Title: It's Not Who You Were Born To 1: Brief Escape

Title: It's Not Who You Were Born To

Author: Scribe

Fandom: The Lost Boys

Series: The Non-Traditional Families Series

Pairing: None this part

Sequel/Series: The Non-Traditional Families Series

Archive: Lists that I send it to, otherwise ask.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, and make no profit from this venture. It is meant strictly for entertainment, and no disrespect is meant toward the authors who created them or the actors who portrayed them.

Websites: http://www.angelfire.com/grrl/scribescribbles and http://www.angelfire.com/grrl/foxluver

Summary: Even if you HAVE a traditional family, you can still be a 'Lost Boy'. Poor little rich boy, Dwayne, falls in with the Lost Boys.

Warnings: Domestic abuse issues.

Rating: NC-17

It's Not Who You Were Born To
by Scribe

Chapter 1: Brief Escape

Dwayne lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He heard a raised voice from downstairs. He couldn't tell what they were saying, but they were saying it loud enough for it to make it up to his room, so it counted. He glanced at his clock. It was almost seven. *Shit, less than two hours. It's getting worse.*

He rolled on his belly and considered putting on his headphones to drown out what was coming, but he decided against it. The last time he'd forgotten and left his door unlocked. He hadn't been able to slip past Jake when he came in, and he'd ended up with a loose tooth. Mom had cried. She always cried, but she never did a damn thing about it.

Dwayne waited until he could make out what was being yelled downstairs.

Jake's voice. "It's a present for you, I told you that!"

Mom's voice. "Oh, right, Jake! It's not my size, it's not NEARLY my size."

"I thought maybe it'd give you some inspiration to lose a little bit of that blubber."

"God, you're cruel! I've NEVER been able to fit into a size five, and you know it. I'm not fat, I'm just not built like a Barbie doll, and don't you fucking DARE think you're going to distract me like that! Look at that! Red satin and black lace? Christ, Jake, I would've thought you'd have better sense than to try to convince me that damn teddy was for me. I'd never wear something that sleazy in a million years."

"Well, maybe if you WOULD I wouldn't have to look for someone who DID."

There was an outraged shriek.

He got out of bed, grabbing for his leather jacket. *Shit, I may have left it too long.* In the hall he
flipped the hasp and snapped the padlock shut, locking his door. Mom had started to pitch a bitch about that, but when she saw what Jake did to his stereo after they had the argument about his taste in music, she'd quieted down and bought a new sound system, including the earphones.

Dwayne pulled on his jacket and carefully eased his way halfway downstairs. He cocked his head toward the sound of angry voices. They were in the living room. If he was quick and quiet, he should be able to make it out the back door.

He tiptoed down to the hall, wishing Mom had put in a runner instead of going for the bare, natural wood look. He'd almost made it to the kitchen when Jake came out into the hallway, yelling, "...got a right to a little happiness, don't I? I work my ass off to provide for you and that brat, and I get nothing but..." He caught sight of Dwayne. "You! What've you got your coat on for, huh? You think you're going somewhere, punk?"

Dwayne bolted. He didn't bother to shut the kitchen door behind himself, because he could hear Jake coming behind him. Luckily the homecoming booze on top of whatever he'd drunk on the plane back from Chicago messed with his equilibrium just enough to make him slip on the kitchen tiles. By the time he'd scrambled up and gotten outside Dwayne had mounted his Harley, jammed the key home, and revved the engine.

It was close. Jake's clawed fingers swiped the air less than a foot behind him, but Dwayne made it down to the street and opened it up. The old fart up the block, out watering his flowerbeds, got a good show of his drunken and disheveled neighbor standing in the street, cursing and shaking his fist after his motorcycle riding punk son.

*Great, Jake, just great. Didn't take you long to get us a reputation in our new neighborhood, did it? What comes next? The neighbors calling the cops over 'domestic disputes', or Mom starting us on the round of the different emergency rooms so they don't ask questions after seeing us too many times?*

Dwayne was tired of moving. Yeah, Jake kept getting 'promotions', but Dwayne knew the real reason they kept moving--Jake never wanted to stay in one place long enough for his colleagues or neighbors to get to know him, and figure out what a mess his home life was.

They had moved four... no, five times in the last two years. Last time his school records hadn't even had time to catch up with him before Jake was dragging them off again. Mom was still trying to locate them, and school was going to start next month.

Now THAT was something Dwayne was dreading. He never fit in. He didn't dress right or look right to be accepted by the rich kids, and the poor kids either hated him or sucked up to him. Since Dwayne didn't feel like being used, that meant that he usually didn't have any friends wherever he went.

And this last place... Eesh. Santa Carla. Snoozeville. Well, except that it WAS on the ocean,
and there was the boardwalk. That was pretty cool.

Dwayne headed for the boardwalk now. He'd been spending more and more of his time there the last couple of months. He'd seen a couple of places like this before, but it was always in areas where weather forced them to close down during the winter months, but he'd found out that this one was year round.

It was the middle of the week, so the place wasn't quite as teeming as it usually was on the weekends, but there were still a lot of people riding the rides, browsing the shops, or just hanging out. Dwayne parked in front of one of the busier places, Max's Video Shop, in hopes that his ride would be safe.

As Dwayne dismounted, he casually glanced through the front window, scanning the store's interior as his heart thumped just a little harder in anticipation. He felt disappointed when all he saw was a few families rummaging in the kid's section and one beer-bellied, obvious non-athlete in the sports section. *He isn't there tonight.*

Then the door to the back room opened and three men came out. Dwayne scarcely noticed the older man and the boy in the long black leather coat, but the blonde boy who walked with them captured his gaze. The other boy said something to him, and he threw his head back, laughing, the bright florescent lights glinting on his pale blonde hair as it flipped back over his shoulders.

At the front, the older man peeled off and went behind the counter. Judging from the way the clerk was listening to him and nodding, he had to be Max. The two boys leaned on the counter, talking to each other. The one he was interested in had his back to the door. His jacket ended just at his hips, almost as if it was meant to draw attention to the tight, denim-coated curves of his ass.

Long Coat looked past his friend, and his eyebrows rose. He nodded slightly toward Dwayne, and Leather Jacket twisted his head, glancing back over his shoulder, his glance landing on Dwayne. Their eyes locked.

Dwayne felt the blood rising in his cheeks. He quickly turned and started down the boardwalk, weaving his way through the tourists with no idea of where he was going. *Christ, caught staring. That's a good way to get my ass whipped. Bad enough being gay, Dwayne, but if you're an OBVIOUS gay, you have REAL trouble, even if this IS California.*

He went into a coffee bar and ordered a large cappuccino, then took it to a corner booth. The
fluorescents over that particular area was on the fritz, giving only a half-power glow that flickered
and buzzed. He settled himself into the shadows, noting that he was feeling increasingly at home in the dark these days. Anyway, this was a good vantage point to people watch--he had a view of the entire room. He also found that he was doing a lot of this, too, these days--sitting on the side and watching the rest of the world.

The bell over the door jangled, and he looked up to see the pair from the video store entering. He
quickly half-turned, moving deeper into the booth and putting his shoulder to the room and bending over his cup, as if engrossed in it. *Please, oh please, oh please. I SO do not need any shit tonight. Let them just be after a cup of coffee.*

"Hey. Mind if we sit with you?" He looked up. Leather Coat was standing over him, smiling down. Dwayne glanced past him. Leather Jacket was standing right behind him, his hands tucked in his pockets. Neither one of them were carrying a cup.

Dwayne's eyes flicked over the room. There were at least a half-dozen empty tables and booths. "There are a lot of open places." The boy nodded agreeably. Dwayne hesitated. They were both smiling at him. They didn't LOOK hostile. Of course they could just be good actors, but... Damn, it had been so long since he could just hang out with someone. He tilted his head toward the other seat. "Sure, go ahead."

Long Coat held out his hand. "David."

Dwayne pumped his hand. "Dwayne." *God, he's got cold hands."

As David slid into the booth on the other side, Leather Jacket offered his hand. "Paul."

They shook hands, and Dwayne thought. *Both of 'em. They feel like they've been holding cold cans of soda, or something.* While he was thinking this, Paul quickly sat down beside him. Dwayne regarded him in surprise, having expected him to sit beside David. Something in the way Paul smiled back at him told Dwayne that the other boy had known that.

"We thought you were gonna come into the video store back there," David said. "You certainly looked like you were looking for something in particular."

Dwayne shrugged. "I don't pick up too many videos. We only have a VCR in the living room, and I couldn't watch what I like down there."

"Yeah?" Paul casually propped his arm on the back of the seat, behind Dwayne. His smile was teasing. "Mommy and Daddy don't want to let you watch the skin shows?"

Dwayne felt himself flushing. "No, I'm not really interested in those."

"No?" David sat forward, propping his elbows on the table, clasping his hands. "Damn, I thought every guy your age wanted a chance to see every pair of boobs he could."

Dwayne scowled. "You're not that much older than me."

There was a dark, amused glint in David's eyes. "Don't be too sure about that."

"What DO you like to watch, then?" Paul asked.

"Horror," Dwayne answered promptly. "The gorier, the better. The Hammer movies are just a start.

"And Mommy and Daddy don't like them?" David asked.

"Quit saying that, will you? I'm not some little kid. No, my Mom only wants to watch those stupid, weepy women's movies, and Jake only likes dumbass movies with crashing cars and explosions."

"Jake? You call your dad by his first name?" David sounded curious.

"Jake is NOT my father," Dwayne said flatly. "My sire ran out on us when I was about three, and he sent divorce papers when I was seven. Jake is Mom's second husband."

"Doesn't sound like a warm and fuzzy sort of relationship," commented David.

"I really don't feel like talking about him," Dwayne said shortly.

David held up his hands placatingly. "Okay, okay. You live in Santa Carla?"

"We moved here at the beginning of the summer." He snorted softly. "Maybe we'll stay long enough to get everything unpacked this time."

They talked for a while. Dwayne learned that David and Paul lived together--alone. That impressed Dwayne. "It must be nice, not having to answer to anyone, not having the fucking rules and restrictions. The only time I have any peace at all is when Jake is out of town. Thankfully, that's A LOT. I only have to put up with him about ten, twelve days a month, but believe me, he tries to make up for all the time he's gone when he's here." He sighed. "I really got my ass in a crack tonight. Maybe I should've just stayed there, took a couple of pops, and got it over. He
hates it when anyone runs from him."

Paul's expression had grown stony. "You don't have to put up with that, man."

Dwayne shrugged. "Yeah, I do. As he likes to remind me, he's head of the house. He's my guardian."

There was a flicker of pain in Paul's eyes. "I'm acquainted with people who have that attitude. What about your mom?"

Dwayne laughed shortly. "She can't even stand up to him for herself."

David shook his head. "That's not how it goes, Dwayne. Real family will go up against the devil
himself for their blood. I'm going to guess that you've tried to protect her."

Dwayne bent his head, letting his hair fall forward to hide his face so the other boys wouldn't see the disgusted sorrow. "I've tried. I gave up when she lied to the cops after I called them, and they ended up suggesting that I get counseling. Jake told me he'd put me in a nut bin if I did it again, and he could." Jake flicked the gold stud in his earlobe, then shook the sleeves of his jacket. "Disaffected youth, and all that shit." He turned his mug, starring into the diminishing foam. "Maybe I ought to sleep on the beach tonight. He'll be too busy sleeping off a hangover tomorrow to mess with me, and maybe he'll have forgotten it when he gets up."

"Not necessary," said David. "You're welcome to come back to our place for the night."

Dwayne studied him silently, then did the same with Paul. Finally, he said bluntly, "Why?"

"Mostly because you need a place to stay," said David. "But there are other reasons."

"Like what?" He took a deep drink from his cappuccino. The foam had almost died away, but there was still enough to leave a thin rim of sweetened fluff on his upper lip.

Dwayne started to wipe it away with the back of his hand, but Paul caught his wrist. Dwayne froze. Paul leaned toward him and, quickly and neatly, licked away the foam. Then he pressed his cool lips to Dwayne's and pulled back, smirking. "Like that."

Dwayne found himself licking his own lips, following the path of that cool, damp tongue. He felt something move against the inside of his calm, and looked over at David, startled, as the touch moved up to his knee. It was a foot. David was stroking his booted foot up Dwayne's leg. You couldn't tell it by looking at him as he sat there, leaning back casually. He was smiling at Dwayne. The touch crept higher, sliding along the inside of his thigh. Dwayne stayed very still. The touch came to rest lightly against his fly. God, there was so much potential for hurt here. Dwayne was tensed. Then the touch moved, stroking firmly, but gently. Dwayne felt himself starting to harden. "Like this, too."

Dwayne looked back and forth between the two other boys. He wasn't quite a virgin, but the nature of his lifestyle in the past few years had made intimacies difficult. He was afraid to approach boys his own age. You had to be so careful to avoid an ass-whipping. Any of the older men he might have been interested in weren't going to touch an underage boy, and the one's who WERE interested creeped him out. They were so predatory. Now...

Now he was being approached by not one, but TWO hot guys, and one of them... He darted another glance at Paul--the wide blue eyes, the shining blonde hair, the sexy smirk... One of them was his own personal wet dream made flesh.

Of course there was always the chance that they were a couple of fag basheres who intended to lure him away to a lonely place and beat him... possibly kill him. Dwayne considered his life so far. He thought about what was waiting at home--a shadow-mother who couldn't... no, wouldn't fight for him, and Jake. Possible death, or going back to that.

He drained the last of his cappuccino. "Sure. Sounds good to me."

Part Two: Mutual Seduction

They walked back up the boardwalk. David said, "Our bikes are in the lot at the end. You can wheel on down and meet us there." They paused in front of the video store and David pointed at Dwayne, smiling, "Don't run! If you do," he tapped Dwayne's chest lightly, "we'll find you. Hang on a minute." He went into the store, leaving Paul and Dwayne on the boardwalk.

Dwayne watched as he went to the counter. The owner *Max* was patiently teaching a girl not much older than they how to use the cash register. His gaze flicked to the blonde boy, but he continued without pause. David waited.

"You come here a lot."

Dwayne looked back at Paul. "Yeah. There isn't much to this burg." He made a face. "I'm not much on bowling or miniature golf, at least not by myself."

"You haven't made many friends?"

Dwayne shrugged. "I don't get a chance to mix much, and school hasn't started yet, though that probably won't make much difference. I don't really need a lot of friends."

Paul turned so that his shoulder lightly bumped Dwayne. "But one or two are nice, huh?"

Dwayne nodded slowly. "A couple of good friends would be cool."

Paul lifted his eyebrows. "Couple of close friends?" He emphasized the word close.

Dwayne looked him right in the eyes. "I can get laid, that's never been a problem. But it would be nice if I could find someone more than that."

Paul still smiled, but his eyes grew serious, and his voice was quiet. "I know what you mean, man. You're not going to regret coming with us. I came to Santa Carla about a year ago. I felt like you look."

"How's that."

"Lost. I don't feel that way anymore."

The girl clerk was off restocking the shelves now. David leaned on the counter, talking quietly to Max. The older man looked through the window, his eyes finding Dwayne and studying him. He nodded, then said something to David. "That guy?"

"Max."

"Yeah. Is he your father?"

Paul hesitated. "Not exactly."

"Is he David's father?"

"Not exactly. He does kind of give off that vibe, though, doesn't he?"

David exited the store. "Let's go, amigos."

Dwayne mounted his bike and rode slowly to the end of the walk, paralleling the other boys till they reached the lot. He admired their bikes as they revved the engines. Dwayne followed the other into the night, their paths winding along the shore to the cliffs.

He was curious when they pulled off--there didn't seem to be anything nearby. Maybe they had a shack on the beach? It wouldn't be a beach house. No one built that close to the waves--not unless they INTENDED for their house to get washed away at some point.

He parked behind the bushes with the others and scanned the area as they dismounted. Paul noticed. "It's farther down." He pointed. "Over there."

Dwayne could just make out what looked like the top of a flight of stairs leading down to the beach. David led the way, and they picked their way down. Dwayne moved cautiously, looking around curiously. The place was neglected, and looked abandoned.

They descended through the opening in the rocks, and Dwayne was expecting some sort of small cave. He was astonished when they stepped into the lobby. The other two boys stood back, grinning, and watched him as he prowled, exploring the room.

Finally he came back to them, wide-eyed. "You know, I thought I'd pretty much reached the unsurprisable stage, but you guys managed it. This is totally awesome. This is your hideout?"

David gestured sweepingly. "This is our home. There's a lot more to it back there--rooms and rooms. This place seems to go on forever. I tell you what... This sofa," he patted the back of the couch, "is comfortable, but it's a little small for three people. Paul, why don't you take our guest back to the first guest room? I need to get a few things."

"Sure. C'mon." Paul started off into the dark interior, but Dwayne stopped at the archway. Paul, barely visible in the gloom, stopped and looked back at him. "You coming?"

"Don't you have a flashlight or something? I'm kind of leery of rambling around in abandoned buildings in the pitch dark."

"Oh, yeah." Paul came back out and went to the fireplace. He took a candle from the mantle and screwed it into the neck of a beer bottle, then opened a box of matches and lit it. Handing the bottle to Dwayne, he started back into the gloom. "Sometimes I forget."

The wavering glow thrown by the candle flame gave Dwayne just enough light so that he felt fairly confident of his steps. "Forget what?"

"That some people's eyes aren't as sharp in the dark as mine are. Stay close behind me, man. This place is twisty. If you get lost you could be lost for a long, long time." He paused. "Scratch that. Me and David would come find you."

Dwayne followed Paul through the winding corridors. There were doors on each side, tarnished brass numbers gleaming softly. Some of the doors stood partially open, and the black slits somehow made Dwayne's skin crawl. Dry, vaguely unpleasant smells wafted from a few of them, and they made Dwayne uncomfortable. Anything could be hidden back in those dark pits. He was happy to hurry past them.

Finally Paul opened one door and held out his hand. "Give me the candle." Dwayne handed it over, and Paul stepped into the room. He moved across the dark space, moved the candle, and another speck of light blossomed, then another, and another. The light grew, and Dwayne saw that there were dozens of candles on the dresser, bedside table, and fireplace mantle. By the time Paul finished lighting them all, the room was filled with a golden glow and actually looked inviting.

As Paul set the bottle down on the bedside table, Dwayne stepped into the room, glancing around. He was surprised. The room was shabby, but not dirty. The rug on the floor was elaborately patterned in faded gold and red, and the walls were papered in cream with a faint tracing of gold vines and leaves. It looked like a perfectly normal room, save for one bizarre detail.

There was a large window in the far wall, plush red drapes half drawn as if to screen out the daylight. Daylight hadn't been a problem for over three-quarters of a century, though. There was no telling what the view had been like before that long ago earthquake. Right now it was dirt--literally. Dark, sandy soil was pressed right against the windowpanes. As Dwayne watched, a fat, pink worm appeared and began to slowly squirm it's way along the glass.

Paul noticed the faintly disgusted look on Dwayne's face and followed his gaze. He walked over and twitched the curtains closed. "Don't want to risk anyone peeping, do we?" he asked cheerfully.

Paul shrugged off his jacket, tossing it on a chair, and came over to stand before Dwayne. "Wanna get comfortable?" Without speaking, Dwayne slipped off his own jacket and tossed it on top of Paul's.

Paul reached out and gently flicked the hoop that sat in his lobe, just below the stud. "Have you ever been with more than one guy at a time?" Dwayne shook his head. "You sure you want to? If you're not ready for it, we can just hang out and talk tonight. Sex is nice, but not required."

"Would that be all right with David?"

Paul ran his hand into Dwayne's hair, working his fingers deep into the thick black mass. "David won't push you to do anything you don't want to. David's the only person I've ever known who didn't demand anything from me."

Paul's other hand joined the first on the other side of Dwayne's face. Dwayne's eyes half closed in pleasure at the rummaging. He loved it when someone gently played with his hair like this. Usually his partners just grabbed and jerked, using it to steer him while he sucked their cocks, or arch his head back while they fucked him. This was almost like being petted, and it fanned the erotic warmth that had started to fill him back at the coffee shop.

"No, it's okay. I want it. I want both of you, but..." he looked down, his dark, thick lashes shading his eyes. "You're the one I've been having wet dreams about. I've been watching you for more than a week."

There was a soft kiss on his cheek, and he looked up to see Paul smiling at him. To his relief the grin was not mocking. "I know. I've been watching you just as long. I finally decided that I was going to have to make the first move if I wanted to get next to you."

Paul had been leaning closer and closer. Dwayne felt the puff of his breath on his lips as Paul spoke, and was a little startled to feel how cool it was. Paul leaned even closer, brushing his cheek against Dwayne's, and just holding him there. After a moment Dwayne turned his face so that their lips touched.

Dwayne remembered back when he was fourteen, and had first figured out that he wasn't going to be a skirt chaser, like Jake. He remembered how a wrestling match with a casual friend had turned into something different when the other boy had pinned his hands over his head and then kissed him awkwardly, bruising his lips against his teeth. What happened after that, and left his jeans soiled, had been hot, but the guy had NOT been a good kisser. Paul was.

He wasn't sure how they moved, but they were wrapped in each other's arms, leaning against the wall, when David entered. Dwayne reacted without thinking, jerking his head back. David chuckled, "Don't mind me, children." He lifted the load he was holding. "You carry on carrying on, and I'll get things ready."

Paul dragged Dwayne's head back within his reach and resumed kissing him, pressing him back against the wall. Paul's knee pushed Dwayne's legs apart, and he moved in between the other boy's thighs and began rubbing against him while plundering his mouth with a cool, wet tongue.

Soon Dwayne was undulating against the other boy, making small sounds of pleasure in the back of his throat. His dick stirred to life, straining against his jeans. God, this was going to be good.

Dwayne felt someone grip his shoulder. Still kissing Paul, he opened his eyes to see David urging them both away from the wall. Once they were standing clear again, David stripped Dwayne's shirt off him, Paul grumbling quietly into the dark boy's mouth each time he had to let go for a moment.

Then David pressed up against Dwayne, embracing him from behind. Now there were two mouths, two sets of strong hands, two hard bodies. Dwayne gave himself up to it entirely, abandoning any reserve, any resistance. He'd been wanted before, but somehow he knew that this time there was more to it. He wasn't just desired, he was liked, perhaps even cared for. And their efforts to pleasure him were just that, not attempts to prove themselves.

Through hazy eyes Dwayne saw that the bed, which had been bare, was now made with simple black cotton sheets. He had a sudden urge to see Paul naked on those sheets, all pale skin and blonde hair. "Bed," he mumbled.

Paul and David stepped back from him and began to remove their clothes. His knees a little weak, Dwayne stumbled to the bed and collapsed rather than sat on it. He watched avidly as the two other boys stripped, casually dropping their clothes to the floor as each new section of flesh was revealed.

But he did frown a little when the jeans were gone, and he realized that neither of the others was hard. A thought occurred to him, and he scooted back quickly on the bed till his back hit the wall, his dark eyes wide.

"What is it?" Paul asked, seeing his nervousness.

Dwayne's voice was small. "Don't hurt me."

Paul and David exchanged puzzled looks. "Dwayne," said David carefully, "why are you suddenly so afraid? What have we done?"

"You don't really want me." He gestured at their lower bodies, where their cocks hung, soft. "I figure if you were going to rob me you'd have done it outside. Just don't hurt me, man. My step dad may not give a crap, but if anything happens to me, my Mom will raise a stink with the locals to find me."

"Dwayne..." Paul approached and knelt on the edge of the bed, reaching out toward the younger boy. When Dwayne flinched back, he bit his lip. "That's happened to you before, hasn't it?"

"There are gay bashers all over, man. I'm getting better at telling, but they can still fool me sometimes. Like now."

"No." David's voice was firm. He also sat on the edge of the bed, but he didn't try to touch Dwayne. "We DO want you, Dwayne, a hell of a lot. It's just that..." he shrugged. "We have special needs."

Dwayne knew he was paling. "Shit. Look, not in the face, huh? I won't be able to explain it to my Mom. And try not to rupture or break anything, please? I've seen enough of emergency rooms as it is, and Jake will whip the skin off me if he gets a bill for treating a beating that he didn't give me."

Paul's face darkened. For a moment, in the flickering glow of the candles, it seemed to shift, the edges subtly melting, red sparking in his eyes. David grabbed his arm, hissing, "Control yourself!"

Then Paul was looking normal, but enraged. "I want to talk to that guy, David. I really, REALLY want to talk to him."

"You may get your chance, but just stay calm. Dwayne doesn't need to be freaked any more than he already is. Dwayne," David looked back at him, and captured his gaze. "Don't be afraid. We don't intend to hurt you."

Dwayne relaxed a little. There was something about David's eyes, something about his voice that calmed him. "You don't have to lie to me, man. It won't be the first beating I've taken during a fuck."

There was a low, grating sound from Paul, and again David touched him, but Paul shook his head. "I'm all right. It's just that there are so many shitty people in the world. Dwayne, that isn't going to happen, okay? We don't get our rocks off by hurting people. We're not sadists, but we ARE different."

"Different how?" Paul had taken his left foot in his hands and was massaging it, strongly but gently working the muscles. He could feel himself relaxing further.

"We'll let you know soon." Paul had moved up to massage his calf. Now his hands circled Dwayne's knee, then rubbed up his thigh. "Just know that the lack of physical response isn't any reflection on you. The desire is there, Dwayne. We just can't show it yet."

Dwayne had moved up and was straddling Dwayne's legs. He bent toward the other boy slowly, waiting to see how he'd react. When Dwayne didn't try to pull away, Paul kissed him. "I'd like you to fuck me, Dwayne."

Dwayne knew that he probably looked foolish, staring with his jaw dropped, but he couldn't help it. "You want to bottom for me?"

Paul nodded. "Don't sound so surprised."

"I... you..." He blinked. "No one ever wanted me to top. They all want to fuck me. I mean, I like it, but..."

"But you've wondered what it would be like," Paul finished. "Now you can find out, if you want."

Dwayne glanced quickly at David. The older boy nodded, smiling. Dwayne looked back at Paul. "I've never done that before."

Paul grinned. "So I can be your first. I'd like that." He leaned over and picked up a tube of lubricant from the bedside table. "Give me your hand." Dwayne offered his hand, and Paul squirted a liberal amount of gel onto his fingers. Then he turned around, still straddling Dwayne's legs, and knelt, presenting his ass.

Dwayne stared at the tempting view offered to him, rubbing his fingers together to warm and liquefy the gel. He'd never prepared anyone else, but he'd done it for himself before. A lot of times if he didn't do it, it didn't get done.

David moved up and sat beside Dwayne, settling himself comfortably to watch. Dwayne parted Paul's buttocks and stroked down the shadowy crease, then started to massage around the pucker of Paul's anus. Paul's head dropped, and he sighed softly. David reached out and patted Paul's ass. "He's going to take good care of you, brother."

"Mmm, yes. I can tell." Paul crossed his arms on Dwayne's legs and laid his head down on them.

Dwayne waited till he felt the muscular ring yield a little, then he pushed, slowly sinking his finger deep into the other boy's back passage. When he had his knuckles flush against pale, cool skin he paused, waiting. He hesitantly rubbed the small of Paul's back. "Is that okay?"

Paul's voice was a purr. "Better than okay." He wiggled, pushing back as if wanting to take in even more. "Give me another."

"Wait." Dwayne pumped, sliding in and out. "Get used to it first."

"Thoughtful," Paul murmured. "But you don't have to be so hesitant, lover. I'm not a virgin, and I'm ready for you."

Dwayne took the tube again. Pulling his finger free he slathered on more gel. Holding his fingers close together he slid them in and began pumping them in and out, gradually spreading the fingers apart, loosening him gradually. Then he curved his fingers and carefully felt along the slick insides of Paul's rectum. When his fingertips passed over a small, spongy nub Paul shuddered, making a low sound. "God, that's so good, Dwayne. More, please."

Dwayne continued caressing Paul's prostate till the older boy was humping back, making mewling sounds, but still he was soft. Dwayne didn't understand it. This sort of stimulation never failed to get him hard as a rock, and Paul was showing every sign of arousal except the most obvious one.

Paul looked back over his shoulder at Dwayne, eyes glazed, and whispered, "Fuck me."

"Paul," Dwayne protested, "you're not even hard yet. What am I not doing? Please, tell me. I'll do whatever you need."

"Later, babe. I just need you inside me right now." He shifted off of Dwayne's legs and knelt, spreading his knees wide. "Please, Dwayne," he breathed.

Dwayne heard a crinkle, and looked to see David tearing a condom packet open. "Hold still, little brother," he said quietly. He pressed the flat circle to Dwayne's glans, then slowly rolled it down his straining shaft. When he was done he gave Dwayne's rigid prick a friendly, stroking squeeze, then patted his hip.

Dwayne moved, kneeling in the vee of Paul's legs, and pressed up behind him. He fitted himself against the glistening, loosened hole and started to slide inside. He paused, eyes opening wide, and grabbed Paul's hips. "Paul, are you okay?"

Paul sighed, "I know--a little cool. I'm fine, Dwayne. I'll be better when you're in me. Give me your heat." He pushed back, moaning as Dwayne's solid flesh filled him. "O-h-h damn."

David crawled down and stroked Paul's hair. "Good?"

Paul rolled his head to look at him, whispering, "So hot. So ALIVE!" Dwayne was hesitating. Paul wasn't as warm inside as he'd expected, but he was wet, and TIGHT. Dwayne moved his hips, and Paul shuddered, crying out. The yearning tone of that wordless plea inflamed Dwayne as nothing else ever had, and he started to thrust into the tight clasp of Paul's body.

He was torn between being gentle, remembering inconsiderate lovers, and being more forceful, remembering the good times when they'd found the right balance of tenderness and power. Paul helped him, answering every motion with eager response, encouraging him to go harder, faster, deeper.

Soon Dwayne was pounding into Paul, hard and fast. It was fantastic. It was incredible. It was... life altering. He finally knew that HE could be in control, that he could be tender without
being weak. He fell in love with Paul without even knowing it. All he knew was that the only reason he cared whether or not the world came to an end was bound by how it would affect his chance to do this again. Or more importantly, to just be with the boy who cradled him so completely within the tight, soft grip of his body.

Dwayne threw himself against Paul with a feral grunt, burying himself balls deep, and came. Paul could tell, sensing it as an even greater heat deep in his core. Dwayne was plastered flat to his back, his hands leaving Paul's hips to encircle him in an embrace that was very tender after the vigor of their coupling. He smiled to himself, closing his eyes in happiness as Dwayne swept his hair aside and brushed warm, feather-soft kisses across the back of his neck and shoulders.

Dwayne pulled out carefully and stripped off the condom. He held it, one hand cupped carefully under it, and looked around. David laughed. "Ah, a neat-nik!" Paul had collapsed on the bed on his face, and David poked his leg. "Paul, he's refined. He doesn't want to just throw his used rubber on the floor."

Paul stretched luxuriously. "Classy." He laughed. "Quit teasing him, David."

"Yeah." David leaned over the bed and came up with a copper wastebasket, holding it out to Dwayne. "Here ya go, sport."

Dwayne dropped the squishy latex pouch into the basket, then fell back against the headboard as David put the basket back down. Paul turned in the bed and flopped back down with a sigh, resting his head on Dwayne's thigh. He almost purred with contentment when Dwayne reached down and stroked his hair.

"I don't understand this," Dwayne said quietly. "Paul, you liked that."

"Uh-HUH," said Paul dreamily.

"But you didn't come. You didn't even get hard. You either, David."

David knelt beside Dwayne, reached out, and settled his hands on the dark-haired boy's temples. He began to massage slowly, rubbing tiny circles. "Like I told you, we need something special. It isn't really a kink, Dwayne. A kink is a psychological thing, all in the mind. With us it's physical. We don't have it, we CAN'T make it, no matter how much we want to. It's a kind of impotence."

Dwayne frowned. "Is it genetic, or are you guys sick?"

"Neither, exactly."

"Can I catch anything?" He felt like he was drifting. Paul was softly licking his inner thigh, high up, and he spread his legs a little farther.

David sounded amused. "Little late to ask that question, isn't it, Dwayne? But you won't catch anything--not unless we deliberately give it to you."

"Okay," Dwayne sighed.

David bent, still rubbing his temples, and kissed Dwayne's neck. "You sure, Dwayne? We want you to be sure."

Dwayne put one hand on David's head, and the other on Paul's. "I'm sure."

David's hands slid down to Dwayne's shoulders. "Paul." There was no response, no sound from the other blonde boy save the soft, moist rasp of his tongue on Dwayne's flesh. Paul had located a pulse point beneath the warm, smooth skin. "Paul!" David said more sharply. Paul looked up at him. It was a good thing that Dwayne had shut his eyes, because Paul's eyes glowed red. "Control, brother. Don't take too much."

Paul nodded. "Please, David."

David tightened his hands on Dwayne's shoulders. "You're ready, Dwayne?"

"Yes," Dwayne whispered.

"It will hurt a little, but then we'll make it so good for you--I promise. Just relax."

He touched Dwayne's cheek, and without urging the boy tilted his head aside, offering his neck in a pale, smooth arch. David stroked the exposed flesh, then pressed his mouth over the throb of Dwayne's jugular and bit. At the same moment Paul sank his fangs into the firm flesh of Dwayne's thigh.

Dwayne twitched, crying out quietly at the sharp pain, but he didn't struggle. If this was what he had to endure to give these two what they needed, he was willing. There were soft sucking and lapping sounds as his two new lovers fed off him. A tingling heat spread through him, like the beginning glow of desire. *I'm going to get hard again,* he thought wonderingly. If this was how their kink worked, he would be more than happy to indulge it.

After only a couple of minutes Paul raised his head. He eyed the two seeping punctures in Dwayne's thigh, the tip of his tongue coming out to swipe across his red stained lips, but he did not bend to drink again.

Instead he reached onto the nightstand and picked up two hand towels. He nudged David. The older boy lifted his face from the crook of Dwayne's neck, a trickle of blood escaping from the corner of his mouth. He took the hand towel that Paul offered him. Both boys folded the towels into thick pads and pressed them to the wounds. "This'll stop it, right, David?" There was a hint of anxiety in Paul's voice.

"It should. I have to admit that I don't have too much experience with trying to STOP blood flow." He pulled the pad away, checking. It was soaked halfway through, but there was only a trickle of blood from the wounds. David wiped it away, and it didn't leak again. "Yeah, no problem."

Paul removed his own towel and sighed with relief when the blood stopped. He used the clean portion of the towel to wipe Dwayne's crotch clean. He smiled. "He fainted."

"I'm not surprised. It's a good thing he's going to spend the night-- I wouldn't want him to pass out on the way home." He smiled, reaching down into Dwayne's lap to stroke the silky length of his cock. "He's starting to get hard again."

Paul fondled himself. "He's not the only one. God, he's beautiful, David."

David touched Dwayne's face. "He's special, all right. What do you think?"

"I want him, and I think he needs us."

"Max was interested to learn that his father is dead. He may want to meet his mother."

Paul looked at David in disbelief. "He's still looking for the ready-made family? David, she's MARRIED."

David looked back at Dwayne, noting the slight twitches of his eyelids that heralded his returning consciousness. "You don't think that would stop Max, do you?"

Part Three: Clarity

Dwayne shifted, blinking his eyes open. For a moment he looked around owlishly. He looked very young in his bewilderment as he tried to assimilate his surroundings. His eyes fell on Paul and David, and his expression cleared. He gave them a sheepish smile.. "Sorry. I don't usually conk out after."

Paul shrugged. "Hey, I'm just glad you felt comfortable enough with us to go to sleep." He gave Dwayne a smile, "Are you well rested?"

The dark boy stretched luxuriously. "Mmm... I've never felt so relaxed in my whole life." He reached out and laid one hand on Paul's bare thigh, and the other on David's. "Did you guys get what you needed?" Paul silently lifted Dwayne's hand and moved it up higher, pressing it against his cock. Remembering his lack of success before, Dwayne was still willing to try. He gripped Paul's cock loosely and stoked.

Almost immediately there was a stir against his palm. Dwayne's dark eyes flashed up to Paul's face, surprised. He tightened his grip, massaging strongly, and felt the flesh in his hand firm and thicken. He couldn't restrain the expression of relief that crept over his face.

Paul gently removed Dwayne's hand, but the boy didn't have time to be disappointed because Paul crawled up over him, pushing him back down to the mattress. "Told ya," he murmured, nipping lightly at Dwayne's mouth. "Told you it would be all right once we got what we needed."

He settled between Dwayne's spread legs, pressing his hard-on against Dwayne's still soft cock, and began rocking their pelvises together. "Can you take both of us, Dwayne?" He kissed the smaller boy's throat. "David'll wait if you need him to, but it's so hot, doing it together."

Dwayne had been with two boys in one night before, but always one at a time. The idea of fucking two at once had made him nervous. He thought that he'd feel just a little less than human, like an object, being used. But he didn't feel like that with these two. He knew that they saw him as a person, and not just a warm body.

Dwayne kissed Paul, licking into the moist cavern of his mouth. *He's so much warmer now.* "Yeah, I want it." His hands slid down Paul's back to settle on his ass, squeezing. "I want both of you, now."

"How do you want it?" Paul moved on him, rubbing his cock over Dwayne's crotch and belly. "You're the guest, you get choice."

"Do me like I did you." He reached over and touched David's hip, turning his head to gaze up at him. "I'll suck you, okay? I'm good at that."

"That's more than okay, friend," David said quietly.

Dwayne urged Paul off him, sitting up. "Come on and sit against the head of the bed," he directed. David settled, spreading his legs wide. Dwayne knelt for a moment, looking at him. There were so many similarities and differences between Paul and David. Laying his hands lightly on David's thighs, he said hesitantly, "Are you guys brothers?"

David studied his face carefully. "Would that bother you?"

Dwayne bit his lip. If they were, then they must be committing incest, and Dwayne would be participating. But somehow the idea didn't horrify him, as he had expected it to. In this case, it obviously was NOT a form of exploitation. It seemed to just be an expression of their affection for each other, something to bind them more closely. Finally he said slowly, "No, not really."

David nodded. "We're brothers, but brothers by choice, not birth. WE decided to belong to each other, it wasn't left up to God, or fate, or karma, or whatever the hell you want to call it. WE chose. Family isn't always who you were born to, Dwayne."

Dwayne's voice trembled slightly. "Yeah, that makes a lot of sense."

Dwayne bent down, wrapping his hands around David's prick. He stroked it a couple of times, then lapped softly at the dark, swollen head. David groaned, letting his head fall back against the headboard. "Fuck, kid. You're hotter than anyone I've ever felt before." He stroked his hands through Dwayne's long, dark hair, smoothing it all to dangle over one shoulder. "Need a good view here," he whispered. "Something this beautiful needs to be seen."

Dwayne took the glans in his mouth, sucking steadily. He felt Paul's hands on his ass, and he automatically spread his legs wide, offering free access. His cheeks were parted, and he felt cool, slippery gel smeared down the crack. The greased fingers massaged the bud of his anus firmly while Dwayne started to bob on David's cock. When one fingertip lingered over the pucker, Dwayne impatiently pushed back. The fingertip just barely spread the tiny hole, and Paul laughed. "Okay, impatient!"

Dwayne moaned happily as the long, slender finger slid deep into his back passage. David sighed, carding his hands again through Dwayne's hair. "Mmm, Paul that's doing both of us good. Man, what vibrations."

Paul worked diligently, twisting and pumping, opening Dwayne gently and thoroughly. The dark boy expressed nothing but pleasure as the second finger slipped into him and Paul began to spread them. David leaned forward a little so he could watch Paul finger fucking Dwayne, feeling the younger boy's soft hair tickle his abdomen as he moved, giving him slow, sensuous head.

Dwayne took hold of David's scrotum and massaged it carefully, rolling the firm balls in the velvety sac. David grunted and humped upward, thrusting deeply into Dwayne's mouth, his cockhead bumping the back of Dwayne's throat. Dwayne made a gagging sound, and David quickly cupped his face, pulling him up off his cock. "Damn, buddy, I'm sorry. I got carried away."

Dwayne smiled at him. "It's all right." He leaned into David's touch, pressing his cheek more firmly into the older boy's palm. "You didn't do it on purpose. You aren't trying to hurt me, and you care whether or not I'm comfortable."

Paul paused in his manipulations, running his free hand up Dwayne's back. He said softly, "Your lovers haven't been very considerate, have they?"

Dwayne looked back at him, dark eyes darker still with emotion, but his voice was flat, "I haven't really had lovers--just fuckers." Then he smiled almost shyly, and Paul thought that if he hadn't been long dead, his heart would have stopped at the boy's beauty. "Till now, anyway."

"I'm going to go inside you now, Dwayne," Paul said. "Let me get seated, then you can start on David again."

"Yeah," Dwayne agreed. "I don't want to slip and bite."

"Biting isn't necessarily always a bad thing, but it's better when it isn't accidental," David said.

He watched as Paul pulled his fingers free of Dwayne's body, then moved up behind the other boy. He pressed the head of his cock against the Dwayne's loosened hole. Paul curved his fingers around Dwayne's hips, stroking the boy's ass with his thumbs. "Fast, or slow?"

Dwayne put his head down, resting his forehead on the mattress, and gripped the sheets. "Slow, man, slow as you can, at least to start."

Paul nudged forward, watching as the broad head of his prick dimpled Dwayne's flesh, the crinkled skin of his anus stretching taut and shiny. The he bumped his hips forward slightly, and the glans popped inside, being fully engulfed in Dwayne's body. Paul's head dropped back, and he moaned at the sensation of liquid heat. There was a temptation to just slam into the welcoming heat. He'd done it before. There were a lot of hungry people out there who WANTED to be taken, needed to be used--but not Dwayne. Dwayne had been bruised--by life and by others, and Paul could relate to that too much to want to be another user.

He slid slowly, slowly into Dwayne's ass, shifting no more than an inch at a time. Dwayne had acknowledged a good bit of experience, but he was as tight as any virgin, and Paul had been with a few in his time. About halfway in Dwayne suddenly shivered, moaning. "Right there," he whispered. "Right there." Paul exchanged a glance with David, smiling, and David nodded his willingness to wait a few more moments.

Paul pulled back a little, and Paul lifted his head, tipping it back so he could look at Paul. "Why are you stopping? What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Paul thrust shallowly, angling upward. Dwayne gasped, a hot flush mounting in his cheeks as Paul's cockhead rubbed over his prostate. "Nothing at all." He did it several more times, till Dwayne was scratching at the sheets, making a mewling sound.

Finally he pushed forward till he was balls deep in the hot, sweet grip. He stayed that way for a moment. Dwayne bent forward and took David's cock in his mouth again. As he sank down on the rigid shaft, he shifted, rocking forward, then back, on Paul's impaling prick.

David relaxed, enjoying the sensations that Dwayne was pulling from him with his lips and tongue. He could sense the boy's rising passion through his caresses, the eagerness transferring to his efforts to please the other boy. He stroked Dwayne's hair, curving his head around the back of the gently bobbing skull, and watched Paul as he fucked their new friend.

Usually with the outsiders, Paul was much more brusque, taking what he needed or wanted quickly. But then, they hadn't really met any others like Dwayne. There had been plenty of runaways and throwaways and just plain dissatisfied youths, but Dwayne was somehow different. He hadn't yet reached the point of poison, or numbness. He didn't yet hate the world, and he still believed that there might be someone in it who wouldn't hurt him just because they could. He thought they were rare, but he still believed they existed. That meant that there was a chance that he could be part of a family. He still had something to share.

He had to give up the contemplation soon. All he could think about was how hot and wet Dwayne's mouth was, how soft and agile his tongue, how gently the boy stroked his thighs and sides. For all the harshness that the world had shown him, Dwayne was a generous lover, his own pleasure increased by the pleasure he could bring a considerate lover.

David came first when Dwayne swallowed him to the root, massaging his balls and humming softly. He tried to restrain himself, but couldn't help bucking up into the other boy's mouth. This time, though, Dwayne was ready, and took the thrust without discomfort. He gulped, swallowing as much of the warm gush as he could, but a few drops still trickled from his lips as the softening cock slid out. David lifted Dwayne's head and kissed him deeply, feeling the jar of Paul's thrusts traveling through Dwayne's body. Then he licked away the dribble of his own come as Paul's pumping speeded up.

Dwayne gasped, "Yeah. Let go, Paul! Give it to me!" With that plea, Paul gripped Dwayne harder and began to pound into him, hard and fast. "Oh, God!" Dwayne's arms started to collapse.

Before he could fall face first on the mattress, David caught him. He scooted forward, pulling Dwayne's arms up around his neck. "Hang on, kid." Dwayne gripped him, burying his face against David's neck, feeling each jolt rub him against David's hard, smooth body. David reached down and gripped Dwayne's cock, stroking hard and fast.

David felt warm moisture on his neck, and knew that Dwayne was crying. "Kid?" he said quietly.

"It's just so good. You're so good to me," Dwayne moaned.

David held him tighter. "It's all right. We'll take care of you for as long as you want." Dwayne cried out, and David felt the hot wetness of his sperm slick his hand. He continued stroking, petting the boy as Paul finished. David watched as Paul buried himself deep in Dwayne's body and tensed, head thrown back, long blonde hair trickling down his back. His body jerked once, twice... then he slumped boneless across Dwayne's back, making a sound that was somewhere between a whine and a purr. His hand slid up from Dwayne's hips, sliding around so that he could fully embrace him.

Dwayne knelt there for a long moment, surrounded by the other two boys, feeling cared for for the first time in a long, long while.

Finally Paul pulled out of him. He moved to Dwayne's other side as David pulled the dark haired boy down, then wrapped his arms around Dwayne again. David murmured, "Sleep now. You need it." Dwayne nodded mutely. "We may be gone when you wake up. There's another place we go during the day. Don't worry, we'll leave a candle, and we'll mark the way for you to get back out. Don't come looking for us, okay? This place can be dangerous, even when you know where you're going."

Dwayne nodded again. He was silent for a moment, then said softly, "I can come back?"

David and Paul exchanged looks over the smaller boy's head. "We want you to, but meet us at the boardwalk, okay? Like I said, this place isn't entirely safe." He stroked Dwayne's hair, pushing gently with his willpower, urging the boy to sleep. "There might be someone else wandering around. Someone you wouldn't be ready to meet."

Dwayne wanted to stay awake awhile longer, just enjoying being with the two, but he slipped off to sleep. Usually he was a restless sleeper, but this time he slept deeply--no bad dreams, no tossing and turning.

When he awoke, he was alone. There was a lit candle on the bedside table, stuck upright in a pool of its own wax. It was no more than an inch high, guttering and about to go out. There was another, thicker candle next to it, and Dwayne swiftly lit it from the flickering flame. He blew out the short candle and jammed the fresh one into the liquid wax, waiting till it was set, then got up and dressed. He was a little sorry that the other two boys were gone, but they had warned him that they might be, so he didn't feel abandoned.

Once he was clothed again he pried the candle up and went out into the hall. There was a big arrow chalked on the wall across from the room, with the words GOOD MORNING THIS WAY TO DAYLIGHT. He smiled, and began to make his way out of the maze of corridors. Every time he came to a branching of ways there was another arrow, and he quickly got to the lobby. At the far end he could see faint daylight filtering down from the entrance hole. He glanced back at the darkened interior, thinking of Paul and David, wishing he could go back inside and locate them, spend another hour or two snuggled between them. Finally he blew out the candle and put it on the desk, then made his way outside.

It was still early enough for the light to be more gray than golden, and the air was damp and chilly with the ocean spray. The three bikes were still parked behind the bush. Dwayne rolled his out to the road, mounted, and headed back toward town at a leisurely pace. He only had a little change left in his pocket, and he was hungry, wanting his breakfast, but he was still reluctant to go home.

*Jake should be sleeping it off by now,* he thought. *And maybe he's cooled off. Maybe. I'll just have to be quiet. I wish this wasn't the weekend. I'd go clear out my bank account and stash it, just in case.* He'd made some money working last year for a yard service. Not much, only a couple of hundred, but he'd socked it all away. Things were getting worse, and something inside him had said that he'd better start getting ready to leave, maybe even before he was legal.

He cut the motor before he entered his block, and walked the bike toward his house, slowing as he neared. There was only one car parked in the double driveway--his mother's. *Christ, you mean that Jake LEFT, as fucked up as he was? He wouldn't have gotten up this early after all the booze he pounded down last night.* A cautious hope flickered in Dwayne's breast. *Maybe he finally got pissed off enough and decided to leave for good.* The hope died immediately, and he sighed. *Yeah, right. He might try to throw Mom and me out, but I doubt HE'D leave. He must've gone to a motel to 'punish' Mom.*

He parked the bike behind the house and entered the kitchen quietly, grateful that he hadn't lost his keys in the scramble last night. He stood for a moment, listening carefully. Silence, except for a faint gurgle from his stomach.

He opened a cabinet, thinking that there should be some microwavable stew or chili. His Mom didn't cook much, and there was always an abundance of prepared, pre-packaged foods. He scanned the ranks of cans, and his eyes caught something on the counter, something that glittered. He reached down and picked it up.

It was a tiny shard of glass, no bigger than his pinkie fingernail. Dwayne tilted it, watching the light flash. It was tinted pink. He sighed, looking around the kitchen again. He didn't see any more glass, but then, Mom was a good housekeeper, even when she was upset. ESPECIALLY when she was upset. After a set to with Jake she'd clean like a demon, clearing away any evidence of his often-destructive rages.

Dwayne went to the lidded trashcan in the pantry to dispose of the chip. His boot bumped the can, and he heard a faint, musical jingle, almost like a wind chime. "Oh, fuck," he murmured. He lifted the lid.

The can was half full of broken china, crockery, and glass. Dwayne could make out fragments of the best china, the wine goblets that his mother and father had received as wedding presents, and the glazed clay teapot some long dead relative had gifted the family with. He dropped the chip in with the others, then went back and opened the cabinets, one at a time. As he'd suspected, all the ones that had held plates and glasses were bare. The son of a bitch had broken everything in the kitchen that COULD be broken, then his mother had cleaned up after him. Dwayne shook his head in disgust. *Well, this will give her an excuse to go shopping, I guess. That always seems to make her feel better.*

He'd almost lost his appetite now. Instead of cooking anything, he just grabbed a couple of Lunchables and a soda from the refrigerator, wrapping them in his jacket. He tucked the bundle under his arm and crept through the house. If Jake had reached the glass smashing stage, it would be prudent to stay out of his sight for another day, if he could manage it.

The padlock was still firmly in place on his door. Dwayne unlocked it, wondering if he dared take a quick shower. He felt kind of grungy, but he didn't really want to risk a shower until he was entirely sure of where Jake was and what kind of a mood he was in. He didn't relish the thought of being chased down the block, naked.

Dwayne pushed his door open, dropping his jacket on the table beside the door with the same motion. He was reaching for the light switch when a breeze hit him in the face, and he froze, hand still outstretched. He took a good look at the room, wide-eyed.

The reason that he was feeling a breeze was because his window was broken. He could see glass glittering on the floor, and the blinds were hanging lopsided, half ripped from the wall. He could just see what looked like two side-by-side poles outside his window, leaning against the sill. *A ladder,* he thought numbly. *The son of a bitch got a ladder, climbed up, and broke in!* He glanced around confusedly, wondering why his room wasn't any more trashed than it was.

That was when Jake stepped out from where he had been hiding, on the other side of the door. Before Dwayne could react, the bigger man had wrapped his fist in the boy's tee shirt, drawn back his fist, and punched him in the face.

Pain exploded in Dwayne's skull, and he dropped, stunned by the blow. Or tried to drop. Jake kept his grip on Dwayne's shirt. He used his grip on the stretching, ripping material to drag the boy over to his bed and toss him on the mattress.

Dwayne half landed on something rounded and hard. It rolled out from under him, and he caught a glimpse of it. It was an empty vodka bottle. *Oh, shit! He's been sitting up here in my locked room, waiting for me and drinking.*

Jake loomed over him. His usually neatly coiffed hair stuck out at all angles, and his eyes were bloodshot. He had a heavy beard growth, sometimes shaving twice a day if he had an evening engagement, and now he had dark stubble along his jaw and on his cheeks. His once crisp shirt and slacks were rumpled, and Dwayne saw a streak of what was probably vomit down one sleeve. He smelled bad. He smelled of booze, sweat, vomit, and a sharp tang that Dwayne had come to associate with rage. He looked as scary and dangerous as any blue-collar alkie who'd ever been tanked after cracking someone's head in a bar room brawl. His colleagues would never have recognized him, but it was a look with which Dwayne and his mother were familiar.

The bed was in a corner, so there was really nowhere for Dwayne to go, but he pushed himself back up into the corner, trying to put some space between himself and his still drunken stepfather.

Jake pointed at him. "Who the fuck said you could go anywhere last night, punk? Huh? You're still underage, you do what you're told. Am I right?" Dwayne just glared at him. Jake slapped him, rocking his head back, "I said AM I RIGHT?"

"Yeah." Jake slapped him again. "Yes, sir!"

"That's better. Fuck, I wouldn't be so mad if you didn't know how to act. I mean, maybe your cunt of a mother didn't know shit about raising you right, but you've been under me for more'n three years now. If you haven't gotten your shit together by now, I can just figure that it's nothing but sheer stubbornness on your part. I've about had it. I'm about ready to just throw up my hands on trying to get you to straighten up."

"Fine! You don't have to worry about me any more. I'll just go."

Dwayne started to get up, and Jake put his big hand over the boy's face and shoved him back down. "Like hell you will. You think I'm going to have everyone in town talking about how my kid is some sort of fucking street kid?"

"I'm NOT your kid--you always make sure to remind me of that, and I'm GLAD I'm not. I'd hate to think I had your blood running through me." He knew it was the wrong thing to say, but it slipped out, and he couldn't call it back. He tried, though.. "I'm sorry, Jake. I didn't mean that. Look, you don't have to worry about me living on the streets and creating a scandal. I have friends I could stay with."

Jake's eyes had narrowed. "And have their parents gossipping about how I couldn't handle you?"

"They don't live with their parents. They..."

"Oh, GREAT! You want to go nest in some sort of flop house. Then we get to see video on the six o'clock news when they raid the place and haul you off in handcuffs. No fucking way, kid! You're going to stay here and you're going to start acting like a normal person."

"Like you? Yeah, well, give me a bottle. I'll get pissy drunk and go look for a woman to beat up."

This time Jake grabbed his hair and started slapping him over and over. Dwayne kicked and thrashed, but he couldn't land a solid blow. Jake was snarling, not really making much sense, railing about his hair, his clothes, his music, his lack of respect, his earrings...

"Two of 'em! Shit, as if it isn't faggotty enough to have ONE! That guy they hired right out of law school for the same salary I'm making wears one of them, a fucking little diamond stud. Stud! That's a laugh. I bet he takes it up the ass. I bet he got the job by sucking off the entire personnel office."

*Jesus, what the fuck is he ranting about?* Dwayne thought.

"Two in one ear, and one of them a goddam DANGLE earring! Are you TRYING to make people think you're queer? Is that all you've done to yourself? Huh? Have you gone and got a tattoo on your butt, or a nipple ring without asking permission?" He shook Dwayne by the hair. "Have you?"

Dwayne was starting to get scared. Jake had made a few snide comments about his appearance before, but nothing like this. It was getting creepy as well as scary. "Jake, I'm sorry if I disrespected you." The words were bitter in his mouth, but he was desperate to defuse the situation. "C'mon, man, let go. You're drunk, and...

"Quit avoiding the question. You won't tell me? Fine, I'll see for myself." Still holding Dwayne's hair in one hand, he grabbed the boy's collar with the other and ripped. The think cotton tore easily, baring Dwayne's smooth, pale chest. "Let me see." He jerked Dwayne a little closer, and reached out. Dwayne flinched at rough fingers prodded, then squeezed his nipples. "No, I guess that's one dumb ass stunt you haven't pulled yet."

To Dwayne's horror, Jake's touch softened till he was stroking the boy's nipple. "You shouldn't go mutilating your body like that, Dwayne."

Dwayne shoved at Jake's hand. "Stop it, Jake."

Now his hand moved up to stroke Dwayne's cheek. "You know, your skin is almost as smooth as a girl's. Hell, with that hair and a little lipstick and rouge you could PASS as a girl."

"C'mon, let go. I said I was sorry."

"Where were you last night?"

"What the hell does it matter?" Jake shook him again, and Dwayne cried out with pain. He wanted to pull loose, but he was sure that he'd leave a chunk of scalp if he did. "The boardwalk, okay? I went to the boardwalk. Please..."

"You been sucking cock down under the boards, punk?" The words were almost a whisper, and Dwayne stared at him in shock. Jake had been abusive before, but there'd never been a sexual tone to it. "Is that what you've been up to? Letting the chicken hawks get some jailbait?" He leaned closer, and Dwayne winced back from his hot, acrid breath. "You're almost too old for them now, aren't you? Almost legal. When's your birthday, anyway?"

"What the fuck does it matter? It isn't like you want to throw me a birthday party."

"Oh, you never can tell. I've been thinking the last couple of years, you might be WORTH a party, once you're legal." He was rubbing Dwayne's throat now. "I think the age is eighteen here. Good thing we moved from Texas. Fucking backwater. It's still illegal there."

Panic burst over Dwayne. "LEAVE ME ALONE!" He swung, and managed to clip Jake a glancing blow on the jaw. Jake stumbled backward, but he didn't let go. Dwayne was dragged by his hair, falling half off the bed to land with a resounding thud.

"Fucking little fairy!" Jake snarled. "You think you're old enough to fight me? Maybe you ARE old enough, then." He grabbed the back of Dwayne's jeans and hauled the slender boy up by that and his hair, while Dwayne screamed. He threw Dwayne on his belly and immediately put a knee in the middle of his back, holding him down. Dwayne screamed even louder as he felt Jake reach under him, ripping his jeans open. Then Jake started to open his own trousers.

"Jake?" The voice was tremulous, timid.

His vision was glazed with pain and tears, but Dwayne could make out his mother standing in the doorway. She was neatly dressed, but her bottom lip was split and swollen, and she had a black eye. "Mom! Call the cops, please!"

"Jake, what are you doing?" She wavered forward a step. "Don't hurt my baby! He's a good boy."

"Go back to your room and take another goddam pill, Grace." Jake's voice was contemptuous. "Someone's got to pound some respect into this brat. Since you're too weak, it's gonna have to be me."

She wavered, looking at them with wide eyes. Dwayne knew what she was seeing. Her son, obviously batter, half-naked, pinned to the bed by a man who had his pants open and a hard-on thrusting against the front of his boxers. "Mom, help me!" Dwayne pleaded. "Make him stop."

She blinked slowly. Then she said softly, "You... you'll be all right if you don't fight with him, Dwayne. Just... just don't fight with him." She turned around and started down the hall.

"MOM!" It was a scream of pure, hopeless anguish. It was the sound of a heart breaking. Dwayne was too stunned, too empty to continue fighting. Jake jerked his jeans and underwear down, grabbing his ass. Then he stopped.

"What the fuck?!" Dwayne felt Jake pry his buttocks apart, then he yelped as one thick finger was roughly jabbed into him. "Motherfucker!" There was bone deep disgust in Jake's voice, and he violently wiped his hand in Dwayne's hair. "Christ, I didn't expect you to be a virgin, but... I never thought you were stupid, kid. What the hell were you doing, letting some fag fuck you bareback?" He slapped Dwayne heavily on the back of the head. "Do you have any idea what you could have brought home? What you could have given me?"

*Now, there's an idea,* Dwayne thought wildly. *I can get AIDS, let him fuck me, and kill him like that. But he might give it to Mom, too.* And a tiny little voice in the back of his mind whispered, "So what?"

Jake got up, after giving Dwayne's kidney's a little rap. "Damn, now you've got me all worked up, and I can't do anything about it. I guess I'll have to go stick it in your cunt mother again." Again he grabbed Dwayne's hair, dragging his head up so he could look him in the eyes. "You're going to the clinic for a full blood workup, my little man. You better hope like hell you don't have anything that can't be cured with a shot." He let Dwayne's head thump back down. Then he laughed. "What the fuck? Even if you do, that's why we have condoms, right?" He swatted Dwayne's ass hard, then left. Dwayne lay limply, listening to the door shut. There were a few raps and clicks, and he realized that Jake had used the padlock. He was locked in.

Dwayne curled up and dragged the sheets over his head, cowering down in the darkness. Oddly enough, he'd stopped crying. He felt like he was never going to be able to cry again. What was the use?

He remembered the lair, lying in a candlit room, warm and sated, snuggled between two people who wanted him and cared about him. *And I came back to this. Maybe I AM stupid.*

He closed his eyes, whispering, "Paul, David... I want to go home."

Part Four: Not Running Away--Running To

Dwayne wasn't sure how long he stayed there. He hated the idea of facing the world again. It was finally hunger that did it. He found the Lunchables that he'd dropped on the table by the door just before Jake grabbed him. The salt in the lunchmeat stung his split lip, and it hurt too much to chew the crackers. Dwayne thought he probably had one or two loose teeth. He was almost glad that the soda was tepid--it might have hurt if it was cold.

When he'd eaten what he could, he took off his ripped shirt and got another one, changed into a fresh pair of jeans, then sat on the edge of the bed and gingerly explored his face with his fingertips, trying to judge the amount of damage. His head was throbbing, and he thought that a damp cloth on the forehead might help.

He went to the door, but it wouldn't budge. "Fuck!" He'd forgotten those furtive clicks as Jake had snapped the padlock. Dwayne tapped on the door and called quietly, "Mom?" He waited, then knocked louder, raising his voice. "Mom!"

There were footsteps out in the hall, and he heard his mother whisper, "Dwayne, honey, please be quiet. He's asleep. You know how he gets if he's woken up."

"Yeah, right. He's so much better when he's well rested. I need you to let me out. I want to go to the bathroom and clean up."

"The door's padlocked, Dwayne. I can't. He'll be up in a few hours, and maybe he'll be in a better mood then."

Dwayne shuddered. "Mom... Mom, you know what he was going to do. You saw. Let me out."

"I... he was drunk, Dwayne. I've told you time and again that you have to stay out of his way when he's drunk."

Dwayne pounded angrily on the door. "That's no fucking excuse! He beats you! He beats me, he was going to rape me..." He could hear her making sounds of denial on the other side of the door, and he raised his voice. "Fuck you, Mom! You might have been able to tell yourself he was gonna spank me when he ripped my jeans off, but he had his OWN fucking pants open, and there's only one reason for that. Let me out, I can't be here when he wakes up."

"The padlock." Her voice was tiny.

"Shit." He scrabbled through his jacket pockets and found the key to the padlock. "Here." He slid it under the door. "Now, let me out. I have friends--I'll go stay with them for a couple of days. I'll get a number, and you can call me when it's safe to come back." There was silence. "Mom? C'mon."

"Dwayne, he'll be so mad if you run away again."

"Mom, PLEASE!"

"You... you get some rest, baby. You're tired. I'm going to the mall--I need to replace some stuff in the kitchen." Her voice became desperately bright. "I know! I'll get you a video game set! You've wanted one of those for months, haven't you?"

"Don't do this to me!"

"And games--you'll need games. I'll get you two--no, three. You like those with all the monsters and fighting, don't you?" The laugh was almost hysterical.

Dwayne was vaguely surprised to find that he wasn't crying. His eyes burned, and his throat was tight, but there were no tears. He whispered, "You fucking bitch. You're going to turn me over to him, aren't you? You're going to pretend nothing's happening, as long as it'll keep him off you."

He wanted to scream at the hurt tone in her voice. "You just don't understand. You've said before that you want to help me with him."

"I've tried, but you won't let me. You keep telling everyone you fell, or you ran into a door. I can't... Mom, I can't FIGHT him! You know that."

"Just don't fight with him, son. It'll make life so much easier for all of us. I tell you what! I'll get you a new pair of boots, too. How's that? Those with the buckles on the side you told me about."

Dwayne angrily kicked the door. "Whores usually get paid better than that if they have violent customers." He heard her gasp, and felt a fierce stab of satisfaction.

"When did you get so cruel, Dwayne?" she said sorrowfully.

Dwayne sagged against the door as he heard her footsteps retreat down the hall. A moment later the front door shut, and the car started. He rested his forehead against the door and whispered, "I've been learning from an expert, Mom." Eyes closed, he turned and leaned back against the door, letting his head fall back wearily. There was a gritting sound, and he looked down.

There was a bright glitter on the floor near his feet, something glinting in the sunlight that streamed through his bedroom window. *Broken glass... WINDOW!* His eyes jerked up. His curtains were blowing gently in the breeze that wafted through the gaping hole. There was almost no glass left--fucking Jake must've been sober enough to knock it out before he climbed in. Too damn bad--maybe he could've sliced his own wrists. Drunk as he was, he might not have been able to deal with it. Dwayne found himself smiling at the mental image of his stepfather, bled out, and lying on his bedroom floor in a crimson welter.

*Oh, God! Please, lord, let him have been drunk enough to be stupid.* Dwayne took two steps toward the window. He felt a stab of adrenaline when he saw the poles of the ladder still leaning against the windowsill.

He didn't hesitate--there was no telling when Jake might come to his senses. He was out the window and down the ladder in a heartbeat. He ran around the side of the house, and almost slammed into the woman who lived next door. She drew in a sharp breath, staring at the wild haired, wild-eyed young man. She recognized him as her new neighbors' son, but what was wrong with the boy? In the moment of their meeting she could tell that he was string tighter than a guitar string, and he looked... She squinted suspiciously at the dark bruise spreading over one cheek. "You're Dwayne, right? I'm Mrs. Clusky. I've been meaning to come over and introduce myself for some time, but there never seemed to be..." She trailed off. The boy was staring at her with a near panicked expression. "Dwayne, are you all right?"

"I have to go." His words were clipped, stilted. "I... I can't... Mom's not here, went to the mall." He giggled suddenly, a high-pitched sound that was at once childish, and terrified. "Lots of stuff to replace. Lots of replacement when Jake gets pissed."

He paused, seeming to notice her anxious, questioning expression, and gathered himself. "Sorry. Look, now isn't a good time, okay? I mean, there's never really a GOOD time, but now is worse than most. Wait a couple of days and come over then. I have to go."

He hurried past her to the motorcycle that was parked just beyond where they had almost collided. "But you look like you need..." she starts.

Dwayne had mounted the motorcycle. He patted his pockets, and the color drained from his face. He looked toward the front of the house and whispered, "Oh, shit." *I don't BELIEVE it! I left the keys in my room. God, I can't go back in there.*

His eyes fastened on the woman who was watching him with anxious, concerned eyes. He got off and went to her again. "Mrs. Clusky, you want to help me?"

"Yes! Anything I can do."

"Can I use your phone?"

"Of course. Come on." She led him into her house and got the phone, finger hovering over the keypad. "Do you need 911, or just the police?"

"No! Man, that's all I'd need. They'd either toss me in juvie or hand me back to him. I just want to call a taxi."

Mrs. Clusky frowned. "Dwayne, I can understand that you're apprehensive, but they have a very good domestic intervention program here, and..." The boy made a weak snorting sound, shaking his head. "No, look, I'm a teacher, and I've been taught to notice the symptoms of abuse, and you..."

"I'm not arguing the fact that I have it rough, lady, but I have absolutely NO confidence in the system." He held out his hand. "Please. I have friends now who will help me. I'll be eighteen in a couple of months, and then Jake the Snake can go screw himself. I'll be free." She hesitated. "Please. I just need to get to my friends."

She reluctantly handed the phone over. While he called a taxi, she got a clean dishcloth, moistened it, and wrapped several ice cubes in it. He looked startled when she offered it to him, but accepted it with mumbled thanks, and gingerly pressed it to his aching cheek. "Sit down. You can't wait outside if you're worried about him." Dwayne sat in a kitchen chair, and she brought him a glass of water and some aspirin, watching till he swallowed them. She said quietly, "You know, there's been a couple of times when I thought I heard something... not quite right over there. My husband keeps telling me that most couples occasionally have screaming matches." She shrugged. "I don't really believe that. Dwayne, I know you've said you don't want the police involved in this, but if I hear or see anything again, I AM calling them."

He nodded. "Okay. Yeah, you do that. I want you to. Maybe if someone will be a witness, they'll actually DO something to his sorry ass." Before she could speak he said, "They won't believe me, okay? I've tried."

"What about your mother?" Dwayne was silent, looking at the floor. "Dwayne?"

His voice was cold. "She saw what he did. She went shopping and left me locked in my room. Does that tell you how much help I can expect from her?"

She glanced out the front window and said, "Your cab is here. Do you have enough money?" She started to reach for her purse.

"I have money." He grimaced. "Mom gives me a generous allowance. That makes up for being a punching bag." He hesitated at the door and said, "Thanks. But... look, be careful, okay? He hasn't gone for anyone outside the family yet, but he has a temper. There's no telling... Just be careful, and don't let him know you helped me."

Sarah Clusky watched sadly as the young man hurried down the walk and slipped into the cab. As it pulled away, she looked over at the neat, well-kept home next door, noting the ladder, and the broken window. *What in God's name have they been doing to that boy?* Her eyes narrowed. *I know I said I wouldn't, but...*

**********-----------***********-----------***********-----------***********

He went to the boardwalk. They weren't there, but he hadn't really expected them to be. They'd said they really only came out at night. He'd sort of hoped that the video storeowner would be there, but it turned out that he worked nights, too. He knew that some of them were bound to show up later, so there was no option but to wait.

He was grateful that it was still summer break. There were other kids roaming the boardwalk, so he didn't stand out too terribly. He used his hair to hide the worst of his facial bruises after he noticed a couple of girls staring and whispering.

The hours dragged. He couldn't afford to buy food after paying for the taxi, and he tried to fill the gnawing emptiness. He spent what time he dared in the various eateries, nursing drinks in corner booths. When the workers began to give him suspicious looks, he'd move. Finally he went down under the boardwalk and found a quiet, shadowed place. It got dark.

************-----------**********----------***********----------************

Max entered with Paul and David. "So, how were things with young Dwayne last night?"

David and Paul exchanged looks. They didn't really want to discuss what had gone on between the three of them, but Max would insist on a report of some sort. "Yeah, we were right," David said, "He needs us."

"Do you think he'll fit in?"

Paul smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. Anyway, even if he DIDN'T come to us," he scowled, "he needs to get out of the situation he's in right now. It's not good. It's worse than what mine was, from the sounds of it."

Max went behind the counter, taking off his jacket. "And the mother?"

Again the boys exchanged look. "I don't know about that," David said judiciously. "From what he says, the stepfather is a bastard to both of them--physically and emotionally. But as to whether or not she'd want to get out of it..." He shrugged. "It sounds like she's one of those who's learned to love her trap."

"Oh, surely not." Max didn't notice David's frown at the casual dismissal of his opinion. "We'll need to see if I can't arrange to meet her, see if she'd fit into our little family." He patted the shoulder of the clerk. "How was today? Anything out of the ordinary?"

The young man shrugged. "Fair. I think the local cops tried to run a sting by having an underage try to check out some porn, but I nipped it. Oh, and some guy was here looking for you."

Max's smile didn't falter, but he became still. "Really?" His tone expressed nothing but mild interest. "What did he want?"

"He didn't say. Just said he was looking for you, or Paul, or David. I said that you'd probably all be around sometime this evening."

"Young guy?" Paul said. "Long, dark hair? Earrings?"

"Yeah, that's him!" The clerk smirked. "Looked like a girl. A girl who'd been smacked around."

Paul had been leaning on the counter, and he straightened up abruptly, expression going stiff. "What?"

"Yeah, someone roughed him up. He had his hair hanging in his face, trying to hide it, but damn--that was a nasty bruise. He was blue from chin to cheekbone, and I think he was getting a shiner." There was a scraping sound, and the clerk looked down in astonishment to see the blond boy's nails raking over the counter.

Max sighed. "I suppose I can leave the store with Andrew tonight. You two need to go find him."

The two boys were already heading toward the door. David turned, walking backward a few paces, and said tersely, "You didn't need to tell us that." Outside the store David said, "I'll look in the shops. You check the beach and under the boardwalk."

~~~~~~~~~~***********~~~~~~~~~~~************~~~~~~~~~~~***********~~~~~~~~~~

Dwayne sat cross-legged on the cool sand, head cradled in his hands. *Are they here yet? I could go look again, but I don't think I could stand it if they weren't. Oh, God, what if they don't want me? I know how it felt last night, but that was last night. Sometimes people are different after they get what they want. What am I going to do if I can't stay with them? I can't go back.*

That was how Paul found him. He was deep in the shadows, but Paul was a creature of the shadows, and he saw him easily enough. He felt a surge of relief when he saw that the other boy was conscious, and he hurried toward him.

Dwayne heard the thud of footsteps, and drew his knees up, hugging them, unable to face whatever might be approaching. When he heard the familiar voice say, "Dwayne?" he buried his face against his knees, letting his hair fall around him in a curtain. He said quietly, "You came looking for me."

Paul stopped, standing over him. "Of course I did. The clerk at the store said you were looking for me." He hesitated. "He said you were hurt." Dwayne lifted his head slowly, looking up at Paul. As the clerk had said, the dark sheaf of hair half obscured his face. Paul reached down toward him, and his heart almost broke when the boy, his newfound lover, flinched. But then Dwayne's posture straightened, and he looked Paul in the eyes, sweeping the concealing hair back behind his ear.

Paul gave a soft cry and dropped, knees thudding in the soft sand as he reached for Dwayne. He caught the younger boy's shoulders and just stared at him, eyes tracing the ugly purplish bruise that marred the pale perfection. "Your stepfather?"

"He's crazy," Dwayne said softly. "I mean, I knew he was twisted before, but he's psycho. He was hiding in my room, waiting, and he just started beating me the second I came in. And he... he..." He didn't cry. Paul knew that Dwayne wanted to, and the blond boy's heart broke a little more when the Dwayne forced the tears back and continued flatly. "I guess I should have known it would come eventually. He's decided that he wants to fuck me. The only reason he didn't was that he realized I'd been with someone, and he's scared of catching something."

"Your mother?"

Dwayne's expression twisted. "You mean the bitch that spawned me? She'd hold me down if she thought it'd keep him from beating her some more. She knows, Paul, she KNOWS! And she's ready to just let him have me."

"Christ." Paul buried his hands in Dwayne's hair, pulling the boy till the other boy rested his uninjured cheek on his chest, and slipped his arms around his waist.

"Can I come with you and David, Dwayne? I won't make any trouble. I don't THINK he'll come after me--he's too worried about what the neighbors will think."

"Hell, Dwayne, of COURSE you're coming with me!" His grip tightened in the silky hair, and he muttered, "And I'm gonna make that asshole truly and righteously regretful."

Dwayne sighed, rubbing his nose against the leather of Paul's jacket. "Thanks, man, but you'd better just leave it alone. He's an alcoholic, but it hasn't started to wear him down yet. He's big, tough, and nasty mean. And crazy. Don't forget crazy." His hands slid up and down Paul's back. "I don't want you to get hurt, or get in trouble."

Paul pulled Dwayne's head back gently, then bent and pressed a light kiss to Dwayne's mouth, being careful, lest he hurt him. "Don't worry, little brother. I'm stronger than I look."

Part Five: New Family Reunion

Paul held Dwayne for while longer, rocking the boy gently, stroking his long, dark hair. They heard David calling, and Paul lifted his voice. "Down here, bro."

Dwayne kept his face pressed against Paul's chest, listening to the soft crunch of approaching footsteps. Hey, buddy, you had us worried there," he said.

Dwayne felt David's hand on his shoulder, and tried to burrow deeper into Paul's embrace. "Show him, Dwayne," Paul said quietly. When the younger boy didn't move, Paul put his hand under his chin, tilting the boy's face up to give David a clear view.

David stared down at Dwayne, taking in his battered features. Dwayne watched the freeze creep into David's blue eyes. Without another word David turned and walked over to one of the piers that held up the boardwalk. He began to kick it, quickly and viciously. The thuds echoed in the enclosed darkness, making it sound like he was pounding the wood with a brick. Dwayne whispered, "Paul?"

Paul's embrace tightened. "Give him a minute."

In a few moments the pounding died away, and David came back. His eyes were still cool, but his expression was calm. "Dwayne, do you need to see a doctor?"

Dwayne shook his head. "He just smacked me around."

"JUST?" David gave the word a twist.

"As opposed to what he really wanted to do. He decided to wait till after I got a blood test for that." His eyes widened at the long, low, vicious stream of obscenities that the boy standing over him spewed. "Wow! I've never heard anything like that in my life! You didn't even repeat yourself, and I haven't heard some of those before."

"I've been collecting 'em for a long time, little brother." He patted Paul's shoulder. "C'mon, we need to get him in off the streets." As they scrambled up, David asked, "When did you last eat?"

"I had some cheese and lunchmeat when I got home." He grimaced, touching his jaw. "I'm hungry, but I don't know about eating."

They were walking toward the open beach. Paul said, "David, he needs some real food--soup and stuff. And a warm place to sleep--y'know, gather his strength. Do you suppose Max...?" He trailed off as David gave him a jaundiced look.

"I don't think Max will mind." He looked at Dwayne. "It'll be best for you, kid, but you're probably going to get the third degree if you go to his house."

"I'd rather go out to the cliffs."

He stumbled, but Paul caught him with an arm around his waist. David rubbed his back. "I'd rather that, too, but I don't think you're up to riding your bike out there right now--not till you recoup some."

"No argument there. I don't have it with me, anyway. I left the keys in my room, and I couldn't go back for them. I took a cab."

They came out onto the beach and headed toward the stairs leading up to the boardwalk. Paul went up before him, and David behind, taking no chance that he'd fall. They were halfway up when Max appeared at the head of the stairs, and all three stopped.

The moon was behind Max, and he was just a silhouette against the lights of the boardwalk behind him. Dwayne found himself trying to back up. There was just something menacing about the dark figure. He felt David's hands on his back, comforting him, but he whispered, "David, I don't know. He... he's never done anything to me, I don't even know him, but..." But there was just something... not quite right about the older man.

"It's okay," David said quietly. "He won't hurt you. Max doesn't hurt his boys." Dwayne trusted David's opinion, and Paul was looking at him with concerned reassurance. They started up again, and Dwayne didn't hear David's muttered, "...not physically, anyway."

Up on the boardwalk, Max smiled at the trio. "I'm so glad you found him. Dwayne, we were worried about you."

Dwayne fidgeted, hooking his hair back behind his ears, "Sorry, but I'm okay."

Max studied Dwayne's battered face, his eyes dark and shrewd, but he didn't comment or question. Instead he said, "You'll be coming to my place."

Dwayne blinked. Not an offer, not a request--could it be considered an order? It was more just a statement of what would be. Dwayne found himself nodding, and somehow he knew that Max had expected no less. "I don't like the idea of leaving your bike out here overnight. I suppose we could put it in the back of the shop..."

"He had to leave it," Paul offered.

"Ah. Well, that makes things simpler." He extended his hand toward Dwayne.

Dwayne crossed his arms, tucking his hands under, as if to protect them from the cold, and walked to Max. Max's smile didn't falter at the boy's obvious reluctance to be touched. Instead of putting his arm around Dwayne's shoulder, as he had intended, he just touched his shoulder briefly before turning and lifting his voice. "Thorn!" The big dog slipped from between two stores and came padding down the sidewalk.

Dwayne shivered, thinking, *He was hunting me, too. Damn, I'm glad it was Paul that found me.*

Max led him to the parking lot, with Paul and David trailing, and Thorn trotting along before. Once there Dwayne handed over his keys, then got in the passenger side of Max's car. Max let Thorn into the back seat before getting in himself.

David leaned down and looked across Max, into the car. "Dwayne, you're gonna need some of your stuff. Gimme your address, and I'll go pick some up. Paul can ride behind me, and he can bring your bike back."

Dwayne stared at him. David's tone was casual, but his eyes were still cold. "No," Dwayne said slowly. "No, I'm good for now."

"I can tell your Mom that you're safe." He smiled. "You can just give me your phone number, if you want."

*And there are ways to figure out addresses from phone numbers, especially since Santa Carla isn't all that big,* Dwayne thought. He glanced back and saw Paul standing behind David, also watching him intently. He remembered the other boy's hissed threats against Jake, and had a good idea of what would happen to his stepfather if these two ever learned his address. But no. Since Santa Carla WAS such a small place, there was little chance that his new friends could do anything and escape punishment, and he didn't want that. As long as he wasn't under Jake's thumb, he could deal with the fact that the bastard was still alive. "That's okay," he said slowly. "Frankly, I could care less if she worries herself into a stroke--but that's not going to happen, unless Jake is pissed 'cause I'm gone and takes it out on her. In that case, she'd sell me out." His statement was flat and emotionless.

"There will be time for that later. Let's just get Dwayne situated now," said Max. He looked down pointedly at where David was gripping the door, then he raised his eyebrows. David lifted his hands, palms out, and took a step back from the car. "You two can grab a quick meal," he pulled out his wallet and handed some money to David, "and pick up some food for Dwayne, but then come right over. No adventuring. I think Dwayne will be more comfortable with you there."

The other two boys nodded their understanding. They stood and watched as the car pulled out of the lot. Dwayne turned his head for a last look at them, still not comfortable with Max. He watched as the pair headed back to the boardwalk, heads close together, talking. *About me,* he thought, *or maybe Jake.* The thought was both warm and troubling. Dwayne couldn't remember the last time anyone wanted to defend him, but he was worried that his new friends would do something on his account that would land them in jail.

They drove in silence for a while, then Max said, "It was wise of you not to give the boys your address. I'm afraid they're rather impulsive, and VERY protective."

Dwayne shrugged. "They couldn't really do anything that would help, short of killing him. Jake isn't the sort who backs down."

Max nodded. "This Jake--not a very nice person, I take it?"

Dwayne snorted, then began ticking items off on his fingers, "Oh, let's see... Alcoholic, anal, physically, verbally, and emotionally abusive." He grimaced. "You could have added sexually, if I hadn't gotten lucky."

Max glanced at him sharply. "Will you be wanting to go back?"

"Hell no! Not unless it's to collect some of my gear. I've been wanting to leave for a couple of years. The only thing that kept me was... Well, at first it was my Mom, but lately it's just been the idea that I'm probably not all that good at hiding, and what Jake would do to me if I got hauled back."

They came to a small, neat house, set in one of the many suburban areas around the business area. Inside, Max said, "Welcome to my home."

Dwayne looked around, nodding. "It's nice. We lived somewhere like this before Mom married Jake. He insists on moving to bigger houses every time we move. It isn't like we NEED all the damn space, but I've been grateful for it. It made it easier to stay out of his way." He shifted. "Look, I hate to ask, I know some people are kind of hinky about sharing their bathroom, but could I grab a shower? I didn't get a chance to when I got home, and I'm feeling kind of ripe."

"Oh, of course, of course! Why don't you have a bath? A long, hot soak does wonders for aches and pains. It's the second door on the left. Use all the hot water you want--no one else will need it. I'm sure I have some sweats that will fit you, and I'll leave them in the bedroom."

"Thanks."

In the bathroom, Dwayne ran a bath as hot as he could stand it, then sank into the water up to his chin, closed his eyes, and let the heat seep into his flesh, melting away the aches. The water had cooled to body temp by the time he heard voices out in the house. He scrubbed quickly, eager to join his new friends.

The sweats must've belonged to Max--they were way too big. He had to roll the pants up, and they hung low on his hips. He didn't think it would be a problem, because the top bagged and drooped past the tops of his thighs. He hurried out to the kitchen, lured by the smell of soup and the murmur of voices.

When he entered, Max and David were at the table, and Paul was stirring a pot on the stove. The conversation stopped and they all looked up at him, then David chuckled, shaking his head. "You look about twelve in those clothes, Dwayne." Dwayne cheerfully flipped him the bird. "A twelve year old with attitude."

"Hope cream of chicken is okay," said Paul as he opened a cabinet.

"Fine." Dwayne felt his forehead pucker in confusion. That cabinet looked awful empty for such a nicely appointed home. "Any crackers?"

"Won't those be a little hard for your jaw right now?"

"I'll soak 'em in the soup. I like doing that." He grinned. "It pisses Jake off." The others started to smile with him, but then his smile faded. "Last time I did it, I had to clean the soup off the wall. I guess I'm lucky he didn't dump it over my head instead."

David's smile froze, and he said softly, "You know, someone really needs to have a talk with this asshole."

Dwayne sat at the table as Paul brought the soup over. "Don't sweat it. His kind eventually try to pull that shit on someone they shouldn't, and they get the hell surprised out of them." He took a handful of crackers and crumbled them into the soup, then used his spoon to stir them into the pale yellow liquid. "I'd like to be there when it happens, though." Paul muttered something. "What?"

"I said that could be arranged. All we need is a location."

"Boys, I think you need to let this go," Max said firmly. "It's making our guest uncomfortable. Besides, we don't know everything about the situation, and there's more to be considered than just whether or not Jake deserves a thrashing. There's Dwayne's mother to think about. We don't want any innocent bystanders caught up in something nasty."

David looked over at Dwayne. "You want to keep Mommy out of anything nasty?" Dwayne didn't answer. He just stirred his soup, staring down into the bowl. "How about it, Dwayne?" Dwayne didn't lift his head--he just silently glanced up at David through the fringe of hair that had fallen across his forehead. "I don't think Dwayne has a problem with that, Max."

"She's his mother," Max said firmly. "If anything happened to her, he'd regret it. Dwayne, you can spend the night and tomorrow here, then move out to the cliffs with the other boys. When you feel safe, I want you to bring me by your old home, and introduce me to your mother. I'm sure that if she can just be made to realize that she doesn't HAVE to remain with Jake, she'll leave him."

Dwayne finished carefully chewing the mouthful of soup and softened crackers before he spoke. "Yeah, I guess you're welcome to try, but don't get your hopes up. I'm not saying that she LIKES it with Jake, but..." He frowned, trying to find the words to explain it. "It's what she knows now. Jake may beat the crap out of her on a regular basis, but she's more scared of being alone than she is of being with him."

"She wouldn't have to be alone," Max assured him. "She could be with you."

Dwayne's eyes were old. "I don't count."

They spent another couple of hours talking in the kitchen. Dwayne was a little surprised and annoyed by the way Max seemed to have fixated on his mother. He hadn't even met the woman, and he seemed to be building up an image of her in his mind. Dwayne didn't want to talk about her, but when he DID respond to any question or remark, he was blunt--he had nothing good to say about her. She hadn't really been what he considered to be a mother for a long time. Even BJ (before Jake) she hadn't been overly maternal. She'd been a caretaker, and close to a keeper, making up for not spending time with him by providing a steady stream of toys, clothes, and gadgets.

When Dwayne started drooping, Max suggested that he go on to bed. "David and Paul will be back at their place, but they'll come around in the evening. I'll probably be gone before you get up. Just remember, don't fiddle with anything you find locked." He smiled, but his eyes were serious. "I'm hospitable, but there are things that have to remain private."

Dwayne nodded--he understood about needing privacy, and he really didn't WANT to know Max's secrets. The older man had done nothing threatening so far, but there was just something a little OFF about him. When Dwayne started for the bedroom, Paul got up to follow him, and Max said, "Paul?"

Paul smiled. "Just gonna tuck him in." David's soft laughter followed them out into the hall.

In the bedroom that had been prepared for him, Dwayne turned and moved into Paul's arms. Paul held him, stroking his hair, then set him back. "You need to sleep now, little brother," he said gently. He undressed the younger boy, then pulled back the sheets and waited till he lay down. He pulled the sheet up under Dwayne's chin, kissed him, and started to go.

Dwayne said quietly, "Stay a little while?"

Paul hesitated, then came back and stretched out on top of the sheet, lying beside Dwayne. He started playing with Dwayne's hair, stroking his fingers gently through the long, dark strands. Dwayne sighed. "That's nice. Paul, what is it with Max?"

"Max..." Paul frowned. "Max is... fixated. He has this image in his mind of the perfect family, and he's been hunting for it for a long, long time. He's, um, sort of collecting it--gradually."

"He collected you and David?"

"Yeah. Well, more he collected David, then David collected me. It's going pretty good, but Max wants more--more kids, but especially a mother for the family."

Dwayne blinked. "And he thinks MY Mom would fill the bill?"

"I guess so. See, since your Dad isn't in the picture anymore, he figures he could get two parts of the family at once--you and your Mom."

"But I told him about Mom. She doesn't really WANT out, and she's no fucking Donna Reed."

"Max hears what Max wants to hear. You'll learn that eventually."

"Maybe. But I'll be legal in a few months. Maybe I'll take off then, see the country." He looked at Paul, and his voice was almost shy. "You could come with me--you and David. It'd be cool, traveling around together."

Paul sighed. "That sounds good, but there are complications that you don't know about."

"Tell me, then. Make me understand."

"Not now." Paul kissed him again, and got up. "Rest now. There'll be plenty of time later."

He shut out the light, then went back into the kitchen. Max asked, "How is our newest member?"

"Okay, but not too convinced about bringing his mother into this. He might be right, Max. You don't know the woman."

"So I'll meet her. She'll want to have news of Dwayne, anyway. Tomorrow night will be soon enough."

"How are you going to do that when he won't even tell us his last name?" asked David.

Max pulled a wallet out of his pocket. "He left this in his jacket. Trusting soul, I hate to go behind his back, but..." He shrugged, indicating that another person's privacy was to be respected only as far as Max felt it was good for them. He opened the wallet, and thumbed through the contents. "Ducote. Dwayne Allen Ducote." He pulled out a wrinkled square of paper. "Temporary license. Place of residence, 3536 Lorimar Drive." David grinned fiercely, and Max said sharply, "No! I may turn the situation over to you two later, but you're to do nothing for the present." David growled softly, an animal sound, and a red spark danced in the depths of his eyes. "I mean it, David. I want you two to stay with Dwayne as much as possible, so that he'll feel welcomed and safe, but you are NOT to take any action--yet. I'm going to give his mother every opportunity to decide to join us, then we can see about settling that other matter."

Paul scowled, but said nothing. He knew by now that there was no point in arguing with Max once he made up his mind.

Part Six: Domestic Tragedy

It was mid-afternoon when Dwayne woke up, feeling stiff and groggy. He dressed in last night's sweats, then wandered out into the house. There was another door across from his that he figured was probably Max's bedroom. He hesitated, studying it. He didn't hear anyone moving around in the rest of the house, didn't hear a radio, or television. Max had said he'd probably be gone, but he might be in his room.

He reached out and touched the knob. It was locked. "Leave what's locked alone," he murmured. "Why the fuck do I feel like Bluebeard's wife?" He went into the living room, then quickly checked the rest of the house. Empty. There was a note stuck to the refrigerator with a tiny smiley face magnet. "Dwayne--food in the fridge. Make yourself at home. We'll be back around sunset. Max"

Dwayne spent some time eating, then watched some television. As the day wore on he began to feel restless. He didn't really like wearing Max's clothes, but the ones he'd left home in were kind of nasty. *I'm going to need my own things. I wonder... Jake was supposed to go on another trip soon. Maybe he's already left? If he has, I can go home safely enough. She can't keep me there. I'll call. If anyone is home, they'll answer. Jake isn't about to risk missing a business call, no matter how much it annoys him. If no one answers, I'll zip over and make a surgical strike--in and out.*

Dwayne dialed, and waited. The phone range five times, ten times... He let it ring twenty times before he was satisfied, then called a taxi. He was broke, but he had some money stashed in his room, and he'd leave his wallet with the driver for security while he went in.

He waited till the taxi showed up before going out, not wanting to be out in plain sight any longer than he had to. Thorn was curled up on the porch. He stood when Dwayne came out, and the boy hurried past him, the hair prickling at the back of his neck, but the animal only watched him, then lay back down. Dwayne decided that he'd probably have to wait around outside to get back in if he came back before Max did. That was all right by him--he didn't feel at home in that place at all.

David and Paul decided to stop by the video store first, in case Max had gone in to work. He was behind the counter when they entered. Max frowned at them. "Dwayne isn't with you?"

The boys stopped. Paul looked concerned. "No, we were just on our way to your place to check up on him."

"He was gone when I got up."

David shook his head. "No. How could he go anywhere? That wallet was pretty flat last night."

"Some taxis don't ask for payment till they reach their destination," Paul said. "But I don't think he wanted to go wandering around. I can think of only one place he might go. He wants his things, and his bike."

"Shit!" David swore. "He's going to walk back into that hellhole?" He looked at Max. "We need to get over there--now."

Max hesitated, but he saw the hard, determined look in the boys' eyes, and finally he nodded. "Yes. It isn't safe for him there. Get him and bring him back..." The boys started for the door, "BUT don't do any more than you have to." They paused, glaring back. "I mean it! Don't do anything you don't have to." They stared for a moment more. Finally David nodded grudgingly, and the boys left.

As they got on their bikes, Paul said, "David, if that asshole hurt Dwayne again..."

"Chill, bro." David revved his engine. "I'm senior when we're away from Mister Max." He smiled, but it was more of a baring of the teeth. "And I'll decide what we do and do NOT have to do." Paul answered him with an equally feral smile, and they roared off toward the house on Lorimar Drive.

The neighborhood was always quiet, but the few blocks around the house seemed deserted. *Well, it IS kind of late for the kids to be out playing, I guess, even in suburbia. You don't want the little ones tear assing around in the dark these days, because there IS no safe ground anymore.*

He had the cab slowly past the house, and he peered at it closely. No cars--they must both be out. He sighed with relief and had him pull to the curb. "Look, I don't have the money with me..." when the man started to curse he cut him off. "I'm not stiffing you, okay? I have the money in the house. I'm just grabbing some of my stuff--ten, twelve minutes as the most, and you won't even have to ride me back. I'll take my bike. Here," he offered his wallet. "You can keep this as security."

"Fuck that." The driver, a pugnacious middle-aged man, got out of the car. "I'm comin' in with you. You ain't gettin' out of my sight till I get paid, an' that's the LAST time any of our cabs are givin' you a ride without cash up front." As they walked up the sidewalk, he kept muttering about damned deadbeat kids. Dwayne ignored him. Just a few more minutes, and this would all be over.

Dwayne found the spare key on the ledge over the door and opened it cautiously. He peered inside, then whispered, "Fuck."

"What?"

"Jake went ballistic. He trashed the TV. He loves that damn thing, even more'n Mom, I think. And he broke the glass coffee table, too--and the lamp. I guess that's where Mom is--out buying replacements." He snorted. "That'll give her damp panties."

The cabbie looked slightly scandalized. "Kind of harsh, kid."

Dwayne gave him a jaundiced look. "You don't know my life, man. Wait here--I won't be long."

"Hell with that. I toldya--you're not getting out of my sight."

"All right. Just don't get between me and the door if Jake shows up drunk, okay?"

Dwayne went into the kitchen--and found himself walking on broken glass and crockery. "Oh, man, AGAIN? I don't BELIEVE this. The fucking wrappings must still be in the can. Mom couldn't have had this new lot more than a few hours before he smashed it all."

The driver looked around the room, wide eyed. The sink was full of broken glass and various liquids and foods. It looked like the refrigerator and cabinets had been just emptied. There was a strange, tangy smell--a combination of barbeque sauce, mustard, olives, wine, vinegar, and a dozen different spices. "Shit, kid, your dad needs therapy if he did this."

"He isn't my dad, and therapy would only piss him off even more." Dwayne opened the cabinet under the sink, peering inside. "I'm surprised that Mom hasn't started cleaning up already."

"She must've gone to a hotel to wait out his temper tantrum."

Dwayne gave him a doubtful look, "More likely he thumped her real good, and she's either at the emergency room, or upstairs with a cold compress and a few tranquilizers. Where the hell did she put the trash bags?"

He went to the pantry, opening the door and reaching for the light switch. He blinked in the sudden light, but his eyes fixed on the bright orange box on the shelf on the opposite wall. He stepped forward, hand outstretched, and tripped. He cursed, wondering why Mom had left a sack of potatoes laying in the walkway, and looked down as he began to reach for it.

The driver had been pushing some of the broken glass around with his toe, wondering if he was going to get paid or not. How could the kid expect to find money in a place this fucked up? Then he heard the boy make a quiet, questioning sound. "What?" No reply. He was crouching down in the doorway to the pantry, and the cabbie walked over. "What did you say, kid?"

"Mom..."

The older man looked over the boy's shoulder. Suddenly his stomach dropped, while his balls tried to crawl up his ass crack. The woman lying on the floor might have been pretty at one time--it was hard to tell. What hair that wasn't soaked with blood was ash blond. He couldn't tell what color her eyes had been. One of them was half open, set in a pattern of mushy looking bruises, but the eye itself was clouded, milky.

"Holy shit," the driver whispered.

"Call an ambulance," the boy's voice was faint. "Maybe... maybe they can help her."

"I'll call the cops, and THEY can call an ambulance, but don't get your hopes up. That blood isn't all that fresh, kid. She hasn't been bleeding for awhile."

The boy turned back to him. "But that's good, right? It's good if the bleeding stops."

The man stared at him, noting the rigid expression, the blank look in the eyes, and said gently, "Uh, yeah. Yeah, it's good. C'mon, let's go to my cab, and we can call from there."

Dwayne shook his head. "I'll stay with her. If she wakes up, she's going to be scared. I'll tell her that help is coming."

The cabbie left, and Dwayne turned back to his mother. *She's so still.* "Mom? It's all right. We're getting you help, and you're going to be okay. Shit, Mom, you should have come with me." He reached out gingerly to touch her gore-matted hair, stroking it as she had done for him when he was little. It... didn't feel right. It was like touching a bag filled with the broken crockery. "You... you're hair is awful. I know you hate that. I'll get something and fix it for you before the paramedics get here, okay?" He stood, mumbling, "A cloth, yeah, a good wet one. Get you cleaned up..." He turned, stepping back into the kitchen, and froze.

Jake was standing in the doorway, staring at him. He was wearing the same clothes that he had the last time Dwayne had seen him, but now they were streaked with blood. A stink rolled off of him, compounded of vomit, urine, alcohol, sour sweat, and something else... something that Dwayne, in later musings, decided had to be the smell of insanity. "Well, well, well."

"You're car isn't here." It was stupid, but for some reason that was all Dwayne could think of to say. Weirdly enough, he felt betrayed. Jake was supposed to be gone, but here he was.

"Left it downtown. I get up this morning and you've flown the coop. I went lookin' for you and stopped and had a few drinks. Fuckin bartender took my keys, and I had to get a taxi home." Jake had a whiskey bottle in his hand, one with only an inch or two of liquor left in it. As they exchanged silent stares, he lifted it and drained it, never taking his eyes off the boy. Then he threw it at the sink, where it smashed into the rest of the debris. He pointed at Dwayne, and his voice was very precise. "I never gave you permission to leave, boy."

Dwayne held up his hands. "Look, I'm sorry, but we don't have time for this right now. Mom's hurt, and I have to get her to the hospital."

Jake grunted. "She was here unpackin' all this shit when I got back. This is all your fault, y'know."

"My fault? I didn't touch her. Jake, she's hurt bad. There's no way they're just gonna ignore this. If you..."

"Stupid fuckin' bitch wouldn't tell me where you went. I told her all she had to do was tell me, and I'd quit beating on her." He laughed, a gravelly chuckle that made Dwayne's scalp tighten. "Cunt picked a fine time t' decide to try to face me down."

"She didn't KNOW where I was."

"Yeah, right. She kept sayin' that. She said didn't I know she'd tell me if she could?" The grief that had been creeping up on Dwayne receded, shocked rage flooding in to replace it. Jake was still rambling, "I think I hit her harder than I meant to, but she tried to run away. I hate it when people run away from me." He gave Dwayne a slow, chilling smile. "You remember that, don't you, punk?" Jake reached behind him. Dwayne had to bite back a scream when the man pulled a gun out of his waistband.

*Oh, God, he's finally gone crazy. I have to try to keep him calm till the police arrive.* "But I came back, Jake."

"Yeah." He looked puzzled. "I wasn't expectin' that. I figured once you broke loose, that was the last I'd see of you." He half raised the gun. It wasn't really pointing at Dwayne, but it was too damn close for comfort. "WHY'D you come back?"

Dwayne forced himself to dip his head, then peer at Jake through his lashes, and smile seductively. "Can't you guess?" Dwayne casually rubbed a hand across his belly, pushing up the loose sweatshirt to show a pale strip of skin. Jake's jaw went slack. Dwayne tugged lightly at his waistband, till the upper arch of his hip was exposed. "I just couldn't stay away."

Jake's voice was husky. "So help me, kid, if you're teasing me..." His expression hardened. "You won't be so pretty when I get through with you."

"Jake," Dwayne made his voice soft and submissive. "I wouldn't do that to you." He took a step toward the older man. The gun wavered up another inch, and Dwayne said quickly, "I NEED you, Jake. Mom's going to be sick for a long time after this. Who else will take care of me?"

Jake crooked the fingers of his free hand. "C'mere, boy."

Dwayne walked to him slowly. *Please God, please God, please God. Let them get here soon.* Dwayne stopped in front of his stepfather and forced himself to look up at him with soft, pleading eyes.

James studied him, unconsciously running his tongue over chapped lips. "You ready to be a good little bitch?" Dwayne fought down the urge to grit his teeth or spit in Jake's face and nodded instead. Jake reached up and touched Dwayne's face, tracing the outline of the purple-blue bruise that marred his cheek. "I fucked you up pretty good, didn't I?"

There was no apology in his voice--instead there was a perverse sort of pride. "No more than I deserved, sir."

"Fuckin' right." Jake twined his fingers in Dwayne's hair, his grip painful, and pulled him forward, pressing his mouth hard to Dwayne's, crushing the soft lips, his tongue probing roughly. Dwayne's moan was of disgust, but a man like Jake could only interpret it as passion, and he increased the force of the kiss, bending the boy's head back.

*I'm going to gag, and he's going to kill me,* Dwayne thought. *But maybe while he's distracted...* He put his hands on Jake's arms, massaging sensually.

Jake chuckled. "I knew you'd like it, kid. You can't help it, a little slut like you."

"Can't help it," Dwayne whispered, letting his hands slide down. He moved quickly. His hand clamped down on Jake's wrist, and he jerked the man's hand between them, shoving the barrel against Jake's belly, his finger reaching for the trigger.

"What the fuck?" Jake tensed, trying to jerk his hand away, but the boy had the strength born of desperation. He couldn't tear his hand away, but he jerked it down just as Dwayne managed to get to the trigger. There was an explosion, and Jake screamed, falling back with a ragged hole in his pants--one that quickly began to seep blood. Dwayne took advantage of his momentary shock and shoved him aside, running for the front door. "Cocksucker!" Jake screamed. He was in agony, but he managed to lunge after the fleeing boy.

The cabbie was standing on the other side of his cab, speaking to a 911 operator on his cell phone. "Holy shit! That was a gunshot! Tell 'em to hurry up!"

"They're on their way, sir," the voice on the other end of the line assured him. The driver heard sirens coming closer, and the operator said, "I hear them now. Just hang on. Don't go back in the house, stay where it's safe."

"Fuck, lady, you don't gotta tell me that! I ain't... FUCK!"

The cabbie screamed as the dark-haired boy he'd brought there burst from the house, running as if the devil himself were in pursuit. Maybe that analogy wasn't too far off--the man who followed him out didn't look quite human, his face twisted in rage and hate. Before the boy could get half way to the street, the crazy bastard shot him twice.

Dwayne felt like someone had slammed him in the back with a baseball bat. He needed to keep running, he knew that, but somehow all the strength went out of his legs, and he collapsed. There seemed to be an iron band tightening around his chest, and he tried to crawl toward the street. He was thinking vaguely that if he could reach the taxi, maybe he could lock himself inside.

Jake stalked the crawling boy. "YOU DON'T RUN FROM ME, WHORE! I TOLD YOU, YOU DON'T RUN FROM ME!"

There was the screech of tires as the first police car rounded the corner and headed for the house. Night had fallen while Dwayne had been in the house, and the spotlight on the roof of the car hit the lawn, lighting the tablue like a stage scene. The officer driving swore as he saw the weaving, bloodstained man standing over the body on the ground. The man blinked stupidly in the light, then grimaced and looked down at the boy again, raising the gun. "Shit! We're not going to be in time!" Just as he said this, though, something extraordinary happened. There was a flash of light off to the side, and the man suddenly crumpled, falling on top of his intended victim. "What the hell was that?"

"Someone shot the fucker and saved us the trouble," said his partner.

When they parked in front of the scene and got out, a light went on in front of the next door house. A woman was standing there, pale faced, a shotgun cradled in her arms, and an even paler man was just coming up behind her. When the officers drew their guns he called, "It's all right, officers!"

"Have her put the weapon down, mister."

"Sure, sure. She's no criminal, officers. She's been going crazy the last few minutes, ever since that kid came home. She kept going on that the stepfather was home, and the kid would be in trouble. Then when the cabbie came flying out and used his phone she wanted to go over, but I stopped her..."

"Mister, PLEASE make her put it down!"

"Honey, please! They can't go help that boy till they're sure you aren't a threat."

The woman quickly put the shotgun on the grass and stepped back from it. Her husband embraced her, pulling her over to sit on the steps, saying, "I was calling you guys, but we keep the shotgun in the front closet, and she grabbed it when she heard the shot. I didn't have time to stop her."

Other sirens were approaching, and an ambulance turned into the street, heading toward them. Charles Clusky hugged his trembling wife, thinking that he'd have to get one of the paramedics to look at her once they took care of the wounded, because he was pretty sure that she was going into shock. She kept muttering, "I should have told. I should have told. I should have told..."

Part Seven: Rescue

*Lights.* That was what Paul thought when they first turned onto Lorimar. *Way too many flashing lights for this to be any good.*

Without consulting each other, Paul and David both coasted to a stop halfway down the block. They straddled their idling bikes, staring at the cluster of vehicles in front of one of the houses--an ambulance and police cruisers. David glanced at his friend. "Fuck. Well, I doubt that's because someone was playing the stereo too loud. I hope he killed the fucker."

"I don't," Paul hissed. "-I- want to do it."

David studied the small crowd milling around the cars and front lawn. "I hear ya, but we're not going to be able to do anything with that mob around. If they've got Dwayne in custody, we need to get to him before they take him in. I don't think we could break him out of a police station, they aren't likely to move him at night, and I doubt that Max will risk bailing him out." Paul looked at him sharply. "Too many questions, Paul. He wants Dwayne, but not enough to take that sort of risk. He operates under the official radar, and he doesn't want any inquiring eyes turned on him."

Paul scowled. "I'm not giving him up."

David patted his arm. "Neither am I. Let's cruise down and scope the situation before we get too rattled."

They rolled slowly toward the hub of activity. As they reached the cluster of cars a police officer approached, waving for them to stop. "You boys can't come through here. Go around."

"What seems to be the trouble, officer?" David's voice was scrupulously polite, even friendly. Paul admired his ability to hide his true feelings. Paul himself was still uncomfortable around members of 'The System', and sometimes he couldn't conceal his apprehension and hostility. It didn't make for smooth relations with the police force, so he tended to let David do the interacting.

"Nothing that concerns you. Just move along."

David pointed at the house. "That's our good friend's home. What's happened?"

The officer hesitated. David decided that a partial truth was safe enough, and might get some results. "Look, I'm not trying to interfere with your work, but we're worried. Dwayne's home situation isn't the best, and his step dad has been getting worse lately."

The cop's expression thawed a bit. "Young guy with long, dark hair?" David nodded. "Oh, hell. It's not good."

Paul tensed, but David laid a hand on his arm. "What happened?" When the man hesitated, David said, "Please. We're really worried about him. We saw him last night, and he was all messed up from when that bastard beat him. We never would have let him come here alone if we'd known what he intended."

The policeman shook his head. "It probably just would have gotten you hurt, too."

Paul's expression was tight and strained, and he was fighting to keep from just grabbing the cop and shaking answers out of him. "What? Shit, man, TELL ME!"

"We know that the guy was drinking in several bars earlier today. One of 'em sent him home in a cab. It looks like he beat his wife to death sometime in the afternoon, and then the kid..."

"Dwayne," Paul whispered.

The policeman tossed him a puzzled look, but continued, "He found the body. His cabbie was calling us when the step dad walked in on the kid. Chased him out into the yard and shot him a couple of times." Paul made a sound that was a mixture of denial and grief, and David's grip tightened on his arm as the younger boy swayed. The policeman kept talking. "He's standing right over the boy, getting ready to put one in his head at point blank range, and I'll be damned if this nice little neighbor lady doesn't blow a hole in him with a shotgun." He shook his head. "If she'd aimed about six inches higher and a little to the right she'd have caught him right in the crotch. I think maybe that's where she was aiming."

"Sounds like my kind of woman," David's voice was calm, almost casual, but anyone noticing his eyes would have taken a step back from him.

The officer smirked a little, nodding. He jerked a thumb at the ambulance that was just now starting down the block. "They're riding the guy to the emergency now. They took the kid first."

Paul had been drooping. Now his head jerked up so suddenly that his hair flew.

"They don't take the dead first?" His voice lifted at the end of the sentence, making it a question. David felt a pang of dread and sympathy at the hope in his tone.

"Oh, he's not dead," said the policeman. "But he'll be lucky if he lasts to the hospital, what with all that blood loss, and I'm pretty sure he caught one in the lung. They had oxygen on him and... HEY!"

The last was a shout as a motorcycle roared past him on either side. Policemen, neighbors, technicians, and newly arrived reporters leaped aside as the boys slewed across the sidewalk in their haste, tires gouging deep ruts in carefully maintained lawns. A few neighbors waved fists after them as they disappeared around the corner, but the police had too much going on to bother with a couple of rubberneckers who were a little reckless in their driving. No one bothered to look for license plate numbers or alert patrol cars. Some people were going to get in trouble for that later.

*****

The ambulance raced through the near empty streets of the suburb, headed for the city hospital. In the back, Craig worked quickly, but efficiently on the patient strapped to the gurney.

The boy's jacket and shirt, both torn and bloody, were still lying on his front lawn, ripped away with quick slashes of strong scissors the moment that the EMT knew he was working with a gunshot wound. There were no exit wounds, and he was strapped on the stretcher face down so that Craig could keep a compress on the wounds in his back. The purpose was two fold--he had to stop the blood loss, and block the escape of air from the punctured lung.

*At least one,* thought the burly EMT as he worked over the boy. *But maybe both. God DAMN, he got this kid good! It's a wonder he wasn't dead when we got there. I just hope I can keep him going till we get to the hospital.*

Once he'd gotten the wounds packed, Craig had slapped oxygen on the boy. There hadn't been any point before, because it would have just leaked right out. As he pumped up the blood pressure cuff again, he checked his patient. The boy's head was carefully turned to the side, and the paramedic had to keep a close watch--if he threw up, the oxygen mask would have to be jerked off quickly, so that he wouldn't aspirate any vomitus.

*He's a good-looking kid,* the man thought absently, *even with those bruises. Christ, I thought I wouldn't see anything like this once I moved out of LA and got away from the gangs, but they say one of his PARENTS did this to him. What the fuck is wrong with this world?*

The bp was getting lower by the minute, and the pulse was weakening. He felt his hopes sink. There was a thud that shook the ambulance, and he thought absently, *Pothole,* but even as he thought this, another part of his mind was registering that the sound had come from the roof. *I don't think he's going to make it...*

His thought was interrupted when the ambulance swerved violently, throwing him on top of his patient. He would have sworn at the driver, except that, at the moment of the swerve, there was also a piercing scream from the front of the ambulance. The noise sent a prickle up Craig's spine. His driver was a seventeen-year veteran who had worked every type of emergency and disaster--he just didn't scream.

As he struggled upright again, he looked forward to see what was wrong. The driver wasn't screaming anymore, but he was yelling, and it was obviously more shock and fright than anger. What Craig saw paralyzed him for a moment as the ambulance continued to swerve crazily back and forth.

Will, his partner, was fighting with someone who was reaching in the window, FROM THE TOP. He was clawing at the steering wheel as Will frantically tried to beat him away while keeping control of the speeding vehicle. *This is impossible! We've been doing close to sixty most of this trip. He couldn't be there unless he was on the roof when we took off, and he WASN'T.*

All Craig could see of the assailant were leather-clad shoulders, scrabbling arms, and a toss of blonde hair. Will yelled again, head jerking back, and Craig saw bright lines of blood on his face. "HEY!" The protest burst out before he realized it, and the stranger's head jerked toward him. Craig had a brief glimpse of flaring red, and thought, "HIS EYES!" There was an angry hiss, and a fist caught Will solidly--TOO solidly. There was a thud, and the driver slumped. The stranger snatched at the wheel, and the ambulance careened off the road.

He was thrown ACROSS the gurney this time, slamming into the ambulance wall as it pitched, then came to a jarring stop with a sickening crunch. They'd run into something--something big and solid. They'd entered downtown, so it was probably a building.

Craig was almost upside down, his torso on the floor and his legs canted up on the gurney. Craig jerked his legs down; instinctively worried about harming his patient any further, then began to pull himself up. He was shaken and dizzy, but he had to check on the patient, then see what had happened to Will.

The back door popped open, and someone was scrambling up into the ambulance. "I think my partner is knocked out. Use the radio to call for help," he directed.

"Just hold down the button and..." Craig was shoved roughly aside as the new arrival reached for the boy strapped to the stretcher. "Don't! We have to get him to the hospital, don't move him!"

The figure turned, glaring at him, and Craig felt his world tilt. It wasn't human, whatever it was. Oh, it had the form of a man, was wearing clothes not much different than what the wounded boy had worn, but other than that, it was WRONG. The face was deathly white, except for the hot, flaring yellow of its eyes--not hazel, yellow. The features were distorted, just enough to move it from the realm of humanity, and when it snarled, it exposed teeth that could only be described as fangs.

"Mine!" it hissed. It reached down, catching the thick, woven nylon strap that ran across the boy's back. Craig watched in growing shock and horror as the tough material was shredded with two hard tugs.

"You can't do this!" As frightened as he was, Craig still tried to protect his charge. He lunged at the thing, trying to force it away from the dying boy.

He was shoved back again, and received a smashing, backhand slap that made the world gray out for a moment. He could still hear, though, and the thing was growling, "He's MINE, and I'm taking him!" Another ripping sound, and the thing was gathering the dark-haired boy into its arms, it's gestures quick, but oddly tender.

There was the sound of a siren, and another one of them (*Must be the one who was fighting with Will*) appeared at the open back door. Its voice rough, it said, "Hurry! The others are coming."

As the second thing carried the boy out of the ambulance, Craig pleaded, "Please, don't! He'll die."

The thing carrying the boy had disappeared, but the one at the door paused for a moment, staring at him with red eyes. It said, "Not for long." Then it was gone.

The second ambulance was being followed by a police car, and the cruiser stopped when they saw the first ambulance half-buried in the front window of a small shop. It took only a few minutes for another ambulance to be summoned, and the officers gave first aid to the two EMTs while they were waiting for it.

The driver was unconscious. Later they would find that he had a concussion, and a broken jaw, along with a few nasty scratches on his cheek. He couldn't tell them much. All he remembered was someone suddenly grabbing at the wheel, and thinking that he was going to crash.

The paramedic who'd been in the back wasn't much better. He only had a few lumps and bruises, but the officers decided that he must've gotten a good knock on the head, too, considering the story he told. Something about being ambushed by monsters, who kidnapped his patient.

The patient was gone, all right, and it wasn't likely that he'd been able to run off under his own power, but no one could think of any reason why anyone would take him. After all, he hadn't been in any trouble--he was the VICTIM.

Still, he was gone. All they could think of was that maybe some crony of the stepfather was trying to help him by removing witnesses (not that it would do any good--they had the next door neighbor, and the cabbie). They were going to have even MORE questions to ask him, once they got him stitched up.

*****

They'd passed the ambulance, then parked their bikes a few blocks farther up and gone back on the rescue mission. It hadn't been all that hard, but David had still been a little worried about Paul. The boy did what he needed to for survival, and even had a little fun with the nastier elements that they fed off, but he'd never participated in an out-and-out full frontal assault.

He needn't have worried. Paul was fast, ferocious, and efficient. Later David reflected that he shouldn't have been surprised. After all, Paul was fighting for his chosen mate. He had Dwayne out of the ambulance and on the way to the alley in a flash.

He'd seen Paul soaring before him, Dwayne dangling limply in his arms. David landed lightly in the alley just as Paul was sinking to sit on the pile of flattened cardboard boxes, cradling their lover in his arms.

David went to them. As he approached, Paul pulled his hand from where it had been supporting Dwayne's back, and stared at it. He turned burning eyes to David, holding his hand up. It was slick with blood.

David remembered the luscious, pale gleam of Dwayne's skin as they'd made love in the candlelight. Now he was as white as milk, except where he was dark with the blood trapped in the bruises, or red with the blood shed by his wounds.

Paul's voice was ragged. "He feels cold, David. He was so warm before, so alive."

There was a wheezing, bubbling sound, and Dwayne's chest rose slightly. "He isn't gone yet, Paul, but you'll have to work fast."

"David?" Paul's voice was confused, full of pain.

"We're not waiting for Max's say-so--not if we want him with us at all. And it should be you, Paul." David smiled, reaching out to touch his friend's face, a face that was distorted by his vampiric nature, but still beautiful to David.

"Like you told that guy back there--he's yours. I know that. We can let Max think it was me, but YOU should turn him."

"What do I do?"

"Bring him a little closer to the edge--then feed him."

Paul looked down at Dwayne. His voice was anguished. "But I want it to be his choice."

"It IS, Paul. He already said that he wanted to be with us. And you know from talking to him that he was just about ready to give up on the life he had."

"But he should know." Paul ran his fingers gently over Dwayne's face. "Dwayne?"

Dwayne trembled slightly, eyes still closed. "He's slipping away," David whispered. "I can feel it. I can smell it. Reach out to him, man. MAKE him hear you."

Paul focused every fiber of his being on the boy in his arms, pushing with everything he had. "Dwayne? Dwayne! Listen to me!"

Dark lashes fluttered, then Dwayne opened blank eyes. "Hurts."

"It's me, Dwayne. It's Paul."

"Paul?" The eyes focused, and Paul knew that Dwayne was seeing him. A tear slipped down the dark boy's cheek. "Sorry. Should have waited."

Paul stroked his hair. "It's okay, babe. You couldn't have known."

"Killed her." Dwayne coughed wetly, and pink froth appeared at his lips. He made a sound that was almost a laugh. "Jake. Killed me, too."

"NO!" Paul's grip on Dwayne tightened. "I won't let it happen! Dwayne, I can stop this. I can make it where you won't ever grow old, and you won't get sick, and no one will hurt you, I swear it, and you'll be with me--me and David. But... but you have to die."

"Die?" Dwayne regarded him. A thick trickle of blood oozed from the corner of his lips, running down his chin. His voice was faint. "I'll be with you?" Paul nodded. Dwayne closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them again, they were clear. "Do it."

Without hesitation, Paul turned Dwayne's head to the side and sank his teeth into the pale column of his neck. The blood was still rich and warm, but it no longer pulsed strongly into his mouth. It flowed slowly, weakly.

Paul could feel the faint beat of Dwayne's heart fading. He lifted his mouth from the ragged wound, brought his wrist to his lips, and slashed with his fangs. A tear opened in his pale flesh, and a thick stream of dark blood splashed across the smooth expanse of Dwayne's bare chest. Paul brought the wound to Dwayne's mouth, pressing it to the parted lips that were already slick with the boy's own blood. "Drink, little brother. Drink, lover. Come to me."

Dwayne felt the first warm, salty drops trickle past his lips, and his tongue worked reflexively. His mouth was suddenly wet with saliva, and he licked out, running his tongue over soft, torn skin, gathering more blood. Then he managed to form a seal against Paul's wrist, and sucked.

Thick, warm liquid filled his mouth, and he swallowed, then sucked again. It was like nothing he'd ever experienced before, and it was GOOD, so good. He sucked eagerly, feeling warmth suffuse him, driving off the cold that had been creeping in ever since he was shot. Then the wrist was drawn away, and Dwayne sighed, lifting his eyes.

Paul was bent over him, watching him anxiously. Dwayne frowned. Paul looked different. His face... wasn't quite right. His eyes were yellow, feral. But they were filled with concern and love. When Paul noticed his regard he grimaced, putting a hand over his face. He'd forgotten that he'd transformed when his let his vampiric nature rise in the heat of the moment.

He felt cool fingers tugging at his wrist, and looked back down at Dwayne. The boy was staring up at him, and there was no fear, or disgust in his face. He reached up and ran a finger down Paul's cheek. "Beautiful. Mine?"

Paul pressed Dwayne's hand against his cheek. "Yes, yours--forever, if you want me."

"Forever..." The word fell away with a sigh. Suddenly Dwayne--just wasn't there anymore. Paul still held his body, but DWAYNE wasn't there. His dark eyes were empty, his body still.

Paul lifted his head and howled in anguish. He felt David gripping his shoulder and wailed. "Gone! You said I could save him!"

"You have, man! You have." He forced Paul to look at him, saying firmly. "This is how it happens. Remember when I brought you over? There was a blank space for a while, and you woke up changed. Well," he nodded at the corpse in Paul's arms. "This is how it happens." His face relaxed into a gentle smile as he reached down to stroke Dwayne's hair. "He hasn't gone far, bro, and he won't be gone long. Three days, that's all. Three days, then you two are together..." he paused, then shrugged, "pretty much forever. But we have to get him to safety.

We can't just leave him--he's vulnerable till he wakes up again. We can't let them get their hands on him. I'm not sure whether or not an autopsy would keep him from coming back, but we're not fuckin' gonna risk it. Give him to me for the trip home." Paul hugged Dwayne tighter, a growl rumbling in his chest, and David laughed softly. "Yeah, like I'd try to make you give him up. But c'mon, man. I'm the better rider, and you know it."

Paul carefully stood with Dwayne in his arms, while David mounted his motorcycle. After some discussion, Paul's jacked was slipped on Dwayne--a shirtless, blood-streaked rider would draw a lot more attention than one who was apparently just drunk, leaning on the driver. Dwayne was settled in front of David, facing him. Paul had found some cord in the trash littering the alley floor. Dwayne's arms were drawn behind David's neck, and the wrists were lashed together, then a few loops were passed around both their bodies, tying them together loosely.

Once they had Dwayne secured, Paul mounted his own bike and prepared to follow David back to the cliffs. As they rolled to the mouth of the alley, David said quietly, "Paul?" Paul looked at him questioningly, and David smiled fondly.

"Put on a happy face, man. We're going public." Paul made a noise of understanding. He concentrated. The planes and angles of his face smoothed back to the visage that he usually showed the world, the yellow of his eyes melting into pale blue. David nodded his approval, and they rode out, headed toward their haven.

Part Eight: Retribution

They were perhaps slower than usual driving out to the bluffs, but they didn't want to risk losing Dwayne. No one seemed to notice--and if they did, they quickly forgot it. It didn't pay to be too interested in the unusual in Santa Carla.

When they reached the cliffs, it would have been simple enought for David to heft the limp body over his shoulder and make his way down the stairs, but he didn't. Paul was anxious to have some contact with his slain lover, so David let him help carry Dwayne down into the sunken hotel. Once inside he let Paul take the boy, cradling him in his arms as easily as if he had been a child. They made their way back to the room they'd shared before.

The room was still musky with the trapped scent of sex. Paul sat on the floor, holding Dwarne, while David stripped soiled sheets from the bed and replaiced them with some he'd 'liberated' from Max the last time he'd been to the older vampire's house. Paul rocked the dead boy, stroking his long, dark hair and whispering to him, assuring him that the darkness would only last a little while. When David came to stand over him, Paul looked up with pained, anxious eyes. David said quietly, "You can talk to him, man. Who knows what the dead hear?" He squatted and touched the wound on his neck. "Maybe it'll help him."

"Are you sure it'll work, David?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. There's more than one way to turn someone, but this is surefire--it doesn't leave anything up to the new one. The other one, you just give the blood to the new one, and let it work. They make their first kill, they're done."

"But what if they DON'T make a kill?"

David gave him a small smile. "You remember how you felt when you first woke up?" Paul made a face. He had awakened to a sensation that was like he'd been starved and denied water for about a week, while starting to go cold turkey from a mother of a heroin addiction. "Yeah, you woke up in the middle of it. Imagine what it's like to feel it coming on, and nothing you do helps. There's only one way to make it go away... one way." He shrugged. "Can you imagine anyone being able to hold off from that for long? C'mon, let's get him settled."

He helped Paul lift Dwayne, and they stripped away the rest of his fouled and torn clothes. They settled him on the bed. Paul tenderly tucked a sheet up around his shoulders. "I wish we could wash him. I hate to leave him like this."

David gripped his shoulder. We don't have time right now, man. Not if you want to do what I know you do." Paul looked back at David, his eyes glowing yellow, and David nodded. "It has to be tonight, and it has to be before we see or talk to Max."

"Why? Max wants Dwayne, wanted his mother. He might want to..."

"No," David said flatly. "Max wants things in a big way, no doubt about that. But he's settled here. He doesn't want to pull up roots, and that means..." David made a face, "discretion. His word for it. If he thought there was a way we could take care of Jake quietly, with no fuss or attention, then he'd be happy to have it done." David shrugged. "But this is going to be a production, man. There's gonna be bells, whistles, and sirens. No, if we talk to Max, he'll order us to leave Jake to the authorities. I still can't disobey a direct order, not when he puts some force behind it."

"Leave him to the authorities," Paul muttered. He snarleld. "Yeah, right. We DO have executions in Cali, but there's no gauranty, and the could hang around on death row for a fucking DECADE."

"And there's no way we can get him once he's really in the system--so it has to be tonight."

"I want him, David." Paul's voice was flat.

"I'm not going to challenge you on that, bro, as much as I'd like a piece of him." He rubbed his chin, squinting thoughtfully. "Okay, they had to have taken him to Santa Carla General, they wouldn't risk taking a shotgun wound, even a minor one, any farther off. This shouldn't be too hard--the place is a cracker box, and the security is Deputy Dawg level." He went to the room's closet, opened it, and began rummaging inside.

"What are you doing?" Paul asked.

"Disguise time, bud. I'm gonna have to go inside and do some reconnaisance, and I don't want my unique and distinctive style to make me a target later." He smiled, and his tone was joking, but his eyes were serious. Paul watched as David lifted, then discarded several items of clothing. Finally he stood before Paul, arms outspread. "What do you think?" He still wore his jeans, but that was about all that remained of his usual attire. He wore scuffed sneakers and a faded T-shirt. His long blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and he'd donned a baseball cap.

Paul walked around him. "You look like your average geek. But..." His finger flipped the ragged edges of several large, blood crusted tears in the back of the shirt. "This might cause some comment."

"Yeah, damn, you're right." David rummaged again and came up with a windbreaker, donning it. "Better?"

"Damn, you look skanky."

"And?"

"And unremarkable."

David bowed. "Thank you. Let's go."

*****

"Yo."

The receiving nurse at the emergency room looked up to find a scruffy, bored looking young man leaning against the counter. He was holding a cardboard pizza box, and the scent of hot cheese and pepperoni reminded her that she STILL hadn't taken a supper break. "Can I help you?"

He lifted the box. Got a delivery here for..." He consulted a slip. "Damned if I know." He squinted. "Fuck, I think the guy making delivery must be workin' his way through med school, cause he writes just as screwy as any doctor. Can YOU tell what that is?" He showed her the slip.

The scrawl wasn't made any more legible by the large grease stain. "No, can't help you."

He scratched his head. "Lessee... Tony said the guy gave him some information 'bout where he was in the hospital. Um... Something about there were some cops hanging around on the floor just below his. He saw 'em when the elevator stopped at that floor."

The nurse thought for a moment. "Well, he'd probably be on four, then. The only officer in the hospital right now is standing guard over some guy who killed his family."

The delivery boy gaped. "No shit?"

The nurse shuddered. "He beat his wife to death, then shot his son." She leaned forward conspiratorially. "At least they THINK the boy is dead. Something really weird, we aren't sure what, happened on the way to the hospital, and the body is missing."

"Get out of town! You lost a stiff?"

"Some gang attacked the ambulance en route. They had an accident, and the body just disappeared. One of our guys got a concussion."

"Huh. Lotta weird ol' shit going on in the world, isn't it? Well," he started away. "Gotta go. This is my last delivery of the night, an' if I don't get it to him in..." he looked at his watch, "Woops! About five minutes, I have to eat the cost! Bye!" He sprinted down the hall toward the elevator, and the nurse went to the back of her cubicle to find that container of tuna fish in the mini-fridge.

*****

Officer Steven Moore was sitting on a seat outside the prisoner's room, arms folded, bored out of his skull. He hated babysitting duty like this. Not that it happened all that often--the crooks apprehended in Santa Carla weren't often banged up enough to require a hospital stay before being incarcerated. This one was an excepting. He was just lucky that the neighbor's shells hadn't been packing a heavy load, or he'd have lost part of his leg. As it was, with the bullet the kid had put in his thigh and the shotgun blast in almost the same place, he was going to look like Frankenstein on that leg. He'd heard a few of the doctors talking, and he might end up losing the leg somewhere down the line anyway--they'd had to do a lot of vein grafting, and his circulation was still for shit. If it didn't improve... And even if he kept it, he'd limp for the rest of his life.

*However long that will be. I hope they execute the fucker. I suppose he'll try to claim 'mitigating circumstances' and all that good shit. He'll have psychiatrists get up and tell everone one how Mommy and Daddy were mean to him, and that's why he got blind drunk and beat a woman to death, then shot a teenager.*

A middle aged nurse *Don't even get a young one to flirt with* came out of the room, made a few notes on a chart, and slipped it back into the bin fastened to the front of the door. "How's he doin'? Like I really care," said Moore.

"Oh, he's fine. As fine as someone can be who's had a major load of shot taken out of his leg, and is probably in the first stages of cirossis CAN be, I suppose. It's going to be a toss-up as to what gets him first, the liver damage, or the state," she said.

The cop grunted. "Which would be more painful?"

"Liver, hands down."

"Hope his appeals drag out."

There was the bing that signalled the elevator, and they both looked down the hall. A shabby young man carrying a pizza box stepped out, consulting a slip of paper. He started down the hall, peering at room numbers as he went. Steven had an absurd moment of hope that the scuzzbucket he was guarding had managed to call it in. Then he could confiscate it, and have a good dinner.

The nurse was frowning as the young man looked up, saw them, and speeded up, coming to them. She said, "Visiting hours are over."

"Not here to visit, lady," he said cheerfull, tapping the box. "Just doin' my job. Can you tell me which room O'Hoolihan is in?"

"As I said, visiting hours are over. Besides that, we aren't supposed to allow outside food for the patients. Their diets need to be strictly controled so that the doctors can prescribe treatments and medications properly."

The boy nodded agreeably. "Makes sense, but I think this is for a relative or somethin' who's sitting up with someone. Anyways, O'Hoolihan?"

"There are no O'Hoolihans on this floor. I'd remember a name like that."

"Damn," the boy said mildly. "Must be the next floor, then." He smiled at the officer. "Hi. What they got you here for?"

"Just watching over a prisoner till they get him transported. Son, you'd better go on, now. You'll just have to take that pizza back."

The boy scowled. "Not yet, I don't. One more bad delivery, and they'll dock me. I hafta try a little longer before I give up." He sighed. "If I DON'T find who it's for..." he studied the officer slyly. "I MIGHT be talked into parting with this for about seven bucks, if you and your buddies want to kick in."

The policeman was interested. "Seven is pretty steep for a mistake pizza."

"Ah, but THIS is a Monster Meaty, with extra cheese. This'll go you seventeen bucks normally. C'mon, two or three of you chip in and you have a bargain."

Moore sighed regretfully. "No can do. It's just me till six."

The boy shrugged. "Your loss, dude." He saluted them and headed back toward the elevators. "Have a nice one."

*****

Paul was waiting in a downstairs lounge area. David silently opened the box. Paul bent over it and took a deep sniff of the still warm pie. He smiled. "Man, I used to LOVE these things, when I could get 'em. How about you?"

David shrugged. "I was before their time. They smell good, but I can't really remember WHY. We need to get rid of this. It's a shame we can't feed it to Thorn--maybe it would give him the shits." David dumped the pizza out into a wastebasket. "And we don't want to leave this box around for finger printing." He started to rip the box into pieces.

Paul watched. "You've never been finger printed, have you?"

"No, but they've probably gathered my prints from half a dozen interesting places, but just don't have anyone to tie them to. No point in leaving any more evidence than I have to." He looked at the now filled wastebasket. "Ya know, this could work out nicely for the distraction. A little fire down here, and me raising a ruckus up on Jake the Snake's floor ought to stir things up enough to keep them occupied while you take care of what you need to." He clapped Paul on the shoulder. "C'mon--I'll point out the window to you." As they walked outside he was saying, "Just remember, you won't have too much time--make it fast, dirty, and satisfying, cause if you don't kill him, we won't be able to risk coming back."

David took him around the side of the building. Luckily this side faced a small parking lot, deserted at this time of night. "Get in position, but wait till you hear the ruckus, and can be pretty sure that the cop has gone to investigate. And if the cop comes after you, don't take any chances, man. I seriously doubt he could kill you, but if he gets you incapasitated and confines you... Well, let's just say deep shit and not a step-stool in sight."

"I understand."

Paul's eyes were fixed on the window. David put a hand on his arm, then took his chin in his fingers, forcing the younger vampire to look at him. "I KNOW you understand, man, but this is some deep water you're moving in. That's the man who killed your mate up there." When Paul started to protest, David shook his head, "No, don't argue with me on this. Dwayne is yours, and you're his--I could see that, and I'm all right with it. It's great, man. Maybe someday I'll have that, too, but till then, it does me good to see you two together. The thing is, Paul, that your most basic instincts are going to be taking over here, and you STILL have to have some control over this. Just remember, you can't let anything happen to yourself. You can't leave Dwayne alone when he's gonna need you so badly. Understand?"

Paul gave David a brief, fierce hug. "I got it. Don't worry."

"Outstanding." David slapped his back. "Let's do it." He headed back around the side of the building to start his distraction.

Paul stepped close to the building, studying the facade. Brick, and they'd left at least a fourth inch space when they mortared them in place. "Piece of cake," he murmured. Brick was easy--STUCCO was hard. It had a rough surface that gave some purchace, but it tended to crumble at inopportune moments.

He glanced around as he pulled off his boots and tucked them into the carry on his bike, which was parked nearby. Then he stood and looked up again, letting his vampiric nature swim to the surface, feeling the familiar ache as his finger and toenails lengthened and sharpened. He gripped the bricks in front of him, nails grating on cement, and started up the building face, moving as quickly and surely as a lizard.

He came even with the third floor window, stopping between that one and the window for the room on the other side. He examined the window--two solid panes of glass, side-by-side, with no sign of any way that it could be opened from this side. No problem. The drapes were drawn, with only a couple of inches of space between the sides. Paul leaned over, peeking through, wanting a look at the man he had never met, but hated more than anything else in the world.

The head of the bed was cranked up slightly, and the lights were very low--only a low watt bulb in an upward tilted shade at the head of the bed. Paul didn't need much light with his night vision, though. He could see Jake clearly. There was no mistaking who he was--his leg was thickly bandaged, and both his wrists were handcuffed to the bed railing.

*This is the one,* Paul thought. *This is the man who beat my lover. Look at him--he's almost twice Dwayne's size, the fucking coward. He handled him, he was making plans to RAPE him.* As these thoughts ran through his mind, the changes were happening. His eyes glowed, his handsome features were distorted, subtly warped into something demonic. He was almost vibrating against the wall, whispering, "C'mon, David. C'mon, c'mon, c'mon! I can't hold back much longer.*

Down in the first floor waiting room David turned the windbreaker inside out, changing it from blue to red, and fished a cigarette lighter out of the pocket. He whistled as he lit the cardboard strips in several places, using a longer strip to stir them well. When the flames had caught well, he moved the wastebasket under the smoke detector, and moved a small table to cover all but the outer rim of the basket. That way if a sprinkler system went off, it would take a few minutes to put out the fire. Confident that it would work, he trotted to the stairs and started up them, two at a time. Things were going to move fast now.

Officer Moore looked up when the alarm started shrieking somewhere downstairs. The middle-aged nurse and a second, slightly younger one stepped out of their station, looking around anxiously and whispering together. The first nurse called down to the officer, "Sounds like it's on the first or second floor."

By now sleepy, but alarmed, patients (the ones who could move) were opening their doors. Some peered out, some stepped out into the hall. David burst through the door that led to the stairs at the other end of the hall, and all of them turned to look. A pretty young woman, wearing one of those embarrassingly inadequate hospital gowns, took a step back, cluthing the back edges closed, and said hesitantly, "Is the hospital on fire?"

David grinned at her. "Don't know about the hospital, baby, but -I- sure am!" He grabbed the startled young woman, bent her back, and kissed her, hard. He also grabbed a handful of ass and squeezed. When he pulled back, the woman slapped him vigorously, and added HER shrieks to the alarms (there were more now, the dampness of the pizza made for a lot of smoke, and it had hit the ventilation system, setting off alarms on the next two floors.

David had gone into the small kitchen area at the end of the hall and unplugged the microwave, brought it out into the hall and smashed it, wiggled his butt at the stunned onlookers, and gone back to see what else he could trash. The officer started after him. "Hey! Stop that, you!" Outside on the wall, Paul grinned, his fangs sliding out, and swung over, smashing through the glass in one easy dive.

Jake had been looking blearily toward the door, thinking that it might be time to start yelling for them to let him the fuck up out of this bed. It wasn't that he was worried about getting burned—he was still too high to process what he was hearing. He was just ready to start raising hell on general principles. He didn't remember much of what had happened in the last twenty-four hours or so.

He knew that the brat had run again, and he'd tried to find him. He'd decided that maybe beating him, then fucking him bowlegged MIGHT take a little of the snot out of him. But the bitch wouldn't tell him where he was, kept saying she didn't know. Like hell she didn't. But he had to give her credit, she hadn't told, and he'd wallopped her pretty good. What had happened after that? Oh, yeah--he'd had a couple more drinks, and then the brat HAD come home. The little
shit had come on to him, acting all hot and willing, and then...

"Fucker SHOT me!" he muttered indignantly, feeling the first twinge of returning pain. *Then the bitch next door shot me AGAIN! Why did she do that? What did I ever do to her? I'll have that cunt in jail for attempted murder. Yeah, and I'll sue her ass, too. Lay a nice fat civil suit on her and get the car, and the house, and... DAMN, it's starting to hurt. Why are they yelling outside?"

Then there was a crash, and yelling, and some sort of damn *beep beep beep*. Didn't they know that he was sick, and needed his rest? Then there was another crash--this time INSIDE his room, and a moist gust of warm air. He rolled his head no the pillow and blinked when he saw the curtains billowing into the room. There were shards of glass still stuck in the frame. Had a bird flown into the window? No, it was night time. Could be an owl. Maybe a bat? He tried to lean over and see if there was a feathery or furry body on the floor, but the cuffs clinked on the rails, holding him back. But there WAS something down there, and it rose up, and rose, and rose...

Jake dropped back on the starchy sheets, gazing up in confusion and dawning fear. It was a man--or rather a boy--or something very like one. The face was all wrong, and there was something wrong with the hands, and the mouth... And he couldn't be that tall. His blond hair was brushing the ceiling, he'd have to be a fucking GIANT. Then Jake noticed that the feet booted feet were dangling in mid-air, about even with Jake's mattress--dangling, with no support.

"What the fuck kind of drugs did they GIVE me?" he whispered.

"Jake?"

"I... I'm Jake."

The thing nodded. "I just wanted to be sure."

"Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Dwayne's lover. You remember Dwayne--the boy you beat, and tried to molest? The boy you killed?" He drifted down--closer.

Jake cringed back, babbling, "D.Ts. I knew I'd get 'em eventually, but I thought insects, maybe rats, not... not... Oh, God, your EYES! WHAT ARE YOU?"

"I'm your own personal Death, asshole." Paul lunged, taloned hands outstretched. Jake managed to scream before the claws sank into his throat. Paul landed on top of him, one knee thudding down on the thick bandages wrapping his wounds. The pain of that was even more intense than that caused by the sharp points sinking into his throat, and Jake screamed again before Paul sliced over his vocal cords with one blade-like thumbnail. Stitches burst, and blood had seeped through the thick gauze padding even before Paul shifted slightly, balancing himself. All the carefully placed sutures were torn. Jake would bleed to death from this in a matter of minutes.

It didn't come to that.

With the fangs, Paul's smile was terrible. He pulled gore tipped nails out of Jake's throat, grabbed the man's forearm, and shook it. The cuff's clanking on the rail could be heard even above Jake's choking, bubbling attempts to cry out. "Pretty fucking nice of the law to truss you up like this for me, though I woulda kind of enjoyed chasing you down. It's fun when the scum runs. But like David said, this has to be fast, so..."

Jake attempted to scream when the claws raked down his face, bursting his right eyeball. Paul scratched again, hooking this time to draw the gelatinous orb out to dangle wetly against Jake's slashed cheek. He could hear the think that was attacking him saying something, but he couldn't comprehend what it was. To him it was just noise filtering through the pain. "I don't think you HAVE a heart, but let's see."

The gown was ripped like tissue, and Paul started to try to work his way through the man's chest, cursing at the cage of ribs that kept him from his goal. He was bathed from fingertips to above his elbows with gore, and his face and torso were smeared and spattered with spray, but he felt no temptation to taste any of it.

Jake had stopped moving, aside from the faint fribulations of his heart, and the slight inflation of his lungs. Paul could glimpse these through the raw mess he'd made of the man's chest. He hooked his fingers in the ribs, jerking and cursing, trying to break through, but he kept lifting the torso with his efforts. Paul shifted, putting a knee across Jake's throat to give himself some leverage, ignoring the crunch and grind of cartilage and bone. He had just managed to crack two of the ribs over the heart when there was the thunder of footsteps outside. There was a pounding on the door, and he heard David shouting, "TIME! TIME! TIME! CHEESE IT--THE PIGS!" Then Paul heard David's lunatic laughter fading in the distance, pursued by the enraged cursing of the officer.

"Fuck!" But his task was done--Jake was most certainly dead. Paul made a couple more slashes, then turned and leaped through the window. He could hear the door to the room opening even as he caught a breeze and lifted himself toward the parking lot. Then there were shrill, horrified screams which cut off abruptly, then resumed. Even as he landed beside his bike he thought, *Huh. First one fainted, second one took over the screaming.*

He mounted the bike and started it just as David came thundering around the side of the building and made for the lot at a dead run. Paul was a little surprised when he didn't see the policeman or security right behind, but he didn't wait around to find out WHY there was no pursuit. As soon as David threw a leg over his bike Paul took off. David was right behind him. As they made the first turn, he heard sirens start up.

David pulled up alongside him and shouted, "Store!"

Paul nodded. The area was about to be swarming with police. They couldn't risk leading them out to the cliffs, so they had to get out of sight fast. They took a circutious route back to the boardwalk and entered the alley behind Max's video store. David had a key to the back door. He unlocked it, and they rolled their bikes into the storeroom, then relocked the back door. It was cramped, but there was JUST enough space.

It was silent and dark, save for the safety EXIT sign over the doors. Paul whispered. "Is it closed?"

"Should be. I'll check. You, uh..." he indicated Paul's hands, smiling. Paul looked at them. His arms were bathed in blood, gore and tissue clotted under his now human length nails. "you might want to freshen up a little."

Paul went into the employee restroom. This wasn't the first time he or David had needed a clean-up, and the room was well stocked with strong soap and a scrub brush. Paul stripped off his fouled shirt, shoving it into a plastic garbage bag. It would be disposed of in some remote corner of the hide-out later. Then Paul took the brush and soap and worked on himself as assiduously as a surgeon preparing for an operation. He scrubbed his face, arms, hands, and even soaked his
hair and used the hand soap on it. When he was done he used Comet to scour the sink, and checked to be sure there were no spots on the floor or walls. Finally he put the brush to soak in a bucket of bleac, blotted himself as well as he could with the paper towels, and went back into the store room.

David was holding a flat package wrapped in clear plastic. He ripped it open, then tossed Paul one of the store's T-shirts. "We owe Max seven-fifty."

Paul pulled the shirt over his head. "All quiet?" David nodded. "We gonna try to make it back to our place before dawn?"

David shook his head. "Too risky. We'll stay over."

Paul made a face, looking at a large set of open metal shelves. "I hate that place."

"Me, too, but it's the only secure place we have besides the lair and Max's place. Help me." They took hold of the shelves and tugged. There was a faint squeal. The unit rolled on tiny wheels that were placed under the bottom shelf, far back behind the rim, invisible unless you lay on your belly and peered very carefully.

The shelf unit seemed to pivot, turning at a ninety-degree angle to the wall, revealing a shallow closet. The boys stepped into the dark, close space, gripped the bar handle in the middle of the door, and pulled back. The door slowly closed. When it was set, David felt along the frame, found the two deadbolts, and threw them. No one but the boys and Max knew about this. The original architect HAD known, but since he'd mysteriously 'disappeared' (along with all copies of the blueprints) after he'd finished the job for Max.

Paul and David settled on the floor, curling together in the narrow space. "Damn good thing we aren't claustrophobic," grumbled Paul.

"I'm just as glad that you washed, man," said David. He sniffed pointedly. "Ah, the delicate aroma of industrial cleanser."

Paul slapped at him. "Asshole." He was quiet for a moment. "David, you're sure that he..."

"Yes," David said firmly. "Three days, Paul. Three days, and you'll have him back. Don't worry about that."

There was another pause. "What about Max?" David didn't respond. "David? He's going to be mad, isn't he?"

David held the younger boy close, tucking his head down on his shoulder. "Don't worry about that, either. I'll deal with Max." He kissed the top of Paul's head. "That's what big brothers are for."

"Shit, I almost forgot. Shift over, man, I need to get in my pocket."

David moved obligingly. "What are you after?" Paul pressed something moist and spongy into David's hand. David felt it carefully. "What is it?"

"Guess."

David frowned, exploring it. "You didn't stop in the cafeteria, I know that, but all I can think of is a sausage and a couple of meatballs, unless..." he trailed off. Then he choked with laughter. "FUCK, Paul! You DIDN'T!"

Paul settled back down, saying smugly, "Well, you TOLD me you wanted a piece of him."

Part Nine: Adoption

David had become used to waking in darkness a long time ago. He'd never particularly enjoyed it, but waking up WITH someone made it easier. Paul, still deeply asleep, was a cold, still weight in his arms--dead to all intents and purposes, but David could tell. He could sense the spark of--well, it wasn't life, but it was existence, and it was comforting. He sighed quietly, wondering how many more times he'd have this, now that Paul had Dwayne. He was happy for Paul and Dwayne, just as he'd said, but he would miss quiet moments like this.

There was no danger of waking Paul accidentally--a vampire's sleep ended when it ended--but he was gentle getting up and easing the other boy back onto the floor as comfortably as possible. David always woke up before Paul, just as Max always woke up before David. David thought that it probably had something to do with the length of vampiric life. Mortal children required more sleep than adults, so why shouldn't fledgling vampires need more than their sires?

David leaned his ear against the door and listened closely. All sounds were distant, out in the front of the shop, so he slipped out into the store room. At the front of the store, Max was speaking firmly to a sullen teenage boy. "Yes, I KNOW that it's 'Cinderella', but it's the X-RATED version of 'Cinderella', and you're not renting it." He made shooing noises. "Go find yourself a nice horror movie, or something." He looked up and caught David's eyes. "Ah, David. I was hoping you'd drop by." His voice was mild, but his gaze was suddenly cold. Max looked at the female clerk. "Natasha, take over for awhile." Max pointed at the teenager, who was still lurking near the 'Adults' section. "And watch him. I wouldn't be surprised if a tape or two somehow wormed its way under his shirt just before he tried to walk out." Max picked up a folded newspaper, then came out from behind the counter. "Let's step back to the store room, shall we?"

Without responding, David turned around and re-entered the back room, Max following close behind. Once inside, Max shut the door, then tapped the paper on his palm. "David."

"Max." Max took a deep breath. David thought. *Fuck, he DOESN'T HAVE TO BREATHE. He's just doing that for effect, to let me know he's pissed.*

Max said quietly, "Do you want to tell me what happened last night?"

David sighed, leaning his hip against the wall. "Aren't we beyond this bullshit yet, Max?" Max's eyes grew even colder, if that was possible, but his expression didn't change. David continued, "I thought after all these years you could just TELL me what you're thinking instead of playing these 'what did you do?' games."

"All right, David." Max unfolded the paper and held it up. "I'd like an explanation for this."

David took the paper, studying the front page. Santa Carla DID have a daily newspaper, but if you lined a litter box and wrapped a fish, that would pretty much use it up. Being as small as it was, it figured that what happened last night would be pretty big news. *Come to think of it, we might have even made the bigger papers in Los Angeles or San Francisco, at least on the inside. Here--we're friggin' front page for sure.*

The headline was at least two inches tall. SHOOTINGS, MURDER, AND KIDNAPPING. David grunted. "Well, that pretty much encapsulates it."

"The only things that the authorities are sure of are that Dwayne's mother was killed, Dwayne and his stepfather were shot, the boy disappeared, and Dwayne's stepfather was then murdered at the hospital." Max pulled off his glasses and polished them. "They don't say HOW, but the impression I get is that it was rather messy."

"Considering what Jake did to Paul's lover, I'm not at all surprised."

"I thought I told you two to only do what was necessary."

"Well, this was necessary. The fucker NEEDED to die."

"That wasn't your decision, or Paul's--but we needn't go into that right now. What about Dwayne?"

"He's safe," David said shortly.

"I'm gratified, but can I assume that you were also responsible for his, um, kidnapping?"

"Rescue."

"The paper indicated that he was badly hurt, and I know that neither you nor Paul have any great medical expertise."

David grimaced. "Wouldn't have done him much good by the time we got to him. I think Dwayne would have died even if the bastard had shot him IN the emergency trauma room."

Max's voice was soft. "Tell me you didn't turn him, David--not without checking with me."

David crossed his arms, staring at him. "Fine--I won't tell you."

Max's voice was sorrowful. "David--you know that I can't just let this pass, don't you?" David shrugged, but his shoulders tensed--he knew what was coming. Max focused on David, concentrating.

It started as a buzzing in his ears, but it quickly rose to a ringing--then the ache started. At first it was just a dull throb. *Strange how this can throb, since I don't have a pulse anymore. It's like the pain is part memory.* It became a headache, which quickly escalated into a migraine.

The dim light in the store room stabbed at David's eyes like klieg lights, and he shut his eyes--he knew that it wouldn't help, but his reacted out of instinct. The pain grew. David had experienced a lot during his existence. In fact, his skull had been cracked in the earthquake that had killed his family and precipitated his entry into the unlife. He remembered what that had felt like, and it was nothing compared to this.

David felt his knees beginning to weaken, and leaned against the wall, gritting his teeth. *Hold on, just hold on. He never does this for long. Let him get it out of his system, and it will be all right about Dwayne.*

But it didn't let up, and besides the pain, David began to worry that Paul would wake up and see what was going on. He couldn't have that happen. The other boy would try to defend him--and Max would kill Paul. And he didn't believe it was possible, but the pain got worse. It was like a hot spike was being stabbed through his skull. David kept up a mental mantra to stay strong. *Dwayne, Paul, Dwayne, Paul, Dwayne, Paul* The agony increased. David felt tears slip between his tightly shut eyelids as his knees slowly gave way and he sank to the floor. He whispered, "Jesus, Max, please..."

The agony stopped.

It didn't go away entirely--it would take a few minutes for the residual pain to fade, but Max wasn't HURTING him now. He felt Max's cool hand touching his face, wiping away the tears. "Why do you do this, David?" Max's voice was regretful. "You know I hate disciplining my boys."

Perhaps it was a good thing that David felt so weak--he didn't have the energy to flinch back from his sire's touch. He breathed, "You know us kids, Max--gotta rebel." Max's hand was on his hair now, stroking. "What about Dwayne?"

"One of you ought to stay with him at all times till he wakes up." Now Max's voice was pleased. "I can't say I'm happy with the way this came about, but I'm glad to have him." David felt Max take his hand and begin pulling him to his feet. It took a little effort, but he managed to get up. Paul was going to wake at any moment, and he had to be as normal as possible. Max patted David's shoulder, saying, "Bring him around when he comes to."

There was a scratching at the door, and Max opened it. Thorn padded in and sat, looking up at him, tongue lolling. He snorted softly. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry, Thorn, but I've been preoccupied. David, feed Thorn for me, would you?"

"Be happy to." David stared at the dog as Max left. Thorn stared back. There was no love lost between the two creatures. "I don't know why you can't feed yourself, you lazy asshole. There are tons of rats and strays under the boardwalk." Thorn didn't snarl, but he lifted his upper lip and showed his teeth. "Like I'm impressed."

The shelves swung, and David came out, rubbing his eyes. "Hey, David. Ready to go face Max?"

"Been there, done that, bro. Everything is cool."

Paul perked up. "Really? That's terrific." He hesitated, studying David. There was a tiny smear of red moisture at the outer corner of David's right eye. Paul reached out and wiped it away with his thumb. "David, what did Max do?"

David gripped the other boy's wrist reassuringly, and said slowly, "I said everything is cool."

Paul bit his lip. David tried to keep it from him, but he knew that the older boy had taken punishment for him more than once, standing between Paul and Max. *That's another one that needs to be REALLY dead--someday.* "Okay, if you say so."

"I do. You need to eat?" Paul shook his head. "Okay, then let's get back to the lair." They went to the bikes. Thorn growled pointedly. "Fuck! I don't FEEL LIKE going to the store and getting a can of Alpo," David scowled.

Paul looked around the back room. "You'd think Max would keep a couple of cans, or a bag of dry food around here."

"No, that would make life too simple. Going to the store for pet food is a homey little chore--," his voice was sarcastic, "one meant to reinforce our family bonding. Well, I got news for him--Dwayne isn't Bobby, you aren't Peter, and I DAMN sure ain't Greg." He shoved his hands angrily in his jacket pockets, and froze. A slow, wicked smile grew.

He pulled out the clammy little memento that Paul had gifted him with the night before. Thorn's ears immediately perked up, and his pinkish-brown nose twitched at the scent of blood. "Yeah, you recognize that smell, dontcha?" David hefted the lump of flesh in his palm, as if weighing it. "Whataya think, Paul? How much does this weigh?"

"Christ, I don't know--there wasn't a scale around when I removed it." He grimaced. "Maybe they're like fish, and lose weight the longer they're outta their natural environment."

David laughed. "Actually, ol' Jake had nothing to be ashamed of in the size department. Of course he knew jack shit about how to treat his partner. Lessee..." He squinted at the object. "Thorn usually takes one medium sized can." Paul choked with laughter. "What?"

"Nothing. If he goes for it, I can't think of a more effective method of disposal." He looked at the dog, "Though personally, Thorn, I'd be afraid of poisoning. I don't think it's had time to spoil, but just the thought of who it used to be attached to..." He shuddered expressively.

David held the thing a little higher. "Ya want it, Thorn?" The dog wasn't going to beg--not to one of his master's other pets--but his impatient whine sounded a little anxious, and his feet worked restlessly. "Right." David tossed. Thorn hopped, snatching the morsel out of mid-air. He dropped onto his belly, settled his meal between his paws. Holding it firmly with one paw, he began to gnaw and tear.

The boys watched silently for a moment. Paul nodded at the busy dog and said, "Proof positive that Lorena Bobbit chick wasn't as bad as she could have been. I mean, when she drove off with the guy's dick, she must've gone past a few yards that had dogs in 'em, right?"

David laughed, shaking his head as he unlocked the back door. "I don't know who's worse--me, or you."

Paul wheeled his bike out the door, pausing to grin back over his shoulder at his friend. "Lotta fun trying to one-up, though."

They walked their bikes out to the street, then climbed astride. David said, "I just thought of an errand I need to run. You go back and keep Dwayne company. I'll be back soon."

"What do you have to do?"

"It's gonna be a surprise. Go on, man. I know you want to be with him."

Paul smiled sheepishly, but didn't try to deny it. The engines growled into life, and the two boys separated.

*****

Paul spent that night sitting on the bed beside Dwayne, reading or listening to music. Occasionally he touch the cool body gently, stroking the dark hair and murmuring to Dwayne, speaking words of affection and reassurance.

When David appeared near dawn he was rumpled, and Paul noticed a rip in his shirt, over his ribs. David wouldn't let him look, but he was pretty sure there was a gash in his side. Paul didn't insist on looking. Their nature made all but the most severe injuries unimportant. They still experienced pain, but there was little that could actually damage them.

David sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed. "Paul, now that you have Dwayne, I'm going back to sleeping in the cavern."

"David, you don't have to..."

David cut him off. "I know, Paul, but it's only right that you two have a place together, at least the first few months. He's going to be needy and insecure--he'll need a lot of reassurance, and having you close will be the best thing for him. You remember how it was when you turned." Paul nodded. He'd been happy with his new existence--or more accurately, his new existence with David. But without the older boy's close, comforting support, he would have been totally miserable while adjusting to his new life.

"Besides, I actually rest better when I'm hanging. I know you have a hard time understanding that, but wait a few years and you'll see what I mean. The wanting to sleep in beds is pretty much a habit left over from being human."

"All right," Paul agreed. He reached out, touching David's knee. "But you'll be with us, if we ask, huh?"

David grinned, then stretched. "Speaking of which--bedtime."

"Stay?"

"Like I'd turn down an invitation like that."

They undressed, then slipped under the sheet--two active, cold bodies bracketing a still one. Paul kissed Dwayne's shoulder, whispering, "Soon, babe. Just a few more hours, and you'll wake up to a whole new world."

*****

*momdeaddeaddeadbloodtoomuchthatmuchblooddeadjakedrunkbastardgunohgodhurtsshotme\ sonofabitchpaul* "Paul?"

There was a soft gasp, and Dwayne heard, "I'm here, babe. Open your eyes."

"Don't wanna."

"C'mon, look at me. You've been sleeping a long time, and you need to wake up now."

"Light's too bright inna hospital."

Now he heard David's voice. "That's not gonna be a problem, baby brother. Open those pretty eyes."

Dwayne carefully slitted his eyes open, then blinked and opened them wider. Instead of the florescent glare he'd been expecting the light was soft and golden. Was he in a private room--maybe intensive care? They kept the lights dim at night in intensive care, didn't they? But if he was in ICU, he'd be waking up to a nurse or doctor, and not his two best friends.

Paul's face swam into view, the expression tender and relieved. "Welcome back, beautiful."

"Was I in a coma?"

"Something like that." David was on his other side. "You were taking a little longer than we expected to wake up, and Paul there got a little anxious. I kept telling him it wasn't like we could dial 911 in a case like this, so he just had to trust me and be patient."

Dwayne blinked, looking around. "I'm not in a hospital?" The room was slowly pulling into focus, and he recognized the dirt-blocked window, and the dingy wallpaper. He immediately felt more relaxed, recognizing his environment, but how had he gotten to the cliff side lair?

"How much do you remember of what happened?" David asked.

Dwayne thought. How much DID he remember? There was a lot of confusion, and some things that were down-right nightmarish. They must have given him drugs at some point--that was the only explanation he could think of. "I went back to the house." He gave them an apologetic look. "I should have waited."

"Don't worry about that, Dwayne," Paul reassured him. "What's past can't be changed. Go on."

"Jake finally beat my Mom to death," he said flatly. "I found her, then he came in and found ME. And he shot me." Dwayne looked puzzled. "In the back. Say, how long have I been out, since I'm not in a hospital?"

"It's been three days," Paul said. "Keep going."

Dwayne shrugged. "It gets... weird after that. For some reason I keep thinking I was in a car accident, too."

"I had to get you out of that ambulance somehow," said Paul.

Dwayne stared at him, then said slowly, "Paul, why am I NOT in a hospital? Or dead? It hurt so much, I know it had to be very bad."

Paul took his hand. "It was, babe."

Dwayne's voice was faint. "We... we were in an alley."

"Yes."

"You said I could be with you, but I had to die. I--died... didn't I?"

Paul kissed his hand. "Yes, babe."

"And I'm with you now."

"Yes."

Dwayne smiled slowly. "Good."

Part Ten: Fledgling

Dwayne's smile faded, replaced by a pained and puzzled look. "Paul, I think maybe this coming back from the dead thing isn't working. I feel awful." He pushed a hand restlessly through his long, dark hair, expression puckering. "I dunno how to explain it. I feel all hot and cold at the same time--like I did that time I had the flu and ran a 104 degree temperature." He sat up, the sheet sliding down his chest to pool in his lap, and folded his hands protectively over his belly. His voice was rising in bewilderment and discomfort. "And I feel sick to my stomach, but like I'm starving, and I'm so thirsty I could drink out of a urinal."

Paul put an arm around his shoulders, hugging him. "Stay calm, babe--it's natural." David snorted. "All right--it's EXPECTED. This is part of the turning. Your body has gone through a hell of a change, and you need to feed. You'll be all right after you get some food into you."

Dwayne managed a weak smile. "I'm going to assume you don't mean burgers."

"No," said Paul gently. "Dwayne, you're going to have to hunt for your food now."

Dwayne made a face. "I never hunted before. Jake the Snake used to have a deer lease, and he gave me hell because I wouldn't hunt. Not that he wanted me tagging along--it was just something else to ride me about."

"Different sort of hunting. This isn't going to be neat and clean, from a distance," warned David. "It's up close, and personal, and sometimes the prey fights back." He reached out and took Dwayne's chin in his hand, staring into the other boy's eyes. His voice was soft. "But with what you've been through, I think you have enough pain and anger stored up so that isn't going to be a real problem."

Paul started to get up, and Dwayne clung to his hand. "It's all right--I'm not going anywhere," he soothed. "I just need to get you some clothes. I'm afraid that riding a cycle bare ass might attract a little more attention than we need." He walked over to the closet where David had found his 'costume' for the hospital commando action, and began rummaging through the contents. "I think we'll have something here that'll fit you."

Dwayne watched him, thinking that he wasn't sure if he wanted to know how they came to have that big pile of assorted clothes, but suspecting that he would find out soon. David got up and said, "I'll be back in a minute. You two don't go anywhere, okay?" Paul, critically examining a grubby sweatshirt, nodded, and David left the room.

Paul dropped the sweatshirt. "I know we have something a little better in here." He dug deeper, then held up a Tee shirt. "This one is clean. How do you feel about Pearl Jam?"

"They were okay before they went commercial."

Paul tossed the shirt on the bed and grabbed a pair of jeans. "That'll do till we can shop. Those should fit. They might be a little tight, but..."

Dwayne reached for the clothes. "Hey, I've never minded tight jeans."

Paul grinned. "Bless you."

Dwayne started to stand up, and was suddenly light-headed. He swayed, putting out his hand to catch something for support. Suddenly Paul was there, catching him. Dwayne blinked. "Damn, you're fast."

"When I need to be, babe. Sit down, and I'll help you. Once you eat, you'll be all right." Dwayne pulled the shirt over his head while Paul fitted the pants on his lower legs. "We kept your boots. Shoes are a bitch to size unless you actually try them on. Okay, put your hand on my shoulder and stand, so we can get these the rest of the way up."

Dwayne stood, with Paul's help, and the blond vampire worked the jeans up his legs, then fastened them. "I hope David hurries up. I really, really need to get something in my belly. But I don't know how I'm going to ride into town. I feel like I'm going to pass out any minute now."

There were noises out in the hall. Paul cocked his head, and recognized more than one set of footsteps. There was scuffling, and a few thumps, as if someone had fallen *or been pushed?* against a wall--and there was a muffled, frantic gabbling. Paul rubbed Dwayne's shoulder, grinning. "I don't think that's going to be a problem."

David appeared in the doorway. "I gotta 'welcome to the family' present for you, little brother." He reached to the side, and dragged another figure into sight, pushing him into the room. It was a middle-aged man, with his hands bound behind him. He was gagged, and a trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth. "Oh, and Paul--I think you're going to like this, too."

The captive, a soiled bandana between his teeth, mumbled, "Astars! I ill oo."

"We tremble," drawled David. He shoved hard, and the wild-eyed man fell on the bed, close to the seated pair.

Paul eyed the man, then said, "This one looks familiar." He leaned closer, and got a whiff of... "Maple syrup?"

"Uck oo!" His eyes widened, and a slow grin started to form. "Son of a bitch--it's him!" David nodded. Paul looked at Dwayne. "When I first came to Santa Carla, this gentleman was reluctant to serve me at his fine, upscale establishment. He thought I'd eat and run." Paul reached down and buried his hand in the angry man's hair, shaking his head roughly, making him wince. "Lack of trust is HURTFUL, man." His voice was grieved. "I was wounded."

"Oh oo ell!"

"Man, you are just unsociable," said David mildly. "But then, I guess I'm not being much of a host." He pulled a knife from his pocket, snapping it open. "No need to keep the rag in, since there's no fucking way anyone's gonna hear you out there. He reached toward the man, who started kicking. David moved quickly, kneeling on him and using his free hand to press down on the man's forehead, forcing his head into the mattress. "I don't feel like farting around trying to untie knots, so just be still unless you wanna get cut." The man stilled, and David sliced through the gag.

The man spit the fabric out and said, "Prick! I'm not afraid of you punks."

"You're not?" David crawled off him, kicking his leg. "You're fuckin' stupid, then."

"You don't dare do anything to me, you little shits. I'll be missed."

Paul laughed. "Damn, dude. Haven't you noticed how many people go missing in Santa Carla? What makes you think you're gonna be anything special?"

Dwayne was staring down at the man. It was odd. The man was bound and gagged, and all he could think of was... "He smells good." He looked at Paul, puzzled. "But I don't even really LIKE pancakes."

"Faggot," snapped the man. His tone was venomous.

Dwayne's expression tightened, and Paul immediately punched the man in the face--hard. "Shut the fuck up, asshole!"

The cook's nose started to bleed, and Dwayne felt himself begin to tremble, staring at the crimson trickle. The sweet, coppery smell was stronger. "Paul?" he whispered.

"Yeah, babe--that's what you're smelling. Go on, he's yours."

"You fuckin' ain't gonna rape me!" the man squalled.

"Don't flatter yourself," said Paul, disgusted. "I'd sooner stick my dick in a garbage disposal." He moved to the other side and shoved the man's head over, pinning it like David had, and exposing his neck. "Go on, Dwayne." He touched the side of the man's neck. "Right here, see? If you get the carotid, it can spurt too strong, and you lose a lot if you aren't fast, so you need to go for the jugular till you get a few under your belt."

Dwayne bent toward the man, then hesitated. His eyes went wide, and his hand flew to his mouth. "My teeth hurt."

"It's just your fangs dropping."

"My fangs?"

David smiled. "Sure, doofus. You know--fangs--vampires. How did you think you were going to get blood--take out a loan at the plasma bank?" Dwayne's mouth was slightly open, and David reached over, slipping one finger in to stroke gently over the prominent canines. "As pretty a set as I've ever seen. Use 'em, bro."

Again Dwayne started to bend down, and hesitated. He looked at Paul, almost apologetically. "I... don't think I can."

David shook his head. "Damn, that last little bit of humanity is hard to get over. Here." He ran a finger through the blood that was now dripping past the man's chin. He smeared the blood over the boy's mouth, then stood back.

Dwayne's tongue flicked out, and his eyes grew wide as the taste flooded him. He lapped eagerly, cleaning his lips, but still he hesitated, staring doubtfully at the captive.

The man snarled, "Fucking little fairy!"

Dwayne's head swam as memories flickered through his mind. The sour smell of whiskey and sweat, hard hands mauling his body, a heavy body pressing him down, the sound of his mother shuffling away, ignoring his pleas, and those exact same words, spoken in another voice. He lunged.

In the second before pain ripped into his throat, the man saw the pretty boy's face change into something inhuman. He tried to scream, but all he could manage was a wet, gargling sound. The thing shook its head, causing tearing pain, and the man felt the hot gush of blood bathe his shoulder. There were growls, and sucking sounds. He had time to think that the blond punk had been right--he SHOULD have been afraid. He was grateful when the darkness claimed him.

The two elder vampires watch in approving silence as the fledgling fed for the first time. After awhile, David put his hand on Dwayne's shoulder. "C'mon, kiddo, don't gorge. It isn't good to glut yourself--it makes you sluggish, and we have somewhere to be tonight."

Dwayne made a little moan, but he obeyed, sitting back on his heels as his face sank back into human form. Paul hugged him. "Just give it a minute, babe. Let it start to nourish you. Believe me, you'd have been too full, if you'd kept going."

Dwayne touched his chin, feeling it wet, and drew away fingers slick with blood. He regarded them for a moment, then licked them clean. Dwayne glanced down at the man, noting the gore. "I made a mess."

Paul pulled a bandana from his pocket and gently wiped Dwayne's face clean. "You'll get better. All babies make a mess when they first start feeding themselves."

Dwayne looked down, and noticed that, though the man was staring upward, blood still pumped slowly from the ragged wound in his neck. "He's still alive."

"He won't be for long," David said negligently. "Feeling better now?"

Dwayne nodded. He stood up carefully, waiting to see if he'd become faint again, but he didn't. "Yeah, I feel fine." His voice grew stronger. "I feel better than I have for a long time. The bleeding's stopped."

Paul pushed the body, and it rolled limply to the floor. "Yep. One less asshole in the world."

David clapped his hands. "Okay, now that's out of the way, it's time to go into town." "What about that?" Dwayne indicated the corpse.

David shrugged. "He's not going anywhere."

"But won't he...? I mean, I..."

"Oh, HELL no, little brother. Gah, if every piece of trash we fed off of rose again, there'd be hordes of us and none of them in no time at all. Don't worry about that." He reached out and laid a gentle hand on Dwayne's cheek. "You can't accidentally make one of us, Dwayne. It takes effort."

Paul moved up behind him, embracing him and laying his cheek against the shorter boy's back. "We only do it for special people. I was special for David--you're special for me."

"Was David special for Max?" Something flared in David's eyes, a combination of anger, pain, and sorrow, and Dwayne said quickly, "I'm sorry!"

"No." David shook his head. "Don't be. I guess I'm special to Max--but not like that. Never like that."

"And I won't have to be like that... with Max?"

"No," Paul said instantly, fiercely.

"No," agreed David. "You don't have to worry about that. Max..." He bit his lip. "Look, Max is in charge, yeah. And he thinks of us as his family. Well," he glanced at Paul, "Paul and I see things a little different, but he doesn't have to know about that. Things are just easier if we go along. It won't always be like that, but it has to be for now. Okay?"

"I can handle it, as long as I have you and Paul."

As they left the lair, Paul said, "If you want to, we can find out where they took your mother. I'm not sure whether or not they'll have buried her by now."

"That's not necessary."

"You sure? I don't want you to make a decision you'll regret, man. After all, she gave birth to you."

They'd reached the bikes, and Dwayne mounted behind Paul, wrapping his arms securely around the other boy's waist as David got on his own bike. "Maybe she did." Dwayne kissed the back of Paul's neck, and exulted in the way the other boy shivered. "But sometimes it's not who you were born to."

The End

Notes: *sigh* I guess I should interpret the guy's mumblings when he's gagged. Astars! I ill oo--Bastards! I'll kill you! Uck oo!--Fuck you! Yeah, I know it's pretty evident, but hey... Better safe than sorry. Oh oo ell--Go to hell.