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Chapter Text

Miles Edgeworth sighed as he drove through the nighttime streets of Los Angeles.

Minutes ago he'd been sitting in his living room, reading a German novel that had been Franziska's birthday gift to him and listening to Beethoven's Für Elise. Altogether, the first relaxing evening the prosecutor had had in weeks... until Miss Fey had called sounding frantic. 

"Nick's missing! He's been acting weird lately and now I can't find him! What if he's fallen down a hole or a flight of stairs or been kidnapped or mugged or—"

Long story short, he'd been gradually badgered and cajoled into looking for Wright, who was an adult and could take care of himself. 

First things first, though. He turned the steering wheel, pulling into a parking garage that was located a convenient distance from Wright's apartment. As the red sports car navigated the ramps that led to the top level, Edgeworth sighed again. Wright was probably just hiding from his irritating assistant—not that he could blame the man. There was really nothing to be worried about.

He was pulling into a parking space when he heard the scream.

He knew that voice!

Almost forgetting to turn off his car, Edgeworth stumbled out the door and bolted towards the source of sound. Ducking around a black Toyota and a blue minivan, he saw a sight that sent his blood running cold.

A woman was lying on the ground, frighteningly limp and pale. A puddle of blood was slowly forming beneath her, looking black in the fluorescent lights of the garage. But that wasn't the most terrible part...

The worst part was the man standing over her. He was wild-looking, with hair that stood up in all directions, unshaven and dressed in a shabby black coat. His face was as pale as a corpse, which only made the shadows under his eyes and the gory red smear around his mouth stand out all the more vividly. The man looked up, wild blue eyes locked onto Edgeworth as the prosecutor stood frozen in shock.

Oh god, Wright?!?

The other man stepped back, raising his bloody hands as though to ward Edgeworth off. He was shaking like a leaf, moaning, "No, stay away!"

Edgeworth realized suddenly that the crazed-looking attorney was only a few steps from the raised edge of the car park's roof. He took a step forward.

"Wright, stop! You're going to—"

"STAY AWAY!!!" Wright turned, leaped, and plunged over the edge.

Edgeworth gaped at he empty spot where Wright had been. Five stories down... No... "WRIGHT!!" Oh god, no!

He rushed to the edge and peered over, spotting a crumpled heap far below him on the pavement.

It wasn't moving.

-----

Phoenix didn't know how long he'd been out—his mind was still fuzzy from the pain when he opened his eyes a crack.

He was in a dark room, lying on what felt like a bed. Someone was moving nearby... he saw a poorly-defined shape with pale hair.

"E-Edgeworth?" His voice sounded hoarse and he couldn't seem to move his limbs. 

The other man was at his side in a moment. "Wright, are you alri—Are you feeling better?"

Phoenix let a smile slip onto his lips. He had to give the frilly prosecutor credit for foregoing the pun. "I feel like I just fell off a roof."

The fair-haired man snorted and crossed his arms. "That's because you did—five stories onto solid pavement. What possessed you, Wright? Were you trying to get yourself killed?"

"Yes."

Edgeworth blinked at him, for once without a snarky comeback. "Suicide?""

“Lookit me, Miles." Phoenix leaned his head back, feeling woozy, and opened his mouth so that his teeth were visible. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other man go white. "You saw what I did... I'm a monster. Saw Pearls the other day and y'know what I thought? 'Bite size'."

The attorney closed his eyes, his head swimming. Every inch of his body screamed in pain, making it hard to concentrate.

Sensing body heat, Phoenix opened his eyes to see the other man leaning over him, concerned. "Y'look cute when you're worried..."

Then darkness took him for the second time.

Chapter Text

When Phoenix had first become a vampire, it'd seemed like a blessing. He was stronger, faster, and didn't need to sleep at all. He didn't even really need the magatama anymore—he could smell lies now, as well as fear, a person's general health, their blood type... Sure, having to wear a hooded coat whenever he went out was a pain, but it beat the instantaneous and tremendously nasty sunburns he suffered otherwise. He didn't even get that hungry, at first.

The problems started when he took Maya out to a burger joint for their usual post-victory celebration, but he couldn't eat a single bite. Instead, he found himself watching Maya eat, the way her throat worked as she swallowed, the ketchup on her lips. He found himself wondering what she must taste like...

The next day, he couldn't stop staring at her. She asked him several times what was wrong and he laughed it off, but then she had gotten as paper cut. He could smell her blood from the other room.

Type O, his nose told him, Female, young, fresh. He'd run off, babbling something about an errand.

He knew he needed to eat, that he was getting hungrier and hungrier. The next few nights he blew off work and staked out the bars. He flirted, asked questions, sniffing out liars—trying to find someone he wouldn't feel bad about biting. It didn't do him any good, however. Even when faced with the most despicable people, he couldn't bring himself to hurt anyone.

How many people have I sent to the electric chair by now? He sat on a dumpster in a back alley, hands shaking. He'd had the perfect prey, a woman fresh from some kind of violent crime (she stank of blood and lies and someone else's fear). He'd been as suave as any movie vampire, lured her into the alley... and lost his nerve. The need was there, the hunger, but Phoenix had never even gotten into a proper fistfight in school, let alone committed this kind of assault. I'm such a hypocrite. Or would attacking her have made me a hypocrite? 

He refused to think of the most basic reason he couldn't feed, however. The terrible gnawing possibility that once he started, he wouldn't be able to stop—that he'd kill whomever he fed on. The thought chilled him to the bone.

The hunger was getting worse and worse, however. His appearance was deteriorating, turning gaunt and wild-eyed. He stopped taking care of his beloved spiky hair and avoided the office, prowling the streets like some kind of hunted animal. He couldn't escape, the hunter was inside him—the hunter was him.

About ten days after he'd been bitten, the shadow that had once been Phoenix Wright went back to his apartment. He'd had an idea, wanted to pick up a few things... he'd just finished loading up his pockets when he heard a knock on the door.

"Nick! Open up, it's me, Maya!" He froze. It was Maya, alright. Her scent... "I know you're in there, the light's on! Where have you been?"

He looked frantically around, trying to figure a way out. If Maya came in—he was hungry, almost too hungry to care, she smelled like a meal. And if she saw him...

"I am NOT going to let you ignore me, Nick!" He could hear her outside the door, fumbling around to get the spare key hidden under the terra-cotta pig.

Phoenix took the only route he could find; the window, the fire escape. 

He could just imagine how Maya would react when she burst into the room to find him gone, his bed not slept in... would she call the cops?

He had to hurry. Phoenix practically ran to the blood bank. Tying a bandanna around his mouth and tugging the hood of his coat lower, he burst in, waving a semi-realistic plastic gun. "This is a holdup!"

He got laughed out of the clinic.

He stumbled (hungry...) towards the parking garage. (So hungry...) Hurt too much, had to end it. He stood on the edge of the roof, looking down five stories.

She'd come upon him there (prey...) tried to talk him down. A stranger. She was wearing a halter top (must feed...), her neck was exposed, flaunted. She held out a hand (feed...) She smiled when he took it.

FEED!

Chapter Text

Call in sick? Check. Get groceries and newspaper? Check. Go to butcher's to buy pig's blood for Wright? Check again. Give pig's blood to Wright... also check. Drop off suit at dry-cleaners to remove Wright's pig-blood induced vomit? Check.

As he turned the key in his front door lock, Edgeworth found himself wishing he knew more about vampire TLC. All of his books had proved useless, as had every other source he'd checked, both in print and online. Everything he'd found seemed to be related to killing vampires—no sources on how to keep one alive.

At least that woman's recovering, he mused as he walked into his living room. He had dropped her off at the Hotti Clinic on his way home with Wright the previous evening, and though Director Hotti had seemed confused as to how she'd managed to stab herself in the neck with a barbecue fork, he'd said she was in no danger. For the sake of Wright's sanity, the prosecutor was glad.

Speaking of Wright...

He was gone, the bed was empty.

Edgeworth searched frantically until he found Wright again, passed out on his kitchen floor. The man had a chopstick clutched tightly in one hand, while a pencil sharpener lay beside him.

The moron was trying to stake himself... on my kitchen floor? Miles shook his head as he lifted up Wright's too-light body. Who on earth would choose death by chopstick? It's so... ignominious.

Nevertheless, he had to think of a way to keep Wright from making any more such attempts.

-----

Phoenix awoke in a rather uncomfortable position. It took him a few moments to assess where he was, and the realization made him even less comfortable with the situation.

"Edgeworth?" He croaked to the other man, who was reading a book by the light of the bedside lamp. 

I never knew he needed reading glasses, Phoenix mused, also noting that the other man was minus his usual jacket and vest. Probably because I threw up all over them...

"What is it, Wright?" Edgeworth's clipped voice brought Phoenix sharply out of his reverie.

"Why am I handcuffed to your bed?"

Edgeworth shot him a look. "I have no intention of letting you try to kill yourself again. Especially with my tableware."

Phoenix chuckled hollowly, feeling slightly more lucid. He was still hungry, but his body no longer felt like one gigantic bruise, as it had when he'd woken up after his fall. It looks like I can heal from just about anything... more's the pity.

"How can I kill myself if I'm already dead?" He had to make the other man understand, understand he wasn't worth saving. "I'm a corpse, Edgeworth. More lively than some, but still just a corpse. Anyway, I won't need to kill myself—starvation will do the job for me."

"No." Edgeworth was on his feet, closing his book. Slowly, he reached up and unfastened his cravat.

"Wh— what are you doing? Put that thing—"

"It's a cravat, Wright. Call objects by their proper names." The cravat placed neatly on top of his book, Edgeworth started on the buttons of his shirt.

"Cravat, shmavat, just put it back on!" Phoenix struggled weakly against the handcuffs, unable to look away from that long, pale neck. His vision zeroed in on the pulsing jugular vein, barely discernible under the skin. "What do you think you're doing?"

Edgeworth calmly folded his shirt, placing it on the chair, then leaned over Phoenix and unlocked the handcuffs. "I don't want to get blood on my clothes."

"No..." Phoenix tried to scramble away, but Edgeworth caught him by the shoulders and pressed him back against the mahogany headboard. 

"Wrong answer, Wright." Edgeworth's mouth was set in a stubborn line, his eyes as hard as flint. "You are going to live, you have no choice in the matter."

"Are you crazy? I could kill you!" Phoenix had often dreamed of Edgeworth offering himself to him, dreamed of seeing that long, pale neck bared to his lips... but not under these circumstances.

"That's a risk I'm willing to take." The prosecutor grasped Phoenix's chin, forced him to face the other man. "Do you remember when I was on trial for my father's murder? I was so convinced of my own guilt that I was ready to sit down in the electric chair and pull the switch myself. Still, you fought for me. You saved me when I didn't want to be saved—fought for every inch of ground while I cursed you for a fool. Do you think I can just forget about that?"

Edgeworth shifted his grip, grasping the back of Phoenix's head and forcing it down until the vampire's tightly closed lips were pressed against his skin. The man was surprisingly strong, or maybe it was just that Phoenix was weak as a kitten.

He acts calm, but he's bluffing. Phoenix could smell the fear rolling off the prosecutor in waves, but the grip on the back of his head didn't slacken one iota.

"What if..." Phoenix barely whispered. He was losing it.

"I trust you."

Those words, coming out of Edgeworth's mouth, were what decided it. Phoenix opened his mouth, gripping the pale man's left shoulder with one hand and twining the other through his hair. He adjusted the angle of his mouth slightly, then bit down as gently as he possibly could.

Edgeworth stiffened and let out some kind of mix between a grunt and a whine, seizing Phoenix's hair convulsively. Phoenix hardly noticed... the taste flooding his mouth was incredible. The only thing he could compare it to was some kind of wine. A red, full of flavors and sub-flavors, exotic and refined. It tasted like Edgeworth's personality, classy and complicated, layers upon layers. Burgundy.

AB Type, part of his mind remarked. The labels don't do it justice! He bit down in earnest, drinking greedily. God, the stuff was incredible—he felt strength coursing through his veins with each gulp.

Suddenly, Edgeworth gasped in pain and Phoenix came back to his senses. Easing his teeth out of the other man's flesh, Phoenix leaned back against the headboard.

"Done already?" The fair-haired man managed to gasp, hand going to the wound on the side of his neck. The fingers came away sticky and he winced. "I could have held out a little—"

Phoenix shook his head. "This is all I need for now. Anyway, the symptoms of blood loss will hit in a second." He moved to get up, but Edgeworth caught his arm.

"Where are you going?"

"After that blood loss, you need sugar and liquids." Phoenix looked at the other man, puzzled. "I donate—I used to donate blood a lot, so I know what it's like. Iron supplements probably wouldn't hurt either."

Edgeworth released him quickly. "There's some multivitamins in the bathroom cabinet." He didn't look up as Phoenix left the room.

Chapter Text

Wright came back with a glass of water, some multivitamin tablets, and a cookie. Suddenly thirsty, Edgeworth gulped down most of the glass in a rush, then took the pills before starting on the cookie. 

"Miles?" He looked up quickly. Wright had called him by his first name the other day, but he'd put it down to delirium.

"What is it, Wright?"

"You're dripping."

The fair-haired man looked down at himself and saw blood running in small rivulets down his chest. He swayed slightly.

"Here, let me." Wright leaned down and, almost delicately, started to lick the blood off of his abdomen. 

Edgeworth went stiff again. Wright looked up. "Oh, sorry... I wasn't thinking. I'll go get a cloth-"

Edgeworth shook his head. "It's fine, Wright." Somehow, the sight of a vampiric defense attorney licking blood off his chest wasn't nearly as disturbing as it should have been. "No point in wasting it."

Wright just smiled and went back to work.

-----

The next morning, Edgeworth walked into the prosecutor's office at the usual time. He got a few funny looks in the corridor but put them down to his unusual mode of dress... after all, not everyone had his kind of taste.

It was when he received a double-take from his secretary, Hannah, that he began to worry. 

"Sir?"

"Yes, Miss Fright?"

"I know it's none of my business, but..." She pulled a pamphlet out of a desk drawer and handed it to him, before busying herself with her papers.

Thoroughly puzzled now, Edgeworth walked into his office and set down his briefcase, before opening the pamphlet...

It was the phone number for the domestic abuse hotline. The Prosecutor snatched up a mirror, and gasped at his reflection.

The area of Wright's actual bite was concealed under his cravat. However, the entire left side of his neck was one gigantic splotchy purple bruise.

"Damn."