Unchain Me Brother

Note: I had to name the girl in the car. Hence "Delia."
Decided to continue this; inspiration came quickly.
Disclaimer: Does not own LB.


A car threw itself down the motorway at breakneck speed.

Alan Frog lit a cigarette, lifting it to his pale lips. Tangled, black hair tumbled to his shoulders; the cowboy hat he sported cast his dark eyes in shadow. He puffed on the smoke, inhaling all of its lovely, toxic vapour to tease his ironically still lungs. The road stretched out in front on him, displayed on his “sunlight” screen. The sky was melting into a deep orange, setting the clouds on fire. A small, cruel smirk twitched at the corner of Alan’s mouth.

He fiercely gripped the gear stick and thrust it forward.

At this rate, they’d be there by sundown.

A small giggle coaxed his attention away from the road. A dark haired, red lipped beauty sat perched on the passenger seat, white fingers pulling up her skirt bit by bit to reveal the unconcealed flesh of her upper thigh. She slipped her hand over his on the gear stick, allowing the chill of their skin to mingle. Grinning, Alan reached to caresses her cheek; she leaned into his touch like a purring kitten, running a tongue over her rouge lips suggestively.

Delia was his latest assistant of the blood; a gorgeous temptress with a cold heart and hot body. She was pleasing for the time being; perfecting the art of worship and sex, in a need to entertain him. To be a temporary consort of a Master Vampire was an honour, and ambitious Delia noted this.

Ha.

Edgar.

Brother.

I’m coming for you.

He could sense his brother’s fears, seeping though their mental link in all its frustrated, shaming glory. Edgar was scared. Not of the carnage or possible upcoming war; but of him, his older brother. Edgar’s heart was after all, still human, and a pitiful, bleeding one at that. A manolevent thrill sparked in Alan at the thought of his tormented, poor baby brother; struggling to kill, let alone reason with, his only weakness.

Hm. If only he’d known how much fun this would be, he would have done it years ago.

Alan constructed another mental delight to send to his estranged brother; a little promise of what he intended to do to his little hunter once he was in his clutches. Like blowing a kiss, the thought drifted off to enter the already shaky consciousness of Edgar.

Pause.

Fear, confused anger, horror, and a touch of bitter sorrow flooded back to greet Alan; the vampire’s brow furrowed in mock concern. it seemed baby brother didn’t improve of his game. A diabolical affection rose in Alan at this reaction; wait, was he feeling guilty? No, never guilty, just a tad culpable. Edgar’s blunt resistance was amusing, but also mildly hurtful. For all their mind games, he did wish to be back in the company of his brother, to have Edgar at his side, once again.

Slowly, amusement blurred to a frayed impatience.

Couldn’t Edgar see what Alan was offering him? The chance to experience things transcending the tiny flares of humanity? What he now experienced was far beyond the childish, narrow games of their teen-hood! Surely…..?

Alan emitted a predatory growl, flooring the gear-stick into more powerful modes. Delia froze suddenly, instantly shrinking from his sight, as the machine lurched and jerked in protest.

It didn’t matter. Choice was not an option for Edgar, or even for him. Regardless of everything, Edgar will succumb, even if is the last thing he did. After all, family matters; Edgar would thank him later, with the renewed strength, the abilities, the gift of immortality. But before that...maybe it wouldn't hurt to play this little game with his younger bro, as it did grant an interesting foundation to break the back of Edgar's limited beliefs. Not to mention it was such fun.

But first, there was another heart wrenching matter to deal with. He was a kind sibling, and like many other kind siblings, wished to ease the troubled thoughts of his poor, abused twin.

Smirking, Alan directed one last present to his brother…a deceptively soothing mental caress that may calm his impossible sibling. At that, he closed the mind link.

If everything had gone to plan, the perfect lure was with him; Sam Emerson.

Deep laughter shook the armoured car as it plunged onward, the bleary shapes of Luna Bay budding into the distance over a bloody sky.

“We’re screwed.”

Sam Emerson lounged on Edgar’s loveseat. Half vamp Sam was still Sam alright, minus any colour; his hair still seemed to be fixed in that weird eighties style, blue eyes wearied and tired. But that bullshitting, (although slightly strained) grin was still present. “Or more so, you’re screwed. I’m just damned.”

Edgar didn’t reply. He was leaning against the kitchen surface, eyes closed in concentration and intense thought. All the cogs and wheels of his honed hunter brain were squeaking, revolving, ticking away into nothingness; he stretched into the empty space that once housed his brother’s presence, to no avail. Any plans or safety precautions failed upon any intellectual prodding. For wherever they went, Alan would find the hidey hole with ease; now sharing blood with a potential “childe” (clichés) and him, the supernatural connection was inescapable. They had no choice but to remain on the attack; the confrontation was going to be head on, and hardly pretty. Around them, were re-attached crosses, vials of holy water, and stakes in every possible emergency nook and cranny. Sam inched away from just about every object in sight; face turned in distaste. The man shifted uncomfortably, cursing Alan and the old bite marks aching on his neck. Yep, he was right; he and Edgar were screwed. Without a doubt.

Ignoring the lazy surveying of his person by Sam, Edgar peered though the windows of his trailer to observe the landscape outside; night was drawing in, basking his courtyard in a dim, fiery glow. His eyes moved slowly from each chain of garlic, to every carefully placed cross, to where the ground had been soaked with holy water....the defensive was up. Maybe, this was the safest place for them to be....

An image, of twisting limbs, heavy pants, his trembling hands clutching bed-sheets damp with his sweat...soared into Edgar's unprotected mind, breaking his stupor and causing the man to flail backwards, unto poor, browbeaten Sam.

Alan fooled him. The mind link wasn't closed.

The half vampire oomphed, wind knocked out of him from the sudden weight. His fatigued bones creaked from the extra effort, as his muscles were too abused to fully push his friend off. Sam kicked Edgar weakly.

"What the fuck, man....!?!"

"Shit!" was Edgar's blunt response, his cheeks flaring red as he fought down a unwanted hardness. Alan's laughter blared in his ears, gleeful and mocking and delighted.

"Liked that, Bro?"

"BASTARD!"

A lone cross was sent spiralling toward the wall in frustration. The heavy chuckles faded, quieted by the mixed rage Edgar had unknowingly propelled back to his cursed sibling.The awesome vampire hunter drew himself with as much dignity as he could muster, calming his breathing as he moved to retrieve the fallen cross. Silence fell between the two men. He ignored the befuddled expression dominating Sam's face; he merely hoped the idiot would read the signals and keep his mouth shut.

Well, this was Sam.

"Happen often?" he inquired nonchalantly, propping himself up on his elbows to grant a better view of Edgar's shaking back, that was telling goddamn stories. To Edgar's hidden shock, Sam's mouth twisted into a knowing, bitter smirk.

"Really one for mental rape, eh?"

"Piss off." Edgar choked back, eyes clenched with anger, shame, and a less familiar clot of fear gagging his throat. There was nothing funny about this situation; Alan never makes false promises. Alan never lies. Alan never makes empty threats...

Alan.....

Alan......?

Something strange was happening. A sudden weakness seized Edgar's limbs, making them heavy, tiresome to lift; his eyelids became weighted, as thought trickled from his mind, to be replaced by blissful, light emptiness. Sam was shouting his name, but it seemed far away, as if in a dream. He grunted, battling this weird, tempting sensation, until another wave hit him, this time knocking his will into nothingness.

Edgar's knees buckled, and the world swamped into black chaos.

A young couple, newly weds, were walking down the backstreet promenade of Luna Bay shopping centre. The unfortunate two were heading for a party, but the map was faulty, and so woe behold them both; they were horrendously lost.

He was a man of muscular build with orange hair, flat features, and sunglasses; her a blonde bombshell with killer heels and a sweet, sickly smile. They had fallen into arguing; their erupting voices tilling, echoing around the shadowy houses of the deserted area. The man said they needed to ask for directions. The woman said all they bloody well needed to do was just look at the damn map again.

As if in answer from the heavens, up rode a black car, decked out in dark, sun-proof windows and sleek paintwork, as if to solve their dilemma. As the car window stopped next to them, the male of the duo turned to talk to the driver for directions.

They were greeted by two glowing tips of blindingly white fangs, winking at them in the cold moonlight.

Above them, a dying street lamp spattered and died.

All their problems were resolved all right.

Freezing Frog juice was being cast on his face, again and again.

Edgar woke, coughing, spluttering, battering away the desperate hands of Sam Emerson. The face of his friend moulded into view, panic and worry inscribed on his pale, trembling face. The missing posters of dead youths dotting the room seemed to stare down accusingly from their perches, eyes alive in ruby. Pulsating, red ruby, like blood cells fluttering, pumping, skidding in your veins....

"Damn it, Edgar!"

"I'm awake." The gruff baritone of his friend was enough to make Sam's eyes light up. The hunter seemed back to his normal, unshakable self; the face was set with rambo like determination as Edgar rose to his feet, one hand gripping Sam's shoulder for support. Despite his reassertation of self, Edgar was confused, brushing past Sam, contemplating that recent...unexpected event.

"What the hell was that?"

Sam sniffed, relief replacing itself with irritation. "Thought you would know Edgar, with all your comics and expert vampire knowledge shit," Edgar just glared at him, blatantly unimpressed. Groaning, Sam threw up his hands. "Fine, Fine. Look, its a sort of relaxation spell, occult do-hickey used to calm potential victims. And, I should know...." his eyes became hooded with troubling nostalgia. "Its been done to me a few times."

Edgar still look unconvinced. "Why would he send it to me?"

Sam shruggered helplessly. "I dunno, man. Maybe he felt guilty."

A gigantic monster of a driving machine tore it's way though Edgar's courtyard; tearing away crosses, sending garlic cloves bouncing into the grass, and ripping up the damp, holy soil. It seared to a skidding halt outside the trailer, showering it in muck and grime. The car door flew open.

A heavy black boot crunched the gravel.

Sam and Edgar found themselves gawking.

Leaning up against the polished bonnet of his beloved hand crafted car, arm around the hip of some beautiful vampire girlfriend, was the brother that he hadn't seen in ten years.

Alan Frog shot Edgar a wide, toothy, affectionate grin.

He raised his thin fingers in a little mocking wave, a large skull ring entwined around his index one, smirk still grafted in place. For a fleeting moment, he looked just like Alan, the way Alan used to look, before the blood and death and fucked up vampire lore.

Then of course, he noticed the spikes, penetrating his gums in all their sharp, brutal glory. The eyes glinted in malicious, blood red amusement.

Beside Edgar, Sam gulped.

Edgar's hand wrapped around the sharpened stake hidden in his belt. Despite his strong front, nausea was prickling his insides like poison needles.

They were officially screwed.