Chapter Text
Daniel had barely been turned six months when whispers of Armand had surfaced. Daniel had been enjoying the heyday of his late life career resurgence or downward spiral, depending on who you asked, not to mention his “remarkable recovery” from Parkinson’s. He was doing the late night talk show circuit, turning up his dry humor to 11 for the fans who would gif his cutty digs and speculate on his commitment to the character. He was staying in lavish hotels, feeding was easy as he traveled from one crowded city to the next, and he couldn’t deny that he kind of enjoyed the attention. Hell, even his daughters had both made efforts to re-establish their relationships, although this may have been out of concern he had developed dementia or was back on drugs.
It was Louis who told him about Armand, during one of their semi-regular telepathic conversations. Louis, who was justifiably still angry as he attempted to sort through the wreckage of his life after a nearly 80 year fraud and wanted nothing to do with following up on a rumored gremlin sighting in Czechia. Daniel didn’t blame the man for not coming with, he was working through a lot and Daniel secretly suspected, rekindling his romance with Lestat. Lestat, who was having his own moment in the spotlight as a "rockstar" as he defined himself, although Daniel would rank him closer to a middle-of-the-charts pop singer perpetually on the verge of being dropped by his label for some uncouth comment that couldn't be forgiven after a tweeted apology. Louis and Lestat were the only vampires Daniel knew other than the asshole who had bitten him and then pulled a classic move from the Daniel Molloy Parenting Playbook of dipping out for a smoke and not returning, which meant that left him on his own to show up at a forgotten catacomb on the outskirts of Prague one late evening after dusk had fallen. He had already been in the city several weeks by that point, but international travel as a vampire took quite possibly more careful coordination than it had even as an infirm elderly man, and despite no longer engaging in human sleep he had somehow still managed to experience jet lag.
Once he arrived to the former eastern bloc it had also taken some time to figure out exactly how to locate Armand. Despite his new bloodhound-like senses it was still frustratingly difficult to find a vampire if they did not want to be found. He was also at a disadvantage based on the language barrier, both spoken and telepathic. His knowledge of vampiric gifts had been largely informed by corny horror movies and the smut novels his Interview With The Vampire was often compared to, but he had quickly learned that comprehension of languages did not come with the sharp teeth and cold skin. Still he had listened intently for any of the aliases of the Vampire Armand-Amadeo-Arun-Rashid, spoken in that melodic tongue which escaped his understanding at every turn. Near the third full week of his skulking in a way that would have made Armand’s Children of Darkness proud he caught the echo of a thought of the strange, tan skinned vampire who had claimed an old catacomb as his own. There was derision toward the creature, an ancient one living as if unenlightened, but it didn't sound as if anyone had made contact.
Determining which ancient subterranean burial hall Armand was in had been another battle. Obviously the ones which swarmed with tourists in the daylight were out, although Daniel knew that if the logistics weren’t a nightmare Armand certainly would’ve gone for an ossuary, theatrical bastard. The ones which ran parallel to the sanitary tunnels were also unlikely, too much risk of discovery by an unwitting municipal worker. Still, the Czechs were nothing if not committed to their afterlife rituals and it had taken another week and a half of methodically checking old and forgotten crypts before he found his maker.
Dressed in rags like Oliver Twist in an off-off-Broadway Armand was laying against rough stone walls, listless and glassy eyed. His hair was tangled and dirty and Daniel could see blood crusted along his temple, although it had clearly been there for a while, flaky and dry as it was. His normally rich skin had a distinctly ashen hue even for a vampire that accentuated just how trim he was, but where before he had been lithe and fit now he just looked emaciated, all prominent bones and sharp angles. Daniel is briefly reminded of children in famished countries and shakes the thought out of his head. He stares expectantly for a minute which stretches long and tense but if Armand is aware of Daniel's presence his centuries of practice controlling every minutiae of his existence allows him to mask any reaction he may have. Even with his newfound preternatural instincts Daniel doesn’t so much as see the twitch of a muscle in his jaw or contraction of the pupils to indicate acknowledgment.
“Is this what you’re doing now?” he asks, quickly bored of waiting for Armand to react. “Pouting in a catacomb because your marriage built on lies finally crumbled?”
Armand finally moves, head slowly raising, dull eyes utterly empty coming to meet Daniel’s. He blinks slowly, deliberately, as if even the movement of his eyelids takes a concentrated effort. Opens his mouth and with his predator’s hearing Daniel can hear him peel his sticky lips apart. He clearly hasn’t fed or spoken in a while, weeks likely if Daniel had to guess. His tongue darts out to wet his lips but it's ineffective, there seems to be no spare moisture in his body.
“What do you want, Daniel?” his voice is rough, flat, and without intonation. Daniel doesn’t have an answer. Months of anger and confusion, fear and hope, joy and anxiety and hatred and loneliness, all the emotions that have been sitting at his sternum like a bomb ready to go off on sight of Armand are snuffed out like a candle and he’s lost for words. He grits his teeth, suddenly furious at this fucking guy for tainting his righteous anger with his woe is me bullshit.
“Fuck you man” is what he settles on. Armand stares unblinking and without reaction. “You bite a fucking guy, a dying old man, and turn him into a vampire and give him back 10 years of memories of a life we lived together and then fuck off to hide in a cellar? I asked Louis a similar question but are you actually fucking psychotic?” Daniel is fuming now, the anger rolling back in like a storm blowing up the coast. “You just break people and things and manipulate everyone around you for years and when you’re caught you flip the script and you’re some miserable pathetic thing who can’t be bothered with some fucking accountability?” Armand is unmoving but there’s the hint of a spark in his eyes so Daniel keeps going.
“You know you’re the problem right? You manipulated "the love of your life" by, might I remind you, killing his fucking daughter and then accepting the prize for saving him. Which would be fucked up enough but you didn't even save him! You were going to let him burn just like his daughter but Lestat stepped in and you used the situation to your advantage. Do you even know how to interact with another being if you're not tying to pull the strings to control their behavior? You set him up, you tortured his ex, you deleted his memories, you played with my brain like it was Play Doh you could mold and remold to your liking. And now when things fall apart you're the fawn, pathetic little Arun, too traumatized to be responsible for your behaviors?”
Daniel is fucking fuming, he’s getting loud and his New York accent is beginning to get pronounced as he toes the line of shouting, and he easily has another three hours of material left to yell. Dirty laundry uncovered when his memories came back to him in a loveless penthouse in Dubai. As much as he would like to continue his own private roast of The Vampire Armand the little fuck is too lifeless and complacent for the yelling to feel good. It’s no fun to fight when one half just takes the beating.
He flags, the fight draining out of him as quickly as it came. Armand still hasn’t moved other than that creaking raise of the head to make eye contact. Daniel’s not even sure if he can move, thinking back now to the recollection of Louis’s period of starvation. He might be too hungry for any gross motor movements.
“When did you last feed?” he asks, and he can tell the change in tone is startling to Armand. His mouth twitches at the unexpected question.
He doesn’t speak his answer aloud, instead letting the words flow directly into Daniel’s brain -I do not remember.- Daniel sighs and asks how long he’s been haunting Prague like a Scooby Doo villain with clinical depression. Armand’s answer is the same. He doesn’t understand the reference. Daniel doesn't have time to explain a cartoon about a dog and his pot-smoking owner solving crimes so he moves on.
“Can you stand? I don’t want to spend the day here” Daniel asks. Finally, an emotion flashes across Armand’s face, gone before Daniel can classify it.
“No, maître.” He speaks this, voice creaky and unused.
“Hey, no” Daniel says sharply. He restrains himself from grabbing Armand by the jaw like a disobedient child but only barely. Squats on knees that no longer creak and ache and gets close to his Maker’s face. “Don’t fucking think you’re gonna pull that shit with me. I don’t care what you call me but it’s not gonna be your abused-boy role play name.”
Flicker of something: shame, fear, hurt maybe? Across Armand’s face. Regardless he speaks immediately. “Yes maî-“ he cuts himself off, the air is thick for a moment as Daniel glares warning at him over glasses he no longer needs. “I understand” he settles on, ending the sentence as if it’s physically painful to omit the honorific.
Daniel does something he’s aware other vampires do but which feels melodramatic to him. He uses a claw to open a vein in his wrist before holding it up to Armand. Armand looks at him owlishly, citrus eyes glancing between the blood beading and threatening to drip to the damp floors and Daniel’s own eyes.
“Drink” Daniel says exasperated, shoving his bleeding arm into his face as the blood begins to form a trail that runs around his wrist. “Fucking gremlin” he mutters under his breath, but even though Armand must hear it he does not react, instead darting his tongue out to lap obediently at the sanguine bracelet which has formed around Daniel’s forearm. Once he’s cleaned Daniel with delicate kitten licks, and isn’t that the goddamn weirdest thing he’s ever seen and felt, he puts his lips to the cut and suckles gently, taking only a handful of deep swallows before removing himself, collapsing back into the wall. Daniel focuses intently on how fucking inconvenienced he has been by this expedition to find his Maker so that no other part of himself reacts to the twink assistant of Mr. Du Lac, who he had admittedly fantasized about in the shower once or twice during the interview so sue him, looking up at him through long dark lashes as he swirls his tongue over his skin in a way that feels more intimate than many blowjobs he's received.
The change is immediate. The the tiniest bit of color leeches back into Armand’s cheeks. Lifting his head doesn’t seem to be a monumental task the next time he does it, although his eyelids flutter as if he’s struggling to stay awake. Daniel thinks vaguely that he’s like the world’s most fucked up baby, a little warm milk in its belly and it can’t hold its eyes open. He stands from his crouch and regards Armand.
It’s clear that Armand has no plan to interact further, in fact he seems to be settling in to sleep on the ground, and Daniel thinks maybe he’s the emotionally unstable one when he’s once again irritated with this fucking guy. Christ, they’re bound to each other for eternity but if it’s gonna be like this he thinks he’ll walk into the fucking sun. The thought is dark even for him and he tries to push it out of his head.
“So what’s the plan, are you just gonna lay down here until you wither to nothing?” Daniel doesn’t expect an answer so he’s not surprised when Armand says nothing. Doesn’t even bother to open his eyes.
“Alright, I’ve had about fucking enough of this. Will you be walking or am I carrying you back to my hotel?” Armand opens one eye only. Daniel is reminded of a cat. He’s not an expert yet at interpreting thoughts but he can feel shame rolling off Armand.
“I don’t believe I have the strength m-“ Armand says slowly, tripping over his tongue at the daggers Daniel shoots him when the worshipful name nearly escapes him yet again.
Daniel doesn’t give Armand or himself time to think before he’s grabbing him under the armpits like an unruly toddler or a drunk roommate and hauling him to his feet. Armand sways dizzily and vaguely remembers this familiar feeling of all-encompassing hunger although the experience, in the hot sun of a different continent where he had eaten maggot-filled scraps when the aching in his stomach became too intense, does not feel his own. He must’ve projected the memory out as Daniel reels back startled and has to dive back to catch Armand when his knees threaten to give out. Daniel is looking at him like he’s a street dog or a sickly child and the feeling of being looked down on is familiar, shameful and soothing all in one.
Daniel hefts Armand onto his back, winds skinny arms around his neck and directs him to lock his bare feet around his waist. Daniel wants to question where the hell his shoes went but doesn't. “Don’t let go” he says firmly, twisting his neck in a way that would’ve left him sore for days previously to make eye contact out of the corner of his eye. He moves with vampire speed across rooftops and through shadows. He doesn’t have the cloud gift, hard to have any gifts when his maker is the equivalent of a deadbeat dad, but he’s competent and surefooted in his movements through the dark.
Back in his rental he dumps Armand without warning onto the modern leather couch. Armand lands like a rag doll or Icarus after his ill-fated flight and doesn’t move. One arm is twisted under him, his shoulder nearly dislocated from the angle, but he stays unnaturally still.
“Christ you can fucking, I don’t know, lay comfortably or whatever” Daniel says. He’s taken his glasses off and is pacing, running his hands through his unruly curls. Armand makes no attempt to adjust and Daniel can’t think when his maker is doing a dead body impression on the sofa. He needs to think, he feels like he’s going to have a fucking panic attack which he didn’t even know a vampire could experience, and so he snaps “lay goddamn normally!” as he goes toward the kitchen, remembering the small store of blood in the otherwise empty fridge.
When he comes back into the room he nearly fucking laughs out loud. Armand has somehow managed to remove the filthy trousers and torn shirt he was wearing and has arranged himself demurely on the couch, legs splayed open suggestively as he looks up at Daniel through those unnaturally long lashes. He does huff out a derisive snort and doesn’t miss the look of keen hurt that flashes across Armand’s face. It’s replaced by what Daniel thinks is supposed to be a seductive gaze. Armand’s tongue traces his lower lip and he traces a hand featherlight down his abs. It would be more of a turn-on if Daniel couldn’t count his ribs and see where his hipbones threaten to tear through his skin.
Daniel realizes he’s squeezing a bag of blood like it’s a stress ball and releases his grip gently to avoid his nails puncturing the plastic. Breathes deeply and does it again for good measure. Tries to keep the frustration from his voice when he asks “what are you trying to do here, Armand?”
Armand blinks at him in confusion and when he answers he speaks into Daniel’s mind rather than aloud. -You chose to come and find me. Allow me to show my appreciation- and then Daniel is receiving a vision of how Armand can show his appreciation and he’s grateful as his maker than Armand can no longer read his mind. It’s hard enough to keep his outward reaction neutral. He's not sure what the protocol is when the victim of centuries of sexual exploitation attempts to repay a favor with their body but he has a feeling reacting with the disgust he feels at the thought would not be good for Armand's already fucked psyche.
“You can show your appreciation by drinking this” he says as he hands him the blood. “You look like you’re on death’s door.”
“Nonsense Daniel. You know as well as I do that there is no physical space within the afterlife, and if I were close to death I would be nowhere but my own thoughts as my body ceased to function. And you should know better than to think such a brief period without sustenance would kill me. It’s nearly impossible for me to die. There’s no method I know of that will finish my existence.” He does take the bag and punctures it easily with a kitten fang, drinking like he isn’t starving. It leaves Daniel to ponder this questionably concerning statement.
“Door or not, you’re not dying in my presence, asshole. You’re finishing that bag and then having a bath and resting.” Daniel leaves to run a bath and maybe beat his head against a wall or go back to New York and remove himself from this absolute clusterfuck. “Don’t go anywhere” he shoots over his shoulder as he leaves Armand to nurse his meal.