Chapter Text
2012
Herrick was dead, and Mitchell was free.
He’d helped George, Nina and Annie to relocate, and denied all their requests to stay with them in Wales. He knew the Bristol vampires believed he had killed the king, which meant that they were either looking to him as a replacement or seeking revenge. To avoid both of these unsavory outlooks into his future, he had decided to flee once more.
It’s not really a conscious decision that makes him buy a one-way ticket to Auckland, NZ. In retrospect, it even seems kind of foolish to go where he has been found before, but without Herrick’s financial backing and obsession with Mitchell, the vampires would have a hard time finding him.
After Herrick’s death, he’d remembered all the things the man had taken from him, and caught a gaze of dreamy, blue-green eyes set in a youth’s face. The summer of 96 had come back to him, buried as it had been under alcohol, blood and good old self-delusion and distraction.
Mitchell had given in to the desire to find the boy, or man, again, even though in his rational mind he knew it was extremely unlikely he’d see him again. Maybe he didn’t even live in New Zealand anymore, or maybe he hadn’t survived past his teenage years. Yet, he didn’t really have anywhere else to go, so it was a good place to go as any.
His plan was to go from Auckland to Dannevirke, then try to find the boy. He was aware his chances were extremely slim, but he wanted to try nevertheless.
As it turns out, he didn’t even come that far. He exits the plane in Auckland, exhausted from almost thirty hours spends in airports and planes, surrounded by the stink of a lot of humans on very little room.
Despite it being half past five on the morning, a mass of welcomers awaited them when they exit the gate, but Mitchell paid them no attention, but pushed past them without paying attention.
He accidentally knocked into another man, pushing him to the ground. When he went to help him up, the man faced him, and Mitchell froze. He knew that guy.
Familiar blue-green eyes stared up at him when Mitchell finally kicked his brain into gear again and helped the guy up.
He was still staring the man in the face, desperately trying to find out how he knew him. He was blonde, shorter than himself, with a thick reddish beard. The man stared right back, and a long silence developed between them.
Mitchell broke it finally: “I think I know you.”
“I certainly remember you. You haven’t aged a day, John.”
It hit Mitchell like a ton of bricks, this was the kid from back then! Grown up, of course, but still recognizable.
“Jim?”
The man chuckled. “My name’s Anders. Now how about I call us a cab to my flat and you tell me why you still look exactly how you did in 1996?”
There was a deep thrum of suggestion under the normal voice and Mitchell felt the urge to go with the man almost painfully.
So he followed it.