〚 Walls ! 〛
‧͙⁺˚*･ half truths and lies ༓☾
❝ vampires don't sparkle, they burn ❞
*** a nonbinary character is mentioned in this chapter ***
ONCE BRETT WAS ASLEEP, Bellamy couldn't run from his thoughts. He chased sleep, hopelessly willing his mind to shut off. It didn't. If Bellamy had learned anything in the last few years, there were three ways to drown everything out: fuck everyone with a heartbeat, blast music so loud he can't hear his thoughts (even though it almost always resulted in a headache), or drink and smoke until he passed out.
He never claimed to cope with his issues in a healthy way.
The first wasn't an option. The boy in his bed didn't deserve to be taken advantage of, and— despite being the source of his inability to sleep— Bellamy couldn't bring himself to leave the boy alone. Brett had been a zombie from the time they left Peyton's up until he begged Bellamy to stay with him. He'd been so raw, so broken. Bellamy wouldn't make that worse.
The second wasn't an option for the same reasons. Brett needed to sleep.
The only option left was the third. Bellamy slowly slipped away, sliding his hand from the taller boy's chest. At his absence, Brett turned onto his back. Bellamy froze, but he was still sound asleep. He summoned a bottle from the stash in his desk drawer as he stood on the back of the couch to reach the only window in his room. He pushed it open and summoned a cigarette to his free hand.
With a spark, it lit and he took a deep drag. He was careful to blow the smoke out the window and not inside. Brett didn't mind the smoke, he'd kissed Bellamy until he forgot about the lit cigarette many times, but he did seem more sensitive to the scent than most. He looked at the boy in his bed and his heart fluttered in a way it hadn't in a long time.
"You better watch yourself, Bellamy Mikaelson." They pushed the grin off their face as they crossed their arms. Bellamy laughed as they shoved him playfully, eyes light and alive, "This is not a laughing matter!" This only brought more laughter as they fell onto his bed together.
The memory shifted, still their eyes, but they were sad, filled with a million emotions they never got the chance to express, "I... I just need to get out of here for a few hours..."
Again the memory shifted, still their eyes, always their eyes, but they held no emotion, no life. They had been robbed and all because Bellamy held on too tight when they tried to leave.
Now, he was the one to leave.
Bellamy hissed as he dropped the cigarette, snapping out of his thoughts. The damned thing had burned him. Without picking it up, he launched the cigarette into the street angrily.
A whisper of curses came from the street. It was Stiles. Bellamy cursed himself silently as he pulled the window, leaving it only open enough to hear the footsteps leading from the street.
"He lied to us!" Stiles sounded like he was trying to whisper, but he failed miserably. His anger pouring into his words like a waterfall, "About everything!"
"He might not know." Scott whispered, attempting to calm his best friend.
"Are you kidding?" Stiles sounded exasperated as his keys went into the lock, "Of course he fucking knows!"
"He's probably asleep."
Bellamy used his speed to get back into the bed, only remembering after that Brett was still there. He didn't seem to notice, or maybe he didn't mind, the cold rush of wind that came with Bellamy's warmth. He rolled over and pulled Bellamy closer, pressing his nose into the brunette's arm as his own arm laid across Bellamy.
"Then we wake him."
Bellamy had to suppress the growl that threatened to escape. They better not come down here, guns blazing, and wake Brett.
"Don't," Scott said as Stiles' hand landed on the door knob, "That guy he brings around is down there." He had a name, "He knew Demarco. They found the body."
"Are you sure they didn't make the body?"
"Stiles. Let's talk to your dad first. He might be able to explain."
"Don't you think he would've done that by now?"
"Your dad deserves to know, either way. Cool off. We'll go by the station in the morning." Stiles' argument died as he stormed up the stairs.
What the fuck did they know about Bellamy?
Bellamy didn't remember falling asleep, but he would always remember how he woke up. Brett's face was on his chest, almost completely turned into him as if he were only wanted to breathe Bellamy's scent and nothing else, oxygen be damned. Bellamy's arm went under the gap between Brett's shoulder and neck and around to his hip. Brett's leg was swung over him, landed right between his own legs. Brett's arm wrapped around his torso, his hand gripped his side. If he moved over anymore, he would be sleeping on Bellamy instead of the bed, almost like he was afraid Bellamy would leave.
Bellamy tensed as memories flooded his mind. Some from last night... Some from that night... He needed to get out of this godforsaken town. He could go on to San Francisco like he'd planned. Go on a nice road trip. Screw random guys. No feelings.
Not that there were any feelings with Brett. He was just a good screw and cute, so Bellamy kept him around for a little longer than usual. But that time was over. The only reason he didn't end it last night was Brett had a horrible night and he didn't want him to be alone at such a hard time. Bellamy wasn't a horrible person, despite what some people believed.
"Are you okay?" Brett's gravelly voice brought a sense of calm as his finger traced Bellamy's abs (a result of dying in the middle of basketball season). Bellamy tried to suppress the shudder Brett's touch brought on.
"I should be asking you that," Bellamy replied, his own voice deeper than usual. He could end things another day. The boy didn't deserve to be dumped the day after his... friend... died. They weren't together, but Bellamy couldn't deny the fact that it felt like he was breaking up with the kind boy. So, instead of giving into the urge to shove him off, he brought a hand up to his jaw and gently lifted his chin until he was looking Bellamy in the eye.
His eyes, usually bright and so full of life, were dimmed. Last night's events haunted his features.
This is why I have to leave. I can't cause him anymore pain.
"I asked first," Brett brought him back to earth. His chin rested gently against Bellamy.
Bellamy contemplated arguing further, but he knew the fastest way to get an answer was to answer his question, "I've got a lot on my mind. Mostly worrying about you." Brett's heart stuttered, "Now, answer my question."
"A little confused. Dem..." Brett's voice died on his soft lips, frown etched into his features. Bellamy waited patiently for him to respond, instead running his fingers in the taller's hair. He leaned into his touch. Bellamy would have to remember that, "He didn't deserve whatever happened."
Brett didn't see the body, but he smelt it. It wasn't an accident.
"Hardly anyone does. It's usually the people that deserve it the most that are left behind," Bellamy's eyes, beautiful in color, clouded as his words resonated. Brett wondered if he thought that way about himself.
Before anymore soul bearing could happen, Bellamy changed the subject, "Come on, we both need a shower. We smell gross." like a body was left unsaid.
Brett was much more himself as he got up, still shaken, still sad, but he was present. Which is a lot more that can be said for the previous night. They both brushed their teeth. Bellamy didn't have a spare, so Brett just used his.
Bellamy allowed Brett to control the temperature of the shower. He preferred a good bit cooler than Bellamy, but he would suffer a few moments to try and get rid of his frown. Bellamy shampooed Brett's hair gently, careful not to apply too much pressure. Brett leaned into him, and despite being naked and so close it wasn't sexual at all. It was an intimacy that left Bellamy terrified.
As he shut off the shower, he heard Stiles open the door to his bedroom. Bellamy was very close to walking out naked to yell at him before he remembered his and Scott's words. They knew something, figured out a lie, but he had no way to know which one it was. His clothes were in the dresser by the stairs, meaning he had to go out there. He wrapped a towel around himself, giving one to Brett as well.
"Whatever you came down here to say, it can wait." Despite his curiosity, he crossed the room, determined.
"It's fucking important. Your boyfr—" Stiles cut himself off upon seeing Brett, "I'll be upstairs."
"Do I look that bad?" A humorless chuckle escaped Brett. Bellamy turned to throw Brett some clothes, as well as argue that he looked great, but Brett was staring at his phone. His jaw clenched as he looked at the device. He looked up and seemed like a completely different person, "I have to go home." Bellamy nodded. He brought the clothes to him and they dressed in silence.
"Are you alright?" Bellamy asked as they began walking up the stairs, his hand finding the same spot in Brett's back where it had guided him the night before.
"Why is Stiles' so pissed at you?" Brett responded, making it clear that, to get an answer he had to give one. Bellamy stayed silent as he led Brett to the door. Scott and Stiles' eyes locked on them from the moment they left the basement to the quiet, but gentle, goodbye they shared.
The second the door shut, it was game on.
"Someone better be fucking dead, Stiles," Bellamy's glare was unwavering, even as he realized his poor word choice.
"Well... yeah... but that's not the point," Stiles shook off the emotion that followed Bellamy's words, "What are you?"
Bellamy was thankful for his slow heart rate being unable to give anything away as he was sure Scott was listening. He feigned confusion, "Huh?"
"What. Are. You." Each step brought Stiles closer as he annunciated each word with an exaggerated point towards Bellamy's chest.
"Annoyed... Pissed off... Five seconds away from breaking your hand..." Bellamy glared down at Stiles' finger, which was touching the center of his chest. Stiles yanked his hand back.
"Stop pretending you don't know what I'm asking!"
"Stiles, he might not—"
"There's no way he doesn't know!" Stiles threw his arms around, now a few steps back from Bellamy as he shouted at his friend, "How could he be worth more than you and not know!"
"I'm not that impressive," Scott shrugged, which only seemed to spiral Stiles further into his argument. Before he could disagree, Bellamy spoke up.
"Excuse me, what do you mean worth more? No offense Scott, but I do have more money than you."
"That's not—" Stiles cut himself off as he shouted some more, "We know your Bellamy Mikaelson not Stilinski!" Bellamy's heart dropped in a way that even his slowed heart rate was now irregular. He tensed as he looked between the two teenagers. How the fuck did Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski figure that out? And what else did they know?
"Stiles," Scott let out an exhausted sigh, "There's a list of supernatural creatures. It's a deadpool. That name is on there. Thought it could be you." Scott pulled a folded-up paper from his pocket.
Six names had been crossed out in red marker. There were thirteen names in total. Each name had a number next to it, ranging from six to two hundred and fifty. Bellamy's name was in the middle of the list. His name was listed right after Demarco's. He had a fifty next to his name. fifty? Really? Did the person who made this have a death wish? Or did they want to kill their clients?
So much for skipping town.
"How'd you get this?" Bellamy finally lifted his eyes from the paper.
"Our friend, Lydia. She's a banshee. It's a banshee thing," Scott explained, "It's only part of the list. We need more cypher keys to get the rest."
"Like a keyword?"
"A name decoded this section," Scott answered, "We're pretty sure there are two more sections."
"Okay. We established it's a list for supernatural. You're on it. What. Are. You," Stiles' foot tapped impatiently, "Why's your last name Mikaelson?"
"What are the numbers?" Bellamy asked as he looked at Scott.
"Money," Scott took the paper back and wrote 'K's and 'M's next to the numbers, "We think that once we decode the names, the numbers will ad up to one hundred seventy million."
"Why?" Bellamy asked as he stared at the fifty million. He wondered if someone figured it out. If there was a price... Not even Marcel's venom was strong enough... What the hell could some benefactor in Beacon fucking Hills come up with that would be strong enough? Or maybe he left it to the professionals...
"That's how much money was stolen from the Hale vault," Scott explained. Stiles rolled his eyes, beyond annoyed at his friend for explaining without asking questions, "We think that's what's funding this list."
"Who the hell would be able to come up with a list like this?" Bellamy hadn't been as discreet as he could've, but he wasn't stupid. At most, if someone had been watching him (and he somehow hadn't noticed— unlikely), they could figure out he was a hybrid. Nothing he'd done tied him back to his family.
Bellamy would have to end things with Brett. He didn't deserve to get dragged into this. If Bellamy's real name was out there, it was only a matter of time before everything came crashing down.
"We have no idea," Scott shrugged.
"Okay! We answered all of your questions! Answer mine," Stiles crossed his arms as he glared. Bellamy snarled and showed Stiles his true face, "Jesus Christ!" Stiles yelped and took a leap back, tripping over himself and landing on his butt.
"So much for not knowing," Scott sighed quietly. Bellamy swallowed. He'd forgotten Scott's calmness. He could've used that... but this would have to suffice.
"I'm a vampire." Stiles took Scott's hand and his friend pulled him to his feet. Stiles dusted himself off.
"A vampire?" Stiles asked. Bellamy nodded.
"Like twilight?" Scott asked. Bellamy rolled his eyes.
"You watched Twilight?" Stiles turned to Scott.
Scott had a sheepish grin, "Allison."
"Nothing like Twilight," Bellamy said, "Vampires don't sparkle, they burn."
"But you-"
"Have a daylight ring," Bellamy drew their attention to his father's old daylight ring. Something he kept on for situations exactly like this one.
"Wait so your immortal?" Scott asked.
"Sort of," Bellamy lied.
"Wait... How old are you?" Stiles asked.
"Seventeen," he lied again, "I'm still your cousin, Stiles."
"How old did you...?" Scott asked.
"Fifteen..." Bellamy looked at his feet as he picked at his nails. He licked his lips as he met Stiles' eyes again, "It's how I survived... the... crash..." He looked back down quickly as he scratched his neck, but Stiles' didn't miss a beat.
"So you live off blood? Like human blood?" Bellamy nodded, "Have you drank my blood?"
"No. I use blood bags," Bellamy said.
"From where? Is there like vampire blood drives?" Scott seemed intrigued.
"The hospital." Bellamy scratched his nose, "Vampires don't get along with each other well enough for any of that."
"But people need the blood the hospital gets..." Scott seemed saddened.
"I need the blood," Bellamy sighed, "What's your preference? Blood bags or body bags." Scott and Stiles grimaced at his words.
"But I've seen you eat," Stiles seemed very confused.
"My body can still digest food. It doesn't do anything but help me look normal, though."
"Wait... Why didn't you tell us when Scott kidnapped you?" Stiles asked skeptically. Scott looked scandalized as he dramatically placed a hand over his heart.
They never stop with the questions. Bellamy rolled his eyes internally.
Bellamy looked down as he tried to think of a reason. The best idea he had was the most honest thing he'd said, "This is a town full of werewolves... or shapeshifters, whatever the hell you guys are. Our species don't get along. Vampires were created to protect from werewolves. Your bite is poisonous." Bellamy looked between Scott and Stiles and summoned his best nervous look.
"But it is curable?" Scott asked.
"Supposedly. I don't plan to find out if that's alright with you."
Stiles didn't trust Bellamy. He lied about being human even when he knew Scott wasn't... Which he did explain... But he showed up out of nowhere with a huge inheritance... Okay maybe his parents died... But that didn't explain his last name... Unless Aunt Rachel's husband's last name was Mikaelson... But... It was a really odd name and it was spelled weird.
It didn't matter. Something was off about him. Stiles was going to figure it out. He had to. He wouldn't be the reason his friends got hurt... or worse... again.
The first thing he did when Bellamy went back to the basement was look up vampires in the bestiary. Vampires were towards the end of the book, surprisingly, until the 1970s, the Argents believed vampires to be a myth. Because of this, there wasn't much information. Vampires tend to stay away from California (outside of LA, which is crawling with supernatural). Stiles could thank the nemeton for that.
The things it did mention were interesting. It didn't know about the ring Bellamy showed them. The book claimed that vampires were stuck to night walking. It mentioned stakes and beheading as efficient ways of killing. Vervain weakens them and wards off compulsion.
Compulsion is a form of mind control. Vampires make eye contact with a person and can make him or her do whatever it wants. Vervain cannot undo compulsion, but it can prevent it.
Stiles wondered how many of his friends had been compelled... Scott was very relaxed when they found out Bellamy lied. His dad had been acting weird since Bellamy arrived. He claimed it was stress from handling the legal stuff, but Bellamy hadn't had to sign or do anything since he came to town. All he did was flaunt his money and bring guys back to the house.
Stiles would have to get some vervain, and he knew exactly where to get it. He pulled his phone from his pocket and texted Scott for Argent's number.
If you haven't looked at the introduction chapter in a while, you should check it out. I recently changed the aesthetics and I think they look a lot better now.
I'm trying to stray from more dialogue-heavy chapters, but I leaned into the dialogue a bit more with this one because a lot of Scott and Stiles' friendship is bouncing off of each other. I really hope they seem in character. If there's something I need to fix, please let me know!
I did upload this without proofreading just in case my power goes out since we're having some bad weather, so please excuse any typos.
(edit) In my rush to get this out, I had the wrong amount down for Bellamy. Initially, this chapter said he was worth 70 million, but that was from a really old draft. Bellamy is only supposed to be worth 50 million and the hale vault had 170 million dollars before it was robbed.
-LOVENJOYER is actually the reason I cam to check as she caught onto some numbers in a previous chapter.