The Tale of Gerard Way

The next evening, as the team was waking up and sitting together eating breakfast at the conference table – their dining table now that Frank was here and there were too many of them to fit at the breakfast bar – the doorbell to the chambers rang. It wasn’t exactly a doorbell – more of an electronic buzz coming from the monitoring station at the head of the room, and a notification on the large screen that read: ‘VISITOR’. Patrick stilled for a moment, eyes wide in confusion, Joe paused the journey of his fork to his mouth and Andy followed suit. Pete was suddenly still as a statue, his entire being stiff in territorial defence, and Frank looked at them all like they had all just burst into song in perfect synchronisation.

“Are you all socially defected?” Frank said, eyes wide as he stood up to go for the door. “I’ll get it, shall I?”

Patrick abandoned his meal and followed him. “We don’t get visitors very often.”

“I can tell.” Patrick followed Frank down the metal staircase and down another stone corridor to the left, which stretched quite some way, before they reached another staircase that ascended a little further than the last, at the top of which was a large metal door, secure with a number of gears and mechanisms that were impossible to hack through, even with the strength of a team of werewolves. Especially with the strength of a team of werewolves, in fact. It was monster-proof.

Patrick leaned down, opened a small metal drawer embedded in the skirting board to the right of the door and took out a pistol and a long, thin metal blade, kind of like a small sword with the handle of a dagger. He punched in a code to the door panel and the mechanisms whirred.

“You take a lot of precautions up here, huh?” Frank said, looking slightly unnerved by the fierce weapon held tightly in Patrick’s left hand.

“Yeah. We get a lot of hassle at this door,” he explained, gesturing with the blade, a little too wildly for Frank’s comfort.

The door buzzed twice and there was a loud ‘clunk’ from inside its thick mass. Patrick took the large handle and tugged, hard, and the door swung open to reveal a skinny, light-brown haired man who, by most of his features, looked entirely human. But recognition of vampires was a second nature to Patrick now, who immediately picked up on the good depth of the man’s pupils and the way they dilated further as they bore into him. Patrick’s left hand was at chest-level with the man in a matter of moments, the deadly point of the blade pointing to where the creature’s heart would be beating steadily. The creature didn’t twitch, it’s simultaneously serene and uninterested expression not faltering for one second. The man blinked slowly, paying a long glance at the blade, and then back up to Patrick’s face. His expression wasn’t menacing exactly, but it was untrustworthy, to say the least. His hands were in the pockets of his dark green hoodie, which was fitting, admittedly attractively, against his hip-bones, and his skin was unnaturally tanned for a vampire.

“Can I help you?” Patrick snarled, making sure to maintain his dominant stance.

“Actually,” the man spoke without hesitation. “I was thinking maybe I could help you.”

Patrick’s fist tightened on the handle of the blade. “Oh yeah?”

“Mhmm.” Then the man signed, his shoulders slumping resignedly and his posture disappearing.

“Look, I’m not an enemy, so you don’t have to point that thing at me.”

“In your dreams,” Patrick snapped. “What the hell do you want?”

“Your friend, in there,” he replied, gesturing down the stairs. “He’s been having disturbing dreams?” He paused, waiting for Patrick to make a confirmation, but he didn’t. “I know what’s causing it, and I know it must be causing him a lot of pain. He doesn’t deserve it, it was an accident. I can fix it, but I don’t have long.” He glanced around himself sharply, eyes wide and alert. “There isn’t much time.”

Patrick’s breath had sped up, but the doubt was overwhelming. “Who the hell are you?” Patrick’s voice and expression became scrutinising. “How do I know I can trust you?”

The man paused, his mouth opening as if about to say something, but then something buzzed in Patrick’s pocket and he cursed. He glared, a non-verbal warning that if the man did anything stupid while Patrick checked his pager, he would pay, and plucked the device from its clip on his jeans pocket.

“Whats happening up there, Petes vitals are going crazy, get down here”, from Joe.

Patrick noticed the man in front of them peering over slightly to read the message, and snapped his head up, brandishing the blade, again yielding no reaction from the man other than a long-suffering sigh. Patrick let it slip, since there wasn’t much that could be gathered from the message. Frank read the message, concerned, and signalled to Patrick that he was going back down to find out what was going on.

Patrick only turned for a second. No – it was less than a second; he couldn’t have turned his head more than 90 degrees left, watching the ball of Frank’s foot hit the very top step of the stairway, and he turned his head right back around, but when he did, the stranger was gone.

He leaned out of the doorway, checking all directions. The coast was completely clear, no sign of anybody in any direction, the streets practically clear by this time of night through fear, there were no alleys nearby and no known crevices for anyone or anything to hide in, and the building itself was far too tall for anything to jump to the roof. It had been a perfectly chosen location for a hub – totally safe with no opportunities for a door-side ambush.

The man had just vanished.

- - - - - - - - - -

Patrick waited in the lower corridor of the base, between the two staircases, for a full half an hour in case the vampire would return. That man - he knew exactly what was going on, and Patrick hadn’t a clue how; nobody who was stupid enough to give out any information had been in or out since Frank arrived. But maybe the man had found out from Frank, or someone in Frank’s department, or had met up with Pete on his way to New York. Anything could have happened. Patrick began to panic. The man knew too much. It was something for Patrick to sort out, and nobody else. Nobody knew Pete more than Patrick did.

Patrick’s breath stopped.

Pete.

He bolted up the shorter staircase and back into the main area. He immediately felt guilty, seeing Pete sprawled out on the conference table breathing heavily, the rest of the team practically huddled around him – Frank had dragged a monitor over, which was bleeping erratically and unnervingly and Joe was sitting on the table next to Pete, a hand on his shoulder, probably more for his own comfort than for Pete’s. Andy stood at the head next to Joe, and shot an angry look at Patrick when he appeared at the empty doorframe.

“Where the hell have you been? We thought you might have been abducted or something, but we were too worried about Pete – who was fully conscious when he collapsed and had convulsions, by the way – to come looking for you.”

As if Patrick didn’t feel bad enough, he saw Frank give him a disappointed look in the corner of his eye and heard a soft, pained whimper from Pete. He took a long pause before saying anything – speaking without thinking it over at this moment would be anything but beneficial – and when he finally spoke, his words were shaky.

“The- the man at the door. I was waiting, in case he came back,” he tried to explain, but soon realised that nothing could make his excuse any more acceptable. He shouldn’t have even tried.

Andy’s face became incredulous and Joe looked moments away from actually tutting, and Patrick walked over to the table, deciding that he didn’t give a shit what the others thought. It was more important that he made it up to Pete.

“Hey, Pete?” he asked softly, using Pete’s favourite gentle tone. Pete cracked one of his eyes open and whimpered, his breath hitching, letting Patrick know he was awake and listening. “Pete, I’m really sorry I wasn’t here. Are you...?” The question could have ended in all sorts of ways, but none of them seemed right.

“Patrick? I think you should see this,” Frank told him from behind the monitor. Patrick got up from Pete’s side reluctantly and leaned on Frank’s shoulder for support as he looked at the readouts. He was a little shaky – it was normally later in their working day that something seriously bad happened, not right after they woke up, and he hadn’t had a chance to psych himself up.

“I see squiggly lines, Frank. You’re going to have to explain this to me,” he resigned, sighing out the words like he was exhausted and shutting his eyes tightly for a moment, before opening them and pushing his glasses further up his nose with his forefinger.

“The input of signals into Pete’s brain increased massively when the door opened. I mean, the leap was huge. Absolutely phenomenal. It knocked out his brain function entirely for ten whole seconds.”

Patrick gaped. “That much,” he whispered, more to himself than anything else.

“No less,” he shook his head in aggravation. “Is this chamber resonation-proofed?”

“Yes, it—” Patrick stopped abruptly. He was scared of his own ignorance. “It’s completely proofed. Nothing should be able to get in or out.”

Frank barked out a laugh, but he was clearly not amused. “You’re telling me that this whole time we’ve been investigating strange signals going into Pete’s brain, this chamber has been totally secure from any incoming or outgoing signals?”

Patrick gaped at himself some more. “But... It can’t be. The signal got stronger when the door opened.”

Frank sighed, frustrated, and rubbed his temple with one hand. “Just how secure is this place?”

“Less secure than I thought,” he looked down at his feet, suddenly immensely disappointed in himself. Frank abandoned Patrick’s side to go back over to the others and explain the situation while Patrick contemplated his own.

He turned to the rest of the group. Frank looked so tired, as if he had been up all through the sleeping period. Maybe he had, Patrick thought. Pete seemed to have fallen out of consciousness, and it was probably for the best.

- - - - - - - - - -

When Pete came to consciousness, he was more disorientated than he should be for a vampire with such a high awareness at default. He jerked for a moment, trying to escape the grip of the people around him, holding him gently at the wrists and ankles, one of them laying one palm on his chest and the other in his hair, just the way he liked.

“Patrick?” Pete mumbled wearily.

“Yeah, I’m here. S’me,” he replied, and Pete linked together the things he could see with the things he was hearing and worked out who that hand on his chest and the hand in his hair both belonged to, and that there was nothing on his ankles except a strange weight, relaxing back onto the hard table. He wished he was in his coffin, so he could close his lid, or better – in someone’s bed, which would be soft and comfortable, and he would be able to pull the covers up over his head as improvisation. Preferably Patrick’s bed, because it would smell like him, and that would make it easier for him to think straight.

“Uhhn,” he tried, and he was sure it was supposed to be words, but he couldn’t quite form them. His head hurt like hell. “W-what happened?” Pete only just managed the sentence; it came out shaky and wrong.

“You collapsed,” was all he said. It was all he felt he needed to say at this point.

“Why?”

Trust Pete to want all the details when he was so sick. But Patrick never lied to Pete, he couldn’t, so he said: “We don’t know.” Pete’s brow creased for a moment, as if he was thinking, and Patrick hushed him, a signal to stop thinking too hard. “You’ll make it worse.”

“Who was at the door?”

“Stop asking questions, Pete. Go to sleep.”

“Don’t want to,” he refused, shaking his head slightly, but only slightly – it was obvious his head was throbbing from the way he held himself. He repeated himself. “Who was at the door?”

“Somebody,” Patrick replied, sighing. “We don’t know him.”

Pete squinted for a moment, dizzy, before he said, “Green?”

Pause. “Huh?”

“Was he wearing green?”

Patrick stilled. He said with caution, “Yes.”

Pete closed his eyes, moaned in fear. He started to breathe heavily. “He’s—he’s found me, Patrick.”

Patrick leaned in a little closer. His own breathing had picked up, too. “Who’s found you? Who was he?” Pete didn’t answer, just kept breathing. “Pete?”

Pete groaned – it was all too much, and Patrick immediately felt like a hypocrite. “Hey, shh, it’s okay,” he reassured as he went back to stroking Pete’s hair again. “You don’t have to tell me right now. Go to sleep.”

“Can’t. Too—he’s too close.”

Pete wasn’t coherent anymore, restlessly throwing his head and shifting his body, mumbling strings of words that didn’t fit together; it was like he was sleepwalking. Maybe he was – maybe this was all a load of nonsense. “It doesn’t matter, Pete, I’ll be here. You have to sleep.”

Pete shouted, a defiant cry, and pulled at Patrick’s hand feebly to get it off his chest, but Patrick didn’t budge. He knew that it was comforting Pete, and when Pete was comfortable, he was sleepy. Pete didn’t want that, but Patrick knew what was best for him. He kneeled down so he was at eye level with Pete, and used his other hand to pull Pete’s face towards him, so they were looking into each other’s eyes. Patrick hoped to God their eye contact was affecting Pete more than it was affecting him. He leaned in and hushed him further, and watched as Pete’s deep, penetrating pupils became deeper and deeper - so, so deep, almost swallowing Patrick whole - and his eyelids became visibly heavier and heavier, until they were fully closed and his breathing had come to a halt.

He stood slowly, not taking his hand off Pete’s chest until the very last moment, and slid his arms underneath Pete’s back, lifting him from the glass. It was a lot easier now that he was so light – it had always been harder to lift him before if he ever got sick or hurt or too drunk to stand on a Friday night – not that his new body weight was anywhere near close to making up for everything else he had been forced to sacrifice.

Patrick began walking towards the casket, but stopped when he had a better idea. It had never occurred to him before now that maybe Pete just liked Patrick’s room. He was just as close to Joe as he was to Patrick, he thought, but he always chose Patrick’s room to go to whenever he had a nightmare. Maybe it was the size of the room – it was smaller than all the others, a tiny chamber just big enough for everything Patrick needed in a bedroom, which wasn’t much, and as a result of which it was darker and somehow deeper. He took a detour to his own room and laid Pete down carefully on his bed, making sure the pillow was fluffy and the duvet reached all the way up over Pete’s shoulders. Frank came in seconds later and handed Patrick a tiny body sensor, which he placed on Pete’s temple carefully. Pete winced as the sucker was attached, but he didn’t stir.

“He’s going to be okay, right?” Patrick whispered to Frank as Frank went for the door, but Patrick was still standing by the bed, watching Pete.

Before Frank had the chance to say anything back, Patrick heard Pete mumble near-silently, so quiet that he doubted Frank would have heard it: “Yeah, m’gonna be okay.”