Chapter Text
The van was a constant. It was practically another Rowdy. Amanda was sure it had a personality of of its own. It growled and clunked agreements and disapproval. She loved this van.
The other car was the most literal interpretation of a “beater” she’d ever seen. It was a weird shade of grey that might have been white at one time, but no one could prove it. Cross had driven it all the way from the junkyard to the field. It was only a few miles, but it was a little odd to not have the entire crew in the van. Truth be told, Amanda was surprised the car made it as far as they did. It was surprising enough to find something in the junkyard that ran. Gripps and Martin had to help push it the last few yards across the grass, with Vogel hopping about in front of them like a bandleader. No one minded that he didn’t help push. He was helpful in his own way.
Amanda laughed as the boys piled onto their new trophy. They climbed the bumpers, skipped across the trunk, and slid down the hood. Martin whistled, and Amanda slid the van door open. She tossed out their tools, one by one, throwing the heavy bats and crowbars towards her boys. Cross, Gripps, and Vogel caught a weapon in turn, each shouting their gratitude. Martin was last, and he snatched the bat out of the air without looking at it. His eyes were only for Amanda. Martin’s lower jaw jutted out in a feral smile. He pointed his bat at her and growled.
The drummer girl took up her sticks and twirled them, approaching the kill with the rest of pack. Martin practically barked at the others, and everyone took up position around the broken Corolla. The 5 Rowdies threw their heads back and shouted, screamed, and howled into the night sky.
A bat, a club, a crowbar, and one glorious sledgehammer came down on the scratched and dented frame. Glass shattered and metal caved. Amanda rattled across the headlights, rocking out a beat that the others felt more than heard. Martin knocked off a side mirror, and Cross batted it into the air. Gripps ripped a headrest out through the widow and threw it at Vogel. The younger man caught it and speared it with his crowbar. He hoisted the combo into the air like a scepter. Amanda laughed at their antics, her hair bouncing around her shoulders.
Now that they had her, the boys didn’t need to feed as often, though the occasional gas station or junkyard still fell victim to their games. Even though their appetites were satiated, they still had needs, or maybe it was just habit by this point. Either way, the gang often stopped at abandoned buildings or found rusted out cars. Vogel insisted his crowbar got lonely when it wasn’t smashing things.
The night went on this way for a while. The Rowdies shared the tools of their trade until everyone had broken enough glass and dented enough side panels that they were satisfied and spent. One by one they collapsed onto the ugly and ripped van seats that rarely ever actually made it back into the van.
Someone started a fire in the pit. Someone else opened the cooler of beers. Songs were sung. Stories were told of previous nights, full of shattered glass and glorious howls.
Amanda didn’t know when she dozed off, but a warm blanket that was almost clean was draped over her when she woke a few hours later. The sun wouldn’t be up for a while yet. It wasn’t the first time she’d fallen asleep outside the den. As usual, one of the boys had stayed outside of the van to keep watch, and smiled when she saw Martin staring into the fire.
His white hair was muted in the firelight, but his glasses shone with the dancing flames. She stretched under the blanket, and the movement caught his eye. Martin barely turned his head, but is attention was focused on his drummer girl. Her long, pale arms reached out past her head, and his gaze traveled down the soft angles, from her baby blue nails to her black tank top, emblazoned with a logo he could never hope to place. They’d gone with her to get a few things from that lonely house out in the burbs. The boys could share clothes, but Amanda, well… her body was smaller, but strong. There were curves in places that he appreciated. From her curled position, he could see the crease of her chest, and he ripped his eyes away, unwilling to invade her space any more than was inevitable. Sharing a van with psychic vampires made for little privacy in several ways.
Martin hadn't, or couldn’t, say it out loud, but having Amanda here had changed their world. While they had always been a pack, now they were more. They had new player in the game. An alpha bitch. A little sister. A den mother. A ward. A guiding star. A mate. His head lolled back and a primal sound rolled out of his chest. She was young. He was a monster. She was new to this life. He felt her feelings, but he couldn’t read her mind.
She needed protection. From herself or from him? The moaning growl came again, unbidden. Just a reaction to the thoughts in his head. Smashing things was easy. Thinking things was hard. Feeling things was the hardest.
The rumbled noise pulled Amanda the rest of the way awake. She knew most of Martin’s sounds by now. She may have only been with the boys a few weeks, but close quarters meant for fast learning. Vogel and Gripps weren’t hard. They wore most of their feelings on their sleeves, right next to the burn marks and punk rock patches. Cross was a bit more reserved, but loved a good shouting match as much as the other two. Only Martin had much mystery to him. Sure, he talked when it suited him. He seemed to almost enjoy teaching her the right way to hold a bat, or how to strike a headlight so that it would shatter away from her. Even though he was the quietest Rowdy, he was also the most intense. Amanda could feel his gaze on her when she closed her eyes in the passenger seat. She felt the strength in his touch when he helped her out of the van after a long drive. She was aware of his focus while they smashed a target and made off with the spoils. He never drove off until there were 8 feet in the van. He checked in with them all in different ways, and quashed conflict between them before it arose. He rested only when the others were safe, warm, and happy.
Amanda found herself preening under his gaze time and again. She’d wait until she felt him looking, then she’d twist her hair to the side to expose her neck to the alpha. She waited until he reclined in his seat, then rubbed a bit of lotion over her hands and arms, and was rewarded by watching his nostrils flare as he took in the scent of vanilla or pear, or whatever the boys had found for her that day. She drummed out a beat on the assortment of cans, bottles, and fire rings that always littered their campsites, and watched his toes tap along to her rhythm.
The others appreciated her too, but they were jovial and easy. She knew it was cliche, knew it was expected, and yet, Amanda couldn’t help but feel herself drawn to him.
Tonight’s display was no different. She knew he’d be alert on watch. Knew he would see her stretch and twist, since a hunter’s vision was usually based on movement. Amanda yawned and smiled. She sat up, and thought that just maybe, she saw a twitch of his lips as well, but the shadows may have lied. The fire was lower than it had been when she fell asleep, but its warmth flickered over her.
“You good, drummer girl?” He didn’t look at her, or at least not that she could tell.
“Peachy.” She rolled her neck, and maybe arched her back just a little. He took a long draw from his cigarette, and maybe shifted his hips, just a little.
Amanda stood. She shook the stiffness from her muscles, and stepped closer to the fire. Long fingers reached toward it, soaking in the heat. She remembered when she’d seen fire on her hands. Remembered the day that the boys, before they were her boys, had rescued her from her own mind, and from becoming a YouTube trending meltdown. She remembered Martin’s whistle. She heard it somewhere just above her screams. And then they were all there. And they were feeding. And she was seeing things. And then her brother was a lying traitor and she ran away to join the circus.
She didn’t want to think about that now. She’d spent enough time and tears on the asshole who’d lied about the most pervasive thing in her life and then tried to buy her forgiveness with a scrap of paper. Fuck that guy. She had new brothers now. But they were better than blood family. They were the family she chose.
Martin breathed deep as Amanda’s anger flared and receded. His hand twitched on his knee, almost eager to grab the bat and deliver some bad news to whatever was bothering her. He knew what it was of course. He’d been betrayed too. You didn’t get over that kind of thing easy.
He blinked when Amanda stood. She draped the cloak around her shoulders like a cape, and he smiled. Super drummer girl.
“C’n I join you?” Her voice was soft, still thick with sleep. He grunted an agreement and slid to make space for her on the ripped seat. Amanda folded herself onto the ugly upholstery and sat back. Neither of them spoke. The fire crackled, and a few enthusiastic snores came from the van’s open windows.
“Thanks.” Amanda said suddenly. She didn’t really mean for the seat. She wasn’t sure if she’d actually said it to him before. At least not directly following the passing of a beer, joint, or bat. Martin didn’t even pretend he didn’t know what she meant.
“Ain’t nothin’.” He said, drawing hard on his slightly crumpled cigarette.
“Yea. It, um. It ain’t nothin’ at all. It’s a lot of something.” She looked down at her nails, resisting the urge to pick off the new paint. It didn’t really matter though. Gripps liked painting her nails, so he wouldn’t mind doing it again.
Martin just turned his chin once. Glancing at her without nodding even. Acceptance, but not much more. He didn’t need to hear her gratitude. He felt it. All the time. When she smiled at Vogel’s antics. When she discussed her favorite music with Cross. When she playing clapping games with Gripps. Through it all, gratitude flowed out of her. It was almost overwhelming sometimes, but it just proved to him how much she belonged.
“Well. We do for our own.” He grunted again, and put out the stub of his smoke on the end of the seat. The acrid smell of burned plastic wafted across them for a moment, but it hardly registered.
“I’m one of your own?” Amanda’s heart fluttered.
Martin nodded. He didn’t look at her. “F’r as long as you wanna be, drummer girl.”
She was surprised to feel her eyes well up. It was nice to feel accepted. Fuck, it was more than nice. It was a goddamned balm on her soul. Feeling like a freak in a cage had been her life for the past couple years, and there’d been too few visitors to her little exhibit. Hard to keep friends and all that. Well, now she had her Rowdies. They were more than friends. This was a pretty ideal symbiotic relationship, she decided.
Amanda nodded, pressing her chin up.
“Well, thanks. Think I’ll stick around.” She leaned back against the seat, and Martin could feel her relax.
“Good.” Was all he said.
“Good.” She leaned over, and put her head on his shoulder. Martin did his best not to tense, then shifted so he could wrap his arm around her. In minutes, he could hear her breathing deepen and even out. His drummer girl was asleep again. Martin leaned down, almost touching her head with his nose. He inhaled. Then again. He filled himself with her scent. Once more, and then he let his head fall back against the seat. His mouth opened as he exhaled with less sound that he wanted to make. She smelled so good. She smelled like home.