Preslash, Tesla/Henry, teen, 2200~ words.
What happened after the destruction. Spoilers for the entire series abound. Angst, some hurt, and a unique brand of comfort. Our ostentatious vampire and lupine savant, sans the remainder... Enjoy. ~Lu
Exspectata Domus
part 2
His first memory upon waking was that of going HAP and throwing himself at his startled, toothy visitor. The second was of an elegant face transforming into a macabre version of itself, into black eyes and sharp teeth. The third... Well, that must be why his entire body ached and why he was naked.
The most surprising part of his current state was the heavy duvet thrown over himself, tucked in neatly under his sides. As he began to focus, he realized he was lying in his bed at the cabin, day had turned to night, and his unwelcome guest was puttering around the small space, his trench coat folded perfectly over the back of the chair. There were some bulging paper bags set haphazardly on the plywood table, and a calm fire lapping at neatly stacked logs in the fireplace.
"What happened?" Henry asked blearily, raising himself onto his elbows, watching Tesla closely. His companion didn't startle at the sound of his voice, merely turned to him, hands on his hips, indignant look on his face.
"What happened? Oh, let's summarize," Tesla began, stalking over to the bed. He held out an accusatory finger at Henry, wagged it a few times. "You, Heinrich, decided to go full moon on me – without recourse, I might add – and I merely had to defend myself." Here, Tesla looked at his nails, one hand still on his hip, a slight pout tugging at his mouth. "Frankly, I'm insulted. I come here, as a friend, to bring you home to the adoring throng that is the insane populace of the Sanctuary, only to be assaulted for my altruism. And you people wonder why I don't trust you. Case in point!" Tesla's nostrils flared as he finished his diatribe, and he raised his chin in a haughty gesture, his version of I told you so. Henry could only sigh.
"She sent a vampire to bring me home," he grumbled, scrubbing a hand over his face. "How the hell was I supposed to react?"
"Hey, now, I asked if you had any questions after I told you my purpose for being here. Had you decided to indulge your curiosity in, say, a less violent and animalistic way, I could have told you that Helen has no timeline for your triumphant return." At this, Henry could only gape. "As I said," Tesla murmured, seeming to have lost his fire, "I'll need to resocialize you. Wild, transforming beast and all. You understand."
Henry had no words, so he merely continued to stare. Tesla quickly lost interest in him and turned to pay mind to the fire, poking at it gingerly. Henry then turned his attention to the bounty on the table.
"What's in the bags?" he asked, beginning to look around for his clothes. He found them neatly folded at the foot of the bed.
"Tools to tame the wild beast," was the waspish answer from the fireplace. Henry rolled his eyes and pulled his pants up over his hips, and made his aching way over to the table. Peering into the first bag he saw razors (plural – his beard wasn't that bad), body washes meant for dainty women who liked to smell like pumpkins, shaving cream (mix your own – very Victorian, indeed), and a bottle of dry shampoo. The second bag yielded a similar assortment of toiletries, each offending Henry more than the last. The third bag held fresh fruit, bread and cheese, two bottles of wine, and two sets of pristine silver cutlery.
It was the last bag that renewed Henry's undoing.
Electrical wires, soldering equipment, screwdrivers, bits of metal and plastic – a collection of his Life Before This. Henry couldn't help the sound that escaped him in a rush, a mix of anguish, relief and terror. He wasn't ready for this, wasn't ready to go back.
"In case you hadn't noticed," Tesla snapped from the fire, "I'm of the opinion that you need to shave, bathe, and possibly shave again." He turned to face Henry, his arms crossed over his chest. "That other stuff can wait, unless you're hungry. In which case I'll use the food as a bargaining chip for you to, you know, shave and bathe. Capice?"
"Copy that," Henry said hoarsely, thankful for Tesla's unrelenting focus on everything that truly didn't matter.
...
Much to his chagrin, Henry did feel better after a good shave. While he didn't appreciate smelling like Thanksgiving dessert, he did feel cleaner, his skin softer. He just hoped that the spicy scent of the body wash didn't attract any strange animals from the woods, the smell still lingering in the outdoor basin.
Tesla appeared in better spirits, as well, having revealed another bag, a duffel, this one housing two wine glasses, an iPod loaded with Chopin, Vivaldi and Tchaikovsky, an assortment of clothes (both for Tesla and Henry), and a few books. Henry sorted through the titles of the books (academic, technical texts – Tesla very clearly figured he was on vacation) and nibbled on some bread and cheese while Tesla sorted out which concerto suited his mood.
"Thank you," Henry said, hesitantly. He knew the kind of Pandora's Box he was opening by offering Tesla that much. But, what else could he do? In a very Tesla kind of way, this was exactly what Henry needed: wholesome food, good wine (he assumed – this was Tesla), and company that wouldn't pity or coddle him.
"Don't get used to it," Tesla replied absently, fiddling with the iPod, a strange sight in itself. "I only brought two bottles – once we drink those, play time's over."
"But you said –"
"I said we weren't following a timeline made by Helen. You honestly expect me to suffer your company once the bottles are empty? I think not, my lupine friend. You have less than three hours –"
"You're kidding me!"
"– to get your act together, stop sulking, and prepare yourself for your anticipated return. And besides," Tesla huffed, looking sidelong at Henry, "there's nowhere for me to sleep. You see the problem."
"I'll take the floor!" Henry yelped, staring desperately at Tesla. There was a brief moment where a strange tableau was painted: Tesla, standing with his iPod in one hand, a full wine glass in the other, and Henry, feet firmly planted beside the table, archaic texts hanging limply in his hands. They stared at each other, Tesla with disdain, Henry with desperation. It was Tesla who finally spoke.
"You're just lucky I can drive into town to get more wine."
...
Henry couldn't help it: he stared at Tesla as he brushed his teeth.
"When you go all vampire, is there plaque on the extended parts of the fangs? I mean, do you have to brush those, too?" Henry was certainly thankful he couldn't understand the language Tesla was surely insulting him in.
...
"Heinrich, wake up!"
"Wha? What's wrong?"
"You're snoring."
"Mmm, can't help it."
"You can if I put a pillow over your face. Be silent, Furrious George."
...
Three days passed without incident. Tesla spent his time poring over the texts he brought, while Henry continued his routine of walking the forest, wandering aimlessly until his stomach started to growl. Upon returning to the cabin this day, Henry found it empty. No vampire. Rolling his shoulders, Henry contemplated taking a nap in his bed. The floor was wreaking havoc on his body, and Tesla refused to switch or share, so Henry had had no relief for his poor aching muscles.
Deciding this was the best course of action, he undressed and settled in for a nice long nap. He had started drifting when Tesla returned, arms full of clanking bottles, grumbling about idiot hosts not being around to assist.
"Henry! Help me with these." Henry merely groaned a reply and turned to face the wall, pulling the duvet up over his head. All he wanted was a nap, in his bed, undisturbed. Clearly, that was too much to ask for.
"You're not sick, are you? While I could bleed you to cure whatever ails you, I'd be more inclined to drag your addled body back to Helen to fix you."
"Not sick," Henry moaned, pulling the duvet more tightly around himself. "Just tired. The floor sucks, dude." There was a brief pause, then a long-suffering sigh.
"Very well. Too bad, though. The bleeding had its appeal."
...
This nightmare was familiar: Henry stood atop a burning spire of the Sanctuary, looking down on the chaos and madness of a strange war. He couldn't make out the faces of the figures below, killing each other, using guns, swords, spears and claws. But he could hear them, brutal screams and terrified pleas rising with the smoke from the burning building.
A hand on his elbow made him turn, as it did every time, and he was staring into the cherubic face of Ashley Magnus. Her blond hair cascaded over her shoulders, her big eyes bored right into his, pleading.
"Henry," she said, her voice ethereal, barely there.
"Hi, Ashley," he replied sadly, taking her hands in his. There was an explosion to the east, a gust of wind came, blowing flames over him, and when they dissipated, she was gone. As she always was.
The dream progressed as it usually did. He turned and he was in his lab, Erika there, her pregnant belly full and ready to burst. She smiled that beautiful smile of hers, right before the fire consumed her. And, Henry realized, as he always did, that the fire destroying the people, the Sanctuary, came from him.
Henry knew how to rationalize this nightmare. Too much time spent with Will, he figured. Henry knew that his fear of losing those he loved drove him to his isolation, his self-imposed solitary confinement. He left Erika because he realized he could never stand the thought of losing her. Best give up what he loved rather than have it taken away.
That rationalization, however, couldn't stop the fear, the sorrow, and, as he always did, Henry woke with a shout.
...
Only this time, there was someone to hear him. While he screamed and panted and clawed at the duvet, Henry was vaguely aware of a soothing voice whispering absolutely nothing, a cool hand pressing on his forehead. He thrashed, staving off his body's impulse to transform, flailing blindly at the gentle hand on his head. It was only after that hand became firm and strong, moved to his right shoulder, as another did his left, did Henry open his eyes in panic to a set of equally perturbed eyes.
Right. Tesla.
For several minutes, the only sounds in the small cabin were that of both men's heavy breathing: Henry's born of fear, Tesla's of exertion from holding down a panicked HAP.
"Want to tell me what that was about?" Tesla finally asked, easing his hold on Henry, though not letting go. Henry's mind flew through options, excuses: just a bad dream, thought about you moving in permanently, it's just a HAP thing, no worries. Instead, before any words could come, he broke. Sobbing, gasping, quaking, Henry finally lost control. He screwed his eyes shut as the sobs wracked his body, more powerful than at the Big Guy's memorial service. His face was messy, tracked with tears he couldn't begin to know how to stop, his hands shook, his stomach roiled with such a deep down ache he believed he could never be right again.
It took several moments to register the hesitant body next to his, gently edging him toward the wall, awkwardly wrapping him in too-long arms. Henry couldn't help throwing himself against Tesla's chest, distantly surprised that the lanky man could absorb the impact without flinching. He felt a hand on the back of his head, at the nape of his neck, long, cool fingers drawing soothing circles beneath his hairline. The other hand snaked its way to the small of his back, repeating the circular pattern, easing Henry closer.
He had no idea how much time had passed. His head was resting on Tesla's chest, his cream button-down shirt moist with tears. Trying to calm himself down, Henry focused on the steady rise and fall of Tesla's breathing, the thrum of his heartbeat, the warmth of his body. Finally, he raised his head. He was met with a curious look, Tesla's head tilted to the side, his eyebrows knitted. His face all but screamed, Well?
"Sorry about that," Henry rasped, his throat dry and sore from the ordeal. He made to untangle himself from his companion, but Tesla would have none of it.
"Don't be a martyr. Stay." Henry reluctantly obeyed, putting his head back down. He started to think he had Tesla all wrong, he really was a great guy, truly compassionate under the surface, until, "Good dog." And Henry slept.