Chapter Text
Dennis closed his eyes as soon as the smell hit.
Embers dancing around in the night were almost peaceful, yet the smell of burnt wood that followed was anything but. He felt warm all over, too warm. Incense in the air made him queasy. The snow crunched under his feet as his steps faltered. His stomach twisted further at the thought. The church was burning. The church was burning and all Dennis could do was stand silently.
The remnants of the building illuminated the man before him. He stood still, abnormally so. Dennis almost didn’t see him at first, but now he couldn’t tear his gaze off him. Flames dancing around his hair like a halo. A saint to rival all saints. He was older, wiser, stronger. At the very least his voice carried the authority that Dennis could never muster up himself. Tears were still running down his face when the man turned abruptly as if snapping into action.
“Don’t just stand there, Whitaker,” the tone was gruff and strained. “Let’s help them get water.”
He let the calm wash over him in waves. He could do this. Follow simple orders, be useful. He could not think about the glint of red in the eyes of his companion or the fact that Dennis brought this calamity upon the village. Everything else could wait for the morning.
If he whispered prayers with every bucket of water he carried, Michael said nothing of it. Even if they burned his tongue. He tried not to think about the green lifeless eyes that met him when he pulled aside the broken pew, holy robes stained with blood.
With a heavy sigh he collapsed before the entryway to the house of the village head. He helped pull some untarnished relics from the debris. Some benches, a bible, a painting with its lower edge burnt. The face of Mary Magdalene greeted him with a serene smile, but he couldn’t find peace no matter how much he dug.
So he allowed himself to be pushed aside. Still, his brain worked a million thoughts a second, as he held a piece of broken stained glass in his hand. The blue shard was too small to be of any use, but he couldn’t bare to toss it like litter, so he put it in his pocket discreetly.
One of the women in the village had thanked him with tears in her eyes and all he could do was smile sadly and offer platitudes of hope, and stare at the soldering pile of what once was. A faint buzz under his skin and hands unsteady, he glanced around. A few of the men were rearranging the undamaged wood, already planning the rebuilding process. The church was the joy of the village, a center for all.
The community shook but it wouldn’t falter for long. Some stood around in shock, gazing upon the walls crumbling before their eyes, others mouthed off at possible offenders, suggesting divine punishment. An older woman was weeping, her son had been one of the first who noticed and choked on the smoke trying to drag one of the priests out.
Such is the justice of God, Dennis thought, you do what is right and it is never enough. Blasphemy incarnate.
The wind was picking up and he was glad they put out the worst of it. Rebuilding was easier, required less foreign hands. It was a village affair he was none too keen to intrude upon. He and Michael could slip away without fanfare. Murmurs everywhere they went, even now. Glances in his direction always felt like daggers. They’ve caught enough attention as is. What was taking him so long anyway?
He shifted slightly and peered into the darkness of the window. Michael had left with the village head and a couple of other people to ‘discuss the situation’ or so Dennis was told by the head’s wife. She didn’t bother to fake pleasantries with him and he could not bother to beat himself up about it. Not right now. He tried to listen in to what was being said, but to no avail. The mumbling droned on and on, he couldn’t hear Michael’s voice. He stood up with a weary sigh. His joints cracked and he winced at the pull. Would they have to move again? Wasn’t it his responsibility, as it should be?
Just then, the door opened and Michael finally stepped out. He looked haggard, like he hadn’t slept in weeks. The line of soot on his cheek remained untouched and Dennis’ fingers itched at the thought.
“You needn’t have waited,” he said simply. Hand on his lower back he steered them away from the house. Dennis could hear the smile in his voice and he grinned bashful in return. His lover, gentle just for him. “You look like you’re about to keel over, Whitaker. Should I carry you back?”
“N-No, I’m fine, I promise,” Dennis squawked. “Wait, that’s not important. You were there quite a while. Did they mention anything, how we could help?”
Michael’s gaze drifted into the horizon and he hummed. The buzz of Dennis’ skin was soon replaced by small prickles, like ants running around.
“No one got hurt besides those we found, but there is… A task of sorts. Come, it’s all we could’ve done for now, no sense in running ourselves ragged. Let’s go home.”
Dennis nodded and the two started their trek back to the woods. While the village had bundled around the church as was customary in these parts, small houses with their modest fences and chatter of neighbors, there were lodgings of sorts scattered in the woods around the area. Most of them occupied seasonally by fishmongers and hunters, others opened their doors to weary travelers. For a price, of course. Michael and Dennis were staying at one of those lodgings.
At first, eyebrows were raised at two men sharing a room, but soon lowered with a glance at all the money they could offer.
The place was ascetic to say the least, a single bed, a small kitchen area and a table next to the window. Dennis would sometimes write there, a small smile on his lips as Michael’s gaze burned into him, luring him back to bed. Wild dogs roamed the area and no one paid them any mind, why should they be any different? Michael dropped his coat onto the nearby chair and turned to close the curtains tight shut. Dennis managed to light the candles on the second try and wordlessly sat down by the kitchen.
“So, a task.” He said gently.
Michael pushed his chair towards him and nodded.
“To… help rebuild or do they need um, a priest?” Dennis furrowed his brow, unusual to say the least. People in villages accepted travelers for the money they could get from them, no more no less.
“They…” Michael ran a hand through his messy hair. Dennis blinked. He felt as if he forgot to breathe for a second, lungs wrapped in worry. He sighed heavily, words falling reluctantly. “Want us to play law enforcers. Find and judge the guilty.”
“Wh-wha… That’s a bit much to expect from a doctor and a former altar boy, is it not?” Dennis’ voice shook as he laughed. Michael’s smile was wry, but still it warmed Dennis’ heart.
“I said to them as much, however, they seemed adamant. Lest we want to leave and I… I didn’t want to drag you out again. We need a place to recuperate, everything is a little much, isn’t it?”
Soft brown eyes gazing upon him, morning light filtering through the leaves, gentle, but present, Dennis felt too bare.
“I’m fine.” Dennis said automatically.
“Sure you are, kiddo. Tell me, how many birds are there outside?”
“Fourty… eight.” Dennis stubbornly looked at his boots. Mud and soot and who knows what else, the birdsong heavy in his ears.
“Ah, how focused you are to count their individual heartbeats. I’m sure you could even differentiate them by size. Perhaps ornithology is your real calling, Whitaker.”
“It’s… fine.” Michael’s eyebrow raised at that. “I mean, fine, the world is a little… much right now, but I’m doing better aren’t I? I didn’t jump at anyone, I helped.”
He could already feel the sting of tears that will never come. In their place ran rivers of blood coming from somewhere deep inside his heart. A torrent of emotions he inherited from his human days of silent tremors. Michael’s fingers swiped at his cheek wiping away the tears. His brow was furrowed with worry and Dennis bit the inside of his cheek, hard. He couldn’t keep doing this. Not to himself, but especially not to Michael.
“Oh Dennis, sweetheart, of course you did. I couldn’t have done it without you. But I don’t want this to be harder for you than it has to be.”
“I’m not a child.” He said petulantly.
“Of course not—”
“I’m older than you.” He huffed and Michael just smiled. “I’m just not used to this. You should be the one with all the newborn nonsense, not me.”
He wrinkled his nose. Perhaps he had done something wrong after all. But Michael seemed right as rain, as right as a vampire should be at least. Not as a newborn vampire though. Most of his newfound urges and sensitivity went right to Dennis for some reason, while the strength remained. He should be the one reassuring and providing support. Pathetic, a voice in his head murmured.
That’s not what a proper bond should be like, Dennis knew that much.
He often lay in bed searching for answers in his memories. Thinking of tales he had heard, people he’s talked to, even back in his human life. The one who turned him. Perhaps it was some sort of punishment for all his transgressions, his childish wish to not be alone any more had twisted to reflect the real him. Never right as a human, now ‘wrong’ as a vampire. He should have all the years behind his belt, a sharp mind and swift claws, teeth ready to defend what he loves.
Yet he falters, he freezes, he looks at Michael like a newborn fawn, skittish with bent legs. His fangs useful for the local wildlife and worrying his bottom lip, all so he cuts himself and swears loudly, startling others.
“Dennis, please, talk to me.” Michael pulled him right out of his thoughts, somehow he always knew just the right moment. His hands now at his elbows, rubbing in slow circles, grounding. “What happened there?”
Dennis took a shuddering breath in and resigned himself to what was to come.