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Joe sits in front of Pete, tongue compressor in one hand, “Open.”
Pete gives him a look, tilting his head to the side, “Do I really have to?”
“Yes, this is, like, pretty important.” He rolls his eyes. “Patrick will be pissed if he gets back and sees you haven’t done all your checkup bullshit.”
He groans, running his hands across his face with displeasure, “Okay, but I’ve told him about a billion times that I’m fine. The serum’s working, so who cares?”
“He does. I do, and Andy certainly does too.”
That gets Pete to give in, and he opens his mouth, fangs glistening in the odd lighting of their too-cheap apartment space. Patrick refused to continue doing experimental bullshit at his parents’ place (one too many explosions almost got him kicked out, plus the blood stains were a bit hard to explain), so here they all were, doing weird almost pseudoscience-y stuff in a freezing half-abandoned apartment complex.
Pete tries to talk with the compressor still in his mouth, getting out a barely coherent, “Whnen dya thingk Pahthwik will be bahck?”
Joe pulls the stick out of his mouth, writing down a few notes on a spreadsheet Patrick had given him earlier, “I dunno. Before sundown, probably.”
“Hopefully.” He wipes spit off his chin with the back of his hand. “That was so gross.”
Joe gives him a semi-grossed out look, though it’s hard to get grossed out by much if you’ve seen a guy drink blood before, “You’re the one who started talking.”
“Because I was curious, dude! It’s not a crime.” He sticks out his tongue, poking it with his finger. “Still tastes like wood.”
Another (endeared) eyeroll, “I’ll get ‘Trick to splurge on the fancy plastic ones next time.”
He grins at that, standing to leave, “Thanks.”
Joe tosses his pen at him, “Hey, we’re not done with your checkup.”
“Seriously, man?”
“Do you see this shit?” He holds up the paper Patrick had scribbled out earlier for him before reaching down to grab the pen off the floor. “He said he’d be gone all day, but he needed me to do all this. Monthly visit or whatever.”
“Fuuuuck.” He sits again, leaning his head back against the chair. Patrick had been on his ass for weeks since he got turned, and Pete was well aware it was out of a lot of concern, but it was also a complete and total buzzkill. Sighing, he asks, “What’s next, doc?”
Joe laughs at that, easing the odd tension filling the air, “Blood pressure, I think.” He hesitates. “Does vampire blood even like, circulate?”
“Dude, you should definitely know that.”
“I haven’t been to a doctor since I turned. Unless you count Patrick, which I definitely don’t.”
Pete giggles, his fangs slipping over his lips, “Even if your heart stops beating, the blood has to go somewhere right?” He leans over, checking out the machine. “Patrick’s gotten readings on it before, so I guess it works.”
He mumbles as he messes with the equipment, “Probably hooked it up to some weird EMF whatever reader or something.”
“That’s definitely offensive,” Pete deadpans.
Joe looks up, eyes crinkling with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his lips, “Shut up, dude.” He continues to tinker with the blood pressure monitor before handing it to Pete to slip it onto his arm. “D’ya think Patrick’s being a little too overprotective of you sometimes?”
Pete shrugs, “I’d like to think I’d do the same annoying shit to him if he turned.” He places the band around his arm, wincing as it starts to inflate.
“Hm.” Joe nods, seemingly approving of that answer. He watches the numbers on the screen climb, jotting down the final ones as the band on Pete’s arm deflates again. “I bet he’d freak if you pretended the serum wasn’t working.”
That elicits a grin from Pete, “Tempting, really. But I think that’d like, get in the way of scientific discovery.”
“Yeah, right.” He chuckles absentmindedly as he refers back to the notes sheet.
“I think he worries about you too.”
Joe looks up again, eyebrows furrowed, “What?”
“Y’know, sometimes it seems like he’s giving me special treatment after I turned… but he freaked in the same way about you.” Pete pauses, quiet. “You’re just better at all of this than I am.”
He gives him a look, “I dunno if there’s a better way to be a vampire.”
“You don’t have a revenge quest in mind. That’s probably why ‘Tricks on my ass all the time.” A soft sigh escapes his lips. “I don’t want to hurt anyone else.”
“He won’t get that.” A pause. “I do, though.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. It’s… it’s hard for anyone to understand. I was glad, in a weird way, when you turned.”
Pete’s expression changes, anger quickly seeping in, “What?”
Joe reaches out, against his better judgement, placing a hand on Pete’s knee, “Not— fuck, Pete, not like, actually glad. I just had gone so long without anyone understanding what it was like, and suddenly it happened to you.” He pauses, squeezing Pete’s knee. “But you’re so…”
“Different,” Pete’s quiet, as if he is ashamed to admit that to anyone but himself.
Joe shakes his head, offering, “Angry.”
A shaky breath fills Pete’s lungs, his hands balled into fists to keep them from trembling, “Is this on the list?” His shittily painted nails dig into his palms, crescent shaped imprints appearing in his cold skin.
Joe scoffs, appalled at the suggestion, “What? No, dude.”
“Then why are we talking about it?”
He stares at him for a moment, before saying, “Because somebody has to.” He shakes his head, turning his attention back to the paper on the table. “We can move on. Whatever.”
“Okay.”
It was always like this.
One of them would try to bring up the whole vampire thing; a topic looming over the whole group constantly, but something would always slip. One of them would be too aggressive or too casual or too something that threw everything off, and they’d be back to square one. Square one seemed to come up over and over again, ever repeating and ever draining the blood from both of their bodies.
Joe’s eyebrows knit together as he attempts to decipher Patrick’s writing, clearly scrawled in the low lamp light at some point last night. He sighs, eyes going back to Pete, who was sitting with his arms crossed tightly across his chest; he looked so small like this, like if Joe bit back with too much force he’d crumble.
But, before he has that chance, the door swings open, with Patrick rushing in, donned in full hunter gear, “Sorry I’m late!!”
Instantly, Pete’s posture relaxes, with Joe breathing a soft sight of relief.
“It’s cool.” Joe stands, stretching. “Had fun playing doctor for a bit.” He has a goofy smile as he looks down at a still sitting Pete.
Pete grumbles, a reluctant smile on his face, “Gotta be some kind of medical malpractice.”
Joe’s mouth opens dramatically, like he’s offended, “I’ll put on a nurse outfit for you next time,” He winks, striking what is probably supposed to be a cute pose. Pete’s tension instantly releases, his laughter filling the air. “See, you’re like, totally into that, dude.”
“Who wouldn’t be?” Pete grins, his fangs bared.
Patrick chimes in, “Me.” He rolls his eyes, smiling. “I appreciate you doing that shit, Joe. I know it’s a pain.”
“It’s not a problem. Seriously.”
Pete deadpans, “I’m right here,” before giggling to himself. All three of them laugh, Pete’s laughter infectious.
After the laughter subsides, Joe eyes him, and then the half finished spreadsheet on the table, “I’m gonna go change before sundown.”
“Didn’t think you had a nurse costume on hand!” Pete whistles as he leaves, eliciting a middle finger getting thrown up from a slightly disgruntled Joe.
Patrick sits in the chair previously occupied by Joe, now lacking his several layers of hunter clothing and various pieces of gear, “How far did you get?”
Pete shrugs at that, leaning over Patrick to examine the sheet Joe had been writing on, “How was it?”
“What?”
“Hunting… or whatever you were up to.” The way he says it makes it seem like he’s implying something that he didn’t quite want to let Patrick in on.
“I… uh,” Patrick chews on his bottom lip, avoiding eye contact, “I was trying to pass out more of the serum. Get a bigger sample size.” He waves his hand dismissively, as if it’s not a big deal.
“And?”
“People won’t take it.”
“Duh.” He sighs, eyes going over to Patrick. “Shit, your arm.”
Patrick looks down at his now exposed arm, taking in the large scratch marks that now marred his flesh. They’re fresh. Not quite bleeding, but if he twisted his arm the wrong way, they very well could start. “Shit!” He stands, stumbling back. “I don’t know how… fuck!”
Pete’s face twitches, and he quickly covers his mouth with his hand, standing and turning away, “I’ll go get Joe, okay?” His voice is muffled by his hand.
He tries to calm him down softly, like he’s some feral animal in a cage, “Pete.”
“I can’t do it, Patrick.” His eyes are glazed over. It’s taking everything in him to not take the easy target in front of him. He heads into the other room, and Patrick can hear the panic in Joe’s voice without being able to make out any words.
Then, he appears in the doorway, brandishing the first aid kit from their tiny bathroom. He kneels next to Patrick, teeth sinking into his own lip as an act of restraint. His hands are careful as he wipes clean the wound, like he’s scared that if he makes a wrong move this could end very, very badly.
“Are you good to be doing this?” His voice is quiet. Private, almost. Like this was some intimate act he didn’t want anyone else walking in on.
Joe looks up at him, the emotions in his expression indiscernible, “I’m good, I swear.” His fangs are bared, giving him a bit of a lisp. It’s oddly attractive.
Patrick swallows, eyes going away from Joe as a somewhat embarrassing flush blooms on his face, “Okay.” He nods, wincing as the adhesive from the bandage clings to his skin. There’s a part of him that doesn’t believe him.
He pats Patrick’s arm, an attempt at reassurance, “You’ve dealt with worse.”
“From you, even.” Patrick flicks his forehead with his non-bandaged arm, trying to hide his smile.
A smirk blossoms on Joe’s face, “I’ll turn you right here, Stump.”
“Fuck off,” He returns, no longer trying to hide his smile.
Joe’s too gentle with him. He’s all bark and no bite, despite having all the facilities to be entirely and totally bite. Even before he turned, he was always soft with Patrick, like he was some piece of porcelain that would simply shatter if he pushed him too hard. That’s not to say they weren’t total assholes to each other (they very much were), but it was different with Joe. It always was.
After a moment, Joe manages a quiet, “I tried to talk to him.” He’s still kneeling at Patrick’s side, his head now pressed into the sitting man’s leg.
“Pete?”
“Yeah,” He sighs, “I just like, wish he got that I get it too. Y’know?”
“I know.” He threads his hand through Joe’s hair, nails scraping against his scalp. Joe hums in approval, and Patrick continues, “You two were so different… are, are so different. I thought turning would be similar for everyone, but—”
“He proved your theories wrong.”
“You made my theories.” He says it like he’s proud, like he’s glad that it was Joe of all people. Maybe an oddly selfish part of him was.
Joe smiles at that, turning his head so he can see Patrick, “Don’t sound too proud of yourself. I’m the one with fangs here, dude.” He bares them, still on his knees, and Patrick almost feels faint as he stares down at him, eyes wide.
He leans down, a half-smile spreading across his face, even more flushed, “Oh, I’m well aware of that.”
“Yeah?” There’s an undertone of something in that simple question. An implication of a time they both missed or forgot or ignored. Joe continues, "You like ‘em. I look badass… probably. I can’t really see myself in the mirror.”
“Badass isn’t the word I would use, but—” Joe slaps his arm, and Patrick starts to laugh, feebly attempting to defend himself. Laughing, he adds, “Sorry, sorry! You look super tough and cool all the time.”
“That’s what I expected to hear.” His grin is toothy, but his fangs are no longer out. Patrick’s almost disappointed at that. Joe sighs softly, “Should probably let you finish checking up on Pete, right?”
“I’ll let him cool off for a bit longer.” He shakes his head, eyes off of Joe and back onto his arm. “At least it’s not enough to tur—” Patrick looks up to the doorway. Pete is standing there. Watching. Observing. “Are you feeling okay?”
It’s clear by his expression he’s trying to ignore Patrick’s half finished comment, “You’re the one with bandages all over you.”
“Still.” Pete just shrugs, eyes going from Joe back up to Patrick, before he slips back into the shadowy hallway with relative ease. “Fuck.” He groans, dragging his hands down his face.
“I can go talk to him.”
He shakes his head, defeated, “You said you tried earlier.”
“This is like, different though.” A pause. “This is about you.”
Patrick sighs, his hands slipping down to cup Joe’s face, “You’re cold.”
“I’m always cold.”
“I know.” He squeezes Joe’s face with his hands, like he’s trying to warm him up. “I’ll come with— to talk to Pete, I mean.”
Joe shakes his head (well, as best he can with it being cupped in Patrick’s tender, warm hands), “He’ll get weird. Weirder than he already is.”
Another sigh. He knows Joe is right, “Yeah. Good luck, okay?”
“If he’s a stubborn asshole, I’ll come running to you for reassurance.” His hand removes one of Patrick’s from his face, gripping it tightly.
Patrick’s lip quirks into a half smile, clearly endeared, “Alright.”
With that, Joe stands, making sure to briefly remove Patrick’s hat and ruffle his hair around, which elicits a yelp of surprise from the shorter man. When that ritual is done, he heads down the half constructed hallway to the divided off area Pete had claimed for himself.
A shitty mattress pulled from the side of the street on some college’s moveout day. Some books and probably gross magazines piled into a corner. A bass with a broken string that he hadn’t gotten around to fixing after a certain super strength based incident a few weeks prior.
Joe knocks on the plywood wall. There’s no real doors in this place, curtains are their only real form of privacy.
Pete groans, his voice ringing out, “Go away, Patrick.”
Joe rolls his eyes at that, leaning against the wall, “Not Patrick.”
He’s quiet for a moment before saying, “Come in.”
There’s some caution behind Joe’s steps as he pulls back the curtain to enter. It’s not like Pete can go properly berserk on him, he’s already a vampire. But, it was good to exercise some caution around the guy, vampire or not.
The lights are off, as is typical, and Pete’s laying on the mattress, curled up on himself. It’s reminiscent of how he laid for days after turning, the guilt and hunger and pain gnawing at him from the inside out. Joe had been the only one able to get through to him at that point, any humans being too painful to be around.
And so Joe sits again, tentatively laying next to him, his eyes up on the industrial ceiling, “You okay?”
“What do you think?” He moves closer to him, trying to take in any body heat Joe has, which, frankly, isn’t much. “I fucking hate this, man.”
“I know.” He nods, turning onto his side to face Pete. “We’ll figure out how to live like this. You and me.”
Pete moves again, his forehead now pressing against Joe’s chest, “Hardly counts as living.”
“We’ll… afterlife it together, or whatever.” His arms wrap around Pete, lanky and awkward, but still reassuring all the same.
A chuckle escapes Pete’s lips, relieving Joe, “Afterlife it up, baby.”
Joe laughs, half burying his face into Pete’s hair, “Exactly, dude.”