Author's Note:

This is my own headcanon interpretation on Victor's life, and how he and Jefferson came to be.

Other characters and worlds will be introduced later on throughout the chapters. There is blood, amnesia, slash, and alternate universe - canon divergence involved.

Blood.

There was so much blood.

Blood stained gauze piled high in a tin bowl that sat next to sterilized instruments, lying, waiting to be of use. Instrument after instrument, one after another was used to a degree before discarded for another that would hopefully aid the futile attempt to stop the gushing, to stop the pain, to stop the death. An irregular far too unpleasant beep sounded off loud and strong from the heart monitor that resided just inches away from the operating table. Multiple eyes that had been transfixed on nothing but the operation scarcely glanced up, gluing their eyes right back.

"He's fading fast, Doctor!"

"No! We will operate until the very last second! Get back to being useful and hand me a clean scalpel. Now!"

Uncertain eyes that belonged to various nurses glanced at each other, not all together positive their attempts at saving the life of the man who laid on the operating table was anything but fruitless. With a collective sigh, they continued to mop up what seemed like gallons of blood. The human body walks around with roughly twelve pints of blood, for death to occur, four pints of blood would have to be lost. Any more than that, the survival rate is next to nonexistent. This ghost of a man that lay nearly lifeless on the stained table, his outcome seemed slim.

"Do you even care?"

"Of course I care. What the hell kind of question is that?"

"Uh, a good one, I think!" Jefferson spat, throwing his hands up in the air in the eccentric manner as is his wont. "You know, I'm starting to get the impression that you really don't want this anymore. That you really don't give a rat's ass about what's trying to be salvaged here."

Taking a deep breath, Victor scrubbed his hands over his face before he made two quick paces to the bar, pouring himself about four fingers worth of scotch into a crystal glass. Quickly, the amber liquid was downed before another took its place; his body barely enough time to register the sting that burned down his throat, settling in the uneasy and empty pit of the his stomach from the first shot.

"Oh, sure, just drink. Drink like you ALWAYS do." Once again, Jefferson threw his hands in the air, shaking them a bit.

Exasperation crossed the doctor's face as he rolled his eyes. "You're being overdramatic."

"Doctor, the readings on the monitor are becoming more erratic. What are we going to do?"

"I told you that already. I don't know why you keep asking. Keep. Working."

"Doc-"

"Do as I say! You, continue feeding him oxygen, you, keep the anesthesia steady. Do not allow him to wake up. I need you to keep up with the vacuum and continue sucking away the access blood that's pooling around. You need to keep administering new blood to him. Stat!" What was so difficult about following the doctor's orders? Bunch of useless medical staff.

Once again, worried nurses scuttled around, doing as they were told. Neither of them were really sure how much longer the patient was going to last.

"I'M being overdramatic? I think I'm perfectly entitled to act this way, Victor!"

"You think you're entitled to act a lot of ways, Jefferson," he retorted, downing the second shot. The crystal glass was set upon the bar before the doctor pressed his hands down onto the flat surface. Clearly, two drinks was not going to be enough. Clearly, not enough alcohol could be consumed to get him through the fight that had been going on for three hours straight.

A ringed hand was placed over a vest-covered chest, and Jefferson's mouth dropped open a bit. "Well, excuse the fuck outta me for being upset that MY LOVER'S eyes strayed!"

"Jeff, look it was no-"

"You looked at her! No, no, not only did you look at her, you STARED at her. You ALWAYS look, ALWAYS stare, ALWAYS stray. W-w-what is that supposed to mean? Am-am-am I supposed to interpret that as something, Victor? Are you trying to tell me something without really telling me?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand, Victor clenched the fingers of his other hand, short nails digging into the tender flesh of his palm. "Well, if you'd just shut up for once, and let me explain you'd under-"

"Shut up for once?! Shut up for once?! I thought you liked my rambling. I thought you liked my madness. You admitted that once."

In the background, the beep that had been so loud and strong earlier slowly started to grow quieter, the beeps spacing out a bit further each time.

"We will not lose this patient."

"Doctor, do you really think it wise to continue?"

"Of course I think it wise to continue. What sort of medical staff are you, if you are not optimistic about saving someone's life?"

"We are, Doctor, it's just… he's lost a lot of blood. He's losing the blood we keep pumping into him. The wound on his neck and in his chest is just-"

"I'm aware of how bad it is. But I would greatly appreciate it if you would pick your spirits up a bit, quit moping and do your damn jobs! We are trying to save this man's life, and we will not stop until everything, I mean, everything, every option has been tried and tried again. Do you understand me? Step on it!"

Victor slammed his fists down on the bar, bottles and glasses jittering and clinking together from the sudden movement. "I don't want her, Jefferson. I don't want her, okay? Is that what you're wanting me to tell you? I don't want anyone but you. I can't help what my cursed side allowed himself to do. It's hard to break that. I don't know why you're even making me tell you in the first place. You know all of this. You know how I feel about you. You've always known how I've felt about you. This shouldn't be an issue."

"No, Victor," the hatter started as long legs made quick strides towards the partially pickled doctor. The strong smell of alcohol wafted from the blonde, rolling off his tongue as easily as his words. "I haven't always known how you've felt about me. I hardly know anything about you. Even back then, I hardly knew."

Exasperated once more, the blonde closed his eyes, pinching them tightly shut for a moment or two, not daring to look up into the angry sky blue eyes that were so clear and cold it was almost like gazing through a frosted looking glass. "I can't do this right now, Jefferson. I have to get to the hospital."

"You can never do 'this' right now. It's always one thing or another with you."

"Jeff, you know that I have to work."

"Yeah, whatever." Jefferson turned his back on the other male, making his way through the corridor, down the foyer, and out the front door. Before getting into the silver vehicle that he had claimed as his own, Jefferson glanced up at the only window that was illuminated with light. Shaking his head, he got into the car with a heavy sigh. The engine roared to life as the keys entered the ignition and the tires squealed and peeled out of the driveway.

Sighing heavily, Victor raked his fingers through his hair, feeling as though he wanted to pull every single bit of it out. Taking a final swig from a bottle, Victor left the house, slamming the door behind him. Work tonight would be fan-fucking-tastic.

"CLEAR THE WAY! CLEAR THE WAY, EMERGENCY, EMERGENCY! PATIENT, MALE, BADLY INJURED."

"DOCTOR WHALE," a loud voice sounded over the intercom, "REPORT TO OPERATING ROOM FOR SURGERY. STAT. DOCTOR WHALE, REPORT TO OPERATING ROOM FOR SURGERY. STAT."

"Yeah, getting there," he muttered as he hurried towards where all the commotion was coming from. Victor quickly came up behind the emtech, trying to push everyone aside to see the damage. "What have we got here?"

"Car accident down by the county line, bad one. Male, brown hair, blue eyes, thirty-three years old, badly injured – wound split open around the neck, the muscle is exposed. Ribs broken, internal bleeding, possible puncture of a lung or the heart. Possibly both."

Pushing past the nurses and paramedics, Victor's stomach nearly dropped into the pit of his stomach when he caught sight of the bloodied, almost indistinguishable mess on the gurney.

Beads of sweat dotted the doctor's face, pooling around the base of his neck, soaking right through his shirt and coat. Deft hands that so badly tried to keep from shaking worked to fix what had been broken. There was, however, a possibility that there would be no chance. Shaking his head, Victor persisted with the surgery, not allowing the nurses' negative thoughts to penetrate his own.

Tired cobalt blue eyes traced each stitch that went through the tender flesh, sewing up the wound around the neck. Time, which Victor didn't have a lot of from the get go was passing far too quickly. Two hours later, three-hundred and fifteen stitches wound their way around the injured male's neck. Blood, from that orifice, finally stopped gushing. Breathing heavily, Victor turned his attention to the mess of blood that pooled in the chest cavity.

"Quickly, quickly, bring me the heart, bring me the heart! And keep sucking out that access blood! Keep at it!"

A shaking nurse ran towards the table, holding out a bowl that contained a beating heart. Quickly, Victor removed the old one, placing the new one in, working efficiently, using every skill he knew. Exhausting every single resource that he had at his disposal. This could not end up in vein.

"The monitor's slowing, Doctor!"

Victor kept his eyes focused on the bloodied mass that lay upon the operation table. Hot tears pricked the corners of the doctor's eyes, daring to stream down his tired face. Clearing his throat, he blinked his eyes shut tightly, only briefly, heading straight back into his work, ignoring the nurses milling about around him. There was no ands, ifs, or buts about this. He had to save this life.

Seconds turned into minutes that turned into hours that felt as though they had turned into months, even years. The clock hanging above the door struck 4:45 AM. "Good God in Heaven," he muttered to himself as he stepped away from the table, tossing bloodied gloves into the wastebasket on the way out.

Red rimmed eyes slowly fluttered open, wincing from the brightness that assaulted his sensitive orbs. Lights that seemed far too bright to be allowed filled the small private room. It was quiet, and most of the outside noises were blocked out by the walls. Once bloodshot eyes were able to focus on more than the inside of tired, heavy eyelids, they looked around the room. A hospital, that's where he'd landed himself.

Wires and tubes stuck in and out from nearly every surface available. An itchy feeling stirred at the base of a bandaged neck, and that as the only thing keeping nails from clawing at the red, inflamed, and swollen skin that had apparently been stitched up. Slowly, a hand reached up the touch the small tubes of the oxygen mask that entered the nostrils. It was uncomfortable.

A small table on wheels sat nearby, a pitcher and a glass full of water with a straw sticking out of the top residing upon the top. Cracked lips opened, a quiet croak, a cry for water to sooth the dry, burning feeling caking all the way down the throat. "W-water…" Shaking, numb hands tried to reach for the water, but was unable. "Wa-water… Help…"

The cry for help did not fall upon deaf ears. The styrofoam cup was picked up and the straw placed between dry lips. Deep, thirsty gulps were taken, more absorbing the water, rather than consuming it. Once the pain of craning his neck too far began to shoot through his sore body, he pulled back, leaning against the pillow.

"Jefferson, you're finally awake."

Red eyes fluttered once more, threatening to fall back asleep, but were forced to keep awake as he turned to focus on the deep, resonate voice that called out to him.

"You're responding to your name. That's wonderful."

Bringing his hands to his eyes, he rubbed at them a bit, trying to clear away the blurry images.

"What happened…?" he croaked, voice hoarse.

Victor pulled up a chair, sitting beside Jefferson, not daring touch him for fear he might cause some pain. "Shh, it's okay, you don't have to talk. Jefferson, you… you were in an accident. A pretty bad one. From what the police were able to determine, you must have swerved off the road to keep from hitting something an animal or something. In turn… you lost control and your car rolled at least four times, they said. Your car then proceeded to skid into a tree. All the windows shattered, cutting you, as well as branches going in through the broken windows. The glass and the sharp branches are what tore open the wound around your neck, which explains all the stitches – three-hundred and fifteen of them, to be exact. Most of your ribs broke, and they punctured… punctured your heart. For some reason, your lungs were fine, but your heart wasn't as lucky. You were rushed here were I operated on you – a heart transplant, and many other things. The procedure was difficult, but… I think you're going to be okay. It'll just take some time to recover."

Confused eyes looked from the doctor that stood before him to the items and machines scattered throughout the room. Panic and fear began to set in, making his heart race kick up a bit. Closing his eyes rightly, he pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to make sense of everything that he had just been told. He could remember the crash, swerving to keep from hitting a deer… "I… I'm sorry but… who are you? And Jefferson? Who's... who's Jefferson? My name's John. John Wynn." In all honesty, with everything that had transpired, John was surprised that he had been able to remember something even as simple as his name.

Victor's mouth dropped open, a nauseated feeling washing over him as the realization as to what happened. Not only did his car roll, it rolled over the line. "It's me. Victor. Victor Frankenstein. Dr. Ahab Whale?" Desperate eyes searched the wounded patient's face, frantically searching for something he was positive he wouldn't find.

John's brows knit together with worry and concern as he watched the look of utter defeat, sadness, and depression came over the doctor like a sudden fever. "I… I'm sorry…" A guilty feeling started to replace the dread and the fear. Had he done something wrong? Was he supposed to know this man who claims he once did?

A shaky breath escaped the doctor's lips as he focused down on his feet. Not only did the floor look as if it was moving, his entire world had just been ripped out from beneath him, like a rug. Once more, hot tears burned at Victor's eyes, but as before, he refused to let them fall. He refused to show some sort of weakness. He had to fix this. Somehow. Someway. This had to be reversed. An awkward, upsetting silence fell between the two, both completely speechless, and utter lack of what to say to improve the situation.

Clearing his throat, Victor leaned forward, lacing his fingers together. "I should have done this a long time ago," he said, looking down at his hands. Clenching them tightly, briefly, he stared at them before focusing his attention back on the very confused and very lost Jefferson. "I'm going to tell you my story, right from the very beginning, until the very end."