It was a cold night. The autumnal breeze sharp enough to cut through clothes and chill you to the bone regardless of how much you'd bundled yourself up. At this time of year, the nights stretched longer and the daylight was scarce. The weather was miserable, the type of light drizzle that soaks you through quicker then you can open your umbrella.

Masked by the shadow of nightfall, the alley was dark and devoid of the brief glimmer of light the overhead streetlights provided. A metallic scent of blood the only warning that something was amiss this night...

Soap knelt beside you, his chest heaving, choking back panicked sobs and bile as his trembling hands applied pressure to your neck. The taste of you still lingered in his mouth, your blood smeared across his lips and dribbled drown his chin. His eyes usually bright with mischief, now black pits of hunger and regret; tears sliding down his pale cheeks.

The Captain was the first to reach his distraught ward, dropping to his knees beside your body as his wide eyes take in the scene with rare alarm.

"What did you do?" Price hissed, a growl rumbling through his chest as he checked the other side of your neck for a pulse. It was there, barely. Growing weaker by the second as the human turned paler.

How had a routine intel mission gone so far south? Soap hadn't had a feeding accident like this in millennia...

"A-Ah got shot, lost control, ah-" Johnny's voice cracked with another sob. "Ah didn't mean to-"

"O-Oh, god," Gaz staggered as he ran into the alley, raising a hand to cover his nose at the tempting scent of the human's fresh blood. Taking a second to steel himself, pushing down his own hunger, before kneeling beside Soap and taking over applying pressure as the unit's trained medic. "Cap, their not gonna make it, their losing blood too fast, there's nothing I can do."

"Cap... please," Soap turned his eyes to Price, desperation twisting his face. "It was mah fault, it's not their time. Please, ah shall take responsibility for 'em, ah swear it-"

Price exhaled through his nose. He was old—older than wars, older than kings. He had seen fledglings beg for salvation before. But this was different. This was his own spawn pleading.

"Bleeding hell, Johnny," the frustrated growl of the Lieutenant alerted the rest of his team to his appearance, scuffing the crying Scotsman while eyeing the dying human. "Real mess you've made this time, Sargent... it's a bad idea, price, you know that. Even if they do survive the change, which is a one in fifty chance, that won't erase what happened."

"Please, don't make them pay for mah mistake" Soap whispered, shaking his head despite Ghost's hand on the back of his neck, a grounding technique for younger fledglings.

The Captain stared at his spawn, long and hard. He hadn't seen the younger vampire weep like this since the last descendent of his home-clan perished nearly a hundred years prior. Before allowing his gaze to flicker to the human on the floor. The bite marks on your neck too deep, too vicious. You surely wouldn't last longer then an hour like this.

"You don't deserve this," Price sighed, his fingers brushing the wet hair that stuck to the your forehead away. "But, then again, neither did we."

Biting into his own wrist, with his free hand the Captain cupped the back of your head and pushed your lips to his wound; forcing you to drink. The rest of the Coven watching as your dazed form suckled weakly. Their was no guarantee you'd survive the transformation, as the Lieutenant had said. It was a long and painful process. But, at least this would give you a fighting chance.

"Thank yeh, Cap" Soap exhaled, relief and guilt warring in his expression, as he sniffled away his tears.

"Like you said, if they survive, then their your responsibility, John," Price stated, firmly. "You train them, you look after them and you show them how to live like this."

"Aye, ah will, ah swear it" Soap nodded, swallowing hard.

"And God help 'em" Ghost murmured, knowing that the Coven had a long night ahead of themselves.