Kill Your Darlings

"Why did you lie to Meg?" Mikey asked later that night. The two were in a hotel room, once again only occupying it because of Mikey's charm. Earlier, they had stripped off every article of clothing, the intent of having sex an unspoken agreement, until Pete said no, that he wanted to stop.

Pete was lying on top of Mikey, almost asleep in the glowing white light of the television playing a Saturday Night Live rerun that neither was watching; background noise, to distract themselves from the terrifying reality. He didn't answer immediately, but, when he did, he asked: "Why do you care?"

"I just..." Mikey whispered over the sounds of Chris Farley making an ass of himself on national television. "Just wanted to know."

Pete sighed. "I was afraid that if I revealed to her that I rushed into something with someone else, like I did with you, she would explode. Threaten my visitation rights with Saint or whatever. I want to be in his life but..." He took a deep, shuddering breath, "I'm so afraid of saying the wrong thing and setting her off and her not letting me see him at all because I'm irresponsible or childish.

"Mikey, being a potential father is so fucking terrifying. Especially if it's with your ex-girlfriend. Because, now she's going to expect me to be with her for everything, and I just can't do that. Not when I'm running from a killer, or when I want to be alone with you. She'll want to know every aspect of my life that she doesn't already know— if I've been drinking or smoking or God knows what else— and, even if I'm as clean as a nun, she might not let me see him still."

"Pete, he's due in March," Mikey softly reminded him. "That's six months from now. It'll be fine, I promise. By then, we'll have William off us, and the press will die down and—"

"The press!" Pete cried. "Shit! She's going to see the article, find out about me being taken or whatever! She's going to see it and-and..." He trailed off, wiping his wet eyes on his arm, the tears sinking into his skin, into the tattoos that made him feel invincible. "Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck."

Almost as if on cue, the phone across the room starts ringing and Mikey shoots it a frightened glance. They hadn't told anyone the phone number for the hotel room, let alone what hotel they were in; Mikey wasn't even sure what hotel he was in. "Pete...?" He whispered, rubbing his boyfriend's back.

"Who the hell...?" Pete asked quietly and slipped out of bed, closing the distance between him and the tan landline with the sticker on the top, reading something about wake up call. Hands shaking, he pressed the button that sent the call into speakerphone, and flew back to the bed, welcoming Mikey's arms around him.

"The saddest part about running is that you never know just who has connections in other cities," a familiar voice said and Pete buried his face in Mikey's shoulder, letting out a whimper. William. "You boys can run all you want; I will have you soon. Hopefully by the end of the night..." He trailed off and hung up, leaving Pete to sob for a different reason than he was moments before.

"We need to leave," Mikey said, stating the obvious. He moved Pete off of him and flipped the sheets back, finding his clothes and quickly putting them on. "Where can we go? I can't even think of any place."

"I do," Pete said quietly. "I know a place we can go."

An hour later, Joseph Trohman was woken up by a repeated knocking on his door. With each passing second, the knocks got louder, harder, faster, more frantic. Sighing with disdain, he got out for bed, pulling on an oversized shirt advertising Fender guitars, and sniffing as he made the short walk from his bedroom to the front door. He almost stopped to check on his sleeping daughter, but then remembered that the ex-wife had Ruby for the rest of the month.

"Pete?" Joe cried when he looked through the spyhole. He hurridly unlocked to door and stood transfixed at his former best friend. His hair was no longer bleach-blond; it seemed closer to his normal dark brown. His eyes were ringed red with exhaustion and his black shirt was wrinkled and crooked, as if he dressed hastily in the first thing he found on the floor. His chin was rough with the beginning of a beard, and his cheeks and nose were red with the cold of the October night.

"Hi, Joe," Pete said quietly, bouncing on the balls of his feet slightly. "Can I come in? We need to... Talk."

"Who the fuck is this?" Joe slurred, his voice thick with the effects of a deep sleep. He gestured to the man next to Pete who was the definition of lanky, with chestnut hair falling into his hazel eyes. He had a slightly dazed look on his face, and Joe noticed he was squinting; most likely just woke and forgot to put on his glasses. That was the case, after all, but Joe didn't know that. He was sporting a small bit of scruff on his upper lip, and Joe wondered when the last time either of them had shaved.

"This is my boyfriend, Mikey," Pete said. "We really need to talk." Pete was noticeably fidgeting, and he looked over his shoulder, as if checking for someone behind him.

"Umm, yeah," Joe said quietly and invited the two in. The small bulldog on the couch in the living room growled at the newcomers, but stopped and whined at Pete, as if remembering him.

"So, what's up?" Joe asked, leaning against the wall of the entry hallways.

"We... Umm..." Pete started, scratching the back of his head. "God, how do I say this?"

"Just say it," Mikey advised him.

"Jeez, calm down," Pete said, giving him a look. "So, we're being chased by a dude who wants to kill me, and we need your help, along with Hurley."

"Someone wants you dead?" Joe repeated, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yes, and it's a long story, but we need your expertise," Pete said.

"On what?"

"Vampires."

"Woah, wait, hold up," Mikey said, turning to Pete. "Why're you asking him?"

"Because he knows shit," Pete argued.

"You act like I'm not right here," Miley groaned, rolling his eyes.

"I'm confused..." Joe said quietly.

Joe watched as Pete raised his eyebrows at Mikey, and Mikey opened his mouth, pulling his lip back. His two canine teeth extended to a razor point and his hazel eyes turned an iridescent red. "I'm a vampire," Mikey said bluntly and Pete noticeably bristled at his use of the term that Mikey never used.

"Well..." Joe whispered. "That settles it; that's the craziest shit I've ever seen in my life. Pack it up, it's over. I'm going insane."

"No, you aren't," Pete said, and craned his neck to show two small scars on the side of his neck. "I promise you that we're serious."

"No, I don't doubt it," Joe said. "It's just... Weird to see your friend's boyfriend, you know—"

"Turn into a hellion that can rip your throat out?" Mikey supplied, his eyes going back to their normal color, but keeping his fangs out.

"Yes, actually," Joe said and laughed. "So, what do you need to know?"

"How to kill them," Pete said. "The dude wants to murder me is a vampire as well and we need to know how to kill the son of a bitch."

Joe pulled a surprised face and made his way to his small office room, Pete and Mikey following him. Joe sat down at his computer and jiggled the mouse, the screen lighting up to show a picture of his daughter. The small clock at the bottom of the screen read 1:30AM and Joe clicked onto Chrome. "So, assuming all the myths and everything are true, silver knives and wooden stakes are your best bet, but you also have holy water, but that'll be hard for two gay men to come across— no offense."

"None taken," Pete said at the same time Mikey said: "All true."

"So, I think..." Joe started and pulled up his email, immediately starting to type out a message. "Making a net... Of some kind of silver-rope mixture..." He paused ever so often as he typed, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "And shooting them... Trapping the dudes... Would be best. Could do it from a distance... Stay somewhat safe."

"Who're you emailing?" Pete asked.

"Hurley," Joe said simply. "Dude never sleeps. He'll answer back soon."

"Okay, so you said net?" Mikey asked. "That's actually a really good idea."

"Thank you," Joe said and hit send, leaning back in his chair. "Alright," he said, turning around. "So, I'm sure there's a story behind this?"

Pete and Mikey recounted the whole tale, Joe seeming more and more concerned every second. "Good God Almighty," he said when they finished. "That's some trouble you guys are in."

"Yeah," Pete said. "Obviously."

"And why're you going to LA?" Joe asked.

"We never... Really discussed it," Pete realized. "It was just 'let's leave Jersey now and book it to the other side of the country'."

A bing sounded from Joe's computer and he turned in his chair once more, pulling up the email. "'Joe,'" he started to read aloud. "'I'm coming over. Tell Pete I'm gonna kick his ass.' That's literally all it says."

"Well, it's good to know that Hurley still has his impeccable sense of humor," Pete laughed.

The first thing Andy Hurley said to Pete a half hour later was: "This shit better be worth me waking up at 2:00 in the morning."

"Trust me, it is," Pete said.

For the second time that night, everything was explained. Andy had a similar reaction, running his hand down his face and shaking his head. "This is aggressively fucked up," he said. "And all 'cause you couldn't keep it in your pants."

"Thank you for that, Andrew," Pete said ruefully.

"You're welcome. So, what do you want us to do?"

"Help protect Pete and kill these bitches," Mikey said, wrapping a protective arm around Pete's waist.

"That I can do," Joe said.

"What about Patrick? Can he help?" Andy asked.

"Last time we saw him, he was pretty catatonic, and he's in Jersey anyway," Pete said. "We'd have to fly him over, and God knows what William did to him to get the information about who I was with."

"Oh, shit..." Joe said, realizing the severity of the situation.

"Yeah," Mikey said. "We want William dead, plain and simple. So, are you guys up?"

"Oh, God, yes," said Andy.

Joe said: "Talk to me at 7:00AM. My answer will be the same."

"What is the answer?" Pete asked.

"Of-fucking-course."

Notes