I saw the wording ‘baby Venus vampire trap Stan’ and they meant teen! Stan but imagine if it’s the whole deaging no memory Stan who is also now a Venus vampire trap. This kid being like “Uncle sixer, vampires aren’t real!!” While Ford is hyperventilating in the background
Hey, not only is this funny I could make this so much worse :)
Stan gets stalked by a vampire with a taste for kids but Stan gets away by biting them. Just like teen Stan this vamp is too proud and too stubborn to let one kid get the best of them and stalks and hunts Stan over and over, only for Stan to get away every time via biting, filling him up with vamp blood and making him sick. Stan and Ford are convinced he's turning into a vampire, except because he hasn't actually been turned none of the tests come up as positive for vampirism and they sadly come to the conclusion that vampires aren't real :/
Then Stan gets rushed to the hospital because he collapses or something at school (no way are his parents taking him after all), the vampire takes advantage of the panic of the situation to finally drain Stan, and he dies on the way to the hospital. Some vamp doctor realizes what happened, fakes Stan's death, and kidnaps him before he wakes up so he doesn't turn the hospital/his family into a blood bath. If the doctor was altruistic or just wanted a easy vamp kid doesn't matter, because Venus Vampire Trap Stan wakes up wherever their nest was set up, drains all the adult vampires dry and disappears into the night, lost and confused, miles away from home and with no one looking for him and no real way to get back to Glass Shard Beach (can't trust the cops after all). Becomes a homeless immortal kid eating all the messed up vampires jumping homeless kids at night, barely scraping by as vampires aren't as widespread yet and just trying to get home (Not realizing how much time has passed. Time goes slow if your hungry or something, right? Its only been maybe a month, maybe a year? How many winters? It seems likes its been a lot but no... he's still a kid... it can't have been that long. He must just be so lost he's going super far north where its always cold then super far south where its always hot! That makes sense!)
Meanwhile Fords hit with the devastating news that Stan died in the hospital. Whatever he had was so awful they won't let anyone see the body, and now he's all alone in the world. No friends, no protection, grades slipping from depression. Eventually he manages to move on through shutting himself down and going through life emotionally closed off. Project still gets sabotaged, still meets Bill, is so lonely and desperate for validation he falls for Bill's manipulation, gets tricked, unleashes vamp apocalypse. Starts hunting vampires, makes friends, builds a vampire hunting organization. Its up and running for maybe a year, when it happens.
Doing a regular hunt, trying to find the vampires set up in some town or another, sees some kid kicking a can out far too late and rushes to help when he gets jumped. Circles around the alley to see the kid, claws digging into the vamps shoulder and teeth deep in their neck, eyes gold and clearly draining them. They make eye contact and the kid freaks, letting go and babbling about how he was just minding his own business, and this creep attacked him, and- and-
And Ford is frozen, because even if its been twenty years and the kids covered in dirt, hair tangled and clothes patchy and torn, he knows Stan always and forever. Thats Stan, the same age he was when he 'died' and oh god.
Stan did die. He died twenty years ago long before Ford could have done anything to protect him. He died terrified and alone in a hospital and was snatched away, and-
Doesn't think vampires are real? What?
Stan tries to use Fords shock to skedaddle away, then yells as Ford snatches him, drops as Ford drugs him, then wakes up in a vampire proof cell surrounded by a bunch of wackos who think vampires are real and a weirdo who keeps trying to tell Stan he's Sixer. This guy can't be Sixer, because Sixer is at home, and they're twins? So Sixer is a kid old man guy, you can't fool Stan with these kinds of outrageous lies. Ford and him proved vampires weren't real ages ago after all. Will graciously admit that they're related, but Fords his uncle at best, not his brother.
So now Fords looking after his immortal vampire baby twin brother who's also a new species of vampire thats barely survived the last twenty years.
Fun bonus!
Stan's an eternal ambiguously nine to twelve year old. His metabolism when he died was crazy due to being a kid who was growing, and even if he's now dead an no longer growing, his body still has that metabolism. He's constantly hungry and needs to feed all the time (he survived the last twenty years through the venus vampire trap ability to sense vampire thoughts. He can't really read minds, but he can sense activity and subconsciously always heads towards it, one of the reasons he never made it home. He was also very sickly the last two decades). Which means when Ford locks him up in a panic Stan's lookin a little better than he has in the last few years he's still a kid who can't travel fast to get his meals, so he drops way faster than adult Stan and goes into hibernation, slowly starving to death while he waits for prey to show up.
Which still happens :) and then Ford get the even more horrifying sight of tiny kid Stan ripping into full grown adult vampires and absolutely drenching himself in blood. If adult Stan is terrifying, tiny Stan is a horror movie, he's hissing, he's lunging at vampires and tackling them to the ground, tiny hands clutching their heads and digging into them.
Then he gets full for the first time in twenty years and passes out mid drain, snoring into a vampire throat and still clutching them like a baby with a bottle, hisses everytime someone (Ford) tries to pull him loose. They have to stake the vampire and then Stan's doing that tired kid whining thing and Fords just. Holding him. Covered in blood while Stan's tiny claws clutch his coat and he sticks his tongue out at Fords neck like its broccoli. Then goes back to snoring. He's sleepy after all.
Now not only does Ford have to look after tiny vampire Stan and get slammed with the fact that he didn't save him (couldn't have saved him. Stan died years ago and there's nothing Ford could have done to stop it. He wasn't smart enough to know the signs, not strong enough to stop them from taking Stan to the hospital, not stubborn enough to demand to see a body. Not enough.), he also needs to constantly feed Stan and his not growing but ever hungry stomach or get his heart broken at Stan's comments about not feeling good and being hungry. On top of that he's trying to convince Stan that it really has been twenty years, but, just like teen Stan, kid Stan's sanity is hanging by the thread of 'someday I'll get home and see Sixer and Ma and everyone will cheer and Pa will finally be happy to see me' and Ford can't break that fragile hope.
On a lighter note Bill has graciously gotten over the existence of Fords vampire kid and lets Ford know that he's not one to turn a guy down just because they have a kid. It actually makes Ford a little hotter, gives him those hunky dad vibes. Bill's sorta into it actually. Alright he can fit this mini Ford into their perfect ideal vampire life. He'll be the cool step dad to Fords son, give him all the cool presents to distract Stan from the fact that his two cool dads are making out. Ford tells him maybe to think over how willing he is to get over it, and to stay away from his brother. They aren't making out, please die. Stan doesn't know who this creepy teen is but why would he want to get with an old man like Uncle Stanford. Doesn't Bill know that he's ancient? Like, so old he was probably around when dinosaurs still lived.
Ford is still not thirty and very offended at that remark. Bill screams that Stan will never understand the appeal of older men because he's stuck being pint sized forever, and shut up! Stan yells that if anyone looked at a man as old as Uncle Stanford and wanted to marry him they'd need to get their eyes checked, and he's not that hot normally? Very room temperature most of the time, except for whenever Stan gets sick. Then he's super hot, and its gross.
Its an endless loop that Emma-May uses to kill the rest of the vampires watching and Fiddleford face palms over.
Stan sighed as he flopped back on a couch, the party below him raging on and the multicolored lights above flashing. It was starting to give him a headache, so he leaned back and closed his eyes.
He wanted to go home.
Or-no. He was actually having a great time! He'd driven out here with his friends, had partied hard for the last few hours, drinking and dancing and laughing at everyone else dancing, then found the stairs to the balcony overlooking the dance floor and darted up them with a bowl of chips to see how long he could throw them at people before someone noticed.
Instead he was given the perfect view of the front door and saw the exact moment his brother slipped through it.
Ford, as gruff and awful looking as ever, stood out like a sore thumb. Everyone else was wearing bright, loose, low cut shirts and moving with the music, while Ford was wearing his dumb black biker coat with the shiny studs and cutting through them like a grumpy shark through water. Even if Stan hadn't been watching him the moment he'd come through the door, he could have tracked his brothers progress across the room by the trail of disgruntled partiers who's drinks had been shoved down or pushed out of the way by Fords determined stride.
Stan moved to duck out of sight and run back to where Bill was or the car, whichever took him farther away from whatever commotion Ford was about to start, but that plan was tossed out the window when Ford scanned the room, locked eyes with Stan, and changed course towards the stairs. From this distance it was hard to make out his expression, but Stan would bet good money that Fords face was either determined or angry.
Just like the last few times Stan had seen it.
There were only two ways off this balcony, and Stan didn't trust anyone down below to catch him.
Now he was stuck, his brother already halfway to him and no one the wiser to Stan's predicament. The chips, once destined to rain crumbs upon the unsuspecting mass of bodies, found their way into his mouth as he angrily munched away. They were bland and sat heavy in his stomach (the reason he'd condemned them to their airborne fate in the first place) but it was better than twiddling his thumbs or trying to book it with his brother hot on his heels.
The last time he'd tried Ford had tackled him, and he'd only gotten away because an old lady walking her dog had started screaming about kidnappers. Fords face had turned bright red, and his mad scramble to explain himself allowed Stan to wiggle free and escape.
The music drowned out most of the noise, and the shouts of the dancers mixed into an indecipherable buzz, but Stan could still hear Fords footsteps as they hit the stairs, marched up them, and came to a stop behind the couch. Stan kept his eyes closed, grabbing handfuls of chips and shoving them in his mouth. Each one felt like he was eating spiky cardboard, but he refused to stop.
"Stanley," Ford sighed, probably putting his hands on his hips with a look of disapproval, "we both know you aren't sleep eating."
"No we don't," Stan replied, slightly garbled from the chewed up chips, "I could have figured it out by now. And sleep talking."
"Stanley."
With a swallow and a groan Stanley opened his eyes and scowled up at Ford. His brother was looming over him, frowning with his hands on his hips.
"What do you want." Stan sat up, crossing his arms and shifting so he could look down at the crowd, chip bowl abandoned on the low table next to him. Bill was in the back doing 'business', but some of the rest of the gang had come out to party with Stan. If he could catch someone's attention they could get Bill, make him Fords problem instead.
"You know what I want," Ford sat next to him and leaned forwards, resting his arms on his knees, "we've had this conversation several times now."
"Well sue me for thinkin' you might want to talk about something else." Keyhole was by the bar, trying to talk up a broad way outside his league, but Amorph was leaning against the wall near the back, and to his relief they nodded in his direction and disappeared when Stan managed to catch their eye, "I already told ya, you ain't in charge of who I hang out with. Bill's-"
"- a monster," Ford interrupted, making Stan bristle, "Stanley, you aren't safe with him! He-"
"Like you ever cared how safe I've been." Stan cut in coolly(and not at all petulent), before Ford could go into another tirade against his friend.
Ford groaned and rubbed his face, sitting back against the couch. Stan watched him push his palms into his eyes from the corner of his own, then move to his temples as the song changed to something more high pitched.
"I don't know how you can listen to this," Ford whispered, probably louder than he meant to from the way his face reddened when Stan scowled at him. Awkwardly coughing, Ford put his hands down and sat up straight, ears red as he contiued.
"Stanley, I know you think he's your friend-"
"-Because he is-"
"-But you have to believe me when I tell you, he's using you, just like he used me. It's an act, one he's putting on to get you to do what he wants."
"What, go to parties and have fun?" Stan scoffed and glared at Fords desperate face. The years had not been kind to his twin, he looked older than they should, wrinkles forming in the corners of his eyes and more haggard than any man their age should be. "Ford, all we do is have fun and hang out, whatever you think he's up to, it's got nothin' to do with me. And don't say vampires!"
Fords mouth shut, and he sighed again. When he didn't say anything, just looked at Stan with the sad, lost look that made Stan's insides squirm, Stan turned back to look over the railing. A quick scan showed Bill making his way through the dancers, bobbing with the music and flowing around them with far more grace than Ford, but still leaving a trail of scowls as he purposely elbowed people and knocked their drinks into their shirts. At the pace he was going, and if he didn't get distracted, he'd be here in a few minutes, saving Stan from having to listen to Fords overprotective smack talk against Stan's friends.
It'd be replaced with the weird flirting Bill did, but Fords faces usually made up for that.
Anything was better than listening to Ford talk about his friends. Sure they were a bit much from time to time, and Stan got left out of whatever business stuff went into their lifestyle, and every once in a while they'd ditch him and disappear for weeks at a time with barely a word, but they picked him off the streets, got him jobs that pulled in quick cash and knew how to cut loose and have fun. Bumping into Bill and hitting it off was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Bill made sure Stan was taken care of, thought he was funny instead of annoying, liked partying and breaking into rich peoples house and totally trashing the place, listened whenever Stan wanted to gripe, and was always happy to see him. No one had every been happy to see him, not since Ford decided he didn't need Stan anymore.
And Stan might have a crush on Bill, if he was interpreting his weird make out dreams right. The fact that he never felt anything towards him when he was awake made him doubt it, but they'd been happening almost as long as he'd known the other man, so????
Thankfully Bill was convinced Ford was his soulmate and hadn't tried to make any moves on Stan, or he'd be forced to actually think about it.
"Stanley," Ford finally said, and Stan jumped when Fords hand touched his shoulder, six fingers digging in through the thin shirt he was wearing, "I... alright. I won't say anything about vampires, or my own thoughts on Bill, just... How about this,"
Stan turned towards Ford, his brothers face softening as his other hand reached forwards to grab Stan's. Their fingers twitched, and a part of Stan desperately wished Ford would push through and grab his hand, intertwine their fingers so each one of Stan's was in between his brothers, like they used to when they were kids.
Ford's fingers sat on top of his, thick and calloused, bigger than Stan's own because-
because-
Stan looked away, focusing on Fords face and shoving the thought aside. Ford always had bigger hands, came with having an extra finger.
"just come home with me, a few days, or even a week. Put some distance between the two of you, and if I can't convince you he's not worth your time, you can..." Ford's face twisted into distaste, "Go back. To being Bill's friend. I won't stop you."
The way Fords face twisted further made it clear what he thought about not stopping Stan.
"I don't know..." Stan trailed off, gripping Fords hand without looking. Technically Stan could leave whenever he wanted, and he had in the past. Never very far and always after telling someone where he was going, but it wasn't like he was a prisoner or something. Ever since he'd met Bill he'd been rolling in more cash then what he knew what to do with, all of it his own hard winning from actually successful scams and heists, and Bill got his own cut, along with a little extra to house and feed Stan.
Not that Stan couldn't buy his own place now that he had the money, but Bill was always on the move, and Stan wanted to be with his friend. It was easier to let the rest of the gang worry about where they were staying and tag along, worry about moving his own things and figure out what kind of mischief they could get into wherever they were going.
So there was nothing stopping him from going off with his brother for a week, except for the fact Ford had been a massive jerk the last few months, trying to control who Stan's friends were and telling him how bad Stan was at making them.
"Just a week," Ford moved the hand on Stan's shoulder down to join the other, "I promise Stanley, I won't stop you from leaving sooner if you want to, I... I worry. About you."
That made Stan squirm, guilt and embarrassment churning in his stomach. They were the same age, there was no reason Ford should be worrying about Stan, just like there was no reason Ford should feel he has any say in who Stan hung out with.
But seeing the sincerity in his brothers eyes made a part of him ache. It used to be they were the best of best friends, closer than close, not a secret between them. Bill was fun, and a blast, and the first person since Ford to think Stan was worth anything, but still.
It wasn't the same, and even if Ford had way too much interest in who Stan was hanging out with after ten years of not caring at all, Stan still wanted to ditch the gang and hang out with his brother. Wanted to see his house, see his weird vampire obsessed biker gang, see what else Ford had been up to in the last decade.
Wanted to sit on the bottom bunk and listen to Ford ramble, wanted to wrap an arm around Fords neck and ruffle his hair. Run off into the sunset, just the two of them.
Wanted to go back to when things made sense, and everything felt right in the world.
"I'll think about it." Stan muttered. He felt his face flush at Fords beaming face, and he quickly added, "but just a week! And no talking about vampires!"
"I'll think about it." Was Fords cheeky reply, just as Bill thrust himself between them, one arm snaking around Stan's neck and pulling him close enough their cheeks were smushed together.
"Think about what, how much Fordsy here's not dressed to party?"
Stan couldn't see the giant wink Bill threw Fords way, but he rolled his eyes and snorted anyway. Ford had already let go and scuttled back to the other side of the couch, sitting as far away as he could. The smile was gone, replaced with fury as Bill jumped over the back of the couch and sat himself down with a sigh, arm loosening so Stan could lean into the couch next to him without getting strangled.
"But seriously, what are you thinking about?"
"None-" Fords started to say, before Stan cut in. He might have agreed to think about Fords offer, but he wasn't about to lie to Bill's face about it. Bill was his friend, no matter what Ford had to say, he'd understand if Stan wanted to hang out with Ford for a few days.
"Ford invited me to stay at his place," Stan reached to grab the chip bowl, eyed the remaining chips, then shrugged and grabbed one. It disappeared over the railing into the crowd, "You know how he is, thinks you're evil incarnate and wants to convince me over a sleepover. Just for a few days, maybe a week."
The hand Bill had thrown around Stan's shoulders squeezed him, while the other grabbed a chip and sent it to join the first. Stan threw another, farther out, and Bill's own followed after, lost in the lights and dancers.
"Its not-" Fords sputtered, once again cut off, this time by Bill.
"Hmm. Well, let me know dates Stansy! Me and the boys are thinkin' of moving shop soon, and I heard- well. Never mind that. Its probably just rumors." Stan shot him a questioning look, but Bill was staring at Ford, his brothers face murderous.
Ugh.
Stiil, something in Stan's chest eased. He was almost thirty, a grown man and in charge of himself, but it was still nice to have Bill's support. Bill was his friend, his best friend now that Ford was swinging back and forth between not caring about Stan and trying to control his every action, but Ford was his twin brother. While he was still angry with Ford about the whole 'vampires are real' and 'you can't be friends with your friends' and acting like he had any say in how Stan lived his life, there was a part of him that wanted so bad to show Ford that whatever had happened between them, Bill did care about him.
Plus, Bill was convinced the two of them were going to get married someday, meaning the sooner Stan could mend bridges between the three of them the faster he could get out of listening to Bill's awful poetry and lamenting about Ford playing hard to get. Why wouldn't Bill want the two of them to get along?
"Hey," Bill sat up, letting go of Stan to clap his hands together, "I know! Since the two of you are making up, why don't we-"
"No."
Now it was Fords turn to interrupt, his hand twitching towards where he had his hidden crossbow, and if he turned this party into another bloodbath Stan was going to be thinking very hard on how much he wanted to hang out with his part time biker part time serial killer brother.
"We won't be doing anything," Ford growled and there it was, one crossbow, already loaded and swinging towards Bill.
And Stan, sitting right next to him.
"Foooooord," Stan groaned, just as the balcony exploded into chaos.
Bill shoved Stan to the side as Ford fired his crossbow. The stake missed, shooting over where Bill's head had been and hitting one of the lights, shattering it and sending glass shards down below. Screaming filled the room as the music abruptly stopped, the dancing quickly becoming a mad scramble away from where more glass was raining down, Ford's crossbow reloaded and aim just as terrible.
"Why don't you let me handle this Stan-O," Bill grabbed Stan's arm and shoved him towards the stairs, standing between him and his brother, "Meet me back at the car. Your brother and I have a lot to talk about."
He didn't have to tell Stan twice. The last time he'd stuck around he'd been forced to listen to Bill's terrible flirting while Ford screamed about ending his reign of terror and sending stakes flying everywhere. The stairs were a quick jog away, Bill's and Fords voices fading as Stan ran down them two at a time. Without the advantage of the balcony he couldn't see the rest of the gang, but he knew where the closest exit was and how to get to the car from there.
There was more shouting above him as he shoved his way through the crowd towards the door, and he rolled his eyes. The last thing he heard was Ford's voice, too far away and drowned out by the screaming partygoers to make out the words.
The silence of the alley when the door slammed behind him was like a breath of fresh air, much like the rancid smell of the alley wasn't.
"Bleh." Stan wrinkled his nose at awful mix of vomit and alcohol that assaulted him as he picked his way around a few slumped over drunks and towards the mouth of the alley. There were a lot more than clubs usually had, but that wasn't too surprising. The clubs Bill found usually had something 'extra' in the back that led to whirlwind nights and waking up with no idea where he was. He had Bill to make sure he didn't end up like the slumped forms passed out all over the cold ground.
He peered around the edge of the building to see people streaming out of the front of the club, then turned away towards where the car had been parked. They'd taken one of Bill's, the Stanley Mobile still in the middle of some repairs he was finally getting around to now that he had the money, and they'd parked it in a nearby lot right next to....
Hmmm.
Stan sighed at the empty spot the car was supposed to occupy. It couldn't have been Bill, there was no way he'd wrapped up his 'talk' (flirting) before Stan managed to get here, so it was probably Keyhole finally getting lucky, or more likely Pyronica getting lucky again.
Was it luck if it happened every time they went out?
Stan rubbed his eyes, then checked his watch. It was pretty late, but no so late he couldn't call a cab. Or maybe he could go back to the club and see if one of the others were still there. They'd only taken the one car after all, might as well figure out how to get back home together.
He'd barely turned to head back when someone grabbed him around the neck and pressed something over his face. His hands immediately moved to grab the arm around his throat, while his legs kicked at whoever was standing behind him. Something cracked as his foot connected, and he let out a muffled cheer.
The cheer, along with his vision and strength, faded as something sharp pricked his neck. The empty lot moved in and out of focus, and his arms slipped to flop at his sides. Lights and colors blurred, sounds echoed strangely around him, and he might have been dropped, or set down, because suddenly there was nothing but pitch blackness above him, an endless and empty night sky, stretching in every direction.
Then he was gone, as unconsciousness slammed into him.
Stan groaned as he felt awareness trickle back. Everything ached, muscles stiff and back twingy in the way all backs were when you slept without moving all night. The night before was a blur, a not uncommon occurrence for him these days.
He really needed to stop drinking so much.
What he really wanted to do was roll over and keep sleeping, but he was too stiff and uncomfortable to slip back under now that he was more awake.
With another groan he tried to sit up, only to cry out and fall back as his forehead slammed into something.
It was stiff and hard, and opening his eyes did nothing to help him figure out what it was. Not with the way everything was just as dark as it was before.
His arms, also stiff and achy, moved to push whatever was on top of him off, only to slam into it. Then into the walls on either side.
Then on the wall over his head, and a quick shove made his feet slam into something on the other side.
It took a few swallows to get his throat working, his mouth dry and stiff from the growing panic.
"Hey." He croaked, then coughed before trying again, louder, "Hey!"
The sound didn't echo. It filled the space and vanished, replaced by his quickening breaths.
"HEY!" There wasn't enough room to turn over or do more than shuffle side to side, but he did his best to slam into and feel the walls around him.
They didn't budge, and after a moment he stopped, breathing heavily.
The last thing he remembered was... the party. Ford. Bill. Then the car, missing.
Someone grabbing him from behind.
Swallowing a few more times, sweat beading his forehead and the small space feeling even smaller, Stan ran his hands up and down the surface above him. It felt familiar, and it didn't take long to figure out why.
Wood, rough but sturdy. Another hit with his fist and the sting it left behind told him it was tougher than what he used to use with the Stan O'War.
"HEY! LET ME OUT!" Stan slammed his hands against it anyways, trying to find a seam, a splinter, some gap to tell him what he was trapped in or where he was.
Nothing.
All he could hear was himself, his own rapid breaths, and the pounding of his fists against the top. He was laying down and there was only what felt like a few inches of space, and soon he abandoned punching for scratching.
"HEY! ANYONE! HELLO!"
The wood didn't give, so he moved on to the sides, trying to push out the walls, kick as best he could in the cramped space, anything to get out.
Out.
He needed to get out.
The darkness pressed on every side as he kicked and scrambled to get out.
He couldn't turn over. Couldn't do more than slide side to side, up and down.
There wasn't any light. No way to know how far the walls were, how close they were pressing against him.'
No sound, nothing but his screams as his calls for help went unanswered.
Nothing but him, too cramped, too dark, too much.
How long before he ran out of air? When- Ford- Ford would-
But why would he, when he lived- but he was always following Stan around, so maybe-
Bill. Bill would know, he'd notice Stan wasn't at the car- or- or
or didn't make it back! Then-
But how long had it been?
How much time had he lost, where was he?
Who had-
"BILL!" Stan's face was hot, all of him was burning, but his face especially, tears prickling his eyes, "PLEASE!"
No one answered, not whoever had stuck him here, not Bill, not anyone.
Not even Ford.
Laying there in the dark, heart beat starting to become rapid and no where to go, Stan screamed.
His throat and hands were raw by the time something else cut through the blackness.
A sound.
Footsteps, unhurried.
A muffled voice, high pitched.
Stan stared, eyes maybe open, maybe not, before he realized what that meant.
A person, someone else.
Out.
He choked on his words, by he managed to press his numb fingers above him and smack the wood.
The footsteps stopped.
Stan wheezed, he couldn't-
couldn't-
The tension grabbing his shoulders eased as they started up again, moving closer, closer closer closer until-
A knock pierced through the darkness of the space, and then-
"Hello~? Anyone home?"
Bill.
Relief crashed into him, and Stan knocked back and coughed, mouth dry and all of him too tight.
Before he could try again something slammed into the side of the container, wood groaned, and he was blinded by light.
Crying out, Stan slammed his hands into his eyes. Bill said something else, and a pair of hands tugged him up.
Stan moved his hands away and blinked, taking in the empty room. He was sitting in a box, set on a table in the middle. There weren't any windows or furniture, and the walls and floor were both stone.
All there was was a door, the smashed remains of the lid, and Bill, smiling as his hands held Stan steady.
"If it isn't- Woah!"
Stan threw his shaking arms around Bill and pulled him in close, shoving his head into his friends chest. The movement was agonizing and relieving all at once, everything stiff from laying here for what felt like years.
"Bill, I-" Stan whispered hoarsely, before coughing. The shaking got worse when Bill wrapped his arms around Stan, and one of his hands pet the top of Stan's head.
"Huh, bit much for you there Mac? I figured you'd be spooked, but this...."
Stan didn't respond. Couldn't respond. Not with how his throat was thick and sore, and how all he could focus on was the weight of Bill's body pressing into him, firm and cool after the heat of the box.
A steady rock, something to cling to while he gasped and tried to steady himself.
"Oh Stanley. Stanley Stanley Stanley. This is my fault." Stan shook his head furiously, but Bill pressed on, voice full of sorrow, "No it is! I heard your pal Rico was around and. Well."
Rico. Stan remembered Rico. He owed him a lot of money from before, back when it was him by himself.
He probably should have started paying the man back at some point now that he had the funds, but he'd always forgotten. Why worry about something like money when he was out having the time of his life.
Now, like most of Stan's choices, that forgetfulness was coming back to bite him.
Figures.
"I should have told you Big Mac," Bill sighed, shifting slightly and prying one of Stan's hands loose, "But Fordsy was right there, and I know how you feel about your brother knowing about your business."
Stan nodded, eyes glued to the floor and tongue to the roof of his mouth. The last thing he wanted was for Ford to know even more about his life. Not just because his twin would butt his head in, but because it'd paint a target on his back.
Stan didn't want or need Ford getting dragged into his messes, especially when he was already convinced Stan was in the middle of one.
Bill turned the hand he was holding, pressing each finger and sending a sharp jolt of pain down Stan's arm as he went. A part of him wanted to snatch it out of the light grip and go back to clutching Bill's shirt, but he didn't.
Not when all he wanted was to be held.
"Good thing I was able to track you down! Imagine if you'd scurried off with Stanford!"
He was still stiff from laying in a box for what was probably hours, but he still managed to stiffen further, and he clutched Bill's hand in his own.
The thought of Ford, stuffed in a box, screaming in the dark, sent a chill down his spine. If Rico had managed to track Stan down, if he knew Stan had a brother, that his brother had his own funds and resources....
"But enough about that! Lets get you out of here, you must be thirsty, aren't you?"
He was, his throat was bone dry and his stomach clenched uncomfortably. The shirt he was slowly rubbing his head against moved away, and he looked up to see Bill, smiling down at him.
"I've got just the thing."
Bill felt his smile grow at Stan's hazy stare. A day locked up by himself had been all his friend needed to remind him who he should be sticking with. Now he'd think twice the next time Sixer tried to get between them.
Rico really was the perfect pawn. Even though they'd never met, the man had done more to help Bill's friendship then anyone else. Whenever he wanted to play a fun prank, or needed someone to take the blame, all he had to do was bring up the humans name and Stan would huff away, leaving Bill free to slide in and comfort Stan in his time of need.
He hadn't intended to use him now, but he needed Stan to remember whose fried he was, and why going with Sixer was a bad idea.
They could hang out all they wanted when Ford finally gave up. Until then Stan's place was at his side, as his best friend. His (platonic) parnter in the night (until Ford finally got bored of his game), his go to buddy for fun and drinks. The one Bill relied on to clean up after everyone's messes. All Bill had to do was bring Stan out for a round of partying to remind his underlings to stay in line.
Like the ones he had waiting in the next room, the ones who failed to slow Ford down or inform Bill of his arrival. They'd be excellent snacks for Stan to regain his strength, and examples for everyone else.
Bill helped Stan out of the blood soaked box, past the destroyed lid, scratches hidden in its destruction, and through the door. Stan's eyes started flickering gold with each step, and he was already perking up as they neared the next room. There was no sign of red, but that was an easy fix.
"Here, let me," Bill said, quickly bending down and scooping Stan into his arms, "You look exhausted, just get some rest, I'll get us home."
"Kay." Stan rasped, fangs peeking out. They were far too close to Bill's neck for comfort, but he knew Stan's limits better than Stan did, he'd be fine. A few more steps and Stan was breathing deeply, eyes still slightly open, but mind already drifting as the panic left him.
By the time they arrived to where Stan's snack was at, Stan was out of it, sniffing at Bill's throat and heart beating rapidly, calling out to him.
With a grin, a slight shift in grip, and a firm grip on Stan's head, Bill sunk his own fangs into Stan's neck. Blood filled his mouth, and he hummed happily at the flavor. Ten pin pricks dug into his back as Stan stiffened, but they'd done this enough times for Bill to shrug it off, and Stan to collapse into him. In a few minutes his stomach was heavy and warm, and Stan was starting to snarl.
Perfect.
"There we go!" Bill pulled away and licked his lips, then smiled at the gold-on-red that greeted him. Now Stan could feed without worry.
The door was open and Stan was tossed inside before the small group on the other side could start begging for their lives. There were three of them, each of them chained to their own wall. He kept the door open long enough to watch Stan start to sniff at the air and lock onto the closest one, then slammed it shut.
He wasn't about to add himself to the menu after all.
Due to popular demand (and many threats lol) here is a continuation to Stan's nap time fic
Worsties 4 ever
Time blurred and dragged, the only constant the steady triple beat of his heart, pounding away. It made the stake in his chest throb, but without it he'd have lost track of time completely.
Not that sluggishly counting them told him how long he'd been lying here, staring at the ceiling.
Eventually his mind wandered away from the count and spiraled towards why he was here at all. The panic had faded some time ago, after it became too hard to keep hold of it, and the small part of him calling for Ford to save him like a dumb kid followed shortly after.
That just left him with himself, and his jumbled feelings towards Bill.
It was stupid to have followed him, except Bill had never hurt him before. Not intentionally.
(And really, Stan wasn't actually hurt, was he? Sure there was a gap in his chest and a chunk of wood all the way through to the floor but the pain was duller than a bullet and the light was on and the blanket was soft and it didn't hurt didnt hurt didnthurtdidnthurtdidnt-)
It was usually Stan's stupid feelings that took the brunt of it. Too childish and sensitive.
Friends had crushes, didn't they? It was normal for your friends to prioritize their romantic relationships.
(They weren't human. Bill wasn't human hadn't been for longer than written history maybe and maybe he just forgot or this was normal for vampires because if it wasn't, if Bill had slammed a stake through his chest and-)
There just hadn't been any friends in his life to learn that before, not really.
First it was Ford, and his brothers attention had been taken by school instead of girls.
Then it was the guys on the street. Gangs and drug dealers, and they weren't so much his friends as people who weren't actively trying to kill him.
Then Bill.
Bill, who pulled Stan out of the lifestyle that had killed him.
Bill, who let Stan live in his fantasy about being human.
Bill, who took care of Stan and hung out with him, who laughed at his jokes and actually listened to him.
(Bill, who drove a stake through his heart with a smile and broke into his room and drained him dry and ditched Stan without a word whenever he wanted but why wouldn't he Stan was Stan was no one and Bill had work and he should be grateful Bill even-)
He shouldnt have gotten upset.
Shouldn't have tried to run.
He got too spoiled with Ford actually pretending to care after all this time and almost a year of having real, actual friends.
Thought he was better than he was, when he was already getting more than he deserved.
Should have been happy with what Bill gave him.
(It was more than he was worth and Bill had wanted him and all Stan wanted was for someone to want and who was he to be picky about-)
Now he was stuck, because he got too ahead of himself and-and-
And he wanted out.
Wanted to move and stretch and eat and drink and drinkanddrinkanddrinkand-
Below the gaping abyss of his chest was a bottomless pit where his stomach was and even though he couldn't so much as twitch he was certain it was burning through him. Every thud made his throat crack as it dried out.
Bill blood taunted him, so close and so far and he was so hungry.
How long had it been? How long did Bill say until he returned? It had to have been two weeks already, right?
Bill wouldn't forget him, he wouldn't, he said-
All of him ached and was too stiff and too dry. He raged and shouted and snarled and begged and willed himself to throw off the blanket, rip out the stake, and find the closest snack.
It didn't matter who, all that mattered was that they were cool and dead. The burning spread and filled him, making him feel like a desert.
Too hot.
Too dry.
Too bright.
He couldn't close his eyes anymore, and the light and musty air made him dry out further.
Where was Bill?
Where was he?
When would he be here? How long? When?
Whenwhenwhenwhenwhenwhenthirtsythistythirsty-
He wanted out.
He wanted Ford.
Bill grinned as listened to the steady beat of Stan's heart through the door. It was weaker than it usually was, but it still made his mouth water.
He didn't open the door though, not yet.
It had only been a week after all, and Bill promised Stan two.
The last one had been spent planning a boys night, and this next one he'd use to scrounge up something for Stan to eat once Bill removed the stake. It had taken a whole town to take the edge of off Bill thirst when Ford had freed him, and another one to shake off the ache in his joints, but Stan would probably only need five or six vampires.
Bill got seven, just to be safe.
Unlike Stan they didn't follow him nice and neatly into the basement. Bill had to drag them one at a time into the hall and compel them to stand single file against the wall. The ones with enough will to struggle shot him panicked looks, and he smiled at them when he finally made his way to the doors.
"Alright snacks, let's get this show on the road!"
The snacks didn't answer, being snacks and all, and Bill threw the doors open with a flourish. Stan was exactly as he left him, snug and cozy, with a few blue lines creeping up the side of his face and a puddle of blood oozing out from below.
Whoops.
He'd forgotten to take his friends heartbeat into consideration. Poor Stan was probably much, much thirtstier than a normal vampire would be.
Well, if he was still hungry after the snacks Bill had brought him, they could clear out a few of the lack luster servants. Maybe some of the lower ranks guarding the garage.
"Rise and shine!" Bill called out, waving for the snacks to file in and stand against the far wall, "Hope you had a good break Stansy, because it's time to get back to it!"
Stan didn't respond, but that was to be expected. Carefully walking around the puddle of blood, Bill leaned over the side of the coffin and smiled at his best friend. Stan's front was stained with dark, delicious smelling blood, and the blanket stuck in dried out clumps when Bill pulled it away. Bill looked at it for a moment, before tossing it onto the floor and grabbing the top of the stake.
"Got you a nice wake up snack," Bill told him, as he twisted the stake loose, "but if you're still hungry after let me know."
Each jerk of the stake ground against Stan's ribs and made an funny squelching sound. He hadn't been there long enough to dry out, so even though he'd lost most of the blood in his body his innards were still fairly moist. The skin of Stan's face was also paler, and his eyes were dull. The blood dribbled across his face and imprinted from Bills lips had long sense dried, but Bill paused to lick his thumb and wipe it off anyways
Stan didn't so much as twitch, but that was expected too. He wouldn't be able to so much as peep until the stake was all the way out, and Bill wasn't dumb enough to be the one to do it.
With a quick tug he felt it pull out of the ground. He let go and took a few steps back, then waved at the vampire with the blankest eyes to do the rest. They jerked into motion, and for every step closer Bill took two back, until he was back at the entrance. Once their hands were around the base Bill grabbed the doors, shooting all the snacks a wide grin when it was yanked out.
"Have fun, knock when you're finished!"
In one smooth motion Bill pulled the doors closed and let go of the mental grip he had on all the vampire minds. He got a glimpse of Stan's arm grabbing the arm of the vampire holding the stake, saw the rest slump due to their sudden control, before the doors slammed shut and the screaming started.
Unlike Bill and most vampires, Stan wasn't built to chase his prey down, and his vampiric powers reflected that. He was much weaker than even the weakest of Bills subordinates, wasn't any faster than the average human, couldn't fly, couldn't transform into anything that could give chase, and couldn't do even the most basic of spells other vampire lords boasted (not that Bill had really tried teaching him).
But that didn't matter here, when Stan was hungry enough to push his body past its natural limit, in a closed space with no escape. As Bill listened the screaming voices stopped one by one, replaced by whimpers as Stan's paralyzing bite dropped anything too flighty. Some of them banged on the doors, but Bill held them closed, grin widening at their begging, before they screamed and went silent.
A human wouldn't be able to do more than imagine what was happening on the other side, but Bill wasn't and so didn't.
He could hear Stan drink desperately, heard the empty snack drop, then Stan's feet as he stumbled to the next one.
Could hear his luring heart, thudding louder and louder.
A couple snacks were whimpering in the corners, probably hoping to avoid notice, but as more and more bodies dropped, and the drinking became less frantic and more deep, even they disappeared.
Only when the pounding thud on the other side faded did Bill relax his grip on the doors. Stan's breathing faded after, a habit he still held on from life. Something scuffed the floor, Stan turning, then footsteps, and-
Knock knock knock.
"Who is it~" Bill chirped, grin spreading wider when Stan let out a huff of air.
"Bill."
"Bill? That can't be right, after all-"
"Bill, can we-" another deep sigh, "can we not do this right now?"
"Ugh, fine." Bill pushed the doors open with a pout to reveal Stan, front drenched in blood, a hole in his shirt where the stake had been, and a nice healed chest exposed to the basement air. The blue lines were gone, and Stan's color was much better, eyes a glistening brown.
Looks like seven was just enough after all.
"Someone's not an evening person." Stan ignored his comment, stumbling closer and pulling Bill into a blood smearing hug,"gross, do you know-"
"Sorry," Stan muttered, "sorry I- I wasn't thinkin'. I shouldn've tried to book it."
Bill rolled his eyes. Of course he wasn't thinking, that's what Bill was for.
"Hey, water under the bridge! Now let go, you're coating me in leftovers." Stan let go, leaving a huge red stain on Bills nice clean clothes.
Ugh. Well, whatever.
"Glad that nap helped," Bill said, hooking an arm through Stan's and leading them back towards the upper levels, "who knows what could have happened if I hadn't stepped in."
"Yeah," Stan croaked. Bill shook his head and smirked at the way his friend was moving, like each step was a battle in figuring out how legs worked. Shaking off the stake stiffness was never fun, but that's why he'd planned a whole weekend about it.
Starting with a bath.
Any underlings who crossed their path was quick to scramble out of the way with a bow. Some of the eager ones even started cleaning up the mess Stan left in his wake, and Bill took note of their faces as they dropped and started scrubbing.
Always good to have servants who could clean up Stan's meals without a fuss on hand.
The whole trip to Stan's room was filled with Bill catching him up with everything he missed, as well as what they'd be doing together. It was a nice combination of fun activities and ways to help Stan get his mind and body going. Stan clung to him like a life line, eyes locked locked on Bills face. It made him want to puff up and drag Stan around, show off how much Stan leaned on him, how much Stan depended on him.
How much Stan was his.
His friend. His shiny new vampire lord. His to use, his to help.
And sure, he wasn't Ford, was the knock off version of something already perfect, but that didn't matter.
What mattered was that, unlike the some of the others in his inner circle, Stan knew he'd be nothing without Bill.
