Chapter Text
It wasn’t jealousy.
There were a lot of words that could describe Mister— soon to be doctor— Cain, but jealous was not one of them. There was no envy involved in this revelation. There was only surprise. Even then, the surprise was rather mute. It came less as a shock and more of a reasonable explanation. The only emotion Dan was feeling right now was mild intrigue. There was no extreme hunger to drag Herbert back down to the basement and ask him question after question until Dan’s throat was raw because he was simply uninterested.
And, certainly, jealousy was not part of this equation.
Herbert West had moved into Dan’s apartment two weeks ago. He was unassuming to say the least. Sure, people whispered, and sure, Herbert exhibited some unique behaviors that could be described as disturbing, but above all, Dan thought of him as an anti-social brainiac with a morbid sense of humor and maybe some under-the-radar mental disorder. Then, the weirdest thing happened. Shy, little Herbert latched onto Dan in what must have been his best attempt at friendship. Dan didn’t mind this at all. He was aware that he was a friendly personality people tended to gravitate towards. Herbert was low on the social food chain, stalking around the halls of Miskatonic like an ambush predator, snapping pencils in class to embarrass the professor he was strangely familiar with, and discussing topics that put most others on edge. Dan was happy to help him out and be somebody he trusted.
The guy must have considered this a perfectly good reason to invite Dan into a world where the thin line between life and death was smudged by Herbert’s clever thumb. Whether or not Dan ever accepted this invitation was still up for debate.
Nevertheless, Dan helped him through these exploits. Herbert was nothing short of crazy, but death was the one thing that everyone on earth since the dawn of time had fought to destroy. If he had found a way to cure the source of all the pain in Dan’s life then he would gladly join him in the effort of perfecting it.
Having found a new lab assistant, Herbert was working quicker and more efficiently than ever. Even when Dan couldn’t (or wouldn’t) come down to the basement, he was still down there, toiling away. He knew Herbert kept himself awake with small doses of the reagent, but he just couldn’t comprehend how somebody could be so adverse to rest. When offered to come upstairs for dinner or a beer, Herbert would shake his head profusely and ramble about how close he was to a breakthrough.
Weeknights, Herbert stuck to the promise he made when he first moved in. You won’t even know I’m here. Well, Dan certainly could forget his existence for a few, blissful hours. That was until a loud crash or howl would interrupt his temporary peace and have him flying into the basement, bat in hand. Typically, the crisis would be quickly averted and Dan could go back upstairs.
Tonight, however, Herbert stuck to his promise a little too well. It was Friday evening and Dan was lying on the couch, nursing an injured shoulder. Herbert was working. On what, Dan wasn’t aware. The only thing he was focused on right now was the consistent ache in his shoulder. He wondered if Herbert had any painkillers he could borrow.
As if summoned by Dan thinking his name, Herbert slammed open the door. “Stupid mangy thing!” He growled. Dan chuckled. I could call you the same, he thought. Herbert shot him a look. “Oh, sure, it’s funny to you, but I’m the one who just ruined my last white shirt!”
Dan waved him off. “Then stop doing experiments in white shirts! We’ll go scrub-shopping tomorrow, alright?” Herbert didn’t respond, he only began to angrily unbutton his top. Dan watched with little interest. He crossed the living room and opened the bathroom door just before his shirt was completely off.
“Will you clean up the basement while I shower?”
“Hey, man, my shoulder—“
“Is fine.” Dan couldn’t get another word in before the door was slammed. He grumbled, but still grabbed some cleaning supplies and set to work scrubbing animal guts off of his floor.
The mess wasn’t terrible. The smell was the worst part of it all. Dan had no idea where Herbert found this raccoon, but he wouldn’t at all be surprised if he had hit it with his car on the way home and decided it would be the perfect subject for experimentation. In only a few minutes, the floor was clean and the table wasn’t looking too shabby. Dan heard the old door creak open behind him and the sound of heavy steps on rickety stairs. “Thank you, Daniel. Are you done with the worst of it?”
That must have been the first time Herbert had ever thanked Dan, or anyone, for anything. Though he was a little upset at Herbert for making him clean up a mess he didn’t make, his gratitude did not go unnoticed, so he stomped his anger. “Yeah. I’d say we should go over the table again and clean up the notes… and… equi-equipment…” Dan trailed off as he turned around. He could hardly finish a complete thought. Herbert stood right in front of him, wearing only a towel and his glasses. Dan didn’t know why, but he assumed that he would always see Herbert in the same outfit for as long as they lived together. It didn’t make sense. It was like Herbert was a cartoon character who was only modeled with one set of clothing. Yet, here he was, completely naked except for one, pale blue towel. There were a few things Dan noticed in the quick moment that he was allowed to study Herbert without it becoming weird. He was pale, expected. He was hairy, unexpected. Scars and freckles dotted him in various places, blemished, imperfect. Dan could see his ribs, and he figured he would have to make an effort to get Herbert to eat more.
The trait that had Dan stumbling over his words, though, was his chest. Underneath his pectorals, Herbert had two long, thin scars running across his fair skin. Dan knew what they were immediately. His mental timer was thrown out the window. Herbert cleared his throat. “We can do that tomorrow. Would you stop staring at my chest?” He demanded.
Dan swallowed thickly, embarrassment written plainly on his face. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to stare. It’s just not every day I…” Dan wanted to say that it wasn’t every day that he saw somebody like him. He, too, had those same scars underneath his pecs. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and connect. He wanted to see and be seen, but he could only see.
“You were bound to find out eventually. Yes, I’m transsexual, if that’s what you were thinking.”
Herbert was so casual about it in a way that Dan couldn’t fathom. Dan hadn’t come out to anybody; he never had to. Herbert was acting like he was sharing the fact that he had eaten a salad for lunch— which was true, it was Caesar, and he complained about it— not at all like he had just revealed something that could get him killed if mentioned to the wrong person. “Um, yeah, I see that,” Dan muttered dumbly, “but just a heads up: you’re not in Europe anymore. Americans can really give you shit for that kind of thing.”
The shorter man shrugged and began to scale the stairs again. “I’m aware. I knew you wouldn’t.” Soon, Dan was alone in the basement again, gathering his thoughts. Herbert always carried himself with an enviable grace. His hands never shook, his legs never stumbled, his mouth never stuttered. It was a marvel that somebody so unbalanced, so unconventional, so cracked could exist with the air of an untouchable god.
Herbert was so unapologetically real. He was a man who was confident in the fact that he was one and didn’t think twice about revealing the fact that he was queer to somebody he barely knew. Dan was always so careful. Dan walked on eggshells. One wayward comment was all it took to send him into a panic, wondering what tiny fracture in his surface had given away the fact that he wasn’t a biological male. Dan had worked meticulously to craft the image of a typical, American man, masculine and proud of it. Herbert had made himself a spectacle, macabre and enigmatic, not caring who looked in his direction.
Maybe Dan was jealous of that after all. Maybe he was jealous of the fact that Herbert hadn’t gone through all the trouble that he had to be who he was. Maybe he was jealous of the fact that despite not going through this trouble, Herbert still seemed worlds more manly than he ever was. Maybe even the thought of that tiny five o’clock shadow on Herbert’s mug and that shapely structure was enough to hurl his long-forgotten dysphoria back into his life.
Maybe it wasn’t very long-forgotten.