Anger's a Lesser Disaster (Ch. 5)
Title: Anger's a Lesser Disaster
Author:
trylohbyte
Rating: R Overall
Pairing: Vampire!Jon/Brendon, Vampire!Tom/Greta
POV: Third
Summary: Jon shows up well-dressed, courtesy of his new human friend, to his date with Brendon. As confident as he should feel, he's still having second thoughts and doubting himself. He knows this is dangerous for both of them. Especially being out at night. All his prayers for a peaceful evening are shot down when an uninvited guest makes his presence known.
Disclaimer: Obviously fictional. Sorry to burst the Twilight generation's bubble, but vampires do not actually exist. Title belongs to Empires.
Beta: My good friend Jamie, who does not have an LJ account!
Author Notes: I'm not even going to try to make excuses for the wait this time. Sorry times a million, though!
Previous Chapters: P | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4
“I can't do this.”
“Sure you can. Dating is easy.”
“No, I'm totally cool about the date. It's this blindfold thing I can't deal with.”
Jon sits on Tom and Greta's bed, blindfolded, with his legs crossed in front of him, arms crossed over his chest. Even with his heightened sense of vision, he can't see through the multiple layers of black cloth that Greta has tied over his eyes. He doesn't quite understand why he's not allowed to see what she's doing, but it's rather unsettling.
“If I take the blindfold off, you're going to interfere,” Greta explains. “And you haven't been on a date recently enough to be qualified to dress yourself for one, so just let me take care of this.”
“If I have the self-restraint to not kill my date, then I'll certainly be able to keep myself from getting in your way.”
“Tell you what,” Greta compromises. “If you come home without a dead body in your hands, I'll let you pick your clothes next time.”
“If there is a next time.”
“There will be.” She drops a bundle of clothes into Jon's lap and instructs him to put them on, but keep the blindfold tied.
“You act as if I'm a child,” Jon sighs.
“It took me six months to get Tom to go on a date with me,” Greta tells, ignoring Jon's statement. “You know, he showed up wearing a tweed suit? Never let a vampire dress himself, that's my philosophy. I still buy his clothes.”
Jon gives an 'mhm' as he dresses himself blindly and with relative ease. Greta has to fix his hair before he's allowed to untie the blindfold, but when he does, he is in utter shock at the get-up his friend has chosen for him.
“Blue jeans?” he asks. “I'm wearing blue jeans on a date? And my hair is a mess, shouldn't it be... slicked back, at least a little?”
“Maybe if this were the 1930s.” Greta pulls Jon's hands away from his head, easing them down to rest at his sides. “Nowadays, dates are treated much more casually. Unless you're going somewhere high-class, of course, in which case you would wear some sort of slacks and you'd probably have to give yourself a close shave beforehand.”
Jon brings one of his hands back up to rub his stubbly chin. “I do not approve.”
“Learn to love it. This is the twenty-first century, Jonny. Brendon won't be wearing a ruffly suit and neither will you.”
“You're the boss, I guess.” He smiles as he throws an arm over Greta's shoulder. “At least you didn't put me in tweed, right?”
“As if I would ever.” Greta ducks under Jon's arm so she can stand a few feet back and give him a final glance. “There's just one thing missing.”
“Oh Lord, I'm afraid to ask.”
“Then don't.”
Jon watches as Greta disappears into the closet she shares with Tom and ruffles around in a large, faux leather bag until she pulls out a thin, black pencil. He's confused before she gets close enough for him to read the clearly labelled “Cover Girl” on the pencil.
“I hope that's for you.”
“I'm not going anywhere tonight.”
The smile on her face is almost smug as she inches towards Jon, knowing full well that he could outrun her if he wanted to. But he wouldn't even try it, and she knows. The cautious approach is just for show.
“Eyeliner?” Jon whines. “Really?”
“You're gay, you should be okay with this.”
“But I've been gay since the nineteenth century. Times and styles have changed, but I really haven't.” Jon takes a small step back. “So if you would kindly put the pencil away...”
“Not a chance. Don't be a baby.”
“If I cry, will you put it away?”
“Probably not.”
Greta is less than a foot away now, her hand coming forward with the pencil between her fingers. With Jon already against the wall, he has nowhere to go. But even if he had room to escape, he knew he would have given into Greta's plans eventually. She had that sort of irresistible charm that most females seemed to possess in this new millennium. So Jon relaxes his stance and sighs.
“Have your way with my face, but if you make me look like that Marilyn Manson character, I'm calling the whole date off,” he finally allows.
“The goal is to make you look less like a vampire, not more like one.”
Jon ends up walking to Brendon's, refusing to break the rules of the road by driving without a license. The walk takes much less time than it would take a human, which gets him hoping that Brendon has a car to drive. Slowing himself down would be more uncomfortable than whatever cheap, dumpy car his date might end up having.
He rings the doorbell twice as soon as he reaches the door, and only seconds later, Ryan answers. The first thing Jon notices about him is that he is not wearing pants. Just boxers. But he politely says nothing of it, seeing as Ryan isn't acknowledging the fact himself. He simply turns his head over his shoulder and calls, “Brendon!” Then twists back to engage Jon in half-naked small talk.
“What's the weather like? Is it warm out?”
“It's cooling down,” Jon answers.
“Ah.”
“Is that- Jesus, Ryan, you couldn't have put some fucking pants on?”
Both Jon and Ryan crane their necks to see Brendon, stopped halfway down the stairs, glaring angrily at Ryan's bare legs. Ryan looks down, over to Jon, and then back at Brendon.
“I didn't see a reason to.”
“Uh, I would call a visitor a pretty good reason to throw a pair of jeans on,” Brendon argues.
“Well, it's not like we don't know each other.”
It was technically true. They had met before, though it was a little on the wrong foot. But still. Does that justify his pantslessness? No.
“It doesn't bother me,” Jon lies. “I mean, the man has a right to wear as much or as little clothing as he chooses in his own home.”
Ryan nods, like that's the end of that. But Brendon doesn't seem to take notice of Jon's statement, as he's still staring down Ryan like he's going to rip him into a thousand pieces. The silence is just beginning to get uncomfortable when Brendon finally tears his eyes away from his roommate and stomps out the door, shutting it behind him.
“I'm sorry,” he apologizes.
“That was weird,” Jon acknowledges.
“I know. Sorry. Did you walk or drive?”
“I walked.” Brendon looked a little upset, like he would have picked up if he'd been asked, so Jon continues, “I needed some fresh air. But I was kinda hoping you'd have a car.”
“I do, but it's a shitty little thing.” Jon shrugs, so Brendon does too, and they walk to where his old, gray Honda Accord is parked on the curb. “It's a little messy inside, just as a forewarning.”
Jon opens the passenger door for himself to find the seat covered in debris and empty bags from El Pollo Loco and Foster's Freeze. He has the items cleared before Brendon even gets in the car, and is sitting down by the time the driver's side door is open.
“Didn't I have stuff on that seat?” Brendon asks.
“I just moved it to the back,” Jon explains. “I hope that's fine.”
“Of course.”
It's a quiet drive to the restaurant, most likely because Brendon is too focused on trying to see through the layer of dirt on his windshield to talk. But there's no tension in the air and Jon is feeling pretty relaxed, for someone who's going on a date with a potential victim. It's a complicated calm, but it's there and it's very, very welcome.
They end up at Ruby's Diner, which is not exactly high class, fine dining. But it doesn't smell horrible and everything looks pretty clean inside, so it can't be too bad. There are also plenty of open tables and it doesn't look like anyone will be around to bother them. Apparently, the dinner rush was just ending, judging by the relieved looks on many of the employees' faces.
Jon's eyes land back on Brendon, who is talking animatedly with the host at the front. The way they're talking - “nice to see you again”s and “so, you found another man”s – implies that they're either friends, or Brendon comes here way too much. Or both.
The host is a young man, looking no older than Brendon himself. He has dirty blonde hair and bright blue eyes, which really compliment his smile, Jon has to notice. And he's not hot, but he's one of those people who just have good genes. The name tag pinned to his shirt reads “Spencer” in bold, red lettering.
Spencer leads them to a table in the least populated section of the restaurant and sets their menus down on the table, with one final mention of the day's special before disappearing into the kitchen. It's only when Jon flips to the first page of the menu that he realizes he doesn't even eat. So a dinner date wasn't the best choice. He'd just have to take one for the team and choke down human food for the night.
It seems like only a few seconds later when Spencer is back, having abandoned his hosting duties in favor of serving his friend. He asks what they want to drink and if they've chosen when they want to eat. Brendon gets chicken strips, with the three dipping sauce options, and a Coke. Jon gets no drink and just throws out the first item he sees on the menu. It ends up being just a plain cheeseburger, cooked as rare as they're legally allowed to make it.
“So you're one of those raw meat kind of guys,” Brendon comments.
Jon almost says I don't want them to cook the blood out. But then he settles on, “I guess it's just the way I was raised.”
“Did your parents cook a lot of rare meat for you or something?”
To be honest, Jon could hardly recall his parents' names. But he didn't want to admit that to a person who probably took family very seriously, so instead, he said, “Yes.”
“Ah.” Brendon's coke arrives and he takes a small sip before asking, “How old are you?”
Another thing Jon didn't know anymore. He pretended to be focused on the drink menu while he thought of a reasonable age for his appearance. After a few seconds' time, he answered, “Just turned twenty-two.”
Brendon smiles and reveals, “I'm twenty-one!”, like it's his first A+ in elementary school.
Spencer arrives with their food, and Brendon makes a comment about how delicious it smells, but it's not all that appealing to Jon. Still, he takes a bite and does his best to pretend he likes it until Spencer walks away. He then removes the fake smile from his face.
“Remind me again why we didn't do lunch,” Brendon says.
All these complicated questions and no time to think of any answers. Jon couldn't really tell him that he'd postponed their date a few hours because the pregnant woman who was supposed to style him was tired and wanted to take a nap. So, off the top of his head, he said, “Something came up.”
“Mind sharing?” Brendon pushes.
“Just... business.” He wants to add “and none of yours”, but he doesn't. After he says it, there is a surprisingly long silence. He glances up at Brendon, who's staring attentively down at his food, not even eating it anymore. Just picking at the remainder of the meal.
Jon is about to ask him what's wrong, but then Brendon's eyes go up and they make eye contact. And before Jon can look away, Brendon reaches a hand over the table and places it over Jon's. He's not flirting, as far as Jon can tell. But he looks a little concerned.
“You're very cold,” he says.
Jon glances down at his hand and thinks, oh, shit. Now was not the time to bring up his body temperature. He stutters, “I- It's just – I don't know why my skin is-.”
“Your skin?” Suddenly, Brendon's hand jerks back like he's just now noticing how icy Jon's hands are to the touch. “I didn't even notice that, that's so weird.”
“Then what did you mean by 'cold'?” Jon asks.
Brendon bites his lip, like he's thinking about how to word his next statement. Then he comes out with, “You've hardly spoken to me at all tonight. I've done all the talking.”
“I didn't even want to do this in the first place.” Wrong choice of words. Jon looks at Brendon and sees the hurt on his face. His eyes widen and he says, “No, that's not what I meant! I mean, I'm glad I came. I just. Shit.”
“I think I get it.” The look on his face says otherwise. “But what I'm saying is... When was the last time you let someone into your heart, Jon Walker? When was the last time you opened up?”
Jon tries to think back to the last time he shared his feelings with someone he considered close. Sure, Greta was a friend, but the only thing they talked about was Tom and Brendon, so it came down to mindless chatter about their respective crushes. And Tom was a great friend, but they had never really been the type to sit down and just spew their emotions. As far as Jon was concerned, both of them were heartless. They had no emotions.
“It's been awhile.” He comes to the conclusion that the last time he talked about how he was feeling was before he was turned. After that, his outlook on life deteriorated to the point where he'd decided that no one could be trusted. So he just stopped talking to people entirely, and only made friends every few decades. “Not a lot of people can be trusted, I think.”
“You can trust me.” The look on Brendon's face is so earnest. And Jon believes him, he really does.
“I know,” he sighs. “I just don't know how.”
Brendon looks like he might be about to cry, and Spencer notices on his next round to the table. He offers to pay the bill so the pair can go home, but Jon politely turns him down and hands him what he's sure is enough money to cover it, and more than enough to take care of the tip. There's no time for thank you's or goodnight's before Jon is offering his hand out to Brendon, pulling him out of his seat, and walking out of the restaurant.
The walk to Brendon's car is a couple blocks, since they couldn't find an open spot nearby. Jon wants to try and say something to cheer Brendon up. Remind him that it's nothing personal. He can't help who he's become. But there's nothing to be said. So they just walk in silence.
That is, until Jon catches a new scent in the air. Instantly, he knows what it is. And though he remained calm on the outside, he was in a state of panic. It wasn't a seeker, and it wasn't Tom. This was the real deal. This was something Jon didn't want to have to run into for the rest of his eternity.
Another vampire. Another real, true, blood-thirsty vampire.
Author:
trylohbyteRating: R Overall
Pairing: Vampire!Jon/Brendon, Vampire!Tom/Greta
POV: Third
Summary: Jon shows up well-dressed, courtesy of his new human friend, to his date with Brendon. As confident as he should feel, he's still having second thoughts and doubting himself. He knows this is dangerous for both of them. Especially being out at night. All his prayers for a peaceful evening are shot down when an uninvited guest makes his presence known.
Disclaimer: Obviously fictional. Sorry to burst the Twilight generation's bubble, but vampires do not actually exist. Title belongs to Empires.
Beta: My good friend Jamie, who does not have an LJ account!
Author Notes: I'm not even going to try to make excuses for the wait this time. Sorry times a million, though!
Previous Chapters: P | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4
“I can't do this.”
“Sure you can. Dating is easy.”
“No, I'm totally cool about the date. It's this blindfold thing I can't deal with.”
Jon sits on Tom and Greta's bed, blindfolded, with his legs crossed in front of him, arms crossed over his chest. Even with his heightened sense of vision, he can't see through the multiple layers of black cloth that Greta has tied over his eyes. He doesn't quite understand why he's not allowed to see what she's doing, but it's rather unsettling.
“If I take the blindfold off, you're going to interfere,” Greta explains. “And you haven't been on a date recently enough to be qualified to dress yourself for one, so just let me take care of this.”
“If I have the self-restraint to not kill my date, then I'll certainly be able to keep myself from getting in your way.”
“Tell you what,” Greta compromises. “If you come home without a dead body in your hands, I'll let you pick your clothes next time.”
“If there is a next time.”
“There will be.” She drops a bundle of clothes into Jon's lap and instructs him to put them on, but keep the blindfold tied.
“You act as if I'm a child,” Jon sighs.
“It took me six months to get Tom to go on a date with me,” Greta tells, ignoring Jon's statement. “You know, he showed up wearing a tweed suit? Never let a vampire dress himself, that's my philosophy. I still buy his clothes.”
Jon gives an 'mhm' as he dresses himself blindly and with relative ease. Greta has to fix his hair before he's allowed to untie the blindfold, but when he does, he is in utter shock at the get-up his friend has chosen for him.
“Blue jeans?” he asks. “I'm wearing blue jeans on a date? And my hair is a mess, shouldn't it be... slicked back, at least a little?”
“Maybe if this were the 1930s.” Greta pulls Jon's hands away from his head, easing them down to rest at his sides. “Nowadays, dates are treated much more casually. Unless you're going somewhere high-class, of course, in which case you would wear some sort of slacks and you'd probably have to give yourself a close shave beforehand.”
Jon brings one of his hands back up to rub his stubbly chin. “I do not approve.”
“Learn to love it. This is the twenty-first century, Jonny. Brendon won't be wearing a ruffly suit and neither will you.”
“You're the boss, I guess.” He smiles as he throws an arm over Greta's shoulder. “At least you didn't put me in tweed, right?”
“As if I would ever.” Greta ducks under Jon's arm so she can stand a few feet back and give him a final glance. “There's just one thing missing.”
“Oh Lord, I'm afraid to ask.”
“Then don't.”
Jon watches as Greta disappears into the closet she shares with Tom and ruffles around in a large, faux leather bag until she pulls out a thin, black pencil. He's confused before she gets close enough for him to read the clearly labelled “Cover Girl” on the pencil.
“I hope that's for you.”
“I'm not going anywhere tonight.”
The smile on her face is almost smug as she inches towards Jon, knowing full well that he could outrun her if he wanted to. But he wouldn't even try it, and she knows. The cautious approach is just for show.
“Eyeliner?” Jon whines. “Really?”
“You're gay, you should be okay with this.”
“But I've been gay since the nineteenth century. Times and styles have changed, but I really haven't.” Jon takes a small step back. “So if you would kindly put the pencil away...”
“Not a chance. Don't be a baby.”
“If I cry, will you put it away?”
“Probably not.”
Greta is less than a foot away now, her hand coming forward with the pencil between her fingers. With Jon already against the wall, he has nowhere to go. But even if he had room to escape, he knew he would have given into Greta's plans eventually. She had that sort of irresistible charm that most females seemed to possess in this new millennium. So Jon relaxes his stance and sighs.
“Have your way with my face, but if you make me look like that Marilyn Manson character, I'm calling the whole date off,” he finally allows.
“The goal is to make you look less like a vampire, not more like one.”
Jon ends up walking to Brendon's, refusing to break the rules of the road by driving without a license. The walk takes much less time than it would take a human, which gets him hoping that Brendon has a car to drive. Slowing himself down would be more uncomfortable than whatever cheap, dumpy car his date might end up having.
He rings the doorbell twice as soon as he reaches the door, and only seconds later, Ryan answers. The first thing Jon notices about him is that he is not wearing pants. Just boxers. But he politely says nothing of it, seeing as Ryan isn't acknowledging the fact himself. He simply turns his head over his shoulder and calls, “Brendon!” Then twists back to engage Jon in half-naked small talk.
“What's the weather like? Is it warm out?”
“It's cooling down,” Jon answers.
“Ah.”
“Is that- Jesus, Ryan, you couldn't have put some fucking pants on?”
Both Jon and Ryan crane their necks to see Brendon, stopped halfway down the stairs, glaring angrily at Ryan's bare legs. Ryan looks down, over to Jon, and then back at Brendon.
“I didn't see a reason to.”
“Uh, I would call a visitor a pretty good reason to throw a pair of jeans on,” Brendon argues.
“Well, it's not like we don't know each other.”
It was technically true. They had met before, though it was a little on the wrong foot. But still. Does that justify his pantslessness? No.
“It doesn't bother me,” Jon lies. “I mean, the man has a right to wear as much or as little clothing as he chooses in his own home.”
Ryan nods, like that's the end of that. But Brendon doesn't seem to take notice of Jon's statement, as he's still staring down Ryan like he's going to rip him into a thousand pieces. The silence is just beginning to get uncomfortable when Brendon finally tears his eyes away from his roommate and stomps out the door, shutting it behind him.
“I'm sorry,” he apologizes.
“That was weird,” Jon acknowledges.
“I know. Sorry. Did you walk or drive?”
“I walked.” Brendon looked a little upset, like he would have picked up if he'd been asked, so Jon continues, “I needed some fresh air. But I was kinda hoping you'd have a car.”
“I do, but it's a shitty little thing.” Jon shrugs, so Brendon does too, and they walk to where his old, gray Honda Accord is parked on the curb. “It's a little messy inside, just as a forewarning.”
Jon opens the passenger door for himself to find the seat covered in debris and empty bags from El Pollo Loco and Foster's Freeze. He has the items cleared before Brendon even gets in the car, and is sitting down by the time the driver's side door is open.
“Didn't I have stuff on that seat?” Brendon asks.
“I just moved it to the back,” Jon explains. “I hope that's fine.”
“Of course.”
It's a quiet drive to the restaurant, most likely because Brendon is too focused on trying to see through the layer of dirt on his windshield to talk. But there's no tension in the air and Jon is feeling pretty relaxed, for someone who's going on a date with a potential victim. It's a complicated calm, but it's there and it's very, very welcome.
They end up at Ruby's Diner, which is not exactly high class, fine dining. But it doesn't smell horrible and everything looks pretty clean inside, so it can't be too bad. There are also plenty of open tables and it doesn't look like anyone will be around to bother them. Apparently, the dinner rush was just ending, judging by the relieved looks on many of the employees' faces.
Jon's eyes land back on Brendon, who is talking animatedly with the host at the front. The way they're talking - “nice to see you again”s and “so, you found another man”s – implies that they're either friends, or Brendon comes here way too much. Or both.
The host is a young man, looking no older than Brendon himself. He has dirty blonde hair and bright blue eyes, which really compliment his smile, Jon has to notice. And he's not hot, but he's one of those people who just have good genes. The name tag pinned to his shirt reads “Spencer” in bold, red lettering.
Spencer leads them to a table in the least populated section of the restaurant and sets their menus down on the table, with one final mention of the day's special before disappearing into the kitchen. It's only when Jon flips to the first page of the menu that he realizes he doesn't even eat. So a dinner date wasn't the best choice. He'd just have to take one for the team and choke down human food for the night.
It seems like only a few seconds later when Spencer is back, having abandoned his hosting duties in favor of serving his friend. He asks what they want to drink and if they've chosen when they want to eat. Brendon gets chicken strips, with the three dipping sauce options, and a Coke. Jon gets no drink and just throws out the first item he sees on the menu. It ends up being just a plain cheeseburger, cooked as rare as they're legally allowed to make it.
“So you're one of those raw meat kind of guys,” Brendon comments.
Jon almost says I don't want them to cook the blood out. But then he settles on, “I guess it's just the way I was raised.”
“Did your parents cook a lot of rare meat for you or something?”
To be honest, Jon could hardly recall his parents' names. But he didn't want to admit that to a person who probably took family very seriously, so instead, he said, “Yes.”
“Ah.” Brendon's coke arrives and he takes a small sip before asking, “How old are you?”
Another thing Jon didn't know anymore. He pretended to be focused on the drink menu while he thought of a reasonable age for his appearance. After a few seconds' time, he answered, “Just turned twenty-two.”
Brendon smiles and reveals, “I'm twenty-one!”, like it's his first A+ in elementary school.
Spencer arrives with their food, and Brendon makes a comment about how delicious it smells, but it's not all that appealing to Jon. Still, he takes a bite and does his best to pretend he likes it until Spencer walks away. He then removes the fake smile from his face.
“Remind me again why we didn't do lunch,” Brendon says.
All these complicated questions and no time to think of any answers. Jon couldn't really tell him that he'd postponed their date a few hours because the pregnant woman who was supposed to style him was tired and wanted to take a nap. So, off the top of his head, he said, “Something came up.”
“Mind sharing?” Brendon pushes.
“Just... business.” He wants to add “and none of yours”, but he doesn't. After he says it, there is a surprisingly long silence. He glances up at Brendon, who's staring attentively down at his food, not even eating it anymore. Just picking at the remainder of the meal.
Jon is about to ask him what's wrong, but then Brendon's eyes go up and they make eye contact. And before Jon can look away, Brendon reaches a hand over the table and places it over Jon's. He's not flirting, as far as Jon can tell. But he looks a little concerned.
“You're very cold,” he says.
Jon glances down at his hand and thinks, oh, shit. Now was not the time to bring up his body temperature. He stutters, “I- It's just – I don't know why my skin is-.”
“Your skin?” Suddenly, Brendon's hand jerks back like he's just now noticing how icy Jon's hands are to the touch. “I didn't even notice that, that's so weird.”
“Then what did you mean by 'cold'?” Jon asks.
Brendon bites his lip, like he's thinking about how to word his next statement. Then he comes out with, “You've hardly spoken to me at all tonight. I've done all the talking.”
“I didn't even want to do this in the first place.” Wrong choice of words. Jon looks at Brendon and sees the hurt on his face. His eyes widen and he says, “No, that's not what I meant! I mean, I'm glad I came. I just. Shit.”
“I think I get it.” The look on his face says otherwise. “But what I'm saying is... When was the last time you let someone into your heart, Jon Walker? When was the last time you opened up?”
Jon tries to think back to the last time he shared his feelings with someone he considered close. Sure, Greta was a friend, but the only thing they talked about was Tom and Brendon, so it came down to mindless chatter about their respective crushes. And Tom was a great friend, but they had never really been the type to sit down and just spew their emotions. As far as Jon was concerned, both of them were heartless. They had no emotions.
“It's been awhile.” He comes to the conclusion that the last time he talked about how he was feeling was before he was turned. After that, his outlook on life deteriorated to the point where he'd decided that no one could be trusted. So he just stopped talking to people entirely, and only made friends every few decades. “Not a lot of people can be trusted, I think.”
“You can trust me.” The look on Brendon's face is so earnest. And Jon believes him, he really does.
“I know,” he sighs. “I just don't know how.”
Brendon looks like he might be about to cry, and Spencer notices on his next round to the table. He offers to pay the bill so the pair can go home, but Jon politely turns him down and hands him what he's sure is enough money to cover it, and more than enough to take care of the tip. There's no time for thank you's or goodnight's before Jon is offering his hand out to Brendon, pulling him out of his seat, and walking out of the restaurant.
The walk to Brendon's car is a couple blocks, since they couldn't find an open spot nearby. Jon wants to try and say something to cheer Brendon up. Remind him that it's nothing personal. He can't help who he's become. But there's nothing to be said. So they just walk in silence.
That is, until Jon catches a new scent in the air. Instantly, he knows what it is. And though he remained calm on the outside, he was in a state of panic. It wasn't a seeker, and it wasn't Tom. This was the real deal. This was something Jon didn't want to have to run into for the rest of his eternity.
Another vampire. Another real, true, blood-thirsty vampire.