Tangible Schizophrenia


Calling II: Wolf Moon

Author: Guede Mazaka
Rating: NC-17. In this part, gunkink, wall-kink, bondage, some d/s.
Pairing: Gabriel Van Helsing/Micah, Seth Gecko/Miguel Bain.
Feedback: Freaky lines, incomprehensible ones, etc.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Notes: Crossover of From Dusk Till Dawn, Assassins and Van Helsing. Micah is an OMC based on Brad Pitt that looks like this.
Summary: Gabriel has a lot of issues. They irritate Seth. In fact, almost everything irritates Seth.


Miguel stepped outside just in time to duck Seth's flying body.

"Fucking son of a bitch!" Gecko crashed into the side of the house, then tumbled to the ground in a shower of splinters. He lay there for a moment, groaning, but swiftly recovered when Miguel aimed a kick beside his head.

"Wouldn't killing the werewolf be more important?" Miguel gasped, yanking at the hands around his throat. In first response, the knee on his chest crushed his lungs.

In second, Seth let go and got up, then slapped Miguel back down when he also tried to stand. "Look, so far you're not impressing me. So don't give me advice."

Miguel jerked his head at Gabriel, who was being bounced by the huge beast like a rubber ball. "I could say the same about him."

"Oh, fuck off." Seth snapped out a sizable handgun and blindly shot as his other hand lit a cigarette. Across the yard, the werewolf suddenly bucked and screeched; Gabriel took advantage of the moment to free his sleeve from the wolf's jaws and scrambled back. "You bitten?"

"No." Gabriel flipped out his own gun and blew away half the beast's face. It crumpled, writhed, and finally collapsed into a pale, thin-to-emaciated human body. Something dark and bitter flickered over Gabriel's face then, but when Miguel went to check Seth's face, it remained impassive. Gecko finished off his cigarette and gingerly rolled one shoulder, as if checking for dislocation.

Light, almost jouncing steps walked into the conversation. "It shouldn't matter now, anyhow." Micah leaned against the door, a fey look on his face. "You've immunity to most of that."

"Immune or not, a big fucking no-hand on the end of your arm takes a while to grow back," Seth snapped. His gun-hand jerked in Micah's direction, then apparently thought the better of it and tapped Miguel on the back of the head. "Inside."

Fucker. Yes, their introductions hadn't been made under the most favorable of conditions, but Miguel was not some helpless little damsel. He killed, and he was good at it. If they'd give him a gun, he'd show them. If they wouldn't, well…he'd just have to take one, wouldn't he?

"How do you know about that?" Gabriel was saying to Micah in the background, suspicious as all fuck. God, Miguel hoped he wasn't always that stupid. Van Helsing had been a legend and a threat centuries ago, and the passing years had just encouraged more people to keep an eye on him. He stood out in the underworld-either one-like a streetwalker in a fancy ballroom.

"Hey, I told you-" Seth went to smack Miguel again, so Miguel lunged forward and caught the gun in his mouth before it could connect. The other man fell silent. For that matter, so did everyone else.

Funny thing about death. Once it happened, everything jolted a little, like moving one frame over. Miguel had always been fond of guns, but now…he loosened his lips, let the barrel slide all the way in. Then he sucked, hollowed his cheeks. Made sure to keep the smile off his face, because as much as he wanted to grin, that might shock Seth out of his current stupor.

Gecko's eyes were fully dilated, dark and watching and edged with a little violent promise. His hand came up to cup Miguel's chin, thumb sliding along one cheek. It pressed in a bit, and with his tongue Miguel obediently pressed back from the other side. "Christ. You did get fucked up," Seth rasped.

Well, yeah. That went without saying. But Miguel was capable of learning from his mistakes. He'd picked the wrong target with Rath-the man had been top of his game, but a complete loner. Not willing to teach, but Miguel had thought he could provoke some lessons from Rath. Which, of course, hadn't quite worked.

He slowly eased off the gun, gave the tip one last lick, and rocked back on his heels. "What, you think I came up here for the local attractions?"

Seth grunted and wiped off his gun, then glanced over at Gabriel. "Okay, I can believe one of you tracking us just for…consultation. In fact, I might be able to believe both of you wanting to find us. But at the same fucking time? Bull. Shit."

"What'd it be that you're implying?" Micah slung himself out of the doorway, throwing over a questioning look. And angling his body as professionally as a whore.

Like hell. It'd taken long enough to track Seth, and then, in the bathroom-fuck, that'd been perfect. Hard and tasking and with just enough slack to let Miguel work how he did best.

He snaked onto his feet, using the line of Seth's side as guide and contact. Gecko startled for a moment, then shrugged and slammed Miguel against the wall. And clashing mouths, and a hand clamped to Miguel's hip, raking slower and slower over the flesh there as Seth rid himself of the adrenaline rush. "Fuck. I really should check back with those weirdo musicians more often, if this is the kind of present they send me."

"Seth…" Gabriel started

Who leaned back to show his other hand still held a gun, and it was pointed directly at an abruptly cautious Micah. He whuffed nicotine-stained breath at Miguel's groaning, then lapped at the blood on their lips. "Gab, when it comes to this kind of thing, I know what I'm doing. But I've got no clue about the Gypsy fuck."

"I'm here to help."

Right. True, Miguel had only known Micah for about as long as it took the man to sit down at the local bar, order a drink and flirt with the wrong girl. Being wrestled towards a big wooden pole didn't really leave much time for getting to know someone, but even he could recognize that Micah wasn't playing with a straight deck. Might not even have a full one, considering the way he was looking at Van Helsing the Walking Leather Haystack.

Wasn't Miguel's problem, so he tucked himself into Seth's neck and had a nibble while he watched the drama play out.


Something just looked wrong about Micah. Seth couldn't pin it down-well, maybe he could if Mig wasn't being a distracting nipping fuckhead. He grabbed the man's thick hair and tugged him away from the tattoos. Which just meant Mig switched to Seth's hand, but Seth could actually think around that. Crazy fuck.

Good fuck. And, apparently, determined to stick around Seth, though even God probably didn't know why. That was going to bother Seth later, but it wasn't now so he wasn't going to worry about it. "I don't know much about Gypsies, but they generally don't show up unless they've business of their own in the area. And they don't help unless there's something in it for them."

"I do know a great deal about Gypsies, and I have to agree with that." Gabriel said a prayer over the corpse, then tossed some powder onto it. The body went up in a flash of white, leaving nothing but ashes behind. Thank fuck. Seth hated burying bodies. He hated trying to explain their existence to boneheaded authorities even more.

Micah bridled, though mostly at Gabriel. "And where'd be the point in my lying about this?"

"I don't know…powerful object up for grabs, some big bankrolls going after it…" Seth tapped Mig's shoulder. "Nope, nothing suspicious there."

"Oh, in the name of Christ." The other man threw up his hands and stalked back inside. His offended voice drifted back at them. "I thought the pair of you knew just what you were going after. Apparently not."

Gabriel raised an eyebrow…maybe. Seth squinted to see under that floppy sack of a hat Van Helsing always wore. Thing was probably older than Seth was, for fuck's sake. "The Gauntlet of Belial, capable of raising entire armies from the dead," Van Helsing retorted.

"And-" Micah popped back out "-only the immortal or nonhuman can wield it without being fried to a crisp. Seeing as I don't fit into either of those categories, and you do, I'd say that if anyone should be worried, it's me."

"Like hell." Mig was coming back to life, and wriggling his damn hands all over. He ran his tongue around Seth's ear as his fingers tried to pry beneath Seth's arms, digging at the guns there. "He could still be working for someone."

Seth grabbed the other man's wrists and used them to haul him inside. "You're the professional mercenary."

A nose bumped into Seth's throat, then nudged down as Mig decided biting along Seth's collarbone was a good way to bring him to a stop. Which it was, goddamn weak spot. "I thought you said…"

"I said, I don't think you've got anything to do with that fucking necromancer that's fucking with us. Still doesn't mean that you're not doing your own fucking." Mostly because if Miguel had really met up with those freak mariachis, then he would've been too dead to show up here if he were inclined toward wreaking the world. Seth's…friends…were many things, but they liked their reality in one piece, and they were really, really fucking good at figuring out who was a threat to that, and who just wanted to play around in the scummy end of the human gene pool. Or…try to snake hands down Seth's pants. Jesus Christ. Did the bouncy fuck ever settle?

"True." Mig glared over at Micah, who was loafing about in the darkened hallway, and then twisted around, quick as a cat. His grin was aggressive as hell, but he kept his eyes fixed low, on Seth's tattoos. And his hips were shoving against Seth's, almost humping Seth's thigh. It was-shit, submissive and not at the same time, and it was, in fact, fucking with Seth's head.

Goddamn it. He was tired. Sort of. His dick certainly wasn't-apparently, it was making up for the long month of enforced celibacy he'd just suffered. And Micah was just watching, taking it all in with humor tugging at the corner of his mouth and black at the edges of his eyes. Like a fairy, but not the kind that powdered their faces and taped down their pricks so as not to stretch their g-strings. The real kind, that messed around with mists and blood and were absolute hell to deal with.

The ones that Gabriel was good at handling, so when they'd been in Ireland Seth had just let Van Helsing take care of all the talking. That sounded like a good plan for now, too. "Yo, Gab. Going to bed. Let me know what we're going to do about Mic here in the morning, all right?"

"We're leaving at sunrise." Gabriel loomed himself into the house and relocked the door behind him, one eye always on a lazy-smiling Micah.

"Fucking hell." Whatever. Seth had hands trying to get free and grope at his cock, and he was pretty sure he was remembering right about the tin of grease in his bag. It was going to make them both stink like shit, but then again, by tomorrow they were going to be in a place so fucking rural that showers were probably treated like holy sites. "Okay, fine."

"So now can we fuck?" Mig pushed up on toes and shit, erection against erection. The little fucking hot…

Seth didn't get it. Wasn't exactly a one-night-stand, wasn't exactly the beginning of a beautiful friendship. And then the twisty bastard did some really bizarre, really feeling-good trick with his tongue and Seth's breastbone, and fuck all. "We're definitely getting you clothes later."

Because yeah, he was going to screw the nutcase, and probably get tremendously screwed over later. And he was finding it difficult to care, but he did remember that he was driving tomorrow, and for once he really liked the car, and he was going to wreck it if Mig didn't have on at least a shirt to go with the spare pants Seth had lent him. And that was about as far as Seth's future planning could go. Except upstairs. Now. Before Gabriel gave them any more weird looks.


At the moment, Micah was seriously disliking prophesiers. Which didn't exactly make sense, seeing as he dabbled in a little card-fortunetelling himself, but it was true. Damn that woman for having the dream about the book on the gauntlet that had ended up getting him sent here. Maybe his ancestors would've been at home in these remote dark cliffs, but personally, he'd grown up with electricity and mass media and the idea of indoor plumbing, even if he'd not always had it, and he was perfectly happy with that kind of lifestyle.

Seth seemed like the kind of man that understood that. It was truly a shame then that Micah wasn't dealing with Gecko. And wouldn't be, as it appeared that Bain had laid claim on the man. Not that Micah couldn't understand that, given those absolutely delicious flames peeking from the man's collar and sleeve cuff.

Gabriel Van Helsing, on the other hand, was a frustratingly tough nut to crack. That was to be expected, given his age and…odd origins, but still, it didn't help.

"Look, do you know how to destroy the gauntlet?" Micah asked that broad back. Fucking shame it was, because Gabriel was the epitome of Micah's type. "Because I happen to."

"And how do I know you're not lying? How do I know you're not just trying to recover it for your tribe?" Van Helsing continued on into the room he and Micah had to share, shedding coat and hat as he went. Those were tossed into a corner, and then the various weapons hidden beneath were somewhat more carefully removed and put away. Of course, with Van Helsing standing in such a way that Micah couldn't see precisely where they were going.

Twitchy bastard. Micah also made a note to have words with whichever tribe had fucked with Van Helsing's head, because the aftereffects of that were just annoying. After all the campfire tale-telling of Anna and Velkan Valerious, and the last fight with Dracula, Micah had figured he'd be welcomed with open arms. "Well, you could always try throwing me out, and then see how long before your necromancer turns me into a mutilated corpse."

Gabriel froze for a moment. "How do you know about those?"

"Besides the fact that that's generally what necromancers leave behind them?" Micah sat down on the bed and folded his legs against his chest. Bravado aside, this land made him uneasy. Between the rumors, the almost-lynching and the unnatural shadows he kept glimpsing, he was ready to go back…and fuck. Right. Nowhere to go back to. Thanks again to those goddamn psychics. "People talk. I do believe I've been regaled with every bar story about the killings that's going around."

"The necromancer's name is Comte. Claims to be Comte Saint-Germain, but I highly doubt that." Done with his weapons, Van Helsing sat down on the side of the bed farthest from Micah and began to take off his boots. Girl.

"Why?" The bed was shit, but it'd have to do. Micah flopped backwards and tried to rediscover the one position that avoided all the lumps.

Gabriel laughed, soft but genuine, and it did wonders for his face. Made him look less like an ancient grump with good hair, and more like a tired warrior that'd spring back with a good night's rest. "Because I've eaten dinner with the real Saint-Germain a few times. He's a true gentleman, and has absolutely no interest in necromancy."

For a moment, Micah perversely wanted to slap the man with a two-by-four. Then the built-up exasperation temporarily melted away, and he smiled as well. "Good to know. Odd of you, though. I thought you killed-"

"-I kill evil. He wasn't." And fuck. The veil of graveyard seriousness clamped back down over the other man's face. "Contrary to popular belief, I'm not just a soulless killing machine."

"I never said you were," Micah snapped. "Christ in Heaven, I'm beginning to think I should just swipe the nearest horse and get the hell home."

He didn't get a reply to that, probably because Van Helsing was too damn busy crawling around on the floor. Micah rolled over and took a disbelieving. "Now what are you doing?"

"Sleeping." And yes, the idiot was arranging his boots into a crude pillow about six feet from the bed, against the far wall. Jesus.

Dropping his head into his hands, Micah struggled not to lose his temper. "Gabriel? I know your life's a bit queer, but this isn't the fucking Middle Ages. And even if it were, I'm no goddamn princess. Get up here."

"And I'm not being courteous. I'm being careful. Seth's driving tomorrow, so he can't stand watch." The unbelievably moronic jackass reached up behind him and pulled down his coat on top of himself.

Holy Mary, Mother of God. This was getting impossible.

"Would it make you feel better if you tied me up?" Micah asked, sarcastic and beyond irritated.

That shocked Van Helsing into a standstill. His gaze flicked up to Micah and stayed there, going distant with thought. "It probably would," the other man finally confessed.

And Micah's skin was suddenly full of hot prickles as the entire situation reversed around him. He sank his teeth into his lip, trying not to show any of the weird fire-roiling he felt inside. And most likely failing, to judge by the abrupt upsurge of black into Gabriel's eyes.

Oh, hell.


There were times when Gabriel was forcibly reminded that he was not only immortal, but inhuman as well. This was one of them.

He might have been cured of the werewolf's external form, but his immersion into another skin-another world, really-had been the start of an awakening. It encompassed many things, many different aspects, but what was constant was that he was always the hunter. And now the hunted was willingly lying down before him. It was against the natural order of the world, and it was dangerous because it was so unexpected, and it was shockingly enticing.

Some dim part of his mind whispered that Micah was probably freezing out of fear, but Gabriel wasn't listening. In fact, at the moment he wasn't really Gabriel, or even Van Helsing. Not the majority of himself.

He was on the floor, he was climbing up the bed, he was crawling over the other man who was finally showing some signs of resistance. Weak, though; Gabriel easily pinned Micah in place so the leather thong could loop around one slender wrist. He reached for the other one, and that was when his stomach tried to slam into the wall.

Kick. Almost knocked him off the bed, but not especially good in timing. His vision whited out, spliced red-

"Fucking hell, can't I get any sleep?"

Someone was in the doorway. His chest and arms hurt from sharp, hard blows, and he was still receiving them, even though the rope was now securely around both wrists. His rage was acid in his throat, and-

--gazes met. Fought. The figure in the door suddenly growled, low warning thunder, and then Gabriel was Gabriel. And he recognized Seth with shirt undone and eyes glowing, and Micah, who had jerked out from under him the moment he'd relaxed and was now plastered to the headboard, eyes wide.

Oh, God. Gabriel got off the bed, stumbled past Seth into the hall, and threw up in an urn.


Great, Gabriel was feeling all guilty and frustrated and wouldn't be anything like practical for days. Seth watched to make sure his partner wasn't going to do some stupid atonement thing, like run out and go vamp-hunting, then turned and glared at Micah. "The fuck were you doing?"

"Was I doing?" The other man was gasping for air, and he had hand-shaped bruises on his arms that were a perfect match for Gabriel's palms. Well, so fucking what. Seth had no sympathy to spare whatsoever for the stupid fucking slut. "Was I doing? Did you not see? He-he--"

"Got his animal side on, and all that shit. Yeah, I know." If Micah didn't drop the innocent act in the next few seconds, he was going to be wearing a hell of a lot more black and blue marks. Seth had just been about to…right. He twisted half-around and yelled, "Mig, you fucking move and I'll leave you hanging like that till morning."

In the corner of the hallway, Gabriel finished stinking up the hallway with vomit. He swiped a hand across his mouth, then rocked back on his feet and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. His lips were moving soundlessly, probably mouthing the rosary or the Hail Mary or whatever the fuck.

"Is he all right?" Incredibly, Micah looked worried. He'd crawled to the end of the bed, and was now picking at the threadbare sheets with his bound hands. Wait-leather around wrists. Ah, shit.

"All right? Well, you're the one that started him off," Seth retorted, raking a hand through his hair. "Why don't you tell me?"

Taken aback, the other man couldn't answer for a few seconds. Then he stiffened with anger and shoved himself off the bed. "Look, Gecko, I'm fucking sick of this-"

"I'm fine," rasped Gabriel. He glanced over, not at Seth but at Micah, who went very still. "I…there are aftereffects. To being a werewolf."

"And swallowing vampire blood, and not being normal in the first place. Of course, the fucking idiot refuses to see anyone that might be able to do something with that. Because it involves non-kosher magics." Seth scratched at a bit of drying sweat that was sticking to his neck-no, that was spit. Damn, he really wanted to get back to Mig. Made no fucking sense, but neither did the rest of this. "Hell. Some days I just hate this shit."

Gabriel looked over Seth's way, but didn't say anything, and Micah didn't appear to have heard. Instead, the Gypsy was…getting down on his hands and knees, and fucking snaking his way over to a stunned Gabriel. Like a goddamn strip-dancer, one from the classier joints. As in, the floor didn't look dirty and the bouncers dragged you outside past the line of waiting customers before they mashed your face in.

"You surprised me a bit…thought you were going to eat me, or something nasty like that." Micah lowered himself in front of Gabriel until he was lying on his stomach, then languidly curled over to show his throat and belly, his hands resting lightly on the center of his chest. It stopped Seth's breath in his throat for a moment, and he could see Gabriel's shoulders tense through the man's shirt.

Uh. Yeah. Whatever. As long as Seth didn't have to deal with a body, or scraps of one, in the morning, he didn't give a fuck. So he quietly tiptoed around the pair of them and went back upstairs. Where Mig promptly tackled him, ripped down Seth's pants, and shoved one sweetly tight ass onto Seth's cock. Which wasn't completely hard, but damn well got to it after Mig started rolling his hips. "What the fuck was going on? What took you so long?"

"Shut the fuck up. Please." Seth tumbled them over and against the wall, slamming Mig into the ricketly wood. The dust that came down gave him a disgusting mouthful, but he got rid of that easy enough-just glommed onto Mig's neck and replaced the woodiness with a much, much better taste.

His hands were gripping Mig's ribs, thumbs rubbing and smushing hardened nipples, and when he pressed his nails into those, the other man hissed and clenched until Seth saw fucking stars. Big red firebursts that reminded him a lot of the third hour into a six-hour barcrawling spree. "Oh, shit-" he gritted out, feeling his knees collapse.

Being a considerate fuck, Mig promptly grabbed onto Seth's shoulders, heaved up and clamped his legs around Seth's waist. Thus putting all his weight on Seth's unsteady legs. Thank God for walls, that was all Seth had to say. To think. Well, it was getting hard to tell the difference. He ripped his hands down to Mig's waist to get a better hold and chewed on the other man's neck while a tongue bathed his neck, surprisingly gentle in comparison to frantic, violent jerks of the hips in Seth's hands.

Mig whipped himself to climax, this time not even needing a hand on his cock. Just spilled all over Seth's belly, then went limp and whimpering as Seth drove in the last few thrusts he needed to-and then they were flopping to the floor in a tangled mess. Lips sucking on Seth's ear, fingers petting on Seth's back, and when Seth petted back, sliding a hand up and down Mig's spine, the other man sighed. Settled in, practically purring, and absently nibbled at whatever parts he could reach while Seth dragged them onto the mattress.

Bain slept like a fucking baby. Well, not quite: he would have long stretches of eerie stillness, punctuated by fits of twitching hands and soft noises as he drowsily nosed at Seth. Lucky bastard. Seth spent far too much time staring at the ceiling, wondering when it was going to drop in on him. He was beginning to suspect that he was getting fond of Mig, and it'd been less than a night. Definitely a bad idea.


For a moment, Micah thought he really was going to get his throat ripped out. Gabriel's eyes narrowed and sheened gold, while his lips drew back into a grimace that made Micah's very soul cringe.

Good move. Apparently, flinching and fear were very, very big draws for Gabriel. Not Van Helsing-that was definitely Gabriel darkly glowing above Micah. And trapping Micah against the floor with just a palm on his wrists and one on his hip, slowly kneading the muscle there like some great cat softening up its prey.

And it wasn't kissing so much as Micah laid back and cracked wide open while with ferocious delicacy, the other man ate out his mouth. His lips began to swell in the first few seconds, and then they split to leak little threads of red that stained Gabriel's teeth. When a tongue roughly lapped up the blood, it was as if it were rasping over the surface of Micah's brain. He twisted, just a little, because the spot between his shoulders was cramping, and then everything just wrenched.

His head lolled back, got held there. And his wrists, too, because they were yanked up and back so his knuckles grazed his neck. Micah gasped-straight into Gabriel's mouth, which stretched wide as hell's gate and completely covered his own. It should have been awkward and bumping and unappealing, but instead it was wet heat everywhere, eating through his skin and singing his nerves. He writhed, but was caught on a hard thigh, his legs sprawling helplessly to either side of it. Every move he made only ground more frustration into his cock; he jerked himself forward, trying to get enough friction to actually do-but that got his arms pulled down until the pain gave birth to a scream. Which was pretty pathetic, as in the middle of it Gabriel's mouth moved down to Micah's neck, chest, following the tattoos. And in one smooth motion, his fingernails raked from scalp to tops of buttocks. Micah forgot the rhythm of breath and hiccupped his cry, changing its end to a whimper.

"What the hell are you doing?" growled something that sounded like lonely wastes and harsh winds that whipped the skin off the back and coals that burnt deep into the flesh, leaving uneven ridges. "What are you trying to do?"

The answers leaped up at the call, wanting out. Micah did try to hold them back, not wanting to show any part of his hand too soon. Not when he had precious little to begin with-but teeth settled over the pulse in his neck and dug down, edge of a threat. Hand curled nails into the small of his back, making him arch his throat further into the jaw-grip, and then cut around his side to run down the straining muscles of his belly. Soft, caressing. Possessing. "Finding a place," finally hissed between his teeth, with him cursing his treacherous tongue all the way.

"Ah." Old knowledge of blood and stone in that voice. It glided down each one of Micah's nerves, mercilessly teased them.

And then, thank God, those fingers shot down his waistband and the teeth withdrew to make room for soothing, demanding lips, and shit, he was being soundly fucked without even a finger up his ass. His mind was being torn out at the roots, by the roots, and his skin was flipping inside-out, and he was bucking and moaning and failing. Falling into an uncompromising hold.

Sometime between the blacking-out and the fading-in of his sight, they got moved to the bed. The other man was lying half on top of him, staring down as Micah groaned himself back to a sore, contented consciousness.

Gabriel's eyes flicked dark, went bright, then settled into the fatigued wariness that seemed to be their usual guise. "You're a fool," he said, and then he rolled over, apparently asleep the moment his head hit the mattress.

Some of Micah's satisfaction died when he heard that. But he reminded himself that he could afford to be patient. Especially now that he knew what tack to take with the other man.


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