"So, Stephen- may I call you Stephen?”
He nods, almost imperceptible. Blue-gray smoke from the cigarette in his left hand drifts towards the ceiling.
“Stephen. Why don’t we start with you telling me a little about yourself?”
“What would you like to know?” He takes a drag from the cigarette and exhales through his nose.
“Well, I mean, everything. Whatever you want to tell me. It’s not every day I get to interview a vampire.” Parker pushes the recorder a little closer to Stephen; wouldn’t want to miss anything. “Maybe start by introducing yourself.”
A chuckle, wry, tired. Enough of a smile to catch a gleam of fang, even in the low light.
“My name is Stephen Strange,” he says, enunciating carefully, “and I have a long fucking memory.”
—
He’s no one, from nowhere, and nothing matters. All he knows is loss, grief. Pain. So much pain.
He is in New Orleans, he used to have a comfortable life, being a doctor, but after an accident in which he damaged his hands he could no longer continue with his profession, so now all he did was waste himself in a dirty and smoky gambling hall, cheating cards. He becomes careless because he has had too much to drink, and one of his opponents finally notices and points a gun at him.
“You lack the courage of your convictions, sir,” Stephen snarls, pulling his shirt open, baring his chest in a challenge. He sneers. “Do it.”
The stranger doesn’t. The fight ends bloodlessly somehow; he doesn’t remember, it doesn’t matter. Stephen lives another day.
That night, stumbling back to his accommodations, he swears he can feel someone watching him. Following. Stalking him like a jungle cat.
But when he looks over his shoulder – nervously, time and time again – there’s no one.
He sleeps fitfully that night, dreaming of brown eyes gleaming in the dark.
—
A few nights later, he finally comes face to face with the thing that’s been stalking him – not that he recognizes the creature for what he is. Not at first.
The man – if he is indeed such, and no devil – is waiting across the street from Stephen’s lodging, under the light of the full moon. He’s striking, even from a distance: pale skin, ash blonde hair, and the brown eyes.
He approaches Stephen like they’ve known each other for years, speaking to him in much the same way.
“You’re Stephen Strange, aren’t you?” the stranger asks, hypnotic eyes roving over his face. “We ought to talk. Walk with me, Stephen Strange.”
Helpless to resist, Stephen turns to walk down the street with him. The man – Stephen realices belatedly he has yet to catch his name – slides one arm around Stephen’s shoulders. His skin is refreshingly cool in the warm, sticky night.
“I understand you’ve found yourself in a bit of financial trouble,” the man says as they walk. He seems to know where they’re going, which is good, since Stephen doesn’t.
“I…yes,” Stephen admits, grudgingly. There’s the gambling debts, the drinking debts, the lack of steady employment, and of course. “Are you offering help?” he asks, looking up at him.
“I want to give you a choice,” the man says. He pauses in the cobblestone street, taking Stephen by the shoulders and turning him so they’re face to face. “I would like to get you out of that horrible place you’ve been living. Take you away from all of this.”
“What do I have to do in return?” Stephen asks, and is it his imagination or are the man’s canine teeth especially sharp, and- shining?
“Nothing,” the man all but purrs, running his thumb over the pulse point in Stephen’s neck. Abruptly, he grabs Stephen by the lapels of his shabby coat, propelling him backwards into the bricks of a nearby building before Stephen can do so much as gasp.
There’s a sharp pain at his neck then, and black spots swim in front of his eyes. He feels hot all over; he feels like swooning. It’s like the best parts of being drunk, but so much more. He never wants it to end.
Eventually, too soon, the stranger lets go and he slides a little ways down the wall, catching his breath.
“I can take away your pain, Stephen, if you let me,” the man whispers, bending down close to look into his eyes. “I can make all of this – your debt, your sorrows – disappear. You’ll live like I do, safe in the darkness, away from people who would see you dead. I can make you a prince of the new world. You’ll be my companion, Stephen. Forever.”
“I don’t even know your name,” Stephen says, woozy.
“ Kaecilius,” the man says, smiling at him fondly. Stephen’s blood is in his teeth, wet on his lower lip. “My name is Kaecilius Mikkelsen. If you agree, if you will come with me and be by my side for eternity, find me tomorrow night. I can give you everything. The life you deserve.”
“Everything,” Stephen echoes dreamily. The life he deserves. Before he can ask Kaecilius anything at all about this mysterious, too-good-to-be-true deal, the man is gone. Vanished into thin air.
Stephen is left wondering if he’s hallucinated the whole thing, but the lingering marks on his neck tell him the truth.
It doesn’t take him long at all to decide to accept Kaecilius’s offer.
It’s not like his current existence is particularly tenable, anyway – honestly, he feels he’d be better off dead, so whatever this is can’t be any worse.
—
He isn’t sure how exactly he’s supposed to find Kaecilius the following evening, but it doesn’t end up being a problem. He just steps out the door of his hostel and starts walking, ending up at a stately house not far from the center of town. It’s a little rundown-looking, but so much better than where he’s been staying that he’s not inclined to question it.
He pushes the creaky iron gate open and walks up to the sagging front porch, raising his hand to knock. The door swings open before he can, and there he is: Kaecilius Mikkelsen. Even up close, it’s difficult to tell how old he might be – he looks older than Stephen, almost ten years, but he carries himself like a man of considerable station.
“Hello, Stephen. What a pleasant surprise,” Kaecilius says, sounding hardly surprised at all. “You’re here to tell me you’ve decided to accept my offer, I hope.”
“Yes,” Stephensays, blinking wide-eyed up at him. He’s still not entirely sure what he’s accepting, exactly.
“Excellent. Do come in.”
Kaecilius leads him into the labyrinthine home, which turns out to be cleaner and in much better shape indoors than it is outdoors.
“Forgive the state of the place,” Kaecilius says, taking him through the parlor, the sitting room, and the kitchen, then out the back door. “So hard to find good help these days.”
Stephen finds himself standing in the back garden, surrounded by unkempt trees and overgrown plants. In some places, the ground looks freshly disturbed. Curious.
“What do I have to do?” he asks, turning slowly, looking around. Something is- wrong here, but even the creeping sense of dread is not enough to make him change his mind.
“Give yourself to me,” Kaecilius murmurs, approaching Stephen slowly, like he’s afraid to startle him.
“How?” Stephen whispers back.
“Hold still,” Kaecilius says, putting one hand under Stephen’s chin and tipping his head ever so gently to the side.
There’s that pain again – sharp, frightening. But it feels good, too. This time, he doesn’t just feel like swooning, he actually does it. He falls limp in Kaecilius’s embrace, and the world fades to black.
If this is death, it’s surprisingly gentle. Not what he was expecting.
When he abruptly comes to, he’s on the ground, his heart pounding and his stomach churning. It’s excruciating; he doesn’t know what’s happening to him but he regrets everything immediately.
“What is this?” he gasps, clawing at his throat, staggering to standing.
“Your body is dying,” Kaecilius replies, sounding almost bored. “It happens to all of us. You’ll survive.”
Stephen groans and slumps over again, falling to his knees. He holds his stomach and howls in pain, feeling like flesh is being ripped from his bones. What has he done? What did Kaecilius do to him?
What is Kaecilius?
Time passes; he’s not sure how much. He doesn’t realice his eyes are closed until he opens them again and he can see…everything. It’s night still, he’s sure, but he can see like it’s broad daylight. A moth flits by a few feet away, and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He can smell magnolia blossoms on the air, fragrant and sweet. He would even swear he can hear the rushing of the river in the distance, like a heartbeat.
“I’m alive,” he says to himself, then looks up sharply and there’s Kaecilius, standing nearby with his arms crossed, looking impatient. How long has he been there, watching? Waiting? “You said I was dying.”
“I said your body was dying,” Kaecilius corrects him in a clipped tone. He reaches out a hand and pulls Stephen up. “And now it has, and here you are. You’ve come through beautifully, just like I knew you would,” he murmurs, smiling at Stephen like a proud father.
“I’m hungry,” Stephen says, suddenly aware of a ravenous, gnawing ache in his belly. He’s never been so famished in his life – he wouldn’t have thought such an appetite possible.
“Of course you are. Come.”
Kaecilius takes him by the hand and leads him from the overgrown garden, out into the night.
He teaches him all about his nature, then. He shows him what it means to be what they are; how to hunt humans and feed on their blood.
In the warm swirling wind, under the ancient and watchful eye of the moon, Kaecilius teaches him how to be a monster.
—
“Just like that? He- turned you, right after you met?” Peter asks.
“So I thought, at the time,” Stephen says with a raspy chuckle, nodding. He ashes his cigarette and takes another drag, turning politely away from Peter to exhale the smoke. “He had actually been following me for quite some time by then – weeks, maybe months. He chose when I saw him, very deliberately. He’d had his eye on me for a while.”
“He hunted you, you mean?”
“Oh yes,” Stephen says, his eyes shining unsettlingly in the dim hotel room.
“You really believe all this vampire stuff, then? Like, you’re all in on it,” Peter says after a beat, taken aback. He’s been trying to interject as little as possible, wanting to hear the story the way Stephen wants it told. But he can’t help himself.
Stephen’s gaze snaps right to his, laser focused.
“Believe it?” he echoes in obvious incredulity. “I don’t particularly have a choice, Mr. Parker. It’s the truth of my very nature.”
“But you-” Peter tries, but stops when Stephen waves one hand irritatedly at him. His fingernails are long and sharp-looking, like claws.
“No, no. Come now, Peter. You asked for my story, and so I’m going to tell it to you, the way it deserves to be told,” Stephen says. “I can’t have you doubting the truth of my existence. You will simply have to take my word for it, as they say, or I’m afraid we’re finished here.” He stubs out his cigarette and immediately lights another. “Now then. Shall I continue?” he asks, gesturing with it.
He may be nothing more than a delusional human being, albeit one with fangs and claws. There’s a distant possibility he may be an actual vampire. Either way, Peter is committed to hearing him out – it’ll make a great story, regardless.
“Please.”
—
It’s surprisingly easy, the hunting.
By and large, people are…unobservant. Slow, weak. Stephen thought he understood all this before; he considered himself more canny than your average man. He didn’t fully understand, though, until his rebirth into darkness.
Living with Kaecilius proves to be easy enough, too, despite his mercurial temper. At least at first.
Stephen isn’t naïve. He’s aware of why Kaecilius picked him, of all the young men in the city that he could’ve chosen to turn. To say nothing of the men in Europe, where Kaecilius was before. He’s sure that Kaecilius prizes his shrewdness and his surprising strength, his smooth talking, the way he can effortlessly hypnotize practically anyone into coming home with them. He could do that even before his rebirth, and now he’s practically unstoppable.
Kaecilius proves to be something of a gentleman in that arena, though, and they don’t actually have sex until about a week following Stephen’s death.
They return from the hunt flushed, warm, as close to alive as either of them can get.
“I want you,” Stephen growls as soon as the door of Kaecilius’s dilapidated house creaks shut behind them.
“I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you ” Kaecilius purrs.
Regrettably, there is no bed in their room – it’s long gone, to make more space for the coffin and Kaecilius’s behemothic collection of books. No matter; the couch in the sitting room will serve just as well.
They quite literally tear off one another’s clothes, inhuman strength getting the best of them both. Stephen winds up on his back on the couch, right leg outstretched and what remains of the other bent almost to his chest. Kaecilius drives hard into him and they bite and scratch each other, drawing blood, tasting it, bodies slick with it, writhing. Soon the air is heavy with the metallic tang.
The couch buckles under their combined weight and enthusiasm. Stephen, in the throes of the most intense orgasm he’s ever had, fails to notice.
—
It’s all bliss and blood for a time; a honeymoon phase of sorts. But the phase can’t last.
Slowly, over the first few years of their relationship, Stephen starts to see Kaecilius for who he truly is – and he doesn’t like what he sees.
The Kaecilius he thought he was entering into an eternal covenant with was no angel, to be sure. But the fierceness of his temper, how quickly he turns to violence, his outright contempt for all of the humans around them…these are things Stephen isn’t sure he can abide.
Then there’s the jealousy. The possessiveness.
Stephen comes home one night after a successful hunt, having spent some hours on his own in a nearby tavern, waiting for the perfect victim. He tries not to frequent any particular establishment too often, lest the proprietors become suspicious of him, but he likes this one. The drinks are strong enough to make the clientele careless, and the barmaid – a brown-skinned woman with long beautiful black curls and a lilting accent - is friendly to him.
As soon as he’s inside the front door of their decrepit mansion, Kaecilius pounces, as if he’s been just waiting for Stephen to come home.
“Where were you?” he demands, brow furrowed, fangs bared in a snarl. He’s close, right in Stephen’s face.
“Out hunting,” Stephen replies, raising his hands in supplication. He shrugs out of his coat – the nice new one Kaecilius bought him – and hangs it up by the door.
“I can smell alcohol on you.”
“Yes, I was at a bar,” Stephen says, bemused. “Alcohol makes humans careless, and a careless human is an easy target, so you’ve taught me.”
Still scowling, Kaecilius leans in even closer, sniffing him.
“Why do you smell like that barmaid?”
“Christine?” Mentioning her name is the wrong move; he can tell immediately by the look on Kaecilius’s face. “I was just talking to her. She served me a few drinks while I waited for the right victim. That’s all.”
“Hm. You stink like you’ve been rubbing up against the unwashed masses of the Quarter all night,” Kaecilius says with a haughty sniff. “Go bathe.”
“It’s almost dawn,” Stephen protests. He’s exhausted. It’s hard work keeping up with a vampiric metabolism – especially because he doesn’t kill as indiscriminately as Kaecilius does.
“Go.” He takes Stephen by the chin and holds him just this side of too tight, making fierce and unwavering eye contact with him. Eventually, he lets go, turning his back on Stephen and stalking away.
Stephen goes, reluctantly, and moodily takes a bath. He soaks for some time in the warm fragrant water, thinking wistfully of the bar and the revelry to be had there, surrounded by the living.
It does no good to dwell, though; he made his choice, and he’ll just have to make the best of it.
After his bath, he tries his best to shake off his gloom, and goes to Kaecilius on his knees – an apology without words. It always works wonders on Kaecilius’s mood, what Stephen can do with his mouth. This time is no different; he threads his fingers in Stephen’s hair and cradles his head, whispers sweet words to him. It feels, in a word, good. It feels like love.
As they drift off in their shared¡coffin moments before sunrise, Kaecilius lectures him in a cool, soft voice about becoming too attached to human beings. They’re so fragile, he says – and they live such short lives.
Stephen never sees Christine again.
—
“How did you pick your victims? You mentioned Kaecilius hunting indiscriminately – you didn’t do that?” Peter asks.
“I didn’t, no. Not at first. I had a very specific method back then – I suppose I preferred to wait for people who I thought deserved it,” Stephen says with a contemplative sigh. “I felt guilty, in those days.”
“And now?” Stephen doesn’t immediately respond, so Peter presses him: “How do you feel now, knowing you’ve been responsible for so much death?” he asks, fidgeting with the recorder between them.
Stephen looks at him keenly, and gives him a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Guilt is natural,” he says, tilting his head back to watch his own cigarette smoke drifting towards the ceiling. “It also goes away, if you let it.”
—
Some fifty or so years into their affair, Kaecilius and Stephen leave New Orleans. Their neighbors are suspicious, and have started asking them uncomfortable questions. Besides, the house – which has always been in poor shape – is literally falling apart around them. They can’t exactly get workmen to come repair it at night, especially not after the first two crews who agree to do so mysteriously disappear and are never heard from again.
So, fleeing the country it is.
They decamp to Europe: Amsterdam, Paris, Brussels.
Amsterdam is lovely; a renaissance for their relationship. It’s a big bustling place, much faster-paced than the languid heat of New Orleans. There are so many things to do, and it’s nice how easy it is to hunt with no one noticing.
They move on to Paris after only a handful of years, when the political situation in Amsterdam becomes increasingly chaotic.
Paris has her own chaotic politics to contend with, of course. They weather the series of coups with aplomb, and take advantage of it all as only true predators can. Napoleon ascends, industrialization arrives.
One summer night finds the two of them standing on the tiny balcony of their modest flat (easier to come and go unnoticed if you’re not staying in a fashionable neighborhood), looking out over the city.
Kaecilius comes up behind Stephen and slides his arms around his waist. He rests his chin on his shoulder, nuzzling his neck.
“Nearly one hundred years together, now,” he observes. “What do you think, my love?”
“What do I think?” Stephen echoes, and sighs softly. “I can’t help but notice you’ve told me very little, over these many years, about the ones who came before me.”
He feels Kaecilius recoil at that.
“What is there to tell? I was made by a man who didn’t particularly care for me as an individual, as I’ve told you. He taught me nothing, and eventually he died the true death.”
“And your other progeny? Why haven’t I met any of them?”
“I didn’t make many. The ones I did make are all gone now, I’m afraid. I couldn’t- they didn’t last.” Stephen can hear a disquieting edge in his voice. It does not invite further questions.
He considers his next words very carefully.
“My association with you began out of necessity,” he starts, turning slowly in Kaecilius’s embrace to face him, looking into those brown eyes. “But I’ve come to find a great deal of respect and even love for you. Which is why I find myself- unnerved, by the thought that when this pattern applies to you and I, that I will be the end of you.”
“The end of me?” Kaecilius echoes, a muscle in his cheek twitching. “Surely not, Stephen. Don’t be ridiculous.”
That’s the last they speak of it.
They flee Paris together some years later, as yet another revolution begins. They find a refuge in Brussels, and make a neat little home for themselves there until right around when the nineteenth century gives way to the twentieth.
He’s long since stopped celebrating birthdays, but one day Stephen realices with a start that he’s been alive for more than two hundred years, all told. He mentions this offhandedly to Kaecilius, and the next night his maker surprises him with a bottle of champagne (which, he’s quick to point out, is from the actual region and is therefore vastly superior to the ‘sparkling wine’ from elsewhere).
“To you, and to us,” Kaecilius says, smiling, as they clink their glasses together.
“To us,” Stephen agrees. The champagne tastes like drinking perfume, but he puts on a show of enjoying it, to please Kaecilius.
He puts on so many shows for him – this isn’t the first, nor will it be the last.
—
Stephen pauses then, seeming lost in thought for a long moment. Eventually he lights another cigarette and offers one to Peter, who wordlessly declines.
“What must you think of me,” Stephen muses, a rueful smile on his face. “Do you see me as a monster, Mr. Parker?” he asks, something flashing in his intense blue eyes. “Something out of a horror show?”
“No,” Peter replies immediately, shaking his head. “No, I- don’t think that at all. I find you fascinating, actually. Compelling.” He pauses. “In a way that a rattlesnake is compelling,” he adds.
This comparison draws a genuine if hoarse laugh out of the vampire.
“Smart lad you are, Peter,” he says, smirking and shaking his head. “Very smart.” He sits up in his chair and leans forward, tapping the recording device with his long fingernails. “Shall I tell you how it all ended?” he asks softly, eyes fixed on Peter.
“Don’t leave me hanging,” Peter replies, an almost shy smile on his face.
Stephen takes a long drag from his cigarette, eyes glittering.
As he begins speaking again, Peter can’t look away from his mouth. His fangs.
—
“Rain again,” Kaecilius sighs, pulling the curtains dramatically shut with a growl. “Rain, rain, constantly. I’m sick of it; it’s been weeks. I don’t suppose you’ll want to go out this evening?”
They’re in Savannah, Georgia; it’s been a long and gloomy summer thus far.
Kaecilius’s temper doesn’t help the atmosphere.
“No, I think I’ll be alright without hunting tonight. Besides, what with the weather-”
“Yes, I know, you’ll melt,” Kaecilius says with a cutting, sarcastic edge. He turns to face Stephen, who’s settled contentedly into an armchair with the evening newspaper. “I made you to be my companion, Stephen.” He looks at him expectantly.
“Am I not that?” Stephen asks, slowly lowering the paper to better look at Kaecilius. He can feel tension hanging in the air between them, hot and disquieting as the weather.
“You are a disappointment,” Kaecilius says, voice flat. He stalks closer to Stephen, leaning down to look into his face. Scrutinizing. “You hardly hunt. You don’t want to go out with me anymore, and you’re so fucking secretive. You lie all the time. Am I meant to spend eternity with someone who barely tolerates my presence? Who is unfaithful to me, and plans to leave me? Hm?”
“I don’t-” Stephen tries, but Kaecilius cuts him off.
“I’ve seen you,” he hisses, fangs bared in fury. “I give you the gift of eternal life, and you- you use it to fuck strangers in the park? I ought to throw you out into the sun!”
“I haven’t done anything!” Stephen exclaims, shocked. He’s never been unfaithful – he has utterly no idea what Kaecilius is talking about.
Kaecilius reels back then, and slaps Stephen hard across the face.
Stephen sees red. He launches himself at Kaecilius.
Furniture breaks; they hit and scratch and bite each other. Blood, bruises, broken bones. Screaming, howling, inhuman noises of rage and pain.
It’s all a horrendous blur.
When it’s over, their house in Savannah is engulfed in flames. Stephen stands alone in the street, in the middle of the night, watching it burn. His entire life, everything he’s built over the past two centuries and then some, burns with it.
At least the rain’s stopped.
—
“…you killed him?” Peter asks in a hushed voice, mouth agape.
“I unmade him,” Stephen replies after a long pause. “Kaecilius is gone, that’s all I know. I haven’t seen him since. I have no way to be certain of what happened.”
“But you burned your house down. With him inside.”
“True,” Stephen replies lightly,, and takes another drag of his cigarette. “How about now Peter,?” he asks a moment later, with a wry smirk.
“What?”
“Do you see me as a monster now?” Stephen asks, shifting in his chair to lean forward, eyes glowing impossibly in the low light of the room. “Or still- fascinating, compelling, to use your own words?”
“I,” Peter starts, then swallows hard. He gets the feeling that Stephen wants him to be afraid – repulsed, even. But he feels drawn in, helpless, like he can’t look away. “I want it.”
“What?” Stephen reels back.
“The- gift of eternal life, or whatever you call it. Death and rebirth. Whatever you have to do to me to make me a vampire, I want it. I’m all in.”
Stephen pushes his chair away from the table with a loud screech and stands, his face twisted up with rage.
“You want this?” he asks, staring imperiously down at Peter. “I tell you a story of pain, grief, unbearable loneliness- and you tell me you want me to give that to you?” he asks.
“Yes. Please, I understand. I get it! I know it hasn’t been easy for you but-”
“Hasn’t been easy!” Stephen echoes, and laughs a bitter laugh. “You haven’t been listening at all, have you? I was in a desperate position and became a monster without at all understanding what I was doing. I’m cursed now, do you see? This isn’t a life! This is worse than death!” he bellows, his voice making Peter’s ears ring. He inhales hard through his nose and shakes his head, gesturing to the door of the tiny room. “Go.”
“I’m sorry, I just-”
“Go!” Stephen shouts, and Peter winces.
He’s about to speak, to try and persuade Stephen, when the distance between them abruptly closes and Peter finds himself pinned to the wall, one of Stephen’s large hands on his throat. Those claw-like nails are digging into his skin, drawing blood.
“Is this what you want?” Stephen snarls in his face, all flashing fangs and wild eyes. “Do you want to die, Peter Parker?”
“No!” Peter whimpers, pawing ineffectually at Stephen’s preternaturally strong grip. “Please, no. Let me go, I don’t want to die.”
“As I thought,” Stephen grunts, and lets Peter go unceremoniously, stepping back from him with a sigh. “Get out now, boy. While you still can.”
Peter wastes no time. He gathers his things – recorder, backpack, jacket – and hurries out the door, practically running down the stairs and out to the streets of San Francisco.
He can’t believe that just happened – and he got it all on tape, too. It’s going to make one hell of a story.
Caught up in imagining the wild success of the article he’ll write (maybe he’ll even stretch it into a whole book), Peter regrettably does not notice that he’s being followed away from the nondescript building and down the block, under the yellow glow of the streetlights.
He’s almost made it to the bus stop on the corner when out of nowhere, someone – something – grabs him and slams him against the closest filthy wall.
“Have you heard enough?” a voice hisses, and Peter looks up slowly, dreading what he’ll see.
“Look, man, I don’t have any money.”
He stops himself mid-sentence when he gets a good look at those eyes. Brown, unnaturally so.
“I had to listen to him. For centuries,” the stranger continues, like Peter didn’t say anything.
Ash blond hair. Fangs. Pale skin, the fangs.
“Kaecilius Mikkelsen?” he whispers, feeling a cold chill seize him. It can’t be. How?
“Tell me something, Peter Parker,” the man says, staring down at him, just like Stephen had only minutes prior. “Do you fear death?”
Before Peter can answer, there’s a sharp pain at his neck, and the world goes dark.