Chapter Text
Dennis Whitaker was having the worst day of his life. His pathetic, lonely, short life.
He ran barefoot down the dark road, panting, glancing over his shoulder. Any moment they could come out of the shadows and grab him again. That terrifying thought pushed him farther.
He ignored the screams of protest from his muscles and bones, urging them to keep running. His left knee was rotated at an unnatural angle. His pale skin burned feverishly and his jaw ached. Hunger pains tore through him.
It was the worst pain he had ever felt in his life. He didn’t know when it would stop.
Dennis glanced around, trying to adjust his sharp eyesight to his surroundings. He was in some residential neighborhood, in Squirrel Hill maybe. Every house was dark. Of course they were, it was 3 a.m. What was his plan? Knock frantically until someone opened? Who the hell would open their door to a frenzied young man covered in blood in the middle of the night? Idiots, that’s who.
No one in their right mind would help him. He was alone.
He pressed his eyelids closed tight, trying to will the thoughts away, but all he saw was lightless green eyes staring back at him.
A bloody hand reaching out, twitching as she lost the fight in her.
Dark hair sprawled across the dirty warehouse floor.
His guardian angel, haloed by a pool of blood.
His eyes flew back open, and he saw it.
Safety in the dark.
A brownstone, warm lights from large bay windows filtering into the night.
“Oh, thank G-“ Dennis choked, the holy word lighting his throat on fire.
He coughed, stumbling his way to the house. Sparing another look behind him, he pushed himself onto the porch, banging on the red door. He leaned heavily against the door, pounding the wood with the hand he wasn’t cradling against his chest. That one was surely broken, having been twisted beyond what was humanly possible.
Was Dennis even human anymore?
“Help!” He called out, hoping the owners were home, and wouldn’t call the police. “Help me, please! I’ve been attacked. Let me in!”
His voice was wrecked, having spent the better part of a day screaming and begging for his life. He knew he was drawing attention to himself, but he couldn’t care, he was dying anyway.
“Please, they’re after me!”
The door swung open. Light illuminated the porch, and Dennis with it. He knew how he must have looked. He looked like he'd been drug through Hell and back, and he damn near had. Without the support of the door, he crashed to his knees, the pain of them hitting wood was nothing compared to the pain of the venom searing through his veins. He looked up to see the outline of two men in the doorway.
“Please,” Dennis croaked. “I need help. They got us, I couldn’t … I didn’t …” The men glanced at each other, then back down to him.
Dennis could barely register their voices talking over him, with the grief and pain clouding his mind. Words faded in and out through the ringing in his ears. Their forms were blurry, backlit by the light from inside.
“What do you think?”
“He needs help.”
“Could be a trap.”
“Showing up on our doorstep is a pretty shitty plan. Look at the kid, he’s about to die. Again. He needs help, Jack.”
One of the men, Jack supposedly, sighed. “Yeah, he’s in rough shape. Let him in.”
The taller of the men cleared his throat, addressing Dennis. “Come on in, kid. Let’s get you checked out.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Dennis muttered deliriously, pulling himself forward to shuffle across the doorway. As soon as his hand shifted past the threshold, he howled in pain.
Sharp, white-hot pain flooded his body. Every nerve was on fire, halting his body from entering.
“Shit! Robby, the mezuzah! He can’t cross it.”
The tall man reached forward and grabbed a small wooden box affixed to the doorway. He pulled it free and tucked it into his pocket. Dennis collapsed, pushing himself fully into the entryway of the home. The pain was gone, and he felt his eyes well up in relief. He was staring at the two men’s boots, still on his knees. His shaking elbows were barely holding his face off the floor.
The door shut heavily behind him. Inside the house it was warm and smelled like spices. For a moment, everything was silent and still.
Then he looked up.
Through his tears, Dennis could see the men, and the large silver hunting knife in one of their hands, wooden stake in the other.
Shit. Hunters.
They had mentioned hunters. How hunters mercilessly killed their kind. To avoid hunters at all cost, and here he had walked into their house.
One man was tall, bearded, and had glasses perched on the top of his dark hair. He was gripping the wooden stake in one hand, the other hand on a gold Star of David hung around his neck, holding it out as if to ward Dennis off. His brown eyes peered down at Dennis, and the boy couldn’t place the emotion there. Disgust, pity, perhaps both.
The second man was shorter, wider, and had a mess of grey curls. His silver hunting knife gleamed in the light as he spun it in his hand. He stood still, with the posture of a cobra bracing to strike. His eyes were narrowed and he was clearly appraising Dennis for the threat he posed.
Dennis sat back on his heels, tears spilling over his lashes now as the fight left his body. He had fought enough for one night, for one lifetime.
He could die here, in this warm house. He was okay with it.
He let his hands fall to his sides, tilting his head back as the sobs overtook his body. “It’s okay.” He tried to reassure them. “It’s okay. Do it. I didn’t save her, but know that I- I tried. Just get it over with.” He was shaking heavily now, his adrenaline crashing.
“Jesus, kid. We’re not going to kill you.” The taller man sighed, setting the wooden stake down on the entryway table. He crouched to Dennis’ level so he could look the younger in the eyes. “We don’t hurt innocents.”
Panic returned to Dennis, flooding his senses, making every hair stand on end.
“No! No, please, you have too! I-“ He met the man’s concerned gaze. “I’m a monster.” He whispered, like it was a secret.
“I don’t want to be this. Please don’t make me.” He sobbed out, pressing the heels of his hands into eyes. “Please!”
Another hunger pain wracked his bloody body, and he hunched forward, his forehead pressed into the man’s knee. He was muttering out inane requests to put him out of his misery. A large hand settled on the back of his head, stroking through sweaty curls matted with blood.
“It’s okay, you’re safe now. They can’t reach you here, okay? We’ve got you.” The deep voice reached his ringing ears, and despite himself, Dennis felt himself nodding. Distantly, he heard the click of a lock and a knife being slid into a sheath. The other man joined the impromptu huddle. A warm heavy arm made its way around his shaking shoulders. “You did good, finding us.” Dennis sobbed harder. The men shushed him, cooing softly.
They spent the next few minutes placating him, prying him out of panic with gentle words and gentler touches.
“That’s it, let it out.”
“We’re not going anywhere.”
“We’ll keep you safe.”
Once Dennis’ mind had returned, they introduced themselves. Robby and Jack. Dennis gave them his name in return.
“Want to move to the couch, Dennis? My old knees aren’t meant for this.” Robby said with a wry chuckle. Dennis nodded, allowing them to pull him upright. He went up far too fast, his vision and balance swimming. He fell back against Jack who put steadying hands on his hips.
“Woah, kiddo. Take it easy. You’re freshly bitten.” Jack said, catching Robby’s gaze above Dennis’ head. A silent exchange went on between the two men. “Hungry, aren’t you?” Jack asked Dennis, his voice a gentle lilt as he guided him.
“I guess..” Dennis mumbled as they helped him into the living room and onto a leather couch. “Haven’t eaten in a while, now that you mention it.” He heard Robby laugh in the other room.
His head was foggy. He couldn’t think straight. Something smelled delicious, like a warm bonfire with a hint of something tangy.
He was sat with his back against Jack’s strong chest.
“Hold him still, he’s never fed before, we don’t know how he’s going to react. I’ll give him just enough to survive. We can find more later.” Dennis glanced over to see Robby rolling up the sleeves of his flannel, a pocketknife in his hands.
Before he could ask what he was talking about, one of Jack’s strong hands grabbed his face, thick fingers forcing his jaw to open. The other hand was on his chest, keeping him locked in place.
Robby pressed the knife into his forearm, red blood welling up at the wound immediately.
No, no. He did not want blood. The blood would make him what he didn’t want to be. It would confirm what he was trying to deny. It would confirm the sin that had taken root inside of him.
Dennis felt fangs sliding out of his gums, heavy and sharp. He started salivating, wanting to taste the blood, needing to taste it.
Robby moved closer and held his arm over Dennis, letting his blood drip down into the vampire’s waiting mouth. Dennis moaned as it hit his tongue.
The taste was metallic and earthy. He swallowed and the rush of endorphins was better than any high. It felt like a rush of cold water over his on fire nerves. Like finding an oasis in the desert.
Dennis needed more.
He pushed against Jack’s hold, trying to reach Robby’s bleeding arm, but all of his strength was drained and Jack was too strong. He was light-headed, his only thought being more. That singular thought consumed him.
He whined as much, asking, pleading, begging.
Jack was shushing him again. The man was a rock, chaining Dennis to him.
Dennis’ tongue lolled out of his mouth like he was asking for communion.
The blood slid down his tongue and into his throat. Robby fed Dennis drop by drop, until he started to feel better, stronger. His body didn’t feel as heavy, but his mind was still cloudy from exhaustion. Robby’s other hand was carding through Dennis’s curls again.
“There you go. That’s it. Good job.” Robby was murmuring softly.
“His wounds are closing, that’s enough. He can heal in his sleep.” Jack’s voice came from behind. Dennis was too tired to ask questions or argue. Robby stepped away, pressing a cloth to his wound. Jack slid out from behind Dennis, who laid boneless on the couch. His eyes dropped shut, focused on the men’s blurry shapes until sleep took him.
—
Dennis dreamt of blood. The sickly sweet smell of it. Bright red splashed on his pale skin. How much of his own was drained. A pool of it spread on the floor of the warehouse. The metallic smell of it filling the air. How she choked on it.
Dennis dreamt of her. Of her laugh and how her eyes would crinkle when she smiled. Of her teasing remarks and how she would pinch his cheeks. Of her screams and the sounds of her bones breaking. Of how she had yelled at him to “Run!” before she tackled their captor. Of how her head smacked sickeningly on the concrete.
Dennis woke with a start.
He sat up, looking around his unfamiliar surroundings. He was laying on a brown leather couch, in a living room, with a woven blanket over his legs. The curtains were drawn tight, the room lit dimly by lamps. Books and records were stacked on an end table. It was cozy, domestic.
“Morning, sunshine.”
Dennis startled as the man in the armchair across the room spoke. Jack, his brain supplied. He was in Jack’s house. Jack and Robby, who had rescued him from …. the memories of the previous day came rushing back to him.
The attack, the torture, death, undeath, the escape.
“Morn-“ His voice cracked. He cleared his dry throat. His mouth tasted like dirt and copper. “Morning.”
Jack sat in a plush red armchair. His thick legs were spread and he had his knife, sheathed, resting in his lap. His intense gaze was unwavering.
“You going to use that?” Dennis chuckled nervously.
Jack raised an eyebrow. “Do I need to?”
“No. I feel … fine, I guess.” Dennis looked down at his hands. Someone had tried to clean the blood off his hands, but it was still caked under his fingernails. “Thank you. For last night, I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t…” He trailed off, his eyes burning with tears again. Mama always said he was sensitive, his brothers said he was a crybaby. “They, um, attacked us and,” He hiccuped, unable to stop his voice from failing him.
“It’s okay.” Jack got up and moved to the couch, far enough to give Dennis room, but close enough to offer a semblance of comfort. “You don’t need to explain yourself to us, yet.”
Dennis looked at him through blurry eyes. He could see the pity on Jack’s face, his handsome features drawn and pinched. How could these men, who do what they do, be so kind to him, a monster they don’t know? Dennis had found himself in the home, not of hunters, but of saviors.
“Where is Robby?” Dennis asked.
“Making sure you weren’t followed.”
“Oh. I don’t know if they came after me when I ran.” Dennis supplied.
“They’d be stupid to follow you here.” Jack said with a smug smile.
“Where exactly is here? I just ran until I saw lights.”
“Mine and Robby’s house. In Squirrel Hill. You figured out we’re hunters already.”
Dennis nodded. He wiped the tears from his eyes, and asked the question he didn’t want to ask, but he needed confirmation. “I’m a vampire now, aren’t I?”
Jack frowned. “Yes, kid. You are. I’m sorry.”
Dennis shrugged. “It’s okay. Not your fault. Didn’t have much to live for anyhow. Less now.” He let out a delirious laugh. “What do I do now? Avoid sunlight and garlic?”
Jack laughed too, a soft quiet thing, like he was trying not to spook Dennis. “Not quite. The garlic thing is not true, just an old wives tale. Sunlight won’t kill you, but it’s not your friend. You’re attuned to hunting in the dark now. Robby has some books that explain it all better.”
“Books? Like Twilight?”
Jack guffawed this time, the loud sound bouncing around the room. “Don’t let Robby hear you compare his family heirloom grimoires to Twilight.”
“Why does Robby have family grimoires on vampires?”
“Oh, right. You wouldn’t know. Robby’s a Robinavitch.” Jack waited for recognition of the name. Dennis had no clue what he was talking about. “Vampire hunting family, dynasty really. He’s like eleventh-generation.”
“Well shit.”
Dennis’ thoughts were interrupted by the sound of keys sliding into a lock. He looked to the front door before it swung open. Robby walked in, a plastic grocery bag in hand.
“I’m back Jackie!” He stopped in the foyer, toeing his boots off. “Grabbed some A pos from Dana since that’s what the kid seemed to like. Didn’t catch any tracks so- Oh.” Robby looked up to see Dennis, awake on the couch. “Morning. Feeling okay?” Robby’s eyes flickered between the two of them on the couch, and Jack’s knife abandoned on the armchair, his dark gaze evaluating.
Dennis nodded. “Thank you. Truly. I don’t know how to thank you enough.”
“About that.” Robby moved into the room, settling into the armchair Jack abandoned. He set the grocery bag down, and now Dennis could see what was inside. Blood bags. “We want to offer you a deal.”
“A deal?” Dennis questioned, glancing in between the two men.
Robby nodded, a hand coming to scratch at his beard, as if he was discussing the weather not vampirism. “We help you get back on your feet, give you a safe place to heal, and supply you with safe blood. In exchange, you tell us all you can about the vampires that turned you, anything about where they could be.”
“I’ll try. I’m not sure if I remember it all.”
“Whatever you can tell us. Anything at all. Start with your name. Where you’re from. How you got here.”
“I’m Dennis Whitaker. I’m twenty-six, from Broken Bow, Nebraska. I moved here six months ago for med school. I was living with Tri-“ Dennis choked.
He couldn’t say her name. He couldn’t talk about her. Not right now.
“With my best friend. A week ago, we noticed a man following us. When we were together, or alone. The man, he’s a vampire and his name’s Gideon, we learned later.. Anyways, me and my friend went out for drinks, and were ambushed.” He took a deep breath. Jack reached out and put a hand on Dennis’ knee. The warmth settled deep in his bones through his tattered bloodstained jeans.
“We woke up, tied to chairs, in some warehouse. There were other people our age there too,
some tied up, some not. Some were drained, others turned. I don’t remember much of that night. What I do remember isn’t pretty.” Robby was watching him with wide eyes, leg lazily bouncing, and Jack’s thumb was brushing back and forth on his knee. “Long story short, I ran. Ran until I ended up here.”
“Your friend?”
“Didn’t make it.”
“Sorry.”
“Me too.” Dennis sighed. “Is any of that helpful?”
“It will be. Do you remember where the warehouse is?”
“I think it was somewhere, uh, that … way” Dennis waved towards the direction he thought he came from.
“Do you think you can remember what Gideon looks like?”
“Yes.” Dennis will never forget his face. “Anything else? My head hurts.”
“That’s fine for now, thank you.” Robby grabbed one of the blood bags and tossed it to Dennis. “Best way for you to get blood is these. It’s safe. You can still get sick from bloodborne pathogens. And, this way you won’t hurt anyone. We’ve got a hook up at a nearby hospital, so let us know when you need more.”
Dennis caught it, thanking the men for the umpteenth time. It seemed to be the only thing he could remember how to do. He bit into the bag. It wasn’t as good as the blood last night. That blood was fresh, delicious, fragrant, and warm. This blood tasted stale. But, it cured his headache and brought a flush back to his pallid skin. He sucked it all down.
Jack stood up, stretching his limbs. “Well, I’ve been up all night. I’m going to make coffee. Robby?” He walked off, presumably to the kitchen.
Robby nodded in response, and something occurred to Dennis. “Your name is Robby Robinavitch?”
Robby huffed a laugh. “No, kid, Robby’s just a nickname. My name is Michael.”
Dennis smiled softly. “Michael. Protector of the people of G-.”
Again, that holy word burned his throat, making his teeth ache.
He cleared his throat. “Um, it’s a fitting name, I think.” Micheal, the Archangel, a sworn protector, just like the Michael in front of him.
“You religious?”
“Kinda.” That put it lightly.
“Not anymore. Anything religious, blessed, or otherwise holy will burn you. That’s things or words. Or hallowed ground. Can’t kill you, but it’ll hurt like Hell. Uh, no pun intended.”
“I’m unholy.” Dennis concluded. He had always felt as such, now it was true. Robby just looked at him, a pained glaze to his eyes. He clamped a hand on Dennis’ shoulder, the weight of it shaking him slightly.
“Want a nice hot shower while Jack makes breakfast?”
“Yes, please.”