Blood Will Tell

by L. J. Smith

  He opened his eyes. Had he missed it? No, Stefan was just sitting there.

  "What now? I told you I was sorry. You still think I'm gonna back out and make you rip my arms off?"

  Stefan let go. "No, but . . . "

  "I told you, I get it. Come on; it's getting late." He could hear the difference in his own voice; he was still embarrassed, but he was talking to a friend, not a demon.

  Stefan was shaking his head. "Humans . . . "

  "Will you just—"

  This time, when he felt the doubleneedle sting, he pushed away thoughts of snakes and scorpions. He thought about the first time he'd seen Stefan, standing up to old Tanner to defend Bonnie. He thought about the alwaysshadowed, alwayslost look in Stefan's eyes back when Matt had invited him to join a team of humans, and the doubt and confusion turning slowly into belief there. Stefan had wanted to join the human race, but he hadn't expected anybody to welcome him into it. Matt had been the first one to do that.

  He kept thinking the same way when he felt Stefan's mouth on his neck, drawing out his blood. He tried not to think of Elena because that was something that hurt uniquely—his own pain was bad enough, but seeing Stefan's eyes afterward . . . God, nobody should be hurt like that. Matt didn't want to imagine what it took to make somebody's eyes look like that. Back in the days when they tortured people, maybe, there were lots of eyes, on the rack, on the Wheel—no, don't think about that. But to see that in somebody you cared about . . . and not to be able to do anything . . .

  He heard his own breath break. What was . . . This wasn't . . .

  He was breathing as if he'd been running hard. He could feel his heart, too, but it wasn't from the fear that had made him so angry when he'd walked in here.

  Wait . . .

  You won't like it any better if you do it right.

  The world exploded differently.

  There was still pain, sharper pain in a way, but it was mixed with an even sharper feeling, that was totally unfamiliar. Stefan was sucking his blood out hard, and holding him in place, too, or Matt might have fallen right off the bed. He was pierced to the soul. But somehow that was what he wanted, and all he could think was that he wanted to give more even than he was giving. He didn’t want to stop giving and he was aware, vaguely, of the feeling of not being able to breathe. He knew he was flying, and then soaring, and then everything went still, and he writhed like a victim on a sacrificial altar, pierced by a thousand little vampire teeth. And then a single ray of light pierced him body and soul, and he was giving everything he could, everything he was, pouring himself in a greedy frenzy into the darkness of the vampire. And then darkness took his vision.

  Stefan

  Stefan was waiting for the backlash.

  He knew it would come. Matt had been in no way ready for this, and, despite his assurances, wouldn't be able to distinguish it from sexual activity. And Stefan had in no way planned to tap Matt's veins. Even in the end, when Matt had proved so stubborn that Stefan's vampire anger had been provoked to teach him a lesson, he hadn't expected Matt to last beyond the first stirrings of pleasure.

  But Matt was . . . stubborn. And a born giver, and all he'd been thinking about when Stefan had pierced him was giving. And about Stefan.

  And I'm . . . not myself, Stefan, thought, licking his lips and probing for copper sweetness around his canine teeth. It's been so long, and I was so careful with the girls . . .

  Through the mindlink that sharing blood always enhanced, he had been swept back through Matt's visions of the old days, Matt's perception of him. And that . . . had been a mistake. The deep, illogical fondness Matt had for him, the—the caring, had been something that Stefan had needed more than he realized it. He'd been shaken by how much . . .

  Can't say it? Too wrapped up in human prejudice? Or is it just the lingering cedarsalty edge of testosterone you've drunk? His mind was a chorus of mockery.

  It made him angry in turn, and angrier to realize that he'd drunk more of that testosteronelaced blood than he'd ever meant to, even when basking in the sunlight of Matt's feelings for him.

  I can say it, he told the voices coldly. He loved me once. I had a friend. And now . . . I've made my friend hate me. When he wakes up, he's going to despise me, and himself, and it isn't going to matter a bit that he's got all his clothes on, and not even a mortal stain except on his neck. He's going to loathe me . . . and himself . . .

  That hurt, a lot. Stefan fumbled for his sunglasses, even though the evening light was no threat to his now hypersensitive eyes. The room was almost dark, but he could hear Matt's breathing perfectly, changing from the slow regularity of sleep to the lighter, quicker, sounds of a sleeper about to waken. He could turn on the light, leave Matt alone to recover, to—react to this. Maybe that would be kinder.

  And certainly a lot more convenient. You really are a coward, aren't you? his mind scoffed. Sometimes his subconscious sounded a lot like Damon.

  He already had his strategy in line. Sit, don't stand, but at least a couple of bodylengths away. Out of punching distance, not because Matt could hurt him, but because the automatic lunge that Matt was going to make as soon as he woke would hurt Matt. He might even pass out, from rising too quickly—and from lack of blood, Stefan's mind added guiltily.

  He hated to admit it, but he'd taken that much. And even if he'd thought Matt would be interested in the slightest in the only panacea—to take some of Stefan's blood in return, as Bonnie so calmly had—well, Matt had been unconscious by the time it had occurred to Stefan had to offer it.

  Some friend you are.

  Shut up. He'd probably have been sick all over both of us.

  His strategy included his expression. Cool, clinical, in keeping with the doctorimages that Matt's own mind had generated. Authoritative. He was planning to use mindcontrol anyway, to keep Matt on the bed long enough to listen, he might as well implant as deeply as he could the ideas that he was the authority here.

  He had his litany down, too. He didn't want to imagine the rage, and bright sickness in Matt's eyes that he'd have to be facing, but he knew what he was going to say, and how he was going to say it.

  I told you so was both cruel and necessary.

  But then:

  "You don't want to talk about it?" Matt wouldn't want to talk about it. "You don't have to. But somewhere, underneath, you're wondering what it all means." And if Matt tried to argue, "If you're not wondering now, then you will be. I was in your mind deep enough to be sure of that."

  That would shut him up, all right.

  "What it means, then. What it means is that you can never tell what's going to happen with humans and vampires, especially if they have any kind of emotional connection.

  Like our connection with Elena."

  And that, he considered, was truly a master stroke. Because it was true. The only problem was whether he could get it out without choking over Elena’s name.

  "What it doesn't mean may be more important to you." It would be, since Matt would be finished with him by then.

  "It doesn't mean you're gay." That was true enough. So far, as far as he could tell, Matt's sexual response had been confined solely to females. He hadn't found any of the conflict in Matt's mind that the tortured, lonely homosexual teenager always had. The need to conform to the norms of a human society that changed its norms every time a vampire looked, and over every national border a vampire crossed.

  "It doesn't mean that anything like this will ever happen again." He was pretty sure of that. Matt's own reaction would ensure it, and unless he fell into the grasp of a truly twisted vampire, Matt's only issue would be how to forget.

  "You've probably heard the cliché that most boys go through some kind of a homoerotic phase during adolescence. You're older than they usually are, which is just more proof that this isn't normal for you." And all that was true, too.

  "And, finally, if it was anybody's fault, it was mine. I knew what might happen, even though I thought your hatred of me"— would Ma
tt be hating him by then—"might prevent it.

  And I still went ahead."

  Because I didn't think you would, a lonely little voice inside Stefan went on. Because I didn't know I needed it so badly.

  But that was the end of his litany, and he knew that Matt wouldn't even want to hear that much.

  I've made a friend hate me, Stefan thought again, even as the chorus mocked him for wallowing in self pity. He shut it up by summoning all the coldness he could muster, which surprised him. It was, in fact, pretty damn icy cold.

  I've made a friend hate me—and I don't care, he thought, and he could practically feel the blizzard blowing around the thought. I'm going use what made him hate me to save his life.

  Matt

  "Hnuh?" Matt came awake with a sort of halfsnort, half question. It was dark. He was lying flat on a hard bed, with some kind of lukewarm cloth on his forehead.

  "Wha—?" That was a better question. And then memory came back, not all at once, but in puzzlepieces, and fuzzy ones.

  "There's a Coke on the floor beside you. You might want to drink it for the sugar.

  But it's best not to sit up yet."

  That was Stefan. As for how you drank a Coke without sitting up, he didn't want to try to deal with trying to explain to a vampire. Then he found out two more things. There was something, a jacket, propping his head up, and the Coke had a straw. His hands were a little shaky, and a little damp.

  "You’ve got your own refrigerator," he said, more because in the darkness and silence he felt somebody had to say something, than out of any surprise. He was still trying to fit puzzle pieces together.

  "I have some juice, too. It's better for you, really. I took more blood than I meant to and it'll help you recover."

  Blood . . . yeah. That's what he was doing here. Being a donor. Because Stefan had to fight a monster . . . and dumb Stefan was planning to do it without any preparation. So they'd all offered . . .

  "Where're the girls?"

  "Meredith took Bonnie down to the car. She was pretty sleepy."

  Sleepy. A vampire drinking your blood made you sleepy. Yeah. And it made the vampire . . .

  "Hey, you're not drunk anymore."

  There was a pause, as if Stefan was waiting for something more, or uncertain about something. Then Stefan said, "No. I told you; it burns off pretty quickly."

  "Yeah." Despite the Coke, he was still feeling muddled. The darkness and silence when they weren't talking didn't help. Maybe Stefan didn't remember that humans needed light. Dumb Stefan, he thought, vaguely but affectionately.

  "Why're you . . . all the way over there?" He squinted in the approximate direction of the voice.

  "Because . . . " Stefan suddenly sounded much less cool, which made Matt realize how cool Stefan had been sounding in the first place. He could hear, sense Stefan coming a little closer.

  "Matt, how much do you actually remember about what happened?" Now he sounded—torn. Sort of sharp, but puzzled.

  "Um." Matt tried to think, turning the puzzle pieces around and around. "You mean about how—stupid I was in the beginning?"

  "No. I mean about what happened."

  "I remember . . . it didn't hurt as much as I thought. Not when I figured out how to do it." Cautiously, Matt sat up, feeling the piece of damp cloth fall away from his forehead.

  He was a little dizzy, but not sick. He could remember the pain and . . .

  Suddenly, he was sharply aware of the and.

  "Jeez."

  No wonder his hands were shaky. His gut was shaky.

  "Stefan?"

  "Yes."

  " We . . . we . . . didn't . . . "

  "No." Stefan sounded much more like himself.

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “Okay? That’s all?”

  Matt felt defensive. “Well, what do you want me to say? Thanks a lot for drinking my blood?” He made an effort. I appreciate the Coke.”

  Stefan dropped his face into his hands. “I thought you would hate me.”

  “Because of . . . but you warned me, didn’t you? I figured it was probably like that.

  Like—like symbiosis or whatever it is. In biology, where the plant makes nectar so the bee gets pollen on it and takes it to the next plant. Right?” Stefan

  “Well—well . . . not exactly. Vampires and humans aren’t natural symbiants. They haven’t evolved together and all too often the human ends up—“ He realized he should shut up. Telling Matt that humans usually ended up dead or as vampires too was just the opposite of a good strategy.

  “Oh,” Matt said again. Stefan was too drenched in relief to find any fault with the conversation. He was gradually realizing that Matt didn’t have the fears for his masculinity that made overcompensation necessary. Matt knew he was male and straight the way he knew he was human and an omnivore that ate certain foods and didn’t eat others. He could force himself to take a bite of grass, or even, if the circumstances were drastic enough and survival was at stake, a bite of human flesh. But he wouldn’t worry afterward about becoming a horse or a cannibal for life.

  Besides, Matt was a giver. Just as Elena had been. Something inside them compelled them to get involved in any situation, to try to make it better.

  What Meredith had seen in the naked light of logic, and compelled herself to accept, what Bonnie had been able to follow as an adventure, Matt saw as an act of friendship, and an obligation between friends. Elena had always fulfilled her obligations, even to the undead.

  Stefan was not human, but inhuman or not, he was Matt’s friend.

  Matt was talking again. “Look,” Matt said. “You didn’t want to do this tonight. We made you. And maybe there was something . . . somewhere that made us.” Involuntarily, Stefan glanced up. Yes, he’d had the strong feeling of her presence here tonight, too. Elena. Still scheming from the spirit world. Elena couldn’t help him any longer with her blood, but that wouldn’t matter to her. She had three humans that she could still influence, and that was fine. It wouldn’t matter to her that Meredith got a bit of a shock or that Bonnie might be playing with fire, or even—well, she wouldn’t have done anything to destroy his friendship with Matt, but he hadn’t known that before.

  Matt was going on. “But even though we did force you, you did everything you could for each one of us: three different personalities. No, don’t try to figure out if Meredith or Bonnie talked. I could tell. And Meredith is going to be a tough one for a while, isn’t she?” There were some things gentlemen didn’t talk about. But . . . “Meredith is tough,” Stefan said. “She’ll figure things out for herself and then I’ll do whatever she wants.

  Assuming,” he added dryly, “I survive past tonight.”

  “What do you think about your chances—now? Our chances, I mean.” Stefan shook his head, both to convey his opinion about his chances, and his opinion about Matt getting involved. But he tried to think about the question. Matt deserved that.

  “I don’t know, but a lot better than before,” he admitted slowly.

  “So if Elena did influence things, it might really make a difference.” It had better, Stefan thought, remembering Meredith and the naked fear in her eyes—

  in Meredith’s eyes!

  “Well, there,” Matt was saying. “If Elena is behind it all, then it’s another of her little victories. Everybody did the best they could. You had to try to fit yourself to each person, and we had to face our fears—”

  He paused and they spoke in unison. “—except maybe Bonnie.” Matt snorted. Stefan could sense him looking at him.

  “I don’t want . . . to lose a friend. My best friend, I guess you could say, even though I don’t see much of him,” Matt said finally.

  Now that took courage, Stefan thought. Overcoming the stereotypes of the culture you were born into, trying not to be defensive, or to run away.

  “I’d be proud to have a best friend like you,” he said, and Matt smiled, then ducked his head and started fussing with his shoe, his tolerance for “mushy t
ype stuff” undoubtedly exceeded.

  Each of them had done their best. Matt was still his friend. For Meredith, maybe the day would come when she could look at him and not think “inhuman”—or at least not think it immediately and constantly. Maybe Bonnie, the moth, would be able to stay away from the unholy flame. Now, there was something to worry about. He could all too easily see Bonnie taking a walk on the very wild side with Damon. His brother had a soft spot for her already, she knew. But if either of them had a problem, he already knew what he had to do to find a plan for a solution.

  Just look up.

  The end.

  

  © Ljane Smith (L. J. Smith)

  This is a fantasy of a fantasy. The idea is : what might have happened at the end of Dark Reunion if Stefan had been persuaded to drink the blood of his three friends in order to be more powerful when he fought that night.

  It might have happened something like this...

  Please note that the text from the actual book, Dark Reunion, is paraphrased and condensed.

  Rating: for mature people who enjoy vampire tales.

  Bonnie

  Stefan picked up the branch of white ash, took the knife out of his pocket, and began to strip the smaller branches off, making it into a spear.“Terrific! The knight is going off to combat,” Matt said. “Don’t you see that you’re walking right into that monster’s trap?” He took a step toward Stefan. “Right. You’re the vampire, but you don’t drink human blood, so you’re almost as weak as a human . . .”