Assassins were so troublesome.
Vlad exhaled slowly, allowing his invisibility to drop away as he leaned against the parking garage's cold pillar.
His shoulder throbbed, fingers slick with blood he was trying in vain to keep inside himself. He could still feel the bullet inside of him, grinding unpleasantly against the inside of his shoulder blade. Judging from the angle, that мудак had probably been aiming for his head.
No matter, the man had been dealt with, body now stored safely about 20 feet below the cement he stood upon. One more missing person, and one more thread to follow back to someone who wanted him dead. Fame was a real pain in the ass, sometimes. Or- pain in the shoulder, in this case. The slam of a closing car door registered faintly in the distance. He shifted slightly to press more into the shadows.
He shifted his arm, wincing at the metal-on-bone soundfeelingvibration that slid through his skeleton. He hissed under his breath, eyes closed as he tried to figure out where exactly the main chunk of bullet was resting. From the starburst of pain radiating in a messy net, it had probably been a hollow-tip. Metal shards were likely working their way into his muscles every time he moved. дерьмо.
A startled inhale caught his attention, and Vlad almost jumped out of his skin, clamping down a bit harder on his wound and twisting to see who had found him.
"S-sir, are you alright- no, of course not, I'll call an-" "I'd rather you didn't." He interrupted, already considering ways to make the young man forget. It wouldn't do for the public to know this kind of thing. It would create too much attention.
"It's not as bad as it looks." He added, sharp gaze tracking the man's fidgeting hands. Though he could see the glint of blue eyes framed by messy curls, the other man didn't seem to want to make eye contact.
"Still, that's a lot of blood, I should- you need-"
He was… strangely expressive. Always shifting, eyes darting at Vlad, then around the dimly lit parking garage like he could was trying to figure out what had happened. Vlad gritted his teeth in annoyance as another set of footsteps approached.
"I thought you said you were in a hurry." A faintly amused voice called out, and the young man twisted to call out.
"This man's hurt! He needs medical care!"
Terrific.
"Honestly, I'm fine, Just a scratch that wants to bleed. I can drive myself to the hospital for stitches." Vlad pushed up from the pillar, calmly stepping away from the two as if he were walking toward his car.
"Hey, you can't- Dr. Lecter, tell him-"
"From the amount of blood in your jacket, that seems a bit more than a simple scratch, Mr. Masters. I'd advise against driving."
Of course he recognized-
"I can call my chauffeur." He retorted airily, reaching to pull out his phone.
His fingers brushed an empty pocket.
Vlad felt a muscle in his jaw twitch as he remembered leaving the device in his desk drawer, choosing to hunt down his shooter instead of fidgeting with volume settings.
"It seems I've left my phone up in my office." He commented, lips thinning in irritation and ignoring the offer.
"Here, you can borrow mine. Really, you should let Dr. Lecter administer first-aid, he's a retired surgeon, and-" The younger man was already pulling out his own phone, unlocking it with jerky movements and hesitating when he realized Vlad's only free hand was resting limp at his side. He turned to look at his travel companion pleadingly, and Vlad copied him, meeting the mildly curious gaze with his own cool stare.
"If it's discretion you're after, I can assure you, my patient confidentiality is very secure."
He flicked his eyes to the young man still fidgeting between them, twitching hands clearly wanting to reach out and examine the wound himself. Dr. Lecter seemed to get the hint.
"Will, I will attend to our guest. Your client is waiting, and I will be more forgiven for lateness."
Will hesitated again, gaze lowered, but nodded sharply and turned on his heel to jog toward the elevator. Vlad watched his back bounce away, and didn't move when the slightly taller man approached his side.
"Let me see." He requested softly, and Vlad pulled his hand away from the tattered suit jacket, refusing to wince at the spike in pain. It would only take a short possession to blur the man's memory, and a few well-placed comments would likely instill a less serious impression of the care. He probably could have done that earlier to escape, but the offer of actual medical care was a tempting one. Shifting forms with a foreign object inside him was an awful idea, he knew that from experience. Teleporting wasn't any better.
Shedding his suit jacket was easy. The button-up shirt was a bit harder, and he forced himself to pretend the parking garage was cold. Dr. Lecter did not express any surprise at seeing the bullet wound, only tilting to see if there was an exit wound.
"Place pressure on the wound again, if you would. You'll need surgery to remove the shrapnel." professional fingertips prodded just below his shoulder-blade. Vlad hummed in agreement, frowning at the warm itch of blood sliding along his collarbone as he pressed his balled-up shirt against his shoulder once more. It was already ruined, no point caring now.
"Can you walk without assistance?"
He kept his expression schooled in calm indifference, following after Dr. Lecter to a sleek black car, watching idly as he popped the trunk and withdrew what easily could have passed as a tacklebox. He withdrew some sort of sterilizing fluid and thick gauze, gesturing at Vlad to remove his hand and going through the motions of cleaning and patching the wound. Vlad obediently placed pressure back atop the gauze, half-dried blood smearing and sticking between his fingers.
"I'll drive you to the hospital." He seemed to notice his patient's mouth opening to object. "Will's appointment does not require me to attend, despite the invitation, and his first aid kit seems to have been ransacked for his hobbies, if the lack of stitching thread is any clue." What kind of hobbies needed stitching thread?
"I'd rather call my personal physician, if it's all the same to you."
"If you want to bleed out, this is a good way to go about it." The surgeon's eyes narrowed at him, and Vlad mentally noted to do an extra thorough job of inducing confusion after all this was over. This man was so stubborn.
"Have you taken any opiates? Your tolerance for pain is remarkable."
He noticed a faint muscle twitch on the man's face, and realized with a burst of amusement that he was been smelled.
"Nothing so glamorous." He muttered, amusement curling the corner of his mouth. "Can you really tell that kind of thing by scent?" Dr. Lecter blinked, glancing up. He didn't seem startled at being called out, so much as just… curious. As much control as Vlad had over his own reactions, it still hurt. Years of healing from what may as well have been acid burns had left him with a rather skewed perception of a pain scale.
"How far does your patient confidentially extend?" Dr. Lecter seemed to take the abrupt question in stride.
"As far as it needs to."
"What kind of compensation would you require for a hypothetical discrete surgery?" No point in dancing around the subject at this point. He'd rather not heal around metal shards.
Instead of trying to bargain, Lecter simply stated that his home was only a few minutes outside the city, and Will's appointment was meant to last several hours.
"Convenient." He murmured, carefully folding his jacket and propping it behind him so his blood wouldn't drip onto the passenger seat.
The ride was uneventful, gauze quickly soaking through. He idly counted telephone poles as they passed, considering whether or not to just tell the man of his odd physiology instead of trying to skirt the question.
He leveled his gaze at Lecter's reflection in his window, gears turning. It was already long past the point that simple possession would erase his memories. Would it be easier to bribe the man to keep his silence, or to threaten him? Or kill him?
No, no - there were too many loose ends. Cameras, the fidgety young man.. He'd probably left blood spatters at some point. Vlad made a mental note to clean that up, later. No point tempting anyone with proof of his contamination.
With no small amount of irritation, he noticed himself becoming lightheaded at the blood loss (or was it simply the tissue trauma?) as Dr. Lecter escorted him into a beautifully decorated estate. And… into the kitchen?
Vlad raised an eyebrow at the stainless steel prep table, years of association making him think autopsy table before food. Lecter must have noticed his expression.
"While it may seem an odd place, I do keep my kitchen pristine. I have a set of surgical instruments downstairs, if you'll wait here."
Vlad took the time to look around, appreciating the fine blend of colors and textures in the room around him. There was a faint… energy, of sorts, lingering below his feet. It tempted him to explore, trembling - begging him to investigate. He resisted, deciding touring the man's home without invitation would likely not garner him any points. His next breath hitched, eyes closing against the sharp feeling of a needle digging into his ribs. He flared his core automatically, trying to distance himself from his body and feeling the world shift slightly pink, and- Oh.
Interesting.
Lecter's footsteps were returning, and his voice called out ahead;
"I hope you're alright with an analgesic. I'd rather not you move mid-procedure. It would be… unfortunate." The last word marked his entrance, and Vlad reluctantly accepted the stool and a steadying hand to get up onto the stainless steel table.
The plastic mask fitted neatly over his face despite laying on his stomach, and the doctor was kind enough to provide a plastic-wrapped pillow to prop up his torso for a more comfortable position. A gas tank's knob twisted, and Vlad closed his eyes as familiar whispers grew louder, until their overlapping voices staticked into silence.
He woke up in another room, pain dulled to a mild twinge.
The whispers were louder this time, sliding around him with a mixture of curiosity and anger. Though his thoughts were sluggish, it still piqued his curiosity. The restless spirits… there were far too many of them for such a young house. He dismissed the idea that they were all from volunteered surgeries that had failed.
His core was slow to respond, but fluttered at his reach and let him blink open solid pink eyes to get a better look. Their whispers grew louder, more clear, and realization dawned on him.
Oh, that was delicious.
"Good morning."
He felt amusement curl his mouth at the irritated voice, a sharp eyetooth dragging on the corner of his lip as he turned his head to meet the dark eyes with glinting maroon. His surgeon lounged across an elegant couch across from his own, ice pack pressed to the corner of his lip.
"Not to your taste?" He asked lightly, failing utterly to keep the laughter out of his voice.
Dr. Lecter pulled back the ice pack, running the side of his thumb over a spot on his lip Vlad easily identified as an ectoplasm burn. The irritation morphed into something like dark curiosity, and Vlad resigned himself to dealing with tittering spirits for a while longer. He knew how to keep the good doctor from spreading stories now, but there was no point in burning bridges.
It was unlikely Lecter would care to accept a standard payment, considering his obvious wealth, but perhaps he'd be interested in a favor.
One monster to another.