6. Monsters dont laugh like that.
Chapter six
Monsters don't laugh like that...
Nick
C onsciousness crept back like cold water rising. Hospital room. Still alive. He blinked against the metallic taste coating his tongue. His body felt like something borrowed, worn out and returned damaged.
The empty IV bag hung limp above him. Nick reached for it, fingers trembling so badly he nearly knocked the pole over. The insertion site in his arm looked angry—red, swollen. His vein had blown. The familiar burn of a missed stick, tissue swelling around damaged blood vessels. Perfect .
His clothes clung to his skin, stiff with sweat, grime, and restless sleep. The clean hospital gown Luka had brought remained folded on the nearby table, untouched. Removing clothes meant vulnerability. Vulnerability meant pain. The equation was simple.
Nick’s gaze fell on the medical supplies Luka had arranged. He needed to replace the antibiotics. The Society had taught him field medicine—mostly how to keep operatives alive long enough to complete missions. Ironic that those skills would keep him breathing now.
The one-handed IV insertion was a special kind of hell. The tremor in his fingers made the first attempt miss completely. Blood pearled at the surface of his skin.
“Fuck,”he whispered to himself.
Second try. The needle slid sideways. Blood welled around the insertion point, mocking his efforts.
Third attempt. Focus . The vein rolled under his fingertips, but he pinned it this time. The needle slipped home.
Only when the IV was running did Nick notice the figure near the wall.
Luka sat in a chair approximately eight feet away—the vampire had positioned himself at a careful distance.
Close enough to intervene if needed, far enough to avoid feeling threatening.
He was writing in a small notebook, pen moving in fluid strokes across the page.
Luka glanced up, noticing Nick’s awareness. Without approaching, he held up what appeared to be a pre-written sign:‘ Good morning. How do you feel?’
The preparation of the message suggested he’d been anticipating Nick’s waking. Planning ahead. Calculating reactions. Just like Shaw. Just like Gianmarco.
No. Not the same. Different calculations.
Nick’s gaze drifted to the bottle of prescription pain medication on the bedside table. The orange plastic gleamed in the dim light, promising relief.
Chicago flashed through his mind. Pills first. Then powder when the pills ran out. The slide had been so easy, so inevitable. Then Gianmarco finding him already halfway broken.
“Poor kitten, you need something stronger, don’t you?” The memory of that voice slithered through him. The drugs had made everything easier—made him compliant, grateful, malleable. They’d loosened his grip on reality just enough that Gianmarco could reshape it.
Nick turned away from the bottle. Pain was his. The only thing that still belonged to him. The only thing they couldn’t take away.
Luka was writing again. He held up a new message:‘ Pain medicine available. Your choice.’
Nick shook his head once, sharp and definitive.
Luka nodded, scribbling again before displaying:‘ Understood.’
He settled back against the pillows, the fresh antibiotics beginning their slow work through his system. The beeping of medical equipment provided a rhythmic counterpoint to his thoughts.
Luka returned to his notebook, occasionally glancing up with eyes that assessed but didn’t invade. His profile was sharp in the fluorescent light—strong jaw partially hidden beneath his beard, careful fingers gripping the pen with precision.
Nick found himself studying the vampire’s movements, the concentration evident in his expression. The way he held himself, present but not imposing, was the paradox of a predator choosing not to hunt.
The silence between them felt strangely comfortable.
***
The next day brought clearer thinking. Nick had lost exact count of time in the windowless room, but his body’s recovery provided rough markers. The infection was responding to treatment, though his weakness remained.
He found himself tracking Luka’s movements with curiosity rather than the tactical precision he’d once reserved for targets.
The vampire sat in his usual chair, occasionally making quick gestures with his hands.
Each movement seemed deliberate, precise.
Sometimes Luka’s lips moved silently as his fingers flowed through what appeared to be complete sentences.
Other times, just a single sharp gesture accompanied by a slight head tilt.
Nick’s curiosity finally overcame wariness.“What are you signing?”
Luka’s head snapped up, surprise evident before his expression shifted to something that looked suspiciously like cheer. He reached for his notebook, scribbling quickly before holding it up:‘ Thinking out loud. Sometimes easier in sign than thoughts.’
Nick hesitated, vulnerability battling with genuine interest.“Could you... teach me some? Basic stuff.”
Luka’s face transformed. His eyes brightened, posture straightened, and his hands came together in what could only be described as excitement. He wrote something new:‘ Really? Happy to teach. Start with basics ?’
Nick nodded, shifting to sit up straighter despite the protest from his stump.
Luka moved his chair closer, though still maintaining respectful distance.
He wrote each word before demonstrating—HELLO, THANK YOU, YES, NO, WATER, FOOD.
His movements were exaggerated, slowed down so Nick could clearly see the hand positions.
For signs that required two hands, Luka demonstrated one-handed alternatives without Nick even bringing it up.
Nick’s first attempts were clumsy. His hand struggled to form the precise shapes, fingers refusing to separate properly when he attempted the alphabet for the fifteenth time.
Frustration built behind his sternum. He taught himself to load a crossbow one handed after losing his dominant hand, but he couldn’t make a ‘W’ without his ring finger bending in the wrong place.
Luka didn’t rush him. Each time Nick’s coordination faltered, Luka demonstrated again, patient and encouraging. His signs were fluid, graceful—like watching water flow rather than words being formed. Nothing like the crude gestures Nick had used during Society operations.
After an hour of the basics, Nick’s mind turned practical.“What about... defensive words?”
Luka raised an eyebrow, writing:‘ Defensive like what?’
“Like ‘fuck off’ or ’go away.’”
A grin spread across Luka’s face as he set down his pen. His hands formed quick, aggressive movements that looked satisfyingly hostile. He demonstrated“FUCK OFF”with particular enthusiasm.
Nick practiced repeatedly, finding unexpected comfort in the angry precision. Each curse word felt like something that belonged to him. Something that couldn’t be taken away.
Growing bolder, Nick asked,“What’s the funniest sign you know?”
Luka considered, head tilted, before writing:‘ Funny how? Strange or amusing?’
“Either. Both.”
Luka’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he set down his pen. He demonstrated a simple gesture that involved pulling something up and out of his abdomen, then tossing it to the side. His face remained completely serious during the demonstration.
“What’s that mean?”
Luka wrote: ‘ Abortion.’
The absurdity of the movement combined with Luka’s deadpan expression hit Nick unexpectedly. Something bubbled up from deep in his chest—unfamiliar, almost forgotten. Laughter.
Luka’s own laughter followed, breathy and quiet, like wind through autumn leaves. The sound transformed his entire face, reaching his eyes and softening every feature. It was musical, almost ethereal and absolutely nothing like the cruel laughter Nick associated with monsters.
Luka clapped his hands together in delight, giving an enthusiastic thumbs up.
Nick’s laughter died as realization hit. He’d never heard a vampire laugh at something innocent before. All vampire laughter in his experience had been a celebration of human suffering. This was... different. Human. Genuine joy in a shared moment.
Monsters don’t laugh like that. But he is a monster. Isn’t he?
Luka wrote:‘ You have natural rhythm with signing. Good student .’
Nick surprised himself when he simply replied,“Good teacher.”
***
Sleep became his enemy over the following days. He fought against it, jerking awake whenever his eyelids grew heavy. Sleep meant vulnerability. Vulnerability meant pain. The exhaustion compounded everything else, making his gaps in time more frequent.
After those episodes, Nick gradually noticed patterns.
The medical equipment showed steady monitoring but no manipulation or evidence of interference during his absent periods.
Luka’s position never changed inappropriately, but his face would light up the moment their eyes met.
Concern melted into unmistakable relief, warmth spreading across his features.
The smile that bloomed reached his eyes, crinkling the corners.
He always gave an enthusiastic thumbs up.
Sometimes he wiggled his fingers in a playful wave, childlike and utterly non-threatening.
The hunter in his head grew quieter with each return. The broken, submissive thing remained but was quieter. Something else emerged—exhausted but curious about this strange vampire who maintained his vigil without demands.
Maybe... maybe not all monsters are the same?
Notes always waited for him after he lost time. ‘ You were safe. I stayed with you. Welcome back.’ Luka never demanded explanations or pushed for details about where Nick“went”.He just offered water, adjusted pillows, and provided basic comfort in silence.
The phantom pain in his missing hand often proved worse than the infection had been.
He’d brace himself for the inevitable slide away from consciousness as Luka would move his chair marginally closer, giving him a little nod that felt more like understanding than permission.
The routine had become oddly comforting despite Nick’s resistance to admitting it.
During one particularly intense phantom pain episode, Luka’s pen scratched against paper sharp, catching Nick’s attention as he held up a note:‘ You are suffering. Medicine available .’
“No. I told you no.”The refusal came automatically, a defensive wall he’d maintained for days.
Luka’s head tilted, considering. He wrote again, slower this time:’ Why? What are you afraid of ?’
Nick stared at the ceiling, counting water stains while his chest constricted. Minutes stretched between them, silence broken only by the steady beep of monitors.“Pills led to heroin.”The admission emerged barely above a whisper.“Heroin led to Chicago.”
Luka’s eyebrows drew together. He wrote:‘ Chicago ?’
“Where I met the monster who owned me.”The word ‘owned’ fractured as it left his mouth, jagged with self-loathing.
Luka nodded once, no pity in his gaze—just recognition.
Nick’s fingers twisted in the sheets. The Daylight Society had trained him to channel his pain, to use it as fuel. Accepting help meant weakness. Weakness meant death. But beneath that was the terror of dependence, of surrendering control to another’s hands. Again.
But he was so goddamn tired. The pain in fingers that didn’t exist, the aches and pains that creaked his joints and made long healed scars burn like they were trying to drag him down, to hurt him again so he would finally rest.
He just wanted to rest.
Weakness will get you killed . The pain isn’t real .
This isn’t the same. We’re going to die if we don’t rest.
If we beg, maybe Luka can make the pain go away. Then sleep. Be good for him. Make him happy.
I don’t think he wants to hurt us like that.
It’s a monster , of course it does .
The internal argument felt like being torn apart from the inside. Nick’s resolve cracked under the weight of exhaustion and unrelenting pain.
“I can’t...”Nick gasped, collapsing back against the pillows.“I can’t keep doing this.”
Tears of frustration leaked from the corners of his eyes, tracking hot paths down his temples. His defenses lay in ruins, shattered by the relentless assault of his own damaged nerves.
Luka wrote carefully: ' What do you need right now ?’
Nick’s chest heaved with labored breaths. The question was deceptively simple yet impossibly complex.
“I don’t know anymore,”he whispered.“I’m just so tired.”