Hello all! I got interested in watching Being Human (UK), and came up with this little idea. It was thrown together at about 10 o' clock at night, but I did do my best to edit it. Hope you enjoy! (Also, I was picturing this as happening sometime during the 2nd season). Hope you enjoy, and have a nice day! Buon divertimento!

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.

~Bandit


Light

Mitchell looked down with disgust at the limp body slumped at his feet. The sound of his friends' labored breathing pierced the air behind him. Blood trickled from his trembling lips, the same blood that covered the girl, who was now dead. He stood there, chest heaving. The scene around him was not pleasant- blood splattered like paint over the alleyways and the damp stone street. Mitchell let a sigh fall from his lips. His eyes flickered towards the young girl. He didn't want to dwell on things about her. He could only remember the look of absolute fear in her eyes, and he'd loved it. The taste of perspiration as it ran down her skin, the trepidation in her fingertips as she'd clutched desperately at the walls around her, fighting to keep him away, and Mitchell had longed for that power. He had missed it.

He glanced down at his hands, so stained and shining crimson from the mess. His hands trembled. He was a monster and there was no denying that. There was no running from what he'd done, and he would save everyone the trouble of having to chase him down. He didn't want to face them, he didn't want to face what he'd done. His friends stood behind him, and he could feel their eyes on the back of his dark head. There was a horror-filled silence, as they stayed quiet, as though invisible behind him. This wasn't supposed to happen. They weren't supposed to be scared. They weren't supposed to see this. It wasn't like when he was younger.

X-x-X-x-X

He could still taste the blood on his lips from the first time it had happened, could remember the padding of expensive shoes as he strode down the hallway of the old building. Dust had been settling among the desks and furniture, spider webs were weaved over and over in the dark corners. The place had looked so desolate, so dead, but it had buzzed with chatter and cheery discussions.

The place had been a far cry from the empty, chilled cavern Mitchell had been expecting, and when he first looked up, the first thing he spotted was the familiar eyes of the one who'd converted him. He'd never forget that malicious glimmer, as he walked up, lights flashing behind him as the light bulbs flickered over and over. Storm clouds were brewing over Bristol, billowing like a dark cloak, spraying water droplets over the entire city, and sending chains of lightening down to the ground. Herrick had smiled so joyfully, clapping him on the shoulder, his suit crisp and fresh, rustling with his every movement. Though there was new life inside of him, Mitchell had never felt more like a corpse.

"Who was it this time, my boy?" The proud edge of his voice had nearly sent Mitchell over the edge then and there. He was supposed to be grim. This wasn't a happy time.

For a moment he couldn't remember, and he just stood there choked up. Finally, he managed to swallow, and returned the spiteful smile, albeit a bit faked. "She was seventeen. Amy Richards. Brunette, green eyes. She screamed."

Another sly smirk pulled at the man's lips. Reaching forward one of his hands, he stroked Mitchell's cheek slowly, regarding the youth with admiration. The ex-soldier shuddered. He'd never get used to the feel of ice, when it was supposed to be warm skin.

"Good, good. Now..." moving closer towards him, Herrick whispered right into his ear, calm and patient as ever. "Tell me how loud. How loud did she scream when she realized?"

His eyes flickered back towards the front door where rain was streaming down, each drop chasing after the other. Mitchell could feel his heart beat hard in his chest, as he struggled to find the words. He hated Herrick's patronizing demeanor. "As though she had seen a ghost. As though the most horrible thing in the world had happened to her. And it had."

Even Herrick could not deny the hatred in Mitchell's eyes as he looked upon the others of his kind. He could not be so foolish as to think that the younger would enjoy it at first, yet he remained confident. It was the start of this man's legacy. He would have time. "Just you wait, my dear boy..." turning on his heel, the elder moved away, sending fear shooting within Mitchell, "you'll understand soon enough. Soon you won't be stopped."

An elderly man greeted Mitchell with a gummy smile on his face, as he folded his hands behind his back. "Don't worry, you are young. You should not worry about Herrick, his ways, or anything else. Herrick is merely an apprentice of mine, and he is heartless, cruel, but not inconsiderate. He will not destroy you completely."

Mitchell's head swam with a thousand different thoughts, as he glanced at this strange man, who was silent and brooding in the most unnerving way. He didn't like these people. He had only come to them upon request. Before he could even think to question this man, he had called upon guards to escort him away. They would clean up Mitchell's mess for him.

It would be like that for the rest of his days.

X-x-X-x-X

Except now.

He sensed Annie next to him, he managed to tilt his head to the left for her. Only for her, and he caught her eye. There was that look upon her face. The look that meant she was confused. How her mouth hung agape, her eyes wide and then quickly how her eyebrows burrowed low -her eyes tearing up how those very same eyebrows contorted -how she took a step back and then from his eyes for only a moment to take in the victim some more. Never before had that look made his stomach twist nervously within him like it did. She was arguing with herself. She was fighting. She was deciding. And with a slight shake of her head, the curls spinning wildly as a result, he had the feeling that it would not end well for him. She would leave, wouldn't she? Like everyone did.

He didn't need to look back at the other two- he didn't even want to. If he couldn't face Annie, who had always been by his side, had always been a source of positivity, he surely couldn't face them. He didn't want to see the disappointment George reflected, or the accusation Nina would have for him. He was too frightened. His mind buzzed with numbness as the world came crashing down, and he was forced to look at the victim again. The victim. Prey. Innocent soul. He was the opposite, wasn't he? No one, it seemed, dared to speak, and Mitchell was sure silence had never burned louder in his ears.

He hadn't wanted this. Guilt dripped back into him, like little drops hitting the surface of the ocean. It was slow, gentle, but he curled his hands into fists so tightly that his nails dug into his clammy palms. It was as though he expected the small pang would somehow wash away the world. Everything would disappear, and he'd be safe. But that wasn't what happened. Her face was so young, so flawless, and she had been gorgeous. Not the kind of gorgeous that you are attracted to, but the kind that you admired. The kind of gorgeous that made a thousand different guys go head over heels, but it was the same kind of gorgeous that was never noticed. And he had ruined it. Blood was smeared over her features, and she was ruined.

In less than a second, he couldn't breathe. The air around him grew tight, and his lungs collapsed upon themselves. His stomach dropped violently, and ice coursed through his veins. All around him, all he could see was the anguish that conquered him. His knees gave out underneath him, and he dropped to the ground with a sob, that made his shoulders shake and his mouth go dry. He hadn't asked for this, had he? He hadn't wanted any of this, and he certainly hadn't wished for anything of the sort. He never asked for a curse, and this was definitely a curse. All he could feel was the hunger eating away at him to the point where he could no longer function. He could no longer control himself. What had he done to deserve such a punishment?

Mitchell let his hands limply slide out of the fists, until he had pressed his hands flat to his head, clinging onto the damp, stringy curls that covered his face, like a curtain. He didn't want to look anymore; he clenched his eyes so tightly shut that all he could see was red. He latched his hand onto his scalp, and clung. He ought to die. He figured he should just cut so deep that he punctured his skull, and maybe he'd die. Maybe the world would be rid of him, and maybe the pain could end. Maybe people would no longer suffer, and he figured that sounded awfully good to him.

Looking back, Mitchell could never remember a time when he had been more vulnerable. Crouched on the ground with his head in his hands and his entire body shaking, while trying to find ways of disposing of himself, he was terribly miserable. Not even times, when he had first become a vampire. Even at his first kills, he'd been able to keep his emotions in check, even upon the most brutal of kills. And now he was muttering things under his breath, the only few words that he could manage to choke out through a swelled throat. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry," over and over again he breathed out. His tongue rolled over every painful syllable, until he was forced to hate the words, his voice breaking as he continued to speak. Apologies wouldn't help this, it wouldn't help anything, so why was he even attempting? Why was he trying?

This was different, though. He could already hear Annie shuffling anxiously towards him. But he didn't want her to be there. He would only hurt her, and he wanted her safe. He wished she would just leave- he didn't deserve her anyways. Someone as despicable as him didn't deserve someone so perfect as her. And a murderer never deserved friends. She reached for his shoulder, her hand barely there as she placed it on his trembling frame, but her touch burned. It burned him, and he was in pain. All he could think about was how he had betrayed them again. He had betrayed them all. He had betrayed himself. Their lack of faith in him now practically dripped from every breath. And he didn't want her near him. He wanted to be alone. Solitude was what could cure this problem, confinement like the other criminals got. That's what he wanted of himself. He didn't deserve the comfort, or the warmth that friendship brought. He deserved a life alone, like ice, cold as Annie's touch.

Mitchell wrenched around where he knelt, fixing the ghost with a look of such intensity and aggression that she was forced to draw her hand away and back from him. "Get away from me!" The scream caught in his throat for a moment, but it fell from his lips, and the next moment, he was struggling to see through the shame that clouded his vision, panting, as he let his gaze drop back to the damp stone ground beneath him.

Now she was wringing her hands together nervously, frightened of him, scared of what he would do, and he knew she had every right to be. Annie could feel her heart all but break where it was beating anxiously in her chest. Surely she had a heart, and she had never considered the option that because she was dead, she wouldn't- she could feel an empty feeling coursing through her, and she looked down at her friend, so pitiful, and helpless, and suffering. She wanted to help him, but she knew him, and knew what he was. He would never accept that help.

Because he was Mitchell, and he was stubborn, and he always felt he didn't deserve anything. He always thought, that because he had murdered others, he didn't deserve a thing, but Annie knew that wasn't true. Mitchell was violent sometimes, and when he got like this, he terrified her- but he was far from unworthy of rewards. He could be horrible, but he could also be wonderful at the same time. He could be absolutely amazing, and he could perfect, at least for him. Annie just wanted him to see that no one blamed him for what he had done, no one thought any different of him. Sure Nina and George were a bit shocked, but they were his friends, and even she could tell they weren't even blaming him for anything. They just wanted to help him, too.

And here he was turning her away, and acting like a monster, who couldn't control himself, when for years he had. She could see the wheels turning in his head, but he was begging himself to stop thinking. She could practically hear the voice inside his head telling him that he was wrong, that he was vicious, and bloody, and a murderer. That voice that was telling him to reject all forms of help, because the voice told him he wasn't worthy. It told him he didn't deserve anyone, and she didn't like it. It wasn't Mitchell. She didn't like it. Annie chewed anxiously on her bottom lip as she watched him, and she could feel her eyes swimming.

But he'd already beat her to it. The tears scorched his cheeks in rivers, like a scalding fire as he began to cry, at last letting his emotions crack. Like a wall, collapsing, he let himself be mournful, and at last he looked as tortured as he really was. Instead of tiny drops, the shame hit him like a blow to the stomach, and he doubled over, weeping bitterly as he never had in his life. Like an ocean washing over him, he felt as though he were drowning in the overlapping waves of his burden. He suffocated on the very air around him.

Mitchell was too distracted, so overwhelmed by despair that he didn't take notice of his friends anymore. In fact, it was hardly like he was there at all, though his voice went hoarse, and he instead wrapped his arms around himself as he shivered. A cool wind blew through the alleyways, sweeping its way over the four of them, dancing around in the night. All they could do was watch. Annie's eyes went wide. Mitchell the vampire burst into tears, and she wasn't sure what to do. Running her hands nervously through her bouncing curls, shaking fingers latched over every turn in the strands. She wanted nothing more than to comfort him, hold him like he was a child again, but she feared how he would react to her kindness. Maybe he saw it as a threat. With a glance towards George, she arched her eyebrows, and frowned, shrugging her shoulders. They weren't sure either.

He was completely oblivious to the silent conversation going on around him, so he wasn't sure what was going to happen next. Would they finally just walk away? He would be so relieved if they did. If they realized he was dangerous, and they left, they could be safe from him, for once they could live in peace, and maybe just experience happiness by themselves. Mitchell knew things would be so much brighter if they didn't have him with them, and he wanted to be happy for them, wanted to be glad they were considering leaving him- but no matter how he tried, he couldn't be. He didn't want to be alone again, because after meeting George and Annie, he had never felt a peace so soothing, he had never felt more alive, more surrounded by hope.

He didn't want to lose that, but he didn't think he had a choice. Gritting his teeth together so hard he was sure he would break all of the bone, he sobbed, snuffling like a small child, but he wasn't. No child should feel a pain as deep and as gut wrenching as the one that was cutting his mind. He was torn between his friends. Mitchell could only choke out the two words he'd said the most in his life. "I'm sorry."

Even from across the alleyways, where Annie had strayed towards the two werewolves, the friendly ghost, could hear the whimper. It was a broken sound, something that made her heart twist around in her chest, but it got her head spinning as well. He was being ridiculous, and before she could even think to stop herself, Annie was speaking in a stern voice, more forceful then she's ever been in her life, anger burning through her. "Don't."

He turned back towards her almost at once, vision clouded by the acid tears, the salt stinging on his trembling lips, as he opened his mouth again, struggling to speak. He couldn't find words, as he saw their expressions. Annie, especially, her smile faded, for what seemed like forever. Her face reflected a look of intense pity, and unbearable suffering, yet she'd arched her eyebrows, hands on her hips. "B-but, but I...?"

This time it was Nina who spoke, still staring in surprise at him, but her tone sharp and motherly. "Stop your stuttering, Mitchell, it's late, and we're all tired. Let's go home." Nina smiled, her arms crossed against her chest as she tapped her foot.

He only returned the gaze with empty, hollow eyes, and a shattered expression. Mitchell was only confused. Why were they there? Why were they staying? Didn't they realize that he could kill them? "I attacked her, though!"

"Who's 'her'?" George stared back defiantly, speaking calmly and softly in order to soothe Mitchell, who was still quivering which every stomach-churning sob. "Attacked? You haven't attacked anyone."

The vampire eventually caught on, but not without lingering confusion passing over his face, as he glanced up at his mate with bright eyes. What were they doing? Why? "Yes, I have. What do you mean? Why are you-?"

But before he could speak again, George had offered him his hand. It was a small symbol, but Mitchell couldn't help but give the slightest of smiles at the action. Even in the darkest times, he could manage a smile, fake or real. But he took the hand, slowly lifting himself off of the ground. He barely had a moment to appreciate all that his friends were doing, before he'd been tackled to the ground again. Annie rushed towards him, like a hyper child, and wrapped her arms around him. This time, he was too shocked to push her away. Gingerly, he wrapped his arms around her, as she began to cry again.

"Come on," she sniffled, pulling back, and meeting his gaze. The very look she gave him made his back roll with awe. Brushing at his arms with quick, painful swats, she attempted to clean him off. "Let's go home, like George said. It's nearly one in the morning."

The world spun around him as he went dizzy with confusion. "But wait- before you... before you act as though I'm innocent, before you as like I've done nothing wrong, you have- you have to... How did you find me? How did you know?"

Nina shuffled uncomfortably, and George adverted his gaze, while Annie took a sudden interest in her shoes. At last, she spoke. "I followed you. I saw you with that girl, and I got... I got so jealous. And when you started to kiss, I knew what would happen. George and Nina were nearby, but I couldn't stop you. None of us could."

"I didn't want to be stopped." Clearing his throat, he inched forward, on edge. "Because I liked it."

Almost at once, Annie was shaking her head, the edges of her lips tucking into a frown. "Doesn't matter. You're still Mitchell, so it doesn't matter. C'mon." Taking his arm, rather roughly, she led him towards George and Nina. "The vampires will take care of this won't they?"

His mind swam with memories of the past days, when he'd kill from dawn to dusk, without a care in the world. He'd wake up, and everything would be sparkling clean. Things would be completely covered, completely taken care of. "Yes."

"Then let's go home." Slinging her arm over his shoulder, Annie gave a simple smile, one that made her usually dark eyes light up with a glittering happiness. The four of them walked side by side, out of the shadow-covered alleyway, and into the light of the street lamps.


A/N: Please review! Thanks for your time, and feel free to ask any questions!