InsaneJournal

Who: Dusty and Gareth (flashback)
Where: Abandoned Extang Building - Ann Arbor
When: May 20th, 2009 - 12:05am
What: Dusty's brush with death


Gareth was running. His lungs ached, his feet thudded against the floor again and again, and his head was pounding. "Dusty?" His accented voice bounced off the plain grey walls and back to him, as though he were being mocked. He'd heard the scream-- where was it coming from? Where the fuck was Dusty. "C'mon you wet end! Tell me where th'fuck you are!" He was terrified, panicked. Why the fuck had they split up? That had been an awful idea. A god damn awful idea. Turning a corner, and then running down a flight of stairs, Gareth stumbled a little. "Dusty c'mon man! Tell me you're okay!" His voice cracked and as it did the blonde man slipped. It was a long slide, his black cowboy boots slicking against something wet on the floor and nearly sending him toppling. He let his gaze dart down and spied blood. There wasn't a lot of it, but enough to make him nervous. "Dust---" The name wasn't even fully out of his mouth before he tripped, this time over something solid. Looking down he recognized the scarred hands and leather jacket and cried out, dropping to his knees. "Dusty?!"

By the time he'd started hearing another voice aside from his own, the pain had started to change, the feelings in his body horrific and too different to be able to put into words. He'd been screaming; his ears were ringing, and there was pain all over, under his fingernails, inside his temples, at the heels of his feet. His boots made deep, resounding thuds as he thrashed on the floor, nails breaking as he clawed at the ground. Nothing could help, nothing could soothe it. He knew what was happening even before Gareth appeared, knew that the change was happening. He tried to speak but there was only panic, gurgled noises that made him sound as though he were choking on his own fears. The hunt had gone terribly awry. There was no going back. Nothing would ever be the same between them ever again. "Gah-" he tried, his hardened muscles trembling, his spine twisted as the last leg of the change overcame him.

Gareth was making soundless noises, watching as Dusty's skin seemed to be bleaching. His throat was closed tight as he watched the final stage of the transformation, his hands hovering above Dusty's body, not quite touching. "Dusty, god damn it Dusty..." He was deep in shock, unable to think, to realize what he was doing. He grasped his long time friend abruptly, pulling him up, embracing him. "Dusty god man... talk to me... oh fuck he really..." He felt the thickness in his voice, the sound of tears, though they hadn't come through all the way just yet. "Dustin. God damn it!" He was suddenly furious. "You ain't fuckin' dyin! YOU AINT!"

Dusty couldn't really think clearly enough to answer Gareth, the pounding of his heart fading into nothingness as the change climbed into every vein, shut down his human body, immortalized his form. He had been frozen suddenly, stopped at the dirtied age of forty-six, lost in the waves of what would become a lifetime he would never leave. The realization of this surfaced in his mind and as his blue eyes widened - clearer than they'd ever been - he screamed again, blood-curlding and unforgiving. He screamed in mourning, and in anger and the immense feeling of loss. He had been robbed of what was his, of the life he'd been born into whether or not he'd ever really appreciated it. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. He'd become a demon in a matter of moments, become the one thing they'd spent so many years hunting down and destroying.

"No. No nononno. We're... we're going home. Dusty-- come on." Gareth wouldn't let this happen. His mind refused to accept that it already had happened. "Come here." He started to gather the smaller man up, gather him into his arms and lift him. "Y--You're gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay... Dustin...we'll... you're not dying." His heart was hammering in his ears, his eyes starting to blur with tears. "Dustin..." it was beyond belief, beyond comprehension... and it fucking wasn't fair. This was Dusty, who he'd been hunting with since they were ten. Dustin who gave him noogies even up until this morning, Dusty who had beaten up not one, not two, or even three, but five bullies in their class who had targeted Gareth in seventh grade... Dusty who was his best friend. His best friend was becoming a vampire. "You'll be fine. I promise."

Dusty started struggling as Gareth tried pulling him up from the ground, his arms clenching, muscles pulling like rope as he attempted to pull away. "No!" he roared, jaw jutted out as his mouth hung open, fangs obvious even in the dimly lit warehouse. "No, Gare... we ain't going back... we can't go back... you gotta..." He clenched his teeth, arms folding over his stomach as his mind went wild with accusations, crazy thoughts, things that didn't make sense. He was so overwhelmed with anger that nothing made any kind of sense. Finally Dusty reached out for Gareth before the other man could stop him, grabbing for and taking his gun from him, right out of the holster. He turned off the safety and shoved it into his mouth, handle upward toward the ceiling as he screamed around it. He couldn't do this. He couldn't BE this. This wasn't what they'd gunned for since they were children. This wasn't where he'd ever imagined his life would take him. The only way out of this, the only thing that made sense... it was in the cool metal in his mouth.

Gareth was too stunned to react for a moment. What was... what was Dusty-- "Dusty! Don't--" He swallowed, inching forward. "Dusty. Stop. Don't..." He looked at the older man, trying to think-- it was all happening too fast for him to breathe, let alone think. "Dusty, god damn it... we... Listen to me man. We can stop this from happenin'. Granddad said..." And then, before the other man could react, Gareth darted forward. He found himself thanking whatever higher powers there were that he had been so well trained by his grandfather. With one hand he grabbed Dusty's wrist, with the other he knocked the gun out of the smaller man's hand sending it skittering across the floor of the warehouse, clanking as it went. "God damn it Dusty, I can't let you die on me!" He nearly screamed, and then the tears were coming, hot and fast, burning like boiling water the whole way down his cheeks.

Dusty thrashed to try to get away from Gareth, livid, his eyes bright and wide as he reached for the gun. It was impossibly out of reach and there was no way he was getting out of the other man's grip. They were of near equal strength, their years of hunting and training hardening them both, building them up in unison. It was enough to keep Dusty in place, and finally his body gave out on him, his frame slumping downward onto the floor. "Fuck it Gareth! Fuck you! You know what has to be done! We made a fucking pact, you fucking liar! You goddamn lily-assed, lying, two-faced sack of shit!" He was raging, red with it from head to toe even through the blanched palor of his skin. "You have to do it!"

Gareth struggled with his friend, working to keep the gun out of reach. The tears fucking hurt. He couldn't breathe, his nose was running snot and his throat was tight with emotion. Finally Dusty dropped, giving up, and Gareth relaxed a little -- until the other man began shouting. For a long moment the blonde stood stock still. His hair hung in his eyes, a golden-white curtain that obscured his features. Dusty was right. They had made a pact. If either of them were bitten... it had been a blood pact. He remembered now how Dusty had pulled his Dad's pocket knife out of its hiding spot one afternoon in August. He could see it in his mind's eye now: Two boys, no older than fourteen, standing in the middle of a filthy living room. A living room littered with cigarette butts and empty beer cans. The snores of Dusty's drunk bastard of a father came from two rooms over, and resonated the house. Two boys with blonde hair and blue eyes and grimy faces. Faces lined with dirt from the outside world. Dusty had taken the knife -- it had glinted in the late afternoon sunlight -- and drawn it across his palm. There had been a wince, a hiss of pain, and then he was bleeding, bright red and cherry. He'd cursed and told Gareth to hold his hand out too. Gareth hadn't hesitated. He stretched his palm out, holding it for his friend to cup. Dusty had taken his hand, holding the knife with the one that wasn't bleeding, and then in a swift movement, sliced open Gareth's smaller hand. Gareth had gritted his teeth to keep from crying out, and had done a pretty good job. "Spit on it." Dusty's command left no room for argument and Gareth had done as he was told. He watched while Dustin did the same thing. Then Dusty reached out, grasping his hand, and they held their palms together, mingling spit and blood, pain and a fear so strong and white that he couldn't stand it. He swooned a little and Dusty had given him a hard, no nonsene look. "Swear." Inhaling sharply, the blonde looked up to meet the other boy's eyes. He hesitated and Dusty gripped his hand hard enough to break bones. "Swear you sissy. This 'aint no game. Swear!" And Gareth had. "I swear. One'a us gets bit, the other will put an end to the mess." As abruptly as it came, the memory shattered, the sunlit and dirty living room splintering, and he was suddenly back in the present. He had made a blood pact. He couldn't go back now. Stepping back, the blonde man reached for the gun, bending to get it. He lifted the metal object and it felt impossibly heavy in his hands... a thousand pounds. "I swore. Y'right." He managed, and aimed the gun at the older man's head. "I'm so sorry---" His voice broke and he began to sob. "I'm sorry Dusty."

Dusty was on the ground still, on his knees, waiting to hear the shot ring out. He wouldn't, though. Looking up into Gareth's paled featured, Dusty realized he wouldn't hear the gun. He wouldn't have the chance. It would just... be over with. The pain would stop -- not the pain in his body, but the pain in his heart, in his very core. He couldn't live through eternity in this guise of human, a monster with fangs and a bloodlust for the people that had been born around him. It wasn't right. It was all the Devil's work. "Do it," he managed, throat tight as Gareth hesitated. "God damn it, Gare, don't fucking think about it! Just do it already!"

Gareth looked down at his friend. Dusty was on his knees. Somehow that made it all the worse. He was going to shoot his best friend like a dog in the street. On his knees like a fucking criminal. The idea brought a wave of nausea upon him so strong that he couldn't breathe and the gun began to shake in his hands. "Dusty... Dusty....do you remember..." A sob hiccuped through and he tried to hold himself together. Maybe if he talked to Dusty... he didn't want it to end like this. Maybe if he just talked to him.... treated him like a human... then it would be easier to pull the trigger. "Do you remember that day that my granddad took us fishin at the Rio? You wanted to go swimmin', and Granddad said no... he said that the water was filthy. An' you..." Another sob, this one accompanied with a half laugh... the laugh of nostalgia. "An you said 'To hell with you old man, I'm swimmin if I want!' and you jumped in? And... and then, when you climbed out, you was covered in leeches... and... and granddad made me.... made me pour salt all over you..." He was now lowering the gun, crying so hard the words were barely intelligible. "I can't do it Dusty... I can't... " He crumpled to his knees, now crying until snot ran in runners down his nose and over his mouth and chin. Clutching the gun close, he buried his face against his arms. "I can't shoot you. I'm chicken shit I guess. I can't do it."

Dusty clenched his teeth, his fangs - his fucking fangs - touching his lips as he struggled back to his feet. He couldn't fucking believe what he was seeing, what he was hearing. He didn't want to accept that this was it, that he was stuck like this. "NO!" he roared, demanding he be paid attention to as he stalked toward Gareth. "You stupid asshole, you get up and man up! This ain't no time for crying! Gimme the damn gun if you ain't gonna do it!" He reached for the gun, annoyed that it wasn't immediately accessible and instead of playing nice or waiting to be dealt with, Dusty came back a second time. This time it was with a rock-solid fist, his knuckles connecting with the side of Gareth's face to try and knock some sense into him. It wasn't something he was really thinking about, not something that he really even understood. He just had to hurt him right now. "SHOOT ME!" he screamed. "SHOOT ME, GARETH!"

Gareth took the blows with surprising grace. He struggled, falling back, and stuck his gun down his pants. It was a stupid, unsafe thing to do, but at least he knew that Dusty wouldn't go for it. Curling back in on himself, He tried at first to protect himself from the blows by shielding himself, but then he realized that in his vampiric state-- god damn it. Dusty was a fucking vampire-- he could kill him, and Gareth uncurled himself and began to fight back, blocking punches, throwing his own. "I can't just fuckin' shoot you!" He screamed back, and, rocking forward onto his knees, launched himself at Dusty. "I can't kill my best friend, even if he's a fuckin..." He didn't dare say the word and instead swung his arm wide, landing a punch on the older man's jaw -- tears still streaming down his cheeks. "I'm not shooting you Dusty!"

Dusty went down, too stunned by the reaction to be able to block it properly. It didn't hurt as badly as it should have... it was there, but it wasn't the same. It was never going to be the same again. "I'm not your best friend anymore!" he shouted in return, rolling onto his side to look up into Gareth's eyes. "I'm not the man you been working with the last thirty-six years, Gare! I ain't him anymore! I ain't Dusty, god damn it! Cain't you see that?!"

"You are!" Gareth cried in almost comical tones of despair. "Y'the same kid I used to look at dirty mags with, same kid I used to tag out in baseball, same kid I had fistfights with every other day!" Unthinkingly the blonde man grasped Dusty's jacket, pulled the other man close, so close their foreheads were almost touching. "Y'still my best friend, and I can't just fucking shoot you!" His voice cracked and he held the other man down, practically embracing him. "If you was just a monster, I could take you out! BUT YOU AINT! Y'STILL MY GOD DAMNED FRIEND!"

Dusty gave in when Gareth grabbed him to pull him close, mouth agape as his body was moved, jostled around as though he were a ragdoll. It didn't matter... nothing mattered. If Gareth didn't want to shoot him, he couldn't make him. His eyes seemed lifeless for the first time in a long time, devoid of any connection for the moment. He looked like his brain had died, as though he were deadened on the inside. Dusty had no answers or sharp responses for Gareth. He barely had the strength to blink, to catch up with what was happening... and so he gave up, stilling, falling silent. It wasn't worth it anymore.

Somehow seeing Dusty like this was worse than having him fight but... "I'll take care of you Dusty..." His voice cracked again and he gathered his fellow hunter up, struggling to his feet weakly. "We gotta go home." It was said in a toneless way. He was engulfed in shock, wrapped in the non-feeling like a blanket, and for a moment, it was a relief for the time being. "I'm... I'm gonna take care'a you Dusty." He muttered. Take care of Dusty, just as he always had.... even if he didn't know how to just yet.