A Vein Attempt at Romance

So Frank stayed.

He had a room prepared adjoining Gerard's - there had always been a room for a valet, but Gerard had never had use for it. He'd always thought it was rather small, but Frank was thrilled and said he adored the "quaint feeling" of it. Everybody gave Frank gifts for his "move" into the house - a Spanish guitar from Mikey, a pile of dusty books carefully selected by James, a book of pressed flowers and poems from Julia, a potted oregano plant from Ray, permission to access the stables from Bob, a suit from Brian, a large selection of pastries from Jamia, and a puppy from Gerard.

Yes, a puppy. Frank had squealed when he'd seen it - a fat black and white French Bulldog puppy who was still figuring out how to use its legs. He'd thanked Gerard profusely while giving the dog (whom he named Mary after his favorite writer, Mary Shelley) copious belly rubs.

And then things fell into a sort of routine. Frank woke Gerard up in the morning and helped him dress, which was strange at first and then...less so. It became more comfortable, and more normal, and Gerard didn't even shirk away anymore when Frank drew him a bath or helped him button his waistcoat correctly. Gerard let Mary roam around wherever she wanted, and once she even got into Gerard's room while he was asleep and curled up on his bed. Frank was horrified when he found her the next morning and apologized endlessly, but Gerard just shrugged and said it was fine and patted Mary on her furry little head.

After that, Frank worried less and learned more of Gerard's strange habits and traits. For the head of the house, he was awfully forgetful, though very very smart in a completely unconventional way. Kind of an idealist, Frank supposed. And he drew a lot, not to impress or even to improve, but just so he could empty his brain. Frank found the little drawings everywhere - ships and birds and dragons and maidens and knights and maiden knights and beautiful girls with hair to their knees and beautiful boys who sprawled out in apple orchards and horses with gleaming horns. Once, Frank even thought he saw a sketch of his own face, but it was so messy that he couldn't quite tell. He didn't know exactly how he felt about that, or about Gerard. But he knew that the feeling was good.

They went to the beach once Frank's scars were fully healed, and Frank straightaway leaped off the dock and into the waves. Gerard laughed and laughed when Jamia threatened to dive in after him if he didn't get his butt out that instant. Frank obeyed, and Jamia huffed at him, holding her petticoats.

The first few times that Lady Lindsey came to visit, Frank tried to avoid her. He knew it was silly and wrong, but he always got an uncomfortable twist in his belly when he looked at her and Gerard sitting so close together, speaking like conspiring spies. She was very beautiful, with black hair tied back in twists of rubies and pearls, and eyes so dark they could be black, too. Her lips were always ruby red, and sometimes Frank wondered if Gerard spent a lot of time thinking about her lips. And then he would kick himself and try to focus on other safer subjects. He was just the valet, after all. He had no claim to Gerard, and certainly hadn’t known him for very long – just a few months.

There was something strange about the Ways, though, that Frank couldn't quite put his finger on. Neither of them ate much, and they were both as pale as the dead, with permanent dark circles under their eyes (although he could understand that bit – both brothers suffered from terrible insomnia). They didn't go out much, except at night, when Gerard said he and Mikey frequented gentlemen's clubs. But they always took a special carriage and Frank, nor anyone except the carriage driver, was allowed to come with them.
Which Frank could understand, except...there was something different about them when they came back. They were both...well, they seemed more alive than ever. They always had more color in their skin, more gleam to their smiles, more spring to their step. Almost unnaturally so. And it was very, very strange.

Winter was fast approaching - Frank's birthday had passed with much frivolity, and Gerard had even given him a horse...which Frank wasn't sure was entirely appropriate, for a lord to give a valet such a gift, but he accepted it nonetheless. The horse was a beautiful chestnut warmblood, and Frank named him October. Maybe not the most creative name, but oh well. He didn't really get a chance to ride October, though, because as the chill came, so did his sickly nature. He panicked when he first felt the tickle in his throat, and tried as best he could to play it off as a cold. Gerard was concerned at first, but was so easily distracted that it was simple to disillusion him into thinking that Frank was alright.

One night in November, Frank was cleaning Gerard's quarters when he heard Gerard and Mikey start to come into the room, their voices low. They were returning from their evening exploits, no doubt. Frank knew he shouldn't, but curiosity won out, and he ducked behind a corner and listened.

"We have to be more careful," Gerard murmured.

Mikey sounded annoyed. "Gerard, you should just tell him; explain it to him. He'll understand just like the rest of the servants did. If he finds out on his own, he'll come to his own conclusions and-"

Gerard sighed. "I know, Mikey. I just... I'm so afraid. What if, for some reason, he doesn't understand? What if he hates us and sees us as monsters or something? I mean...we hurt people, but...they don't remember it, and we never kill them. And we have to do it to survive."

Frank's stomach turned. What the hell was he talking about? Suddenly, he felt a cough rising up in his throat. Desperately, he pushed it back down, but the next cough was too strong, and the noise echoed loudly through Gerard's quarters. The hushed voices stopped.

"Frank?" Gerard called. "Is that you?"

Frank hesitated and then shook his head. It was just Gerard and Mikey - they weren't dangerous. They wouldn't hurt him. He stepped out from behind his corner - and stared.

The Way brothers stood there, but they wore clothes flecked with blood, and their lips were a rusty red. A single drop of blood dripped from Gerard's mouth and Frank thought he might be sick. And then Gerard opened his mouth and Frank covered his own mouth in horror - his normally small and white teeth were ruined by four sharp, curved, stained canines that looked very capable of ripping into flesh. In fact, Frank was pretty damn sure that they’d already done just that.

"Frank-" Gerard started, but Frank was already running, stumbling and gasping for breath but running for his life just like he had months ago.

"Don't let him get away!" Mikey shouted, and Frank's heart stuttered with fear - they were monsters. What other explanation was there? They were vampires; bloodsucking creatures of the night that Frank had thought only existed in Bram Stoker's novels. The Way brothers were monsters and they were probably going to kill him.

He'd managed to get down the grand staircase when he was grabbed from behind by a pair of strong arms. Frank let out a broken sob and struggled to free himself. "Please, let me go," he gasped.

Gerard spoke close to his ear and Frank shivered. "Frank, please listen to me. We're not going to hurt you. We don't kill people - we have to drink blood to survive and I'm sorry we didn't tell you sooner, we just didn't know how to tell you."

Frank was shaking with barely concealed coughs and sobs. "Is this why you saved me? So you could kill me now? And no one would know because I'm a nobody and you could lock me up and drink my blood until I died? Is that it?"

"Frank, no," Gerard said, soft and horrified. “I would never –”

A terrible thought occurred to Frank. "Did you drink my blood the night you found me? Did you?!"

"No!" Gerard cried. Frank wanted so badly to believe him. He wanted so badly to believe that the Gerard he'd thought he'd known was the real one. But the sickness muddled his mind and twisted his thoughts and words.

"How could you resist?" Frank shot back flatly. "You said I was covered in blood. Don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying!" Gerard snapped, and a bolt of fear went through Frank. Gerard was no longer defensive - now, he was angry. "Why won't you believe me? Why don't you trust me? I thought –"

Frank almost laughed. "Really? You really wanna have that conversation?" Oh god, he was so dead.

Gerard's arms tightened around his ribs and Frank let out a pained gasp. "I don't want to hurt you. I just want you to listen, Frank, please. We don't kill people, they don't even remember that we drank from them. We have to do it to survive. Trust me, I don't like it either."

Frank paused. Then he said something truly stupid. "I bet you and Mikey killed your own parents, didn't you?"

That was the wrong thing to say.

Gerard snarled and Frank was yanked into the air, feet dangling as he was spun around and pinned to the wall, Gerard holding him up by a hand on his throat. Frank gargled weakly and stared at the sharp canines and the fury in Gerard's eyes. This was it - he was going to die.

"Don't you ever say that. Ever. We had nothing to do with their death." There was genuine pain in Gerard's voice. He was so close that Frank could smell the blood on his lips. Gerard kept leaning closer, and closer, and Frank shouted, kicking out and falling in a heap on the floor when Gerard let him go. Frank skidded on the wooden floor and was headed for the door when Gerard grabbed him from behind again, nails sharp against his sides.

"Frank," Gerard said, half pleading and half warning, and then one of his nails brushed against Frank's scars and it all came back like a wave - the man with the knife carving into him, licking his blood off his fingers, giggling as he worked...and the pain, so painful that he didn't even have the strength to scream. But he had strength now - a little, anyway - and he screamed as loudly as he could.

"No!" he cried, twisting, his mind confusing and dizzying, replacing the nails with a sharp knife, replacing Gerard with the masked man. "Let me go, please, I'll do anything, I'll give you anything, I just don't want to die, not yet, not yet," he sobbed, tears falling down his face, and then Gerard let go and Frank stumbled across the floor and to the door, into the cold rain, his lungs burning and his throat aflame and his breaths coming shallow and fast. It was just like before, although instead of blood there was rain, and the pain in his chest felt like a thousand knives, and he collapsed only a few feet away from the front steps, tumbling into the dead flowerbed, coughing and gasping until he felt light all over and he heard Gerard's voice somewhere far, far away.

xxx

Gerard and Mikey found Frank unconscious in the pouring rain, his skin cold and his lungs rasping for air. Gerard smelled the sickness on him and sucked in a breath - this was all his fault. He shouldn't have reacted the way he had...he shouldn't have almost hurt Frank. And he knew from the way Frank had fought so hard and then gone limp, his screams laced with pure desperation...he knew Frank had been thinking of the night he'd had a run in with the Ripper.

Gerard carried Frank to a new room - farther away from his, because he didn't think Frank would want to be anywhere near him. Gerard didn't blame him. It was so like that first night - Frank's frail body nestled in the piles of sheets and pillows, except this time there was no blood, just his shaky breaths and the reek of disease.

"Get washed up, Gee," Mikey said quietly. "I'll call for the doctor and have Ray look at him in the meantime."

Gerard nodded numbly. Frank had said he was always the sickliest. Gerard just hoped that he was always the toughest, too.

xxx

Days passed. The doctor came and went often, prescribing mostly rest and cold compresses to ease the fever which set in on the third day. Frank was asleep most of the time, but when he did come to he was confused and mumbled things that didn't make sense. His eyes looked dull and fogged over and Gerard hoped that wasn't some kind of foreshadowing.

Frank had fever dreams, too, and he would thrash and cry out, sometimes waking up briefly, sometimes falling back into deeper sleep. Gerard didn't move from the chair at his bedside. Mikey told him he needed to eat, but they both knew that wasn't really true. Gerard would be alright for three weeks at most, though that was pushing it. Still, Gerard had very good control. Usually.

So he didn't feed and he didn't sleep much, instead he just sat there and thought about a lot of things. He thought about what he would do when Frank woke up. He thought about what he would do if Frank didn't wake up. He thought about what Frank had said about his parents. Their death had been a freak accident - a carriage collision. That's what everyone told the orphaned brothers, anyway. Gerard didn't believe it. So he thought. About things.

In the second week, Frank started sweating bullets. He was burning up hotter than before and the compresses were not helping. Mikey convinced Gerard that it would help to try to cool Frank's body down by lying next to him. Gerard reluctantly did so - Frank's skin really was hot, burning like embers. So Gerard wrapped himself around him, and was startled when Frank moved into the circle of his arms, making small sounds. His muscles lost their tension and he slumped against Gerard's chest bonelessly, his breathing more steady and even than before.

"See?" Mikey said, eyebrow raised. "What did I tell you?"

Gerard grumbled and stroked a cool palm against Frank's sweaty shoulder. "What if he wakes up? He'll probably try to kill me."

Mikey laughed humourlessly. "We both know it's not that easy to kill a vampire. I'd be impressed if he actually did."

Gerard curled tighter around Frank and tried not to think about being beheaded or burned or staked. Frank made a sleepy sound and fisted his hands into Gerard's white shirt. Mikey smirked. Gerard glared. Frank slept.