The Blood of the Soul

Coming Up for Air

A/N: Umm let's just say this chapter took a turn I wasn't quite expecting it to, and it's a bit darker than the others have been, so please be mindful of the trigger warnings.

TW: Mentions and evidence of abuse, human trafficking, violence.

The last rays of the sun disappeared behind blotchy clouds and dipped beneath the city skyline in the distance. The rest of the neighborhood was all high-rise apartments, and their two-story house only remained because it was technically protected as a historic building.

Which wouldn't have been historic, except that Doug's brother had bought it nearly half a millennia ago. Even though Theo had seen sketches, he couldn't fathom a New York City that wasn't filled with skyscrapers and the buzzing energy of people pursuing their dreams.

Now, he leaned against the teeny tiny deck outside his room that was hardly large enough for a single person to stand on and tried to remember what his dream had been all those years ago. Before the diagnosis. Before Doug had capsized his life.

"Theo, c'mon!" Caitlin whined, sticking her head inside his room. "Come hunting with us. You haven't been in forever."

"Can't. I have work."

"But it's a Saturday."

"People still get fucked up on Saturdays," Theo said. "I'd argue more so on the weekends, actually."

Caitlin rolled her eyes. "You're such a bore."

"I might be a bore, but at least I haven't ripped anyone's head off lately."

Caitlin huffed. "That was one time, and it was, like, forever ago."

"It was Wednesday."

She shrugged. "Same diff."

To say that the slayer-prompted-hiatus from hunting had driven Caitlin, and the rest of the Dread Doctors nuts, would be the understatement of the century. For them, surviving on stale blood bags was the epitome of hell.

Theo couldn't find the words to explain that hell was needing to suck the lifeforce out of another being just to survive. Even if he could, he doubted they'd ever understand.

Instead, he sipped the coffee that was growing cold in the rapidly freezing air.

At the creak of a floorboard, Theo spun on his heel just in time to catch the leather jacket Doug pelted at his face.

"Let's go."

"I have work in a few hours."

"The demon population, which you're responsible for royally pissing off with your bar fight turned massacre, has all but declared war on us."

"So?"

Doug's nostril's flared with irritation. "So, if the clan runs into trouble, you're getting us out of it."

Theo hated the word clan. The word that Doug only ever used as a way to manipulate Theo, to remind him of what he stood to lose, because while they were the furthest thing from a family, Theo needed them.

One day, he wouldn't. Then he'd make Doug pay.

"Fine," Theo snapped, hopping down into his room and shutting the window. "I'll be down in five."

"Make it three."

Doug shut the door, and Theo had to dig into the bottom of his dresser for his black hunting gear. It had easily been months since Doug had dragged him out there, and no matter how many times he washed them, the scent of blood would forever stain the long-sleeve black turtleneck.