Chapter 56: Both song and tree

"Not going to the common area for lunch, Vlad?"

Ziad didn't look overly concerned – in fact, he'd brought lunch with him. The other nurse from earlier must have told him that their patient had been less than enthusiastic about the prospect of leaving his room when she'd checked on him.

As Vlad had been out – common area, rehabilitation room, library – every day for the last week, maybe Ziad thought this was just a passing mood.

"...I'm not really hungry."

This was also Char's last day, and Vlad hadn't asked if she left in the morning or the afternoon.

He didn't want to go and end up alone at a table because his almost-friend was gone already – and if she wasn't, well. She'd think he wasn't feeling well.

Which wasn't so far from the truth.

Ziad put the tray – beef with a sad-looking salad, or maybe that was just Vlad – on the desk and gently tugged Vlad's notes away.

"Eat something. You've been doing well, let's continue that way."

Vlad stared at the plate for half a minute – then decided that the real problem wasn't a lack of appetite, so he might as well push himself to eat.

He'd brought the first bite to his mouth when Ziad added:

"Director Bianco said he might drop by in the afternoon. Maybe you could use the opportunity, tell him about your father."

Swallowing his bit of beef became terribly difficult, but Vlad persisted.

The rest of the meat stayed on the plate, though. He could stomach the salad and milk bread for dessert, but not anything hard and heavy in his throat. Ziad gave him a semi-concerned look when he left with the tray, but Vlad had told him he wasn't hungry – which had been a lie, at the moment, but wasn't anymore.

The young man spent the next hour or so trying to figure out what to tell Bianco exactly – as well as falling victim to his own anxiety, the contours of his fingers blurring into invisibility at times.

His mother's latest letter said his dad was doing a bit better, but was also unlikely to truly recover. While Malcolm Masters might not pass away in the next few days, it was difficult to imagine him holding on for weeks or months longer.

Vlad might actually...

pass for alive

Maybe he'd manage to get out of the clinic in time. If he didn't relapse, if the fevers didn't come back, if his rashes kept healing the way they'd done lately...

Vlad wasn't sure you could call him cured of course not he knew exactly how deadly his health was death running through his veins the ectoplasm hidden under a change of black mist, even from what the clinic's staff could tell – even without everything they didn't know.

He might, however, manage to persuade the director to allow him out – monthly check-ups, perhaps, and of course he'd keep in touch should anything happen – even if he wasn't one hundred percent, absolutely functional.

out on probation really until he proved a true monster as long as he didn't

Well, it'd have to wait until Vlad's face – and the rest of him, but his face had suffered the most – looked normal once again, but in the meantime, he could still bring up the idea.

Test the waters.

Plant a seed.

...If only his hands could stay damn visible, that was.

When Guillermo Bianco joined Vlad in his room, the old man looked just as frail as the last times they'd seen each other – it'd been months, Vlad realized, since they'd exchanged more than a couple of words. Last times... Vlad hadn't been in a state to talk much.

pus and ectoplasm seeping into out of gaping rashes

delirious nights and exhausting days

The director gave him a genuine, but exhausted, smile. Of the two of them, Vlad wasn't certain who looked the worse off, and he didn't like it at all: Bianco was seventy-four years old, but looked around a hundred, gaunt and withered.

Maybe it was worse than last time.

"You look better, Mister Masters."

Vlad would have liked to return the statement, but could only mutter a tepid "Thanks, Director Bianco" instead.

Lying had become easy for him – a necessity given what he'd turned into an abnormal monster stuck in its old human skin – but he still had a harder time lying about other people, especially when he cared, one way or another.

Not saying things was easier, if not pleasant.

Besides, Bianco wasn't stupid. He only had to look into a mirror for the truth to make itself known.

The old man's smile grew a tiny bit.

"Come with me. The inner garden is almost finished, and as you were the reason I started the project, I feel you should be the first patient to visit."

Vlad blinked, taken by surprise – he'd almost forgotten, but they'd talked about it, hadn't they, almost a year ago now? Maybe ten months ago. Time went and went and went and went and Vlad was still here it was becoming difficult to tell the weeks apart.

He guessed a nice stroll through a – indoors, but he'd take what he could – garden might add some diversity to his days, if nothing else.

Bianco led him further down the corridor than Vlad was used to go – the common area and physical therapy were both at the other end of the building, though he had wandered that way while intangible and invisible once or twice, years ago now, before the renovations had even started – until they reached an open space with a skylight over two floors: Vlad and Bianco stood on the higher floor's balcony, on a level with the top of several small trees.

Hanging potted plants on the balustrade, daylight pouring from above, and old-school benches along the walkway.

The grassy sides were, perhaps, a tad too perfect, but this was a clinic: they couldn't really afford to let the garden get out of hand, or even messy and dangerous for patients and staff alike.

Vlad couldn't find anything to say – he hadn't expected that seeing plants, of all things, would make him so... – so he just – carefully – leaned over the balustrade for a better look at the lower floor.

There you could see that work was still underway: something that looked like an indoor fountain had a few tools lying around – its water letting out a soft song of gurgles and bubbles – the furthest corner of the indoor garden wasn't entirely arranged, and the typical galvanized metal barriers blocked one of the access corridors.

Still.

This was a nice alternative to the common area, another place for patients to pass the days until recovery, and maybe Vlad could sneak there during the nights – easy when you could turn invisible and pass through walls and doors alike – to get a look at the sky when he couldn't get to sleep.

Stars had never been his favorite part of science, but he'd only seen the same corner of sky – his room's small window – in nearly three years, now.

"Don't fall over, Mister Masters, it'd defeat the point of building an inner garden if it proves too dangerous for our patients."

Not overly worried, but willing to play along, Vlad turned around – only to notice that the director was now sitting on the nearest bench.

The old man used to stay standing until someone asked him if he'd rather sit down, and Vlad couldn't help but wonder if that, too, was a hint of weakness.

He didn't ask, of course. There was nothing he could do for Bianco – and little he could do for himself, besides, but this, at least...

Ziad was right.

"Director Bianco, I wanted to ask..."

So I'm working on a fusion-type DP-Harry Potter crossover, Vlad-centric of course, I by that I mean 'USA from the HP world with AU elements to make Vlad (and the others) fit into the universe'.

Ghosts, of course, but the HP kind, and Vlad is not a vampire (*cough*) but his father and sister very much are and maybe there's another Veil (portal to death, hello) in America (I've already decided there was one in Ivory Coast for another fic, so).

I just wrote through the accident and I think I've gone past the 10K-words mark, so, you know: longish fic (for reference, I had to cut my longest one-shot into two parts because AO3 thinks 94K words is too much for one chapter, and my n°2 is 59K-words long...)