SPACE STATIONS > The Libra

Renascence [Solo]

(1/1)

Zero Undead:
Templar

Templar had not spent much time in hospitals, but he could safely say he disliked the experience immensely. Not because being around sickness or death bothered him, not at all, but the sounds were simply unbearable. How did everyone else stand it? All the beeping and humming and whirling of medical equipment were going to drive him insane. Well, more insane than usual, at any rate. He wasn’t sure which was worse, the heart monitor or the respirator. Both infernal machines were currently assaulting his ears with their noise pollution.

The vampire had been hovering there in the shadows for hours, watching and waiting for an opportunity. He didn’t want to be there and loathed his task, but it was not in him to blatantly disobey a divine order. His job could have been done by now if the tall blue creature keeping vigil by Deacon’s bedside were to just go away. The elf had made things particularly annoying since Templar had arrived. Killing him had crossed his mind many times. He would have been happy to simply kill them both. It wasn’t as if the pathetic thing dying in the hospital bed actually deserved the blessing of Azrael. Sadly the wretch had been ordered to live, and it was his job to make sure it was so. Since the mage was to be fully integrated into the family, if the elf was really his great-something-nephew’s Consort, then harming him was blasphemous.

It really was a pity. He looked tasty and he did so love trying exotic cuisine.

Templar really hated having things deemed off limits, but he had to focus on the task at hand. It seemed an eternity before the blasted pointy-eared bastard nodded off to sleep. He had no idea how long that would last, or how deeply Eit might sleep, so he wasted no time in pouncing.  The shadows deepened and swept across the room, engulfing Deacon and then retreating as quickly as they had advanced, causing the ill Duo to simply vanish, and Templar – who had been an unseen shadow to begin with – with him.

The machines once monitoring and maintaining the dying human’s life began screeching in protest, but he no longer had to hear it or care. It actually amused him to think of the panic that would cause, not only for scurrying hospital staff, but for that annoying blue asshole that made his life difficult without even knowing it.

Sadly he couldn’t revel in the chaos he had just caused, everything had to move quickly now. The pair reappeared in a much less sterile room; it was warm and prepared for their failing guest. Deacon was dumped on a nicer bed designed for in-home hospice care, and a blonde man with bright red eyes was immediately at his side, covering his nose and mouth with a respiration mask as the mage gasped and struggled for breath. Templar just smirked and shrugged at the glare thrown at him by the good doctor. They had been arguing for weeks, months even, over this very moment. Hector thought he was waiting far too long and that the risk of losing the boy was too high – higher by the day.

What an annoying nag. Honestly he could have taken care of this many months ago, but the longer he waited the less chance Deacon would ever wake up. Templar liked his odds. If he tried to turn him and he did not survive the change, then how was it his fault the human was too weak? It would prove his point and rid him of what he considered a disgraceful nuisance.

The sound of a heart monitor made him hunch his shoulders, it was almost worse than nails on a chalkboard by this point. He turned and scowled as he watched Hector work, hooking Deacon up to those infernal machines – what a joke!

“If he can’t live for ten minutes without help then why should he be allowed to live at all?” It seemed a more than valid question to him.

“He wouldn’t need help if you had simply done as you were told. The Incarnation is going to kill me if this one dies, and you toy with him like a cat that’s caught a mouse. This is not a hospital; please just do your damn job before he expires.” Hector was pretty, especially when he was angry. Templar almost wished he was one of his pets.

“Let my grandfather tear you to pieces for your incompetence, you act like I should care.” With an annoyed sigh he waved the man away and approached the bed, nose crinkling in distaste. The mage stank of disease and death – hardly appetizing. Well, the sooner this was over the sooner he could leave this wretched space station and go home where he belonged. Gripping Deacon’s chin not at all gently, he jerked his head to the side and sank his teeth into the weak, fluttering pulse. For the first time in hours, the human actually showed signs of life beyond the labored breathing, putting up a laughable struggle for a few moments before going limp again.

“All that poison medicine makes the blood taste foul.”  Templar stepped back with a sound and look of disgust.

“Well if you had done this when you were supposed to you wouldn’t have had to worry about it, would you?” Hector sneered, a look of satisfaction crossing his face for just a moment. Clearly he enjoyed Templar’s displeasure in the situation. He glanced at the monitors, there had been a momentary spike in heart rate, but now the pulse had slowed, and it would continue to do so – or it would crash completely. All that could be done now was to wait and hope that things went as intended.

And wait they did.

For hours.

“How long does this fucking take? I’ve been waiting forever. When does he wake up?” Templar was pacing the room, casting accusatory glances between Deacon and Hector, as if the pair was somehow conspiring just to annoy him.

“Well how long can vary. You let him deteriorate for months, letting his sickness fester. There is a lot of damage to repair. It isn’t an instantaneous process, you know. His body is literally changing into a different species; try to show a little patience.” Honestly Hector was starting to grow nervous himself, what if there was just too much damage to recover from? Azrael really would kill him if Deacon died. He had unhooked the respirator an hour ago, the Duo was breathing on his own fine now, which had to be a good sign, right? His heart rate and body temperature had dropped significantly, into normal ranges for their kind, but he was still unconscious.

Templar made a noise of frustration and stalked over to the bed, leaning over it and scowling at his descendant expectantly. His patience was wearing paper thin. He couldn’t leave until Deacon was awake and eating properly. After that his responsibility to him ended and it would be Hector’s problem entirely.


Deacon

Things were so fuzzy, but Deacon knew that he was dying. It was probably the only thing he knew for sure. Everything else was kind of a hazy dream. All that mattered was that his partner was there. No matter what else, he could accept it as long as Eit didn’t leave him alone. There were so many things he wanted to say to him, but honestly he wasn’t sure if any of the words ever did come out. He wanted to tell him how sorry he was – sorry for years of being an insufferable shit, for not telling him how he felt, for having to leave him now.

Did he get to say any of it?

Deacon didn’t know. All he knew was that he was exhausted and that everything hurt so much. At least he thought it had hurt, but then the world just shifted and suddenly Eit wasn’t there and he couldn’t breathe. His lungs burned for several moments, but then a familiar pressure covered his face and air was forced back into him. It was a relief, but only temporary, because despite being unable to open his eyes, he knew that his jockey was gone. He struggled to wake up, to resist the strange hand that grabbed him, and then he thought he felt something else, but he was too tired to know what and he drifted back into the weird here but gone haze.

The next thing he consciously became aware of was the sound of strange voices. He wished they would shut up; he was tired and trying to sleep. Wait, they were talking about him? Deacon had no idea what they were going on about, but the next thing he realized was that he was desperately thirsty. Or was he hungry? Probably both, how long had he been lying in a hospital bed even? If they were chattering about him in his room they were probably doctors or nurses? Either way they should be able to get him something.

As his eyes cracked open, he knew two things: the room was very dim, which he liked, and secondly, there was a man hovering over him that he didn’t quite recognize. Whoever it was, their face was turned away and Deacon’s eyes dilated as he stared at the neck in front of him. There was absolutely no decision-making process going on here, one moment he was lying there, and the next his fingers were tangled in dark hair, fangs sinking into a cool throat. The second the first drop of blood hit his tongue, there was no thinking, pure instinct had him not simply bite and drink, he ripped into the flesh, tearing and gouging until blood was pouring down his chin in a gushing fountain of sweetness.

The man in his grasp had grabbed ahold of the safety rail and though he thought he’d made a startled yell, he only just began to struggle. Deacon was pretty sure he ripped his throat even more as his victim jerked out of his grasp and fell backwards onto the floor. He watched, almost entranced as Templar, hey that was his name, threw a hand to his destroyed throat, comically trying to stop the blood flow.

“I forgot what messy eaters newborns could be.” Templar was cackling madly, in a way that made the hair on Deacon’s neck stand up. Shouldn’t he be dead?

That was about the moment that thinking caught back up with him. Deacon realized that he was licking and sucking on his blood soaked fingers and jerked his hands away from his mouth, looking down at himself. He was covered in a sizable amount of blood. How much had even made it in his mouth? He felt mildly horrified that he’d just been sucking down blood like it was sweet tea. No, it was better than that and he wanted more.

“What the fuck?” He asked no one in particular. The gears were turning slowly, he wasn’t completely stupid, he just didn’t believe it. 

“Please try to remain calm, Mr. Chambers. I’m Dr. Hector Wilde, and you will be in my medical care from now on.” The blonde man approached him, ignoring the other blood-covered man in the room, who had gotten shakily to his feet and moved to sit in one of the chairs. This room looked like a crime scene. Deacon hissed softly as a bright light was suddenly flashing in first one eye and then the other. “Light sensitivity is common and to be expected. Your eyes will readjust shortly and your vitals are good.”

“Well that’s nice, but what the actual fuck?” He was struggling to keep a bit of hysteria out of his voice. Somebody needed to start explaining shit right now.

“You’re a vampire. I thought that should be obvious. You’ve got a hell of a bite, too.” Templar chortled, still pressing a hand to his wounded neck, but it was healing. “Hector, hurry up. I’m hungry. I hope you brought enough for both of us.”

Hearing it out loud was a lot weirder than thinking it, but it also made it feel more real. Honestly he didn’t know what to think, but his attention definitely perked up at the word hungry. Hell yes, he was still starving. It was probably wrong to feel so happy at the thought of getting more blood, but he was giddy as fuck. He wanted it like a cokehead wanted crack.

“You weren’t supposed to get your throat ripped out.” Hector snorted, moving to a cooler and pulling out what looked like IV bags of blood. He threw one unceremoniously at Templar then brought one to Deacon with a scowl. “Don’t think overly hard about it, just eat. I know some humans are reluc-“

Reluctant he was not. Deacon brought the bag to his mouth and sunk his teeth in wordlessly; sucking on it as easily as a kid might have one of those weird Kool-Aid pouches. It wasn’t as sweet as Templar’s blood had been, but he slurped at it greedily just the same – it was still delicious and he had never been so hungry/thirst before in his life.

“Well I don’t think we have to worry about him eating…” Hector mused, scratching the back of his head with a smirk. “This is actually a synthetic formula. Libra is not a place where hunting for fresh blood is very easily done. The Mori Group is a family-run corporation that developed it specifically to feed vampires living in less hospitable locations, such as Libra. The formula is nutritionally equivalent to the real thing, but unfortunately they haven’t been able to completely perfect the flavor.”

“He means it tastes like shit.” Templar grumbled around a mouthful of plastic packaging.

Hector gave a long suffering sigh and fetched a second bag for Deacon. “It tastes fine, and you will be drinking a lot of it; especially for the first several weeks, because after that your hunger pangs will lessen slightly and you’ll require less to sustain yourself. You’re still in a period of transition. Don’t worry; I’ve already made arrangements for a steady supply to be delivered to your home.”

Deacon was barely paying attention to either of them. He was too busy reflecting inwardly. The blood, formula, whatever in his mouth tasted great, but the mage was just becoming aware of how he felt. There was no more pain, he didn’t ache or feel worn down, he felt almost hyper, energetic, truly alive for the first time in what felt like ages. He noticed other things too, like how he was still breathing between swallows, his heart was beating, but it felt sluggish. Was he alive or undead? He didn’t know, it was weird, but an hour ago he’d though he was dying-dying, so who was he to complain?

Oh shit.

He dropped the bag he had just finished and looked around frantically. Where was his partner? He had been with him at the hospital. Deacon jumped out of bed, glaring at Hector and Templar both accusingly. “Where’s Eit?”

“I left him at the hospital. I couldn’t exactly bring him along, but I didn’t do anything to him. He was sleeping when I took you.” Templar still had blood smeared on his neck and on his clothes, but whatever damage Deacon had done seemed to be gone now. Too bad, he kind of wished he’d killed him. Not that he really knew why, but he kind of wanted the asshole to die.

“Well this has been great and all, but I got to go. Eit probably lost his shit.” Deacon started to feel around for his com in his pockets, but looked down and realized he was in one of those lame hospital gowns. Well that made sense. “God damn it. Where’s my com? I have to tell Eit I’m okay before he has a heart attack or something.”

“Uh…we don’t have it.” Hector shrugged helplessly. “It is probably with your partner. Don’t be so hasty, you’ve barely woken up. You’re going to crash soon. Let me call the hospital and find out if your Eit is still there. Templar, make yourself useful.”

Deacon rolled his eyes and folded his arms across his chest. He couldn’t leave looking this way anyway, he couldn’t let Eit seem him covered in blood like this – the poor thing really would have a heart attack.

“My job’s done, so I’m leaving. That door there is the bathroom. You got a change of clothes ready on the sink. Good fucking luck.” Templar waved at Deacon with a bored look before being swallowed by shadows and disappearing.

The next half-hour was the most frustrating of Deacon’s life, at least that’s what it felt like. Hector was annoying, insisting on him drinking two more liters, wanting him to be showered and dressed – admittedly he felt far more like himself once he was clean and wearing his own clothes. It pissed him off a little to realize they actually were his clothes. One of those assholes had gone in his house, into his room, and stolen a change of clothes.

Dicks.

Finally he was able to return to the hospital. Apparently Eit had to be sedated when he had gone missing, and Deacon wasn’t sure just how pissed off he should be about it. On the one hand, he was still alive when he should probably be dead, and - while medicated against his will - Eit was also safe.

Slipping into the hospital room where Eit was currently sleeping, Deacon decided it didn’t matter for now. He could deal with it all later. The only thing he cared about was curled up on a hospital bed that really wasn’t long enough for him – goddamn blue giant. A soft smirk tugged at his lips as he gently brushed a stray strand of hair from the elf’s face. Even looking like he’d been through hell, Eit was fucking beautiful.

It was a hell of a fit, but Deacon squirmed his way into bed, only settling contently when he was completely wrapped around his jockey.

“I’m home.”

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