Archive of Our Own

Hunched over the box of records, JP flipped through, looking for artists he recognized. Some of the unfamiliar covers looked interesting, but he didn’t want to listen to new stuff yet. He wasn’t even sure if he liked the same stuff that he used to, and so figured it’d be best to start with that.

There - The Who , an artist he used to listen to, though an album he had not - “It’s Hard”. He fished it out and read over the song titles on the back. Into his small stack of records it went, which already included Iron Maiden and Black Sabbath . Iron Maiden had been the only new artist he had found since his death (he was not allowed much free time, and even early in his unlife), while Black Sabbath was an old favorite. Satisfied with the 3 albums, JP went to checkout. One awkward interaction with the cashier later, and JP was free for the evening.

It was a long walk home, and JP instinctively kept to the darker paths, avoiding streetlights and people. Since it was earlier in the night, kine were still awake. JP listened to the cars that went by, kept an ear out for people, and shuffled along, monitoring his speed - he didn’t want to walk too fast, too slow, or too awkwardly. He knew he no longer had visible gruesome injuries, but he still naturally avoided drawing attention to himself. 

It had only been a few weeks since his sire Julius had met his final death, after all. 

It was quiet times like this walk home where it was the hardest to not think about his bad memories and his regrets - lately, his largest one: he wasn’t the one to kill Julius . His nails dug into his hands whenever he thought of it - he was kneeling there, helpless, simply staring at the fight where Julius had met final death, instead of taking part in it. JP, now lost in thought, stared blankly ahead, not really taking in the walk home anymore, oblivious to those passing by. 

Mark had told him that he still contributed, that they couldn’t have done it without him, but he knew better. Hell, Mark himself barely even mattered - his contributions were just a small boon to Julius’s long-term rival, Gaius. It was Gaius who orchestrated everything, who did that weird-ass ritual to revive that wizard, the one who had landed the killing blow. 

JP shuddered thinking of the flames that individual had summoned. What had Mark called him, Lucius? Weird-ass name too .

It didn’t matter now. Whatever his name was, he had left the city with Gaius. Julius’s body had rotted, leaving only bones, along with almost all of Gaius’s other allies who had died in the fight. 

Mark was lucky to get out with his unlife. JP wasn’t sure if he’d call himself lucky. Part of him had fully expected to meet final death before being free of Julius, and none of him had considered what he would do after. He was so jealous of Gaius - not only did he get his revenge, he seemed to have actually had a plan of what to do after. 

Kicking a can on the side of the road absentmindedly, he had to admit he was glad Mark had insisted he go out and get things, do something. It didn’t give him a purpose, but it did succeed in distracting him at least for a time.

~

There was one thing that never failed to distract JP. 

Hunger. He had started to welcome the gnaw of it, the way it clouded his thoughts and made it hard to think about anything else - it was not freedom, but it was a different prison. Thus, it had now been nights since JP had last fed - intentional procrastination, that he would keep to himself. He knew Mark wouldn’t like it. 

However, eventually, Mark noticed his wild eyes - “are you alright?” - and insisted he feed before he went feral. 

JP would have ignored anyone else, but Mark was different. He would have been rotting in some box, starving in torpor, without him - he didn’t want to make his unlife any harder, and he had to admit that he couldn’t hold off the beast forever. “I’ll go out” he had said, “but only because I still owe you.” 

Truly though, the beast wanted to feed. 

Mark scowled. “You don’t owe me anything. Uh, do you want me to come with you?” He looked very concerned, and started reaching for his keys before JP even replied. 

“No! Yeah, nah.” JP was already going for his shoes. “It’s a private affair, yanno, I know you get it. I know what I’m doing.” 

“Um. I guess, but are you sure that’s a good idea? How exactly uh, hungry are you?” 

JP’s face turned cold and he fixed Mark with a stone-faced stare. “I can handle it. Can I have the keys?” 

Mark opened his mouth, and then closed it into a thin line and held the key out to JP. “Be careful.”

“Yeah.” 

JP grabbed it, turned, and was out the door. 

~ 

JP was used to feeding on Mark’s territory, and thus found himself driving across the bridge to Belle Isle. It still felt strange driving - he had only driven himself a few times since gaining his freedom, and hadn’t for years before it. Mark had to remind him how, essentially reteach him, and he was still awkward. 

Mark was probably just as worried about the car as he was about JP. 

No. JP internally corrected himself. It’s about me. He doesn’t care about this car, he misses his old one . 

JP still wasn’t sure if he was glad that Mark cared about him, or if he wished he didn’t. Regardless, he was almost across the bridge, and had to decide where to go, but instead drove a bit aimlessly. He only caught himself after he had started driving towards the old lighthouse, where he had been staying before Julius’s death - when he had been under orders to assist Mark. 

No, he did not need to go back there again. 

Instead, he turned towards the beach.

JP found a spot to park and turned off the car. He unbuckled, but instead of getting out, he sat back and closed his eyes. Focusing closely with his supernatural hearing, he listened to the waves lapping on the shore. 

For a while, that’s all he heard - it was late, and the swimming area was closed. His beast clawed at him - but he could push it aside for a moment, like how he used to push away the constant pain he was forced to endure every night. It was not quite peaceful, but the sound reminded him of when he was alive - he used to surf. 

JP couldn’t remember the last time he had thought of that. 

Then the waves were interrupted by the sound of a rattling chain link fence, and the thump of someone landing - and then another, and another, along with some hushed voices. JP couldn’t quite make out the whispers, because his beast was focused on trying to listen for a heartbeat instead - there it was, fast ones, was it adrenaline? 

JP exited the car and made his way towards the sound of prey before even consciously deciding to do so. To his ears, his feet loudly crunched on gravel, but he knew he was far enough away that the sound of the wind and waves should cover his approach. 

Approaching the fence, he saw imprints on the other side, where the gravel turned to sand, and further down, some figures closer to the shore. It was a new moon, but the figures had turned on a flashlight, and JP was used to peering into darkness. One of them - no, two - were carrying beer cans. The third was taking off a jacket. Guess they’re fans of night swimming . 

One alone would be easy to prey upon. A pair would be harder. But three? That was trickier. 

JP waited until they had started wading into the water - and oh, they littered those cans too, leaving them on the sand. He walked further down following the fence, listening for anyone approaching. Hearing no one, and feeling safely that he was out of sight, he then he hefted himself over the fence just like they had

Kicking off his shoes as he ran for the water, a part of him almost expected to smell salt - but this wasn’t the Atlantic ocean in California, it was the Detroit River. 

How long had it been since he had last swam? 

He paused at the shoreline and glanced at the group. Taking no notice of him, they had gotten deeper in the water, and were spreading out. 

JP smiled. He took off his shirt, and without further delay, ran into the water, going chest deep. 

The temperature was noticeably cooler, but it was still warmer than his dead skin. Not needing to breathe, he only kept his eyes above the water, approaching the swimmers like an alligator. He could be faster, but creeping forward this way, he was almost impossible to see in the dark. The trio had kept their flashlight on the shore - a miniature lighthouse for them.

It would be so easy to make one of their deaths look like an accident. Headline: Drunkard drowns swimming at night . 

Mark wouldn’t like that though. 

Not committing to keeping them alive nor killing them yet, JP let himself and his beast focus on how he was going to sneak a bite in the first place. As he got close enough to hear their half-yelled conversation (“don’t you dare splash me!” “shut up” “don’t go any deeper!”), he fully sank under the waves. 

It was impossible to see in the pitch black water, and near impossible to hear - but JP managed. Keep yelling . He got close enough to the one who had been warned to not go any deeper (who had ignored it) where he could feel the water shift around his movements. 

Keep it quick, JP . He had resolved to at least attempt to keep this one alive - and if he was to do so, he couldn’t feed for long without his companions noticing something odd. 

JP swam behind his prey and went for his neck, barely exiting the water. He tilted the man’s head back so that his nose and mouth were facing the sky as JP tread water. Even with this, he gasped and coughed seawater, initially spasming in panic, but as JP’s fangs sunk into him he relaxed. 

Water mixed with blood in JP’s mouth, but he was hungry, dammit, and forced down the initial watered down sip. The blood had an odd tang to it, not in a bad way, and JP could also quickly tell that this man was very, very drunk. Idiot; no respect for the water . 

He’ll get himself killed anyway. Drink him all . Also, being drunk would be nice, wouldn’t it? 

JP lost himself for a moment in the taste of him. Fire and water. Risk and carelessness, youthful exuberance, life, found in the taste of blood. 

Yelling brought him back to reality. “Elias, where’d you go?” “I told you to not fucking go deeper!” Some splashing sounded, heading towards him. 

Ugh . 

With great reluctance and force of will, JP licked the wound closed - tasting more water - and sunk under the waves. 

Feed from the others. It’s not too late to kill him. 

JP kicked off the bottom of the river, going deeper instead. 

He listened to the sound of water, letting the relieved laughter and yells of the group of friends fade into the background. With his beast at least somewhat sated, it almost felt good to push against the water, heading to nowhere. The water swished between his hands, fingers, toes. He thought about what creatures may live in this river, how the ecology differed from the sea, how the freshwater even sounded and felt different from saltwater. 

Perhaps he had missed swimming after all.