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In a small cottage deep within the Maine wilderness, Eddie Kaspbrak and Richie Tozier lived in peace. Humans rarely came close enough, though they were occasionally visited by a friend or two from their humble town of Derry. It was safe and secure, giving the witch and the vampire a sense of home and belonging.
Now deep into the winter season, they had not planned on seeing the rest of their friends for some weeks. So it came as a surprise to both of them when they heard a faint knock on their door. Richie jumped off the couch with glee, excited to have more company until he was met with Stanley Uris, covered head to toe in blood.
Eddie went into emergency mode as Richie carefully carried Stan to their tub. All of his ingredients for a healing potion were ready for brewing, carefully stored in the kitchen cabinet. It proves to help, and rather quickly as well, because when they check on him, there isn’t a single abrasion to be found.
“Richie…”
“What, Eds?” Richie composes himself quickly after snapping, training his body to relax. “I’m sorry, love. I’m frustrated is all… I thought for a moment, I’d lose him.”
Pursing his lips, Eddie steps closer to Richie, keeping his voice low. “Something is wrong.”
“Obviously,” Richie says slowly, though his eyes narrow down at Eddie. “Is there something I haven’t noticed?”
“I put a spell on the house,” Eddie explains, wringing his hands together as he eyes the bedroom door, where Stan is sleeping off the healing potion. “No one should find us here. No one… human.”
“Stan did.”
“Mmm,” Eddie hums, gesturing again to the door. “If he’s human, he shouldn’t be here.”
“What the hell do you mean? How could he miss it?”
“We had hikers yesterday,” Eddie tells him. “They just… They don’t see it, they walk around as if we’re not here. Stan should not have been able to knock, let alone see the house.”
The pupils in Richie’s eyes retract and dilate, turning his head slowly to the front door. “But that means… If he was covered in blood…”
“I don’t think he’s like you,” Eddie quickly assures him, cupping one of Richie’s hands. He slides himself next to Richie on the couch, strangely comforted by the cold radiating from him. “When you opened the door, he fell in. We never invited him. We would need to do this, yes?”
“Yes…” Richie says slowly. “Unless he just turned, but… He’d remember drinking the blood.” He places his arm around Eddie, looking down at him softly. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Eds, but what if your spell wasn’t… you know, working right?”
“Maybe…” Eddie mutters, only slightly offended.
“Or, or, what if it just leaves unwanted humans out?” Richie offers.
“I don’t think so…”
“Whatever the case, he… he seems to be fine now, at least.” Richie sighs, tilting his head back. “Maybe I can give your wrist a break and get some sips from Stan.”
“I’m sorry I’ve been sick… This is why I did the spell, so no one would bother us. If you were hungry, I didn’t want…”
“Didn’t want me to snack down on passersby,” Richie smiles tightly. He seems as equally offended as Eddie did about the spell, but neither can be to blame.
When Stan wakes up in the morning, he seems refreshed. He says he had fallen asleep while bird-watching, getting lost after not being able to find their cabin for quite some time. He was only able to find it after, when he needed their help. Attacked by some beast, he said.
“What kind of beast was it?” Eddie asks carefully.
“I was asleep when it started mauling me. Couldn’t tell.”
For the first time ever, Stan offers his wrist to Richie as a thank you for saving him. Though Richie insists it’s unnecessary, it’s impossible to hide his thirsty fangs from protruding at the sight of Stanley’s veins. Eddie is thankful to give himself a small break, having not felt up for Richie’s blood drinking since recovering from what he learned was a spellcaster flu.
“Bleh!” Richie exclaims, nearly sputtering Stan’s blood all over the floor. “Stan, you’re disgusting!”
“It’s blood, dipshit. How good could it possibly taste?”
“Eddie’s is like heaven. You taste like wet dog food.”
“Ugh,” Stan reels back, clearly offended. “How would you even know that? You know what… Fine. Don’t drink my blood.”
“No, please!” Eddie pipes in. “Just for one feeding to give me a break! I have no potions for my illness.”
“Anything for you, my Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie bows ceremoniously. He fights through it, grimacing as he locks his lips on Stan’s arm. Eddie is almost grateful, because the blood drinking has felt like an intimate thing he and Richie shared. He didn’t want to watch Richie enjoy it from Stanley, even if he’s not particularly jealous.
They make sure to walk Stanley back themselves; safety in numbers. It’s nice to see Derry again, even if just to see the rest of their friends – and get a slice of pumpkin pie.
Mike seems more than concerned over the attack, which is both reasonable and very Mike of him. He’s always looking for a reason to read a new book.
For a couple of weeks, things seem to go back to normal. Eddie’s symptoms become manageable to nonexistent, able to go back to tending his garden. He’s able to let Richie drink from him, which often leads to… other activities he’s been missing dearly.
When Stan shows back up a couple weeks later, something is clearly off about him. He stumbles towards the cabin, bags under his eyes, sweat dripping from his brow despite the cold. Richie senses from inside, coming out into the blazing sun for the sake of rescuing his old friend. Unfortunately, under the bright sunlight, he’s even weaker than Eddie and still needs help dragging Stanley inside. Even in the winter, the daylight drains him.
“I tell you not to come out. Now you will need to drink again soon,” Eddie sighs, sitting Stan down at their table. “Stanley, you must need water, yes?”
“He’s hungry,” Richie says. “I can hear it.”
Stan nods weakly, eyes looking up at them beggingly. “Please.”
Thankfully, Eddie has some leftover vegetable stew that he’s stored in their icebox. He heats it up quickly over a fire, listening to Richie murmur comforting sentiments to Stan at the table. At least, he tries to be comforting, but they soon resort to pestering each other about their stench.
“You smell like a rotting carcass, Rich. I can’t stand it.”
“Fuck you. You stink like a wet dog.”
“Both of you, enough!” Eddie snaps tiredly, putting a bowl of stew on the table. “I won’t have vampire and human fighting in my home.”
“He started it!” Richie insists, hiding his fangs behind his hand, known to come out when he's particularly frustrated.
“Even the food smells awful,” Stanley grimaces.
“Hey! Eddie made that for you!”
“You don’t even have any meat?”
“He’s a vegetarian, Stan.”
“I can… I can make him a rabbit,” Eddie offers, feeling his cheeks turn red. He’s not particularly embarrassed by the smell of his stew – he can eat that himself. He is, however, saddened by offering one of his beloved rabbits he was going to bury after they passed. Still, it’s not a waste or any harm to feed Stanley that which is already dead. “I will just fetch some herbs from the garden.”
He places the bundled Miękki on the kitchen counter, mentally preparing himself to cook her for Stan. Richie follows him outside, this time with an umbrella.
“That does not really help,” Eddie tells him.
“I feel much better in the shade,” Richie shrugs. “Stan is… being a real d-bag tonight.”
“Dee… bag?” Eddie says slowly. He decides not to worry about it. “Anyway, he is sick. He is not right, and he should not be here if he really is human.”
“You said that before… If Stanley isn’t human, what the hell–”
A loud clatter from inside startles them both. Eddie drops his basket, following after Richie towards the front door. To his immense horror, he finds Stanley on his knees, feeding on the raw corpse of his little Miękki.
It takes a few minutes for him to process what he’s done. Richie disposes of the carcass, as Eddie cannot stomach it. Instead, he leans down on the floor to try comforting Stanley, who begins to weep.
“Why would I do something so vile and disgusting?” he cries.
“Stan… Do you… remember what attacked you last month?”
The signs are all there. The increased agitation. The rise in his body temperature. The way he scratches behind his ears. Richie has to assure Stan that he doesn’t have fleas.
“Do I have to be in the moonlight?” Stan asks Eddie desperately. “Can I be safe if I stay inside tonight, like how Richie is with the sun?”
“I’ve never read enough about werewolves,” Eddie tells him honestly. “Mike should have come with you.”
“Just in case,” Richie pipes in. “I’ll stay inside with him. If he turns, I’ll lead him outside and you can sneak back in, Eds.”
“You’re sure?”
“Can’t turn me into a monster if I already am one.”
“Neither of you are monsters any more than I am,” Eddie says.
Still, he waits outside as the sun goes down, shivering in the night. The howl that he hears rip through the air proves their theory wrong. He shudders to think of what Stanley is going through. Richie doesn’t bring him out right away, and Eddie wonders if something has gone terribly wrong. Against his smarter instincts, he rushes inside.
Eddie’s never seen a real wolf before. It’s startling to see the large beast in his small living room, shaking his head like one would see a dog fight with a toy. A small, faint squeak makes Eddie realize what’s just happened.
“Stanley, no!” he says sternly. He grabs the broom near the fireplace, giving Stanley a light bop on the head. “Drop him! Spit Richie out!”
To his surprise, Stanley’s wolf looks sheepish, opening his large jaw and letting the small bat fall to the ground. Richie flaps around, squeaking angrily, trying to bat Stanley with one of his wings.
“Kurwa mać!” Eddie exclaims, grabbing Richie from the floor. “Even as animals, you are both ridiculous! What is it with vampire and werewolf, eh?”
It turns out Mike followed Stanley out here once he realized Stanley had left Derry.
When morning comes after Mike arrives, Eddie has already figured out that he can tame Stanley easily, or at least trick him into staying well-behaved. He gets Stan’s wolf to chase after a light on the floor which Eddie reflects from a small mirror, forcing him into the bedroom. He tosses his second deceased rabbit, Slonko, into the room for Stan to feast on and keep him temporarily occupied until Mike shows up.
“Let me guess,” Eddie mutters, slinking on the couch. “My blood?”
“It’s quite powerful,” Mike confirms, looking relieved. “Glad Stanley found a safe place.”
“Does this mean Stan can be our pet?” Richie jests.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Eddie says, smacking him lightly.
“At least,” Mike continues. “It means he’ll have somewhere to go so that he won’t hurt anyone. Werewolves trust magical blood like Eddie’s. Vampires, not so much, but…”
“All I hear is that we get a dog out of this.”
“Har fucking har, asshole,” they hear Stan’s voice from the bedroom. “Where are my clothes?”
“Wait…” Eddie narrows his eyes. “Does this mean he had to strip naked to change?”
“Trust me, Eds, my eyes are still recovering.” He opens the door, revealing Stan standing there with a blanket wrapped around him. Richie leans down, scratching his chin. “Who’s a good puppy?”
“Knock it, Dick!” Stan huffs.
“Excuse me, but who ate who last night?”
“It’s not my fault you turn into a bat every time you get scared!”
“I dare say your magical little family is growing, Eddie,” Mike chuckles, patting poor Eddie on the back.
“I suppose so,” Eddie sighs, preparing for the monthly headache.