A/N: I can't seem to stay away from supernatural AUs! :) This is a little bit of a different, more traditional twist on the Vampire AUs that have been going around in fandom, and I'm very excited to write it. Thank you so much for reading, everyone! Let me know what you think! (I'm also on tumblr at with the same name for those of you that are interested. :3)

It doesn't happen every night.

Blaine thinks that might make it worse, in the end: the uncertainly. The way his stomach twists up into tight, tension-filled knots as it gets later and later, his ears on edge for the slightest shift of movement outside his apartment door. It doesn't always happen at the same time. There's no way to be sure.

Most nights, the phone rings instead – and some nights, nothing happens at all. Some nights he sits and waits on the couch, back rigid and waiting with every nerve frayed and thin until exhaustion finally overtakes him. Blaine will wake up the next morning, stiff and sore and poorly rested, and realize that nothing happened. That he has at least a few more hours before the dread, horrible and thick, starts to creep up inside of him again.

But tonight...

It's past one in the morning when he finally comes. No padded footsteps can be heard from the outside hall; there is no warning for his arrival at all. He never makes any noise if he doesn't want to.

The long, dragged scrape of sharp fingernails running down the wood of his doorframe is what alerts Blaine of his presence. Scratch, scratch, scratch on the wood of the door.

"Blaine," the high, sing-song voice drifts through the door. Beautiful and musical and terrifying. The fingernails continue to scratch. Jagged, harsh noises amid the beauty of the voice. "Let me inside, Blaine. Just open the door and let me in, I know you want to."

Terror, raw and hard and unstoppable, fills Blaine's entire body like an electric shock. When there is still uncertainty, no way to tell whether tonight will be the night, Blaine tends to find himself just wishing he knew for sure. As soon as that voice first starts to call to him, however, he would do anything to have that ignorance back. It's a hundred times worse, hearing him right outside. Sounding playful and seductive, and ever-so-slightly admonishing.

There is a shadow beneath the door of a figure outside. Lips pressed together and hands shaking, Blaine remains silent.

"Why won't you talk to me, Blaine?" asks the voice, sounding slightly pouty. The fingernails scratch down the doorframe in a hard, fast scrape. "I can hear your heart beating from here, you know. It's so fast. So scared." The scratch, scratch, scratch of the nails. "If you let me in, you don't have to be scared anymore. It'll all be over. Don't you want it to be over?"

A tiny, choked out noise escapes from Blaine's throat without permission. The scratching stops; outside the door, the figure makes a happy noise in the back of his throat.

"We can't play this game forever, beautiful thing," he purrs, and the scrape is lighter now – perhaps just one nail down the doorframe. "Can't keep teasing me like this."

The nails are back now, rough and loud and sharp as they drag down the door.

Blaine squeezes his eyes shut against the noise, wrapping his arms around his own shaking torso as fear pounds with his blood in his veins.