One of God's children

"...Now this here is your room, isn't that fantastic? I think there's a game of Buckaroo downstairs-- one of the other guests must have left it behind."

"Buckafuckingroo?"

The surly teenager standing before George gave him a look that went beyond disbelief. George, being George (and being rather preoccupied with sorting out the boy's sheets) did not let that throw him off his stride. "Yes," he said, decidedly. "It's a fantastic game for two to eight players-- oh, forget it, I'm just trying to think of things to keep you occupied."

... so yes, George handled it exactly like George Sands would.

"I can keep myself occupied," the little vampire said, sighing, and sat down on the bed.

It took a few moments before that one made it through to George's brain, but as soon as it did, he dropped the pillow. "Oh god, you're a teenage boy, of course you can." Ew ew ew ew ew.

"Hello!"

George had never been that happy to see Annie before.

"Don't you ever knock?" the boy - Adam - said, eyeballing Annie.

"Oh, I don't have to, being a ghost has some perks," Annie said. She had a smile on her face, her hips shifting a little as she spoke.

"Well, not around me, I don't want ghosts popping up all over the place, it freaks me out," Adam complained.

"You're a forty-six year old vampire," George pointed out, taking a moment to eyeball Adam right back, "who dresses like a child. Don't call her freaky."

"Anyway," Annie said, clearing her throat, "I'm just stopping by to see how you boys are getting on."

"Badly," George said.

Adam leaned over and kicked him.

George nearly toppled over, spun around on one foot, balanced precariously on it for several moments before setting it down on the floor and letting go of a belated, "Ow!"

He pointed a finger at Adam. "He just kicked me!" he shrieked. "I-- Annie! Tell him off!"

The look Annie gave him made it clear that this was not the most mature, manly thing she had ever heard George declare, but also that it wasn't exactly in the running for the least mature, manly thing he had ever said.

George sighed. "I need to call Mitchell," he said. "Again. He's still not answering his phone."

"You've left ten messages," Annie pointed out. "Maybe it's time we tried something else."

"Yeah," George said, rubbing the back of his head and giving Adam the stink-eye. "But who else do we know who knows anything about vampires--"

His eyes met Annie's eyes.

"Right," George said, and dashed-slash-stumbled-slash-flailed his way out the door towards the phone.

[[ for he who has been handwavily summoned here, and myself. Parts taken from Being Human 3x01: Adam's Family ]]

George sat at the breakfast table with an untouched cup of tea, doing what he had been doing for most of last week... nothing, staring at the walls, trying not cry.

All right, so during the full moon things had gotten a bit... interesting... between him and Nina, so that had broken up the staring somewhat, but... that had only lasted so long. So now he sat here, and nursed his tea, and barely met Nina's eyes the few times she tried to get to him.

Then the door behind him opened, thudding against the wall, and he jerked up. Oh god-- would it be Mitchell and Annie? Were they back?

Some of the hope fled him as he looked: it was Mitchell, alive-- well, undead-- and well, thank god, but no sign of Annie.

No sign of Annie.

He couldn't deal with it any longer. The tears wrestled their way out and he sobbed out loud; no doubt he looked as ugly as he felt.

... and then the sound of tea clattering into his mug pulled him out of it. He looked up and stared directly into Annie's face, and her smile, god-- George hurled himself at her, hugging her tight, as behind him Nina did the same to Mitchell.

Mitchell-- pulled out his phone, and texted a quick, We're back!!! to the people who'd care. Then the three of them took Annie and dragged her from room to room, showing off their new home, and celebrating the return of a friend.

[[ open to texts! Taken from Being Human 3x01. I miss this show, I really do. ]]

"Mitchell!"

"Annie?"

He'd been walking up and down this hall for what felt like half a century already, and suddenly there it was: her voice, as welcome as anything he'd ever seen or heard in his life time.

"Annie!"

She was nowhere to be seen.

"Mitchell!"

( A door. )

[[ NFB, NFI, OOC-okay. Taken and severely adapted from Being Human 3x01. ]]

Three weeks, and Mitchell had been nowhere near Fandom. If there was a crisis going on right now, he didn't even know. He'd had his own shit going on. Three weeks of corralling vampires, getting a twelve-step program going, convincing Ivan to stand by him and talk the vampires of Bristol into quitting the blood.

Three weeks of having to tell the bastards ad nauseum that 'we no longer drink blood' did not mean '...except if it's a willing goth girl we plucked off the internet as a gift for the boss', three weeks of support circles and clapping each other on the shoulder, three weeks of coming home to find George completely not dealing with Nina leaving by promptly throwing himself at some other girl.

He had thought of Fandom occasionally, but every time he was going to make time to leave, some other Situation cropped up.

Like this morning. He'd wanted to go back to the island and open up the theatre. Instead, he was getting lifted off his bed by the police bright and early, cuffed, thrown into a patrol car, and driven off to the ( police station. )

[[ nfb, and taken from Being Human 2x05 with references to 2x04 because I'm skipping ahead a bit. Warning: references to pedophilia. Open for phone calls, if you're anywhere where you can reach him ]]

So Monday went about like this:

( Mitchell came home with a bag of shopping he'd picked up in Baltimore a few hours before to find a man standing in his living room. )

---

And then Friday happened, and it was all right.

( It started with the door bell. )

[[ nfb, nfi, and ooc-okay! Taken from Being Human 2x01, and to Mitchell I say, enjoy it while you can... ]]

For about the hundredth time that week, Mitchell woke up in a bed. This time, though, it was the familiar, comfortable embrace of his own bed he was feeling, heavy blankets bunched up over his chest, and posters of old movie stars greeting him with their dazzling fake smiles. He blinked up at the ceiling, then relaxed.

There was still strength in his limbs. Which meant that Josie-- He aborted that thought. There were other things to focus on, other things swimming back into sharpness. Something-- someone-- someone was talking.

"...Annie, hand me the bandages."

George's face appeared briefly above his head. Mitchell blinked again, but he seemed to be firmly on this earth this time.

[[ for anyone still left in Bristol to say goodbye, and/or for myself. ]]