Robby lighting a cigarette: You know when you were born I was already in medschool, Crazy.
Vampire Whitaker internally when I was born there weren't even pyramids in Egypt
Vampire Whitaker : Thats Crazy, can you put that out on me?
vampire Dennis with a cross shaped scar on his chest... because he finds comfort in it still and refuses to take it off even though it hurt him till the scar became permanent enough he couldn't feel it anymore...
tws and tags: blood (obvs), inaccurate representations of vampirism probably, tension, reader is smart and his coworker
a/n: teeny tiny drabble for the girlies i promised this to like 2 months ago oops
He stands completely frozen - deer in headlights - when you catch him. Blood is smeared over his mouth, it runs down his lips and chin and down the front of his scrubs. You don't see fangs immediately, but you do see the two puncture holes in the blood bag, and you do hear the drip of it as it drops into the puddle at his feet.
You think this has to be some sort of weird dream- that you've worked way too hard recently for this to be what's in front of your eyes.
"Aw shit-" Whitaker cuts himself off, and he looks more terrified than you do. He looks everywhere, blood-soaked hands can't put the bag down and can't quite reach for you, so he screws his eyes shut and jerks his head. The door behind you slams shut, and you hear the lock click. You attempt to slam back into it despite knowing it's useless. It's a changeover; there's barely anyone here. He mumbles slurred "sorrys" over and over as he dumps the bag and races over to you.
You taste blood when he presses his hand over your mouth; his skin is thick with it, and it's started to congeal. It's not cold, it's like a horrible sticky warmth, and you feel it slide across your lips as he covers it.
You almost can't reckon with the fact that it's him. Generally so quiet and reserved, and now, there's some sort of skittish predator in him. Somehow still rabbit-like despite the scent of copper in the room. You hear him groan from behind you.
"Fuck… you smell so good right now." You manage to twist around, and you can see him holding himself back, head tilted away from you, and his eyes closed. He smears more blood as he pinches the bridge of his nose, the other still clamped over your mouth. You try to tug it off, but he's far stronger than he looks. He mumbles a string of apologies again. "I just don't want you to tell anyone." He has the nerve to look sheepish despite this being far more than an HR violation.
You manage to wriggle out of his grasp, perhaps he lets you, you can't quite tell, but you free yourself from his blood-stained fingers. You try to shrink against the back wall so you can face him, trying desperately to take stock of the situation. You really don't have a medical explanation for your coworker to be drinking stolen blood bags - sure, in medical history, it's not out of the realm of possibility that he might be compelled to haematology, but there would have been more symptoms before he'd dissolved into… this.
His breaths are ragged from across the room, like a child after gulping water on a hot summer day. Parched. You have no idea how long he'd been drinking or how much just that he had.
"Whitaker.. what the fuck is going on?" You murmur, trying to keep your voice levelled, but you hear the tremble and cringe at yourself.
"Well, it's… I'm… drinking patients' blood," he offers, rubbing a bloody hand over his face again, doing nothing but smearing it; you see his tongue dart out to encapsulate his fingers, licking off the substance despite trying to hold himself together. "I haven't eaten for so long." His voice cracks. "I tried to be good," a soft murmur. "I tried so, so hard to be good - you have to believe me." He says, slurring his words as he trips on his way over to you. "But I couldn't- not when you smell this good."
You shrink back against the wall again, but there's nowhere to go. He crowds you against it. This time, he doesn't hide the way he leans in to smell you. Nose close to your neck, to your pulse.
The room is silent for a moment, but it isn't quiet. The smell of him is around you. Sanguine and woody, like a wounded animal at a campfire, something animalic rolls off of him. Predatory. When he grins down at you, trying to ease your nerves, the light glints off of perfect fangs, where there were none before. And while a part of you is terrified, unsure at present, of what he is capable of. There's a part of you so deeply fascinated by what this could mean. What understanding could you gain from this?
"I had garlic at lunch." You murmur, trying to ward him off. He looks at you, a little surprised and then he cracks a smile.
"It's an anti-coagulant… it would only make it easier… if I wanted to." At the horrified expression on your face, he backtracks, "But- but i don't! Obviously… I mean that would be stupid, you're my coworkers and you - I -" he stops himself, realising he's running his mouth and he shakes his head. "Whatever… they need you out there." He flicks his head and the door unlocks. "Please don't tell anyone?" he asks softly as you leave, door clicking behind you.
