What Made Milwaukee Famous

by synthetica

Summary:

Ten years after establishing a tenuous truce, Danny crash-lands at Vlad's Milwaukee lakehouse with a particularly nasty wound, three days recovery time, and absolutely nothing to do but talk to his long-lost archnemesis.

It’s a terrible idea. It’s not even really an idea. It’s just a half-baked hail mary to the sky, literally, as Danny skiters across the surface of greater Lake Michigan, willing that the goo copiously oozing out of his side is both non-toxic to aquatic life and retaining enough of his vital force within his body to make it to the shore. It’s off in the distance, enough lights to be a city but too far north to be Chicago, the ghost he was chasing sending him careening across the lake before wasting his side with a gash that’s left him weaker by the second.

The fact that he technically won isn’t stopping the bleeding, nor did the makeshift first-aid kit Jazz had forced him to start keeping on him, quickly rendering the gauze as wet and useless as Danny feels, stuck together with sticky fall humidity from the lake below. He pushes his body further and further through the sky, no amount of his endurance training helping his organs feel any more in place, willing himself to at least make it to a hospital where he can turn back human. Not ideal, it’ll just make the wound worse, but it’ll have to do. Milwaukee will surely have one.

The lights get closer yet blurrier by the minute, the thick moist air of the lake nearly suffocating him, each breath more painful than the last. As the buildings begin to come into focus, or at least as much as they can, there are several even more obnoxious lights along the lake, the glow of the richest of Wisconsin’s lake-coastal city on their shoreline houses, casting their long shadow over the lake as the sun grows lower and lower in the sky and nearly dissipating behind the city completely. He flies in closer, twinging at the pain of adjusting his angle. If he gives out before reaching the city, he’s still young enough to be taken pity on if he washes up on someone’s deck bleeding.

He hates where his brain immediately goes, registering he’s in Wisconsin in the face of exorbitant wealth, and what those two things together normally signify. But there’s no way he’d have a house even out here, the Madison boy he is. Surely not—and yet his stomach drops as one house stands out as taller and gaudier than the rest, towering above its peers with a dock that extends far past what must be regulation. But rich assholes are everywhere. Still, Danny finds himself flying lower towards the extending dock before he knows better of it, just for a closer look. Even if it were Vlad’s, there’s no reason he’d be there. And if it were Vlad’s… surely stealing a little bit of ecto-string to sew himself up doesn’t count as a violation of the truce. Nor does breaking and entering, with reason.

Besides, he can’t remember the last time he’s seen Vlad. Without him flexing his weird sexual obsession with his parents, Vlad is as retired from villainy as he’ll ever get, so it’s not like they have similar circles to run in. Last he heard, he’s dedicated to his research, alone and off of Danny’s radar. There’s a part of him that’s curious, even through the pain, and when he collapses in a somersaulting heap on the wide, large deck, it’s only barely an accident. He doesn’t bother to change back, leaving a trail of goo in his wake that festers on the wood. He groans, fighting to bring himself to his feet despite the pain in his side, working his not-insignificant, but significantly weakened, muscles to their limit.

With a heave of his breath, he’s able to struggle up by bracing himself on his knees with one hand while his other tries to hold his body inside itself, staggering up towards the expansive house before him. It looks entirely dark, quiet and uninhabited, which is all the better. It should be simple from here, as long as his legs don’t betray him.

It feels like a football field before he finally reaches the sliding back door, and when he drags blurry, blinking eyes up to the glass, he barely registers it’s not his own reflection he sees until he hears the ring of, “Daniel?”

He staggers on his feet, nearly falling over in his haste to back away from the door, gasping the motion tears a fresh laceration in his wound. He doubles over in a wave of pain, catching a piece of uneven wood as he tumbles backwards onto the deck, colliding against it with a force that takes the wind out of his already-battered chest. He braces for the door to burst open, for the inevitable struggle, but it slides open easily and slowly, with something like caution if Danny didn’t know better.

Vlad Masters looks haphazard, or as haphazard as someone like him ever does, especially nowadays, his usually slicked-back hair falling across his robed shoulders, a white, fluffy thing draped over his body. His skin, even from a fair distance, is slicked with moisture, like he’s just taken a shower. There’s a quizzical look on his face, creased with more and more with something like concern by the second, and he seems in a haste as he drops the cup of tea he was holding in his hands on a nearby patio table, crossing the distance between them in seconds.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Vlad demands, robe swishing behind him as he kneels over where Danny’s fallen, the wrinkles of his face no more prominent than the last time Danny had seen him up this close. There’s little bite to his voice, more shock, and Danny would laugh if he knew the action wouldn’t split him open anew.

“What are you doing here?” Danny fires back, biting down a wave of bile. “This isn’t where you live.”

“Oh, Daniel,” Vlad sighs, the same chiding, patronizing tone he’s always so adored to take with him affecting his voice. “You really think I don’t know the second someone steps on any of my properties?”

He snaps his jaw shut with an aborted growl. Of course. “Right. Sorry to crash your pad, then, but I either need help with this or I need to get somewhere I can get help with this, so I don’t exactly have time for pleasantries.”

“And because I know,” Vlad continues as if he had said nothing, kneeling down next to Danny. “I can see what’s going on. Cameras.”

He points to the awning above the patio, where, sure enough, a not-exactly clandestine camera is spinning in a slow little semi-circle, monitoring the property. “Excuse me for not noticing.”

“I can help, you know,” Vlad says, extending a hand. He’s just as pale and thin in this form as ever. “If you’ll allow me.”

He doesn’t really have any other choice, not with his vision blurring like this. “Make with it, then,” he snaps, too tired by half for any sort of verbal run-around the man might give him. “I’ve bled out over half the lake.”

“You’d better hope that’s not toxic,” Vlad remarks, holding out his hand. Danny looks at it with all the enthusiasm he’d reserve for touching a poisonous snake and tries his luck with his own legs. He doesn’t get very far, though, shaking underneath him as they are, and by the time he pulls himself to his knees, the pulse of his wound is just enough for him to put his pride aside and reach up for it, surprisingly bony beneath his own strong hands. He pulls Danny’s weight up with ease, removing his hand as soon as Danny steadies himself again. He can barely see through the blur in his eyes, but it’s better than being touched further. The door isn’t far. “Come, I’ll stitch you up inside.”

Danny would be almost disappointed at the lack of further quips if he weren’t clinging to the edges of consciousness, staggering after Vlad’s even gait. He barely registers any of the darkened interior beyond the hardwood floors, illuminated by the goo still seeping steadily from just between his ribs. He’s also barely aware when a hand comes between his shoulder blades to guide him away from running straight into a wall when Vlad tries to lead them down a narrow staircase, gently orienting him in the correct direction. Every breath feels laborious, scratching at his chest like knives in his lungs, and he has no hope of identifying the details of his surroundings as he stumbles down the stairs if he tries, a blur of stone and light. His limbs are heavy, gelatinous, head full and fuzzed out like tv static, and distantly, he realizes that he even made it here is a minor miracle. The pain adrenaline was masking is emerging now, and even as on edge he is in this man’s presence and house, it aches like hell.

Vlad’s telling him something, directions for the bottom of the staircase, but he isn’t listening. When did he get behind him? He stumbles into the wall, feeling for a break in it, before another touch he barely registers careens him towards the right where a large, sterile-looking chair is waiting for him in what looks like a near-replica of the lab in Vlad’s Madison home, and he staggers as fast as his cement-ledden legs will allow, collapsing into it. The next images come in starts and fits, Vlad gone one moment, masked with curious-looking tools in his hand the next, pain, more pain than should have been realistic for the caliber, but he’d been wrecked, still is wrecked, barely holding onto the edges of his awareness.

At some point, he loses it, and when he comes to later, there’s a sheen of sweat on Vlad’s face, and a look he’s only seen in a terrible alternate future, right before he raked the gauntlet’s claws right through Danny’s chest. Genuine, real apprehension.

“Can you hear me? Daniel?” It sounds like it’s through a tunnel, but he can, so he nods. He feels like a puppet on marionette strings doing so, but he thinks he gets the motion right.

“Mhm,” he forces out, more a grunt than anything as he blindly reaches for his side to find it stitched tight, but the pain is still searing, the motion forcing out a moan. “Fuck. Shit, what did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Vlad insists, putting his hands up. Even the few short words burn in Danny’s throat, each breath raking against his ribcage like nails on a chalkboard. It aches. “I… did the best I could. You likely barely got here in time.”

Danny feels the urge to cough, but he knows the motion would hurt more than anything, so his chest just shakes with the ghost of it, and that alone is enough of an ache. “What?”

“You…” Vlad hesitates. If Danny didn’t know better, he almost looks unsteady. “Changed back. Very quickly after sitting down.”

It’s only then Danny manages to look at himself, at his very much flesh hands, and feels a gasp catch in his throat, torn asunder by a fresh wave of pain. He can’t help the cough this time, and it feels like it tears him in two, Vlad hovering closer to the chair. “Don’t do that, it’ll just make it worse. The wound punctured your spleen.”

Danny’s eyes go wide. “If you caused this somehow, I swear I’ll—”

Vlad holds his hands up in front of him, pulling his mask from his face. “I did nothing of the sort,” he objects, and there’s a prominent crease in his eyebrows as he says it, no smug upturn of his lips. He still doesn’t trust it. “I kept the tear from spreading, if you’re interested at all in thanking me.”

Danny narrows his eyes, every sentence he forces out tearing at his chest more, breathing shallowly. “How do I know this isn’t some sick game of yours?”

“Truce,” Vlad offers. “Remember?”

It didn’t mean much to him the first time, but he’s not going to waste that many words on something they both know. He tries to lift himself up from the seat, pleasantly surprised to find there’s nothing keeping him there except for the gelatin in his limbs and the searing pain in his chest, but that alone hollows him out. He can barely keep himself upright, clinging to the chair for support as he hops down. Vlad watches him with an inscrutable expression, brows creased deep as he observes from several safe feet away, his hands behind his back. He can’t decide what makes him angrier, that he’s here at all, or that he can barely breathe through it.

“Well, thanks, then,” Danny coughs, tasting copper. “I’ll be heading out, if you want a sucker punch for old time’s sake.”

Vlad looks smaller with time. He can’t be any older than his parents, just in his early 50s, and he still looks undeniably good for his age, or maybe it’s just that Danny’s gotten bigger, but he never remembered him being this… tiny, compared to everything else in the lab. His limbs look breakable, enough that he almost can’t believe his fourteen year old self wasn’t capable of it. But he knows better. There’s strength in there, even now, he’s sure. Still, it’s his expression more than anything that gives that impression, pinched and a bit more human than he’s used to. It throws him, or maybe it’s just the hole in his ribcage.

“Please, picking on those weaker than me has to bring some sort of payoff,” Vlad dismisses with a flick of his wrist, peeling off a pair of latex gloves. “There’d be no joy in doing so at the moment.”

Funny to hear him more or less admit that’s what he was doing all those years in his eyes. He nods, swallowing back something sick and sharp in the back of his throat. “Your loss.”

He focuses the static in his body to his core and tries to do his familiar, easy change into his ghost form, but the sensation pushes back to his limbs with a snap, dissipating into nothingness and leaving only flesh and bone in its wake.

“Daniel,” Vlad says, almost like a warning, but Danny barely hears it. He tries again, flexing his fingers in an attempt to push through the change.

This time, the static envelops him, sparking across his body with the speed of wildfire, and the pain comes just as fast. He’s been wounded countless times, but it’s been ages since he’s had an involuntary change before getting one this deep treated, and the mixing of physiology across the wound feels like it’s tearing it asunder. He screams, an involuntary instinct, but it’s a mistake, scratching at his throat and coming out as a broken cry, piercing his chest and collapsing his lungs, a pain unlike anything he’s experienced in years coursing through his veins. He snaps back to flesh, falling across the back of the chair and struggling for air through the knives in his lungs, clinging to it to keep himself upright.

“I should have warned you,” Vlad sighs, crossing the floor of the lab towards Danny. He shrinks back against the chair in reflex, but Vlad keeps a hand held out. “Because of the change, the wound exists in both forms. It’s going to be worse in the state you received it in.”

Danny scoffs, the lurch of his chest like a bullet lodged in his ribs. “Yeah, might have been nice.”

“You’re not going to like this,” Vlad warns, as if Danny has liked any single step of this process. “But it’s going to be best for your health if you rest for the night. I don’t see how traveling back to Illinois from here is going to be practical.”

“Right,” Danny drawls. He can feel a headache coming on. “And this isn’t some ploy at my expense. You could get me home.”

Vlad takes a step to the side, almost like he’s circling him, careful not to get too close but observant, like Danny’s a pinned catch he’s not quite sure is fully dead yet. It’s too reminiscent of days of old for his liking, and it makes him feel small in turn.

“I could,” Vlad hedges, and there’s an old, knowing edge to his voice now. He hates that it’s almost comforting in its familiarity, at least letting him know where to stand. “But I’d be carrying a human being hundreds of miles across a freezing lake, which is hardly good for recovery.”

“I’ll figure it out,” Danny sighs, or as much as he can with the limited mobility of his upper body. “You’re rich, do they allow rideshares over state lines?”

“I’m richer than that,” Vlad objects. “How would I know?”

Luckily for Danny, rolling his eyes is a mostly painless endeavor. “Then you won’t mind if I put it on your bill?”

If Danny didn’t know better, Vlad looks almost offended at that, but in the histrionic way he always manages to present his emotions. “You wound me, Daniel. Is there really that much bad blood between us still?”

Danny doesn’t believe that dignifies a response.

He’s envious of Vlad’s ability to full-body sigh. “You’re so much like your parents. Disappearing for years, completely ignorant to the passage of time. Why, you act like we fought last yesterday.”

“It feels like it,” Danny mutters, before he can really interrogate why that feels true. Space was ten years ago. The last time he saw Vlad in person was years ago, if he’s being liberal. Time has felt slippery at best since high school, especially since college, and putting it into context now, he’s almost shocked by the reality of it.

“Time can change things,” Vlad says, and he sounds almost like he’s talking to himself, as he often does. Or did. “Are you really so opposed to that concept?”

“Did it change you?” Danny fires, once he finds the breath. He’s more exhausted by the second, more than he realized he would be when he stood up. He leans more of his weight into the back of the chair, trying to buy an inhale deep enough to feel like he’s not drowning.

“Did it change you?” Vlad repeats, but there’s little bite to it. Just a simple inquiry, but again, Danny’s fairly certain he still knows better. He feels his eyes flicker up and down the length of his body, and it sends a shiver up his spine. “In some ways, of course.”

Danny would love to ask him to not, thank you, but the air escapes him, and his vision is starting to black in and out again, fuzzing at the edges, and the only thing that comes out is another muted swear.

“I really do think you should heed my advice,” Vlad says, and his voice is lower, something a bit more approximating human. “For our own sake. I have many a guest room. You can pick one on the opposite end from the master, if it bothers you so much.”

Not for the first time, Danny wages the welling, festering pain against his desire to be anywhere else, and finds that one wins out against the other, despite all of his best intentions. “Whatever. Wherever’s closest.”

Vlad hums, noncommittal. “This way. The bathroom is the door right next to it.”

Vlad hesitates by the exit to the staircase, Danny just now noticing the chamber they’re in is underwater from the window looking out into the grayish waters of the lake. He’s hunched over on himself as he slowly makes his way back up the stairs, the only position that doesn’t spark immediate pain, each step heavier and more exhausting than the last. Vlad follows behind a few steps, and if he’s impatient at the speed, it doesn’t show. Danny feels he could pass out just about anywhere by the time he’s finally ascended, and luckily for him, the room Vlad leads him to is just next to the entrance. He fumbles for the lightswitch before Vlad hits it for him, dousing the room in soft chandelier light to reveal a surprisingly humble guest room with a plain, fluffy-looking comforter.

Danny means to say something coherent, that it’ll do, but what comes out is a weak grunt. Vlad seems to take it just the same. “I’ll spend the night as well. Don’t want you dying in my nice lakehouse.”

Danny does manage to force out, as he collapses onto the mattress, “Whatever.”

The last thing he remembers is the light turning back off again.

 

When he wakes up, the only light coming in is from the windows behind the bed. It’s flowing in through slits onto the sheets, and Danny awakes with a start, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He turns with a light groan, igniting a pain in his side anew, but it’s not quite as searing as the night before. For a second, he forgets where he is, taking in the austere surroundings with fuzz in his brain and eyes, but soon enough, it settles in, and it all comes back to him. Right.

He listens intently in the silence, but he hears nothing but the roll of the lake and early morning birds. It’s eerie, almost, and if he didn’t have a half-formed memory of Vlad saying he would be saying the night as well, he would be convinced he was truly alone here. It’s a glorious thought, but not one Danny can rely on. Silently, he wages how long he can stay here before he’s maybe assumed dead, but that’s no good either. Vlad will check on him long before that, knowing him. Or again. What he used to know of him.

He really doubts it’s that different. It’s Vlad.

It takes a few minutes for him to gather the will necessary to get out of bed, slow to be careful of his body and sanity. He’s still wearing his clothes from yesterday, thankfully. Sleeping in jeans is uncomfortable but better than the alternative. Slowly, he peels himself out and tip-toes to the door, putting his ear to the surface. It’s soft, but just underneath the sound of water is a light humming. An older tune, something from before either of their days and surprisingly on key. Alongside it, there’s a mild shuffling of feet and appliances, like kitchen work.

No part of him wants to, but he finds himself turning the doorknob before he can really think better of it. His shoes, thankfully, have been removed, so he sneaks on socked feet through the hardwood floors, shiny and unused. In fact, everything in his vicinity seems to be untouched, as are most things in Masters’ households, but there’s no way one man could possibly make use of five separate properties of this size, let alone the one he normally resides in. It’s sterile and strange, and he can almost smell the newness of the living room furniture out before him, a couch, several chairs and a large screen TV over a fireplace, hopeful for company that will likely never arrive.

It makes him a little sad, almost.

What does look a bit lived in, however, is the kitchen, just off to the right of where he emerges. He can only see a sliver from where he stands, but it’s light and inviting with cool colors and ample natural lighting, dotted with light royal blues for a pop of color that matches down to all of his appliances. What makes it look the most lively, however, is Vlad himself, dressed down to a more casual shirt and pants than his usual suit ensemble. There’s an apron tied around his narrow waist and he’s stirring something in a large mixing bowl, tune still on his lips as he flitters about the cabinets, grabbing items to throw in as he goes.

“Good morning, Daniel,” he says, stopping his humming without turning around. Of course, he could feel him looking. “How are you feeling?”

He halts just outside the threshold, giving that question some thought. He’s still in pain, lots of it, and it sounds like needles raking through his vocal chords when he tries to say, “Fine.”

“Hmm?” Vlad asks, still not turning around. “What was that?”

Danny clears his throat, a motion that nearly doubles him over to the floor, and tries again. “Been better.”

This time, Vlad does spare a glance over his shoulder, prominent brows with a gentle crease downwards. “Well, that’s to be expected. There is a hole in one of your major organs, after all.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Danny flatlines, hating how out of breath he sounds. If this is the better version of the wound, he’d hate to try going ghost again.

The thought hits him then, belatedly, that this might be the case for longer than just one day. He feels a fresh wave of nausea come up, right as Vlad says, “Care for pancakes?”

“Wow, deja vu,” Danny mutters. Still, at the very mention of it, he finds himself famished, and weighs the odds with himself silently before inquiring, “What kind?”

Vlad turns around to face Danny, whisk in hand dripping into the large bowl beneath it as he taps his chin. “Well, what do you want? I’ve already been to the store this morning, so the choice is yours.”

He must have been really out not to hear that. He’s gotten to be a much lighter sleeper with age, the need to be on edge something that’s second-nature rather than a constant struggle of vigilance, but Vlad always did demand an extra sort of edge he’s struggled to possess. There’s a little twinge in the back of his head, where he wonders, just a bit, what their matching strengths would be like now. Vlad hasn’t used his powers on anyone in a way that Danny has been able to track or be aware of in ten years, but has he continued to train? He still looks fit for his age, so certainly. Would they be a true match for each other physically now, with Danny working relentlessly all this time?

He doesn’t realize he’s been silent in the face of his question until Vlad prompts again, “You can come into the kitchen, you know. I don’t bite anymore. You’ve made sure of that.”

He expects it to sound resentful, or even cajoling, but it just sounds neutral. Another observation. It makes the ground beneath him feel uneasy. “Yeah, well. I could have left you in space like my Dad wanted.”

“So you’ve said,” Vlad quips, no discernable emotion behind that either. “Come. There’s fruit in the fridge.”

If he had the energy, Danny would fire back something about Vlad’s fruit status, but instead, he shuffles one foot in front of the other using the beige wall for support, turning to see the wide, open kitchen area in full, complete with a mini-bar island in the middle with stools and ample prep space. There’d been hints in the past that Vlad enjoys cooking, but he hadn’t realized he invested in it on all his properties to this degree. He has to pass Vlad to get to the fridge, but he’s turned back to his bowl, mixing diligently as ever.

The fridge is large and mostly empty, but it’s been clearly stocked fresh with essentials—milk, eggs, cheese, some fancy-looking Greek yogurt, and, true to word, nearly every variety of fresh fruit from strawberries to blueberries to even strange, exotic things like dates and what looks like a persimmon, as well as a bag of chocolate chips. He hones in on that and the carton of blueberries, figuring that if he’s here, he might as well take him up on what seems to be like a serious offer. The batter’s already made, at the very least, and if it poisons him, he doubts it can feel much worse than it already does.

“These,” Danny offers, setting them out on the counter next to Vlad. “If you’re offering.”

“I am,” Vlad confirms with a flourish of his non-whisking wrist. “Why else would I say so?”

Danny collapses down on one of the barstools, thankful for something to rest himself on. “I can think of a lot of reasons.”

Vlad hums, turning to the built-in griddle on his countertop and turning it on. “Perhaps I just want to care for an old friend.”

“Right,” Danny can hardly dignify that with even a roll of his eyes. “Friend.”

“Were we not really?” Vlad asks, mixing the chocolate chips first into the batter, generous with his hand. Perhaps he remembers his sweet tooth, which gives his chest a twinge despite finding the notion in equal parts strange. “Playing games with each other, tossing each other around like a kitten with a ball of yarn.”

Danny leans his elbow on the bar, looking at Vlad’s back incredulously. “Is that how you see it now?”

“I see it as childish,” Vlad turns over his shoulder just enough to look back, his eyes piercing through his permanently darkened under-eye. “You were a child. I was not. But yes, I do.”

“Great,” Danny sighs, or as much as he can. It’s still difficult to take more than a shallow breath. “Now I have to deal with a version of you that thinks you’re above it all now.”

Vlad’s voice is surprisingly low when he replies, “I don’t think that.”

Danny doesn’t know what to do with that information, and he finds it frustrates him more than anything. He watches as Vlad stirs in the blueberries, gentler, folding the batter lightly. “What have you even been doing?”

Anything except interacting with Danny, apparently. But then again, his fourteen year old self had given him a de facto restraining order against him and his entire family. It was to his eternal surprise that he obeyed it to begin with, let alone for so long.

The last time he saw him, or even thought he saw him, was a blip in the back of his college graduation. It had just been a shadow out of the corner of his eye at the back of a crowded stadium, he couldn’t have been sure. Before that, he was begrudgingly rescuing him from space and telling him on no uncertain terms to fuck off forever. Now, there’s this, and he has no idea how to adjust.

“Keeping to myself,” Vlad decides after a moment of quiet. “Like you told me to. Well, sticking to my immediate surroundings. I’ve even made a few friends, believe it or not.”

That’s not a sentence he ever expected to hear. “What?”

“Some folks at the vet clinic,” he elaborates, portioning out some batter with a measuring cup onto the griddle. “Some of my neighbors in Madison. You’ve left me a lot of time to think, and not much of an excuse not to make idle chatter.”

Danny imagines Vlad holding small talk with the girl running the counter at the vet clinic and blinks at the strangeness of it yet the ease with which he conjures the images, Vlad in a sweater vest holding an ornery cat exchanging pleasantries like a normal human being. It could almost be nice, if one didn’t know better.

Danny mulls on that for a moment, long enough for Vlad to cut back in with an absent half-laugh. “It’s funny.”

“What is?”

“You have changed,” Vlad remarks, setting another portion out. “I don’t think teenage you would have ever asked.”

Danny would be offended if it weren’t in all likelihood true. “Well, it’s a ten year mystery.”

“That you created,” Vlad says.

“I know,” Danny replies, nearly on top of him. “It…” He considers his next words deeply after they pop up into his brain, unsure whether or not it’s true. He takes in the stillness of the room, Vlad’s diligent preparation of breakfast, the gentle lull of the waves of the lake. The fact that he’s not dead. “It may not have been the best solution.”

Vlad shrugs and adds another pancake. “You could have left me to die in space.”

No, Danny really couldn’t have. No matter how much he might have hated Vlad back then, he couldn’t have shouldered his death or permanent isolation. Not even he deserved that.

Instead, Danny pivots, and says, “Have you really just been doing nothing? This whole time?”

“Nothing is such a rude way to put it.” The beginnings of a sizzle are rising from the first pancakes, and despite himself, they smell amazing. “I’ve been trying to keep a low profile, like you suggested. Nothing like a scare with real mortality to get someone on the straight and narrow, hmm?”

Danny puts his head down on the cool marble of the bar, letting it ease the uncomfortable sense of heat building up in him. “Why do I have such a hard time believing it?”

“Because you haven’t seen me in ten years,” Vlad answers simply. He dolls out one more for an even six, then begins to flip the first ones he’s set out. “Do you think, if my goal was to accost you, that I would not have done that in any of these years prior? Do you think I lacked the resources, the wherewithal? No, Daniel, I lacked the will. That’s the most meaningful way you ever beat me.”

Again, there’s no resentment to be found. If anything, he sounds nostalgic, a bit wistful. Danny lets his eyes flutter open and closed lazily, indulging in the coolness across his cheek. Now that daylight is setting in, it feels surreal that he’s here at all, or anywhere. He feels dizzy, light. “So you just didn’t care anymore? I threaten to leave you out in space once and that’s it?”

“Not at all,” he replies, the aroma of flour, chocolate, and fruit filling the air with warmth. “Of course I still thought about it, who do you think I am? I just had no motivation to put myself through that anymore. Not after the lengths you’d go to.”

It’s not the first time he’s been accused of it, being too harsh. Too malicious. Too combative. Frightening. Inhuman. It occurs to him for the first time that Vlad might know better than anyone what he means when he says it’s almost like he can’t help it. It’s like it’s in his wiring. “Yeah, well, sorry. You didn’t make my life a walk in the park either.”

“I’m sure,” Vlad says, even. He begins to flip the rest of the pancakes, taking up his humming again. It’s Frank Sinatra, now that he’s closer. Danny lets the silent rest for a few seconds, exhausted from just the short exchange. After a while, there’s a soft clang as Vlad produces what Danny assumes is a plate, but when he looks behind him, it’s a small container to heat the syrup. That’s a nice touch, at least.

He reaches for a plate soon after though, humming through the chorus of the song and soaring through the higher notes. Danny watches out of the corner of his eye as he butters each pancake before pouring syrup over the stack of three, adding some fresh blueberries on the top and sides for an extra flourish. It’s probably the nicest thing Danny’s had in ages—he’s not exactly great at feeding himself when his friends aren’t around to make sure he does. It’s not something high on his priority list, especially when he only has hunger signals half the time.

He’s hungry now though as Vlad brings his plate over to the mini-bar with a glass of orange juice. He pulls his head up reluctantly to see a small, vacant smile on Vlad’s face as he sets it down with a fork before turning back around to plate his own. Danny doesn’t know what possesses him, but he waits for Vlad to sit down across from him before he eats, cutting into the stack with a shaking wrist.

“Take these first,” Vlad offers, producing a pill bottle out of his apron pocket and holding out two large, white pills.

Danny raises a brow, too many possibilities, most ending terribly, going through his head. “What is it?”

“It’s just ibuprofen,” Vlad rolls his eyes, balancing them patiently in the palm of his hand. “Prescription strength. It’ll help.”

Though every part of him is screaming to think the better of it, he takes them from his outstretched hand, swallowing them down before he can think about what terrible poison it might contain and distracting himself from his inevitable death with pancakes.

It’s delicious. Of course it is. The chocolate melted just perfectly with the blueberries, and they’re crisp on the outside and fluffy on the inside, just how Danny likes them. As soon as it hits his tongue, he realizes he’s famished, probably not having eaten a proper meal for two days. Vlad is much slower and more graceful as he eats his own stack than how Danny conquers his, but he says nothing about his table manners, simply observing him in silence. He knows he’s being watched, but he’s beyond caring at the moment in time.

“These are great,” he finally manages to choke out, and though he’s a bit remiss to give the compliment, it’s the truth. He swallows thickly. “Uh. Thanks.”

“It’s no problem, my boy,” Vlad replies between delicate, evenly cut bites. “You very quite nearly could have died. It’s the least I could do.”

He’s surprised to find he’s almost devoured his stack, slowing down to preserve the last of it. “Right. Thanks for that too. Though I still wonder why.”

Vlad dabs at the corner of his mouth with a cloth napkin. “You showed up spewing ghost blood on my doorstep with no time to get to a hospital.”

“I know, but it’s just…” Danny searches for the words. “The hospitality. You didn’t have to.”

Danny doesn’t know if he would do the same, if he were in Vlad’s shoes. It makes him uncomfortable to think about.

“Hmm,” Vlad hums, taking a few bites in silence. Danny just watches, oddly entranced by the way his narrow throat works. “I suppose I feel a bit of contrition after all this time that’s been left unresolved. This is my way of trying to quell that.”

“So you made me breakfast,” Danny concludes. Though he means for it to sour him, it doesn’t make said breakfast any less delicious. “And—what, you’re going to do this until I’m well?”

Vlad’s hand stalls, his brows quirking a bit before they smooth over. “The normal recovery time is weeks, and most remain in the hospital for several days after something like what you just endured,” he explains. “You’ll of course have a quicker recovery time than most, but I still would not advise you to change for at least 72 hours after the surgery. Believe me, it brings me little joy to say to you either.”

His face doesn’t fall from its careful, pleasant neutrality as he says it, however. “Why do I have a hard time believing that, too?”

Vlad’s lips rise at that, a cheshire smile. It doesn’t chill him like his old ones used to, but something rises up his spine all the same. “Maybe I’m not all opposed to reconnecting with a ghost from my past,” he offers, watching in turn as Danny finishes off the rest of his stack. “If you’ll allow me. Otherwise, I can take you to a hospital and you can do your best to concoct a suitable cover story. Or you can injure yourself worse by trying to get home on your own. I won’t stop you.”

Danny narrows his eyes, not fond of the tone. “Then why shouldn’t I?”

Vlad gestures around them, between them, as if it’s self-explanatory. “You’d want for nothing here.”

“And you’re doing this… why?” Danny ventures, folding his arms and leaning back. “Contrition?”

Vlad gathers their plates together, setting them in the stainless steel sink. “I’d like to bury the hatchet, Daniel,” he sighs as he runs water over the dishes, procuring a long pair of dish gloves from underneath the sink. He snaps them on, immediately getting to work on cleaning his surroundings. “Officially, this time. If hospitality can grant that wish of mine, I’d be delighted.”

“It’ll take more than that.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say,” Vlad masks his disappointment if he has any.

Danny’s uncomfortable with the silence that follows, so he cuts in, offering, “I can help with the dishes.”

“You have a hole in your spleen, Danny,” Vlad says, and Danny jolts at the use of his nickname, like a shock pulling him to attention. “You’re not going to help with the dishes.”

He shrugs. “Figured I’d offer.”

“You should save your strength,” Vlad suggests, scrubbing batter out of the mixing bowl. “I’d like to take you to the lake later. A bit of nature therapy.”

“I…” Danny begins, finding the idea of a simple lake stroll with this man so absurd he’s rendered temporarily speechless. Yet, he can’t find a reasonable objection beyond the dozens of obvious ones, all of which must not phase him if he’s offering up this nonsense at all. After tossing it over and over, all he can decide on is, “Sure. Fine.”

Vlad looks over his shoulder, and smiles.

 

He ends up having to sleep again before then, crawling back into bed after breakfast with the feeling of a bullet lodged between his ribs. He wakes up only an hour or so later, feeling satiated and a bit less disoriented by his surroundings when his eyes open again, though it still brings him unease.

What wakes him up isn’t necessarily his own internal clock, but the ringing of his cell phone, long forgotten in his back pocket. He ignores it at first, but it just keeps ringing and ringing, and finally, it’s annoying enough he has to roll over and answer the damn thing, finding Sam on the caller ID.

“Mhm,” he grumbles incoherently into the phone, still half asleep. “It’s Danny.”

“Danny!” Sam exclaims through the static, sounding relieved to have something answer on the other end. “Where the hell are you? Tucker and I came to pick you up for brunch but you haven’t answered your door for the past five minutes.”

Oh, shit. He forgot about that. “Sorry,” he mumbles, trying to pull himself into coherency. “I uh… ran into some trouble last night.”

“What kind?” Tucker calls through the line, from somewhere in the background yet close enough to be heard almost as loud as Sam.

Danny doesn’t want to answer that with anything approaching honesty, but he has to try. “Just an injury,” he says, despite the pain in his side telling him he’s vastly underselling it. “I need to recover for a bit. I’m uh… I’m at a hospital for a day or two up north. The wound happened in my human form.”

He’s almost ready to congratulate himself for concocting such a smooth lie in such a short amount of time when Sam cuts in, “Why were you in your human form?”

They were married for a few years, after all. For better or worse, Sam will always know him better than that. He racks his brain again, trying, “I thought the fight was over. It wasn’t.”

“Your phone says you’re in Milwaukee,” Tucker offers, and not for the first time, Danny regrets giving him access to that information. “You sure you’re fine in Wisconsin?”

Danny gives a nervous laugh. “Come on, Tuck. After all this time?”

That’s not the sort of thing he would normally say, and he knows it as soon as it leaves his lips, wincing. Sure enough, Tucker replies, “Eh, I wouldn’t chance it. You never know with that one.”

He thinks he hears the low droll of a radio playing music softly outside his door, and finds that to be truer than he could ever hope to know. “It’ll just be a day or two. I’ll be back soon, just gotta recover.”

“Are you sure, Danny?” Sam asks, her voice softer, more concerned. It’s nostalgic, a bit. “Shouldn’t you just come home and do that?”

“Heh,” Danny scoffs, masking a subsequent cough. “Tell that to the doctor.”

“Well…” Sam hedges, and it’s clear from the sound of her voice what this is. She doesn’t quite believe him, but doesn’t have enough evidence to the contrary to disbelieve him outright. It hurt him as much as it serviced his worst impulses, like now. “As long as you’re safe. We’ll split an extra pancake and mimosa in your honor.”

“Thanks, guys,” Danny sighs, trying to mask his naked relief. He struggles up to a sitting position, trying to get his hair back to a semblance of something normal. “I’m sorry, again. I’ll see you soon.”

“No worries,” Tucker says. “Rest up, dude.”

“We love you, Danny,” Sam tells him, in the tone where she’s worried but trying her best not to be. He appreciates that. “Hang in there.”

“Love you guys too,” he replies, a tiny bit of guilt welling up inside his guts as the music continues to waft in through the walls. “See you.”

He hangs up and collapses his head into his hands, rubbing at his temples. There’s mid-day sun spilling in, but it’s darkened, like it’s shining through the clouds. With effort, he pulls himself up and back out the door, taking as deep of an inhale as he can before returning to the teeth of the beast.

Outside, Vlad has dressed himself in a pair of khakis and a polo shirt and is busying himself with television on the couch, lounging back with his knees crossed as some asinine daytime reality plays with captions as music flows from the radio, again an older channel. He turns at the sound of Danny’s door and inclines his head, giving a little wave.

“Sleep well?” Vlad drawls, glancing back at the screen.

“Sure,” Danny shrugs, rubbing at his eyes. He feels a bit sticky and gross, if he’s being honest. It’s not like he actually foresaw a need to bring a change of clothes. “You could have watched that with sound.”

“Didn’t want to bother you with this trite.” Vlad turns off the TV, but looks reluctant to do so, waiting for a conversation on screen to finish beforehand. As if he can read his mind, Vlad looks over his shoulder and asks, “Do you want some different clothes first?”

It’s not the first time he’s left him with that feeling, but it strips him raw. “Yeah, actually. That’d be nice.”

“That can be arranged,” Vlad says, rising to his feet.

“Please don’t say you already have something in my size,” Danny blanches, the idea of wrapped pajamas that miraculously fit his waist is too easy to imagine.

“Oh, no,” Vlad dismisses with a shake of his head, crossing over closer to where Danny stands by his door. “I wouldn’t begin to guess your size anymore. Perhaps we’d have a similar shirt size, but I’m afraid you’re out of luck in the pants department. We’ll have to order some.”

Danny wants to object, put up his hands and say it’s really not necessary, especially after the slightly ominous anymore, as if there was a time he did possess that information, but there’s nothing he can really do unless he wants to exist in the same pair of crusty jeans for the next three days. He leans his back against the wall. “What, do you have some sort of rich person express shipping?”

“Of course I do.” Right. As if Danny could expect anything less of the man who is still one of the world’s leading billionaires, as recently reclusive as he has become. “I can get anything you want hand-delivered within a few hours. Perfect amount of time for our lake walk, if we decide now.”

Too exhausted from pain and whiplash to stand any longer, he slides away from Vlad and makes his way to one of the chairs, collapsing into the surprisingly soft surface. Vlad hovers behind him, folding his arms over the back of the chair and pulling out his phone. “I just need a change of clothes, really.”

“Here,” Vlad sticks his phone in his face, the latest model, naturally. He doesn’t even bother to have a case on it. “Input your measurements.”

Danny can’t remember the last time he got his measurements taken, but he can approximate it based on the sizes he wears, putting in his best guess and handing it back. He pretends to fumble it just to see how Vlad will react with the hardwood floor beneath him, but he catches it without a flinch.

“Perfect,” he declares, squinting at the surface with a nod. “A pair of sweatpants, a pajama set, another change of jeans, a pack of boxers, three shirts, two sweaters, and a jacket should be enough for three days, no?”

Danny’s head spins trying to quantify that information. “Just a pair of sweatpants and a change of shirt is fine.”

“It’s no skin off my back,” Vlad continues, and Danny peers up to see him selecting a dizzying number of items for his cart. “I feel I know your pedestrian taste well enough, but feel free to vet the contents if you must.”

A fresh wave of suspicion rolls over him, but as Vlad tips the phone to give him a better angle, he finds he’s not lying about understanding his taste. They’re simple, but fashionable and functional with a price tag he couldn’t pay in his wildest dreams. “Is this really necessary?”

Vlad snags his phone back before Danny can protest further, pressing send. “Don’t mention it. Shall we?”

Danny’s insides protest at the thought. “If I can walk.”

“It’s just to the end of my pier,” Vlad supplies, gesturing out towards the docks. “It’ll be good to stretch your legs, we can rest before heading back. Just what the doctor ordered.”

When he puts it that way, it doesn’t sound terrible. He feels stuffy, and perhaps the fresh air will be nice, despite the ache. “I don’t think you’re a doctor.”

“No,” he agrees amicably. “I just have a masters in mechanical engineering and years of practice sewing myself up.”

His words catch Danny’s attention. Of course there’d never have been anyone there to stitch him up. The reality of it tugs on him. “Right.”

Vlad offers up his hand for assistance, but Danny tactfully ignores it, using the chair to bring himself to his feet. He’s considerably slower than Vlad, but he waits for him patiently at the door, holding out a black coat that he’s plucked from one of seemingly many off the coat rack. “Jacket?”

Danny nods in lieu of having to accept such a thing out loud, Vlad holding it out as if he’s going to be the one to work it out of his shoulders. He could try snatching it for himself, but he’s too tired for the fight that might ensue, so he allows himself to be slightly manhandled into the sleeves, though to his surprise Vlad is mostly hands-off, professional like a tailor fitting a suit jacket. This one is baggy at the shoulders and a bit tight around the waist, but it’ll do. It’s light, but sturdy.

Outside, the weather is overcast as he suspected from the slits in his blinds, casting the lake in grays despite the light from the buildings behind them. True to Vlad’s nature, his plot of land is a suitable distance away from others—he can see neighbors’ docks in the distance, but not close enough to intrude on his. What isn’t true to his word, though, is the length of the dock, stretching for much longer than Danny had pictured it from the night before, long and relatively high above the lake.

“I might be slow.” Danny winces at a sudden gust of light wind, buttoning up the jacket.

“That’s fine,” Vlad replies mildly, hands in the pockets of his own jacket that he’s thrown on, a form-fitting black peacoat. “I’m not in any hurry.”

They set down walking at Danny’s sluggish pace, Vlad taking even, careful steps to keep with him without a hint of impatience. The deck has not only been scrubbed clean of any evidence of ghost blood, it’s been freshly cleaned as a whole. Vlad must have done it after he’d gone to bed, and a fresh wave of guilt washes over him at the thought of him spending the moonlight hours scrubbing his deck of Danny’s mess. The part of him that bitterly assures him it’s deserved is surprisingly quiet as they walk side by side, Danny grateful for the railing that goes across either side for when he needs a small break.

It makes him feel like a child, shadowing him like this, but his actual child self never would have been followed in turn so diligently. He can’t count the number of times he was left behind places with his parents chasing after something or other, Jazz trying to play intermediary between them, leaving him walking to his destination alone. Solitude was something he was used to long before Tucker and Sam came along, and something he’s been accustomed to on his missions long since. It’s a bit suffocating to have someone like him so close, but there’s a comfort to being attended to, as well, as loathe as he is to admit it. The air does feel nice.

It takes several minutes to reach the end of the dock, where Vlad immediately sits down at the edge, patting the space next to him. Something about it, as innocent as it is, snaps Danny back to a semblance of reality, and for a moment, he wonders what exactly he’s doing. Why in the world is he doing this? He should be in bed, at a real hospital somewhere, doing… Anything other than this. Taking charity from this man can only mean strings attached, or so he’s always figured, but… He’s tired. And the water looks beautiful.

He’s careful as he lowers himself not to agitate his wound further, coming to sit cross-legged next to his archenemy. Or former archenemy. He’s growing increasingly less sure.

“All we’ve done is talk about me, me, me,” Vlad drawls after a few minutes of companionable silence, Danny staring down at the waves crash underneath them. “What have you been up to?”

Danny shrugs, averting his gaze. “Same old, same old.”

“Really?” Vlad arches a brow, leaning so he’s back in Danny’s field of vision whether he likes it or not. “Please elaborate.”

“Fighting ghosts pays the bills,” Danny offers. There are some benefits to celebrity, whether he likes it or not. “I have a degree, but it’s still just easier to mostly do that.”

“You do that full time?” His brows fly up towards his hairline now, still strong for his age. In fact, up close, he doesn’t look hardly any older at all than last time they saw each other. “I don’t know if that’s wise.”

Danny lets one of his legs dangle down, too high to graze the water. “Jazz said the same thing.” She was about the only one, though, and even she was forced to put her objections aside the longer Danny has gone on despite her warnings of psychological damage.

“She’s a smart girl,” Vlad says with a hum. “You should listen to her more often.”

Danny can’t help but laugh at that, putting a hand to his head. “She’d flip if she knew I was here, so maybe you shouldn’t say that for your sake.”

“So would your little friends,” Vlad ventures, but it’s not a question. Of course he overheard. “Are you going to tell them you’re here?”

The bluntness of the question startles him a bit, but he knows the answer. “No.”

It’s clear it conjures some type of emotion in Vlad, but he masks it faster than he can qualify it. He makes note of it regardless. “I see. That’s probably for the best.”

“They’d… probably not understand,” Danny says, before adding, “I’m not sure I understand.”

Instead of responding to that properly, Vlad asks, deadpan, “Did you ever do anything about the goth one?”

It brings him no joy to add this to the arsenal of things Vlad knows about him, but out here with nothing but the water and the wind, there’s very little to say but the truth. “Yeah. I married her, for a time.”

“For a time?” Again, there’s that softer tone.

“Let’s say the papers are still fresh,” Danny sighs, staring at his reflection beneath him. He looks haggard, deep circles under his eyes. They still hold no candle to the ones of the man next to him. He looks at him through the water. “Marriage and divorce.”

“Ah, young love,” Vlad says without a hint of wistfulness. “Didn’t work out?”

Danny curls his nose up. “What are you, my therapist?”

“Simply curious,” Vlad replies, and he sees his face turn to Danny’s in the reflection of the water, but he doesn’t look up. “I wouldn’t know about that sort of thing either way.”

Danny would ask, sneering, if he’s still a bachelor, but the spotlight has thrown him, feeling off center and adrift. He closes his eyes, turning his head up towards the sky. “I wanted it to work really badly,” Danny finds himself saying, more to the wind than anything. “Everyone wanted it to work really badly.”

“Let me guess,” Vlad posits. “You were married to the job instead of her?”

He blinks at him, mouth dropping open slightly. “Yeah. How did you know?”

It’s Vlad’s chance to blink back at him, with such veracity he can even see it through the water. Danny finally pulls his head up, finding Vlad already looking at him when he does. “I was just kidding,” he laughs, not unkindly. “You are quite predictable, though.”

Well, he didn’t expect talking to Vlad Masters about this to feel good. It’s almost hard to remember how terrible he used to always make him feel. Or maybe he just made him feel frustratingly alive, challenged, kind of like he does now. “She deserves someone who was going to really be there for her, and it just… it wasn’t going to be me. She’s still my best friend.”

“How sweet,” Vlad sneers, but it lacks bite. If Danny didn’t know better, it almost sounds like he’s masking that he means it. “Having good friends is important in life, so I’m told.”

There’s a question burning on the tip of Danny’s tongue. He doesn’t want to ask it, but the thought that he doesn’t know the answer is more uncomfortable than the question itself. “I know my parents screwed you over,” Danny hedges, and he can already feel Vlad key up at his side, shoulders pulling up. “I just never cared about the details because I figured it didn’t justify anything, which I still don’t think it does, for the record.”

That seems to get Vlad’s attention, his eyes blazing something dangerous, burning red for just a second. “They never told you?”

Danny shakes his head. “Just that you came down with ecto acne and turned half-ghost, and it was their fault.”

Vlad barks a single laugh, harsh and humorless. “Of course they never told you,” he mutters, pinching his nose. “Of course you didn’t know. Why would you?”

To be fair, Danny thought he knew, or at least as many details as were relevant. “It’s just as much my own fault for not asking.”

“No, it’s not,” Vlad argues, biting on a frustrated sigh. “It’s—them. You wouldn’t get it.”

“Not with that attitude,” Danny fires back, leaning on his hands behind him. He really doesn’t know why he wants to ‘get’ Vlad’s perspective, but the fact that he’s never even known it is enough of a reason to inquire.

Vlad glances at Danny sidelong. “I suppose you have a point,” he concedes with a grimace. “I thought laying off your precious parents was one of your conditions, though.”

Above, the skies darken further, threatening rain. Danny thinks he wouldn’t mind that, even though the fact that he can’t see anything beyond his own reflection in the lake already kind of freaks him out. Bad memories associated with dark bodies of water, that had been a nasty ghost. “We’re already breaking the first condition,” he points out. “What’s another?”

“You do have a naughty streak,” Vlad observes, and though it’s as impartial as ever, Danny feels an unwelcome shiver at the way it’s laced with a connotation even he’s not daft enough to be unaware of. “Fine, I’ll indulge it. They left me to die, Daniel.”

“That’s…” he struggles for the appropriate words, or really any. “Dramatic.”

“I did tell you ecto acne was fatal, didn’t I?” Vlad asks, twisting on the dock to face Danny entirely, his crossed legs pointed fully towards him and away from the water. “They left me in the hospital while the doctors worked and worked for a temporary cure, all to find something that just sent it into remission not even knowing if I’d live or not. Years, Daniel, years I spent there, and not a single call, not a single visit, not a single inclination as to whether or not I was okay.”

In taking that information in, Danny loathes how much sense that it immediately makes, jerking to fight it. “But—”

“I’m sure they thought they were doing the right thing,” Vlad sneers, and this time he means it, teeth showing. “But even you were in there in the trenches with your little friends when they came down with it. I had nothing.”

Danny feels weightless and speechless in equal measure, numb with the breeze in his hair. And yet… “It makes sense.” He immediately realizes how callus that sounds, then just as immediately wonders why he cares. “I mean, it just sounds like something they’d do.”

“It’s incredibly sad you can say that,” Vlad deadpans. “Objectively. You realize that, no?”

Maybe this is why Jazz has told him to go to therapy all those times. He feels tangled inside, nauseous and shallow, like he can’t breathe, because he does realize that. He’s realized that for longer than he wants to admit. He pulls his legs back into his chest, feeling small. “They weren’t exactly present for me either.”

Vlad has a strange, almost self-satisfied glance to him that makes Danny’s skin crawl. “Look at you,” he remarks, a laugh on his lips. “Holding a conversation with me, all serious. Why, some might even call it civilized.”

That’s another thing that makes him feel twisted up, unsure and shaky, like the dock might fall from underneath him. “It’s not like I have much of a choice.”

“I always did worry about you and Jazz,” Vlad continues as if he hadn’t brought it up at all as rain begins to fall properly, little droplets hitting the surface of the water. “I figured it wouldn’t have been welcome.”

That’s the truth. “We were fine,” Danny dismisses, because he’s had to defend this before. “They loved us, and we turned out okay. They just weren’t the most… attentive.”

“Attentive,” Vlad repeats, like he’s tasting the word on his tongue. “They never found out about you on their own, did they?”

Danny glares his way, exhaustion seeping into his bones. “If you’re trying to turn me against them again, it’s not going to work.”

Vlad lowers his head, but glances up at him with blue eyes. “I’m asking a question. One you know the answer to.”

“No,” Danny grits out, because he does know the answer. “They know now, but…” He lowers his head into his knees with a frustrated groan. “Why am I even talking about this with you?”

“Oh, I can’t tell you that,” Vlad says, looking back out at the water again as the rain falls in steady rhythm. “But I do know I understand how it feels.”

Vlad always said they were more similar than not, but here, feeling the weight of it, he’s adrift in the sea of the time and space between them, unsure of how to pull himself up for land. He’s unmoored in this calmness, unsure of how to tether onto a version of it that isn’t laced with anger and blood. It’s still there, deep down, but looking at him now, he just feels… “Sorry,” Danny says after a minute, the rain beginning to wet his bangs and dot water into his eyes. “That they did that to you.”

For his end, Vlad looks just as surprised to receive it as Danny is to say it. He blinks, bright eyes wide for a second before they narrow again, Danny watching as Vlad rises to his feet. “Bygones, little badger,” he dismisses, voice high, and in the quiet of the rain, Danny thinks he’s understanding something about him. Just a little. “Shall we head back inside before we get drenched? It wouldn’t be good for your health.”

Danny wouldn’t mind more rain, but even as he thinks that, a chill runs up his spine, leaving him shivering. Vlad curls an eyebrow, and offers up his hand again for Danny to get up. He still doesn’t use it, struggling up to his feet on his own with the use of the railing, but this doesn’t seem to offend him. He just waits.

The walk back is equally slow, but Danny doesn’t feel subconsciously rushed by himself this time, less irritated by his own sluggish pace. Rain falls steady and soft across his shoulders and head, cooling his aimless thoughts that swirl around the man next to him in a formless specter, too tired for real coherency. By the time they arrive at the back door, the rain has picked up considerably, and Danny shivers when he’s back inside from the rapid temperature change, a fresh wave of pain coursing through his ribs.

Once inside, Vlad whisks away to the other end of the house, leaving Danny to catch his breath and hang up the jacket. Underneath, his bandages feel damp and crusty, much like the rest of him now that he’s warming back up. When he returns, Vlad’s brandishing a large package in his hands, setting it down on the coffee table.

“I think I need a shower,” Danny says, a distinctly sticky feeling starting to get under his skin. There isn’t one in his own bathroom, unfortunately. “Where is it?”

“The closest one is inside the master bedroom,” Vlad explains, gesturing the opposite direction down the hall from where Danny’s room lies, towards a large door at the end. “You can’t miss it. I don’t mind, just don’t go snooping like your sister always did.”

That sounds like Jazz. He’d offer that information if he had the energy, but instead he just grunts a vague thanks and trudges down the hallway, opening the door and sliding through.

Inside is immaculate, as if no one has slept there in ages, let alone just last night. The bed is made and everything on the nightstand seems to have its place, all the furniture cast in matching blackwood and not a speck of dust to be found. Sure enough, there’s another door on the other side of the room that opens up into a bathroom, and while his eyes case the room, he wastes no time getting there, shutting the door behind him.

Inside is one of the most luxurious walk-in showers he’s ever seen, complete with a long vanity and sink area, plenty of open cabinets full to the brim with a meticulous amount of skin and shower products. It makes sense that Vlad takes care of himself, but Danny didn’t realize to this extent, and finds himself overwhelmed even with the amount of products that appear to be kept in the shower proper.

Stripping down takes laborious, painful effort, each motion of his arm shooting electric waves up and down his side and shortening his breath. His jeans come easier in theory, but holding his balance as normal feels near impossible, having to eventually give up and lean on the counter to peel them off, the weakness in his bones mounting his frustration. The bandages are the worst part, high up on his ribcage at an awkward angle to pull off, not even factoring how horrific the process of separating it from his skin is. There’s a fresh pool of light red on the already deeply-pigmented white base by the time he manages to bifurcate the two, and he rests his elbow on the counter to catch his breath, the other attempting to hold the blood in until he can garner the energy to enter the shower.

With a grunt, he forces himself to do it, swinging open the glass door of the chamber and assessing the temperature gauge. It’s the first shower he’s been in that’s big enough to step to the side to get it done with ample space to spare, not having to subject himself to the process of figuring out the right spot. He can’t say that of his flat in Chicago, but he’s never been swayed by Vlad Masters’ type of luxury. That doesn’t mean he won’t enjoy the finer points of it, though.

Once the water is just right, Danny lets it wash over his skin, letting go of his side and letting the blood wash down the drain with a sigh. It feels better than he could have ever expected, just the right pressure, and he lets himself bask in it, dousing his hair and body with welcome warmth. He stands there for minutes, thoughts nothing but a dull, staticked moan in the back of his head, ignorable compared to the pounding of the water. It’s only when he starts to feel the mounting effects of the heat and steam that he remembers what he’s here for, searching the shelves for something approximating body wash.

It’s a brand Danny could never hope to casually afford, and the second he puts it on his hands, it snaps him back to reality with a violent shove, because it smells just like Vlad, and oh, God, that’s where he is. That’s where he’s been. He’s been talking with Vlad Masters like he’s nothing but an old acquaintance, and now he’s using his too-big shower, his too-fancy body wash, and he still can’t get his arms around it, let alone how calm it feels, the lack of a flash of innate anger at the thought bottoming him out with empty confusion. It should be worse than this. They should be screaming at each other, arguing over old times, fighting tooth and nail, Vlad should be pulling the rug out from underneath him any minute, and yet, as he cleans himself, it feels exactly like talking to an old acquaintance. Where there should be a sense of simmering hostility, there’s just the awkwardness of not knowing where to stand with someone he knew but never apparently knew, if this version of him is anything to go by. A version of him that makes him breakfast and gets him to talk about his parental neglect of all things like it was wrenched out of him with all the subtlety of a claw machine.

A version of him that’s annoying, for certain, and Danny still can’t imagine a version of him that’s not doing this for selfish reasons, as inexplicable as they may be to him. It’s frightening, uncharted territory, and Danny has no clue what to make of it, how much of it is real or how much is the haze of his injury, how much is time and how much is a show. There’s a plain bar of soap next to the body wash, and Danny runs it under the water for several seconds, grateful for the neutral scent, before cleaning more intimately, trying not to think about everything he’s forced to share with a man he would have been appalled to have even been in the presence of just days ago.

And isn’t he still, now? Appalled? He should be, and yet, as he reaches for the shampoo that smells exactly like him too, just as fancy and luxurious as the wash, he can’t summon the emotion. What’s left is something akin to curiosity.

He scrubs the remaining grime out of his hair as gently as he can on his side, applying conditioner and noting the difference in quality from his own immediately, and he has decent hygiene products, he’s always assumed. It makes his hair almost impossibly soft, and distantly, he wonders if Vlad’s gray hairs would feel the same, dismissing the thought as quickly as it comes with a shake of his head. He tries to clear his head again as he finishes up his shower, but his side is throbbing by the time he turns off the water, clean but no less exhausted than before.

He dries off and picks a few of the more-used products to apply to his hair and face, figuring if they’re good enough for Vlad, they’re good enough for him. It’s only after he’s done that he realizes he’s forgotten to grab anything to change into, hiking his towel back around his waist. He leans his head out to yell for the box only to find a pile of clothes just outside the door, along with fresh bandages and a note. He picks it up, reading the contents.

Let me know when you need help with the bandages. - V

He sees no reason he can’t change his bandages himself, but as soon as he tries to reach around with the motion that would be necessary, new, sharp pain lights up his body and he brings his arms back down, wincing. Instead, he picks up the pile of clothes, and works on dressing himself to a presentable level, at least on the bottom half. He holds the bandages in his hands, shirt flung over his shoulder, and sighs.

He pads back through the room to the rest of the house, finding Vlad back on his couch, this time with an elderly white cat in his lap, a bowl and litterbox set up by the front door that definitely wasn’t there before. He looks up when Danny enters, and he pretends not to feel Vlad’s eyes over his torso.

“I brought Maddie,” Vlad gestures to the cat on his lap, purring peacefully under his touch. “I didn’t want to leave her alone for the entire time, I hope you don’t mind.”

The name isn’t lost on him. He curls his nose. “Are you really that obsessed with my Mom still?”

“Oh, Daniel,” Vlad says with a hand to his chest, as if this inquiry is particularly amusing. “I named her ten years ago. Bygones, bygones.”

Danny crosses his arms, feeling exposed. “That’s not an answer.”

Vlad looks at him sidelong, then back at his cat, cooing at it softly. “I’ve had time to think about my actions, these years,” he says, petting it under the chin as the cat keens its head upwards. It’s quite cute, really. “It was foolish pining, desperate and bitter from a lost opportunity I couldn’t let go of.”

“That’s mature,” Danny mutters, skepticism still lacing his words. “Coming from you.”

“Crushing defeat gives you perspective,” he replies simply, picking up his cat and setting it to the side on the couch despite its mew of protest. He wipes hair off his torso before standing, crossing towards Danny. “Bandage help?”

It feels like one defeat out of many, holding out the bandage in front of him. “Right.”

Vlad disappears around the corner to the kitchen to wash his hands without a word other than a slight curl of his nose, before returning and taking it from his hands, leaning down to inspect the wound. It’s a difficult angle for Danny to see on himself, but from what he can, it looks about as brutal as it feels. “Lift your arm,” Vlad says. “But not too high. Careful.”

He does as told despite gritting his teeth through it, one of the more painful motions he’s experienced since the injury. He shakes holding it up, wincing through the effort, until Vlad’s hand comes up to grab hold of Danny’s forearm, positioning it gently above his head. He blanches at the contact, but it’s gentle and unassuming, like a doctor, so he stays as still as possible, willing it to be over soon. With his other hand, Vlad places the bandage over the surface of the wound, taking the wrap between his teeth to spool it out. He moves expertly and quickly, wrapping it around the bandage and around his torso once, twice, deft fingers just barely ghosting over his skin. Within a minute, he’s secured back up, and a shiver falls down Danny’s spine as Vlad lets go of his arm, stepping back to appraise his work.

“That should do for a while,” he declares as Danny wastes little time throwing his shirt on, eager to cover himself. It’s a simple white cotton shirt, but the thread count is high and it’s soft yet sturdy on his skin, the quality evident. He saw the price, and he should be happier about all he’s reaping from Vlad’s inexplicable generosity, but it just leaves him feeling adrift, alien. “Say something if it starts bothering you.”

Danny flexes his arm, twisting just slightly to see the bandages before the range of motion becomes too much. “Thanks,” he mutters. “You really did this all alone?”

“Who was going to help me? The cat?” As if on cue, the cat mews as if it would have, thank you. “You hit hard for a teenager.”

He’s always known Vlad had no one, but there are certain implications lost on him as a child that seem to be bowling him over now with their obviousness, their clear cause and effect. He doesn’t know the man across from him at all. “Yeah, well. I still do.”

“I’m sure,” Vlad dismisses, walking back over to the couch and motioning for Danny to join him. “Come, rest. I’ll make dinner in a bit, and we’ll reup your pain killers.”

A thought, a somewhat terrible one, occurs to him. “You like this.”

“Hmm?” Vlad inclines his brows as he gathers the cat back into his lap, petting its head, innocent.

“Playing house,” Danny elaborates, for lack of a better phrase. “Taking care of something.”

The last thing he expects in response to that is the truth. “I do.”

It throws him more than almost anything has, and there’s no shortage of things on that list. His legs protest how long he’s been standing, so his most pressing task is to sit down, which he does on the far opposite end of the couch. He glances at Vlad out of the corner of his eyes to find his expression open, unassuming. Frighteningly like a normal human being who’s just said something somewhat vulnerable.

“That’s…” Surprising. Wholly unsurprising. God, it makes him feel sad. There’s no other name for the hole in his chest as he appraises the man across from him, still petting a cat that seems to adore him. He swallows, throat constricting. “Even me?”

If he didn’t know better, he looks weary at that. “Especially you.”

He meant it to be a joke, but his seriousness continues to arrest him. The audio is on the TV this time, but it’s too quiet to really hear, and the captions take too much of his energy to follow, especially with such an asinine-looking program. He curls his legs up on the couch, leaning on the armrest. The only thing he can think to respond with is some honesty of his own. “I keep waiting for you to… I don’t know. Start unveiling your next plot, try to kill me in my sleep, reveal how you’ve been playing me. You know. Be yourself.”

It almost looks like the cat is glaring at him, but then again, that might just be its face. “I got all of that out of my system,” Vlad says, carefully. His full attention is on Danny aside from the lazy pull of his hand over the cat, not a shred wasted on the television. “Besides, I am being myself. I don’t know how else to be.”

That he can believe. “Sorry, I guess,” he doesn’t know why he’s apologizing, but it’s out of his mouth before he can analyze it. “It’s just weird. You have to admit that.”

“Does it have to be?” Vlad asks, like it’s nothing but an honest question. “It could be easy.”

‘Easy’ isn’t a word he’s ever associated with Vlad Masters. He just blink at him, mouth slightly agape, and rests the full weight of his head on the armrest. “I’m going to sleep again.”

He doesn’t necessarily know if he can, but he’s been tired enough to all day. More than anything, he wants the silence for his head, spinning and beginning to throb with both the effort of keeping himself awake and synthesizing his surroundings.

“Quick,” Vlad interrupts him, right as Danny’s eyes start to close. “How do you like your pasta?”

He’s almost glad for the return of an innocuous topic, one he at least knows where he stands on. “Pesto.”

“Noted,” Vlad replies, turning back to the television. “Sleep well.”

It’s not long after pretending to fall asleep that he does so for real, the low drone of the TV and a purring cat in the background.

 

He expects to wake up with a crick in his neck, but to his surprise, he’s been moved gently down the couch several feet, a pillow underneath his head and a blanket over his legs. The fireplace is on, and the sun is setting outside, TV still playing quietly and the cat curled up at the very edge of the couch by his feet. There’s humming again from the kitchen behind him, and this time, Danny doesn’t need to orient himself. He knows exactly where he is.

At the very least, his couch is more comfortable than a hospital bed. Or even Danny’s own mattress.

There’s the scent of basil and pine nuts drifting throughout the house, and he’s drawn to it despite himself, something in him twisting, like nostalgia for something that’s never happened. Or shouldn’t.

The cat meows in protest as Danny swings his legs over, crawling to his feet. He hesitates at the entrance of the kitchen, Vlad’s back to him as he hums another tune, one Danny doesn’t recognize this time. The apron’s back around his waist, and there’s a large pot of boiling water on the stove, a food processor humming with greenery inside. He moves around the kitchen with a spring in his step, for once not immediately looking up at Danny’s entrance, seemingly oblivious as he sings under his breath, stirring some chicken on the stove. Danny doesn’t know why, but he feels compelled to stand and watch, oddly entranced by this unguarded state, the fading light of the sun cutting out his proportions in shadows and making him look even smaller.

It’s several long seconds before Vlad seems to notice his presence, glancing over his shoulder as he opens up the food processor to dump the pesto into a bowl. “Enjoying the show?”

“Ew,” Danny replies reflexively, but it has less bite than he means by a long shot. “No thanks.”

“Kidding,” Vlad smiles, stirring the large pot of water. “You’re just in time.”

Cautiously, Danny approaches his workstation, seeing that the chicken is also mixed with some vegetables—carrots, bell peppers, and onions, from the looks of it. Vlad continues his tune where he left off, pouring the pesto onto the chicken and giving it a good stir. It smells incredible.

“How’d you learn to cook?” Danny asks, because he doesn’t really know himself. His parents never had the time to teach him, and they rarely cooked for the whole family, often too distracted.

For a second, Vlad is silent, and Danny would wonder if he heard him if he didn’t know better from him. His hand stills, then returns to stirring. “My grandmother taught me.”

The thought of Vlad Masters having parents, let alone grandparents, is alien. He doesn’t know what he expected, of course the man wasn’t born in a test tube, but it’s not a thought he’s ever put together coherently, that he has a past. That he’s from somewhere. “Did she raise you?”

His voice is soft, low. “Yes,” Vlad confirms, using a different utensil to attend to the pasta. “My parents were… not in the picture.”

“I see,” Danny says, sliding into one of the bar stools again, disquieted. “Sorry.”

He’s done more apologizing to Vlad in the past 24 hours than he ever thought he’d spend apologizing to anyone about anything, let alone him, but he’s surprised to find he means it.

“It was for the best,” Vlad dismisses, pulling out a single strand of pasta on his stirring spatula and pinching it between his fingers, testing it without even blowing on it. “They wouldn’t have been good at it even if they didn’t run.”

Another piece of him begins to slide into place, the idea that his ferocious response to Danny’s parents may have an origin that isn’t sheer petty bitterness, that it might have triggered something deeper, hits him with such blunt force he feels entirely foolish, caught unawares. “That’s pretty fucked.”

“I don’t know if what happened to you was exactly better,” Vlad replies, nodding to himself and turning off the stove, reaching for oven mitts hanging from the side of the fridge before straining out the pot over the sink, steam filling the room. “You were abandoned de facto, mine was just de jure.”

He’s still not entirely comfortable with the way Vlad characterizes things, but he’s at least beginning to see why he sees it the way he does. “They were at least there.”

“Sure,” Vlad agrees, as if there’s something else on the tip of his tongue he’s deciding tactfully not to elaborate on. He produces two plates, beginning to portion everything out after drizzling some olive oil on the pasta. “Do you know how to cook, Daniel?”

He shakes his head. “No. Jazz does, though.”

“Smart girl,” he says, again. “You should learn. It’s a life skill. I don’t mind for now, though.”

If it’s as good as breakfast, Danny unfortunately doesn’t think he minds much, either. “Maybe you could teach me.”

The second it’s out of his mouth, he can’t believe he said it, feeling possessed by something entirely foreign and cancerous. He puts a hand to his lips, wincing as Vlad turns around with an expression so naked Danny wants to melt into the floor.

“I’d love to,” Vlad says. It sounds sincere, raw, and Danny’s rooted to the ground. He flips a switch just as fast, though, narrowing his eyes with a small, hollow laugh. “Careful, though. I’m starting to think if you’re going to be the one to pull the wool over my eyes.”

“Why would I right now?” Danny asks, because it seems ridiculous to him, for some reason. “I’m injured.”

“That’s right,” Vlad says, placing a fork on each neatly plated portion of pasta. He grates some fresh parmesan on top of each for extra garnish before spinning around and placing them both on the minibar, one across from the other. “Why would you? You know I’d still win.”

Once again, Danny hesitates over his fork until Vlad has settled in opposite him. Still, he huffs, “Not on your life, Plasmius.”

“Perhaps we’ll see when you’re well,” Vlad offers, cutting into his pasta with a knife and fork. If he didn’t already think he’s a serial killer, he does now. Danny just twists it around his fork like a normal person, dismayed to find it’s even better than breakfast. The pesto is clearly homemade and balanced perfectly, the pasta high-quality and authentic with well-sauteed vegetables that mix delightfully with the noodles. “Wouldn’t want to make that worse in the meantime, you might be stuck here longer.”

Already, life outside of this seems far away, stuck in an island of unreality that has no bearing on time or the rest of the world, and being reminded of the ending draws him back a little. The thought doesn’t disappoint him, necessarily. It should just excite him more than it does. “It hurts bad enough as it is.”

“I’m sure,” Vlad mutters, chewing his pasta in small, mannered bites. He certainly fits the image of an aristocrat for someone whose wealth is entirely self-made. “You gave me quite the scare.”

With some reluctance, Danny removes himself from his pasta. “What?”

“It was… closer than I wanted to initially tell you,” Vlad admits, darkened eyes looking even more haggard than normal. “You had lost a lot of life force. I’m not sure if we can die in those ways, but with you changing in the middle… I couldn’t be sure. You were out for an hour.”

It had only felt like several minutes, if that. He had no idea. He returns to his pasta, swallowing thick. “So what you’re saying is you really could have let me die.”

Vlad looks up at him with a raised brow, curling his nose. “Where do you get these ideas?” He considers that for a moment, then adds, “Don’t answer that. Letting you die would have been doing nothing, or giving up in the middle, and do either of those things sound like me?”

“Is that not what you did with me in space?” Danny questions, but almost before it’s out, he already feels like he knows Vlad’s answer.

“No,” Vlad says, and Danny just nods, because that’s about what he expected. He doesn’t know why he keeps asking the same question eight different ways, other than to see which floorboard will be the one that inevitably falls underneath him, but he’s still on solid ground. For whatever it’s worth. “There’s a difference between giving up and knowing when to quit. Besides, I wouldn’t say I’ve given up on certain things. Not yet.”

Ah, there’s the one. “What things?”

“I still think I have much to teach you,” Vlad says, inclining his fork at him in an accusatory manner. “That we could benefit from being allies instead of enemies.”

“Still?” Danny asks, and even though he’s not sure he wants to know, “Why?”

A sad, inexplicable little smile crosses Vlad’s features. “We’re the only people who understand what it’s like to be us. Isn’t it obvious?”

That’s the truth of it, isn’t it? The one thing he’s never quite been able to shake or ignore no matter how awful Vlad’s been, the fact nagging at the back of his head no matter how much he tried to dismiss it, the undeniable truth that deep down, he knows Vlad understands. Maybe that’s why he always made him so mad.

Before he can even continue, Vlad presses on. “Tell me,” he begins, lowering his voice. “Don’t you wish you had someone to talk to about it? I could be that person. There’s nothing stopping us, not anymore.”

“Besides all reason and sanity?” Danny fires back, but it sounds rhetorical, toothless.

Again, Vlad does something with his face that makes him feel like he’s seeing a mask slip into something more vulnerable, or maybe it’s just another mask he’s crafted to sell him on something else. “Would it really be that bad?”

Danny doesn’t know how to answer that anymore, so he just finishes the rest of his pasta as if it’s suddenly the most pressing thing in the world. Vlad, to Danny’s surprise, lets him, and the two finish their meal in silence that would be close to companionable if it weren’t for the lingering question in the air. At some point, he looks down to see the cat go between his legs, rubbing up against the stool with a purr, and then up to see that same implacable smile on Vlad’s face that makes his stomach twist.

Vlad’s collected their plates to go and wash them by the time Danny has enough of anything resembling an answer to dare to begin to speak it into words. “I don’t know.”

Vlad’s gloved hands still in the soap, pausing his wash of the large pot. “Hmm?”

“Today’s been weird,” Danny sighs, the understatement of the century for the most incongruous experience he’s ever had to integrate into his reality. “I don’t know. If it would be that bad.”

He continues his scrubbing, a light hum on his lips. With the shadows of the cabinets and the fading sun from the window, it’s hard to see his facial expression. “I see. That’s a start.”

“I still don’t trust you,” Danny reminds him. “For the record.”

Vlad’s shoulders shake, a low chuckle. “I’m sure you don’t.”

He trusts that reaction even less, but now that his stomach is full and the light is fading, there’s only so much will left in him to fight. It’s ridiculous how tired he is still for how much he’s slept—he can’t remember the last time he had this level of fatigue, but then again, wounds don’t usually tear through both phases of him.

“Are you much of a movie person?” Vlad asks after several minutes of him cleaning in silence, the cat making figure-eights at Danny’s feet.

Again, he can’t quite decide if he’s disturbed or grateful for benign topics. “I don’t have much time for them.”

Vlad glances at him over his shoulder, sizing him up. Danny feels pinned, he has all day. “You probably wouldn’t enjoy my collection. Too high-brow. Too many subtitles.”

“Hey now,” Danny counters, even though he doesn’t have a real argument for that.

He finishes up the last of the dishes, moving them to a drying rack he has set up to the side. “I bet you couldn’t make it past twenty minutes of something I choose.”

He hates how weak he is to a challenge. “You’re on.”

In the end, Vlad is right. He makes it about fifteen minutes into Dr. Strangelove before passing out, but he blames the hole in his body instead of the incomprehensible plot. For what it’s worth.

For the first time in a long time, he dreams of nothing at all.

 

He wakes up in bed in the morning. It’s another overcast day, and Danny doesn’t remember getting here. The last thing he remembers is the cat purring at his feet on the couch, and the next, there’s birds singing outside the window, his hair sprawled out over the pillow. Everything else is still in order, he’s still in his lounge clothes from yesterday, but he doesn’t feel as invaded as he expected to. Part of him feels almost grateful. It’s certainly more comfortable. Not that he loves being manhandled.

The radio’s playing in the kitchen again, Buddy Holly, and it’s the only thing convincing him this maybe isn’t a loop he’s gotten stuck in, a hell of his own creation. And if he could design his own torture, this would be it, stuck on a lakehouse with Vlad Masters. The only other evidence is that he couldn’t have concocted this version of him in his wildest dreams, a version of him that hums old tunes and cooks and cleans and knows how to stitch wounds and treats him as an old friend rather than the bitter enemies they always were in Danny’s head, strange yet affable and almost easy to get along with. Perhaps that’s part of the hell of it all, too, forced into an alternate reality where nothing is as certain as it was when he was fourteen. But then again, most things felt more certain when he was fourteen. He thought his parents were idiots, but harmless, that Sam Manson was the love of his life, and failing a test was the worst thing that could happen to him. Time always shows cracks in the foundation, but this is a chasm.

He just can’t be certain yet if he was really that wrong about him. It’s too much of a leap, too soon.

It smells like bacon and eggs, and Vlad Masters is singing songs from before the day the music died, waves in the background like a quiet whisper.

Would it really be that bad?

It’s a chasm, and he wants to cut through the heart of it.

Danny swings his legs out of bed and makes his way to the door, opening it with only a slight beat of hesitation at the idea of giving up his easy solitude, this place of respite in a sea of uncertainty. Once he’s made the decision, though, he swings it open and marches into the kitchen, finding Vlad over the griddle again, a different apron around his waist and another plain button-down underneath, this time an off-salmon color. He looks up at Danny’s entrance, but says nothing. Maybe the fact Danny has something on his lips is too obvious.

“What was it like?” Danny asks, stopping at the threshold and staring across at him. “When you changed for the first time.”

He stops in his stirring of a bowl of scrambled eggs, pausing. “Oh,” he says, measured. “We should change your bandages before delving into topics like that. After breakfast.”

Danny contemplates, deeply, whether he’ll really let him off that easy, before saying, “Okay. Fine.”

Vlad’s shoulders round in, just a little. “What do you like in your omelets?”

“Onions,” Danny says after a beat of thought. “I like spinach and peppers, too. Anything but mushrooms, really.”

“That’s a shame,” Vlad remarks, evenly. “There are some quite delightful varieties. Ever had a morel?”

Danny curls his nose. “No idea what that is, sounds disgusting.”

“I could change your mind yet,” Vlad waves a free hand in dismissal behind him, returning to his stirring. “I make quite the tagliatelle dish with them.”

“Sure,” Danny dismisses. It’s not that he hates the taste itself, it’s the texture that upsets him, and Vlad certainly hasn’t made anything bad by any stretch of the imagination. Though it’s beyond his own that he’s agreeing to some sort of projected future occasion of this. “Whatever.”

“Tonight, then,” Vlad decides, setting the bowl aside and reaching into the fridge for some vegetables, magically procuring everything Danny mentioned. “I’ll order the ingredients after this. I think you have a mature enough palette, what are you now?”

“Twenty-four,” Danny confirms, as if Vlad doesn’t know.

“Hm, that’s right,” he remarks, something in his voice that Danny can’t describe, but feels the need to make note of anyway. “I see. If nothing else, the sauce is delicious. You can pick through.”

He cuts through the vegetables with a chef’s speed and precision, whistling along to the radio as he does so. Danny sits at the seat at the minibar he’s already starting to think of as his, if only because it’s the side where he doesn’t have his back turned to Vlad.

He tries a different angle. “Did you really ever think my Mom could love you?”

“Wow,” Vlad straightens and stiffens, but doesn’t pause his chopping. “Going for the jugular today, aren’t we?”

“I’m trying to understand you,” Danny explains, simply. “Because I don’t. Are you going to tell me that’s for after bandages, too?”

“Yes,” Vlad says, without taking time to think at all. He places the chopped onions and peppers into an oiled skillet, sizzling and filling the room with their aroma immediately. “But I will answer them. Am I really so hard to understand?”

Danny just looks at the back of his head until he turns around, wincing a bit when he does at Danny’s expression. “I’ve gotten older, Danny.”

There’s the name again. It makes his chest twist on something. “So you’ve said.”

“Time puts things into perspective,” Vlad says distantly, stirring the vegetables in the pan with a hum. “Like you.”

“Right,” Danny swallows, throat thick. “I’ll save the rest of my questions for later, then.”

After Buddy Holly is Louis Armstrong, a slower track to not be jarring in juxtaposition. Vlad seems to know it too, whistling as he completes breakfast in mostly silence, Danny switching his gaze between the cat and Vlad’s back as he sways, periodically checking on the bacon. After a few minutes, he presents two perfectly plated sections of omelet and two slices of bacon each, plus another dosage of painkillers for Danny with another glass of orange juice. He prefers apple, but he won’t say it. He used to prefer orange as a child.

“You don’t do anything barbaric like put ketchup on eggs, do you?” Vlad asks with a curled nose, already sitting down and positioning his fork over his eggs, like it’s an afterthought.

Sometimes, if there’s not enough flavor. He doubts that will be the case, so he just says, “Nah.”

“Good,” Vlad says, approving. “Maybe your palette is mature enough, then.”

Danny says nothing, just digs in. He’s mixed in some sort of fancy white cheese with it and took the time to wilt the spinach, and the onions are sweet and well-cooked, but even in the short amount of time, Danny’s come to unreasonably expect this.

“How do you have the energy to do this for yourself?” Danny wonders aloud, waving a piece of bacon he’s working on in illustration. It’s perfectly thick and crisp. “I can barely find the effort to cook ramen.”

“That’s why you’re so thin,” Vlad chides, portioning his bacon into pieces with a knife and fork. “I have a lot of free time, and it’s a creative outlet.”

He’s heard it be described that way, but he’s never been able to see it. It just seems like effort to him, difficult to justify when there’s so much to do and so little time and energy, but Vlad does seem to certainly bring a flair to what he does. “Glad you have a non-destructive one, I guess.”

“It’s creation for the purpose of destruction,” Vlad explains, taking a measured, delicate bite.

“Okay, Hannibal Lecter.” Danny rolls his eyes at the pretentiousness of it all, but that’s a side of Vlad he’s perfectly at ease with.

Vlad ignores him completely, and instead looks at Danny behind furrowed brows, saying, “You should really take better care of yourself. Do your little friends not make sure you eat?”

Danny shrugs. “Sometimes,” he ventures, taking an extra large bite of his omelet to stall for time. Sam brings him care packages, sometimes, begging him that just because they don’t live together anymore doesn’t mean he should stop taking care of himself. Tucker sometimes shows up unannounced with pizza. Jazz, when she’s home, watches him like a hawk, but that’s only on occasion. She’s busy, too. “I should be better, really.”

Vlad appraises him, an implacable glint in his eyes. “Let me know if you ever want dinner,” he offers, plainly. “It’s always more fun to cook for two.”

That’s about the only time Danny has ever flexed his mediocre cooking skills, to try and impress Sam. “I bet,” he replies, careful to be noncommittal. In either way.

They finish up quickly after in what Danny would in any other circumstance call companionable silence, Vlad immediately taking the plates to the sink once again. He’s still in pain, woke up with the same bullet-wound feeling lodged in his side that he’s had since the incident and waiting for the pills to kick in this morning. It feels weird nonetheless to watch while he’s so diligent, even though he knows Vlad would just shoo him away again. Besides, the more he observes, the more he’s beginning to wonder if this is something he feels he has to do personally.

He leaves them to dry within minutes, turning back to Danny as he washes his hands. “Shall we do your bandages?”

“I’ll shower first,” Danny offers, feeling sticky from the sweat that accumulated overnight and from weathering the wound this morning. “Give me a few.”

Vlad nods, undoing his apron and hanging it up beside the fridge. “I’ll be in the living room.”

This time, rather than thinking, he finds the shower clears his head completely, nothing but the steady thrum of water to keep his head company as he moves through the motions as delicately as he can, mindful of what hurt yesterday. He uses that, his awareness of his body, as a focal point, commanding his full attention to keep himself steady and relatively free of pain. The pills are starting to dull it, but he still feels raw and bone-exhausted from the effort by the time he’s done, wrapping himself up in his towel with shaking hands. Once again, there’s a pile of fresh clothes for him waiting at the door, but this time there’s not even a pretense of a bandage he can try to apply himself. He dresses himself minus the shirt with slow, deliberate movement, applying more of Vlad’s expensive serum and moisturizer to his face before leaving for good measure.

When he gets out, Vlad is where he said he would be, curled up with the cat. He disappears when he sees Danny approach to wash his hands again, reappearing with bandage, alcohol, and wrap in hand, gesturing for Danny to come closer. He does as told, approaching and raising his hand himself this time, hoping it’ll keep him from being manhandled. He’s not capable of getting it high enough himself again, though, Vlad helping it the rest of the way to apply the bandage effectively. He’s just as quick and delicate as before, expertly wiping down the wound with a feather-light touch before bandaging the cut, letting go only to wrap the bandage around in a way that’s least-invasive as possible, though the brush of touch sends a shiver up Danny’s spine.

Once he’s finished, Vlad stands back to admire his work, looking up at Danny with a raised brow as he asks, “Did you use my moisturizer?”

It does have a bit of a distinct, fragrant smell. “Maybe.”

A smile quirks on his lips, running something entirely different up Danny’s spine, like a fear response. Or excitement, basal. The two run together too easily. “I don’t mind.”

Danny minds. Or at least he should, but he just finds something flip in his guts as Vlad pulls away, spinning on his heel. “Let’s go to the lake again. Fresh air, Daniel, fresh air.”

He could do for that. “Right.”

Vlad gives him the same jacket from yesterday, holding it out for Danny to slide his arms in. He does as indicated, again noting Vlad’s careful lack of erroneous touch. They walk down the pier with only the birds and waves for sound, but Danny can almost feel Vlad thinking, his gaze off somewhere else. They reach the end and sit down aside from each other again, Danny letting his feet dangle off the ledge, just above the water.

After a long pause that Danny is too afraid to interrupt as Vlad stares out into the water, he looks at Danny and says, “It hurt like hell. And no. To answer your questions.”

Danny looks back, blank. “Elaborate.”

He inhales deep and exhales a long suffering sigh that almost, almost makes Danny feel bad for him. “You went through it, you know what it is,” he says, low in his voice, almost like a growl. It’s toothless as anything’s been, though. “It feels like dying. There’s scarce research on what could even theoretically happen in cases like ours, but what’s known is that our cells were ripped apart and fused with foreign necrotic matter to form its permanently transitionary properties, so it is quite literally molecular death. And the version of the portal I worked on with them was primitive, incorrectly calibrated to give me a condition that almost killed me. It felt like being ripped limb from limb.”

He doesn’t like to think about it very often, if at all, but he’s forced to think about it now. It’s more of a bodily memory than a mental or emotional one, and it courses through him now, the immense shock, like fifty thousand volts down to the bones and the ripping of his insides like sheets of paper, stealing his breath for what felt like minutes, suffocating. He never felt the same after. “Okay, yeah. I get what you’re saying.”

“As for the other?” Vlad begins, staring out at the gentle waves where they meet the overcast sky. “No, and I think I always knew that, but it was… something I clung to as proof of how I was wronged.”

Danny considers that. “What do you mean?”

“You have to understand,” Vlad sighs, sounding older than his face would betray. “That moment, that one single moment, changed everything for me. For so long, I clung to the fantasy that my entire life would have been different if it hadn’t happened, that her not wanting me was proof everything had turned out wrong. That if things were right, she would have chosen me, and I would have this life I deemed myself robbed of.”

“I saw that life in an alternate timeline, once,” Danny offers, lost in a memory that his words bubble to the surface. Polo shirts and sweaters tied around waists, an uncanny valley of people he knew acting in ways he didn’t, in worse ways than now. Even Vlad wasn’t quite right in that peek, his ambitions, his passions didn’t line up, never made sense. “Mom left Jack for the same reason you think she rejected you, the ecto acne. Do you think she’d really do that?”

Danny finds he’s asking, in part, because he doesn’t know. He’s never known. That’s what’s always bothered him about Clockwork’s reality.

Vlad looks at him long and hard, brows pinched with a wariness in the corner of his barely-noticeable crow’s feet. It takes him so long, and he’s so still, that he almost looks like a statue frozen into the sky behind him, gray on gray. Finally, he breaks, and mutters, “I don’t know, Daniel. That’s why it was so easy to pretend.”

He wants to believe in the better, that it wouldn’t be so simple, at least insofar as Clockwork’s depiction of the future is concerned, but in the grand scheme of things, Danny gets it. He does. “Did you ever actually love her? Or just the idea of her?”

“Oh, we have a little philosopher on our hands,” Vlad remarks, and Danny can almost see him pull away again. There are parts of him that are easier to read than others, he’s finding. “Seems like it might be a relevant question to your own life.”

He’s no therapist like his sister, hasn’t even called the list of numbers she’s given him that’s guiltily lying in his nightstand drawer, but he knows deflection when he sees it. He’s learned a thing or two, even if the emotions of others remain largely one of life’s greatest mysteries. Or maybe Vlad’s patterns haven’t changed all that much, deep down. Still, he finds himself taken aback by how quickly it’s turned on him, a spike over the net caught unawares. “I thought we were talking about you.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Vlad holds up a hand before putting it to his chest. “You’ll have to forgive me, it’s been ten years for me too, you know. It’s not like I know you any more than you know me, badger.”

Danny lifts a brow. “Not ‘little’ anymore?”

Not for the first time, he feels the slide of Vlad’s eyes as he appraises him. “Not quite.”

His mouth is dry as he swallows to speak. “I mean. I guess. Maybe. I’ve never put it in those words.”

“It would make sense,” Vlad says, crossing his legs as he leans back just enough to turn his gaze towards the sky. Air comes easier now that Danny’s not pinned by his eyes. “I’m sure the whole town ate it up, the two of you. How could you say no?”

They did. Boy, did they ever. Every adult, hell, even every student thought it was the perfect cherry on top of everything, Danny and Sam, the lead boy and girl, happily ever after. How happy his parents were when they got together, how thrilled everyone was for them when Danny finally bent to everyone’s constant hammering of the subject and finally proposed because it had been enough years now, hadn’t it, and how gorgeous the wedding was. She wore black, of course. She’d never looked more beautiful, and at that moment, Danny had never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life.

She loved him, and he broke her heart. He’d been breaking it for a long time. He’d forgotten what it was like to see her look happy until quite honestly the past few months, now that the divorce was about a year in the rearview. They’d only been married for about two years prior, and it was all so young. He’s still so young, but he felt old, being with her. Mature. Sitting next to Vlad, he feels his age in every way, adrift in the sea of his twenties, realizing just how little he knows. About anything.

“Yeah,” Danny says after he realizes there’s been only silence in the wake of Vlad’s words, lost in his own thoughts. It’s only then that he puts it together—Vlad’s right about how it felt. Entirely. “Yes. It… exactly.”

“How must it feel?” Vlad muses, his eyes still far away. “To have everyone rooting for you to be loved.”

Again, he expects bitterness, but there’s just a hollowness. Resignation, almost. It sends a twinge of something deliriously close to regret that catches in his throat. But regret for what? It’s not as if he could have changed anything. He’s not his parents, and Vlad had given him an impossible choice.

“It’s not too late for you,” Danny says, because it feels true, and worth saying. “I’ve never understood your whole lonely bachelor schtick, anyway. There’s never been anything stopping you. You have money, you have hobbies, you’re not bad looking, you have a cat, what’s not connecting? Jazz told me you were Most Eligible Bachelor like five years in a row before you blew up your reputation.”

“What was that in the middle?” Vlad asks, sharp.

Danny knows, but he’d rather die than say it again. “You have hobbies?”

“No, no,” he dismisses. “After that.”

It’s an old song and dance, but there’s a small, childish part of him that’s liking the chance to play it. “You have a cat?”

Vlad sighs, but it’s almost before the words come out, like he knows the steps too. “Before that.”

“Oh,” Danny concedes, forgetting that at the end of the little routine, the jig is always up. “I said you’re not bad looking.”

“That’s the one,” Vlad says, but instead of sounding triumphant, there’s a little edge of something like genuine surprise, and Danny doesn’t like how exposed it makes him feel, like he’s said something that will be remembered. “Why thank you.”

“What?” Danny says, trying to dismiss the sticky, lingering feeling of being looked at sidelong. But that might just be the wound again. “You take care of yourself for your age.”

“That’s right,” Vlad agrees, flipping his ponytail as if to demonstrate. “You could learn a thing or two. You’ll develop wrinkles if you don’t watch your stress levels.”

“Will I?” Danny asks, because that’s another thing. There’s so much of his own biology that’s lost on him, his own body a mystery. “I’ve always wondered, you know. How we age.”

The waves are starting to pick up with a slight wind, so Danny pulls his feet in as Vlad does the same, both of them coming to sit cross-legged on the pier with the water underneath them. “You will eventually,” Vlad explains, a certain serious, quick cadence to his voice, like he’s explaining an important lecture to a class. “It’s just not the same rate. We’ll always look young for what we are, dead tissue doesn’t age. It’s simplest to say that half of our bodies died in the accident—half of me will always be twenty-one, and half of you will always be fourteen. However, that means that only half of us is alive. You get sick often, do you notice that? It’s probable that only half of your cells are active to fight against infections. It’s my hypothesis we grayed early because those follicles produce only half the color.”

Danny puts a hand to his hair, self-conscious. He found his first white hair out of ghost form at nineteen, and his parents had cooed over the level of stress he must be under. It made sense at the time, but how peppery he is at twenty-four is the only thing that keeps him from getting thrown out with a fake ID for how youthful he still looks otherwise. Hearing this, coupled with how often he’s come down with the common cold in his life, is enough to make his head spin, possibilities he’s never thought about and connections he’s never made dizzying him. “How do you know all this?”

Overhead, birds fly and caw down, almost like they’ve been listening and want to know too. There’s a phantom smile on Vlad’s very human lips. “I don’t know anything,” he corrects. “These are simply my best estimations, based on countless calculations and painstaking self-study. It’s not like I had anything better to do, all those years in a hospital bed and all the ones alone after. It’s only the tip of the iceberg of what I could teach you.”

Something clicks in Danny’s head. “Is that what you meant? When we met for the first time?”

Vlad closes his eyes for a long minute, and when he opens them again, they’re sharp. “Yes.”

Danny scoffs, because just when he thinks he gets him, something slips through his fingers again. “Then why’d you make it so hard for me to say yes to you?”

“Having it both ways was intolerable to me,” Vlad says simply, after a beat of silence where he seemed to be composing his words. “You having both your father and I at the same time. I couldn’t have you bridge that gap.”

Danny pulls his knees in, peering at Vlad over them. “How do you feel now?”

Vlad laughs, a single, hollow thing, like it’s dusty from disuse. “Like it doesn’t matter.”

“That doesn’t sound like you,” Danny reminds him.

He smiles, tight-lipped. “I suppose not,” he agrees. “You made everything so raw, so fresh. It made all those old wounds feel like yesterday. I’ve had time and distance from that. I still think your parents are fools who ruined my life, but not for the same old reasons. It’s simply a fact, no longer a burning rite of vengeance I need to quell. Could you live with that?”

Danny’s thrown by the question, blinking. “Why does it matter?”

“If I hold those opinions but no longer act with such… veracity on them,” Vlad explains, his voice low underneath the whistling fall wind and the rush of water, rhythmic. “Would that be amenable enough to you to be on decent terms, after all this time?”

Danny looks at him, really looks at him, the furrow of his thick brows, the point of his features, more open and serious than he’s seen, and feels like he can’t escape the implications of it, forced to stare it in the face. His stomach flips as he takes in the thick, humid air before exhaling, “Is that the truth?”

Vlad puts a hand to his heart again. “On what’s left of my honor in your eyes, I assure you.”

His expression doesn’t flinch. Danny feels challenged to look away, and he doesn’t rise to it. “Then sure. If you leave me alone, I’ll leave you alone.”

Vlad breaks first, looking down. “That’s not what I meant.”

Danny puts a hand to his head, feeling an ache pierce through the painkillers. “You’re saying, what, then?”

Vlad looks up, briefly, warily, then back out to the lake, pulling himself to his feet. “Just that we don’t have to be strangers. Let alone bitter ones.”

Danny finds the math takes less time than the initial calculus. Try as he might, he can’t face the man next to him and do anything other than sigh, “I guess we don’t, if that’s how you really feel.”

Vlad holds out his hand. Danny considers the pain in his side.

He takes it.

By the time they make it back to the house, it’s starting to look like a storm on the horizon, rain beginning to gather in the ever-darkening clouds. Danny’s tired, but less bone-exhausted than he was the previous day from the same excursion, just with a different sort of buzzing in his head.

“I’ve put your sweaters in the dresser by your bedside,” Vlad explains once they’re inside, shaking himself free of his jacket. “I’ll be grabbing one of my own.”

Danny nods, disappearing into his room. He finds one that’s particularly soft, a dark blue and black checkered pattern, and throws it over his shoulders with as much grace as possible, minding his bandage. When he reappears, Vlad has thrown on a beige cashmere-looking v-neck over his shirt, sitting on the couch and scrolling through his phone.

“The tagliatelle I want won’t get here until tomorrow,” he pouts. “That’s what I get for trying to go for quality.”

Danny glances at him out of the corner of his eye, sitting down on the opposite side of the couch from him. Upon his approach, the cat settles between them. “A tragedy you’ll never recover from.”

“A tragedy you’ll never recover from,” Vlad corrects him, dismissing a screen on his phone with a flick of the wrist. “It was going to be handmade from a deli in Manhattan. But I suppose somewhere around here will do, if they even understand what separates it from fettuccine.”

Danny doesn’t understand what separates it from fettuccine. Or even what it looks like. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Oh, it will,” Vlad dismisses, tapping something with furious energy. “I’ve managed to source the correct morels, so the dish will still have its heart and soul. I’ll be able to start in a few hours, as soon as my courier arrives.”

Being rich sounds exhausting. “Sure, sure. Can’t wait.”

“Feel free to sleep until then,” Vlad glances over at him, turning on the TV. “Or we can continue the movie.”

Danny contemplates the options before deciding, tentatively, “I’ll try the movie again.”

He makes it about twenty minutes this time, and he’s starting to wonder if maybe it is the plot, but Vlad seems to enjoy it, so he doesn’t say as much.

 

Danny wakes to the sound of thunder and the low drone of the TV, playing one of Vlad’s daytime shows again. The skies are even darker than when he fell asleep, curled up on the couch with a pillow underneath his head and a blanket over his legs again. Vlad is nowhere to be seen, and for a second, Danny’s chest falls with apprehension before he hears the soft sound of a door clicking followed by the shuffling of feet before he reappears around the corner, holding a surprisingly large box in his hands.

“Oh,” he remarks when he sees Danny’s head poke over the side of the couch, carrying the box towards the kitchen. “You’re awake. Just in time, the ingredients are here.”

Danny uses his good side to pull himself up, feeling the painkillers starting to wane again. He staggers into the kitchen to the best of his ability, Vlad’s eyes on him as he takes a knife to the top of the box sitting in the center of the minibar.

“Do you like wine?” he asks, pulling the flaps back and beginning to dig in—a package of mushrooms, pasta, fresh herbs, and cream. “I got a bottle I’ve been meaning to try.”

“I’m neutral,” Danny says, mostly because he secretly feels he doesn’t have the palette for the nuances of it. It all tastes the same, or maybe he’s never had an expensive enough bottle. “I don’t drink much.”

Well, he doesn’t drink much anymore. He used to, a bit too much, another signal of how wrong everything was. He hasn’t felt the need for it really since. There’s a twinkle of something in Vlad’s eye as he pulls out a bottle from the depths, something large and fancy and French with a date older than Danny. “You’ll like this,” he says, flashing him the label like Danny will appreciate anything about it as it deserves. “It’s a pinot noir, perfectly balanced and delicate for a mushroom cream dinner like this. I didn’t want to go white, I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it.”

Danny doesn’t know what the significance of any of that is, so he just nods. “Sounds good.”

“I’ll pour you a glass,” Vlad spins on his heel to dig into his cabinets, grabbing two wine glasses. He sets them together side by side, then pulls a corkscrew from the box as well. “You should eat an apple or something with your pills, though. It’s just ibuprofen, but it’s worth being careful.”

There’s a remark about him hovering over his health on his tongue, but that’s what he’s been doing for over a day now, so it’s a foregone conclusion. “That works.”

Danny waits patiently as he produces an apple and the pill bottle, shaking out another dose and holding it out. Danny takes them back expertly with the glass of water Vlad hands him afterwards, biting down on the skin of the apple to chase it. Vlad opens the bottle of wine like he’s an expert sommelier, not a movement wasted. He comes up with a large glass object from underneath the mini-bar to pour it into, wafting the aroma close to him with a long inhale.

“Impeccable,” he admires, staring down at the label again in newfound appreciation. “I’m sure you won’t be able to tell the difference between it decanted, though, if you’d rather have it now.”

Danny very much doubts that too. “Sure.”

He pours the remaining amount into one of the glasses before sliding it across the bar towards Danny, meeting his eyes over the rim. Danny swallows, but Vlad doesn’t seem to realize his discomfort, humming as he removes the box from the table and disappears with the scraps back around the corner towards the entryway. When he reappears a minute or so later empty handed, Danny still hasn’t tried his wine, like a child waiting for an adult’s permission.

“Well?” Vlad prompts, beginning to set out his prep station for cooking. “How is it?”

The harshest part of wine is that cotton-y aftertaste, chemical, but this has none. It goes down smooth, even, with the slightest hint of sweet fruit beneath the gentle fermentation. It’s aged, certainly, but it leaves nothing extra on the palette, and even Danny can tell it’s dear. “It’s delicious. Really.”

Vlad looks between Danny and the decanter before pausing in his grabbing of knives to march to where Danny’s sitting with a sigh. “Alright, fine, let me try it,” he huffs, taking hold of Danny’s without as much asking. He puts his lips up to the glass, and Danny watches his throat work as he takes down a sip, the barely-there shadow on his jawline. “Ah, you’re right. It’s delightful.”

The wine provides a distraction, something to do with his hands while Danny watches him work. He starts on the mushrooms first, and they look like terrifying textural amalgamations, shriveled up, brain-like things, and it’s only Danny’s inexplicable faith in his culinary prowess that keeps him from speaking up in objection then. There’s at least onion to balance it out, which Vlad cuts up without a single tear. All the while, Danny sips at his wine, hardly noticing when Vlad seems to decide it’s sat out long enough for a glass of his own, or when he refills Danny’s from the decanter. The apple was certainly a good idea, he’s just a little on the edge of queasy enough as it is, but he feels light, weightless, all the tension he’s been pooling in his shoulders and chest beginning to seep out in degrees. The radio plays softly as Vlad flutters about the kitchen like a little moth at the light, slow, wistful jazz and oldies.

He loses track of how many glasses he has, let alone Vlad, but by the time dinner is cooking on the stove proper, they’ve almost finished the decanter, and there’s a pleasant, warm buzz in Danny’s blood, fuzzy down to his toes. He’s caught up in the aroma of mushroom and cream, never finding it all that pleasant before now, mixing with basil and oregano and sweet onion. Vlad is singing along to Ella Fitzgerald under his breath, and the ache in his side is a dull throb, fading by the moment.

“Ah, drat,” Vlad appraises as he goes to refill his glass, frowning at the pathetic amount that’s left in the container at the end of it. He eyes Danny’s glass before finishing it off there, glowering at the offending empty bottle. “I’m sure I have something else that will pair well somewhere here. I wasn’t vigilant enough.”

“No, it’s my bad,” Danny flushes, unaware of how many times Vlad had filled his glass due to emptiness. He’d reached for the decanter a few times, but Vlad had intercepted him each time, which was probably the best. His hands still have a shake to them.

“It’s no matter,” Vlad dismisses, stirring his concoction. He opens up the package of pasta, a pot of boiling water already lying in wait. “I bought it for you.”

That does something to his equilibrium. “Still.”

Vlad shakes his head, ducking under the mini-bar. It’s only then he notices the center of the underside doubles as a wine rack. Only a scant few are occupied, but it makes sense. This is just one of many of Vlad’s houses, after all. Vlad hums an up and down cadence as he searches the racks before pulling one out near Danny’s knees, reading the label with a serious expression. For all he’s drunk, he doesn’t seem in the least affected, especially compared to the fuzz at the edge of Danny’s own awareness.

“This will do,” he declares, corking it open after showing it to Danny in turn. It’s Italian, this time, and means even less, but he nods all the same. He dispenses two full glasses before leaving the rest to decant, which is maybe evidence that he is a bit affected after all. He puts the glass to his lips, taking in the aroma, and he looks elegant, lean and cutting a clean figure against the counter. It’s never been a word he’s associated with him, but now that he thinks it, it feels true. “It’s not as dear, so don’t get your hopes up.”

Danny’s a bit too far on the side of tipsy to come even close to caring, even if he would regardless. He takes a sip, and while it’s not quite as smooth as the first, it still leaves very little aftertaste, and is even lighter. “It’s not bad.”

“Not bad,” Vlad scoffs, pouring the pasta in and giving it a stir. “You’d make a fine reviewer.”

Danny feels heat rise to his face. “You know what I mean. It’s great.”

“You don’t have to flatter me,” Vlad denies, but there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips, a light of amusement in his eye. Danny’s transfixed by the glare of it. “But I do have taste, yes.”

Danny just rolls his eyes and lets Vlad continue his work, sipping at this wine even faster than the first, going down all too easy. He’s almost ready for another glass by the time Vlad has started plating everything, portioning out the mushroom sauce over a thin, fettuccine-like pasta. It’s not fettuccine, though. He has to remind himself of that. Vlad would be mad.

“Viola,” Vlad declares when he finally turns around with two complete plates, setting them across from each other at the minibar. “Morel tagliatelle with black truffle, for my mushroom fanatic.”

Danny still doesn’t trust the texture of the little black squiggles on his plate, so he tries a bit of the pasta first, finding it folds on his fork much more delicately than normal fettuccine. The sauce, while definitively mushroom-based, isn’t offensive at all, and melts in his mouth, something he can’t describe lingering on his tongue but bringing him back for more. He can feel Vlad watching him, so cautiously, he puts one of the mushrooms on his fork, catching Vlad wink as he puts it to his lips. A day ago, it would have terrified him. It should now. Instead, it just feels like a challenge, and he takes it down.

The texture is almost indescribable, meaty and thick, chewy and more substantial than any mushroom he’s ever tried. It’s still not his favorite, but he doesn’t immediately gag around it, which is an improvement over most mushrooms, and the flavor is quite pleasant. Nice, even. He takes another, forcing himself through the strangeness to find some enjoyment out of it before returning to the pasta, sheepish.

“It’s not bad,” he informs an ever-patient Vlad, waiting for Danny’s verdict. “Believe me, that’s high praise.”

“Really?” Vlad arches his brows as he refills Danny’s glass, as meticulous as about how he cuts and eats his pasta as he’s been about everything. “I’ll take it, then.”

“This is what I mean,” Danny gestures between them as he pauses to drink, something heavy taking root in his throat. He swallows past it. “You could have whoever you wanted like this. Why don’t you?”

Darkness falls over Vlad’s features as he lowers his head. “Don’t be ridiculous, Daniel.” If he listens closely, he can almost hear the hint of a slur. He’s on his second glass of wine from the second bottle, too, and farther down than Danny. There’s still not much outward difference, except for maybe the slightest hint of red on his high cheekbones. “I’ve never even kissed anyone. Who would want that?”

That, more than anything, convinces Danny the wine’s gone to his head, too. He can’t imagine Vlad admitting that, not to him. Not like this. He fumbles for something to say in the wake of that, something to synthesize the overwhelming sadness that’s filling up his lungs like water, that tinge of regret again, and what comes out is, “That’s not fair.”

It’s not even close to satisfactory for what he means, and Vlad just laughs, shaking his head. “It’s not about fair.”

Danny’s chest twists. “Even before mom?”

It’s Vlad’s turn to roll his eyes, a juvenile expression that looks out of sorts on his face. “I was hopeless, really,” he explains. “A hapless geek who’s only built a semblance of class in my adult years, and by then it was far too late. It’s no matter.”

He’s not sure if that’s entirely true, but before he can think about it further, Vlad is back to topping off their glasses. He doesn’t know what to say, not even a little, but thankfully Vlad rescues him when he clears his throat and says, “Did I change your mind? About the mushrooms.”

“Oh,” Danny says, unsteady, reaching for his glass to dull the ache in his chest, something dangerous and dark lurking underneath the surface of his emotions he doesn’t want to quantify. “Not quite. But… I’d eat this again.”

A small, shaking upturn takes Vlad’s lips. “I’m glad, then.”

Danny is glad to sit in relatively companionable silence until the song changes on the radio and Vlad seems to be taken in by that again, swaying as he drinks while humming, finishing off the rest of his pasta as Danny picks through his, eating just enough of the mushrooms to look polite. It’s still a victory.

Eventually, though, he can’t take it. “Are you serious?”

Vlad stops in his tracks, straightening up. “What do you mean?”

“That you’ve never been kissed,” Danny says, breathless. The burning curiosity is the only thing cutting through the fog of drink, and it has to be satiated.

Danny has no hope of reading Vlad’s expression as he stands to take their plates, darkened beneath his brows. He’s quiet as he turns the water on and snaps on his dish gloves, before he says, quietly underneath the water, “Yes.”

“You could kiss me.”

It’s out of Danny’s mouth before he has any idea what he’s done, his hands flying to his lips on reflex, mortified. He scrambles inside his head, an incoherent noise coming out in protest at his own words, but when he catches Vlad’s expression, all attempts to desperately retract such a ridiculous, baseless statement come to a halt. It’s like peeled wallpaper from an old room, an expression he’s never seen before, raw and unguarded, open sinews. It looks pained, hurt even, like he’s in awe of the cruelty of it, his shoulders rounded in, protective. He’s a cornered animal, wounded, and it takes Danny off-guard, finding his voice again only to croak out, again, “You could.”

He doesn’t know why. Maybe he’s gone completely insane. Maybe he’s drunker than he’s been in years. Maybe his heart is breaking at the thought of him, alone, truly alone all this time. Right under Danny’s nose.

The one thing he never saved.

“Don’t play me for a fool,” Vlad scoffs, scrubbing harshly at the pot. “I’m not one of your games.”

“I’m not playing one,” Danny says. He throws back the rest of his glass, wincing only slightly at the burn of alcohol down his throat. Shakily, he brings himself to stand, unsure of his feet underneath his body, his own thoughts, his own sanity as he crosses the room. All he can focus on is the little strands of hair that frame Vlad’s face, the cut of his body, the fact that he’s the only person who apparently knows he can cook this well, and all he knows is that feels sad. Crushingly, unendingly, oppressively. And he has to rectify it. He has to, or it’ll eat him alive. “I want you to.”

Vlad grips the side of the sink, lowering his head and hiding his expression from Danny behind his arms. His shoulders are shaking, just ever so slightly. It’s only after a few seconds he realizes he’s laughing, tears in the corners of his eyes. “What in the world am I going to do with you?”

Danny just blinks at him, too far gone for the question, let alone that reaction. “I don’t know.”

“Sit down,” Vlad tells him, returning to his dishes with a pinched expression. “Pour us another glass.”

Something about his tone, soothing, mollifies him enough to stop in his tracks and do so, slinking back to his seat and refilling both glasses, though Vlad has significantly more left than his empty vessel. It’s silent between them as Vlad finishes the dishes, Danny’s heart hammering in his chest. He waits to drink until Vlad’s done, even though his hands are itching for something to do, anxious, detached, out of his body. Thinking about Vlad Masters.

To his surprise, Vlad doesn’t sit down across from him. Instead, he crosses over to stand beside Danny’s chair, glass in hand. Danny turns his knees towards him, looking up, close enough to see the faint purple on his pale lips from the wine. He thinks about it, really thinks about what it would be like to take them in his, and his stomach flips, a level of want he hadn’t expected bowling him over at their proximity, the tangibility of it.

“You’re drunk,” Vlad reminds him, gently, but it’s starting to feel more and more like the pot calling the kettle black from the fast, imprecise way he’s talking, different from his normal cadence. He’s standing closer than he would normally, too. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I do,” Danny protests, even though he doesn’t. He has no idea. “And I am. But it doesn’t matter.”

Vlad reaches out a hand and puts it to Danny’s cheek, immaculate warmth. Vlad’s expression is still guarded, and there’s a hint of hardness to it, resignation, as he slides his thumb across Danny’s cheekbone, sighing. Danny leans the whole weight of his head into it, suddenly grateful to no longer have to hold it up on his own. “I don’t get you,” he mutters.

Danny laughs, once. “Yeah, that’s mutual.”

Vlad starts to pull away, and Danny jolts, reaching for his wrist. He feels possessed, out of body, watching himself like a marionette on strings. “Vlad,” he says, because this suddenly feels vital. “You deserve to have someone kiss you.”

It’s a barely-there, bitter smile. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

The joke’s lost on him. “I won’t ask again. If you don’t want to, that’s fine, I know I’m just a kid.”

Vlad’s eyes flash, his wrist going limp in Danny’s hands. “It’s not that.”

Yeah, he didn’t think it would be. Morals were never really his style. “Then why?”

Vlad just looks at him, incredulous, like he can’t believe it isn’t obvious, but whatever it is, Danny can’t place it, too busy focusing on the deep furrow of his brow, the bright, daring blue of his eyes. Vlad runs a thumb underneath the delicate skin of Danny’s own eye, muttering, “Oh, Daniel…”

He doesn’t care, though, because he gives away his hand with that. He can hear the tremble of his voice. He can feel the lean of his body. He wants it. He wants it.

So he gives it to him.

He nearly knocks over Vlad’s wine glass trying to get to him, jutting his hands up to grab a hold of his shoulders, messy and uneven. He hasn’t kissed anyone since Sam, hasn’t even tried to date again, but whatever’s gotten hold of him now is complete and unrelenting, pushing him towards Vlad with an inhale, diving in. He meets his lips in a clash, and immediately, he can feel that Vlad has no idea what he’s doing, his lips statue still beneath him, frozen as Danny tries to work them. It doesn’t matter, because he takes the side of Vlad’s face in his and leans in, wrapping his knees around Vlad’s legs and pulling, beckoning him closer. It’s several seconds before Vlad moves at all, and in that time, Danny wonders if that might be it, if it’ll just be like kissing a dead man, but then his lips part, imprecise, and Danny breathes in a shaky sigh of relief, kissing him anew.

Vlad sets his wine glass down, uneven, and he feels lighter than air when he wraps a trembling arm around Danny’s shoulders, like nothing in his arms. He doesn’t know how to kiss at all, just opening and closing his lips, but Danny guides him, taking his lower lip in his and sucking gently, running his teeth along, guiding his face in his hands. He can feel him breathe in juts and starts, and Danny’s breath is much the same, unsteady and quick.

“No,” Danny whispers when Vlad starts to pull away, shaking his head. “Do it again.”

Vlad’s lips part in soft surprise, his eyes flying open. He looks about as uncertain as Danny feels, like his balance is off, and for a moment Danny thinks that’s all he’ll do, just stand there, awestruck and silent, but then his expression breaks into pieces and he leans in again, taking Danny’s lips in his. Danny sighs into it, eyelashes fluttering as something hot pools in his chest, brushing his own thumbs over Vlad’s cheekbones just to feel them, their sharp contours underneath his pale skin. There’s just the softest hint of stubble where he hasn’t shaved, and it rakes against his cheek, a little rough and ticklish, but he doesn’t mind. Vlad’s learning with each pass of their lips, his motions growing softer, less jarring, Danny still in the lead. He pulls him in closer, frustrated with the awkward distance still between them, and Vlad stumbles a bit, leaning his knee on the chair aside Danny’s thighs to steady himself, leaning on Danny’s shoulders for support. He lets him, tugging closer yet.

“What are you doing?” Vlad asks around their mouths, breathing into him. The blue of his eyes looks almost gray this close, and the expression within them breaks his own into pieces in turn.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Danny asks, wrapping his arms around the back of Vlad’s neck.

Vlad makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, but doesn’t pull away. “I mean why.”

“I think I’ve always been attracted to you,” Danny admits, not even realizing how true it is until it leaves his lips. That’s another reason he riled him up so much, the same swirling heat in his guts is familiar to his teenage self, the jolt he’d get whenever Vlad would take him by the wrist and pull him close during a fight. He recognizes it only now, but it’s unmistakable, curling in him. It’s been so long since he’s felt it this strongly.

“Why now?” Vlad tries again, a hint of desperation to his voice that lifts it upwards. His fingers clench slightly around Danny’s jawline.

It’s hard to think through the fog, but he does his best to articulate it. “You’ve been alone.”

Vlad just exhales, indelicate. “You and your family made sure of that.”

“No,” Danny protests, tugging at the back of his neck even though Vlad’s made no move to pull away. “I mean, I know. That’s why. I think I was wrong.”

Vlad’s eyes flutter shut, narrowing when they open. “Is this your form of contrition?”

Danny swallows. “Maybe. But it’s not out of guilt.”

They’re close enough that Danny can feel the stray flies of hair that have escaped his ponytail around his forehead, and Danny doesn’t know what he’s doing, not even close, but he knows he inexplicably needs him closer yet. It’s been so long since he’s been intimate at all, and that it's him on top of how raw it all feels seems surreal. How fast everything’s changed.

Before Vlad can respond to that, there’s a question on the tip of Danny’s tongue. “Were you always like this?”

“Like what, Danny?” It seems to mean something whenever Vlad slips up and says it. He just doesn’t know what yet.

“A person,” Danny says for lack of more eloquent phrasing. “Instead of some supervillain I made up in my head.”

Vlad shakes his head, his nose brushing against Danny’s and sending a ticklish shiver up his spine. “I won’t pretend I haven’t done terrible things,” he says, simply. “But I never meant you harm, not really.”

Danny doesn’t know what to say to that, so he kisses him again, pulling him in with his legs and nearly sending Vlad off-balance, careening into him. Danny catches him with as much grace as manageable, switching to wrap one arm around his slim waist as the other reaches for the tie holding back his hair. He’s never seen him with it down, and he longs for how untamed he’ll look, how unfiltered. He’s mildly surprised to find that Vlad lets him, canting his head just so to the side to allow him to pull the ribbon out, falling onto his fingers and to the floor. His hair cascades down his shoulders in large curls, grays and whites intermingling, and Danny runs his hand through it, impossibly soft. He feels his own eyes blown wide as he looks into the storm of Vlad’s, implacable.

He goes to kiss him once more, but Vlad puts a hand on his chest. “Danny,” he says, again, and Danny feels unmoored. “What do you even want right now?”

“I could fuck you,” Danny blurts out, because the way Vlad says it makes him think about it, and once he starts thinking about it, the idea of it overwhelms his senses. He’d be so sensitive, no one’s touched him. No one’s touched him. Why has no one touched him? “Be your first.”

Vlad looks tired, deflated, and it takes the wind out of Danny in turn. “Aren’t you the romantic?”

Danny frowns, frustrated. “I’m serious.”

Vlad’s hair frames him like a veil, delicate, a little beautiful. “You’re in no state for this.”

“I know I can make it not hurt for me,” Danny objects, a level of desperation he didn’t expect to feel welling up in his chest, weightless.

He sighs on a deep inhale. “I meant mentally.”

“You’re drunk, too,” Danny reminds him. “Don’t pretend you’re not, or that you’re above this.”

His pants are starting to feel tighter, and when he presses Vlad into him, he can feel a mutual interest in turn, but before Danny can chase the friction, Vlad pulls his hips away. “I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret.”

“I won’t,” Danny insists, but even as he says it, he’s far from sure. What will he think in the morning? Right now, though, the answer feels real. “I won’t.”

Vlad considers him, a thumb to Danny’s lips, parting them softly. Danny’s eyelids flutter, the touch dizzying him further than the alcohol. “Ask me again in the morning.”

Danny wilts, panic welling in his chest. “Please.”

More softly than Danny ever thought Vlad capable of, he presses a kiss to his forehead. “Ask me then.”

He feels a million miles away when he steps back, detangling Danny’s hand from his hair and folding it in his, rubbing his thumb over the back of Danny’s knuckles. All the adrenaline hits at once and crashes into him like a wave, and he’s pulled back further from him than ever. “Okay.”

“It’s late,” Vlad says, pushing Danny’s hair back from his forehead. “You should sleep.”

Danny exhales shakily, closing his eyes. “Okay.”

 

Danny wakes up with a start at three in the morning stone cold sober, and the rest comes back in fits and waves.

His memory is better than he’d like to admit—pleading ignorance would have been so easy, but not when his face would give it away in an instant. No, he remembers, and even if his mind didn’t, his body certainly does, stirring heat and confusion in equal measure at the lingering impression of Vlad’s lips on his, wrapped together. A man he claimed to hate less than 48 hours ago has now tasted the back of his teeth, and he knows the sound he makes when he’s surprised, high in his throat. Danny had instigated all of it, begged for it even, like they had no history, or that their history didn’t matter, and now he’s left with the pieces. His head spins when he turns over on his side, rattling in his skull.

The question of why in the world he would want to kiss Vlad Masters is answered internally with a memory of his face. Not even when he and Sam were both fumbling virgins has he ever seen someone so untouched, awed and vulnerable and hair-trigger sensitive, almost like it hurt. Someone who so clearly wanted something they looked afraid of in equal measure, overwhelmed, raw in a way he’s never seen a person stripped before. The result was something startlingly human, like all this time he’s just been a person. A broken, fucked up person, but a person all the same, one that’s been alone longer than Danny’s been alive, and it makes him ache, the memory of the way he hitched into each kiss, startled, a little whine in the back of his throat like pain, how labored his breath was. He’s shut everyone out, but he’s always invited Danny in. Even at his worst, most vile moments, he’s always invited Danny in.

And what has he always done? Shut the door. Oh, sure, maybe it was for the best at the time, but he’s never considered the other side, the consequences, the humanity of the man who’s always been his best, truest mirror, for better or worse. It’s a truth Danny’s always denied, but now, he feels consumed by it, their parallels, their inescapable synchronicities. It’s always been this way, they could have had a connection, some sort of bond where Danny didn’t have to take his worst, but could benefit from his best, and all these years, he’s walked away. Of course he was ultimately shut down in turn now that he’s finally decided he wants inside. Why would he ever trust that?

The part of Danny that wonders, ever-softly, why he should ever trust Vlad in turn is quieted by the fact that he’s still here. Unharmed, untouched, even now. He’s given him nothing to go on, no thread of suspicion to pull at. Time has quieted him, too, and Danny feels clumsy and cumbersome here, the one that’s too much the same, clinging to teenage hurt that even Vlad’s managed to apparently walk away from. But now he’s kissed him, drunk, basal and instinctive, something he wanted without knowing he wanted it. He doesn’t know if it’s forgiveness, but it’s desire, and it burns even now, the want to drive some type of intimacy with this person, to know him deeper, to be closer. To understand something he’s always denied himself a look into.

What he’s seen so far is a man desperate in his own way for the same after being denied himself for so long. The inexplicable truth is that Danny finally wants to give it to him, in ways he couldn’t as a child, in ways he wouldn’t have been able to understand. He barely understands it now, other than that it’s a force of chemistry, beckoning him into his orbit with a rush. There’s something good and tender inside Vlad, and he wants to be the one to bring it out. He wants to be the one to see it.

His head spins when he swings his legs out of bed, but he ignores it and the slight throb that accompanies, pulling himself to his feet. The house is silent, just gentle waves, but Danny still tip-toes as he makes his way to the door, not wanting to disrupt the quiet.

The cat is asleep on the couch when he makes his way to the master bedroom, like even she can sense something is awry. The door is cracked open, but only just, and there’s no light through the spaces, just dark like the rest of the house. Everything is turned off, but somehow, Danny gets the feeling he’s not the only soul awake here.

His suspicions are confirmed as he opens the door to see Vlad’s form in the darkness, the bright of his eyes catching the faint light from the hallway windows and shining. He’s staring at the ceiling when Danny opens the door, but snaps over to him when he walks inside, his hands folded across his chest, vampiric and still on top of the covers. He’s wearing matching pajamas, probably silk.

Danny doesn’t know where to start, so he just says, “Can’t sleep?”

Vlad’s lips curl up, humorless. “Not quite.”

“Sorry,” Danny offers, because it feels like his fault. He’s secretly pleased to not have to wake him, though. He slinks fully inside, shutting the door behind him. He inhales deep as Vlad brings himself up to sit, hands folded in his lap.

He blinks at him, Danny feeling rooted in place. “Why are you here?”

He glances at the clock by Vlad’s bedside. “It’s morning.”

Even from this distance, he can see Vlad sigh. “If we are going on technicality, so it is.”

“We don’t have to,” Danny says, hastily, because he can feel that he’s on edge already, and he wants to calm the seas, if he can. “I just want to stay here for the night. Can I?”

Vlad closes his eyes, and when he opens them agonizing seconds later, he nods. “If you so desire.”

Danny crosses the length to the other side of the bed and crawls on top, so close he can see the deep, rapid rise and fall of the man’s chest, his eyes back to screwed tight, brows furrowed. He curls up on his side to face him, studying the contours of his face, his sharp, handsome features, the way his eyelids twitch just slightly. He looks fragile in the darkness, but he can tell the mask has been put back up, sobriety having hit him, too. Danny feels opened up, raw, changed into something he can hardly recognize, and he wants Vlad to look at him, see if he can see that too. He takes hold of his cheek and turns his head gently towards him, his eyes forcing open in surprise at the touch before narrowing.

“Excuse my skepticism,” he says, softly but firmly. “You’ve just done quite the one-eighty.”

“Yeah,” Danny agrees, loosely. “I know. I don’t get it either. I guess I’m just starting to get you after all, maybe.”

“So you’ll resort to this?” Vlad counters, a scoff on his lips. He hasn’t pulled his head away, though. “Tell me you’re not so desperate.”

Danny frowns, but part of him expects some venom. “I’m not desperate,” he denies, though part of him is on the verge of something if this moment falls apart. “It’s something I want to do because I’m starting to get you.”

Vlad looks up at the ceiling again, hiding, Danny can tell. When did he get so good at reading him? “That doesn’t make any sense, Daniel.”

“Why not?” he demands, a sudden stroke of clarity grabbing him. “Maybe you’ve been alone because no one’s seen these parts of you, and now I am. You’re allowing me to finally get to your good side. You say you haven’t changed, but I’m not sure that’s true.”

That’s right, maybe it wasn’t always possible. Maybe it had to be now, like this. He hopes Vlad understands what he means as he calculates something inside, eyes far away. “You’re saying dangerous things.”

Danny scoots in closer, testing the waters. Vlad doesn’t pull away, Danny letting his knees brush against Vlad’s side. “Just trying to give an explanation, since you wanted one so bad.”

“I’m still a monster,” he warns, something dangerous and dark sparking in his eyes. “I’ll take advantage of your good graces.”

Danny’s blood spikes. “We’ll see if I feel that way.”

Vlad is no less clumsy when he goes to kiss him, but it has purpose, the movement sharp and deliberate. He rolls over towards him and takes his lips in his, all teeth, and Danny breathes into him, guiding him into a gentler pattern as Vlad reaches out for his waist. Danny leans into it, breathing a sigh of relief and victory as Vlad’s arms slot around him, his own wrapping around Vlad’s shoulders as he kisses him again and again.

“I’ve always thought you and I could get along,” Vlad murmurs when he comes up for air, breathing into Danny’s ear. “I never thought in this way.”

“It’d be weird if you did,” Danny admits, reaching to run a hand through his hair. It’s still down. “When I was a kid, I mean.”

Vlad laughs, low in his chest. “I knew you’d grow up handsome.”

“Yeah?” Danny asks, threading soft strands over his fingers as Vlad keens like a cat into the touch, likely involuntary. “How observant.”

“I wanted to see it,” he admits, and Danny, too, is surprised by the change in him, how much more open he seems. “I thought I could have a hand in it. I see now you turned out fine.”

“You said it yourself,” Danny says, winding a strand of hair around his index finger, a loose curl. “We don’t have to be strangers.”

Vlad hums. “No. I suppose we don’t.”

Danny leans in to kiss him first this time, once again met with the task of gently guiding his inexperience as they tangle up together, legs and limbs. His chest is broad and strong, dwarfing Danny’s lither frame, and his legs even feel stronger, too, encaging his own. He kisses him as deep as he can, an apology, an admission, and Vlad responds in turn, learning with each pass how to have more grace, more purpose. By the end of it, they’ve almost found a matching rhythm, Danny breathing him in. Vlad pulls back, and without words, Danny knows there’s permission there, and as a test, reaches for the first button of Vlad’s shirt. It is silk. He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t even flinch.

Danny kisses down his chest through soft, curly gray hair, sensitive as he works it down button by button. Once he’s reached the bottom, he guides it over Vlad’s shoulders, tossing it on the floor once his arms are free.

“Careful with that,” Vlad chides. “It’s expensive.”

Danny rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

Now that he’s halfway there, Danny crawls over him and aligns his knees to cage Vlad’s hips, hands on either side of his shoulders as he leans down to kiss him again, Vlad’s eyes blown wide and bloodshot.

“I’ll take care of you,” Danny promises, the pain in his side nothing but a dull memory. “If you’ll let me.”

Vlad laughs, but Danny doesn’t miss how he shivers. “What a gentleman.”

“I’m serious,” Danny frowns.

Vlad softens, putting a hand to Danny’s waist again. “I know you are.”

Dany dips down into him to kiss along his neck, earning a hitched whine in return, cut-off in his throat but unmistakable. He runs a hand up Danny’s back, beneath his shirt, and Danny shivers at the feeling of his soft fingers dancing up his spine, breathing through a smile as he licks at a tendon on Vlad’s throat. He could bite down so easily, he’s never had him more vulnerable than he does now, but the part of him that wants to is so quiet that it’s nothing but a dull murmur as he brings his lips down soft again. Vlad guides him down until their hips are flushed together, and Danny can already feel a mutual stirring interest. Danny laughs in his ear, nothing more than air.

“You’re quick,” he remarks, pressing to his jawline and tracing it with his lips.

“I’m a virgin, Daniel,” Vlad reminds him, a delicate frown pinching up his face. “If you’re looking for this to last, you might be sorely disappointed.”

Danny shakes his head. “It’s okay,” he tells him, because it is. It’s been a long time for him, as well. “I’m already almost there, too.”

“Well, you have no excuse,” Vlad chides, though it sounds breathless, weak. Maybe this is why he always felt so confused after their fights, hearing him work for air stirring him in ways he couldn’t explain, but he gets it now. It makes him feel primal, predatory, but in a way that’s wholly new, not to maim but to take, claim. “At least I do.”

Danny shakes his head, ignoring a sharp twinge of pain in his side as he works his way further down Vlad’s chest, pressing his lips to the space between his pecs, right over his thundering heart. “You work me up,” Danny admits. “I kind of think you always have.”

He tests running his tongue over one of Vlad’s nipples and it earns him a jolt of his chest upwards, suddenly like a hit of electrical voltage as he shudders. Danny tries it again, and this time, Vlad can’t hold the whine back, but he melds it into his words, saying, “You’ve always… elicited something in me, as well.”

Danny just laughs at that, despite how it wrecks his side to do so wholly. There’s obvious strength to Vlad, only the slightest bit of softness with age, and Danny wants to moor himself to him, map his body out completely. Vlad seems to be doing the same to his back, running his hands up and down the expanse of it, tracing his vertebrae, and Danny leans down until they’re chest to chest, hands on his sides.

“Yeah?” Danny asks, switching his attention to the other side of Vlad’s chest, which appears no less sensitive from the sharp inhale he takes below him. “Why’s that?”

Vlad growls, low, and a hand flies to the back of Danny’s hair, grabbing him with less force than he expects by far and tilting his chin upwards to look at him. “Don’t you get it yet, badger?”

“I do,” Danny agrees, easily. “I just want to hear you say it.”

Vlad’s hand moves from his hair to his cheek, rubbing a thumb across the bone, absent. “We’re the same.”

“Yeah,” Danny confirms, wetting his lips. “We are.”

With a deep breath to manage the pain, Danny brings himself further down his body until he’s face to face with the waistband of Vlad’s pajama pants, soft and slippery beneath his eager fingers. Vlad’s own hand twists back in Danny’s hair, pulling ever so slightly, and he likes the chance for the pain to travel somewhere else, even if it’s just a gentle jolt. He smiles into it, catching Vlad’s expression. His chest drops at the sight of its reverence, almost pained still, but awed and expectant, like he’s convinced he’s in a dream. He gets the feeling, just a little through how surreal it is, but to Danny, he’s never been more awake and aware of the incongruity of what he’s doing and his desire for it in equal measure, something approaching clarity. He wants to bring Vlad there, too, take him to the edge of confusion and want and make him dance there with him.

So he starts pulling at the waistband, digging his fingers underneath the band of his briefs, too, a question on his brows that Vlad just nods to. There’s a soft trail of gray hair leading down here, too, and Danny shivers at the tickle against his knuckles as he works the fabric down Vlad’s narrow hips, freeing his already-hard dick to rest across the plane of his stomach. Something about it seems to overwhelm him, arm going to hide his eyes as he screws them shut, turning his head to the side. Danny runs his hands down Vlad’s thighs, trying to soothe him, but this just seems to work him up more, entire body trembling as he breathes in and out, an unsteady, deep rise and fall of his chest. He presses a kiss to the inside of his leg, and it earns him a cut-off moan, Vlad twitching into the touch. He’s never been with someone so sensitive, so open, and he could easily get drunk again off the feeling, the power that courses through him.

He discards his pants and briefs behind him near the shirt, ignoring Vlad’s faint scoff of protest, but before he can return to his duties, Vlad catches his shoulder and beckons him up, Danny rising to his knees.

“This isn’t quite fair,” Vlad assesses, beginning to work Danny’s shirt and sweater over his head, Vlad letting him with ease. “There.”

Vlad disposes of them with a bit more grace, setting them gently on the floor beside the bed before returning his hands to Danny’s torso, now bare and more sensitive himself. He shivers as Vlad maps his side, careful around the bandage, Danny lowering to return to what he was doing.

He stares down at him, a quandary on his lips he feels compelled to speak aloud in the face of Vlad’s expectant gaze. “I’ve never been with a man.”

“Sexuality crisis, now?” Vlad raises an eyebrow. “I thought we were past this.”

“No,” Danny denies, shaking his head. He figured out he was at least bisexual around the time they started having to change for gym class. “I just want to do this right.”

He knows the theoreticals, he’s seen enough porn and been on the internet long enough for that. Besides, sex is sex, and he knows the fundamentals. Either way, he’s in charge. He has to have confidence if nothing else, so he starts with what he knows, and presses a kiss to the sensitive skin inside of his thigh. That seems to work as well as anything, Vlad’s body giving a twitch underneath him, so he does it again, needling his teeth gently into the flesh as Vlad thrashes. Danny smiles into it, a bit more even.

“I have lubricant,” Vlad supplies, so far under his breath Danny can barely hear it over the rush of his ears. “In the bedside drawer.”

Danny nods, stomach flipping. “Hand it to me.”

Vlad finally removes the arm covering his face to fumble around in his nightstand drawer, producing a small, travel-sized bottle of plain lube, barely used from the looks of it. He tosses it over in Danny’s direction, and he fumbles to catch it, giving a wince of pain at the sharp motion.

“Are you alright?” Vlad asks, a hand on Danny’s head to steady him. “You need to be careful.”

“I’m fine,” Danny promises, though his side throbs to the contrary. It’ll have to wait, though. There’s more important matters to attend to. He presses his lips to Vlad’s other leg, now, just as sensitive. “Can I blow you first?”

Vlad just stares at him. “Eloquent as ever, Daniel.”

“I’m trying to establish consent,” Danny objects, starting to feel a bit out of his depth. “Jazz says it’s really important.”

After a pause, he breaks out into laughter, ringing and true, and it’s surprisingly melodic when it’s not faked. It’s so different from what he’s heard before that it’s striking. “She’s right,” he says, wiping a tear from his eye. “It’s very important. Yes. If that’s what the kids are calling it, you may.”

It’s not like he’s ever done this before, but he knows the idea. The vague shape of it, and most importantly to mind his teeth. He sets the bottle of lube aside for now on the sheets, and starts by licking an experimental strip up the length of him, not too thick but fairly long, and Vlad’s legs lock up with an inhale, arm back to covering his face as if he’s hiding. Danny is already resenting it. He’ll move it down yet, but he gets it, the way it speaks to his overwhelm. He licks again, then again, before finally wrapping his lips around the tip, careful to tuck his teeth behind his lips. He braces himself with a hand on either side of his thighs, trying to balance his weight on his good side as he works his way down slowly, something akin to a whine escaping Vlad’s lips above him.

Surprising to even himself, he’s able to take him down to almost the base before starting to gag, tears welling up in his eyes. The hand still in his hair winds in to hold him, digging into the strands, and Danny inhales and exhales deep through his nose the best he can, trying to catch his breath. Once he’s stable again, he tries to move his way up and down the shaft in something approximating a rhythm, until he hears Vlad wince above him.

“Teeth,” he reminds him, and Danny feels heat pool in his face as he readjusts himself, trying again. He gives a fluttering sigh into it, so he assumes that’s a better sign, Danny ignoring the burn in his throat and at the corner of his eyes as he takes him down as far as he can before pulling back up, Vlad guiding his head in time. It’s only a few more swipes before the hand tightens, and Vlad warns, “Careful. I want to last.”

Danny slides off of him with a gentle pop, wiping saliva at the corners of his lips. True enough, Vlad already looks wrecked, face flushed and a sheen of sweat on his forehead when he finally moves his hand to rub at his eyes, breathing deep. He leans back on his heels, reaching for the bottle of lube again. He can feel Vlad’s eyes on him, expectant, but it’s Danny that feels a bit sheepish as he dispenses some of the cool liquid onto his fingers, aware of the intimacy of what he’s about to do. He’s never done this with someone else before, either.

Still, he’s made a promise, so he guides coated fingers down, down towards his entrance, feeling the resistance of the muscle and clamming up. Every time he’s done this to himself, it’s been a bit painful, his body too tense, and he has no idea how it’ll feel on someone else, let alone someone who seems so wound up, so on edge.

Vlad seems to feel his hesitation, so he tugs on Danny’s hair and says, “It’s fine. Go ahead.”

Slowly, he inserts his index finger and immediately feels the tightness, the gasp that wrings through Vlad’s body, but he just shakes his head, free hand gripping into the sheets to finally allow Danny to see his face, flushed and pinched.

“Keep going,” he encourages, and Danny pushes in further past the contraction, thrumming around him. His dick twitches at the thought of being inside proper, so he presses another slowly up, taking count of every breath and aborted moan that escapes Vlad’s throat, the way his upper body thrashes back and forth on the sheets in contrast to the perfect stillness of his legs, still locked and tight. Carefully, he spreads his fingers, and Vlad shudders with his whole body, a moan he can’t kill ringing through the air. “Perfect. You’re doing so well.”

The praise immediately rushes to his groin, a flash of hot blood he was in no way expecting. It makes him even more conscious of every movement, sweating with concentration as he works him open the way he best intuits. He feels out of sorts, but Vlad seems to be responding, the hand in his scalp just on the edge of painful as he rocks into the motion, chasing sensation. When Danny feels it’s been an adequate amount of time, he tests a third, and Vlad breathes, “Danny.”

“I like it when you call me that,” Danny admits, pressing a kiss to the slight softness of his lower belly. “My name.”

Vlad’s hand stills. “Would you rather I always call you that?”

Danny doesn’t expect that line of questioning at all, so he takes a moment to consider it before deciding, “No. I just like it.”

He nods, serious. “Alright.”

With renewed purpose, Danny returns to spreading his fingers as much as he feels he can, working them up and down inside of him, just shy of where he knows he’d truly melt, cognizant of stamina. He feels hyper-aware, kaleidoscopic focus on every movement Vlad makes, every sound, every desperate pull of his hair and the covers, making sure his own movements are smooth and painless. Sooner than he expects, Vlad says, “That’s enough.”

Danny nods, removing his hand and steadying himself on the mattress before taking off his own pants, Vlad putting a hand on his good side to help in the process as he peels them off his legs. Vlad holds him through it, patiently, before Danny returns to the bottle of lube, pouring more out and coating his own dick, surprisingly sensitive to his own hands. He feels like he’s splitting in half as he crawls over him, but he hides a wince, lining himself up and checking Vlad’s face for permission he barely needs, but still feels the desire to chase. What he sees is something electrified, on the verge, and Danny will gladly put him over that edge.

He pushes inside with a clumsy thrust, Vlad helping to steady him with a hand on his neck as he chases the right angle, pushing Vlad’s knees up just a little to help. He’s pliant underneath him, but shaking with every motion, tense despite how easily he complies. “Danny,” he hitches again, and Danny braces himself to chase him deeper, bottoming out when he hears Vlad moan, faster than he can stop it, tears welling up in his eyes from the pressure. “Danny.”

They’re both too inexperienced for this to last long, Danny knows that. Vlad is Vlad, and he himself has only ever slept with one person, and rather infrequently. This is a whole other beast from even that—he’s never felt this hair-trigger, like he’s tied up in a live wire, intensely aware of each and every cell of his body, how turned on he is just from being inside him. How responsive Vlad is to him, like it’s doing the same. Slowly, he returns to himself and begins to move, rolling his hips once, twice, feeling Vlad move in turn and rocking into each thrust, uneven and just a bit awkward, but still better than anything Danny’s ever felt. Everything is startlingly real, technicolor.

He reaches for Vlad’s lips, and he meets him, kissing messily as Danny moves into him with a rhythmic slide of his hips, trying to find the deepest, most sensitive part again. When he does, Vlad’s entire body snaps into renewed tension, stiff as he whines, almost like it hurts, but before Danny can even voice his worry, he pants, “Keep going.”

It’s easy to do as told, rocking into him, sighing into his lips as both hands come to wrap around Danny’s neck, holding on tight. He finds it again, and again, drinking up each involuntary, raw sound ripped from Vlad’s throat with his own, and even in the heat of it all, Danny realizes this moment is about more than sex, or even all the conversations that led up to it. This is something he won’t be able to back away from, now that he knows what it’s like, the sheer intensity of it. It terrifies and excites him in equal measure, terrified that it’s him, strangely grateful that it is, caught up in the moment.

Beneath him, Vlad makes a vague sound of warning as he whispers, “Daniel.”

“I know,” Danny says, because he’s close, too, embarrassingly so, but they’re on the same page here. They seem to so often be. “It’s okay.”

When Danny arches his back, he screams from something other than pleasure, and he knows immediately Vlad can tell, but they’re both too close to the edge for it to matter right in the moment. Vlad comes untouched over his stomach and chest as Danny bottoms out inside him, his release hitting him like a wave with sharp undertow, pulling him back down to collapse on Vlad, kissing him for the sake of contact, his cheek, his nose, his lips. His side throbs in pain like it’s fresh, and he can’t stop the wave of hurt that courses across his face, and even as Vlad pants, coming down, his own scrunches in concern.

“It’s okay,” Danny says, even though he can feel it’s a lie. His full weight is on Vlad when he pulls out, slow and sticky, but he doesn’t seem to mind, his arms wrapped loosely, carefully around his waist, lower than the bandage. “I just got carried away.”

Vlad appraises him with a sigh. “It’s not,” he says, smoothing a hand down Danny’s back. “Here, let me help.”

Carefully, he turns Danny over on his good side, sneaking out from underneath him, and immediately Danny misses the contact. Vlad presses a reassuring hand to his shoulder before disappearing into the bathroom, returning a few moments later with a washcloth in his hands and a fresh bandage, setting it on the bedside table before turning to Danny again. He kneels beside Danny, pressing the washcloth quickly over his own skin before flipping it and attending to Danny, warm against him as he wipes down his legs, his chest, finds a fresh part for his hands. He discards the rag on the edge of a laundry basket before disappearing again to wash his hands, returning to the bandage.

“Stay laying on your side,” Vlad advises, crawling over to him across the mattress on his knees, bandage in hand. “I can change it this way.”

Danny does as told, nodding as Vlad tenderly undoes the hold on the wrap and pulls it the rest of the way loose, lowering it around Danny’s waist for the time being.

“You were so good to me,” Vlad says, low, and Danny shivers, whole-body, again. “Let me try and be good to you.”

Danny scoffs. “You have been, somehow.”

“Hmm,” Vlad hums, kissing his shoulder. “I’ll try to keep it up, then.”

Slowly, Vlad peels off the old bandage, Danny unsurprised to see a little bit of fresh blood on the other side. He hisses at the fresh air against it, but Vlad presses the new one to his skin gently with his full hand, not shying away at all from touching him to get the job done, this time. He guides the wrap back over the bandage and tightens it around Danny’s side with only a little bit of mauvering, sealing it up with a touch of his hand. Danny presses his back into him, and Vlad scoots closer until they’re flush together again, Vlad intertwining their hands.

“You’re quite the handful, badger,” Vlad murmurs in his ear, pressing their hands to Danny’s chest. “What will I do with you?”

“In the morning,” Danny dismisses, a sudden wave of exhaustion wracking his body. Vlad feels so warm against him. “Ask me then.”

Vlad chuckles, low. “Alright.”

 

He wakes up in the morning alone and panics until he hears the low drone of the radio and the clang of kitchen appliances again and his heart unclenches. It’s already daylight, so of course Vlad is up, the light filtering through slits in the window and onto the bed and Danny’s face, glittering sun. His body feels light, wrung out, and the pain in his side is prominent, but so is the buzz of energy throughout his fingertips, like he’s been washed anew.

It’s classical on the radio, this time, and Danny’s not surprised to find he likes that sort of thing, too. It’s easier to hear from the master. Still, he wastes little time swinging his feet out of bed and struggles to his feet, picking up his sweats from the floor and sliding them over his legs. He runs a hand through his hair, stiff with overnight sweat, but it’s the most he’s willing to put himself together before he pads to the door and into the house, towards the kitchen.

Vlad looks up from stirring another bowl of eggs at the sound of his footsteps, dressed down more casually in sweatpants of his own and a fitted t-shirt, handsome. His hair is back up, but Danny has confidence in his ability to pull it loose again, if he so desires.

And he decides he does, walking up to him and running a hand through it, gentle as he pulls the ribbon through the strands, sliding it around his own wrist. Vlad makes a face, but doesn’t protest.

“I ask you again,” Vlad says, setting his fork down and facing Danny with his whole body. “What am I going to do with you?”

Danny’s very aware of what day it is. “I don’t know,” he says, looking down. “Can I have a few more days to decide?”

Vlad’s features break into soft shock before folding into a smile, genuine, wrinkling his face with sincerity that Danny could easily get used to. “Of course, Danny.”

He leans down to kiss him, and Danny lets him, leaning up on his toes to meet in the middle. “Of course.”

The radio plays, and the world can wait.

Notes:

"And then you come here late tonight
You're down, you're so uptight
You want to talk it out
The chance is there"