#ratattack

The elevator dinged as it reached the ground floor, the door sliding open with two weighty thunks. Metzli shivered to themself, still unnerved by the machinery, but they hid it well beneath their denim jacket, placing their arm in the entryway to keep the elevator open. Morgan walked through and they smiled cordially, much more at ease once they exited to the lobby. 

“Thanks for bringing these games over.” They said, waving to the doorman before returning their attention back to Morgan. “When you said Exploding Kittens, I was concerned, but it ended up being a lot of fun.” 

Metzli's small smile grew into a grin, and they playfully nudged Morgan with their elbow. “But maybe that was all the cocktails. I didn't know you could make a martini with espresso.” They opened the door for their friend, greeted with the sharp bite of the cold, though it dulled against their skin upon contact. 

“Where is your car?” Subtly, Metzli scanned the area for any anomalies, too on edge by the night to let themself drop their guard. It was the whole reason they offered to walk Morgan to her car. The whole reason they greet Molly outside and walk her to their apartment. The night had teeth, but Metzli would bite harder. 

—

Of course Morgan had brought over more games than they needed, but she could never be sure what people would prefer. For some, game night was a casual affair that was more talking than strategy. For others, it was a commitment (or perhaps an ordeal) that demanded several hours, the utmost focus, and a mutually agreed upon decision to put all friendships aside until the results came in.

Metzli and Molly were a very relaxed duo. Morgan sanded down her competitive edges for the sake of, y’know, making new friends.

“Of course. Those guys have a couple other card games that are a lot of fun to play. I’m glad you and Molly caught on quickly,” she smiled, hefting the bag of game boxes over her shoulder as they left the apartment lobby. On the subject of drinks, though, Morgan laughed. “You can make an anything with an anything if you’re sufficiently motivated and not so much of a purist. Let me know if there’s anything you’d like me to bring over next time. I’d be happy to mix whatever you want.”

The outside air was cold and crisp, immediately stinging her nose. Outside of their warm home with the jovial atmosphere, there was a deep silence in Morgan’s soul. Metzli had such a calm presence, it surprised her sometimes. “Oh, uh,” she hummed, searching the dark for the telltale signs of her silver station wagon. “Over there, by that second street lamp. But you don’t have to walk me, if you want to get back in and stay warm.”

As she said that, she remembered… that night. Her shoulders tensed as she recalled her husband’s pain. No, she’d be fine. She couldn’t be afraid of the outside world forever. “Really, it’s fine.”

—

“We'll have to try them. I didn't know these games could be so fun.” After a few conversations about the things they'd missed out on, it was easy to admit things like that. A small explanation about a cult and most of the time, people took it and that was that. Metzli was thankful for it. Even more thankful it wasn't a lie. 

“I'm not going to make you bartend on your time off.” They chuckled, “I'll be the one making the drinks unless you really want to.” Their hand raised to pat Morgan's shoulder, but they paused, thinking maybe she'd hate that and wondering if they were close enough for physical affection of that kind. They'd shook hands and greeted each other with a hug, so what was different? Metzli supposed it wasn't, so they followed through. They were thinking too much. 

“I'm warm. The cold doesn't bother me anyway.” The vampire shrugged, noticing the way Morgan began to tense. Acutely aware of how unsettling Wicked's Rest could be at night, Metzli gave Morgan's shoulder a squeeze before they offered their arm for their friend to take. “It's okay. I like being big and scary at night.” They offered her a gentle smile. “Don't worry about it.”

—

Morgan contemplated asking if that was a Frozen reference or just a common turn of phrase, but instead, she focused on Metzli’s hand on her shoulder. A breathy chuckle escaped her. “Please, I don’t think you’re big and scary.” Not compared to some of the creatures in Wicked’s Rest, at least. “But, thank you.”

She took their arm, surprised by how firm and ropey the bicep was. Metzli didn’t quite feel as warm as they claimed, but they weren’t shivering, so Morgan didn’t protest. “It would be my pleasure. I’d love to help with the drinks, you already do so much with the cooking and hosting.” It was nice to feel useful. Entertaining and gathering with friends felt so much easier when her husband was alive – it felt like there was a more equal exchange of contribution. Now, floating on her lonesome, Morgan felt like she had to be twice as much to fill the space beside her. “Plus, you don’t have to tip me.”

The walk to the car was short, cold, and really, Metzli didn’t have to join her. But Morgan appreciated the gesture. Her beat up silver station wagon glinted almost blue in the moonlight, and she patted its cold hood like the flank of some great beast of burden. “Welp, this is me. I’m gonna hop inside, blast the heater, and crank the tunes,” she smiled. “Thanks again for tonight. It was a lot of fun. And nice to spend time under better circumstances when we’re both a little more sober.”

That kind of came out weird. It was meant to be self-deprecating, but… “Anyways. I hope you and Molly have a nice rest of the night.”

—

There was something about the relaxed contact Morgan fell into when she locked her arm with Metzli’s. An action like that always gave them pause, especially accompanied by her declaration. She didn’t find them to be as scary as most people were right to believe, and though that came from Metzli not telling her what they were, it was a relief regardless.

They smiled softly to themself, shaking their head at Morgan. “You do enough hosting at work. I like seeing you relaxed. Besides,” Metzli shrugged easily, looking down at Morgan with a kind expression. “What if I like tipping you?” Their smile turned coy, but they kept it from teetering into a straight up flirt.

When the two got to the car, Metzli found themself a little disappointed, wishing that most people didn’t need sleep like they did. It was fine. They’d find something to do to occupy their time. “Ouch. I’ve enjoyed both versions of you so far.” Metzli feigned damage to their heart, releasing Morgan to open the driver side door for her. “Are you busy tomorrow?”

—

Relaxed. What did being relaxed really mean? The last year since Bradley died, Morgan felt so tightly wound that one tug on her heartstrings at the wrong moment might snap her apart entirely. She’d always had her rituals, ways to unwind after a long day. But it was so much easier when she had a whole second heart to share her life with. Somehow, ordering pizza wasn’t even as fun when you were alone. But she supposed, spending an evening with Metzli and Molly was relaxing. She left her baggage at the door for a while, though all too eager to pick it back up on the way out.

“Is that so?” Morgan gave a toothy, silly smile. “In that case, I take cash, most major credit cards, and IOUs.” At the mention of ‘both versions’ of her, the woman chilled a little. Metzli didn’t mean anything by it, she knew that, but… it teetered too close to the pain of her childhood. Instead she liked to think she existed on a spectrum of the self. She’d never let that ‘other version’ win out in the end. “Oh, uh… tomorrow?”

Did she have anything going tomorrow? Work, probably. “I was planning on closing at the arcade, but I’m flexible – why?”

—

Most days, Metzli's smiles were thin, never showing teeth, and rarely meeting their eyes. They were for show, the type of pleasantries people expected. But around those they found a glimmer of solace with, something more real curled onto their face. “Noted.” Metzli grinned, flexing their arm in lieu of patting Morgan's hand. 

“Oh, well, if you're busy, maybe I'll go tip you.” That sounded stupid, but it was already out their mouth. “We'll plan another night. How does that sound?” Pausing awkwardly, Metzli twitched, nearly going for a hug before stopping themself. It only took another moment before they went for it and gave Morgan a quick, tight hug, followed by a courteous peck to her cheek that unfortunately landed somewhere in the crook of her neck. 

“Oh–um…” Metzli cleared their throat, “Sorry. I'll, um…have a goodnight, Morgan.” They swiveled on their heel, walking quickly back to the building. 

—

“If you do, no insisting that you make the drinks so I can relax,” Morgan laughed. “Another night sounds great, I’ll look at the shift schedule I made when I clock in tomorrow, see what’s coming up that might work.” Metzli moved quickly, but the smaller woman reciprocated the brief embrace, her ears warming as the other pressed their lips to her neck, just below the jaw. “No need for apologies. Good night, Metzli.”

It should have been easy to hop in the station wagon and go home. It should have taken less than a minute, but Morgan hadn’t put her keys in her jacket pocket – they were in her purse. So she had to fumble as Metzli walked away. As she did, a voice came from behind her, cold and imprecise as words were spoken in a sort of indistinctly eastern European accent.

“Excuse me, little woman. Perhaps you can help me, I am having, how you say, car troubles.”

Morgan hadn’t noticed anyone else nearby, quiet and calculated in the stranger’s approach. Still didn’t have her keys, but she turned around to apologize, maybe give him a few bucks for cab fare. But before she saw the face of the figure, she saw those piercing, ratlike eyes.

“Stay still,” he commanded. And she did. “Did I say car troubles? I mean, ah, carotid artery troubles. Do not scream, yes?”

Morgan wasn’t sure if it was a question, but she didn’t have time to answer before something sharp and biting was kissing her throat. The sensation was a searing heat before it spread to a numbness. Everything Morgan could feel was… well, she couldn’t feel. She couldn’t move, hell, she could barely speak as the man-creature lunged on top of her and she collapsed against her car. The station wagon’s alarm started to go off from the jostle of surprise and the woman whimpered as something warm, thick, and viscous began to cut across her skin, cut through the nighttime chill.

—

Blood. 

The iron scent coated the inside of the vampire's nose a half-second before the alarm to the car alerted them. Hackles raised, and with their night vision, they could see a man attacking Morgan, clear as day. Without much thought, Metzli sprinted back over, keeping their stride quiet but strong. 

Using all their might, they rammed their shoulder into the man, torpedoing him away with a few meaty thuds across the sidewalk. Metzli watched as his body disappeared beneath his clothes as they caught Morgan. His attire left a flat mess, rats scurrying away and regrouping into the shape of a person. 

Metzli’s eyes widened, “Can you move?” It was a stupid question. Morgan was stiff as a board, eyes terrified. Which was only really a guess from their periphery. They didn't dare let her see their now crimson gaze. “Hold on.” Metzli said, helping Morgan to an upright position against her car. While looking at the mostly put together man, they removed their jacket and wrapped Morgan with it before tearing a lengthy piece of their shirt to tie around her neck. It'd hold while they took care of whatever attacked Morgan. 

Speaking of, it was saying something. “You will not suffice. Give me the woman.” Metzli shook their head, crouching protectively in front of Morgan. “Fine. Have it your way.” The man smiled with a sinister flair, bursting into rats again. They squeaked as they swarmed the pair, going straight to biting. 

—

Pain was not an emotion – it was a physical sensation. But the fear of pain, the fear of dying? That was a feeling, and one Morgan remembered all too well as images of her husband’s dismemberment flooded her senses (the ones that hadn’t been numbed by toxin already). It was some creature, feral and lusting, that had ripped into him and drank whatever blood it didn’t spill. Was it this thing? Had it remembered the smell of her and come to send her to the grave?

Jaw tight with discomfort, all she could really do was whine in fear as tears fell unbidden down her cheeks. Thankfully, the commotion had alerted Metzli, but Morgan was all the more fearful as they put themself between the woman and her attacker. And she was helpless if they got hurt.

“N…no.” Despite her numbness, there was still some movement in her lips, and some memory in her lungs. She didn’t have to remind herself how to breathe, but she was terrified at being unable to move an inch. Knees locked in place, draped up against her vehicle, Morgan remained stock still. Even swallowing the saliva and terror pooling in her mouth was an endeavor, and her shirt had become sticky, her chest rising and falling beneath it. “M…Messly, d…don…”

She winced at the explosion of vermin, unable to flinch and recoil as she wanted. Morgan wanted so badly to scramble onto her car’s hood and tuck her knees up – if there was ever a rat in the alley behind Another Castle, she made someone else take care of it. At least it wasn’t snakes or roaches, but rats… rats were just as bad. Especially when there were dozens, if not at least a hundred, swarming their feet and climbing the wooden posts that her legs had become. She whined in fear again, “Mmmmmm!! No!”

—

The rats chittered and squealed, trapezing up Metzli’s legs and biting them all the way up to their chest. They hissed quietly, tearing out their knife to slice at a few of the vermin, tossing off others and stomping them. It felt wrong to hurt an animal, but Metzli had to justify that it was just a piece of a creature that was threatening their friend. 

“What is wrong with you?!” Metzli turned around to find that the stranger had put itself back together. “You taste like–We can sha—argh!” Before he could finish, Metzli tackled him again, not wanting their nature to be revealed without their permission. 

It burst into rats again, and they quickly took to kicking as many as they could away. When they began to congregate farther away, Metzli made quick work of the vermin that'd made their way onto Morgan. They kept one in their hand, ignoring the way it chewed onto the webbing between their thumb and index finger.

“It's slowing down,” They whispered to themself, wincing at the teeth continuing to gnaw into them. Throwing the rat across the street, Metzli took note of the way the mass of rats seemed to wait for it. That was their opening. “Come on.” They didn't wait for Morgan to mumble an answer. There was no time. Quickly, Metzli threw her over their shoulder and they sprinted back to the apartment building, unaware of the rat clinging onto the back of their pant leg.

—

This felt like those incidents of sleep paralysis except it was a waking nightmare. Morgan mostly couldn’t feel proper sensations, but what she could feel felt like big, bold, neon words like WET and PAIN and CRAWLING. Blood, tears, and tiny rat feet mingled in all the places they shouldn’t, and she couldn’t even crane her neck properly to get a better look at the Rat-turn of the Living Dead situation just a few yards down the sidewalk.

She didn’t protest – she couldn’t – when Metzli slung her up and over their shoulder with a surprising strength. Guess that bicep wasn’t just for show. Morgan didn’t quite like the view here, all jostled and bumped upside down. Whatever blood hadn’t drained from her neck was now rushing to her head. 

“M…Mezzy… ur… leg…” She could see the clinger-on, but couldn’t do anything about it. Every ounce of brainpower was begging her muscles to move, to try to swat the little beast away from their friend. But, no, Morgan was as useful as a sack of potatoes, unwashed, unpeeled, lumpy. The only thing that brought her solace in this terror and indignity was knowing with comfortable certainty that whatever killed her husband was not made of rats. “Whus… that thing?”

—

“Leg?” Morgan was trying to get Metzli's attention, but there was no time to slow down and check on what she was talking about. “I'll check inside.” Useless, really. By the time they'd reached the stoop of the building, the rat had been flung off. Still, Metzli looked with a lifted brow, confused. They shook their head, “Nothing there.”

Using their leg, the vampire hooked their foot into the door handle and yanked the entrance open. The doorman was rushing over, asking questions, but Metzli waved him off, giving him an excuse that Morgan didn't feel well enough to drive. Thankfully, that wasn't a lie. Otherwise they'd have no other option than to say the exact truth, and that was out of the question. 

The doorman let them through and even helped them with the elevator. When the doors closed, Metzli sighed. They heard Morgan's question from before, but it was only when they'd gotten inside that they felt they could answer. Not that it was much. 

“I'm not sure.” Also the truth. Metzli had never encountered a vampire that was just a collection of rats before. “But we should be safe now.” Hopefully. They were clinging onto their need to be welcomed inside and hoping it was the same for the ratpire. “What did it do to you? Are you able to move anything?” Metzli adjusted Morgan slightly, exiting the elevator at their floor and heading straight for their unit. “Whatever it did, you can sleep it off here. Is that okay?”

—

The little rat bastard, thankfully, was gone by the time they were inside. And despite her paralysis, Morgan could feel the flush in her cheeks as Metzli lied – well, it wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t that true – about her inability to drive. Here she was trying not to get a reputation for being a world-class drunk of some kind. She sighed.

“...it…bit me,” she strained. “Don…donno whut else…” Hopefully nothing else. God, did she need to go get a rabies test? The woman whimpered a bit more, the residual frustration and fear still welling inside of her (but at least Metzli had adjusted her and now she wasn’t flushed with blood and dizziness). “Not…muh choice, izzere?”

Morgan wondered how long this feeling would last, and whether it’d disappear slowly or all at once. It all could have gone so much worse, all things considered. But her eyes scanned Metzli’s arm and hand, their chest, their clothes – they didn’t have to put themself in harm’s way like that, but if they hadn’t… she might be a smear on the pavement.

“You… kay?”

—

The sound of fear echoing from Morgan made something twist inside. It wasn't long ago that they were that rat creature preying on the weak for a meal. It wasn't long ago that they'd protected Molly from a beast. So, why, Metzli wondered, did the way it rattled Morgan affect them so powerfully? They supposed it was the way the man looked so ordinary, just like them, when it came to searching for a meal. The beast was feral, lacking control and thought. It wasn't like Metzli or whatever that man was despite them all being monsters. 

Pushing those thoughts aside, they helped Morgan inside, relieved to find Molly taking a shower as they moved to their room. Inside, they laid Morgan carefully onto the bed and got her comfortable, noting her remarks and the way she whimpered. Metzli softened and kneeled next to the bed, brows pinched together with concern. 

“Hey,” They whispered gently, removing their jacket and massaging Morgan's arm carefully. “I'm going to clean that bite and it will be okay.” Their voice sounded confident and firm, but also kind. “Don't worry about me. I'm sturdy.” Metzli removed their torn flannel and tossed it aside. In the light, their scars were more prominent, a tank the only thing covering their torso now. “I'll go get the first-aid kit.”

—

Despite what she had told Molly previously, it was going to get very difficult to keep explaining why Morgan routinely ended up on Metzli’s couch or bed, unable to get herself home, without seeming deeply suspicious. At least the bed was comfortable as she melted into it, unable to do much else at this point.

“O..kay.” Morgan was always going to worry. Was her car alarm still going off? Were the rats going to wait under the vehicle and surprise her in the morning? She had never seen a single vampire movie where they could do that – if that thing even was a vampire. Its tongue had been so weird and the bite… It reminded her more of spiders turning their prey into goo from the inside out… oh, god, was she going to be goo? And why hadn’t she run or resisted or anything?

Quietly, respectfully, she looked over Metzli’s body (there wasn’t much else to look at here, not that she was complaining) when they removed their outer layers. The scars were not wholly unexpected, after she had learned about their missing hand, but she didn’t have all the details. And Morgan wasn’t going to ask, whether she had a working jaw or not. Every body had its marks – still, she couldn’t get a read on how old they were, exactly, but the marks proved they had lived quite a life in the meantime.

Still not fully able to move her limbs, Morgan did at least manage to turn her head the slightest bit back to look up at the ceiling. How long had it been feeding on her? How much worse could it have been if Metzli hadn’t heard the car going off? She sighed.

“S…sank you.”

—

Returning with the first-aid kit, Metzli set to work removing their makeshift bandage to sanitize the wound. “You don't have to thank me.” Their eyes narrowed, scrutinizing the intensity of the bite. He likely only got a few good swallows in before Metzli had knocked him away. Anything more and Morgan's skin would have been a lot more torn. 

“This will sting.” They warned, wiping the area with alcohol wipes until it was clean. Applying bacitracin next, they cut out a pad large enough to keep the punctures covered and set it into place with medical tape. “That should hold. I'll send you with some of the supplies when you're able to move again. The bandage will need to be replaced after every shower.”

Sighing, Metzli set the kit aside, keeping one of the alcohol wipes to clean themself off, too. “You can take my bed tonight. Obviously.” They chuckled, “I don't mind. The couch is comfortable and Molly might even let me use her bed too. We'll see.” However, Metzli was more likely to be an anxious mess all night and keep an eye on Morgan, but if she was asleep, that wouldn't be an issue. 

“Can I get you anything?” They continued to clean out all the tiny bites, annoyed that the rats had gotten to their pecs and stomach. “Water?”

—

Morgan tried to shake her head – it was a pathetic gesture, but imbued with meaning nonetheless. “I do… could’hve been… bad…” No one saved her husband that night. She couldn’t have even if she tried. Morgan would never know if trying would have made any difference, or if she was only alive because she did nothing but watch in horror.

“Sssshhhh,” she hissed. “Aaahhh!” Again, despite the paralysis, she could feel things like that. The sting crept up her neck, igniting the nerve endings behind her ear and making her eye on that side twitch. “Zzit bad?” Morgan dreaded what awaited her in the mirror when she next got a proper look.

The smell of alcohol and medicine was astringent in the air, but the home was warm in contrast to the cool night air and the frigid metal of her sleeping station wagon. The woman craned her neck the tiniest bit, gazing down towards her shoes. She focused all her willpower on trying to wiggle her toes, but didn’t feel anything happen. Didn’t see anything exciting either. Morgan dropped her head all of the two inches it was raised off the pillow, eliciting a dull poff from the fabric behind her.

“Mm, don’t wanna… k… ch… choke,” she said, considering the suggestion. The woman scrunched her face muscles as best as she could and then asked, “...Itch my nose?”

—

“Sorry.” Metzli winced at Morgan's exclamation, relieved that the worst had been done and now she could rest. “Not bad, but it may scar. Try not to bother it too much except during bandage changes.” They finished cleaning the last of their wounds and tossed the wipes away as they stood, walking to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and a straw. 

Returning, they showcased the sipping end of the straw to Morgan. “You won't choke. I won't let you. Just let me know when you need a drink.” Metzli set the cup on the nightstand and blinked at Morgan's request. Then, they chuckled at the absurdity of what had transpired that night.

“Yeah, of course.” Metzli itched Morgan's nose and did their best to provide sufficient coverage based on her cues. “Is that better?” They pulled back, sauntering quickly over to their desk to grab their chair. Metzli set it right next to the bed before jogging over to their closet to change out their dirty tank top for a clean one. When they returned, they plopped themself into their seat tiredly, patting Morgan's stiff arm. 

“Do you want me to stay here while all of this wears off or should I go lay down elsewhere?”

—

“Hope…isa…cool scar,” she said, quirking one corner of her lips up into a little smirk. Shit. That was going to be hard to find jewelry to hide or accessorize. At least Morgan’s signature green jacket had a bit of a collar to it. But maybe she didn’t really have to hide it – it might give her some added cred with the support group. Some people even found scars sexy, apparently.

It was weird, asking another person, even a friend, to scratch her nose for her. But they got there, eventually. “Mhm. Much.” A chuckle was somewhat buried in her chest at the entire endeavor. Morgan’s expression was soft, a little tired now that the adrenaline and the stinging nerve endings were subsiding into that numb haze of paralysis once more. If she was lucky, it’d fade in a few hours and not linger much longer than that. But either way, she wouldn’t be awake for it. Game night had already gone a bit late and she was getting too old for this sort of excitement.

“Thanks,” Morgan murmured again, eyelids fluttering a bit. She wasn’t terribly thirsty (and maybe she was a little scared of needing to pee while still paralyzed – Metzli would never invite her over again at this rate), but she was ready to pass out. There was genuine thought to the other’s offer of staying, though, as she recalled how insistent she’d been on being able to get to her car by herself. Clearly, if Metzli hadn’t walked over in the first place, things would be much worse than they were. Morgan shut her eyes tight. Maybe it was okay to accept someone else’s help for once.

“Um… s…stay? Please? Case there’s… problem?”

—

With the severity of what happened behind them, it was easier to find humor in the small predicaments that followed. Scars were a little overrated to Metzli, but they weren't going to ruin Morgan's glimmer of hope with their sad reality. They simply smiled along with her, despite how it felt like a lie. 

“You're welcome,” They replied, scooting the chair closer to the bed and reclining it slightly. More than once they dozed in it since the energy shifted in town, so they weren't upset at having to rest in it for one night. It was comfortable enough, and even if it wasn't, Metzli had slept in worse places.

“I will be right here if you need anything.” Sighing tiredly, they reached over to the end of their bed and grabbed a blanket. There was no way Metzli was going to make Morgan move to put her under the comforter, so they draped the blanket over her, reclining back into their seat when she was set. They stretched with a small groan, sighing again and laying their hand just a hairsbreadth away from Morgan's. Just in case, of course. She could barely move, after all. 

—

It was her second time going to sleep in full clothes on Metzli’s furniture. This time, they weren’t a stranger, but it didn’t make things any less strange to Morgan. Sleep came easy enough for someone who’d just been feasted on by a rat-pire, but her mind was making up for the lack of movement in her limbs – it was running away with fearful thoughts.

In her dreams, she recalled the death of her husband in even greater clarity. Still, the shape of the thing that killed him was a mystery to her – it seemed human in its proportions, but animal in its hunger. Even then, Morgan stood paralyzed by fear, unable to act. She wished someone like Metzli had been there to help, as if anyone could have made a difference. Did she try to pry the beast off of Bradley? Had she called for help, or did she bite her tongue? There was an acrid, burning taste of fear in her lungs, tears stinging her eyes. Her fear, her husband’s fear, the realization that she was alone, that he was alone now too.

The waning paralysis dampened what would have otherwise been a fitful rest, but that didn’t stop her emotions from overflowing. “Please, stop,” Morgan begged the shadow, eyes shut tight as if to see it better. Was that Brad’s fear, or hers? “Stop… Bradley, I’m sorry…”

—

Since both Morgan and Metzli were going to doze, they waited until their friend's breathing became steady to get up again. Molly had grown into the habit of entering the vampire's room whenever she needed, and if she saw Morgan patched up on their bed, Metzli imagined her assuming the worst. When she was out of the shower, they explained, and she took it in stride, kissing them good night so they could return to their post. 

The sleep Metzli fell into was dreamless. It always was. Just like the meditation, it only served to relax their body and provide their mind with some sort of reprieve from the constant memories that only offered them a body full of aches and phantom sensations. But then, unexpectedly, Morgan spoke. 

“Hm?” The vampire could see her clearly in the dark, a subtle tremor racking across her body while her expression contorted with something they'd seen a thousand times. Metzli swallowed, leaning over the edge of the bed. 

“Morgan?” It came out as a whisper, their voice rising to ask, “Are you okay?” Bradley? They recalled it being the name of her husband, causing them to assume the attack had left her low enough to dream of him. Carefully, Metzli slipped their hand into Morgan's and gave it a squeeze. “Hey,” They cooed, slipping over to the bed to sit by her. “It's okay. You are safe.” 

—

Metzli’s voice broke through the dream and visions of moonlit blood gave way to darkness as Morgan opened her eyes. She gasped like she was coming up for air after a dive. She even managed to sit up just a little – not much, but more than before, rolling her shoulders and clumsily trying to rest on her elbows. The vampire’s venom was fading, but clearly not enough yet. She couldn’t even raise a hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

She squeezed her eyes, still halfway in the embrace of cold unconsciousness. Her voice was thick with emotion and exhaustion as she muttered, “‘M sorry, I hope I didn’t wake you…” Morgan thumped heavily back onto the pillows, sniffling hard as she came to distinguish the reality around her from the vivid world of dreaming. “Still stuck…”

She turned her head and her upper body as best as she could and exhaled shakily. “Mezzly?” Morgan’s voice was soft and quickly fading back into sleep. If she had been more awake and more aware, she doubtlessly would have kept this request to herself. “Would you… lay here? Wi’me? In case tha’happens again…”

—

“Don't apologize.” In the faint glow from the window, tears shined vaguely, though they were clear from where Metzli sat. On instinct, they brushed them away, touch gentle. 

Somewhere in the room, the jingle of Fluffy's tags could be heard, growing closer with each pitter patter of his paws against the floor. He jumped onto the bed, yawning until he squeaked, looking a little confused as to why it was Morgan on the bed and not their owner or Molly. Metzli smiled to themself and watched him settle next to Morgan eventually. Then, at her question, they snapped their gaze to her, looking as confused as Fluffy did. 

“You want me to…?” The question trailed off, uncertainty keeping them stuck to the chair for a few moments. “Okay.” Metzli breathed, slipping into the bed next to Morgan, a little awkwardly. They did their best not to touch her, laying stiffly on their back, hand on their stomach. Her breathing slowed again eventually and a warmth spread in Metzli's chest at how they had provided something kind. 

—

“Hmmhmmm,” Morgan laughed behind closed lips as she faded out and felt the pressure of the dog climbing onto and beside her. She didn’t answer Metzli’s question, surrendering to exhaustion. Her shoulders straightened back out when a funny twist of her neck agitated the bite wound beneath its dressings, but she remained asleep until morning.

When she woke, she woke slowly, gently drifting to awareness unlike her harsh fright in the darkness. Morgan was minorly annoyed to find that she still couldn’t seem to move her arm – until she realized the arm she was looking at wasn’t hers. Sometime during the night, she had rolled onto her side and it seemed that Metzli did too, either seeking comfort or displaced by their guest’s awkward position on the bed. It wasn’t unpleasant – though the bandages on her neck and her plainclothes from last night were still uncomfortable – but it was unexpected.

“Mmm… hey,” she muttered, voice groggy as she found her own fingertips and reached up to rub at her face. Morgan was exhausted, body and soul, unsure if she’d been crying any more in the night. Flashes of the uncomfortable memories danced at the edges of her awareness, something she could never really forget even if she wanted, whether she was awake or asleep. But she tried not to focus on that here, propping herself up with one arm, grabbing Metzli’s limb and gently tucking it back at their side. The neck of her shirt was stiffened with dried blood. “I think I can move again. I… I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

Might have been just the opposite, actually.

—

“Mm?” Metzli mumbled sleepily, blinking slowly awake and adjusting as they saw their arm put back to their side. That woke them up fully, vision clearing almost instantly. “Oh! N-no. I'm sorry. I…I didn't mean to…yeah.” They rolled over onto their back and sat up, and they got a better view of the way the morning light caressed the edges of her hair and face. The corner of their lips ticked up in an indiscernible smile, a lightness flitting in their chest. 

“Do you want to borrow one of my sweaters?” Scratching at the ridge of their lips, they jutted their chin over to Morgan's wound, where blood had dried. “I can also change the bandage before you go.” Thankfully everything had dried and when Metzli dragged their tongue across their incisors, they didn't feel their fangs. Still, they didn't take any chances and kept their eyes trained elsewhere. 

“Sorry again. Sometimes I…it's stupid.” Pathetic, really. Metzli sighed, scrubbing their eyes. “You asked me to lay with you, though. So I did. I thought since you needed it, I'd be…I don't know.” Normal? “Nights are hard for me too. But I'm sorry. This isn't about me. You needed help.”

—

“No, no, don’t be sorry,” Morgan said. She looked at Metzli in the morning light, noting the gentleness of their features. The woman still didn’t know how old they were despite their insistence that they were older than her, but gray streak aside, there was something soft, warm, and worldly there. “I… I kind of remember having the thought, but I couldn’t remember if I’d said it out loud or not. Being attacked… it brought up some bad memories.”

Morgan thought back to her heart-to-heart, face-to-face with Baz (who had been wearing her face). This was absolutely not the ‘15 minutes in a restaurant bathroom’ sort of stuff they’d been urging her about. But it was still a vulnerability that she had otherwise been denying herself, an intimacy she wasn’t ready for with the wound of her husband still so fresh. That didn’t mean she had disliked it, though, and was grateful for something that seemed to come easily. And maybe she shouldn’t run from it – even if she wasn’t actively seeking it.

“Y’know, I was just going to drive home and shower before work, but… I don’t think I’m ready to look under the bandages yet myself. Do you think your roommate would mind if I showered here? Might as well go the Full Monty. Or Metzli, in this case.” Morgan smiled, the flesh of her neck twinging a little in pain as her muscles moved.

She put her hand over theirs and gently brushed her thumb across it. “Don’t be sorry. You were helping me out in a very confusing situation, for both of us. That… that was a vampire, right? I didn’t know they could… do that. But I’m still alive, and we made it through the bad night. You have nothing to apologize for. Thank you.”

—

“Full…Monty?” They tilted their head, confused. That wasn't a phrase they'd ever heard before. “Regardless, the shower is yours and you can borrow any of my sweaters.” Metzli smiled back at Morgan, taking a risk, but their eyes remained brown. “I like your smile.” They blurted out in a whisper, chuckling to themself and shaking their head. “Sorry.” 

And then she told them not to be, going so far as to offer them a piece of affection. They were so taken aback by it, that they nodded their head without fully thinking it through. She knew Metzli had come across the supernatural, but they'd been careful to reveal how much they knew. They corrected as best they could. 

“I think so. The rat thing was new.” Their gaze trailed down to their hands. They flipped theirs over to find the wound from where one of the rats chewed wasn’t totally healed, but far better than it was just hours ago. To cover a bit, Metzli slipped their hand further into Morgan's, locking back their gazes. “Hopefully it doesn't happen again, but…anytime. If you ever spend the night again, let's try to make it under better circumstances.” They offered Morgan an amused smile. “I'm not leaving your side until you drive off next time.”

—

Morgan crinkled her nose and laughed. “Well, not the Full Monty, I think that’s in the opposite direction,” she said, recalling now that the movie was about stripping, not borrowing sweaters. Still, she was surprised Metzli hadn’t heard the phrase. “Are you sure you’re older than me? That one came out in the ‘90s.”

Her cheeks warmed with a blush as the compliment made her smile more. There was a time in her life where smiling was as easy as breathing to her. The last year had felt like an eternity, where the phrase ‘cracking a smile’ felt as literal as watching ice break apart over her sullen mood. Morgan wanted to get back to that time before – even though she knew there was no moving backwards in life.

“Sorry, I know so little about the supernatural, but sometimes I’m a little too abrupt with it. I’m sometimes too much in the Support Group mode. I’ll… I’ll have to ask anyone there if they’ve encountered a similar horror,” she sighed. Morgan caught Metzli’s eyes and nodded. “Third time’s the charm? Maybe I should start leaving an emergency toothbrush and pajama pants here.” She laughed, and then realized that was incredibly forward of her. The woman cleared her throat.

“Yeah, I won’t fight you. Not that I think I could, you’re a lot stronger than I expected,” she said, slowly removing her fingers from theirs as she stretched, testing each of her limbs to make sure they were awake. Then, Morgan rolled gently, a bit awkwardly, from the bed and said, “I think I’ll take that shower now. You don’t have to be by my side for that.”

—

“I…haven't seen many movies. My cult didn't allow for entertainment unless our leader coordinated it for us.” Eloy preferred action movies, too. Especially ones with lots of shooting and explosions where lots of humans died. It was hilarious to him, but incredibly mundane to Metzli. “Like I told you, I only just got out. Was in it my whole life.” Well, their entire vampire life, so it technically wasn't a lie. They clung to that half-truth so that the nausea of possibly lying didn't double them over. 

“People always say that. I–” Bulked up thanks to nightly ring fights. Although now Metzli worked out for hours at a time to avoid fits of sorrow and panic, which helped keep the majority of their bulk. “Like to workout.” They shrugged, shoulders slumping when Morgan retreated. 

After decades of believing they hated touch, Metzli was surprised to find they seemed to almost need it now. They supposed they could always bother Molly while Morgan was busy. Still, Metzli had to double check considering how unsteady she looked to them. 

“Are you sure, though? I can help you and I won't look.” And they meant it, but they knew how it might sound. The idea contorted Metzli's face awkwardly and they shook their head. “As in, standing outside the door. Not go in.” They sighed, pinching the bridge of their nose as they went to their closet and retrieved a sweater. “I'll shut up now.” Metzli offered her the garment. “Enjoy your shower. Towels are in the cabinet.”

—

“Oh.” Morgan didn’t know what to say to that – her whole world was pop culture references. She saw the world through the lens of the movies she loved, or the games she played, or the music she belted in the shower (maybe not today, though). “I’m sorry.” She offered it simply, without fawning. Metzli had told her about the cult, though they declined many of the deeper details, as was their right. “We’ll have to find you some films to catch up on.”

An excuse, a pretense for further visits. She’d have to ask Molly what kind of films she enjoyed too, and they could pick a few to tackle. Was it too soon to suggest The Lost Boys?

Morgan nodded as they mentioned working out. Now standing, she looked down and sighed. Blame the years, the arcade meals, or not having a husband to share things with anymore, but the woman had a softness to her stomach that didn’t always used to be like that, did it? “That’s great that you like to work out,” she nodded to Metzli. “I… don’t.” 

It might be easier if she had a dog to walk, perhaps, but the horrible hours she kept at the arcade didn’t seem the least bit fair to a creature relying on her like that. Oh well. She straightened, sucked in her stomach a little, and laughed. “I’m sure, thank you. I’ll call for help if there’s any problems. Or, if I’m not out in 20 minutes, feel free to make sure I didn’t fall in.” Morgan leaned in and gave Metzli a hug, being mindful of her own injury.