Chapter Text
West was liable to put most of Daniel’s recent behavior squarely in the realm of abnormal psychiatry. The man had lost his future career, his fiance, and any prospects of restful sleep. He probably had a particularly severe form of PTSD. That was certainly not West’s area, nor his obligation to solve. The work – strike that, The Work – was worth more than Daniel, was worth more than him, and begged more of his attention than ever.
He had been surprised to find Daniel in his laboratory, again. After the events that led to the death of Ms. Halsey, West had worked pussyfoot for some weeks. His satchel never left his shoulder, where his important notes were stored. Everything was kept ready for transport, should Daniel come down guns-blazing.
West had heard nothing. Truly nothing. It was the quietest he’d ever worked and, while not the most unnerved he’d never been, certainly approaching it. He preferred predictability. Attributing Daniel’s silence to grief was a risk, and he had come so close to losing all of his precious Work. Herbert could still feel the burn on his head from that laser.
Then Daniel had appeared at the top of the stairs, a beam of light from the hallway casting a grand shadow. What’s the next step, he had asked, no punctuation, no inflection. Still as a corpse. West, not having spoken to another human being in weeks, had simply gestured to the equipment around him.
Daniel had returned to work. It was only a matter of time. Though prone to mortal weaknesses, he understood the importance of The Work. He had beheld it with his own eyes. His few weeks away were necessary, West had become to believe. So much new data to scrutinize, nor did he really believe that Daniel would be of much use. He’d been cautious even when Daniel had returned.
Now, it seemed that he had reason to be.
“Daniel,” West warned from across the room. “You will not come to the right sum by poking holes through the paper.”
Twitching, Daniel rose his face to him.
Clearly flagging. The paleness of the skin (excepting the eyes and nose, both of which were swollen red), the increased mucus activity, the sweat. Daniel’s scrubs were soaked and sticking to his body. While the basement’s heat (and certainly high bacterial production) was a constant source of frustration for West, he was at perfect homeostasis.
West understood that his personal schedule was demanding, but he did not feel its pull, not when The Work needed him so desperately. The diluted form of the reagent also helped. Daniel had been keeping pace. Eating little, sleeping even less. Unlike West, however, Daniel’s productivity decreased severely when his biological needs weren’t met. Dan steadfastly refused to take the reagent for himself, even when Herbert had generously offered.
He reached for his microscope slide box and plucked out a tissue sample.
“No, no, no,” Daniel mumbled, shaking his head. He turned the page of his notebook and began again. “Right. Right. Yeah.” His voice was thick; even with his short utterations, he had to clear his throat more than once. Before he began again, he thrust his face into his elbow and coughed wetly.
West’s lips bunched together – and the reaction was elevated to a frown when his thumb smeared across the slide, staining his skin with rat liver. The slide, prepared by the ill man in front of him, was an absolute trainwreck.
Having an assistant was valuable. No doubt that he would be little more than a medical cadaver had he not met Daniel’s acquaintance. However, at that moment …
“You would be more useful to me as a medical specimen."
Understanding that he’d just been criticized, but not understanding the particulars of how, Daniel looked up at him with furrowed brows. His eyes had all the depth and intelligence of a cow.
“You’re unwell,” he emphasized, like he were speaking to a small child. “I don’t have the expertise required for general practice, but clearly some virus of your respiratory system. Before you ruin the data, please.”
Frankly, West expected some push-back. Perhaps it was his usage of ‘please’? That would have to be considered later. Daniel’s tendency to argue against him was one of his most frustrating qualities, right alongside his need for food and rest.
Daniel only leaned forward, head in his hands. He scrubbed across his face. “Yeah,” he grunted, sniffing hard. “Yeah. You’re right, I – I think I’m coming down with something. Oughtta …” His voice went out, causing West to glance up from his microscope curiously. “Oughtta lay down.”
West didn’t return to The Work, instead watching Daniel stand. He had to lean against the stone wall of the laboratory to balance himself; even that small action rendered him completely out of breath. Had he been unwell for longer than he realized?
To the stairs he went. He moved so slowly that West found himself returning to his slide preparations, tense.
Daniel scarcely made it up a handful of stairs. Though West didn’t see his legs give out, he heard the proceedings: the yelp of fear, the thumps, and finally, most troubling of all: silence.
Dedication to The Work aside, West still had a beating heart – or, more relevant to this situation, a functioning nervous system.
“Dan!” Up on his feet and rushing over, West could see the crumpled form of his friend. No blood. A quick perusal proved that Dan was still alive, at least, and suffering from a worse fever than he thought. He breathed well, if with some congestion.
Only one thing to do about it, he supposed. With a soft grunt of exertion, he brought Dan up to sit against a wall. He didn’t stir. Dan’s height was quite inconvenient on a number of levels; he’d been halfway-hoping for a roommate of a similar build to his own. Why, that would increase his personal sample size to two, and reduce a considerably daunting variable besides. Mass greatly changed the effects of the reagent.
An impromptu experiment. He held the glowing serum thoughtfully before returning to his roommate. One leg planted on either side of his thighs, he pressed the needle against his neck …
And paused.
Odds were high that Dan would suffer from adverse effects. Perhaps this reagent would even kill him … but, of course, he doubted the reagent would have much of an effect after death if it already coursed through his system.
Even if he hadn’t, he would have a very irate assistant on his hands. Though West didn’t quite understand the core root of Dan’s outbursts, he could predict them. Something about Miss Halsey, he presumed, and her close proximity to the reagent.
Dan had already been pressed to the wall, as it were, and he were certainly more suggestible than West. It would be just like him to lose sight of the goal and … what, kill him?
Lose his trust, in any case. Herbert withdrew the syringe.
It would also not be in his best interest to allow Dan to die. Right now, at any rate. There were contingencies in place should he ever need to kill him. His first plan was something painlessly lethal in Dan’s morning coffee. Something that would sedate him first, so he could prepare the reagent. Dan would be the freshest corpse he could find, but alas, despite his barbs, he was far more useful alive than dead.
Still, Herbert had little interest in general practice. He was above taking care of colds and flus.
But … what was he to do. Drop Dan off at the hospital? Hope they didn’t ask him too many questions about his role in everything? He’d half been expecting police to show up at their door, best not put Dan somewhere easily restrain-able.
Herbert sighed in annoyance. “Dan, you’ve really put a wrench in my schedule,” he told his assistant’s unconscious form, and went to his notebook again.
Fine. No. Yes. He could make it work with minimal disturbance.
Pushing up the sleeves of his shirt, he brought his arms around Dan’s torso. He was soaked in sweat. Unpleasant. Still, it was scarcely the heaviest body he’d ever lifted, and soon, he was half-heaving Dan down onto the examination table.
No, that was cruel. Daniel was not a subject.
He bundled one of Dan’s lab coats into a small ball and placed it under his head. The metal table would soothe his fever, eventually, and they scarcely had any larger specimens to be working with. Herbert stared, pity-less, at the fetal form of his roommate. Dan’s mouth had parted slightly, sinuses too congested for his nose.
Quietly, Herbert reached for his watch and set the timer for four hours.
*
It was not the most productive he’d ever been, but being a caretaker for Daniel had been less work than he expected. He fell in and out of consciousness, often only muttering a few words before falling back under. He took water and broth without complaint, propped himself up on his elbow to swallow pills. If he knew his surroundings, he didn’t remark upon them.
West continued The Work. With his wristwatch beeping at him every four hours, Herbert was forced to pay attention to the time. How easy it was to work well into the night without experiencing the slightest bit of fatigue. Though he had his reagent, Daniel still needed to be fed and watered. His fever still ravaged his body, to Herbert’s surprise. Daniel must have been hiding the illness for some days.
Along with his more direct ministrations, West had started another notebook. He diligently noted down Daniel’s temperature, heart rate, blood pressure. Though he considered noting mucus production, it would take far too much time. He contented himself with nothing consistency and color only.
It was during these observations that Daniel first became coherent again. West sat on the floor, his left fingers pinching Dan’s wrist. Quietly, he counted under his breath. Some would simply count for fifteen seconds and multiply by four, but some others know how to actually get to sixty seconds …
“West?”
Dan had found his voice again, albeit weak. Herbert looked up to see Daniel glancing over the edge of the table, squinting even in the dim light of the laboratory.
His lips pursed in greeting. “Daniel. Try not to move. I’m trying to get a sense of your resting heart rate.”
Daniel flexed his fingers weakly in Herbert’s grasp, but his pulse rate didn’t change significantly. “Herbert …” He whispered.
“Yes, Dan. That’s my name. I’ll be more impressed if you can tell me your birthday and the current president of the United States.”
Well, in any case, his pulse was stable. Herb pulled away and wiped his fingers against the front of his shirt.
Daniel didn’t respond to his questions, as expected. He rose on somewhat unsteady legs. Over the past four observations, he had noted that he was spending more and more time on the floor. A drop of the reagent might do him well, or he could rest on the cot. His life being broken up into four hour intervals suited him well; he would not abide a full eight hours of sleep, but four seemed reasonable.
When he looked down at his assistant again, he stared back.
“Are you feeling any better?”
His eyes were still shiny with fever; red bloomed across his cheeks and head. “I …” Dan swiped his tongue over his dry lips; Herbert was quick to reach for water.
He cupped the back of Dan’s head and tilted it back, just enough. Dan drank. An odd intimacy about it that West tried not to dwell on; he supposed it had something to do with the way Dan’s hand curled around his forearm to keep him steady.
Easy to shove that line of thought to the back of his mind, at least, along with his other medical ethics courses.
“Is it worth it?”
The simple question made West stop in his journey to the microscope. “Is what worth it, Dan?” He asked after a moment.
“This …” Dan’s hand twitched, his curled fingers gesturing to the rest of the lab. “This.”
Was that the question that had lingered in the back of his mind, all these weeks? Whether this was worth it? Whether The Work was worth the humiliation, the isolation, the danger to one’s own life? Whether The Work was worth denying himself any mortal happiness? Whether The Work was worth separating himself from humanity? Whether –
“We are stopping death, Dan,” West enthused. He met Dan’s eyes on the table. “If anything is worth anything …”
Is it worth Meg? Is it worth medical school? Is it worth …
“You’re right.” Dan’s eyes started to droop shut again. Was that the medication finally kicking in? Or simple exhaustion. “You’re right, you’re right.”
Dan knew that. Of course he did. Dan, for his irritations, was a sensible person to his core. West hadn’t threatened him to help. West hadn’t twisted his arm all that hard, really. Dan had seen death, over and over again, and he had the same profound fascination (or perhaps repulsion, though the difference was middling) that West did.
Perhaps he would finally be putting aside his petty distractions and really see the world through his eyes. The thought brought a smile to his face.
He reached to put the back of his hand on Dan’s forehead. “I think your fever is breaking. Get some sleep.”
In return, Dan heaved a sigh. He brought his arms to cross against his chest uncomfortably. “Yeah.” Oh, he didn’t have a single coherent thought bouncing around the inside of his skull. “Yeah, you too.”
With his fever breaking, the cold would come soon. After a quick glance around the lab, Herb reached for the blanket on the cot and threw it over Dan’s body.
Wasn’t the first time he’d put a blanket around Dan, was it? There’d been the first time – in the morgue, when Dean Halsey had first met his end. Dan had fallen into a state of shock. He had felt some latent sympathy for that, though it’d been well overshadowed with his euphoria, his maddening fury at how close they’d been.
Without opening his eyes, Dan uncrossed his arms to pull the blanket around him. Almost cozy, that.
He hadn’t had an assistant before. Not with this project, anyway. Dr. Gruber had been very intent that they were the only two to know, and he’d scarcely worked at Miskatonic long enough to acquire anyone else.
That he’d found someone like Daniel Cain was an exceptional stroke of good luck. On both of their parts, even if Dan had inherited some short-term tragedy. Later, they would both be the men who had conquered death.
Herbert first, of course. But Dan soon after.
Oh, but didn’t Dan look positively adorable on the examination table? Dan didn’t seem to take much pleasure in their research as Herbert did. Didn’t have that same spark of genuine joy, of pure serotonin at every twitch and convulsion on this table. Dan was in it purely for … well, he didn’t know. The moral aspect, Herbert had to suppose, which was admirable.
No, he wouldn’t remark on Dan’s looks to him when he woke up. He wouldn’t share Herbert’s feelings on the matter … indeed, Dan probably wouldn’t like to be found adorable at all.
Herbert found most people adorable, in the bumbling fool sort of way.
With Dan taking up most of his workspace (damn the basement), and a looming exhaustion at the precipice of his mind … he could sleep. Sleep was an unacceptable biological need, certainly the one he neglected the most.
However. Needs must. He wouldn’t want to end up like Dan, would he?
Herbert set his alarm for four hours. Without removing his tie, he sat down on the cot. It squeaked lightly under his weight.
This would do.
His legs tucked into a fetal position as he faced Dan, no blanket to cover him. That would do well enough. Herbert preferred not to be too comfortable as he slept. Made him groggy when he woke. If he sustained light, fitful sleep, then it really felt as if he hadn’t gone under at all. And, of course, no dreams. Perfect.
He stared into Dan’s relaxed face, the hairs that stuck to his forehead with sweat. Not many living things had had the privilege of lying on that table. Herbert had often wondered if Dan might be on that table someday. After all, most accidents happened in the home.
How many ccs would he have to use if Dan perished? He could estimate through his body mass, of course, but he had the luxury of Dan’s medical file (helpfully procured from Miskatonic Medical) to work with. If he took into account Dan’s specific chronic vitamin deficiencies …
It was with these thoughts that Herbert found himself drifting off, into the most restful sleep he could hope to obtain.
*
“Unh!”
His arms went up in instinctive defense, certain of an attack. In the split second after he woke, he was aware only of a warm, heavy mass dropped on top of him. Not the solidity of a body, but god knew …
There went the frontal lobe.
A blanket. Herbert took ahold and brought it down to his chin, staring upward.
Dan loomed next to the cot, close enough that the railing of it pressed against his calves. It was difficult to make out finer details with the observation light behind him, but he looked …
A little ominous, frankly. Herbert squinted behind his glasses.
“I’m going up to bed.” Oh, perhaps not better, then. Not with the way that his voice sounded. Dan raised his arm to cough into his elbow. What sounded like a lungful of mucus came up with it. He cleared his throat.
“Do you want to sleep here?” It had occurred to Herbert, at least before he drifted off to sleep, that the table would perhaps be less comfortable than Dan was used to. He had no qualms about taking a weakened dose of his own and continue working, should he have his bench back. He pressed his hand against the cot to push himself up.
A hand to his shoulder stopped him. “No.” Too hoarse to be made out. “No,” Dan tried a little stronger. “Th … think sleeping down here’s giving me some strange dreams. Gonna go up to my bed.”
Herbert’s eyes flicked up and down him. He’d tried for covert, but Dan caught him out with an eye-roll. “I can make it up the stairs, not dying. Just. Just the flu, maybe.”
“Alright.”
He took a glance to his watch – twenty-four minutes left on his alarm. “Take some Ibuprofen, before you sleep. The fever should have broken by now, but it will still help.”
“Right. How much have I –”
“A normal dose, every four hours, for the past sixteen. You’re fine.”
Dan had brought up his palm to brush against his eyes; when Herbert gave an answer, it fell relieved against his thigh. “Okay. Okay, uh. Thanks. Sorry for …” It flicked towards the rest of the room.
“There’s no need to apologize. Get some rest, Dan.” A brief smile lit up his face. “Doctor’s orders.”
That got a small smile out of Dan, and a shake of his head besides. Still, he turned towards the steps. It was an unsteady journey upward. Herbert was reminded that he really had to tighten that banister once he had a free moment. During Dan’s tumble down the stairs during the incident with that cat, he’d knocked it quite loose.
Eventually, he heard the basement door creak shut.
Herbert was up and reaching for the weakened solution at once. With his table returned to him, he could really get back to work. No doubt that Dan would be fine without him; at any rate, he would check on him every six hours instead of every four. That would do, for now.
He jammed the needle into the rubber stopper, face intent.
Had to make up for lost time. There was little to lose.