Chapter Text
Michael felt his grip slip from the crusty bark of the branch he was perched on, screaming as he fell back onto the beach. Rolling down the hill, he landed face-first into the coarse sand, gripping it. He was shaking so badly it hurt every limb on his body. Michael let out a shaky breath, but as he breathed in again, the delicious, iron-filled scent of fresh blood bombarded him, only making him grit his teeth and shake his head. No, he was better than this. He had to be.
Jingling metal caught his attention, and regrettably, Michael slowly looked up to see the boys he called “friends” saunter their way up the sand hill, the evidence of their hunt dripping down their faces and necks. Michael shuddered and felt the bile in his stomach churn, yet his hunger betrayed his conscience, and his eyes followed the trail of blood. Specifically, the one that ran down David’s throat, glistening in the firelight. Bathed in the dark of night, along with the glow from the dying bonfire, made the blond look disgustingly ethereal. Michael growled at the heat in his cheeks.
“So,” David began after a long breath, his voice rising easily above the roar of the wind and waves, and the crackling fire behind him, “Now you know what we are, and now you know what you are.”
Michael held his breath, and he could only stare on in horror, anger, and hatred. The word, the label, repeated itself endlessly in his mind: Vampire. Monster.
Killer.
“You’ll never grow old, Michael. And you’ll never die.” David drawled on, and his bloodstained lips curving into a wicked smirk; “But you must feed.” An ungloved hand swiped away the blood at the corner of his mouth, and David let out a deep, and hearty laugh. Dwayne, Paul, and Marko, surrounding him, joined in; the sound of the four vampires’ devious cackles echoed through the night.
Michael didn’t leave any time for a response from anyone or anything. He was on his feet faster than he could blink. Before he even caught his breath, the dark-haired boy was on his bike and shredding away, leaving nothing but sand and dust in his wake as he rode off as fast as his old biped would let him. While his Honda was pushed to its limits, Michael’s mind only raced faster. He thought about Sam’s terrified eyes and accusations from the night before, Star’s cryptic warnings, about the boys, about him, the wine, and, oh god, what would he tell his mother? What could he tell her, or Grandpa, or Sam?
His bike skidded to a stop, close to the edge of the Hudson’s Bluff cliff, and Michael tumbled off. He crashed into the sand once more, falling to his knees and clutching his stomach. Feeling the deep ache of hunger, the brunet couldn’t help but groan and whimper in agony, tears welling up in his eyes as he sat alone, with nothing for company besides the harsh waves crashing into the cliff below.
What wouldn’t Michael give for a little bit of comfort right now? He’d kill for a hug from his mom, or Sam, or a kiss from Star’s sweet, soft lips. And despite seeing the guy covered in blood and sporting sharp fangs and golden eyes, Michael felt a small part of himself craving David’s heavy gaze. God, he wanted to feel David’s hand on his shoulder, or back; hell, Michael would bury himself in David’s arms right now if he could.
Except he couldn’t. He wouldn’t.
Never mind David being a guy, and two guys can’t get sappy with each other without being called fags; David wasn’t even a human. He was something hell itself had spat back out, a soulless beast who only had the charms to trick every unsuspecting person into thinking he was the coolest guy in town. He was a monster, a killer. And Michael can’t be like him; can’t be one of them.
It was just some weird vampire voodoo making him feel this way, that’s all. And god, he needed it to stop. Now.
“Please,” Michael begged, clutching his stomach, doubling over, and folding over himself. “I didn’t ask for this.” Tears fell onto his dirt-covered pants as he squeezed his eyes shut. “There has to be a way out; a way to fix this. There has to be. Please.”
“I don’t want this, I don’t want to be like them.” Michael cried, sobbing, the ache of his hunger ever present in his stomach. All the while, he kept pleading, and praying, murmuring weakly over and over again: “Please, please, please.”
He wasn’t a monster, wasn’t a killer. He can’t be.
The howling ocean wind stilled, as did the waves below. Hudson’s Bluff was suddenly silent. Michael sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes slowly fluttering open as he forced himself upright despite his languid limbs. The eerie silence brought Michael to his feet, the brunet spinning around, still searching for something, anything. A wisp of blond hair, perhaps, or a flash of leather? Looking around, he saw nothing in the darkness of night. There were no roars of motorcycles or a flock of mocking laughter. There was just, nothing.
Michael sniffled and rubbed away the tears on his face. He’s thrown his tantrum, and although he still felt like shit and was still hungry like hell, there really wasn’t much else he could do right now. With his languid limbs, the brunet dragged himself back to his bike, reaching for the handles. Yet, just before he sat down — even before he flipped up the kickstand — the wind returned. It spiralled around him, stirring the sand at his feet until it spun like a twister, engulfing Michael within it. It was completely unnatural.
Michael stumbled away from his bike, panic rising in his chest as the wind followed him, chasing him to the cliff. It was cold and harsh, and only growing faster and faster. The brunet shielded his eyes from the twisting sand, and through the gap in his fingers, Michael saw the clear night sky fill with steel-coloured clouds. A storm was brewing; and Michael was standing in its eye.
Ocean waves roared, and the shrilling winds howled. And Michael found himself at the very edge of Hudson’s Bluff, bombarded by wind and sand, and balancing on his heels. Looking up, he shuddered at the cracks of thunder and lightning that lit up the stormy sky. And just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, a bolt of lightning struck at his feet. Michael cried out, falling backwards and tumbling towards the violent waves below, screaming.
Where was the power of flight when you needed it?
Falling towards the sea, Michael squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself not to think about his family — to no avail. As the images of his mother, brother, and even his strange grandfather flashed through his mind, Michael hoped that they would at least find his body so there was something for them to grieve with.
Lightning struck again, shooting down from the sky and directly into Michael. He screamed, suspended in the air as electricity rushed through his body. Oh, god, he was going to die like this; there won’t be anything left. Michael screamed, and screamed. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move; it hurt too much. It was too much, too much.
He was falling again. Falling through the air; falling through nothing. Was he floating? No, he was falling. He was screaming, crying, yelling. And falling, and falling, and then-