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Chapter Text

On the last day of his life, James Fergurson woke up from a nap he was able to sneak in, grab a cup of coffee and a muffin from the hospital cafe and did his rounds at the A&E. 

It was a pretty quiet morning, nothing too severe, a gentleman had chest pains but it was heartburn thankfully; a young woman broke her arm while biking but it was a clean break and they got to it quickly; and a small child with the flu and a worried mother, who calmed down after they got the little girl set up with the IV so she could rehydrate and medicated.

He got a text from his mother about visiting for Christmas and a family dinner after Mass. He was still considering it. While he was on good terms with his parents now, he wasn’t exactly interested in reconciling with the rest of his relatives. 

He will have to ask who else is coming. Lord knows that he dealt enough of homophobic crap spewed out of Uncle Sam, Shirley and Tom. He’ll call back when he gets home. 

 He joked with his mate Marcus, and flirted with Sandi, the MRI technician with the pretty eyes- it's been two months since he broke up with Gary and James felt like getting back on the horse. 

Soon it was the afternoon and the end of his shift. James was dead tired and wanted to just sleep in his bed. Marcus tried to talk him into going to another club but honestly, he barely recovered the last crawl he went with the Doctor Marcus Whitmore. He honestly has no idea where Marcus gets all this energy but it's like his fellow doctor could party until the End of Days. 

James though, could not. He was but a lowly mortal who needed silly things like sleep. 

He said goodbye to his friend and headed to the bus stop.

And this was when without warning, he got hit by a car. 

He didn’t even see it, just felt the impact, the pain from hitting the pavement, his head hurt. His whole side did too. He was bleeding. 

F-ck. 

Was this it?

He was vaguely aware of Marcus right above him, trying to talk to him. James could barely mutter anything out, he couldn’t even think of words. Should he be praying? 

And then Marcus lunged at him. 

James felt a powerful jaw biting his neck, right on the vein. 

What the f-ck?!

He was being drained. This has to be a hallucination. He was dying. And he was hallucinating some nightmare. For some crazy reason. 

Then, he didn’t fully comprehend what he was seeing through increasingly blurred and dimmed vision, Marcus bit his own wrist and pressed it against his own lips.

“Drink,” he pleaded.

Blood, why blood?

But the red thick liquid reached his lips and James began drinking. And then he was gulping. He felt like he was coming back. The pain was fading. He was feeling like he was alive. So freaking alive.

It could have been seconds or hours, but Marcus took his wrist with the sweet wonderful blood away and grabbed him up. 

“We have to go.”

James had no idea what that meant. Go to A&E? Go to his flat? 

James had no idea that he was leaving the life he knew behind. He wouldn’t be classified as a normal human being after that. 

But that was later. 

At that moment, the world was spinning and he was hungry.

Chapter Text

0

James is not sure how long it has been since … whatever horror movie nonsense happened to him, but he knew that he was not dead. And he was hungry and everything was way too bright, way too loud, way too everything and it was like the world’s worst migraine was coming on. 

Marcus took James to the flashy blue sports car that he loves, threw a jacket on him and told him to cover his head and drive off at a speed that he believed was not legal. Or that’s how it felt. A brisk walk made him queasy. 

Finally, they stopped in front of a nondescript building and Marcus carried him in (What the hell?! James knew he was not the heaviest man but he was 81 k and Marcus did not look like he can carry him like a delicate waif). James still had the jacket wrapped around his head, so everything was dark and muffled as he was being moved through the place. Marcus then paused and put him down, having James lean against a wall. James swore he could feel the molding on it and dug at his skin even though he had at least three layers on him. He heard the lock click, a doorknob twisted and the door open. 

“Get in,” Marcus said and James obeyed because what else is he going to do? 

Run. Run right out of this hallucination but he could barely stand up straight, so he shuffled into the dark room. 

And it was dark, not a speck of light in there. There was no window and he could tell there was a lamp but it was off. Marcus guided him in and led him to what was a bed. Instinctively, he laid down. Lord, it was soft and the sheets were like silk on his skin. 

Marcus muttered something, he couldn’t tell but it was like “It’ll be alright. Here.”

He then offered his wrist to James’ lips and he could not help but drink greedily. Blood, warm and delicious, fresh from the vein. 

Marcus then took back his wrist and covered it. He told James to rest and then left, closing the door behind and left James in the darkness and his thoughts. 

James tried to rest. He was so tired and wanted the day to end, but good god, his head was spinning. 

Later, he heard yelling. It was Marcus and someone else. Older, male, authoritative and pissed. He heard that tone from every supervisor he had and his own grandfather. 

“What did you do?”

“I couldn’t just let him die!”

“Did he even give you consent?”

“There was no time!”

“Christ Marcus!”

What felt like an hour later, the door opened and a man came in. The room was still dim, but James could see this new person. The first thing he thought was this was the world’s hottest arithmetic professor- The professor was taller than Marcus at least by several centimeters, and held himself like was a person of authority. He was older, so maybe that was why, with short dark hair, impossibly blue eyes and sharp aquiline features that were currently placid. The kind of placid when someone was pissed but all that anger was bank because it was no use to let it out right there and then. 

James decided to ask the very important question, “What happened to me?”

“You have been reborn.”

“Mate, I’m Catholic.” Yeah James, let’s joke about this. 

The professor was not amused, blinking and softly sighed his exasperation, and then said, “No, I meant that you are no longer a human being, you are something else. A vampire.”

James, who was nursing his head, looked right at him and argued, “The hell I am.”

“I believe you have already fed,” the professor said, “Can you think of another creature that needs blood?”

James thought about bats, mosquitoes and leeches, but nothing was close to what he had experienced. He was bitten. He drank blood. Everything was so loud now. But vampires? No. That was too far. Absolute insanity. 

It just made him angry and he fought back,“What the f-?! Vampires cannot exist. What the f-”

The professor had a hand on James’ shoulder and pushed him back down on the bed. James didn’t realize that he was getting up. 

He then said, with sympathy laced throughout, “I am sorry that this has happened to you. I understand that it was not your choice, but your sire and I will be monitoring you and helping with your transition.”

James looked at him, and he knew this was real. Vampires are real. And he was one now. 

“What should I expect from this?” James asked, forcing himself to think as a doctor. And he was talking about treatments and procedures. 

“Every cell in your body is now changing, you will be expecting heightened senses, your body becoming stronger, faster and ability to have permanence.”

“Am I allergic to garlic and crucifixes?” James mused.  

The professor answered this by holding up a rosary with a huge cross hanging from it. 

“You will have to unlearn many of the myths about us, but to list what we are not: We do not need the blood of virgins, we do not shapeshift to bats and wolves, we do not fly and we can walk into a church, pray and eat garlic.”

“What about sunlight?”

“Because of our senses, we do have a sensitivity to light. When it overwhelm us, we have a condition called ‘light-struck.’” He explained, “You will learn to manage it.” 

James nodded, taking in the information and feeling hope that maybe nothing had changed and asked, “How long is this going to take? I have to get to work.”

That was a mistake. James looked at the professor’s face and it was grave. 

His reply was as dry as any physician’s but no less somber, “The whole process takes an estimated ninety days, and you will reach maturity after five years,” He paused a bit, took a breath and finished, “But after that, I am sorry but you cannot go back to the life you once knew.”

“No.” James vehemently shook his head, “I worked too hard to get to where I am.”

He had to work three jobs to support himself, studied every minute to pass his exams, and worked himself to the bone for his residency. All that, and the only support he got was the scholarships he earned. His flat was livable, he could afford a night out with friends, not have every meal be ramen and whatever he charmed out of his landlady. He was finally able to talk to his friggin 'parents for Christ’s sake! 

He could not just give up. Not now. 

The professor was stern now and said, “ If you had survived that accident, as a human, your life would have changed irrevocably.”

James slumped down, feeling defeated. 

“We will discuss this more tomorrow,” The professor said, “My name is Dr. Matthew Clairmont.”

“And you’re the head vampire or something?”

“I am Marcus’ father,” he said and then left. James heard some words being exchanged by the professor, who he now knew as Mathew and Marcus. His sire. 

Marcus then appeared before him, but James could not bring himself to look at him. 

Instead, he asked, “Marcus?”

“Yes James?” Marcus replied. 

“You’re a vampire?”

“Yeah.”

James let out a humorless chuckle, “That explains a few things.”

“Things will be better in the morning,” Marcus said, in the friendly doctor voice he used when the patient was critical but he didn’t want to stress them out. 

James’ response was laying down and put

ting a pillow over his head. He wanted to shut everything out. 

The door closed and he was in the dark. 

Chapter Text

James wasn’t sure if he was having a nightmare. Was it a vision? It was like being pushed into an ITV period drama and then yanked out. 

Men in army uniforms and holding muskets, sick people on cots, hay and books in barns, raucous patrons in bars and taverns. 

There was a little girl, dark skinned with wide eyes that looked so empty. But there was enough to see the terror she had. 

Why wasn’t anyone helping her?

What was happening? 

He managed to leave the strange waking dream, and took account of his surroundings. According to the clock on the wall that he can see clearly despite the darkness of his bedroom, morning has come. And it was horrible. 

How to describe it? 

James only did ecstasy once as a kid and hated every second of it. It was like ants crawling inside his skin and he could not focus on anything. That feeling was back but now he was remembering all of it, from recalling how the lights made the colors of everyone's clothes more vibrant to the number of hairs on that one bloke’s goatee. 

He thought about that night, and then when he was four and on his cherry red tricycle, then when he was fifteen and helping out his dad and smelling wood and metal everywhere. It was a collection of emotions and realizing the exact hues of the colors surrounding him, the jumble of facts he knew but never put together and how it all felt against his skin. It was exhausting and he hated it. 

At least that was the morning, by the afternoon, James felt like floating. He breathed in and out, and could actually think. 

He thought about the day prior and thanks to remembering everything now, he could give himself a diagnosis. 

Because what else was he going to do in the dark? 

James had the ability to admit when someone was right and he was wrong and adjusted accordingly (One would think that this was nothing special, but unfortunately, it is. Especially with doctors). And he knew Matthew and Marcus were right about him and how even if he had survived the accident, his life as he knew it would be over. He had a ruptured spleen, and a damaged kidney. His left hip, arm, both legs and his clavicle were all broken and with multiple fractures, not to mention the severely injured spine. His lung was punctured and he had major head trauma. 

He would have needed emergency surgery and an organ transplant. Months in the hospital. Probably in a medically induced coma. Then if he survived all of that, there would have been physical therapy for a year, and follow-up procedures. 

He probably wouldn’t walk again. Lord knows if he could hold up a spoon without some assistance. 

Instead of all of that, instead of dying, he was alive and kicking. 

Still, he was out of a job now, if he understood Doctor Matthew Clairemont correctly. 

Later in the day, James heard footsteps heading towards his room. The door opened and Marcus came in, wrist ready and James was starving. 

“So you have questions,” Marcus stated after James finished his meal. 

“Yes, I do,” James said, slurping the last drop he could, “What the hell is going on with my head? I didn’t sleep at all last night. And I spent the morning thinking about what shade of green the curtains at my nan’s place were.”

“That’s your senses working overtime with your past memories, it can get pretty potent in the beginning,” Marcus replied, taking a seat at the desk chair that accompanied the desk not too far from the bed. 

“I assume I will have to get used to that?” James asked. Marcus gave a tentative nod and then he asked, “Can you explain why I keep getting flashbacks from the American War?”

“What?” Marcus asked bemusedly. 

“That was the other thing keeping me awake. It was like I was standing in a war movie with Colin Firth.”

“Colin Firth was in a war movie?” 

“Marcus.” James chided. 

Marcus sighed, knowing that he had to be serious now, and said, “I’m guessing what you’re seeing is my life.” He then leaned closer to James and examined his eyes with a doctor’s attention, “When we feed on blood, we can gain that person’s memories, especially if we take the blood from another vampire. We can know a whole life from a taste. It’s called bloodlore.”

“Great, a storytime in a blood drop.” James quipped and then thought about it more, “So these are your memories?” 

“Yeah, sounds like you saw my time back in the Revolution.” Marus then sat back into the chair.  

“Revolution- The American War? You were there?” James asked.

“Yeah.” Marcus shrugged, “I was in the medical corp.” 

James looked at his friend, who up until yesterday he believed to be a normal human man, and asked, “How old are you? Really?”

“I was born on August 9, 1757 in Hadley, Massachusetts,” Marcus said, “My rebirth was on October 16, 1781.”

James was quick with the math and went, “You were twenty-four?!”

“When I was reborn, yeah,” Marcus replied. 

“We celebrated your birthday! You told the hostess you were twenty-eight!” 

“I don’t think anyone would have believed that I was technically two hundred and fifty-two,” Marcus said as if he was explaining away a typo. 

James could only respond with, “F—.” 

Marcus laughed. 

James then asked the question that had been in his mind since realizing that he was now a creature from horror flicks and teen books, “So what do I do now?” 

“What do you mean?” Marcus asked. 

“I mean, you’re over two hundred years old? I’m going to live that long, what the hell do I do?”

He definitely was not going to masquerade as a bloody secondary school student. 

“James, you live your life. It’s just different now.” Marcus said.

“Different? Marcus, I’m f-cking Alucard!” James retorted. 

“You’re not that tall,” Marcus joked, and then sighed as James glowered at him, “Okay, look. I need you to stand up and then walk towards me.”

“What?”

“How about we start with you learning how to walk?” Marcus said. 

“I know how to walk.” James retorted with annoyance, but realized that he had not gotten up from his bed since last evening. 

Marcus then looked stern. “You’re a vampire now. It's a new body and you need to get used to it. C’mon, get up and walk towards me.” 

James decided to comply because what else was he going to do? He got from his bed, proceeded to walk towards Marcus, and found himself going past the other man, and hit the wall. As in literally- there was a dent in the plaster. His nose was broken. 

“What the hell?” James said as Marcus reset his nose. He tried not to think about how he didn’t feel pain, only bone and cartilage repairing themselves.  

“Right now, everything is new and different” Marcus said with all the authority of a doctor explaining a diagnosis to a patient. “You need to give yourself time to figure it all out. So let’s walk without breaking a bone and then we can discuss what to do with the rest of your life.”

James tried taking a step and ending up putting his foot through a chair. Bloody hell, he thought, I can’t move without demolishing everything. 

For the rest of the day, he practiced moving his undead blood sucking body around the house and he is fairly certain that he broke nearly every single thing there. The doorknobs were all squashed or torn off completely; a good portion of the walls now had dents; he destroyed one couch in addition to the poor chair. 

“Christ this is a nightmare.” James declared as he removed what remained of an ottoman from his leg.

“No, it’ll be okay.” Marcus said reassuringly. 

James was not reassured. “Marcus, I can barely walk without destroying something. I was told my life is over. My job, my flat, my family- I have to abandon all of that, to do what? Live in a coffin? Fight werewolves?”

Marcus said, “Werewolves do not exist. Look, it's going to be a big adjustment, but you’re not alone in this. You have me and Matthew and the rest of our family. We’re going to make all the arrangements.”

“Arrangements?”

“Mainly paperwork. Get your affairs in order. We got lawyers for that, but it will be taken care of.” 

Christ, getting his affairs in order. As if he was dying. Of course, one could say that he did die and is now a walking corpse. 

Marcus continued, “As of right now, all you need to concentrate on is adapting to this life- learning how to handle your new strength and control and all that.”

James looked over the poor chair, now a pulverized mess. Yeah, he definitely needs to learn to control his strength.

“And you won’t stop being a doctor.” 

James scoffed, “Your father said that I can’t go back to work.”

“Yes, for now. It would be too much for you. But later, at a different hospital. I mean eventually you need to take on a new identity but it is possible, even now.”

“Is it possible?”

“I have been doing it for two hundred years.”

James was not convinced.

“I do go back to medical school and keep up with the current findings,” Marcus admitted.

“Is that my life then? New names, new homes, everything fleeting?” James asked, thinking about the centuries ahead of him. 

“No,” Marcus answered with a tone he couldn’t name, “It stays with you.” 

“Dammit.” Jame rubbed his face and collapsed into the bed. Yeah, it was over dramatic but he didn’t care. Marcus slapped a comforting hand on his shoulder, like he did whenever James needed it. Though this was different getting over a breakup or a difficult day at the A&E. 

James got tired of the silence and asked “Am I going to get to sleep tonight?”

“Right, we don't actually need sleep, but if you want I can put something on so you can relax before it gets really interesting for you,” Marcus said.

“More flashbacks from the Marcus miniseries?” James quipped. 

“Yeah,” Marcus chuckled, “Don't worry, it'll settle and just buzz in the back of your mind. 

James lifted himself upright from his bed, “Maybe you can take me to see if that one pub is still around.”

“Sure,” Marcus said, “But you will have to be more specific on which pup. There were a ton.” 

“I don’t doubt it,” James said, thinking back to Marcus olympic run of pub crawling. Now he knew how his friend had the energy. 

He then remembered the one vision, the memory that made him shiver and decided to ask bluntly, “And what is with the little girl?”

“Little girl?” Marcus furrowed his eyes in puzzlement.

James went on to elaborate, “I kept seeing this kid. It's like the other memories, all old-timey.” 

“Oh,” Marcus replied, his voice becoming softer, “I had a sister, her name was Patience.”

James shocked his head, “No, I don't think that was her. She was- I don’t know- She was black” She was scared. She's in this house-”

James stopped as he saw Marcus’ face. His friend had stilled and paled, looking as if death came over. Or a thousand ghosts had come back to haunt him. 

He tentatively reached out a hand, “Marcus-”

Marcus shot up as if on fire and escaped to the

door, quickly saying, “We will talk more about this tomorrow. If you need me, I’ll be downstairs.”

James heard the door shut and Marcus running off. 

What the hell? 

Chapter Text

James did not sleep that night, because vampires do not sleep (or they do, but not really, and they have to work up to it), and so he decided to try to steady himself so that he would not get a repeat of the previous day’s mind trip.

He was semi-successful. There were still the waking dreams and weird stumbles down memory lane, but it wasn’t Bad Acid disorientating. 

But there was another effect- he was able to focus. As in laser focus on any given thing. He could make out the mechanics of the clock next to him. He knew the number of springs on his mattress and the fibers of his sheets. He saw the individual wood grain on the floor. 

And then he was walking around. He had spent the whole morning walking around, and it was much better than yesterday’s attempts. He wasn’t demolishing the walls and furniture anymore, but then he caught a creak on a floorboard and it was driving him mad.

So he decided to fix it. From a quick inspection, he could tell that the floorboards had loosen up and the nails were no longer secured. Just a matter of getting some finishing nails. 

James, now focused on a problem, ventured down to the cellar and found only that it was locked, and whatever that could qualify as tools were not the ones he needed. Maybe he could do it manually. 

So, he got some talcum powder, to rub in between the creases, and the floorboard came off. He then went to see that the nails didn’t need to be replaced but put back in. So, he carefully started to screw them back in place. 

He was in the middle of his task when he was rudely interrupted. 

“What are you doing?” asked by a flabbergasted Dr. Matthew Clairemont. 

James looked up, briefly, and saw the tall doctor with his eyes a tad widened at the sight of the floors being taken apart and him manually screwing on the nail. Marcus was standing near them, smiling cheekily. 

James, as professionally as he could laying on the floor with talcum powder, answered, “I kept hearing a creak and found the problem.”

This answer did not please Dr. Clairemont, “So you demolished my floors? This house has been standing since 1785!” 

James could not resist responding with, “That explains the dodgy pipes. I’m getting to that.”

“No, we are going to sit down and do anything that is not destroying my house!” Dr. Clairemont said. James wasn’t looking, but he knew that the man was rubbing his temples. 

Marcus was laughing his head off. James kept on with his task. 

“Why are you even doing it like that?” Dr. Clairemont finally said, “We have tools.”

“I didn’t find them,” James replied. He didn’t mention that a good chunk of the rooms were locked and he was unable to step outside the house. Or go near the windows. Too bright and loud for him. 

“And you went ahead with the repairs?” the older vampire ventured. 

James remembered the days when he would use a butter knife to screw on nails, “Yes.”

Dr. Claremont pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, muttered something about getting the toolbox and then left the room. 

“I think you’re winning him over,” Marcus said, kneeling down on the floor by him.

“He scolded me like I was a child,” James scoffed.

“He’s a carpenter,” Matthew shrugged, “Not too fond of unconventional methods.”

That made James pause, “I thought he was a doctor.”

“He is over nine centuries old,” Marcus explained. “He had different occupations over the years.” 

“Mother of Christ.” 

Marcus went on,“As I was saying- you work with your hands, he respects that.” 

“Nice to get on with the head vampire.” James said as he secured the screw on. He prepared for the next screw.

Marcus rudley took the other screw away from him, having him pay his friend some attention, “He is not the head vampire. We answer to him, but it's not like that.” 

James thought about asking more questions on vampire hierarchy, but decided to save it for later. 

He still could not wrap his head around the fact that he needed blood for sustenance, that he was living a different sort of existence or that the sunlight was giving him a headache. 

He then thought about his parents and the call he never made to them about Christmas.

“Marcus, I have to call my parents,” he stated, starting to stand up. 

“Not now.” Marcus said, standing up and moving away from him. 

James was confused, “Why not? Where is my mobile anyway?”

“I got it.” Marcus replied. 

“So, you have my phone, but I can’t use it and I can’t leave this house,” James said as he faced Marcus, “You are aware that there are laws against this, right?”

“I’m not holding you hostage,” Marcus argued, “You are a two day old vampire, you are in no condition to call your parents. You need time to adjust.” 

“Adjust to what? I can walk normally now. I can even screw on a nail,” James pointed to the half repaired floor board. 

“After obsessing over it,” Marcus countered, “And I noticed that you have all the windows closed and the blinds on. It’s because the light is irritating you, right?”

James didn’t reply, but Marcus knew the answer. 

“It's too much right now,” Marcus explained, “And then there's the fact that there's a whole city of warmbloods. If the light doesn't drive you mad, hearing their blood pumping through their hearts will.” 

James didn't say anything, only he let what Marcus said sink in. 

“When will it stop?” he finally asked. 

“It depends- I was out and about because we didn’t have a choice but I was mostly in the woods and Matthew practically had me chained to him.” Marcus, “But standards say in about a week, you should be good to go out with a chaperone.”

“Like a ten year old on a class trip, lovely. And I can call my parents then, right?”

“I will take care of that.”

James frowned, “Marcus, they’re my parents. They need to know what’s happening to me. Or whatever cover up story you got planned.” 

Christ, what could they say that is “I'm unavailable to talk or even see anyone but I'm fine.” Quarantine? Lawsuit? Not a hit and run because his parents would absolutely come to see him. 

“I will take care of it. And you don't talk to them anyway, after what they've done-”

“What?” James cutted in, “I talk to them. We're fine.”

“You haven't talked to them for almost ten years.”

“How the hell do you even know that-”

It was then James realized something- the bloodlore. He got an eyeful of Marcus’ past. And it turned out that Marcus got a good look into his own life.

His past wasn’t something he readily opened up to people. Not people he worked with, not people he got serious with, hell Marcus was his closest friend and he got the bare minimum: That he left home at seventeen and was able to finish his exams and get into uni and later med school. 

He doesn’t know about James having to sleep on the streets and shelters if he could get to them. That his uncle and cousin kicked the crap out of him when they caught him holding hands with another boy. That he left home because he could not change what his family wanted to be- that it was killing him. 

He didn’t tell Marcus any of this, but he knows now. 

James stood straight, “That is none of your business.”

Marcus retorted, “Yes, it is. I’m your father.”

Marcus then shifted, busying himself with putting the talcum powder away as James’ brain caught up with what was just said.

He stared at Marcus, whom he believed to be twenty-eight until recently, pub crawl and clubbing with. 

“I’m sorry,” James said. “Can you repeat that?” 

Marcus busied himself with moving the chair, not answering. 

James then got louder, “Marcus, what the hell are you talking about?”

Marcus sighed and replied, “In the vampire sense, I’m your dad.”

James laughed, “No, you’re not.”

Marcus said, “I sired you, therefore I am seen as your father and responsible for you.”

“You are not my father, I’m twenty-seven and no one is responsible for me. Not for over ten years.” 

“You are now a vampire, James. And I am your father and I am here.”

Just as the wrecking ball of horrifying knowledge hit James, Matthew walked in. Who said that he was Marcus’ father. 

James looked at Matthew, who seemed timeless, and blurted out, “You cannot be my granddad.”

Matthew barely reacted to that, only turned to direct a scowl at his son, who was also James’ father. As the kids would say, “Make it make sense.”

“The blood that is now in your veins is of the Der Claremont family. Yes, I am your grandfather. You will be meeting the rest of the family in due time.”

James could only respond to that as any sane person could- a string of very colorful cussing and a feeling of an anxiety attack coming in. 

The light then broke down into a million little glass particles and dust. He even smelled it and the wood and metal and cold flesh. His skin became uncomfortable, the very air around him would scratch him. All his focus was gone and he couldn't get back to it. 

Then a soft voice cut through that, “I’m here, James. I am right here.”

A hand rubbed soothing circles on his back, helping him go breathe.

This was repeated and then an instruction to follow, “Just breathe, hold it in and let it go.”

And next, “Tell me what is going on right now, what's the time?”

It was 4:47 PM.

“Is it warm or cold?”

It's mid September, and has been consistently chilly. 

“What are you wearing?”

Joggers, T-shirt, boxers, socks. All black, all a cotton blend. With what, he can't tell but it's softer than anything he had worn before. 

“List what you can smell.”

Wood, different kinds of wood. And metal, machine oil, hair product that smells like sandalwood (some expensive brand Marcus likes), fabric softener- as he recognized and categorized, his mind seem to clear up. 

“I need you to sit down,” Marcus then requested and James complied. He realized that Marcus had steered him to the chair for him to ease into.

“You're hungry?” Marcus asked, to which James nodded yes. 

He was famished and accepted the wrist offered to him.

He didn't think about how he could tear into his friend's fresh and go right to vein. 

He did think about how Marcus was holding his hand the whole time. 

As a father would. 

When it was done, Marcus pushed his sleeve down and James wiped his mouth with his tongue and the corner of his shirt. 

“Can we get the floors done now?” He asked.

Matthew, who he will not call Granda, already took off his blazer and rolled up his sleeves with a power drill in hand and was about to repair another floor board. 

They then set out to repair the house. The wall got plastered, the dents were able to be paved over, and floorboards that were worse off after James’ attempts at walking were sand down or replaced. 

No one talked about how this was a family project. It was too weird.