A packet of ficabix (-- Dale's Journal --)

[Dale McCall]

The picture stares at him with a smile that unnerves him slightly. He looks back at Dale, whose smile seems a little forced, anxious, but which, Niall reasons, must be far less forced than the one on the screen. It’s odd, he thinks, how alike the two look, for Dale has a very distinctive face, even without his pallor, all angles and eyeballs.

He doesn’t like this character. Although Dale had already been quite striking before the transformation, the sanguine complexion, the raven feathers like hair, the bright blue of the eyes. They seemed out of place. He had grown into his vampire form in the last few months.

“Can you change it?” Dale asks, eyes wide and innocent, as if he were a small child who was trying to hide something he'd done wrong. Even if he had done something wrong, you couldn't possibly be cross at him. There's something so sweetly guileless and unguarded about this 19-year-old. Taking offence at Dale for whatever he'd done wrong would be like minding that a four-year-old forgets his school satchel.

“Yes, the protection on the site isn’t very advanced, I should be able to get in within a few minutes,” Niall replies, not looking at the newborn behind him, not noticing the crooked smile on his face suddenly becoming much more natural, but genuinely natural this time. He stood rather unsteadily a few paces behind the tall blonde who sat, perched at the computer desk.

Exactly what Niall does to hack into the site, Dale isn’t sure. He only understands the basics, what he could teach himself. When he first came down to the basement when Niall transformed him, he became too afraid to ask about anything his new function entailed, and so just got by without learning. Niall only taught him what he could.

When it came to understanding Dale, however, logic rarely made any difference. He was a type of magic that could never be understood, or explained, or even theorised. He just was.

Niall had been a vampire for a few decade's from what Dale knew, and was quite an imposing character when he wanted to be. One long scar ran from his temple to the corner of his mouth, and he wasn’t shy about it. His hair was cut so short that there was no chance of anything detracting from the beauty of that jagged line. An unspoked respect had developed between the two, founded by reverence, mostly on Dale's part. Niall mostly saw Dale as someone who'd always need a little rescuing.

Isn't that how they'd gotten to this point in time anyway? Dale had gotten himself into trouble, and Niall had gotten him out of it the only way he could. Turning Dale into a newborn hadn't been something that Niall had particulary wanted to do - he doubted that Dale had wanted it either - but it was either that, or Dale be killed by the hand of someone else, and not mercifully, I might add. There was little trust in their relationship, but Niall hoped, that in time, that mistrust could come to an end. He was all the boy had after all.

“There you go, all done,” Niall announces, smiling proudly as he pulled the chair back so that Dale could have a better look at the screen.

Dale's large eyes widened (if that were possible), as he stepped forwards and looked at the screen. So this was it then. Soon enough his mother and uncle would check to find one less name on the Missing Persons Register. No more worrying. No more false hope that he might one day come back.

Dale Beau McCall, Nineteen, has been found dead on the fourteenth of June. Cause of death has been confirmed as suicide.

He reads it again. And again. And again.

He’s dead, then.

Niall notices a tear rolling down Dale's face, under his chin and down to his neck, leaving a watery trail on his cheek. He doesn’t know what to do. It didn't seem right to see the little guy cry. Dale was made from sunshine. He walked with a bounce, as a child would. He would greet every sweet as if it were the first time he had ever seen them; with awe and amazement that they actually exist.

Niall could vaguely remember the first time he'd seen Dale look through a sweets shop window, at a box of cream eggs, wondering how they had managed to get the yellow bit in amongst the white. He recalled Dale’s astonishment that it was possible to replicate something, such as an egg, to such a degree of accuracy that they would remember to put in the yolk. Still, education and experience had taught Niall all about how these seemingly magical things occur.

He suspected one of the reasons he disliked science was exactly for that reason; it replaced magic with logic. On the other hand, perhaps it was a blessing to know that things can be explained? Niall didn’t know if ignorance really was bliss. Dale certainly seemed happy enough in his own little world of glitter and sunshine. But is the first (and hopefully last) time he’s seen Dale cry.

Hesitantly, Niall lifts a hand, and rests it nervously on Dale’s shoulder, wondering if this is right. When Dale doesn’t move, he joins his other hand with Dale’s other shoulder, eventually finding the courage to draw him closer into an embrace. Dale’s arms cross around him, and they stay there for a moment or two, before pulling apart.

“Thank you,” Dale whispers, his voice cracking. Looking uncharacteristically dejected, he takes fifty quid from his pocket and passes it to Niall.

Niall looks at it. “Keep it,” he says. “I don’t want it.”

Dale smiles, sadly but still genuinely, and this time Niall sees it and smiles back, comforting.

“Thank you,” he says again.



Authors note: I wrote this as a bit of a flashback sorta thing with Dale and the man who changed him into a newborn, 'Niall'. Just thought it'd be interesting to write a little more into Dale's past.

Basically Niall hacked into the MPR and changed Dale's status from missing, to deceased sometime after he'd changed him.

I didn't like writing Dale as a gloomy character in this one 'cause he's usually such a happy and upbeat guy. I'll have to write something a little more chirpier next time. (:

[Dale McCall]

Dale stepped out into the cold night air, and shivered slightly. His jacket, though naturally the height of fashion, wasn’t exactly what you’d call warm. Wrapping it around his slim body he started picking his way down the street, towards the flat but taking a route that would lead him past all the major pubs and clubs of the town and hopefully towards a taxi. Though intoxicated Dale knew when he'd had enough of the clubbing scene, he was a big boy, in age terms, and capable of looking after himself. At 3-am, he wanted to go home.

As he neared the square in the centre of the town, he realised that a couple of thickset thugs had just issued from the door of the pub closest to him. Even in his inebritiated state he realised that these guys probably wouldn’t understand someone like him and so, using a survival instinct honed from years of being bullied at school, he turned away from the main path he was going to follow and slipped down a narrow alleyway in between Waterstones and an all-night café.

At first he thought he’d lost them, and that they hadn’t noticed him at all. After a few minutes of walking though, he could hear heavy footfalls behind him. Shit. There was no way he could run in these boots. At the very least probably break his ankle, at the very worst, he'd probably get them dirtied.

Risking a quick glance behind, he realised it was worse than he’d thought. The guy's were following him down the alley. When they saw him glance backwards, they started moving faster and jeering.

“Oi, oi! C'mere ya fairy!” Raucous laughter. Dale walked quicker, his heart pounding in his chest. Come on, almost at the end of the alley, then they’d be other people walking around. He’d be safe.

Too late. Dale felt a heavy hand slap onto his shoulder and he was thrown against the alley wall. The leader of the duo had walked faster than the others, and was staring into Dale’s blue eyes with an expression a mixture of disgust, hatred and dark amusement. He regarded Dale’s pale face, and huge fearful eyes.

“Looks like we got ourselves a little fairy boy!” The one not holding him sneered.

Summoning up all his courage, Dale spat in the man’s face.
“Leave me alone you jerk-off!” he hissed. The man’s face darkened. The duo stepped in closer now, cutting off Dale’s escape. The leader leaned close into Dale, and Dale could smell his rank alcoholic breath.

“We wanna play wit' ye a little bit first.” Dale wanted nothing more than to knee the bloke in the balls. Instead he merely retorted,

“You might consider a tic-tac.” The man’s meaty hand slammed around Dale’s slender throat, and he jolted him forward then slammed his head back against the wall. Dale felt dizzy, and the strange sensation of something warm trickling down through his precious jet-black hair, and down his neck. The two guys laughed and the leader did it again, but harder this time.

Dale’s head felt like it was going to split in two the pain was so great. He moaned, and his knees buckled.

“Oh no, you little wise-ass. We’re nowhere near finished with you yet.” He grabbed Dale’s shoulders and pushed him into the other guy, who caught him around the torso and held his thin body, as the other guy drew back a fist, and slammed it into Dale’s stomach. The small man doubled up, gasping for breath. The man holding him laughed nastily, and grabbed a fistful of Dale’s blood-matted hair, yanking him upright, so the other man could hit him again. Dale screamed with pain and crumpled to the floor, curling himself automatically into a ball.

Dazed by the agony rippling through his head and body, he was only vaguely aware of the men still stood around him, laughing to themselves. Occasionally one would boot him heavily in the head or the stomach. This carried on for what seemed to Dale like years, though in reality it could only have been a couple of minutes. Eventually Dale heard one of them man say,
“Come on. I’m bored. Let’s leave ‘im and get some burgers, yeah?” Wait a second. Why did the voice seemed familiar? Dale managed to crack open one bruised eye, and as the men headed off, he saw the man who had spoken.

Dale would have cried out if he’d had the energy. The man was one of the men who'd gone into the Royale Bank with Howard. He was absolutely sure of it. And, what’s more, as the guy passed he looked directly down at Dale, winked, and knelt beside him, putting his mouth to Dale’s ear.
“This was for your own good, mate. You'll thank me for this one day.” Then he stood up and said something to the other guy, who nodded, turned and left. Leaving Dale and the leader alone in the alley. Alone.

Why did they do this to him? Dale didn't understand. He just lay there, taking in quick, uneven breaths as he stared up at the man who'd beaten him. The man merely stared down at the broken creature at his feet. "Can you hear me Dale?" The man asked, but all Dale could manage was a sob of pain. A brief flicker of something flashed into the guys eyes. Regret? Pity? Never the less he simply stared at the broken doll, crumpled on the filthy freezing ground.

Dale’s hair was matted and filthy, and his head was lying in a pool of what looked horribly like blood. One eye was bruised beyond belief, and a trickle of blood was sliding down the side of his mouth. His jacket and tight red top had ridden up to expose his pale, flat stomach, which was now marred with deep blue and purple bruises, and jagged cuts in the flesh, again oozing more blood. The man knelt down beside Dale. "My name is Niall. It may not seem like it now, Dale, but I'm helping you."

The thug, Niall as he called himself, stared at Dale for a long while, with his cold dark eyes. Dale could only choke and cough, but his beautiful eyes, dimmed by pain and hurt, gazed up at Niall with an unreadable expression. Carefully Niall slid an arm under Dale’s shoulders and pulled him gently upright to a sitting position. Then he put an arm under Dale’s knees and, with a minimal amount of effort, stood up with the slender man cradled in his arms. Dale’s head lolled back onto the thugs arm, smearing his coat sleeve with blood. Realising that he’d fainted, Niall started to stride out of the alleyway.

[Dale McCall]

There was a strange atmosphere in the room, caused mainly, Niall decided, by the lack of noise and activity coming from Dale's direction. Currently, Dale was sat on Niall's leather couch, where he had been for the past half hour, after letting himself into Niall's hotel room, mumbling something about it being too quiet in his own.

That wasn't anything unusual in itself, Niall often wondered why they got separate rooms when more often than not Dale would come to his after less than an hour of being on his own. Dale didn't really like his own company, it seemed. He liked to be around people, loved talking and socialising with others. Niall sometimes wondered what Dale saw in him, he was socially inept at the best of time, even with Dale he could be quiet. But Dale never seemed to mind; he could talk for the both of them, and as long as Niall would listen he seemed to be happy.

Tonight however, he was unusually subdued.

Niall could see him out the corner of his eye and he sighed, fingers stilling on the keyboard. Dale looked nervous about something; he was biting his thumbnail the way he always did when he had something on his mind, and his head was slightly lowered, eyes obscured by his fringe as the fingers of his other hand picked absently at a thread in his faded jeans.
Niall sighed and set the laptop down, his emailing could wait; this, whatever this was, was obviously more important. "What's wrong with you? You look like a pouting trout with a fringe."

Dale shrugged dejectedly. "Nothing... m'okay."

Niall was shocked by the emotion in Dale's voice as much as he was by the lack of come-back. He could always tell when Dale was lying and sighed as he twisted in his seat to look at him. Dale's shoulders were drooped, in a way that suggested more than just tiredness, although he knew they were both quite incapeable of such an emotion; physical tiredness anyway. They were right in the middle of a huge transition for them both, what with Niall suggesting that they change their surroundings. Dale had been hitting the pubs and clubs a lot just lately, too, mingling with the mortals, as he had done for almost two decades now, and he knew the younger man had been well and truly burning the candle at both ends and was due a bit of a melt down any time now. He knew the sighs well enough after knowing and working with him for so long now. As Dale knew what to look out for in Niall, too.

Dale shifted on the couch and pulled his knees up to his chest, hugging them tightly as he continued to refuse to look at Niall.
"Seriously, Dale. I know some thing's wrong and I'm not going to let up until you tell me, so you may as well save us both a lot of effort and tell me now." All he received was another shrug for his effort and he exhaled slowly. He was tired and he hated it when Dale was difficult like this. "Fine then. We'll do it the hard way. Wanna drink?"

Niall didn't wait for a response this time, feeling fairly sure he wouldn't get one. Standing up wearily, he made his way over to the mini-bar, and pulled out a little bottle and a couple of glasses. Wordlessly, he poured the crimson liquid into the two crystal tumblers and carried them over to the couch, passing Dale one and sitting down next to him. Shifting over, he made sure that his leg brushed Dale's, knowing that contact always helped ease the younger man when he was feeling stressed or worried about something, but still not sure why. Niall himself never liked to be touched by others. Physical contact always left him feeling uncomfortable.

He watched as the little man uncurled a little and pressed his legs back against Niall's softly, taking a sip of his drink and liking some of the crimson from his upper lip. Niall took a long sip of his own, then settled back against the leather, swirling the liquid in his glass absently as he waited; Dale would always talk eventually, when he was ready, it was just a matter of time...

"I don’ wan’ to stay here anymore." Niall twisted his head to look at Dale as the younger man finally spoke.

"What?" Niall's eyes widened in surprise, and confusion. His brow crinkled as he tried to work out what Dale could be talking about. Something clicked suddenly and he then feared he already knew the answer.

Dale paused then, and Niall watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. Running his finger around the rim of the glass absently, Dale took another longer sip, and Niall frowned as he caught sight of Dale's eyes, which looked slightly bloodshot. "I don' want to be here anymore." He refused to look up from the glass.

What did he mean 'don't want to be here'? Sitting here? In this room? In this suburb? State? Country? What? "You're gonna have to be a bit more specific, Dale. I have no idea what you're talking about."

Dale sighed loudly in frustration. "Here Niall! I need to leave London." It began to click then, in Nial's mind, what this was all about and he frowned. "Dale, we are leaving..." He began, but Dale cut him off.

"I dont mean just London" Dale was getting frustrated now, whether it was with himself, Niall or both, Niall wasnt certain. "There are too many memories here. You say I can see Howard, and mum anytime I want bu’ it's no’ true though is it! They can' see me, so it's no’ the same..." Niall was beginning to get the idea this wasn't just about Dale. “I’m no’ like you Niall. I need to be around people, I need to ge’ out. I need... a new life.”

“I’ve already given you that, Dale.”

Dale shook his head and looked up at Niall, and Niall could see now that Dale had obviously been crying. "But tha’ wasn’ my choice was it Niall! I didn’ ask for this. I never wan’ed this."

"Dale," Niall spoke softly now, realising this was more serious than he had first thought. He reached out his hand and carefully took Dale's drink away from him, setting both his and Dale's down on the side. How was he meant to talk to Dale when he was in this state? Niall wasn’t used to seeing the little man like this. Dale was always so full of sunshine, adding color to everything. Dale never seemd to feel uncomfortable around anyone; it was just natural for him to want to be around everyone, filling a room with his sunshine. Niall felt a surge of protectiveness over the small guy. Like an older brother would feel over a little brother, he imagined. Dale might have been a lot of things; he might've been overly emotional and sensitive at times; he probably drank too much and partied too often; he was fidgety and too talkative and he had no sense of personsal space; and he was most certainly one hell of a diva when he wanted to be.

He was all those things. But underneath it all, he was still just Dale.

“Dale, you need to understand. You should understand by now that it was for your own good. If I wasn’t there to turn you, do you have any idea what Mark would have done to you?”

“Mark?”

“That guy who beat you.” That statement earned a simple ‘oh yeah’ on Dale’s part before Niall continued, “It was either me ‘kill’ you, after the beating, or you actually being beaten to death out there on the cobblestones by a bunch of other guys. Would you have rathered imagine how your poor mother and uncle would have felt if the coroner pulled back the sheets to expose your body in that state?”

Dale looked as if he was on the verge of tears, “Well they can’ can they. They think I commited suicide years ago!”

The desperate, broken tone in Dale’s voice melted Niall like a warm ice lolly. But he was focused on talking some sence into the boy. “Again, that was for your own good Dale.” He spoke slowly.

In an abrupt manner, Dale stood, one of his hands flexed and tightened with building rage. But the rage did not show on his pointed, crooked features. His jaw set and wide-eyes setting Niall with a piercing gaze. “If I were you, I’d qui’ while I was ahead Niall.”

Niall rose to his feet quickly now, becoming defensive, as much a result of Dale’s sudden change in posture, as well as the tone in his voice. “And where do you think you get off threatening me Dale, after all I’ve done? What are you, some jumped-up ponce who thinks he’s Prince of Camden?”

“Yeah, pre’y much.” Dale shot back. The temperature in the room seemed to rise slightly, or it might’ve just been the rage building up inside of Niall. Dale almost looked smug now, as if he knew exactly what Niall was feeling, and was expecting a show.

Niall scoffed, glaring at Dale; “How dare you talk to me like that? I made you. I taught you everything I know. You owe me you little electro ponce,” He eyed Dale up and deown now as if he were excrement.

“You may have taugh’ me everything I know,” Dale said, his tongue curling around an incisor in an imperdinant manner. “But you didn’ teach me everything you know.”

Niall looked at him blankly. “What?” Dale merely shrugged.

“Fine then!” Niall relented, throwing his arms up in the air in defeat. “I don’ need your type around. You wanna go? Fine then, be my guest you ungreatful little ponce. You know where the door is.”

Dale flipped him a rude hand gesture before turning on his heel and striding towards the door, ink black hair flowing around his head like raven’s feathers. He’d barely reached the doorknob however, when he heard Niall mutter something so quietly that it was even difficult for a vampire’s ear’s to pick up. “-fucking transvestite.” Dale turned bodily to face Niall once more, and in a mere blink of an eye, he was a mere step or two in front of the scarred vampire again. A snarl rose into Niall’s throat. “Points to you though, mate. Anyone who bum’s ya can pretend you’re a he or a she. I’m sure it must be hours of fun.” He finished on a laugh. Except he was the only one laughing.

Dale stepped towards Niall, looking calm as he looked up until his nose was nearly touching his used-to-be-mentor’s. He smiled a wicked smile; “Swee’heart. I’m more of a man than you’ll ever be. And I’m more of a woman than you’ll ever get.”

At Niall’s expression, Dale grabbed his face with both hands and pulled him into a rough snog in the middle of the room. Dale kept his eyes closed as Niall’s widened in shick, stunned as Dale forced his tongue inside Niall's mouth for a few humiliating seconds, before shoving the man back against the wall, leaving an indent where his body had hit the dry-wall.

Dale stepped back, wiping his mouth as if he’d kissed a toad; “Now who’s the poofta?”

Nial wasn’t impressed one bit. He straightened up, brushing himself off and in the next moment he launched himself towards Dale; “You little bitch!” His fist was tight and raised. He brought it forward, only to be stopped in mid-air as it slammed into an unexpected force.

Niall’s eyes widened and he rose his head to see Dale’s palm raised, holding his fist tight; “…I think you need to leave, Niall. You’re the one who’s not wanted here.” Dale grinned in a victorious manner as Niall looked at him with a mix of shock and wonder. Even Dale was surprised, for all Niall’s size compared to Dale’s, he never knew he was actually stronger than his old mentor. Must be because I’m younger, he dismissed. Slowly, he allowed Niall to pull his hand free, and watched with crimson eyes as the scarred vampire scuttled backwards, and all but bustle out of the room. As soon as the older man was out of sight, a wide grin spread across Dale’s crooked features, a new found sence of power surging through him. “I’m free.” he said simply, letting out a laugh as he turned for the last time and walked out of the door, into the corridor and towards his own room, feeling better than he had in a very long time.