Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The bell to the cafe rings with a warm chime, Zed squinting against the morning sunlight as it reflects off the door and back into his eyes. If he was working any other job, he’d protest about having to work the morning shift (or more realistically quit), but for Impulse and Skizz he’d do almost anything.

Even work a morning shift.

Zed shuts the door behind him, clicking the lock shut again and flipping on the light switch. The overhead light assaults his eyes just as badly as the sunrise did, but he doesn’t dare risk turning them back off. Both Impulse and Skizz have a habit of walking eerily quiet, scaring the hell out of him each time they appear behind him. So the lights stay on, and he stays blind for the first thirty to forty-five minutes of his morning.

“Impy! Skizzle! I’m home!” The loud crash of what can only be flour falling off a shelf greets him immediately after. Zed chuckles as he makes his way back behind the counter, checking the register’s lock as he does every morning, then the display case locks. Satisfied with the security of their valuables (both monetary and delicious), he finally allows himself to slip back into the kitchen.

Impulse sits on the counter casually, kicking his feet as he laughs hysterically at Skizz on the ground. Zed blinks at the scene, stepping cautiously around the worst of the ingredients now coating their floor to make his way to Skizz, who's currently pouting on the floor.

Once he sees Zed his entire face lights up, his hands frantically brushing flour out of his eyes. “Zeddlebop! I didn’t realize it was six thirty already man, good to see you!” With all the grace of someone who just spilled an industrial amount of flour across a kitchen he pulls himself back off the ground with a groan and a grin. He yanks Zed into a hug like it’s second nature, the familiar feeling still slightly crushing his ribs even years after they’d first started.

Despite the lack of breath in his lungs (which Skizz would surely make a joke about if Zed ever told him) he leans further into the hug and closes his eyes. “Hi to you too Skizz. Do I even want to know how long you and Impulse have been here already?” Neither of them will meet his eyes, which tells him everything he needs to know. Zed pulls back from the hug with a soft frown, brushing a light dusting of flour off the front of his jumper.

Despite having lived with Impulse and Skizz for nearly ten years, and being in a queerplatonic relationship with them for the last seven, he still doesn’t understand how they manage to get away with sleeping so little. Every day they’re at the cafe for hours before he gets there, and he’s always the first one to go to sleep at night. 

And Zed hardly ever goes to bed before one in the morning, despite knowing he has to clock into work just a few painfully short hours later. 

He’d staged an intervention for the two of them months ago, complete with a presentation, pastries, and even an attempt at fake crying. Impulse and Skizz had taken one look at the slideshow, laughed at his attempt to cry for another ten minutes, and then gently sat him down and explained that they really are ok with the amount of sleep they get. Even if Zed didn’t believe them, which he doesn't, he so very rarely catches either of them so much as yawn, so he’s been forced to concede.

“Well, you know us! Had to get a good start to the week and all, put in the hours now so we can be home at night!” Impulse hops off the counter with a sheepish grin, tucking his hands behind his back as he steps forward. “How did you sleep? You seemed a little cold last night.” He’s changing the subject again, but for today Zed lets him. Which, of course, has nothing to do with the soft kiss pressed into his hair, or croissant placed in his hands.

It’s chocolate, his favorite type, and just on the edge of warm without being uncomfortably so. Zed’s eyes light up as he looks back at Impulse and Skizz, then back at the croissant. “You two are amazing, I take back all preemptive complaints for at least thirty minutes.” Skizz whoops, throwing his arms up and spraying more flour into Zed and Impulse’s eyes.

Already knowing what comes next, Zed manages to set his breakfast down on the safety of the counter just before the next clump of flour hits his chest, knocking a laugh out of him. Impulse’s hand is still outstretched in his direction, even as he fights to maintain a straight face. “Wow Zee, I have no idea how that happened!” He breaks into a fit of laughter halfway through the sentence, practically doubling over at his glee. 

Zed rolls up his sleeves casually, taking care that every fold is relatively even until it rests just above his elbows. Once he’s properly prepared to get messy (and has let Impulse and Skizz get the bulk of their energy out on each other), Zed sneaks behind Skizz with a handful of flour, waiting for him to turn around before jamming it into his chest. Skizz staggers backwards dramatically, flailing his arms as he drapes himself across a counter.

“I can’t go on, I’ve been betrayed by a bunch of jerk faces!” Even while pouting, Skizz’s hand starts reaching for another handful of flour, his eyes sharp. For a brief second Zed swears they flash red, but when he looks again all he sees is cool, calming blue. 

Maybe he’s the one not sleeping enough.

Flour continues to go flying for another thirty minutes, alliances made and broken, declarations made of the end of their relationship, and in one particularly tense moment, the threat of Zed’s croissant being eaten by Impulse.

That’s Zed’s final straw, the offended gasp it pulls from his lips strong enough to leave him momentarily breathless. “How dare you threaten a man’s chocolatey reward Impulse, how dare you!” Accosting him with baking ingredients is one thing, scaring him a thousand times a day with silent footsteps is another, but his croissant? That’s going too far, a reality where he doesn’t get to eat this pastry too bleak to even imagine.

Perhaps sensing a way to get ahead, Skizz makes his way to Zed’s side, pulling him half-behind his body for protection. “This isn’t you Dippledop, this isn’t you! Remember how long we spent making that chocolate this morning!” Zed pulls away from Skizz suddenly, brain whirring with information that he’s having a hard time processing this early.

“Wait- you- no, that’s not- you two made this? This morning? For me?” Zed takes a half-step backwards, his eyes dangerously close to getting glassy. They made him his favorite croissant. They got here early, made him a croissant, his favorite croissant, just because? 

Because yes, he’s always known that both Impulse and Skizz can be affectionate. It’d be hard to live with them for ten years and not know that, what with Skizz constantly leaning on him, hugging him, really anything he can do to maintain contact with him, and Impulse always carving time out of his carefully detailed schedules for Zed’s experiments, naps, or even just because.

But he’d forgotten that both of them like to do things to show that care as well. Things like make a croissant from scratch just because he’d mentioned the other day that he’d been craving one, but they kept selling out before his shift ended.

Skizz’s arms tighten around him, his voice unbearably fond. “Of course we made it for you Zed.” Oh. What a silly thing to be teary-eyed about, but how could he not be? They made him a croissant, before their long day of running the cafe and doing even more baking.

Impulse comes up to his other side. “You know we’d make you anything you ask, right? If you want a croissant, we can make you a croissant.” His smile shines just as bright as Skizz’s, causing Zed to bury his face in the neck of his jumper.

Nearly seven years of their relationship and he still can’t handle them doing nice things for him. 

“Besides, we could always use the extra time to prepare in the mornings.” Impulse shrugs as he steps away, thankfully providing Zed an easy out from his feelings. And take it he does, stepping away from both of them and towards the door as he takes a bite of his breakfast. 

It’s marvelous, of course, because Impulse and Skizz are the best bakers he knows (clumsiness aside), and it’s even better because they made it for him. They even put extra chocolate in it, the sugar going directly to his growing excitement about the day. 

“I’ll leave you two to clean up back here, I’m going to start getting the tables ready!” Zed winks as he glides back out of the kitchen, twin shouts from Impulse and Skizz about him abandoning them floating out after him. He chuckles to himself, making his way to the first table and carefully flipping the chairs onto the floor. 

The work is familiar, practically second nature after months of working the opening shift. He used to work nights to try and spend more time with Impulse and Skizz, but they’d learned pretty quickly that despite his sleep schedule, if anyone asks him to remember something after nine, things get dicey. 

He’s sure the customers appreciated him switching to the morning shift even if they won’t say it out loud. After he’d brought someone the wrong type of coffee three times in a night, Zed’s pretty sure they would’ve left if they hadn’t already paid. 

Time blurs together as he hums to himself, moving from uprighting chairs to watering the flowers, opening the shades, and finally flipping the sign to “open” before taking his place behind the counter. The first few hours of the shift are the most boring, none of their regulars early enough risers, and not enough pastries made for Impulse or Skizz to switch to duties out front. So Zed lets his mind wander as always, spinning a coffee stirrer between his fingers idly.

Customers come and come, the only notable exceptions for the morning being the sheer amount of pumpkin spice lattes people seemed to think they sold (they don’t, and never will, because Skizz hates them on principle), and the customer who’d brought in her tiny dog. 

That had been the second best part of the day, he even got to pet it!

Coming up on eleven am, four hours into his shift, things seemed like they’d settled into a steady flow of customers simply picking up orders and leaving. That in and of itself was a bit of a double edged sword- on the one hand, Zed didn’t have to force himself through a thousand iterations of small talk about the weather. On the other hand, he’s bored out of his mind. 

At least until the door opens, and the most attractive person he’s ever seen walks in.

Zed quickly busies himself with the coffee machine behind him so he doesn’t stare, his hands automatically starting to make Skizz’s favorite. The man approaching the counter has dark brown hair with red dancing between its strands, a dark red leather jacket, and a pair of red sunglasses shaped like mushrooms.

That is to say, he’s exactly Zed’s type.

He needs to not blow this, for more reasons than one. Impulse and Skizz will never let him live it down if they catch him completely fumbling through this order, not to mention the fact that he doesn’t want to make the man uncomfortable just for showing up. Breathe. He can do this, he talks to people all the time! Granted, he hates doing it, relishes in the fifteen minute break he takes every day around noon to hide away in the closet and sit entirely in the quiet, comforting dark, but that’s not important right now.

Once the small bell at the counter rings, and Zed’s finished every possible bit of stalling he could come up with for finishing this coffee, he sets it next to the machine and turns back to the man with a smile on his face. “Why hello there! Welcome in, what can I get for you?” The man is just as attractive up close as he was from the door, maybe even more so. 

Rude.

Zed watches as he stares up at the menu, eyes squinted slightly as he skims the options. After a few seconds of silence he clears his throat quietly. “Personally, I’d suggest one of the double chocolate cookies. Skizz makes them better than any other I’ve ever tasted, lots of chocolate.” He taps the display case to his left where they usually sit before finally looking back at the customer- 

Who’s staring at him with an intensity that makes him want to blush. 

“That sounds amazing. Anything else you recommend uh-” He leans forward slightly, eyes dropping just below Zed’s face. “-Zed?” He has a pretty voice too, animated and curious, which is practically unfair. How is Zed meant to work in these conditions? 

He turns back to the menus behind him abruptly, willing his face to stop flushing quite as red. “I mean- not to brag, but I’m totally bragging, I make a mean hot chocolate.” Zed giggles at his own joke, looking back at the man just in time to see him chuckle as well.

It takes every bit of Zed’s self-restraint to stop him from running back into the kitchen in embarrassment, but it’s ok. He’s doing fine. The man leans forward, resting one elbow on the counter. “So, and tell me if I’m way off base here, I’m getting the sense you like chocolate?” He laughs again, glasses nearly slipping off his face before he catches them.

Zed raises his hands in surrender. “You caught me, I’m a big chocolate lover. If you want non-chocolate suggestions, even if I don’t know why anyone would want such a bland life, I could ask Impulse or Skizz what’s in season?” The question seems to stump the man momentarily, his finger starting to tap repetitively against the counter. 

Several seconds of tapping later (which made Zed anxious enough to start twisting the hem of his jumper in time to the beats), he straightens and reaches into his pocket. “Ah what the hell, I’ll take the hot chocolate and the cookie you were telling me about. You only live once, right?” He smiles, and this time Zed’s sure his cheeks flush bright red. He yanks his head down to the register, typing in the order faster than he previously thought was humanly possible.

As he turns the card reader away from himself, Zed finally looks up. “So, can I get your name?” As soon as the words leave his mouth he cringes, mentally kicking himself down the stairs. “For the order! Can I get your name, for the order.” He chuckles awkward, one hand coming up to pull at one of his curls. “That’s uh- that’s what I meant the first time.” 

“Oh, right! Tango, the name’s Tango.” The man- Tango, smiles at him, tucking his credit card back into his wallet. “Should I wait here for my drink, or can I take a seat?” Zed only stares for a moment, the words taking a particularly long time to register in his head as a question. A question for him.

It takes several minutes for his mind to stop blanking long enough to find the words to answer, the awkward silence growing by the second. “Sit- you can sit! I’ll bring it over when it’s ready, it’ll be a few.” Zed turns and retreats back into the kitchen without another word, only stopping to think about the fact that he doesn’t need anything from here until after it’s too late.

Not to mention, he’s put himself in the line of fire for Impulse and Skizz’s questions.

“What are you doing back here Zeddlebop? No one’s giving you any trouble, right?” Skizz is at his side in practically no time at all, his eyes jumping from Zed’s hands still at his jumper’s hem to the red flush of his cheeks. “Cause if so, I will go sort them out right now, with pleasure.” 

Zed groans, dropping his head into Skizz’s arm dramatically. “No no, I’m ok.” He pauses, debating if Skizz will actually believe him without having to explain what’s actually happening. Judging by the way he pulls Zed closer, paired with the frown plastered across his face, the answer is no. “I just uh- there’s a very nice man out there. I- oh y’know how it is, I got a little tongue-tied.” 

In an instant Skizz starts snickering, tension sliding off his face as fluid as water. “Impy! Zeddle here has a crush!” Zed groans again, louder this time, as Impulse’s hurried steps slowly grow near. He practically throws the new batch of cookies onto the counter, spinning back to the two of them as soon as the cooking mitts are off his hands. 

“You have a crush? Aww, that’s adorable!” Impulse clasps his hands in front of his chest in jest, making a comically scared expression. “Oh no Skizz, Zee here might try to replace us!” Void, the two of them are properly children half the time. Not that it stops a smile from coming to Zed’s face, but they don’t need to know that. 

No, what they need to know is that he still has orders to make and take. Zed pulls himself back to glare at both of them. “Guys. We can talk about this later, ok? I just came back here by mistake, I still need to make him his hot chocolate and get his cookie.” Actually come to think of it- Zed’s eyes narrow in on the fresh batch of cookies on the counter– double chocolate. 

Slowly slinking himself in its direction, Zed can’t bite back the series of giggles leaving his lips as Impulse and Skizz stare, unblinking, directly at him. After another few seconds he abandons the idea of “sneaking” entirely, simply walking over and popping a cookie into his mouth. 

They’re hot, hotter than he’d typically want (a genius might say that’s because it just came out of the oven, but only further scientific testing will tell), but delicious nonetheless, melting perfectly in his mouth.

“I’m taking one of these for Tango, you’ve outdone yourself Skizz.” Zed swipes a second cookie, using every last ounce of self-restraint he has in order to not immediately bite into it. Skizz practically preens at the praise, a reaction so endearing Zed nearly breaks out into the dopiest grin.

Using the brief moment of silence he manages to get almost all the way to the door before Impulse puts something together. “Hey- this Tango guy, he got your favorite order?” Zed swears under his breath, turning back to face Impulse at a glacially slow pace. He’s greeted with a single raised eyebrow, and the impression that there’s thousands of opinions making their way through his head the longer Zed doesn’t answer.

Finally he smiles sheepishly, leaning a bit further out the door. “He seemed a bit lost, I gave him some guidance! Nothing suspicious about that at all!” Before Impulse can grill him any longer (because Zed would certainly crack, he’s never been particularly good about lying) he spins himself out the door, placing Tango’s cookie carefully on a plate before turning back to the kettle.

He sets it to boil, going through the motions of adding the powder to the cup, humming to himself as he tosses the half and half into his other hand before adding a generous pour to the mug. Right as he puts the milk back, right on cue with his normal routine, the kettle shrieks as he turns to grab it, adding the last of the water with a click of his tongue. 

Now the hard part- actually walking it over to Tango without tripping and making an asshole of himself. Zed lets out a small breath, willing his hands to be steady as he brings over the plate and cup as carefully as he can. “Here you go, one double chocolate cookie with hot chocolate for you!”

Tango glances up at him, smiling gently before breaking off a piece of the cookie. “Aww, did you get me a warm one? You shouldn’t have, now I have to rate you guys five stars.” He winks, and Zed walks back behind the counter as fast as he can without looking awkward. Once he’s back he lets out a long, shaky breath as he slinks behind the register momentarily. It’s been longer than he can remember since he’d last been this stunned by someone simply walking in, but it’s ok. He’s ok. Tango’s just a customer, someone he talked to today, got to admire momentarily, and then will walk back out of his life just as easily.

Except- Tango keeps coming back. 

It’s been a week since he first walked in, and every day he comes back, always just before eleven, and every day, they start to talk a little more than the day before. Simple things at first, proper introductions, a mention of a favorite drink or two, talk of pets (of which neither have any), basic things. By the end of the week, Zed had completely given up on the notion of “working” when Tango’s around, instead leaning against the display cases and just staring. 

“Ok Zed, answer me this- if you had to pick between almost dying every time you cross the street, or almost choking every time you eat, what would you do?” Tango’s eyes sparkle behind his glasses as he sips his hot chocolate, practically sitting on the counter as he awaits Zed’s response. 

Zed stops wiping down one of the newly cleaned cups, tilting his head left and right as he considers it. After a few seconds of internal debate, he snaps his fingers. “I already almost die every time I cross the street, so I’ll do that. If I almost died every time I ate, I’d just be sad.” Satisfied with his answer, he goes back to drying dishes methodically.

Just before Tango answers, Skizz walks out of the kitchen. Zed blinks in surprise, straightening himself and putting 110% of his focus on the dishes to avoid the teasing that he already knows is imminent. Skizz presses against his side, leaning his head down with a mocking hum. “Man Zeddlebop, I’ve never seen you quite so dedicated to drying something.” He lowers his voice a little more, leaning in further. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with the guy in front of you, leaning on my counters, does it?” 

Zed pushes away abruptly, face burning. “Skizz, this is Tango, one of our new regulars. Tango, this is Skizz, one of my bosses. And also one of my best friends. And one of my housemates. We don’t do anything in moderation here.” He chuckles nervously, eyes flicking between the two of them repeatedly. He wants them to actually like each other, especially since Zed’s really starting to like Tango. 

Like a lot. 

Skizz looks uncharacteristically cold for a brief moment, his body stiffening in an emotion Zed’s not sure he’s ever seen before. Tango looks similarly uneasy, though still considerably less shaken. The two stare at each other for another second before Skizz returns to normal, holding his hand out with a laugh. “Nice to meet you homie buddy! Glad to finally meet you, Zed here’s mentioned you a time or two.” Zed immediately elbows him in the ribs (not that he’s strong enough for it to do anything other than tickle), but all he gets in return is a set of wiggled eyebrows in his direction.

Tango takes his hand, tilting his head down slightly. “Nice to meet you Skizz, it’s been a pleasure.” Their hands both linger for a split second before Tango pulls away. “I’m late for work Zed, I’ll catch you tomorrow?” He shoots another warm smile in his direction before turning and walking back outside. 

Skizz turns to look at Zed immediately, slightly forced joy on his face. “It’s great to finally meet the guy! Now I can tell you to get back to work.” He ruffles Zed’s hair gently before pressing a soft kiss into it. Zed sinks into the feeling slightly, his resolve to give Skizz a hard time immediately disappearing.

He finishes out the rest of his shift with a little extra excitement in his step. Tango and Skizz had met, and nothing had gone wrong! A sneaking thought, one he’d try to bury but just kept clawing back up from the grave, finally starts to blossom. 

If he and Tango ever went out (and he’s getting ahead of himself, really he is, but he can’t help himself), Skizz and Impulse would approve. Their approval means the world to him, so he can’t help but feel the urge to jump around in joy. 

Instead he keeps going into work, spending his mornings with Tango and his afternoons with Impulse and Skizz. His new routine is perfect, his mind finally content from buzzing thoughts and rampant boredom. 

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Skizz glances out the small glass pane of the kitchen door, his face pulling into a deep frown as he catches sight of Zed and Tango talking.

Zed’s never been happier, his steps extra light and some of his endless restlessness finally settling during the day. If Tango had been anyone else, Skizz would’ve been overjoyed at his friend’s newfound happiness, would’ve already pushed him to ask the guy out already. 

But Tango is bad news, the type that Skizz can’t allow to come near his coven.

He turns away from the window, baring his fangs at the floor while he stalks back over to Impulse. “He’s still there, he still hasn’t fucked off.” Impulse rubs his shoulder placatingly, though it’s hard to deny how firm his own hand is. Both of them have been on edge since Skizz had first actually met Tango, figured out who he is- or rather, what he is. 

Because Tango is a vampire. 

Not just any vampire, a vampire specifically interested in Zed. The most vulnerable part of his and Impulse’s coven. Not that Zed needs to know it’s a coven, per se, because that would imply that they’d told Zed they’re vampires. 

And they hadn’t.

It’d be silly to say that they hadn’t had any time to tell him, because they’ve been living together for ten years. And been in a queerplatonic relationship for the past seven. It’s just that- they hadn’t meant to get attached to a human. It was just meant to be temporary, a cover for the two of them to seem more “normal” to the outside world, and then maybe they’d take a little bite or two after they’d been established in the community more. 

But Zed had wormed his way right into their hearts and stayed there, and before either he and Impulse had realized it, Zed was part of the coven.

And now there’s a new vampire in town, and he’s taking way too close of a vested interest in their Zed.

Impulse swears loudly as he breaks yet another egg, practically throwing the mixing bowl onto the counter and hitting it lightly. “I can’t focus dude, not with him out there. You’re certain he knows Zed’s with us?” Oh Skizz is sure alright. He couldn’t come right out and say it with Zed standing right there, and Tango hadn’t seemed keen on revealing himself either, but he knew.

But Impulse is right, neither of them can stay focused in this situation for much longer. Skizz takes his apron off, placing it not quite gently next to Impulse’s failed egg and trying to suppress his urge to bite the hell out of this vampire punk immediately. 

He practically throws the kitchen door open, Zed jumping in fright and staring at him. Skizz shoots for a smile, ending up somewhere a little closer to a grimace. “Take twenty Zeddle, I’ve got register.” Zed stares at him for a long minute, but hesitantly makes his way back towards the kitchen. Skizz intercepts him quickly, kissing the top of his forehead gently until he feels Zed relax a little.

Once the door swings shut fully Skizz walks out from behind the counter, grabbing Tango’s arm roughly and dragging him to a table in the corner. “Ok Tango, we need to talk.” Tango doesn’t seem too surprised at the turn of events, but Skizz is focusing too closely on his every movement to miss the faint traces of it.

Tango leans forward on the table, taking his glasses off for the first time Skizz has seen. “So, let’s talk then.” Oh, he’s smug too. Every second he sits in front of him, the more Skizz wants to kill him. But that would make a mess, and Zed would be scared, and it’d cause too many questions.

“You need to back off Zed, hear me? He’s one of mine, and I want you gone. Tonight. End of story.” Skizz bares his fangs entirely with his smile, a hundred years of self-control the only thing stopping him from lunging across the table right now. 

Tango doesn’t even flinch, red eyes flaring at the threat. “Or, and this is just a suggestion- you and Impulse back there leave me be. Because I’ve got poor sweet Zed under my spell, and it would only take one slip in my concentration to uh- oh I don’t know, bite him.” He bares his own fangs, the tips tinged red already.

Skizz stiffens involuntarily, showing his hand in the worst way possible. He hadn’t meant to reveal exactly how much Zed means to him, only that he wasn’t up for the taking. Still, he can’t back down quite yet. “You wouldn’t.” Would he? Looking at his face, Skizz is struck with the sudden sinking feeling that he would. 

Raising a single eyebrow, Tango’s eyes shoot back towards the kitchen, right where Skizz knows Zed is. “His blood smells delicious, I might not be able to stop early enough to turn him, I might go too far. Are you prepared to see his body?” 

Skizz slams his hand down on the table abruptly, face slightly pale. “What do you want from us? Because I won’t let you have him.” At that Tango finally smiles, bleeding confidence at every movement.

“Easy. Things stay exactly as they are. I keep flirting with him, and you and your little vampire boytoy leave me be. I won’t hurt him if you agree, you have my word.” Tango extends his hand, standing up from the table. 

There’s nothing Skizz hates more than the idea of agreeing to this. Of willingly letting Tango continue to stay around Zed, to let him touch him, be near him, let Zed get attached to him. But the other option means almost certain-death for Zed, or undeath.

And that can’t happen. 

Skizz stands up to tower over Tango. “Break it, and I will eviscerate you without a second thought.” 

“A deal is a deal.” Their hands clasp, and Tango’s eyes glow a blinding red.

Chapter Text

The corkboard creaks in protest as Tango adds another pin to its surface, tying a red string around the new post-it and connecting it to his blurry photo of Skizzleman, or as the human calls him, Skizz.

Tango takes a few steps back from his board, squinting just enough to blur the words and images. The newest section on his board, the human, has the least amount of information by far, the notes barely populated enough to constitute a “section.” He lets out a long sigh, rubbing his eyes and trudging towards his kitchen for a midnight snack. 

He’s been tracking Impulse and Skizz for months, following lead after lead that turns into dead end after dead end. He hadn’t had much hope for this town either, but he didn’t get to where he is now by half-assing his research.

After all, some people will pay him simply for not finding something.

Everything he can get on these two will go directly to lining his own pockets, or rather Pyre’s pockets. Tango opens the fridge, biting idly at his lip while he examines his options. Human food holds no interest to him, it was all he could stomach to eat the cookies at the cafe each morning. Though really, given what he just did to Skizz and Impulse, he probably shouldn’t eat anything he doesn’t see the human handle directly.

Because not only were Impulse and Skizz here, he’d made contact with them. Or at least one of them. Sighing, Tango grabs a half-full bag of blood with a slight frown. He’s running out of food, he hadn’t anticipated being here for more than a few days at most, the tip he’d received that unbelievable. 

Tango picks up his most recent journal, the pages crinkled and stained with graphite, ink, and the occasional drop of blood from when he’s too tired to eat his snacks carefully.

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Impulse and Skizzleman, previously two of the most feared vampires in the entire community, running a coffee shop.

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Tango had laughed at the mere thought, only following up on it because he happened to be nearby. Plus, it was never a bad idea to take Pyre off the map occasionally, make sure no one possibly starts to connect the dots between his movements and his alter ego’s. 

After all, it’s not as if Pyre has a particularly good reputation.

It’s not surprising by any means, given that Tango’s entire job revolves around buying and selling information on other vampires, usually to their detriment. It certainly doesn’t buy him many friends, and his list of enemies is long enough that it’d be faster to name the people who did like him. So fast, in fact, that there wouldn’t be any names at all.

He’d learned pretty early into his “career” that it’d be much safer to have some kind of separation between himself and his dealings, if he wanted to live to spend any of the cash he was earning. Believe it or not, selling people out for money pays amazingly. 

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Humans tend to believe, if they believe in vampires at all, that is, that they all stay in packs, that they never fight or turn on each other. 

They’d be wrong, of course. Vampires might even be worse than humans in that regard, the downside to being somewhat territorial. Coven bonds, no matter how faint, are a dangerous thing to mess with. Insult the wrong person and all the sudden fifteen vampires are out for blood.

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A small part of Tango, the reasonable part, screams at him for pushing Skizz, for threatening the human even after realizing what that would mean. 

Tango traipses back to his corkboard, scribbling down another note and placing it under the human’s photo. Skizz had very clearly claimed him as part of his coven, a fact that even several hours later, Tango can’t understand. The human seems to have no extraordinary abilities that would make him useful, and Tango hadn’t seen any visible bite marks on his skin.

No matter the reason, Tango’s officially put himself on Impulse and Skizz’s radars, the one place he’d been trying to avoid. 

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The two of them had ruled a small kingdom’s worth of vampires with an iron fist, way back when. As far as anyone’s aware, they have the most kills of any other vampire, living or dead, and they’d relished in that fact. 

And then one day, they disappeared.

Just as quickly as they’d risen to power, to infamy, they were gone. Not a single trace, not a single person to ask. Despite their entire court of “advisors-” 

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Though Tango would say they were something closer to scapegoats, given the way that the two of them only ever seemed to speak to each other.

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 -their personal coven had never expanded beyond the two of them. Another oddity about the pair, though far less harped on than their disappearance. 

But now there’s a third, and a human at that.

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Already, that information alone could make Tango enough money to not take another job for the next decade at least, if he could find the right buyer. And he always does, not that he’d have to try hard for these two. He could stop here, get out before he pisses them off any further, relish in the fact that he’d found them. 

That he’d gotten Skizz to back down to him, a feat Tango still couldn’t wrap his head around. 

All it’d taken was a single threat of a bite and Skizz had clammed up, his entire body jerking to attention as if he’d been burned. And it’s that moment that Tango keeps replaying in his head, that’s the reason he won’t move on, can’t move on, until he gets to the bottom of it.

Tossing the journal back onto the couch, Tango practically collapses back onto his makeshift bed next to the corkboard. None of it makes any sense, and if there’s anything he likes more than money, it’s a puzzle. 

And revenge, cold, and sweet, and his for the taking-

He shakes that thought out of his head quickly, lest it cause him to make irrational decisions. Again. Because really, what the fuck was he thinking, directly threatening a member of the coven? 

Winning, the unhelpful voice in his head reminds him.

Tango tosses pillows at the lightswitch until it turns off, finally closing his eyes. Sleep is the one human trait he’d picked up over the years of travel, and now, frustratingly, his body tends to depend on it. Not nearly as often as a human, of course, but enough that he’d pushed himself too far the last week.

His dreams are filled with history, and anger, and fear, and blood, and strangely enough, Zed. 

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

Ten-fifty. Just ten minutes before he’s meant to walk into the coffee shop again, plaster a smile on his face, and do his very best to catch a glimpse of anything that might tell him what he needs to know. If he’s lucky, he might even get what he wants to know as well. 

Anything Zed knows, Tango’s going to find out eventually. Once he gets tired of the game, all it’ll take is a little hypnosis for that pretty voice to sing his coven’s secrets. That’s enough to put a true smile on Tango’s face, which he takes as his cue to enter the door. The bell above him chimes as merrily as always, the sound nearly causing him to frown on instinct.

Bells above doors are a personal pet peeve of his, ruined many of his late-night missions, mid-day missions, any time missions. Jimmy used to tell him he’d grown grumpy in his old age, even though he’d been the youngest out of them, but Jimmy was a liar who liked to rile him up for fun.

Tango’s heart twinges at the memory for a brief second, before he brutally strangles the part of himself that still feels sympathy until it’s entirely gone.

There’s no time for that here, there hadn’t been for two hundred years.

Tango walks up to the counter, his smile slightly strained but there nonetheless. Zed’s busy humming to himself as he spins around the space, dancing with what appears to be a broom. It’s amusing, even a little endearing, if Tango was in a better mood. 

And a different person entirely, but that’s semantics.

He watches for a few minutes, taking the opportunity to stare at Zed without scrutiny. No bite marks on his neck, that much Tango would’ve noticed on their first meeting, none on his wrists or lower arms, and from the brief glances he catches of his upper arms as he prances around, no bites there either. He narrows his eyes, tilting his head slightly.

Once he realizes his head is tilted, he straightens it quickly. It’s a silly habit he’d picked up from spending so much time with the human, one he needs to get rid of before it permanently sticks. How embarrassing would that be, a hundred years from now, still mimicking the curious motion of a human he would’ve long since killed. 

Finally done staring, which, is it hotter in here than usual? Tango swears his cheeks feel the slightest bit warm as he clears his throat, cackling at the way Zed practically leaps into the air once he turns around. It reminds Tango of a startled cat, one of those ones that stepped on aluminum foil and decided the only appropriate response was to launch itself into the stratosphere.

Unlike a frightened cat, however, Zed’s entire body brightens at his presence, a beaming smile slotting onto his face once he finishes catching his breath. “Oh uh- hi there Tango! I’m sure you just walked up to the counter, right? Saw me mopping diligently?” 

Tango snickers, eyes moving deliberately from Zed’s face to the broom in his hand. “Wow, you learned to mop with that? I’m impressed, maybe you can invite me over one night and teach me your methods.” He punctuates the statement with a wink, delighting in the way all the blood rushes to Zed’s face as he stammers out something between an excuse for the broom and a topic change from the flirting. 

Normally Tango wouldn’t be quite so bold with his advances, not wanting to scare off his only connection to Impulse and Skizz, but that’s almost a non-issue at this point. Even if Zed were to grow tired of him, Tango can make Skizz make Zed stay. He could do it himself, of course, the urge to hypnotize him always lurking just under the surface of his skin, but it’d be much more fun to watch Skizz do it instead. Just to see if he would. If he could.

Besides, Zed’s reactions to the flirting are adorable, not at all hurt by the fact that when all the blood is in his cheeks, Tango can’t stop himself from thinking how nice it would be to take a small taste, just a small nip or two on his lip. Maybe more, if he could get away with it. He’s been living off refrigerated bags for two weeks now, and more than anything he’s craving something fresh, something new.

Perhaps if their “relationship” keeps up at this pace, he might get the chance sooner than he expected.

“Are you staring at my lips?” Zed’s words snap him out of his thoughts abruptly, causing him to yank his head down to the display case of croissants. It’s futile to pretend he was reading the names before, and even more pointless to pretend he’s reading them now, but he tries anyway.

After waiting another few seconds, squinting his eyes judgementally at a “matcha cinnamon croissant,” which sounds like poison in pastry form, Tango finally looks up again. “Sorry, did you say something? I was absolutely enthralled by your pastry selection down here.” He barely manages to hold back a laugh, but the second he catches a glimpse of Zed’s face and sees the dumbfounded expression, he completely loses it.

It takes several minutes for him to stop laughing long enough for Zed to respond, Tango still heaving for breath. “Sure, sure. Does that mean you’ll try the new matcha croissant? It’s my own invention, but we haven’t sold any yet.” His face falls into an uncharacteristic frown, the first hint in over two weeks Tango’s seen that Zed can be sad.

It’s surprisingly rattling, surprisingly similar to people he once shared his life with.

So when he blurts out his next sentence without thinking, it’s all too easy for Tango to blame it on his stupid, sentimental ass. “I’ll try one! But-” Halfway through the sentence the logical half of his brain kicks in, sensing an opportunity. “-but I want you to have one with me. Take a break, eat with me for a change!” It’s the perfect plan, a chance to finally get him a little less out of view from his protective vampiric bosses.

As if they’re watching him every second, something Tango wouldn’t put past them for even a moment, either Impulse or Skizz seem to appear every time he gets close to asking more personal questions, flirting more frequently, or attempts to make any sort of physical contact outside of exchanging plates and cups. Getting Zed further away from the kitchen should buy him at least a few minutes of alone time to ask as many questions as he wants.

Plus, he worries for the man’s legs sometimes. Tango never sees him sitting, not even leaning against anything. It can’t be all that comfortable, and a comfortable target is a target more likely to talk.

Zed tilts his head again, staring at Tango like he had the coffee machine the other day, when he couldn’t figure out why it wouldn’t work. He’d forgotten to turn it on, solving the “mystery” rather quickly, but it was undoubtedly the same expression. “I suppose I probably can do that. If Impy or Skizz ask, I can just tell them I’m-” He trails off for a moment, before snapping his fingers enthusiastically. “I’m doing market research! Can’t promote something you’ve never tried!” 

Tango finds himself laughing again, already making his way to the table he’d claimed as his own. “I like that, very scientific. Nobody will suspect a thing.” He sits at the table without another word, eyes darting back to the kitchen door every so often. 

He’s confident Skizz won’t go back on their deal, that much he’s sure of. He could see it in the other’s eyes when they shook hands, the genuine glint of fear that Tango wouldn’t hesitate to take what he wanted. 

Good. 

He could stand to be afraid, to know what it’s like to have your coven watching their backs at every turn, to-

A small snap drags him back to the present, a thin crack running down the table from where his nail is digging into it. Whoops. Tango lets out a deep breath, closing his eyes and willing them to stop flaring as glaringly red as he knows they are.

He can control this, he can control himself.

Three hundred years he’s waited for this, he can regulate himself for a few more weeks. The result will be well worth the effort.

A small plate is set in front of him, the green-ish brown croissant, if it can be called that, sitting not-quite invitingly in his reach. It- well to be honest, it doesn’t look particularly appetizing. It actually looks less appealing than it did in the display case, but that’s something he doesn’t need to say out loud. 

Picking it up hesitantly, Tango nods his head at Zed. “So, tell me. How is it that Impulse and Skizz ended up as your bosses, best friends, and housemates? That’s a lot of quality time together, no?” Possessive is more like it, the type of possessive that comes with a coven, that comes with being the weakest in a coven. No, he’s more interested in seeing how Zed explains it, if he’s even aware of how abnormal his situation is. 

Zed only laughs though, just as unburdened as always. “I’ll give you that, it’s not exactly typical. Funnily enough, they started as just my housemates. I was fresh out of college, they needed a third roommate, and then we got along like a house on fire!” He pauses, mischief twinkling in his eyes. 

Since when was Tango paying so much attention to those? It's just to make sure he’s not already under hypnosis, it’s for research purposes, of course.

“Why is that expression a thing anyway?” If Tango hadn’t been there when it was first coined, because he perhaps had a bit of an arson streak in his teenaged vampire years, he’d be curious too. Instead, he takes a bite of the croissant. 

And nearly gags.

He forces himself to swallow it down, grabbing some hot chocolate immediately after to wash the taste out. Maybe this is Zed’s plan, just to poison him with bad desserts so he can’t ask questions about the coven. There’s more information to be gleaned though, and he’s never been a quitter, so Tango pushes forward. “Ok, new question. What’s the weirdest thing about each of them?” 

A small hum is all the response he gets at first, Zed taking his first bite of the croissant and then immediately gagging. “Wow, that is bad. Like really bad. How did you manage to swallow that?” Tango openly laughs at that, only pausing to chug more hot chocolate. 

“Eugh, I can still taste it!” Tango shoves the plate away from him, making a fake gagging noise as he does. “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, but man that shit was bad.” Despite its terrible reviews Zed’s still grinning just as wide, jumping to his feet as the next idea enters his brain. 

He holds his hand out in warning, body practically vibrating with excitement. “Stay right here, I’m going to get Impulse to try this!” Before Tango can protest, because it’s almost certainly not a good idea for the two of them to be in the same place right now, Zed’s already halfway to the kitchen. 

Tango sits with his newfound anxiety for a few quiet moments, mentally going over his list of defenses. He has the huma- he has Zed for one-

When did he stop thinking of him as “the human?”

Narrowing his eyes slightly, Tango gets back on task. He has Zed as his primary bargaining chip, the one most likely to keep him safe. He also has silver in his bag, no matter how much it would hurt him to touch it as well, and worst case scenario, he has hypnosis. He’s almost certainly not stronger than Impulse, but the surprise might buy him a few critical seconds to run, maybe take Zed with him as some form of insurance. 

By the time Zed and Impulse come back out of the kitchen, Tango’s practically ready to bolt. Zed looks just as excited as before, trying and failing to hide his mischievous giggles. Impulse looks surprisingly warm, carefree even. At least until he lays eyes on Tango- his entire body tenses slightly, a near-silent hiss slipping out of his mouth. 

Of the two of them, Impulse had always had the more possessive streak.

Zed continues to be oblivious, dragging Impulse by the hand towards the table. “I promise, you’re going to love it. Isn’t that right Tango?” His smile strains slightly at the corners, all but begging Tango to play into his plan. 

And hey, who is he to deny Impulse the- once in a lifetime experience of eating the croissant. An experience Tango can definitively call unique, even in their long lifespans. Smiling at Impulse, letting a brief glimpse of fangs poke out just for the thrill, Tango nods. “Truly a taste unlike any other, you need to try it to believe it.” Unfortunately, any words out of Tango’s mouth are about ten thousands times more likely to make Impulse distrust the food in front of him.

Apparently his- his whatever of Zed is stronger than his hatred of Tango though, because Impulse smiles and takes a small bite before immediately spitting it back out. “Wow uh-” He chokes again, Zed “helpfully” whacking his back with far too much enthusiasm. “Those sure are something Zed! Something we should keep in the kitchen, away from the public, perhaps.” 

That teases a chuckle out of Tango’s mouth before he can stop it, Impulse’s eyes darting to him quickly. Nothing but pure death stares back at him, Tango finding himself balking just slightly despite himself. Impulse sticks his hand out, voice deceptively sweet. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting. The name’s Impulse, I assume you’re the infamous Tango?” The words roll in one ear and out the other, and a few belated moments later, Tango realizes he’s not only shaken Impulse’s hand, but taken another bite of the croissant.

Jerking backward quickly, Tango’s breaths start coming in short bursts. He hadn’t even heard Impulse’s compulsion before he’d found himself following it. “I- yeah, I’m Tango. Nice to meet you.” Every part of his body and mind is screaming to flee, to get out of Impulse’s sights before he can’t. 

Breathe. He needs to breathe. Because at the end of the day, he still has leverage they can’t take from him, and he needs this revenge.

Raising his eyes slowly, Tango lets his own hypnosis bleed into his words. Instead of directing it at Impulse, however, he turns to Zed with his sweetest smile. “Do me a favor and go get me a cookie from the kitchen?” The response is instant, Zed’s eyes glazing over and his body stilling more than Tango’s ever seen.

It’s almost uncomfortable to see him so quiet as he retreats, the odd feeling not having long to sit in Tango’s stomach before Impulse’s hand is pulling him up by the collar of his shirt, choking him slightly. “Try that again and see what happens. You made a deal with Skizz, not me.” Tango’s first instinct is to panic, to try and plead mercy, to cower like they’d all done in the past. 

But Impulse isn’t who he once was, and neither is Tango. Allowing an easy smirk to come to his face, Tango bares his fangs fully. “Oh is that so? I guess that means I can make good on a fantasy or two, bring all that lovely blood into his cheeks and finally let myself take a taste. Unless, of course, you want to rethink that statement.” Inside, he’s dying. As much as he’s ready, eager to rid the world of these two forever, there’s a small part of him that can’t focus around them, can’t forget how quickly they’d ruined his entire life.

That’s the part he has to kill before he can kill them.

So he lets his face continue to curl into a self-assured smirk, relishing the influx of emotions that rapidly cross Impulse’s face. Part of him wonders what it’d be like to kiss Zed, for his blood or not, but he promptly shuts that part of himself up too. He must need more sleep, he’s getting delusional. 

Impulse’s hand starts to shake slightly, even as it tightens further around Tango’s shirt. “I can promise you right here and now that if you ever try that, I will make you disappear so thoroughly no one will ever know you existed. I will make it hurt more than anything you’ve ever experienced in life or undeath.” He pauses for a moment, a spark of something flashing in his eyes. “Just like the rest of your coven did.” 

Static fills Tango’s ears, the next words only barely registering. “I’m not above compelling memories of you out of Zed’s mind, so don’t tempt me.” He lets go of Tango’s shirt abruptly, glaring down at him. “I expect you to be gone in the next five minutes.” He stalks away without another word, as if he didn’t hit Tango where it hurt most, more than anything else ever would.

The only thought he can make out in his head is that he needs to leave, his feet carrying him halfway to his apartment before he can even process the fact that he’s not breathing, his hands shaking and his feet stumbling every few steps.

It’s only muscle memory that lets him get back to his apartment in one piece, the second the door closes he collapses into the couch, pure grief overwhelming him for the first time in decades. He’d thought he was past this, capable of moving on even if it hurt some days. But he hadn’t expected Impulse to recognize him, to remember what he’d done.

How he’d done it.

Half of Tango wants to quit now, wants to flee, lick his wounds, and count his lucky stars that the two of them let him live. The other half of him, the louder half, screams at him to retaliate, to prove to them that he’s a real threat even if they don’t think so. Instead, Tango listens to neither half. He sits down in front of his corkboard, starts writing down notes and methodically attaching them to the board, his hands steadying the more strings he ties together. 

By the time he’s done his mind is clear, his goal for the next day set. He needs to solidify Zed’s attraction to him, and maybe use a bit more hypnosis to coax some information out of him. And if Impulse or Skizz happen to see the two of them sharing a moment well- wouldn’t that just be icing on the cake.

Tango does frown at the non-zero percent of himself that’s looking forward to this plan for reasons other than revenge. Zed is a human, and more than that he’s a pawn; in Tango’s scheme, sure, but also in whatever Impulse and Skizz are up to. It’s just an added bonus that Tango gets to indulge while he’s here, nothing more.

The more times he tells himself that, the more hollow it feels.

He steps back once again to look at the board, eyes widening minusculely at how uneven the sections have gotten yet again. He'd only added one or two notes to Impulse's section, the handwriting on both unsteady, painful reminders of the panic he'd been attempting to escape.

And then there's Zed’s section, filled to the brim with facts, observations, his own thoughts, everything. His favorite color, the sweater he wears most often, the specific type of cupcake he sometimes smells like? Tango's not even sure where half of this came from, certainly not questions he'd directly asked Zed at any point. A small realization nips at the back of Tango's consciousness, seemingly only growing louder every time he pushes it back. 

He only has one rule as Pyre. Don't get attached. Not to the area, to the target, to the buyers, to anyone or anything. Attachments are weaknesses, liabilities, ways for enemies to get back at him. He'd learned his lesson with his coven, learned his lesson time and time again as everything he'd ever loved was taken from him- his life, his family, his home, everything. 

Undeniably though, all the evidence points to him being thoroughly, irrevocably attached to Zed. To the way he never seems to sit still, the way he's always pushing for more, his innocence of the horrible monsters around him shining through at every turn.

Now that he's acknowledged the thought, it's hard for Tango to believe he hadn't realized this before. When had he ever thought about kissing a target this much? Scratch that, Zed's not even his target. He should be a mere footnote in Tango's notes, only useful for his connection to Impulse and Skizz.

Instead, he's everywhere.

Tango falls back onto his couch, face burning with unfamiliar emotions and old fears. Regardless of his apparent feelings for Zed, he has a job to do. 

The plan doesn't change, even for a pretty smile. Sure, he may allow himself to enjoy this part, to take pleasure in sweeping Zed off his feet, but at the end of it all, there’s only one way this goes. 

He sells off any and all information he can get about Impulse and Skizz, and then he removes their source of joy from their lives. It’d be a shame to extinguish Zed’s light, as bright and loving as it is, but knowingly or not, he’d made his choice when he associated with them. 

They have to pay. 

They have to.

Today had confirmed it; they hadn’t actually changed, they were just lying in wait for whatever their next scheme turns out to be. Impulse had stared at him, had thrown the worst moment of his life back at him without even a hint of hesitation.

Tango replays the moment over and over again in his head, stoking the flames of his anger until it lets him burn through the guilt his traitorous mind has started to subconsciously wallow in. With those thoughts repeatedly twisting through his mind, he slips off into an uneasy sleep.

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The next morning, Tango wakes up exhausted. 

Despite his best efforts he’d tossed and turned most of the night, attention split between anger, and guilt, and planning. In fact, the only thing he didn’t manage to succeed at that night was actually sleeping. 

So when he finally wakes up from his fitful rest just thirty minutes before he’s meant to be at the cafe, it’s safe to say he’s not quite as thorough as he’d usually be with his precautions. Instead of fully tucking away the corkboard, on the off chance a burglar were to break in, instead Tango simply tosses a blanket over it. Instead of waiting to leave until all the security cameras were pointed in the opposite direction, he walks right out the door, steps hurried and brain scattered.

And instead of walking to the bus stop twenty minutes away from his place, he hops on the one just outside his building, checking the time frantically. 

He has fifteen minutes if he wants to keep his routine, and after the shitshow that was the day before, he needs to keep the routine. Impulse and Skizz could’ve told Zed anything about why he’d suddenly left, not to mention the lengths they might go to compel him to believe something. If he doesn’t show up on time, as “carefree” as always, Zed might start to believe those things.

For more reasons than one, Tango can’t let him believe whatever he’s heard.

Today when the bell chimes above the door, it’s a relief. He’d made it with two minutes to spare, his hands jumping up to smooth down his windswept hair to little success. Like every day before, Zed turns to look at him with a beaming smile, a greeting already on his lips even before they meet eyes. 

Unlike every other day before it, however, Tango finds his smile growing in return, his heart fluttering.

Traitor.

Tango laughs, slowly making his way to the counter. “Zed, you would not believe the morning I had, it was wild.” He rests his elbows on the nearest display case, winking. “Couldn’t risk missing my favorite date though.” 

As always, a small part of him twists in excitement at the flush of Zed’s cheeks, even as he leans forward to halve the distance between them. That’s new. Zed tilts his head yet again, lips twisting in a half-smirk. “Oh? You have other dates? And here I thought we were exclusive, I can’t believe this.” For a single moment, every part of Tango’s brain halts.

Even knowing he’s joking, of being able to see the mischief dance across his features, Tango still freezes. Because once again Zed’s derailed his plans, forced him to confront truths he was content to bury forever.

They’ve essentially been dating for the last two weeks.

They see each other every day, they flirt back and forth, hell, both of them had made jokes about being committed for Void’s sake, Tango had basically taken him on a coffee date yesterday! An actual, honest to Void coffee date, awkward first-date questions and all.

He opens his mouth to respond, clamps it shut immediately, and has to force himself to open it again. “We are- exclusive, I mean.” Tango’s voice comes out unbearably soft, surprising even himself. He forces himself to keep talking, to do whatever it takes to lessen the intensity of the moment. “I mean, where else sells hot chocolate for only four dollars? I’m a loyal customer baby.”

Zed laughs, turning to start the kettle with an uncharacteristic quiet. The next few minutes pass by in awkward silence, broken by Zed spinning back to Tango with a startling seriousness. “Impulse and Skizz want me to go on a date.” He pauses, each word seeming to pain him. “Not- not with you.”

Tango’s not sure what expression his face makes, but whatever it is must’ve scared Zed, because he barely seems to breathe as he pushes through his next sentences. “I don’t- I don’t really want to, but they just want me to try, and I can do that. I can just tell whoever I end up with what’s going on, and things will be fine.” He drops his gaze to the hot chocolate, methodically stirring the cup. “Because really, I’d rather like to go out with you.”

If Tango wants to be a liar, something he’s usually quite good at being, he’d say that the grin that splits on his face is purely from a leverage standpoint. If he wants to be honest, it’s because he’s particularly interested in going out with Zed too.

“I’d like that too, y’know. Do what you have to to get those two off your back, and I’ll be here when you’re ready.” He should stop. He should stop. It’s too late to stop.

His mind is already made up, the last remnants of his conscious screaming at him to explain.

Zed holds out the hot chocolate mug, which Tango takes with excitement. Their hands linger on each other’s for an extra moment, neither of them moving away. Tango breaks the silence gently, even as his tone turns mocking. “I suppose it’s not too forward of me to ask for your number then, right?”

The laugh he gets in response is musical, comforting. 

And in that moment, Tango makes up his mind. He’ll explain everything to Zed whenever they go out, show him the real Impulse and Skizz he lives with, and offer him a way out. A way out with him. If he takes it, Tango might finally stop being alone. If he doesn’t, at least he can sleep at night knowing he tried.

There’s more than one way to cripple Impulse and Skizz before he takes them down. Even if he might not be removing Zed permanently from their lives, if he doesn’t want to come with Tango, he can certainly sow dissent in their relationship. Based on the way both of them have reacted to his threats, that’d be more than enough to throw them off their game.

Later that night, Tango smiles as his phone vibrates for the tenth time. Zed’s been texting him photos of worms for the last hour or so, under the guise of the bracket-style ranking system he’d created being used for science. The reasoning seems a little blurry, disconnected from the scientific process, but Tango had never given a shit about that before, and certainly isn’t about to now. 

By the time he goes to bed his face hurts from smiling, his phone still halfway in his hand.

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Martyn checks his watch impatiently, its face finally showing the time he’s been waiting for; eleven-fifteen, fifteen minutes after the new vampire was due to be at that infernal coffee shop. Slipping down the fire escape, Martyn squints as he counts across rows of windows, only moving once his eyes lock onto his target.

Finding out about the guy had been a complete accident, and not even one of his own doing. In fact, Martyn had been completely off for the day, strolling through the park looking for flowers to decorate their home, when he’d gotten a frantic text message from Etho-

“Just walking past the bus stop on Center, did you know we had a new face? Tailing him now, will update.” 

And no, Martyn had not known about the new face in their city.

Dogwarts tends to track all the vampires in their area, partly for their own safety and partly for the opportunities it can bring up for them. The fact that they didn’t know about this guy means he’d taken quite a few steps to stay hidden. 

Which is why, of course, Martyn’s now letting himself into his apartment.

Careful examination of the window hadn’t revealed any traps or wards, meaning it’s probably a more temporary residence. Even more peculiar, given the amount of effort he’d taken to keep his arrival a secret. Once he catches a glimpse of the living room, however, it all makes perfect sense. 

Right in the center of the room is a corkboard, filled to the brim with information on- Martyn’s jaw drops, already picking up the phone to call Ren. “You will not believe who I just found.” He takes a step closer to the board, eyes scanning it with laser-precision. 

Impulse and Skizzleman are here. In their city.

And apparently, so is Pyre. 

Ren yawns, voice still groggy with sleep. “Ugh, if you don’t tell me something good, like Beyonce levels of good, I’m going to bite you.” Martyn can’t help but smile, even as his eyes narrow in on the only section of the board that doesn’t make sense. 

A human by the name of Zed, his corner of the corkboard overflowing with notes. 

“Is that meant to be a threat or a promise?” Martyn chuckles, sifting through notes delicately so as to not leave hints of his presence. “But no, I found something good. That new guy? Yeah, that’s Pyre. And guess who he’s here tracking.” 

For a moment all he can hear are rustling sheets as Ren sits up, all hints of sleep gone from his voice. “Who?”

“Impulse and Skizzleman. Turns out, they’ve got a weak spot. A human, to be exact.” It’s almost so farfetched it’s laughable, the idea of the two most deadly vampires in history getting attached to a human. 

A human that would be far too easy to get a hold of, at that.

When Ren speaks again, Martyn can hear the gears turning behind his eyes, the plans he’s already forming. “How do you feel about cheating on me?”

Martyn snorts, glancing again at the photo under the human’s name. “Eh, he’s not bad on the eyes. I think I could have him by the end of the week.” It’d be easy enough to do, if not a little boring. 

But to get leverage over Impulse, Skizzleman, and Pyre? Now that’s too good of an opportunity to pass up. 

“Consider it done.”

Chapter Text

Zed stares at himself in the mirror of his room, a slight frown coming to his face as he examines his jumper for the thousandth time in the mirror. 

His “date” tonight was meant to be blind, arranged by Impulse and Skizz just to get his mind off Tango. According to them, he’s “not right for him,” and “emotionally unavailable,” and “he hasn’t learned anything about the guy, you can’t go out with him.” Zed knows they’re just worried about him, that his experiences with dating start and end with none.

No matter how much the three of them had argued, however, Zed hadn’t been able to convince them that Tango was a good option. So they’d compromised; Impulse and Skizz would set him up with one of their other friends, just so he could see what his options were. That’s what was supposed to happen, and then he’d met Martyn. 

Martyn, the charming blonde man that’d walked into the cafe just a few short hours after Tango had left for the day and immediately struck up a conversation. Normally Zed doesn’t just click with a customer, even with Tango he’d had to take a couple days to work up the courage to start being himself. 

But with Martyn?

With Martyn it’d been instant, the two of them talking for the rest of his shift and even some after. He hadn’t introduced him to Impulse and Skizz this time, a small part of him still frustrated with them for their complete lack of trust in his taste. How is a blind date any different from dating Tango? Any time he presses them, all he gets in response is “you don’t even know anything about him,” but a blind date is supposed to be better? 

Any time he brings up Tango, however, the two of them start acting strange. Impulse goes cold, his voice uncharacteristically clinical and his already-limited physical touch completely going still. Skizz, on the other hand, just seems furious. Always brimming just under the surface, never directed at him, but always there.

They aren’t telling him something.

Living together for a decade comes with its perks, one of which is the ability to know when his best friends are lying out of their asses. So Martyn remains a mystery for the two of them, outside of his name. Because even when Zed’s annoyed at the two of them, he doesn’t want them to actually worry about him.

He fluffs out a few of his curls haphazardly, frown only easing slightly as he does. There’s nothing wrong with Martyn. He’s smart, charismatic to an insane degree, witty, and interesting. But a small part of Zed still seems unable to let himself experience the date fully, still hesitates to let himself open up.

A knock at his door disrupts his doubts, his face brightening on instinct. “Come in! Unless you’re here to take photos, in which case die.” A signature Skizz snicker floats into the room from the other side of the door, Zed’s resolve immediately crumbling. “Skizzzz, don’t leave me in here alone!” 

That finally gets the door open, Skizz waltzing into the room with a plate of cookies and a soft smile. Zed can already feel the tension relaxing out of his body as Skizz wraps him in a gentle hug, hands smoothing out the back of his jumper as he does. Zed lets himself melt into the touch, tilting his head up slightly to rest it on Skizz’s shoulder. 

They stay there for a few minutes, Zed fighting back a small bout of exhaustion as all the anxiety about the date momentarily flows out of him. Once it feels like he’s more liquid than man (an interesting concept, one he’d have to properly develop later), Skizz strikes. “So homie, what’s got you so worked up?” 

Curse him and his attention-paying to Zed. Why can’t he be a bad partner and not notice when Zed’s anxious? The thought causes him to break into a fit of giggles spontaneously. If it’d been anyone else here (which would be weird, considering Zed doesn’t let many people touch him), they’d probably think he was insane. Skizz doesn’t even blink, just waiting patiently for Zed to remember that there was, in fact, a question directed his way.

Zed chokes back the last of his giggles with a hiccup, letting out a long breath. “I just- dating’s hard. And new. And I’m not even sure I’m going to like him, because I like-” He cuts himself off, not wanting to start another argument. “People don’t tend to like me for very long. It’s going to be an awkward date if he’s one of those people.” He plays his worries off with a shrug, attempting to pull away to fix his hair. 

Apparently Skizz has no plans of letting him go, however, because instead Zed’s progressively messier-looking head is pressed further into Skizz’s chest. “He’ll love you Zeddle. And if he doesn’t, we can give him one of your matcha-cinnamon croissants!”

“Hey! That croissant was delici- actually no, I can’t lie well enough to sell that. But hey!” This time Zed does shove himself back, fixing Skizz with the saddest, most offended pout he can manage. Not that that helps him, of course. No, instead it just ends with a hand tousling his hair aggressively, much to Zed’s irritation. 

It takes a lot of effort to make his curls look like he just woke up!

Mainly because it’s difficult for him to wake up, but still. 

Skizz cackles, falling backwards onto Zed’s bed with the strength of it. “Hey yourself, you’re the one that created that monster!” For once in his life, Skizz is right. How annoying. Zed simply rolls his eyes (petty, yes, but when has being petty not felt good) and turns back to the mirror. 

Irritatingly enough, his hair looks amazing.

It’s much harder to feel worried with Skizz right here, a fact Zed’s almost certain he’s aware of. He turns to stare at Skizz in the mirror, smoothing out the sleeves of his jumper before moving to put on his shoes. “If I text you asking anything mundane, you should come save me expeditiously. It means I’m dying of boredom, slowly having my whimsy drained out of my body.”

A raised eyebrow greets him in return. “Expeditiously? Lay off the dictionary dude, you’re putting the rest of us to shame.” Skizz’s eyes twinkle in the light of Zed’s room as he grins. “And a shameful Skizz is a sad Skizz, and I’m sure you don’t want that.” Instead of answering, Zed pretends to think about it for a moment. 

“Wh- hey! Oh you jerk, I can’t believe you!” Skizz throws his hands up, pointing at Zed emphatically. “My own partner, I’m wounded I tell you, wounded!” The large grin plastered across his face makes it hard to take him seriously, an endeavor Zed tries for all of ten seconds before choosing to laugh at him instead.

The two of them continue to laugh until Impulse’s hovering form in the doorway grabs their attention. He looks more nervous than Skizz, certainly, but not quite as bad as Zed had felt just a few moments ago (they’re having a real Goldilocks moment here, a thought that once again sends Zed into a fit of laughter). He continues to lurk in the doorway even as Zed smiles at him, rocking back and forth on his feet sheepishly.

“You know you can come in, right Impy?” Impulse chuckles nervously at that, joining Skizz on Zed’s bed while Zed double checks the time. He’s got thirty minutes until the date, which simultaneously feels like an eternity and a single nanosecond. Turning back to the two of them, he lets an easy smile come to his face. “I know it’s rare to see me in a jumper this good, but you guys have to keep your wits about you!” 

Zed ducks just in time to dodge the twin pillows launched at his head, an instinct he’d honed specifically for these two after losing one too many arguments for choice of tv show (why they don’t want to watch competitive table setting, he’ll never understand). Impulse snaps his fingers, sharp grin on his face. “Darn, we’ll have to be faster next time Skizz.”

Skizz nods in agreement, before flopping backwards to mess up Zed’s orderly comforter and pillows (aka, the mess of a bed he’d left after waking up from his impromptu nap). “I want you home no later than eleven tonight young man, you hear me?” A voice that Zed can only describe as “southern father with a shotgun” crashes out of Skizz’s mouth, the sound of it freezing him just slightly with incredulity.

The silence lingers momentarily before Zed’s brain reboots. “Eleven? I’m not a teenager Skizz, if I’m not home by nine-thirty I’m breaking up with him.” Eleven, really. As if he’s trying to be out that late, especially when being home offers him comfortable clothes, ice cream, and his bed. And yes, he could go to sleep earlier, which would probably eliminate all his daily exhaustion and multiple naps taken, but that would be the normal way out.

And why would he ever do it that way?

Impulse pops to his feet, making his way to Zed and carefully smoothing out the last of the wrinkles on his collar. “You’re going to be great. Remember to take pictures, don’t accept any drinks from him you didn’t personally see made, and make sure your phone doesn’t die before you’re back.” Aw, Impulse actually seems worried about him. How sweet. 

Not that that stops Zed’s lips from forming a smirk. “Ok, mom. Man, I go on one date and all the sudden you two are acting like I’m eighteen and going to my first house party.” Despite his teasing, Zed’s smile still warms at their obvious concern. It’s easier to remember that no matter what happens on this date, there are people who love him, when Impulse and Skizz are right here proving it.

“Now I need to be off or I’ll be late, I’ll text you when I’m on my way back.” Zed hugs each of them tightly, a small bundle of nerves returning just under his skin. “Don’t eat all the good cookies without me!” With that he practically skips out his bedroom door, shooting one last winning smile (which, of course, would never look slightly queasy, or perhaps apprehensive, trepidatious, or unsteady, to name a few adjectives) before actually leaving. 

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

Martyn’s waiting just outside the entrance to the diner when Zed arrives, dressed in an outfit that can only be described as stunning.

A dark green sweater-vest over a white dress shirt, long brown dress pants, and his hair braided and woven into an intricate bun, showing off the multitude of gold earrings in his ears. Zed finds his cheeks flushing slightly at the sight, suddenly even more self-conscious about his “nicest” jumper (which is really just his favorite one, because he doesn’t own any formal wear) and dress shoes.

A large smile splits across Martyn’s face when he sees Zed, eyes raking up and down his body. “Well don’t you look wonderful as always. It’s nice to see you again, Zed.” He offers his arm out, which Zed takes with a twinkle in his eyes.

Guess he’ll have to add “gentlemanly” to Martyn’s ever-growing list of traits.

“Nice to see you too, you look amazing.” Zed’s eyes move back up to the delicately braided hair, held in place with a variety of golden pins. “How long did that take you to do?” He tilts his head slightly, trying to work out where one braid starts and another ends. He jerks his head down a few seconds too late, once again forgetting that most people don’t like to be studied like a science experiment. 

Not that Martyn seems to mind, if the gentle squeeze of Zed’s hand is anything to go by. “Short answer? Too bloody long.” He barks out a laugh, free hand coming up to readjust the red crystal earring hanging from his left ear. “Entirely worth it, of course, for tonight.”

Zed’s face goes bright pink once again, his words coming out in a half-mumble. “Such a charmer. Do you talk to all your dates this way?” He’d imagine so, flirting aptitude like that doesn’t just fall from the sky (and if it does, then boy does Zed have a bone or two to pick with the cosmos). A small, anxious part of himself wonders exactly how many dates Martyn’s been on- Zed’s so horribly out of practice, what if Martyn gets frustrated with his lack of preparedness?

But his face never loses that half-smirk, even as they start to walk into the diner. “Who said I’ve had other dates? I don’t go out with just anyone y’know, it’s been a couple hu-” He pauses for a moment, face screwing in concentration as he thinks. “At least four or five years since I’ve done this last.” That revelation causes Zed to trip over his own two feet, almost falling directly on his face if Martyn hadn’t still been holding his arm. 

This time the flush in his cheeks is pure embarrassment as Zed keeps his gaze on the floor. “It’s uh- been a while for me too. Glad to hear I’m not entirely out of my league though.” The laugh that comes out of his mouth could be described as awkward at best (though realistically, it’s more accurate to call it strangled), but Martyn still laughs alongside him, the sound considerably more refined. 

They take their seats at one of the booths (Zed’s favorite place to sit in a diner, something about booths just make him feel cooler), and for the first time all night Zed looks into Martyn’s eyes. They’re strikingly blue, piercing through his body in a way that, while slightly uncomfortable, doesn’t make him feel scared.

Funnily enough, it’s the calmest he’s felt all day.

He continues to stare until Martyn’s voice shatters his trance, causing Zed to startle slightly. “So, why don't you tell me a little more about yourself! Even better actually, let’s cut the boring shit- tell me something you’ve never told anyone else.” Something he’s never told anyone? That’s harder than it probably should be, but he talks. A lot. It’s very rare that he doesn’t share whatever he’s thinking as soon as he processes it himself, yet he still finds himself really thinking about it.

It’d be bad date etiquette to not answer the question, obviously.

“That’s a good one. I tend to talk a lot, I’m sure you’ve noticed. Uhm- oh! I’ve got it! I used to have a pet worm named Willie, except I accidentally left him at the park and mourned for a week.” Zed glances down at the menu to hide the growing flush in his cheeks. “I was twenty-six when that happened.” He’s so very rarely felt this comfortable with someone so quickly, a bubble of safety protecting him from the anxiety he’d usually feel at sharing something that embarrassing so soon into meeting someone.

Then the bubble shatters, and for a brief moment his entire body wants to fall into a panic, the silence making him reconsider ever opening his mouth to begin with. But Martyn laughs, long and hard, wiping away a tear from his eye. “Oh that’s just too good. Here I thought we’d be in for some right deep shit, but that was way better.” Relief floods through Zed’s body almost instantly, his shoulders dropping into a more comfortable position.

Leaning forward on the table, Zed tilts his head. “What about you? I wanna hear something you’ve never told anyone.” Martyn shifts slightly, an expression not far off from ancient crossing over his face. Just as quickly as it came it vanishes, replaced instead by wry amusement. Zed rubs his eyes. He must be making things up with the last remnants of anxiety still coiling in his stomach.

Martyn leans forward to match him, voice lowered in a conspiratorial whisper. “My boyfriend has the loudest snore on the planet. Like it’s unreal, completely unreal.” Before Zed can stop himself, his face crumples in confusion. Martyn hadn’t mentioned a boyfriend at any point, not the day they’d met, the rest of the week after, or even tonight. 

Keep it together.

This asshole does not get to see him cry.

A light touch to his hand makes him flinch, looking back at Martyn’s electric blue eyes, currently crinkled in concern. “Oh Void, did I not mention him?” His grip on Zed’s hand tightens, his entire face looking downright pale with- something Zed can’t make out. What he does know is that his eyes have turned miserable, guilt rampant through them. “We’re open, we’ve been open for- longer than I can remember. He helped me do my hair for the night.” 

Normally, Zed wouldn’t be quite so quick to move on from the situation. Normally, he’d ask Martyn to call this supposedly chill boyfriend, just to see what he would do. 

But something about that remorseful look on his face, his hand still squeezing Zed’s like he’s afraid he’ll up and leave right now, stops him from doing any of that.

Instead he simply nods. “You gave me quite a fright, you know, it’s not good for my heart.” That teases another chuckle out of Martyn, the worst of the guilt melting away into something less intense. His hand doesn’t move, however, leaving Zed feeling slightly warmer than normal. His head aches slightly, his stress apparently deciding the appropriate response is to manifest into a headache instead of leave him alone.

The rest of the meal goes by without a hitch, the two of them spending more time laughing than eating for most of it. It barely takes ten minutes before the pain behind his eyes is an afterthought, the feeling fading to his enjoyment of the night. By the time they’ve paid and made their way to the door, Zed’s surprised to find that he actually wants to see Martyn again. 

Even more surprising, Zed finds himself with the courage to tell Martyn that. “I- I mean if you’re interested, I’d like to see you again? Maybe we can go see a movie or something, I think there’s a new Hotguy movie coming out? Not that I’ve seen the last two, but I’ve heard that they’re mainly for the fangirls, so it probably won’t matter if I haven’t seen them, right? Or maybe I’ll just binge them after my shift, just in ca-” 

Martyn cuts him off with a laugh, opening the door for the two of them to step outside. “You’re cute when you ramble, did you know that?” He fishes in his pocket for a moment, pulling out a set of keys. “But yes, I’d love to see you again. I don’t suppose you want a ride back? I don’t mind driving.” It’s really not far of a walk back to his own apartment, and it’d probably be good for him to get more cardio, but- Martyn’s face is practically pleading, and Zed’s always been a sucker for a pretty face. 

So he smiles, taking Martyn’s offered arm once again. “That sounds great.” His head feels slightly cloudy as they walk, the rush of adrenaline leaving his body clearly taking a harder toll than he’d expected. He leans a little further into Martyn, wishing for a brief moment he ran as warm as Tango did.

Tango. 

There’s something Zed’s forgetting, something he could’ve sworn he was meant to tell Martyn. And for whatever reason, Tango’s involved too. 

But any and all thoughts of Tango vanish from Zed’s mind as they finally stop in front of Martyn’s car. Zed looks around in slight confusion. They’d walked further than he realized, judging by the fact that he no longer recognizes most of the buildings surrounding them.

Martyn turns to him with a shy smile, taking a half step back. “This may be forward of me, but-” He pauses for a moment, Zed catching a flash of teeth worrying at his bottom lip. “Could I kiss you?” 

Everything goes quiet, the question reverberating in Zed’s head. He can say no, that much he’s sure of, but, in the strangest part of the night, he doesn’t think he wants to. He’d enjoyed the entire evening, enjoyed Martyn. Not to mention the fact that he’s leaning forward subconsciously, his mind seemingly making the choice for him.

Zed smiles back at him, raising a single eyebrow. “Why that’s quite forward indeed. Luckily for you, I like a man with initiative.” Clearly that’s all the invitation Martyn needs before his lips meet Zed’s, the feeling incredibly unfamiliar but not at all unwelcome.

Eventually Martyn’s mouth starts trailing down Zed’s jaw, making its way halfway down Zed’s throat. His teeth graze the spot lightly, the feeling sending a shiver down Zed’s spine. Before he can say anything, he yelps as those same teeth bite down, the pain quickly fading to a dizzying burst of spots in his vision. 

His body feels weak, his legs unsteady and his movements slow. Martyn still hasn’t let go, hasn’t moved back, but Zed’s mouth doesn’t remember how to form words, how to do anything past the fog clouding his mind.

The last thing he’s aware of is the disorienting feeling of him falling forward, further in Martyn. 

----------------------------------------------------------------

Martyn shifts the human’s weight into his arms more concretely, bringing up his spare hand to wipe at any stray drops of blood.

All things considered, it was actually a nice date. Not one he was particularly interested in, but considerably better than he’d anticipated. The human’s entertaining, his endless enthusiasm rubbing off on Martyn after just a few minutes of talking.

Not to mention his blood is simply wonderful.

Really, it’s no wonder Impulse and Skizzleman keep him around!

Getting the car doors open while balancing an unconscious human is no easy task, and by the time Martyn collapses into the driver’s seat, he’s ready to eat another meal. And while it’s tempting to take another bite when it’s so easily available to him, he knows Ren would be less than pleased. 

Speaking of- Martyn grabs his phone, fingers dialing the number without him having to think. It only rings once, the sap on the other end probably not letting it stay more than arm's length away for the entire night. He'd been wary of the chance that this might be a set-up, even if Martyn was confident he wasn't. 

“My liege, you'll absolutely adore the treat I'm bringing you back. Consider it thanks for my hair.” He knows Ren will be able to hear the smile in his voice, the unmistakable sound of a happily satiated vampire. Human food is disgusting, three hundred years he's had to try to learn to enjoy it, but nothing’s ever come close to the satisfaction of a good bit of blood.

Even through his worry Ren leans into the bit, stopping just shy of the horrid accent. “Oh, did my Hand enjoy himself tonight?” All pretenses slip for a moment, a conflicting mix of intrigue and fear marking Ren's words. “No complications? Where are you right now?”

Martyn glances back at the human, still slumped over in the passenger seat. “We're in my car, no complications. I can see why those two keep him around though, he's a great bloodbag.” He pauses momentarily, tilting his head side-to-side in consideration. “Strangely shocked by the dulling effect though, guess Impulse and Skizzleman don't bother.” 

Given who they are, he supposes he shouldn't be surprised at that fact. It's never been said that caring was an accurate descriptor of their behavior. Actually, Martyn would go so far as to say they'd never been anything short of cruel a single day in their lives.

The tension in Ren’s voice finally starts to loosen, which has the unfortunate side effect of drawing out the Scottish-British-who-knows-what-else hybrid accent in full force. He’s had the better part of three hundred years to try and improve it, and never once has he even considered it. “Very well then laddie, I’ll expect a full report when you’re back. In the meantime, I’ll send Big B and Etho to get the room prepared.” Martyn rolls his eyes with a smile, moving to tuck his phone under the car’s radio.

“I’ll see you soon Ren, love you!” He hangs up before Ren can say it back, chuckling at the face he knows Ren’s making on the other end of the line.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Zed’s head is killing him. 

That in and of itself isn’t particularly strange, he’s rather prone to headaches around rain, loud noises, lots of people, dehydration, change of seasons, Mercury going into retrograde, and whatever else he can point at when one of the blasted things gets the jump on him. 

No, the strange part comes in the form of the pain radiating from his neck.

He pushes himself in a more upright position slowly, keeping his eyes closed to try and stave off the flare of discomfort that light’s so good at bringing for as long as possible. Nothing he can remember doing the last few days should be giving him this much discomfort, the only thing he’d done differently was go out with-

He’d gone out with Martyn.

They’d gone out, and Martyn walked him back to his car, and then-

He bit him.

What the fuck.

Zed’s eyes pop open quickly, his hand reaching up to gently touch the right side of his neck. He winces at the small wound, his entire body feeling somewhat weak and his mind dazed. Who the hell bites someone on a first date? Not that he would’ve appreciated it more if it was the second date, but still! The very first one? 

The creaking of what sounds to be an old door (or perhaps just someone with a strikingly good door impression) snaps him out of his confusion. A man with long brown hair, a small golden crown, sunglasses and- a cape (who wears capes around casually? Not that Zed’s complaining, per se. It’s a very dashing cape, it just seems rather extra) walks into the room, followed by-

“Martyn?” Zed sits up straighter in incredulity, the bite on his neck seeming to throb in pain the second he turns to look at Zed. He’d changed his outfit entirely, the sweater-vest exchanged for a dark blue coat with red and white accents, his hair freed of its intricate braiding and instead held back by a red bandana, and his eyes a sickening shade of red.

Nothing about this makes any sense, the number of reasons why so numerous it’s hard to even start. Both of them are staring at him with clinically cold gazes, the distinctly uncomfortable feeling of being studied sending a small shiver through his body. The two of them continue to look him over until the caped man (maybe if Zed’s head wasn’t hurting so much he could come up with a better name, but for now his creativity starts and ends at “man with cape”) stalks over to him, leaning in to stare closely at Zed’s neck. 

Breaking the silence he chuckles, the sound a strange blend of warm and cold. “You took quite the bite Martyn, no wonder he was asleep for so long.” Icy fingers lift Zed’s chin and somewhere deep inside him, something instinctual, tells him not to push back. There’s a type of inhumanity about the way they look at him, a sensation he can honestly say he’s never felt before.

Martyn only clicks his tongue, joining the caped man’s side. “I told you earlier, I was surprised. No wonder they keep such a close eye on him, I wouldn’t want to share either.” Who is they? And who the fuck is meant to be “sharing” him? The more they talk the more convinced Zed’s starting to become that he accidentally took drugs without realizing it. That’s the only explanation that would make sense, would explain why no one seems to be acknowledging the fact that he’s actually here.

Drugs or not, one of these two either better start giving him some answers, or some pain medicine. Zed frowns at both of them while moving his head away. “Hello? Are either of you going to explain what’s going on?” He turns to Martyn, frown deepening. “And since when were your eyes red?” 

The two exchange glances yet again, and for a brief moment Zed’s certain they’re going to continue to ignore him. Instead, the caped man yanks Zed’s head back to its previous position, voice cold and firm. “Stay. Do Impulse and Skizzleman allow you to get away with this level of disobedience?” They know Impulse and Skizz? Neither of them had mentioned knowing Martyn when Zed first told them of the date, and last he’d checked none of their friends were creepy wannabe-kings. The caped man, however, seems to mistake Zed’s confusion for some sort of admission. “That’s what I thought.”

And what the hell does obedience have to do with anything?

Zed crosses his arms, pulling his head away a second time. “You didn’t answer any of my questions. What the actual hell is happening, why did you bite me?” He directs the end of his sentence fully at Martyn once again, turning back and watching his face closely for any sort of slip that might reveal what’s actually going on. 

Which means when a frigid hand makes sharp contact with his face, he doesn’t see it coming.

Zed’s head snaps to the right, the dual sensations of the frozen hand and the burning in his face from the pain of the slap melding into a distinctly uncomfortable sensation. 

This time Martyn’s the one to force his head back, his hands just as cold. “Ren told you to stay, it’d do you well to listen.” That’s Ren? Nothing about the look on his face implies he’d be ok with Martyn going out with other people, if that story about them dating is even true.

Because clearly Martyn didn’t go out with him just for the fun of it, given Zed’s now woken up- actually, that’s another blank in his memory.

“I’ll stop moving when someone tells me what’s happening. And maybe put some gloves on, do you guys keep your- wherever this is set to subarctic?” Zed pushes down the urge to shove Martyn’s fingers off his stinging cheek. Pissing them off more doesn’t seem like a particularly safe idea (even if it seems like every question he asks only manages to irritate them further). The fingers tighten on his cheek, sharp nails pressing down nearly hard enough to draw blood.

Ren practically growls, sharp canines pushing out of his mouth. Zed scrambles backward quickly, eyes wide with fear. “If it shuts up your infernal blathering, fine. You’re here because you seem to be quite the little favorite of Impulse, Skizzleman, and Pyre. Which makes you of particular interest to us.” None of this makes any sense, the questions piling up in Zed’s mind faster than he can process them.

The way Ren speaks of Impulse and Skizz is frightening, pure malice dripping off each syllable and coalescing into a hatred so deep it nearly hurts. As for Pyre, he has no idea who or what that might be. He opens his mouth to tell them as much, but Martyn’s cold, painful fingers press into the bite on his neck harshly, cutting off his argument with a pained noise. 

As if he didn’t just render Zed speechless, Martyn’s eyes rake up and down his body. “Where do they usually bite you? Couldn’t parse that out earlier, I’m curious.” When it’s clear that he’s not going to answer, Martyn’s voice goes completely flat. “You shouldn’t make a habit of not answering us, I’m certain this would’ve been trained out of you.” 

More cryptic nonsense, more analytical stares. All at once Zed snaps, throwing his hands up. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about! I don’t know what Impulse and Skizz have to do with this, I don’t know who the hell Pyre is, and why in the Void-forsaken world do you keep talking about biting!” He’s not intentionally trying to make himself look stupid, but they might as well be asking him questions in French at this point. Nothing makes any sense, and he wants them to back up. 

Instead of backing up though, Ren starts to laugh. It starts off inviting, the warmest thing about him other than the red of his cape, but quickly turns terrifying, the type of laugh that comes right before something horrible. The longer it goes the more uncomfortable Zed starts to feel, his body subconsciously shifting backwards, away from their hands and Ren’s sharp, sharp teeth. 

Faster than he can see Ren’s hand is around his throat, squeezing hard enough to immediately cut off Zed’s access to air. “If you insist on playing dumb, fine. We’ll go nice and slow explaining this and see if that makes you remember your place.” His grip tightens again, the pressure causing Zed’s hands to desperately pull at Ren’s.

Martyn hums a small note, turning his eyes back to Ren. “Don’t forget, humans don’t last long without air.”

Humans?

Thoughts slip like sand through his mind, his attempts at removing Ren’s hand, or even loosening it rapidly becoming futile as he loses the ability to control his body. Ren’s voice stays at the same low tone, bordering on the edge of insanity. “Impulse and Skizzleman. The vampires feeding on you, those ones? They kept you, and themselves a lovely little secret from us, and that can’t slide.” His hands fall off of Ren’s, his vision starting to tilt in nauseating waves. The words continue, Zed straining to make out the sounds. “And even better, we find out Pyre, a constant thorn in our sides, has gone and taken interest in you.” Sharp nails press into the sides of his neck, the continued lack of oxygen finally taking away his ability to focus.

A distant part of him realizes that he’s dying, but he doesn’t have enough air in his lungs to even feel sorry about it. 

Martyn taps Ren’s shoulder, mouthing (or maybe he’s speaking, everything is so faint) a series of words that causes Ren to frown. The next moment Zed can breathe again, his body collapsing to the ground. His hands clutch at his throat, his frantic attempts at steadying his breathing leaving him nearly as lightheaded as he just was.

His head is wretched up yet again despite his continued heaving for breath, the manic red gleam in Ren’s eyes causing him to let out a small noise of fear. 

“So you’re going to tell us what you know because if you don’t, we’ll bleed you dry without a second thought.” 

Chapter Text

They’re talking about vampires. 

Vampires.

Zed’s heart races, even as the logical part of himself, the part that prides itself on scientific discoveries and facts, refuses to entertain the notion. Vampires aren’t real, they’re a children’s tale- like the tooth fairy, or ghosts, or reindeer. 

At the same time though- Martyn bit him. That’s an undeniable fact in and of itself, Martyn bit him, the mark still there to prove it. It’d also explain the red eyes, the frigid hands, the sharp teeth still poking out of Ren’s mouth, all of it.

They’re vampires.

But Impulse and Skizz? No, that doesn’t make any sense at all. He’d know if they were vampires, hell, there’s no way he wouldn’t know. He’s lived with them for ten years, they’d told each other everything, even the bad things, he would know. Not to mention the fact that he’s never seen them drink blood, turn into bats, be hurt by sunlight, have creepy red eyes, or strangle him (at least outside of the play fights they’re known to get into).

Even though-

He’s never seen them touch anything silver, they don’t sleep very often, and there’s certainly moments where he’d sworn they looked different. Even the way they never really seem to be out of breath despite panting and gasping alongside him takes on a more disturbing angle with his revelations. The more he thinks about it the more he could see it being true, ten years worth of coincidences suddenly slotting into place. But he can’t- they wouldn’t-

Zed jerks himself away from the thoughts, his breathing once again speeding up as he continues to cycle through ten years worth of moments and memories. He wants to believe they wouldn’t keep this from him, but the scariest part is that he can’t. Not entirely, at least, because everything he’d written off as quirks, oddities, or his own overactive imagination seems to fit perfectly into the idea of them being vampires. 

It’s only when he looks up, seeing both Ren and Martyn staring down at him with twin scrutinizing gazes, that he realizes he’d stopped listening to them entirely after Ren had finally let him go. Zed tries to brace himself mentally for the inevitable retaliation, but after several beats of pure silence his shoulders drop. Both of them continue to stare at him, cruel smiles stretching across their faces.

Martyn laughs loudly, nearly doubling over as he wipes a tear from his eye. “Oh, don’t tell me you didn’t know! That’s adorable, no wonder you don’t know your place.” His voice takes on a mocking tone, fingers lightly threading through Zed’s hair just deep enough to pull his head back up. “If only I actually believed you.” An exaggerated pout drowns out his smile, the temperature in the room feeling as if it plummets several degrees at the shift.

He tsks, face morphing back into the indifferent look from before. “But I don’t, so this is your last warning to behave.” With that he steps back, yanking Zed’s hair slightly as he untangles his hand. 

They don’t believe him. How is he supposed to prove that he doesn’t know something? Zed lets out a long breath to try and calm himself down, avoiding either set of eyes on him. “I don’t- no I didn’t know. I didn’t even know vampires were real until just now.” Zed winces as his voice breaks in the middle, tears starting to prick at the corners of his eyes. 

Impulse and Skizz had lied to him repeatedly for ten years.

Ren scoffs, unfastening the cape around his shoulders and setting it on the ground. If Zed wasn’t quite so scared, or trying to grapple with the shocking amount of heartbreak the last few minutes has given him, he would admire how flawless the outfit underneath is, every fold carefully ironed and pressed to perfection. Instead, all he can focus on is the mess of information in his head, decades of his life suddenly being called into question. 

Vampires are real, Impulse and Skizz are vampires, vampires are real-

Hands clamp down around his wrists, and the last of his attempts at regulating himself gives out entirely. Zed twists his arms out of Martyn’s grip quickly, wrapping them around himself instead as his hands come up to pull at his curls. There’s too much happening, too many thoughts, and feelings, and he can’t breathe, doesn’t even have space to breathe-

When the first sob slips out of his mouth it echoes across the room, only adding to the noise that he needs to stop at all costs. Through blurry vision Zed can make out another hand reaching for him, and on instinct he curls in on himself even further. “Don’t- don’t touch me please. I can’t-” He takes in another gasping breath, the entire situation hitting him at once. He’s stuck here with two vampires who seem to think he knows more than he does, and all he wants is to go home. 

Can he even go home? 

He’s not a good enough liar to pretend he doesn’t know what Impulse and Skizz are now, even if he wanted to. The more he tries to process any of it the worse he seems to spiral, because he can’t fix anything. All he can do is sit here with his thoughts, something he can’t fathom right now.

Zed buries his head in his arms, trying and failing to stop crying so violently. Every time he starts to get close to calming down he’ll hear himself breathe or a strand of hair falls in just the wrong place and it sets him off again, everything around him simultaneously too much and not enough.

Just as he’s starting to get air into his lungs more often than not, rough hands pull his arms back a second time, revealing Ren and Martyn’s unamused faces. Zed tries to make himself stop thinking about the physical contact, even as every part of him seems to burn under it, and instead focus on- admittedly the faces staring back at him aren’t exactly better for his peace of mind, but he’ll take what he can get.

“I’ll ask you this one more time. What do you know about Impulse and Skizzleman?” Ren’s unblinking eyes feel as if they’re boring into Zed’s soul, like he’s just waiting for Zed to try and lie to them. Maybe if he knew what they wanted, why they were so interested in Impulse and Skizz he might try to, but the question is so vague that he’s not sure how he’s meant to answer.

A bitter laugh slips out of his mouth before he can stop it, his emotions still boiling over from the continued contact. “Well apparently not much, since they didn’t trust me with the fact that they’re vampires.” It takes every ounce of his self-control to stop himself from glaring directly at Martyn for touching him, choosing to level it at the floor where it won’t get him slapped or choked instead.

Not that Ren seemed to like his answer, if the small hiss that twists in the air is any indication. Martyn wrenches his left arm forward without warning, holding it straight in a deathly tight grip. Ren steps forward, the red of his eyes seemingly deepening as he looks down at Zed’s wrist. “I’ve been more than generous with you, but I suppose humans just don’t know what’s best for them.” He sighs, gesturing to Martyn.

A delicate finger traces down the center of his wrist, tapping lightly not far from the palm of his hand. Martyn tilts his head, slight exasperation bleeding into his tone. “Right here. Count to ten, and then—and this is the important part Ren, dearest, my liege— once you get to ten, stop.” A well-manicured middle finger is the only response given, causing him to chuckle. He leans in closer to Zed, lowering his voice just enough to feel conspiratorial. “He never remembers to stop in time, lost a whole set of humans and gained a title out of it.”

All the blood rushes out of Zed’s face immediately as he catches on to what’s happening, his struggling futile against Martyn’s steady hold. Being bitten the first time was a distinctly unpleasant experience and that’d been when he wasn’t expecting it. Nothing about this situation makes him feel as if this will be better.

“If you just tell us where they normally bite you, I’m sure this process could be a lot smoother.” Ren’s voice sounds different now, hints of an accent Zed can’t place slipping into the occasional word. His gaze hasn’t left Zed’s wrist once, fangs pushing out of his mouth eagerly. 

Despite it being practically pointless, Zed tries pulling his arm back again. “I already told you, they don’t bite me! I’ve never been bitten until your boyfriend last night!” Neither of them dignify his outburst with a response, which although expected, doesn’t help with any of the rampant fear coursing through his body. 

Zed squeezes his eyes shut, trying to force himself to breathe. His entire body is trembling, the anticipation getting worse the longer nothing happens, but he won’t open his eyes. He can’t. If he doesn’t look he can pretend this isn’t real, that they’re making all of this up. That the fangs are plastic and this is just a haunted house that desperately needs an ethics check, or a group of cosplayers too invested in their source material, or anything other than the truth.

Even knowing it’s coming, the second he actually feels the teeth press against his skin he flinches, not that it stops the inevitable pain from following. Martyn starts to count beside him, Zed latching onto it as an (admittedly shitty, barely unrelated) distraction from the dizzying feeling threatening to consume him. Blobs of colors dance behind his eyes like the world’s worst kaleidoscope, their edges blurring each time he tries to focus on one.

“Ten.” Martyn’s voice pulls him back out of his daze, and he expects to feel the pain stop a moment later, but it doesn’t. It only seems to multiply, the fog clouding his vision and thoughts no longer strong enough to mask the worst of his agony. “Ren, I said ten.” Zed’s eyes flutter open, a weak groan slipping out of his lips. Ren seems completely disinterested in Martyn’s counting or warnings, not that Martyn puts in more effort than his halfhearted reminder. 

The longer it continues the worse Zed starts to feel, his entire arm starting to go numb. A small part of him almost finds it a blessing that the pain is starting to fade, at least until shivers start to wrack his body. This time when Martyn speaks there’s more urgency behind the words, his stare cutting back to Zed’s eyes. “Ren. You can’t kill this one. Back. Off.” Suddenly Zed’s body falls to the floor, small gasps and frantic blinking distracting him momentarily from the worst of his pain. He's still freezing, trying his best to curl up to preserve any sort of warmth he can find, but his body doesn't seem to be responding enough to accomplish even that.

More words are being spoken in his direction though he's not sure whether or not they're meant for him or not, floating in one ear and directly out the other. The next moment his eyes slip shut and he doesn't have the strength to open them again, the last of his scattered thoughts drifting away with his consciousness. 

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This time, Zed takes more than a few minutes to wake himself up. 

At first his eyes open half-way, but even the dim lighting of the room (unless that’s just the limited extent of his vision at the moment) sends waves of pain through his skull. He lets them stay shut for a while longer, deciding instead to try and sit himself up properly. 

All his limbs feel as if there’s weights hanging from them, the simple act of getting himself into a kneeling position taking more time than he’d like to admit, in addition to the fact that he nearly hurls from the effort. Despite not having eaten since the date, and not even eating that much at that, none of that stops the contents of his stomach from attempting to make their second appearance as he finally repositions his weight back onto his legs.

His left arm is the most painful by far, feeling gradually returning to it the longer he moves around. On the one hand, being able to feel his arm is a good thing, a sign that he likely doesn’t have permanent damage. On the flip side, it means he can feel every moment of excruciating misery each time he shifts the wrong way. Only after another few minutes of stuttered breathing does Zed attempt to open his eyes again, this time the light only sending soft pangs of discomfort rather than the pure agony from before.

It’s completely empty in the room (save for him), not even a bed or chair provided. Since he’s the only one here now, he allows himself to stare at each part of his surroundings- a task that quickly turns out to be monotonous. All around him are old red bricks, no variation, windows, or even a poster to entertain himself with. 

Ren and Martyn sure are inconsiderate- kidnapping him and revealing the fact that supernatural creatures are real is one thing, but putting him in the blandest room on the planet?

Pure torture.

Zed allows himself to lament a couple moments longer, gratefully taking any distraction that won’t lead to him thinking about Impulse and Skizz. Assuming those are their real names (Zed’s pretty certain they are, given that’s also how Ren and Martyn refer to them, but he’s always wanted a situation to use that in and if he doesn’t laugh he’ll cry. Again).

As much as he wants to be angry though (and he is, somewhere deep inside), more than anything he wants to be safe. Back at their apartment, back at the moment right before everything went wrong, where it was just him, Impulse, and Skizz throwing pillows at each other, calling each other names, any of it.

He just wants everything to be normal again.

Do they even know he’s missing? It’s hard to imagine they wouldn’t, given he never came back from the date and he’s not exactly known for his rambunctious party spirit. Speaking of- a brief search of his pockets reveals the lack of his phone, wallet, or the extra cookie from the diner he’d stashed away for later.

Way to add insult to injury.

So they probably, almost definitely know that he’s missing by now. That’s good, a step closer to him getting out of this. But do they even know where to look? Zed’s still not sure why Ren and Martyn are so fixated on the two of them, so how would Impulse and Skizz know? Let alone the fact that Martyn isn’t exactly an uncommon name, even if they did know who these two were, how would they possibly know this was that Martyn?

Every question just spawns more questions, his anxiety taking over any logical part of his thought process that there might’ve been to start. Zed can already feel himself starting to spiral, “what ifs” plaguing every reasonable question with a terrible worst-case scenario. What did Impulse and Skizz do? What if they’re secretly on the run from the law? Why don’t Ren and Martyn believe him when he says he didn’t know vampires were real? What if he somehow did know but managed to block it out?

Will anyone find him? What if they’ve already stopped looking? 

What if they’d never started?

Just as Zed can start to feel the prickles of panic dancing their way up his arms and spine, the door opens. A much brighter light floods the room for a brief second, the sensation overwhelming yet welcome simply because it’s something new. 

Similarly new is the first person that walks in. 

Long white hair sloppily pulled back into a ponytail, one milky white eye, a jagged scar running through it, a face mask, and an outfit that looks much better suited for the cold than their moderately climated town. He walks in confidently, Ren and Martyn both following behind him. 

Last time, Zed had been pretty certain Ren was in charge (somehow, Martyn calling him “my liege” seemed to tip off his genius powers of deduction). But right now? Both of them seem to follow behind the new vampire (there’s been no confirmation that’s what he is, but Zed’s willing to assume it’s a safe bet) rather sheepishly, as if just having been chastised for something. 

The new vampire takes one look at Zed half-crumpled on the floor, drops his gaze to Zed’s left arm, and then turns to stare at Ren and Martyn accusatorily. “Are you kidding me guys? The placement is terrible, there was no band to increase blood flow, and you didn’t even wrap it up after the fact? It’s like you’re a hundred years old again!” He’s Canadian.

Not that that matters, but in the small amount of time Zed’s known about vampires, he’d never expected to meet a Canadian one.

Ren dips his head, in what appears to be shame, voice going somewhat quiet. “Well- Etho that’s not fair, you know I’m not good at this live feeder thing! I was hungry, and it was being stubborn, and-” He pauses, slipping the sunglasses on his face down just under his eyes. “And Martyn kept talking about how good it was! I wanted a taste!” 

Martyn sputters, head snapping to stare at Ren, moving to Etho’s unamused face, then back to Ren’s in rapid succession. “You cannot be bloody serious right now Ren! I can’t believe you just tried to pin this on me!” The pure indignation in his voice causes a small chuckle to slip out under Zed’s breath, because despite everything, it reminds him of his arguments with Impulse and Skizz. 

All three people (vampires? Undead? Jerks?) in the room turn to stare at him in unison, seemingly remembering why they’d come in here to begin with. The new vampire, Etho, he thinks his name is, crouches down at his side, narrow fingers prodding right at the center of the wound and mumbling under his breath. 

“Spot-on as always Martyn, you always were good at picking the right veins. Unfortunately for this one-” A hand that Zed thinks is meant to be gentle pats the side of his cheek, the motion more patronizing than comforting. “The poor Red King never was good at knowing when to quit.” In a gesture that Zed’s really starting to get sick of, Etho tilts his head up, leaning in close to stare into his eyes.

Martyn comes up on his other side. “Look, it’s not like I didn’t try to stop him!” He glances up at the ceiling for a moment, a fond smile coming to his face. “Well, kind of at least. I certainly told him to stop.” Zed opens his mouth to protest, but gets cut off with a sharp gasp when Etho slots his teeth right into the spot Ren had just last night (he’s decided it was the day before, just to have some semblance of time while he’s trapped in this blank room designed to drive him insane with its lack of personality).

Unlike last night, however, no further pain follows. Etho just sits there for a moment, hums to himself, and then detaches his mouth like nothing had happened. “Too deep as well, no wonder the relaxer didn’t work as intended.” For the first time since he’d walked in he turns to Zed, wiping his mouth absentmindedly. “You really are quite lucky y’know, most of your kind can’t say they’ve survived an encounter with Ren.” 

Lucky?

In what must surely be a miracle from the Void itself Zed manages to hold his tongue, squeezing his right hand into a light fist to release some of his frustration. Nothing about this situation is lucky in the slightest, but unpacking even part of that outburst would lead to a whole cascade of emotions, emotions he’s not ready or willing to examine until he’s home and safe.

Etho moves silently, stepping into the center of the room. Martyn and Ren both watch him, expressions split between embarrassment and intrigue. “Well Etho, can you help us? Or do I need to go call someone else, because I will if I have to.” Martyn’s voice is uncharacteristically flat as he stares Etho down, his hands drifting down to his empty hip as if searching for something.

The air molecules in the room itself seem to go still, Zed finding himself somewhat out of breath despite not being involved in the conversation. Etho turns back to Ren, ducking his head as he sinks to a knee. “Of course, my king. Long live Dogwarts.” Something about his tone makes Zed’s skin crawl- clearly Etho should be in charge here, everything about the way they respond to him makes that apparent.

And yet, he bows to Ren, swearing loyalty to a cause he doesn’t seem to fully believe in.

All three of them focus their gazes on Zed yet again, his breath catching this time for entirely different reasons. He pushes himself backwards ever so slightly without thinking, desperate to put any amount of distance between him and them. Does distance even matter? He’s still weak, hunger gradually clawing at every corner of his stomach, his arm still barely usable. Every other person in the room is stronger than him, not to mention vampires.

“Look, keeping a human is pretty easy work. Feed it occasionally, make sure the room isn’t too hot or cold, and wait a few days between feedings.” Etho counts on his fingers as he lists, eyes scrunched tightly shut as if trying to remember the information himself. They pop open suddenly, something similar to understanding washing over his face. “We can talk privately about the- other things you want out of it. That might change some of the rules.”

Keeping him? No, no that’s not- the words shoot out of Zed’s mouth before he can stop himself. “Woah, woah, woah! There’s uh-” He trails off quietly, the mirrored glares surrounding him knocking most of the humor off his lips. “Look gentlemen. You want to know how to keep a human? Well aren’t you in luck today, because I happen to be a human! Been one for thirty some-odd years now too, I’m more than qualified for the consultant role!” Zed smiles awkwardly at the end of his pitch, flinching when he accidentally jostles his left arm and the pain lances back up to his shoulder.

A small snicker penetrates the suffocating silence, Ren covering his mouth with his hand guiltily. Martyn gasps in pure joy, pointing at Ren. “Aha! I’m not the only one who thinks humans can be funny occasionally! Admit it, stop shaming me!” The two of them truly do remind him of Impulse and Skizz, between all the constant sniping, the references to arguments so old they might as well be embedded in their minds, the neverending score-settling with the winner long since forgotten, every part of it only serves to twist the knife of homesickness deeper into his heart.

“Ah, Martyn. You mistake my laughter. No, I’m laughing at the pure audacity of the human to try and tell us what to do. The complete. And. Total. Audacity.” Every ounce of warmth in the room is snuffed out instantly by Ren’s statement, even colder hands once again wrapping around his neck. “We will be back. And when we are, it would well and truly be in your best interest to talk. Before I get tired of asking.”

In unison the three file out of the room, leaving Zed gasping for breath despite the lack of pressure from Ren’s hand, despite the fact that he’s alive, that he’s awake, that he’s not hurt-

He is hurt.

He’s hurt, and scared, and hungry, and not ok.

But that can’t matter right now. It can’t matter until he’s out of here. Zed carefully makes his way to the closest wall, leaning against it and shutting his eyes.

He’s got to figure out something to tell Ren, so he better make it good.

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Nobody comes to visit for quite a while.

Even without an actual way to tell time (not even a window, the part of Zed trying to deny this is even happening keeps laughing about all the pale jokes Impulse and Skizz are going to be able to make when he’s back) it’s clear from his worsening hunger it’s been too long. 

His throat is constantly scratchy, his mouth dry, his thoughts few and far between, if he’s even awake at all. It’s all too easy to slip into sleep, the only reprieve he manages to get between pangs of hunger and his rapidly blurring vision. By the time he hears the door open he’s half-convinced that he’s simply reached the point of hallucinating, fueled by his acute dehydration. 

Or he’s just clinically insane. That’s a distinct possibility, one he’s considered many times with mild amusement.

“Oh Void, what day is it?” Frigid hands press lightly under his jaw, tutting when they find (or don’t find, Zed’s not entirely sure what’s going on) what they were looking for before retreating. “Hold tight, head up.” Head up? Zed has no idea what direction his head is to begin with, so he settles for not moving it at all.

The next time the fingers touch his face he leans into them, the feeling providing momentary relief from his discomfort. The voice laughs softly, their other hand cradling his cheek gently. “Open up, I’m sure you’re parched.” The syllables blend in Zed’s head, something he’s getting frustratingly familiar with over the last few days. After a few moments his mouth is lightly pried open, warm water making its way down his throat and soothing his blistering headache.

After another few moments (and intermittent sips of water, each one less guided than the last) Zed cracks his eyes open to see Etho’s face uncomfortably close to his, fingers still ghosting along his pulse point. “So you are awake. Humans are so peculiar, leave them alone for a week and they start to die.” 

The grip on his cheek turns firm, entrapping. “If I were nicer, I’d wait to start my questioning until you were feeling a little better.” Etho’s voice goes flat, a single sharp nail trailing down his face. “Unfortunately for you, I don’t pity humans until they’re much, much more frail.” He steps back abruptly, leaving Zed to have to suddenly remember how to hold up his own head.

Now that he’s paying more attention to his surroundings (or anything other than his screaming stomach) it’s all too easy to see that something bad is happening. Etho’s swapped out most of his layers for a simple green jacket and dark gray pants, long white hair tied back into a bun. 

Scarily enough though, he’s also flipping a dagger casually in his hand.

“Here’s how this is going to go. You’re going to answer my questions succinctly and truthfully. Refuse to answer, or try and lie to me- and I will know, and I’ll use this.” He flips the dagger again, catching it by the blade artfully. “You probably don’t want that.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit. Every semblance of Zed’s terrible lying skills goes out the window in an instant, replaced instead by the pounding of his heart in his ears. He barely manages to nod in acknowledgement through his fear, sifting through his memories to try and find anything that might be trivial enough to not put his friends in danger (because even in his starvation-addled state it's clear they want to hurt Impulse and Skizz) without making it clear to Etho he’s lying.

Zed keeps his gaze firmly on the floor to attempt to hide the fear running rampant in his eyes. Etho steps forward, voice faux-conversational. “So, Zed, tell me. How long have Impulse and Skizzleman been living here?” Why in the- at least it’s an easy question to start with. 

A small bit of him still feels guilty at the idea of telling Etho anything, especially when he doesn't know what might make things worse. Though for a question as simple as this- “Two years. I answered an ad in the paper searching for a third roommate.” A half truth, just enough of it real to try and keep his voice even and steady.

A hot flash of pain cuts into his leg faster than he can react, a startled cry jumping from his lips as his hands move to cover the wound. Etho tsks, laughing under his breath. “It’s like I didn’t just tell you what would happen!” He wipes the dagger roughly on Zed’s shirt, flipping it over without a second thought. “Let’s try something different. Why did they wipe out the Solidarity Coven?” Covens aren’t just folklore? Admittedly, that’s not the weirdest thing Zed’s learned since he’d been taken, but it doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t know what the hell Etho’s talking about.

Even as the words are leaving his mouth he knows it’s a dumb idea, but he’s too disoriented to fully censor himself. “Well if you mean being lonely, I don’t know man. Video games? Online dating? Am I getting close?” Zed can’t quite say he’s surprised when a succession of pain follows his response, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

His breaths are starting to come in short bursts, his mind’s attention split between his crippling hunger and the nauseatingly warm flow of blood trickling down his skin. Etho sneers this time, forcing Zed’s chin up. “You should stop being a smartass, can’t you see it’s not going to end well?” His red eye seems to glow as he stares down at Zed, eyes jumping from wound to wound. “New question, one that should be easy even for a poor little feeder- what are Impulse and Skizzleman planning now?” 

Zed blurts out an answer before thinking about it, desperate to just rest. “They- they wanted to add a spring menu this year. Skizz-” He breaks off into a small fit of coughs, each inhale weighing heavily on his chest. “Skizz wanted to make a new- make a new cherry blossom drink.” The slash across his stomach comes as a complete shock this time, forcing him to curl up to try and protect himself. “I- that’s the- the truth!” 

“That’s not what I want and you know it.” Each word cuts into Zed like Etho’s dagger, panic blurring his vision and making his hands shake violently. Etho leans in close, lowering his voice. “Next time I come back, you better be willing to talk. For now, you’ll be fed when you’re willing to cooperate.” The slam of the door reverberates through the room, sending waves of discomfort through Zed’s already-strained brain.

It barely takes a few minutes before he collapses to the floor, too tired to move off his injured side.

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Time isn’t real. 

That’s not a new revelation for Zed, of course, but the longer he stays in this evenly lit room, no semblance of sun, variety, or even consistent food, the more he’s convinced that time’s decided to grind to a halt just to torment him. Maybe he’d kicked a dog in a past life, or didn’t pay his parking tickets, or found actual joy in watching football, because nothing else could explain why he’d be trapped here for so long.

Martyn had eventually come in bearing bandages and a small amount of food (two granola bars and a soggy sandwich. At least the granola didn’t have peanut butter in it, he’d rather starve than eat peanut butter and granola together), hastily wrapping Zed’s wounds in complete silence. Not for lack of effort, Zed had really tried to strike up a conversation, if only to not go insane, but every quip, question, and observation was met with nothing but raised eyebrows and silence.

None of them will speak to him, actually. Except for Etho, whose visits have progressively become the worst part of Zed’s stay here (other than every other part of it, that is), and whose dagger has become far too acquainted with Zed’s skin. The questioning had gradually shifted from only being about Impulse and Skizz to including Pyre occasionally, something (someone?) Zed still knows nothing about. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to when Etho chooses to focus on one or the other, but the outcome remains the same- Zed on the ground, unaware of the answers they seek and his own body.

So when Ren and Martyn come in, already bickering with each other, Zed doesn’t bother to tune in, instead shutting his eyes and trying to go back to his nap. The two continue to argue, their voices gradually growing louder as they do, until a loud snap right next to Zed’s ear scares his eyes open. Martyn’s sitting on the floor next to him, hair pulled up into a simple braid, red headband from before still on his head despite its lack of necessity.

Ren looks less formal than before too, the dark red shirt and black dress pants a stark contrast from everything else Zed has seen him in. Martyn gently eases his headband off, twisting it between his fingers absentmindedly as he moves his gaze back to Zed. “Oh, how nice of you to grace us with your attention.” He puts on the same voice he speaks to Ren with (usually just before adding an insult, or any other form of malicious compliance with his answers).

Zed does his best not to roll his eyes, even as part of him wants to flinch away just from their presences. Anything is better than Etho though, what with his cold voice, colder dagger, and unwavering belief that Zed must be lying to him. Nevermind the fact that he always knows when Zed’s lying, so by that logic he can’t be lying the rest of the time, but that appeal to reason had only earned him another gash.

Ren sits on his other side, voice strangely conversational for someone who’d been more than adamant about his complete and utter distaste for humans. “So. You don’t wish to talk about Impulse and Skizzleman, that’s fine! That’s ok, we can be flexible.” Alarm bells immediately go off in Zed’s head, his eyes going wide at the whirlwind of thoughts and worries that single sentence managed to spark. Nothing about his time here has been “flexible” in the slightest, any type of pivot likely isn’t in his best interests.

“Let’s talk about Pyre instead, alright? Now that we know who he is, we want to know a little more about what he’s up to.” Ren carefully removes his crown, setting it on the floor behind him. “Surely you’re not as loyal to him, so there shouldn’t be an issue!” Zed’s heart drops to his stomach, cascading downward in an endless pit of anxiety. Despite how many times they’ve asked him, he still hasn’t been able to piece together who or what Pyre is. Though given what Ren just said, Pyre must be a who.

But there’s got to be a smarter way to play this, especially while they want to play nice with him. In fact- he might even be able to get them to tell him something if he does this right. “What exactly do you want to know about him?” Zed forces himself to pause, swallowing hard partly from his actual anxiety and partly to sell the lie. “I don’t know what I’m allowed to say.” 

Almost instantly, both Martyn and Ren’s eyes snap to each other, poorly disguised intrigue passing between them. Martyn waves a hand casually, glancing up at the ceiling. “Well, do you know why Impulse and Skizzleman left him alive?” They- what. Martyn doesn’t look like he’s joking, no hint of a smile on his face.

Actually, Zed’s not sure he’s ever seen Martyn look quite this serious before, even when he’d grown frustrated with Zed’s lack of acceptable answers.

Zed can’t stop his mouth from falling open slightly, the tremor in his voice frighteningly real. “I don’t- they wouldn’t-” His voice drops to just above a whisper, his gaze stuck firmly on the floor. “Martyn, please tell me what they did. I don’t- they wouldn’t hurt people. They wouldn’t.” He shouldn’t be taking anything they say seriously, he knows that. And yet- they’d been asking him about this for at least a week, that has to mean something.

And for the first time in a week, they seem to believe him.

Martyn shifts forward, no longer pretending to be disinterested in the conversation. “Void. Holy- Ren they didn’t tell him.” A small laugh slips out of his mouth, headband falling from his idle fingers. “It makes so much sense.” A few seconds later he seems to snap out of his incredulity, all hints of amusement vanishing from his tone. “That’s what started all of this mess- Impulse and Skizzleman killed the entirety of the Solidarity coven, except their youngest. He went by Tango at the time.” 

All the air rushes out of Zed’s lungs at once, the room spinning in front of him.

That’s not-

There’s too much to process, too many revelations that he doesn’t know how to make sense of. Impulse and Skizz- every part of Zed wants to believe they wouldn’t hurt anyone, but- but he can’t. He doesn’t know what they might do anymore, if they weren’t willing to tell him something so intrinsic to who they are after ten years.

And Tango?

Zed’s brain refuses to accept the notion that he might also be a vampire. That he’d been tricked again, that Tango would lie to him as well, that Martyn is telling the truth, that Impulse and Skizz had killed people- the thoughts cycle through his head like a tornado, ravaging its way through his beliefs, his memories, anything it can get ahold of.

Which, given how much of his life has been with Impulse and Skizz in some way, shape, or form, is everything.

It takes everything he has not to break down in tears again, to stay somewhat aware of his surroundings. He can’t afford to have another breakdown, can’t afford to show them how badly this has shaken him. No matter what Impulse and Skizz have done, or might have done, or whatever, he still needs to make it back to them before he can break.

If he gets back.

No, when. It has to be when.

Martyn grabs his headband again, looping it across his wrist in practiced, controlled motions. “Interesting. You look like you could use a good unwind, a good unwind indeed.” Before Zed can blink, Martyn grabs his wrists, tying them together with his headband just above the fading bitemark from Ren. Zed barely has time to try and pull away before he’s being manhandled against Martyn’s chest, his head being gently directed back against Martyn’s shoulder.

He opens his mouth, whether it’s to protest or just ask what the fuck is going on not quite decided, but Martyn cuts him off first. “No more talking. Ren is hungry, but we’ve figured out a- safer way to go about it.” Zed tries to elbow Martyn instinctively, doing his best to try and pull away from the situation before it gets worse, but Martyn’s grip only tightens around him, trapping him completely. “Don’t try that again, or this will hurt much more.” 

Without hesitating Martyn tugs Zed’s wrists up to his mouth, biting down just over Ren’s half-healed bite. The pain rushes through him instantly, causing him to once again try to pull his arms away. Within seconds the dizzying, fuzzy feeling from his last two bites follows, dulling all his thoughts, all his everything until nothing’s left. It’s distinctly more pleasant than his last bite, his attempts at breaking free growing weaker and weaker until he simply stops, too far gone in the floaty feeling.

A distant part of himself registers his arms being lowered, his position being shifted slightly against Martyn, but none of it really matters. Not when everything’s so peaceful and quiet. Words are being spoken but they melt by the time they reach his ears, his arms once again being pulled, this time to his left.

For a few brief moments nothing changes.

And then a blinding, burning agony shoots up his arm, his entire body jerking at the feeling. He’s still being held by Martyn, still can’t get away, but a few seconds later the sensation dulls slightly, the fuzzy feeling still present in his head working overtime to try and soothe his pains. The cycle continues for a torturous amount of time, a new wave of fire crashing through his veins before being cooled by the fog, over and over as he progressively gets weaker and weaker.

It’s only once his head lulls completely against the shoulder behind him that his arms are finally released for good, his wrists unbound, his body laid out on the floor, and his halfhearted, faint noises quieted. The last tendrils of pain are flushed out of his system quickly, Martyn gently tugging his left arm up again. The next moment every thought rushes out of his head, his vision quickly going dark.

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More time floats just out of Zed’s grasp, an irreplaceable part of his resolve shattered at the idea that Impulse and Skizz had hurt people.

Despite Ren and Martyn finally believing that he didn’t know anything about what Impulse and Skizz had done, it hadn’t stopped them from believing he’s still lying about everything else. Etho’s visits only get more painful- ever since Ren had last bit him Etho had started to as well, the blinding pain no longer smothered by any fog or fuzz. Instead it just grows, and grows, and grows until Zed’s not sure he remembers how to breathe, and only then does Etho stop.

In fact, all of them have started to bite him more often, the new routine leaving Zed curled up and desperate for any sort of warmth more often than not. Martyn’s are usually the least painful, discomfort often soothed by shorter amounts of time and a small rush of dizziness. Etho’s bites are agonizing, each second only exponentially worsening the experience, but nothing compares to dealing with Ren. 

The days that Martyn is with him are easier, even if Zed feels particularly weak by the end of them. But the days where he’s on his own? Those are the ones that slip away in Zed’s mind, lost completely to pain and bloodloss. Waking up after the fact is just as bad, his whole body sore and shaking for the entirety of the next day.

One constant though, one of his only constants, is the fact that he’s hungry.

Food is hard to come by, most of it barely enough to keep him awake or alert throughout the surrounding days. On his better days, or when Martyn finds him entertaining enough, he’s able to stomach more solid food, sometimes even getting a full meal. The rest of the time he makes do with assorted granola or whatever other snacks they leave him with. He’d tried learning to ration for the first few weeks but it’d quickly gone south, the bloodloss blurring his days together and ruining his schedules.

When he’s not being bitten, something that feels akin to a miracle at this point, all three of them take immense joy in rubbing in his fears about Impulse and Skizz. Each day they like to share a new “fun fact” about something the two of them had done in their past, something horrible and twisted and distinctly not them. Zed can’t believe it’s true, won’t believe it’s true until he can ask them himself, because he can’t.

If he lets himself believe it he’ll never feel safe around them again.

How could he?

Martyn had taken great joy in detailing exactly how they’d used to treat humans, how often they kept one around just to get rid of them later. Never as long as Zed had been around them, but vampires view time much differently than humans do, it doesn’t mean he couldn’t be next. What if he’s next? Every time the thought comes back, whether on its own or from prodding from Etho or Martyn, Zed shoves it down as far as he possibly can, trying and failing to suffocate it. He has to believe they wouldn’t hurt him, he does believe it. 

Right?

All of that comes to a head when someone new walks in.

The voices making their way into the room aren't enough to pull Zed’s thoughts out of the soup that is his brain, not even when one stops right next to his ear. Gentle fingers prod at his body, dull waves of pain radiating at each point of contact. Only when the hand lightly wraps around his throat does he force himself into an upright position, protests halfway out of his mouth before he catches sight of who’s in front of him. 

Bright orange eyes stare back at him, a single dark brown curl falling into his face as he tilts his head. Zed stares back at the unwavering eyes, halfway raising his hand in weak greeting. That causes the man in front of him to break into a wide grin, leaning away and giving Zed his personal space back. Looking at him more clearly it’s immediately obvious he’s a vampire, his attire strikingly similar to Ren’s casual looks, the dark blue of his shirt and pants complimenting the dark tones of his skin wonderfully. 

All contrasted by the bright orange of his unblinking eyes.

Ren’s voice shatters their staring match, hints of an accent slipping into his words similar to the day Zed first met him. “This is Big B, the last member of our coven. He’s been out of town for the last-” He cuts himself off abruptly, picking up again just as arbitrarily. “He’s been away on direction from me, but he’s here to help you.”

Warning bells fire off in Zed’s head immediately, his body involuntarily shifting backwards. “I- I don’t-” His throat is scratchy, out of practice from how long he’s spent not answering questions, how long he’s spent trying to stifle his own reactions to everything around him to keep them from getting satisfaction out of it. “ ‘m not understanding.”

Big B’s smile doesn’t drop for a second, pure warmth bleeding into every word. “That’s ok Zed, that’s why I’m here. To help you understand.” Zed does a double take at the words, tension easing out of his body.

Big B used his name. 

No one’s called him by his name in ages.

Zed instantly stops leaning back, waiting for Big B’s next words somewhat eagerly. Those unwavering orange eyes stare back at him, crinkling with joy. “Do you know what hypnosis is? I’m sure you do, Martyn tells me you were pretty smart before you wound up here.” Gentle fingers trace his cheek, soothing phantom pains from his wrists. 

He has every intention of answering the question but words seem to elude him the longer he thinks about it, his thoughts flaking apart under any sense of scrutiny. Big B and Ren are speaking in front of him, laughter sprinkled intermittently throughout the conversation.

“No? That’s ok.” The fingers leave his face, leaving Zed leaning forward in an attempt to stop the comfort from leaving. Big B turns back to him after finishing his conversation, a final laugh falling out of his mouth. “That was hypnosis. Makes you nice and pliable for someone else’s direction.” Perhaps seeing the question half-formed on Zed’s lips, Big B continues on. “Every vampire can do it. Even Impulse and Skizzleman.” 

Oh. 

No, that’s not-

Zed’s eyes start to well up before he can control it, his ability to monitor his reactions completely shot with how tired he is. “They wouldn’t. I- I would’ve known, I- no. They couldn’t.” They wouldn’t. No matter what else they might or might not’ve done (they didn’t do it, he has to keep telling himself that), he would’ve known if they’d been hypnotizing him. Impulse has never been a good liar, and Skizz values honesty too much to ever try it.

Not honest enough to tell him the truth about himself, the unhelpful voice in Zed’s head supplies.

The next thing he knows his head is leaning on Big B’s shoulder, confusion racing through his mind. Big B glances down at him, eyes shining. “Are you sure? Because I’d be more than willing to guess you didn’t know I just used it.” It’s hard to ignore the element of smugness lacing through his words, but Zed’s more focused on the terror creeping over him.

How would he know?

Big B opens his mouth again, but the words seem to float in one ear and directly out the other. Zed’s not sure how long the two of them sit there, Big B continuing to talk even as Zed doesn’t respond, the words sounding kind even as he can’t make out a single syllable. As the words continue Zed’s body grows more and more weightless, his mind finally quiet again.

Eventually Big B shifts forward again, lightly brushing Zed’s shoulder and snapping him back to reality. This time when Big B speaks, he catches every word of it. “Now, Zed, can I ask you something?” He waits for Zed’s nod before continuing, his hand moving to carefully detangle Zed’s hair. “Very good. So, tell me, what do you think of Impulse and Skizzleman?” 

The second the names reach his ears Zed shoots backwards, breathing quickly growing faster and faster. Impulse and Skizz are going to hurt him, they can hurt him, they could- flashbacks to events he doesn’t remember being told about snake through his head, memory after memory after memory of the ways they’d hurt people in the past, the way they could hurt him overwhelming him.

It’s Ren’s voice that breaks his spiral, softer than Zed’s ever heard it. “Aww, that’s ok. We’re glad you know the dangers now, right B?” Big B nods, his gaze settling over Zed’s shoulders like a warm blanket. “All you have to do, if you want to extend your time in their lovely little cage a little longer, is do what you’re told.” A violent shiver wracks Zed’s body, his anxiety sending spots dancing across his vision at the words.

He hardly notices Ren walking closer to him until he’s knelt at Zed’s side, voice firm yet not demanding. “Now, arm up. Be good, and let me drink.” He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t. Ren’s not careful, it hurts, it could hurt him, but-

What choice does he have? The other alternative is- Zed’s stomach churns in nausea at the mere thought. 

That’s not an option.

So Zed raises his arm shakily, squeezes his eyes shut, and lets Ren do what he wants. 

Chapter Text

A sharp crack against Tango’s face snaps his eyes awake, pain blossoming across his cheek almost as quickly as his confusion.

Nothing about the room looks familiar, even with his eyes blinking as rapidly as they are, because last time he checked his apartment wasn’t this dark. Or dingy. Or- covered in photos of Zed, Impulse, and Skizz?

Well not really, at least. Most of them were contained to his conspiracy board, minus one or two stray photos of  Zed that’d made their way to his fridge. Ones he took himself, with Zed’s knowledge, instead of just grabbing things off the Internet to make his board look more cohesive. 

Regardless, it doesn’t explain where he is. Or why he’s here.

The perpetrator of the slap stalks into view, Tango’s face immediately paling as he starts to piece together what’s going on. Skizz stares down at him, eyes completely red, any semblance of his human disguise from the last few weeks completely shed. Every part of him looks exactly as he did the day he ruined Tango’s life, the memories striking enough even now to leave him trembling slightly in his seat, despite his best efforts.

If Skizz is here, then it’s almost certain that Impulse is too. All the sudden, the memories of how he got here flood back into his brain in rapid succession. 

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Like every other Tuesday, Tango rolled out of bed grumpily, grumbling to himself as the sun dared to shine its cheerful rays directly into his pupils with the concentrated power of well- the sun. He’d stalked over to the kitchen rather slowly, halfheartedly pulling on the fridge handle as he’d checked his phone for any response from Zed.

He’d texted several times the night of the date, more than curious about this mysterious man that’d walked into the coffeeshop. But he’d heard nothing that night, nor the night after, or anything at all for the next several days. The longer he went without contact the more concerned he got, not that he had any real reason to be- Impulse and Skizz would never let Zed wander into any actual danger, even if it was to get him away from Tango. 

But even then, there’d been no response. 

That’d been enough for Tango to abandon the rest of his normal morning routine, rushing out of the apartment in just enough time to catch the early bus. He’d texted just once more on his way over, the message halfway between casual and concerned, and edited in rapid succession for several minutes after. 

In fact, he’d been so wrapped up in editing the message for the fifth going on fiftieth time that he hadn’t even paid attention to the fact that the cafe didn’t have any lights on, the sign flipped to “closed,” and none of the chairs were upright. He didn’t notice anything at all until he’d felt the sharp pain in the back of his head, his body pitching forward into someone’s waiting arms.

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Waiting arms that apparently either belonged to Impulse or Skizz.

Which means more likely than not, given the myriad of photos on the walls, he’s in their house. Or lair, or whatever the fuck they were calling this place. An attempt to nurse his stinging face reveals that his hands have been tied behind his back, secured tightly to the chair. Whatever’s going on, each and every sign points to it being something bad. 

“Tango Tek. Tango, Tango, Tango. I could’ve sworn we’d come to an agreement just a few short weeks ago, hadn’t we?” Skizz’s words drip with just as much venom as they had the day they’d struck the deal, though Tango’s still just as confused as when he’d woken up. Skizz continues to circle him, Impulse still completely absent.

Surely this isn’t a solo-mission, hundreds of years of evidence would suggest they don’t act separately for matters similar to this. Keeping a unified front deterred most other vampires from picking fights with one of them the way they might’ve otherwise, and Tango sincerely doubts they’d moved away from a strategy that’d brought them that much success.

And true to form, Impulse steps out of the shadows a few seconds later. “In fact, I’d go so far as to say you twisted Skizz’s arm about it. Didn’t you?” Unlike Skizz, Impulse stands deathly still against the wall, red eyes glowing despite the general darkness of the room. Also unlike Skizz, Impulse is so clearly angry. Not to say Skizz isn’t, the slap had knocked any notion of that right out of Tango’s head, along with half his brain, but Impulse’s voice is teeming with undisguised anger.

Anger that Tango’s only seen firsthand once before.

“What’s with the dim lighting? Forgot to pay the electric bill or something?” Tango smirks to the best of his ability with his smarting face, determined not to show any of the fear clawing just below his skin. Both of their faces darken further, his humor clearly not scoring him any points. So, of course, he doubles down. “If you wanted to hide the fact that I’m in your house, you might want to take the family photos down.” 

The next second Tango’s not breathing, his lungs desperately fighting for air against nothing. No hands, no pressure, nothing except his body refusing to inhale. This must be Impulse. Tango hadn’t seen his lips move past his first sentence, but he doesn’t need to for the hypnosis to take place. Especially with Impulse’s, one of the stronger ones he’s ever had the misfortune of encountering firsthand. Just as his vision’s starting to fade entirely, his body slumping into the chair against his will, Impulse finally releases the command. 

Tango greedily sucks in air, heart racing at the realization of the situation he’s very clearly trapped in. The lights flicker on a second later, revealing a rather nicely decorated living space. The furniture had been pushed off to the sides of the room, presumably to make space for Tango’s chair and Skizz’s path of pacing. The newfound light also reveals Impulse and Skizz’s outfits, the sight stealing the breath right back out of Tango’s lungs. 

They’re wearing the same outfits they had when they’d been at the height of the terrorous rule, the same outfits they’d worn the night they’d ruined his life. Skizz’s lips curl into a cruel smirk at Tango’s face, tone mocking even as his eyes betray his true anger. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost. Or four, maybe?” The words pierce his heart right where Skizz knew it would, so Tango does his very best not to react much more than a flinch. 

A flinch was all Skizz needed though, apparently, because the next second Tango’s head is reeling again as Skizz slaps the other side of his face. “Cut the shit, Tek. Where is he?” Did Tango miss something? He wouldn’t put it past himself, what with the gratuitous slapping going on, and the bouts of hypnosis. Telling the two of them that probably won’t end well for him, but he’s starting to get the sense that very few things will.

One of which being the answer to a question he doesn’t understand. 

“Where is who? If you want me to help you, I can’t say this is the best way to go about it.” Tango resists the urge to spit on their nicely carpeted floor, just barely, mainly because he’s not trying to get slapped a third time in just as many minutes. 

This time it’s Impulse in front of him, having crossed the room faster than Tango can blink, his actual hand wrapping around Tango’s neck tight enough to draw blood. His words come out as a hiss, pulling Tango as far out of the chair as the ropes will allow for. “Zed. If you’ve hurt him it will be the last thing you do, forever.” Zed’s missing? That’s why he didn’t answer his phone.

Tango’s so stunned by the information that he simply freezes, breathing shallowly with the small amount of leeway Impulse’s given him. Impulse looks more furious by the moment despite his body being deathly still, his hands colder even than the normal temperature of a vampire. 

“I killed Jimmy and Joel myself,  you know.” Every ounce of emotion in Impulse’s voice, all the anger from before vanishes, leaving only the flat, cold voice of Tango’s nightmares. “Joel was first. He tried to buy Solidarity a few minutes to get out, but by that point he’d completely lost himself to panic.” Tango’s body goes still, his eyes staring directly and unwaveringly at Impulse’s face. He can’t do this, he can’t hear this, he can’t-

Impulse pauses but doesn’t falter, the corner of his mouth twisting into a smirk painfully reminiscent of the one Tango had given just moments ago. “And Jimmy?” He tilts his head to the side, eyes flaring a bloody red. ““Well… you and I both know he wasn’t gonna last long, was he? Not like he or Joel were any good at hand-to-hand combat anyway.” Tango’s throat is released a second later but it doesn’t matter, he can’t breathe, he can’t do this, he can’t do this. He doubles over as much as he’s able to to try and block Impulse and Skizz out of his vision, but an unforgiving hand yanks him right back up.

Both of them stare down at him, their expressions equal parts furious and collected. Tango can’t quite hold back a few traitorous tears from falling, even as he twists his face into the closest thing to a glare he can manage. “I don’t know where the fuck he is, I didn’t even know he was missing until right now.” His wavering voice doesn’t necessarily help sell his point, but the majority of his focus is still on Impulse’s words.

Tango hadn’t been there when they’d attacked his coven. 

He’d been out at the market, sent because he was the most recently turned, the one most accustomed to blending in with humans and not biting them. Tango remembers the day perfectly even hundreds of years later, the way the sun felt on his skin, the happily buzzing carpenter bee that’d accompanied him halfway there, the way he’d bought an extra loaf of Jimmy’s favorite bread to surprise him with, he can recreate every step he took that day.

Including the ones that brought him back to his home, his home that’d been completely decimated by the time he’d returned. He can still remember the way he’d dropped the bread, the way he’d run inside, the way he’d seen- the way he’d seen Scott, then Bdubs, and then, next to each other, Joel and Jimmy.

And then, just behind them, were Impulse and Skizzleman.

They’d stepped carelessly over the bodies of his friends, his family, as if it was no more than a mild inconvenience. They’d said they did him a favor, spared him from a conflict he hadn’t been turned for the start of. In the moment, Tango didn’t have the strength to reply, to do anything other than stare helplessly at the remnants of the only home he’d ever truly known burn around him.

They’d guided him outside the burning ranch, the ash staining his skin. And then they’d left, left him to watch the last of his life crumple to the same ash on his skin.

Pyre had been born the very next morning from his desperate need to turn his grief into something tangible, something eerily akin to flames burning just under his skin, scarring anyone who dared to approach him in the following weeks.

He’d never expected them to remember him, to remember what they’d done to his coven. 

Skizz glares back at him, fist balled tightly at his side. “Don’t fuck with us, Tek. The longer you keep him the worse this is going to be for you.” Tango forces himself to take a deeper breath, to really look at both of them in front of him. Their anger is the first thing to jump out at him, of course, the sight of it causing him to cower slightly, but there’s more behind it. 

It’s in the rigidity of Impulse’s stance, the slight tremor of his hands. It’s in the way Skizz keeps moving, pacing, rocking back and forth, anything to stay moving. In the way he's run his hands through his hair no less than five times in half as many minutes. The way both of their clothes are beyond wrinkled, the look of having slept in them for multiple days at a time unmistakable. 

They’re both at their wits end, barely holding onto the last remnants of their composure in order to conduct this interrogation.

Which means they really do think he has Zed. 

And which means someone else has him. 

Tango blinks back his sadness, focusing on making his words as believable as possible. “I didn’t know he was missing, I swear. You can check my phone, I texted him a bunch with no response.” They both stare, unmoving, for a brief moment before Impulse steps over to the side of the room. “Password is five-six-one-nine.” Impulse nods once when the phone unlocks, and a small hint of tension releases from Skizz’s frame. “That’s why I showed up early at the cafe, I wanted to see if he was alright.” 

“He’s- fuck, Skizz. Fuck. He’s telling the truth, Zee hasn’t texted him since before the date.” The anxiety in Impulse’s voice is laid completely bare, the tremor in his hands becoming steadily more visible the longer he looks through Tango’s phone. “No deleted messages, nothing on other apps, fuck.”

Skizz’s other hand wraps into a fist, and Tango can’t help but shift backwards as much as he can manage. Just because they know he doesn’t have Zed doesn’t mean they won’t hurt him, especially while they’re both this angry.

But instead Skizz simply turns his back, swearing fervently under his breath as he resumes his pacing. Tango can’t help but tilt his head in mild fascination, completely enraptured by the two of them falling apart in front of him. Skizz’s path makes its way back towards Tango’s chair, still accompanied by a constant stream of muttering. “It’s been nearly three days, and our only fucking lead didn’t do it.” His eyes snap back to Tango abruptly, breaking his path to tower over him. “Swear on your life, right now, that you had no hand in this. I will know if you’re lying.” The hypnosis pushing at Tango’s mind is clunky, dull and easy to wave off. 

Instead, he leans into it.

Skizz won’t believe him otherwise, not when he’s this desperate for an answer. So Tango lets the command wash over him, lets his mouth open of its own accord to spill the truths he’s been telling this entire time. “I swear, on my life, on the souls of everyone you took from me, that I did not know Zed was missing until you told me. I had no hand in his disappearance, though-” Tango cuts himself off quickly, not willing to say anything that might agitate them further. 

Not that he succeeded, if the glance that passes between Impulse and Skizz is any indication. Impulse tosses his phone in the direction of the couch, walking forward. Each step is slow, deliberate, returning his control to him until he’s taken Skizz’s place in front of Tango, his face a picture-perfect mirror of what it’d been the day he’d wiped out Tango’s coven. “Though?”

Tango forces himself to push past the initial explosion of nerves in his stomach, the words pouring out of his mouth in an uncontrollable wave. “Though I’d like to have a hand in his return, if possible.” At the silence that follows, he rushes to continue. “I know you two don’t trust me, I know, but I do care for him. I have connections, favors, information at my disposal that can help.” Neither of them seem particularly open to his offer, which he can’t say he hadn’t anticipated. He’d cut himself off before for a reason, after all, but every brain cell Tango’s ever had told him refusing to elaborate would only end in immense pain.

Impulse laughs, the sound cold and bitter. “Surely you don’t forget who we are. Our names still hold power even if we’ve been absent from claiming it, there’s nothing you can provide that we cannot attain ourselves.” Tango flinches just slightly at the appearance of the formal speech, he can practically see the crown back on Impulse’s head. 

Unlike before though, Tango’s not willing to bow his head without a fight.

“I found you two, didn’t I?” Both their heads snap to him, the intensity of their gazes threatening to crush him should he step even slightly out of line. “That was from my sources, my information, I have a network. If we pair your names with my skills, imagine how fast we could find Zed.” At the mention of his name both their faces soften, the undercurrents of worry rushing right back to full view.

One moment, he’s meeting Impulse and Skizz’s gazes, his voice just shy of pleading. The next moment he’s slowly raising his head from his chest, blinking sleep out of his eyes as he lays against something soft.

The furniture in the room’s been put back into place, a coffee table filled with trinkets, blueprints, and right in the center, a small sheep plushie, directly in front of him. These must be some of Zed’s things, judging by the messy handwriting, and the sheep.

Impulse and Skizz must not’ve touched anything since he’d disappeared. The thought is surprisingly saddening, even if Tango won’t allow himself to feel sympathy for them. He sits up slowly, glancing down at the couch he’d been laying on. Impulse must’ve compelled him to sleep, likely so he and Skizz could have a conversation without Tango’s prying eyes and ears. 

He can’t say he blames them, he absolutely would’ve been eavesdropping if given the chance.

Tango rubs his eyes gently, taking the moment of silence to massage his sore wrists. The ropes hadn’t been tight enough to cause rope burn, but they certainly weren’t loose either. He rolls his neck out next, small twinges of discomfort shooting down his spine from his haphazard sleeping position.

“We have a proposition for you, Tango Tek.” Tango practically jumps out of his seat in surprise, glancing around the room frantically for the source of Impulse’s voice. He finally finds the other sitting under the windowsill, the frenzied panic and anger from before entirely gone from his face. “You help us find Zed with your connections, we will lend you our name and power, and in return, we will grant you one request.” Nothing in his voice implies there’s room for negotiation, not that Tango was planning on asking.

A request is a golden opportunity, practically a ticket to a million different possibilities, if he can get creative enough.

Careful to curb the excitement the offer incited in him, Tango raises his eyes. “Deal.” A footstep sounds behind him, Tango turning to see Skizz walking past the couch and to the chairs on the other side of the coffee table, collapsing himself into a seat. 

His demeanor is the most different from before, all of the anger flushed from his system and instead replaced by casualness. It’s a strange sight, something Tango had grown used to seeing only in Zed’s presence. Skizz smiles over in Impulse’s direction, stretching out a single hand that bears a golden ring and chipped nail polish.

Pink and yellow, Zed’s favorite colors.

Impulse drifts to Skizz’s side automatically, taking both his hand and the seat next to him. The two sit in comfortable silence for a moment before turning back to him in unison, a mask of formality plastered back across their faces. “We’re nearly certain Zeddle was taken by another coven, because a human would’ve sent a note by now.” Skizz frowns further when he pauses, waving his free hand dismissively in the air. “Not to mention the fact that he doesn’t socialize enough to piss another human off that much.” 

That teases a laugh out of Impulse, the motion tilting his head just enough for a ray of light to reflect off the gold earring on his left ear, the same color as Skizz’s ring. Tango takes note of it but doesn’t comment, mentally thinking back to if he ever remembered Zed wearing that same golden color. 

Turning back to the task at hand, Tango turns his eyes towards the ceiling to think, only to be distracted by the suspiciously large splatter of pink paint staining the center of it. His mouth hangs partway open, a small chuckle pulling his gaze back down. Impulse’s posture has finally relaxed significantly, his hand coming up to rub his eyes and revealing the matching pink and yellow polish on his nails. “Zee’s need for sleep slipped our minds one weekend. Right around four days awake straight he got the brilliant idea to build a paint mixer so he could paint our floors. His genius self did not remember to close the lid.” Impulse nods up toward the ceiling with a fond smile on his lips. “Hence, the pink.” 

They really do seem fond of him for reasons unrelated to their feedings. A small part of Tango finds it sweet- no wonder Zed seems so bubbly all the time, Impulse and Skizz had learned how to play nice with humans after a few hundred years. Pushing the thoughts out of his mind, Tango’s finger idly traces the chevron pattern on the pillow next to him. “I have a database of all known vampires in the area back at my apartment, I can sort through that and email you the information?” There’s nothing to “sort” per se, it’s simply a list, but he needs them to think he’s as useful as possible if he wants to ensure his survival throughout the entire process.

“Why don’t we go with you? I’d like this process to be as streamlined as possible.” Skizz’s voice takes on a slightly goading tone, practically daring Tango to argue. “Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to make sure you’re not holding out on us so early into this agreement.” His eyes watch Tango carefully, likely looking for any hint of a reaction that might indicate he’s lying to them. It’s clear they don’t trust him, which he supposes isn’t entirely unfounded. 

Pyre’s been known to dodge a deal or two if a better offer comes along, or sometimes if he just grows bored with his client. Even still- “Are you insane? If I bring you to my apartment, I essentially have to use my request to make sure you don’t murder me in my sleep the very night you get Zed back.” Tango does his best to keep his tone even, despite every part of him suddenly set alight with anxiety over the idea of having his hand forced to that extent.

Impulse tilts his head, holding his hand out. “You make a fair point. How’s this- we add a clause to our deal. We won’t engage at or outside your home for a month after Zed’s return. That gives you time to do whatever you need to feel safe, or move if you so please.” His eyes flare at the same time he smiles. “And in return, you don’t engage us at or outside our home.” 

“Add in a mutual agreement about not spying on the residences either, and you’ve got yourself a deal.” Tango holds his hand out without a second thought, watching the minute glances exchanged between Impulse and Skizz before Impulse shakes on it. Maybe he’s delusional, a distinct possibility given the situation he’s found himself in, but they look somewhat impressed. They might have a couple hundred years on him, at least if he’s to believe the rumors of how old they actually are, but he’s been making these types of deals consistently for the last two centuries. Knowing how to protect himself and his home is second nature at this point, something he’d learned after a close call way back when.

Agreement settled, the three of them stand in unison. A not-small part of himself still hates the idea of bringing them into his home, however temporary it is, but the momentary anxiety is worth the rewards from this. He can still bring the two of them down with his request, but it means he needs to make sure Zed gets back to them. 

For more reasons than one. 

The bus ride back to his apartment is awkward, Impulse and Skizz looking surprisingly domestic the entire time. Skizz keeps an arm slung over Impulse’s shoulder, talking softly into his ear, his grin always widening when he manages to coax a laugh out of Impulse. 

His other arm hovers awkwardly at his side, the missing part of the picture clear.

Tango looks away from the scene, fixing his gaze firmly down at his phone screen. Normally he’d text Zed, silly things, of course, random stories he made up about the people around him, other poisonous croissant ideas, strange questions he’d come up with while staring upside down at his corkboard. Before Zed he’d simply watch the people on the bus, try to pick out who might be a vampire, a thief, a cheater, whatever else he could determine.

Today he does none of them, so focused on not watching the soft moment in front of him that he just stares at his lap.

It’s a blessing when they finally reach his stop, Tango scrambling off the vehicle as fast as possible, only pausing long enough for Impulse and Skizz to see what building it is before he dashes inside and up the stairs. There’s no time to really hide his current project, but he’d be willing to bet that they’d already figured out who his most recent targets were.

“Before we go in, just- don’t judge the mess too hard? I was in a rush, and I’m incredibly hungry.” Tango laughs to himself under his breath, turning the key in the lock before turning and doing an awkward set of jazz hands. “Welcome to my place, impressed?” 

His journal is lying half-discarded on the floor, knocked off the couch by a stray pillow early this morning, his corkboard’s still propped up in front of the table, empty blood bags litter the floor along with blankets, and a small bundle of photos sit on his island. 

Yikes. 

It’s worse than he remembers honestly. 

Thankfully neither Impulse nor Skizz look too put off, expertly sidestepping piles of clutter until they reach the corkboard. Impulse’s eyes rake over it sharply, taking in each and every note, picture, and theory attached to Skizz and Zed’s names. 

Interestingly enough, he doesn’t look at his own.

Skizz, on the other hand, helps himself to a seat on the floor, glancing at one of the discarded blood bags with thinly veiled concern on his face. “Hey, Te- Tango.” He corrects himself quickly, the notion surprising Tango enough to pull his attention away from Impulse’s thorough examination of his corkboard. Once Skizz sees he has Tango’s attention he continues with a surprising amount of hesitation. “Tango, when’s the last time you had a full meal?” He glances back down at the bag at his feet, nose wrinkling in an emotion Tango can’t make out. “Or a fresh one?” 

That pulls Impulse’s attention towards them, sharp expression dulling in an instant at the sight of Skizz’s face. Tango shifts in place a few times, one hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. “Maybe a week before I got here? Two? Fresh is hard to come by when you don’t have a live-in feeder.” He lowers his voice spontaneously, muttering under his breath. “Not that you two would know.”  The words weren’t meant to come out bitter, they really weren’t. In fact, they weren’t meant to come out at all. 

But it’s so much easier for them than it is for him, just another tally on the already completely unbalanced charts. 

Evidently it was the wrong thing to say. Skizz’s face closes off immediately, both he and Impulse’s gazes turning just as cold as they’d been interrogating him. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Skizz’s anger is fast and sharp, bursting out of every pore and outlet it can escape from. On a different day, maybe Tango would back down, take a deep breath and remind himself there’s more important things at stake.

Maybe it’s the deal emboldening his steps, or just the fire beneath his skin finally burning too hot, because instead of shutting up Tango only raises his voice to match Skizz’s intensity. “Are you fucking kidding? Just because you want to act like you like Zed doesn’t mean I don’t know you feed on him, miss me with that ‘confusion’ bullshit.”

Skizz’s mouth falls open slightly, halfway through shoving himself off the floor when Impulse snaps. “Fuck you. We would never bite Zed, are you fucking kidding me? I can’t believe you’d even-” He cuts himself abruptly, holding down his right arm with his opposite hand. The angry part of Tango, the part that he depends on to fuel his revenge when all he wants is to wallow in grief for the next century, screams for him to argue back, to push Impulse further, to see what it takes to make him truly lose his composure. 

The rest of him freezes at the information processing in his head. 

“You- you don’t-” Tango staggers backwards, dropping himself onto his couch. “You’re lying. You have to be, you two-” This doesn’t make sense. It can’t make sense. Because that would mean that they’d grown to be kind, and empathetic, and they could’ve been that before. 

They didn’t have to kill his coven.

They’d had the framework to protect this entire time, and instead they’d chosen to lie, and cheat, and ruin his life.

Tango’s not aware of the tears streaming down his face until they drip steadily onto his hands, only flowing harder once he realizes. Every part of him hates doing this in front of them, hates letting them see him so vulnerable again. The idea of trying to pull himself together right now feels impossible, even the idea of lifting his arm to wipe his eyes weighing too heavily on him.

Gentle hands dab at his face with a soft tissue, the touch soothing even if it shouldn’t be. A quiet voice is murmuring at him, the words lost in his frantic breaths but the steady tone comforting nonetheless. It’s only once an inconsistent tapping on his shoulder starts to become more frequent that Tango realizes what’s going on around him. It’s Skizz speaking to him, drying his face, providing grounding, comforting touches. 

And it’s Impulse patting his shoulder uncomfortably, his face distressed enough that Tango breaks out into watery, hysterical laughter.

A few seconds later Skizz joins in, his laughter wracking his entire body and shaking Tango with the intensity, only causing both of them to laugh harder. Impulse stares at both of them, his hand hovering awkwardly in front of him. “What- what is happening?” 

Tango and Skizz exchange half a glance before laughing even harder, Tango sliding off the couch and halfway onto the floor before Skizz catches him. He should be feeling furious, be shoving the two of them away from him and screaming. 

But he can’t see the point.

Not that he’s not angry still, no. That anger might be with him until the day he’s finally put into the ground for good, a part of himself he no longer knows how to control.

When it comes down to it though, he can’t stay that angry all the time. He’s not been eating enough, sleeping enough, doing anything other than focusing on his obsession with making them pay. He’d based his entire life after that day around the fact that they were irredeemable monsters, only to find out that that’s simply no longer true. 

And maybe that means the worst of his anger, the volatile part that makes him act in ways he immediately regrets, that makes him act like they did, needs to go with it.

It’s honestly surprising how much lighter he feels at that realization, the next few tears slipping out of his eyes no longer from grief but relief.

After another several minutes of daughter, finally killed off by a round of ferocious hiccups from Skizz, Tango finally pulls himself back up onto the couch and wipes his face. There’s work to be done, humans to save, a new life to start. Impulse pats his shoulder placatingly one last awkward time before schooling his face back to something more professional.

“As I’m sure you saw on my board, I tend to be quite thorough with my research.” Tango reaches under the couch cushion as he speaks, reaching blindly for his laptop. He tends to not use it often, only when he’s taking on new work for Pyre, but keeping it hidden always felt like a must. Skizz casts a short glance towards the corkboard at Tango’s mention, his eyes spending the longest on Impulse and Zed’s sections. Interesting.

Tango makes use of their momentary distraction to punch in the passcode to the laptop, sorting through dozens of windows of useless information and closed cases. Sue him, he tends to keep more tabs open than he strictly needs. “Why do you both avoid your own names?” The question comes out conversational, half-slowed by the rampant file sorting he's currently embarking on, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s actually very interested in their response.

Impulse merely raises an eyebrow, not bothering to deign the question with an answer. Skizz turns to him, tone light even as his body stiffens slightly. “I’m not the one I’m worried about. I could give less of a shit what happens to me.” He twists the ring on his finger seemingly subconsciously, the metal well-worn but clearly painstakingly taken care of.

He doesn’t seem keen on talking about the topic much further, but Tango’s heard everything he needs to make sense of it. It’s sentiment, plain and simple. Both of them are more than willing to leave themself in danger for the other two, the need to protect so deeply instilled that their eyes don’t even recognize their own sections.

It takes everything Tango has not to gag at the sickening sweetness of it, even if he can remember a time where he would’ve done the same.

With a few more clicks he pulls up his list of vampires in the city, skimming the list for any names that might jump out. “This list should be accurate, the biggest threats are highlighted red, and all known associations are denoted with a unifying symbol.” Impulse and Skizz lean over his shoulders, both freezing at the same spot.

“Martyn.” The anger brimming just under the surface of Impulse’s words sends a cold chill down Tango’s spine on instinct. That’s the voice of his nightmares, the one that implies retribution is imminent in its most swift and brutal form. “That bastard took him out, Zee wouldn’t introduce us because of our fights.” 

Martyn.

Going after Zed was almost certainly a deliberate act, the question is why? It could be some form of revenge on Impulse and Skizz, maybe even a preemptive strike to keep them off-balanced long enough to push an advantage. Or, alternatively, it could be someone after him. He’d allowed himself to be lulled into a routine, his route to and from the cafe varied, sure, but not untraceable.

Regardless, there’s an easy way to find out.

Tango reaches into his pocket, grabbing his burner phone and punching in the number associated with Martyn’s name. Contact information had cost him an arm and a leg to obtain, but having a way to reach potential clients or targets was too rich of an opportunity to pass up. It’d served him well in the past and, apparently, it’d continue to serve him well now. 

The message is simple, as detached as he could manage. “Good afternoon Martyn. I hear you have quite the prize human, let’s talk soon. -Pyre.” There’s one of two ways this could go- either Martyn ignores the message entirely and changes his contact information, or he’ll reply in the interest of striking a deal. No matter which one he chooses, they probably won’t know until the evening at the earliest. 

Just as Tango opens his mouth to explain that to Impulse and Skizz, the phone vibrates in his hand.

“Was wondering when you’d come looking for your new toy. I’ll call you in an hour, it’ll be nice to catch up, Tango.” Tango’s blood runs cold, the phone sliding out of his hand.

Martyn knows who he is.

Martyn knows who Pyre is.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck-

Tango shoots off the couch, the undeniable need to pace taking over his body in a heartbeat. Martyn knows who he is. Martyn knows who he is, and expected Tango to text him. How could Martyn know who he is? They haven’t spoken since Tango created Pyre, he’d never gone near Dogwarts because of how often they were on the verge of self-destruction without outside intervention. Martyn shouldn’t know who he is, unless-

“Fuck. Fuck.” He shoves his hands through his hair haphazardly, turning back to stare at his corkboard. The corkboard he’d stopped tucking away in the mornings. The one that would detail everything a vampire with a grudge would need to run circles around not only him, but Impulse and Skizz too. 

A corkboard that he’d used to come to the realization that he was falling in love with Zed. 

He’d practically handed the information over to them. Impulse and Skizz are watching him with the same apprehension they might give a wild animal, both of their bodies tense as if he might jump them at any moment. A distressed chuckle slips out of his mouth, his mind moving too quickly to filter his words. “I gave them everything they needed, fuck.” He sucks in a deep breath, changing his direction abruptly to pace behind the couch. “One of Dogwarts must’ve broken in at some point, seen the board. I mean shit, I gave them everything they needed to pull this off.” The board is filled with sensitive information, shift times for Impulse, Skizz, and Zed, travel preferences, likes and dislikes, he might as well’ve written a guide on exactly how to steal a human from under everyone’s noses.

Skizz stands up carefully, still looking at Tango like he might suddenly try to bite him. “So they took Zed because of what you wrote here? To get back at you?” Despite the accusatory nature of the words Skizz doesn’t look upset, mainly confused. Impulse glances back at the board again, realization dawning on his face at the same time it does for Tango.

“They did it to get at all three of us.” Impulse steps forward, lightly tapping Skizz’s name on the board. “They found out we were here, and all it took was a little reading to realize that the weak spot between all of us is Zed.” In a single evening, Dogwarts had given themselves the most power they’ve wielded in a century.

And they know it too.

Tango braces himself internally, waits for the barrage of insults to start, for the two of them to capitalize on the triggers they’ve found to send him spiraling in retribution for his mistakes, but it never comes. Instead Skizz wraps Impulse in a tight hug, face drawn in a frown that feels unfit for someone Zed’s always described as endlessly energetic. It’s undeniable though- from the small shake of Impulse’s shoulders to the occasional tremor in Skizz’s hands, the two of them are breaking.

His suspicions are confirmed when he hears a muffled sniffle, the unmistakable sound of someone trying not to cry. His initial instinct, because it’s Impulse, is to be rude, to laugh and rub it in so he can see how it feels. That won’t get them anywhere though. It certainly won’t make the phone call they have to make any easier, and more than anything they need to project a unified front when the time comes. 

So instead Tango forces himself to sound far more confident than he is, clapping his hands together. “Ok, so we’ve got an hour! That’s just enough time for me to teach you both the intricacies of negotiation.” Impulse pulls back from Skizz, eyes tinged slightly red. Tango smiles, in what he hopes is a reassuring manner, cracking his knuckles. “Just because they’ve seen the board doesn’t mean they can keep the advantage. This is half of what I do in my job.” The smile drops off his face, his voice turning serious. “If you remember nothing else I’m about to say, remember this: we have to act as one. Doesn’t matter what you think of me, as far as Martyn is concerned we’ve never had a disagreement in our lives.”

With that out of the way Tango flips his corkboard over, grabbing a sticky note. “Now, let me introduce you to Negotiation 101.” 

----------------------------------------------------------------

By the time the phone rings, Tango’s as confident as he’ll ever be that they’re ready. He’d trained Impulse and Skizz to the best of his knowledge to school their reactions to whatever Martyn might tell them about Zed’s condition. After a tense back and forth they’d finally agreed to Tango taking the lead for the talking, mainly based on experience.

And, as he’d smugly reminded them fifteen minutes into the argument, it was his phone. 

That’d earned him a pillow directly to the face.

Skizz squeezes Impulse’s hand gently as Tango accepts the call. Martyn’s voice is just as obnoxious as he remembers it being, self-satisfied and catty. “I hope my little text didn’t spook you too bad, I just needed to make sure I had your undivided attention.” Tango rolls his eyes. Martyn’s always had a dramatic flair, and Tango’s always had a lack of patience for his bullshit- they’re a match made in hell.

“Let’s stay on task here Littlewood, I’m sure you have a sense of how busy I am.” There’s no point in disguising his voice or inflection, given Martyn was most likely the one in his apartment, or at least supervising it. While the list of consequences from that is immeasurably extensive, it does mean that Tango can be just as annoyed as he pleases without having to worry about his “image.”

Martyn hums in response, the faint sound of footsteps picking up over the phone. “I suppose we can make this quick.” A door opens and shuts, though the background noise doesn’t change enough to give Tango an idea of where he might be. “I want you, Impulse, and Skizzleman to meet us at an address I’ll send you. Tonight. Ren would like to handle negotiations in person.” Tango’s eyes cut to Impulse and Skizz’s faces quickly, concern clouding his own. In-person meetings are harder, facial expressions much harder to mask than tone. 

Still, just because he doesn’t like the idea doesn’t mean Martyn has to know he doesn’t like it. “I don’t know, I am pretty swamped right now. What’s stopping this from happening right here on this phone?” Disinterest is a common tactic of his, partly to keep his own thoughts hidden and partly to gauge the other person’s reaction.

Martyn’s camera turns on abruptly, his teeth and lips stained red. “Oh I don’t know, I think he’s a little predisposed right now.” Tango only manages to catch a glimpse of Martyn’s smirk before the camera flips, the sight making his mouth go dry. Neither Impulse or Skizz manage to stop the sharp inhales from leaving their mouths, but Tango’s too stunned to reprimand them for it. 

Zed’s lying against Big B’s chest, eyes half lidded and skin deathly pale, while Ren drinks from his wrist. Everything about the picture in front of them is wrong. Zed’s clearly in pain, Ren almost certainly not using his soothing bite, and Big B’s forcing down his reactions with hypnosis, if the small outline of his lips moving is any indication.

It’s terrible.

“Martyn, tell him to let go of Zed right now.” Skizz practically snatches the phone from Tango’s hand, voice thick with emotion. They’ve completely shown their hand at this point, any hope of lowballing Dogwarts for Zed’s return voided the moment Impulse and Skizz had looked at the video.

Even still, Tango can’t entirely stifle his reactions either. Not when Martyn turns to Big B, talking quietly enough that the phone doesn’t pick it up. Not when he gently rests Zed’s body on the ground, stepping back. 

And not when Zed starts to scream.

Tango can’t stop himself from flinching at the noise, snatching the phone back from Skizz’s limp hand in order to turn the volume down. Impulse’s gaze hasn’t broken from the screen once, even as his mouth hangs slightly open and his body’s so stiff Tango’s almost certain a strong breeze could shatter him. Skizz, on the other hand, seems as if he’s forcing himself to keep watching even as his eyes dart away every few seconds.

After only a few more seconds Tango finally breaks, willing his voice to be as even as he can get it. “Alright, alright. We’ll meet tonight at your location. I want a condition though.” In better circumstances he could push for a meeting location of their own choosing, though after the treasure trove of reactions they’d just given Martyn, he doesn’t even bother to try.

Martyn steps back out of the room, Zed’s voice fading out entirely as the door swings shut. Impulse flinches at the sound, eyes still glued to the screen. “Depends, I quite like this role reversal. It’s high time Pyre learned to dim his audacity.” He snickers at the pun, each flash of his red lips and teeth setting Tango further on the edge of snapping. 

He needs to hold it together. 

“I want Zed at the meeting too. As he is now, no further injuries..” Tango’s not sure why he made this his request, but he just can’t stomach the idea of the scene in the other room continuing on for even another moment. He’s sure Martyn can tell too, clearly just as skilled as Tango is in the art of reading reactions.

It’s completely silent for a few moments, each second only adding to the tension on their end of the phone. Finally Martyn sighs in mock-resignation, tilting his head down. “Granted. I’ll see you three at nine tonight.” He hangs up without gloating any further. Tango tosses the phone across the living room directly after, dropping his head into his hands. There’s very few ways that could’ve gone worse, short of someone shouting “we’ll do anything!” while weeping hysterically.

At least if they’d done that, maybe Tango could’ve convinced Martyn it was an elaborate bit born from the cruelest parts of their psyche.

These are the cards they dealt themselves though, and it’s what they’ll need to win with. 

Impulse and Skizz are busy sharing a furtive conversation, the contents of which Tango can hardly stand to be bothered by. They may want the same goal, sure, and he may have been able to move past the worst of his hatred, but that doesn’t mean they don’t annoy him. Each step of this process has been harder than it had to be, because despite being much older than him, they somehow lack experience in every area that matters other than slapping people and ruining lives.

Tango trudges over to his bed, falling backwards on it dramatically. Feeling two sets of eyes boring into him, he halfway raises his head. “It’s probably going to be a long night. I’d suggest getting whatever rest you might need to control yourselves now.” He shuts his eyes immediately after, letting the complete and utter exhaustion of the day crash over him all at once.

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

It’s eight o’clock when Martyn texts him the address.

A quick internet search, complete with a few- totally legal tricks yielded a floor plan, a plethora of photos, and a detailed history of the building’s official uses over the last thirty years. If Martyn had given him more time, he probably could’ve found his way into their electric systems, bend the lights in their favor in order to pull a fast one and snatch Zed.

More than likely, that’s exactly why they were only given an hour. 

The nap had done him wonders, Tango feeling at least sixty percent less inclined to lock Impulse and Skizz in his bathroom and deal with this situation on his own. Actually, the more he thinks about it- maybe more like forty percent. The next forty-five minutes pass in a blur of preparation, petty arguments, and plans that die on the table faster than they can get the words out of their mouths. There’s no angle Tango can find that lets them walk out of this without having to give up whatever Dogwarts wants. 

Because the only thing the three of them can agree on is that Zed will be coming back with them, no matter the cost. 

As they step outside Tango glances back at Impulse and Skizz, and then does a double take. In the time it’d taken them to walk down the stairs Skizz’s face is once again dark, angry, ancient. The exact energy they need in order to pull this off. Impulse, on the other hand, looks about two seconds or one stubbed toe away from a nervous breakdown. 

“Impulse, I’m going to need you to channel some of that anger from earlier. This only works if we remind them that we cannot be steamrolled.” Tango speaks without sparing another look- the more condescending and rude he can be the faster he can piss Impulse off. Sure enough, he can already hear the scoff behind him, the sound almost engraved in his memory from how often he’s heard it today. If someone asked, Tango would say the next words out of his mouth are for the same purpose. He’d be lying. “After all, you’re half the reason we’re coming in at a disadvantage.” 

Skizz yelps in surprise, physically grabbing Impulse’s arm to stop him from lunging at Tango. “Dip- woah dude! Dippledop pull it together!” Dippledop? Tango opens his mouth to question it, but Impulse hisses loudly at him. Maybe he shouldn’t ask right now. Probably a good idea.

The three of them walk in tense silence, Impulse still somewhere between sulking and halfway to homicide, Skizz completely stoic, and Tango straddling the thin line between antsy and excited. There’s a certain adrenaline to negotiating that never goes away, and even though the stakes are more personal than they’ve ever been, he can’t deny the rush it brings. 

Just before he knocks on the door to the building, Tango shares one last look at Impulse and Skizz. “We’ve got this.” None of them dare to say out loud what happens if they don’t. Tango raises his fist, knocking four times in rapid succession before the door swings open. Etho’s face stares back at him, hair down and mask slightly ajar. Tango raises an eyebrow, amusement slipping into his tone. “Etho, don’t tell me we caught you on a day off!” 

Shockingly, Etho doesn’t find him as funny as he finds himself. Adjusting his mask properly on his face, Etho gestures further into the doorway. “Come along, Ren and Martyn are waiting for you.” They’re led through the office space section of the building quickly, the rooms appearing to be relatively unchanged. It’s when they reach the largest conference room at the back of the building that everything changes.

The Dogwarts banners hang on either side of the door, the fabric billowing gently in the air conditioning. Etho opens the door and steps inside, gesturing at them to follow. “My liege, Pyre, Impulse, and Skizzleman are here.” Tango stares as subtly as he can manage while walking closer to the throne at the other end of the room, taking in the numerous piles of swords, gold, and books scattered across the floor. The dais holds two seats- Ren’s throne, which he’s currently lounging in, and some strange hybrid of a throne and another chair to the left of the throne, where Martyn sits.

Zed is on the floor between the two of them, eyes closed and breaths shallow.

Ren smiles, sharp teeth flashing in the light of the room. “Ah, welcome to Dogwarts! It was so nice to learn of your presence in my city, Impulse and Skizzleman. Can I call you Skizz? The human seems to.” To Skizz’s credit, his face doesn’t so much as twitch at the goading. Maybe they’d had a little more practice with this than Tango had realized. At the lack of response Ren continues on, turning his sights on Tango. “And of course it’s a pleasure to finally meet, Pyre.” Tango openly rolls his eyes, shifting his weight to his other foot. 

“We appreciate the pleasantries, but I believe we’re here to negotiate your release of our property?” Impulse’s voice is like silk, sliding into the conversation as if he’d been born and raised for exactly this type of moment. “What are your opening terms?” Martyn shifts slightly, pulling Tango’s attention. There’s no telling what any of them might try while they think the three of them are distraught, which means he’s keeping a close eye on everyone.

Martyn stands up a moment later, stepping carefully off the dais and halving the distance between them. “It’s rather rude to dismiss the king like that.” The saccharine note in his voice makes Tango’s hair stand on end, a sentiment that only grows worse when it vanishes for pure disdain. “To start, we want Impulse and Skizz out of town. Before we release the human back.” He taps his chin, snapping his fingers. The sound echoes throughout the room, reverberating in Tango’s skull. “And as for Pyre, you’re to join our coven, work under our direction.”

Fuck no.

Tango’s mouth shoots open to protest but Skizz beats him to it, his voice just as strangely calm as Impulse’s. “We’re not considering anything, especially not something that requires an act of trust on our part, before we get a chance to speak with Zed. Your treatment of him can and will impact our counteroffer.” It feels like Tango’s missing something, this style of negotiation distinctly different from his own business dealings in the past.

A small part of him is suddenly afraid that he might be the only loser in this deal.

Ren hums, tilting his head side-to-side in consideration. “Very well. We’ll grant you five minutes, supervised.” He snaps his fingers and Big B steps out from the side of the room, causing Tango to jump in surprise. He hadn’t seen or heard any hint of him before just now, a level of unawareness he’s not used to feeling. Big B steps up to Zed, leaning down and whispering a command that thrums with entirely too much power. 

Zed’s eyes shoot open, a gasping breath escaping his lips seemingly involuntarily as he pushes himself into a more seated position. The second he catches sight of Impulse and Skizz he flinches backward, pulling his arms around himself in fright. Something about this isn’t right. Tango’s never seen Zed afraid of Impulse and Skizz, even when he’d detailed some fairly brutal “play fights” they’d gotten into over the years.

Martyn grabs Zed by the arm, halfway dragging him in front of the three of them. Tango can see the sparks of horror in Impulse’s eyes, even as it’s clear he’s stamping them out as often as he can make himself. The second Martyn steps back Skizz drops to his knees, hands carefully cradling Zed’s face as he speaks quietly. Tango feels like he shouldn’t be watching, the moment clearly not meant for anyone other than Impulse, Skizz, or Zed.

It’s on his fourth awkward look-around of the room that he realizes he no longer knows where Etho is.

Tango starts to scan the area more carefully, eyes narrowed as he looks for any flash of white or green that might give away Etho’s position. It’s only when Zed practically screams that Tango stops looking, face going slack in surprise. “Don’t hurt me!” He clasps his hands over his mouth as soon as the words come out, seemingly oblivious to the way both Impulse and Skizz recoil as if they were burned.

“We wouldn’t- Zee-” Impulse reaches his hand out, freezing halfway when Zed flinches away again. “Zed, what's wrong?” Of all the ways Tango had imagined this going to shit, this wasn’t one of them. Zed’s refusing to speak, his entire body trembling under the weight of something they can’t begin to understand.

Martyn laughs cruelly, wiping away a fake tear from his eye. “Well now, isn’t this just too good?” In unison, Impulse and Skizz’s eyes snap to him, teeth bared in a way that would even make Tango reconsider his next words very carefully. “All it took was us detailing a few things you accidentally left out! Y’know, your history, how you used to treat poor little humans like him, the teensy tiny fact that you’re vampires, nothing much. Except, it seems like it was a little too much for him.”

Whatever thread of self control Impulse had been hanging on to snaps in an instant, Skizz not fast enough to stop him this time as he grabs Martyn by the throat. “What the fuck did you tell him?” Tango catches on to the too-smug expression still on Martyn’s face a second too late, distracted by the flash of white passing just in the corner of his peripheral vision. 

Everything happens in slow motion. 

One moment, Impulse and Martyn are going back and forth. Skizz is watching, paralyzed with indecision. Zed’s doing his very best to block out the entire situation. And then Ren smiles, and everything goes to shit. 

The thwip of a crossbow snaps all of their attention to Impulse, who drops Martyn and takes a single, staggered step backward. He pulls the arrow out of his stomach with a shaky hand, dropping it to the ground. Tango expects to see the wound seal instantly, to hear twin outbursts of rage from Impulse and Skizz over the insult. Instead, Skizz barely manages to choke out a single word. 

“Impulse?” 

Impulse continues to stagger, doubling over slightly. His face is rapidly paling, his hands clutching at the wound. Tango watches with wide eyes, rushing to his side without thinking. The wound should be healed already, there’s only one reason it-

“When’s the last time you guys had human blood?”

They don’t bite Zed. That much he already knew, but he’d never considered the idea that they’d stopped drinking human blood entirely.

And without the nutrients from it, Impulse is very much in danger of bleeding out. 

“Eight- eight years.” Impulse drops a knee to the ground, grimacing as he does. Zed snaps to attention at that, mouth falling open slightly with unspoken words. Skizz grabs Impulse’s hand, squeezing it tightly as he frantically looks around the room. For what, Tango’s not sure.

Eight years is too long, seven years too long. Tango feels just as useless as Skizz, looking around for a solution that isn’t coming.

“Bite me.” Zed’s voice is quiet, but breaks through the panic around them in an instant. “You- you need human blood, and I just so happen to be human.” Despite being the one to offer it, Zed looks like he’d rather do anything else in the entire world. It’s hard to deny the rampant fear running through his words, even as his gaze stays steady.

For a brief moment, no one moves. This is a terrible idea, one that could get all of them killed, but at the same time there’s no other option. Not unless they all want to watch Impulse die in front of them. Impulse hesitates for a moment, glancing down at his blood-soaked hands. “Are you sure?” 

Zed takes a deep breath, nodding his head and extending a bite-ridden wrist. “As long as you don’t kill me, we’ll be good!” He laughs nervously, and it’s hard to miss the way his hands shake incessantly, the number of marks that haven’t begun to heal, the fact that his skin is several shades paler than it was the last time they’d seen him.

Impulse nods, carefully repositioning Zed so he’s not stretching his arm quite as hard. “This will only be a moment, ok?” Once he gets a nod in return, Impulse carefully bites down on Zed’s wrist. The effects are near instant, the color coming back to Impulse’s face, his body slowly straightening as the pain fades away. After only a few more moments he’s back to his earlier state.

Except he doesn’t pull away. 

Skizz and Tango exchange panicked looks, neither of them missing the way Zed’s eyes are growing progressively more cloudy. Skizz lightly pulls at Impulse’s shoulder, but it doesn’t seem to register to him at all. “Impulse, you need to let go. Impulse!” Skizz tries shaking him, but all that does is pull a pained whimper from Zed’s slack mouth. 

Ren, or Martyn, or maybe both of them are talking behind him, the sound fading into the background as Tango tries to figure out the fastest way to get Impulse's attention.

He snaps his fingers in front of Impulse’s face, the result the same- complete indifference. Switching gears, Tango carefully checks Zed’s pulse, the beats starting to skip and slow despite his heart’s best effort to stabilize itself. “Impulse!” He’s not listening, too lost in what’s most likely the most filling feeding he’s had in eight years. They’re running out of time, Zed’s already been fed on once today, as far as they’re aware, maybe more. His body hasn’t had time to recuperate, let alone the fact that Dogwarts almost certainly hasn’t done a good job keeping him healthy. A few seconds later his eyes roll back, his body going limp, only held up by Impulse’s grip on his wrist. 

There’s only one other way they might be able to get Impulse’s attention. Tango silently apologizes before drawing his hand back and slapping Impulse as hard as he can manage. 

He pulls back immediately, head whipping to stare at Tango with pure fury in his eyes. Within the span of a second that fury morphs into terror. “I-” He finally catches a glance of Zed, entire body stiffening. “No, no I didn’t- I didn’t mean-” All of them can see it, even if none of them will say it. 

Zed’s dying.

Tango stares down at him, mind warring between two options. 

Turn him, make him a vampire right now and save what’s left of his life, or let him die. Two choices. 

His own turning hadn’t been his choice. It was an accident, a mistake Jimmy had made while starving and sleep deprived. Tango had never held it against him, still doesn’t, but it’s impossible to pretend like he wasn’t angry for a long while after he was first turned. After his life was stolen in a single moment, a single afternoon. He’d barely spoken to Jimmy for a year after the fact, the situation overwhelming in all the worst ways. 

The good far outweighed the bad in the long term, of course, and by now he’s no longer upset about the life he never got to live, but he’d always sworn to himself that he’d never make that choice for someone else. It’d been an easy promise to make and keep, he’d never once considered the trouble it might cause him. 

Until now. 

Zed’s dying, and Tango can save him. But the only way to save him now would be to steal the rest of his life, to do the same thing Tango had spent so long resenting Jimmy for. To violate the only code he’d ever lived by.

But it’s Zed. Wonderful, bright, loving, curious, lively, Zed. How can Tango sit here and let that light fade away, knowing he could’ve saved him? And maybe it’s selfish, but Tango’s never claimed to be anything but. He’s not ready to let go of the only person he’s grown used to in the last hundred years. Of the only person he’d ever started to fall in love with. 

He’s shifting forward before he realizes it, his body making the choice before his mind manages to catch up. He catches Skizz’s eye for just a second, the other’s face morphing into one of understanding. He nods his head slightly, cradling a sobbing Impulse. “Please.” The word comes out as a whisper, but it’s the final piece that Tango needs to make up his mind.

Tango lifts Zed’s head as gently as he can, hands shaking slightly as he positions himself in the right place. He’s never tried to turn anyone before, never felt the need, but he’s only got one shot to get this right. It might be too late already, Zed’s skin pale and clammy to the touch, his chest barely moving.

Tango whispers a single apology under his breath, and then bites down on Zed’s neck.