Disclaimer: I don't own The 100. Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.
Authors Note #1: a tumblr anon asked for Kabby: "bite" – My brain went on an epic journey with this one and I was emotional about Sinclair at the time the idea first struck so that's probably is the reason more than half of this fic exists, hope you like anyway, anon! – Set Season Three, post Pike (au!Lincoln lives) but without any Allie nonsense – (therefore au!Sinclair lives).
Warnings: vampire!Marcus (kind of), vampire!Sinclair (kind of), vampires but not vampires- so think like, the fangs part but really just wanna spread the disease everywhere kind of vampires, dub-con leanings but nothing at all major mentioning mostly just to cover my butt here, mild sexual content, adult language.
Dwale
Chapter Two
She drew in a breath when the shadowed form of Sinclair hunched onto the screen. Eyes glinting, animal-wild, as he loomed out of the tree line. Looking up at the exterior fence for a long moment before-
"Jesus Christ! He just cleared the fence!" Jackson shouted, throwing himself back in his chair in surprise as Bellamy leaned closer. Watching as Sinclair landed cat-like and unruffled inside the walls. Rising up from his haunches, predator-slow and confident.
"How is that even possible?" Bellamy frowned, looking at her and Clarke again like they had the answers. "Sinclair designed that thing. That fence is at least-"
"Quiet!" Indra rasped, pointing at the screen where Sinclair was still standing, highlighted a striking olive-pale by the exterior lights. Looking like something out of a horror movie with his torn shirt ripped down to the naval. Colored by a thick expanse of dried blood that was smeared across his face and down his neck – like at one point his nose had been broken.
"There," Lincoln murmured, pointing at a blur of pixels that stood out at the heart of Sinclair's throat. "He has the infected's mark."
But she wasn't looking at the damn mark.
She was looking at Sinclair.
It was like watching a stranger in a friend's skin. The way he moved. The way he looked. Even the expression on his face. It was all wrong. So wrong that it put a lump in the center of her chest. Cloying and unavoidable every time she swallowed.
But it wasn't until his head cocked. Listening to something they couldn't before taking off in a haze of speed that kicked up the skeletons of last fall's leaves. That she realized they were running out of time.
It was up to them to help him now.
"Everyone stay calm, this is what we've been waiting for. We're ready for this," she told them, picking up strength and momentum as the other's straightened. Nodding and getting into position as she grabbed the radio and let her eyes skim over to the live-feed showing Raven's quarters.
"Raven, he's coming. Get ready," she said urgently. Ignoring the way her nails were biting into the flesh of her palm as Jackson slowed down the last bit of footage and enlarged it. Allowing them to see the sharp of Sinclair's fangs pressing against his lower lip. Hissing without sound as he stayed in the shadows of an overhang. Waiting for a squadron of guards to pass before hooking his nails – more like claws now, sharp and animal-black - into a gap in the wall and swinging himself up into the ceiling of the main hallway. Clinging spider-like and agile before disappearing into the mess of wires of tubes.
"Shit!" Jackson cursed, changing the angle of the footage. Trying to keep him in sight
as Sinclair scuttled upside down across the ceiling. Blurring past, two- three- four- six cameras in quick succession before dropping down into a deserted hall. Right in front of-
Raven.
They watched, all eyes glued to the screen, as Sinclair straightened. Looking down at himself for a brief moment – perhaps conscious of how he might appear - before digging a claw underneath the locking mechanism and twisting. Overriding the lock like he could see right through the wires and the panel and into the electrical currents and code underneath.
He stepped inside, door hushing shut behind him, blinking keenly into the half-dark. Eyes immediately finding Raven tossed carelessly across her unmade bed. Hair loose and trickle-trailing over her pillows, breathing deeply. If she didn't know any better she would have been convinced. Completing the picture with a soft blanket pulled up around her shoulders, her book abandoned beside her like she'd fallen asleep reading.
He was at her side before she could blink. Pulse pounding in her ears as they watched him hesitate. Bloody hand outstretched like he was uncertain of his welcome, before ghosting through her hair. Smoothing the strands from her face like a parent would to a sleeping child. Reverent and careful.
And for the first time since he'd appeared on their cameras, she could finally see Sinclair reflecting in those dark eyes. It was an action that was so human – so him - that it nearly broke her. Giving her hope as he sank down on his knees beside the bed, chest heaving.
"His daughter?" Indra asked, looking at her for confirmation as she set a string of vials on the counter in front of her. Checking the dart already loaded in her blow-gun, just in case.
"No," she answered, suddenly wondering why she'd never asked. Sinclair and his wife had been together for longer than she could remember. They'd been best friends from diapers before turning into something more as they'd grown older. He'd lost her in the crash. He never talked about it. He never even said her name. It was like she'd been erased somehow. Maybe that was the way he'd coped – how he was dealing with it. But it still unnerved her, seeing him so alone. It wasn't right and it certainly wasn't fair. "He has no children."
The woman made a dissenting noise.
"Not by blood perhaps," Indra challenged, pointing at the screen as Sinclair's fingers worried at the blanket edges. Twitching it minutely so that the blue cotton wasn't caught on her leg brace. Never once taking his eyes from her face as Raven kept up the façade. Trusting they would step in if they had to. "But that love is there none the less."
And she wasn't wrong.
Raven had always been special to Sinclair. Just the same as Sinclair had always meant something more than merely a mentor to Raven. In an uncertain world, that kind of unconditional support was a rare thing. It was as fragile as the person's bones that held it but as strong as the heart that kept it beating – kept it alive. They'd all lost so much, but if bonds like this could still exist and flourish in spite of it, well- wasn't that something worth fighting for?
They all experienced a collective jerk of surprise when Sinclair carefully lifted Raven's wrist to his lips. Fangs dropping from their sheath overtop his canines. Sharp, long and slick with saliva as his pupils expanded. Slitting dark and excited as the breath she was holding got caught in her throat like a chokehold.
"He isn't going for the neck!" Bellamy hissed, fingers bloodless around the tranquilizer gun he was fisting.
"You said he'd go for the neck!" Octavia demanded, looking at Indra and Lincoln with a worried glance.
"Oh shit!" Jasper burbled, hands on his head as he turned a half-circle in growing panic.
Come on Raven.
Time to improvise.
Come on-
"Sinclair?"
She slumped in relief. Watching as Raven slowly stretched. Carefully pulling her arm away as she feigned waking up. Patting at the dappled-red of his arm before letting her hand fall away again. Blinking sleepily.
She had to admit the girl was a good actor.
Almost too good.
The fascinating thing was she could actually see his hesitation. The way he closed his mouth to hide his fangs, leaning back a fraction to give the illusion that he hadn't been completely hovering over her. All those minute little details that often made all the difference before jumping to conclusions. It was almost like he didn't want her to see it. Like he wanted to spare her somehow. Or protect her from himself. On some level, that part of him was still undeniably present.
"You alright, Sinclair? When did you get back? We've been worried."
He paused like he was trying to remember the interaction. The proper response. Throat bobbing when Raven let go of a small, honest sounding gasp.
"You're hurt," she exclaimed, reaching out as the muscles under his skin twitched. Minute vibrations that followed her fingers as they traced down the smear of dried blood and the angry bite mark that was still visible through the tear in his shirt.
He shook his head. Balancing effortlessly on his haunches as the bottoms of his bare feet shone black. Flaking and dirty with tacky gore and pulverized undergrowth.
"No. It's alright," he murmured, voice strained rough and hoarse but with a silky edge she'd never heard from him before. Alluring and mysterious. "We were attacked, but we're better now- more."
"Is Kane with you? The others?! They said some of the Guards and the Grounders you were with were killed. How did you get out of there? How are you here?! Did you check in with Doctor Griffin?"
"No. He was- hungry," Sinclair answered, lingering over the last word before uttering it with an expressionless lisp. Bloody fingers clenching around the frame of Raven's bed until the metal groaned a negative. Making him release it quickly – shamefully – as Raven looked down, wary. "I was- I was sleeping when it happened. Something ripped into my tent and dragged me into the trees. I don't know- I couldn't fight it- but I woke up like this and now I'm here. I came back on my own, Raven. I had to."
The part of her that'd been holding onto hope. The part that still believed in the possibility that Marcus would walk through the front gate exactly how he'd left, withered and died in her breast. Leaving her with more questions than answers as they stared at Sinclair's blood-streaked clothes, wondering.
"I wanted to be here- for you, I mean…" he started, trailing off as he reached down and captured her hand. Covering it over with his much larger one as Raven visibly trembled.
"Raven… I can protect you now, keep you safe. When we were attacked something happened. I thought I was dying, that my blood was on fire. But everything is clear now. Simple. I feel- and I can fix this now," he continued, earnest despite the trembling bob of his throat - yearning and hungry like misplaced desire as he rested his free hand on her injured leg. Elongated nails gentle-sharp against her brace, like a passive threat he wasn't even aware of as Raven's eyes threatened the absolute last emotion they needed right now.
Anger.
Anger at the thing that had done this to him.
Anger at what it was making Sinclair do.
Anger at what it had already made him do.
Anger at what it might make Sinclair regret when all this was said and done.
Anger that whatever this virus was had kept just enough of him present to make her hurt.
"I won't let anything bad happen to you again," he said quietly, so achingly serious that she didn't know what to do with herself when he raised his hand to her face. Cupping Raven's chin as he smoothed his thumb over the dip, smiling gently. "I promise."
It felt like a breach of privacy as they watched her lean into it. Accepting the gesture, perhaps even for what it was, as she looked up at him. Nodding like she understood. Like she believed it as the tension in his muscles relaxed a careful half-fraction.
"I know," she murmured, face struggling through a gamut of different emotions before settling on hopeful determination. Using the emotion he'd already provided to scoot closer to the edge of mattress and pull him in for an awkward hug. "I thought you weren't coming back."
The cameras placed on either side of the room gave them a double view of both Sinclair and Raven's face as they relaxed into it. Showing them how Sinclair inhaled. Scenting along the crux of her neck before closing his eyes. Leaning into the closeness like the pressure of her skin against his was a pleasure in of itself. While on the opposite side, Raven closed her eyes as well. Letting her right hand dip low down his back, straightening her sleeve as the syringe she'd hidden inside slipped down to nestle in the cup of her palm.
After that, everything happened fast.
Meaning that before anyone could say a word, two things happened in quick succession.
First, Sinclair lifted his head. Seeming to look directly at the camera as his lips parted and his fangs shivered down from their sheaths. Turning his expression calculated and animal as his pupils expanded – pitch black and eerie – before he lowered his lips back into the crux of her, ready to strike. And second, just before his fangs could make contact with her skin, Raven jammed the syringe through the side of Sinclair's neck and released the cure into his bloodstream.
He jerked. Making a cut off sound. Animal and wounded as he tried to fling himself away. Scrabbling backwards while Raven clung to him. Keeping his hands away from the syringe for a precious handful of moments as she jammed the rest of the plunger down before letting it fall. Getting crushed against the wall as Sinclair snarled and flailed, clawing at his neck with his free hand like he could somehow rip it out of him as they tumbled to the ground in an off-centre heap.
"Sinclair!? Sinclair! Shhhh…it's alright! I've got you. I've got you. You're going to be alright, just-" Raven murmured, holding his head in her lap as he seized on the floor. Calling his name until the echoes grew mocking, chasing one another through the empty room like words unsaid. Unmarked and painfully one-sided, but desperately looked for all the same as Sinclair's mouth worked. Hissing his defiance as the antibodies worked on a cellular level, lashing out but keeping her close all the same. Just like Indra had said.
But for some reason, despite the relief coursing through her, all she could really think about was the betrayal in the back of his eyes when he looked up at her from where they were splayed across the floor.
Sinclair was looking at Raven like he'd never seen it coming.
Not from her.
Never from her.
And honestly, she didn't know if she could justify that kind of betrayal with Marcus. Not after all they'd been through. Even if it meant saving him from himself. She wasn't built for that kind of look when it came to the people she loved. She didn't know how anyone ever could be.
She rocked back on her heels as the others got over the radio. Shouting orders. Shuddering with it as she kept her eyes on the twitching form of Sinclair. Watching as twin rivulets of blood trickled from the corners of his lips. Painting the pale of his cheeks with fresh crimson as Jackson said something beside her – distantly-warped and easily ignored before he sprinted out of the room and down the hall.
Her eyes closed on their own accord as she slowly rose to her feet. Using the metal of the desk as a brace as her exhaustion evolved into a visceral, tangible thing. Turning her grip unsteady and trembling as she thought about what Sinclair had said.
"I won't let anything bad happen to you again. I promise."
After everything they'd suffered, she was sick and tired of the taste of pain.
She hated how it felt on her skin.
How it wrung you out from the inside.
How it never took the right people first.
How it made you heel on a moment's notice.
Like fate was forever jerking on your leash.
Wasn't it funny then, that even though she knew about the infection, she still believed him?
Didn't that mean something?
A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – There will be more to come, stay tuned.