#vampire!virgil

Patton later told him how he'd dressed his wounds and changed him out of his torn and blood-soaked clothes. "Your skin was so cold," he'd whispered, warm fingers curled through his hair. "But you were still breathing, so I bundled you up and stayed close."

Unmoving and barely breathing, Virgil had slept for three days and three nights. When the sun had set at the start of the fourth night, Virgil was woken by the sound of Patton's heart pounding in his ears. The hot, salty scent of blood heavy in the air. Wrapped in the glorious heat of Patton's arms and only barely conscious, Virgil had mouthed weakly at the bit of flesh peeking out from the collar of his fluffy sweater.

A sharp canine grazing against his own tongue broke the spell long enough for Virgil to flee. He pushed himself out of Patton's embrace and out of the room. As he leapt over the banister to the floor below, he tried to convince himself he couldn't hear Patton calling him over the sound of his own ragged breathing.

Barefoot and clad in borrowed pajamas and a hoodie too short for his frame, Virgil didn't stop running until the dawn cut its bright pink gash along the horizon. He spent his first full day as a vampire hiding from the sun on the edges of a junkyard downtown.

Two years passed before Virgil had gained enough control to risk seeing him again.

It was winter again, and the early dusk granted him a better chance of seeing Patton outside, gathering birch bark or syrup. Or maybe even filling the racoon feeders for the night. After only a few hours tucked into the crook of a large yew, carefully upwind of the house and the salted caramel scent of his old love, Virgil was soon rewarded for his patience. A puff of steam followed Patton as he bounced down the path, empty bucket in hand. He whistled to himself and, likely, in warning to any of the more skittish night creatures who might have begun to creep out of the daytime refuges.

Like him.

When Patton was a dozen paces or so away, Virgil stood and spoke from the shadows. "Pat?" he called into the night.

Patton jumped at the sudden sound, pounding heart deafening to Virgil's ears. It slowed quickly, though, as he turned, peering into the darkness. "Vee?" he asked, voice shaking. But not in fear. He sounded… hopeful. "Vee, is that you?"

Virgil stepped out from under the yew's boughs and into the thin moonlight above. "It's me, Pat."

"You came back," he said simply, setting down the pail and stepping closer.

The wind shifted, filling Virgil's lungs with sugar and sage, earth and blood. Shuddering, he nodded. "I… I hope that's alright. I can… I can go."

"Don't you dare, Mister!" Patton marched forward, arms outstretched. He stopped just shy of touching him. "Is it alright if I hug you?" he asked, softer.

"Y—you want to?" Hands shoved in his overcoat pockets, Virgil fought the instinct to grab him and pull him close and… But it wasn't blood lust pushing forward. Afraid of his own hunger, he'd fed as soon as the sky grew dark. He didn't need to feed. He needed his love in his arms again.

"Of course I do!" Closing the distance, Patton fell into his arms, squeezing him tight with that old unexpected strength. "I've missed you so much, Vee."

He held him stiffly at first, but as the heat of Patton's body soaked into his skin, Virgil curled over him, opening his coat and wrapping it around both of them. "I… I can't keep you warm," he murmured into his hair. Patton's breath, his touch burned, warming him to the core. Virgil didn't want to think about how uncomfortable his own ice-cold skin must feel to him.

But Patton smiled up at him, cheeks reddened with the cold and tears sparkling in his eyelashes. He took Virgil's hand and pressed it against his own chest. "You keep me warm right here." Drawing closer, Patton reached up with his other hand and cupped Virgil's cheek.

Unable to resist the heat of his palm, Virgil let his eyes fall closed and covered Patton's hot hand with his own. Frigid lips grazed the bared skin between Patton's gloves and sleeve. Pulse point throbbing beneath paper-thin skin. Head bowed and shaking, Virgil pressed a slow kiss against wrist. The barest tip of his tongue darted out, seared against Patton's flesh, but he kept his teeth safely behind his lips.

Patton never moved away. Virgil opened his eyes, bracing himself for the expected frozen terror in Patton's face. Instead he smiled up at him.

"You're not afraid of me?" Virgil whispered.

"Of course not," Patton said said as though no other answer was even possible. Letting go of only one hand, he stooped to pick up the still-empty pail and threaded their fingers together. He gave his hand a little tug. "Will you come ho—come inside with me?"

Nodding, Virgil let himself be led back to Patton's house.

~

Patton had left the heavy door on the latch, just as he always used to. As he pushed it open with one hand, cozy firelight, the scents of drying herbs and simmering soup spilled out into the dark night. Virgil paused on the doorstep, tracing the rust-colored stained bell in its frame. And the protections runes carved into its shape.

Following his gaze, Patton hummed and reached out his hand, "You needn't worry," he said. "It's safe for you to come in, it always has been."

Virgil accepted his hand and closed his eyes before stepping inside. Patton spoke the truth. "How long have you known?" he finally asked. A vampire did not simply saunter into a mage's home on the technicality of an open invitation, let alone a mage as skilled as Patton.

Stomping the snow from his boots, Patton shrugged, thoughtful. "Really, as… as soon as I saw you that night." He watched Virgil loosen his scarf, the immortal scars clearly visible just below his jaw. "There are scarce other ways to get puncture wounds like that. And…" He looked down then, straightening their boots over the fireplace grate. "You still had you sire's blood on your mouth," he added slowly. "There was no question you would turn."

"But if… if you knew…" Virgil's head swam and he fumbled with the collar of his overcoat. Patton surged forward, gently disentangling him from the damp wool. "Pat, when I woke, you were in my arms. If you knew I'd turn…" With his thumb and forefinger, he nudged up Patton's chin so he'd meet his eyes. "Why would you put yourself in danger like that?"

"Oh, Vee." Smiling, Patton lowered his head and kissed Virgil's fingers before meeting his eyes again. "I knew you couldn't hurt me, besides…" he said with a little shrug as he peeled off his coat. "You needed someone to take care of you. Oh—" Hugging the coat to his chest in one arm, Patton brushed his hand down Virgil's back. "You're wearing my hoodie."

Turning, Virgil held Patton's hand to his still heart and nodded. "I… I was wearing it when…" Patton's eyes shone, glossy with tears. Virgil didn't realize he was also crying until Patton reached up and brushed away a tear from his face.

"I'm glad you kept it."

"You kept me warm," Virgil whispered.

As though suddenly feeling the frigid damp from his coat, Patton stroked his cheek and quickly hung the sopping wool by the fire. Then he took Virgil's hand and pulled him to the foot of the stairs. "I have something to show you."

Patton brought him to his bedroom. "You've… made some changes."

Nodding, Patton looked proudly around the room. Where once the big poster bed had dominated the space, it was now pushed into one corner, just under the window. Patton had brought up the long wooden table from the dining room, as well as several bookcases from various parts of the house. Every surface was covered with potions and vials and the supplies of his craft. A heavy, ancient tome lay open in the center of the table, a basket of scrolls sat underneath. Fragrant herbs hung drying from the windows and only slightly overpowered by the heavy, wet smell of fungi media.

"I've made it my workshop," Patton pulled him closer to a large flask left bubbling over a heat source Virgil couldn't identify. "A few of these require… frequent monitoring. And I—" He shrugged and looked up at Virgil, blood blooming just under his skin as he blushed. "I slept better being able to keep watch."

"What are you…" One end of the table was consumed by a detailed map of the entire region, held flat with Patton's ritual candles and a heavy crystal wrapped in a braided cord. The map was covered in tiny, dated marks. "You've been scrying for me," he said more than asked.

Patton's hand hovered over the crystal, its energy buzzing through the air. He nodded.

Then Virgil's eyes fell on the open page of the grimoire. To sceald a vampyre, Þu þearfast mod and garleac. Virgil stepped back, dropping Patton's hand. "Are you… are you trying to cure me?"

Eyes wide and mouth falling open into a little 'oh,' Patton shook his head. He rushed forward and grasped Virgil's hand in both of his, gently tugging him closer to the table. "No! No, I don't want to change you," he said, pointing to the Old English. "I want to keep you safe. It's protection charm. For you," he added.

"For me?" Virgil repeated dumbly. "Not… against me?"

"Never," Patton whispered. "It'll help hide you from Hunters." He shook his head again and drew closer. "I don't want to change you, just… take care of you."

Virgil's arms wrapped around him almost automatically and Patton looked up at him, breath sweet and hot as it fanned over his face. Patton's heartbeat filled the silence, thrumming against Virgil's chest as he closed the final distance between them. Face turned up, Patton licked his lips, tiny pink tongue darting out. "Kiss me?" he whispered.

"I—" Every reason why he shouldn't, every sensible thought about keeping his distance from the soft, living warmth of his skin and flesh and blood was pushed away by those whispered words. A soft growl pushed up from his throat and Patton surged up to meet him. Patton's fingers—gloriously burning hot fingers—threaded behind Virgil's neck and pulled him down into a kiss.

~

Patton had never given up hope, but to be honest, when the bright colors of autumn had turned cold and wet with winter for the second year, his hope of ever seeing Virgil again had begun to grow terribly thin. Tracking his movements with the crystal, seeing him move from day to day helped to reassure him his love was still alive… well vapirically alive, at least. It hurt to see him never come closer than a few miles. But even in the dark that awful night, he'd seen the terror in Virgil's eyes as he'd pushed him away. He knew Virgil wasn't staying away because he wanted to. Merely because he thought he had to.

So Patton had held on to his hope, and poured his worry and his love into finding a way to try to keep him safe, to try to take care of him even from afar. Once he'd perfected the charm, he planned to take his map and seek Virgil out. But for all his hope, he'd never dared dream that Virgil would return to him first.

Skin cold as stone but as soft as ever, Virgil was finally here, in his arms. Tears salted their kiss, and Virgil trembled against him. Patton held him closer, relishing the familiar taste of his mouth, tracing the sharp edges of his new teeth. Far too quickly, Virgil gently broke away, his first shaky smile of the night curling up his lips.

"Will you stay?" For the night, for his life, for as long as Virgil wanted, that's what Patton wanted, too.

Long, cool fingers carded through his hair. "I… I need certain things," he muttered, bowing his head until their foreheads touched. "I… I would need…"

"You'll need to feed," Patton said plainly. "And you'll need a coffin at night," Patton nodded, grinning when Virgil looked back at him with surprise. "With soil from… well," he glanced outside. "From here."

"But how—" Together, their eyes fell on the old grimoire Patton had bartered for from the wizened couple on the other edge of the woods. "Oh."

"Will you stay?" Patton asked again, hope bubbling in his chest at the return of Virgil's smile.

He answered him with a kiss.

~

Patton's days soon fell into a pattern. All through that winter and for much of the spring, he would sleep when Virgil slept, then wake at the first owl's hoot of the evening. Most days, hungry days, Virgil insisted he slept alone, but some days… Those days after good nights when he'd found enough willing and generous to share a bit of their blood. Or hunting nights when Virgil found someone whose only goal was to hurt others, those days Virgil would open his arms and invite Patton to sleep with him.

As summer approached and the days grew longer, even those glorious times left Patton restless partway through Virgil's slumber and he would spend part of the day working on his potions. The protection charm worked flawlessly, rendering Virgil nearly undetectable to Hunters until he was safely out of their range. He had several new ideas to try, and the long, sunny days granted him plenty of time to both rest and work, researching, gathering herbs, crushing and mixing.

It had been a particularly productive day and Patton was startled by the owl outside his window. He'd never managed to make his way to bed. With a little laugh, he chewed some ginseng for a boost, then raced down to the cellar to greet Virgil when he woke.

"'Morning, Moonlight," he murmured, cool hands soothing over his sunburned cheeks. He'd spent a several hours hunting for green sunflower seeds and his face bore the proof.

"Good morning, love," Patton whispered back, leaning in for a kiss.

Sitting up, Virgil pressed his face into Patton's curls. "You've been outside today. You smell like the sun."

The longing in Virgil's voice was unmistakable and Patton held him tighter. "I've been working on something. A surprise for you, if it works."

"You always have the best surprises," he murmured, lips close to his ear. Virgil's head dipped lower, cool breath against his neck. A low growl rumbled in his chest and he pushed back, trembling. "I… I need—"

Giving Virgil a bit more space, Patton nodded but still offered his hand to help him up. "I'll be here when you return."

Virgil stared at his hand, moonlight glinting off the hint of teeth behind parted lips. He accepted the help, then dashed upstairs and outside.

Patton watched him go, then slowly followed him out of the cellar and to the kitchen. He made himself breakfast then returned to his work. The seeds were ready and so was he, gathering the remaining roots and the chanterelles he'd kept in quarantine under his bed. This potion took a careful hand and precise measurements, both in the preparation and to keep the draught safe and palatable for Virgil.

If the grimoire was right, the Sun's Dew would grant Virgil the time in the sun he so clearly craved.

Mind on his task and heart out in the woods, seeking a meal, Patton sprinkled the hulled seeds into his cauldron. He counted as they fell, then set down the mortar to press what remained.

He'd miscounted.

The potion bubbled, foam rising up to the lip of the cauldron and spilling out onto the table. Patton moved quickly to sop up the hot broth but the mixture was faster. It touched the flask of birchwood and exploded.

~

Sun kissed and still warm from the summer's day, Patton smelled of ginseng and fire and life. Blood thundered in his veins, a taste Virgil wished he could forget. A few desperate nights, when he'd returned weakened and starved from an unsuccessful hunt, he'd succumbed to sweet Patton's freely given flesh. Succumbed to his need and drank. He didn't feed much from him, more often than he should, less often than he longed to. Far less often Patton offered.

But this was a lucky—if short—night and Virgil escaped temptation. After several hours and with the scent of dawn in the air, he was finally sated by a common hunter he'd been tracking for three long weeks. Long enough to know with certainty the earth would not miss the tread of his boots on her soil.

Nor would his battered wife.

Virgil raced the sun home, crossing the threshold just as the first birdsong flitted out from the lake. He closed the door behind him with a sigh, greeting Patton's relieved smile with a laugh. "Yes, I know I cut that a little too close for comfort," he said, moving to his side once he'd finished drawing the long, heavy curtains over the front room's windows.

Patton blinked up at him with tired eyes, already dressed for bed. "You'll be more careful next time?"

Virgil nodded solemnly. "You have my word," he murmured, drawing his love close. He froze at Patton's tiny wince. "Have I hurt you?"

"No! No, of course not," Patton smiled, easing into the embrace. "I'm a little stiff from hunching over my workbench." They stood quietly together, listening to the whip-poor-wills outside.

With the warmth of the sun in his arms, his recent feed thrumming through his veins, Virgil hummed, a peace he'd been missing finally clicking into place. His head grew heavy and he rested his cheek against the top of Patton's head.

"You must be tired," Patton whispered, his own voice fatigued. "Would it be alright if I joined you tonight?"

"Please," Virgil murmured back, head bowed to meet his eyes. Sad clouds passed over Patton's eyes and Virgil leaned in for a soft kiss. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

Nodding, Patton laid his head on his shoulder. "It will make tonight special."

~

That night's dreams were filled with blood.

Rich, salty, and hot. Under the blinding moonlight, Virgil waded through a steaming lake. He washed his face and hands in it, breathing in the life and strength of it.

The owl's cry woke him. In the complete blackness of his closed coffin, Patton was still curled close, head pillowed on his shoulder. He'd spent the whole slumber in his arms, a sweet gift on these long summer days. "Good morning, Moonlight," he whispered, pressing kisses into his hair. The scent of his blood was thick in the air, rising up from him with a fervor Virgil was not accustomed to in all but his deepest hunger. Patton drowsed, shifting weakly in his arms. "Moonlight?"

"Hm, love," he mumbled, head heavy against his chest.

Leaning as far back as the tiny space would allow, Virgil brushed the backs of his fingers over Patton's cheek.

His skin felt cool.

One arm cradling him close, Virgil pushed up, throwing open the lid to his coffin. He let it clatter to the floor, the ember's glow illuminating the sticky blood covering his hand. "No! No, I couldn't, I—" Virgil licked his lips, dry and tasteless. No, it hadn't been him. "Moonlight? Pat!" Holding him close, Virgil leapt out and settled Patton in front of the cellar furnace.

His shirt and sleep pants were soaked through with blood, as were Virgil's own clothes. But his neck and wrists were clean of wounds. "I'm sorry," Virgil muttered and, hands shaking, tore open his shirt.

Gashes littered the soft skin of his chest and belly, one angry and long, curling around just below his ribs. "Pat? Pat, what's happened?" Virgil looked up and saw Patton watching him past half-closed lids.

"I made a mistake," he whispered, voice horribly thin. "I… I couldn't heal it. I tried, I…" He shook his head once, eyes slipping shut.

"No!" Virgil roared, grabbing Patton's shoulders, "No, you can't just die, you—"

Jostled into half-consciousness, Patton's eyes half-opened again. "I'm sorry I couldn't take care of you."

"No, no no no no no!" Virgil shook his head, copper and salt making his head spin. "No, but I can take care of you. Pat? Pat, listen to me," he shook him again, willing him to stay alert long enough to say yes. "Please? Let me take care of you. All you need to do is drink."

"Drink?" he asked, so quiet Virgil had to lean down to hear.

Biting his own wrist, Virgil nodded, offering the wound. "Please," he whispered. Without a heart to pump it, his blood flowed slowly, a single drop welling at the edge of the wound.

Patton blinked up at him, each fall so slow Virgil feared it was the last. Finally, he parted his lips, soft pink tongue lapping at Virgil's skin.

"That's it, Moonlight, just like that," Virgil urged, a new warmth filling his chest as Patton's tentative movements turned purposeful and he drank in earnest. "Just like that."

Patton paused, head falling back against his arm, so Virgil stretched out next to him in front of the furnace. He pulled him close and raised his wrist to Patton's mouth again. "That's it, Moonlight. Now we can take care of each other."

"I was wondering." Thomas did that thing he did where he wans't fully visible, but gave the impression he was perching on something- in this case, the edge of Virgil's dresser. "You're an excellent musician, and I've seen you writing all sorts of songs, and mixing music and everything."

"Thanks." Virgil said a little awkwardly. He knew he was pretty good, but it was still weird to hear it, even though that's mostly where he made his money.

"And you said you played in bands back when you lived in the city when someone bugged out."

"Played with this one band almost a year before they found a bassist that didn't suck. I was on their debut album." he agreed.

"How come you never had a band of your own?"

Virgil snorted, but suppressed actual laughter.

"Well first off- I am not front-man material. In the least."

"I suppose that you don't really like being stared at."

"Yes, that too. But that's not why."

Thomas tipped his head (just a bit too far making him look more like a cartoon of a person than a person) and raised his eyebrows. Virgil smiled without thinking, even if it was a little weird. Thomas had started doing things like that shortly after he started manifesting visually. Logan thought it had something to do with how he thought of himself, and one of the first things they'd learned about Thomas was that he really loved cartoons. So if he pictured himself as a cartoon version of himself, his visible form would reflect that.

Virgil wondered if, given time, Thomas might start looking entirely like a cartoon, as he forgot more about himself as a living person.

"One second." He sent a text out. He was pretty sure that Logan and Roman had gone to a museum to be snarky about an exhibit, but Patton was probably in the house. "Alright, if you really want to know, I can show you."

"Please, you have more musical talent in one tooth than I had in my whole body, and I did a lot of singing."

"Uh-huh." Virgil looked at the ghost skeptically. He went over to the door, opened it and called down stairs. "Hey Patton, I'm going to sing."

There was a faint strained whine and then a faint

"Have fun!" followed by a door closing.

"You can do it!" Roman called, a little closer. "I believe in you."

"Oh fuck off." Virgil retorted, and Roman laughed.

Thomas snorted, shifting in place and folding his arms.

"Now you're just being theatrical."

Virgil smiled sarcastically and hummed under his breath. Then he started singing

For a few moments Thomas felt justified. But then- it was wrong. He couldn't put his finger on why but it was wrong. Technically the melody and the tune were there, and he was hitting the notes. But it echoed and it warped and it just sounded wrong, like someone was purposefully playing with sliders on a mixing board.

Outside, Patton started howling, sounding a little hurt himself. Virgil stopped, coughed, and put his hand over his mouth looking a bit embarrassed. There were a few more baying howls, and then an apologetic sounding bark.

"It used to be I just was a little flat, you know? I know how music works." His voice sounded rough. "but not really vocalist quality. But then uh." He looked even more embarrassed. "Something happened, and now my voice does that when I sing. I don't mind that-" Virgil hastened to add. "Since I don't have to sing to play instruments or even write or mix music. But it sounds worse recorded, believe it or not."

"Well." Thomas flickered a bit, and gave a lop sided smile. "There's always death metal."