Chapter Text
“My love took me down to the river to silence me
And when he left, I could not speak
I lay on the ground, I tried to scream
But no sound did come out, I could only bleed”
-My Love Took Me Down To The River To Silence Me by Little Green Cars
The moment Claudia’s knife made the first gash in Lestat’s elegant neck, Louis knew.
They were making a terrible mistake.
He couldn’t let her kill Lestat. He couldn’t burn his corpse and leave with Caludia into the unknown. He couldn't live without him -he didn’t want to.
He stared at the pliant body on the floor as Claudia plunged her knife a second time, he stared at the way it writhed and squirmed- no.
No.
Before she could deliver the third blow, someone grabbed her by the shoulders and tore her off of Lestat. Her eyes filled with rage and betrayal when she realized it was Louis, her Louis, who had stopped her.
“What the hell are you doing, Louis? I was so close, then we can burn him-”
“No.” His answer was simple.
She got up from where he threw him, “What do you mean ‘no’ ? We need to burn him, make sure he doesn’t came back-”
Suddenly her back hit the wall, Louis’ grief stricken tearful face was millimeters away from her disbelieving one.
“I said no!”
And the pure agony on his face, the lost expression, the unseeing eyes… At that moment Claudia understood. There was no Louis without Lestat, not if she wanted him to be in one piece –mentally and physically. The moment she put Lestat’s body in the incinerator, she would be putting Louis’ soul in there too. He would come with her to Europe, of course he would, but only as a husk of his former self –leaving half of his heart in a burning house in New Orleans.
Claudia tried to imagine an eternity with a catatonic Louis by her side. Never truly happy, only using half of his heart, laughing dimly, eating enough to appease her, enduring an eternity but never living.
Never living.
And no Lestat to cheer him up; swooping in with silly gifts, taking him in his arms, wiping away his tears. Fighting with him until the sun rises, bringing the predatory fire in him to the surface, doing whatever it takes to keep his emerald eyes ablaze with life -fighting, fucking, screaming, crying…
No Lestat to antagonize, to dig deep into his dark past until his violet eyes begin to water and the vein on his forehead pop with anger, to test her vampiric gifts on. No Lestat to share the joy of the hunt.
She could live without him, of course, and happily so. She could live without the father of lies, her compassionate warden, her cryptic and unhelpful teacher… She could live without the man she thought of as a father once upon a time. She could put all the sins she inherited as her birthright and the ones she committed on her own, on Lestat and burn them with his weak body. It wouldn’t save her soul. It wouldn’t erase the crimes committed against her. It wouldn’t give her peace. But she could do that. And she could live. And she was sure she would enjoy it.
Probably. Mostly.
But Louis couldn’t and wouldn’t.
The way his face was contorted in pain, it was ugly. She never thought Louis’ beautiful face could look like anything other than angelic. Violet eyes were easy to turn into an icy blue, they were quick to reflect the hate in her eyes like they reflected light. Whereas the emerald green was a deep, solemn color. Slow to anger, though it burned longer, and slow to shine with the hidden emotions behind. And now the grief in them was pulling Claudia in, like the miserable swamps of New Orleans.
One more second. Louis’ hand around her neck. Emerald locked in reddish orange.
Silence.
Except for Lestat’s weak wheezing and the sound of Louis’ anxiously fluttering heart.
She had to make her decision now.
Stage the last act of this perfect betrayal and lose the two people she ever cared for. One's body and the other's heart was bound to be destroyed if she chose this path.
Or let this be a warning shot and let their unholy family remain.
Choose Claudia. Choose wisely.
“Tend to him if you want. But if he ends up killing us, my blood will be on your hands Louis.”
Mercy or selfishness. A mistake or a second chance? She didn’t know. It didn't matter. Time would decide it for them.
In an instant Louis was upon Lestat’s unconscious, bleeding form. During his silent staredown with Claudia, he had tried to move, tried to stop the bleeding or get the poison out or whatever in order to keep his dead heart beating. His body was frozen in a crooked, unnatural position. Louis swallowed the bile in his throat and crouched down next to him, gently pulling his head into his lap, and soothed him when a pained moan rose from his torn throat.
“Shh baby, I’m here. I’m here, it’ll be alright. You will be alright.”
He ignored the deathly glare Claudia was giving as he cut his hand, with the very same knife that was blunged in Lestat’s neck mere moments ago. Their blood mixed on the shiny steel surface, creating another unholy union.
One of sacrifice and betrayal.
Love and hate.
He covered the deep cut with his bleeding hand, making sure it got into every crevice of the wound. It took some time, much longer than for a vampire Lestat’s age, to heal. Louis had to repeat the process of reopening his cut and pressing it to Lestat’s throat twice.
When Lestat’s neck was smooth -save for the ugly scarring- and in one piece again, Louis was able to breathe comfortably for the first time that night.
He still had to deal with the effects of absinthe and laudanum, and of course, the blood loss but they could wait until he cleaned him and laid him down. Because if he had to look at Lestat lying in the pool of his own blood -all malleable, frail, and vulnerable- one more second he was going to lose it and start sobbing. And that wouldn’t do any good to any of them.
“I know, I know it hurts, darling. I’m sorry, I’ll fix it. I swear.”
Louis was babbling endlessly, mostly to calm himself -Lestat had gone unresponsive to any of his ministrations long ago. He lifted him up, with a gentleness he didn’t know he possessed, and stood in front of Claudia. She hadn’t moved from her spot, eerily still, and was just watching them.
Please do not try to take him away from me. I beg of you my sister, my daughter, my little love, Louis’ eyes pleaded, please do not make me choose.
A sorrowful smile covered her face as she observed Louis, who had pulled the unconscious Lestat even tighter to his chest. She was good at reading the hidden meanings, walking on her tiptoes, deciphering how their night was gonna go from the way doors slammed. Because you can’t promise it will be me, who you choose.
Who am I supposed to love? You two have each other. Who’s my Lestat? Who’s my Louis?
She took a step to the side, giving them a clear path toward the door. She knew when to fight and when to retreat. Like a cunning predator.
Like father, like daughter.
*
Louis lowered Lestat’s naked and blood covered form into the tub, as quickly as he could. His weak irregular heartbeat, nonexistent breathing, and unresponsive body was making him nervous. It wasn’t right. None of it was right. Lestat’s heart should be strong and beat in the same rhythm as Louis’ own. Two matching thumps against the darkness, against the eternity.
He sniffled and wiped his tears with the arms of his shirt as he waited for the tub to fill up with hot water. As hot as their pipeline allowed. He needed to warm up Lestat’s cold body, bring some color to that grayish face. For the peace of his own mind, if not for nothing else. He had already made Lestat throw up by sticking his hand down his throat, which had been a terrible experience. Holding his pliant body up, forcing his jaw open, feeling the sticky, clogged blood in his mouth… Still his base instincts had taken over and Lestat had thrown up, not as much as Louis wanted to, but he still managed to get some of the poisoned blood out -though only time would tell how much of it was already in his bloodstream.
When he deemed water was hot enough, Louis got a washcloth and a bar of soap, and began scrubbing at the blood stains on his torso. Water and cloth quickly turned pink and Louis continued to scrub. His shaking hands dropped the soap multiple times but Louis continued to scrub. Water went cold and Lestat’s skin got chafed but Louis continued to scrub.
He didn’t even realize he had begun to shake with the force of his cries until he felt Claudia’s soft hand on his shoulder.
“Let me.” She said and took the ruined cloth with steady hands.
“I ain’t leaving him.” Louis protested when she tried to move him from his crouched down position near the tub.
“I am not asking you to leave, Louis.” She was speaking to him slowly, gently –like a mother consoling her erratic child. Then she handed him another soap, “You can wash his hair while I finish what’s left in here.”
They worked in tandem, without making any sound -save for the occasional instructions like ‘pass the soap’ or ‘hold up his arm’. Bit by bloody bit, they washed and rubbed and cleaned Lestat. Finally when he was freed of all the blood, spit and vomit Louis took a long look at him. If it weren’t for the reddened water he was lying in, the grey hue of his skin and the ugly scar on his neck, he wouldn’t be able to tell that this night really happened. It was all feeling like a terrible nightmare.
Louis dried Lestat with a soft towel while Claudia drained the tub and washed away the blood stains on the tiles. He wanted to beeline for the door, to hide out in Lestat’s coffin and pretend that this night was just a bad dream. But before he could carry Lestat out of the bathroom, Claudia’s nonchalant voice rang out.
“I put the twins in the incinerator.”
Louis stopped in his tracks, slowly turned to her.
“And I cleaned the mess. You are welcome.”
It wasn’t about the corpses or the blood stained rug. Louis wished he was brave enough to look her in the eyes, to apologize and to thank. But what was there to say? He had betrayed them both. Failed to defend Lestat and failed to assist Claudia. And now all they had was a broken family and the half-dead body of their maker.
He just nodded and left.
*
After pouring some of his blood down his throat, Louis’ first instinct was to put Lestat in his coffin. To let him rest in there and heal. But the image of Lestat, hollow faced and eyes closed in a coffin, had almost made him throw up. He had looked dead against the creamy interior of the coffin, well more dead than he actually was.
So he laid him on the silk sheets of their bed, which they only used for having sex until that night, dressed him in the warmest set of pajamas he could find and gently tucked him in.
Their little hideout was safely locked, all the windows were boarded and just like Claudia said, all the evidence of the attempted slaughter was burning away into ashes. Louis didn’t think she would try anything, at least not after his emotional display earlier, but he still made a point of throwing an arm over Lestat’s torso and pushed a leg between his legs. All of his vampiric senses were focused on him; any tiny movement, any skip in his heartbeat, any hitch in his slow breathing, Louis would notice.
If it weren’t for the pull of the sun and the exhaustion of the night, Louis didn’t think he would be able to fall asleep.
He didn’t know what kind of a Lestat he was going to find tomorrow.
Awake and healed, eyes blazing with fury and ready to take revenge –a beautiful angel of retribution. Cursing them out in tears and breaking Louis’ heart with the hurt of betrayal in his blue-gray eyes. Silently seething and composed, making cunning plans, all sharp tongued and bitter.
No matter the scenario, he knew Claudia was the smartest of them all, she would survive. And Louis didn’t care what happened to himself. As long as he got to see those iridescent eyes one more time, to feel the touch of those strong hands on his skin, to hear that baritone voice, he didn’t care.
Imagining Lestat’s extreme reactions was strangely soothing to his nerves. Because there was another scenario he did not even dare to think; a pliant, slack faced, unresponsive Lestat.
A dead Lestat.