Two months had passed easily. Pete and Mikey had somehow— by some miracle— kept William and Co. off of their trail for that time. They did end up in Los Angeles, Joe and Andy in tow, so the rapid location change may have helped slightly.

They immediately found a small hideout, an abandoned warehouse in the middle of nowhere near the Hills. It was laid out nicely, each room cordoned off by a legitimate wall.

Each day in the warehouse was similar: work on the net-invention Joe mentioned that night in October. They had figured out to bind silver wire with strands of rope, forming a net large enough to trap a human under, yet small enough to launch from a standard net launcher.

The four rotated where they stayed, in case anyone was on their trail. Hotels, motels, the warehouse— after a while, it all blurred together into one big, temporary hideout.

By December 5th, they had fallen into a comfortable routine of waking up in wherever they were, packing up, going to the warehouse, working all day, finding a new place that night, and repeating the process the next day.

A downside to getting one large room— for monetary purposes— was that Pete and Mikey couldn't do anything. Sure, they had the rare night where Joe and Andy would go explore the city and they could have a quickie, but it had been almost two months they had a nice, long fuck. The need was driving them to the point of touches under the table at restaurants, with Joe— it was always Joe, for some reason— pretending not to notice.

December 5th was a special day, Pete decided the moment he woke up at a Motel 6 with Mikey holding him protectively against his chest, Joe in the second bed, and Andy sprawled out on the hide-a-way sleeper sofa. The sky outside was an azure blue with no clouds, the first time in weeks. That was the first thing that clued him in to the specialness of the day.

He pried himself out of Mikey's grip, careful not to wake him up, and slowly slipped out to the balcony, grabbing his phone. He dialed the familiar number, and waited in the slightly cold morning air.

"Right on schedule," Meagan said when she answered.

"How's Saint?"

"Okay, dude, you've asked that question every day this week," Meg said, laughing. "Saint is fine, I promise you. He's healthy, he doesn't have his umbilical cord wrapped around his fucking neck, he's fine. I promise."

"I just can't help but worry," Pete said, leaning up on the iron railing of the balcony. "When your unborn child and pregnant ex-girlfriend are on what's basically the opposite side of the country, you can't help but worry about them."

"Yeah," Meg agreed, and grunted as she sat up. "You should see me; I look like I swallowed a watermelon."

"That's attractive," Pete said.

"Well, you know how it is," Meg replied.

"You act as if I've had a kid with someone before you," Pete laughed.

"I don't know your life," Meg said. "You could have."

"I promise I didn't, if it makes you feel better."

"What'll make me feel better is if Saint would stop kicking while I'm trying to sleep. Little Squirt moves more than you do."

"It's a tad bit fucked up to call your kid Squirt," Pete pointed out. "Don't 'cha think?"

Meg was silent as she thought, then groaned with disgust. "You're horrible," she said.

"Guilty," Pete said. "Okay, I should probably go."

"Ah, yes, a long day of kicking vampire ass awaits," Meg said. Almost the second the four men set up shop in Los Angeles, Mikey, Joe, and Andy instigated that Pete tell Meg what was going on. "Don't die."

"I don't plan on it," Pete said and Meg hung up, leaving a stony silence on her place.

Pete slipped his phone into the waistband of his pajama pants and sighed, placing his head in his hands. The birds chirped merrily, signaling the start of a new day.

The second sign that December 5th was special was when something knocked Pete the fuck out, making him immediately black out and slump to the ground like a bag of potatoes.

"Jeezum," Brendon said from the balcony above Pete, jumping down and inspecting the unconsious body. He looked back up, at William, and stated: "I think he pissed himself."

Spencer, next to William, added: "I think he's dead."

"He is not dead, you imbeciles," William muttered and dropped down, like Brendon had. Spencer quickly followed, and the weight of the four men caused the balcony to groan. "He is, however, not going to be the same."

"Brain damage?" Brendon asked, pushing his hair out of his eyes.

"No, no," William said and crouched down, running the tips of his fingers across the bloodied side of Pete's head, where Brendon's aluminum baseball bat came in contact. "I'm thinking something much more permanent."

---

Pete was aware of thick rope around his ankles and wrists, keeping him secured in his place. He was aware of a throbbing pain in his right temple, and blood in his eyes and hair. He aware of someone yelling, crying, pleading across the room.

"You can't do this!" The voice shrieked. "William, please!"

"I have done my waiting for you to come around!" A second voice thundered. "And you have not! This is the best thing for all of us, Michael!"

"William, please, don't," the first voice whimpered. Pete hissed as he opened his eyes, wriggling his hands and feet. Before him, he saw a room with cement walls, with the floor and ceiling the same material. Pete saw that he was sitting in a chair in the middle of the room, his wrists and ankles blind to the legs and arms of a chair. Across the room, where the voice were coming from, was a simple table and a single chair, occupied by a man. His hands were bound together behind him and he leaned forward in his chair to the man across the table. "I'll do anything, please, don't hurt him."

William straightened, thinking over Mikey's offer. Pete tried to tell but his voice refused to work, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth.

"Anything, you say?" William asked quietly.

"Anything," Mikey repeated. After a moment of thought, he added: "I swear on the house of my father and by the power of God, I will do anything so that you don't hurt Pete."

Pete knew what Mikey had just done. He had basically sacrificed himself for Pete. Pete tried to call Mikey's name; it came out as an unintelligible croak that neither Mikey nor William noticed.

William smiled venomously at Mikey, finding a loophole in Mikey's promise. Oh, how William lived for loopholes. "You swear on the house of your father..." He whispered as he went around behind Mikey and slowly untied his hands. As soon as the rope dropped to the floor, William grabbed Mikey's neck, lifting him out of his seat. "Ego praecipio vobis ut convertat tuum retinere," William hissed at Mikey, then threw him to hard ground.

"Quæso, domine!" Mikey pleaded, crawling into his knees in a praying position.

"Mikey...!" Pete managed finally, gasping as he sobbed.

"Pete," Mikey said weakly, turning to look at him. His eyes were a startling shade of garnet behind his glasses and his fangs were out, looking as ominous as possible.

William pushed his hand out from his body, flicking his wrist in Pete's direction, and Mikey cried out, throwing himself at Pete's feet. It was then that Pete realized that Mikey was no longer in control of his actions; it was all William now.

Mikey jerked his head up to look Pete dead in the eyes and he slowly stood up, towering over the man in the chair. "I never got the chance to tie you up," Mikey said slowly, spreading his legs and sitting on Pete's lap. He placed his hands on Pete's shoulders and purred: "You would have looked so pretty, tied to the headboard." Mikey's voice wasn't his; it was a deep mixture of his own and William's voices. It was eery.

"Mikey," Pete started but Mikey crashed his lips against Pete's, silencing him. Mikey caught Pete's bottom lip between his teeth and pulled, making Pete moan, even though he didn't want to give Mikey that pleasure.

Pete pulled his head away and looked across the room to William, who sat on the table, his fingers flitting in the air as he moved Mikey's head down to kiss Pete's neck. "What did you do to him?" Pete questioned.

"He made a sacred oath to me, Peter," William said in a bored tone of voice. "Now, he has to do anything I want him to so that I do not hurt you. What is sad, though, is that he never included anything about him hurting you."

"You bastard," Pete choked out as William made a strange motion with his hand, and Mikey pushed his hips down against Pete's.

"In my 200 years on this earth, I have been called 'bastard' too many time for it to affect me anymore," William said, ceasing his hand motions and dropping his hand to his side.

Mikey gasped and sobbed loudly, burying his face in Pete's neck. "I'm so sorry, Pete," he whimpered, tears running down his face and onto Pete's neck. His voice was normal once again. "I'm so sorry."

"Good Lord, do shut up," William scoffed, but didn't do anything.

"I love you, Petey, I love you so much," Mikey cried, placing gentle kisses on Pete's neck.

"Proficitus cum ea!" William cried, rolling his eyes and Mikey straightened once more, a heart-wrenching sob escaping his throat.

"How about..." He started in the deranged voice, then jerked his head to the side, as if he had been slapped. "Stop!" He cried, in his own voice.

"He is fighting," William noted. "He will die if he keeps fighting."

Pete's eyes widened and he looked at Mikey with wet, pleading eyes. "Mikey, baby," he started and Mikey stopped moving once more. Pete couldn't tell which side of Mikey— the possessed or the normal— he was talking to, but he kept on anyway. "Please. Stop fighting William."

"William is my master," Mikey said, his voice deep with William's voice. Pete locked eyes with a smirking William across the room as Mikey continued. "Why would I fight— Fuck!" The curse came in Mikey's smooth voice, his grip on Pete's shoulders tightening.

"You'll die if you keep fighting," Pete told Mikey.

"You'll die if I don't stop," Mikey said, squeezing his eyes shut in pain.

"For once, Michael, I agree with Peter," William said. "Prohibere pugnae."

Mikey stopped moving altogether, his fingernails digging through the thin fabric of Pete's shirt and into his shoulder. He watched Pete curiously, then said: "Te amo, Peter."

Pete knew what Mikey said, even if it was in another language. "I love you too," he whispered as Mikey brought one hand up to Pete's face, resting his palm on his cheek.

Before he realized what was happening, Mikey's mouth was on his neck, and biting down, drawing blood. This time, though, Mikey didn't drink. It hurt like hell, just like the first time, but, this time, a burning sensation worked its way down Pete's veins, wrapping itself around Pete's heart and brain, immobilizing him. He was paralyzed with pain and fear, and he was vaugely aware of the ropes falling away from his feet and wrists, and him being pulled out of the chair and onto the floor. Mikey was no longer biting into Pete's neck; now, he was cradling Pete in his arms, crying and kissing his face.

"It's okay, baby," Mikey sobbed, holding Pete's head to his chest. Pete was seeing stars in his vision, small blurs of black invading his vision. "Nobody's going to hurt you now."

It was the worst pain he had ever been through. He could feel himself bleeding out from the wound in his neck, and he could see Mikey's face hovering over him, streaked pale with tears. His eyes were their normal, radiant amber and his fangs were retracted. Tears squeezed themselves out of Pete's eyes but he didn't—couldn't— move to wipe them away.

His blood soaked Mikey's shirt, sticking itself to Mikey's chest and transferring to Pete's face where the soiled material touched it. Mikey continued to mutter to Pete, even after William left the room, even after he realized Pete wouldn't answer back.

Pete became curiously aware of a familiar set of words leaving Mikey's mouth. "O loving Father and Savior, send your angels to carry the souls of your servant from this earth to the heavenly place of eternal and everlasting life..."

He was praying. Never once in the seven months that Lete had known him had he ever heard Mikey utter one word to God. "...Let family and friends who have passed before in faith be reunited in joy with the departed. Forgive any wrongs that have been committed..."

"I love you," Pete managed after a second of effort and Mikey whimpered, kissing Pete softly.

With a heavy heart, Mikey completed the prayer: "Welcome this beloved spirit into the warm embrace of your unending peace. Amen." 'Amen'— synonymous with 'so be it'; the end of all things; the closing of a book that shall never be opened again. The last thing Peter Wentz would hear Michael Way say: "Amen."

Notes

TRANSLATIONS (LATIN->ENGLISH)
1: "Ego praecipio vobis iu convertat tuum retinere" -I command you to turn your beloved.
2: "Quæso, domine" -Please, no!
3: "Proficitus cum ea" -Get on with it!
4: "Prohibere pugnae" -Stop fighting.

don't hate me. xoøli