#threads -- multides.

❝ no, i’m sorry; i didn’t mean any of it, i just got too lonely. ❞

the last thing he really remembers is a sharp burst of pain after throwing the spear. there’s flashes of memory: of his hands and someone else’s on his chest that had come away red, of being lifted and carried by more than one person, of richie’s face and and bev’s scream and bill’s voice shouting orders at them (big bill, always reliable even in the most fucked of situations). he thinks they all carried him, ben and mike too, and he thinks he might have even seen stan and danny by his side.

god, he misses stan. he should be here too, especially if eddie managed to survive by whatever miracle. and he’s missed his brother for over twenty years with a fierce pain that’s never gone away and never will go away. but it isn’t stan or danny he calls for when he finds his voice.

“ hey, richie? you there? ” somehow he knows he is, even if it’s dark and he hasn’t really put together how to see again yet. “ man, that fucker got me good. “ it hurts too much to laugh, and honestly? it’s really not that funny.

the highlight of his week always started with a long stint in traffic, feeling his blood pressure rise with all the idiots on the new york roads and occasionally having to take one of those pills he always kept in the glove compartments, the ones he’d gotten so used to he could take the cap off with one hand and swallow them dry. but he endured it each and every week because, at the end of it, he got to see his brother. 

perhaps the fact that he spent sundays with his brother, usually alone, instead of at his house with his wife should have clued him in that he wasn’t exactly living in domestic bliss. but he never really thought about it like that. it was simply better for danny to stay out of the crowds of the city, and myra always stressed about leaving the house for too long, and danny wasn’t just any old brother, he was his identical twin that could practically read his mind. 

so, once again, he had left the house that morning before myra had awoken so he could avoid the inevitable argument. and now he was grinning at a face that looked just like his, soothed by the quiet outside of danny’s house that was so unlike his apartment. “ hey, man. brought you some cannoli from that bakery by our place. “ even if danny couldn’t live in the city, he could at least eat like he did. 

“ i know you're not the most social, but valentine, eternity gets awfully long without something to pass the time. “ she lifts her glass to him, the red liquid within sticking too closely to the sides to be wine like she affectionately calls it. “ you should come to more of these parties. live a little. i find it a comfort to be among our own kind. and my brother finds us the most enjoyable. . . entertainment. “ she means unwitting humans, the partying types who are willing to show up to a stranger’s mansion for the promise of a good time, and they find it: there’s always plenty of vices to be found within the challant grounds. she passes her time watching them, and occasionally, feeding from them - she never kills them, of course. the last thing she wants is an investigation. “ have a glass. relax. and if you prefer your drinks fresher, you have plenty to choose from. just don’t make a mess. “ 

his body is lean and graceful as he slides into the seat beside her, putting on his best charming smile that didn’t go so far as to ruin the mystery about a tall, dark stranger alone in a bar. “ i’m leon. and i was wondering if i could buy you a drink, since you looked awfully thirsty up here alone with the bowl of peanuts. “ but she’s not the only one with an ache in her throat. she smells lovely up close, and it’s been a few days since his last drink. he’s careful not to show too much of his teeth as he speaks when he feels the sharp points of his fangs against his bottom lip. 

❝ all we need is somebody to lean on. ❞

“ let me fix that. “ she turns to her husband, adjusting his collar until it sits perfectly on his neck, covering his jugular and cutting an intimidating, dark line just above his adam’s apple. and with a smile, she slides the matching knife into the sheath on his thigh for him. “ you ready? it’s the beginning of the end tonight, gabe. once the high council goes, the rest will follow like dominoes. “ and they’re the ones to see it through, she knows it. to the vampires they hunt, they’re known only as the hunter and huntress, a set of deadly, unstoppable shadows. cordelia had been paired with gabriel coin when it had become apparent to the old families that they were dual prodigies, the sort of premier talent that comes once in a generation. they had come a long way since then. their skillset, their mentality, and their union had been created for the moment they were set to begin in less than an hour.

velma’s hand is soft in her own, but there’s a strength to it that anchors daphne as velma has done since they were kids. it helps her get her nerves under control: they’ll be alright even if it’s been a long time since daphne has returned to her roots of ball gowns and schmoozing. there’s been tales of a vampire haunting swanky parties, and she’s gotten her and velma into one of said parties in an attempt to catch whoever is terrorizing the local socialites. the midnight blue velvet of her dress clings to the curves of her body and her hair is piled into an elegant knot atop her head, and while she feels pretty enough, she hasn’t been able to take her eyes off of velma. she’s dazzling in her formal attire: it’s much different than her usual pleated skirts and sweaters and clunky glasses, and while daphne is fond of her no matter what, seeing her looking like she’s stepped off a milanese runway is a thrill of its own. 

“ you look beautiful, “ she says softly, a smile curling her painted lips. “ you’ll be the belle of the ball. but, if all the offers to dance get overwhelming. . . ” she winks, “ just hold onto my hand and i’ll be here. “ and i’ll happily dance with you, she thinks.