Chapter Text
After all the bombs were dropped and Armand refused to give Daniel any type of justification for days on end, always diverting the subject and going out much earlier than usual - and now there's really no way for Daniel to wonder why that is - the only moments they actually saw each other were for breakfast and dinner. Of course, Daniel knew he himself had all the reasons to try running away, after all, if Louis isn't the reason he's up and running, being sheltered and handfed by a vampire cook, then what is?
A sane adult human wouldn't care for the answer over their well-being, but as Daniel's favorite Thompson quote reminds him, there are people 'too weird to live, too rare to die,' and he lives by that motto, except in this specific scenario, he wouldn't really bet on not dying.
This is supposed to be the day. He'd given Armand as much space as he possibly could after such an atomic revelation, so about two entire days. His headaches are progressively stronger, but the worst part is the itching of his neck scar, which, abnormally, seems to happen only when he's anxious. Which he currently is.
It's sunset on a Wednesday. Now, he doesn't even look back as he perceives it, the acknowledgment just as palpable to his senses as a light breeze feels in the middle of summer. He forces himself to care about his Rolling Stone magazine for a bit longer, expecting something, anything, but it's no use.
"Just gonna stand there?" He remarks, finally, to no response. Daniel turns around, hooks an arm on the sofa's backrest. Armand stands close to the cabinets.
Daniel's innate curiosity begs for him to press, to question, wrestle for answers, and his common sense pushes it all down, struggling, but managing for the time being. They stare at each other. Armand doesn't blink, and it feels like he's looking through Daniel, not at him. Then, he parts his lips.
"It's admirable, Daniel." Armand tilts his head slightly to the side. "You really are fighting your inquiring nature."
Daniel huffs, shaking his head.
"I'm not sure for how long, but yeah."
Armand preserves the silence that falls upon the living room once more. Then, he bites the inside of his cheek. Daniel waits.
"Louis broke up with me, a couple of months ago."
Daniel opens his mouth, confused, but closes it as Armand lifts one finger.
"Why, you might ask." Armand begins, dryly, looking towards the kitchen. "Why, after you give everything? Your body, your heart, and what's left of your soul-" He breathes in deeply, lowering his voice. "After you betray your own coven, plot behind their backs, watch your lover bathe in the blood of a family you once loved."
Armand slowly circles the couch, then plops himself on the opposite end. His eyes stay glued to what's left of a beautiful sunset, and the imperious coming of nightfall. The dead of day, pushing the last rays of light down the horizon.
"Why?" Armand keeps staring, lost, as if expecting answers from the twilight itself. "To leave, with his daughter. Go back to New Orleans. Go back to..." Daniel watches as Armand's eyes drown themselves in red. The vampire sheds tears, but doesn't make a noise.
"I do not have the answer to that, Daniel." He blinks, once, and more red lines streak down his cheeks.
"I... I'm sorry." Daniel plays with the book on his lap, nervously. "About everything, really. I was an asshole. Shouldn't have said what I said."
"Still. That's not all you want to know." The vampire observes, a solemn expression on his face.
"Well- yeah, I mean... if he wasn't the reason, then why are you...? Why do you keep helping me?"
"Helping?" Armand furrows his eyebrows slightly. "I don't see it that way." He wipes his wet face on the back of his hand. "It was a duty, assigned to me, and I don't dispose of my responsibilities that easily."
"...what?" Daniel murmurs, but then it clicks in his head. Armand's not helping him for any ulterior motive but the fact Daniel is his last, thin connection to the being he desperately loves and wishes to please. Daniel is his last devoted, loyal effort to Louis.
"Armand. You don't have to do this." He tries. "I know how hard it must be- I mean, I'm not an easy dude to have around." Daniel scratches his bite mark, chuckling humorlessly. "If... if every time you look at me, you remember something that fucks you up, then I'm probably not the best company-"
"And I am?" Armand looks at him. "Don't I remind you of horrific times?"
Daniel presses his lips together. What could it be, really? Yes, no? Maybe, but at least you don't torture me anymore and I'm getting used to having you around? The thing is, there's no right answer, Armand. Love is so fucking difficult, and complex, and all the insane things that keep us on the edge of life and death. I don't blame you for... holding on.
Armand keeps staring at Daniel. His hand fidgets on his lap.
I won't pretend I'm not pissed by what you did, but that's not what this is about. I know how it feels to be hurt, and I know damn well how it feels to hurt someone. We both do, right?
Daniel looks at his own hands.
Maybe we're not as different as I thought. I mean, you're a vampire, but you're an asshole too.
Armand scoffs. Then, Daniel hears it, as clear as day, inside his own head. 'Perhaps I am', Armand replies, and there's shivers all over his body. He chases the feeling away.
"I have talked to Ernest this afternoon. He recommended you take the pills I left on the bedside table."
With that, Armand stands, walking slowly towards the kitchen. It's good news, really good. Daniel was seriously going to blow his head off if he had to face another week of his brain stabbing itself. He takes the pills, has a delicious dinner, and Armand is right back at his French chef persona, which feels right. When he wakes up in the morning, rubbing his eyes and already desperate for a coffee, he realizes.
Daniel runs over to the kitchen table, and the stomping actually catches Armand's attention, who glances over his shoulder.
"Good morning, Daniel." He raises one eyebrow, as the reporter smiles uncontrollably.
"It works- the, the pills!" Daniel beams, then sits down. "Finally. That was such a pain in the ass."
"I thought your head was the problem." Armand's eyes focus back on the tiny tomatoes he was cutting.
"Ha-ha. Well, I'm feeling good, really good. Might go out, even."
Armand hums, presenting Daniel's plate and coffee in front of him.
"I'll take a rest for today. My energy is low. There's enough food in the fridge, I take it you can serve yourself?" Armand washes his hands and shakes them over the sink.
"Sure."
"Good." Is all the vampire replies, rubbing his humid hands on a cloth.
Daniel chews on the ricotta-based bruschetta and observes as Armand, shoulders hunched, enters his coffin and shuts it in one quick motion.
It's weird. If he thinks about it, the only time he remembers Armand actually entering the casket was back in his first night at the studio. When has he been sleeping? Has Armand been sleeping at all? He drinks his coffee, slightly troubled at the thought.
Maybe vampires don't need as much sleep, which would make sense, but Daniel also has a hunch Armand's not a common vampire. He's sure of it, even if he doesn't know how or why. His energy was always so different from Louis', more... threatening. Funny to think about while munching on breakfast he made.
Daniel does his best not to make noise after really deciding to go on a walk. He expected Armand to react differently to the suggestion, maybe try to stop him. It's a silly presumption, of course. He waves the thought away while doing the dishes, and again while picking some clothes.
The velvet casket looks like a dead cocoon, and there's no noise emanating from it. No snoring, no moving, and absolutely no breathing. He wonders if Armand sleeps with his hands intertwined on his chest, like a cadaver would. Daniel tries to picture him, peaceful, unconscious, but it's almost impossible. Those yellow eyes barely even blink when they talk. He bids Armand goodbye in the back of his mind and leaves the studio.
It's a lovely San Francisco morning - he never thought he'd say that - and the air entering his lungs, even if smoky, never felt better. Daniel feels like a kid waking up on Christmas morning, except it's nearly October, and his neatly wrapped gifts are the passed out drunks sleeping on the sidewalk and some very creative slurs shouted from car windows. Yes. This is life.
He remembers the last time he left. The bus stop, the beating. Today, he takes to walking up the street, passing by a playground, a few shops, one bookstore, and a cute cafe that picks his attention. Well, there's no such thing as 'enough coffee', he thinks, entering the place, which surprisingly, has a door chime. Old fashioned. The color palette is sophisticated, dark green walls and soft brown tones painting an earthy impression. The smell is absolutely delicious.
Daniel sits down by the window, just because - he was a nosy man, and loved to examine the people that'd walk by - and smiles politely when an elderly woman approaches, notepad in hand.
"Hello! How may I help you today?" She asks brightly. Strangely energetic, Daniel thinks.
"Uh... hi. Well, I haven't looked at the menu yet, but I guess- I don't know... maybe..."
"A coffee?" Daisy, her name tag reads, chimes in, an excited smile plastered on her face.
He curves his lips awkwardly, and confirms his order with a nod. As Daisy skips away to make it - he guesses, as she's the only person wearing the black apron uniform - Daniel cringes internally at the interaction. Is he just too out of practice? Maybe isolating with a vampire from day one after a coma wasn't the best type of social rehab. He feels like an outlander.
The sound of porcelain breaks his line of thought, as Daisy, the waitress, or barista, or both, sets the hot coffee in front of him in a dark grey mug. The aroma fills his nostrils invitingly, and Daisy winks before retreating to the counter. Alright, no, she's definitely the weird one. But who isn't nowadays? As he takes a sip, Daniel is delighted, but also annoyed.
How would Daisy feel, he wonders, if she knew an antisocial, heartbroken vampire makes coffee he can't even taste himself at least a dozen times better? So, Daniel was absurdly wrong for ever implying Armand to be a barista, and feels incredibly ignorant for it. That'd be too low a category - sorry, Daisy - he's just way above that. Daniel contemplates it, as he savors what is almost, but not quite what he'd now, apparently, come to expect of coffee. He knows it's unfair, comparison is the thief of joy, but it was inevitable. He's disgusted with how spoiled he's become.
Daniel raises his hand and takes some dollars out of his pocket. Yes, he never took them out of his drawer. No, he doesn't think Armand would mind it. Daisy rushes over, then stares at him, confused.
"What are you doing?" She asks, and Daniel looks around, tense.
"I'm... paying?" He tentatively replies.
"No, no! You shouldn't. It's on the house." Daisy smiles sweetly, waving the money away.
Okay, so in this new world, apparently, generosity is a real thing. Has he woken up in the nice twin version of San Francisco? Daniel shakes his head, speechless.
"It doesn't hurt to help someone, right?" She chuckles to herself, spinning on her toes and leaving a bewildered Daniel behind, like a mysterious fairy godmother who just taught the naive protagonist a lesson.
He doesn't dwell on it too much, afraid she could change her mind. It's not like it was expensive coffee, Daniel just appreciates keeping as much money as he can. The mere picture of him depending on Armand financially was unnerving. He hated the thought of tying his autonomy to another human, or a... well, anyone, actually.
Leaving the cafe, Daniel wanders around for a while more, extremely grateful to be free of his pain. He barely registers where he's going, just letting his feet take him wherever, as he stops in front of a park. There's not a lot of people, most folks probably working this time of day on a Thursday, and Daniel's not sure if he ventured too far, but he's content with how much he's been able to let go. It feels freeing. As he prepares to turn back, the solitary, wooden bench under the park trees catches his attention.
It's just a bench. Daniel has probably walked all of San Francisco already, and yet, something in him feels wrong - no, empty - when he gazes at it. He wonders why. Maybe it's the fact his dad used to take him to parks like these, sit him on benches just like that one whenever he went too far, beat Daniel or his mom too bad, to blurt some half-assed apology? No, he doesn't think so. Maybe because his last girlfriend - poor Alice, she actually loved him - broke up with him on a pretty similar park bench when he stood her up on their two-year anniversary dinner? He couldn't tell. As he dissects the thoughts and feelings, sweat starts pooling on his forehead, as the familiar start of a crisis threatens to crash.
Daniel turns, and concentrates on controlling his legs to stop himself from running down the street. He needs to get to the studio. His chest tightens as the first pang jabs him in the back of his brain, and Daniel grunts, gritting his teeth. Maybe the meds could only last a few hours, or maybe he overdid it with his wandering. Armand didn't even tell him how many pills are prescribed per day, but it was probably the latter. Daniel blinks rapidly, ignoring the thumping of his temples, the agonizing, unstoppable pain, slowly burning the entirety of his head. He marches by the cafe, the bookstore, some shops, the playground - it's close, he can't stop now - and finally reaches the entrance.
Going up the stairs is harder than ever, as he moans, holding a hand to his head, the other one supporting him on the wall. It's worse. It's way worse than usual, and he's sure it's on him for walking under the sun for almost a full hour. Another sting, right behind his eyes, so strong it's like needles probing his nerves. His vision goes blurry as he collapses to the ground, trying his best to keep breathing.
Right then, a gray-haired man gasps from the bottom of the stairs, rushing over to him. He asks questions, gesticulates, and his aged expression looks especially concerned behind the thin glasses. Daniel's lost any sense of direction, and as he tries to stand up again, his vision darkens, and he slumps uselessly back to the floor.
"Fuck. I'm going blind. I'm blind." He murmurs, shaken, and squeezes his eyes shut.
"No, you're not. It's okay, it's going to be okay. You're having a pretty rough migraine." The man's gravelly voice retorts, as he looks for something in his pockets. "Damn it, left my inhaler in the apartment."
"I d-don't have asthma." Daniel says, uncertain of why he's replying to this person.
"You don't, of course, but you are hyperventilating." He holds Daniel's wrist, checks his pulse, then does the same to his neck, pressing his fingers slightly below his jaw. "You need to breathe. Slowly. Breathe in... breathe out... breathe in..."
As the man instructs him, Daniel tries to follow, eyes closed, and the headache is still there, but at least he's breathing a bit better. He keeps doing it for a few minutes, until the air fills his lungs in a controlled rhythm.
"Alright, Daniel. You're okay. You're okay." He repeats.
Daniel reluctantly opens his eyes. His sight is better, even with the pain still heavily present. A burden he's still not sure how to deal with, the pressure coming from the inside out, as if about to explode his brain at any minute.
"How do... how do you know my name?" Daniel whispers, blinking rapidly and doing his best not to sound like he just learned the concept of words.
"How wouldn't I? Armand... speaks of you quite often, of course." The man responds as if it was obvious.
"Who- who are you?" Daniel asks, and the solicitous rescuer frowns at the question.
"Well, me? I'm Ernest, of course. My name isn't very common, I'm sure Armand has mentioned me before? Well, you wouldn't remember my face, of course." Ernest chuckles dryly, nodding randomly to his own words.
Daniel tries counting in his head the amount of times this man - well, Ernest - has said 'of course' in this conversation alone. Probably a bad habit, maybe nervousness, but what the fuck? What the fuck, that's Ernest! That's him, the guy that Armand has talked to during his coma! Finally, putting a face to the name. Right now, though, he doesn't think he'll do much with the information, as his mind spins in disarray.
He mumbles a tired 'thank you' as Ernest helps him to his feet and up the stairs. Ernest knows where they live, obviously. If he recognized Daniel, he probably even visited while he was unconscious. That is a weird thought he stores for later. He thanks Ernest- now a slightly defined wet slosh in his blurred vision - once more as he leaves, and pushes the studio door open. Daniel shrieks despite himself when he's greeted with what's unmistakably Armand, unmoving as a statue, right in front of him.
"Fuck!" His voice echoes in the empty hallway, reddening his face. "Fuck, you 'gotta stop doing that." Daniel grunts, wobbling inside.
Armand stays glued to his place, observing as Daniel comes in, closes the door, and tumbles sideways, clumsily holding himself up with both hands on the kitchen table, clearly too dizzy to try and get to the bed by himself. Daniel groans, opens his mouth to say something, but decides not to, dragging his feet away from the furniture just to fall on all fours right after. It's humiliating.
Daniel curses in his head, but still, the vampire says nothing, standing in that same place, just... looking. The journalist does his best not to be pissed off again, breathing in and out. He lifts one knee, shakes his head as his vision is filled with black spots again. That same sensation of floating and falling at the same time, washing away any hope of standing up for now. Daniel sighs audibly.
"Do you need-"
"Fucking God- yeah, I need help, Armand!" He interjects, angry and embarrassed for himself.
In no more than two seconds, the vampire kneels at his side, lifting him up in his arms, and if he didn't realize how easy it felt for Armand to do this when he was drunk, he sure does now. It's impossible not to shiver, intimidated by the imperceptible strength. Armand is not in a rush, taking careful steps as he walks into the living room, one, two, three steps down, passing by the brown leather sofa, small coffee table, wide windows to his right, then up: one, two, three steps into the bedroom. All the while, Daniel feels his head pulsing, aching, albeit not as unbearably. Daniel is set down, carefully, and has no mind to resist when Armand takes off his shoes.
"No shoes... on the... the bed, huh?" Daniel grumbles, his eyelids heavy, too heavy, closing despite his efforts. He thinks Armand replies, but words are incomprehensible at this point.
Daniel's not sleepy, not passing out, just extremely tired. Long minutes pass, maybe an hour? At some point, he knows Armand holds his head up, a firm hand on his nape, pill slipping through his lips. Water. He tries to ask what time it is, but his voice won't come out, and he's not sure the sentence is clear even inside his head.
More time passes. Moving his eyes side to side under his eyelids doesn't hurt anymore. Daniel tries his eyebrows, just to make sure, and they feel sore, but it's a different, tolerable kind of ache. He forcibly exhales, exhausted, licking his dry lips, and his hand shudders as a sudden voice intrudes his mind.
'Don't be frightened.' Is all Armand says.
The reporter has a hunch on what that means, slowly opening his eyes, adjusting to the light - good, it wasn't nighttime yet - and tries not to halt at the figure standing right by his feet. Daniel calculates if Armand even slept today, and if so, did it even count?
'You left at nine hours and twenty-three minutes, and I rested until you came back at ten hours and fifteen', Armand explains, and Daniel wonders if he's using his freaky telepathic abilities to stop Daniel from talking unnecessarily. That, too, is answered with a nod from the vampire on the foot of his bed. Freaky.
"Would you like me to leave?" Armand asks, that stone cold expression worn every other day.
"Uh..." Daniel clears his throat, and Armand points to the left with his chin. Daniel follows with his eyes, and reaches for the glass of water.
Armand waits patiently, hands behind his back - Daniel hates it when he does that, he's not a servant - while Daniel drowns his raspy throat with the fresh, much welcome water. He takes a minute to breathe, recompose his senses.
"You don't have to go." Daniel's voice is hoarse, lower than usual. "But you should, you know... you didn't even sleep."
He watches the vampire tilt his head, puzzled. The motion is certainly engraved in him, so much Daniel doesn't feel like pointing it out.
"I don't understand. I slept from nine hours and twenty-three minutes to-"
"Okay, that's not even an hour. I haven't seen you rest in, like... days."
The vampire hums shortly, lost in thought, eyes fixed on the ground. Daniel's too worn out to press. He waits.
"My needs aren't the priority." Armand concludes.
Fuck. Daniel didn't expect this answer, at all. Of course, he knew from when Louis ordered him to stop, there was some kind of... willingness, on Armand's part, to obey. But this? What the fuck had Louis said that got Armand neglecting his basic - he'd guess, even for vampires - physiological necessities? He sighs, pinching between his eyes.
"I know you made a promise..." He starts, carefully. "But I don't feel... okay, with this."
It's weird to communicate like this. Something Daniel didn't do with his parents, or his girlfriends, and yet, he tries, determined to find the correct words and convince the vampire to get some fucking sleep. He continues.
"You should rest. I'll be okay." And even if it comes out strained like a bad zombie voice-over, it's true. The pain is mostly gone now. It'll be fine.
Silence stretches in the air, and Daniel does his best to look okay, throwing the blanket away from his body and sitting upwards. He can handle it. There's so much food in the fridge Armand could hibernate for a month and he'd be red and plump by the time he woke up. He eyes the pill bottle - not a miracle, but very good relief if he wasn't a fucking dumbass - and realizes Armand is looking too.
"One per day." Armand declares, now looking at Daniel with those yellow, mustard eyes. The vampire raises one eyebrow at the adjective, but doesn't comment. "Two if it gets worse."
With that, he turns his back, stepping down towards the living room. Oh, so, right now, Daniel thinks. Okay.
"Goodnight, Armand."
"It's daytime." He replies vaguely, and shuts his coffin.