Anger's a Lesser Disaster (Ch. 6)
Title: Anger's a Lesser Disaster
Author: trylohbyte
Pairing: Vampire!Jon/Brendon, Vampire!Tom/Greta
Rating: R Overall
Summary: William Beckett. How much did Jon Walker hate William Beckett? He could write an entire novel about how much he hates the name. The face. It only makes sense. The bastard took his mortality away from him. He'd managed to evade the jerk for the past few hundred years, but when they finally come face to face again, Jon isn't concerned about himself at all. It's Brendon he's worried about.
Disclaimer: Obviously fictional. Sorry to burst the Twilight generation's bubble, but vampires do not actually exist. Title belongs to Empires.
Beta: a friend of mine who doesn't have an LJ account.
A/N: My sister nagged me into finishing this, so if you're a fan, you should thank her for that. Not only that, but she also nagged me through the next two chapters, so they're already done! SHOCKER, I KNOW. I think you might enjoy Chapter 8.
Previous Chapters: P | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5
Usually, Jon is averse to all forms of physical contact, unless it's Tom or Greta. But in that instant, he gets over it. He presses his hand against the small of Brendon's back and urges, “Come on.”
Brendon's look of disappointment turns to one of confusion, and when he sees Jon's determined, almost worried face, it transitions again into fright. “What's going on?” he demands.
“Nothing,” Jon lies. “Just go. Walk.”
“I'm-”
“Scared, I know. Keep going.”
“Why won't you-”
“You don't want to know. All I can say is-”
“Jonny Walker!” Jon stops dead where he is. Brendon stops a few steps ahead and turns around. Jon urges him to continue and just get to the car, but to he stays, and now Jon knows that they're both in deep shit. “Is that you?”
Jon turns around to face the voice. It was a voice he would recognize anywhere. A voice he hated. A voice that made him want to kill, just hearing it. The voice that turned him.
“Beckett,” Jon replies curtly. “It's been awhile.”
“You know you can call me William - or even Bill, if you want to be super friendly.”
The man in front of them is tall and lanky with brown, wavy hair and a wicked smirk. He's wearing clothing that would often be considered much too dressy for just a walk around town.
Jon stays planted when William takes a few steps forward, just inches from Brendon's face. His evil smile grows, and he says, “Is it mealtime already?”
“We just ate.”
“Then who is this?”
Jon opens his mouth to speak, but Brendon interrupts him with a shaky, “I'm Brendon.”
Jon shoots him a dirty look before William starts to speak again. “Let me tell you, dear Brendon, it is just a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Are you an old friend of Jon's?” Typical Brendon. Trying to cover up what he's feeling by just talking and talking and talking.
Jon and William share a look for just a fraction of a second. If it were any other situation - any other vampire - Jon would say no. He would say how much he hates him, how much he suffers because of what he did, and how much he wants to kill him. But if he knows anyone at all, it was William Beckett. And make one wrong move - one slip of the tongue - and disaster is bound to happen.
“Yes, old friends. You could say that,” William chuckles. “We go way back.”
“What a pleasure it is to see you again,” Jon snarls.
“Now, now, Jonny,” William tuts. “I know we left off on the wrong foot last time, but that's no need to be nasty.”
The two are focused solely on each other. Jon, though he remains concerned of Brendon's safety, doesn't take his eyes away from William's thin frame. Brendon looks on, very confused, and the phrase “if looks could kill” comes to mind when he catches sight of Jon's expression.
“You took everything,” Jon spits.
“Oh, but, Jon.” William's sinister smile grows wider. “I only took what was most important to you at the time. You still have your looks - your pretty face.” He glances at Brendon briefly, just a flick of his eyes in that direction. “Look what that's gotten you. A new toy?”
Jon fights the urge to lunge forward. He keeps his feet firmly planted on the ground, though his face shows more and more hatred as the moments tick by. “He's not a toy.”
“Whatever you say. Just remember where your loyalties lie.” William turns back to Brendon and cups one hand under the brunette's cheek. “What a pleasure it was to meet you. Until next time.” He's gone in a flash; without a care as to who may see him retreating so quickly.
Brendon is frozen where he stands. He hasn't blinked for at least a minute, and his eyes look a little glazed over. Yes, William was being pleasant, but there was something about his kindness that was off. He was not being friendly. He was fraternizing. And most of the time, he was quite good at it. His methods never fail to frighten people, though.
“Brendon,” Jon says, snapping Brendon out of his daze. “Run. As fast as you can, get to your car.”
Brendon bolts, but his top speed still doesn't beat Jon's. Before he even has his keys out of his pocket, Jon has opened both doors and is putting his seatbelt on by the time Brendon gets in.
“Drop me off,” Jon instructs once the car is started. “But take the longest way. I need to be in this car with you for as long as possible.”
“Who was that?” Brendon asks, panicked.
“I can't tell you.”
“Please!” The look in Brendon's eyes is pleading, mixed with a little bit of pure terror. There are some tears forming, more fearful than sad, and Jon wants him be able to see the road so he sucks it up and reveals just a tiny bit.
“All I can say is that he hurt me once and he would do anything to hurt me again.” He sighs. “I don't know what he wants.” It's a lie. But Jon has already said too much.
“What did he do to you?” Brendon presses.
“I can't tell you.”
Brendon grits his teeth and forces anymore questions down his throat. He figures if Jon is so adamant about not telling him anything, it must be better if he doesn't know. The quiet in the car is stuffy with concerned tension, only stopping briefly whenever Jon points out the next turn. Nothing but directions are said throughout the rest of the drive, and even though Brendon took the longest way, it feels like it takes much more time than it should. Finally, he pulls up on the curb in front of Jon's house.
“Fuck,” Jon curses.
“What?”
“That didn't take as long as I'd hoped.”
“Then come to my house,” Brendon suggests. “Stay the night.”
“Brendon, now is really not the time to be flirting.”
“I'm not!” Jon looked at Brendon, who was staring at him with the widest, most pleading eyes he'd ever seen. “God damn it, Jon, I'm fucking scared.”
Jon sighs. “I have to talk to Tom and Greta.”
“Why do you have to drag innocent people into this?” Brendon demands.
“You don't understand.” Jon laughs, but the sound is entirely bitter. “Everyone who has ever meant anything to me is a target. Bill doesn't want me dead. He wants me to be excruciatingly miserable for the rest of my life.” Forever, he adds silently.
There's a long pause as the realization hits Brendon. Jon sees his jaw go slack and his lips part just slightly. He watches as Brendon takes a deep, very shaky breath. And he listens as Brendon finally says, “Okay.”
Jon runs a single hand through his hair, as if it could somehow relieve the tension in the car. He gets out and walks over to the driver's side where he talks to Brendon through the open window. “Goodnight,” he whispers.
“I had a great time,” Brendon deadpans in an automatic response.
“You don't have to lie to me.”
Brendon stays quiet, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. So Jon does the first thing his body tells him to do, and in a very uncharacteristic move, he kisses the top of Brendon's head, letting his lips linger longer than necessary. And Brendon still doesn't even look up.
“Drive safe,” Jon tells him. “Be safe.”
Brendon doesn't say anything else. He only speeds away. Jon doesn't even give himself time to worry about how Brendon's fear will affect his driving before he's running into Tom and Greta's house, shouting for both of them to come downstairs immediately.
The first one he sees is Tom, then a sleepy Greta hobbling after him, and the sudden rush of relief is a surprise to Jon. It wasn't until the moment he saw their faces that he realized the two of them could have been dead already. Killed. Murdered. Mangled. He lets out a big breath he didn't know he was holding.
“Thank God,” he breathes.
“What the hell's going on?” Tom asks.
“We're all in deep, deep shit,” Jon tells them.
Greta knows that deep shit for vampires is deeper shit for humans, so she huddles in closer to her husband and squeaks, “What is it?”
“Bill Beckett,” Jon says. “Bill Beckett is here. And he saw Brendon and I tonight, and he doesn't think it's right. That look he gave us. Fuck, I think he wants to-”
“Wait, hold on,” Tom interrupts. “Who's Bill Beckett?”
For a moment, Jon says nothing. Then, as the only explanation he needs to give, he pushes his hair off his neck to reveal two perfectly circular scars on his neck, and the next thing Jon hears is Greta's squeal.
Author: trylohbyte
Pairing: Vampire!Jon/Brendon, Vampire!Tom/Greta
Rating: R Overall
Summary: William Beckett. How much did Jon Walker hate William Beckett? He could write an entire novel about how much he hates the name. The face. It only makes sense. The bastard took his mortality away from him. He'd managed to evade the jerk for the past few hundred years, but when they finally come face to face again, Jon isn't concerned about himself at all. It's Brendon he's worried about.
Disclaimer: Obviously fictional. Sorry to burst the Twilight generation's bubble, but vampires do not actually exist. Title belongs to Empires.
Beta: a friend of mine who doesn't have an LJ account.
A/N: My sister nagged me into finishing this, so if you're a fan, you should thank her for that. Not only that, but she also nagged me through the next two chapters, so they're already done! SHOCKER, I KNOW. I think you might enjoy Chapter 8.
Previous Chapters: P | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5
Usually, Jon is averse to all forms of physical contact, unless it's Tom or Greta. But in that instant, he gets over it. He presses his hand against the small of Brendon's back and urges, “Come on.”
Brendon's look of disappointment turns to one of confusion, and when he sees Jon's determined, almost worried face, it transitions again into fright. “What's going on?” he demands.
“Nothing,” Jon lies. “Just go. Walk.”
“I'm-”
“Scared, I know. Keep going.”
“Why won't you-”
“You don't want to know. All I can say is-”
“Jonny Walker!” Jon stops dead where he is. Brendon stops a few steps ahead and turns around. Jon urges him to continue and just get to the car, but to he stays, and now Jon knows that they're both in deep shit. “Is that you?”
Jon turns around to face the voice. It was a voice he would recognize anywhere. A voice he hated. A voice that made him want to kill, just hearing it. The voice that turned him.
“Beckett,” Jon replies curtly. “It's been awhile.”
“You know you can call me William - or even Bill, if you want to be super friendly.”
The man in front of them is tall and lanky with brown, wavy hair and a wicked smirk. He's wearing clothing that would often be considered much too dressy for just a walk around town.
Jon stays planted when William takes a few steps forward, just inches from Brendon's face. His evil smile grows, and he says, “Is it mealtime already?”
“We just ate.”
“Then who is this?”
Jon opens his mouth to speak, but Brendon interrupts him with a shaky, “I'm Brendon.”
Jon shoots him a dirty look before William starts to speak again. “Let me tell you, dear Brendon, it is just a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Are you an old friend of Jon's?” Typical Brendon. Trying to cover up what he's feeling by just talking and talking and talking.
Jon and William share a look for just a fraction of a second. If it were any other situation - any other vampire - Jon would say no. He would say how much he hates him, how much he suffers because of what he did, and how much he wants to kill him. But if he knows anyone at all, it was William Beckett. And make one wrong move - one slip of the tongue - and disaster is bound to happen.
“Yes, old friends. You could say that,” William chuckles. “We go way back.”
“What a pleasure it is to see you again,” Jon snarls.
“Now, now, Jonny,” William tuts. “I know we left off on the wrong foot last time, but that's no need to be nasty.”
The two are focused solely on each other. Jon, though he remains concerned of Brendon's safety, doesn't take his eyes away from William's thin frame. Brendon looks on, very confused, and the phrase “if looks could kill” comes to mind when he catches sight of Jon's expression.
“You took everything,” Jon spits.
“Oh, but, Jon.” William's sinister smile grows wider. “I only took what was most important to you at the time. You still have your looks - your pretty face.” He glances at Brendon briefly, just a flick of his eyes in that direction. “Look what that's gotten you. A new toy?”
Jon fights the urge to lunge forward. He keeps his feet firmly planted on the ground, though his face shows more and more hatred as the moments tick by. “He's not a toy.”
“Whatever you say. Just remember where your loyalties lie.” William turns back to Brendon and cups one hand under the brunette's cheek. “What a pleasure it was to meet you. Until next time.” He's gone in a flash; without a care as to who may see him retreating so quickly.
Brendon is frozen where he stands. He hasn't blinked for at least a minute, and his eyes look a little glazed over. Yes, William was being pleasant, but there was something about his kindness that was off. He was not being friendly. He was fraternizing. And most of the time, he was quite good at it. His methods never fail to frighten people, though.
“Brendon,” Jon says, snapping Brendon out of his daze. “Run. As fast as you can, get to your car.”
Brendon bolts, but his top speed still doesn't beat Jon's. Before he even has his keys out of his pocket, Jon has opened both doors and is putting his seatbelt on by the time Brendon gets in.
“Drop me off,” Jon instructs once the car is started. “But take the longest way. I need to be in this car with you for as long as possible.”
“Who was that?” Brendon asks, panicked.
“I can't tell you.”
“Please!” The look in Brendon's eyes is pleading, mixed with a little bit of pure terror. There are some tears forming, more fearful than sad, and Jon wants him be able to see the road so he sucks it up and reveals just a tiny bit.
“All I can say is that he hurt me once and he would do anything to hurt me again.” He sighs. “I don't know what he wants.” It's a lie. But Jon has already said too much.
“What did he do to you?” Brendon presses.
“I can't tell you.”
Brendon grits his teeth and forces anymore questions down his throat. He figures if Jon is so adamant about not telling him anything, it must be better if he doesn't know. The quiet in the car is stuffy with concerned tension, only stopping briefly whenever Jon points out the next turn. Nothing but directions are said throughout the rest of the drive, and even though Brendon took the longest way, it feels like it takes much more time than it should. Finally, he pulls up on the curb in front of Jon's house.
“Fuck,” Jon curses.
“What?”
“That didn't take as long as I'd hoped.”
“Then come to my house,” Brendon suggests. “Stay the night.”
“Brendon, now is really not the time to be flirting.”
“I'm not!” Jon looked at Brendon, who was staring at him with the widest, most pleading eyes he'd ever seen. “God damn it, Jon, I'm fucking scared.”
Jon sighs. “I have to talk to Tom and Greta.”
“Why do you have to drag innocent people into this?” Brendon demands.
“You don't understand.” Jon laughs, but the sound is entirely bitter. “Everyone who has ever meant anything to me is a target. Bill doesn't want me dead. He wants me to be excruciatingly miserable for the rest of my life.” Forever, he adds silently.
There's a long pause as the realization hits Brendon. Jon sees his jaw go slack and his lips part just slightly. He watches as Brendon takes a deep, very shaky breath. And he listens as Brendon finally says, “Okay.”
Jon runs a single hand through his hair, as if it could somehow relieve the tension in the car. He gets out and walks over to the driver's side where he talks to Brendon through the open window. “Goodnight,” he whispers.
“I had a great time,” Brendon deadpans in an automatic response.
“You don't have to lie to me.”
Brendon stays quiet, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. So Jon does the first thing his body tells him to do, and in a very uncharacteristic move, he kisses the top of Brendon's head, letting his lips linger longer than necessary. And Brendon still doesn't even look up.
“Drive safe,” Jon tells him. “Be safe.”
Brendon doesn't say anything else. He only speeds away. Jon doesn't even give himself time to worry about how Brendon's fear will affect his driving before he's running into Tom and Greta's house, shouting for both of them to come downstairs immediately.
The first one he sees is Tom, then a sleepy Greta hobbling after him, and the sudden rush of relief is a surprise to Jon. It wasn't until the moment he saw their faces that he realized the two of them could have been dead already. Killed. Murdered. Mangled. He lets out a big breath he didn't know he was holding.
“Thank God,” he breathes.
“What the hell's going on?” Tom asks.
“We're all in deep, deep shit,” Jon tells them.
Greta knows that deep shit for vampires is deeper shit for humans, so she huddles in closer to her husband and squeaks, “What is it?”
“Bill Beckett,” Jon says. “Bill Beckett is here. And he saw Brendon and I tonight, and he doesn't think it's right. That look he gave us. Fuck, I think he wants to-”
“Wait, hold on,” Tom interrupts. “Who's Bill Beckett?”
For a moment, Jon says nothing. Then, as the only explanation he needs to give, he pushes his hair off his neck to reveal two perfectly circular scars on his neck, and the next thing Jon hears is Greta's squeal.