Chapter Text
The Road Runner is careful as he approaches the gaping maw of the cave. His darling is delightfully meticulous in his defences, and while he's able to bypass them easily, he doesn't want to risk setting off the alarm system. There's no fun in all this if his little escapades are discovered. The stealthiness is part of the game. And while this game isn't as thrilling as the chase, it's fun in its own way.
The hallowed ground, ground that can scorch a regular vampire simply for stepping on it, only gives him the tingles as he steps inside. The ring of salt around the perimeter has been disturbed - every morning, as soon as his darling sets out to begin the chase, he runs by and the salt is kicked up along with the dust, making it simple to stop by in the dead of night.
His gaze sweeps over the space. It is so familiar to him that it may as well be a second home. He hopes it can someday be a second home to him; or, better yet, his only home. That would be quite special, indeed.
It's adorably messy in here. He stares at the shelves, pride burning in his chest. So many of his belongings are already here! His lover must really care for him, to present his gifts so boldly in his own home. A squeal of delight slips out; thankfully, it doesn't rouse the sleeping body passed out in the bed.
Good. His darling hasn't slept in a while now. The rest will do him some good.
Maybe it'll give him even more ideas for their game. The boulder was fun, especially when he realised that parts of it contained silver. He hadn't been expecting the faint sizzle of his flesh, even if it disappeared as quickly as it came. What will he try next? Another cage? A pit trap? The last one had wooden stakes at the bottom, so maybe the next one will have wooden stakes soaked in holy water, or with silver coating the tips. He's practically vibrating on the spot, adrenaline coursing through him, along with the deep urge to run.
Focus! The Road Runner shakes his head and turns his gaze upon the body in the bed. Silently, he approaches.
His beloved looks so content in his sleep. Black matted hair rings his head like a halo, complimenting his bronze skin. His cheeks are gaunt and he visibly hasn't shaved in a while - stubble is gathering along his chin. On instinct, he leans in close, his cheek brushing against the fine hairs, sending shivers down his spine. He pulls back just enough to see the prominent bags beneath his darling's eyes and the faint crease between his eyebrows that he smooths out with his thumb. There. Much better! He pecks him on the nose and straightens up.
He's just about to leave when he spies a piece of paper on the floor that he doesn't recognise. Is it a note he's left for himself? A new blueprint? He picks it up and holds it close to his face.
He can't read most of it. He recognises the name written at the top (how can he not? It's a name carved into his bones, a name that his blood sings, a name belonging to a man that has captured his attention ever since he first appeared) and very little else. Still, he tries his best to read it. It might be important. Maybe a relative is trying to reach out, or an old co-worker. Maybe he has a pen pal!
...He doesn't like that idea very much. There's only one pal that his darling should have - outside of Kevin and Avery, whom he has met (and by met, he means watched for a prolonged period of time to make sure that they are suitable for his one and only) - and that pal is him. Nobody should interrupt their game.
There's another name written on the paper, although he doesn't know this one. Bugs Bunny. Who the hell is that? He scans through the letter again, failing to parse most of the words, but he picks up on a few. Enough to gather a vague idea, at least.
He's being called to leave me? No, not just leave me. He's going to leave me for another vampire? No, that just won't do!
Nobody is allowed to get in the way of their game! Not if he has anything to say about it!
How will he survive in the time that his beloved is gone? How will he survive with no traps, no clever schemes, no chase? The very notion is criminal! Nobody has entertained him quite like his darling has, and he doubts that anyone will manage to after he's gone.
If he ever dies, but that's a topic they will have to broach at a later date, when their relationship has been solidified a little more.
The point is, he's going to be abandoned! Tossed to the side, discarded, like an unwanted toy! Does his beloved not love him? Is he not treasured, adored, and worshipped quite like his darling is to him?
This cannot be allowed to happen. He can't let some other vampire (the phrase alone makes him want to just run to the damn vampire's location and kill him personally) enter their relationship when it is already so tenuous. They haven't talked about that sort of thing! He hasn't even been able to fully stake his claim on his darling outside of the gifts he's left for him. This other vampire could swoop in and whisk him away. That's a risk he cannot afford to take.
He glances down at his darling, sleeping soundly, completely unaware of his presence. So peaceful. So sweet, although the Road Runner doubts his beloved would appreciate being referred to as such to his face. Or maybe he'll blush a delightful red...
Carefully, oh so carefully, he reaches out and brushes some hair away from his face. He can find a way to make him stay. If he lingers outside the entrance to the cave, perhaps he will stay inside, and some other hunter can take care of the problem! But if he doesn't let his lover leave, then how will they play their game? How will they chase? Besides, he can hardly stand being in one place for too long without going for a sprint, and in that time, his darling could hop on his motorcycle and get out of dodge. No, that plan simply will not work.
He looks at the letter again. It's calling for this 'Bugs Bunny' to be eradicated. He looks like a challenge to kill. Not too much of a challenge, obviously, nothing remotely close to him, but still a challenge.
Perhaps his darling would appreciate some help in this case... Hm. It's something to think about, before diving immediately into action.
He leaves the cave and sprints through the desert, thoughts racing in his mind, until a plan starts to form in his mind.
Wile E. wakes up and almost forgets about the letter's existence. He springs up out of bed, ideas flooding his head, and he reaches blindly for the pad of pen and paper he keeps near his bed before he picks it up and remembers that none of that matters. None of those ideas will be put into action for at least a week. Maybe even longer, if Bugs Bunny proves to be a problem. He hopes that's not the case, but he needs to manage his expectations. Doing a rushed job helps nobody.
Even if he really, really would rather spend his time plotting a new way to kill the road Runner. To have that indomitable force finally conquered, caught in a snare, pinned beneath him as he drives a stake into his heart...
Nope. Nuh-uh. Don't even think about it.
He cleans himself up, cooks a lacklustre breakfast, and packs a few bags. Mainly just a few spare changes of clothes, a couple of contraptions, and holy water. Garlic cloves can be bought pretty much anywhere, and wooden stakes are relatively easy to make, so he can leave them at home until this is over. Wile E. grabs a jacket and pulls it on as he steps out of his cave and into the harsh sunlight.
Hissing faintly, he squints his eyes until they've adjusted to the light, and heads towards his motorcycle. The key jingles in his hand and he mounts the bike, turns on the engine and revs it. It gives him a brief moment to consider turning back. The day is still young; he has time to cook up a new plan, make a new trap and implement it. He has to do this, though. If Kevin and Paige catch even the slightest whiff that Wile E. turned down a new job in favour of trying to catch the Road Runner again, they'll have a stern talk with him the next time they meet up for dinner.
Actually, that reminds him: he needs to text them that he won't be around for a while, and won't be able to attend their regular meet-ups. He types out a message on his phone and sends it off. He stares at his phone for a few seconds before he slides it into the pocket of his jacket.
Wile E. breathes in, then exhales deeply. Then he's speeding off through the desert on his way to his destination.
The wind whips around him. He tightens his gaze on the handlebars and fixes his gaze forwards at the end of the road. He really should have brought some earpods or something to listen to music with. This is going to be a long journey in complete silence, alone with himself and his thoughts, all annoyingly centred on the Road Runner. Ah, well. He'll buy some cheap ones after killing Bugs Bunny and use those on the way home.
As he drives, he catches a faint noise behind him. It's hard to hear for sure over the roar of the motorcycle as it flies across the asphalt. Is that... it sounds like running? Who the hell is running after him?
...Oh.
Oh.
Oh, no.
Wile E. groans and resists the urge to slap his face with his hand. Of course it's the Road Runner. Who else could it be? There's no one else insane enough to casually go for a run in the damn desert, let alone be fast enough to chase after a motorcycle and keep up.
He could pull over. If he's quick about it, he can catch the Road Runner off-guard and get a hit in on him. He starts to grin before he remembers that he didn't pack any wooden stakes, for fuck's sake. The one time he doesn't bring them! He mentally curses himself out and thinks about his options. All of his weapons are in his bag, which he obviously can't grab, otherwise he'll probably crash. He could stop to try and get one out, but it'll give the Road Runner ample time to catch up.
All he can reasonably do is keep moving. Wile E. revs the engine, as a warning this time, and he zooms away even faster. The Road Runner is bound to catch up soon - he's not foolish enough to believe that a measly motorcycle can outrun the fastest creature in existence - but maybe he can buy himself some time.
"Hello!" A voice sing-songs, alarmingly close to his ear, and Wile E. nearly falls off the motorcycle. He caught up so fast! He thought he'd have a couple minutes before the Road Runner caught up, so really, that's on him. He should've known that the Road Runner never does anything that he'd expect.
Not noticing his shock, the Road Runner continues to talk. "Where are you going?"
He doesn't answer, too focused on not trying to swerve into the Road Runner and endanger both of their lives (realistically, though, he'll just be endangering his own life, but he can dream) by doing something stupid. Eyes forward, old boy. You can do this. You've ignored some real annoying bastards in the past, you can handle this guy.
"Don't ignore me," The Road Runner whines, and pouts like a petulant brat. "Please? Are you going to get something from the city? Ooh! Can I come? I haven't gone into the city in a while. We can even have a chase through the streets! That sounds fun, don't you think?"
...what the actual fuck.
What's happening right now? This must be a joke of some kind. Or is it a threat? If he leaves, will the Road Runner head into the city and slaughter people until he returns?
Wile E. sizes up the gap between them. If he leaps off of the motorcycle, he can probably tackle him to the ground and... and then... He can figure it out when he gets there. The important part will be that the supposedly untouchable Road Runner will finally be captured, completely helpless beneath him. And then he'll lean in, memorise the shocked look on the face that has plagued his every waking moment for years, and...
He doesn't even realise that he's stopped moving. Subconsciously, he'd put on the brakes. How long has he been silently staring into the distance? He glances to the side, and yep, the Road Runner is still here.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, typing a message out and turning on the text-to-speech function. "I'm leaving the desert for a while," He says, not even sure why he's bothering to tell him. "Gotta take care of something. It'll take around a fortnight if I don't rush it." Which I will, because I'm not willing to let you out of my sight for that long.
The Road Runner frowns. "You're leaving," He says slowly.
"Yes."
"You're leaving for a fortnight. Two weeks."
"...Yes?"
"...You're leaving me. Alone. For two weeks."
"That is correct, yes. Is there a problem with that?" He raises an eyebrow at the Road Runner.
There is silence for an uncomfortable length of time. Wile E. just ends up staring at the Road Runner for a while, waiting for some kind of response. The normal cheery smile on his face is gone, and his expression is painfully blank without it. Not only that, but he's also gone perfectly still. He's not bouncing on his feet, or fidgeting, or yammering on about something or other. Just dead silence. No motion whatsoever.
On anyone else, he wouldn't care. If anything, the silence would be rather pleasant. But on someone that Wile E. has come to associate with a constant stream of energy, someone who is incredibly animated and unwilling to stay still for longer than a handful of seconds at the most, on someone like the Road Runner, it's just unnerving.
"Why don't I come with you?" The Road Runner blurts out. "No, scratch that. I am coming with you." Wile E. doesn't have time to process any of that before the Road Runner is climbing onto the motorcycle behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist.
The motorcycle is not built for two people. Wile E. is forced to scoot too far forwards to be comfortable in order to accommodate the passenger that he did not ask for, thank you very much!
This is the closest they have ever been, in all the time they have spent running around the desert in their little chase. He's a little dizzy just thinking about it. It has been years and Wile E. hasn't once managed to properly touch the Road Runner, aside from grabbing his shirt. And now they're pressed up against each other on a motorcycle, Wile E. caged between the handlebars and an incredibly dangerous vampire.
Wile E. knows what vampires feel like. Before he became known for his inventions, he was just like every other hunter, wrestling and tousling with vampires before finishing them off either with a stake to the heart or by cutting their head off. Vampires are meant to be corpse-like. They have cadaverous qualities to them, given their undead nature, and Wile E. has studied these traits profusely. Get him started on talking about the fascination that is the anatomy of a vampire, and he won't shut up. He knows about how some vampires can excrete a paralytic venom when they bite their victims, how some are able to retract their monstrous characteristics such as their fangs and claws, how certain genes in a human can result in them becoming resistant to sunlight when they are Turned (a phenomenon originally discovered by a vampire, a scientist who endeavoured to force evolution and only sire vampires from humans with that specific gene - up until they were killed, of course, but their research was preserved and studied by vampire hunters, Wile E. being one of those lucky souls!).
The most crucial, and obvious detail, is that vampires are deathly cold. A side effect of the fact that most vampires come close to death before they are Turned, vampires possessing permanently cold bodies is one of the easiest ways to identify them.
The Road Runner doesn't feel cold, though, baffling though that is. He's warm. Not necessarily warmer than any average person, but he runs much hotter than an ordinary vampire should. Honestly, he's a scientific marvel! Such a potent combination of traits that render him immortal in every sense of the word. Fascinating. He's just... fascinating.
Maybe instead of killing the Road Runner as soon as he catches him, Wile E. should run some tests, for the sake of science. Take some blood samples, extract a bit of DNA, maybe even attempt some physical examinations...
"Are we getting this show on the road, or what?" The Road Runner chirps in his ear. His arms are hugging Wile E.'s waist, and he tightens his grip minutely, just enough for Wile E. to feel his muscles flex. He can feel his ears getting hot. He's always known that the Road Runner is athletic, but knowing that is one thing, and feeling it is a whole other matter. Mentally, he locks his pesky thoughts in a box, wraps it in chains, and tosses away the key. He can't afford to be distracted.
"We aren't going anywhere. You are not coming."
"Why not?"
Wile E. turns around and shoots the most withering look imaginable at the Road Runner. Why does he even need to ask that? Surely he's not that imbecilic. "You aren't coming. That's final." He jams his elbow into the Road Runner's chest (his very hard, firm chest, must be a result of all the running he does, he's incredibly muscular...) and nods towards the wide expanse of desert around them. His meaning is clear.
The Road Runner frowns, a proper one this time, instead of another ridiculous pouting lip. His eyebrows furrow and he strokes his chin, very much not getting off the motorcycle and giving Wile E. some much-needed space. Every hair on his body is standing erect. Come to think of it, when was the last time he actually touched someone? He brushes the errant thought away, too concerned by the calculating glint in those lifeless eyes.
The arms around his waist tighten. A weight falls on his shoulder, and he can see the Road Runner's chin situated quite comfortably, his cheek pressed against Wile E.'s neck. His spine instinctively straightens. "But I'll be lonely while you're gone," The Road Runner whines into his ear, a hand splayed out across his stomach. It presses down lightly on his abdomen. "No one to play with me, to keep me distracted from the local populace. I'll have to go out into the world in order to entertain myself. Who knows? It may end up being a very bloody affair." His breath tickles the shell of his ear.
A growl building in his throat, Wile E. jams an elbow back against him once, twice, three times, until he has one arm free. He grabs the Road Runner by his hair and yanks his head backwards, exposing his neck completely.
He shakes his head firmly. Don't you dare.
"You won't be around to stop me, though. Unless you call in one of your friends to keep me occupied-" Wile E. releases his hair just to clamp his hand over the road Runner's mouth.
No. The idea of some other vampire hunter chasing the Road Runner makes his very blood boil. The desert is his territory, damn it, no one else is allowed to hunt him down. Nobody else is capable of capturing the Road Runner, although that doesn't soothe his rapidly rising temper. His vision starts to go red around the edges and he forces himself to move back, to put distance between them, to breathe.
The Road Runner gets under his skin far too easily. Frankly, it's embarrassing. The Road Runner seems to know how much of a nuisance he is, too, given the smirk curling at his lips.
"I could tie you up."
"When has a little bit of rope ever held me back?"
"Send out a warning to the city, send everything into lock-down."
"If anything, the breaking-and-entering just makes everything more fun!"
"Then I'll just kill you."
The Road Runner doesn't bat an eye; instead he gives Wile E. this look, and he doesn't know what to do with it. Irritation builds under his skin as the silence draws on, the two of them locked in a strange staring contest that he is determined not to lose.
He can totally kill the Road Runner. He isn't incompetent; he has killed countless other vampires, ones infinitely more menacing than some jaunty jogger running around in the middle of nowhere. Yes, all of his traps beforehand have failed, but it's possible! Nothing is truly invulnerable. The Road Runner has to be capable of being killed. The laws of nature necessitate it. Everything is born, and it grows, and it withers and dies eventually. The Road Runner, freak of nature though he is, is still bound by basic laws such as mortality.
"Let's not take any chances, then. If you take me with you, I'll behave." He bats his eyelashes playfully, clasping his hands in front of him in a mockery of a pleading gesture. His pouty lip has returned at full force. "Come on, Wile E. For me?"
...God damn it.
"You really won't let this go, will you?" He shakes his head to himself, already typing out another message. He catches his tongue between his teeth as his fingers fly across the cramped keyboard. "If you really want to come, then we need some ground rules. No killing anyone, and no straying from my sight, either. I want to know where you are and what you're doing at all times."
"And what if I get hungry? Do you expect me to just starve?"
"You're the one who wants to come."
"You know, the city folks are looking mighty tasty right now."
Wile E. rolls his eyes. "Fine. You can drink from whatever roadkill we pass on the way there. Happy?" The Road Runner gasps in affront, and his face is so damn comical that he struggles to stifle a laugh.
"Why don't I just drink from you instead?" The Road Runner reaches out and runs his hand down Wile E.'s arm. "Humans taste better than animals. And if I'm feeding from you, then I have no need to run off for a quick snack."
It's an annoyingly good point. Even though Wile E. definitely would have followed the Road Runner and watched him drain dry whatever critters he managed to find, the proposed arrangement is much easier to facilitate. He glances at the Road Runner's mouth and tries not to shudder. A vampire hasn't drank his blood before; it's been something of a point of pride for him. A vampire hunter who's yet to have been bitten by a vampire is hard to find.
At least he's giving up his blood-drinking virginity willingly?
"As long as you don't get too greedy, we won't have a problem."
The Road Runner beams at him with a bright and sunny smile. There are dimples in his cheeks. How has he not noticed that before? They're a little asymmetrical, one more prominent than the other, and they're kind of cute, if he's honest.
Not that the Road Runner is cute. He just possesses some qualities that are commonly labelled endearing, nothing more and nothing less.
Arms hug his midsection as the two of them get comfortable on the motorcycle. Wile E.'s dignity is as good as dead. If only his peers could see him now, the prodigal Wile E. riding a motorcycle with the most exuberant and irritating vampire to ever walk the surface of the earth. They'd have a field day with this.
He glances back at the Road Runner with an eyebrow raised; the Road Runner chirps out, "Ready!" and puts his chin on his shoulder again.
Wile E. takes a deep breath to settle his nerves. They've wasted too much time. He turns the engine back on, tightens his grip on the handlebars, pretending that he's wringing the Road Runner's neck instead, and they drive off through the desert.
Hopefully this isn't a horrible mistake.