A/N – I guess this could go with my "Rituals and Masquerades" fic, as it further explains Isaak's predicament (of being a Methuselah who is unable to awaken). Isaak becomes ill and it's up to William to find him medicine in Albion, where people are in general very hostile to Methuselah of any kind.

William and Isaak friendship fic, non-pair unless you really want to read into it. PG for mild language.

I'm really on an "A and B" title kick with Trinity Blood, aren't I? As this one isn't as self-explanatory, I'll sum it up quick. "Sacrament" as both the Christian sense and something that has a special significance to an individual. Reparation as healing, not compensation.

Written nearly a month ago, with stuff added just now.

Sacraments and Reparations

By PikaCheeka

I.

Something was wrong with Isaak. It became more and more obvious as the days wore on, yet he denied it. He would laugh it off and say the strain of the work was getting to him, though he and I both knew damn well he barely even worried about his work, much less did it. Yet he was paler, thinner, and one day as he slept I dared to feel for his heartbeat and found it erratic and weak. I finally couldn't take it any longer and asked him directly.

"Isaak."

"Yes?" he drawled, not even glancing up from his book. We were alone in our rooms, done with classes for the evening, the classes he was barely making it to anymore.

"You ran out of blood tablets, didn't you?" I asked it quickly, knowing full well it would likely cause an explosion from him. But nothing came, and that tipped me off more than anything that something was wrong.

He merely looked down at the floor for a time. "This is Albion. I can't get any more until I go home."

"Holiday isn't for two months. You won't last that long." I winced as I said it, but I knew it was true. He was already sleeping nearly eighteen hours a day to reserve his energy. He would die within a month. He may have been an unawakened Methuselah, but he still needed the blood, just not in as large a quantity. He could go without any for as long as a week. But he had reached the breaking point long ago. I half wondered if he had forgotten to bring them to school completely.

"I'll be fine. I just need to take it slow." He wheezed faintly.

"You're already not doing anything."

He laughed quietly at that. "When do I ever do my work? I doubt anyone's even noticed." And he was probably right. I was his only friend there, the only person who didn't find him utterly mental, and also the only person he wasn't a snide, arrogant bastard to. For the most part, everyone else was so uncomfortable around him they spent as little time possible around him, and his behavior now was going un-noticed.

I was the only person who even knew what he was.

And with that I realized I was the only person who could help him. I would do anything for him. I waited a moment, fully aware that I was going to do it regardless of what I decided, and pulled out my pocketknife. He watched me through heavily lidded eyes. God. He was starting to look like an escapee from a concentration camp.

"You're going to cut yourself?" he asked, but I could see the unnatural gleam in his eye. He was starved.

"You need it more than I do." I hated myself for the way my heart jumped as I slowly pushed the razor against my wrist. His eyes were burning in his skull, burning into me, and all I could think of were the other times he had drunk from me, in less dire situations, in less moral situations. I loved him, wanted to keep him for myself, and I half-wondered if I was doing this for his sake or mine.

But he knocked me from my reverie when he moved suddenly towards me. "Let me do it." He was shaking visibly, the hunger in his eyes mad. "You always cut too deep."

I hesitated a moment before handing it to him.

II.

We lasted a month. He was insatiable, desperate, and it grew harder and harder for me to push him off once he began drinking. I was feeling the strain myself, now starting to feel and look as he had. I had given him my blood often enough before, but never like this. Never every day for a prolonged period. And he wasn't even getting enough; he was shaking continually, even when he slept, and he was ready to pass out just from walking across campus. When a professor finally noticed, Isaak told him it was only mono, and when the man had passed, my friend looked at me with real fear in his eyes. If it were ever discovered that he was not human, he would likely be expelled. And clearly that frightened him a lot more than starving.

It was quickly getting to the point where there was no way out of the situation, and in desperation I began skulking in the less tasteful districts of Londinium, cutting class and study. I knew that between Isaak and I, we could easily catch up on everything we had missed, but that now depended on his survival. He refused to go home. I couldn't continue feeding him. There was only one option left. I had heard of the Methuselah black market; everyone had, but most every human tangled up in it ended up dead somehow. I guess when you're not just dealing weapons and drugs, but real blood, things are even more dangerous. I had never been remotely intrigued by the darker side of life before Isaak, never cared much for sex and violence and the occult, but I could no longer deny how quickly he had drawn me into it. For now in order to save him, I had to delve even deeper into the underworld he had introduced me to with his shy smile and languid body.

But I hardly cared any longer. It took time, nearly ten days of asking questions, of persuasion with money, drugs, human technology, and even a rare manuscript I stole from the university's library. I didn't even feel bad; he was far more important than anything. When it came to Isaak I had no scruples, and that was something I didn't much care to explore.

III.

"You know it's more expensive for terrans to buy them."

"I know." I said hurriedly. I didn't know that, though it made sense. They were difficult to make and were, in general, a limited supply. Plenty of humans were addicted to them like any other drug, and it only made sense to jack the price up for those who didn't really need them.

"This is nearly two thousand pounds, kid." She leaned against the counter and studied my eyes, as if trying to determine if I was a junkie or not.

"Two thousand pounds." I repeated. I had four hundred, and that was my life savings. "Can I buy him a week for four hundred?" I had explained he situation as loosely as I could, but I knew how unrealistic it seemed. What human would do that for a Methuselah, especially in such a segregated country as Albion?

"A week is fine but he'll have to leave school early. If he's as bad as you say, he's already dying. Don't know how he's alive, really."

"He won't leave." I said desperately. "He's very…stubborn."

"Then he's an imbecile." It was clear she didn't believe me. She thought I was just another addicted terran.

"Can't I owe you?" I was begging and I didn't even care. "I'll give you my address, anything. You can even send your guards after me if I don't pay up by the end of the year." And I would be killed. Because I would never have that much.

It was then that she saw my throat. And after a long moment she reached for my hand and slowly pulled the cuff up, revealing yet another deep bruise. The cut was even more obvious there. Proof of his inability to use his fangs, proof of everything I said.

"Do you love him very much?" she whispered.

"Yes." The fact that I said it without a moment's hesitation surprised even myself. I did love him. What did that mean? He was mad, dangerous, deadly, and yet I was doing this for him. I already knew, that early on, that he would be my undoing, and I still loved him. He had awoken my lust, my wrath, my envy, and with all of that, my ability to love.

She looked at me for another long moment and just as I began to get uncomfortable, she disappeared into the back room. She returned barely a minute later with a small bag. "There's a month here. Four a day, but work up to it. And hide them from him. He'll probably go crazy and try to take all of them and just throw everything up again. Just give him one a day until the weekend, then two." She paused. "There's some extra thirty or so."

"What for?"

"Kid, you look like hell." And when I only gaped she smiled. "Your best friend is a Methuselah. Don't act like you've never tried one."

I didn't answer, indeed couldn't. I could only blush faintly. Yes, I had tried them. I had even drunk Isaak's blood on occasion. Instead I pulled the bills from my pocket and pushed them over the counter, along with my father's business card. I prayed she was as honest as she seemed, or my family might end up dead. "Don't call him though. Just address the bill to William Walter and I'll get it to you when I'm…"

She wasn't paying attention. She was counting the money and leaving most of it on the counter. "It's nice to see a terran go out of his way for one of us for once," and she pointedly turned away. She had only taken fifty.

IV.

He didn't ever ask me where they came from, didn't ask how I had found the money for them, and I loved him horribly for it. He merely took the bag quietly from me and pulled two out, handing one to me. "You need it more than I do." He said quietly.

I didn't answer him. I knew he was exaggerating, but his words rang oddly familiar, though I couldn't quite recall how, and I suspected they meant something dear to him. I would not dispute it. "Wine?"

Isaak nodded, his hair falling over his face for a moment before he brushed it back. He couldn't hold his hand steady long enough to pour. It had been a week since he had been able to leave the room. He had another seven class days before they expelled him, as I had managed to beg a leave of absence for him. I only prayed he would be well enough to make it across campus by then. The work wasn't a concern. It wasn't as if he ever did it anyway.

"William?" he said suddenly, catching me off guard.

"What?"

He smiled faintly, and I could see the shy hesitance in his actions when he leaned forward and bumped his glass against mine, almost falling against me and spilling it in the action. Then he laughed. "You did a lot to get these."

"Yes." I said after a moment, slipping my arm around his waist to hold him steady. He appeared to relax after that, leaning heavily on me.

"You've changed a lot." He whispered then, his eyes wide. The sadness in them surprised me. I wasn't sure what he meant by it, but for some reason I couldn't ask. I had changed because of him. Wasn't it obvious? With him, because of him, I had already done so much I never would have even dreamed of.

"It's fine." But was it? I shifted uneasily and he laughed. I could tell he was not impressed with my response but he didn't question me further. We downed the wine in silence, already feeling it begin to work over us. The blood and the wine. Through this I am saved. Through this I am healed. And through this I am damned. He touched my face then and leaned his forehead against mine.

"Thank you." He breathed in the same moment I did, even as I silently prayed.

God forgive me.