go? To a hospital, or something?"

"Probably not a good idea until you eat," Brendon said. "But we should get out of here."

There was a knock at the bedroom door. Spencer jumped, and in the blink of an eye, he was crouching. Huh. Hell of a drug, whatever this was.

"Yeah?" Brendon yelled.

The door creaked open, and a head stuck in. "Hey. Who's that?"

"Dinner." Brendon seemed pretty casual about it. "Something up, Jon?"

Jon stepped in the rest of the way. He was dressed the exact same way as Brendon. Which meant that Spencer was not only surrounded by creepers who thought they were vampires, but thought they were some kind of vampire cult. Great.

"Carden was just wondering if you'd been out for the night," Jon said.

"Obviously, yeah."

"Cool. I'll tell him." Jon blinked over at Spencer. "You turning him?"

"Maybe."

Jon waved. "Nice to meet you. I'll talk to you later if you're not dead."

Spencer raised a tentative hand back, and Jon slipped out of the room, closing the door behind him.

"Dinner?" Spencer asked Brendon.

Brendon shrugged. "If they know you're a vampire, they'll make you stay or they'll kill you."

"And you won't?"

Brendon stared at the wall behind the bed. "I think you should know what you're up against first." He blinked, and smiled. "Feel like making a deal?"

"I..." A deal with the vampire cultist. God. And he'd thought dealing with Ryan's shit was too much. "Okay?"

"We go out feeding, just you and me, and I tell you some things. Then you decide if you want to stick around or not."

"Stick around? Like..."

"Like you leave town and don't come back," Brendon said, smiling. "I won't stake you. Unless you try to kill me. Then we might have words."

"Oh." That seemed...oddly reasonable. No guarantee that Brendon would stick to it, of course, but if Spencer got out, he figured his chances of surviving were better. He liked surviving. "I guess that works."

"Great. Follow me."

Brendon went to the window and swept open the curtains. As a cloud of dust raised in the air, he unhooked the latch and pushed the window frame out. It brushed the top of what looked like a tree. He stepped outside.

"Whoa," Spencer said. "Brendon—"

But Brendon dropped out of sight.

Spencer pushed out of bed and ran over, patting his pocket. His phone was still there - why hadn't he thought of that earlier? - and he pulled it out, pressing a button to unlock it. He looked out the window.

Before Spencer could dial anything, Brendon waved up at him. From four stories down.

"Coast is clear!" he said. It sounded like he was talking normally, but Spencer could hear him perfectly well. "Come on!"

"I'll break my neck," Spencer whispered, more to himself than anything.

But Brendon laughed and shook his head. "At worst, I'll catch you, okay?"

Because that'd make a difference at four stories. Great. But Spencer didn't feel good about sneaking out the normal way when there was at least one more guy to deal with, and Brendon had saved him from the other vampire cultists or whatever, so.

He squeezed his eyes shut, clenched his jaw, and pushed out from the window.

And he didn't die. He didn't even break anything. Instead, when he opened his eyes, he was standing straight up and down, like he'd just walked out of a door.

"Good drugs," Spencer muttered.

Brendon clapped a hand on his shoulder.

-

Spencer had done his share of weird before. Being friends with Ryan had opened him to a line of experiences he'd never expected. But when they'd walked out of what looked like a forest around a mansion, and Spencer's knees had started shaking, he never would've guessed Brendon would pick him up. Like, hoist him up in his arms picking up.

He smacked at Brendon. "What the hell?"

"Sorry," he said. "But you won't be strong enough to keep up until you feed."

As Brendon ran down the street, the wind hit Spencer's face, and things felt a little clearer. And real. It shouldn't feel real, having a short fake vampire carry him and run at super speed. But it did.

They appeared in the same neighborhood as the bar, and even though Brendon stopped abruptly, he didn't rock or nearly throw Spencer forward.

"No fair defying the laws of physics," Spencer said, climbing out of his arms. His legs folded, and he grabbed for the wall.

"They drained you almost entirely." Brendon wrapped an arm around his waist and held him up. It made his skin itch. But it was better than face planting on concrete, so Spencer didn't say anything. "You'd have more energy if I could've replaced more. Sorry."

"Why do you keep apologizing?" Spencer asked as they walked forward. "It's not your fault."

"I thought you thought I drugged you. Or something."

Spencer thought so, too. But the way his nose was telling him just how many humans - no, people - had been on the street recently...that wasn't really a drug thing. He thought. Now he wished he had experimented more than smoking a bowl now and then; he'd know if he should believe this or not.

"Oh cool, here comes someone. Wait here." Brendon sat Spencer on a bench.

Spencer knew he shouldn't believe anything he was seeing. But as he watched Brendon walked up to a middle-aged man and stared him straight in the eyes, then watched as the man walked over with Brendon like they were just hanging out, that was it. Spencer was believing it. Brendon was making the man sit on the bench next to Spencer with his mind, and Spencer had fangs in his mouth, and so did Brendon, and he believed it.

"Wow," he said aloud.

Brendon grinned and bared his teeth. "The best part's coming."

He started to lean toward the man, but Spencer stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Wait. We won't...I mean, he won't die. Will he?"

Brendon blinked at him.

"Seriously? Fuck." Spencer shoved away. "I'm not killing a guy that looks like my dad."

"Then who? An old lady? A kid?"

"How about no one?"

Brendon laughed. "Dude, we're vampires. What did you think would happen?"

"I don't know," Spencer said. "Maybe I didn't think about it because I'm still not sure if I believe it?"

"This is how it works. You should have some control after a few days, but the first couple times? You'll drain him dry. And you'll want more." Brendon tipped the guy's face forward. "See? Give him a smell."

"Smell a stranger? Really?"

"Just try it."

Spencer rolled his eyes and did an exaggerated inhale. Then he paused. Wow. He was a second away from drooling all over the place.

It was only when his nose bumped the guy's cheek that Spencer shook his head and pushed back. "No," he said, his voice shaky. "I can't."

"You have to," Brendon said. His head was tilted, and he sounded a little sad. "Or you'll die."

"I'm not choosing me over him."

"But you don't even know him."

"So?" Spencer laughed a little and brushed his hands through his hair. "I guess I wouldn't walk away from a stranger."

Brendon's face dropped completely, and Spencer swallowed. It was like he'd kicked a puppy or something. But Brendon laid his gloved hand over Spencer's bared one, and he said, "Maybe. Maybe I could stop you?"

"From what?"

"From killing him. You drink a little while from this guy, then we find a couple more. How's that sound?"

"Like you've watched a lot of Buffy."

Brendon smiled again. "Maybe I have. I just didn't think it'd work here."

Spencer laughed. It sounded a little forced, but he did mean it. "I don't really want to die."

"I don't want you to die, either." Brendon rubbed his thumb over the back of Spencer's hand. "You seem like a nice guy."

"Uh. Thanks?"

Brendon squeezed Spencer's hand and let go. "No, it's a good thing. I don't see a lot of nice guys these days."

He bit into the man's neck, and the man didn't even twitch. After a second, Brendon drew back with a little gasp, licking his lips.

"Wow," he said. "That never gets old. You try."

Spencer leaned forward. The red drops on the man's neck were pretty fascinating, for some reason. "Try?"

Brendon didn't answer. It didn't exactly fill Spencer with confidence. He drew back.

But Brendon smiled again. "If anyone can do it, it's totally you. You've got balls."

"Because balls make a difference?" Spencer said with a snort.

"You put your friend's life before yours. You've got this."

Spencer felt a twist in his chest that had nothing to do with nerves. "If you say so."

He put a mouth to the wound Brendon had created and licked. He cringed a little - licking strangers wasn't his thing - but he figured it was the best way to test the waters.

And whoa. The blood. Maybe he was on drugs because holy shit, the world flared with colors and smells and even the air on his skin felt textured and the clothes on his body and the man's leg against his, and he needed more, needed to see the world flare even more and feel more a part of it and see just how far he could get this.

"That's enough, Spencer."

No. Nothing could ever be enough. He pulled back enough to hiss and bare his fangs, and then he dug in again, wanting to feel the man's heart slow down and feel his own speed up, feel the blood in his stomach and in his veins and everything in the world around him—

He was yanked away from the man by force, and he fell in the street. Spencer got to his feet, crouching, ready for a fight...

...but there was only Brendon, pressing fingers to the uninjured side of the man's neck. "I think he'll be okay," he said. "I've seen people walk away from worse. You with me?"

It took Spencer a few seconds to unclench his fists. "Wow. That was...wow."

"I know," Brendon said. He sighed. "It's lucky you're underfed, I think. I probably couldn't have managed otherwise."

Spencer looked at his hands. He could see the blood rushing through his skin almost like it was glass.

"Does it get easier?" he asked without looking up.

"Yeah," Brendon said. But he didn't sound particularly happy about it.

-

The second time, with a tattooed bald guy that looked like a bouncer or something, went a little easier. Spencer was ready for the rush, and it didn't take over quite as much. Probably because Brendon talked to him through it.

"I'm part of the Dandies, right? We're a vampire clique-gang...thing."

Spencer pulled back to talk. Breaks were good. "Vampires have gangs? Is your leader Kiefer Sutherland?"

"Nah. Although that's why the Lost Boys are called that, I think. Doubt they know Peter Pan, but they love that movie." He shook his head. "Not important. The thing is, if you're a vampire in this town, you're probably part of one of them. It's pretty ugly."

"Uglier than people getting jumped in an alley?"

"That's pretty standard, actually."

Spencer drank a couple more mouthfuls before asking, "What cliques are there?"

"There's three. You met some of the Lost Boys, and of course the Dandies, and then there's the Billionaires. They mostly keep to themselves, but they hate the Lost Boys, so I don't think that'll last." Brendon patted him on the back. "I think this guy's done. Ready to move on?"

By the time Spencer was drinking from some frat kid, he was starting to feel pretty good about things. Maybe it was the blood making everything clear, but he could handle this. It sucked - har har - but yeah.

Of course, that's when his phone buzzed. Spencer jumped like something bit him.

Brendon caught the dazed frat guy before he fell to the ground. "What? What's wrong?"

Spencer grabbed his phone out of his pocket. Ryan. Of course. And wow, if the date was right, it had been three days since the alley. Which is probably why his phone said it had nineteen calls.

The phone stopped buzzing before Spencer could press anything.

"It was my friend," Spencer said. He looked at Brendon. "Do you...do you think I could go see him?"

"I don't know. What do you think?"

"You said I could choose after I fed."

Brendon nodded. "Yep."

So Brendon was right about the vampire thing. And he was still letting Spencer make his own choices. But he was obviously a murderer; the thought of not killing the humans - wow, that was a way to think of people - he fed on hadn't even occurred to him. That was a pretty big check in the get-the-hell-away category.

But.

"I don't know everything about this yet," Spencer said. His voice was half-questioning, and Brendon shook his head. "So. I should probably hang around at least long enough to get more details, shouldn't I?"

"Totally."

"But I want to talk to Ryan. And then we can do whatever."

"I don't..." Brendon bit his lip. "You won't be disappointed if this doesn't go well. Will you?"

Spencer laughed, even as the thought hurt. "Trust me. I'm used to disappointment with Ryan."

-

But when the front door of their apartment opened, Ryan practically tackled him.

"Ow," Spencer said. He might be a vampire, but Ryan was still bony. "Nice to see you, too."

"That's all you've got?" Ryan drew back. His eyes were puffy and red, and this time, it looked like he'd been crying. Ryan. Jesus. "I've been calling you."

"I know."

Ryan looked over at Brendon. "So what happened?"

"Oh. This is Brendon." Brendon grinned and waved. Points for him; he figured out not to hug him or shake his hand on his own. "He saved me from...well, you know."

That earned Brendon a nod of the head. Then Ryan said, "Well, let's not do this in the hall, I guess."

He stepped back inside.

"Do we need invitations to get in places?" Spencer asked. He liked horror movies as much as the next guy, but movies were movies.

Brendon frowned. "You know, I've never tried to find out?"

"How long have you been a vampire?"

"Four months. I'm still learning."

Great. Spencer took a breath and stepped forward. He pressed the door. It creaked, and nothing exciting happened.

"Okay," he said, and stepped through. He didn't start bleeding from the pores. Awesome.

When he turned, Brendon looked nervously around, but he squeezed his eyes shut and jumped inside. He also lacked in pore bleeding.

"Well," Brendon said, closing the door behind him. "Good to know."

Spencer rounded the corner into the living room. It was the same place it always was - a little cramped, a little cluttered, mostly okay - but he could see extra texture in the wallpaper, heard extra noises in the way his feet scuffled on the carpet, smelled pot and beer on Ryan. Old pot and beer. Maybe that was a good sign.

Ryan was sitting on the couch, staring up at Spencer through wide eyes.

"I'm not sticking around," Spencer said finally. On the way over, he'd decided to go vague. Ryan wouldn't take it, but whatever, Ryan was the master of holding things close to the chest. "I'll be staying with Brendon for a couple days. And maybe longer, but I'll let you know."

"Oh." Ryan stared at the ground.

Spencer crouched in front of him. Okay, bad idea; he smelled good. Really good. But not as good as the others. And the thought of biting Ryan was...well, not a particularly good one.

"This isn't your fault," he said. "But it's a good idea if we get some space."

"You'll still call me."

It wasn't a question, but Spencer nodded. "And text."

"Good." Ryan looked Spencer directly in the eyes. Spencer resisted the urge to flinch. If he was going to see Spencer was different, better that he do it now. "What happened?"

Vague. "I can't tell you. Not right now."

Ryan's lower lip trembled, just for a second. "They did something to you?"

Spencer didn't know what to say. Luckily, Brendon breaking something behind him saved him the need to.

"Shit," Brendon said. He picked up the pieces of the vase that had held Ryan's perpetually dying plant. Oh well, maybe it'd give up the ghost once and for all. "Sorry."

Spencer snorted and got to his feet. "Don't worry. I've bumped that thing more times than I can count."

He picked up the plant and as much of the soil as he could and took it into the kitchen. Tossing it in the garbage and wiping the dirt from his hands was oddly cathartic. Like, he didn't have to be careful with it. Yeah.

When he walked back to the living room, Brendon was saying something in a low voice.

"—this number and ask for Gabe Saporta." He handed Ryan a piece of paper. "And tell him what you saw. He'll explain it all. Just...don't mention my name."

Ryan gave Brendon his best expressionless face, but he took the paper and tucked it in his pocket.

"So yeah," Spencer said. "Call me if you need anything. I'll be busy, but I'll call you back."

Ryan looked from Spencer to Brendon and back, but he finally nodded.

Spencer waited until they were out in the hall before asking Brendon, "What'd you give him?"

"A choice." When Spencer's eyes grew big, Brendon waved his hands. "Not like that. I just. I knew Gabe before, and he does stuff with vampires sometimes. He's human. He'll know what to say."

"Oh." That was...well. Spencer couldn't be around Ryan for a little while, so it was good that Ryan could maybe call someone else. If Ryan even left the apartment.

Whatever. Damage was done, and really, it was for the best. Ryan didn't need one vampire in his life, and if Spencer didn't leave town, it was going to be a hell of a lot more than that. Spencer squared his shoulders.

"So," he said. "What next?"

-

Dawn, apparently.

"We burn in the sunlight?"

Brendon nodded. "I've never seen anyone do it, but it's not something I'm ready to risk."

Spencer eyed the coffin dubiously. "And we have to share one."

"Well..." Brendon shifted his weight from foot to foot. "I could only sneak one out, or everyone would know I've got someone here. The curtains might be enough."

"But you don't know that."

"No."

Spencer sighed. "Then let's get in."

Brendon jumped in, light on his feet, and pushed against the far side. Spencer climbed in with a little more effort. "You'll have to tell me how you do that."

"Tomorrow, totally," Brendon said. "But I did it naturally, once I was turned. I might suck as a teacher."

"You're supposed to suck."

Brendon groaned. "Yeah, I've never heard that one before."

Spencer settled in. Since Brendon was shorter, he put his head against Spencer's shoulder, which was better than being pressed face-to-face. And really, the whole thing was way more comfortable than Spencer expected. When he was human - and okay, that thought was still a little weird - he would've freaked about lying with another man in a coffin. But considering everything else? He had this.

Until Brendon said the next part. "I have to close the top. You claustrophobic?"

"I guess I'll find out," Spencer said. If his laugh was shaky, Brendon didn't say anything.

Brendon reached up and pulled the open half down.

It wasn't too bad. The air was warm and comfortable, and Brendon's slow-but-present breath reminded him he wasn't alone. But it was dark. And close. And okay, maybe he did have a little thing with tight spaces.

"We pass out completely, right?" Spencer asked.

"One-hundred percent."

He squeezed his eyes shut, and that helped a little. He wasn't thinking about how small the coffin was, or how little room he had. No, what came to mind now was his job at the pizza place, and how he always opened the restaurant at ten sharp, right when the sunlight was streaming on the pavement and heat waves rose up from the road. The most he worried about before was how hot the locks were to the touch and if he remembered his sunglasses.

Yeah. So much for that job.

"Tell me something," he said. His teeth chattered.

"What do you want to hear?"

"Anything. How you got turned, maybe."

Brendon stopped breathing beside him. And actually, Spencer hadn't been breathing for a minute either, except to talk. That was vaguely cool. Or it would've been, in other circumstances.

"It was Bill," Brendon said. His voice was a little flat. "William Beckett. He's the leader of the Dandies. He wanted more numbers."

Great. Spencer was trapped and losing it in a place with the guy who'd saved his life, so to speak, and he'd just offended him. Nice going. "Sorry. I shouldn't...sorry."

"No, it's okay. I just don't talk about it much. No one around here cares much."

Spencer shifted until one of his hands was free, and then he reached for Brendon. Brendon took his hand, and they interlaced fingers.

"Thanks," Spencer said.

"For what?"

"For saving me."

Before Brendon could say anything, Spencer lost consciousness.

-

They left right away the next night.

"It's not a big deal," Brendon said as they landed outside. "Bill sends me out a lot without telling anyone, so he might notice, but no one else will."

That seemed vaguely like a big deal to Spencer, but he was starting to feel hungry. He figured he'd have time to grill Brendon later.

They went downtown - just on the edges, since the Lost Boys apparently had that territory locked up - and drank their fill before going out to the shore. Brendon insisted it was a great place for flying practice, and Spencer let him take the lead.

"Everyone has different standards," Brendon said, as Spencer tried to climb up a lamppost. He was nearly as crappy at is as he had been as a human. "The Lost Boys kill all their victims for the fun of it. The Billionaires like having humans as pets, or maybe friends, I'm not sure. And The Dandies..."

Spencer made it to the top of the light. He balanced on the top and wobbled. "How long should I wait?"

"Try counting to twenty."

Spencer managed to make it to twelve before toppling over. But he landed somewhat evenly on his feet.

"That was way better than last time," Brendon said, grinning "Try again?"

"Sure." Spencer started back up. "What about The Dandies?"

Brendon sighed. "Bill wants chaos. Controlled chaos, sure, but he has a hard-on for the fear aspect of it."

"Peachy," Spencer said as he bounced up. It was getting a little easier, now that he was starting to feel out the way the power hung in the air. "Why do you hang around him?"

"He'll hunt me down if I leave." Brendon snorted quietly. "I know too much, I guess."

"That sucks."

"It was my choice. Mostly."

Spencer hovered back to the ground. "What do you mean?"

Brendon took off his bowler and ran it around in his hands. "He pretty much said he'd kill me if I didn't join up."

"Yikes."

"But I almost left, after the first couple weeks."

Spencer leaned against the light post. "Why didn't you?"

"You haven't been around the others, so you don't know." Brendon scratched the top of his head. "It has to be at least six or seven of them. But they have this...mental chatter thing. It's a little hard to throw off."

"Like what, the Borg?"

"Yeah!" Brendon laughed. "Only they're space zombies. No thinking. Vampires can get out of it, but if you're close together, or there's a lot in a small area, forget it."

"Huh." Spencer jumped back up to the light. Yeah. He totally had the hang of it now. "So what, you were stuck in Killer Vampire Mode?"

Brendon didn't answer. Spencer looked down. "Brendon?"

"Shit," Brendon said. "Quick. Go hide by the bathroom."

"But—"

"Now!"

The bathroom was close. Spencer managed to jump from the light to the roof, and he even managed not to fall off. It was pretty badass. Brendon, with his feet sinking in the sand, couldn't run fast enough. Not before three humans spotted him.

"Stop right there, Dandy!"

Whoa. They weren't just humans; they were armed humans. Spencer figured there had to be hunters - it was a vampire movie standard, really - but he hadn't figured that keeping weapons trained on Brendon would piss Spencer off. Or that getting pissed would make him want to tear into their flesh and drain them dry. Spencer dug his fingers into the wood and took a few breaths until it eased off.

Brendon stood still with his hands over his head. His back was to the hunters. "I won't hurt you."

"Brendon?"

Spencer could see Brendon wince. His eyes flicked up to Spencer, and he mouthed, "Stay there." Spencer nodded.

Brendon turned around, and right away, all the hunters lowered their weapons.

"You're not dead," one of the hunters said. He was holding a crossbow. "We figured...after all this time..."

"Shit," another hunter said. His labret caught the light. "Pete!"

Something whizzed past Spencer, and he ducked as low as he could. Luckily, the blur either ignored or didn't see him. Unluckily, it landed right on Brendon, shoving him face down in the sand. The three hunters lunged forward.

"Don't!" the third hunter said. "Pete, it's Brendon!"

The thing jumped off. Only it wasn't a thing, if the way he arched and landed lightly was any indication. It was another vampire. Hunters working with a vampire, and they all knew Brendon.

Whoa.

The vampire - Pete - scowled. "You're dressed like them? Why?"

"I don't know," Brendon said with a hiss. Spencer hadn't known Brendon long, but this was the first time he'd sounded even remotely pissed. "What happened to getting me out? Huh?"

Pete jerked away like Brendon hit him. "They said you were dead."

"Nice. Trust the lying vampires who turned you."

"What the fuck are you doing then, huh?" Pete got in Brendon's face. "Killing?"

"So what if I am?"

The humans, almost in unison, clutched their weapons tighter. But they didn't lift them. Huh.

"Let me tell you a little story," Brendon said. "About the night you got rescued. They were trying to get me to drink, and I didn't want to. And then some humans raided the place and busted you out. They shoved me in a closet, and I fell asleep with a bleeding jogger in my arms. What do you think happened after that?"

Everyone fell silent for a moment. All Spencer could hear was the crashing tide and the wind, which was actually a good thing; it meant there weren't any vampires or humans in the area. Probably. Brendon had said he would know, but he didn't trust his new senses yet.

"I...I didn't..." Pete said.

"Save it," Brendon said. "Kill me if you're going to. That's what you do, right?"

Pete shook his head. "I want Beckett. Or any vampire that's killing."

Brendon spread his arms. "I've killed. Take your best shot."

The humans didn't move. They all looked at Pete, but not like they were waiting for him to give an order. They looked kind of pissed at him, really.

Finally, Pete said, "I've been making do without blood. We can fix this."

"It's not that simple," Brendon said.

"Why not?"

Brendon didn't answer.

The hunter with the crossbow stepped forward and took off his hat. "You won't come back with us?"

Brendon shook his head. The hunter took off his hat and nodded, like he'd expected the answer, and put a hand on Brendon's shoulder. Brendon didn't move to take it off.

"If you change your mind, you know where we are," the hunter said.

"And you know where I am." Brendon crossed his arms.

Everyone stood still, waiting for the other to move. Finally, Pete slumped off, half-gliding over the sand. Two of the humans followed, but the one with the labret piercing carefully ruffled Brendon's hair and said, "I'm glad you're not dead."

Brendon didn't say anything, but he nodded once, and the third ran off.

When they were gone, Spencer jumped to the ground. He only made a little noise, but Brendon turned toward him with big eyes.

"And what about you?" he asked.

Spencer blinked. "Me?"

"You heard me. I've killed."

"You made that pretty clear at the beginning," Spencer said. "And I would've killed my first if you hadn't been there."

"What if I told you I was helping Bill?"

Spencer considered it for a minute. Then he said, "You're friends with vampire hunters. So I'd think you've got plans, or something."

Brendon gave a small, vulnerable smile. He looked so young. For the first time, whoever this Bill asshole was? Spencer wanted him dead. "Or maybe I was just too scared to leave."

"If that's true," Spencer said, hooking his arm around Brendon's shoulder, "you've got someone with balls to help you out."

Brendon's smile grew until it nearly split his face. And then he was lunging forward and kissing Spencer.

For a few days with a lot of wow moments, this had to top the list. It wasn't like kissing as a human, partially because their fangs scraped each others' lips, partially because Spencer's senses flared like they did when he was drinking blood. Judging by the groan from Brendon, it wasn't one-sided.

But Brendon pulled off. "Sorry, I...sorry."

"No," Spencer said. "That was. I mean. Don't be sorry. I liked it."

Brendon pulled off his bowler. His hair stuck up on top. "What's your policy on hooking up with vampires?"

"I don't know." Spencer smiled. "What's your policy on hooking up with guys you don't really know?"

"You know, that actually got me kicked out of my parents' house? I swore it off after that." His tone was light, but judging the slightly nervous look he gave Spencer, he wasn't making it up.

Spencer linked his fingers with Brendon's. "No time like the present to pick it up again, huh?"

Brendon squeezed his hand.

-

Sex as a vampire was pretty damn spectacular.

A lot of it was the powers. Spencer couldn't deny it. They ran back to the mansion hand-in-hand, and they jumped into an empty bed all hovering-style. But what really worked was when Brendon nibbled at Spencer's lower lip until it bled. It turned out vampire blood was some kind of aphrodisiac, so they were both hard instantly.

"Did you know?" Spencer asked.

Brendon nodded. He'd be breathing hard even if he was human. "The guys said something about it. They're always fucking each other."

They ruled out blowjobs right away - even Brendon, who'd been a vampire for months, hadn't experimented with teeth down there - but Brendon had some lube, and Spencer gave him a quick, sloppy handjob.

"You - oh! - don't have to go that fast," Brendon gasped as he jerked his hips into Spencer's hand.

"I want to," Spencer said. Really, the fact that he was holding himself back to some kind of human speed was a freaking miracle. "I've never done it like this."

Brendon twisted his fingers into the fitted sheet and squeezed his eyes shut. "New to me, too."

When he came, semen spilled onto Spencer's stomach. He blinked. Good thing he took his clothes off. "We have come?"

Brendon's eyes had gone completely white. That was weirdly cool. Spencer wondered if his eyes looked the same. "And we cry. It's not like we're dead, exactly."

"Huh." He touched his own cock experimentally and shivered. "Guess not."

Brendon leaned in and licked Spencer. Spencer let go of Brendon and shivered as Brendon jerked him off. Brendon purposely put his face by Spencer's cock when he came, and white lines streaked his cheeks. Spencer crinkled his nose, but Brendon wiped his face off with his hand and licked his fingers, and okay, he could go for that.

"You're something else," Spencer said. He licked his lip, and when he drew blood off the half-healed wound, he popped another boner.

Brendon eyed his cock with surprise. "So are you."

They made out for a minute - Brendon got hard again the second he tasted Spencer's blood again - and rubbed against each other. Spencer could feel it more acutely than he ever had as a human, almost like he could feel every cell in his body that contacted Brendon's cells. It didn't sound sexy, but it was. God, was it.

When they both came again, Spencer was wired. But he laid next to Brendon and brushed messed-up hair out of his face. He wasn't too sweaty, but they'd been rolling all over the place.

"I could go for a round three," Brendon said.

Spencer laughed. "Hold it there, Dracula. It can't be that long until dawn, can it?"

"Hmm. Guess not."

The coffin still sat in the middle of the room. Spencer really didn't want to get back in. "Tell me something."

Brendon nodded.

"Why are you still here?"

"Leverage," Brendon said quietly. "He has connections, and power."

Spencer nodded slowly. "Sounds like he needs to be taken out."

Brendon leaned in until his lips were touching Spencer's ear. "That's the idea."

"Let me help," Spencer said. He brushed a hand over Brendon's cheek.

"What about your life? Your friend Ryan?"

Spencer sighed. "My life's pretty much over. I'm sure you know that just as well as anyone."

Brendon's shoulders dropped.

"No, I meant..." Spencer frowned. "You had a job, right? Goals?"

Brendon bit his lip. "I wanted to be in a band. But I didn't really have anything else. Don't you?"

"Not much."

They laid in silence for a moment. Finally, Brendon said, "If you help, you can't back out, you know. And you'll have to do shitty things."

"Like killing people?"

Brendon looked down at the bed. "And hurting people."

Spencer nodded. The thought of beating someone up or draining them was...well. He'd be lying if it didn't like the sound of it. A lot. But he sure as hell wasn't going to run from a situation where he could do something. And he wasn't human anymore. That life was over.

Except. "Will I have to wear the outfit?"

"Yeah."

Spencer huffed out a breath. "Figures."


Show them all you're not the ordinary type

Brendon was in the room when Bill got news about the Inspiration Point killings.

"That's Uptown, right?" Brendon asked. He stood at Bill's left.

Carden, at Bill's right, nodded. "The Billionaires'll be pissed."

Bill took his fur off the arm of his chair and smoothed it in place. "Good. We should see this."

Most of the Dandies filed out of the room, but Brendon caught Jon's arm before they left.

"Tell Spence to make himself scarce? You too. Go to the beach or something."

Jon grinned, toothy. "Catch a bit of a tan?"

Brendon made himself return the smile. "Yeah. You're looking pasty."

"Everything going okay?" Carden raised an eyebrow as he passed.

"Swell," Brendon said. "Jon was just telling me about some hunters he saw out at the ocean earlier today. He and Spencer are going to check it out."

Carden looked between the two of them for a minute, but eventually, he nodded. "No reason to get sloppy. But you two'll miss all the fun."

Jon shot Brendon a pointed look. Brendon shrugged, but he had the twisty feeling he always had in his stomach when he went out with most of the Dandies. Still. It would probably just be a fight. No reason to think anything else.

"Coming, B?" Carden asked, sweeping out the door.

Brendon sighed and trailed after him.

-

Spencer stared out at the waves. He used to surf sometimes. He hadn't tried it since he was turned, but he could see in the night almost like it was day, particularly on a night with a lot of moonlight like this one. The blues weren't there, but it's not like the ocean disappeared.

Jon was walking on top of a bench. "Sucks that it had to be Brendon, huh?"

"Whatever," Spencer said, rolling his shoulders. The Dandy look really wasn't his deal, but at least his suit was tailored. Nice thing about being undead: he wouldn't have to get it resized any time soon. "You just want to go tear out throats."

Jon sighed a little wistfully. "No, you guys are right. Pacifism's totally the way to go."

"But."

"But I could handle a little carnage. I'm not sure he will."

Maybe Spencer agreed. It didn't make him feel better about sitting on the sidelines. But Brendon would bounce back. He always did.

Spencer stretched out on the bench. "I knew when I promised that it'd probably be him."

It hadn't taken a mastermind to see that the cliques were circling toward something. And Brendon, with his position close to Beckett, could see the Dandies nudging things along. They'd tried to get in touch with Fall Out Boy, tried to find the Billionaires's hideout, something to move their own plans along. But they were stuck.

"It'll probably be a big thing," Brendon had finally said. "But only one of us needs to be there to keep Bill from getting suspicious. So the first of us to hear goes, okay?"

Which meant, to Spencer, that Brendon probably would've jumped in if it had been either him or Jon. He was incredibly attached to the idea of Spencer not killing people. Spencer was, too, but not at Brendon's expense.

"Well, yeah." Jon did a backflip, probably just for the hell of it. "Beckett loves him."

Spencer snorted despite himself. "I hope not. Our coffin's tight enough."

-

The papers called it the Midtown Massacre. Bill called it a party.

Brendon felt like he was at a party. A party with the best-smelling food in the world: the terror from the humans and the pissed-off scent the other vampires gave off was pretty much the best thing ever.

Or no, it was like if he went to a college party. He'd done a couple of those. Most of them had kegs and people making out, whatever, but one had been in a stoner dorm, and the whole thing had smelled like pot. Brendon had giggled the whole night and eaten a bowl of Cheetos by himself. The orange barf the next day had totally been worth it.

He wasn't giggly now, but he was smiling. How could he not? He could hear the others in his head, and no one was down right now. They were all scoping out targets...everyone except Bill, of course. He always kept everyone out of his head, but Brendon figured he had someone in mind.

Bill handed Carden his cane and held a glove in the air. Brendon leaned forward, eager.

The glove fell to the ground.

Things blurred together for a while after that. Brendon remembered blood, of course, and skin under his teeth, and corpses all around. There was fighting, but he didn't care; he was a fucking vampire, and he could take anyone on.

And then he saw Dirty on the ground, throat torn out.

The world focused again as Brendon dropped to his side. Brendon pressed a hand to his throat, and blood seeped into his gloves, but he didn't need to be close to know. The eyes staring at nothing and the gaping wound said enough.

Dirty'd waited with him after he'd broken his ankle, even when everyone else ditched him. He'd helped him talk to the cops.

"Fuck," Brendon whispered. He pushed down Dirty's eyelids and coughed to clear the tightening of his throat.

Bill's laughter echoed off the walls. Brendon looked up just in time to see cops hauling none other than Pete Wentz into the back of their car, laughing with fang exposed. Brendon had known a lot, but the cops?

And there was Bill at the center of it all, shaking their hands.

-

"Have fun, Spencer?"

Spencer froze. Jon, a few feet ahead, turned and widened his eyes. Spencer twitched his fingers a little to wave him away; no reason they both had to get caught. Jon nodded once and disappeared.

"Not really," Spencer said, turning toward Carden. He stood by the blocked-off entrance to the ballroom, leaning up against the boards. "Jon killed the hunter."

"Didn't share?" Carden twirled Beckett's cane in his fingers.

Spencer shook his head.

"Don't worry. I've got a job for you."

"Really?" Fuck. And with Brendon nowhere to be seen. "Awesome."

Carden straightened. "I thought so. Follow me."

They ran into Midtown. Spencer saw the blocked-off streets - shit, there was a lot of blood in the air - but they turned away from the barricades and slowed to human speed about a block from a police station. It didn't mean anything, but when Carden started up the stairs, Spencer stopped in place.

"Here? Really?"

Carden grinned. "Really."

There were a lot of reasons Spencer didn't feel like going into a police station: florescent lights, lots of humans, a long record of assault on mind-controlled humans. But he never figured his head would swim from buzzing as he followed Carden to the desk sergeant. Spencer put fingers to his temples, trying to shake it away.

Carden was leaning on the desk, chatting to the sergeant. "...wants me to pay Fall Out Boy a visit. Up close and personal."

The sergeant tossed him the keys. "Hope they taste good."

He grinned as Spencer passed by. And showed fang.

Spencer tapped his hand in a fast tempo on his leg as they weaved past the offices and toward the cells. Fuck, how many of the cops had Beckett turned, if they were getting in his brain like this?

"Something else, isn't it?" Carden said, twirling the keys on a finger.

"No kidding," Spencer said with a bit of a gasp. He laughed a little; the guards near the cells in particular were excited for whatever was about to happen. "I just...I can't think."

"Yeah. You should be clearheaded for this."

Carden put a couple fingers to Spencer's head, and just like that, his brain was empty again.

"How..."

Carden waggled his fingers and grinned. "Magic fingers, my man."

He unlocked the cells and opened the door. He and the cops inside exchanged smiles, and as they filed out, Spencer nodded at them. They nodded back.

Fuck. No wonder no one had shown up, all those months ago. It had probably been the Lost Boys, and Beckett had made sure the cops would look the other way. Or look and laugh the entire time.

"Coming?"

Spencer shook his head. "Yeah. Sorry."

The cells were mostly empty. No, scratch that: only two cells were full. One of them had a vampire; Spencer could smell him, even though metal walls hid him from view. And even with the smell of blood in the air.

The blood came from a cell with old-school metal bars. Between them, Spencer could see three of the members of Fall Out Boy, and thanks to Brendon's help, he knew them all: Joe, with blood smeared on his arms; Andy, clutching blood-soaked rags; and Patrick, who bled out from multiple bites to his throat and arms. He was pale and twitching.

Shit.

Andy and Joe tensed when Carden rattled the keys. They didn't move away from Patrick, but they both glared up.

"What are you doing here?" Joe asked.

"What do you think?" Carden said, with a pointed look at Patrick.

Andy balled his free hand in a fist. "If you so much as touch him—"

"Don't worry. I won't touch him."

Carden grinned at Spencer, and Andy and Joe both looked over at him.

"What?" Spencer asked.

"Your choice," Carden said. "Boss's orders."

"What's my choice?" As if he didn't know. Damn it, where the hell was Brendon?

Carden laughed. "Break his neck, suck him dry, or turn him. Doesn't matter to me, but I'd go for the blood. What little's left."

No, there wasn't. But Patrick coughed, and more spurted out, and fuck. If the vampires had been in his head...

...but they weren't. No. He could do this much.

He nodded at Carden, and Carden opened the cell.

Andy and Joe rushed him, of course, but he stepped aside, and a couple of the vampire cops appeared out of nowhere. The cops held them back, and even though they kicked and struggled, it didn't do any good.

"There," Carden said. "All yours."

Patrick blinked weakly at Spencer as he knelt beside him. "You're Brendon's friend."

"Yeah," Spencer said. "You know me?"

Patrick nodded once. "Saw him a couple months ago. Almost didn't walk away from it."

Spencer found that very hard to believe. Especially if Brendon was talking him up. He swallowed hard. "I'm giving you my blood."

"No."

"But you'll die." Spencer was very carefully not looking at Carden.

"Let me." Patrick's voice was thin. "I don't want to be a vampire."

Normally, Spencer would let him. Well, if there was any kind of normal, Patrick wouldn't be dying from vampire bites, and bites from anything else would mean a trip to the ER. But things were already screwed enough, so it wasn't an option. And Spencer had an idea. It wasn't fair, but at this point? Fuck fair.

"It might be fun," he said, trying to sound amused. He sucked at it, but whatever, he wasn't an actor. "What do you think Pete'll do when I tell him? Think I could set him on the Lost Boys?"

Patrick stared at him, jaw dropping. Spencer swallowed and blinked quickly, but he smiled, baring his teeth. Carden snickered behind him.

"No," Patrick said. He shook his head.

Spencer propped Patrick up on his legs. Patrick's blood soaked through his suit, making every movement sticky and weird. And god, did it smell good.

Patrick grabbed for him. Spencer grabbed his hand for a moment, and Patrick squeezed. It might not have meant anything. But he figured it was the closest thing to a yes he'd get.

Spencer let go and bit into his arm until blood welled at the surface. "Open up."

Patrick clenched his jaw when Spencer pushed his arm against his mouth. But he was weak enough that Spencer only had to apply a little pressure before he opened up, and the second the first drop of blood touched his tongue, he relaxed, arching into Spencer's touch a little. He could see motion at the corner of his eye: Carden leaning in, Joe and Andy struggling, the cops laughing.

If Spencer were human, he'd puke.

Luckily, he and Jon had fed before going back to the mansion. There was enough blood in his veins to let Patrick's wounds close up. Patrick even clutched at his arm, almost like he wanted to shove it away but couldn't bring himself to do it. By the time he passed out, he looked almost normal again. Almost alive.

"Guess you'll need to be released by dawn," one of the cops said, laughing. After Spencer set Patrick down gently and stepped out of the cell, they shoved Joe and Andy back inside. Carden locked the cell behind them.

"How do we know he's okay?" Joe asked as he bent over Patrick.

Carden grinned. "Check his teeth."

Joe pulled back his upper lip. His canines were already fangs.

"Fuck," Andy said.

Carden snickered and looked over at Spencer. "Interesting choice. So what next?"

Spencer shrugged. "Beckett doesn't have a plan after this?"

"Oh, he has lots of plans." Carden leaned against the wall opposite the cell. He held up a finger. "One, Patrick stays in the cell and burns to ash when the sun rises."

Spencer's stomach churned. But he raised an eyebrow. "Then I wasted a shitload of blood."

"Always more to go around." Carden held up a second finger. "Two, we put them in a windowless cell and wait a couple of days until Patrick wakes up. Give him lots to eat."

God. Forget Pete; Brendon would go on a rampage.

"And three..." Carden smirked. "This one's my favorite. We let Pete take them home and see what happens."

"Huh," Spencer said. "Wouldn't even need to kill Patrick for that."

"Nope."

"But they might come after us."

Carden laughed. He tossed the keys to Spencer. "Considering you get to talk to Wentz? I'm counting on it."

"What?"

He smacked Spencer's arm lightly. "Tell the cops when you're done. Just don't take too long, or they won't make it home before dawn."

Carden walked away, whistling quietly.

Yeah. If Fall Out Boy wouldn't make it home before dawn, neither would Spencer. He wished he had Brendon's pocket watch; he didn't have the pockets for his cell phone in this version of the outfit.

"You got the time?" he asked one of the cops that hovered.

The cop told him. Spencer had a couple hours. Good.

He turned toward the windowless cell. There was only one vampire that could be in there. Spencer walked over - his shoes were soaked in enough blood that they squeaked - and clenched his fists.

"Who's there?" Pete's voice echoed against the walls. "Patrick?"

"No," Spencer said. He slid open the viewer at the top of the cell. It was downright medieval.

Almost immediately, Pete rushed the door. If Spencer hadn't been a vampire, he never would've gotten out of the way in time. But he was, so he backed off before Pete's fingers could gouge out his eyes, or something equally unpleasant. Pete's whole arm stuck out the hole, though. He brushed his hand against the wet part of Spencer's shirt.

"What'd you do to him?"

"Nothing," Spencer said. Except that wasn't true. "He was dying."

"Was?"

Spencer glanced over his shoulder. The cops were too far to hear them...probably.

"Fuck!" Pete drew his arm back and kicked the cell door. "Patrick!"

"He can't hear you."

"What about Joe? Andy?"

"They're fine. They're a couple cells down."

"Then why didn't they answer?"

"Because there are cops all over the fucking place," Spencer whispered. "So you have to listen to me. I don't have much time, and neither do you."

"Whatever." Pete stalked to the other end of the cell and curled up on a bed.

"They'll let you out when I'm done talking to you. And you have to get Patrick home."

Pete's head jerked up. "You didn't kill him."

"No."

"Then why..." Pete's eyes went huge. "You didn't."

Spencer dropped his voice as much as he could while still making sure Pete could hear. "You know who Mike Carden is?"

"I've been dealing with Dandies long enough to know that, thanks." Pete squinted at him for a second, then shook his head.

Spencer nodded. "He brought me here on purpose. Told me I had to kill Patrick, or..."

"Or." Pete rocked in place for a second, shaking his head. "So what. You felt like you had to rub it in? Tell me all about my new best friend, the vampire? Congratulations. Fuck off."

"No. I'm Brendon's friend."

Pete's head snapped over again. "He was there. I saw him. Killing some girl."

Spencer took a step back.

"Yeah, he's real close with William Beckett," Pete said. "Buddies."

"No," Spencer said again. Not because of Pete. If Brendon had killed - and of course he had, he'd known it would happen - and Carden wanted to make sure they weren't together?

He shook his head and got in close. "We're trying to take him down. We've been trying to get to you for months, but you ignored our calls."

"Yeah. Because I don't talk to Dandies."

"Stubborn asshole," Spencer said through grit teeth. "Brendon told me how you ditched him."

Pete blinked and looked over. "I don't know what you heard, but—"

"Save it." Spencer clenched his hand. And clenched the keys he held. It'd be easy: get the cops, open the cell door, tear Pete apart.

But Brendon. Brendon needed him.

"We've got a plan. We're doing it with or without you, but if you want Beckett's head, you'll need our help. You've got two days."

He closed the viewer and turned on his heel.

If Spencer had been an asshole, he would've let Pete rot. But he told the cops he was done, and left the police station.

-

Bill had a knack for disappearing. After he talked to the cops, he was gone.

Brendon wasn't the only Dandy left behind. He was, however, the only one who even tried to break away from the rest, to not run up and down the streets of Midtown killing whoever was still around. Maybe it was because Dirty's blood was still on his hands. Probably.

"Not having fun?"

Bill. He was leaning up against a car, long legs crossed like it was nothing. And it probably wasn't.

Brendon smiled a little. "I had enough for tonight."

Bill stuck out his lower lip. "And here I was going to ask you to come with me."

"What about Carden?"

"Spencer's keeping him occupied."

Before Brendon could think about what that meant, Bill was behind Brendon's shoulder, smoothing the lines of his jacket.

"I didn't want to leave you alone," Bill whispered.

Brendon shivered and giggled nervously. "I'm with Spencer."

"So? Lots of the guys screw around." Bill nipped Brendon's ear. "Carden's tried almost everyone. And your friend Jon, he's been with Tom Conrad, did you know that?"

"Everyone knows that," Brendon said.

"So it's not a big deal."

He tried to tip Brendon's mouth toward his, but Brendon didn't let him. Bill grinned.

"I know what you see in Spencer," he said. "And I don't blame you. It's positively sweet."

"What is?"

"I'd tell you not to play coy, but you're so good at it." Bill tugged at his lapel. "And it's only for a couple more days, anyway. I'm having an even bigger party at the mansion, and everyone will be there."

Brendon swallowed.

"Just make sure you choose the right side." He kissed Brendon on the cheek. "Like you did tonight."

And then he was gone.

Brendon got back to the mansion somehow. It was like someone cut the memory of how from his brain, but whatever, he was over thinking. He just wanted to hide in his coffin until everything else disappeared.

Spencer came in their room not long after Brendon. Only he was covered in blood.

"Jesus," Brendon said, getting to his feet.

Spencer held up a hand. "I'm fine."

"You didn't..."

"No." Spencer laughed a little. "Believe it or not, this is what a rescue looks like."

I know what you see in Spencer.

Brendon jumped forward, closing the distance between the two of them. "Get out of here."

"What?" Spencer raised an eyebrow. "Dude, it's almost dawn."

"Tomorrow. Just...find Ryan, and get as far out of the city as you can. No one'll follow you, it'll be—"

"Dude. Shut up."

"But Spencer—"

Spencer pulled him forward until they were kissing. Brendon melted into him.

"I'm not going anywhere," Spencer whispered.

Brendon had things to tell Spencer. And obviously, Spencer had things to tell Brendon. But Spencer dragged Brendon into their coffin, closed the top, and proceeded to make sure Brendon couldn't talk until they passed out.

-

Spencer decided to get it over with. The second they woke up the next evening, he started talking, even before they got out of the coffin. It was a little stuffy, but hey, at least it was harder to be overheard.

"So." Well, once he got words working again. "Did...um. Okay."

Brendon cracked a lopsided smile. "Yes, Spence. Whatever you say."

"Shut up." Spencer's return smile only lasted a second. "Promise you won't kill me?"

Brendon nodded solemnly. "Good."

"I kind of...turned Patrick into a vampire?"

"Oh." Brendon blinked. "So the blood..."

"Yeah."

Brendon's eyes got huge. "What about Pete?"

"He basically vowed to kill me and all my ancestors."

"Shit."

"Yeah." Spencer Smith, master of words. "I know this fucks up our plans, but...actually, me yelling at Pete might've been worse, but same result, I guess."

Brendon snorted. "What'd you say?"

"That he was a stubborn asshole?"

"That's almost Patrick's pet name for him." Brendon shifted on his back as best he could and dragged his fingers over the interior of the coffin. "I'm more worried about Bill."

"He knows something, doesn't he?"

"Putting it mildly."

Spencer rubbed his hands over his eyes. "And who was it that overruled my stake-him-in-his-sleep plan?"

"Excuse me for liking you alive."

"Undead."

Brendon squeaked. Spencer was close enough to him that he could feel his cell phone buzzing between them.

"That a call, or are you just happy to see me?" Spencer asked.

"If my junk starts buzzing, I don't think it'd be particularly sexy." Brendon wriggled until the phone came out. "It's a text, actually. And..."

He showed Spencer the screen. It was from Jon's number, and all it read was an address and a name. Well, and a smiley.

"Travie McCoy?" Spencer frowned. "Why's that name familiar?"

"Because!" Brendon kissed Spencer and grinned. "He's the leader of the Billionaires!"

"Whoa. He has your number?"

"Doubt it. I think Jon just found his place!"

"Sweet." Spencer frowned. "Why did he text? It's not like we're hard to find."

"I don't—"

The phone buzzed again, and both Spencer and Brendon jumped.

"'Honeymoon with Tom,'" Brendon read aloud. "'Catching moon rays in Chicago. Let me know if you survive.' Aw!"

Spencer sighed. "Aw is right. We just lost our only allies in here."

"If you call Tom an ally." Brendon waved a hand. "It's not like they didn't help! Come on."

Brendon clattered out of the coffin and made for the window. Spencer looked down at his clothes. God, how had he slept in this?

"Can you give me a second to change?"

"I guess." But Brendon was bouncing as much as he could without flying all over the room. It was positively restrained for him.

Spencer changed into a t-shirt and jeans. Screw the Dandies.

-

Travie McCoy's place was a mansion in Uptown. It wasn't anything like the decaying Victorian place the Dandies had taken over; it was modern and what Brendon would assume was stylish, if he knew anything about architecture. But there were a lot of windows and light-colored wood, and by the look of things, just seemed like a place rich people would live.

Brendon and Spencer stopped about a block off.

"How fast do you think they'll kill us?" Spencer asked.

"They won't kill us," Brendon said. "Not after tonight."

It was obvious Spencer didn't agree, but he fell in line when Brendon walked up to the gate and pressed the speaker button.

"Hello?"

"Hi," Brendon said brightly. "I'm Brendon, and I'm with my boyfriend Spencer. We'd like to see Travie, if that's okay."

"Dork," Spencer muttered behind him. Brendon put a finger to his lips.

"Why do you want to see Travie?"

"It's about the Dandies."

A camera whirred, and both Brendon and Spencer looked up at it. Brendon waved.

"You're Dandies," the disembodied voice said, flat.

"Yep!" Brendon said. "Even though Spencer didn't feel like dressing up tonight."

Spencer gave him the finger.

"Go the fuck away," the speaker voice at the speaker said.

Spencer leaned over Brendon, close to the speaker. "How about the Lost Boys? You tired of them?"

The speaker went dead, like the person stopped leaning on the button. Brendon wilted.

"No big deal," Spencer said, even though he sounded a little down. "We can try again later."

But there was a buzz, and the gate opened. Brendon grinned. "Guess they just needed the Spencer Smith charm."

They jogged inside at human speed - it wasn't really polite to be blurry-fast around other gangs - and the gate closed behind them.

From what Brendon had heard, the Billionaires were usually partying. But even though they had most of the night ahead of them, they were pretty quiet. Probably because of what happened in Midtown; they'd taken heavy damage from the Lost Boys, and their numbers were thinner than Brendon had ever seen them. There were some humans around, though. That wasn't a bad sign.

Except Spencer stiffened beside him. Brendon ran his hand down his arm.

"We should've fed first," he whispered.

"Just don't breathe," Brendon said.

Travie McCoy, king of the Billionaires, was sprawled on a bed upstairs, with a lot of his vampires hovering around. His eyes were shut as they were ushered inside.

"I should tear your heads off," he said.

"But killing us would start a war with the Dandies, and you really don't need that right now," Spencer said.

Brendon cleared his throat. "I think Spencer's trying to say he wants to help. We both do. With the Lost Boys."

Travie raised an eyebrow. "Who's we? I don't see your king around."

"That's because he doesn't know we're here." Spencer spread out his hands. "You saw what he did. He's out of control."

"He's always been out of control."

Brendon shrugged. It was true.

Travie opened his eyes. One of his vampires turned the lights down, but Brendon could still see the white irises. He winced sympathetically. Being in Super Vamp Mode was never comfortable around a lot of lights.

"Wait," he said. "You know Pete Wentz, don't you?"

Brendon was shifting his weight from foot to foot, but he froze. Knowing Pete Wentz in the vampire world these days wasn't necessarily a good thing.

But Travie kept going. "Yeah. You're that kid that follows him around everywhere. I saw you at his party a few months ago."

"That's me," Brendon said. "Only we both got vamped. Kind of a long story there."

"Know what you mean." Travie looked around at the others in the room. "Give us a second."

None of them looked particularly happy about it, but they seemed just as tired as Travie. They stepped out, but Brendon could hear them right on the other side of the door. It wasn't like they had more privacy, and Travie probably knew it. The gesture was nice, though.

"Was it Beckett?" Travie asked.

Brendon nodded.

"Me too. But I got away from him fast; he's a sick bastard."

"Totally," Brendon said.

"That's why we're trying to take over for the Dandies," Spencer said.

Travie leaned forward on his knees, feet planted on the floor. He looked more alert than he had when they'd first stepped in. "You got plans? Or are you just wiping them out?"

Spencer sighed. "We figured we'd keep an eye on the city, make sure we don't get another repeat of last night."

"Okay," Travie said. "I can get on board. But you came with more than that, didn't you?"

Brendon grinned.

"We were going to open with an offer to take out the Lost Boys," Spencer said. "Once we take Beckett out, obviously. But that seems obvious now."

Travie stood and threw his arms around Brendon and Spencer's shoulders. "I like you guys. Feel like a drink before you go?"

"Hell yeah," Brendon said.

-

Spencer was on his second blood and vodka - the humans hanging around really knew how to mix drinks - when Brendon's phone went off. Brendon dropped his rum and blood, and Spencer only just managed to catch it before it splashed all over Travie's wood floors.

"Pick it up," Spencer said. "It won't bite."

"Ha ha." Brendon looked at the top of his phone. "It's a text."

"So?"

Brendon swallowed and flipped open his phone. His eyes skimmed, and he laughed, shaky. "It says they want to meet after sunset tomorrow."

Spencer slapped his back. "Looks like we're doing this."

"Yeah." Of course Brendon looked nervous; Spencer was, too. But he was five seconds from dancing.

"Pete's in?" Travie said, lounging on the bar.

"Maybe," Spencer said. "We have to meet with him early tomorrow. But either way, we can get this done fast."

"That's what I like to hear."

They hammered out a couple details before Brendon poked Spencer's arm. "We need to get back."

He looked at the sky. It was just a little lighter than it had been a couple minutes ago. "Oh shit, you're right."

"You guys can crash here if you want." Travie waved his hands. "More than enough coffins to share."

Spencer shook his head. "No thanks. See you at midnight?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

The second they stepped out the door, shades slid down from the tops of the windows, covering the glass. Spencer admired it for a minute, then followed Brendon back to the Dandy Mansion.

"Glad we fed over there," Brendon said as they climbed in their window. "I don't feel like doing anything but staying in bed for a year."

Before Spencer could answer, the door creaked open, and they both jumped.

"Bill," Brendon said.

Beckett grinned as Carden stepped in front of him and they blocked the door. "Where have you two been all night?"

"The beach," Spencer said, at the same time Brendon said something about Inspiration Point. "Uh. We went a couple of places."

"Fun." Beckett nodded.

Suddenly, the room was full of the other Dandies. And Spencer's head practically exploded with their mental chatter. Only it was focused, very carefully beamed in his direction. He dropped to the floor.

Beckett was saying something, but it was hard to hear. It was hard to focus on anything but the way his eyes dried out - they did that when the pupils blanked out - and the hands on his back. They were gentle, but Spencer shoved them off anyway. Except that they wouldn't take no for an answer, and he was getting dragged out.

"Make sure he doesn't leave," Beckett was saying, jerking his head toward Brendon. He winked at Spencer and laughed.

Spencer slumped, and the world went dark around him.

-

"Spencer!" Brendon screamed as Carden dragged Spencer to his feet.

But Bill held him back with a hand. Not that it really could've stopped him, but the echo of whatever made Spencer pass out was enough to make Brendon's ears ring. Full blast wouldn't do anyone any good.

"Don't worry about him," he said. "You'll see him at the party. I just want to make sure he's ready."

"No!"

"Relax." Bill met Spencer's eyes just before they rolled up. He looked at the other Dandies. "Make sure he doesn't leave."

They all left the room in an instant.

It was the coffin room all over again. Brendon slammed against the door and screamed and tried the lock, but it wouldn't budge. He was trapped again. There was nothing he could do, no way—

Well. That wasn't true.

He ran to the window and drew back the curtains. Except the sun was seconds from peeking over the ridge. Brendon could feel his skin start to crisp, and he only had enough time to shut the curtains again before he passed out.

For the period of time he'd been a vampire, he'd never dreamed. The day he spent on the floor was no different. But Brendon was aware of it somehow, felt every second that passed like it was a year. Wasn't being undead supposed to mean time shooting forward? That whole immortality thing? Whatever. It sucked.

The second he woke up, he went to the window, eyes still bleary. He basically tripped over his feet and landed on his head, but he did it fast enough that no one was guarding yet. It worked.

He was off the property and outside Fall Out Boy's practice space when the sky went fully dark. It was exactly like he remembered: dark, quiet, and generally inoffensive. He could smell a lot more than before - there was something oddly musty about the place - but every tensed muscle relaxed for about five seconds.

Until floodlight surrounded him, and something hit him hard in the chest.

"It's me!" Brendon choked out. "Seriously! Chill!"

Pete was straddling him, holding a stake right over his heart. "Where the fuck did you take him?"

"Huh?"

Pete dug the tip of the stake into Brendon's shirt. Brendon gasped quietly. "Tell me!"

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Dude," a silhouette said. Andy. "It's Brendon. Ease up."

Pete snarled again, but he stood up. Joe stepped in front of the light just as it went dark, and Brendon blinked up at him. He took the hand Joe offered and got to his feet.

"What's going on?" Brendon asked, staring after Pete.

"They took Patrick," Joe said.

-

"Hey." Someone kicked Spencer in the ribs. "Get up."

"Ow," Spencer said. He opened his eyes.

They were in the Dandy mansion, Spencer knew that much. The room looked a lot like the one he shared with Brendon. Of course, their room didn't have as much dirt on the floor, or Patrick Stump scowling in the middle, arms crossed over his chest.

"The last thing I remember is the jail cell," Patrick said. "Feel like catching me up?"

Right. He wouldn't. "I don't know everything, just that Pete took you home and Beckett mind-whammied me."

"And I'm supposed to believe that?"

"You said you talked to Brendon, didn't you?" Spencer rubbed his temples. It didn't seem fair that he could get a headache as a vampire. "And you didn't tell Pete about it?"

Patrick took off his hat. He'd seen a bit of Patrick's hair before, but he'd never registered how light it was. "It was a while ago, and a day or two after Pete trashed our place, so I didn't feel like it."

That explained why Brendon never mentioned it. It was probably before they'd had any kind of plan. "Look. I'm sorry about the whole..."

He waved a hand up and down. Patrick sighed.

"It doesn't feel like much of anything yet, but I'm betting that won't last." He put a finger in his mouth and felt his canines. "God, that's weird."

"Yeah," Spencer said. "Look. When they open the door—"

But before he could say anything else, the door opened. Of course. Carden walked in, curling his hands into fists.

"Evening," he said, nodding at Patrick and Spencer. "Feel like feeding?"

"No," Spencer said. Even though his stomach had passed growling when he'd woken up and gone into burning. Fighting the mental crap earlier had taken everything out of him.

"You sure about that?"

He nodded, and the Dandies threw a teenage kid in. He had scene hair and tattoos, and fuck, he was basically the picture of Pete Wentz, if he'd lost ten years in age. Patrick's eyes got huge, and he stumbled backward until he hit the wall.

"There's nothing noble about not killing," Carden said in a conversational tone. "It just becomes this big thing, you know? Nagging in the back of your head."

The kid whimpered and looked around. Spencer avoided his gaze and carefully held his breath. It meant no talking, but it also meant no murder. He could skip the snarky banter.

"Like you'd know," Patrick said.

Carden nodded. "You've got a point."

He grabbed the kid and bit into his neck until blood spurted in front of him. Spencer covered his nose and mouth, and Patrick flinched and looked away.

But Carden pulled back while Spencer could still hear the kid's heartbeat.

"Anyone? No?" He let the kid drop to his knees and came up to Spencer with bloody hands. "Spence? He probably won't struggle."

Spencer made his best "fuck you" expression.

"Patrick?"

Carden walked over to him. Patrick tried to move away, but Carden caught him with a hand and held his throat. With his other fingers, he trailed a bloody line down Patrick's cheek.

"Don't," Spencer said. And oh fuck, that was a terrible idea. He held his breath again, but the blood. It made his head swim.

Carden let go of Patrick, and Patrick tried to wipe the blood off his skin, pushing hard enough to make it red. But then he caught sight of the blood on his fingers, and he sniffed.

"That's it," Carden said. "Smells great, doesn't it?"

Patrick shivered, but he dropped to his knees and ran his hands in the dirt. Spencer could've told him it wouldn't help much, but yeah. He understood.

"You guys are no fun. Oh well, more for me."

"No!" Patrick said.

But it was too late. Carden sucked the last of the blood from the kid's veins, and Spencer watched the kid's sneakers twitch and grow still. When Carden lifted his mouth again, it was lined with red. He licked his lips clean.

"Nice." He turned to Spencer. "Strike two, kid. The boss is doubting your loyalties."

Spencer raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, you probably guessed that much." Carden jerked his fingers. "But whatever. You'll fall in line one way or another."

More Dandies filled the room. Spencer winced. He couldn't really brace himself for more psychic pain.

Except, as they all took off their gloves and took fighting stances, it didn't look like that's what they had in mind.

"Don't kill him," Carden said, "but anything he can heal from is fair game."

Fuck.

-

It was part of Brendon's quickly revised plan to go in alone.

"Bill wants to screw with me," he'd told the crowd that had gathered outside the Dandy mansion. And it was a pretty big crowd. The Billionaires, even with their losses, were bigger than the couple dozen Dandies inside. And then Fall Out Boy minus Patrick had their car and a shitload of weapons. "So I spring the trap, and you guys swoop in."

But Pete. "Fuck that. I'm coming with you."

"How is that a good idea?" Brendon said, scowling.

"He's screwing with me just as much." Pete muttered something under his breath. Something about cops and priests.

"You still don't trust me?" If Brendon had been human, he might've been a couple seconds away from crying. He'd gotten Travie and his gang in, and Spencer was gone. Wasn't that enough?

Pete's face softened. "This is more about Patrick."

An olive branch. Huh. Brendon adjusted his clothes and tried to get something resembling composure back. "Okay. But get Patrick and get out."

"And then I'll come back and kick some ass."

Travie laughed and held out his hand. Pete stared at it for a second, but Pete clapped it.

"You guys know how to party," Travie said.

"Something like that," Brendon said. "Let's do this before anything else happens."

He walked, human speed, with Pete over the grounds. It was weird coming through the front; there were slightly fewer weeds, since there'd once been a driveway and sidewalks, and the big front doors were always open. Brendon could hear music on the air.

"They're probably going to try to incapacitate me," Brendon whispered as they walked inside. "So don't worry about me."

Pete shot him a look. "Patrick comes first. But I won't leave you behind."

They turned toward the ballroom.

For as long as Brendon had been a vampire, it had been blocked off. Hardly anyone used the ground floor; they either went to the basement rooms or the bedrooms over the kitchen. But now, the ballroom was open and twinkling with candlelight.

Bill wasn't kidding about a party.

Dandies stood in various places around the floor, but most of the room was filled with people, most of them staring blankly. Some of them were smiling. Pete scowled at all of them, and Brendon remembered where he'd seen it before.

"Shit," Pete whispered.

"Brendon. You brought a friend."

A stage at the end of the room held Bill's usual chair, and his long legs draped on it with abandon. He looked bored, but Brendon could see his foot tapping to the beat of the instrumental on the speakers; he was loving the hell out of this.

"Where's Spencer?" Brendon asked.

"And Patrick," Pete added.

"Say please," Bill said.

Brendon and Pete looked at each other. Brendon snorted, and Pete smirked.

But apparently, Bill wasn't serious about it. When Brendon looked back on the stage, Carden was holding someone in a torn-up outfit. But that wasn't the only thing torn up about him; his face was so swollen and bruised that it was hard to see his mouth, and his eyes were puffy and nearly shut, and—

"Spencer!"

It was only Pete's hands on his shoulder that kept Brendon from running forward.

"Will you still want him?" Bill asked, looking carefully at Brendon. "When I make him drink?"

Brendon practically shook with the words he wasn't saying. But Pete spoke up first.

"If he kills someone, it's your fucking fault. Just like you're to blame for me." He looked at Brendon. "Both of us."

Bill smiled. "We'll see how Spencer feels."

The crowd shifted, and Brendon knew what was coming next. One of the humans, plucked from the crowd. Maybe someone Spencer knew, like Ryan. Maybe someone Brendon or Pete knew. Maybe a complete stranger.

Brendon saw Pete slip something from his sleeve out of the corner of his eye. And seconds later, the back of the room was filled with the Billionaires and Andy and Joe.

Pete waved his phone. "Hope you don't mind a few party crashers."

But Bill was looking at Brendon still.

"Last chance, Brendon Urie," he said quietly. Brendon blinked. There was something soft about his voice, vulnerable. "Whose side are you on?"

Like there was any other answer. "Spencer's. Always."

Bill nodded, and then he looked bored and slightly amused again. "They can't crash if they were already on the guest list. We're only missing one group now."

He waved his hands, and a gust of wind raised. All the candles blew out, and the room plunged into darkness. Before Brendon's eyes could adjust, floodlights on the stage went on.

Bill was surrounded by the Lost Boys.

"There we go," he said, petting his fur. "Full house."

-

Spencer had never had his ass beaten so completely as a vampire. Well, or as a human, but probably because he would've died if it had gotten to that point.

But it was actually kind of cool. Not the beating part; that sucked all kinds of balls. The part where his body stopped feeling anything, and even though it stopped working, Spencer could still think? That was really awesome. He could see where he was pointed, even if his lids were almost completely closed, and he could hear.

Of course, he could smell, too.

"You won't be strong enough to stop until the first couple are dead," Carden had whispered when he'd hauled him behind Beckett's stupid stage. The guy didn't know how to shut up. "I wonder if you'll still care at that point? What's a third corpse, after all?"

But he'd shut up when he'd hauled Spencer next to Beckett. Spencer could see Brendon standing with Pete at the front of the stage. And he heard Pete's kind-of apology. That was nice. At least, if something happened, they had that done between them.

But the Lost Boys showed up, and everything fucking sucked.

He could see Pete searching anxiously through the stampeding crowd for Patrick - who was still in the basement, at least, even if he had three or four humans with him - and Brendon struggling to get to him. He could see the Lost Boys cracking necks, and the Billionaires trying to stop them.

And, most of all, he could smell the blood.

The first drops weren't bad. The first dead person was. Well, if anything that smelled that amazing could be bad. Spencer couldn't move, couldn't get it to it, fuck, he wanted it so bad, so—

"Drink. Come on."

Something vaguely familiar and burning hit his mouth. He choked, but he kept drinking. The more he took, the more he could move. He shifted into a sitting position.

"Finally. You're really heavy for a vampire."

Spencer blinked. There was an edge of a scarf by his hand. "Ryan?"

Ryan looked down at him. "Nice of you to catch up."

He looked exactly the same as he always did: poofy hair, too many scarves for any one person and anyone living in LA in general, colorful clothes. But he was also wearing a vest with stakes and bottles of what was probably holy water.

"You're a hunter?" Spencer asked.

"Yeah. So?"

"So you couldn't tell me?"

"What? Like you were forthcoming these past few months?"

Okay, point.

Spencer sat up. He wasn't fully healed - wow, that was pain, welcome back - but most of his bruises were healed, and he could see. "What did you feed me?"

"Something Pete Wentz uses."

"You know Pete?"

Ryan shrugged. "Your friend Brendon put me in touch with a guy named Gabe. He's big in the hunter scene, I guess. And best friends with Pete. I've seen him around a lot."

"High five, motherfucker!"

Spencer turned to the dance floor.

Things weren't...well, perfect. There were a couple dead people - although most of them seemed to be dead Lost Boys, judging by the hair and makeup - and Spencer held his breath. But most of the Billionaires were still standing around - Travie and a guy Spencer figured was Gabe Saporta, judging from what Brendon had said, were clapping hands - and Andy and Joe were cleaning weapons, and...

Brendon. He had Beckett by his shirt, and Pete stood at his side, handing him a stake.

"Brendon wanted me to take you out of the room," Ryan said quietly. "But I figured you'd want to see this."

Spencer wasn't sure if he cared. He could see Carden with a stake through his heart on the ground at Pete's feet, and that was pretty much where his caring started and ended. But seeing Brendon slam a stake into Beckett's chest and fall to the floor wasn't terrible, either.

"Who's up for a bonfire?" Gabe yelled.

Most of the room cheered.

-

"You should be upstairs," Brendon said as he propped Spencer against a boulder.

"You should stop being an asshole," Spencer groaned. His voice croaked.

Brendon turned to see the bonfire efforts. He expected tragedy; after all, this place had so much brush, they'd probably start the wildfire of the century. But someone had found a backhoe, and they were digging up the ground with cheers. And he could smell beer.

"Leave it to Gabe to make it a party," he muttered, but he was smiling. Seeing Gabe roll up the keg was kind of nice, actually. Normal, considering how many of them were still covered in blood.

"Where'd Pete go?" Spencer asked, wincing as he shifted.

"Took Patrick home. They have...stuff."

"I'm familiar with that."

"Do you need to feed?" Brendon looked him up and down. He wasn't nearly as bad as earlier, but he still looked a bit puffy.

"Ryan's getting me more of whatever Pete's shit is." Spencer grimaced. "It's nasty."

"I didn't know Pete had anything special."

"Me neither."

There was a big pit in the ground where the machinery had torn things up. People were throwing branches and twigs in.

"Spencer Smith, you're co-leader of the Dandies," Brendon said in his best game show host voice. "What are you going to do next?"

"Stop hurting all over."

"After that."

"Get rid of the fucking dress code."

Brendon sighed. "But I like the clothes."

"As long as I don't have to wear them." Spencer brushed his bangs out of his face. "How about fuck you all over the mansion?"

Brendon laughed. For the first time in forever, it felt like a real laugh, completely. "I like the way you think."

-

"Hold still," Carden said, biting down on his lip. He yanked, and the stake came loose. Bill grimaced.

"You couldn't have done that more gently?"

"No offense, but you had a fucking stake in your chest." Carden examined the bloody end, then tossed it over his shoulder with a shrug. "Most vampires don't walk away from that, much less keep up the illusion that I have one, too."

Bill smoothed his fur. "No, they don't."

"So where next?" Carden patted the hood of the car and stared down the hill. The bonfire in front of the mansion was dying down. "Can't talk you into Chicago, can I?"

"If showing my face didn't mean more of this." He gestured at his suit. Pity it was so ragged; he liked this shirt. "No, I was thinking New Jersey. I've heard it's a bit wild out there."

Carden flashed fang. "More taming?"

William smiled back.

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