Chapter Text
Martin was starving.
It had been weeks since he'd fed on someone's blood. He'd been planning to go out on the first of the month, but then he'd run into Prentiss and been trapped in his flat. Eating normal food has always helped him go longer between feedings, but no amount of tinned peaches could keep him from getting progressively hungrier.
The thirst of it sat in his throat like the Sahara. Breaths scraped against his airways like a piece of sandpaper was being dragged across it. Swallowing felt harsh and painful. And Martin knew exactly what could soothe all of this.
When Prentiss finally let up, he’d run out of his flat as fast as he could. Even starving, the speed given by his vampirism remained the same. He ran through the streets of London, making his way toward the Magnus Institute. Unfortunately, it was a Saturday. And Saturday in London was not exactly devoid of life.
The scent of humans hit him like a truck. The copper smell inflamed the pain in his throat, begging him for even a drop of the soothing red liquid. His veins burned at the phantom reminder of something he could no longer produce for himself. Instincts screamed to grab someone and bite.
Martin froze where he was.
There were a myriad of reasons that he couldn’t feed now. First of all, surrounded by all of these people, he wouldn’t be able to control himself. If he tasted blood, he’d go feral. Martin had been a vampire for a while and had seen a few lose themselves like that. A feral vampire would slaughter any human they came across until their starving, bloodthirsty instincts decided they were sated. The result was never pretty and always ended with the vampire running into a hunter.
The second reason he couldn’t feed now was his own morals. Martin hated feeding. One of his powers allowed him to make someone forget the encounter, but he couldn’t prevent it from hurting them. Once a week he had to hurt someone or he would die. And right now… He’d either have to hurt several someones or he’d hurt someone very, very badly.
Third was Jane Prentiss. She may have left him be for now, but Martin had no way of knowing if she was still following him. If he stopped to hunt she could catch up and kill him. Only one place stood out as possibly being safe, and he needed to get there.
His next step felt like he was ripping out his own throat. As did the next. And the next. But Martin walked past the humans and went to the Magnus Institute.
It was closed on Saturday, so he could take time to compose himself. Once he was more together - the more people he passed the harder it became to control himself - he could hunt. After he no longer wanted to kill every person he came across, Martin could call Jon about making a statement. Everything would go smoothly and he wouldn’t hurt anyone unnecessarily. At least, that’s how it was supposed to go; however, Martin had forgotten one crucial detail.
Jon was a chronic workaholic.
Martin stepped into the archives and closed the door, locking it behind him as if it could keep him from leaving. He slumped against the door, letting out the breath he’d been holding for the last five blocks. A fraction of the burning eased for just a moment, bringing a hint of clarity back to him. Just enough that he could probably plan a way to hunt without killing half the street. There was an alley right next to the Institute where he knew some employees went to smoke. Maybe he could lure someone down there and -
“Hello?”
He sucked in a sharp breath and regretted it immediately. The overwhelming scent of blood flooded over him, canceling out the logic he’d been able to piece together. His canine teeth sharpened and his eyes undoubtedly turned blood-red. Something in his mind shut off, overcome so completely by being alone with a human.
Jon stepped out of the door to his office. He was dressed a bit more casually than he did on weekdays. Instead of slacks, he wore jeans, and he’d forgone wearing a tie with the button-down and sweater vest. His salt-and-pepper hair was slightly more mussed than usual. When his curious eyes settled on Martin, his expression hardened.
“Martin? What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded. “You were sick just yesterday, why are you in the archives on a Saturday?”
“Jane Prentiss,” Martin mumbled, slowly walking toward Jon. He didn’t meet the man’s eyes, instead looking at his throat. Jon’s heartbeat pounded in his ears, almost drowning out anything else he had to say.
Jon startled at his words. “What? What do you mean, Jane Prentiss?”
Martin licked his lips, stepping into Jon’s personal space. The man stepped back. His heartbeat sped up as his nerves started to kick in. Yes, good. A faster heartbeat meant more blood.
“She trapped me in my flat. And now I’m so. Thirsty.”
“...Martin?” Jon asked uncertainly, stepping back again. He had started retreating into his office as if there was something there that could protect him. “I can get you some water. Why don’t - why don’t you sit down?”
Martin shook his head, smiling to show off his fangs. He finally met Jon’s brown eyes with his red ones. He could smell the fear instantly starting to come off the man. “I’m sorry, Jon, but I’d really prefer something other than water. It’s been about three weeks since I fed, you see.”
“Oh, god,” Jon whispered, stumbling back into his desk. His gaze kept flicking between Martin’s eyes and teeth, all of the facts clicking into place. A part of Martin wondered if Jon was remembering any hints from their time working together as well. “You’re a vampire.”
“Got it in one.” Martin lunged.
In the one second he had, Jon tried to run. Humans always did if they knew what was happening. Just like all of the others, Jon didn’t make it far.
Martin grabbed his arms in a vice-like grip and pushed him against a filing cabinet. He took both of Jon’s wrists in one hand, using his body to keep the smaller man from escaping. That didn’t stop him from trying.
“Martin! Martin, stop! You don’t have to do this!” Jon said, his normally scathing tone replaced with desperation.
“I really am sorry about this, Jon,” Martin said. It wasn’t strictly true at the moment, but it would be as soon as he was done feeding. He’d regret this more than any time he’d fed before. He also couldn’t stop himself.
Ignoring Jon’s further struggles and protests, Martin undid the top buttons on Jon’s shirt and pushed aside his collar to reveal his throat. He pushed Jon’s head to the side and leaned down, breathing in. This close, the smell was intoxicating. How had he ever resisted drinking from Jon before? He smelled so much better than anyone he’d passed on the way here.
He cut off Jon’s cry for help by biting right over his carotid artery.
Blood gushed into his mouth and any shred of logic was snuffed out. It was delicious. Probably the best blood he’d ever tasted in his entire time as a vampire. Jon yelled and cried out in pain as he drank, but each sound only made an animal part of Martin purr. He let Jon’s blood coat his tongue, reveling in the sharp, tangy flavor of iron. He drank.
And drank.
And drank.
Until Jon’s struggles became weaker and his yells turned into whimpers.
“Alright, Jon! Sash and I are here to take you - what the hell?”
Martin pulled back immediately, his eyes widening. With blood now in his system, all of his emotions - everything tied to Martin and not being a vampire - came rushing back to him. A pained sound escaped his throat and he let Jon go, backing away.
Jon crumpled to the ground without Martin to hold him up.
Tim and Sasha raced into the room. Tim used all of his not-insignificant strength to shove Martin further from his victim. (Oh, god, Jon’s my victim.) Martin could still have easily resisted, but he went along with it, letting Tim grab his collar and shove him against the wall.
“What did you do?!” Tim demanded. Rage flared in his eyes, all focused on Martin. It paled in comparison to everything Martin felt toward himself.
“I - I - I’m sorry!” Martin stammered. “I - I didn’t mean to…”
“To what? What did you do?”
Jon groaned weakly from his spot on the floor. His eyes were glossed over and his skin was sickly pale. Sasha had torn off part of his vest to press against the still-open wound on his neck.
“Jon?” Sasha said, desperate. “Jon, can you hear me?”
It took a very long moment for Jon’s fog-filled eyes to look up at her. He managed a faint nod before murmuring, “V’mpire.”
Tim and Sasha froze. “What?”
Martin put his face into his hands, sorrow crashing over him. He did this. He’d hurt someone he worked with. He almost killed Jon. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I was so thirsty. I didn’t think anyone would be in here. I didn’t mean to. Jon, I’m so sorry.”
“Jon, do you think you can walk? We have to get you to A&E. If you can’t, we’ll call an ambulance,” Sasha said, ever the practical one.
Another faint groan sounded and Jon started moving. Each movement was sluggish and seemed to take twice as much effort than it should, but he slowly sat up.
“And what do we do about the blood-sucking vampire that tried to kill him?!” Tim demanded, still holding Martin in place. Martin wasn’t going to move, not until they let him. He deserved anything they did to him right now, with Jon’s blood still dripping down his chin.
“I - I won’t go anywhere,” Martin said miserably, looking at Jon. He’d done that. “I’m so sorry.”
Sasha helped Jon stand. As soon as he was on his feet he swayed and leaned heavily against her. Martin’s heart would have skipped a beat if it still worked. Jon’s eyes were half-lidded now, and any color was absolutely gone from his face. The fact that he was conscious at all was a testament to the man’s stubbornness.
“Maybe we should call an ambulance anyway,” Sasha fretted. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”
Jon slowly shook his head, his eyelids rising. “I… can… make it.”
Sasha and Tim shared a terrified look while Martin covered his mouth. Jon’s voice was barely there. It was quiet and trailed off like he couldn’t remember what he was saying. Normally, his voice was strong and he spoke in a way that demanded to be listened to. And Martin had done this to him.
Tim glared at Martin, then released him to run to Jon’s other side. He bent over and took Jon’s arm, slinging it around his shoulders, snaking an arm around his waist. Jon slumped against him like he was a bed and it was one in the morning. “You can’t carry him, Sash. Do you think you can hold your own against Mr. Bloodthirsty?”
Martin let himself slide to sit on the floor with his knees up and his hands covering his face again. He started up constant murmurs of “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” It was the only thing he could do. His speed would get Jon to the hospital in an instant, but he wasn’t stupid enough to think they’d let him touch Jon again. Or even in the same building as him.
“I’ll take care of it. Just go, Tim,” Sasha said urgently.
“Keep in contact,” was all Tim said before half-carrying Jon out of the office. Martin listened to their footsteps until they left the archives.
There was silence until Sasha pulled Jon’s chair around the desk and sat down to watch him. Martin tried to cut off his apologies, but couldn’t lift his face from his hands. This was one of the worst things he’d ever done.
He couldn’t come back from this.