There was a thick heavy silence in the air that deafened Larten's senses as he listened closely for sounds, anything, anything that could pry his mind away from the distant memories that clung to him deep within his paralyzed mind.

But there were no sounds, much like there were no laughter. Just like the loneliness that had consumed Larten since the very beginning of his life.

The vampire was currently sitting on the dusted ground, his back propped against a large oak tree where the leaves continued to wilt in the dying heat of summer, and yet, Larten had somehow insisted to himself that he needed to set a camp with the burning embers of a fire already started the second he sat down.

It befuddled him as to why he had even felt the need much less the pressure to set up a fire in his makeshift camp as he did not need the heat nor the light it omitted, but it had become habit. It was always Darren insisting some normality in their twisted lives and it was now Mr. Crepsley's memories of the boy that kept that normality alive despite the reality that burned deep within his chest, forcing him to remember and to never ever forget.

Darren was dead.

The mere thought of it all did not make any sense to the elder vampire at all. It was impossible, it was ridiculous, it was downright foolish, and it was true. His assistant was dead, leaving him to bear the weight of sadness alone.

But it was not that alone that filled the old vampire's heart with pain. It was his memories, distant and foggy to the point that he could no longer remember the night no matter how much he tried. He could remember the day before Darren's death, and he could most certainly remember the days after, but for the life of him, he could not remember that day, that one day. Why could he not remember?

His mind, so muddled by the shock of it all could not comprehend much less remember what had occurred that night through the foliage of darkness. He had remembered the boy bleeding, dying, pleading to Larten with his last breathe as the said man clung to the only thing he had left to call family, but as much as he tried, and as much as he forced himself to try, he could no longer hear what the boy had said to him in those last seconds before he died. The boy's lips moving as he began to plead to Larten one thing, but the words never reached Larten's ears, and his memory had failed him.

How dare he forget. The thought tore him apart as he could not begin to fathom what those last words the young boy had uttered out to him were. What a failure he was. To think this is what had become of him and the boy he had and would always think of as his son.

The crackling of the fire stirred Larten out of his reminiscing as he stared intently into the orange flames that bristled with life. Larten had half expected to see Darren staring intently into the fire as well, something the boy often did when he was deep in thought or coming up with one of those foolish plans of his. He could almost hear Darren's voice pestering him with more questions or the exuberant laughing sound he made whenever he thought the former had said something far out of his age and time.

But there were no questions, and there were no laughter. Only the crackling of the fire, and the sound of the distant wind through the branches.

And still, through the thick of darkness, Larten tried to remember those last few words, again and again until light peaked through the trees and Larten would try all over again the very next night. And the more he tried, the more he could not decipher between fiction or fact, he could no longer remember even the slightest sound as his ears strained for the one sound of his assistant's raspy breathe, but more importantly, his last words. The last words he had failed to catch.

But there was hope.

Larten, having started to travel alone once again, kept only one small bag with him as his only possession. The handles worn down through the clenching of his hand and the edges torn and frayed through the years of use, but it was not the bag that Mr. Crepsley concerned himself with. It was the diaries, Darren's dairies, inside that made the bag so valuable to the point that the vampire would guard it with his life.

They were the only items that Larten could not force himself to throw out, and now they had become the one thing the old vampire had obsessed himself with. The said man having flipped through each of the diaries searching, forcing himself to read the scripts as if it would teach him how to read.

Every day he had attempted to look for any hints or clues of what Darren had said to him the night he had died, but all the scribbles looked the same to him and there was nothing that Larten could latch onto as a sign.

Reading had never been something that vampires truly indulged in, Darren being one of those unique individuals in the minority, but never before had Larten truly wanted, needed, to learn how to read. Never had he realized how much illiteracy was such a horrific draw back.

But the books were all he had left of the boy, and he did not dare part with them regardless of whether or not he could read the contents.

How cruel the fates were. To leave him with one last memento that Darren himself had obsessed over since the moment Larten had met the boy, only for Larten to be unable to read it.

It was then that Larten heard a sound through the thick foliage of leaves and bushes that surrounded the campsite. The first sound Larten had heard and acknowledged for a very, very, long time. The vampire had looked up with great haste, a part of him hoping beyond anything that it would be Darren but then dispelling the thought as mere foolishness.

Larten said nothing as the sound of shifting returned and he could tell that it was a person blindly throwing themselves through the tangled weaves of the forest ground. Most definitely a human.

Remaining silent, Larten watched with little amusement as a human, a small, young boy, pushed through the leaves and branches that held him back and stumbled towards the campfire like a moth drawn to light. The boy heaved a heavy sigh of relief upon reaching the fire and immediately propelled himself forward as he collapsed onto the dusty ground bellow in utter exhaustion.

Mr. Crepsley said nothing but only watched the boy before coughing quietly into his hand in a somewhat subtle way. The boy had immediately shot his head up in shock as if suddenly aware of the fact that a campfire had to have been made by someone and quite possibly having that certain someone still there.

"I'm sorry!" the boy shouted as he jumped up in fear and Larten could already see the boy's muscles tense as he prepared to bolt from his position. Most likely back into the forest if he deemed Larten a threat.

"And what do you think you are doing?" Larten asked as he continued to eye the boy suspiciously.

The boy wore run down clothes, and his face was covered with mud and tarnished with scratches. It only took a few seconds for Larten to deduce that the boy was a simple runaway.

"I'll leave!" the boy spoke hurriedly, most likely scared by the large scar that stood prominently against the vampire's face.

Larten raised his hands in a calming gesture while speaking softly, "No, I rather you stayed."

The boy hesitated, his eyes searching Larten's with suspicion before the boy cautiously, and very slowly, sat back down. Larten, on the other hand, was also unsure as he knew that any interaction with a human would most likely lead to another death gone wrong, but he simply could not help it. The silence had left him once again yearning for the sound of Darren's laughter and this boy was a good distraction from the haunting memories if anything else.

The two sat in continued silence for a few minutes longer before the boy, who could no longer take the sudden stillness, turned to Larten with a serious expression.

"Are you not going ask me why I'm here?"

Larten raised one eyebrow before asking, "Are you not going to ask why I am here?"

The boy paused, opened his mouth to retaliate, then turned away in silence.

The stillness in the air once again continued with only the small crackles of the fire to break through the dim silence until the boy once again began to speak.

"Do you have food?"

This partially made Larten laugh in wry amusement. For someone to barge in and then demand the presence of food, although it was spoken somewhat politely, was quite rude by all means, but it reminded the vampire so much of his assistant that he could not find it in himself to say so. Instead, he struck a deal.

"I do have food, but if you want it, you will have to do one thing for me."

The boy stared at Larten with his eyes narrowed in suspicion before he gave a small, quiet nod of acceptance, albeit reluctantly. Upon seeing this, Larten reached out towards his bag before opening it to reveal the diaries. The boy stared at the books intently and suddenly Larten was terrified to put his last possession and clue to Darren in the hands of a complete stranger. But he had to. It was the only way for him to know once and for all what Darren had tried to say.

The boy reached out to take the diaries as he looked at Larten questioningly.

"Do you know how to read?" Larten asked.

The boy nodded his head.

"I want you to read them," Larten then said carefully as he watched the boy flipping through the pages idly, tensing whenever the sound of paper cracking reached his ears.

The boy stared at Larten in confusion before he began to read the dairies one by one long into the night as Larten simply sat at the edge of the campfire, his eyes closed, ears listening intently, hanging on every word the boy uttered.

It was hours later that the boy stopped reading and Larten opened his eyes to look at the boy curiously.

"That's the end," the boy said softly as he reached out to return the last diary to Larten causing the vampire to sigh heavily in frustration. There was no clues, no hint, nothing that could tell Larten anything other than the memories of Darren, but before the boy could hand back the last book, a single letter fluttered to the ground.

The boy paused before grabbing the letter, looking at Larten for confirmation, before he began reading the letter as well.

Dear Mr. Crepsley,

I will fully admit that I fear what is to come. If it is true, what Evanna has told me, then I know that I must not survive. It was simply never meant to be. But I fear not of this but of what will become of the future. I hope that after all this, you can return to a peaceful life, but if you can't, if you can't find it in yourself to do so, then at least listen to my final request. Smile, it suits you best.

Darren Shan

The boy stared at the letter for a long moment, his eyes curious although he didn't dare ask the strange man what the letter had meant.

Larten, however, could have cared less as he stared up into the starry night sky that slowly descended into hues of twilight from the peeking sun, and slowly, very slowly, he started to smile.

AN - This is my first time writing a fanficiton for Cirque du Freak and I haven't read the book series in a long time, so I apologize if I got some facts wrong. This is basically an au where Darren dies before Larten and it's based off of the fact that Larten was never taught to read. Thank you for reading and please leave a review.