WHO: Mitchell (and possibly Caroline Forbes) WHAT: thinking about the First, meeting Toruk Han, Sunnydale musings, CHARACTER DEATH WHEN: This evening. WHERE: Sunnydale RATING: Rated for DEATH AND DOOM! STATUS: Complete, possible tag from Caroline.
Mitchell had mostly kept quiet since their arrival in Sunnydale, because he suspected he was the only one of them thrilled to have been changed. To be human. Feeling his heart thumping properly in his chest again, to see his reflection. Even if he did think he possibly could do with a haircut. He didn't know how long this would last, how much time he would be able to enjoy this feeling, but he was determined to just quietly relish in it. His only regret being that Lydia wasn't there with him to enjoy it too. The others though, they seemed more distressed about being changed, so Mitchell figured it was classier to keep quiet. No lectures about anything to either side, just to give them the space to feel how they wanted.
He had never been a fan of the TV show Buffy, but he recognised Sunnydale for what it was, and understood the risks. Even so, when he had been walking about a week ago, the sound of that Welsh voice had nearly given him a heart attack.
"Well this is a fine mess you've gotten yourself into."
Ivan. Wearing the same grey suit he had died in, leaning against a wall with that smirk and that gaze, the one that said the older vampire was seeing so much more than anyone else. The Old One who had played his own game, who had avoided the politics and yet was never chastised for it, who lived by his own code and always got away with it. Cool, calm, controlled. And also, at times, very annoying.
At least this time he wasn't greeting Mitchell with a punch to the face.
Mitchell hoped he wouldn't say goodbye by dying this time.
"Why would you call it a mess?" He had replied, genuine confusion colouring his tone. After all, he had what his heart truly wanted, didn't he? He was human, at least for now. That was far from a mess. Ivan had tilted his head, a faintly mocking smile toying about his lips, the joke that only he was in on.
"Why do you still want to be this?" He had replied, waving a somewhat dismissive hand in Mitchell's general direction. "You are not one of them, Mitchell. You are a vampire. Embrace that. Accept who you are. I died for you, or did you forget that? I died because you fell in love with a human and that human slaughtered our kind."
Mitchell would never be able to forget that. The sightless gaze in Ivan's eyes, blood pooled around him, eventually to crumble into dust. An Old One dead. It was always slightly different for them, but no one had known to be around for the resurrection spell for him. Had Mitchell known what would later be done for Herrick, he would have tried to save his friend, brought him back. As it was, he had gone on a rampage. The Box Tunnel Twenty. And carved for himself the wolf-shaped bullet without even realising it. The image of Ivan in front of him had smiled with something that almost resembled sympathy. "And then, then Mitchell darling, you used me as your inspiration. For your strength. And you were right to. You knew me better than most. You would have brought me back, I know that's what you're thinking, but in a way you did, don't you see? You wished for my strength, because that is your destiny, and deep down, you know that. And you know why it was me. Not simply to be an Old One, but to be me. Because you know what gave me control, a control that even the others lacked." A serene smile had appeared on his face, so content, so genuine, that it had made Mitchell's heart actually ache a little bit. "Everyone deserves to have a Daisy."
That had been a week ago. And periodically, Ivan had appeared to Mitchell again. Daisy had once as well, covered in the blood of the Box Tunnel Twenty, trying to lure him back into darkness with the promises of death and sex. Ivan's approach had been more subtle, but more insidious, provoking questions into his mind. Who was the true monster? Could he ever be human? Did he deserve to be human? Would being human absolve him of his sins, were humans the true monsters after all, what did it truly mean to be John Mitchell? Should he embrace the dark destiny that Ivan promised and accept that he was, and always should be, a vampire? After all, he had a Daisy. He had Lydia, he had his focus and his calm. Just as Ivan had.
But such questions were being forced to the back of Mitchell's mind, as Sunnydale upped the ante on them all.
Toruk Han.
Mitchell vaguely remembered them from the show, and late night reruns when he had been drunk back from the pub. Uber vampires. He saw on the boards someone else mentioning fending them off and he had to force back a bitter laugh. Slayers couldn't fend those things off. The truth was, the creatures were toying with them, like a cat might toy with a mouse before going in for the kill.
There weren't many people in Sunnydale he really knew, but Caroline was one of them. She was a friend of Lydia's, and a decent person, one he liked. He hadn't spent time with her for the first several days, something he regretted when he found out what had happened to the pretty blonde. Now, at least, he would try to fix that, try to protect her if possible. At the very least, ensure she wasn't out on her own. Like that evening, as the sun began to just dip below the horizon, shadows growing longer. Mitchell sped up his walking, urging Caroline to do the same, wanting to get off the streets before dark, as he sent a dark look over to Ivan standing there, looking as calm as ever. But he could hear the growls. Those beginning snarls. And it seemed all too sudden when they were there, a trio of uber vampires. One would have been enough to take them both out, let alone three of them.
Instinctively, Mitchell moved to stand between Caroline and the vampires, with the slightest shove. "Caroline." He didn't dare turn around to look at her, his Irish accent thickening slightly. "Caroline, run. Just run, okay?"
With that he stepped forward. Because hey, why not? Maybe, just maybe, he could make them busy enough with him that she would be able to get away. Maybe he could make a difference one last time. He didn't turn to look to see if she had run, just inwardly prayed that she had, as he made a large step towards the trio, arms wide and his stance tall, to attract their attention. "Come on then, you twats."
The outcome was inevitable, but that didn't mean he made it easy for them. He was weaker than he had been for nearly a century, and they could have taken him out even if he had been at full strength. But he still punched and kicked, and even bit as he went down, with snarls and curses of defiance. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Ivan standing there. Actually looking disappointed. He could feel the sharp pain of the claws tearing through his flesh and the blood staining his clothes, splashing onto the street. The swings of his fists became weaker and weaker as his head began to swim, and he was unable to stand.