#wicktober

Snippet

Santino was hungry, and hunger meant he needed to hunt. Surrounded by the large forest surrounding his estate, he could hunt game freely... If not for the fact he was one of the vampires that couldn't stand animal blood. Not that it didn't taste fine, but it made him violently sick and yet, he found himself trying once again, because the alternative was going to the city to find a willing or unsuspecting soul to drink from. But with the escalating conflict between vampires and monster hunters, the risk was bigger, maybe just too big right now. Especially since Santino was having an affair with a hunter, and not just any of them but the very best. Their golden child, their most perfect soldier, John Wick.

On the grounds near his mansion, he quickly found deer tracks, and it didn't take him long to find the majestic animal. He hated killing them, they were beautiful, fragile, sensitive, the royal animals of the woods. Yet he was out here, killing one of them for his own sake, even if that would only bring him a very fleeting satiation. But hunger and desperation were stronger this time.

He sank his teeth into its neck, feeling the warm blood spilling over his tongue. It was always comforting, no matter whose blood it was, even if he always disliked the feeling of fur against his lips.

The energy he got from the blood was enough to keep him up for an hour before he started feeling the side effects. The awful headache, like a migraine stabbing through his head. But what was worse was the nausea and stomach pain. It was awful, he ended up being violently sick, every strain shot a wave of pain through his whole body, making him whimper each time. He was a mess, knelt in front of the toilet, panting when he got a chance to try and catch his breath.

Santino cursed under his breath, regretting his decision. He tried to breathe through the nausea to stop feeling light headed. It felt worse when he closed his eyes, even for a moment, it was like the whole room was spinning, making him more vigilant. He was not sure how long he spent there, considering how awful he felt, it felt like an hour. Panic rushed through his body, making him shake slightly even as he tried to hold back his noises.

After some time, he felt well enough to stand up and wash his face in hopes that it would help him calm down. Maybe he drank too much blood this time. He took a few steps back, wanting to get to his bed but got too dizzy. He stopped and sank down, leaned against the wall, all he could do now was sit and wait for the side effects to go away.

He was thinking about John, how it has been weeks since he had seen him. The situation between hunters and vampires got worse and they had trouble meeting, even if it was in secret.

Santino leaned his head against the counter and feared he would pass out, he felt even more drained than before taking the blood. He shut his eyes closed and tried to rest like that. The pain was unbearable.

There was a faint noise in the background, he wasn't sure what it was since he was falling into unconsciousness. He was worried it was a hunter, but he could barely open his eyes, his vision blurry. He still detected a familiar figure walking towards him.

“Are you okay? What happened?” It was John, the only hunter Santino loved and cared for. “Your door wasn't locked and I saw you through the window.” He was already checking for any injuries on Santino's body, taking a hold of his hand for support.

The night was long and insufferable, the air felt heavy, the room felt hot and almost claustrophobic. It was one of those nights, the long and terrifying ones that Santino had to get himself through alone.

Vivid memories mixed with nightmares, it felt so real, he was physically and mentally feeling everything that was happening in his mind and he couldn't do anything. He was shaking, hands clenching his pillow and sheets, his breathing hitched from time to time as if he couldn't breathe. He felt sick, he felt dizzy, all that while he was asleep, unaware of his surroundings, all he could focus on was the horrible nightmare. A nightmare that had some reality in it.

It was 4 am when it was happening, the halls of the D'Antonio mansion were dark, everyone was sleeping except Santino's best assistant, Acheron. He doesn't need sleep, only rest sometimes. Usually, during the night, Acheron would do some of Santino's paperwork to help him out, to make it easier for him. After all, Santino wasn't looking too good lately. He started smoking more, drinking before going to sleep without even eating anything, so sometimes he would wake up feeling sick and hungover. As far as Acheron knew, this evening, Santino drank only half a glass of the wine, he looked worried the whole day, and no one could really figure out why. Not even Acheron.

He just signed the last paper when he started feeling uneasy, like there was danger nearby, that something was wrong with Santino. He placed the papers back to their place and went to check out the situation.

There wasn't anything unusual while he walked through the halls, everything was silent, he could only hear his footsteps. Yet the closer he got to Santino's room the more he heard… whimpers? Sobs? Acheron tried to figure out the noise as he leaned his head closer to the door. His master’s noises sounded like he was struggling, like he was in pain and Acheron couldn't let him stay like that.

He carefully opened the door, silently sneaking towards Santino. He stopped right next to him, noticing how he was trembling, gripping the sheets, he really wasn't looking too good. Acheron thought about waking him up, he was struggling in his sleep, Acheron couldn't just let that continue.

“Master,” he whispered, gently rubbing Santino's arm yet he didn't react only winced but that was all.

Acheron stopped for a second, thinking what to do, he felt bad seeing his master like this, it wasn't fair that Santino had to go through another night like this.

“Master,” Acheron tried again, a little louder this time and shaked his arm a little more. “Wake up, it's okay.” He repeated it a few more times until Santino gasped softly, startled awake and disoriented.

The demon stepped back to give him some space, turning his head to look for a glass or a bottle so he could bring him some water. He heard Santino shuffling with the sheets, but he thought it was only him trying to regain himself. “I'm right here-” Acheron started when he looked back but stopped himself mid sentence when there was a barrel of a gun pressed against his forehead.

He could see it in Santino's eyes, they weren't clear, he was confused, he didn't recognize his assistant, his hand was shaking, he was still breathing a bit heavier. Acheron slowly raised his hands in surrender, “It's me, Master.” It didn't work, Santino was still holding the gun. “Acheron. Your assistant.”

That seemed to finally get to Santino, he blinked, sighing and slowly lowering his gun, but still looking at his assistant. D'Antonio looked terrified for a moment, like he couldn't process what just happened. “I’m sorry,” Santino whispered and Acheron took the gun away, placing it at the counter.

“It's okay, you're safe,” Acheron said, trying to sound reassuring, since he could see that his master was distressed.

“No, no, I'm so sorry,” Santino murmured, almost too quietly for Acheron to hear. “I'm sorry- I didn't mean to.” He rubbed his face and pinched his eyes closed in an attempt to fully wake himself up.

“I understand, it's okay.” At this moment, Acheron wasn't sure what to say, he wanted to give Santino some time to process everything. But he felt the need to tell him to breathe, seeing how panicked Santino looked, he couldn't let him have a panic attack. “Just breathe for me, okay? Slowly.”

Santino actually looked annoyed for a moment, just mostly at himself for reacting the way he did and now he was struggling to calm down his breathing. “Fuck, I really… I don't know why I did that.” Santino tried to inhale and exhale calmly, but it was still shaky and it was like he couldn't do anything. It was then when Acheron noticed a glistening trail down Santino's face.

The sobbing he had heard.

“Master, have you cried?” Santino looked up at him in confusion.

“What?” He breathed out, feeling his face and the wet spot. “No… I didn't. What is this?” He was so confused, in disbelief, and nothing was making sense.

“You probably had a nightmare that was too intense. It happens, though, especially if you were stressed out these days.” And, Santino was stressed out these days. Acheron thought it was something about work but now it looked like there was something more.

“What the fuck… I could've shot you.” Santino looked over at the gun on the counter, not really listening to Acheron.

“Well, I can't really die. Although it would hurt.” Acheron tried to use a little bit of his charm to help and calm down the tension. “And it would stain your bed and I don't want that.”

Somehow, that made Santino laugh, but it was a sudden chuckle that turned into more of a desperate laugh as he tried to stop himself, lowering his head to hide his face with his band. “What have I done?” He whispered when he got himself to stop.

“Nothing. Nothing bad happened.” Acheron took this as an opportunity to try and feel Santino's forehead in case he got a high temperature, but it was like Santino sensed that he was getting closer to him.

“Don't touch me.” D'Antonio warned, a hint of frustration in his voice.

“Okay, I won't.” Acheron stepped back. There was silence for a few seconds before Acheron tried again, however a bit hesitant, “I'm… not sure having a gun under your pillow is the safest option for you. Maybe in the drawer?”

“Just… shut up. I feel sick, stop talking.” For a moment, he thought he was going to be sick, and having his head down and then looking up made it worse. He cursed something in Italian, Acheron stood right there in front of him in case if he had to help him get to the bathroom. However, Santino managed to take some deep breaths, remembering what Acheron told him, to breathe slowly.

“Okay?” Acheron asked softly, studying Santino's face and body language.

“I… I think so,” Santino nodded slowly, voice barely above whisper. “What time is it?”

“Half past five in the morning.”

Santino sighed in frustration, his mind was racing with so many thoughts. “I can't believe this happened again.”

“It passed now. You're okay.” Well, it could still take Santino some time to fully regain himself.

“I think it was instinctive…” Santino paused to exhale, “To grab the gun. But I thought…”

“What?” Acheron asked softly.

“I thought you were someone else.”

Oh. Acheron was right then. That look in Santino's eyes told everything. Fear, confusion, disorientation, anger. The assistant guessed it was probably better not to ask him who he saw instead of him, but he knew it was only slow steps with Santino when it came to helping him open up about his emotions. No matter what reaction he would get from Santino, he could understand his feelings more that way.

“Do you want to maybe tell me who you thought-”

“No, no,” Santino cut him off, “I don't want to talk about it.”

Acheron nodded, sensing sorrow and misery mixed with anger in his master. Whoever he saw must've done something terrible to him. “How about I bring you some water? Or tea? Anything you'd like,” he offered.

“Water is fine,” Santino replied quietly.

While Acheron was getting him water, Santino got up, felt dizzy but supported himself on the counter to get to the window. He opened it and felt the cold fresh morning air, inhaling and exhaling it.

“Oh, Master, what are you doing?” Acheron asked, placing the glass on the counter and rushed towards him.

“I'm fine, I just need some air,” Santino replied. Sometimes, Acheron's worry would annoy him, even if deep down he knew he only meant to protect him. “Don't touch me.”

Acheron stopped, he was about to hold his shoulders in support. “Okay. I brought you water.”

Santino sighed deeply, closing his eyes, “Thank you.”

The demon stood on the side, waiting for Santino to take in some deep breaths. It took him a few minutes and decided to come back to bed after he shivered from the breeze. He was quiet, didn't say anything when he sat on the bed, took the glass and drank almost everything.

“Put the gun away,” Santino murmured quietly.

“I'm sorry?” Acheron asked since he didn't hear him properly.

“Put the fucking gun away, I don't want to look at it,” D'Antonio snapped, “Put it in the drawer.”

Acheron did what he was told, putting the gun in the drawer. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Santino stayed quiet again, swallowing nervously and looking down at the floor. “I almost pulled the trigger.”

“You didn't.”

“I almost did. You started talking and I stopped myself.”

“You wouldn't kill me, I can't die,” Acheron reminded him.

“I know. What if it wasn't you? What if it was someone else?” Santino looked at him, finally after some time.

“Well…” Acheron sighed, “It didn't happen, it's best not to think about that.” He was worried it would upset if they started talking about it.

“It could've have-”

“Master.” Acheron cut him off. “Everything's alright.” He had to snap him out of it.

Santino looked puzzled, but this time, he didn't snap back at him. Instead, he nodded and looked away from him. “Right… yes. I guess so.”

“You should feel safe in your own home. With me, I can guarantee that you're safe here.”

His master stayed quiet again. He should feel safe here, his reaction was out fear, instinctive and not the first time this happened. “I know. I'm sorry if I ever doubt you, sometimes I forget that you're a demon and immortal.”

Acheron chuckled softly, “It's alright, I understand. I just want you to feel like you're safe.”

“Yeah. You want that and my soul one day.” It looked like Santino relaxed a little, finally.

“I'm glad you're feeling better,” Acheron smiled. “Joking so early.”

“Don't get used to it,” Santino groaned as he felt the back of his neck. He probably got a little stiff while sleeping. He also noticed that his skin felt warm, so Acheron was right about his suspicion.

“Alright,” Acheron nodded, “Would you like any pills? Painkillers? However, I don't recommend drinking them on an empty stomach.”

“No, I'm barely drinking water. I'll be fine, thank you.” Perhaps chugging down water so quickly wasn't the right move, since now it was starting to make him feel sick again.

“Are you sure you'll be fine?”

“Yes, I'll sleep through it. Or… I don't know, stay awake. It wouldn't be the first time.”

“It's better to get some sleep, Master. The nightmare wouldn't continue, I'm sure.” Acheron couldn't promise it won't continue, he was just hoping his master would continue sleeping peacefully.

“We'll see. I'd like to be left alone now.” The sunrise started to appear and that didn't help Santino's sudden headache.

“Whatever you say, Master,” Acheron said and bowed his head in respect. “You can always call me whenever you need me.”

Santino only nodded in response and lay back down on the bed, hearing the door close when Acheron left.

Sleep through it. Acheron couldn't stop thinking about what his master said. Santino said that so casually, so he was doing it often and Acheron couldn't always tell when.

Santino even managed to trick his own demon assistant into thinking he was fine when he wasn't. ‘Impressive.’ Acheron thought.

In the morning, at 8 am, Santino woke up again. Or he never slept. Acheron noticed the dark circles under his eyes, and he just wasn't looking too well. It also took him a longer time to get out of his room, so the demon only thought of the worst, that his master was sick in the bathroom.

Santino was in the kitchen, drinking coffee, or attempting to since this time it tasted awful and made him feel nauseous again. So, he only drank a little bit.

While Santino was still there, Acheron went to his room and immediately noticed that the gun was on the counter again. Why? Acheron thought Santino wanted it out of his sight for at least a day.

Well, Acheron left it there, knowing Santino doesn't like when his things are being touched or put away. But it made him worried and he wanted to ask Santino about it, but seeing how tired he looked, he didn't do it. He didn't want to upset him.

“Acheron. Let's go, we'll be late.” He heard Santino calling for him and he obeyed, following his master and his orders like always.

Autumn was the start of flu season.

This fact was not on Vincent’s mind, nor was it a part of his plans. He was the most powerful member of the High Table – the proper health concerns for a man of his station were assassination attempts and gunfights. But it was on Chidi’s mind.

He was watching Vincent carefully across the long, walnut conference table surrounded by diplomats from the Ruska Roma. This was dragging on, and Vincent’s initial playfulness had worn away to exhaustion despite the fact that it was only 10 o’clock in the morning. He was still offering a cold, impassable smile, but Chidi could see that it didn’t touch his eyes and that he had to keep straightening up to maintain his usually perfect posture. What worried him most was Vincent’s voice, which sounded unnaturally rough. Chidi had asked about it in the morning. “Est-ce que vous allez bien, Marquis? Vous sentez-vous à la hauteur de vos reunions? [Are you quite well, Marquis? Do you feel up to your meetings?]”

“Oui,” had been the only reply. And then, a little later, “Il fait froid ici, c'est tout. [It’s cold in here, that’s all.]” And he barked at a servant to start the fireplace.

He was sick, almost definitely, and it was starting to drive Chidi mad with the desire to support him. He could move closer to him inconspicuously enough, standing behind the Marquis, but then he wouldn’t be able to see his face. And he was trying to catch his eye. Should they wrap things up early?

Finally, a glance. Not accompanied by a smile, or any movement, just a long, sad stare answering Chidi’s concern. So Vincent was in distress, but didn’t want anything done about it. An inhale inflated Chidi’s chest with wild emotion and he turned his eyes to the leaves dancing outside the window. He’s fine. He’s fine. Stay calm.

It was a grey, blustery day, with the clouds overhead threatening an October storm. When the interminable meeting finally ended and the Marquis took the guests on a tour of the grounds, Chidi made sure he was wearing his black overcoat. The brief moment of contact when Chidi held it out and Vincent slid his arms into it was a consolation to both of them. And the sight of him wearing it afterwards was quite a consolation to Chidi - watching him move, graceful and confident as a dancer. But he was slower than usual, it was undeniable. Worry followed Chidi all the way from the pavilions to the hedge maze.

It was a good thing he had a coat on. Heavy, icy raindrops started to fall halfway through their walk and they were forced to end the visit early – but not before Vincent had been soaked.

He was shivering terribly when they went back inside, just the two of them huddled together in the coatroom. “Cette pluie terriblement sombre... Pourquoi aujourd'hui, de tous les jours? [This dreadfully gloomy rain… Why today, of all days?]” he demanded, through chattering teeth. Chidi pulled off the wet overcoat but the rush of warm air didn’t seem to be enough to help.

Chidi rubbed along his arms, trying to warm him, and felt heat already breathing off his skin. In alarm, he put a hand to Vincent’s forehead and felt heat there too. “Monsieur, je pense que vous devriez aller vous coucher. Vous êtes malade. [Sir, I think you should go to bed. You’re ill.]”

“Et tu es incroyablement difficile aujourd’hui ! Qu’est-ce qui t’a pris ? Je me suis réveillé un peu mal en point, mais je vais bien, je – [And you’re unbearably fussy today! What’s gotten into you? I woke up a little out of sorts, but I’m fine, I – ]” He tried to stifle as sneeze and failed.

Chidi nodded and handed him a handkerchief. “Comme vous le dites, Marquis. Sortons au moins de ces vêtements mouillés. [As you say, Marquis. Let’s get you out of those wet clothes, at least.]”

He was too chilled to protest that, and they made their way up to his chambers. Chidi waited outside his boudoir only to see him emerge in pajamas and throw himself onto the bed. It seemed he had surrendered. He lay face down for a full minute without saying anything. There was only the rain drumming against the windows.

His muffled voice finally came from the pillow. “C'est tellement pathétique. [This is so pathetic.]”

Chidi took a seat on the edge of the bed beside him. “Je ne pense pas. Et de toute façon, personne n’a besoin de savoir que vous êtes malade, sauf vous et moi. La table haute permet à un homme comme vous de travailler selon ses propres conditions sans se poser de questions. [I don’t think so. And anyway, no one needs to know you’re sick except you and I. The High Table allows a man like yourself to work on his own terms without asking questions.]” No answer. “Je suis tellement contente que tu prennes soin de toi. J'ai été inquiet pour toi toute la matinée, tu sais. Tu es de loin la chose la plus précieuse dans ce palais, et – [I’m just so glad you’re taking care of yourself. I was worried about you all morning, you know. You are by far the most precious thing in this palace, and - ]”

Still with his face buried, he interrupted. “Arrêt. S'il te plaît, je suis trop émotif en ce moment, et tu es tellement… tu es tellement putain… [Stop. Please, I’m too emotional right now, and you’re so…you’re so damn…]” Chidi could almost see him blushing.

He smiled and lay a hand on Vincent’s back, silently. He could feel his muscles still shivering. Gently, Chidi lifted the blankets over him and gave him a slight nudge. “Allez-vous lever la tête, monsieur ? Vous… avez besoin de respirer de l'air. [Are you going to lift your head up, sir? You…do need to breathe air.]”

Vincent huffed and rolled over onto his back, exposing watery eyes that glared at the ceiling, away from Chidi. “Bien. Es-tu heureux maintenant? [Fine. Are you happy now?]”

Chidi had no thoughts for himself at the moment. “Etes-vous à l'aise? [Are you comfortable?]”

“Bien sûr, je ne suis pas à l'aise. J'ai froid. J'ai mal à la gorge. J’ai la tête qui bat. Tout me fait tellement mal. [Of course I’m not comfortable. I’m cold. My throat is sore. My head is pounding. Everything aches so much.]” He sniffed and Chidi wasn’t so sure it was from congestion.

He kissed Vincent’s forehead, stroked his hair, and went briefly into the hallway to ask for soup and cough drops.

When he came back, Vincent’s glare into the ceiling had turned absolutely hollow and started leaking tears. He seemed startled when the door opened and wiped hurriedly at his face.

“Pourquoi es-tu de retour? Je pensais que tu partais. Vous tomberez malade aussi. [Why are you back? I thought you were leaving. You’ll get sick too.]”

“Quoi? Non, je m'en fiche. Je ne vous laisserai pas seul quand vous ne vous sentirez pas bien, monsieur. Je suis désolé, j'aurais dû te dire où j'allais. [What? No, I don’t care about that. I won’t leave you alone when you’re not well, sir. I’m sorry, I should have told you where I was going.]” He took up his post at Vincent’s side again, holding his hand this time. “Je viens de commander quelque chose pour ta gorge. [I just ordered something for your throat.]”

“…Oh.” He stared at their entwined hands, looking very much at risk of crying again.

“Bouger un peu ? J'aimerais vous tenir compagnie, si vous me le permettez. [Move over a little? I’d like to keep you company, if I may.]”

Without speaking, he slid sideways and Chidi climbed under the covers next to him, hugging him from behind. Vincent rested his arm over Chidi’s to clasp his hand and snuggled into the embrace, sighing. “Bien. Ce n'est pas si mal. [Well. This isn’t so bad.]”

“Bien, monsieur. Très bien. [Good, sir. Very good.]” Chidi’s heart felt like it was going to melt from the relief of finally holding him.