I Rebuke Thee Satan

A Christmas Story

A collaborative seasonal effort between Vaysh and myself, in which Conrad has a terrible holiday.

Notes for the story: 1. I know I said I'd write comedy 2. please don't hurt me 3. please don't hurt me 4. I swear it gets better soon 5. this is what happens when I try to write comedy

6. please don't hurt me

Capital of the North Florida/South Georgia Territories

Florida

End of Year 3

There was no electricity here, so even if all the Christmas lights hadn't already been used as cables in various constructions around the city, there still wouldn't have been any strung up in the palm trees at the high school. Lights in the palm trees. In spite of the mild Floridian winter weather, Conrad had shuddered when Rocky mentioned it.

Currently they were getting a tour from the de facto governor, whose name happened to be—against all odds—Rocky Hanna. Say it again. Rocky Hanna. He'd gotten a huge swing of popularity after the coup on the CUT regime, something about his work during the revolt out on the front line, and his painstaking reconstruction efforts after. They were calling his supporters the Inclusionary party, even though there hadn't been an election in Florida for three years. Considering Florida's history with elections, maybe that was a good thing.

Right now he was giving them a very detailed tour of the reopened high school, the only one in town that they had managed to restaff. There was a lot of talk about grade schools and middle schools, but this was the one Rocky had thrown his weight behind and so this was the one that had gotten the effort. There weren't many teachers, or books, and, at that moment, as he was telling the group, they were only offering Monday through Wednesday courses, but after the last of the winter gardens were cleared out, they were hoping to expand back to a pre-collapse five day school week.

It was all optional attendance, of course. A lot of families couldn't afford to send the teenagers off five days a week, and, needing the extra hands for work, classes were being held in the late afternoon and early evening rather than the pre-collapse early morning to mid-afternoon timeframe. Bible study was not an official part of the curriculum, and was held right before school started, but seemed to have helped convince some of the families to send their children to school. You celebrate your victories no matter how small they are, Rocky had said, slapping the zombie on the shoulder. He'd been quite proud to say that the Bible study leader was one of their most popular teachers, and they were lucky to have someone like him helping to bring in some of the less-than-eager families to the educational fold.

The hallways felt thick and odd with the torchlight running up their walls. That smoke was probably comforting to the lungs of humans. For Conrad, he just wanted to steer clear of the flames. The only time he ever made a semi-peaceful truce with fire was on cold winter nights they stayed at inns with fireplaces, and, even then, he was still a little wary. Instinct, you know?

Of course, this winter Worth had taken to simply draping various limbs over Conrad which, well, comforting might be a word some would use to describe the feeling, but Conrad thought warm was a better one. As scrawny as he was, Worth had proved himself nothing if not a human hot water bottle, and Conrad had to grudgingly admit to himself that he had been waking up less stiff in the mornings. Well, mostly. It sort of depended on if he was waking up on his own or if Worth had decided it was a good time to rub his scratchy face against Conrad's jaw. Those times the wake ups were different, and usually involved mouths and tongues and-

A finger flicked Conrad's left ear hard enough to sting, and no prizes for guessing who did that. He glared at Worth.

"Oi. Pay attention ter our gracious host. Ain't polite ter start zonin' out like that."

"Oh you're one to talk," he hissed back.

"Here's where they used to put on productions," Rocky told the group, either not noticing or choosing to ignore the interactions between Conrad and Mr. Malpractice. Smiling, he gestured at a broad double door between two staircases. "Someday, when things have settled down, I'm hoping to see them use it again. After all the effort we spent trying to get equipment passed on from FSU, it would be a real shame to let it sit there unused."

Hanna looked around the lobby and whistled. "Swanky," he said, grinning appreciatively at a plaster lion statue on a pedestal in the middle of the floor. "In a kind of, like, built-before-the-fifties-kinda-way. This is where you were principal?"

"Four years," Rocky replied, patting the lion statue. "It's nice to know it's still doing good work, even now."

"Humph," said Conrad, who was looking out the front doors and down the front lawn hill, arms crossed over his chest. He tasted the dull tang of blood and belatedly realized he had been chewing on his lower lip with his larger fang. "If nothing else, it's definitely providing the livestock with a bright newopportunity to expand their minds before the next slaughter."

From somewhere to his right, Worth made a faint amused noise. "Soundin' real down on the miracle of secondary education there, Twinkletoes."

Emotions thick and flammable as tar rose up in his gut, and Conrad sneered at Worth. "High school was the worst thing that ever happened to me, you oblivious sack of shit. Four straight years of slow amputation with a bonus root canal, and they want to expend all their free resources to make sure it stays in place? If you ask me, the best thing about the bloody end of the world was the end of these things. Not that you'd know," he added, hunching his shoulders. "You probably spent the whole time getting high in the parking lot."

And a guy like the doc probably had never spent any time inside a trash can that he hadn't freely elected to spend there.

"Yep," Worth replied, casually leaning against a dusty and long forgotten trophy case. "Tha's how I got inter medical school ya know. They got a scholarship fer blokes what can double as practice dummies. Tell ya, every doctor ever came outta that university could pick my lungs out of a lineup."

Unimpressed, Conrad squinted one eye at him. "That's a load of crap," he said, "and I'm officially done talking to you for today."

Worth shrugged those stupid broad, boney shoulders of his. "Well awright, but it's gonna be awful quiet in here with the rest of 'em upstairs."

What? Oh Jesus, Worth had to be full of shit, right? Had he really missed everyone leaving? Conrad whirled around to stare at the empty lobby.

"Fuck," he said, and went stomping up the stairs.

-A-

On the third floor, some of that politician conviviality must have kicked in, because Rocky insisted they stop into a couple classrooms to say hi, boost morale. Or maybe he just wanted to see the kids. It was hard to make anything out past that aggressively good natured smile. This was their Hanna if he had ever managed to calm the fuck down and reign in his spastic blabbering. It was hard not to like him, but Conrad was doing his best to remain distant.

You never know who'll be willing to take advantage of you until you've got the knife in your back. The end of the world didn't change a thing about it.

They dropped by a history class first. The teacher looked about four shades of exhausted, loose flesh gathered around her chin and arms where it looked like she'd lost a lot of weight very quickly, but she lit up when Rocky walked in. While they were discussing banal topics such as hours required for "graduation" and the amount of time spent on various parts of the curriculum, Hanna grabbed a seat next to the most awake looking kid in the class and started to ask about the lesson. The kids were somewhere between worse and better than their teacher; youth kept back the dark circles and youth held onto the dull eyes and the twitching looks.

All in all, they looked about like you'd expect a high school student to.

"What does he expect us to do?" Conrad muttered, wedged into the doorway, still feeling the ghosts of high schools past brushing against the back of his mind. "You look like somebody's creepy uncle and I'm lucky nobody's trying to stake me."

Worth's eyes went distant, clearly lost in thought and Conrad rolled his eyes. If Worth had something truly stupendously stupid to say, he wouldn't need prompting to do it. Might as well enjoy his rare moment of silence while it lasted.

But, moments of quiet never lasted long—not around Worth, or anywhere Worth existed. From a few feet away, past the open door to the hall, came a shout and the deafening bang of books hitting old linoleum flooring. As with every school, any distraction is a welcome one, and the students who had been eyeing the zombie, vampire, shitty doctor, and mage with lukewarm curiosity now eagerly hopped up from chairs to look out of the doorway.

"Ah! And there's our bible study scholar! I'd hoped to keep him a surprise for later, with your impressive shared history, but—"

Beside him, Conrad registered Worth's half-resigned and half irritated groan of "Chris'sakes." Conrad was too busy staring in shock at the kid in the hall staring back and pointing.

Couldn't they just have one day of godforsaken peace?

A ginger head bounced out from the classroom, briefly obstructing part of Conrad's view. "Oh. Heeeeeeeeeey John fancy seeing you here or, uh, anywhere? But I guess here makes the most sense because, wow, duh, you like, livehere and all but I didn't really peg you for the teacherly type? But good for you, y'know, getting a job doing what you love and all that jazzamarazz."

Fingers pressed the underside of Conrad's chin, and it wasn't until his teeth clicked together that he realized his mouth had been hanging open that whole time.

"Sweetheart, don't let them flies in. Ain't sanitary," came the oh so helpful comment from the walking ulcer to Conrad's right and wow, no. Conrad ignored him.

"You?" Conrad said, instead, once he'd relocated his voice box to a reachable vicinity. "Dear fucking God, you have to be kidding me. You? They left you in charge of impressionable young minds? Well Florida is fucked. Good to know."

John eventually stopped his wide eyed stare long enough to puff himself up, hands on his hips. "I'll have you know I'm doing the Lord's work here, which is no doubt why you're so angry, you… you demon temptress."

"Nooot to get picky or interrupty or anything," Hanna said, interrupting, "but Con-man identifies as a bro, so I don't think temptress is the right uhhhhhhh gendered noun? But I don't know what the male version is. Is there only one version?"

"I believe you are looking for tempter," the zombie offered from somewhere still within the classroom, exercising his completely useless ability to blend in with public school walls.

Fingers snapped triumphantly. "Dude? Yes. Totally. Tempter. Good call!"

As politicians are want to do, Rocky was quick to try and smooth things over. Beaming beatifically, his meaty hands slapped down on Hanna's shoulders as he began to steer them out and down the hall. "Lots of time to catch up later! I'm sure you are all tired after such a long trip to visit our small but ever-improving little city. Let's get you some food and time to rest and reflect! Catch up with old friends and make new ones at our holiday party tomorrow night!"

"Christmas party!" John shouted indignantly as Hanna's company dutifully followed their red headed nightmare and the man sharing his name down the hall.

Hanna took a moment to look back and shout over his shoulder. "Holiday is a little more inclusive, broseph! Lots of holidays and lots of reasons to celebrate this time of year!"

"Christ is the reason for the season!" was the triumphant retort, echoing down the beige linoleum, and Conrad wondered just how long ago the kid had heard that line and how long he'd been waiting for just the right opportunity to unleash it upon the world.

A firm, warm arm snaked across Conrad's stiff shoulders. "Yannow wot this place needs?"

"Do I even want to ask?"

"Decorations. It's missin' decorations. Gotta have 'em ter really feel like it's that time o' year in a hot shithole like this one."

"Admittedly, that's not as horrific of a thing as I thought you were going to say," Conrad sighed. His red eyed gaze trailed upwards towards Worth's scruffy face. His stubble was always scratchy, but once the beard started forming, it was actually surprisingly soft. "But if you were paying attention earlier, which I know you weren't because you never are, they don't even have electricity out here. They're running on generators for lighting in classrooms and a few public meeting areas."

"Oi, never said lights, I said decorations. Ya call yerself an artist an' all ya kin think 'bout come Christmas is lights? 'm disappointed, darlin'."

"Okaaaaay, I'll encourage this line of discussion for now." It was harder than one might expect to walk down a flight of stairs without dislodging an arm around your shoulders, and Conrad had little in the way of practice. "What sort of decorations would you suggest?"

"Dunno. Tinsel? Or ya got a thing 'gainst things that glitter?"

"Oh were you really just going for a Twilight reference all this time?"

"Was plannin' on workin' my way up ter talkin' 'bout mistletoe an' makin' out with ya in public."

"Enough." Conrad dislodged Worth's arm. "Here. Take this back. And stop looking like that."

"Aww, like wot?"

"Like you're somehow hurt. I know the moment I fall for that stupid kicked puppy look you're just going to launch into something new, or, or grope me."

"Don't recollect ya havin' that much of a problem with it earlier tod—"

"Enough! Done! Go—" stepping out of the building, he stumbled for words, "—go... bother someone else for a while. Schedule a playdate with your other adopted child."

"Well if yer gonna be that way, I think I might."

"Yes. Good. Go."

Even though he had been the one to initiate the send off, there was still a strange empty twisting in Conrad's stomach as he watched Worth shrug slowly and walk away.

You can fall for a con. You can fall for a person.

There's probably a reason why they use the same verb.

-A-

Conrad had always liked winter, even as a human. The long sleeves, the hoods—there was a bright sort of isolation in the season, a kind of singularity even in the air. Heat makes people melt together. Cold makes them freeze straighter. Of course now that he was limited to the night hours, winter was more prosaically functional too.

Conrad sat on the front steps (the top of the many, many front steps) that led into Leon High School's almost-elegant entrance. There was a railing going down the hill to the parking lot, and probably if he'd been Casimiro he would have perched on it like a big dumb parrot or a ninja or something. But he was just Conrad, so he settled for sitting on the top step.

Vampires did a lot of posturing, Conrad had noticed. He sometimes wondered if he'd start posing and wearing a cape if he lived to be two hundred years old too. He really hoped not.

Hanna was somewhere inside the school, picking up some schmoozing tips from his namesake. There were classes to visit and teachers to get acquainted with, hands to shake—but the halls rattled with the ghosts of footsteps, and without Worth around to make Conrad look less sketchy by comparison, touring the classrooms had seemed too daunting a task.

Every high school was the same.

Down past the fence at the absolute bottom of the hill, a cow made a mournful cow noise. Conrad wrinkled his nose. He understood that the football field was the only decent grazing for a mile, but really? Really?

There was some shuffling behind him. Were they done already? Rocky had made it sound like they were waiting for classes to get out and—

John stood between the columns of the building, clutching at his pseudo-briefcase. Great.

"John," Conrad said, warily.

"Satan," John replied.

Conrad could almost feel the involuntary muscles around his eye spasming. The last time he had felt this all encompassing horror and fury had been in the early days of his acquaintanceship with Doc Worth.

"I've got a name you know," Conrad told him, teeth gritted tightly. "Two of them, even."

"No doubt," John sniffed. "Your lord and master gives out many titles."

"Arrrghh," the vampire groaned, dragging his hands down his face hard enough that his eyes started to water. "I don't even believe in the devil you little shit."

"Oh please," John retorted, rolling his eyes, "I'm not stupid."

"Coulda fooled me. Look," the vampire said, louder, "what's your problem with me anyways? I stuck my neck out for you a couple of times, even, I just don't understand why you're always such a little bastard to me. Worth wanted to throw you out the window, and you act like he's bloody Jesus come again."

John shrugged in a vaguely self-important way and stepped out from under the columns. "It's nothing personal," he explained, when he was standing a couple feet from Conrad. "I mean, you're not a complete and utter abomination the likes of which angels weep and shriek for in endless torment while the fires of hell burn up in your footsteps. But, on the other hand, you've seduced Doctor Worth to the infernal pit with your wanton unholiness, and your river of unremitting sin drowns the weak willed in its tainted depths."

Conrad felt his lip curl up in something equal parts dismay and revulsion.

"Are you for real?"

"It's not too late for you though!" John went on, dropping down to his knees, wide eyes bright grey in the darkness. "If you reject Satan and lay aside your lustful ways, God will accept you back into Heaven! I'll have the whole church pray for you! We can purge the wickedness from your soul, you just watch."

Conrad squinted at the kid. "You do realize that if I knew how to stop being a vampire I would have—what the hell do you mean lustful you little prick?"

"Well," John said, carefully, "you would have to cease your carnal sins against the doctor, of course, and—"

"We are not fucking!" Conrad yelled, jerking his knees up against his chest. "You can just bugger right off you sanctimonious shit!"

"Don't yell at me, Whore of the Night," John huffed, "or I'll rebuke you right out of that godless flesh."

Conrad jumped to his feet. "I'll yell all I goddamn like! Me and Worth are not fucking and if you talk about me like that again so help me I will rip your face off!"

"In the name of God, from the snares of the devil—"

Conrad whirled, slammed a heel into the railing hard enough that the metal bent away from him and the black paint flaked off in huge asymmetrical chunks. "Jesus CHRIST! I'm not really going to rip your face off oh my god shut up!"

"—from all lewdness, from lightening and tempest—"

"Urrk."

Conrad was half way down the stairs before the prayer stopped, his fists clenched in the pockets of his lightweight jacket.

"Worth can't protect you forever you know!" John yelled after him.

Conrad froze.

Deep breath. Something about the forced expansion of his lungs was doubly effective now that it was uncomfortable and unusual against his ribs. Breathe. Remember that? Breathing. Okay.

Okay.

Conrad turned around. "Alright," he started, taking another breath just to be certain, "are you trying to imply that the only reason you haven't staked me already is that, what, Worth would stake you back?"

"He would never do such a thing," John replied, taken aback. "I'm sure that, given the freedom from your corrosive influence, he would… I mean, given time, I'm sure that he would come to realize…"

John faltered.

"What," Conrad pushed, more curious than angry now, "are you… you're worried about hurting his feelings?"

"He's… inconveniently attached to you," John begrudged, looking a little like he was trying to force something slimy out of his mouth. "It's admirable, his ability to see the best in… something like you. But it makes my attempts to turn him from the path of sin more frustrating."

"Wooow," the undead man said. "Have you got it mixed up. It would be funny if it wasn't so awful. Let me let you in on a little secret, John: Worth is a callous fucking bastard and I'm pretty sure his main blood pumping organ is located in his groin. If anybody's got stupid self destructive attachments in this relationship, it—I just don't…"

"How dare you talk about him like that you, you catamite! Worth is a better man you could ever dream of being!"

Conrad squinted up at the kid. "Do you even know who we're talking about?"

"You should speak more respectfully about the man who's willing to shoulder the burdens of your damnation, Vampire! Your ungratefulness is sickening!"

Unimpressed, Conrad stalked back up the stairs. No point in yelling up and down these things for another ten minutes—the last thing they needed was to have the whole frigging city hear them having a catfight. There were grudges and then there were grudges, but Conrad had this uncomfortable feeling that they could potentially start a second civil war like this.

When they were a few feet away again, Conrad put his hands on his hips and glared up the step. "What? What is it? What is up your ass about him? Do you—" he paused for a second, swallowed down a snort, "—do you have a boycrush on him or something?"

John went white. They probably could have passed as undead twins in that moment. "How could you even suggest something like that?"

"Really?" Conrad replied, lifting one eyebrow, "Cause by all means, you're bloody fucking welcome to the man."

"It's not like that!" John insisted wildly, making jerky warding motions with his hands. "My admiration is, is pure and… Christianly—"

"Admiration," Conrad repeated, attempting to put on a serious face. His lips kept slipping. "Pure. Okay."

"You couldn't possibly understand!" John wailed. "This is nothing like your perversions of the flesh, you heathen monster, this is between God and Worth and me, and God wants Worth—the Lord wants Worth for something bigger than making googoo eyes at spooks!"

Conrad tried not to snigger. "Did you honestly just say googoo…?

"He has so much potential," John carried on, talking like his words were fists and it was the last round of a prize fight, "he was made for this! His eyes, his eyes are so blue, you can see God pouring out of them!"

"Oh yeah?" Conrad said, sinking a fang into his lip to hold it in place.

"Yeah! He has eyes like Jesus, you just look at them and you know he's somebody great, you know?"

Conrad moved up a step, so he and John were on eye level. He leaned in. He leaned in close. He turned his face toward the boy's ear.

"Contacts," he whispered.

Heaven itself quaked in its cloudy foundation and wept raging, wounded tears across the earth.

Or at least, that's what John was doing so Conrad figured Heaven was probably in on it too.

-A-

Okay so that was a little bit mean in retrospect.

Conrad was shuffling uncomfortably in the corner of a garden while Hanna admired the Christmas tree that some big name councilman had erected in his front yard. The uncomfortable shuffling was the result of Hanna's mile-a-minute, offhand interrogation as he inspected the tinsel wound up in the needles of the tree.

"So I figured you were the last person to talk to him, I think? And you might know what his deal is. I'll admit I do kinda appreciate the whole… not getting ambushed on my way around town, having bibles thrown at me, listing to Worth moan on and on about John… thing, but he looked pretty rattled and I'm maybe a little worried about him I mean, it's not his fault he's crazy."

"Er."

"What?" Hanna immediately honed in, eyes wide. "You think like, he chose to be crazy? Bro, you don't choose the crazy life, the crazy life chooses you."

"That's not what I said! I didn't even say anything," Conrad replied, feeling miserable.

"Yeah but like, you didn't really, y'know, offer a counter point. Hey! Joseph! You know you could totes make a Christmas tree for us in the future!"

He was talking about the green man, standing silently, patiently holding a box of ornaments, several strings of tinsel draped over his arms and shoulders. Admittedly, he did bear a fair resemblance to a Christmas tree, if Conrad took off his glasses and squinted. The zombie's chest shifted, an expansion and contraction less like a breath or a sigh and more like bellows blowing life into drowsy coals. Conrad wasn't completely certain, but he thought there may have been a brief look of sorrowful resignation across the zombie's face.

"If I do that, Hanna, I'm afraid I will be rendered incapable of cooking for you and the doctor."

"Oooooh yeah that would suck. Okay well, maybe just a Christmas tree on Christmas day so we can open presents? So like, an hour tops, then you can make breakfast? Cool? Cool. Okay so like, seriously, is John like, having a nervous breakdown or what?"

Fuck. "I don't know! I'm not a crazy person. Ask a crazy person."

"A crazy person probably won't know because, y'know. Crazy? Dude, look," and Hanna turned those eyes on Conrad, luminescent in the dark, and far too large for a man of Hanna's age to be sporting. They were a terrible truth serum, mostly because he had that kicked puppy look down to a fucking science. "We kinda uprooted him, uh, shot him so he almost died because of us, and we kinda killed his whole foster family-"

"They attacked us first."

"—and then he got in with this cult group and almost got shot and killed again and then he was still stuck down here like, all alone? Orphaned and abandoned aren't like, good times, okay?"

And there was the look. Only Conrad was having a harder time than usual in ignoring it. He'd heard enough slips about Hanna's past. He knew what the man was getting at. This wasn't just John, and it wasn't just Hanna, and it wasn't just rebuilding the world with happy rainbow bridges of love and understanding. Conrad grit his teeth, grimacing, eyes shifting off to the side. "I...might have told him Worth wears contacts."

"Uhhhhhhhwhat? Dude, does he like...hate myopia or something, too? 'Cause, wow, I don't know what bible he's been reading lately."

"Not...exactly," and now Conrad was rubbing his temple. He didn't get stress headaches like he used to, but the motions of finger on pressure point helped remind him to relax. "He was going on about Worth and his eyes and how they're oh so blue and—"

"Does he have like...a crush on him? That might explain a lot."

"He said he doesn't, but...I might have been a little...annoyed with him and perhaps...mildly...lost my temper and told him that Worth's eyes are only blue because he wears contacts."

Hanna could never be accused of mincing his way through life. He doubled over in laughter, bracing his hands on his knees. "Oh, oh! Oh, God! Okay, what? What? He's-oh shit, give me a minute here! Oh wow. So he's, bro, for serious? Contacts have him all Droopy Dog?"

A small, rueful smile tickled the corners of Conrad's mouth. "Yeah. Apparently the blue was supposed to be 'God coming through Worth' or something like that. Clearly the little shit hasn't actually met Worth."

"Oh man, wow. Wooooooooooooow. Wow. Okay." Eventually, Hanna wiped the corners of his eyes and stood upright. "Funny he never thought I was some holy bro with my peepers and all. Must be the ginger thing. Don't have souls and all that."

"Perhaps. Or maybe he just thinks Worth has that extra advantage and his attempts at communicating in English are actually him speaking in tongues."

Hanna snickered. "Bro, you may be on to something. Joseph! It's totally like your eyes are twin stars at the top of a tree! I am really digging this tree-you-thing!"

Treezombie's limbs drooped ever so slightly.

"'Kay, so. You and Doc are coming to the party tonight, right?"

"Er-no? Well, I'm not. If there's free booze, I can't see Worth staying away."

"Whaaaaat? Nooooooooo! C'mon! Oh, you're invited! Was that the worry? You're totally invited! Not a private party where you'll go and WHAM! Barrier."

"I just...I don't know. I wasn't feeling the spirit."

"...You and Doc have a fight? Like a real one? You didn't burn any new outfits of his, did you? 'Cause I do not want to deal with that sort of shitstorm again."

"In my defense it was hideous! A man like him should not be wearing some, some, some...stupid frock, nor should he be offering to let me see 'the goodies' as he put it."

"I'm just sayin', those summer dresses are like, super freeing? Like, you have no idea how amazing that extra air flow is on a hot day."

"Yellow isn't even his color."

"I don't know. The flowers printed on it were nice. Kinda mellowed the yellow. Anyway, as long as you guys are cool, you should come with. Social times, party times. We don't get to relax and revel much, y'know? It's good to have that."

When was the last time they'd actually celebrated something? Conrad felt his resolve begin to crumble slightly. "I...I don't know. All I wind up doing is get drunk or watch everyone else get drunk."

"Pleaaaaaaaaase? For me? Keep me from table dancing head wounds again?"

"I-" oh, goddamn it, the eyes were out and nearly glistening, "I guess so. But I want it noted that I am agreeing under duress and out of concern for your safety."

"Aw yeah! Hear that, Joseph? Connie's going to come join in on the spirit! Christmas miracle."

The zombie, mouth currently obstructed by a long strand of garland, hummed in acknowledgement.

-A-

Conrad dithered in the RV longer than he probably should have, considering that Hanna had already bounced out into the night by the time Conrad finally decided on a burgundy turtleneck with white slacks. Maybe the white slacks were too showy. Maybe the black had been better, except for the irritating little hole in the back of the knee where one of Worth's cigarettes had burned through and oh god there was literally nothing in his dresser that would not make him look like a douche.

He hated parties he hated parties he hated parties was it too late to back out?

Hanna wouldn't miss him too badly, really, he probably wouldn't even noticed Conrad was gone—and the locals wouldn't notice, except maybe Rocky who was probably obligated to notice things like that by virtue of being a politician.

"Oi, Princess," Worth shouted, sounding like he was up front in the cockpit. What? He should have been the first one out.

"Oi yourself," Conrad yelled back, in his best impression of a cockney douchbag.

"Ya comin' out any time soon, or do I hafta scatter a trail'a flower petals fer yer delicate feet?"

"I'm not going."

There was a banging in the main room like a pair of ugly cowboy boots banging away across a hollow floor. The door to the back room popped open.

"A'course yer goin'," Worth said, skinny hip leaned up against the door. "What, ya anglin' fer a raise? Ain't gonna come out till we getcher contract reviewed?"

"I don't feel like partying," Conrad snarled over his shoulder, throwing a vest into the bottom-most drawer, half wishing it was sentient enough to scream uncle. That might make him feel better, although it would probably just make him feel worse. "It'll be three hours of drunk hicks singing drunk hick Christmas carols and you doing endless jiggers of whiskey."

"They're shots, yer pansy-ship," Worth replied, unimpressed. "What's yer problem anyhow? Y'were fine ta go fifteen minutes ago."

Conrad hissed through his teeth and nudged the dresser shut with unnecessary violence. "Christmas is stupid and parties are stupid."

And that was a lie, because Conrad had always had a soft spot for Christmas, even when his own Christmases had been shitty. Judging by the look Worth was giving him, it wasn't coming off a terribly convincing lie anyways.

Worth scratched at his unshaven face. "Well, ain'tcha promised ter be Hanna's nanny tonight? Think ya got an obligation here."

"He's got—fuck it—he's got Herod to look after him, he doesn't need me!"

Worth looked at him for a moment, narrow eyes and bent lip, and then he shrugged. "Well awright," he said. "Won't nobody miss ya anyhow, I s'pose. Goddamn wet blanket ya are. Roit death'a the party ya are."

"Oh," Conrad snapped, turning around, "and you're just the life of it, huh? Sleazy women hanging off your arms, whisky down your shirt, telling some story that manages impossibly to make you actually look dumber and more disgusting? How are they even breathing without your invigorating stench seeping through the room!"

"White slacks make ya look like a ponce."

"They're classy and you're a bloody fucking turnip!"

"Turnip that don't look like a ponce."

"A turnip is a goddamn vegetable it is incapable of poncing!"

"Ya ready ter go?"

"Yeah, let me get my shoes on."

Conrad slammed his feet into his ankle boots and followed Worth out into the night.

It was cold, for Florida, which was to say that it might have been 40 degrees and damp as all hell. They were parked at the mouth of an alley, near the repurposed law firm that had been their makeshift hotel three years running, and just within walking distance of the high school where the party was supposed to be taking place. The only high school, which was supposed to be something of a middle ground for all the religious schism and insanity taking place in the south. A gesture of good will. A compromise.

All Conrad could think of was the unmitigated disaster that had been his senior prom. Visions of punchbowls danced ominously in his head.

"Ya did this when we were invited ter the party in Nebraska too," Worth noted, words smoking like a cold cigarette. "Virginia too, and th' first anniversary shindig."

Conrad shoved his hands into his pockets, wishing he'd worn a jacket. It wasn't that cold, but it was still cold and he was still undead. "I can't help it," he scowled. "I hate going to parties."

Worth made a noncommittal humming noise. "Seemed t'suit ya fine once we got there."

"I hate going to parties," Conrad repeated. "The parties themselves are fine."

It was taking all his willpower to remind himself that St. Bartlebies Preparatory High School was an ocean and a landmass away, and most of his conviction was coming from the reassurance that he'd never actually had anyone to walk with at St. Bartlebies.

In that respect, Worth's bent, offensively underdressed presence was actually a kind of relief.

The walk wasn't long.

No sooner had Conrad and Worth reached the entrance to the school than they were greeted by John. The teen had clearly been waiting for them, and he stomped his way over, planting his feet wide, arms crossed over his scrawny chest. He stared at them, accusatory.

Worth stared back, clearly nonplussed.

Conrad was conflicted. Part of him wanted to just push the boy aside and enter the building. The other part, the one that still felt a niggling sense of guilt over crushing the kid's dreams earlier, wondered if he ought to apologize. Eventually settled on clearing his throat with an, "Er...yes?"

"Back away from the evil one, Doctor!" The boy cried in a tone that would have been dangerous and commanding had it come from a police officer and not a five foot six inch scarecrow of a kid. He ignored Conrad with a stone wall of forceful disregard.

All guilt melted like butter in a hot pan. Conrad took an unnecessary breath. "Really?"

Worth's response was nearly as eloquent as Conrad's as he wiggled a pinky in his ear and said, "Wot?"

"Disentangle yourself from his villainous clutches! The evil one lies! Only you have the power to turn his deceitful trickery away from the path of damnation!"

The finger popped free of Worth's ear canal and he squinted down at John, nudging Conrad with his elbow. "Oi. Issee drunk already?"

Ignoring Worth, Conrad put his hands on his hips. "Look, yes, I lied. Get over it. Go find some other blue eyed boy to obsess over. This one is in no way your new lord and savior. Antichrist, maybe."

Undeterred, John continued, addressing Conrad for the first time. "You have betrayed the trust of God's flock for the last time, Harlot of Hell. Tonight must be a reckoning for your sins!"

"John. Please. Go away. You are only embarrassing yourself."

"Repent!" He turned to Worth expectantly. "Make him repent."

Worth blinked a few times, then shrugged. "Well, ya heard him, Connie."

If he had it, Conrad's blood pressure would have shot through the roof. As it was, he glared upward and grit his teeth. "...Excuse me?"

Worth continued, thoughtfully tapping on his chin. "Guess ya gotta get on yer knees, that's how this prayin' an' repentin' thing works. That right, kid?" The thoughtful countenance shifted to a near leer. "Ya want him on his knees in front'a me?

"I-" John took a partial step back, clearly thrown by Worth's words. "—that's. I—I didn't say anything about kneeling."

Conrad snorted. "Not like it would bloody well happen, anyway."

"Kid, ya really think I kin tell her highness wot ter do? Don't work that way."

"You have to do it, Doctor! He won't listen to anyone else! You're his last hope, and... if you don't bring him back into the light he's going to drag you down to the pit with him—you and Hanna and everyone around you!" The boy's eyes narrowed. "And he's a huge jerk, too."

"Yannow, thass th' first bit o sense ya said in th' whole time I known ya."

Suspicious, Conrad glared at the blonde.

"So you'll talk to him?" Good God the kid looked so young sometimes.

"Wot? Fuck naw. Was talkin' bout that whole jerk thing. Sensible."

"Why not?" John demanded, growing frantic. "Why won't you talk to him? Why won't you help?"

Worth's hands slid into the pockets of his duster. "Fuck ya think I'm gonna do? Grab some holy water 'n' cleanse his sins or sommat? Christ ya gotta be shittin' me."

John shifted uneasily. "Well. You could. I mean. I was thinking maybe you could appeal to his remaining humanity? You know. Get him to give up his dark allegiance. Nothing I'm saying is getting through to him. He won't listen to me."

"Uh huh. Wot dark allegiance, exactly?"

"His allegiance with Satan. Are you - have you been listening? Your lover is a blood sucking soulless monster with a dumb nose and this is your last chance to save him! Do something about him or somebody else will do it for you!"

"Aww, hear that, lover?" He hated how even Worth's sardonic grins evoked a response in his guts. "I get ter be yer knight 'n' save ya again."

Conrad responded the only way he knew how; screeching, "For the last time we are not fucking!"

"Thass right." A long, wiry arm slid its way familiarly around Conrad's shoulders as he addressed John. "Wot we do, an' you'll understand this one day, kid, is make love."

Conrad stared straight ahead with a look of pure disgust.

"An' I'd appreciate it if ya leave his nose outta this," Worth added.

John stomped one food. "Fine! Fine. If you won't save yourselves, then you can... You can go screw yourselves! But God needs you, Worth, and God will have you! You, and your pet abomination, you can only evade the laws of nature for so long."

Spine stiffening, Conrad snarled, "Pet?!"

A squeeze on his shoulder prevented Conrad from lunging forward. "Christ this is really up yer ass. Wot gotcha so pissy? Mmm? He ain't puttin out fer you neither?"

John looked at Conrad's seething face in fascinated revulsion. "So far he hasn't offered," he said, "but the spirit is strong in me and I would never entertain such... notions. Your faith is weaker than mine. Not that I'm insulting you! We can work on that, once this is taken care of."

Worth made a beckoning gesture with his free hand. "Ya want ter help, John?"

Unsurprisingly, like a hopeful puppy, John moved closer "Yes!"

The blonde leaned over, speaking into the boy's face. "Fuck. Off."

John reeled back, face screwed up like he'd been punched and was trying not to let anyone know. Conrad had a brief flare of sympathy that was quickly evaporated by the rage still boiling in his chest.

"Maybe I will!" John shouted, "But one day he'll snap, and he'll kill you. Or worse, he'll make you one of them. It doesn't matter what he says. A demon is a demon and a monster is a monster." John took a step backwards, gaze unshifting. "Think on your sins."

"I kin think of a few good ones right now. Fondly." Worth grinned mirthlessly.

Conrad gripped his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. "My God, you really are crazy."

"I'm not crazy!" John shouted, still backing away. "You'll see! I'll show you, and you'll see!" With his last word, he turned and ran, rounding the corner and disappearing from sight.

Worth snorted. "And ya wouldn't let me kill 'im."

"I don't want him dead. Mute, maybe." Conrad paused. "Possibly comatose."

"Well." The hand on Conrad's shoulder relaxed its grip and moved over, fingers ruffling the hair at the nape of his neck. "After that I'm ready ter drink."

"You're always ready to drink."

"More ready 'n usual, then." The warmth of Worth's hand slipped free as he moved forward to open the door. "After you, lover."

"Say it again. I will punch your face."

"Foreplay in public? Tsk, gettin' frisky on me."

Conrad shook his head, walking past Worth and down the hall to the auditorium holding the festivities. "Sometimes I wonder just how much of that you mean."

There was a longer stretch of silence behind Conrad than he had expected before Worth finally said, "I kin get into specifics if yer wantin'."

He held up a hand and peered around the room as he walked through the propped open gymnasium doors. "No. Please." It didn't take long for him to figure out the lay of the land. The bar was on one side, food spread out on a table beside it. There was an open area in the middle of the room for dancing (not that anyone except children were doing much of that), a man dressed as Santa roaming about the various tables containing people eating and drinking in mixed groups. During the quick scan, Conrad spotted Hanna drinking alone and his eyes narrowed. "Go find somewhere to sit. I'll be right back."

"Booze first."

"I'll bring the booze. Go sit somewhere and don't cause any problems."

Ignoring Worth's reply, Conrad made a beeline over to the man who was the cause of most things that nearly got him killed.

Hanna grinned up. "Hey! Conman! You made it! Where's the Doc?"

"He's getting a table and keeping quiet. Have you seen John since this afternoon?"

Hanna looked away from his bottle of cider, mid-swig, giving the drink a nervous look like he wasn't sure he was allowed to have it. "Uh, yeah," he said, taking a quick drink and then stowing the bottle under his jacket. "He came and found me a couple hours ago. You weren't kidding about the contacts thing, it really did have him shaken up. He just kept going on and on about wasted time and, uh, the Lord's work with like a capital L? And Worth's eyes, which was—I'm gonna be frank with you, that was really weird."

"So?" Conrad prompted, after a moment of silence.

"So?"

"So what did you say to him!"

"Oh," Hanna answered. He shrugged. "I told him Worth doesn't wear contacts. Didn't seem to help much though. He just got like, really quiet and wandered off."

Conrad sighed deeply. "Wonderful! So you're who I can thank for his screaming at me just now."

"Uhhhhhhh whoopsies? Wow, did he really just like, lose his shit all over you over Worth not wearing contacts?"

"Yes."

"Oh. "

"Well," Conrad said, words puttering out like a car unwilling to start, "I guess you had to tell him the truth. He really was crying and awful lot and I didn't really mean to hurt him, just... you know how he gets. I honestly didn't think he'd react like this. I must have," Conrad swallowed, having trouble upping the words, "embarrassed him. Or something."

Be the bigger man be the bigger man, you're an adult for god's sake…

"Yeah well, y'know. I dunno. Maybe it's good? Like, maybe he'll cool his jets a bit now. Also? Could you like, go tell that waiter to keep the special cider flowing? Joseph kinda told him I'm not supposed to have too much and he has been stingy biscuits ever since."

"I could," he said, smirking slightly, squeezing Hanna's shoulder, "but you wanted me here to keep an eye on you and your accident prone head, yes?"

Freckled nose crinkled like bunched sheets. "Oh crud. So, it'd be a violation of your prime directive?"

"I'm afraid so," the artist replied solemnly. "But at least it looks like we can enjoy ourselves without dealing with John. That's a bit a relief, actually. So where is uh, Joseph?"

"Someone needed to reach an item on the tallest of shelves! He got recruited."

Conrad raised an eyebrow. "So why haven't you just told the waiter to disregard the zombie and bring more alcohol?"

"Dude he is like psychic! Every time I get out of my chair his head pops out of the hallway, swear to God. You know what? Watch this." Hanna took another drink from his sweating mug and scooted his chair back. Standing, he managed three steps towards the waiter before the zombie's eyes appeared in the hallway like twin caution lights. Shaking his head, Hanna plopped back in his chair. "See? It's like creepy!"

A chuckle rippled from Conrad's chest. "Well, I guess I'll go get some drinks since I can rest assured your own inebriation is well under control."

"Don't try to drink Worth under the table again. You guys are heavier than you look, 'kay? Joseph had to walk one of you back to the camper and lock you in while I kept the other one occupied, and Worth when he's trying to figure out where you wandered off to? Noooooot the easiest bronco to tame."

"I have no intentions of repeating that experiment, trust me. Just... a little something to take the edge off and fit in, I guess. No promises on Worth, though. I think by now his blood is eighty proof."

They kept the bar on a table next to where the bleachers had been folded up into a ten foot high wall of beige plastic. Conrad picked his way through the crowd—thickest at the end of the room, where a band of middle aged men were cheerfully banging away on banjos and acoustic guitars. It sounded fine, but Conrad winced anyhow. Banjos. Really.

Banjos.

Conrad caught the bartender's eye—pleasant, but a bit harried—and asked if he could pick out a few drinks for himself and his associates. She told him to have at it. He looked for a payment box, figuring that even though old fashioned paper currency was basically limited to firestarters, he still had a pocket full of copper wire that would be worth a few glasses. There was nothing.

Conrad regarded the table uneasily.

The bar was neat and sparse, but it still hurt a little bit to think about how much time and effort currency had gone into that free alcohol. Someone's potential dinner wasted on a holiday gesture, possibly someone's hungry children short a meal. Tallahassee was prosperous in the terms of its region, but to pass up even the promise of food? What if there was a frost? What if it flooded before the harvest? Was that uncertainty, even a single bottle's equivalent, worth a night of sponsoring other people's drunkenness?

"It depends."

Conrad let out a harsh half-shriek that felt like it cut up his throat, and nearly dropped the bottle of gin in his hand. He spun like a top before he even knew what he was spinning at.

"Well," said Mr. Fell, observing the claws a hairsbreadth from puncturing his windpipe. "It's good to see you as well, Mr. Achenleck."

Oh.

After a tense second, Conrad dropped his hand and shuddered slightly as he felt the skeletal lengths melt back into fleshy human digits. You never quite got used to that.

"You have a very interesting voice," Fell noted, with a grin, "have you considered taking up the local choir?"

"Ugh," the vampire grunted, returning to the salvaged glass party cups. "I'd ask if was Piss on Conrad Night, but then it wouldn't be any different than any other night."

"Perhaps piss is inaccurate," Fell suggested, all near-seven feet of him looming over the cheery red tablecloth and Conrad in his white poncy slacks.

"I can't even believe they let you back in this town," Conrad snapped, reaching for another bottle, "after what you did."

"Strictly speaking, they didn't."

Conrad looked up, looked around, spotted a young man across the table giving Fell a horrified stare. Right. Spooky powers. When was he going to get used to that?

"It is an interesting quandary you were muddling over, though," the giant admitted, lifting a bottle of red wine that definitely had not been full a couple seconds ago, and Conrad knew this because Conrad had checked it.

"What quandary," Conrad replied, eyeing the wine bottle. He had really wanted some of that. Would Fell share if he asked? Should he ask? There was no guarantee that he'd find a donor even if spooky magic wine wasn't poisonous to his system.

"The free wine," Fell replied, tapping the glass with one flawless nail. "What is the benefit of denying oneself an essential of life in return for nothing?"

"Were you reading my mind?"

"What gain is there in the near-anonymous contribution, whose benefit is scattered among so many different recipients as to be negligible?"

"Please tell me I was talking out loud."

"Indeed," Fell carried on, regarding the bottle like an exotic species of bird before taking a mouthful of the contents, "we might as well wonder what the benefit of the holiday itself is."

Conrad pursed his lips. He did not want to get into a philosophical discussion with a... superhuman triple agent. In snakeskin boots. He had better things to do, like get this gin to Hanna before his undead chaperone came back and oh no the words were pushing out of his throat here came the word vomit.

"Obviously the benefit is psychological," Conrad answered, like an utter tool, "winter is hard on people; it always has been. A thousand years ago, it's getting dark and the whole frosty thing stretches out in front of you and you don't know how many cattle or kids you're going to lose before it ends—" Conrad bit his cheek, halting the flow of words before they ventured somewhere embarrassingly poetic. "So you have a party. Er. Yes."

Fell gave him an interested look, amber eyes glinting in the dimness. "A party."

"Yes, well you tell me how it happened then—" Conrad hunched his shoulders, "—you were probably there."

Armani suit rustled as Fell adjusted his cufflinks. "This particular night," the mysterious bastard told him, "is a very delicate thing. Christmas is serving as a thread, stitching up the tears in the fabric of the region, and even a single tug in the wrong direction will snap it. Tonight must go perfectly. Hence, the free booze. People are not unaware of what rests on this evening."

With an odd almost grin, Fell gestured vaguely towards the dance floor, where two mismatched girls were attempting to tango. Not too far away, a teenager maybe a year younger than John was doing the mashed-potato in a self-conscious but determined sort of way.

"How many of them do you suppose will make it through the winter?"

Conrad swallowed down his first instinct, which was to snap out something scathing and stalk away. Instead, he looked out over the crowd, over the banjo player and the tangoing toddlers and the woman swaying in her boyfriend's arms, and Hanna at the accidental center of it all, grinning at nothing in particular.

Conrad swallowed again.

"Probably most of them," he answered, busying himself with pouring out a round of drinks. No gin for Worth, because it made him mean. Hanna could have it. "From what I've seen, they had a good fall and summer, and they've stocked away enough to make up for the last of the canned food running out. It doesn't freeze too often. Provided no one gets horribly sick, everyone should make it through."

"Awfully optimistic of you," Fell noted.

"Realistic," Conrad bristled. He wondered where they found those shot glasses, whose house they had been salvaged out of. "They'll be fine, and we'll be back next Christmas for another tedious year of passive-aggressively warding off civil war."

"They'll be fine," Fell acknowledged, "but will you?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Conrad demanded, looking up sharply, but there was no one there. He grit his teeth and went back to gathering up his various glasses.

"Oh!"

Conrad avoided whisky-drenched disaster by a narrow margin.

Fell was standing behind him now, or rather hovering ominously. "By the by," he said, "I spoke with our mutual acquaintance John earlier today, about a little wager we had going. We got a bit off track, so if you would be so kind as to tell Hanna I'd like my cut, I'd appreciate it."

"Tell him your goddamn self," Conrad snarled, clutching his cargo tighter and turning away. "I'm not your bloody errand boy."

Did you see anybody asking Hanna to deliver messages to Conrad? Or the zombie? Or Worth? Well, granted, Worth would probably have forgotten what the message was before he could deliver it, but still. Unfair.

"Fine," Fell sighed, behind him, "I just thought you might like to delay the inevitable a bit longer."

Conrad paused. "What's that supposed to—"

But Fell was gone again, and this time, he didn't come back.

A little bit wary now, despite himself, Conrad made his way back through the mass of people—looked like more were arriving, the dance floor was starting to fill up—and found Hanna sitting in his plastic chair, chatting with a dark skinned man Conrad thought he recognized.

"Here's your illicit hooch," the vampire said, offering Hanna the whimsically-shaped glass of gin. Probably bathtub gin. He hoped it wasn't the kind that made you go blind.

Hanna grinned mega-watts.

"Let me know if you feel like taking up tabledancing again," Conrad said, smiling a little bit, "So I can knock you out. I'm going to get Worth his drink, before he does something stupid."

Hanna nodded enthusiastically, and Conrad started off towards the far wall where Worth was hanging around, looking about fifteen seconds away from stirring up trouble. Could be worse. He could already be grabbing asses halfway across the room.

Conrad grabbed him by the collar and pushed the glass of whisky into his hands. "Drink up, Doctor, you've got a bar full of free booze and only three hours to get utterly pissed in."

Worth lifted one blond eyebrow. "Free?"

"Yeah, apparently it's a good will thing. I think they must be trying to soften up the CUT sympathizers."

"Ain't they got that whole, eh, whisky yer the devil thing goin' on?"

Conrad snickered. "Like you could convert that many rednecks without liquor? Tell me another one."

Worth grinned lazily at him, and suddenly the party wasn't such an awful place to be.

For a while they surveyed the party like bird watchers, eyeing rare and unusual specimens of local fauna interacting with their new habitat. Conrad spied John not too far away, sulking in his khakis with his jacket tied around his waist. Scuttle away, little roach. Bother someone else.

Across the room, someone asked a red-faced Hanna to dance.

"Din' getcherself nothin'?" the doctor asked Conrad, after a moment, eyeing his empty hands.

"Oh. No." Conrad followed his glance. "I wouldn't have anything to mix it with."

"Aw, sugar, y'ain't gotta play coy with me. Ya know I'm good fer it."

Worth grinned at him, head tilted in close, really close, when did he get that close? Had he been that close a second ago?

"Um," Conrad replied, eloquently. "I thought it would be rude to just—and it really isn't sanitary, you shouldn't be doing it at all, one of these days it's going to—"

"Oops," Worth interrupted, offhand, "seemta cut myself while you were busy bein' a fagpire."

Sure enough, there was a sweet-sharp scent of blood swirling up from the doctor's half-hidden palm. Conrad gritted his teeth and rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"You don't hear a word I say, do you?" he sighed, ignoring Worth's infuriatingly self-satisfied expression. Wow, okay, he was going to have to get himself a drink after all, there was no way he was going to be able to ignore that smell, it was really strong, in fact…

Too strong?

And not quite right?

And then a bucket of stockyard blood upended itself over Conrad's head.

The first couple seconds, Conrad was actually struck mute, scraping at his eyelids trying to get his vision functional again—he blinked, and between splotches of red he could make out John, that little fuck, clutching a bucket and chanting something that Conrad couldn't make out over the rising ringing in his ears.

The second couple seconds, Conrad was pretty sure he was going to actually vomit up what was left of his internal organs.

The worst part was that the music kept on playing, bright and cheery banjo renditions of Jinglebell Rock and some part of Conrad honestly expected the music to stop, strings to pop, people to gasp—

But the tune went on, and murky blood dripped down Conrad's arms and thighs.

And then there was a split second of absolute, painful clarity, in which Conrad realized that if he wanted to keep this goddamn city from tearing itself apart all over again, he absolutely could not scream. He could not draw attention to himself.

If he valued anything at all in the world over his own clawing fury, he was going to have to make sure that no one ever knew this had happened.

Conrad slammed one red-stained hand into the wall to catch his balance, and then he fled. The exit wasn't far, not too far, he could get outside without screaming, he was almost certain of it—

He burst out of the door and jerked off his jumper, and dry heaved into the browning grass. Nothing came up. Of course it didn't, it never did. No matter how long he'd been dead, he couldn't shake that instinct.

It was just instinct. He was okay. It was only blood, he drank the stuff for a living. He should be used to it. He was used to it. He just needed to walk it off.

He just.

He just needed a second.

"Hey."

Fuck his life, fuck everything.

"Hey."

No, no, Conrad was not dealing with Worth, not now, not with any of the taunts and jibes and God knew what else.

"Connie." Ugh, why did he stop walking when Worth's hands fell on his shoulders? He had more than enough strength in him to remove Worth's hand but...somehow he didn't. Somehow he just stopped walking, just stared out of his blood smeared glasses. Waited.

"Hey, you okay?"

Fists clenched impotently at his sides. "Oh yes, I'm bloody fucking fine! I simply couldn't wait to get doused in fucking blood at a fucking holiday party and called a fucking demon. I didn't choose this, you know, I didn't decide to be what I am. I just fucking am!"

"Well th' whole bathin' in blood thing worked well for Balthory. Might work fer you too. Don't see no lines or wrinkles at all."

Conrad snorted in spite of himself. He scowled when Worth removed his glasses, but didn't put up a fight. The world blurred, colors and shapes, always reminding him of water lilies, and then his vision returned as Worth slid the spectacles back into place. Looking at Worth's chest, Conrad realized the annoyance had cleaned them on his own shirt. "Well...thanks, I guess. Now I can see what a mess I am."

"'s fine. C'mon, we'll getcha cleaned up."

"I don't need your help," he snipped, though there was far less venom in the retort than he had hoped for. Worth was already steering him toward the RV. It wasn't a long walk. Belatedly he asked, "Don't you want to go back to the party? You're still sober."

The taller man hummed, hand warm against the still dry fabric pressed against Conrad's back. "Dunno. If I go back, I might kill th' little shit 'n' then there'll be this big goddamned political fiasco."

"Right. Because you care for those sorts of things so much." He saw the curl of Worth's mouth and stopped speaking as the blonde opened the side door, thin eyebrows raising.

"Well, if yer tellin' me I ought ter kill him...kin always go back with Betsy."

Another snort and Conrad rolled his eyes, stepping into the camper. "Whatever. I don't want his blood on my hands."

"Bad choice of words, sugartits."

"Ha. If you want to get technical it's on my face and neck and chest, not my hands, and it's not even his."

"Ya sure? Crazy fuck like that mighta been savin' up bit by bit."

"I'm sure. It's not human. Yes," he added, exasperated, "I can tell the difference. They smell completely differently, not to mention the—" words caught briefly as Worth's fingers tugged Conrad's undershirt free from his slacks, lifting the garment up and over his head. The artist grabbed his glasses just before they were sullied again by the bloody fabric. Swallowing self consciously, he pushed them back into place and finished, lamely with "...taste."

"Wots it taste like, then?" Worth had discarded the shirt in the sink and was pulling his own shirt off.

Conrad regarded him suspiciously, carefully watching the stretch and flex of muscle in the man's back, anatomy so apparent in his movements. "Like a fucking barnyard."

"Ha! Issat all? I've had worse." He poured water on his shirt, darkening the cotton as it soaked up the liquid. Turning, he easily nudged Conrad down onto the dining area bench seat and sat beside him. The cloth brushed over Conrad's cheeks first, then chin and lips. Forehead was next, and the water was surprisingly cold, and, equally surprisingly, the entire cleaning was soothing. Conrad didn't realize he'd leaned back and closed his eyes until he felt glasses slide free from his face for the third time that evening, hearing a light click as their arms were folded and the frames found a resting place on the table.

"Worth," he muttered, growing all too conscious of how close they were in the tight nook, "you better not have put my glasses lenses side down."

"Oh well thass a great way ter say thanks fer me bein' such a gentleman. Ya wanna tell me how ter do anythin' else, princess?" His hand cupped Conrad's face, turning it. "Ya got some in yer ear. Hol' still."

"I think you mean on my ear."

Wet cloth carefully worked its way around the coiling maze of ear folds. "Same thing."

"No." Red eyes opened, fixed on Worth's face, the closest and most in-focus thing he could see. Sharp curve of cheekbone, hollow of temple, a study in highlights and shadow. "It's not the same thing. In is in and on is on. You can't see what's inside because," he licked his lips, looked at Worth's eyes. They really were blue. A strange, clear blue with a dark gray ring around the iris. The tiniest hint of bright, otherworldly glow haloing the pupil; a byproduct of rune use. You use the magic, but it uses you, too, taints you, marks you. If you're not careful, it makes you its own. "It's concealed," he murmured, mouth slowly coming to rest and work against Worth's lips, "by the outside."

"Mmm...th'...wot?" His hands were so warm. So fucking warm, and they were on Conrad's throat and chest now, sliding down then around, holding his back, calluses scratching as Worth's beard brushed against Conrad's chin.

Conrad made a low rumbling noise of annoyance, biting Worth's lower lip a little harder than he'd meant to, tasting the immediate coppery salt of human blood against his tongue and teeth. He reached for it with his tongue, sought it out as Worth offered, breathing, the sun of his hands clutching the moon of Conrad's hips and this was going somewhere and he didn't know what had happened or how. He just knew the taste of Worth, the smell, the press of his living, grinding body against his own. He knew the way Worth's heart would stutter as nails dragged matching rows of red down his back. He knew the sound of blue jeans moving against each other, the crunch and scuff of protesting fabric. He knew the puffs of Worth's breath against his face and the sparking, throbbing in his lower body.

He knew, with a suddenness that sent a chill through his dead heart, where this was likely to lead.

Conrad wrenched his head off to the side, disengaging his mouth, feeling one of Hanna's blankets rub against his forehead. Stilling his hips, which had been rolling up to meet with Worth's, took more effort than he liked to admit. He accomplished it mostly by trying to dig his ass as deep into the worn bench cushions as possible.

Above him, Worth's motions stilled, though his breathing was still quick, breath scented with cinnamon, alcohol, and smoke. "Fuck's wrong?"

"Just," he fumbled for words. There were too many words in his head, and none really properly encompassed the dust storm of emotions he was trying so hard to shutter himself away from. "Not..." He managed feebly.

"Yeah, no, 's fine. Ain't gotta do it here. C'mon," Worth's nose caught the underside of Conrad's earlobe as he lifted his head, "we kin go in th' back." A kiss pressed against Conrad's jaw before worth pulled his body up and off of the artist's, wriggling his way free of Hanna's makeshift bed.

Conrad sat up dumbly, awkwardly. There was no way to look unaffected with a raging erection, was there? Worth was offering a hand and he took it, standing to walk towards the door in the back.

As his hand gripped the metal doorknob, Worth came up behind him, arms wrapping around his body, one hand pressing its heat against Conrad's stomach. He shuddered once as Worth kissed the back of his neck, working his way up to Conrad's ear.

"Mebbe I oughter thank that li'l shit, after all," was the raspy whisper as the other hand's deft fingers worked their way under the front waistband of Conrad's pants.

And everything came together in one all-consuming wave of rage as Conrad whirled and punched Worth in the face.

He'd been taken by surprise, clearly, as the blow sent Worth reeling back, grabbing onto the edge of the kitchenette sink to steady himself. His eyes were wide, and the hand that had been sliding down Conrad's pants was now holding the side of his face. Surprise gave way to Worth's own anger and he spat, "The fuck was that?!"

Conrad could tell him. He could tell Worth that it wasn't anger at him, that it was Conrad mad at himself. Angry for being so dumb, Con-man being so easily coerced by the conman. He wanted to believe there was something there, something more to worth's advances than a man simply wanting to get his dick wet. Sometimes he believed it, times like tonight, like just then, where he was quiet and gentle, where he wasn't constantly making fag jokes or just looking to irritate the fuck out of someone for shits and giggles. Conrad was at fault here—he had let things go too far, not just physically, but internally, and Worth was justified in wondering what the fuck that was.

It was survival.

His eyes were burning. Despite being a vampire, despite losing many of the regular bodily actions of a human, his tears were still tears, were still salty, and all he could do was hope to God that Worth couldn't see what was happening in the dark vehicle. He took a breath, swallowing over the spasming tightness in his throat and said. "I'm not putting out for you, either, right?"

Conrad threw himself into the bedroom. He didn't look at Worth, he just snarled and slammed the door behind himself, locking it before pressing his back to it. Staring at the ceiling, he blinked wildly against the continued burning and stinging in his eyes, willing it to go away, everything and everyone, just go away.

Shortly after sealing himself away, Conrad heard the slam of the camper's side door, and he slid down until he was sitting on the vaguely beige colored carpet, feeling hollow and stupid. But his silent mental plea had been granted; he was alone.

-End