Big city

“Think of it, Xavier,” Haywood almost pleaded, but the tall and proud looking man shook his head.
“I've thought and I've slept it over. I've done about everything you've wanted me to do, including wasting a way too much time sitting upon my ass in this bunk,” Xavier responded. “I'm sick and tired of your lectures. I'm sorry, I don't mean anything bad with it, and I'm darn grateful that you saved our butts back there and gave us shelter, but you cannot really expect me to heed to each of your advice or... I've got a place to go and I've got responsibilities. Why, I've told you all this a hundred times. I'm sick of it. I'll just take Mike and go.”

“Then why did you come here at all,” Haywood sighed. “Why didn't you just hit the road? The night is young, your camp close enough. Why bother and speak with me if all I do is bug you with my nuisance?” His voice was heavy with exhaustion.

Xavier shrugged. “I suppose I didn't want to leave without letting you know. That's all.”
The old werewolf snorted. “Awfully kind of you. Oh how naïve you are, Xavier. How very naïve. Oh well – I've tried to teach you, now life's got to do it the hard way.”

Xavier muttered something under his breath which sounded awfully like “spare me the lecture”. He knew the risks he was taking. But at least Michael was safe, and once he got to talk to Shawn, they'd come up with something. Of all the people out there, Shawn would see that he has not turned into some monster. He was still Xavier Ford, Shawn's hot blooded lover. As to his diet... well, he could try and feed off the scoundrels, and if that wasn't acceptable... well, he'd do whatever those Freshmen were doing. Apparently that lot wasn't touching the citizens of M106 and still managed to survive. Blood donations, underground blood banks, stuff like that. He didn't know much of it, but he could go around and ask. Sleep by day and hunt vampires by night. This was one fact that really didn't bother him – he'd always been a night lurker. That's when all illegal or evil life woke and vamps came out of their hiding places. That's when he fucked around with Shawn...

“Good night, Mister Ford,” Haywood wished him. “Good night and good luck. At least don't get the boy killed, all right?”
“Yeah. Sure. Not planning to.”
It didn't matter what he said. The werewolves had been awfully nice to them, but now it was time to hit the road. Or else everybody would think them dead, Goldie would cry and he just couldn't stand the mess his brothers and sisters would have with him gone.

“Goodnight, Haywood.”
Mike was already waiting for him. Sure, they'd told the boy of the dangers, too, before he'd noticed and told them to keep away from him. He really didn't need them to fill Michael's head with all sort of silly ideas of how they'd get killed. They were going home. Period. Xavier knew it, Mike knew it. The boy was back in full health and ecstatic about getting back home again.

The night was clear with thousands of stars. Too many of them to even try and tell apart the constellations. But Xavier didn't bother himself with the stars anyway and Mike was busy at his heels, keeping up with little to no effort. One day soon he'd make a great addition to their team of hunters.

Xavier saw the first line of guards long before they might have been noticed. For a moment, it made him worry, that as easily as they came into range, so could the vampires. When he passed a glance at Mike, he realized that the boy was peering at him intently, unaware of what he had seen. Perhaps it wasn't about the guards being sloppy. Perhaps it was him being a... vampire now.

“Michael,” he breathed into the boy's ear. “You go first. Just in case. Call out your name and when they beckon you closer and see it is you, indeed, tell them that I have come with you.”
The boy appeared a bit puzzled.
“Just in case,” Xavier assured him and patted his shoulder. Michael nodded and started walking towards the guards, his blond head up high, now perfectly visible to all.

“Who goes there,” came a shrill call from the guard outpost. Xavier reckoned that voice. Adrian. And most likely his woman Angela and brother Sheridan with him. Excellent hunters, all three of them. One of the Aristocrats had once called them the “Three Musketeers”. That was a book about a bunch of warriors, that much Xavier knew. The name had stuck, although they'd killed the vampire calling them thus. Always together, skills complementing one another.

He heard Michael calling out his name and waving with his hands up. He heard Adrian ordering the boy to approach carefully with his hands up in the air. Once he got there, the voices changed and he could almost see them hugging Mike. Now he had to wait before he would be given a chance to tell them of Xavier and then approach. Nice and slow, hands in the air.

It wasn't Michael that came up to the field to meet him. It was Adrian. Natural gray hair and stunning body along with a brilliant mind, heart and skills of a true warrior – Angela sure was a lucky woman to have him.

Xavier stepped aside from the rocks behind which he'd hidden himself so far.
“Hey there, Adrian.”
He saw the man flinch. “Xavier?”
“Yeah. It's me. Whom did you expect? High Senator Wallace?” Darn, it felt good to see Adrian.
Adrian stared at him. Then he laughed and hugged Xavier, clutching him tight. “Damn, man, we thought you were dead. A fuckin' vamp told us so.”
Xavier snorted. “Since when do you believe what those bats tell you?” And then he realized the irony of his words. Well, he was another case. He was not one of Them and never would be.

“Psgh. Angie, Sher! Look whom I've got!”
“Shh,” Xavier warned him. “Hold it, Adrian. Don't go shouting it out just yet. Better tell me, is Shawn in?”
“In where? The camp? Yeah, he's here. We...” Adrian found that he couldn't really look at his chief and tell him that they'd thought him dead and elected Shawn as the new chief. Best Shawn tells his lover... yeah. “I'll go tell him, right?”

“Best you send Angela.”
“But why?”
“Since when do you question me? Since you have troubles keeping your mouth shut, Adrian. With Angela I am sure that she won't spill the news before she reaches the target.”

The busty brunette smiled and nodded. “Yessir.”
When she was gone, both Adrian and Sheridan turned to Xavier. Mike, although he must have struggled to go and see his mum, stood loyally beside his leader.

“So... aren't you gonna tell us what the heck happened to you,” Sheridan asked. But Xavier wasn't speeding to spread it all just yet. He really needed to talk to Shawn first. And perhaps a couple of others. They'd think of a good way to let the others know, too. But he needed a few high position supporters before giving himself over to the crowds, even if they were, indeed, his brothers and sisters.

“We thought the bloodsuckers got a hold of you and Mike here,” Adrian added.
“They did,” Xavier replied simply. Well, he had to tell them something. Couldn't afford total silence, either. He tried to keep himself to the shadows. Sooner or later one of them would notice that he lacked the steam of breath. If they hadn't already noticed, then it must have been because they assumed he was still hundred percent human. He would have given a good dozen years of his natural life if they only had been right. But there was no point now to go nuts over things that had happened and were irreversible.
“Got me and Mike, threw us into a cell, toyed plenty. But we found a way out, spent some time hiding while they were chasing us, and here we are. You'll hear all the little details along with the rest of the lot.”

Adrian nodded and laughed along with Sheridan, while Michael peered at them, especially Xavier, of course. And then he whispered the name: “Shawn!”
He ran over and Shawn caught him, hoisting him up into the air, hugging him tight.
“Mike. Welcome home, buddy.”
But his eyes were nowhere near the boy.
“Hello Shawn,” Xavier whispered. He did notice his lover had changed. Must have been all the worry and responsibility suddenly fallen upon his shoulders.
He saw yet another one approaching. Emory. The man stood there like a stone statue and just stared. Didn't even come closer.

“Xavier.” Shawn put Michael down. “Stay here for now, Mike. Don't go to the camp yet.” His voice felt strange. Something strange in it, and strong, almost palpable.
Xavier didn't understand, but it didn't matter. Michael nodded hesitantly and remained, casting a questioning glance at Emory.

“So Brandon lied, after all,” Shawn said. Too cool, too quiet, Xavier stared at him. Why wasn't he already here in his arms? Why?

“Brandon who?”

“The vampire who told us you were dead, both of you,” Shawn replied coolly. “We caught one, tortured him, Emory fooled him to believe that he'd help him escape and thus pried this information from him.”

Emory luring anyone didn't sound very realistic, Xavier thought. His ex was a way too straightforward. Something smelt fishy round here. And why the hell did Shawn just stand there. It made him feel really uncomfortable.

“Ain't you glad to see me, Shawn,” he asked with a small voice. Emory gulped down a mouthful of frosty air.
Only then did Shawn approach. He put his hands around Xavier, and a bit hesitantly, Xavier did the same. Shawn looked at him and smiled.

“I am,” he responded, his warm breath scalding Xavier's lips. “I thought you were dead, Xavier. I thought you were dead.” He didn't need to tell him he loved him. The tone of these words already did.
“Shawn, there is something...”
Shawn kissed him. Then he withdrew, only to whisper: “You are so cold. Come, we must warm you up.”
Xavier bit his lip. So did Emory. Michael stared at the ground.

“Shawn, I must talk to you in private,” Xavier said, trying to release himself from Shawn's grip. He hadn't got any nourishment for two days and what he'd received from Mike was anything but sufficient. He'd have to go and... yeah, he better go and find himself some scoundrel, some scum – there had to be those none would miss, those who deserved to die. He could go and kill a few. It wasn't so very different from what he'd done as a normal man, now, was it?

Shawn peered at him. “There is something wrong with you, Xavier.”
Xavier sighed. “Yes. There is. That's why we need to talk.”

Shawn's eyes locked into his.
“Gimme your hand.”
There is no breath, Emory whispered to himself. He is cold and there is no breath. There are butterflies in my stomach and there is no breath, Michael is quiet, he knows yet he does not tell... It all sounded like some cheap D-class movie.

“Why,” Xavier asked.
Shawn ignored the question. “Give me your hand, Xavier,” he repeated. His words cut like ice. When Xavier didn't react soon enough, Shawn grabbed his wrist and touched it lightly with his thumb, holding it upon the pulse Xavier no longer had. He laughed bitterly.

“Shawn, we need to talk,” he repeated. “About this.”
Shawn held on to him, clinging.
“There is no pulse, Shawn,” he whispered. “They turned me, but I came back.”
His hand dropped as Shawn let it go and withdrew.
“Shawn! Please, let me explain. I'll tell you what happened. Shawn, talk to me!” This was not going well at all, as if the damn werewolf had placed a curse upon him.
Shawn had drawn his gun.
“Shawn, no!” This time it was Emory, who said it. “Let him talk. It's Xavier, can't you see!”

Shawn turned his eyes upon Emory, but his gun was still pointing at Xavier.
“Xavier is dead.”
Both Emory and Xavier flinched.
“Xavier is dead, Emory,” Shawn said very quietly. Xavier had never heard him speak with such a tone. His lover had grown... old. He'd grown old overnight. “It is as Brandon told you – Xavier was killed by the Aristocrats. This here is a bloodsucking monster. That he happens to have Xavier's body, is a very sad coincidence.”
“Oh for fuck's sake, Shawn!” Xavier started. But that damn gun still aimed at his heart, and now at even closer distance.

“Not a step closer, vampire,” Shawn warned. “I will shoot.”
“Shawn, stop it! It's me. It's Xavier. Or have you forgotten me so soon? Why can't you just let me explain?”

“There is nothing to be explained,” Shawn replied. “I have been well taught to not trust any word from a mouth of a vampire. There is nothing you could tell me, vampire. Xavier is dead and you but mock the man he was, bearing his resemblance.”

Adrian, Angela and Sheridan had “big huge fuckin' confusion” written all over their faces. Michael stood still and cried silently. Emory struggled to say something, but the cold light in Shawn's eyes... He had underestimated this young man. He'd been so mistaken about his character. And so had Xavier, apparently.

“Shawn, goddammit, cut the crap and listen to me!” Xavier cursed. He was on the verge of losing his temper. His hunger didn't really add to his good mood. This was not how it was supposed to go.

Shawn didn't. Instead, he signaled at the Three Musketeers. “Seize him!” To Xavier's great surprise, the person about to be seized was he.
“Have you gone mad?!” he hissed at Shawn.
“Seize him,” Shawn repeated.
“Oh come on,” Xavier smirked. “Enough now. Adrian, I am your leader. Put your gun down, man. You, too, Angie.”
And then Sheridan spoke out: “Xavier is dead. Shawn Brock is the chief of Blood Brothers now. Hence we follow his orders. I am sorry.” He made a move towards Xavier.
“Go to your mother,” Emory pushed Michael towards the camp, but the boy refused to go. He just stood there, frozen to the hoarfrost ground.
“So, a leader now,” Xavier laughed. It hurt. He wished to cry. He wished to yell towards the sky about the injustice. He wished to kill someone somewhere.
“Take him in,” Shawn whispered.
“Back away,” Xavier warned. “Don't touch me.”
“Or you kill us?” Shawn bit.
“No!”
“No!” Emory cried out. “Don't!”
“Get lost, Emory,” Shawn suggested. “Take Mike and go!”
“Don't touch me!” Xavier had to dodge and push Adrian aside. And then they were on him. He struggled, trying to evade the guns. It was a very strange battle, considering that all three guards felt pretty damn reluctant to seriously injure him as well, whereas Xavier was barehanded and hoped he could simply dodge and... well, escape. What else was there to do... Shawn, you've betrayed me, you've betrayed me!

He'd just thrust Sheridan aside when he heard a most familiar sound – a click of Shawn's trigger. His lover stood but a few meters from him, aiming at his heart. As far as Xavier knew, it wouldn't permanently kill a vampire, but immobilize him and then one could take a nice knife or ax and be done with the head. And that surely did kill. Or at least he'd seen no vamp running around without a head or a head running around without the rest of a vamp.

He could swear he even saw the bullet flying through air towards him, and then someone jumped on him, so that they both landed on the ground, atop of Angela and Adrian, while Sheridan was still dizzy from the mighty thrust.
A flower of blood blossomed from Emory's chest, as Xavier struggled to get a hold of his gun. That was one gun he knew so well. He'd given it to Emory. His one and only gift to his first lover. Why, gosh, why, Emory? He didn't even have time to check if the man was dead. He had to get away. Get them... Yeah, he already had a hand around Emory, dragging him along while aiming at Shawn.

“Stay away,” he warned. “I'm leaving. Just like you wanted.”
“No,” Shawn replied, baring his teeth. “I wanted you dead, monster.”
It stung worse than bullets, Xavier had to admit. But he had no time to stay and lick his wounds. He sent Sheridan to the ground by hitting him with the grip of “his” gun. He thrust Angela aside and dodged a bullet from Adrian. It still managed to graze him, but it was but a flesh wound, a small searing pain in his thigh, nothing compared to... yeah.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered and sent a bullet through Shawn's knee. “Cannot let you follow me, not just yet.”
Emory was heavy and bleeding against him. The smell was nauseating, dark, heady. He licked his lips and clenched his teeth.
He heard Shawn curse and felt another bullet trailing pass his head, tickling his cheek, leaving a bloody print upon it. He hoisted Emory's body – no, goddammit, Emory – up over his shoulder and ran. A few bullets still darted after him, but he was out of their range soon enough.
He couldn't stop running. They'd be after him. Shawn, his Shawn would come and kill him, his own brothers and sisters would come and... Oh bloody...!!!
Emory moaned, eyes closed. There was so much blood and none which Xavier could touch. He just ran. Tap tap tap. Mad running.
“I'll get you to a doctor,” he promised Emory. “You'll be alright, old pal.” And saying this, he realized there was no place on Earth he could have gone. Not the way he was.

It was perhaps an hour before the daybreak when he finally ended up in the outskirts of an abandoned factory. Emory was dying, he knew that now. But there was no place to go. The city too far and when they'd be sighted, or the sun fall upon Xavier, Emory would die alone. Here, at least... bloody fucking gods, there had to be a way to save him. And Xavier was so exhausted. There was so much of the crimson. His chest heaved. There were no tears, yet he cried, as he licked the blood flowing from the wound and covering Emory's chest and hands.

“I'm sorry,” he muttered. “I'm so bloody sorry, Emory.” He howled in utter frustration and helplessness. It was then that he saw a young woman standing in front of him, blue eyes inquisitorial.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”
“Who are YOU,” Xavier rasped instead. “Help me!”
“I'm Janis,” the girl replied. “I'm a Freshman. You stay here, I'll run for help, OK?”
Xavier nodded bluntly. The girl ran. Xavier clutched his fingers around Emory's. “Help's on its way, pal. You're not gonna die on me. You hear me, Emory.”
He did. He smiled weakly. But it was a happy smile.