Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Hospital is buzzing this evening, another bear attack, it was laughable really, that explanation was only going to go so far especially if the family decided to have an open casket funeral. Unless it was a bear the size of a damn fairy. But Charlie doesn't know what else to tell them, dual syringe wielding murderers? Bat bites? It was a mess you didn't expect to have to deal with in a town where crime was limited to petty theft or rowdy drunks. Entering a secluded ward away from prying eyes he approaches the only occupied bed. The grating sound of drawn curtains echoes through the empty room, Dr. Carlisle Cullen emerges from behind them.

He’s another issue that Charlie doesn't know how to deal with, there’s something just not quite right about Carlisle Cullen, moving into town and charmin’ the whole population within a week. It just isn’t normal. When the first victim had been brought in Carlisle looked down at the body like he knew something, if only he could drag the town's sweetheart down to the station for questioning; he’d be looked at as if he were insane. Nothing pointed to Carlisle except that look, he’d seen this before, not in this town somewhere else.

“Same as the last?” Charlie asks, arms crossed over his chest.

“Yes, same as the last, two puncture wounds to the neck over the carotid artery, cause of death, blood loss.” Carlisle points out the two puncture wounds, as he had said, the same as all the others. It didn't make sense, the investigation was at a dead end.

“You ever seen anything like this before Doc?” Charlie probes, fingers skating over a paper cut from a day of endless filling, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“No I haven't." Carlisle says, his eyes still downcast on the body, his fingers hovering over the puncture marks. Focused on them intently, his brow hardens into a frown.

“Well, as always if you think of anything, gimme a call. People are gonna start questioning just how many bears are in those woods if we don’t figure this out soon.” Carlisle continues staring down at the body, Charlie nods awkwardly, walking away from the scene. He shot a look back over his shoulder, the curtain whipping around the bed cutting off his view. Well that sure looked rude, but then maybe he’s just tired. Charlie knew he sure as hell was, it's two in the morning for christ's sake, let a guy be grumpy.

Just as he reaches for the door he hears something, like the fisting of sheets, a struggle and the ripping and twisting of fabric. Retracting his hand from the door he turned slowly on his heels, instinctively reaching for the gun at his side and holding his position. The bed creaks, what sounds like metal groans before snapping, a voice groans in protest. Charlie's heart hammers in his hands now squeezed tightly around the gun, he lifts it in front of himself and begins stalking forwards.

“Charlie-” Carlisle calls out.

“Don’t move.” Charlie says keeping his voice level, leaving the gun in his right hand he reaches out the other to part the curtain. His hand skirts against the fabric tentatively before ripping it back in one go. His eyes dart down to the floor, the bed had collapsed and- the dead man was well- alive? His arm starts to slacken, the gun lowering to his side, he looks to Carlisle, holding the man down by his neck, his medical coat is in tatters, hanging off of him by the shoulders alone.

A blow to his chest knocks the gun straight out of his hand and it goes skidding across the room, his back comes crashing into contact with the floor. He can’t speak or breathe, what was once a cadaver is now sat on his chest and legs. Small droplets of blood rain down from its neck, and he raises his arms to attempt to push the thing off as it bares its teeth and begins thrashing above him. Its breath is cold, washing over him as it continues to try to bite.

Hands encircle its waist and the air rushes back into his lungs as it's pulled from him, thrown to the other side of the room by the window. It hisses at Carlisle, crouching down like a cornered animal, the doctor approaches it cornering it further. Charlie watches as its hands reach up to the window ledge, finding it open a sliver. The gun, he scrambles over to its resting place, gripping it between blood slicked fingers. When he turns, the weapon poised and ready shaking under his laboured breathing, the man is gone; Carlisle is too.

“I um- I don’t know what's happened,” Charlie says into the receiver of his radio, “but I need backup, the body is gone.” Whatever just happened it wasn’t natural, he staggered up onto two legs and headed towards the window. A piece of the doctor's coat flutters in the breeze, stuck on a splintered section of the window frame.

“The body?” the radio crackles, “What do you mean the bodies gone? Charlie you okay down there, what's happening?” It was Waylon, Charlie could hear the frantic voices of the victims family under the radio crackle, Waylon was meant to be consoling them.

Charlie touched the fragment stuck on the window, rubbing it between his fingers, the fabric staining red at his touch. Blood was stuck in the lines of his fingers and palm. His hand stung, holding the gun so tight must have reopened the papercuts. “I’m fine, not entirely sure what just happened myself…” He replies. Looking out into the night there would be no point going after them alone, he’d left his flashlight at the station, “Get a search out for a white male- early thirties,”

“I’m sorry I just need to-” Charlie hears the slamming of a door faintly over the radio. “ Did he take the body?” Waylon asks, the voices of the victims family now faded into the distance.

“Not exactly-” Charlie huffs, the hell is he meant to tell people.

“Charlie stop dicking around and give it to me straight.”

“The guy that was killed, he got up, he’s alive, scared the shit outta me, attacked me and fled the building.” Charlie paced on the spot, clutching the radio with one hand and the other on his hip.

“The dead guy got up? And isn't Dr. Cullen meant to be there?”

“He went after him. They were both gone before I could get a hold of my gun, the guy knocked it outta my hand.”

“Jesus Christ Charlie,” Waylon sighs, “a few of the guys'll be over in a minute, do me a favour and wait in your car will you?”

The radio falls silent, he finds a nearby sink and washes what he can of the blood off, spatters of it stick to his uniform staining it an almost inky black. My finger nails come back stained red when he scratches at his mustache. He takes handfuls of water and washes his face until it stings with how much he’s rubbed the skin raw.

As Waylon had asked he walks back to his car and sits in it dutifully until more officers arrive, Waylon knocks on the window jolting him with a start.

“God Charlie you look awful,” he says after Charlie lowered the window, hanging over it with his arms crossed and looking at him with pity.

“Certainly feel like it.” He mumbled back. His head feels like it's been stuffed with cotton wool and put through a blender. His brain was trying to work out what it had just seen and failing.

“Do us all a favour and go home, I’ll call you in the morning. We've got this from here.” He squeezes Charlie's shoulder reassuringly. He watched him jog into the hospital before driving off home, hardly even processing pulling up to the house and rolling into bed.

He couldn't sleep. All he could think about was how the man had definitely looked dead, but then he hadn't been; and had tried to bite his head off. Trying to rationalise what he’d seen didn't make sleep come any faster; could the victims have been drugged? The man could have attacked him because he was high but then that wouldn't explain the broken bed or how Carlisle's coat was ripped to shreds. And to begin with their lack of a pulse had been verified by multiple people. He rolled over pulling the covers tighter around himself. At least he could be satisfied knowing that his hunch had been correct, Carlisle knows what that thing is, he’s known what has been killing people this whole time and he kept it quiet. The man was as cool as a cucumber, doing what he assumed was restraining the man behind the hospital curtain. Carlisle was apparently made for more than day to day doctors practice apparently. The assailant (bite victim?) had felt like a tone of bricks on Charlie's chest and the town's “sweetheart” had thrown him off easy peasy. Carlisle was involved in this. Now it's Charlie's job to find out just how involved.

—----------------------

The following day he wakes up with the worst case of the flu he’s ever experienced. Despite it he hauls himself out of bed and chucks on his uniform; hazy vision accompanied the short trip downstairs, nothing a good cup of coffee couldn't fix he thought. It did fix it for a short while, the boost in energy allowed him to drive to the station in one piece at least.

Turning off the ignition with a sharp click he staggered out of the car shoving his keys in a pocket. Waylon waltzes out of the station. Carlisle appears behind him.

“Woah there Charlie you look worse than you did yesterday.” Waylon says, frowning at Charlie.

“Where'd you run off too then?” He asks the doctor glancing past Waylon, he attempts to stand tall and firm but it's clear his stance does little to help his case; Shivering on the spot and overheating all at once. The best way to describe how he looked was clammy.

“Charlie you should go home-” Waylon interrupts.

“Not until he tells me what in the hell that thing was last night!” he shouted, garnering the attention of just about everyone in the damn parking lot. He must look like a delirious idiot. Just the effort of standing seems to shoot his body temperature through the roof.

“Ok come on, you're shaken up about it I'll get one of the boys to run you home-” Waylon reaches a hand out to rest on Charlie's shoulder, he shrugs it off staggering slightly.

Carlisle stares blankly at him from behind Waylon, “I wouldn't mind driving you home, you're in no fit state to drive-” Carlisle starts.

He might as well have poked a bear, “No thanks,” Charlie said bitterly, turning back to his car, wrenching the car door open, the act in itself almost sending him crashing to the ground, bracing himself against the car. In an instant Carlisle was at his side reaching out a helping hand, he pushed it away and slumped into the driver's seat. Bracing his hands on the steering wheel a shiver wracks through him. Carlisle's hand had been cold.

“Please Charlie you're not well-” Carlisle starts again leaning through the drivers side window, his breath is cold on Charlie's skin; it reminds him of the dead man. The thought makes him shiver even more, bracing himself against the steering wheel.

Charlie fiddles with his car key, his hand shakes and jolts as he tries to start the car. Carlisle reaches over the window and takes the key from him; he hadn’t imagined it the first time, the man was borderline freezing.

“I’m sorry Mr Swan, but as your doctor, I can’t let you drive like this.” Carlisle stares down at Charlie, his gaze unwavering, he wasn’t going to give the key back and there was no point arguing with the man. “Move over-”

“Excuse me?” Charlie looks up at him, confused. Carlisle opens the driver side door.

“You can’t- this is a police vehicle, and and- your not police- Waylon-” Charlie stammers, sweat beginning to pour off of him in droves.

Waylon shrugs at him, “I see no problem, you can’t drive Charlie, and by the looks of it walking might be out of the question too-”

“I’m not going to the hospital-” Charlie slurs.

“Just shove him over Carlisle,” Waylon says, clearly done with Charlie’s stubborn sickness induced stupor. “Call me if you need anything alright?” He says before retreating back into the station.

Carlisle looks down at Charlie expectantly, at least he wasn’t taking Waylon's advice, it would have probably been against his doctors code of conduct anyway. Charlie maneuvers himself rather painfully over to the passengers side reluctantly. He felt like he was losing it more and more by the second, resting his head on the cool glass of the window to fend off the hot flushes he was experiencing; wrapping his arms around himself to fend off the cold shivers that attacked him simultaneously. He jolts when Carlisle reaches an arm over him to do his seatbelt for him; it annoyed him more than it should have, he was in no condition to even think to put the damn thing on let alone do it himself. Again Charlies noticed Carlisle's startling coldness.

“Who are you?” Charlie mutters against the window, his breath coming out hot and fogging up the glass. He turns to look at Carlisle who says nothing as he drives out of the police station parking lot, his eyes focused on the road ahead, Charlie stares at him.

“Did you get injured yesterday?” Carlsile says abruptly, turning his head briefly to look at Charlie.

Charlie looks down at his hands, tracing the small cuts on their surfaces, “Papercuts.” he admits. They still stung slightly, holding his gun so tightly had done more harm than the paper itself. Carlisle frowns, it's a comical sight to Charlie; so concerned over papercuts.

“Did any of the blood from his bites get on them?” Carlisle says, stressing every word, Charlie didn't understand why it was so important, it was only a papercut.

“Maybe, I don’t know- sure it probably did. My hands were covered in it, and I-I was pretty much holdin the guy back by his neck, kept tryna bite me.” he smiles at the ridiculousness of it all. What was the doctor going to say next, "You're not going to tell me vampires exist or something, this is ridiculous!” he laughs. Carlisle does not laugh. “What, it's only a joke-” He feels like he’s drunk, he must be imagining the deathly serious expression on Carlisle's face. He must be dreaming, this was all a horrible nightmare, it was bears, yes that was it bears. Not vampires or werewolves or whatever other fairy tale creature, bears, they lived by the woods. If not bears, some other woodland creature set on killing them all off one by one. It was what he had told people, and it was what he was going to tell himself. A full body shudder wracked through him, he wanted to throw up.

“Hurry up Carlisle or I’ll throw up in your lap.” He mumbles, sounding more like gibberish than anything else.

Chapter Text

Charlie was completely out of it by the time Carlisle pulled up outside the house; looking over at the delirious man Carlisle debated bringing him back to his own house, he'd be much better equipped to deal with him there. He knew Charlie wouldn't like that though. He hadn’t wanted to go to the hospital so why would he want to go to his doctors house, they may as well be one in the same. He switched off the engine, Charlie had his eyes screwed shut and was clearly in some pain, sweat beading on his brow.

It was obvious what was happening to Charlie, Carlisle had seen it happen far too many times and it was setting in quick. There was little he could do to stop it, and he just hoped that Charlie would not hate him more than he already clearly did when he came to. He doubted Charlie would ever admit to hating him, the man was far too polite, and as is the nature of a police chief, all he wanted to do was keep the peace. But he didn't like Carlisle, he saw like some people did, something unhuman in Carlisle. He didn't blame Charlie for it, in a way it just proved that he did his job well. But it still nags at Carlisle in the recesses of his mind; he had a duty to make sure Charlie was safe during his transition, but that nagging voice within him felt like a more compelling reason. He wanted Charlie to like him, he just couldn't place why.

Leaning over Charlie he unclips the seat belt pulled across him and gets out of the car to open the door on his side. Being careful not to let Charlie tumble out of the car sideways; his face pressed up against the window. Slowly he opens it, reaching around the ajar door to hold onto the man, Charlie's hand grips at his arm.

“Charlie?” Carlisle whispers, Charlie winces at the sound, his senses must be going haywire already, Carlisle needed to get him inside.

“Am I dying?” Charlie asks, clinging to Carlisle like a life line. Carlisle stays silent, trying to pull Charlie to his feet. “Please tell me-” Charlie pleads with him, “What's happening to me?”

“I’ll tell you when we get inside.” Carlisle replies, Charlie gives him a dubious look, “I promise.” Carlisle adds with a small smile. Charlie nods, attempting to aid Carlisle in getting himself up onto two legs, eventually managing to stumble to the front door with his arm draped over the doctor's shoulders. He fumbles for his keys, hands shaking violently.

Carlisle's steady cold hand encircles his own, “Which pocket?” the doctor asks.

“Should be clipped to my belt loop with the others-” he replies, Carlisle guides Charlie's hand in his own to the loop of keys, helping him unclip the right one. Then guides his hand to the keyhole unlocking the front door. Charlie's face flushes, he must have overexerted himself from the short walk to the door. Carlisle gently pushes the door open, maneuvering them both into the house, the stairs loom in front of them. Carlisle doubted Charlie would be able to manage in the state he was in.

“Charlie If you’d let me I could carry you-” Carlisle begins.

“No, I-” Charlie attempts to take a step forward but quickly crumples back against Carlisle, “The couch- I’ll lay on the couch.” Carlilse steadies him with a firm grip.

“Ok, but my offer still stands if you become uncomfortable.” Carlisle tries to smile at him reassuringly; nothing however was reassuring about Charlie's appearance, he looked like he was about to keel over any second. And he just might if Carlisle didn’t do something, he doubted the venom that had gotten into his bloodstream through his cuts would suffice. The venom would kill him before it could reach all his cells. He helps Charlie over to the couch; flopping down onto it awkwardly, a groan escaping his lips, Carlisle looms over casting a shadow over Charlie's body.

“Tell me Carlisle.” Charlie coughs out.

“You’re experiencing-”

“Just tell it to me straight – I’m dying aren’t I?” Charlie squints, trying to decipher the look on Carlisle's face, hidden in shadow, the light from the window behind the doctor overloading his senses.

“In the hospital, the blood pouring from the victim's neck must have contained trace amounts of vampire venom, it must have gotten into the papercuts on your hands. It's not enough to turn you, it is enough to kill you.” Carlisle tries to explain calmly.

“And you can do something about that I suppose, you haven’t just brought me here to watch me die have you, that would be rather rude of you Carlisle.” Charlie jokes monotonously.

“I can help you but you would turn into-”

“A vampire, right.” Charlie closes his eyes in contemplation, his head resting against the pillows, his body continued to shake with shivers.

“It would be painful, you would experience far more agony than this.” Carlisle explains.

“But I would live.”

Carlisle supposes that’s definitely a word for it, not quite entirely true. “You would not be able to stay here forever. I need you to understand what this would mean if you want me to turn you Charlie.”

“Just do it.” Charlie mumbles, “Please.” Carlisle lowers himself to his level, “Help me.”

Carlisle opens his mouth to reveal a set of pearly white fangs, “Are you sure this is what you want, I’m going to have to bite you and it's going to hurt more than I can describe-”

“Do it.” Charlie bares his wrist to Carlisle, his arm droopy and on the brink of lifelessness, draped over the edge of the couch. Carlisle takes the limb in his arms and bites down into the warm flesh, Charlie's muscles twitched in pain in his hands.

Carlisle braced himself over Charlie who began to thrash and shout below him, looking down into his eyes with reassurance, their eye contact broken periodically by Charlie clenching his eyes shut as the effects of the venom washed over him. Carlisle never forgot the pain his gift gave people, suffering in exchange for eternal life. Charlie's blood was sweet but laced with pain and Carlisle would have given anything to end it.

Charlie’s arm tensed, his hand gripping around Carlile's forearm as the vampire fed from it. Pleading with him in that silent action. Carlisle's skin was cold as ice, it must have felt like heavenly pools of water against the raging heat of his fever. His saviour and his hell in one being, giving him life and taking it away all at once. Charlie would never be the same again, Carlisle his god and creator; his friends reduced to off the menu food items he can only dream of being able to speak to normally again, their blood would reduce him to frenzy. The pain of loneliness would come after he turned, Carlisle's family might as well be strangers to him.

Pulling away from Charlie, Carlisle quickly made work of ridding the blood from around his mouth and cleaning the new wounds on Charlie's wrists. He should have brought more medical supplies with him, rising from the floor Carlisle goes searching for a med kit in the kitchen, rummaging through the cupboards until he finally finds it. Opening it up it appears to be well stocked. A thump on the kitchen floor alerts him to Charlie's presence. Now sprawled out on the floor attempting to stand back up again.

“Let me take you upstairs, please, you’ll be far more comfortable Charlie.” Carlisle says approaching him, Charlie doesn't respond, falling against Carlisle once more. His eyes dart around the room but don’t seem to be focussing on anything. Even when he tries to look at Carlisle's face his eyes seem out of focus and confused. His skin is scorching against Carlisle's own. Charlie's hands linger against his, most likely seeking out his cool touch again.

“I’m sorry Charlie.” Carlisle says more for himself than Charlie's sake. His bedroom would be far more comfortable than the couch, picking him up with ease into a bridal carry, he walks out of the kitchen towards the stairs, carefully walking up to the second floor. Charlie doesn’t struggle against the hold but he mumbles practically inaudibly to himself about how his body is burning. Reaching the bedroom Carlisle sets Charlie down on the bed before going back downstairs to retrieve the first aid box in the kitchen.

When he returns Charlie is on the floor trying as he might to get his shirt off, Carlisle stands awkwardly in the doorway. To anyone else the scene looked as though Charlie was drunk, trying to get ready for bed and failing. His trousers were half off hanging on by one leg. Carlisle fumbles in the first aid kit for bandages for Charlie's wrist, attempting to wrap the injury to stop the blood flow. There were spots of it on the rug where he’d clearly fallen off the bed. Charlie let him wrap the wound, seemingly far too fascinated with the sensation of Carlisle's cold hands on his skin while he worked.

“There, now you need to rest, it will make the transition easier.” Carlisle explains, talking like he would to one of his regular patients. He spots a pair of pajama pants left on the bed, “here these will be more comfortable.” he smiles, handing them to Charlie who stares down at them as though he’d never seen the garment before in his life. Ok then, Carlisle thought, “Come on lets just get you in bed then I’ll get you a cold compress.” he says picking Charlie up again and placing him in the bed, he looked miserable and practically lifeless, shaking intermittently with pain. Quickly Carlisle wets a washcloth with cool water placing it on Charlie's forehead. It seemed to relieve him for a few minutes before his face was burning up again.

Charlie's hands reached for Carlisle's again, trying to tug him closer to himself, oh dear. “I’m sorry Charlie-” he says backing away, Charlie was trying to get him into the bed with him, searching out for his cold skin that would never grow warm like the compress had. Carlisle drags a chair over to the bedside clasping their hands together. This would have to suffice, there was nothing on earth that would ease the pain more.

“I’m sorry, I wish I could do more.” Carlisle whispers. Charlie's eyes are squeezed shut, his breath comes out laboured. Carlisle hopes it will be swift, that tomorrow it will all be over, he’d been nearly dead by the time he’d finally bitten him.

It had been so long since he last turned a human, sworn himself off it in fact. It was no life for anyone, but with Charlie, the guilt had eaten at him. It was his fault that Charlie was like he had been, if only he’d seen the tell tale signs sooner at the hospital. The fledgeling vampire was gone, he’d outran Charlie in the woods and he had no doubt more bodies would start cropping up soon as a result. He had been in town for mere weeks and his family's presence was already causing trouble, the least he could do was give Charlie a second chance.