Archive of Our Own

Richie Tozier always remembered his mother telling him that, as a child, he was somehow always covered in glitter. She always believed that it was from an incident in preschool, where he’d been doing a craft and his clumsy four-year-old self had knocked over an entire bottle of glitter on himself. She said that she and Richie’s father found glitter on their son and his clothes for weeks after that, and with the sparkly substance being Richie’s favourite craft supply, they continued to find it everywhere he went for a long time afterwards as well. 

Richie wondered what his mother would think if she could see him now. His days of playing with glitter were long over, and something else had taken its place in always seeming to be all over his belongings: gunpowder. Blood, too. It always seemed like no matter how hard Richie scrubbed at his clothes, there was always going to be those residual reminders of his battles stained on him. Each new sprinkling of gunpowder on his clothes was a reminder of all the blood on his hands.

Disappointed. Horrified. Richie was pretty sure that’s what his mother would think if she could see him now. And if she did- he wouldn’t have blamed her.

It wasn’t uncommon for Richie to slip into these kinds of thoughts about his parents, especially on the nights he spent on the road. It was during one particular drive, though, that the thoughts and the memories were harder to ignore than usual. 

Richie often lost track of time on his long trips, and the current one he was on across the country was no exception. He had just left Pennsylvania and was on his way out to New Mexico to check out a possible case. It would be a long drive, but he had long since gotten used to spending his days traveling from one side of the country to the other in just the beat-up car he’d had since he was a teenager. It was all he had, really. 

It was only about an hour into the drive when his phone began to ring. He reached out to the passenger’s seat to search for it, his hand blindly shuffling through the bags and wrappers from all his fast food dinners that he had eaten on the road until he closed his hand around the phone. He flipped it open, and though it was an unknown number flashing on the screen, he didn’t think too hard about it before answering.

“ ‘Yello?” he said. 

“Richie Tozier?”  

Richie’s eyes narrowed as he pulled the phone away from his ear for a moment to re-read the number on the screen. Although he didn’t care about the number, he did find it a little suspicious that a caller from an unknown number knew exactly who he was. “Who’s asking?” 

There was a light scoff from the person on the line, before he said, “Christ, Rich, if you’re gonna change your number so much, at least have the decency to keep us important folk in the loop.”  

Richie was confused. The voice sounded so familiar, but whether it was just the slight static and gargle distorting it over the phone, or a lack of a face to go with it, he just couldn’t pinpoint who he was talking to. “Sorry, man, who is this?” 

“Mike.” 

“Gotta be more specific. I know about five Mikes… at least two of which who want my head on a stick, so, full name, please and thank yuh.” 

“Hanlon. Mike Hanlon.” 

The name came flooding back into Richie’s mind, along with a cascade of memories. “Shit,” he said, his words coming out with a laugh. “Mikey Hanlon. It’s been a while.” 

“Almost seven years,” Mike said. Richie almost told him that there was no way it had been that long, until he thought back to the last time he saw Mike. It had been when they worked a poltergeist job in Portland. Richie realized that it must have been that long ago, because when the man they had saved from the evil spirit tried to take the two hunters out for a drink of thanks afterwards, neither Mike nor Richie had been old enough to even get into the bar. 

“Seven years,” Richie repeated. “Fuck. Haven’t heard from you in so long, I thought you were dead.”

“Right back at you,” Mike agreed. “Listen, Rich, I’ve got a favour to ask.” 

“Oh, do share.”

“It’s a case.”  

“A case? Don’t tell me you’re retiring Mikey?”

Mike let out a dry chuckle. “The day I retire is the day they put me in my coffin,” he said. Richie knew that Mike wasn’t exaggerating; in fact, Richie assumed that that would be exactly how his story ends as well. “I’m just out of commission for a while,” Mike went on. “I took a bad fall on my last case, dealt with a vengeful spirit that left me with a broken leg.”  

“You let a little spirit get the best of you?” Richie teased, falling into a familiar sense of amiability with his old friend. “Getting a little rusty there?” 

“Let me remind you who was the one who saved your ass from being thrown off the roof of that haunted building by the ghost of a seven-year-old girl,” Mike countered. 

“Hey, I was only sixteen at the time. I’d barely been hunting for a year.” 

“So was I.”  

“Are you gonna tell me what it is you need my help with or what?” Richie said, desperate to change the subject from one of the most embarrassing points in his hunting career. 

Their joking around had lured Richie into a bubble of comfort, one that he should have known better than to let himself fall into, because the reality only hit him harder when that bubble popped as Mike said, “There’s something in Derry.”

The mention of that town’s name almost made Richie crash his car; his grip reactively tightened on the steering wheel, causing him to swerve and narrowly miss a roadside sign for a gas station five miles ahead. 

Derry, Maine. Richie hadn’t thought of that place in years. Or, at least… he had been trying not to think of that place. It was difficult, considering all that happened, but he tried his best to keep the memories- the nightmares - away.

Mike must have noticed the shift in Richie’s attitude through his silence. “I know you said you’d never come back,” he said softly. “But… you know that I wouldn’t ask you to come back if I didn’t need it.”

Richie took his free hand off the steering wheel to rub it across his face. That was the thing about Mike- he truly wouldn’t have called Richie if it wasn’t necessary.  “Yeah, I know,” he said grimly. “Well, what’s strange in the neighborhood?” 

Mike took a deep breath, preparing to launch into his story. “Over the past two weeks, five people have gone missing,” he said. “I couldn’t figure it out at first, there was no pattern to the disappearances. All of the victims were from different parts of town, different ages, both men and women, no connection to each other except for the fact that they all lived in Derry. I was starting to think that there was no connection at all, that maybe this wasn’t my kind of thing… until the first three bodies turned up- all of them completely drained of blood.”

Mike didn’t have to explain any further. “Vampires,” Richie finished. 

“From the amount of people that have gone missing, I’m guessing it’s a whole pack of them,” Mike said. “A single vampire wouldn’t need to kill this much in such a short time.” 

“Unless they’re killing for fun instead of sustenance,” Richie pointed out, not a stranger to monsters who killed for no reason other than because it wanted to.  

“No,” Mike said. “As of today, three of the bodies have been found- all of them with the same bite marks on their necks, and their lack of blood being the only thing wrong with them. If it was something killing just for fun, the bodies would be… a lot worse.” Mike took a slightly wavered breath, probably imagining that sight. Richie didn’t have to imagine; he’d seen it before. “No, this is definitely a pack. But the disappearances haven’t stopped. The most recent one was just yesterday- a nineteen year-old girl, on her way home from work- so there’s really no way of knowing how many vampires we’re dealing with.” 

“Which is why we’ve got to put a stop to it before it gets worse,” Richie concluded. 

“Yeah.” Mike’s voice lacked any of the comforting charm he had at the beginning of their conversation. “You know that normally I’d deal with this thing myself, no problem. But right now, in my condition, fuck, I can barely get up to use the bathroom. I can’t let this go on for another day without doing something about it. And, well… I’ve never met a hunter who offs vampires better than you do, Rich.”

Richie scoffed. “Last time you saw me take down a vampire, I was barely twenty.”

“And at twenty, you were still better than some of the guys who’ve been hunting for decades,” Mike told him. “Besides, your name is quite a popular one amongst hunters. I’ve heard the stories of what you’ve been up to the past few years.”

His words took Richie by surprise. “You have?” 

Mike hummed in confirmation. “Mm-hm. I’ve heard all kinds of stories about ‘that Richie Tozier’ over the years- good and bad, to be fair,” he said. “But from what I’ve heard, from what I’ve seen, and from what I fought side-by-side with all those years ago, you’re a damn good hunter, Rich. The best one I know.”

“Flattery will only get you so far, Hanlon,” Richie teased, though he did feel a genuine sense of pride and a warmth blooming across his cheeks at Mike’s words. 

“Well, I’m just hoping that back to Derry isn’t too far,” Mike said. 

Richie thought it over. After seeing the things that he’d seen, going through the things he’d gone through, not much scared him anymore. But Derry… Richie suspected that that town would always strike unwavering fear in him for as long as he lived. That the horrors of that town would be the ghosts that Richie would never be able to get rid of. 

But… people needed his help. Mike needed his help. And after everything that Mike had done for him, Richie couldn’t tell him no. 

He brought his phone away from his ear for a moment to look at the time, then did some quick calculations in his head. Balancing the phone back between his ear and his shoulder, Richie did a quick scan of the road before zooming around in a U-turn, and speeding back in the direction he had just come from. “I can be there by morning,” Richie said into the phone. 

Just hearing the relief in Mike’s voice almost made it all worth it. “I owe you a big one, Tozier,” he said. 

Richie wanted to laugh. “I’ll hold you to that,” he said. “See you soon, Mikey.”

“Drive safe.”

Richie flipped his phone shut and tossed it down onto the passenger’s seat, back into the pile of garbage that would stay there for far too long, and placed his hand back on the steering wheel in an attempt to calm himself down. It was the time of day when the sun was just beginning to set down behind the hills of endless road in front of him. The sky would soon turn a beautiful orange mixed with the pinks and purples of sundown before it would fade to complete darkness, and Richie took some contentment in knowing that there was at least something on this drive to look forward to. Richie always liked sunsets. It was what came after the sun had gone away that he didn’t like as much. 

Darkness was where the nightmares came to life.

Richie pushed down on the gas. If he wanted to get to Derry by morning like he had promised Mike, he’d have to hurry. 

He turned the radio up, and let the music blast as he tore down the road.

________________________

The rest of the drive was rather uneventful, save for the few times Richie nearly dozed off at the wheel and came close to swerving off the road or running head-first into another car driving in the opposite direction (the change in terrain from a smooth road to a bumpy shoulder, or the loud honk of an angry driver was usually enough to wake him up and keep him focused for a while after each close call). A quick stop at a 24-hour gas station about halfway through his trip to purchase few energy drinks and some terrible coffee helped a little, but Richie’s heavy eyelids were desperate for an actual rest, not just a surge of artificial energy, and his aching back and neck from his prolonged sitting begged to be stretched out and lay horizontal for a while. He hoped that Mike was preparing his couch for Richie’s arrival, because he was sure as hell going to need it before he got any real work done. 

Running on four hours of sleep from nearly two days earlier and a probably unsafe concentration of caffeine in his veins, Richie drove past the sign welcoming him to Derry just after eight o’clock the following morning. Richie hadn’t been in Derry since he was thirteen, but as he drove down the familiar streets, it was like he had never left.

It was almost eerie at how nothing had changed. The same order of stores lined each side of the main street in town, the buildings still as rundown as they used to be. Richie slowed down as he drove past the drug store on the corner of the block, the store he always used to steal candy and cigarettes from when he was a kid, and was almost impressed when he saw the same owner of the store, Mr. Keene, through the window. He looked as though he had aged much more than thirteen years since the last time Richie saw him standing in that shop- his hair almost completely gone save for a few white whisps at the top of his scalp, his skin wrinkled and leathery, his hands frail as he sorted through bottles of medicine. But, when he looked up from what he was doing and peered out the window, he still had that cold, menacing look in his eyes that made Richie, though he was all the way outside in his car, feel like he was nine-years-old again, getting caught by Keene with a stolen Kit-Kat in his jacket pocket. He cautiously pulled away from the drug store, already feeling the bleak presence of Derry settling back in him. 

A left turn at the end of Main Street brought Richie to the entrance of a neighborhood, one that he was all too familiar with. He slowed down at the stop sign posted at the intersection, but stayed there for a moment, fighting with himself on which direction to go: turn right, or go straight ahead? He knew that going right would take him to his destination, but road before him, the lines of houses, called to him instead- and for a reason that made Richie’s heart pound in his chest and his hands tighten on the steering wheel. 

He might have stayed there at that intersection all day, if it hadn’t been for another car driving up behind him and forcing him to move with a loud, and long , honk of his car horn and a few obscenities shouted from his open window. Richie responded with an impolite gesture of his hand from his own window, before finally stepping on the gas and pulling through the intersection, into the neighborhood. 

Most of the houses had followed the rest of the town’s lead in staying exactly the same, some of them freshened up with a new coat of paint or a repaired front porch. Richie drove slowly down the street, watching the number on each passing mailbox grow bigger and bigger, until he finally reached the number he still had memorized after all those years. 

His childhood home, a place that once brought him comfort, relief, and love, now sent an ice-cold dagger through Richie’s heart. The new owners had repainted it, having changed the original dark grey to a bright white that made it stand out from the rest of the buildings on the street, making the house look new and shiny. But to Richie, it took more than a fancy paint job to cover up what had happened inside that house. 

Richie had seen enough. It wasn’t hard to look away and for his foot to find the gas pedal once more, and he could feel the relief building around him the further he got from the house. He knew that being back in Derry would resurface all of those feelings he had buried deep down inside him, but facing them was still harder than Richie had thought. 

Get a grip, Tozier, he told himself as he turned up the volume of the radio to distract his thoughts. You’re here to work a case. You’ve got to focus. 

But Richie knew that that was easier said than done.

It only took ten more minutes of navigating around town to make it to Mike’s place. He pulled up in front of the house, a small place that Richie couldn’t imagine had much space inside, and parked his car behind a worn out pickup truck on the driveway. As he walked up to the house, his gun in his pocket and a bag full of other weapons hanging from his shoulder, he couldn’t help but wonder the question that always lingered in the back of his mind, but was especially present now: what would Mom and Dad say if they saw me now, what I’ve become?

Richie had tried to answer the question himself many times over the years, with false but comforting lies of, They would be proud! But he knew that wasn’t true. There’s no way in a million years Maggie and Wentworth Tozier, the two most kind-hearted people Richie ever knew, could ever be proud of their son. Not now. Not after all he’s done.

Coming face-to-face with the door in front of him forced Richie to tune out of his own head, and once again focus on the task at hand. He rang the doorbell, but no sound came from it, so he knocked twice on the door. Richie could hear a bit of shuffling around through the thin walls, before a familiar voice shouted out, “Who is it?”

“It’s me,” Richie called back. “Richie.” 

“The door’s open.” 

Richie was slightly surprised when he reached for the doorknob and it turned easily. He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Mike Hanlon was sitting in a chair in the living room, looking a little worse for wear, and not just from the white cast that covered his left leg, from the middle of his thigh all the way to his foot. He looked tired, the skin under his eyes sunken and darkened from years of late nights and poor sleep. There were books and papers scattered all over the floor around him, and Richie could count at least four empty coffee mugs on the table at the foot of Mike’s chair; he wondered how long it had been since Mikey had gotten a sleep that could qualify as something more than just a nap.

But some of that weariness vanished when Mike looked up from the folder in his lap- when he met Richie’s gaze, his eyes brightened and a smile pulled across his face, and he started to look more like he had the last time Richie had seen him. 

“Richie Tozier,” Mike said with a laugh of disbelief, as though he hadn’t been certain that Richie was actually going to show up. He tossed his papers to the side then clamped his hands on the side of his chair, and with shaking arms he attempted to lift himself up onto his good leg. 

“Woah, woah, woah,” Richie said, dropping his bag and rushing over to Mike, “don’t go straining yourself just for lil ol’ me.” Mike pushed away his attempt to keep him seated, so they met halfway Richie helped him into a standing position. When they both stood eye-level with each other, Mike’s smile grew even wider, and he threw his arms around Richie in a tight hug. 

“It’s good to see you again, Rich,” Mike said, giving him a hard clap on the back. 

Richie didn’t even try to resist the smile that came to him. “You’re a sight for sore eyes yourself, Mikey.” He helped Mike back down into his chair, then took a seat himself onto the couch, after pushing a pile of papers and gruesome crime scene photographs to the side. “You know, you’re taking a bit of a risk there,” Richie said, nodding his head back towards the way he had come in. “I mean, leaving the front door unlocked? Either you have too much faith in Derry, or you’re getting sloppy, my friend.”

“Neither,” Mike told him, grunting as he lifted his injured leg up to rest it on the coffee table. “I’m just well-prepared.” He grinned as he lifted up his shirt to reveal the butt of a gun poking out of the top of his pants and a sheath attached to his waistband, and Richie nodded in approval. A joke about how Mike’s aim better had improved since the last time they saw each other if he’s counting on protecting himself while sitting in that chair came to mind, but the words fell short when Richie’s eyes landed on the newspaper sitting on the table in front of him. 

THE DERRY HERALD

October 2nd, 2005

ANOTHER BODY FOUND… WHEN WILL THE TERROR END?

The body of 32-year-old Adrian Mellon was found underneath the main bridge leading out of town in the late hours of Tuesday night. Mellon was reported missing on September 29th, and has now become the third victim in a strange series of attacks in town. Not many details of the case have been revealed yet, but sources say that Mellon’s cause of death was major blood loss, similar to the recent deaths of 20-year-old Patrick Hockstetter and 9-year-old Victoria Fuller. Some sources also believe that they may be connected to the disappearances of 52-year-old Alvin Marsh and 13-year-old Betty Ripson, both of whom were reported missing within the past week. Officials have yet to confirm if any of the cases are related. Anyone with information about the disappearance and death of Mellon, Hockstetter, or Fuller is urged to contact the Derry Police. 

The article was accompanied with a photograph of a smiling man, which Richie assumed was the now-deceased Adrian Mellon. Richie looked up from the newspaper to Mike, and saw that his friend’s cheery expression was now gone, replaced by a scowl as he also looked down at Adrian Mellon. “That was from just this weekend,” he said. “As you know, another girl went missing the other day.”

“It says that details of the case haven’t been released,” Richie said, taking the newspaper and flipping it over, so that he didn’t have to look at Adrian Mellon’s dead face anymore. “But you told me that all the victims had the same bite marks. How do you know this is a vampire thing?” 

“I have my connections in town,” Mike said, shuffling through another pile of papers on the coffee table, before handing Richie a folder with a CLASSIFIED label printed on it. Inside, was completed autopsy reports of Victoria Fuller, Patrick Hockstetter, and Adrian Mellon- each including the official cause of death as complete blood loss, and each including a photograph of a vicious bite mark on their necks. Richie closed the folder- he had seen enough.

Mike gave him all the details of the case, much more than he had talked about on the phone. He showed Richie his piles of evidence, and Richie seriously wondered how many ‘connections’ Mike really had. He presented crime scene photos and police reports, as well as his own research of all the signs that there could be vampires in town- well, all the signs aside from the three corpses drained of blood. 

After a long presentation of all the information and theories he had, Mike sat back in his chair, and let out a deep sigh. “Well, I guess this is where I pass things off to you,” he said, rubbing his leg just above where the cast ended, although that gruelling conversation had sparked his injury to start hurting again. “What are you going to do?” 

There was a wide variety of information splayed out in front of him, but Richie was only staring at one thing. A photograph, one that Mike had said he had taken a few years back, but thought it could be involved. It was a picture of a house, one that was old, dirty, and abandoned. Just looking at a picture of it made his skin crawl, but Richie reached out and grabbed hold of the print. It shook in his hand. Richie looked down at the photograph for a moment, then back up to Mike. 

“I think I’ve got a pretty good idea of where to start.”

________________________

Looking up at the house in front of him served Richie an anxious weight in his stomach, a feeling he wasn’t a stranger to. But it wasn’t the look of the house that sourced that feeling. It wasn’t the eerily dilapidated structure, grey with mold and rotting away, and looked like it was slowly on its way to collapse. It wasn’t the windows, all of the ones still in-tact closed off by curtains, and those that were broken either boarded up or left as is; Richie noticed the splatter of something dark, red, on a broken window leading to the basement. It wasn’t the dead and decomposing flora around the house, all of the grass on what was maybe a once well-taken care of lawn now yellowed and patchy, the ground filled with holes and piles of dirt that made Richie wonder what was buried beneath his feet. It wasn’t the haunting entrance to the house, either. The stairs, looking unstable and weak, with dark space between each step that could perfectly hide something waiting to reach out and grab whoever dared attempt at entering the house. The porch, littered with dead leaves and stained with dark stains, wood eaten away by rot and time, and didn’t look like it had enough strength left to hold a person. The front door, the original engraving of an address now distorted by hundreds of jagged scratches and the dark markings of handprints, in what Richie couldn’t tell if it was dirt or blood, unsettlingly dragged down its front.

Richie wasn’t blind to the fact that the house was horrifying, not to mention what would be waiting for him inside, but that wasn’t what was bringing that dreadful feeling to his stomach, sending a grisly chill through his bones. No, that was due to simply being in front of the house on 29 Neibolt Street again, after Richie had spent the past thirteen years telling himself that he’d never come back to this place as long as he lived. 

And yet, there he was.

And all that was left to do was to go inside. 

Come on, Tozier , he told himself with an air of manufactured confidence. You’ve faced worse. 

He only had two weapons with him, a gun tucked into the waistband of his pants and a freshly-sharpened dagger in his jacket pocket. The rest were hidden away in a secret compartment in his car, parked some distance away. Richie didn’t know what he would be meeting in that house, and he didn’t want to weigh himself down with excess weaponry, so he prayed that what he had was enough to get him back out of Neibolt alive. 

He stepped up the porch, thankful that he made it to the top without falling through the boards of rotten wood. Dead leaves crunched underneath his heavy boots with each step, and the wooden beams holding him up creaked and groaned with every movement. He didn’t have to do a scope of the place to figure it all out- he remembered this place vividly, whether he wanted to or not. 

There were many entrances Richie could have gone in through. There was the door in front of him, another one around back, plus a secret side door that led down into the basement. There were three windows at the front of the house, all of them at a low enough height for Richie to climb through if he was careful enough around the broken glass. If he really wanted to, he supposed he could have climbed up to the roof using the low-hanging porch cover (after all, his ten-year-old self had done it before, for a dare and a five-dollar bet that he wouldn’t be able to) to reach an upstairs window and enter in that way. 

But, he knew that there was no point in trying to be stealthy. When it came to what he was dealing with, no amount of quiet footsteps or secret entrances would help him. A vampire would have already heard him coming from a mile away. If there were any in that house, they already knew he was here. 

They would already be waiting for him.

Richie reached out, wrapping his hand around the cold, rusting doorknob. When it turned without resistance and the door pushed open with a haunting creak, Richie took a deep breath, and held it as he stepped inside. 

The first thing he noticed was the state of the house. 

It was nothing like how he remembered it being, how he had been expecting it to be. The image of Neibolt House in his mind had floors caked in a layer of dirt and mud, the furniture old and dusty and eaten away by moths, the wallpaper peeling back to reveal the mold growing underneath. But the scene before him, it was nothing at all like that. The wooden floors were scrubbed clean, with a rather new-looking rug laid across the floor in the living room to Richie’s right. The furniture was definitely dated, the couches and tables looking like something he’d expect to see in a vintage shop, or his grandmother’s house, but they looked clean and comfortable, almost inviting. The walls had even been revamped with a fresh paint job, a dark grey that made the room feel smaller than it actually was. Richie had been holding his breath when he entered the house- not out of fear, but because he had been dreading that old, rotten smell that wafted through nearly all the houses like this one he’d been to. When he finally took a breath, though, he was met with no such smell, and instead took in the scent of what he could have sworn was… lemon cleaning products.

But none of that settled Richie’s nerves. In fact, he was sure he would have actually felt a little better if Neibolt had been the exact same disgusting, decomposing way he had been expecting. 

Because if the house looked clean, if it looked taken care of… 

That meant someone was living in it. 

He looked around, taking in the scene around him, evaluating any and every place something could creep up on him from, any hallway that something could be lurking in, every corner that something could be waiting right behind. Richie tightened his grip on the hilt of the blade in his pocket, ready to pull it out at any moment. Despite clean floors and replaced furniture, the superficial renovations didn’t take away the years of wear on decay on the foundations, and the old house still creaked with each step Richie took. 

It was when he stepped through the doorway to the living room that Richie first felt it- the unsettling shift in the atmosphere around him that he had learned how to pick up over the years. It was in the living room that that feeling hit him, and Richie knew for certain that he wasn’t alone. 

But, he forced himself to wait. If he attacked now, the fight to win would be over before it started. Richie was experienced, he was a good fighter, but most of all, he was smart. He knew that if he played his cards right, the way he had done a hundred times before, then taking this thing out would be no problem at all. He needed to wait. To draw it in closer. 

He pretended to be interested in the window to his right, half of the panel broken and covered up with a piece of wood. It looked very out of place in the renovated living room. He caught a glimpse of only himself in the reflection of what was left of the in-tact glass, though he knew that didn’t reflect the reality of the room. But of course, that could only be expected. If he wanted to get a look at the thing in the room with him, he would have to turn around and face it head-on.

Richie kept his feet walking, continuing his oblivious act of looking at the room around him, everywhere except for over shoulder, while what Richie could only describe as the presence behind him grew stronger. He was itching to look back, his hand in his pocket eager to unleash his blade, but it still wasn’t the right time. 

The creature behind him moved silently, so much so that anybody else in Richie’s position would probably never even know that they had company until it was too late. It was quiet, but not completely undetectable- you just had to know what to listen for. And after spending half of his life hunting down and killing vampires, Richie had learned exactly what to listen out for. The soft rustle of a cold breeze on the back of his neck, despite no openings to the outdoors for any wind to come in through. The differences between the creaks the house around him made on its own, and the sounds that came from footsteps- nearly impossible to tell apart, but there was a difference. The sound of quiet, slow breathing that wasn’t coming from Richie. 

Richie was beginning to wonder how long the creature was going to wait him out for, wondering how long the monster’s self-control would last for. Richie knew that he couldn’t keep up this clueless act for too long- if he waited until the vampire’s patience ran out and it attacked, then he would be fighting against a fully rabid, hungry, and extremely dangerous creature. It would be a very short window of opportunity, and Richie had to time it perfectly- he had to wait just long enough, and he could not mess up. 

Because he was not going to die in fucking Neibolt, of all places.

A creak of the floorboards from directly behind him told him that it was getting closer. It was almost time. His fingers curled around the wooden handle of the dagger in his pocket as he felt that cold air on the back of his neck once more- the air that felt more like a breath against his skin rather than a breeze. 

Almost, he told himself, counting down the seconds in his head. No backing out now.  

Five, four… it was getting closer, Richie could hear its footsteps … three… there was that dreadful feeling of someone sneaking up on him … two, one…

Here we go.

Richie’s arm shot out first, his left hand reaching out behind him- and he felt a mixture of both satisfaction and horror when his hand wrapped around a cold, bony wrist. He tightened his grip and spun the rest of his body around next, pulling the knife, which was by this point longing for some action, from his pocket as he laid his eyes upon the monster behind him. 

Richie had met all kinds of vampires in his life. Vampires from the 19th century who still took their fashion inspiration from Dracula and looked like they were straight out of a bad Halloween movie. Vampires that looked like regular people, who you could walk past on the street and never even know that they had just finished draining a living person of all of the blood in their body. Vampires who really gave in to the whole “monster” image, making themselves look like something worse than a nightmare. 

The one occupying 29 Neibolt House was one of the ‘normal’ -looking ones. At first, Richie was almost thrown off of his rhythm by the vampire’s appearance. He looked young, much around the same age as Richie, and for a split second an instinctual wave of doubt ran through him. But Richie had known enough vampires- had been tricked by enough vampires to look past their disguises. 

The vampire’s eyes widened as he looked down at his wrist, and Richie felt a chill down his spine when those wide, dark eyes flickered up to him. The vampire almost seemed surprised, confused at how Richie could have possibly anticipated his attack- which, admittedly, gave Richie a bit of an ego boost. However, that pride didn’t last for long, as the vampire soon seemed to realize that Richie wasn’t the kind of prey he would be able to easily kill. 

The vampire had a slender figure and was shorter than Richie, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t strong. Richie was holding on to the vampire’s wrist as tightly as he could, but his grip was easily broken as the vampire used his other hand to uncurl Richie’s fingers from around his arm. But, with both of the creature’s hands busy, Richie took this as his opportunity: he raised his knife up, and in a swift and powerful arch, plunged it down in front of him. But the vampire was just as fast as he was strong, and he jerked backways out of the way a split second before Richie could pierce the tip of the blade through his heart. 

The force he had put into that missed blow wavered Richie’s balance, and it took him a second to readjust. He looked back up at the monster in front of him, and saw that he seemed to be choosing defense over offence, as he stepped back, putting more distance between the two of them. The vampire had his hands out in front of him, his pale palms up and facing Richie. He was defending himself, but he didn’t seem scared. His hands were impossibly still, the expression on his face calm, but serious. Richie supposed that a vampire was about as scared of a human as a regular person would be of a puppy, and that’s where Richie knew he had the upper hand; this vampire had no idea who he was facing. 

The vampire’s composure didn’t waver, even as Richie began to approach him. “Leave,” he said. “Please, just go.” His voice was smooth, with none of the snarl and aggression that Richie had grown used to hearing in the threatening speech of a vampire- in fact, Richie thought he even heard some desperation in the vampire’s plea. It was all an act, though- Richie knew that it had to be. This act of innocence, it was just a performance to make Richie lower his guard, as he looked into the vampire’s eyes that looked almost human and perhaps would feel some mercy- just enough for the vampire to gain the upper hand and attack. 

No matter how human, how normal it looked, Richie made sure to keep reminding himself: vampires were monsters that only had a human face. The one facing him now had killed a dozen innocent people, plus who knows how many more in the years before it began terrorizing Derry. And if Richie didn’t put a stop to it now, that body count would only grow bigger and bigger. No, if Richie had any say about it, this vampire wasn’t going to be snacking on anyone else, ever again. 

Richie let out an amused breath, one that was almost a laugh. “Sure,” he said, twirling his knife in his hand. “I’ll be right on my way, as soon as I have a stake through your heart and your head on a stick.” He raised the knife out in front of him. “Hold still, would’ja? I promise, I’ll be quick.” 

The vampire’s eyes widened and his jaw tensed as he quickly realized that he wasn’t going to be getting rid of Richie with a vague warning of ‘get out’ . “This is a mistake,” he said. Richie thought his voice seemed strangely calm. “Listen, I don’t want any trouble, just-” 

But Richie wasn’t in the mood to listen; he was in the mood to put an end to all of this. He lunged forward with another swing of his knife, this time aiming for the vampire’s throat. It had been a good attack, but this vampire seemed to be just as skilled in fighting as Richie was. He reached out and grabbed Richie’s wrist, imposing a force against Richie’s hit that stopped it mid-air and sent a flash of pain through Richie’s arm and to his shoulder. Richie cursed, the pain being so sudden and so much that his blade dropped from his hand, clattering loudly as it hit the floors. Richie saw the vampire eye the blade, but before he could make a move towards it Richie brought up his leg and kicked it out in front of him, sending the sole of his boot right into the vampire’s stomach. 

The vampire released Richie’s arm with a grunt of pain, bringing his arms to his stomach as Richie dove for his dropped weapon. The vampire seemed to realize too late that letting go of Richie wasn’t a good idea, as only a second later Richie was charging back at him with his knife. He dodged Richie’s first attack, a swing of his blade that just narrowly missed the vampire’s cheek, but that kick must have thrown him off his game, because with a hard charge towards the vampire, Richie was able to push him back, pinning him against the closest wall. With one arm pressed across the vampire’s chest, holding him in place, Richie raised his blade with his other arm, bringing it to the vampire’s throat. Richie’s body ached, but it would be over soon. He just had to push his blade forward, through flesh and bone like he had done a hundred times before, and then he could be done with this nightmare. 

Except, this vampire just wasn’t giving up. He reached up and grabbed Richie’s hand with his own, the one that was holding the knife that was just half an inch away from ending his life. Richie felt the pressure of the vampire’s hand pushing against his, but he couldn’t help but notice that the vampire wasn’t… pushing him away. Even the weakest vampire Richie had ever faced had been strong enough to throw Richie around a room like it was nothing, and the vampire that Richie had pinned against the wall was definitely powerful. He could have easily pushed Richie away and across the room in the growing time that Richie had had him like this, but instead he was choosing to take Richie’s hand, and hold it away just enough to stay alive.

The vampire tilted his head up slightly, stretching his neck to meet Richie’s gaze. His eyes were wide, but not fearful. “Please,” he said again, his cold, dead hand tightening around Richie’s knuckles. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Richie scowled. “Yeah, sure you don’t- I bet that’s what you say to all your victims, hm? Is that what you told all those innocent townsfolk right before you bled them dry? What, did lying to them first make ‘em taste better when you killed them?”

Then, the vampire’s expression changed. His dark eyebrows turned down, confusion clouding his eyes, and his mouth opened and closed a few times as he processed what Richie had said; Richie could see the tips of his white fangs peeking out past his red lips every time he did so. “What?” he eventually said, sounding almost breathless. “Killed who?”

Seriously? Richie thought. He’s trying to play dumb? Does he think I’m that stupid? “Just how many did you think you would get away with?” he asked. “You’ve already helped yourself to three, plus the others that are still missing. Have you already killed them as well? Or have you got them hidden away somewhere, strung up as you fatten them up for a feast?” 

Richie pressed the knife against the vampire’s neck, but the vampire retaliated and pushed back harder, keeping the blade right where it was. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the vampire said, doing a really great job of acting surprised and confused- the look on his face was almost believable. 

Richie almost laughed. “Oh, it offends me that you think I’m that much of an idiot.” 

“I’m not-” the vampire started, but when Richie tried once more to beat the creature’s strength and sink the knife into his neck, the vampire pushed back, this time easily shoving Richie off of himself. 

And unfortunately for Richie, it seemed as though the vampire was done playing nice. 

The force that came with the push sent Richie flying backwards, slamming him into the bookshelf across the room. Pain seared through Richie, starting from his throbbing skull and shooting down his spine, but before he had time to even regain his balance, the vampire was in front of him again. He gripped the front of Richie’s shirt, lifting the hunter away from the now-broken bookshelf and throwing him down to the ground. Richie’s vision turned blurry as his head spun, but he willed himself to focus on the vampire- he couldn’t lose. He wouldn’t lose. 

The vampire approached him, and as he came to stand over Richie, Richie used his legs as his weapons, kicking upwards and hitting the vampire hard in the knee. He used all the strength he could muster up, but that hit to the bookshelf had taken a toll on Richie’s energy, and his kick was barely enough to make the vampire stumble. Richie ignored the stinging pain in his ribs as he attempted to sit up, but the vampire was on top of him in a split-second, forcing him back down. It came to Richie in a wave of dread, as the vampire sat on his hips with a strength so powerful that Richie could barely move his legs and as the vampire pinned his wrists to the ground so firmly that Richie could feel the wood from the floorboards cutting into his skin. It was then that the realization came to Richie that the vampire had him. 

It was over. 

The vampire leaned down closer, and Richie turned his head so that he didn’t have to look at the sharp fangs that he was sure would be sinking into his neck any second now. Except, no such bite came. Instead, the vampire let out a curt breath, one that Richie could almost detect frustration in, and spoke. “Now, if you would just take a second to calm down and listen to me,” he said firmly over Richie’s low grunts in his attempts to free himself. “I’ve been trying to tell you, I don’t want to hurt you. I am not a killer.” 

Richie turned his head to meet the vampire’s eyes, just to shoot him a glare. “Of course you are,” he hissed. 

“I’m not,” the vampire argued. 

“Right, because vampires are just known for being honest and trustworthy.” 

The creature rolled his eyes. “Well, smart guy, consider this,” he said. “I have you trapped, don’t I? You can try to break free as much as you want-” At that moment, Richie attempted to kick his leg up to push the vampire off, but the monster’s strength weighing him down didn’t allow for anything more than just a weak jerk of his ankle- “but you won’t be able to. So why don’t you- hey, hey, asshole, fucking… stop and listen to me-” He tightened his hold around Richie’s wrist, practically cutting off the circulation between his arms and his hands, and the hunter finally stopped squirming for a moment. Richie focused directly on the vampire, looking into his dark, unblinking eyes that were clinging to Richie’s every movement. “Maybe pull your head out of your ass for a minute and realize that, all things considered,” the vampire went on, leaning a little closer to Richie, “you’re still alive.” 

Richie held his gaze and took a breath, and it came out shaky from his growing exhaustion from the fight. “That means nothing,” he said.

The vampire raised an eyebrow. “If you’ve ever hunted a vampire before- and from the fight you put up, I’m guessing you have,” he said, “then you should know that means everything.”  

The last thing Richie wanted was to agree with a vampire, but he had to admit… he had a point. Richie, as he was in that moment, was helpless. If that vampire wanted to, he could have had Richie’s throat ripped out the second he had pinned Richie to the ground. In Richie’s experience with the creatures, that’s how they were- kill first, ask questions never. 

But not this vampire. Instead, this one had opted for… conversation. Negotiation. 

Why? 

He could have killed Richie three times over in the time he’d had the hunter trapped underneath him, but instead he was using that time to try and convince Richie that he wasn’t the bad guy. It was definitely out of character, and Richie couldn’t think of any strategy that it could be. The only thing that this was doing for the vampire was delaying its lunch for a little longer- so why?

Richie didn’t let himself relax, but he stopped trying to break free from the vampire’s hold. “What do you want?”

The vampire responded with a sigh of relief, letting his eyes flutter shut and his head drop down. “Let me explain,” he said calmly once he met Richie’s eyes again. “And don’t try to kill me.”

“Keep your fangs to yourself and I won’t have to,” Richie told him. 

The vampire narrowed his eyes at that. “Funny,” he said. “Because I seem to remember that it was you who came in here and tried to kill me .”

“You snuck up on me. I was acting in self defense.” 

“Self defense? You broke into my house!”

Richie almost fought back, until he realized that it wouldn’t get him anywhere except in an endless cycle of himself and the vampire passing the blame back and forth. He bit his tongue, and the vampire gave a slight nod, approving of Richie’s silence and taking the win of their little argument. But before he let Richie go, his eyes drifted over to Richie’s left hand, where the knife was still held tightly in his grip. Richie got the hint, though he wasn’t exactly stoked about what it was that the vampire was hinting at. But, he knew that he wasn’t going to be let up from the ground any time soon with the blade still on his person, available and ready to pierce through the vampire’s un-beating heart. Richie wasn’t happy about it- he was the furthest thing from comfortable with this whole situation- but he reluctantly uncurled his fist, letting the knife drop to the ground with a clatter that echoed through the silence of the house.

The vampire watched the knife fall, and when he took his hand from Richie’s wrist and shot it outwards towards the weapon, Richie cursed himself for being such an idiot , for falling for the vampire’s obvious tricks, for letting himself be stripped of his defense against the monster. He sent out a silent apology to Mike for not being able to finish the job, followed by a goodbye he’d never get to say in person, and braced himself for the blade to come down into his own chest-

And he watched as the vampire swept the knife away, sending it over to the other side of the room- very much out of reach for the both of them. Richie watched the knife, as it skittered underneath the bookshelf that had a Richie-shaped dent in it, then slowly brought his eyes back to the vampire. It was staring intently at him, with a look on his face that read See? I’m not going to hurt you. Richie still didn’t trust him, though. This monster was going to have to do a lot more to get anywhere close to Richie’s good side.

When Richie didn’t attempt another escape, even with his one hand unpinned from the ground and free to move, the vampire took that as Richie keeping to his word, and he began to move… but had barely lifted himself up before his hips brushed against Richie’s, and he froze.

Richie hadn’t brought out his gun during the fight (a gun wouldn’t kill a vampire anyways, but still- it was harder for a vampire to kill you when it had a bullet in its kneecaps), and in their scuffle it had slipped down past his waistband and had gotten wedged in the space between Richie’s jeans and his thigh- and the vampire felt it. His eyes trailed down to Richie’s hips, to the firm, gun-shaped bump in Richie’s pants, then looked back up to meet the hunter’s eyes. To Richie’s surprise, the vampire didn’t seem angry about Richie’s concealed weapon, but rather just… unimpressed. 

Richie stared back at him. “I’m just really excited to see you,” he tried. 

Surprisingly, that didn’t work. The vampire rolled his eyes, before bringing his free hand back up and pressing his forearm across Richie’s chest, putting Richie back into a position where he was firmly trapped in between the floorboards and the vampire’s strong hold. Richie let out a yell of objection as the vampire took his hand off of Richie’s other wrist and used it to reach down Richie’s pants, but the vampire ignored him and pulled out the gun, tossing it to the side just like he had with the blade.

“Got anything else on you?” he asked. 

“You could have just asked that in the first place,” Richie muttered, frustrated at now being completely unarmed. “No. It was just the gun.” 

“I’m not sure if I believe you.”

“Well, looks like you trust me just about as much as I trust you,” Richie said as the force from the vampire’s arm started to escalate from just a tolerable pressure to a painful ache in his chest. “But go ahead, check for yourself if it means you’ll stop trying to suffocate me. Just, keep your hands off the delicates, alright?”

The vampire did a scan of Richie’s body underneath his, and Richie prepared himself for a full-body pat down- but the vampire did no such thing. Instead, he pushed his forearm harder against Richie’s chest, and Richie tried his best not to let the pain show on his face as the creature spoke, “I’m going to let go, and I will explain myself if you’ll let me. But, if you try to attack me again, I will knock you out.”

Richie didn’t doubt that that was a serious threat. He also didn’t doubt that if he tried to make a dash for either one of his weapons, spread apart on either side of the room, that he’d be dead before he could even grab hold of one of them. He nodded slowly, hoping that the vampire could read the honesty in his eyes.

The vampire hesitated, clearly weighing the risks to his own life if he let the hunter up, before finally removing his arm from Richie’s chest. Richie took in a long, much needed breath as the vampire sat back on his heels. He didn’t rise any more than that, and for a moment kept his hands extended out close to Richie, at the ready as though he still suspected for Richie to attempt another attack (Richie couldn’t blame him- the idea wasn’t completely out of his own mind just yet). But when Richie made no sudden movements, the vampire seemed to deem things as safe, and he finally got to his feet.

The weight of the vampire’s strength finally disappearing off of him made Richie feel a hundred pounds lighter, and now that he wasn’t helplessly pinned to the ground, his confidence began to grow back. He may not have had his knife or his gun, but from the years Richie had spent on his own, he’d learned how to turn his fists into weapons of their own. He decided not to act out, though- at least, not yet. He couldn’t believe he was doing this, but he was going to give the vampire a chance… if only to have a chance at sparing his own life.

The vampire looked down at Richie and offered a hand out to him as he struggled up into a sitting position, which Richie promptly ignored as he stood himself up. His wrists and hips hurt from being pinned down, and a wave of dizziness washed over him as he regained his balance. He could feel a trickle of something warm running down the back of his neck, and when he tried to wipe it away and his fingers came back painted red. He quickly wiped his hand against his jeans, hoping that the vampire standing before him wasn’t hungry.

The vampire took a few steps back, putting space between the two of them, but he didn’t take his eyes away from Richie. He was watching the hunter’s every move with deserved caution. “Are you okay?” he asked. “You’re bleeding. Do you need a-?”

“I’m fine,” Richie interrupted sourly. “And I don’t need Dr. Drac looking after my injuries, thanks.”

The vampire let out a brusque huff, crossing his arms over his chest. Richie was well-aware that vampires didn’t get their strength from large muscles, but it still embarrassed him to look at the vampire’s slender arms and remember the way they had so easily held him down. “Suit yourself,” the vampire muttered as Richie used his jacket sleeve to soak up the blood on his neck. 

“Enough with the pleasantries,” Richie said. “You said you would explain, so explain. Now.”  

The vampire held Richie’s gaze, both of them still rightfully wary of each other, and he began his explanation. “My name is Eddie,” he said, slowly and carefully. “I guess you’ve already figured out the ‘vampire’ part, but… I haven’t killed anyone.”

Richie couldn’t help it as a retort that made its way into his mind, but as he opened his mouth to say it, the vampire- Eddie- held his hand up, pointing an accusatory finger at Richie. “Hey,” he said sharply. “You want me to explain? Then let me. No interruptions.” 

Keeping his mouth shut was a skill that Richie had never mastered, but he knew that if he wanted answers, he’d have to bite his tongue just this once. At his silence, Eddie nodded in approval and he went on. “I haven’t killed anyone. I know vampires have a bit of a… bad reputation,” he said, to which Richie almost laughed. “But I… you said that there were killings? People going missing in town?” 

Richie had a sort of gut feeling that he probably shouldn’t share the details of this case with the prime suspect, but under the curious and pleading gaze of the vampire, he found himself speaking anyways. “Three bodies have been found in the past two weeks,” he said curtly. “All of them drained of blood. Three people are still declared missing, but…” Richie trailed off, not wanting to say what he was thinking. He wanted to believe that there was still hope for the missing folk, that he’d be able to get to them before it was too late, but he also knew how merciless vampires were. He figured most of them probably hadn’t lasted longer than a day after their capture. 

At this information, Eddie began to look uneasy. His breathing became ragged, the expression in his face almost looking like he was going to be sick, as though the thought of all these killings were distressing to him. It was almost… a very human reaction to hearing of such a tragedy. After taking a minute to, what seemed like to Richie, compose himself, Eddie finally spoke again. “I know what it must seem like- trust me, I know- but I’m telling you, I haven’t killed anyone. Whatever’s going on in town, it’s not me.”  

Richie thought back to the look on the vampire’s face after Richie had first brought up the killings during their fights. Eddie had seemed confused, taken aback by the accusation that Richie had thrown at him. Richie had even been a bit surprised himself, at how genuine Eddie’s reaction had been. Had seemed, he reminded himself. He’s obviously lying, he’s trying to trip you up, to get you to lower your guard. Don’t fall for it.

As though he could read Richie’s mind, Eddie spoke up again. “I know you don’t believe me-”

“And there’s the first thing I can agree with you on.” 

“-and I can’t blame you for being skeptical, but it is the truth.”

Richie narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “You think I haven’t heard that lie before?” he spat. “You think you’re the first vampire to try and pull the innocent ‘I’m harmless, I haven’t hurt anybody’ act?”

“It’s not an act,” Eddie said. His words came out in a harsher way, as though he was growing increasingly more annoyed, and that it was becoming harder to remain calm. “I mean, shouldn’t the fact that you’re still breathing be enough proof to you that I’m not the bad guy here?” 

“All that tells me is that you’ve got better self control than the others of your kind.” 

Eddie’s frown grew with disapproval of Richie’s use of your kind. “Well, I don’t know what else you expect me to say.” 

Richie narrowed his eyes. It didn’t seem as though the vampire was going to be coming clean of his own free will any time soon, so Richie guessed that he would have to settle for the next best thing: catching Eddie in his own lie. “Fine, explain this to me, then,” Richie said, taking a risky step towards the vampire. “If you don’t kill people, as you claim, then how are you still alive? Well, I suppose ‘alive’ isn’t quite the correct terminology, but I’m sure you’ve heard that joke before. You’ve got to feed yourself somehow, hm? And I doubt that you can get what you need down at the local Ma’ and Pa’ supermarket in town.” 

Eddie raised an eyebrow and uncrossed his arms from over his chest to gesture around him. “Did you even see this place before you came in?” he asked. “It’s practically the stereotype for the typical haunted house- at least, that’s what the rumours say. That ‘Neibolt house is the most haunted building in Derry’, or something like that.” Richie almost scoffed, wanting to mention that it’s not really a rumour if there’s an actual vampire living in the house, but he bit his tongue when he noticed Eddie’s expression. As he continued on, Eddie almost began to look… uncomfortable. “And… that rumour brings people around,” he went on, sounding like each word pained him to say. “Teenagers come in on dares or to try and pull pranks on each other. Those amateur paranormal investigator types, like yourself-” Richie couldn’t help but be slightly offended at being called not only a paranormal investigator, but a fucking amateur at that- “who like to come in and see if they can finally spot a ghost. I mean, it’s not super common, but every month or so, a person comes in when I… when I get hungry.” Richie could see that Eddie was trying to stop any emotion from showing on his face, but he could still clearly hear the strain in the vampire’s voice. “So… when people come in, I knock them out, I feed, and then I let them go.” He finally brought his eyes back to Richie as he said that last part, and Richie felt a chill underneath Eddie’s intense gaze. He almost felt… compelled to listen, but he forced himself to ignore the urge. After all, he wasn’t finished asking questions.

“I’ve been hunting vampires for almost ten years,” he said. “They’re predators. I’ve never known one to let their prey go after feeding- the only exception is if they turn them.”

Eddie tensed. “Well, I guess there’s always a first for everything,” he said. 

Richie didn’t quite appreciate the joke, but even more so, he still didn’t believe the vampire. “You say a person comes in every month or so,” he repeated, and the vampire nodded. “That’s not enough to feed a full-grown vamp. Even if you bled them completely dry, which you claim you don’t, that wouldn’t be enough blood to live off of.” 

“You know quite a lot about vampires, don’t you?” Richie was surprised to realize that with that question, Eddie’s tone didn’t sound as irritated, or sound as though he was trying to mock Richie… instead, it almost seemed like he was impressed. 

“Why, yes I do,” Richie responded, forcing an overly-friendly smile on his face. “It makes it easier to kill you when I know all your tricks. For instance, I know that a common hunting tactic of vampires is actually distraction. Misdirection. It’s much easier to kill prey when they’re not on guard, but unfortunately, I’m not as stupid as you think.” 

“That’s not what I-”

“Answer my question, then.”

Eddie clenched his jaw, then glanced over to the doorway to Richie’s right. “Will you let me show you something?” Eddie asked. 

“What, your collection of corpses?” 

Eddie rolled his eyes, and didn’t wait for a serious answer from Richie before he started walking. A wave of nerves pulsed through Richie, and his eyes scanned the room looking for his knife, when Eddie spoke again. “Relax,” he said. “I’m just going into the kitchen.” 

Richie swiftly followed him out of the living room, not wanting to let the vampire out of his sight even for a second. Stepping into the kitchen, Richie did a quick look-around to assess any and all possible weapons that he could grab, if needed. Butcher’s knife in the sink, he noted. Metal bowl on the counter. Pan on the stove. If it comes down to it, my own two hands. I could strangle him with my belt.

He watched cautiously as Eddie walked over to the refrigerator, and when he began to open it, Richie braced himself for the worst: a gruesome scene inside, maybe a severed head or some human limbs. Just the thought of it made Richie begin to feel ill… but he quickly saw that there was nothing to that degree hidden inside, to his relief. 

On the shelves, were bags upon bags of blood. 

There had to be at least two dozen bags in there, giving the fridge a ominous red glow. Richie wasn’t one to get queasy at the sight of blood, and it wasn’t even a particularly gory scene, but it still didn’t leave a particularly good feeling in his stomach. He shifted his gaze back over to Eddie, but before he could spit out any more accusations, Eddie beat him with an explanation. “The hospital in town does pretty regular donation drives, and it has pretty pathetic security,” he said. “One bag a day is enough to keep me going.” He closed the refrigerator door, and Richie didn’t try to stop him. He had seen enough of the blood fridge .

And though Eddie’s extensive meal prepping had left his stomach a little unsettled, there was something more pressing that took up his thoughts: the fact that Eddie seemed to be… telling the truth. If he was really the one doing the killings, why would he go through the trouble of also obtaining all this excess blood? 

Richie’s doubt and confusion must have been showing on his face. “If you still don’t believe me, you can tear this place apart,” Eddie said, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the kitchen counter. “You won’t find anything- or anyone.” 

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Richie countered, trying to at least not let his confidence slip from his voice. “You’ve just got the bodies hidden somewhere else, then. With the rest of your pack, probably.”

To that, Eddie tensed. Richie saw his fingers dig into his arm, his pale fingers harsh against the dark fabric of his shirt sleeve. He didn’t quite look mad, or annoyed- it was more… uncomfortable. “I don’t have a pack,” he said coldly, breaking his gaze with Richie. “I’m on my own.” 

Richie let out an amused snort. “Yeah, right,” he said. “Finding a vampire on its own is about as likely as finding one sunbathing on a beach in Miami. If you want to trick me this bad, you could at least try to make it-”

“ I’m not lying. ” 

The words got caught in Richie’s throat, his heart nervously skipping a beat at the power that Eddie spoke with. He was no longer looking down at his own feet, seeming uncomfortable with the fact that Richie had brought up his pack. He now had his gaze deadset on the hunter, a cold and almost vicious look in his eyes. He still had his arms crossed over his chest, and he still seemed tense- though Richie didn’t think that it was due to the discomfort of talking about his pack. No, there had been a shift in the way he crossed his arms, how he now squared his shoulders, and of course, how he was looking at Richie. It reminded Richie of a wild animal, the moment of hesitation before it attacked. 

It was in that moment that Richie remembered the reality of this situation. Eddie was a dangerous predator, and Richie was his prey. It had been his plan, with all of this talking, to either catch Eddie in his lie, or annoy him and push him far enough until Eddie finally revealed his true self, but that plan was seeming less and less ideal when both of Richie’s weapons were lying back in the living room. 

And yet, despite every one of his instincts telling him not to, Richie took a step closer. “So, let me get this straight,” he said. “You practically live off of bagged blood, because you ‘don’t want to hurt people’ . But even when you do feed off of people, you let them go afterwards, because you’re ‘not a killer’. Now you’re claiming that you don’t even hunt with a pack, even though that should go completely against your nature.” Richie narrowed his eyes as he got closer- perhaps dangerously so- to Eddie. “Just what kind of vampire are you?”

Eddie didn’t react to Richie’s movement. “Not the one you’re looking for,” he replied. Richie was surprised that he wasn’t speaking with the same force and power as he had just moments earlier, and that his tone did not at all hold the same sense of threat as his expression and body language. Eddie might have been tired and annoyed at all of Richie’s accusations, but he wasn’t dropping the innocent act. 

After realizing just how close to each other they were, Richie stepped back from the vampire and turned on his heel. “I’m still checking the rest of this house,” he said, heading back into the living room. 

Richie heard Eddie sigh and grumble an irritated “fine” under his breath. Now that he wasn’t actively being attacked, Richie took an actual good look around the living room. It was still a mess from their fight, but with a quick sweep of the area Richie concluded that if there was anywhere a vampire would hide the bodies of its victims, it wouldn’t be here. He saw both his knife and his gun still where he had left them, but decided against arming himself again. 

He went to call Eddie through from the kitchen so that they could go to a different room, but when Richie turned, he learned that Eddie had already followed him through to the living room, but so silently that Richie hadn’t heard him do so. He stood almost directly behind Richie, causing Richie to reflexively curse loudly and swing his arm up in a punch. Eddie dodged it easily, smoothly jumping to the side. “Sorry,” he said, though his grin didn’t look very apologetic. 

“I want to look in the other rooms,” Richie grumbled. “Walk in front of me, and don’t even think about trying something.” After that scare, he didn’t want to let the vampire out of his sight again. 

Eddie rolled his eyes, but didn’t complain as he led Richie out. Aside from the living room and the kitchen, there wasn’t much else to the first floor of the house. Richie was just about to move up the stairs, when he noticed a door at the end of the hallway just past the staircase. It was painted the same colour as the rest of the wall, camouflaged to appear as though it wasn’t there at all. Disguised, easy to overlook. Richie pointed to it. “Where does that lead to?” 

Eddie glanced over at the door, then began walking down the hall. “Garage,” he said simply. Richie began to ask what exactly he kept in that garage, but Eddie reached the door before he could, and opened it up. “Knock yourself out,” he said, inviting Richie in. 

Richie wasn’t sure if he appreciated Eddie’s choice of words, but he made his way down the hall and through the door, making sure that the vampire stayed a safe distance in front of him. 

Despite Eddie’s willingness to let him in, a part of Richie still expected to be met with something horrible as he walked down the stairs into the lower level of the garage (which he hadn’t even known Neibolt house had until now). He braced himself for some sort of bloody murder scene with all of Eddie’s victims, and prepared to walk directly into the vampire’s trap… but when Eddie turned on the garage light, Richie saw that it was quite the opposite. 

Taking up most of the garage space was a large car. Richie was never really great with cars himself, so he didn’t know what model it was, but he knew that it looked expensive. The hood was propped open, and a box of tools sat on the ground beside the vehicle. Richie frowned, then looked over to Eddie, who was leaning back against a small table, its surface scattered with even more tools and car supplies. “This yours?” he asked. 

“It was already here when I first came to this house,” Eddie explained. “It was busted up pretty badly, though, and seemed like it hadn’t been touched in a long time, and was missing a lot of parts. So, I decided to try and fix it up.”

Richie looked up from the car, an eyebrow raised skeptically. “Why?” he asked. “Just what would a vampire need a car for?”

“Ever heard of a hobby, asshole?” Eddie retorted. “I like working on cars, so what?”

“Well, and here I thought that all vampires liked to do for fun was hunt and kill, but I guess I’ve been proven wrong,” Richie said sarcastically. He made a trip around the garage, checking in every small corner and behind any shelves that Eddie could possibly be hiding something in- but all he found was scraps of car parts, more tools, and lots of spiders. He even checked inside the car and in the trunk, but that was empty as well. Growing more annoyed at his lack of findings as he realized that there really was nothing out of the ordinary in this garage, Richie made his way back to the vampire and told him to lead them upstairs. 

The second level of the house had more going on than the first, but it also brought back more memories for Richie. The long hallway with its maze of doors on either side. The creaky floors that he remembered sprinting down. The only light source eerily coming from the sole window at the end of the hall. 

Stop it , Richie told himself as Eddie opened up a door for him. There’s no time to dwell. You have a job to do. 

He checked the bathroom, but found that it was spotless. Probably the cleanest room that Richie had seen thus far. He checked each of the hall closets, but found nothing other than cleaning supplies and dusty towels. The room close to the end of the hallway was completely empty, so checking that one didn’t take long at all. When he opened up the door to the final room in the house, it took him a second to realize with surprise that he had just stepped into Eddie’s bedroom. 

The room looked more like something from a fancy furniture catalog, and definitely not part of fucking Neibolt house. The bed was made, with unwrinkled silk sheets and several pillows neatly arranged at the top. A large, soft-looking rug covered most of the hardwood floor. There was a large window on one of the walls that Richie had seen from the outside of the house, but it was completely blocked by curtains. There was a vase sitting on top of the beautiful wooden dresser pushed against the wall, but the flowers displayed in it looked like they were coming to the end of their life. 

Richie had spent most of the last decade living out of his car and motel rooms across the country, so seeing this vampire living in this luxury was both surprising and irritating. “This is your bedroom?” he asked, walking inside. 

“What were you expecting, a coffin?” Eddie asked. He sounded unimpressed at Richie’s disbelief.

“I thought you’d maybe hang upside down from the doorway, actually,” Richie said. He didn’t hear a response from Eddie, but he could almost imagine Eddie rolling his eyes from his disappointed silence.

Richie swiftly got to work again, looking underneath the bed and in any drawers that could fit a body- and even the ones that were too small to do so, because Richie wasn’t taking any chances. He checked Eddie’s closet, only to find that it was filled with hangers of expensive-looking clothes- suit jackets and fancy sweaters, button-up shirts and business pants. Richie wondered if all of these were Eddie’s own purchases, or if they were clothes taken from his victims. He wondered if Eddie had a type for rich businessmen. 

He finished checking the closet for any skeletons- both metaphorical and literal- before taking another look around the room, desperate to find at least something that would give him a lead on this case. He began another stroll around the room (making sure to walk around the rug, as Eddie had warned him that if he stepped on the rug with his dirty shoes, he’d be paying for it, and Richie didn’t want to know if Eddie would expect payment with money or blood), when his eyes landed on something on top of the dresser that he had missed his first time around. 

Beside the vase with the dying flowers, was a small picture frame. Inside was a photograph of three young boys- two of them looked to be around ten years old and had their arms around each other’s shoulders, and the third boy, who looked much younger, stood in front of them, holding a paper boat. At first glance, Richie simply thought that it was just the sample picture that came with the frame, but with a longer look he realized with a start… that one of the boys was Eddie. He was much younger, with a rounder face and shorter hair and a missing front tooth, but he had the same big, brown eyes and the same pattern of freckles across his nose and cheeks, and he was definitely Eddie.

It was surprising, and a little strange, to see this picture of a young Eddie, happy and smiling, but even more so than that… was the heavy feeling that grew in Richie’s stomach at a certain realization.

This was a photograph of Eddie. That had to mean that… that he had been turned. That at some point, when that picture was taken, Eddie had been human.

Human, just like Richie.

It sent a chill through him, but Richie tried not to let it change his judgment of Eddie too much. After all, most of the vampires that he killed had also once been human, but got bitten and turned into a bloodthirsty monster. But now, as he looked down at the younger Eddie’s innocent smile… he almost felt sorry. Sorry for the child who had no idea about the creature he would one day become.

Richie reached out to take a closer look at the picture and the other two boys in it, but before he could, a hand beat him to it and slammed the frame down against the dresser. Eddie had silently moved to Richie’s side, and the look on his face as he held the frame down couldn’t be more different than the one he wore in the photograph. “Are you done?” he asked bitterly. 

“That was a picture of you,” Richie said. “When were you-” 

“Are- you- done,” Eddie repeated. His words were sharp, and Richie could see that his fangs had appeared. Richie wondered if it was a natural reaction, or if Eddie had done it purposely to show Richie that he wasn’t playing around. The air between them was tense, and Richie was smart enough to drop the topic of the photograph. At least, for now.

He took a step back from the dresser, putting a safe amount of space between himself and Eddie. “It seems like you’ve done a pretty good job at covering your tracks,” he said. “But just because I can’t find anything here, doesn’t mean that you’re innocent. You really think that this stops me from thinking that you, a vampire, have absolutely nothing to do with three people- and probably more- turning up dead, with bite marks on their necks and their bodies drained of blood, all of them going missing and then being found within a five-mile radius of this house?” 

Eddie stepped away from the dresser himself, leaving the picture frame facedown. “There’s more than one vampire in the world, genius,” he said. “And I’m telling you, I’m not the one who did this. So maybe you should stop wasting your, and my time here and spend it trying to find the actual thing that’s killing these people.”

“Right, of course, silly me!” Richie said, bringing his hand up and knocking it against his forehead. “I’ll just go and leave you alone, so that you can go right back to taking more lives as soon as I let you out of my sight! Sounds like a great plan, thanks a lot, Eds.” 

“Don’t fucking call me that,” Eddie said, his eyebrows pulling down into a sharp frown. 

Richie ignored him. “There’s no way I’m believing that you’re not the monster here unless I have real proof that someone else is behind it. Guilty until proven innocent, that’s what I always say.” 

“And just how do you expect to do that if you refuse to leave me alone, hm?” Eddie asked. “What are you going to do, stay here and watch over me to make sure I don’t go out and kill anyone, since you’re so sure that I do?” 

Richie thought about it for a moment, before his lips pulled up into a knowing grin- in turn causing Eddie’s face to pale and his eyes to widen. “No,” he said, as though he could read Richie’s mind. “Absolutely not, you are not-”  

“Why not?” Richie asked. “It’s really the perfect plan, if you think about it. If you’re as innocent as you say you are, and you really don’t kill people as you claim, then you should have no problem with me watching over you for a little while, right?”

“Of course I have a problem with it,” Eddie said through gritted teeth. 

“Why? Because you have something to hide?” 

“Because I don’t want somebody who’s hell-bent on killing me to be staying in my house,” Eddie said, moving closer towards Richie. 

“And I don’t particularly want to be staying in the house of a monster who kills and drinks the blood of humans, but we all have to make sacrifices,” Richie said, not backing down when Eddie stepped directly in front of him. “But if it means getting me closer to finding out whoever is killing these people, then that’s what I’m willing to do.”

Eddie didn’t break his gaze with Richie as he thought it over. His face held a mixture of frustration, weariness, and consideration. Richie was beginning to wonder if Eddie was trying to decide whether or not to just kill him now, judging by the intense look in his eyes, when Eddie finally let out a sigh. “If it’ll get you off of my ass, then fine,” he said, though he was clearly unhappy about it. “But your weapons are staying locked up. All of them.” 

Richie’s satisfied smile returned. “Hey, as long as you keep your fangs to yourself, we won’t have any problems,” he said, then took a step back and seated himself on Eddie’s bed. “Thanks for all the hospitality, roomie.” He kicked his feet up onto the sheets, and lay down, bringing his hands up behind his head, growing jealous at how comfortable the bed was. 

Eddie’s expression remained cold, his piercing frown only seeming to grow more displeased as he most likely began to regret agreeing. “You’re sleeping on the couch,” he grumbled, before turning on his heel and marching out of the room. 

Richie let out a quiet chuckle to himself, but swiftly got up from the comfort of the bed and followed Eddie out. Although he somewhat trusted Eddie enough to stay in his house without any weapons, he still didn’t quite trust him enough to let the vampire out of his sight for too long. Richie wondered how that trust would change over the time he was about to spend with Eddie, and how the next few days would unfold. 

Richie had definitely been through his fair share of strange situations during his time as a hunter, but never did he think he would end up becoming roommates with a vampire. But, he had to do what he had to do to work this case and find exactly who was behind these killings. 

All he had to do was survive- he figured that should be easy enough, right?