Who: The Williams.
Where: The Williams' Domicile
When: 3:17 a.m.

Silence reigned supreme over the house, for once. It was still and peaceful outside, the damp chill of early fall gently breezing in George William's open window. If it had been entirely by choice, that window would have been closed. But it was an old house and the window was stuck an inch open - wouldn't open further, wouldn't close. It was ok, really, though - the cold wasn't touching him through the thick warmth of his quilt. He was awake, and yet not awake, laying on his side, his good eye half closed as he stared out the window into the dark, cloudy sky. The sky looked like an endless void through the rain-tracks: not a reassuring thought in these days.

If you'd like to walk a while, we could waste the day...follow me into the trees, I will lead the way.

He lay there, earbuds buzzing softly in his ears. Music was his lifebeat, his constant, it aided him in trying to think and trying not to think at the same time. He really only succeeded in having his brain half awake and in a haze; the strange, non-restful sleep that he couldn't escape; the strange limbo that was close-to-but-not-quite full awareness.

Bring some change up to the bridge, bring some alcohol...there we'll make a final wish just before the fall.

The low, soft bass in his ears sounded predatory. Hungry. Strange, in his mind; the song he'd heard a million times before and - quite possibly - would hear a million times more had an alien tone in it, something that didn't belong. He flopped over on his back, rubbing at his eye as he yawned. The clock said 3:16 - and it felt as if he was never going to get back to sleep. There was too much of that...feeling in the air. Not anticipation...but something very like it.

Watch the sunrise all alone, sitting on the tracks. Hear the train come roaring in, never coming back.

He growled, under his breath, and grabbed his pillow, pulling it over his head. It was a bad night when even music didn't help - it was his drug and his antidrug all rolled up into one, and usually Grohl's voice was like a tranquilizer. He pulled the blankets up over the pillow, and tried to sink into his mattress. Tried to let the music melt away the tension. If this didn't work, maybe he'd try Pink Floyd next...

Laying quiet in the grass, everything is still...River stones and broken bones, scattered on the hil-

bang.bang.bang.

The three sounds came in close enough succession that the first hadn't faded by the time the third came; he'd been shocked into complete total awareness so abruptly that his heart was pounding against his ribs as he struggled free of the covers, jerking the earbuds out of his ears. He landed on his hands and knees, the iPod slamming hard enough against the floor that the screen cracked, the light flickering out. He just scrambled to his feet, hair mussed, heart in his throat but otherwise dead still, a rabbit who has seen a shadow of a hawk, a bird whose seen a cat. Listening. Listening carefully.

Silence.

He ventured a step towards his door -socks slipping in his attempts to sneak- but he managed to avoid the floorboards that squeaked, tiptoeing his way clear to the top of the stairs down before he heard the voice; heard his dad's voice: loud, sleepy, confused -

"Laver-"

BANG.

Geo staggered back against the wall of the hall, eye wide; hand clamped over his mouth. Those shots and his dad's voice had been the only sounds from downstairs - he didn't like what that implied. Four shots, that close together, more than likely meant that the shooter knew what they were doing...and the odds that those were the only four bullets were astronomically low. Sammy...

He could...he would worry about Fred and Laverne later. Right now, Sammy was closer; Sammy wasn't downstairs, and Sammy was who they would have wanted him to worry about anyways. He crept down the hall, only to pause at Sammy's door - it was open. Sammy wasn't in there. Geo backed towards the stairs, heart racing.

Sammy had woken up earlier than Geo from another awful dream – the third dreams he’d learned were always the worst – and even though he had tried, he hadn’t been able to fall back asleep. So he simply hadn’t gone back to sleep. On quiet feet he’d slid out of his sleeping bag and walked down the hall to check Geo’s room. Then, on even quieter feet, he’d deviated from routine and headed down the staircase to sit on the bottom step.

It had been alright at first, but then he’d felt the air in the house change, like someone had opened a door or window. He shivered slightly, leaning against the wall, feet already braced against the floor…and then he smelled it. That alcohol scent that haunted his dreams and made him sick to his stomach now mingled with the smell of creosote, gunpowder and lily of the valley. Familiar scents mixed with terrifyingly foreign scents, increasing Sammy’s unease tenfold.

A minute later a light went on downstairs, but Sammy couldn’t move from his spot; he was frozen, almost, as the first shots – three in quick succession – went off. His whole body jerked with each echoing gunshot he heard as if each one made their home in his flesh, and he pushed the door between the second floor hallway and the stairs up to the attic shut with his foot.

Oh gods, oh gods…no, what…no…

Sammy heard Fred’s voice calling out in confusion, calling out his mother’s name, and he managed, slowly, to bring his hand up to cover his mouth, muffling the choked sound that he couldn’t stop. All he wanted to do was go down and stop the madness that was filling the house but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t get down to the first floor in time to do anything, and what would he be able to do anyway?

Downstairs his father called out Sammy’s mother’s name a second time, the confusion in his voice stronger now, and his tone troubled, but this time he didn’t finish her name. A fourth gunshot rang through the house, and then…there was quiet. Sammy waited in the abnormal silence until he heard the beginning of footsteps on the stairs from the first floor to the second, then he could move again.

Quickly Sammy pushed the door shut the rest of the way, waiting for the lock to click before he started up the stairs on hands and toes, careful of squeaky floorboards – careful of anything, really, that would draw attention to the door that hid the narrow staircase up. He was starting up the second flight when he finally looked up and as his eyes focused on the shadowy form at the top he backpedaled, losing ground before he caught the familiar scent of Geo and stopped.

Gods…

"Sammy..." Geo's voice was so low he wasn't sure he was really speaking; so quiet that he could barely hear himself; the relief he felt at finding Sammy a brief flare that died at the horror in Sammy's scent. "That..." His hands were shaking on the railing he hadn't even realized he'd grabbed. "T-that was from inside, wasn't it, I'm not..." There was a note of hope in his voice, but there was more dread. He knew what he'd heard. "...I'm not hearing things, am I..." He could hear footsteps downstairs; boots on hardwood; heavy strides. Fred never wore boots - and they were far too heavy to be Laverne. It would have been enough to freak him out even if there wasn't that overbearing feeling of deep, inky dread; the feeling the shots had awakened - the feeling that seemed such a part of him right now that he couldn't imagine it ever going away.

Sammy made it the rest of the way up the stairs and pried Geo’s hands off of the railing, pushing him back before he pulled that door shut and locked it as well. He leaned back against it before finally answering Geo, signing at a slow pace so nothing he was saying would be missed. “Not hearing things. She’s inside.” He swallowed hard, tightening his hands into fists briefly before he began again. “We have to get out. We…” The lower door sounded as if someone had slammed into it, and Sammy jumped. “We need to just go!”

Geo stepped towards the door to the back stairs, watching Sammy over his shoulder. She...? "I know, I kn..." He frowned, head turning to stare down those stairs. "What's that smell?" It was weird; smelled like plants and wood, but in a strange, processed way. Artificial - almost metallic. There was also another smell that he knew all too well. Blood. He reached out for the door, latching it instead of opening it as he had planned. He cursed the way his hands were shaking - couldn't he be brave just once?

The noises from behind Sammy were getting louder, like something heavier was being pushed against the door. Now, though, quiet noises were beginning at the door at the bottom of the second set of stairs – the stairs that Geo had just shut the top door to. Sammy’s eyes widened and he moved past Geo to kneel beside the door, bending so his head was flush to the floor as he smelled the air that came from beneath the door. Lilies…

The pleasant aroma filled his senses, overlaying the blood scent, and he backed up, eyes closed tight, hands pressed palm down to the floor. He hadn’t thought about that, it hadn’t crossed his mind, how couldn’t it have, how could he have…there had to be two people in the house now. Sammy looked up, then scrambled to his feet, relaying his disturbing conclusion to Geo even though he most likely had figured it out as well.

Geo ran a hand through his hair, pacing away from the door. "That's not gonna work, we gotta...we'll have to go out one of the windows or something...then we can s-send someone back to check on Mom and Dad..." He was hoping there was still a possibility. The sick feeling in his gut, however, did not help matters. And neither did the blood smell. There was too much for it to be anything small; a graze, a scratch, a flesh wound...his mind blinked back to his encounter in the crematorium, and he had to fight to get the mental image of Jace's bloody face out of his thoughts; to get the mental image of the vampires and that poor woman out of his brain. It couldn't be them, they were gone.
The sick feeling that was in Sammy’s gut knotted and twisted as the door at the bottom of the main staircase to the attic splintered and broke and something thudded against the stairs. The logical part of his brain surmised that it was probably whatever had been used as a battering ram, but he ignored it as he grabbed Geo’s hand, tugging and pulling him along behind as he made for his bedroom. His window opened over the garage, and…that was a good thing, right?

Geo didn't really need tugged; as it was, he was half tempted to see if he could still carry Sammy as easily as he used to - his legs were longer, and he didn't need his hands free...but probably not - and he shouldn't try now. He hurried along after, sticking closer to the walls where the floor didn't creak as much. Though...why were they sneaking? Whatever -whoever, whoever, he did not want to think in whats, not right now, not ever- was beneath them knew they were here. That much was obvious.

That thought kept playing with his mind, toying with the edges of his psyche, to the point that he balked at Sammy's door, freezing in place. "N-n...Sammy, I just thought of something, they'd expect this side, wouldn't they? With t-the garage and the b-bigger windows..." He took a step back the way they came. "They..." Whoever the heck they were... "T-they could have someone out on that side." Who are they?

Suddenly the darkened windows in his room looked like gaping maws to him, dark holes that could suck them in and…Sammy didn’t want to think about it. He backed away from his door, putting space between him and it quickly. The room smelled like fear, anyway, a leftover from his dream earlier. He looked silently at Geo, then at the two doors they had locked, knowing they couldn’t get out the narrow slit of a window in the bathroom – that left…the lone window in Geo’s room.

The door to the back steps - the top, they hadn't managed to lock the bottom one, the one that opened onto the first floor - rattled, hinges squeaking as someone seemed to slam into it - but slowly. Gradually: as if the person against it was applying constant pressure over ballistic pressure. And that door was strong, it usually resisted any form of motion when locked. Geo's breath caught in his throat as he dashed back to his bedroom, nails digging into Sammy's hand, all but dragging the lighter boy to his room; letting go once they were in its relatively safe confines. "Y-you're gonna have to help me get the window, s' jammed. Stuck. Been tryin' to fix it since we got here..." He skidded to a stop at the aforementioned window, driving his fingers under the edge and pulling up, as if to prove his point. The window refused to budge. He bit back a whimper as the door outside kept rattling.

After one last look down the hallway and at the straining door, Sammy darted to Geo’s side, scooting in close beside him and pushed his hands beneath the window, palms against the bottom. His shoulders strained as he pulled up with all his strength, but it didn’t budge, and the noise from the door in the hall continued. It didn’t pick up or slow down it was just a steady, constant noise, hinges squeaking and the doorknob rattling occasionally. Sammy worked on tuning out the noise and had just about succeeded when a new dynamic was added – someone knocked on one of the doors.

Geo frowned, looking over at Sammy for a moment before he half-turned towards the still-open bedroom door, still fighting with the window. "...Which door was that?" Was it the strained backstairs door, or the front stairs with...whatever had busted through?

Sammy let go of the window, walking backwards for a moment. “I can find out…” He signed before turning around and crouching in the open doorway, listening carefully. The knock came again, the tattoo a friendly, familiar, old-timey “shave and a hair cut, two-pence,” only it wasn’t all too friendly in Sammy’s mind. And it came from the door he had shut, the one not currently being assaulted. He turned back, signing that to Geo as he moved away from the door.

"Great..." Geo let go of the window, rubbing strained hands. "Maybe we should try your window after all..." This window was well and truly stuck. He didn't wait for Sammy's reply, taking off back down the hall, avoiding the doors as much as he possibly could in the short hallway. The smells were getting stronger, and the edges of his brain felt fuzzy, but he managed to avoid the rolling chair in Sammy's room, shoving it away from the desk and sliding the desk under the windows. He had just reached for the latch when Sammy's narrow hand closed around his own, yanking his hand back. He jerked free, rounding on his brother - right before something slammed into the window.

Whatever it was that had hit the window, it had Sammy frozen in his spot, hand still held out from grabbing Geo. He couldn’t move, and he could barely force himself to breathe, eyes fixed, wide open, on the window as his hand shook of its on volition. When he finally noted the shaking in his hand he let it drop, grabbing it with his other tightly as his teeth gritted with the force of his jaws clenching together. Geo needed to get away from the window. He needed to get away from the window now. Sammy cursed his mute condition, hoping his tortured statue impression along with the noise that Geo must have just heard behind him would be enough for Geo to decide that they needed to leave the room. He hoped that he would do anything to force him to move. To unfreeze him.

One glimpse of Sammy's face - set and scared and pale - was all it took to convince Geo that Sammy had a damn good reason for pulling his hand away, and that he really didn't want to be that close to the window anymore. He didn't look back, pulling Sammy off his feet and forcibly dragging him back out of his room. He paused in the hall for a second, chest heaving, to slam Sammy's door shut behind them, not bothering to stay silent - they knew where they were. They were beyond the point where being silent would have helped. The sound still made him flinch, though, as if making such a loud noise would call them into the room. He leaned against his door for a moment, rubbing at his eye again, until he heard Sammy's sharp gasp. He looked up and over to see that cat practically saunter through the door he had just closed.

That cat.

Sammy pushed past Geo into his brother’s room. Oh no. Oh gods no. As if it wasn’t bad enough already, now that cat had to come through the window, and through the door, and now he was…here. Or there; in the hallway doing the opening thing and the creeping thing and the…not thinking about it. He wasn’t going to think about it. He reached back through the door, pulling Geo inside before he slammed it shut, locking it and signing frantically. “Window. We have to open it now. Can’t go back out there, not with him there.”

Geo snarled, crossing his room in two long steps. "It's stuck, Sam, it's not going to o..." There was a soft, metallic clink, barely audible, but enough that he trailed off, watching the door - the second he had closed, hell, he'd watched Sammy lock this one - fall open and one small, brown paw slide through the crack between door and door-frame, feel the floor, and then withdraw. "...pen..."

Last time he'd seen that cat it had changed his whole life; last time he'd seen that cat he'd lost his ability to concentrate worth anything, and Sammy...Sammy'd lost his voice...now...

...now what had they lost?

The paw slid through again, this time followed by a second paw...and shortly thereafter the whole cat, the door falling open smoothly, without so much as an ominous creak. Once its tail was free, the thing just sat in the doorway for a moment, looking smug; eyes glowing in shades of red and yellow. It sat there -watching Geo, watching Sammy- for a moment before it stood, took one step forward with a long 'mrowl?' sound -

-And the wall and door and floor behind it erupted in white-hot flames.

Cat-induced terror was replaced by wall-of-flame-induced terror. Now there was no question about whether they should try again for the windows in Sammy’s room – they couldn’t. Not unless they could walk through a floor-to-ceiling wall of red-and-orange flames, or were willing to try and walk past The Cat. Sammy wasn’t willing to do either option as the cat opened its mouth wide and hissed; he swore, as he backed up against the wall, that flames were leaping inside of the cat as well, bright at the back of its mouth.

Geo didn't stand and stare for very long; mind instantly structured by the sight of the flames, fear shunted aside, thoughts prioritized by panic and what-needed-done. Alright, so the window wouldn't open. He did the next best thing, closing his fist and slamming it through the glass as hard as he possibly could. Pain blossomed from his wrist to his elbow, but that could be ignored for now as he knocked the rest of the glass out of the pane, snapping the bigger pieces out carefully, tiny shards sticking to his red-and-tacky fingers.

"Sammy, Camaro. Go!" He snatched the card with his emergency numbers –Bu’, Syn - on it from the ledge, staining the white cardstock a vibrant red before the change took over, sliding his body from form to form, stopping at full-raven. Small enough to fit through the window now, though his wing ached like a mother. He flapped out of cat-reach, waiting for Sammy anxiously, his claws piercing through the bloody card.

Sammy started shifting two seconds after Geo, clothing falling to the floor like a second skin though he caught the chain to his necklace in his claws as the flames crept-crawled across the floor, searching ravenously for something to devour; to destroy; to burn to ash with searing, all-consuming heat. Newly sprouted glossy black feathers caught the light of the fire and reflected back the orangey-bright as Sammy took the air and The Cat was reflected -for one, flame-filled second- in glittering black eyes. It ‘mrowl’ed in a very self-satisfied way before Sammy -with one stop on the sill to make sure his wings didn’t clip the window frames- flew from the burning room.

The heat from the blaze turned to the shocking damp of a pre-fall, rain-filled night, and the bright, bright light changed to velvety, cloaking dark the further Sammy flew from the window. He was grateful for the dark as his cut-from-the-night-sky wings blended in with it and hid him well from searching eyes. Sammy had heard Geo’s order to head for the Camaro but he didn’t immediately. He waited, circling, until he saw Geo fly from the window backlit by violent flames.

Geo scented Sammy without looking for him, wings angled to send him diving for Fred's car at the steepest possible angle. He was shifting back to human before he had completely landed, sprawling to the soaked grass hard enough that the wind was knocked from him, but he rolled upright, scrambling under the tarp that covered the Camaro. His hands were shaking as he shoved the non-bloody end of the card in his mouth, and slid his fingers into the hubcap, looking for the key. Where was the key, where was the key, wh-there! His fingers hit duct tape and he yanked, leaving bloody fingerprints on the metal as he stood up - still under the tarp - to unlock the door, cursing every second that he struggled with the tape-wrapped key, every second convinced he could hear footsteps behind him.

The lock finally clicked, and he pulled the door open, jumped inside and shut it gently all in one motion, leaving the tarp over the car for the moment; already reaching over the back of the seat to reclaim his duster. He pulled it on so he at least had some clothing as he rolled down the window. The Camaro. Laverne had always - no, not had, it was too early for had - hated the Camaro; it had always been the hiding place of all those little things - the treasured clothes that she wanted to send to Goodwill, the broken sports equipment with sentimental value that she thought needed the trashcan...a duster with its pockets full of illicit transcript receipts, a wallet and that stupid pendant... Now it was a different kind of refuge, though its metal walls did little to make him feel safe. He slid the key into the ignition, tapping his hand on the steering wheel in a constant, nervous tattoo. C'mon, c'mon, c'mon...

Sharp claws scratched against the car door a minute later, and Sammy hopped into the car, landing on the vinyl seats, claws scratching white lines in the material. If birds could cry, he’d be crying, but as it was he just looked very dejected as he hunched down low in the bucket seat, feathers ruffled and out of place. He tilted his head up and to the side, fixing Geo with a look as if to say “I’m here, lets go.”

He didn't stop to look at his brother - scent and hearing was telling him all he needed to know - as he jerked the tarp off the car, pulling it through the window before starting the car, putting it in reverse and flooring the gas. The Camaro shot backwards - and slammed into something hard enough that Geo's head whipped forward and almost hit the steering wheel. He cursed, louder and more fluently than he ever had before, slammed the car into drive, and took off in a squeal of tires and a spray of gravel.

Behind them the flames were crawling out the windows and licking at the outer walls; hungry dancing fire, hotter than a furnace, burned bright. Sammy hopped from his seat on the vinyl and two short wing strokes landed him on the back dash where he closed his claws onto the edge and held on. He stared in silence as the house –but not the firelight– disappeared from view.

Geo leaned on the steering wheel, arm stinging, scraped in lines and smearing red over the steering wheel; at the moment, though, it was his eye that was bothering him. The good one burned at the edges, sore and watering and...no, he couldn't cry now, he couldn't afford to cry now. Not while driving...he wasn't even supposed to be doing that; and the only saving grace he had there was the fact that hey: three AM. Not a lot of cars out and about. He glanced in the rear-view mirror, looking at Sammy's dejected form, feathers drooping. "Sammy..." His voice was hoarse, as if he'd been yelling. "C-come up front please..."

With one last look Sammy hopped back to the front, landing on the center console, and then the seat once more. His wings just kind of spread out, brushing the seat as he pressed down as close as he could to it, hunching once more with his breast feathers brushing vinyl. He wasn’t happy, he wasn’t okay, this wasn’t happening. And still, in the back of his mind, the harbinger scent of lilies lingered. The sound of gunshots echoed. The Cat loomed ominous, predatory, and way too pleased. It was all too much, everything was blending together so that The Cat smelled of lilies and creosote and when it opened its mouth it spoke with Helen's voice. Geo, he'd focus on Geo...not...yeah....

He kept his hands on the steering wheel and his gaze on the road, wishing he could just...go back home and go back to sleep. This wasn't right. This wasn't the way things were supposed to be - ever. This...just...he veered around a corner, tires and stomach screaming in protest at the sharpness of the curve. He didn't even know where they were going - they were just...going. He stole a look at Sammy. The misery was practically rolling off of the younger boy in stinking waves, thick and contagious and eventually Geo reached out to brush his non-bloody hand down his head, ruffling his feathers. "W-we're gonna be a-alright, I pr-" He had to stop. He couldn't promise that - he'd be lying. "W-we'll be alright."

When Geo’s hand lifted off his head, Sammy shifted, bones realigning and reforming and feathers disappearing to be replaced by flesh until he sat, naked, on the seat. He shivered as he leaned to roll the window up quickly before turning in the seat, knees pressed to the back of it as he reached behind it to snag the blanket that lay on the floor. He was silent until he’d wrapped himself up and then he leaned back against the door, just his hands poking out of the fabric. The familiar weight of totems and rings settled against his chest again, cool against his clammy skin. “You shouldn’t be driving.”

Geo's shoulders shook, twitching, his temper flaring with his nerves. "Hell, no. Really? You think?" His fingers tightened around the steering wheel, glowering at the road before them as if it had done something wrong. "I'm sorry, I'll just stop the car, let w-whoever that was back at the house c-catch up..." Defiance and annoyance melted away, devoured by the horrible emptiness creeping into his mind, unable to finish his retort. "D-damnit, Sammy, I know. I k-know." He slowed, glancing at Sammy again. "Not much I can do about it."

Sammy looked back at him blankly, lips pressed together tightly and face pale as he latched onto one part of Geo’s sentence. “That 'whoever' was Helen. Helen’s back at the house. Well, was. It’s burning now. Don’t think she’s there anymore.” He shifted again, one of his legs over the side of the seat and a foot pressed to the floor. “But I don’t want to talk about it, really. Lemme drive.” He drove better, and Geo’s hand looked really, really painful. He continued signing as he scooted forward. “And I meant you shouldn’t be because of your hand…” His own hands stilled as he watched blood drip down the wheel, coating the covering, dark red against black. He pulled himself away with some difficulty, feeling ill. “Wasn’t meaning ‘cause you don’t have a license.”

There was that Helen thing again. Geo had never understand it, really. Helen was...Helen. She was weird and she was selfish and she was a little whacked out, sure, but...she wasn't evil. He didn't understand Sammy's dislike anymore than he understood Helen's dislike of Sammy. Sammy was...well, Sammy.

He sighed, flooring the brake; almost fishtailing the car into a tree before it screeched to a stop, the smell of burnt rubber wafting up through the floorboards. The car sat in the middle of the road, half in both lanes, headlights glaring off into the woods, catching the raindrops, hazard lights blinking. "Hurts." He confided, shoulders slumped - not sure whether he was talking about his hand or his mind.

With the car safely stopped – even if it wasn’t in the safest place – Sammy brought his hand down from the ceiling where he’d pressed it to keep himself in his seat. “We’ll…find someone who can fix it…” He said, referring to Geo’s hand. He didn’t believe that anything could fix the other problems, and his body language practically screamed his opinion. “We just need to know where to go.” He pushed the door to his side open with one hand before looking back at Geo. “Where do we go from here?”

"I don't know." Geo stayed in his seat, hunched down, keeping his head turned - the bandage was gone. His eye, exposed to the air for the first time in days, felt vulnerable. Apparently bandages didn't change size with shapeshifters. "I....honestly don't know. Somewhere. Anywhere. Not...not back there."

“Never back there,” Sammy agreed, before slipping out of the car to stand, blanket clad, on the rain-soaked asphalt. It was so, so, so quiet, other than the quiet contact of rain-on-road. Where would they go?

Except...

"We have to go back." Geo's voice was dead, twenty minutes later as he sat on the Camaro's hood. Dead, emotionless, dripping wet. Calm, but a sad, resigned, sick kind of calm. "I'm sorry, Sammy. We have to go back." That was a crime scene, whether anyone would realize or not. He'd heard gunshots - maybe the neighbors had too? They'd left a crime scene. You weren't supposed to do that. His breath seemed to clog in his throat. "We have to..."

The words breaking the silence brought Sammy's head up and he looked over at Geo, eyes glittering; confused, angry and so, so very crushed. "Why do we have to go back there? What do we say? We're not dressed - what do we say?"

"I don't know." Geo's hands tapped along the hood of the Camaro, an erratic tattoo as he blinked at his brother. "I just, I don't...." His head dropped for a moment as he felt the surge of tears welling in his chest; he choked them back, the dark scene swimming before his eye with the unshed moisture. The muscles in his shoulders were shivering; jerking as he fought with his tears, finally managing to bottle them back inside. "....we..." He finally managed to say, words slow and cumbersome, "We were in the k-kitchen. Late night snack. Next thing we know..." He drew a line across the hood.

"T-there was fire. Mom and Dad's room. They must have left a c-candle burning..." He reached into the pocket of the duster, pulling out the jade pendant, thumb worrying at its cool surface. "A-and it reached the garage before we noticed it. W-we tried to get through, but it was too hot...and I p-put my fist through the window before we managed to g-get out. A-after that we just panicked before we heard the sirens." By the time they met with the police, he'd have it syrup-smooth. His mouth snapped shut on the words, teeth creaking together as another wave of tears threatened.

Sammy was signing like he was whispering, motions small and close to his body, nowhere near his usual exuberance and life as he kicked at one of the tires but drew up just short of actually driving his foot into the rubber of the tire or the metal of the hubcaps. "Fire will have burned away the smell of the blood, too," He remarked before his hand dropped down to carress the glossy black of the hood, leaving fingerprints behind, marring the paint - at least until they disappeared. "We...won't have to explain how they were...why they were...what ha--" He couldn't finish. He was left standing, shaking his head. This week sucked. Vampires first and then, and then... yeah, it sucked. "Still doesn't explain why you're naked under that trenchcoat and I don't even have a coat."

"We won't h-have to." His eye stung with the held-back tears, but the thought of what they'd have to do was galvanizing him, burning the tears away. He jerked the door open, leaned over the seat again, hooking his fingers through the handles of a plastic bag, dragging it up front. "M-m-mom wanted to pitch 'em." Paint-stained sweat-pants; sleeveless band t-shirts, clothing worn soft as silk by use and love. He snatched a shirt at random, throwing himself into the Camaro and tugging the shirt over his head. Metallica. Dad's. Fitting - he didn't even like Metallica. "T-they'll just be a little big on you."

More like lot big, but that didn't matter. They were clothes, and they were warm. Sammy pulled on a pair of the sweats and tightened the drawstring before knotting it and reaching for a shirt. He wound up with another shirt of their Dad's - this one Rush - and he breathed in the scent that had practically woven itself into the fabric as he wrapped the blanket around himself again and climbed back into the car. He sat for a second, then unwrapped himself once more, looking at Geo. "Letting me drive, then?" Geo's cuts were still bleeding, and there was his eye to think about...it'd be for the best.

Geo tugged on a pair of his own, nodding dumbly. Once the pants were on he ducked over the seat one last time to snag his hi-tops. He just sat in the passenger seat with the shoes in his lap, head ducked. "Yeah. You drive."

They'd figure out what they needed to do later.

Once they got back to the house.