COUNT FAGULA

promptfic for @thinkblotted who asked: 'what would the Boys do about potential poachers on their turf?' This actually has backstory elements for my fic 'not idly on the shore', so you might see more of this. Contains background poly!LostBoys, though you will notice one boy is missing. It's because he hasn't joined the gang yet. Enjoy!

Cw: blood/violence/murder.

Santa Carla, circa 1950

This town had always drawn all kinds of crowds. Even before the Boardwalk, back when the only attraction was a long row of bathhouses, people looking for sun, sea and relaxation had meant the Hudson Hotel was always fully booked. 

But not all the folks she drew in were human. 

“Visitors are one thing,” Max had once said, rolling a pair of clinking objects around in his fingers like casino dice. “They come, they pay their respects, then they pass through quickly. No harm, no foul. But when they start hanging around like a bad smell, it has to be nipped in the bud quickly. Too many of us in the same spot...it just,” he shook his head, miming a wince. “It attracts the wrong sort of attention. I’m sure you can understand.” 

His fingers opened, two slender white fang teeth clattering to the wood of Max’s desk. The roots still bloody. 

David had understood perfectly, even without that particular fatherly speech.  

Santa Carla was his town. David knew her like he knew his own hand; every avenue and storefront was familiar to him, and even as time kept passing by and the people kept coming and the town kept growing, there was very little about her he had yet to discover. Like hell he would share. 

Strange vampires did well to sightsee in other places. If they were stupid enough to stick around, David would gather his boys and go track them down. And since he was a reasonable sort of guy, he usually gave them a chance to skedaddle before things got too violent. (He never minded when they didn’t though. Nothing like a good scrap now and then to keep things interesting.)  

As time went on, their immortal ‘visitors’ grew less and less frequent. The few supernatural elements remaining generally kept out of their way, and the boys did likewise. (You didn’t fuck with Mrs Johnson. Ever.) 

But every now and then, there would be someone who just couldn’t take a hint. 

David nudged a dismembered hand with the toe of his boot, frowning down at the mess. There were gnawed and severed body parts all over the park, the grass drenched nearly black with spilled blood.  

“Crazy waste,” Marko lamented, swiping a finger through the mess and painting the beginnings of a tic-tac-toe grid on a nearby ribcage. He stuck his finger into mouth and sucked it clean, absently.  

Dwayne wasn’t so calm. As the youngest, his thirst was the most fierce. Yellow-eyed and panting unnecessarily, he snatched up a severed arm and brought it to his lips like a hotdog, mouthing at the torn flesh while his tongue dug at the marrow. 

Marko slapped the arm out of his grip. “Take it down a peg there, buddy. You’re embarrassing yourself.” 

Dwayne looked abashed. “Right. Uh, thanks.” 

Marko gave him a cherubic smile before leaning in to run the flat of his tongue over Dwayne’s chin. “Anytime.” He continued to lick the other boy’s face clean, merging seamlessly into pulling him down for a kiss. 

David might have appreciated the view more, if he hadn’t been so preoccupied. “Marko! Focus.” 

“Right, right. Sorry.” He dabbed at his lips with the collar of his shirt. “We can agree whoever did this’ roof is leaking though.” 

“Crazy,” Dwayne agreed, before inhaling deeply. His brow furrowed in puzzlement. “It reeks like wet dog or something.” 

“Yeah,” David said, eyeing the corpses with distaste. 

He fucking hated werewolves. They were mean sonsofbitches, with hide thick as a rhino’s and strength to match. Taking out a whole pack of them wouldn’t be easy. He might have to let Max know what had just rolled into town. 

He didn’t want to let Max know. He hated having to go to Max for help, like a fucking kid running to daddy because he couldn’t fight his own battles. (Max wasn’t no daddy of his. He never needed one back when he was breathing and he sure as shit didn’t need one now.) He was capable of running this town on his own. 

There was an alternative. Someone else who would want this pest problem cleared up.