It's Not Who You Were Born To

It's Not Who You Were Born To, Part Seven
Rescue
by Scribe

*Lights.* That was what Paul thought when they first turned onto Lorimar. *Way too many flashing lights for this to be any good.*

Without consulting each other, Paul and David both coasted to a stop halfway down the block. They straddled their idling bikes, staring at the cluster of vehicles in front of one of the houses--an ambulance and police cruisers. David glanced at his friend. "Fuck. Well, I doubt that's because someone was playing the stereo too loud. I hope he killed the fucker."

"I don't," Paul hissed. "-I- want to do it."

David studied the small crowd milling around the cars and front lawn. "I hear ya, but we're not going to be able to do anything with that mob around. If they've got Dwayne in custody, we need to get to him before they take him in. I don't think we could break him out of a police station, they aren't likely to move him at night, and I doubt that Max will risk bailing him out." Paul looked at him sharply. "Too many questions, Paul. He wants Dwayne, but not enough to take that sort of risk. He operates under the official radar, and he doesn't want any inquiring eyes turned on him."

Paul scowled. "I'm not giving him up."

David patted his arm. "Neither am I. Let's cruise down and scope the situation before we get too rattled."

They rolled slowly toward the hub of activity. As they reached the cluster of cars a police officer approached, waving for them to stop. "You boys can't come through here. Go around."

"What seems to be the trouble, officer?" David's voice was scrupulously polite, even friendly. Paul admired his ability to hide his true feelings. Paul himself was still uncomfortable around members of 'The System', and sometimes he couldn't conceal his apprehension and hostility. It didn't make for smooth relations with the police force, so he tended to let David do the interacting.

"Nothing that concerns you. Just move along."

David pointed at the house. "That's our good friend's home. What's happened?" The officer hesitated. David decided that a partial truth was safe enough, and might get some results. "Look, I'm not trying to interfere with your work, but we're worried. Dwayne's home situation isn't the best, and his step dad has been getting worse lately."

The cop's expression thawed a bit. "Young guy with long, dark hair?" David nodded. "Oh, hell. It's not good."

Paul tensed, but David laid a hand on his arm. "What happened?" When the man hesitated, David said, "Please. We're really worried about him. We saw him last night, and he was all messed up from when that bastard beat him. We never would have let him come here alone if we'd known what he intended."

The policeman shook his head. "It probably just would have gotten you hurt, too."

Paul's expression was tight and strained, and he was fighting to keep from just grabbing the cop and shaking answers out of him. "What? Shit, man, TELL ME!"

"We know that the guy was drinking in several bars earlier today. One of 'em sent him home in a cab. It looks like he beat his wife to death sometime in the afternoon, and then the kid..."

"Dwayne," Paul whispered.

The policeman tossed him a puzzled look, but continued, "He found the body. His cabbie was calling us when the step dad walked in on the kid. Chased him out into the yard and shot him a couple of times." Paul made a sound that was a mixture of denial and grief, and David's grip tightened on his arm as the younger boy swayed. The policeman kept talking. "He's standing right over the boy, getting ready to put one in his head at point blank range, and I'll be damned if this nice little neighbor lady doesn't blow a hole in him with a shotgun." He shook his head. "If she'd aimed about six inches higher and a little to the right she'd have caught him right in the crotch. I think maybe that's where she was aiming."

"Sounds like my kind of woman," David's voice was calm, almost casual, but anyone noticing his eyes would have taken a step back from him.

The officer smirked a little, nodding. He jerked a thumb at the ambulance that was just now starting down the block. "They're riding the guy to the emergency now. They took the kid first."

Paul had been drooping. Now his head jerked up so suddenly that his hair flew. "They don't take the dead first?" His voice lifted at the end of the sentence, making it a question. David felt a pang of dread and sympathy at the hope in his tone.

"Oh, he's not dead," said the policeman. "But he'll be lucky if he lasts to the hospital, what with all that blood loss, and I'm pretty sure he caught one in the lung. They had oxygen on him and... HEY!"

The last was a shout as a motorcycle roared past him on either side. Policemen, neighbors, technicians, and newly arrived reporters leaped aside as the boys slewed across the sidewalk in their haste, tires gouging deep ruts in carefully maintained lawns. A few neighbors waved fists after them as they disappeared around the corner, but the police had too much going on to bother with a couple of rubberneckers who were a little reckless in their driving. No one bothered to look for license plate numbers or alert patrol cars. Some people were going to get in trouble for that later.

*****

The ambulance raced through the near empty streets of the suburb, headed for the city hospital. In the back, Craig worked quickly, but efficiently on the patient strapped to the gurney.

The boy's jacket and shirt, both torn and bloody, were still lying on his front lawn, ripped away with quick slashes of strong scissors the moment that the EMT knew he was working with a gunshot wound. There were no exit wounds, and he was strapped on the stretcher face down so that Craig could keep a compress on the wounds in his back. The purpose was two fold--he had to stop the blood loss, and block the escape of air from the punctured lung.

*At least one,* thought the burly EMT as he worked over the boy. *But maybe both. God DAMN, he got this kid good! It's a wonder he wasn't dead when we got there. I just hope I can keep him going till we get to the hospital.*

Once he'd gotten the wounds packed, Craig had slapped oxygen on the boy. There hadn't been any point before, because it would have just leaked right out. As he pumped up the blood pressure cuff again, he checked his patient. The boy's head was carefully turned to the side, and the paramedic had to keep a close watch--if he threw up, the oxygen mask would have to be jerked off quickly, so that he wouldn't aspirate any vomitus.

*He's a good-looking kid,* the man thought absently, *even with those bruises. Christ, I thought I wouldn't see anything like this once I moved out of LA and got away from the gangs, but they say one of his PARENTS did this to him. What the fuck is wrong with this world?*

The bp was getting lower by the minute, and the pulse was weakening. He felt his hopes sink. There was a thud that shook the ambulance, and he thought absently, *Pothole,* but even as he thought this, another part of his mind was registering that the sound had come from the roof. *I don't think he's going to make it...*

His thought was interrupted when the ambulance swerved violently, throwing him on top of his patient. He would have sworn at the driver, except that, at the moment of the swerve, there was also a piercing scream from the front of the ambulance. The noise sent a prickle up Craig's spine. His driver was a seventeen-year veteran who had worked every type of emergency and disaster--he just didn't scream.

As he struggled upright again, he looked forward to see what was wrong. The driver wasn't screaming anymore, but he was yelling, and it was obviously more shock and fright than anger. What Craig saw paralyzed him for a moment as the ambulance continued to swerve crazily back and forth.

Will, his partner, was fighting with someone who was reaching in the window, FROM THE TOP. He was clawing at the steering wheel as Will frantically tried to beat him away while keeping control of the speeding vehicle. *This is impossible! We've been doing close to sixty most of this trip. He couldn't be there unless he was on the roof when we took off, and he WASN'T.*

All Craig could see of the assailant were leather-clad shoulders, scrabbling arms, and a toss of blonde hair. Will yelled again, head jerking back, and Craig saw bright lines of blood on his face. "HEY!" The protest burst out before he realized it, and the stranger's head jerked toward him. Craig had a brief glimpse of flaring red, and thought, "HIS EYES!" There was an angry hiss, and a fist caught Will solidly--TOO solidly. There was a thud, and the driver slumped. The stranger snatched at the wheel, and the ambulance careened off the road.

He was thrown ACROSS the gurney this time, slamming into the ambulance wall as it pitched, then came to a jarring stop with a sickening crunch. They'd run into something--something big and solid. They'd entered downtown, so it was probably a building.

Craig was almost upside down, his torso on the floor and his legs canted up on the gurney. Craig jerked his legs down; instinctively worried about harming his patient any further, then began to pull himself up. He was shaken and dizzy, but he had to check on the patient, then see what had happened to Will.

The back door popped open, and someone was scrambling up into the ambulance. "I think my partner is knocked out. Use the radio to call for help," he directed. "Just hold down the button and..." Craig was shoved roughly aside as the new arrival reached for the boy strapped to the stretcher. "Don't! We have to get him to the hospital, don't move him!"

The figure turned, glaring at him, and Craig felt his world tilt. It wasn't human, whatever it was. Oh, it had the form of a man, was wearing clothes not much different than what the wounded boy had worn, but other than that, it was WRONG. The face was deathly white, except for the hot, flaring yellow of its eyes--not hazel, yellow. The features were distorted, just enough to move it from the realm of humanity, and when it snarled, it exposed teeth that could only be described as fangs.

"Mine!" it hissed. It reached down, catching the thick, woven nylon strap that ran across the boy's back. Craig watched in growing shock and horror as the tough material was shredded with two hard tugs.

"You can't do this!" As frightened as he was, Craig still tried to protect his charge. He lunged at the thing, trying to force it away from the dying boy.

He was shoved back again, and received a smashing, backhand slap that made the world gray out for a moment. He could still hear, though, and the thing was growling, "He's MINE, and I'm taking him!" Another ripping sound, and the thing was gathering the dark-haired boy into its arms, it's gestures quick, but oddly tender.

There was the sound of a siren, and another one of them (*Must be the one who was fighting with Will*) appeared at the open back door. Its voice rough, it said, "Hurry! The others are coming."

As the second thing carried the boy out of the ambulance, Craig pleaded, "Please, don't! He'll die."

The thing carrying the boy had disappeared, but the one at the door paused for a moment, staring at him with red eyes. It said, "Not for long." Then it was gone.

The second ambulance was being followed by a police car, and the cruiser stopped when they saw the first ambulance half-buried in the front window of a small shop. It took only a few minutes for another ambulance to be summoned, and the officers gave first aid to the two EMTs while they were waiting for it.

The driver was unconscious. Later they would find that he had a concussion, and a broken jaw, along with a few nasty scratches on his cheek. He couldn't tell them much. All he remembered was someone suddenly grabbing at the wheel, and thinking that he was going to crash.

The paramedic who'd been in the back wasn't much better. He only had a few lumps and bruises, but the officers decided that he must've gotten a good knock on the head, too, considering the story he told. Something about being ambushed by monsters, who kidnapped his patient.

The patient was gone, all right, and it wasn't likely that he'd been able to run off under his own power, but no one could think of any reason why anyone would take him. After all, he hadn't been in any trouble--he was the VICTIM. Still, he was gone. All they could think of was that maybe some crony of the stepfather was trying to help him by removing witnesses (not that it would do any good--they had the next door neighbor, and the cabbie). They were going to have even MORE questions to ask him, once they got him stitched up.

*****

They'd passed the ambulance, then parked their bikes a few blocks farther up and gone back on the rescue mission. It hadn't been all that hard, but David had still been a little worried about Paul. The boy did what he needed to for survival, and even had a little fun with the nastier elements that they fed off, but he'd never participated in an out-and-out full frontal assault.

He needn't have worried. Paul was fast, ferocious, and efficient. Later David reflected that he shouldn't have been surprised. After all, Paul was fighting for his chosen mate. He had Dwayne out of the ambulance and on the way to the alley in a flash.

He'd seen Paul soaring before him, Dwayne dangling limply in his arms. David landed lightly in the alley just as Paul was sinking to sit on the pile of flattened cardboard boxes, cradling their lover in his arms.

David went to them. As he approached, Paul pulled his hand from where it had been supporting Dwayne's back, and stared at it. He turned burning eyes to David, holding his hand up. It was slick with blood.

David remembered the luscious, pale gleam of Dwayne's skin as they'd made love in the candlelight. Now he was as white as milk, except where he was dark with the blood trapped in the bruises, or red with the blood shed by his wounds.

Paul's voice was ragged. "He feels cold, David. He was so warm before, so alive."

There was a wheezing, bubbling sound, and Dwayne's chest rose slightly. "He isn't gone yet, Paul, but you'll have to work fast."

"David?" Paul's voice was confused, full of pain.

"We're not waiting for Max's say-so--not if we want him with us at all. And it should be you, Paul." David smiled, reaching out to touch his friend's face, a face that was distorted by his vampiric nature, but still beautiful to David. "Like you told that guy back there--he's yours. I know that. We can let Max think it was me, but YOU should turn him."

"What do I do?"

"Bring him a little closer to the edge--then feed him."

Paul looked down at Dwayne. His voice was anguished. "But I want it to be his choice."

"It IS, Paul. He already said that he wanted to be with us. And you know from talking to him that he was just about ready to give up on the life he had."

"But he should know." Paul ran his fingers gently over Dwayne's face. "Dwayne?"

Dwayne trembled slightly, eyes still closed. "He's slipping away," David whispered. "I can feel it. I can smell it. Reach out to him, man. MAKE him hear you."

Paul focused every fiber of his being on the boy in his arms, pushing with everything he had. "Dwayne? Dwayne! Listen to me!"

Dark lashes fluttered, then Dwayne opened blank eyes. "Hurts."

"It's me, Dwayne. It's Paul."

"Paul?" The eyes focused, and Paul knew that Dwayne was seeing him. A tear slipped down the dark boy's cheek. "Sorry. Should have waited."

Paul stroked his hair. "It's okay, babe. You couldn't have known."

"Killed her." Dwayne coughed wetly, and pink froth appeared at his lips. He made a sound that was almost a laugh. "Jake. Killed me, too."

"NO!" Paul's grip on Dwayne tightened. "I won't let it happen! Dwayne, I can stop this. I can make it where you won't ever grow old, and you won't get sick, and no one will hurt you, I swear it, and you'll be with me--me and David. But... but you have to die."

"Die?" Dwayne regarded him. A thick trickle of blood oozed from the corner of his lips, running down his chin. His voice was faint. "I'll be with you?" Paul nodded. Dwayne closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them again, they were clear. "Do it."

Without hesitation, Paul turned Dwayne's head to the side and sank his teeth into the pale column of his neck. The blood was still rich and warm, but it no longer pulsed strongly into his mouth. It flowed slowly, weakly.

Paul could feel the faint beat of Dwayne's heart fading. He lifted his mouth from the ragged wound, brought his wrist to his lips, and slashed with his fangs. A tear opened in his pale flesh, and a thick stream of dark blood splashed across the smooth expanse of Dwayne's bare chest. Paul brought the wound to Dwayne's mouth, pressing it to the parted lips that were already slick with the boy's own blood. "Drink, little brother. Drink, lover. Come to me."

Dwayne felt the first warm, salty drops trickle past his lips, and his tongue worked reflexively. His mouth was suddenly wet with saliva, and he licked out, running his tongue over soft, torn skin, gathering more blood. Then he managed to form a seal against Paul's wrist, and sucked.

Thick, warm liquid filled his mouth, and he swallowed, then sucked again. It was like nothing he'd ever experienced before, and it was GOOD, so good. He sucked eagerly, feeling warmth suffuse him, driving off the cold that had been creeping in ever since he was shot. Then the wrist was drawn away, and Dwayne sighed, lifting his eyes.

Paul was bent over him, watching him anxiously. Dwayne frowned. Paul looked different. His face... wasn't quite right. His eyes were yellow, feral. But they were filled with concern and love. When Paul noticed his regard he grimaced, putting a hand over his face. He'd forgotten that he'd transformed when his let his vampiric nature rise in the heat of the moment.

He felt cool fingers tugging at his wrist, and looked back down at Dwayne. The boy was staring up at him, and there was no fear, or disgust in his face. He reached up and ran a finger down Paul's cheek. "Beautiful. Mine?"

Paul pressed Dwayne's hand against his cheek. "Yes, yours--forever, if you want me."

"Forever..." The word fell away with a sigh. Suddenly Dwayne--just wasn't there anymore. Paul still held his body, but DWAYNE wasn't there. His dark eyes were empty, his body still.

Paul lifted his head and howled in anguish. He felt David gripping his shoulder and wailed. "Gone! You said I could save him!"

"You have, man! You have." He forced Paul to look at him, saying firmly. "This is how it happens. Remember when I brought you over? There was a blank space for a while, and you woke up changed. Well," he nodded at the corpse in Paul's arms. "This is how it happens." His face relaxed into a gentle smile as he reached down to stroke Dwayne's hair. "He hasn't gone far, bro, and he won't be gone long. Three days, that's all. Three days, then you two are together..." he paused, then shrugged, "pretty much forever. But we have to get him to safety. We can't just leave him--he's vulnerable till he wakes up again. We can't let them get their hands on him. I'm not sure whether or not an autopsy would keep him from coming back, but we're not fuckin' gonna risk it. Give him to me for the trip home." Paul hugged Dwayne tighter, a growl rumbling in his chest, and David laughed softly. "Yeah, like I'd try to make you give him up. But c'mon, man. I'm the better rider, and you know it."

Paul carefully stood with Dwayne in his arms, while David mounted his motorcycle. After some discussion, Paul's jacket was slipped on Dwayne--a shirtless, blood-streaked rider would draw a lot more attention than one who was apparently just drunk, leaning on the driver. Dwayne was settled in front of David, facing him. Paul had found some cord in the trash littering the alley floor. Dwayne's arms were drawn behind David's neck, and the wrists were lashed together, then a few loops were passed around both their bodies, tying them together loosely.

Once they had Dwayne secured, Paul mounted his own bike and prepared to follow David back to the cliffs. As they rolled to the mouth of the alley, David said quietly, "Paul?" Paul looked at him questioningly, and David smiled fondly. "Put on a happy face, man. We're going public." Paul made a noise of understanding. He concentrated. The planes and angles of his face smoothed back to the visage that he usually showed the world, the yellow of his eyes melting into pale blue. David nodded his approval, and they rode out, headed toward their haven.