The first thing Claire recognized was the sharp, spicy smell that burned in the back of her throat and ripped her back into consciousness. She groaned, screwing her eyes tight against what slowly registered as tenderized ribs, the lingering burn in her leg, and shoulders that were absolutely screaming. They were shrugged tight against her neck, stretched above her head and tied at the wrists with a grainy, cheap velvet rope--that rope was strung by a chain thrown over a beam that crossed the ceiling.
“Morning, Officer.”
Claire opened her eyes at the familiar, faint accent. They met the pale green gaze of ‘Jeffery Donovan,’ who pulled the bottle of smelling salts away from her nose, and smiled at her before sliding a hand up to push her hair over her shoulder.
“I’m happy they got my message not to harm you. You may not be of my tastes, but you are a pretty thing. I would’ve hated to see you damaged.”
“How considerate,” Claire sneered through the discomfort, trying to ignore the way her stomach twisted with the connotations she caught in his words. As soon as he freed more of her field of vision, she swept the large, windowless room with her eyes, looking for Ben. She found him in the exact position she was in, fifteen feet directly across from her but looking a lot less worse for wear.
Jeffery followed her gaze and smiled, then moved over to the other hunter and lifted his unconscious head by the hair.
“He, on the other hand, did not make the cut. We’re giving him a good tenderizing before pushing him along to our employees. They prefer junk food anyway.”
Claire felt every muscle from her wrists to the bottom of her shoulder blades shift and shudder when her hands clenched on their own. She’d been in dire situations before; in the place of mortal fear and acceptance of the consequences that came with the path she followed, Claire was always comforted by prayer. Right then, however, there were no words to God for guidance or strength. Only an acidic rage incited by the vampire’s plans for Ben, and an unnamed terror that went along with the thought of losing him. She swallowed it all back--or tried to, anyway.
“So what makes me so special?” she asked with no small amount of bite; trying for distraction. Trying to keep his focus on her, if she could... even though Claire had no idea how they were getting out of this. Jeffrey let go of Ben’s head and once again he slumped forward, hanging from his bindings like so much meat. The vampire chuckled, ripping Ben’s button-down shirt open and exposing his undershirt and chest. Claire tensed even more, but bit down on her tongue to keep from showing it.
“You remind me of a Botticelli piece,” he replied smoothly, producing a knife from nowhere and slicing through Ben’s undershirt. “I’ve always admired his work, ever since I first met him. To own a living piece of art such as you would be exquisite. I only hope my Sire allows it.”
Claire stared across from her, drawing closer and closer to full blown animal panic. She’d never worked with someone for so long--she’d never developed friendships beyond that of an occasional contact; not since she was a girl. She was utterly unprepared for the surge of protective rage that came from this very intentful display. Her lips pursed tight. She didn’t know what to do...
“Let’im go...” she finally blurted, thoughtlessly, but she didn’t regret it. Her eyes darted to the vampire’s face. She knew how ludicrous the demand was, but logic was taking a back seat to the desperateness of the situation.
Jeffrey turned to look at her inquisitively, his head tilting to follow the shape of her body with his eyes before he met her gaze again.
“I can’t,” he replied. “I have orders to kill both of you, in fact. My hope is to convince my Sire to let me keep you in order to spare your life. And sadly I can’t just kill your friend. That would be wasteful.” He said everything with a tone most reserved toward business.
“So where is your Sire?” she replied quickly. The blood was leaving her arms and felt like it was pooling and congealing in the joints of her shoulders. The chain clinked on it’s rafter above when she attempted to shift, and was reminded of the blows she took outside.
“Do you really want to know?” he asked her, turning his gaze back to Ben’s lifeless form yet again.
Stay asleep. God please, let him stay out... Claire felt her throat seize on her next breath, which tightened her voice. “Wouldn’t’ve asked otherwise...”
“He is checking the progress of the newest mother,” Jeffrey replied at last. He remained still for a moment, then returned his knife to the sheath at his hip. Without even a pause he curled his hand into a fist and landed a punch squarely into Ben’s ribcage. Claire stiffened, as if it were herself that’d been hit. Donovan’s words echoed like the sound of the chain above Ben’s stretched arms, resounding from the blow.
“So you were breeding them.” Talking left a sour taste in Claire’s mouth in the absence of the words she wanted to say; or shout. It was a miracle she was able to keep herself as reposed as she was--to filter her words, when all she wanted to do was scream insults and protests. Both of which, she knew would result in more violence toward Ben. “Y’know, that’s incredibly inefficient...”
Jeffrey turned his eyes back to Claire with a lift of his brows and a faint smile on his handsome mouth. “Is that so?” She held his eyes as hard as she could, resisting the urge to look back at Ben.
“Well you’d think, as long as you claim to’ve been around, you’d come up with some McVampy version of fast food, instead of waiting twenty years for a meal.” The bridge of Claire’s nose wrinkled when she peeled her top lip back, just a hair--a show of disgust and disdain mixed with challenge. She just prayed it worked. “You’re in Milwaukee, for Pete’s sake. These people have eating down to an art--you should learn from your food.”
Jeffrey scoffed at her, strolling on front of her again. He brought his hand up to her face, tracing a single finger down her cheek.
“Oh dove,” he said softly. “One percent of the population is still quite a lot of food. We do not feed daily, and it gives us an excuse to travel and see the world. And,” he added with a slow smile. “Nothing tastes better than food grown fresh. We’ve certainly tried genetically modified methods, much like you have, but we can taste the difference. You’ll learn soon enough.”
Her skin still tingled uncomfortably where he had touched her, and Claire felt her arms bend against her own weight in an attempt to flush a bit more blood to her hands, or perhaps to test the rope for the tenth time since waking... but she still held onto that exotic, frigid green gaze. His eyes were like stagnant ponds frozen over by winter. Claire had to bite back the urge to spit in his face.
Instead, she pulled a shaky breath through flaring nostrils, and stared him and her own fears down. She spoke low, dark and even; her tone more of a promise than an angered threat. “Whether its tonight, or ten years from now; I will kill you.”
Jeffrey smiled pleasantly at her, leaning in close so that they were cheek to cheek and his warm breath brushed against her ear.
“I look forward to every attempt you make, dove,” he purred into her ear. Then he pulled away, moving back to Ben and landing at ten blows on him in the space of five seconds. By the fourth hit Ben had finally awoken, and he shouted out in pain with every subsequent punch.
“STOP!” Claire could no longer reign herself in, not after the packed-meat sounds mixed with the sharp yells. A fire blazed in her lungs that overshadowed any discomfort she may’ve been in earlier. She didn’t even feel the ropes or the strain--she just pulled at the chain and yelled desperate and rageful at Donovan. Claire’s protests and Ben’s broken shouts combined with Jeffrey’s sadistic laughter as he took another six hits, aiming the final two at Ben’s jaw. He pulled his fists away and ran his tongue up the trail of blood that now covered his knuckles, though his nose wrinkled just slightly.
“B-positive,” Jeffrey lilted. “1999. Not a terrible year. A little too much sodium, though. You really should’ve kept better watch of that.”
Adrenalin pumped through her blood, hot as battery acid and a little too close to the surface. Claire flushed at the cheeks and her eyes stung, same as the stretched muscles in her shoulders as she pulled at the rope and gritted her teeth. The breath growled in the back of her throat until the the strain was too much. She went slack for a moment of needed rest.
“Sick Fuck,” she hissed, swearing in a rare moment of personal failure. Jeffrey simply chuckled. Suddenly the door behind him opened and another man appeared, speaking to him in a language Claire didn’t understand. Jeffrey answered in kind, then turned his eyes to Claire again.
“My Sire has arrived. Please excuse me, dove. I won’t be but a moment.”
His ‘politeness’ was stomach-turning to Claire from the beginning, but that didn’t register after the door shut behind him and the other. She looked across the short distance at Ben, her eyes glassy and burning.
Ben remained motionless for a long time where he was tied up, his breathing shallow due to what could only be broken ribs. When he finally spoke his voice was gritty and dark.
“This is so not how I pictured things going down.”
Hearing his voice was bittersweet. Something twisted in Claire’s chest, and she swallowed it down hard. When she answered, it was strained, but not by pain. Not physical pain, anyway.
“What did you hear...”
“Not a lot,” he admitted in the same gravelly voice. “Give me the short version?”
Claire rolled her lips and looked up at the rafters, sighing shakily through her words. “They’ve got a breeding program for the elders. Also, I’m the next pet, and you’re food.”
“Why do you always get to be the pet?” Ben muttered. “That’s so not fair.”
Despite the situation, his weak humor managed to put a faint, sad smile on her face. It also made her heart hurt, and Claire breathed in deep to keep the sting in her eyes from becoming tears. “You can be the pet next time.”
“Holdin’ you to that,” he replied weakly. Silence fell between them before Ben licked his too-dry lips and swallowed around a parched throat. “Claire, I... whatever happens, just know I...”
There was no warning; no pop of noise or flash of light. One moment they were alone in the room and the next Jesse stood between them, a machete clutched in his hands.
“Whoa.” He took a couple steps back, staring at them. “Hey, look, it’s cool if you’re into S&M and all, but you really think now’s the time?”
The corner of his mouth pulled up at the joke, but his eyes were too round to pull it off.
Claire squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, then reopened them. Yes, Jesse was still there, but oddly enough, the fact that she wasn’t hallucinating wasn’t much of a comfort. It would’ve made sense with the joking, though. Him and Ben, both--maybe it was a guy thing.
She snapped out of her stunned reverie and arched her brows at Jesse. The mechanics of how the hell he just found them could be saved for later. “Get him down! They’ll be back any second...”
Relieved someone else was in charge, Jesse hurried over, lifting the machete with shaking hands. Up close, Ben looked worse, like he’d been worked over with a bat. Jesse’s stomach tightened. “You look like shit, dude.”
“Yeah well, I got the shit kicked out of me. What’s your excuse?” Ben croaked out in response.
With a real grin, Jesse starting sawing at the ropes holding Ben up. It came away with a snap and Ben fell hard to the floor with a groan, struggling to get to his feet.
“How did you get in here?” The voice cracked through the air like a shot. Donovan stepped through the door, followed by a handful of equally shocked and hungry underling vampires, and a stoic, stick of a figure that calmly brought up the rear.
Jesse whipped around, machete raised as one, then several people walked in the room. Except they probably weren’t people. Shit, shit, shit, he thought, his stomach dropping to his feet. Just the sound of the voices were enough to get Ben moving, panic and fear fueling him as he grabbed the machete out of Jesse’s hand and swung it sharply at the nearest vampire’s head. His whole body screamed in protest.
Claire tensed visibly, not only rigid from the voice behind her, but by the panicked expression on Jesse and Ben’s face when they whipped around. “Jesse!” She barked to get his attention when Ben lunged in attack. Her eyes wide, sharp as her voice in her own panic and urgency. “Can you get him out?!” He popped in in the blink of any eye--God willing, he could take Ben with him.
“No, I-- It doesn’t work--” Claire. Ben had the vampires distracted for now, so he had to get her free while there was time. She knew how to battle these things, after all.
In two quick strides he was next to her, pulling at the knots that held her up. Velvet was trickier when you didn’t have a machete. He gasped as an iron hand grabbed his shoulder and slammed him back against the wall.
“That’s mine.” Donovan growled, all teeth and murder flushed up to Jesse’s face, as his hands pinned the younger man’s shoulders to the wall like carpentry nails. The vampire’s nostrils flared when he caught something aside from the normal plebeian blood he’d come to expect from the masses. His eyes narrowed to slits and his lips peeled back for words or attack, but they never came. Ben had slid the machete through the small space while the vampire was distracted like a rope, then pulled back with full force. The blade embedded into the vampire’s neck, but didn’t quite decapitate him.
Donovan flailed viciously, his hands going up to pull the machete free. Ben yanked it back and, now that there was space enough between him and Jesse, he swung it with all the force of a baseball bat and the vampire’s head separated from his body.
Claire’s blood pounded in her ears and she pulled violently against the rope digging into her wrists; a fight she abandoned when two snarling vampires started past her, toward Ben and Jesse. She steeled her arms as best she could and snatched at the last one with her legs, catching the female around her waist, and locked her ankles. It wouldn’t last long, but it was all she could do.
“Two o’clock!” She shouted at Ben in warning, right before another pair of chilly hands twisted in his open shirt and slammed him to the ground.
Panic rent through Jesse, but he had to do something. With no weapon, he worked on instinct, and hit the vampire with a roundhouse kick to the face. His eyes went wide as the vampire’s head snapped back; he’d never done that before. Now wasn’t the time to question it. With another kick, he sent the vampire sprawling to the ground. But there were more coming, and Ben looked like a ball of pain. So Jesse snatched up the machete and, in one smooth move, brought it down on the neck of the vampire fighting to get away from Claire. Her head split clean off. Not missing a step, he brought the blade up to slice through Claire’s restraints before stepping in front of her.
“If any of you want to live, I’m warning you now, get the fuck outta here!” he snarled.
Claire was caught somewhere between disbelief and auto-pilot; Jesse’s apparent expert knowledge of melee combat was a little more than unexpected, but she didn’t have time or the mental capacity to focus on that right now. The second her hands were free, she ignored the surge of fire in her joints and dropped to Ben’s side--she had to make sure he was still breathing.
A figure in the doorway who had been watching the entire scene transpire smirked and chuckled. “You forget, boy,” he said in a smooth, melodic voice. “We are already dead.”
“Yeah, well have a fun afterlife without your head,” Jesse said, his lip curling.
Then he swept into the melee. Not a step, not a motion was wasted. He moved as though he had eyes all the way around his head, no vampire getting a chance to get close, unless it was so he could cleave off its head. His snarls roared over theirs and the thuds of heads hitting the floor. He didn’t notice as the figure in the doorway stepped away and disappeared.
When the last vampire hit the ground, he spun towards Claire and Ben. His chest heaved, blood splattered down the front of him and splashed over his face, and his eyes locked on Claire’s with a nearly audible snap.
She just... stared, wide and wild-eyed. Ben’s unconscious weight half sprawled against her in the position she’d managed to get him in before--all that--something very primordial inside her buzzed in warning when her eyes caged in Jesse’s. What had been only a few seconds seemed like an eternity of silence, of Claire trying to decipher what was screaming inside her before a bit of rational thought overshadowed it.
“We gotta get him outta here,” her voice rasped, still tight with that unnamed anxiety. She’d just have to revisit it later, when they were out of the lion’s den. Even though it was empty, Claire couldn’t help but feel like there was one more beast, staring at her from some dark place.
***
Everything hurt. Lying perfectly still hurt, turning his head a little to avoid the light hurt, even breathing hurt. There’d only ever been three situation in the entirety of Ben’s life where he’d been in so much pain he couldn’t think straight, and none of them stacked up against how he currently felt. All he wanted to do was die, but he didn’t. He remained on whatever flat surface he currently lied on, trying very hard to take the smallest breaths he could afford to take without making himself even more ill, and very carefully shifted his arm so it covered his eyes.
Claire stood up from her crouch at the foot of the hotel bed, where she’d been digging through the newly stocked med kit in her bag. The sound and sight of Donovan’s fists tearing muscle and skin and cracking bone played itself over and over behind her eyes, images that were mixed with the scene that Ben hadn’t witnessed. Both things made her stomach twist and her blood run a little cold. As bittersweet as it was, at least she had something to focus on--her immediate goal was the black, blue and bloody figure on the bed.
“I sent Jesse to fill my scrip--he’ll be back soon.” How soon crossed her mind--would he just materialize in the middle of the hotel room again? Could he do that anywhere? Claire pushed the questions out of her mind and focused on Ben. His shirt was still open from where Jeffery had torn it. Claire pushed something cold and slightly heavy into his hand, as gently as she could. His flask.
“You’re gonna need it,” she said with a hint of nostalgia and sadness. “I gotta set those ribs.”
“Line-stealer,” Ben said creakily, giving her a wispy smile before unscrewing the cap on the flask and putting it to his lips. All he could remember of the nest was pain. Then Jesse had appeared, and everything else faded away.
When he finally pulled the flash back, he pulled his arm free to look for her. “How long was I out?”
“Not too long,” she replied quietly, still a little haunted. She set the stretch Ace bandage on the end table and gathered her hair over one shoulder, out of her eyes. Then light as a feather, traced where the struts of his ribs were supposed to be under the line of purple and green bruised muscle. She found the first misalignment, and waited, taking a baited breath. “Tell me when you’re ready.”
“Just do it,” he said through gritted teeth, already bracing himself. Claire made sure her fingertips were placed perfectly before firmly pressing the bone back in place. The feeling of it snapping back to normal and Ben going stiff as a board was enough to force her eyes closed. There was no way to stop the choked noises that came out of him every time she paused, and by the time she’d finally finished he was crying. It humiliated him. Ben turned his face toward the window, emptying the last of the flask and letting it drop hollowly from his hand to the floor.
Claire didn’t speak, or bring attention to any of it. She still had to wrap them, to keep them set so he’d heal--but it could wait a few minutes. The sound of his pain was an unexpected sort of torture she didn’t know how to deal with yet. It was by a deep seeded instinct and something warmer on top of it that silently reached for the hand that dropped his flask. She sat back on her heels on the floor by the bed, and just let him squeeze if he had to.
Jesse appeared just in front of the window, a white paperbag clutched in his hand. He would have preferred the door, and knew they would, too, but that devil’s snare was tricky to get around.
He almost popped right back out when he saw them, quiet and strong. Depending on each other. But he’d already caught the corner of Claire’s eye.
“Here,” he said, walking forward with the bag. Avoiding looking at Claire, he gave Ben a weak smile. “Good to see you up, mate.”
Ben craned his neck a little in order to look better look at the man who had undoubtedly saved their lives. There was no denying the shame and guilt that flooded into him at having shrugged him off so quickly in the car. Had there been three of them instead of two, they might’ve managed to get away without ever having been captured in the first place. He swallowed around a dry throat, giving a small nod.
“Well if I’d been out any longer, y’wouldda drawn on my face, right?” he asked with the ghost of a smile. Claire kept Jesse in her field of vision without looking at him directly--forcing her concentration onto one issue at a time. She peeled open the bag and popped open the pill bottle, shaking out two to her palm, then transferred them into Ben’s. He took them dry without even wincing.
Jesse shrugged, tension in his shoulders easing. “‘Course,” he said lightly. His attention turned to Claire, though his gaze quickly flitted away. “Need anything else? Something I can do to help?”
She had so many things she wanted--needed-- to ask him, but couldn’t help but be wary about bringing anything up while Ben was in a daze of chemicals, booze, and broken bones. Claire watched Jesse’s profile, finally having noticed he wasn’t holding her eyes. She had a good idea why, too.
“Don’t suppose those radio-active super powers include fast healing...” she said hopefully, but the hope was a little hollow. A small part of her thought back to a memory that was fresh as the pressure cuts on Ben’s jaw; of when she was fourteen, and had last seen her father through the eyes of an angel. It could be done. She didn’t expect it here, though.
He hesitated. “Well, for me, yeah. Never tried somebody else, though. I could.” He added quickly, “If you want me to.”
Ben looked between the two of them, his eyes a little sticky as the liquor and the medicine started kicking in. Something was going on, but he didn’t quite know what and he wasn’t exactly sure he could make his mouth work properly, so he shrugged a little. Claire switched her gaze from Ben back to Jesse, an odd mix of please make him better and if you hurt him, I’ll kill you in her eyes, but she scooted back to give him room.
Swallowing, Jesse knelt at the bedside, looking uncertainly at Ben. He raised his hands above the man’s body then realized he didn’t know where to set them. On the ribs? Around them? The heart. That sounded right. And the other one... He decided to place it gently over the bandages. There was a long pause.
“Uh. Heal,” he said, almost as a question.
Ben stared at him with wide eyes, his face slowly flushing. Somewhere, a part of his brain registered how very strange and uncomfortable this was. Jesse’s hands were oddly cold, but also sweaty, which reminded Ben of ham.
“Your hands are like hams,” he blurted. Then he blinked before breaking down in a fit of breathless giggles. It lasted all of five seconds before the pain caught up in his head and he winced and tried to stop. “Ow.”
Jesse blinked over at him, then glanced at Claire. “Not sure what I’m doing. It kind of just happens for me.” He looked down at Ben again, his face screwing up in concentration. Maybe he had to think of some sort of life energies shit, connecting and mending things. He just wanted it to work, so badly, and not only because it would make Ben feel better.
“Lemme know if you feel anything,” he said, his words a bit tense. Ben continued to stare at him, the occasional snicker escaping him as his thoughts wandered followed by a strange sort of hyper-awareness of the texture of Jesse’s skin. His face felt uncomfortably warm.
Besides incredibly awkward? Claire thought to herself. If she hadn’t seen everything that Jesse could do with her own eyes, this charade wouldn’t have gotten beyond second one--and that thought alone surprised her with another surge of protectiveness she didn’t know what to do with. Claire cleared her throat and shook her head. “Was worth a shot,” her voice was equally tense.
“Gimme a minute,” Jesse said through gritted teeth. He shifted his hand to Ben’s forehead - stupid, doing the heart, the head was where the nerves were. His face started turning red from the effort of trying to force out something he couldn’t find. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon.” Claire was getting noticeably more anxious and defensive by the second.
“Why are your hands so sweaty?” Ben asked him, his voice an octave higher. Claire looked over at him, pensive, but with one corner of her lips pulled into her cheek. The look angled up at Jesse, a little of the warning edge worn down by the fact that Ben was obviously not being caused any more pain, even if it was thanks to the cocktail in his blood.
“Don’t pop a blood vessel; I think we hit your limit,” she said dryly.
The little sliver of hope in Jesse snapped at the words. He wanted to yell, to bang his fists against the side table, but instead he very carefully removed his hands. “Fuck,” he said, hardly more than a whisper. Apparently, while killing came easy and natural, the other side of things wasn’t in his blood. He wasn’t surprised, but he was disappointed.
“Not on the first date,” Ben blurted out again. When he realized what he said, his eyes widened considerably. Despite the feelings inside him, Jesse’s eyes crinkled in a grin. Claire blinked at him, then looked at the prescription bottle in her hand.
“I think you’ve had enough...” This was muttered more to herself than actually to Ben.
***
That night, none of them slept very well, but Ben was pretty sure he slept the worse of all of them. He’d spent years sleeping mostly on his side, but now he was forced to sleep on his back. His body, however, was too used to rolling over, and every time he’d even started to drift off, he awoke minutes later with pain shooting through him like lightning.
Jesse had finally gotten out of bed when the sun started to rise, offering to pick up breakfast for the lot of them before quietly excusing himself. Ben felt both grateful and guilty, knowing fully well that they were trying to accommodate his injuries. If I’d just been more careful, none of this would have happened, he thought bitterly, staring blankly at the television. The sound in the room suddenly dimmed as the shower in the bathroom went silent.
Claire stepped out of the bathroom a few moments later in jeans and a worn tank top, the latter was warm and clung a bit from her still wet hair. The shower had put a little more life in her eyes and color to her skin (it was especially hot, just to wake her up), after getting maybe an hour or two of sleep beside an obviously ailing Ben.
She sat on the edge of the bed, picking her curls loose with one hand and stiffened fingers. Her eyes were on him with a faint smile. “You ready for a walk?”
Just the idea of moving made him wince. “Not especially,” he admitted. Her smile was tight. She understood too well.
“They’re all gone, y’know,” Claire said finally, after a moments of silence. Her eyes were a little glassy with the memory that she was just now realizing Ben didn’t have. “We did good.” That felt compulsive and sugar coated, but at the base level, it was true.
Ben’s expression went from apprehensive to sour, though it wasn’t entirely her fault. He looked down at himself, at the open shirt and the thick bandages around his midsection. He knew without asking that they’d cleaned him up a bit while he’d still been unconscious, but he still felt filthy. They might’ve gotten most of the nest, but the last thing he remembered with any clarity had been looking up at the vampire in the alley. Obviously the beating had been more than a little brutal.
If Jesse hadn’t shown up... Ben closed his eyes and pushed the thought forcefully behind a door in his mind, then slammed it shut. What he really wanted to do was write his mother. He didn’t dare call her, even though he knew she would be expecting a call right around now. It’d been at least two days since his last check-in.
Claire’s lips pressed together when he gave that look. An uncomfortable pang of sensation rung like a bell through her chest. She just wanted to put it behind her.
“C’mon.” She shifted off the bed and sided up to him, bending low so his arm could go around her shoulder. Broken ribs were more than a pain--they were crippling. She’d had two before after being thrown down a ravine by a crazed werewolf--what a fun story that was. Sitting or laying too long only made it more impossible to do anything else. “Hot shower’ll...hurt like hell, but still sounds good, right?”
“I was kinda hopin’ for a sponge bath,” he said, a joke hanging from the words to hide the strain in his tone from moving. Claire cracked a small but genuine smile in spite of herself.
“I bet you were.” Her arm curled around his back and hooked gently in a belt-loop for something to grab besides bruises. Once again Ben found himself silently amazed at the strength in her arms, his eyes pointed to the floor rather than down the front of her shirt even though the angle was perfect for it. He’d had enough awkwardness when he’d sobered up and remembered half of what he’d said the night before.
It was all too soon that they were in the bathroom again, the space made small by both of them occupying it. He tried to ignore the implication that she would have to help him undress.
They stooped toward the ledge of the bathtub, Claire ducked from under his arm and cranked the faucet. The tiny room was still humid from her shower, and carried the lingering smell of a jasmine shampoo she kept in her bag--never a big fan of the hotel brands, and churches rarely had them on hand. Her thoughts were shifting, like sand, this morning--chaotic and unstable. Claire attributed it to the very real possibility that they almost didn’t survive the last night. She was still very haunted by things she’d seen and felt that she knew needed to be addressed.
But not yet. Right now, he was her focus, and that felt easier than anything else, even if it came with it’s own breed of uncertainty. She stood in front of him and gingerly took the ruined collar of his shirt in her fingers, easing it down his arms so he wouldn’t have to move so much--like the closeness was natural. In a way, it was. In other ways, Claire had to speak in order to keep herself from thinking too hard.
“You ever been to the Dells?” Her voice was soft, but she tried to make it sound promising, instead of forced chitchat.
Ben shook his head slightly, the scent of her shampoo intensifying twofold when her hair wafted close to his face. He kept his eyes angled over her shoulder at the mirror on the far wall by the sink. His face was also heavily bruised, the color disappearing beneath a day and a half worth of growth on his jaw. Yet another thing he wasn’t looking forward to doing.
“They’re not far away,” she added a little quieter, bending at both knees to slide the rest of what remained of his shirts off. They were tossed to the side. “They’ve got this resort... it’s basically a huge indoor beach. Sand and waves, all year round.” A little rest and relaxation would do them all a world of good.
Claire looked up at him, unable to keep her eyes from stopping on the darker spots of skin on his jaw. Her stomach felt tight and somehow lodged in her throat. She swallowed it down and gently untucked the bandage just under his left arm, and started the close process of unwrapping it from around his ribs. Ben closed his eyes and clenched his jaw to keep from wincing.
“Sounds nice,” he said in a tight voice. Aside from a little splurging they’d made when he’d sold his car in an attempt to scale down, he hadn’t had any sort of real vacation since he was a kid. Granted, he wasn’t exactly sporting a swimmer’s body at present with the ugly bruises that were slowly being revealed in her unraveling.
Claire went quiet for a while, having dropped her gaze from his face when he closed his eyes. The only other thing to look at were the bruises. They’d be gone in a week, at least. The ribs would still be mending, but in the meantime, she was having trouble dealing with how empathetically painful it was to look at him. Claire forced a quick breath down, like the cold shot of air would help. It didn’t.
The bandage went loose and she dropped it on his shirts, then stood up straight and offered him both her hands. “You got it from here?” She asked a little breathlessly, then smiled, hoping it would be contagious. “Or you want me to tell Jesse you wanted a sponge bath?”
Ben gave a breath of a laugh, which fortunately wasn’t nearly as painful as the full-on one he’d felt briefly bubble up inside him. He took her hands, pulling himself up as carefully as he could without straining the muscles in his chest.
“Yeah,” he replied quietly. “Keep an ear out for me?”
Claire’s smile suddenly became that much easier. She squeezed his hands lightly. “I’ll be right out here.” Then she gathered the torn, bloodied clothes and headed into the room, shutting the door behind her.
Ben finished undressing in silence, fully able to make all the horrible expressions he wanted to now that he wasn’t being watched. Once he was done he turned to take inventory of himself in the mirror. It was all very ugly and terrifying. In addition to bruises, there were several deep scabs peppering the flesh from what could only have been rings specially made to cut into him. Ben closed his eyes, trying to remember the previous night for the tenth time. All he could remember was shouting and the heavy tang of blood. Perhaps the fall had hurt his head.
Be thankful you can’t remember, some secret part of him whispered in his mind. You probably wouldn’t want to if you did.
Ben frowned, easing himself into the shower and pulling the curtain shut behind him.
***
Jesse looked up as Claire came out of the bathroom. He’d cleaned off three spots on the table, creating a makeshift place setting with the Styrofoam containers and plastic flatware. “Alright?” he asked. She nodded faintly, pushing a hand through her still drying hair.
“Second day’s always the worst,” she added. The smell of breakfast pulled a little at her stomach, but Claire couldn’t be sure if she was actually hungry or not. Meeting Jesse’s eyes right out of the bathroom--however briefly--reminded her again about what happened the night before. It was hard to push out of her mind. Still, she took a chair and sat down, folding both legs beneath her, Indian Style.
Jesse sat in the spot across from her, popping open his food and taking a bite of scrambled eggs. He took a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing, before he said, “I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty freaked out.”
You’re not the only one. Claire looked up at him from beneath her lashes, still and silent for a beat. She forced herself to let it go, at least a little bit, and tried to split the concentration between him and the food. The sausage patty in her foam plate was picked up by two fingers and set on top the container waiting for Ben before she plucked up her fork and started stabbing eggs.
“You wanna tell me about it?” Claire was careful about her words and her tone. They were demanding, but at the same time distinctly compassionate. Last night was jarring for all of them, but she knew she’d gone into it somewhat mentally prepared. So had Ben. Where that whirlwind of destruction came from inside Jesse--Claire was having a hard time wrapping her mind around it.
“You know as much as me,” he said, hunching over his food. “I’ve never... done that before. Never been attacked by a group of vampires either. But I mean, I’ve never even had a karate lesson. Practiced the odd move from a kung fu movie, but never...”
The attack had gone too quickly for him to take anything in. He’d moved on instinct, without thinking. But once it was over, once he looked around at the pile of all-too-human bodies, at the blood that covered him, his stomach turned. He scrubbed himself raw in the shower that night. Of course, they had to die. They were monsters. But then what did you call someone who could kill so many with such ease?
Claire just watched him for a few minutes. The way she took in every subtle nuance, every unregistered facial twitch had been practiced for years; years of reading people for necessity's sake tended to twist her initial view on first impressions--made it hard for her to trust, no matter how desperately she wanted to. There was honesty in Jesse’s expression, fear and uncertainty in his eyes and voice.
Him being a virtual automatic killing machine without realizing it did not exactly settle her mind. She sighed inaudibly and looked back at her breakfast. “How long have you been like this?” she asked, gentle and cautious.
“My whole life, as far as I know,” he said, hazarding a look at her before starting in on his food. “Didn’t realize it until I was eleven, though.”
“What happened when you were eleven?” Claire finally chanced a bite of the eggs, then put her fork down to grab for the coffee, watching Jesse full on.
He bit his lip. Last time he’d mentioned it, Claire had shut down and walked away. “The thing with my mum,” he said awkwardly. “The hunters that came around, they figured out something was off about me. Helped me with it.”
That explained...nothing, but Claire couldn’t bring herself to be cross. She inhaled deep and quiet, settling back against the chair. The attempt to split her attention between food and Jesse was completely abandoned.
“We have something in common,” she mused without a lot of color to her voice, and met his eyes. Claire didn’t think she’d ever get used to how potent they were. “S’how I ended up here, in all this.” She added an all-inclusive gesture around the table, the hotel room, and Jesse as well.
He wasn’t surprised, and though he wondered about the particulars, he knew he shouldn’t ask for details he wasn’t willing to give himself. “Yeah. I guess most hunters have something happen to them. It’s not exactly the job-fair kind of profession.”
She couldn’t help the small, slightly lopsided smile that cut into one cheek at his description--something that sounded like he’d taken it right out of her head during that first tense chat they had back in Kenosha. Claire shook her head a bit and went for another sip of coffee. It was another few beats before she actually went on.
“My mom was also taken by a demon.” There were a lot of details Claire wasn’t listing off, for a number of reasons. The story was long and pretty personal, but there was the common link. Claire’s blue eyes stayed, a little unfocused, on her eggs. “Twice.”
Jesse’s eyes widened. “Shit. I’m sorry.” He’d been lucky, he knew that. The demon possessing his birth mom hadn’t really registered the same way it must have for Claire. Was there a reason? nearly crossed his lips, but then she might ask him the same thing.
She looked at him when he apologized, but said nothing. Whether it was compassion or condolences, it didn’t matter--that sort of comment always came with some sort of social obligation that Claire never understood. To her, the words ‘I’m sorry’ implied guilt. It wasn’t his fault her mother married a Heavenly Vessel. Wasn’t hers either.
Claire cleared her throat and tried to stay on track. “How did they help you? The hunters you met, I mean.”
He shrugged. “Just talked with me. Helped me realize what I was doing when I wasn’t even trying, to see how dangerous it could be. One of them, he said he’d been through something similar, and that he’d made the wrong choices. He wanted me to make the right ones.”
Claire watched his eyes, nodded once, then went quiet again. The hunters drawn to Jesse could’ve been there because of his mother, but her gut instinct was telling her it went deeper than that, and she understood the base question that likely went through their heads. Why does he have these abilities?
She could tell he was holding back, but what still alluded her. Simply confronting him about it would probably just result in him tightening up more, and despite herself, there was a part of her that wanted Jesse to open up because she related to him. Not to mention the fact that he had saved her and Ben’s lives when he could have very well just gone on his way. He had followed them here. She honestly felt he was reaching out to them, in some way...
Maybe she and Ben reminded him of the hunters that changed his life. Whatever the case, she felt compassion for him, and a little bit of camaraderie.
“At least there’s that...” she smiled softly at him, honesty in her eyes, before they turned back down to her half-eaten breakfast. “It must’ve been hard.”
“Must’ve been hard for you, too,” he pointed out, though the tension in his posture eased. A thought was resting on his mind, and now that he knew there was a chance he wouldn’t be shot down, he said, “I’ll stay as long as you want. And if you want me to go, I’ll go. I know you and Ben weren’t really big on keeping me around.”
Her brows pushed down over her nose when she looked at him, but her expression evened out quickly. Claire mulled over her words, considering them carefully, then said, “There’s a lot we don’t know about you. And a lot we do.” Her lips pressed together in the facial equivalent to a shrug. It was the best way she knew how to convey that’s the best I can give you without actually saying the words.
“I’ll tell you this, though,” she added honestly. She kept her tone even, trying not to let it cross into invasive territory. “The more honest you are with us, the better the chances.” A hunter’s life was all about secrets, but within themselves--in this partnership she and Ben had formed, there was no room for guessing.
Jesse fell silent, eating his meal with a tight jaw. He knew what she wanted to hear -- or what she thought she wanted to hear. But even when he’d showed them just a glimpse at reality they’d tried to exorcise him and decided he was too freakish to be around. The knives might come out if they knew the whole truth.
He finished up before saying, “Well, you know everything you need to know about me.” His eyes were a little harder when they met hers. The edge was hard to miss, but Claire still felt a distinct ribbon of compassion along with every defense mechanism that rose to his look.
She held the gaze without flinching, but didn’t challenge it.
“It’s still hard for you... isn’t it.” Claire went out on a limb with her deduction. He was young--her and Ben’s age, most likely--should’ve been still fresh to the world. With the doors open to him with those abilities, he could be just about anywhere he wanted. Instead, he was in a grungy hotel room with them. Willingly. Claire’s eyes softened a little as she remembered the pictures in his wallet. “You left everything behind for something you still don’t know what to do with.”
The words were like an arrow straight through him and he bit down on his tongue to keep from reacting. Unable to look at her right them, he got up to throw away his container. “The hunters said I was putting my mum and dad in danger, staying around. So I left. I got by alright.”
Why would they be in danger? was the first question on her lips, but Claire held the words back. The way his spine went rigid was enough of a warning; his physical retreat and dismissive words just fell in line after that. Claire followed him with her eyes, but stayed where she was.
“Have you ever gone back?” she asked, genuinely curious, then added, “An eleven year old on his own... even with everything you can do, that’s not ‘alright’.” She wasn’t accusing him. Memories of her own isolation pulled at her heart strings. Not to mention she also still had her mother, if only to lose her.
He shrugged the thought off. “Yeah, I go back, every few years. I don’t let them see me; probably wouldn’t do any good for any of us,” he said, though his jaw tightened a bit more. He’d discovered last year that he wouldn’t be seeing his father any more, though he’d managed to find his tombstone.
Something about the way he described going back to see his loved ones, but staying in the shadows really tightened the sensation in her chest, and Claire finally let her eyes wander away from him. She pulled a quiet breath in through open lips, and offered him a little of herself.
“Who knows if it would or not--but I can promise they’d want to see you, regardless.” Her voice had gone soft. “When I was thirteen, my dad left us. He came back a year later--we found out he was a Vessel, and he’d given his body to an angel.” Claire twisted her coffee between her fingers, then took a sip, just to wet her lips. “Hunters followed him, then demons followed them.” Claire breathed a long sigh. “In the end, my dad chose servitude over Paradise, so I wouldn’t have to. I haven’t seen him since.”
She scoffed a little, though the sound was bittersweet. “He didn’t know this was my path anyway. I just wish my mother had been strong enough.”
The background white noise of the shower running suddenly ceased, followed by the short sound of the shower curtain being pushed back on its rings.
Jesse didn’t even register the change, staring at Claire without blinking. An angel. Her father was a fuckass angel. Sort of. If she hadn’t said she hadn’t seen him, he would have bolted. “What’s a Vessel?” he said, the question quiet.
Claire looked back at Jesse from her glance at the shut bathroom door. Her attention split again, listening for Ben if he needed something--but she wasn’t going to just barge in. Lots of reasons for that.
“Someone who’s been bred to accept possession by an angel. Unlike with demons, it’s in the blood.” She made a face, briefly--she never liked comparing being chosen by a Heavenly body to being controlled by a demonic force, but the principle was the same. “--and angels ask permission, first.”
“So you’re not going to become an angel any time soon? Are they going to try and come after you?” He tried to keep his tone calm but spoke a bit quicker than usual. Claire’s nose wrinkled in the slightest degree, trying to figure out why the tone suddenly changed.
“If He asked again, yes... but from what I’ve been following, He’s still with my father. Why would he need me?” The subject had never been comfortable for Claire, but the subtle touch of emotion in her voice betrayed how close they were getting to the issue. She carried with her a sense of duty that tied in with her faith, though she was, very obviously, reluctant about it. Anyone would be, after seeing what it had done with her Dad.
There was a sudden yelp and a string of muted curses from the bathroom, breaking the tension building between the two of them. Letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, Jesse looked over that way.
“You need help there, mate?” he called.
“I can’t fucking bend!” Ben called back, his voice bordering on a whine. Claire pushed up from her seat and headed toward the counter next to the bathroom door.
“Keep your back straight, just bend your legs,” she added, leaning against the door.
There was a brief silence, then Ben cursed again, and there was the distinct sound of something either falling over or being thrown. Claire closed her eyes in lieu of a wince.
When she opened her eyes, they set on Jesse for a moment, then turned toward the door--her hand pushed down the latch and opened it just a crack. “Just me,” she whispered, catching the side of his face in the mirror, but keeping her eyes trained there. “Nod if you want help.”
Ben turned his head sharply at the sudden voice, however soft it was. His face was flushed both from embarrassment and frustration, but he’d at least managed to get his pants up past his hips. He hadn’t thought to bring in any clean clothes.
“Can y’get me a clean shirt, maybe?” he asked, his voice barely a mutter. Claire smiled softly at him, nodding.
“Y’mean I get to pick it out?” she teased, hoping to heal a bit of his bruised pride with humor, but turned for his duffel on the counter.