Fangs That Kill - (Lost boys imagines book 3)

Pregnancy series (Lost Boys) Dwayne Headcannons - Miscarriage

· Dwayne had forgotten most of his roots in the decades he outlived normal humans. The pregnancy it of itself had been the sole reason he began trying to find himself again, partly because he wanted to pass down a few meaningful things to the boy or girl in your swollen stomach. The best of care was given to you as you were his priority, even before you grew. Dwayne was ready to be a dad and thus took up the soaking of pregnancy knowledge.

· It hadn't been debatable, your turning date was moved earlier after a sit down where he laid it out that he was anxious about possible complications and he didn't want to lose you. Of course with a vampire growing in your belly, anything could happen so you indulged him with becoming half.

· Everything had been prepared for in advance. Conversations with the boys led to them designating space for the baby items that were needed. They knew how it was going to be once baby came and they were fine with it. The surf board trophies were moved without a second thought and slowly but surely everything was ready.

· Just like David, Dwayne had grown more protective of you and whether that was because of your pregnancy or because of living in the murder Capitol of the world. Things cooled off once a compromise was made, little time out and if anything happens, you immediately come home. Dwayne was like a piece of gum on your shoe the whole way through. Despite them not being able to get an ultrasound at a doctors- Mainly because they didn't want any supernatural abnormalities to be found out- everything seemed to be going okay.

· That was until one night you and the boys were forced to go to Max's for a "family," dinner. Everything had been alright, small talk, Thorne nosing your belly and admittedly nice food that Max had roasted. Your stomach had been causing you trouble but you had passed it off as diarrhoea. The second you excused yourself to the toilet had been when a mixture of fluids gushed from your drowning pants and down your legs. Hands braced yourself on the table as a pained gasp caught the attention of the men in the room. "Are you alright?" Would be thrown at you from all directions along with a large palm resting on your back.

· A second later you felt a small blob, almost goo like consistently fall. Tears run down your face as your breathing tried to even out. The pain was there, the ache and in seconds you knew. You were led to the couch to lie down, only just relaxing there was a trail of blood.

· It's stressful and Thorne has to be put away from licking the red. The boys are concerned but quickly stay back as Dwayne asks if he can take a look downstairs. He is stressed but trying to hold back for your sake.
· With a nod, he does so carefully, making sure your dignity is in tact by shielding your bottom half. Sure enough, he's awful quiet when he brings his hand out from between your legs. A not so small but not so big foetus shape was held in his bloody palm. It's quiet, Almost deafening from there on. The boys know but don't say a word as Dwayne shows you. Max excuses himself, offering his quiet condolences and drags the others with him.

· Words can't describe how sad and stressed the two of you are, not even as your tugged into his arms by a weeping Dwayne who still holds onto the semblance of a tiny tiny tiny human. Sorry is a word uttered many times that night.

· Grieving is a horrific process but one that is taken with care but certainly a day the two of you and the vampire group will never forget. Dwayne's roots become important to him, there was so many things he wanted to teach you and the child but now that the other was gone, it was all he could do to hang onto the one thing he knew. So when that fateful day came that you two had to bury the little child somewhere safe and undisturbed, more had happened. Dwayne always had long hair but he had remembered in his tribe the importance of letting go and what they did. Once night he braided his hair and cut a chunk off, what for? To burn. It was to respect the dead and something his tribe had done decades and decades ago to mark the grieving process. In solidarity the boys offer up three small chunks of their own along with a small braid of your own. The hair is burned by the small grave marked with a hand carved wooden marker.