The World Will Stain Us

And I Wonder How To Move On

CW: implied alcohol abuse.

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Andy had locked himself in his room.

He knew his boyfriends were worried about him, but he couldn't entirely bring himself to care enough to open the door and let them in. It seemed like too much work―and all they'd want to do was talk, make sure he was okay.

He didn't want to talk.

And he definitely wasn't okay.

Every time he closed his eyes, the memory of the night of CC's turning rose in front of him. It was fragmented, but vivid, haunting him like a vengeful ghost. A flash of purple roses. The warmth of CC's skin as he sank his fangs in. The sweet rush as CC's blood, tainted with all the alcohol he'd consumed that night, hit him. CC's smile, like nothing was wrong, like he wasn't about to keel over from blood loss. The way he'd fallen, the fear in his voice. Jake's blood dripping onto his lips before they buried him. The agonizing hours of waiting, paralyzed, memories of his own turning battling with the fear and confusion and pain and worry that he wouldn't wake up.

And always, always, those same two cursed words: My fault.

Logically, somewhere, Andy knew it wasn't his fault, not really―but he was about as far from thinking logically as he could be at the moment, and with his anxiety compounding matters, everything was drowned in that terrible, irrational certainty that it was his fault―and worse still, that CC blamed him for it.

He'd only come out of his room once, and that was just long enough to retrieve a blood packet from the fridge. He didn't respond to any of his boyfriends' attempts to talk to him, and avoided looking at CC at all costs. He was so sure he'd find an accusing stare, a blame in his eyes for taking away his life, an anger like the kind Andy had felt so often in the early days.

He was still amazed Jake and Jinxx had put up with him with seemingly infinite patience back then. He'd been stubborn and angry and tried to run away multiple times―though looking back on it, Andy realized none of those plans had been very well-thought-out, since he knew virtually no one outside his family and he hadn't wanted to let them see him like this. But somehow, unfailingly, Jake and Jinxx had remained patient and taught him how to control his new strength, his new speed, his hunger―how to be a vampire, even when he really didn't want to learn.

Andy well remembered that anger, how hostile he'd been, how much he'd initially despised Jake and Jinxx for trying to save him when he didn't want to be saved. He was terrified, against all reason, despite CC's reassurances by his graveside that night, that he would look at CC and see that same anger directed at him.

Being shut in his room with nothing to do except think and try to fight the memories meant Andy had been spending a lot of time alternatively staring at his ceiling and reorganizing to try and take his mind off of everything. He was bored, there was no denying it, but he couldn't go out there and face his boyfriends, not when he couldn't get his own head on straight, not when he was still so scared. My fault. My fault. My fault.

He must have rearranged his closet (which was difficult, as most of the shirts he owned were black) at least a dozen times, reorganized his comic collection (which was mostly Batman) at least ten, and actively rearranged his furniture (which couldn't have been pleasant for his boyfriends, especially CC, to hear) at least twice. It helped―certainly it helped, to get his excess energy out and temporarily distract him, but when the task was done he fell right back into his own mind. It was hell.

He should have been working on the album. Now that they'd confirmed they would be working with John Feldmann, writing their songs should be their top priority. But Andy worked best when he was bouncing ideas off the others, and at the moment, that semed like an impossible thought. And so his notebook lay untouched on his bedside table.