TIMING: early May LOCATION: A crypt in Eluria Cemetary PARTIES: Matty (@likeamattoutofhell) and Kit ( @kitwithfangs) SUMMARY: After forty years, Matty finally finds what he needs to get Kit out of their spawn form. CONTENT WARNINGS: mentions of death; may rot teeth
Finally. That dusty freak stepped back, battish mouth still dark and dripping with Kit’s blood - while Matty clenched them even closer, a hand scrabbling, stupidly, perhaps, to put pressure on the wound the elder vampire had left behind. “Hey, hey - hey, baby,” he rasped, swaying as they jerked, rooting them down to the cold, uneven flagstones. “I’ve got you, man. It’s just us. And that’s…” That wasn’t it. Just the beginning. If this even worked, like it’d worked for that poor bastard Richard had reeled in, with that easy kind of order that made Matty’s skin try to crawl right off. But the old bat had done it. He had. Matty had got the proof he’d asked for, and the promises he’d needed, and…
It could work.
It was.
He’d let them go, all those years back. When they first unraveled into what they’d been ever since. It was so much the same, now: the lurch of their bones, the ropy twist of rearranging muscle, the rattle and roar and raw agony of it. But this time, this time, Matty clung tight. And felt it all. Felt rather than saw, felt even more than he heard. Until what he was feeling was Kit. Was their timbre rising through those howls, crumpling into ever-smaller sounds, then - then just breath, shuddering against his chest. Like either of them even needed to breathe. The two of them had fit back together as they writhed and rolled; fit just right, their dark curls tucked under his chin, his arms slung all around them, wrapping his best friend in this life or the life before in a still-bright silk robe, the one they’d stolen for years. Tight. As if he could gather up every shred of Kit Clarke he’d been keeping and work it all into place, again. Nothing forgotten. Nothing lost. Nothing they couldn’t fix.
“Got you,” Matty managed, just barely, with a smile that burned like the goddamn sun. Finally.
-
The first thing Kit became aware of was, well, awareness. Something that had been absent for so long. It was a riot at first, just the simple existence of their thoughts, of their mind. The instinct that had taken hold in its place dropped and shattered like a mirror on impact. Held back behind a muzzle the hunger and the rage and the hunger and the violence and the thirst, it melted back into the shadow of the back corner of their mind. They gasped, long and ragged, lungs working in a way they didn’t need. Their throat was raw and burning and their nose was raw and burning and goddamn, man, all of them was raw and burning. But it was only for a few seconds, a four-beat.
And then, clouds clearing, Matty.
They rasped, rattled out, a drawn thin, “Fuck.” The awareness shuddered down in layers – they were in the body they had been born in. They were naked, or almost. They were cold, but in a way they had never been cold before, like it was coming from the inside out. They were with Matty.
That last one sort of washed all the rest of it away. They were with Matty. Matty was there with them so all the rest was fine. All the rest they could figure out and it couldn’t be so bad because, like. Matty was there.
“Hey,” Kit tried, voice torn to shreds. They shuddered, turned further into him, deeper into the bevel of his chest. “Shit, dude, let’s, uh, not do that again, okay?” And it came back to them, in layers, too. Their request and the way it all went to shit and what they had been and done for… For how long? Fuck, how long?
–
God, they sounded like - like Kit. Past the raggedness, there, that was Kit, resonating against his breastbone, like the heartbeat neither of them had. (Neither of them. Matty bit down, a hand gathering in their hair. Refusing to miss that, the thud and flutter of Kit’s heart, where his had gone quiet. He couldn’t go missing shit, when he’d just got them back.)
It was almost a laugh, the noise they dragged out of him, there. Almost. A little too wet, maybe, as he curled them in tighter. Somehow. “Never, man. It’s all - it’s gonna be cool.” They’d make it cool. Like it should’ve been, years, and years, and fucking years ago, and - “And you’re never, ever gonna - never. You’ll never be there, again.” There. In the pit of their undead souls, or whatever the hell. Lost in the dark and the need to drink. Never.
Matty rocked back, hands coming to frame their face. Kit’s face, Jesus. Talk about drinking, man. He drank them in, there, got blasted on every detail: those just-the-same freckles, the dip of their dimpled cheeks, the - the rich, oxblood-leather red of those eyes. Holding that unsteady stare, he leaned back in, his forehead to theirs, chest rising in time. Like they shared that totally needless breath. Like before. Like this was just another rhythm they could fall into, easy, like all the others, like every goddamn song they’d ever heard or made since they were kids. So fucking easy.
He’d - he would make all of this as easy as he could.
If they let him. After everything.
–
They could feel again, the nuance of it all. It wasn’t all cratered out between just hunger and rage. And Matty’s fingers in their hair was something else. Had he done that for them? When they were like that? Kit couldn’t remember – it was all flashes, like an image reflected on shards of mirror, tessellated. Blood and gore and not much else. Maybe the low sound of something rattling up from Matty’s chest, maybe not.
“Cool,” they echo back, dazed in some sense. It was still all pulsing through them, this grotesque awareness of everything. Of what they had been and what they had done, yes, but also of the present. So much of the present screaming through their head. It went a little quiet, though, when Matty met their eyes. Because there he was. Not just physically, in front of them, but somewhere woven into the fabric of their being. They had always been preternaturally aware of Matty and where he took up space in their universe but this was different. This was that sense, made tangible.
Kit bucked their forehead into his at the press, letting out a low keen that was almost involuntary. That was so familiar it ached. “Matty,” they sighed out. The volume on everything else turned down even lower and they knew then that whatever it was in their chest, deeper, was not just the stuff of their songs. “Hey. Can you like–” A swallow, mouth dry. “Can you feel that? It’s like…” It was like he was inside them somehow, but that sounded fucking crazy. Instead they just wrapped one of his hands in theirs and pressed it to the center of their chest, just inside the fall of the robe, where a heart had beat once. Where, now, they felt Matty like he was an organ inside of them.
–
He’d started running hot, dropping beats, losing bars. Just - spun up, on the fact of them. Kit. Back. With a fullness that, God, like… Matty twitched out of the drift of the tide of whatever the fuck he was feeling as they said his name, took his hand. As they asked, or nearly did. But he got it. Immediately. The way they’d got things, together, for so long. Across stages, and interviews, and parties. In music and total silence, reading each other like… like he’d never been able to read anything else, besides the few fucking precious people he loved. “Yeah,” he was already nodding, kneejerk. “It’s - it was like you were here, all the time, like you… you weren’t gone. I told them…” And he knew, he knew it hadn’t been cruelty that made Drew say different. Fuck. Drew. Matty managed something like a grin, even if it crumpled at the corners as he took their other hand, made them echoes of each other. Heart to heart. “I could feel you. I can feel you, Kit. Like crazy.” He’d felt so fucking crazy. “Is it - how is it, for you?” Matty wavered, fingers tangled in theirs twice over. How did you ask that? If whatever freaky shit you’d bled together in your souls was alright, somehow? As if he could fix it, if it wasn’t. Could he? He’d try.
—
Kit weaved their head, bobbed it back and forth so their foreheads chafed together, so they could feel the reality of him up against them. “I think it was the same.” Hard to tell. Their most recent memories, memories of being that, were some kind of helter skelter. Some kinda Pollock painting of pain and hunger and cold and rage and fear. But Kit thought there might be bits and pieces of something like Matty woven through it. Something calm and familiar. Something soothing. Maybe they had been there, the whole time.
Either way, who the fuck cared because they were back now.
Their fingers sprawled open on his chest, spreading, netting together with Matty’s. How long ago had they lain with him, hand just like this, reassuring themself that he hadn’t died, he wasn’t dead, was still here, there was his heartbeat right there. “Fuck,” they intoned. Because, yeah, there was no heartbeat anymore but there was something better, maybe. Something in them that let them know Matty was right there. And if Kit focused on it, stroked the connection like the barest brush of fingers on bass strings, they could feel his relief flush through them. His pain and his sorrow and his guilt but over all of it his relief and love. And shit, man, did it get better than that?
“It’s like that,” they agreed, feeling safe for the first time in god knows how long. “Yeah, Matty, it’s like that. It’s like you’re right here, next to me, in here.” They tapped their tangled hands against their chest, mimic of a heartbeat.
Then doubt swept through Kit, sudden and sharp, because what if he didn’t want them there? What if that was too close for comfort, after what they had been, what they had done, how long had it been since he had seen them like this? “Is that, like, copacetic?”
–
The same. Matty nodded again, fuck, still temple to temple, still - head swimming, the dizzy churn of all those fears, every worry, just washing out to some sorta sea. For now. He’d take it, man.
Like he’d take that, this… fucking electric arc rippling up and down his backbone, a solo playing across every goddamn nerve. Good thing he didn’t need that breath. Matty lost it, tilting into all that tension they’d always found, together. And Kit wanted to know if this was copacetic? His smile - the release, tension and release, right - sprawled into a low laugh, thick-throated, the sound of it crushed down by all the heart in his mouth. “Totally,” he insisted, with another nod, catching that time they were keeping against their ribs and counting it out against his own. Without missing a beat. They’d missed too fucking many, the two of them, as it was. Forty years. Forty fucking years of winding himself up in this, this… tie, between them, hoping it really was Kit, on the other end of it. Not just his miserable goddamn imagination, spinning some kinda comfort out of memories that’d got to be older than they did. In living years, anyway. “Yeah, man,” Matty whispered, smiling into the sliver of space between them. “Promise.”
–
When was the last time Kit had hesitated to kiss Matty? At least ten living years – his wedding, maybe? But they were careful in it, this time. A gentle incline of their chin, tentative tilt so their lips could match. Even that brush of a touch was enough to send something sparking down Kit’s spine, vibrating through whatever matter or more-than-matter linked them together now. Just like before, but more still. God, could they have ever imagined it could be more?
And he promised. Matty had meant and kept every promise he ever made to them. This one would be no different, they knew. “Okay,” they sighed out, barely enough space between them for the air to move. “Okay, good.” Their hand went tighter around his, pressed into the valley of their sternum. “God, dude, fuck,” a babble of sentiment and then, “I love you.” And then, “Thank you.”
It wasn’t the first time Matty had brought them back to some kind of life. And they didn’t expect it would be the last. Gratitude flushed through them and they hoped he could feel it, sent it along to him.
–
Fuck, they’d fallen into all kinds of things together. This kiss, though, raveling up some kinda circuit that’d been frayed for forty years; that, and the “Love you, too,” he fucking croaked back, like he hadn’t said it damn daily, since - what a soft landing, after decades of flailing through this. Such a long, long fall. Towards a rock-bottom, a failure, that he’d just refused to see. And, hey - here they were. Tumbled out to the other damn side of hell, after all. At last. “Love you so much, baby.” Matty smoothed that silk around their shoulders, rubbing those. As if he could put the warmth back in them. “I -” he swallowed, hard, and scuffed the side of his hand along his tear-tracked jaw. With a nod back to a bag barely clasped together nearby, on a patch of stone he’d brushed as clean as he could get it. In a fucking crypt. “Brought your things.” Packed quick, like all the blood he’d brought them before this. “Some. There’s more, there’s everything...” Everything. Kit could still have just about everything that’d made their life what it was, worth being turned for. Couldn’t they? Just about. Everything them and him had ever, ever been, at least. If they wanted. Because they were back.
(And they didn’t even know how long it’d been, or what they’d missed. Who they’d missed. Shit. A shiver of an exhale skittered against the back of his collarbone, and Matty sniffed it away. And tossed his wild curls back. And tried to smile. Like Kit’d always made him smile, forever. As if the terror that’d been eating through his guts for all that fucking time hadn’t got its teeth in his heart, wasn’t shaking it, beating all that hope to a new goddamn death. No. Not yet.)
Matty dragged that breath back, and smiled. “C’mon, man. Let’s get outta here.”
–
Kit drew a hand along his jaw after he did - could smell the salt in the air. Could smell him too but it was…wrong. The smell of him was…wrong. Different, but not. Different but not and so strong like the smell of everything else too. They got distracted by the fall of their sleeve, grinning at this well-loved robe. “This mean you’re finally gonna let me keep this?” they asked, tugging the sides closer.
He had their stuff but they weren’t even really sure what stuff that was. How long ago it had been theirs? Journals bound together and leather with fringe and shirts stolen from all three of the boys and some silly barrette in the shape of a duck Lene had given to them– “Hey, cool, okay,” they rambled, a little lost. And then, fingers flexing. Something of theirs. “Wait. Do you—” It was stupid to ask maybe, now, here, only minutes back into their body but— “Do you have my ring?”
—
“And put a stop to the whole, like, communal wardrobe? Hell, no. Steal it whenever you want, though.” As ever. Matty left a kiss between their eyes, cradling the corner of Kit’s jaw, half-registering that they’d done the same - damn. Back two minutes, maybe, and already book-ending each other. Even more closely than they once had, which… was saying something, alright. He’d been distracted by their distraction, watching those cordoba-red eyes tick around, the slight, darting wrinkle of their nose. God, he was sorry it’d had to be a pit like this they came back to. Hell of a first impression of the freaky world they’d just woken up for. Even in that bloodsoaked hotel room, at least the only death he’d been able to smell was his own. Nosferatu over there could keep the fucking graveyard real estate.
(Not that Hopefully Untricky Dick was even around; Matty became aware of that, abruptly, the elder’s absence trickling down his spine like a cold goddamn sweat, hair-raising. He’d deal with - with that deal, of theirs. Later.)
Now, they had better places to be. But, first - just when he’d wondered if he could’ve smiled more, Kit went and tested the theory right out. “Uh, yeah. Totally. Wasn’t gonna let that get lost.” He’d done his best to not lose a damn thing, of theirs. All this while. “Here…” hooking a couple fingers into the open neck of his shirt, Matty looped out that long chain. The one he’d first worn it on - Kit’s ring. And there it was: dark fretboard, steel and nickel glinting away. Shined up, kept nice. Like his, still where they’d seen it last. “All yours,” he snaked that chain out, and their ring clinked softly against his, nestled in his palm as he offered it back. A perfect match. Almost like they’d been made that way. Crazy.
–
Kit watched him tug the chain out from his shirt, just like the night he’d given it to them. Watched it flicker in the dark. “Hey,” they intoned quietly, almost as if they were greeting the ring itself, like an old friend. “Thanks, dude.” Scooping it from his palm, they slid it home. Still fit, right where it belonged. They laid their hand over his, right over right, rings a perfect pair. “There we go.”
A deep inhale, the recognition that they didn’t need to breathe. And then Kit wound their arms over his shoulders. “Okay. Let’s get outta here.” If Matty wanted to get out of there, they would. If Matty wanted to live on that cold stone floor, they would. “Think I might be a little shaky on the uptake, though,” they warned. They weren’t quite sure of their body yet, in this form. More human than whatever they had been, but less human than human. Or, maybe more accurately, more than human. That would be okay, though. Matty was there, like always, to help hold them up.
–
Matty let Kit get ahold, bracing them all the way up, easily. “Shake as much as you need, dude, it’s - it’s okay. It’s good.” He’d carry them. They knew. Still smiling, brighter than the city-dulled stars scattered across that sea-blown sky they’d be under, soon, one step at a time, Matty kissed Kit’s hands where they tangled up with his. “I’ve got you,” he swore, all over, steadier than he’d felt in longer than his living years. Then, another promise, their oldest: “From Manhattan, to -” uh, Maine, ”- everywhere.” Through the fucking Valley of Death, or whatever. Yeah.