A/N – I just don't seem to be able to stop torturing Edgar. I don't know why that is. The title of this is taken from the A.F.I. song, Darling, I Want To Destroy You. It began life as something almost based on the lyrics to that song, but evolved into this.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Lost Boys. Nor do I own the Frog brothers, Sam Emerson or anything else you might recognize in this story.

Destroy You

The vampire looks exactly the same as the first time he saw her. He knows that that shouldn't come as a surprise to him, but somehow it does. Her hair is different. Shorter than it was, styled differently. She dresses casually still. Tight black jeans and a t-shirt. She doesn't look like a vampire. If not for her constant presence in his life and her unchanging features, he might suspect that he is mistaken. But there is no mistake. This creature has been stalking him for a long time.

He grabs a stake and a holy water gun as he exits the trailer. Walking down the two steps outside, he spares a quick glance to the bloodstained shard of metal laying just outside. It is beginning to dry, it no longer shines quite so brightly in the moonlight.

Her eyesight is better than his in the dark and she sees where he glances. She smiles. She remains on the outside of the salt circle, Edgar stays inside, not taking his eyes off of her again. His right hand grips the stake tightly while he aims the gun with his left. His finger rests on the trigger. His eyes narrow in distaste.

"Is that what you used?" she asks. Her voice is like stained, dirty velvet. Her hand indicates the metal stake. Her tone appears simply curious on the surface, but underneath there is a subtle mocking that others might not notice. It is obvious to him.

Edgar doesn't turn to look at it again. The bloodstained metal is embedded in his memory as it was in Sam's chest. "Was it you?" he asks. He knows the answer to the question already, but he needs to hear her say it.

The vampire simply smiles. "How did it feel to kill your only friend?"

Grief washes over him like a wave and he feels his finger tightening on the trigger once again. "Was it you?" he asks again. "Did you turn him?"

She nods. "First your brother, then your friend. You couldn't bring yourself to kill Alan, could you? Now it's your turn."

Edgar's voice sounds hoarse as he speaks. He shakes his head from side to side. Sunrise is hours away yet. He doesn't know whether he will live to see it. His vision blurs with tears and he struggles not to let them fall. "I'll never be like you," he manages to choke out.

She smiles in pleasure. "You already are like me. You're a killer. Why not take that final step tonight, it's going to happen sooner or later."

Edgar is still shaking his head. "Never."

"One night," she corrects him. "Do you think you're safe inside your silly little salt ring? I've watched you for years, as you kill my kind. You kill my family. I know where you go at night; I know where you hunt. One night, I'm coming for you too, and I won't give you a choice. I'm going to make you live forever with what you've done to us."

It is the summer of 1988. Edgar is a soldier, part of an elite team of two – three when Sam feels like joining in – dedicated to truth, justice, the American way and the elimination of the vampires that stalk the Santa Carla night.

The night is humid and sticky, the air hangs around the town completely still; thick, dead and moist. The sea breeze died away during the early afternoon and did not return. The whole town stinks, a combination of the sea, the sticky smell of the cotton candy, popcorn and hotdogs sold from the garishly colored stalls that line the boardwalk, and the subtle but constant odor of death and decay that covers the town like a blanket.

The vampires are not gone. The had successfully eliminated one small coven, and for a time Edgar had managed to convince himself that his job was done. But the town was still full of non-human things. New vampires moved in almost as soon as the territory became free, and resumed the killing.

Santa Carla is corrupted, forever marked by the terrible things that have happened here. The horror of it continues to attract the undead.

Edgar stands just inside the comic store. He takes a deep breath, inhaling the town's unique scent. He hates it here, but he loves it too. This is his town, and he is its protector.

Behind him, Alan takes down a comic book from the shelf and uses it to fan his face. Sweat clings to his brow, sticking his hair in place. He has removed his ever-present beret and his jacket and left them slung carelessly over one of the display cases.

Edgar snatches the comic book from his hands and replaces it on the shelf with a scathing look. "Don't damage the merchandise."

Alan shrugs, and moves away to stand by the fan, too warm to argue.

Edgar can feel the fabric of his t-shirt sticking uncomfortably to his back. He wishes they could afford air conditioning. With a quick glance to make sure Alan isn't watching, he takes down the same comic book and wafts himself a few times.

The shutters are wide open, there is no barrier between the inside of the store and the boardwalk itself. On a night like tonight, that makes very little difference to the temperature.

The girl enters, looking around her as she walks through the store at the walls covered with comic books. Her gaze slides over them, uninterested. She appears unaffected by the heat; her makeup is subtle but expertly applied and is not melting like some other girls Edgar has seen. She is dressed casually, in denim shorts and a t-shirt. Her wrists are adorned with cheap, plastic bangles.

She is not beautiful in the conventional sense, but she is far from ugly. The confidence she exudes makes her looks irrelevant anyway. Something about her draws Edgar's eye and he finds himself watching her through the gaps between the comics on the shelves.

Alan is otherwise occupied, flicking through the latest Vampires Everywhere that is resting on the desk in front of him with one hand while the other moves quickly up and down in front of his face, wafting a meager bit of air onto his damp skin.

The electric fan in the corner spins slowly and lazily, rotating through sixty degrees, never staying still for long enough to provide anyone with relief from the oppressive heat.

The girl sees Edgar watching her and smiles. He turns quickly away and pretends to be busy. She approaches him in that same slow, confident way. As she comes closer, he can smell her perfume, it reminds him of a cool spring night. She walks right by him, as though she doesn't notice his presence.

Her arm brushes against his as she does. Her skin feels cool to the touch.

She looks human, but Edgar knows that she is something else. One of the monsters that call Santa Carla home.

He rushes out onto the boardwalk after her, but she has disappeared without a trace. Edgar spends the rest of the night thinking about her.

It is late 2007. Edgar returns to his trailer in the early hours of the morning. He knows that he is still a relatively young man. No longer the boy he had been, true, but in the grand scheme of things, not yet an old man,

On this November night, however, as he steps wearily up the metal stairs outside his trailer, listening to the hollow clang of his heavy boots on the steel, he feels ancient. Like all the weight of the world is resting on his shoulders. He shivers, and is unable to tell whether the chill comes from the night air or from somewhere inside himself.

In his right hand, he is still holding the stake. One of his thin, lightweight metal ones. It shines black in the dim moonlight with the blood of a good friend. The last one he had. A single drop of the liquid falls from the tip as he fumbles for his keys. He looks at the stake, realizing only now that it is still there, and how tightly he is clutching it.

His hand opens quickly, fingers splayed widely. Fine motor control is beyond him at this point. The stake hits the step with the clang of metal on metal before it falls to the ground with a softer dropping sound. He looks at the hand. It is clean of blood, but filthy with dirt from the burial. He forces the fist to close, gives the weapon one final glance, and then unlocks his door.

No two bloodsuckers go out the same way.

In Edgar's mind, he is back in Santa Carla, explaining the finer points of vampire extermination to Sam Emerson. The same Sam Emerson who is at this moment laying dead in a shallow grave a short drive away. Tomorrow evening, just as the sun is setting, Edgar will give the police an anonymous tip that will lead them to the body.

It would have been so much easier to leave the body where it was, out in the open where the first rays of the sun would incinerate it, leaving nothing by way of evidence but a charred mark on the grass. That was what he had done on other occasions when the vampire's death left a body behind. But Sam deserved better than that. His family deserved better than to have their youngest simply disappear one day never to be heard from again.

In Edgar's mind, Sam Emerson would always be that young kid that had wandered into the comic book store that summer night. Younger than Edgar by only a few months, but so naïve about the horror of the world that he and his family had moved into, that Edgar had even then felt the urge to protect him. He had done so by offering him instructional horror comics and hints about the truth of the Santa Carla night time.

Edgar had tried so hard to protect him, but in the end there had been nothing he could do and he had been forced to protect others by destroying the threat that his friend had become.

He had been correct in his instructions. No two vampires ever did die in the same way, and Sam – or the vampire wearing Sam's face – went out quietly. There was no explosion, no fire, he did not turn to stone, liquify into a pool of blood or collapse into a pile of dust. Edgar had seen all of these deaths before, as well as the quieter ones. But Sam had simply looked at him, his eyes full of shock and surprise, as though he couldn't quite believe that Edgar had actually done it. Killed him.

Edgar's hand had shaken as it plunged the stake into the monster's heart. At that moment, it had been a monster, Sam's face morphed into that horrible, contorted mask, eyes red with the bloodlust. Edgar's eyes had been closed as he struck with practiced accuracy. They opened only when he felt the metal pierce flesh.

Suddenly it had become Sam again. His mouth opened and closed as he silently mouthed a question, his human eyes were full of fear as the life drained from his body, and then he simply stopped. He fell backwards with a thud onto the ground. Dead.

Edgar waited for something to happen. Nothing did.

For a moment, the horrible thought pressed its way into his mind that perhaps Sam hadn't been a vampire at all; perhaps he, Edgar, had finally gone over the edge, started seeing monsters where there were none. But no, he knew that it was true; Sam had been lost to him long before he had struck that final blow.

Edgar had dug a shallow grave in the park where Sam had fallen. Probably if he just left it at that, someone would find it even without him calling it in. It would reduce the risk to himself too. The police had ways of tracking down anonymous tips. But the someone who found it would probably be some innocent kid, or dog walker. They always were. Edgar didn't want that on his conscience.

So he would call the following evening as the sun set. The body would be removed during the hours of darkness, and he would tell Sam's family what had happened; tell them to keep the body out of the light. That was going to be a hell of a difficult conversation.

Sam would get a proper burial that way. The Emersons would hate him forever, for taking Sam away, but at least he could give them that.

Inside the trailer, he sinks wearily into the battered couch. Its springs are so worn from use that he almost falls through to the floor. It creeks in protest. Edgar knows how it feels. Old, weary.

His head is swimming, feeding him a constant stream of images that he does not want to see. Sam, in good times and bad, for at this moment the memories of him in life are so intertwined with his death as a vampire that a happy memory instantly connects to the idea that there will be no more like that. Because Sam is dead. Because he killed Sam.

Edgar rubs his face with his dirt encrusted hands, feeling the rough texture of calloused fingertips on his skin. He rests his head backwards onto the back of the couch and stares upwards. There will be no sleep tonight. Nor tomorrow. He wonders whether he will ever sleep again.

Outside, he hears the crunch of footsteps on the gravel. His eyes spring open, instantly alert. He leaps to his feet, exhaustion forgotten, creeps to the window, and looks outside.

She is waiting for him, just outside the salt circle.

It is New Years Eve, 1989, only a few minutes before the 80s are consigned to history and a new decade begins. Edgar is eighteen years old. He has never really understood the appeal of this night before, but with a few illegally purchased beers making his head buzz and relaxing his body, Edgar thinks that he finally gets it. It is an opportunity to banish the old and welcome in the new year with all the promise it brings. He, Alan and Sam sit alone on the crowded boardwalk, drinking from one can at a time, passing it among themselves like his parents do their joints.

The atmosphere is electric, as though the good mood is infectious. Although they sit in a group of three, they do not feel excluded from the crowd surrounding them.

This will be the beginning of a new era for Edgar. The monsters and the things that go bump in the night are absent from his life, he will leave town, go somewhere safe, take Alan and Sam with him. They will make a life in the day time, and spend the nights like this. Happy, safe. His days as a hunter are over.

A group of young men and women, maybe a little older than them, stagger past in a row, each one with their arms slung around the shoulders of those on either side. "Happy new year!" one of them shouts, and Sam returns the greeting with a grin and a wave of his drink.

As the gathered crowd counts down the final seconds to midnight, a girl approaches unnoticed. As the chant reaches the final digit and the night explodes into cheers and hugs, he feels cool arms embracing him, inhales the perfume of a spring night. Lips brush against his lightly.

Edgar is too paralyzed by surprise to react. She moves her lips to his ear and whispers so quietly that he can barely make out her words over the roar of the crowd. "I'm going to destroy you."

She backs away slowly, disappearing into the crowd of revelers. The girl – the vampire – from that summer night. He tries to exchange a glance with Alan, but his brother has not noticed anything. Sam has, he grins and punches Edgar in the shoulder in congratulations. Edgar feels numb. He scans the crowd, but she is gone once again.

His plans die in that instant. He takes one final swig and hands the beer can to Alan, then flees back home. The buzz from the alcohol has turned into a sickening dizziness. The world is spinning. He is vaguely aware of Alan and Sam, one at either side, supporting him as they take him home.

The new decade is still full of promise, but of a different kind.

They attacked the Black Widow's out of town mansion during the day, arriving at midday so that the bloodsuckers would be deeply asleep when they arrived. He had thought that they would be safe, that they would get in, make the kills and get out with minimal danger to themselves. It was how he had killed his first vampire, after all. Staking it in the heart and then fleeing into the safety of the sunlight.

It is summer 1992. They finally know the location of the vampire's coven.

Edgar has not seen the vampire girl since that New Years night, but he had been aware of her presence. The creepy feeling of being watched never leaves him, like a prickling sensation at the back of his mind. Sometimes he thinks he sees her out of the corner of his eye, but when he turns to look, she is gone.

Some nights he smells her perfume, and wonders whether it is in his imagination. Some nights he senses her in his bedroom, he wakes shivering and checks that the window is tightly closed and locked. He leaves the light on all night and sleeps with a stake in easy reaching distance of his bed.

Her invisible presence, her cryptic threat. He feels that she is slowly driving him insane. Alan and Sam are sympathetic, but they don't understand. He is her target. He is the one that has to worry. Or so his thinks.

But they have finally found her. If this is the hub of Santa Carla's vampire activity, then this must be where she is. They can destroy her, destroy the others and maybe he will sleep soundly again.

The door is unlocked. Edgar is not surprised by this. Any thieves not put off by the stench of death that hangs in the air and the thick, foreboding feeling of evil that covers the place like a blanket would pose little threat to the inhabitants. The vampires probably encouraged visitors, like a pizza delivery, fresh blood direct to your door.

Edgar enters first, trying not to inhale the horrible smell that feels like it will corrupt his lungs simply by coming into contact with them. Alan and Sam walk behind him, solemn expressions on their faces. The house is empty. Empty of furniture, of coffins, and of vampires. It is not until Alan points out the door leading to the basement that Edgar feels his heart rate increasing. He tries to slow it. Vampires can smell fear, it makes their victims taste better. That thought does little to calm him.

He pushes open the door, again unlocked, and steps forward into almost complete blackness.

Only the light from inside the house filtering through the door illuminates the room. Edgar's hands grip the rail tightly as he feels with his feet before he makes each step.

He feels something jabbing into his back, and freezes. He turns slowly and squints in the darkness at the two silhouettes behind him. One, he thinks it it Sam, moves the thing toward his hands. Edgar grabs it and explores with clammy fingers. A flashlight.

Relief washes over him. He had forgotten that they had it. He presses the switch and runs the beam of light over the room below him.

These are the more traditional vampires. He finds himself looking a row of coffins. He struggles to control his breathing, excitement and fear mingle as he steps forward, shining the light onto the stairs as he walks. Alan follows him, then Sam.

The first coffin opens quietly, to Edgar's huge relief. The vampire inside is female, but is not the one he is looking for. For a moment, he hesitates, wondering whether it would be better to find and eliminate her first, but in front of him, laying helpless in this wooden box is one of the living dead; a nightstalker. A vampire who may have killed hundreds or thousands of innocents; she may have created any number of new vampires who did the same. An unending march of death, night after night until the end of time.

He raises his stake in the air and brings it down into her heart with so much force he feels it hit the wood of the coffin beneath her.

The vampire screams. An eardrum bursting, horrified shriek of pain, fear and surprise fills the room. Edgar's hand releases its grip on the stake and he backs off quickly into Alan, who is knocked back into Sam. The sequence would be funny if not for the circumstances.

It is at this moment that all hell breaks loose. The other vampires awaken, throw back the lids to their coffins and attack simultaneously.

Edgar loses track of the others as the focus of his whole world narrows to one thing, survival is all that matters. "Fall back!" he cries as he blinds one vampire with his flashlight and stakes it with his second stake. He pulls the piece of wood back from the monster's heart this time, he can't afford to lose it. He runs. Alan and Sam run.

Behind him, he hears a scream, a human scream. Instinct forces him to turn around, and he shines the spotlight on the area from which he heard it. He finds the source just in time to see Alan being dropped to the ground by one of the vampires.

His first thought is that his brother is dead, but he sees him move on the ground, trying to stand. Edgar doesn't even notice that the other vampires have stopped attacking and are simply watching as he rushes back into the room to retrieve the fallen soldier.

Edgar grabs Alan and pulls him to his feet. The vampires surrounding them step aside to allow them passage out of the room. Alan turns to look at him, and Edgar sees blood staining his lips. He fights not to recoil in horror, continuing to support his terrified brother as they leave the room and climb the stairs.

Alan tries to pull away from him. When he speaks, his voice is weak and shaken. "She made me drink."

Edgar holds him tighter, Alan is a half vampire now, and he knows how dangerous it is to get too close, but he doesn't care. "It'll be okay," he promises. He wants to stay and kill them all now, but it would mean certain death. They need to regroup, plan it out, and make sure they kill the head vampire.

He shines his flashlight over the room once again. Standing on the very spot where he had picked up Alan, is the vampire girl. She smiles sweetly. Her wrist is an open wound.

His world shatters.