Well, fuck me, I guess. I let a vampire/werewolf monster come in to battle another vampire/werewolf monster. And it's not even the worst part of all. 

Hayden is sandwiched in the middle of them both, and you know damn well that with his creamy hamstrings, lean biceps, and washboard abs, he will make a superb, Kobe-grade snack for those buttmunchers. 

Now, this isn't my first rodeo. I got into a love triangle between a minotaur and a pixie a few years ago, and if I learned anything from that — save from the fact that minotaurs can be surprisingly gentle lovers — is that it's best to leave them alone to duke it out and walk away slowly, change your name to Horacio Vargas, and spend a few months down in Honduras doing humanitarian work until things cool down. 

But, this is different. I'm kinda liking the vibe of this place, oddly enough. This is the first place in a while that gets me. I wouldn't want it to get destroyed by some supernatural slap fight. Not to mention that the cops will shut us down if they find a couple of supernatural corpses strung about in the hallway. 

That is, if they don't shut this place down when they come to check the pile of bodies in the LaCroix room. 

For the good of my dream to have a peaceful last year of high school, to graduate, to work as a customer service rep...I have to do something about this. 

And also for Hayden, I suppose. 

"good luck with that," says Brayden after I explain my logic. "to be honest, i don't even wanna graduate. i have mad stacks and flat abs. i'll get a sugar mama, murder her in her sleep after year 1, contest the will with her descendants, and live the rest of my years with my honeyboo, timotheé chalamet. fistfighting some bloodsucking poodle ain't part of that. imma be in belice drinking virgin margaritas out of of a canadian tourist's bellybutton if ya need me." 

You see that period at the end of that wall of dialogue? That's me slapping him across the face. 

"you bitch, that's my head face! i use it for face stuff!"

I slap him again, just for good measure. 

"Listen to me, you heterosexual twink himbo fuck," I say, grabbing him by the collar. "I don't wanna have to go to another weird school and gauge all the weird people there and see if they're cool or not. Fuck that shit. This is the school I'm gonna graduate from, and I can't do it without you. Also, Hayden. He's important."

The cogs in Brayden's brain begin to turn as he makes a droning sound. Maybe he's like one of those old, dummy-thick TVs that you have to hit in order to work. Just in case, I slap him again. The noise gets louder. 

"why do you want me to help you, anyways?" he finally says after a straight minute of drooling. "you didn't listen to me when you let little miss sunshine apparate inside the school like a discount abercrombie voldemort."

That is exactly why I want him to help. I haven't consumed any piece of popular media in ages, and literally everything he is saying is flying over my head. If someone can stop some pulpy Hollywood vampire, is gonna be the pulpy Hollywood guy. 

I let go of his collar, mostly because my hands are starting to itch from the fabric. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I'm not used to listening to other people. I'm kind of a lone wolf."

"no shit, sherlock. you're a bad boy! we don't travel in packs!" says Brayden  

"And I'm sorry, again. But I don't know how to kill vampires, or werewolves. You, on the other hand, seem to have a pretty good grasp on all these nonsense." 

Brayden goes all beet red — which I hope it's a sign that oxygen and blood is finally reaching his brain. 

"well...i did went to see every twilight movie the day they were premiered," he says after a few seconds of hard thinking. "same with the books. i suppose i could lend you my expertise..." 

"See? You're necessary and important for this plan!" 

And that's enough to make him cry, I guess, because he begins to bawl his eyes out. He was already kinda bloated from me slapping him silly, but oh boy, now he looks like a balloon. A very wet, squeaky balloon. 

"do you see me now, daddy?" he says between sobs and snot, more snot than sob. "i'm not a widdle little vampire sissy! i'm a strong, independent vampire hunter now!" 

I believe he's going through some personal stuff, but we don't have time for that. I slap him across the face again to snap him out of it. 

"Get your shit together! We don't have time to waste. Do you know how to kill a werewolf vampire?"

Brayden is still crying, but there is a spark in his eyes...a spark of acknowledgment, of being valued and needed. Almost as if his entire life has led up to this moment, and he is about to drop the last piece of information that will help us defeat the evil villain in the last battle.

"of course i do!" he says, cleaning up his cheeks. "while each has their own way to be defeated, both vampires and werewolves have one common way to be killed."

"Which is?" I ask, buttcheeks clenched in anticipation. 

"all you have to do is cut off their heads and throw it in fire!" he says with a smile. 

I slap him again, just for good measure.

"You fucking idiot!" I say, slapping him another time, because I like symmetry and even numbers. "Everyone dies if you cut their heads and throw in in a fire!" 

Instead of lashing out at me, or calling me names, or doing literally anything else, Brayden assumes a fetal position, rocking back and forth while sucking on his thumb. "please, daddy, i'll be a good little hitman. please don't spank me with the bible and call me a waste of dna. imma throw away those naked vampires with abs poster, i swear!"

Hu...mental note: refer Brayden to child services. For now, I think our best course of action is to look for Hayden, and get the hell out of dodge. Decapitating a vampire/werewolf, let alone two, seems to be too much of a tall order. 

As much as I like this school...I like Hayden more. No homo, though.

Well, maybe a bit homo. He's been the only person in a while to see me for more than I am. 

I punt Brayden to get his attention, making him squeal like a rubber ducky. I might get addicted to this. "Stand up, soldier. This is no place to die. Change of plans: we get Hayden, and we run the hell away from here until sunrise. Game?"

He only slips over like a sad and soggy vegan burger, creating a brand new puddle of tears beneath him. "what's the point? i'm sure he's already dead, having his butt munched by okayden, or that basic bitch of a vampire. and we're next. happy now, daddy? your little hitman is gonna be vampire farts!"

Almost as if it was waiting until the most appropriate moment — and let's be honest, it most likely did, since the universe likes to fuck with me — a scream ripples through the hallways, one belonging to one cooking jock. 

"Please, don't do it! You monster!" howls Hayden from somewhere between the gym and the weird LaCroix vending machine, which narrows it down to everywhere in this shitty matchbox of a school to be honest.

Well, at least we know he's alive. But not for long if we don't move to get him.

"C'mon! Let's get Hayden!" I say, punting him again. What can I say? I just like to see him squeal. 

"ah, what's the point?" says Brayden, hugging himself tighter. "we are but dust in the wind. die today, die in ten years, whatever. we are blips in the universe."

Don't do daddy issues, kids. It will lead to existentialism.

Another scream from Hayden, and this one feels more raw. "I'll cook you something more delicious, just...please!" 

I don't have time to deal with the psychological baggage of a depressed gangster. Time to put these abs to the test. I grab him by the pants and shit and toss him over my shoulders, cargo-style. 

"Man, you're heavy for being some Italian K-pop buttmunch."

"it's not as heavy as the burden of freedom, and the curse of liberty," he says. 

"Zip it with that Nietzsche shit. Time to turn this into an action sequence."

I tackle the door, not remembering that the door is open to begin with. Don't worry, I save it with a sick combat roll. You just gotta be here to see how cool it was. And yes, I dropped Brayden momentarily, but I pick him back up and run towards the only hallways in the school that has something plot related. 

Just as I'm turning the corner to the gym, I hear Hayden scream again, like a sweet mermaid leading us to our doom. And just like a vaguely horny sailor looking for some fish-person tail — which I don't even know how one would go about...consummating with a mermaid, to put it bluntly — I follow the voice. 

"Please, you're killing me!" screams Hayden. 

"same," whispers Brayden von Downerbitch, being a downer and all. 

I tackle the door to the cafeteria, and thankfully, it provides resistance and snapped open with a satisfying crunch. 

What lies behind it is beyond my wildest expectations. 

Hayden is not being eaten. Rather, he's cooking something. He's putting...sausages? Into a boiling pot.

"Please," says Hayden, crying waterfalls, "let me roast them for you. To boil them is...inhumane! Monstrous! You're removing all the flavor from them!" 

In a table in front of him, tapping a huge, mangy nail on it, is what I can only describe as an oversized poodle, puffy hair and all. 

"Ah, Ayden, my friend,
And you too as well, Brayden,
Why don't you join us?"

The oversized poodle is no other than Okayden himself, in the flesh.

Or in this case, in the fluff.