Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Louis hated Dubai. He hated the whole city. He hated the Burj Kalifa, he hated the night markets, he hated the endless stretches of sand beyond it. But most of all, he hated his house. He hated the clean lines and minimalist decor. He hated the books on the shelves he couldn’t reach and his closet full of soulless black and grey clothing. He tried hard not to hate everything around him so much, after all, it wasn’t the city’s fault.

The dislike of the city persisted, nevertheless, and is why he had run off to any place he could get a new gallery open in. This week it was New York. It wasn't that he hadn't tried to reclaim Dubai from Armand. He tried to redecorate a little in an effort not to hate his surroundings so much. He finally put up Paul’s portrait and Claudia’s yellow dress that had been sitting in storage for years, too painful to be looked at until now. It helped, but only a little bit.

What helped the most was the music he pumped through his home at all hours of the night. Everything from jazz to R&B to classical music. The selections he paid the most attention to was the latest album from The Vampire Lestat. It had been a moment of sheer weakness that he added it to his playlist, but he found he couldn't regret adding it. He had been meeting up with Lestat off and on since their reunion two years ago. Their meetings were always a little too short. Louis never bothered spending the night after their meetups. He knew himself too well. If he allowed himself to spend time with him, it would be all too easy to fall back into the black hole that was Lestat De Lioncourt. That if Louis spent the night stroking his hair and cheek or talking to each other about what they had been enjoying lately, they would come right back to where they started. Either AT each other’s throats or down each other's throats. Neither thing was what Louis thought he needed at the time.

The problem was that being ‘companion enough for himself’ had been incredibly dull so far. All he had to talk to was himself, and that ranged from mind-numbingly boring to frightening during the nights he lay awake by himself and tried to unbury more and more of the memories Armand had locked away inside him for years.

So there he was, in a hotel suite in Brooklyn, trying and failing to read a book and not think about Lestat. He could say all he wanted that he was in New York for a gallery opening and not because the Vampire Lestat had a string of concerts throughout the month. The only person there to believe him was himself, and he had done a pretty terrible job at it so far.
Louis had absentmindedly turned the page again when his phone began to buzz. Picking up, his stomach clenched as Les appeared on his lockscreen. Taking a deep breath, he answered.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Louis?” A feminine voice answered.

Louis paused for a second. “This is”

“Hi, um, it’s Marianne.”

Louis looked quickly to the left, trying to remember the name and coming up embarrassingly short.

“Tough Cookie.” The girl said quickly.

“Oh!” Louis gasped, relieved. “Sorry, Tough, I should have recognized your voice.”

“It’s alright,” she interjected quickly. “Well, this is kind of strange to ask, I know we’ve only met the one time and I know this isn’t your job or responsibility or anything-,”

“Why do you have Lestat’s phone?” He interrupted, putting her awkward apology behind them.

“That’s what I’m calling about.” She paused again to take a breath. “I think you should come over. I-I don’t know all the answers. He left it with me at the after-party tonight. He…didn’t seem all there. And I don’t mean like strung out or anything, it was like he was sleepwalking. He’s been that way almost all night. Ever since he saw you in the crowd.”

“Tough, I wasn’t there tonight. I mean, I’m in New York for an exhibit, but I wasn’t at your show. I planned to catch the next one in two days from now.” Louis pursed his lips anxiously.

“That’s what I mean!” Tough Cookie said urgently. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you two. But I know you’re at least on speaking terms right now, and Les… He…he’s in really rough shape. He needs someone. He needs you.”

Louis shut his eyes at that. “I don’t know,” he sighed. “I feel like every time we go through this, we end up either more co-dependent than before or at each other's throats. This is supposed to be a time for growing, healing.”

“Louis.” Tough Cookie said sternly. “You’re not listening to me. Something is really, really wrong.”

Louis' stomach sank. 

“Les has always been a little manic or a little depressed, but this is not normal even for him.” Tough Cookie continued.
“I heard him in his dressing room throwing up before our show. I don’t know a ton about vampire physiology, but I know he didn’t just get the stomach flu. During a set break, after he thought he saw you-it was bad. He locked himself in a supply closet. It took all of us to beg him to get back on stage for the encore. He isn’t like that. He’s never like that. Last month, during our London show, I watched him accidentally cut himself all the way up the wrist on that stupid Excalibur prop he insisted on using. His face was white. He could barely walk in a straight line because of the blood loss, and he still did the encore.”

Louis' worry grew more and more during Tough Cookies' rambling. A cut to the wrist, even a long vertical one, shouldn’t affect a vampire that much, at least, not a healthy one. Louis' chest tightened uncomfortably, imagining that. Lestat, white faced and bloody, stumbling up on stage to sing for a bunch of rabid fans. He probably sang as well as he could before shuffling backstage and draining the first source of blood he could see to get his strength back. That was, if he had even been eating at all.

Louis remembered how wretched he had been when Louis came back to New Orleans. How he had been a husk of the man Louis remembered him as. Filthy, ragged, nearly unreachable because of the starving madness. How Louis had to coax and beg, only to be able to wheedle a few mouthfuls of blood into him per night. Every sip had been a fight. Les seemed to have little to no interest in the basic needs of his body, instead preferring to sleep with his head on Louis' chest and arms wrapped around his middle or watching Louis with his piercing blue eyes as Louis spoke to him or did menial tasks around the hotel room.

That whole week had been hell. Louis had imagined their reunion since the news had broken to him in Dubai. He imagined it as another one similar to their one following their six years of separation in New Orleans. He imagined it violent, and desperate, and filled with the anticipation of having each other back. He hadn’t been expecting what it had turned out to be.

For a solid week all he was able to do was lay in bed with him, trying his best to keep his starved body warm. It had been work to make sure he was breathing steadily as he slept. Les has screamed bloody murder almost every night. Thrashing and shouting so much that all Louis could do was hold him in his lap to keep him from hurting himself in his sleep and try to wake him. When Lestat woke from the nightmares, he cried and shook so much that Louis could only hold him tighter and try desperately not to let Lestat see him cry along with him. Louis didn’t know how agonizing it could be to watch that, to try and fix that.

Louis stood up with resolve and began tying the laces on the boots he had left at the hotel suite door as he jumped back into the conversation.
“Ok, Tough, I’m headed over, but I’m going to ask you some questions and I need you to answer as best you can.”

“Ok,” she said, sighing in relief.

“To your knowledge, has he been eating enough?”

“No, not really, I mean, I guess I don’t really know the warning signs for vampire malnutrition.”

“Has he been more tired? Has he seemed sick or looked pale? Have you seen him drink from any blood bags or people, or anything?”

“No, Louis, I don’t think he’s been eating well. He hasn’t shown up to choreo rehearsal for a few shows in a row. He’s been more tired and just…out of it. Come to think of it, I don't even remember watching him drink at all the last few weeks.”

“Ok,” Louis said stiffly, running a hand over the top of his hair.

“TC, why did he give you his phone?”

“He was only at the after-party for a few minutes. We all told him he should get some rest after how hard that show was on him, and he seemed to agree. But he seemed really, really off. He wasn’t making a ton of sense. He kept mumbling to someone or himself. Kept calling someone the “prince of death,” whatever that means.” Tough Cookie's voice tightened with more and more distress, continuing with her recap of the night.

“He gave me his phone before he left, “just in case", gave me the password too. Said everything we needed to know was on here and that he “might not be needing it very much soon”.

Jesus, no wonder she had sounded so worried when she called. Louis began to rush faster.

“ TC, I need you to give me his hotel room number right now. I’m going over to check on him as we speak.”

“Room 467,” she said, relief pouring out of her voice. “I’m sorry,” she continued. “I didn’t know who else to talk to. Me Alex, Christine, we’ve all tried talking with him. I don’t know what’s going on with him. I didn’t know what else to do. If there’s anyone that can help, it’s you, Louis.”

“Thank you for calling, I mean it. Thank you. I’m almost at the hotel now. I’m going to help. I promise.”

“Thank you, Louis.”

“Tough I’m almost there. I have one more really important question. To your knowledge, does this seem like just a bad stint of self-destructive behavior? Or do you think it’s something more. Has he mentioned wanting to hurt himself or anything along those lines?”

“I don’t know Louis.” She answered softly, her voice thin with worry. “I just don’t know. Every time we try to talk with him, well, you know how it is. He just insists he’s fine and there’s nothing to worry about. If he is planning… anything. He’s keeping really quiet about it.”

The phone went silent on both ends for a few seconds as Louis continued his vampiric rush to Lestat’s hotel.

“I’m sorry, Louis.” She followed up. “Really, I am. I know this isn’t your job. I know you don’t have to help, but we’re really really worried about him. I'm really really worried about him. I want to help, but I don’t know what to do. He won’t talk to any of us.”

“Tough, I want you to promise me in the future that if he gets like this again, you give me a call, ok?”

“Ok,” she whispered.

“I’m at his hotel now. Let me give you my cell really quick.”

“Ok,” she repeated softly. “Louis..keep him safe, alright. Please? Keep him safe, especially from himself.”
“I will TC. I will." Behind the phone call, Louis brushed his hand over his eyes and forehead, trying hard to keep calm.

…..

Lestat's door was almost definitely locked. Louis tried the handle anyway.

“Les? Les, it’s me, please let me in.” He stopped jiggling the handle and started knocking. “Les, come on. You’re scaring people.” He said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “I’m giving you five more seconds to open the door on your own, and if you don’t, I’m coming in.” He said as loudly as he could without shouting.

Louis paced in front of the door, trying to keep his breathing in check.
One Mississippi,
Two Mississippi,
Three Mississippi,
Four Mississippi,
Five Mississippi.

“Lestat? I’m coming in ok”. Louis focused his mind gift on the simple hotel key card lock; it clicked after a second, and the door swung open.

“Les? Les, it’s Louis,” Louis called out.

All the lights were off, leaving only the street lamps from the undrawn curtains as the only light in the room.

“Les?” Louis asked again, continuing through the first part of the suite containing a small sitting room and kitchenette.

Maybe he’s asleep already. His brain supplied, trying its best to keep calm. He’s just run down because of the tour, and he came home early to get some sleep. He’s never been at his best when he’s tired. He’s always been a little fussy. Even as the brain said it, Louis knew it was a comfortable lie.

He continued on his walk through the hotel suite into the attached bedroom

“Lestat?” He opened the door as softly as he could, not wanting to scare him if he was really asleep in bed already.

Of course, the bedroom was empty. The sheets hadn’t even been turned down for the day. No one had slept here. Louis's breath caught in his chest as his anxiety mounted.

I gotta find him.
I gotta find him.
Oh God, I gotta find him.

“Keep him safe, especially from himself,” Tough Cookies voice played over in his head.

It was then Louis noticed the sliver of light from under the bathroom door.

Chapter Text

Louis braced himself as he tried the bathroom door handle. Luckily, it was unlocked. He pushed a little harder, and the door quietly swung open. Louis took a deep breath before stepping inside. 

“Les?” He whispered into the dim lighting. His hands began to shake. 

He cried out as he registered what he was seeing. 

There was blood everywhere. On the floor, the sink, the shower curtain, every towel was speckled with it. Worst of all was Lestat’s pale body lying motionless in the suite’s bathtub. 

“Les, Oh God, Lestat.” Louis gasped as he rushed forward. He dropped to his knees beside the bloody bathtub. The cooling blood was thick and syrupy as it slowly seeped into the knees of his trousers. Louis’s hands trembled badly. He lifted them to grab Lestat by the shoulders before faltering. He couldn't risk hurting him more than he already was. He could hear his husband’s heartbeat, a surefire sign that at least Lestat was alive, at least he was breathing. Unlike another terrible night that Louis revisited again and again in his dreams. 

He grabbed him by the shoulders as gently as he could. “Lestat.” He said firmly. “Les, wake up. Wake up and look at me.” 

Louis made a keening sound in his throat and almost retched. Fear and pain, and desperation crawled up his throat along with the blood bags he had consumed for dinner that night. There was a deep horizontal cut along Lestat's throat. Right over the same scar Louis had given him years ago. 

Louis put his hand behind Lestat’s head to keep it from lolling to the side and exposing the cut more. The steady stream of ohgodohgodohgodmybabymybabymybaby repeatedly pounded in his head until there were no other thoughts. 

With his nails, he slashed open the palm that wasn’t cradling his husband’s head. Clenching his fist until his knuckles were white, he began to drip his own blood on the cut. It made a soft sizzling sound and slowly began to close. Once it wasn’t sluggishly bleeding all of Lestat’s life force, Louis moved on to checking over the rest of him. 

Lestat was in a bad way. There were other cuts all along his body. Down the hollow of his chest, down both wrists and palms, across his taught stomach. His skin was alabaster white and freezing cold despite the warm bath water he was still in. Louis felt himself getting lightheaded as he saw Lestat’s chest wound. A chip of white was visible against his skin.

Bone. He had cut down to the bone. He had to take a moment after that to breathe and make sure he wasn’t going to pass out at the thought of Lestat going so far he reached bone.

Once Louis had moved on to Lestat’s legs, he was relieved to find there weren't any more cuts. He did, however, find the culprit of his husband’s pain, a long, white handled butchers' knife in the misty pink water that had settled near the drain. Louis plucked it out of the water and threw it as hard as he could into the tiled shower. He tried his hardest not to cry, knowing he would need all the blood he could spare to heal Les and also keep himself upright. As quickly as he could, he sent a message to a member of his staff who had traveled with him for the gallery opening, requesting a case of blood bags to be delivered to Lestat’s hotel suite. He could barely hold the phone in his trembling hands. When he was done, he dimly noticed how unpleasantly cold they were now that they were out of the warm bath water his husband had been submerged in. 

“Les, Les honey.” He began, once again cradling Lestat’s cold face. “Les baby, you gotta talk to me. You gotta open your eyes now, honey, and talk to me.”

The worst of Lestat’s bleeding had stopped, but the amount he had lost was dire. Quickly,  Louis made an impulsive decision. He took his thumb and swiped it across some blood that had pooled into Lesat’s collarbone. He stuck it in his mouth and tried to focus on the taste. He tasted just like he remembered, rich and sweet, like red wine and green grapes right off the vine. Under the notes of sweetness, all he could taste was the remnant of some cheap vodka and whiskey that whoever he had drunk from had been on. No drugs whatsoever. There goes that theory. He didn’t know which was worse. Either that Lestat locked himself in the bathroom with a butcher knife, so high that he didn't know what he was doing with himself, or worse, that he did the same completely sober. 

Louis pushed the back of his hand against his mouth as he began to hyperventilate. He sucked in a breath quickly, trying to regulate himself and failing miserably. With tears burning in his eyes once again, he pulled the plug of the bathtub and let all the red water drain out. When it had finished, Lestat’s body lay limply against the porcelain like a corpse, still covered with a smattering of healing gashes. Louis stumbled to his feet and pushed the shower curtain aside. With his hands wrapped around his stomach, he began to retch into the shower as all his dinner came back up. It burned in his throat. Once he was done, he wiped his mouth with his hand and rinsed off in the bathroom sink, making sure to wash out his mouth. 

He stumbled once again to Lestat's side and replaced the drain. Turning the faucet handle, he tested the water with his fingers, making sure the water was hot enough to keep Lestat warm. After the water had been drained the first time, Lestat had begun to tremble violently from all the blood he lost. Louis spared as much of his own blood as he could to heal him and went further making things worse by throwing up all the blood in his system. Already, he was beginning to feel dizzy and achy himself. 

Louis let the bathtub fill as he trembled against Lestat’s side once again. Snaking his arm around his husband's head, he wrapped the other around Lestat’s frozen, shaking chest. Dropping his aching head against his estranged partner’s shoulder, Louis shut his burning eyes and prayed the blood delivery would come quickly. 

The hot water was almost to Lestat’s injured chest when he heard knocking at the suite’s door. He rose shakily and joined his staff member at the door. Thanking the boy profusely, he pushed several bills into his hands and shut the door, eager to get back to his husband's side. He crashed to his knees once again and turned the faucet to the left to shut the water off. No matter how hot the water was, Lestat would be cold until he could get some food into him. 

Louis opened the container of O-positive blood bags and pulled out two. Using a nail, he sliced open the plastic and drank one as fast as he could. The blood was cold, and cold blood was a consistency that Louis usually despised, but now it couldn’t pour down his throat fast enough. He opened a second one and drained that too. He shook his head as the blood began to settle into his system, already making him feel better than he had before.

“Ok, Les,” He lifted Lestat’s head and made a small nick on the corner of a bag. Slowly, he pushed it to his husband's mouth. He wet his lips a little, gauging how responsive he was. Even while asleep and injured he should start drinking on his own. Louis paused his action and watched him carefully. Lestat didn’t seem to move very much at all. 

“Come on, honey.” Louis pleaded, bringing the bag up to his lips again. He poured a little more into his mouth sighing with relief when it was swallowed. Quickly, Louis dribbled in a little more, begging him to latch onto the bag and start drinking himself. A little too enthusiastically, Louis poured in more of the bag only for it to be too much for Les to handle at once. Lestat gagged most of it up and began to cough weakly. As horrible as it was, at least it was some kind of interaction rather than Lestat lying bonelessly being manhandled by Louis. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, baby.” Louis’s breath hitched. “I’m sorry. That was a little too much, yeah. Let's go a little slower, ok?” 

Louis felt sobs rise up in his throat. The blood he drank allowed for more tears, and they came with force. Gasping and crying, Louis slowly emptied the first blood bag into his husband and began on a second. When the second bag had been consumed halfway, Les let out a soft, quiet moan. Louis froze. “Les, Les, are you with me?”. 

He wasn't that lucky, but at least it was a reaction. Lestat was beginning to feel warmer now, and his shaking had subsided a little. He was still very pale, but at least it was a start. Louis finished the rest of the bag himself, trying to recoup what he had lost crying, and once again placed his arms around his partner.  “I’m gonna get you more soon, ok honey. Just gonna wait a while and see what your system can handle right now.” Too much blood could overwhelm his starved body, the last thing they needed to add to the equation was having to hold Lestat’s head up to keep him from choking on vomit.

Five minutes. You get five minutes, he thought. Five minutes to rest a little and try his best to calm down. He placed his ear on Lestat’s chest, listening eagerly for the steady heartbeat and his slow, soft breathing. He did his best to match it, in and out, in and out, in and out. 

When his five minutes were up, his breathing had calmed significantly. He lifted his head off Lestat’s chest and grimaced as he saw what he had been lying on. The cuts had closed a good amount, but the skin around them was raw and red.  He brought a hand up to his cheek, and his fingers came away red from the residual blood. Louis stood and made his way to the bathroom cabinets. He was able to find two more fluffy white towels, good, the towels on the counter were nearly unusable. 

The left one was sopping wet with Lestat’s blood, and the one on the right of the sink was not much better. 

He must have been hurting himself in front of the mirror. Louis swallowed hard to try and calm the sickness that welled inside of him again by such a thought. 

He pulled the white towels from under the sink and began using one to mop up the bathroom. It took much longer than he wanted it to. Twice, he dropped the towel into the sink to check on his husband, still in the bath. His breathing was getting deeper and more regular now, although he still wasn’t any warmer. Louis finished the rough clean-up of the bathroom and threw the bloody towels into the shower, doing his best to rinse them with the showerhead. He’d take better care of those later. 

With his last clean towel, he once again crawled to Lestat’s side. A good amount of the blood outside of the water had dried on his cold skin. Using his hands, Louis carefully scrubbed the blood out of the hollow of his collarbones, off his fingernails, off a spot on his cheek that Louis smudged when he held him for the first time. Taking a centering breath, Louis began to scrub his neck. The cut was much smaller now.  Louis still handled him with as much care as he could. Gently, he rinsed off Lestat’s face and began a cursory wash of his long blond hair. The curls had matted with blood on the back of his neck and stuck to his cheek with steam from the bath water. Once again, he drained the bath and replaced it with fresh hot water. 

When Lestat was as clean as Louis could get him, he pressed his lips to his temple,  cradling his husband to his chest. Louis rocked them both as gently as he could with the awkward positioning of Lestat being in the bathtub. He wanted to strip off his clothes and get in along with him. He pondered the thought of it before deciding against it. 

“Oh, honey,” Louis breathed out. “Why didn’t you come to anyone. Why didn't you talk to anyone?” 

Because he couldn't. Came the sick thought. He couldn’t talk to anyone about this. What was he going to do? Come to Alex or Christine, saying, “I'm still grieving the loss of my daughter and husband nearly eighty years ago. Sure, they would be consoling, but they wouldn’t understand. The only person who would was Louis. And he had made his position on Lestat clear. 

“Oh.” He mumbled. “I’m sorry, Les. I’m really really sorry. When you wake up, we’re gonna talk, ok. I’m not leaving you. Not this time.”

Louis felt his eyes growing heavy from his position on the floor. The sun must have begun its slow rise over the New York skyline. 

I should get him out of the bath. He thought. I should get him dry and dressed so he can start healing more comfortably in bed. 

But the thought was out of his head as quickly as it had come in. Leaning his tired body up against the wall of the bathtub, facing away from Lesat, Louis tightened his hold on his husband’s hand as much as he could and leaned his head back against the lip of the tub. He would wake up if Lestat moved at all. Before he could think or feel anything else, Louis let his head dip, and he was asleep. 

Chapter Text

Louis woke to something twitching slightly in his grip. He was still disoriented and blurry from the night before, which told him the sun hadn’t been down for long. Normally, he would sleep into the night a bit more before getting up, but his husband had always been somewhat of an early riser. He pulled himself up as gently as he could from the side of the bathtub he had slept against. His neck was unbearably stiff, and his back ached quite a bit. A little bit of blood and stretching, and he would feel much better. As of now, there was something in the back of Louis’ mind that he remembered being important.

 Memory and trauma of the night before hit Louis like a baseball bat. Suddenly, the slight twitching movement made sense. 

“Lestat! Oh God.” He scrambled up onto both knees and gripped Lestat’s face in both hands. All of last night's memories compiled into one terrible blur filled his head. The disturbing phone call from Tough Cookie, the empty hotel bed, Lestat frozen and bleeding in the suite's bathtub. 

“C’mon, Les.” He said again, holding his face slightly firmer than he had been before. 

The only response he received was a slight groan from his pale lips. 

I shouldn’t have left him in the bath. Louis thought. The waters gone all cold. I should have pulled him out and at least dressed him; I could have kept him warm. He’s going to be so confused when he wakes up. 

For the first time since waking, Louis paused in his ministrations. When he wakes up. Warning bells began to chime in his head.

When Les woke up they would talk, of course they would talk. And Louis would have to hear about last night. All about Lestat’s mindset that made him give Tough Cookie his phone “just in case” and lock himself in his room with a butcher's knife. Selfishly, Louis wondered if he would be ready to hear about that. 

Another moan broke Louis out of his thoughts, and he pushed himself over to where the case of blood bags had been lying on the floor. The blood had gone from refrigerator cold to room temperature.  Louis snipped the end of the tube sticking out and sipped part of it like a straw to test if it was ok. After a few mouthfuls, he once again placed the bag against Lestat’s cold lips. As gently as he could, he poured some into his parted mouth and waited for him to swallow. Once Lestat had taken what he was offered, Louis carefully dropped in more. He went much more slowly than the night before, not wanting to repeat what had happened a few hours ago.  He had gone too quickly and ended up with Lestat’s body being overwhelmed and coughing it back up. Slowly, the bag was finished. Louis spared the time to drink one more himself before returning to hold his face in his hands. 

“Ok, sweet boy, you’ve had your breakfast. You were always a little fussy if you didn’t eat something when you woke up. Now you’ve gotta open your eyes.  You gotta wake up now.” On an impulse, he closed his eyes and brushed his lips over his. He was reminded dimly of the fairytale he would read to Grace and Paul in their nursery, The Sleeping Beauty. He tasted soft remnants of the blood he had fed him mouthful by mouthful and was shocked, but pleased to find that he felt a little warmer now. He kissed him again, a little harder this time, and pressed their foreheads together.

“Come on, honeychild. Come on. Wake up for me. I wanna see those blue eyes. Wake up, baby.” Louis shut his eyes, repeating his mantra.

Come on now, come on, Les, wake up for me.

Keeping their foreheads pressed lightly together, their breaths intermingled, like tangled legs in warm sheets. 

“Louis…”

He sat bolt upright. 

Lestat’s eyes had cracked open, a sliver of blue peeking out from his dark eyelashes. He drew a deep breath in through his nose. 

“Les, thank God. Thank God, baby.” 

“Louis,” Lestat repeated once again.  His voice was reedy and thin, but it was so much better than the stretch of deathly silence that Louis had entered into the night before. 

Louis let out a terrible wet laugh that sounded more like a sob than a chuckle. Lestat’s eyes fluttered closed once again. 

“Nuh uh, no sir.” Louis said, sternly, gripping the back of his neck, his fingers against the soft parts of Lestat’s ears. “Keep awake, Les. You slept long enough.” Lestat drew in another long breath through his nose. “You don’t get to scare me half to death like that and leave me alone again. Keep those blue eyes open.”

Lestat’s eyes opened a little more this time. “Louis.” He said sweetly, a small smile creeping over his lips. He couldn’t remember much about what he had been doing or even where they were; all he knew was that Louis was here, after being so long without him, and he was a welcome sight to see. 

Then, memory surged back through his veins like blood. “Louis.” He gasped, opening his eyes more in shock. 

“It’s me, Les honey,” Louis said, beginning to smile himself. 

“No,” Lestat said firmly. “No, you shouldn’t be here.” 

“What do you mean?” Louis asked, his smile beginning to wane. 

“This... this is New York…You weren’t….you don’t….how did you even know where I was?” 

“ I was already in Brooklyn for a gallery opening. TC called me, she…she was scared. Les, we gotta talk.” 

“No,” Lestat said, his voice beginning to waver. “No, we don’t. No one was-” His breath hitched as emotion rose up inside his chest like a wave breaking onto the shore. “No one was s-supposed to see me.” 

“Shhh, honey, it’s ok. It’s ok.” Louis whispered consolingly, pressing his lips to Lestat’s temple, peppering him with tiny kisses. “It’s all ok.” 

“N-no it’s not,” Lestat said, his voice breaking even more. “All I do is burden people; no one was supposed to be here. No one was supposed to s-see me.” 

“Shhh, I know, baby, I know it’s not ok. I’m here now. I’m here and I’m gonna help.” 

“You shouldn’t,” Lestat said, his voice sobering before his eyes got wider and the tears began again, this time stronger than before.

“It’s alright, honey love. I ain’t mad. I’m gonna help now.” 

Lestat pulled his head out of Louis’ arms and hid his face for a moment in the crook of his elbow. Louis stroked his blond hair, giving him a minute to collect himself. 

When he lifted his face again, he kept his eyes straight forward, not bothering to dash away the remaining few tears that fell.  He brought his knees up to his chest and set his chin on top of them. 

“Les,” Louis soothed, “Let ’s-Let’s get you out of the bath. The waters gone cold and you’re shivering. Let’s get you warm and dry.”

Louis made a move to grab his husband and tug him out of the bath. Lestat only curled into himself more and pushed Louis’ hands away. 

“No. I don’t want to get out of the bath.” 

Louis lowered the tone of his voice. “Come on, baby, you’ll feel much better when you're dry and dressed. Promise. Here, I help.” His fingers ghosted over Lestat’s tense shoulder. 

Lestat hid his face in his knees again. “I said no!” He half shouted. His shoulders suddenly began to shake with sobs. 

“Honey,” Louis said sadly. He draped himself over Lestat’s trembling back and pushed his cheek lightly to his shoulder blade. “Can you tell me why? Please” 

“I don’t want you here.” Came the muffled answer “Don’t!” 

“Don’t what, Les.” 

“Please don’t!” 

“I’m sorry, honeychild, I don’t know what you mean. I’m just gonna give you a minute, ok.”

He was obviously overwhelmed and possibly still in shock from the night before. Louis’ heart began to splinter further in his chest. Gently, he began to leave a trail of kisses on the back of Lestat’s neck. 

Without thinking, Louis brought both arms up and hugged Lestat to his chest, mirroring the exact same position they had been in years before, when Louis had held a blade against his throat and left him for dead. Both bodies stiffened at the unwelcome memory. 

Louis tried to change positions as fast as he could, when he suddenly felt a weak hand against the arm that looped around Lestat’s chest during the hug. 

His voice was deep and wistful. “Have you come to finally do it, mon cher?” A bright speck of hope bloomed terribly in his tone. “Have you come to finally take me out of this suffering?”

“Lestat,” Louis said sternly. “Stop that, stop talking like that, right now. Come on, I’m gonna get you well. Let’s get out of the bath.”

“No, Louis,” Lestat said clearly, turning his body in the bathtub to face Louis. His shaking hands finally seemed to still as he gripped the edge of the porcelain tub. “I belong in here.” 

Louis grabbed Lestat’s face, his thumbs drawing small circles on his hollow cheeks and sharp bones.  “Lestat. I need you to listen to me, ok?” He paused for a few seconds, trying to see recognition in Lestat’s eyes.” I need you to hear me when I say this. You’re not thinking right. It’s ok, I’ve been there before. I know what to do. I’m gonna fix it, ok? You just gotta let me. Let me help, cher.” 

“Louis,” Lestat whispered as he brought his hands up to grip Louis’ wrists. “It’s alright.” He said, his voice and eyes clouding over again from the moment of clarity he had since waking up. “It’s ok. I’m doing what I am supposed to be doing. I’m making things right again.” 

Louis shook his head, not understanding what he was trying to say. “I don’t-”

“It’s alright, Ma vie. I belong in here.” He said again, plucking Louis’ hands from his face. “I know I cannot fix what has happened in my life. I know I cannot undo all the harm I have caused, so the punishments are the least I could do.” 

Louis knelt there, shellshocked. “Punishments?” He asked, his voice beginning to crumble. 

Lestat leaned into the bath water again, his body too tired to hold itself up. “Thank you for coming, Saint Louis.” He said dreamily. “I did not think you would when I asked you last night at the concert.” 

“I wasn’t at the concert,” Louis answered. 

“Of course you weren’t,” Lestat answered with a chuckle. “You aren’t here now either.” 

Chapter Text

Louis could not find what to say. “I-I-Lestat I’m here now.” 

“You almost had me fooled,” Lestat said, closing his eyes for a moment as he spoke. “When I first woke, I thought… .never mind. You give yourself away too easily, mon coeur.” 

“I don’t understand,” Louis answered, his concern and fear mounting higher every second. 

Lestat let out a quiet huff. “Mon Louis, had you been real, you would have never been so comforting.” 

Louis felt something inside him shatter. 

“Les, Les baby, I’m here.”

Lestat hummed in response, his eyes shutting tiredly. 

“No,” Louis said, his stern tone undercutting the panic thrumming through him. “Lestat. Wake up. Wake up.” 

He jostled him, hard. Lestat made no move to get up or look at him again. He grabbed his face again and shook it slightly, Louis knew he shouldn't be so rough but his panic took hold of him like a hand grips the hilt of a knife. 

When he let go, Lestat’s head slowly began to side down into the water. Louis plunged both arms into the pink water, not bothering to roll up his sleeves, and pulled him to the surface. Lestat didn’t sputter, didn’t cough, he just laid in Louis arms as silent and still as the dead. 

With his nerves feeling raw and exposed, he made a move with one hand to hold Lestat up out of the water. Carefully, he made a cut to his wrist. Holding the back of Lestat’s lolling head, Louis pressed his bloody wrist up to his mouth. Mercifully, the blood began working its way down Lestat’s throat, slow and measured. With each drink, Lestat’s breath deepened, and one hand came up to feebly hold Louis's wrist to his mouth. 

“That’s it.” Louis mumbled, letting Lestat drink up as much as needed as confirmation that he was real, that he was here. 

After a few minutes, Lestat seemed to recognize the taste and his eyes shot open. 

“L-Louis.” He gasped, his chest heaving like he had been woken out of a bad dream. 

Louis breathed in a gasp of relief. For the first time that night, Lestat looked actually awake. 

His memory sharpened as he remembered how Tough Cookie had described him, “It’s like he’s sleepwalking.”

But with being awake came more awareness. Awareness that compiled into a whole other world of horrors. All Louis wanted he could wrap him up in a blanket and never let him feel that way again. 

“Shhh,” Louis soothed, moving to embrace Lestat again. “It’s ok, baby, just breathe.” 

Lestat didn’t seem to want to follow his directions. His breath hitched, coming in and out much too fast for Louis's liking. 

“Hey. Hey Lestat, breathe.” He commanded. “Les. Take a breath.” 

“I don't-I don’t-” Lestat gasped, both hands coming up to claw at his throat and chest. His eyes were panicked and uncomprehending. 

“Les,” Louis said, his kind voice full of concern. He moved closer and grabbed his hands, preventing him from scratching his skin with his glass like nails. “Here-”

He pinned both Lestat’s arms to his chest. Working his awkward position into a more comfortable one, Louis pushed the side of Lestat’s head against his chest. 

“Shhhh… that's my heartbeat, honey. Can you hear it?” 

Lestat gave a weak nod. 

“Good. Can you focus on just that for a second? Just that?” He coaxed. 

Lestat nodded again. Louis brought his other hand to stroke the back of Lestat’s head, both men in serious need of comfort.  

Once his heart had stopped pounding like a jackhammer, Louis moved on to his breath that was still coming in and out in harsh gasps. 

“Les, can you hear me breathe? Let’s focus on that now, ok? Feel the rise and fall of my chest. Try to copy it” he spoke the same way that one would speak to a child up with night terrors, or a spooked animal. Despite his best efforts, Lestat’s breath didn’t seem to slow down very much at all. 

Louis pursed his lips anxiously. “Just try, baby. Just do your best.” 

“Mmhmm.” He moaned in reply. Lestat took a sharp breath in and let it out as slowly as he could. 

“Good.” Louis dropped another kiss to the top of his head. “Good job, honey. You’re doing a good job.” 

When they finally got his breathing and heart rate down from panic attack levels to merely slightly elevated, Louis brought his face up so their eyes could meet once more. 

“Alright, Les, I’m going to take you out of the bath now.”

He didn’t wait for Lestat to nod, not wanting to repeat the cycle of his refusal and proclamation that “he belonged in here” he gave a few minutes ago. 

Louis helped Lestat stand up in the milky pink water and tried to loosen his tight hold a little before it came abundantly clear that Lestat should not walk on his own. His legs shook dangerously underneath him and threatened to spill him back into the water again.  Louis pinned his torso to his chest, surprised when Lestat jerked back a little.

“It’s alright, honey. Be good and let me help you ok?” He whispered into his damp hair.

When more recognition appeared in Lestat’s eyes Louis gathered his legs and lifted him as gently as he could. The cuts on Lestat’s body had healed since last night, but the months of starvation and bloodletting had taken their toll on his husband. Lestat sighed contentedly and all but melted into his husband’s chest as he was held.

Louis was once again reminded of their reunion in New Orleans. How Les had been half his weight, with skin that felt like marble whenever he touched him.  Louis repressed a shudder, and instinctively held him tighter, the same way he did that week of sleepless days in order to keep him from falling apart.  

Louis quickly crossed into the dim bedroom. The sounds of New York seemed soothing compared to the silence of the enclosed bathroom. Setting Lestat on the made bed he quickly made his way to the front door to get the clean towels he had requested. 

Lestat was curled up in the fetal position when Louis returned, his arms full. His eyes were squeezed shut. His breath was slow and deliberate, as if it was taking all his energy to keep it steady.  Louis smiled with the melancholy he was made from, seeing how small and delicate he appeared on the king sized bed. He flicked a few wet blond curls away from Lestat’s face before laying a warm hand on his cool cheek. 

“Here, sweet boy.” He said in a soft, low voice. “Let's dry you off.”

With slow methodical movements Louis started with his legs, moving the towel from side to side careful to mop up as much water as he could. When he was finished he pressed a small kiss the inside of his thigh before moving up to his pelvis.  Hips then chest, then shoulders and arms, then neck, face, and hair. As he was toweling off the blond curls he noticed Lestat’s eyes  open and begin to watch him intently. 

Louis kissed the scar on the corner of his mouth. “Hi.” He said in greeting, hoping for a hello back. 

Lestat gave no response.  

“I’m gonna get you dressed now, ok?” Louis followed the small mouth kiss with kisses to his left cheek and the tip of his nose. 

As quickly as he could he made his way to Lestat’s messily packed bag. Searching through it proved to be a challenge and it took him much longer to find the black silk sleep pants and boxers than he hoped it would take. He looked for several more minutes only to be dismayed by not finding its matching top. He pondered keeping Lestat shirtless, as he knew he had slept before on some nights,  before remembering how cold and weak he was. Wearing a shirt would mean that he would be kept warmer and would probably feel more secure in the long run. Instead of the matching silk top, he selected a soft red t-shirt and a warm pair of socks. He turned off the closet light and rushed back to his husband's side. 

“Oh baby.” Louis said sympathetically. Lestat was curled up on his side again, both arms wrapped around his middle in the same position as someone with stomach pains. Silent tears tracked down his face, seeping into the white towel Louis had left him lying on top of. 

Louis tossed down his armful of clothes and hurried back to him again, kneeling at the side of his bed near his head.

“Honey-baby. What is it?” He cajoled. “What is it? Show me where it hurts.” 

Lestat clenched his teeth together and moaned, deep and low, and sounding heartbreakingly miserable. 

Louis must have fed him too fast. Too much blood on a stomach left empty for long periods of time was a recipe for disaster. Louis remembered a time, years and years ago in New Orleans when he had broken his vegetarian diet.

He truly hadn’t meant to. There had been a mountain of a man cornering a young dark skinned woman in an alley. She had been too harried and terrified of the man pursuing her to notice when Louis grabbed him out of thin air and ran off with vampiric speed.

The man had tasted like bourbon and cinnamon with something slightly sour, like an orange peel, at the end of his long drink. He had been delicious compared to the fish and rats he had been gorging himself off before and Louis finished him down to the very last drop he could get. As soon as he was done he doubled over in pain and threw his dinners body into the Mississippi. When he came home his stomach was sore and overfull. He spent the next few hours writhing in discomfort as Lestat held him close to his heart and rubbed his distended belly, leaving kisses all over his sweaty face. 

Louis felt a pang of guilt, worried that he was what caused Lestat to feel the same way now.  “Let me see, Cher, let me help.” Louis went to turn him onto his back only for Lestat to push his arm away and turn onto his stomach.

Ok then, not a stomach ache. 

“Les.” Louis said, at the end of his rope and nearly mad with worry. “Please. Please, please, please talk to me.” 

“I” hitch “cant!” He sobbed. 

“Why?” Louis pleaded. 

“You’ll hate me even more for it. I’ll burden you.” 

Louis let a slow breath out through his lips. “I could never hate you like that sweet boy.” 

“I think you could.” Lestat said, a touch of bitterness creeping into his tone. “I think there’s much more than just hating you could do.” 

Louis knows what he’s doing. He’s trying to goad Louis into a fight that neither of them will win. By fighting they might avoid talking about and reliving this whole mess. He’s trying to make Louis push away first. It’s worked before. Louis had always pushed away first, because Lestat could never be the first one to let go. 

“That’s not gonna work Les.” He said, stroking back his damp hair. 

Lestat’s crying seems to slow a little as his Louis’ hands move up and down his back. He can feel every vertebrae through his skin, and it makes him sick. 

“I’m here, baby. I’m here.” 

It takes several more minutes for Lestat to calm down again. By then the towel he’s been laying on is hopelessly stained like the others and Louis is close to tears himself. 

“I- I don’t know where to start.” 

“That’s ok.” Louis said sweetly. “Let’s start by getting dressed ok?” 

Lestat laid as still as a board as Louis gathered the clothes strewn around the hotel room. First he slides the silk boxers and pajama pants up his legs, then comes the cotton t-shirt that Lestat looks almost perplexed by. 

“Sorry. I couldn’t find the shirt that goes with the sleep set.” 

“It’s alright.” Lestat says in his hoarse, quiet voice. 

Louis slips socks on Lestat’s feet to help keep them warm. 

“ Where are your slippers?” He says rubbing a gentle circle onto the apple of his cheek. 

“Under the bed.” Lestat whispered, closing his eyes in emotional exhaustion. 

Louis ducked under the bed and found the pair of pink slippers. Lestat had always preferred to sleep with something on his feet. For a while it was at least two sets of socks until Louis had gifted him a pair of slippers for his birthday. Lestat had fallen in love with them instantly and worn them every time they went to bed.  

Louis never bothered to ask why. He just assumed that even when he was warm and well fed his husband's hands and feet had gotten cold while they slept. Or perhaps it was a product of living in the 1700 hundreds in a cold and drafty manor as a young boy. It wasn’t until much later he pieced together the reason on his own. 

Lestat’s poor bruised and bloodied face spilling out the words “His name was Magnus, he took me from my bed in Paris as I kicked and screamed.”

He shuddered remembering the horror story Lestat had told him and Claudia that night.  He could only imagine it, a human Lestat, barely 20 or 21 being plucked out his bed at night wearing nothing but what he had gone to sleep in. His delicate, breakable skin, being forcefully exposed to all the elements of the French winter. Wearing no shoes at all as he was thrown onto the cold stone tower and left with a monster. It had made sense then, why Lestat preferred a coffin as opposed to an actual bed, why he locked in their sleeping room at night, why he preferred to sleep with at least a pair of slippers on. 

“You ok, honeychild? You warm enough.” 

“Non.” He whispered, tensing up to try and stop his shaking. “But it’s alright.” 

Louis discarded the bloody towel and pulled the covers up over his shivering body. Quietly he peeled off the green sweater and brown trousers he had been wearing for the past two nights. They were still wet from the bath water and felt gummy and thick with Lestat’s congealed blood. He quickly changed into another soft pair of pants and a shirt from Lestat’s clothing. He knew he wouldn’t mind very much, and besides, it would be way more comfortable to snuggle with someone dry. 

Once he shucked off his socks and shoes he quickly entered the bedroom again, making sure the blackout curtains and blinds were pulled tightly shut, wary of the morning that would be coming in a few hours. The bedside table lamp he kept on, the warm yellow glow acted as a childhood night light. As if seeing Lestat’s face as they began their heavy discussion would chase the nightmares away.  Louis took a deep breath, and began to mentally fortify himself. 

Chapter Text

He crept back to Lestat and climbed into bed with him, pulling the blankets up to keep them both warm. Lestat jerked a little as Louis placed both arms around him. 

“You’re still here?” He said with confusion. 

“Course I am. You’re not getting rid of me. Not while you're like this.” 

Not until I can be sure you’ll never  hurt yourself ever, ever again. 

“You don’t like to stay. You don’t want to be together.” Lestat said plainly. Blinking his wide blue eyes full of questions.

“It‘s not that.” Louis sighed. “I told you, I just need some time on my own. That’s all.” 

Lestat still seemed confused, but took what he could get, and snuggled further into his arms, tucking his chilly nose into the crook of his husband's neck. 

“Les. I know you’re tired. But we have to talk. I need you to tell me what happened….What you’ve been doing.” 

 Lestat sighed quietly. “I don’t know where to start. The beginning is too far away, and the end will never come.” 

“How about this, I’ll ask you questions and you give me an answer. If you really can’t come up with anything, just say pass. But it’s only if you’re really coming up empty. I’ll be able to tell.” He said with a small smile that was not reciprocated. 

“Ok,” Lestat answered quietly, his tired eyes still blank. 

“First question. What did you see at the concert?” 

“You,” Lestat answered. “It’s always you or her. But she’s been staying away from me for a while. I don’t think she likes New York.” 

Who “her” was went completely unsaid. Neither of them needed an answer. 

“Les, I wasn’t at the concert.” 

“I think I knew that. You were wearing a white and grey pinstriped shirt and a black waistcoat; there was blood all down the front of you.”

Louis remembers that outfit; it had been the clothes he was turned in. Instinctively, he pushed Lestat closer to his chest, as if the two were sharing a set of skin as well as their hearts. 

"I think I always knew that it wasn’t actually you.” Lestat continued, his accent thickened with tiredness. “But it wasn’t the first time. And my mind has never obeyed the truth.” 

“Was I…doing…anything in the crowd?” 

“No. You were just watching.” 

“Ok. Can you tell me why that scared you so much?” 

Lestat pursed his lips and looked down at their entwined bodies, refusing to meet Louis' eyes. 

“Pass,” he mumbled.

Louis gave him a long-suffering smile. “Try again, honey.” 

“I guess…I thought it was all my mistakes haunting me. I mean…more than usual. Most of the time, I just dream about them, but sometimes they…you come back to hurt me. More than just the thoughts. I know I should just take the pain you have to give out, but the body is a difficult instrument, no matter how much the mind convinces you it needs pain, it will still occasionally rebel.”

“Delicate,” Louis said, looking a little grey at Lestat’s admission, that a supposed simulacrum of himself has been coming to Lestat in his weak moments, dealing out pain to someone who thought he deserved it. 

“Hmm?” Les hummed, looking back at him. 

“The phrase is the body is a delicate instrument, not a difficult instrument.” 

“I suppose that’s true too.”

“Ok,” Louis said, preparing to work his way up the ladder of questions that would only get harder. “Next question. Why did you give Tough Cookie your phone?” 

“I just figured it would be easier. And I didn’t want to be disturbed.” 

It was the bare bones of an answer, but Louis could tell he wasn’t about to elaborate further. At least not without further prompting. 

“Where did you get the butcher knife?” 

Lestat shrugged and retreated back into Louis' chest. “The kitchenette.” He confessed. “It was sharper than the pocket knife.” 

“What pocket knife?” 

“The one I’ve been…..using before.” 

“Where is that pocket knife now?” 

“In the closet. Wrapped in a jacket.” 

“Which jacket?” 

“The leather one, with the patches.”

Louis logged that away for another time. When he left this hotel room and separated again he would be taking that with him. It didn’t matter that Lestat could find something else sharp, Louis would be taking the knife that had spilled so much of his blood already, and destroying it as soon as he could. 

Here came the next question. The most difficult and terrible of them all. 

“Les honey. I need you to tell me why you were doing that in the bathroom?” 

“So the blood would be easier to clean up,” Lestat said in a tone that clearly meant the answer was obvious to everyone. 

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Louis said, letting out a small laugh that was nowhere near humorous. He sobered quickly when he remembered he had to rephrase what he had asked. 

“Lestat, I need you to tell me why you’ve been hurting yourself like that. In those places…” He trailed off, remembering the clean slash through Lestat’s neck.

Lestat sighed heavily into Louis' collarbone. “I deserve it.”

“Stop,” Louis said, it came out sounding much harsher than he had meant it to. 

“You asked me…” Lestat said, withering. 

Louis softened at seeing how Lestat had begun to retreat into himself.  “You’re right, I did. Go on and finish, baby.” He grit his teeth, trying not to show tension in his body. If Lestat could feel his anger he would shut down, most likely interpreting it as Louis being angry with him rather than Louis himself. 

“I figured that…it was the only way…to atone for me…what I am. For my life. Ever since I was born, I've been a burden to everything.”

Louis looks away in pain as he hears Lestat’s voice break.

“I’ve always been just a blood stain. I guess it was hopeless, trying to cure a bloodstain by spilling more blood, but it’s all I know how to do. The hunting so my family could eat, the wolves that slaughtered my dogs and horse, Magnus who threw himself into fire after he turned me, all the people I've consumed…turning you….dooming her. It's all blood. I’m covered in it. I thought…” His breath strangled. “I thought I'd shed some of my own for a change.” 

“That’s not true.” Louis said through clenched teeth  

“Yes, it is,” Lestat whispered back. “It’s alright, it's just how it is.” 

The two were quiet for a few breathless seconds as Lestat sank further into his wretched state and Louis tried to sort out what he was saying, breathing deeply through his nose.

Lestat was the first to break the silence.

“I ruin everything I touch.”

“Stop,” Louis said again.

“I wished for so long that you or Claudia had pushed the knife in a little deeper, just a little more and I wouldn’t be doomed to hurt anyone else.”

“Stop!” Louis repeated urgently. But it was too late, the dam had broken. 

“I lay in the trunk you left me in and thought if I could just be strong enough, I could push the top open and let the sun burn me away, let all marks of Lestat De Lioncourt, the unwanted, fade away.” 

He let out a peal of unhappy laughter. “It wasn’t the first time it crossed my mind, you know. I considered it when Nicki died, but I couldn’t do it. When I met you, I convinced myself that this was the reason I had stayed alive, to meet you, to love you, to give you the dark gift so this magnificent being could live forever.” Lestat’s voice grew quieter and quieter, trying to shrink back into himself.

“When I saw how unhappy you were as a vampire, I knew it was another failing of mine. So I let my fear control me and hurt the ones I loved the most. I don’t mean to make excuses, please don’t take them as such, but I had grown up so hungry, Louis. Not just for the food that we went without until I found a way to provide it, but for everything. Hungry for knowledge that was withheld from me, hungry for friends I wasn’t permitted to have, hungry for love from a family that would not give it to me because I merely existed. And suddenly I had all that and more with you. I never wanted you to be hungry. I tried to give you a life that would have made myself full, and you would not eat.”

Louis feels tears grow hot in the corners of his eyes. “Les-”

“Non.” Lestat cut him off. “I know the whole time the monster haunting my life was me.” He sniffed and had to choke out the next sentence. “I tried in 1973….the sunlight…I thought it was only fitting to die the same way as my most beloved creations.” 

His voice seemed to hollow out. His eyes stared blankly ahead.  “No matter how much I tried, it wouldn’t take. I could have burned myself with fire the way Nicki or Magnus had, but I did not have the stomach to watch my flesh melt off. I could have starved myself, like you seemed hell bent on. But it seemed too easy, to disappear underground, be consumed by hunger and eventual sleep.”

Louis's arms clench so hard around Lestat, he wonders how he isn't hurting him. 

Lestat continued on, sounding detached and out of place, as if his mind was somewhere far, far, away then here in Louis' arms. “The sunlight never worked, but it didn't stop me. I thought if I suffered enough, I could atone for the mistake I am. I realized then, that this is what my life was always meant to be. I was not made to die, I was made to hurt. I’ve always been a weapon, Saint Louis. It is either I hurt others or I hurt myself.”

Louis turned his cheek so Lestat was forced to look at him as he spoke. “When Armand called me I pushed myself into the sunlight every week until I got used to the pain from the burns. I felt that dying would be too welcoming for a beast like me. That if the sun wouldn't take me like it took you then it meant that I wasn’t good enough to die and be relieved of the loneliness, the guilt. Then I began to use the knife, it had, after all, been your preferred method. I merely went a little too far this time. I’m sorry Saint Louis, I didn’t want anyone to see, especially you. This was supposed to be my repentance. No one was supposed to know.”

Louis opened his mouth to argue, then quickly shut it again. Throughout Lestat’s long and rambling explanation, Louis felt his stomach heave. He worked hard to calm himself before something worse happened. 

Louis mouth hung open awkwardly, caught in between a scream and a sob. With terror that gripped him like a vice Louis remembered what Lestat had mumbled in Magus’ tower after the trial 

”Ask for it child, all the light is going out of your blue eyes, Like all the summer days are gone.” 

The light was going out of them now. Louis mind raced with uncomprehending horror. 

This is how he looked, starved, bloody, exhausted, beaten, violated, so, so breathtakingly young and small. This is what Magnus saw when he turned him. 

“Can you tell me how it feels?” He asked softly, swallowing down the bloody bile that tasted like rage and grief, that was rising in his throat. Louis felt this way once before. The night he murdered the entire cast of the Théâtre des Vampires. Only this time there was no revenge, there was no accomplishment. The only beings he had to blame were long dead or himself 

“Can you tell me why you do it? What it feels like?” He repeated, desperately trying to keep a hold of himself. 

“Empty.” Lestat said with his autumnal eyes and ghostly voice

Chapter Text

“That doesn’t sound preferable either.” Louis said trying to break Lestat from his quiet stillness. 

“Non, Louis. The emptiness is much much better.  At least while I am empty I don’t have to feel like fire is licking over my skin. I don't have to feel like my skin is full of fangs and razors. I feel so much mon amour. I always feel too much. My mother could shut every bad thing out with ice, I've tried but I can’t. The most I can hope for is being empty. I feel so much all the time, it’s like I’m being consumed by fire. There’s no reason for me to be frightened of it. If Nicki could do it, I should too.” 

Lestat’s voice became more and more distressed. His eyes for the first time since they went quiet and distant with dissociation seemed to gain more awareness. “I was made from pain…that is all I will ever be. I will feel it no matter what, I may as well try and control what that pain is.” 

Louis squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to breathe steadily. In the darkness behind his eyelids he could almost pretend that they were back home, in Rue Royale, and Lestat was safe in his arms. 

I will not lose him to fire, I will not lose him to himself, I will not lose him to anything.

 He remembered Armand asking him after he walked into the sun in 1973 if he would be condemned to an eternal suicide watch. 

“Yes.” He thought keeping his eyes shut from the entire world. “Absolutely, if that is what it takes to keep Lestat safe, I would do it.”

Lestat, overwrought and agonized, took this opportunity of Louis' closed eyes to bite into his own wrist, hard. The weak irony blood filled his mouth and dripped all over the fluffy grey pillow. He knew what the pain would do, that hurting could take the pain away for a little while and all he wanted right now was for it to stop. He couldn’t bear to see Louis' disappointed eyes and troubled face, he could take it anymore, seeing his daughter, turning into ash before his eyes whenever he laid down to sleep, he couldn’t bear being this monster a moment longer. 

“Stop!” Louis cried out, opening his eyes and seeing the appendage in Lestat’s mouth and the red blood all over him. “Stop! Let go!” 

Lestat didn’t pay any heed to him, back to his state of near-somnambulance. With his eyes blank and dead he sank his fangs in further. 

“Please stop. Please don’t do that.” His voice cracked with tears as he grabbed the hand in Lestat’s mouth and tugged at it. The heavy sob he had try to place under lock and key escaped from him 

Lestat perked up to the sound of Louis' distress like it was a dog whistle and released the wrist, gaining some clarity of recognition again. “Louis?” 

Louis pushed his hand to his eyes as he tried to slow his tears when he saw the gaping wound in his husband's wrist. 

“Louis, mon coeur.” Lestat nestled his head to his chest, finally returning the squeezing hug. Louis took a moment to relish Lestat’s arms around him. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s not true, Les. I know why you might think that, that you cause pain, but sometimes that’s just how life is. I know how that sounds…but most of that suffering was something that happened to you. Not because of you.” 

Lestat huffed into Louis’ t-shirt. 

“No, no you listen to me right now baby. Yes you’ve done bad things, terrible things, but the right way to fix it is to get better. Not to destroy yourself. Despite what you might think, I know you’re not evil Lestat.”

“How would you know? Your book does an excellent job at showing that I was the villain the whole time. That’s all I will ever be.” 

“That’s not true Les, You’re not the same person I had in mind when doing the interview. Armand….he….took my memories, twisted them up into something I didn’t recognize. The Lestat I had in my mind then would never take a butcher's knife to his throat because he thought he “deserved” it. He wouldn't spend years living off rats and starving himself as punishment; he wouldn’t be willing to talk to me at all about this in the first place. That tells me I was wrong. I know it doesn’t make it right, I know it doesn’t fix the bad things that you’ve done before. But I know you’re not evil.” It was a feeble argument to the gut-spilling Lestat had done, but it was a start. 

“How could you be saying this?” Lestat said, finally looking him in the eye. “I hurt you so much Louis.” 

“Yeah…you did.” Louis said brushing a lock of hair behind his ear. He planned to say more when Lestat smiled weakly then crumbled all over again.

 “Do you see now?” He asked, his voice wavering. “I’m just trying to make things right. I know how unworthy I am of love, of forgiveness…I’m just trying to-“ 

“Enough, Lestat” He almost barked. Lestat shrank in on himself, as if expecting Louis to lash out and hurt him. “Enough.” Louis said, softening his voice, rubbing his thumb against the soft part of his husband’s cheek.  

“Yes Les, you hurt me, you hurt me a lot. You hurt me a lot almost one hundred years ago. And I also hurt you a lot too.” 

Lestat started to sit up, removing himself from Louis' arms. “I don’t deserve forgiveness Louis.” He whispered, his eyes closed and his face white. 

Louis had an irrational fear that the moment Lestat stood up he would collapse from weakness, from exhaustion, and grabbed his shoulders to force him back down to cuddle. 

“You don’t get to decide that sugar.” Louis said softly, tightening his hold so Lestat couldn’t escape. “I get to decide who I forgive. I get to decide who is and who is not deserving of my forgiveness. That’s not on you to say. That’s not for anyone else to decide but me.” 

Lestat shut his eyes, breathing heavily. Louis smelled the slightly sweet tinge of blood that meant that he was crying again. 

“Lestat.” Louis said firmly. “I already decided to forgive you. I decided that two years ago when I came back. Just because we’re separated for now doesn’t change anything. I forgive you Les, I forgive you honey.” 

“I don’t know how to believe you.” 

“Les baby…” Louis said at a loss, “What would make you believe me?” 

Louis could feel Lestat’s panic start to rise as he searched for answers and came up short. 

“Rules? Stipulations? Requests?” 

Lestat seemed relieved that the pressure to decide was removed from him. He nodded. 

“Ok,” Louis said, bringing his hand back up to stroke his cold cheek. “Les, I need you to get better.” 

“I don’t know how.” 

That didn’t surprise Louis, he didn’t know if Lestat had ever actually healed from anything he suffered in his life. 

“Well, you need to stop hurting yourself. That’s the first thing. Hurting yourself is just going to reopen old wounds, both physical and emotional, and it doesn’t fix anything.”

“It helps.” He mumbled back. 

“I know you think that.” Louis said, sweeping his hair from his eyes. “ You were just trying to cope however you knew how. I understand that honey-love. I do. But it cannot continue.”

Lestat sank further into Louis' chest. 

“Les, if I asked you, begged you to stop, would you? If I said this was my first rule, would you do it?” 

Lestat’s discomfort bled out of him as black as ink. “Yes.” He whispered in confirmation. 

Lestat withered a little more at this. The idea that Louis would strip him of the one thing that gave him any semblance of relief. 

Louis let out a noise of satisfaction, misunderstanding his husband’s resolute tone. 

“For you, I would give up the emptines…If you asked me, I would take the pain back and feel it as best I could.” Lestat continued. 

“I don’t want you to be in pain, Les!” Louis said desperately. 

“I know what you said, it’s just hard for me to believe right now.”

Louis recalled his words in Magnus’ tower “Here's your death Lestat” 

Although he hadn’t killed him, he had damned him. First to a life of pain and weakness with a blade, and then again with heartbreak. Dooming him to what he thought was a life of irredeemable hopelessness and loneliness.

“Les it’s because I don’t want you to be in pain that I’m asking you to stop. I know the physical pain helps with emotional pain, but it’s only going to make things worse. That’s why my second stipulation is that you need some kind of professional help.” 

Lestat sighed at that. “You’re not the first person to mention that.” 

“What’s wrong with that?” 

“Nothing Mon coeur, I just…don’t know how that would work. If I was human the answer would quickly be yes…as a vampire…” 

“I’ll look into it.” Louis interrupted. 

“I’ll take care of things and pass it off to some of your staff, Christine maybe. You just need to go.” 

“You shouldn’t have to do that Louis.” 

“I know.” Louis said with a small smile and a kiss to his forehead. “But I want to. I’ve been meaning to look into it for myself too. The book, however terrible the final product was, was a lot like therapy. I think it could be helpful. I’m sure someone good will do it, we just need to pay them enough.” 

“Do you think talking would really fix me? Can talking ever fix a monster.” 

“If you’re a monster then I am too honey. Vampire or not. And it is not about “fixing” you. It’s about healing you.” 

Lestat was quiet for a while after that. “I was doomed from my birth.” he finally rasped, breaking the silence. 

‘No, Les, you were just a boy, you didn’t deserve that. You were a child born into a terrible family with horrible circumstances. I think for a while, you were really just doing the best you could. But now's the time for you to start healing. You're right, you can’t erase your mistakes. But you can grow past them.” Louis had brushed away all the tears that had come and tried to make his voice sound strong and authoritative. 

“I think I would be able to bear the pain more if you didn’t insist on this separation. If you didn’t try to pretend that we both don’t desperately need each other until one of us almost dies and you realize that the only thing that will help is each other.” 

“I want you baby, I do. I promise it’s not like that.” 

Lestat turned his face away. “I know what you said. Forgive me, sometimes I have no other words for what I feel. Continue on with your rules for healing Saint Louis.” 

Louis sighed and went back to stroking Lestat’s hair, hoping the steady movement would keep him calm. 

“The next thing is, you need to think about our separation as preparation for the day we’ll get back together. Not as a punishment, or abandonment.” 

Lestat perked up a little more at this before his face crumbled then hardened again like stone. “One day.” 

“Yes Lestat,” Louis said, smoothing some curls out of his eyes. “When we’re ready. We need a little more time. There’s nothing that’s stopping us from talking a little more though. If you feel dark inside again you can call me.” 

Lestat let a few more tears roll down his cheeks. 

“I mean it Les. I promise I’ll pick up and we can talk.”

Lestat turned his head away. The old Louis would think he was trying to manipulate him, that by crying and hurting himself all he wanted was Louis’ attention. Louis now saw what it truly was, a man who couldn’t help but do anything else. 

“I do want to get back together honey, I do. I really really want that. Just not right now.” 

“Is it what you want, Louis?” He asked scornfully. “Is that truly what you want? If you said yes, I would do it. If you told me you wanted me back right now, I would follow you back home, back to the desert, back to whatever trunk or tower you decided to dump my body in once you were done with me. If you wanted to take me back into your arms, only to abandon me again once you realized that I cannot fix the parts of your life you are dissatisfied with, I would still come. I would always do anything you wanted me to. Even if that meant damning a little girl to an immortal life while you looked away from the deed. I do not want you to break me again. I do not want you to give me some kind of hope that maybe I am still the one you want. But if you told me, “Yes, Lestat, it is you and only you,” I would come back with you. Like a dog.” 

Lestat let out a sharp baleful laugh. The kind that used to set Louis’ teeth on edge that he now recognized as something Lestat couldn’t help, a sign that he was overwhelmed or hurt. The kind that could easily turn into a particular blend of Lestat anguish or hysterics. He continued the squeezing hug, praying the deep pressure would ground him a little.

“A dog,” Lestat repeated, “but an honest dog.” 

Louis felt more tears fill his eyes. “Is that truly what you think?” 

“Non, mon cher, it’s only what I know.” Lestat let out another sharp bark of a laugh, that turned into a choked scream, that turned into weeping.  

Chapter Text

“Honey….honey-baby.” Louis spoke, trying in any way to comfort the man breaking to pieces in his arms.

“Honeychild, can you look at me?” He pleaded trying to hold his face, warm with tears and regret. Lestat yanked away. 

“What’s wrong with me, Louis?” 

“Nothing sweet boy, you’re just unwell. You’re depressed  and probably still in shock and I-.” 

 “I need to know Louis.” Lestat sobbed, disregarding his comment all together and cutting him off. “What is it inside of me that makes me so unloveable?” 

“Lestat.” 

“If I just knew what it was I could fix it.” He continued to ramble. “If I just knew what was wrong I could find it and get rid of it but I don't! I don't know what it is! It’s been there ever since I was born. I need to find it. I need to find it and cut it out.” 

“Les honey,” Louis interrupted the downward spiral that Lestat was falling into. His voice filled with tears. ”You’re breaking my heart.”

 Lestat's crying quieted a little after that. 

”You’re not unloveable, baby. How could you think that? You're impossible not to love. It’s why I decided we needed to take a break for a little while. If I’m around you too much I fall too hard. You’re not unloveable or evil. You’re just overwhelmed. You’re not thinking clearly. I need you to calm down.” 

“Why?” Lestat choked, his crying had slowed but hadn’t stopped. He pulled away from Louis’ arms, looking more pale and sick than he had since he lay bleeding in the bathtub.

“It never mattered to you before.” He covered his face with his hands and screamed into his palms. 

Louis gathered him into his arms again, sharing in this anguish. He imagined a little boy in Auvergne with blonde hair and blue eyes, covered in bruises from his father and brothers, half the size he should be from malnutrition. He imagined him with his quiet stone-like mother who never offered shelter or care. He imagined him again, grown now, holding the violin of a boy he loved who was dead.  He imagined him lying on a bed of moldy straw, surrounded by corpses, bleeding and violated and cold after being left alone by Magnus in that tall drafty tower.

Every wound seemed to bleed with abandonment, the weapon that Louis always grabbed first during their fights. Louis thought of all of this and let his tears fall with him. 

“Je suis désolé…je suis désolé mon Cher.” Lestat wept. 

“I know. I know you are Les honey, it’s ok.” 

He knew Lestat didn’t mean to be flippant with his words, no matter how it sounded. “Sometimes I have no other words for how I feel” echoed back at him. It had taken him a long time to realize that most of the time when Lestat said something mean, what he really meant was I’m scared, I’m scared to death and no one has ever protected me. 

Louis lifted him slightly from his chest “My poor baby, my poor sweet boy” he cried trying his hardest to comfort him. Holding the back of his neck he left kisses all over his face, his forehead, both cheeks, his nose, his lips. He stopped and held Lestat tighter when he realized he wasn’t calming down. If anything his sobbing had intensified. “I’m sorry baby. It’s ok, I’m here, I’m here, shhh…shhh.”

“I'm sorry. “ Lestat sobbed again, interrupting Louis' soft consoling words “I’m so sorry Louis. I don't know why I’m acting like this. I don’t k-know what’s wrong with me.” 

“It’s ok honeychild, there ain’t nothing wrong with you, you’re just sad right now. It’ll get better.” Louis tried again to comfort his distraught husband. 

“I don’t know if I believe you, Mon Cher.” He sniffled. “ I try not to fool myself, thinking I was ever deserving of your love or had it at all in the first place. Sometimes the memories are too hard to push past.” 

“I know sugar, I know, the past don’t seem to ever let go, does it.” 

Lestat lifted his head to look into his husbands eyes,  and splintered Louis' heart further. “Did you ever really want me?”

“Sweet boy-“ Louis replied before cutting himself off. If he couldn’t say I love you to Lestat over decades as his husband, how could he say it now?

 “Of course I want you.” Louis comforted. “I wanted you then and I want you now. I care about you,” he substituted.

“I just want you to feel better. Tonight doesn’t change that. It doesn’t change anything. Right now what I want the most is for you to get well.”

Lestat took in a few more wavering breaths before his crying subsided a little.

”Can you tell me what going on in there?” Louis asked, tapping his temple then stroking the hair off his forehead  

 “I always used to try to convince myself that anyone who ever paid attention to me loved me.“ Lestat admitted softly. “You, my mother, Magnus.” 

“Magnus?” Louis said, shocked, trying hard not to be hurt that Lestat had lumped his name with two people that had abused and neglected his youth. 

Lestat nodded. “I used to try and think it was all a gift, because I took to vampirism so well, because of the fortune he left me with, when I had nothing to my name. I remembered how he hurt me, but I think I’ve been downplaying most of it.” 

Louis tensed a little at the idea, that Lestat was locking himself away from his clear violation to protect himself, like Louis had locked away some of his own painful memories. 

“But ever since after the trial, when I went back to the tower, I’ve been….remembering things how they really are. Remembering what he did to me. I thought I could recall all of it. I was wrong. I knew that he took much more from me than just my life that winter. the same way you can look at a scar and remember that there was pain there once. But these moments have been so much worse than I thought I remembered them being. It’s like being cut all over again.” 

“I know sweet pea, there’s not a day since Daniel told me about you saving me that I don’t think about leaving you in that tower alone.” 

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” Lestat sobbed. 

“I know honey.  I know. I’m sorry.” He kissed Lestat’s face delicately, bypassing the fact that Lestat was the one who brought it up, not him. He knew it was bound to come out someday. 

“We can stop for now, but we will need to talk about it someday, Lestat. If we don't, it will continue to eat you alive. You gotta talk about it for it to heal honey.”

Lestat seemed to gear up to argue that talking about it wouldn’t fix anything at all when Louis shut down his argument before it started. 

“We don’t have to talk about that stuff right now. Not while you’re like this.” Louis kissed his hair again. Louis waited a few more minutes, quietly rocking him and shushing him like a baby. Slowly Lestat calmed down. 

He then quickly changed the subject knowing that talking about the past traumas right now when Lestat was in this state would only make things worse. There would be a time to break further into his past, to try and heal some wounds that had gone untreated for decades if not centuries. But now Les needed care, comfort, and sleep to get well. 

 “Lestat. I need you to promise that you will call me if you feel bad like this again.” 

Lestat whimpered a little and clutched Louis tighter. 

“Les baby.” Louis said, jostling him to keep him present. “You give me your word right now, that if you feel bad again you’ll call me. I don’t care where I am or where you are. I will come to you and we can sort it out together.” 

Lestat was still quiet. Louis moved his hands from his back to his face, tilting it up to meet his. “We can consider this a part of healing. Let me take this as a message that you’re serious about getting better in our time apart. Can you do that for me, my sweet boy?” 

Lestat nodded weakly, his watery blue eyes wide and pleading. 

“Your word, Lestat.” Louis said with finality. 

Lestat’s hands came to grip his husband’s wrists as he held his face, keeping them there to ground himself and he began to speak. “I, Lestat De Lioncourt, seventh son of the marquis of Auvergne, promise to call you, Louis Du Pointe Du Lac if so needed.” 

Louis smiled at the way he phrased that. His husband had always been one for theatrics. “And I promise not to hurt or punish myself from here on out.” Louis amended. 

This sentence was harder for Lestat to say. Eventually he relented. 

“And I promise not to hurt or punish myself from here on out. Or at least until you can come help me.” 

It was close enough. 

Louis sealed their oath with a kiss. Lestat seemed slightly brighter after their lips parted. 

“Now, here's what we’re going to do for the rest of the night.“ Louis said, taking charge. 

“First, I’m going to clean up the rest of the blood, while you drink one more blood bag for me. 

“I’m not hungry.” 

“I knew you would say that. I know you’re not eating enough Les. That’s a part of hurting yourself. I would know. So you’re gonna start eating right. Ok?” 

“I’m tired, Louis.” He said, his voice sounding small and weak. 

“You're tired because you lost a lot of blood baby. So while you rest a little in bed, I’m going to bring you a blood bag and you're going to drink it.” 

“What if I throw it all up?” Lestat took Louis' hand that was placed on his chest and held it to his cheek. Clearly trying and failing to come up with an excuse to not have to eat.

“Then I’ll take care of you.” Louis placated. “You still shouldn’t have too much in one sitting yet, but you really did lose a lot, so I’d feel better if you have at least one more in your system.” 

Lestat acquiesced to this. 

“Next, I’m going to clean you up a little more while you get comfortable.” He said, rubbing at the red tear tracks that marred Lestat’s beautiful face. “Then I’m gonna hold you while we get into bed and sleep.” 

“Sleep...” Lestat sighed wantingly, leaning his head back into Louis' chest as if it was too much work to keep it upright on his own.  

“Yeah baby, we can sleep soon. I don’t know about you, but I’m about worn through.” He let out another chuckle. 

“You’re gonna be good for me the whole time and not argue. And I’m going to hold you tight for the whole night. Just the way you like it.” 

The sun would be rising soon, Louis would soon be feeling its pull. He brought Lestat’s eyes back up to meet his again. “Ok?”

“Ok” Lestat agreed, the ghost of a smile appearing on his lips.  

……

An hour later they lay in the cool pleasant dark. Lestat’s head was buried into Louis' chest, his ear never leaving his heartbeat. He had fallen fast asleep almost immediately after drinking his dinner and crawling further into the blankets. Louis fingered a loose thread on the royal blue sweater that he had forced Lestat to wear. It was only marginally helping with the shivering, but Louis felt better the more he tried to keep Lestat warm. He took care of him as best he could, cleaning the blood from his beloved face with a warm washcloth. After Lestat was clean, fed, and calm, Louis moved into the sheets with him, holding his husband to his chest, hoping his body heat would help stop the shivering. 

He brushed his sleeping husband’s curls with his fingers, untangling the blond strands that were still a little damp from the bath water. While his hands were busy he stared at the ceiling for a little while, the sounds of the city growing as more and more people started their day. Although he was exhausted both physically and emotionally he found sleep elusive. They were still far from ok. 

Louis would stay with Lestat for another stretch of time to make sure he didn't immediately regress into self loathing and punishment. It had taken two years for him to get back into the ruined state he had been in when Louis had found him in New Orleans. 

Two years that you noticed. He thought unhelpfully. 

It was very possible that although his body had been healing his mind and heart had not gotten better at all. He would stay now, to make sure he didn’t immediately crumble apart again. He knew logically that if he left Lestat better than how he found him then the next time would be slightly easier to handle. What was that thing Lestat said about his “capacity for enduring”.

Whatever it was it still didn’t make the challenge any less daunting. But tonight he didn’t have to focus on that. Plus he would have help when they start talking with a professional. Louis made a mental note to look into the best and most discreet therapist he could find the next night. It wasn’t a lie when he said that he wanted to go too. He had been meaning to ever since the interview. 

But tonight wasn’t for that. Tonight he could feel the weight of his husband in his arms, and the warm puffs of breath on his neck and know things would be ok, even if it was just for the night. 

“I love you.” He whispered into the dark room. “I love you.” 

Lestat hummed a little against his chest still deeply asleep and turned his head to the other side. Faintly, Louis could hear their heartbeats, beating in sync.