#venturing into napo angst because I forgot how much I want to give him a hug

[midwinterrmemento]

The Monster in the Mirror

➢ pairing: Napoleon x GN!Reader [Ikemen Vampire]

➢ genre: angst, hurt/comfort

➢ word count: 2,327

Even the strongest of soldiers have their moments of weakness. But who is there to catch them when they fall?

Burning.

The feeling ripped Napoleon out of his heavy sleep and he jolted up with a choked gasp, hands flying to his throat. The silence of the bedroom was shattered by a fit of coughing, as he attempted to rid himself of the horrid sensation in his chest. Yet he could not breathe, he could not think. There was nothing in that moment but burning—the thirst which so easily overpowered his mind and all his senses. 

Wrestling his way out from the blankets, he fell to the floor with a heavy thud. His breath came in shuddering pants as he struggled for air, managing to stumble his way toward the bathroom. Driven purely by instinct in a blind search for something to quench his thirst, he threw the door open. Immediately, he nearly collapsed forward onto the sink, but steadied himself just in time by gripping onto the counter. 

It was not the first time Napoleon had experienced something like this. But while it was no less dreadful, he had, at least, learned how to prepare for such an attack.

Pale, trembling hands tore through the drawers and cabinets. There was Rouge around here somewhere, he knew it. He purposefully kept a small supply stored away in case of an emergency of this exact sort.

“Merde.” 

The curse fell through his lips, not even a word so much as a strained breath. 

He couldn’t find it. How could this be? He knew it was here, it had to be. Yet with his desperation overtaking him, he was losing any semblance of coherent thought by the moment. The burning was rising up from his chest into his throat, and soon it would consume his mind. 

Time became a blur.

It seemed that, at some point in his frenzy, he had managed to locate the little glass bottles of Rouge hidden in the cabinet, but he could not even remember drinking them. Nor could he remember how they ended up broken on the floor.

The next thing he knew, all was silent, save for his heavy breathing.

He was sitting on the bathroom floor, slumped weakly against the wall as he recovered from the attack of bloodlust. His head in his hands, his heart pounding in his ears, he gradually began to regain his senses.

In the wake of that burning sensation, there was now only shame.

Napoleon lifted his eyes to find shards of glass and spilled drops of blood on the floor. He could feel the residue of it on his hands and on the corner of his mouth. The metallic taste of it lingered on his tongue. And as his stare landed on the mirror, he saw himself there, pale and trembling, with blood smeared on his face.

In his mortal life, back when he believed that vampires existed only in myths, he often heard it said that they could not see themselves in the mirror. He had since found, through his own experience, that most superstitions about vampires were simply incorrect—he could eat as much garlic as he wished, for one, and he could spend time outside in the sun without fear of melting. It had always been a pleasant surprise to discover those things in the past.

Never before had he wished that one of those superstitions was true.

To be able to see his reflection gazing back at him now, practically unrecognizable, felt like a taunt. A reminder from the universe of where he stood now—stuck somewhere between man and vampire. As much as he might retain a trace of his humanity, he had taken an irreversible step towards becoming a monster, and would never again be the same.

A fitting punishment for a bloody emperor, a cynical part of him thought, to be condemned to an eternity of hunger-induced craze, unable to survive without spilling the blood of others. For a man who once ruled the world to be crippled by his own weakness, made to kneel before nature.

Since the day he first woke here in the mansion, inexplicably, he had constantly asked himself, 'Who did this to me? Who turned me into a monster?'

His reflection seemed to laugh at him now.

You, it answered, staring back at him with compassionless eyes, You did this to yourself.

A wave of nausea washed over him suddenly. Napoleon placed his head in his hands once more, letting out a shuddering breath. He could no longer bear to look.

But just as despair threatened to overcome him, he was called back to reality by the sudden awareness of another presence in the room with him, the saving grace of a hand reaching out for him.

He could tell it was you even without lifting his head.

"...You should be asleep, nunuche."

His voice sounded strained, even as he attempted to downplay his sufferings, so as not to worry you. But you knew his habits too well to be fooled.

"Couldn't sleep," you murmured. "Wanted to see you."

You did not comment on the broken bottles on the floor, the stench of blood in the air. You did not point out his vulnerable state or show any sign of being repulsed by him. Instead, you moved carefully to sit beside him, waiting until he was ready to lift his head.

It never came easily to Napoleon, to allow himself to be seen in such moments of weakness. As an emperor, he had constantly hidden those feelings, constantly kept his guard up so that his enemies would not be allowed even the slightest opportunity to strike.

But you had always been an anomaly there.

By now, you were so in tune with his emotions that it was pointless to try to hide. Just by caring about him, you had so easily slipped through his defenses where even the mightiest kings and generals of Europe had failed.

If he were in a better frame of mind, the thought would have been funny. As for now, he could manage only a short, self-derisive laugh.

"You had a feeling something was wrong, then."

He still couldn't bring himself to look at you, but he could feel your eyes watching him.

"Maybe I just wanted to see you," came your soft reply.

He couldn't help but laugh again, a bit more genuinely this time, though his voice still dripped with shame. "Maybe."

Moving slowly so as not to startle him, you began to rub his back soothingly. Silence hung in the air for a moment before you began to speak again.

"It must have been bad, if it could wake even you, of all people..."

A lighthearted comment, gently addressing the elephant in the room without asking about it directly. Napoleon closed his eyes, focusing on the warm, grounding feeling of your hand on his back, before letting out a sigh.

"...It was bad," he admitted solemnly.

He felt ashamed just thinking about what you must be seeing. The evidence of his weakness and loss of control—blood and broken glass strewn all about the room, while he sat back against the wall, pitifully curled in on himself. Even more than he hated feeling this way, he hated the idea that you had to witness it.

But once again, you seemed to sense his thoughts. Once again, you spoke to him in that gentle tone.

"This isn't your fault, you know."

"You're too merciful, nunuche," he sighed. "I was caught unprepared. If one knows there might be an attack, they should never allow themselves to be caught unprepared..."

"But there's more than that, isn't there?" you said knowingly. "There is something else that's bothering you."

Napoleon was quiet for a long moment. In truth, he did not want to face it again. But now, with your presence beside him, he found the nerve to raise his head slightly, locking eyes with his reflection.

Now that he had gathered his bearings somewhat, he looked more human again, save for his unnatural pallor. But he could not help but feel that he looked weak, like someone who was just sitting around awaiting his demise.

It sparked something within him.

All at once, he remembered how it felt—the fervor of being a young artillery captain, a revolutionary with a point to prove and people to protect. Just as vividly, he remembered the resentment of a deposed emperor who could not stand feeling helpless and defeated, unable to save those who had depended on him, unable to save even himself.

The reflection that stared back at him now was, in many ways, that same man. The idealistic captain and the bitter emperor, rolled into one, morphed into this undead creature.

"It's one thing to struggle to predict your enemy's moves," he said lowly. "It's more frustrating for an attack to come from within."

You did not know him in his mortal life, and you had accepted that there were parts of him you might never be able to fully understand. Yet you could tell, somehow, that when he looked at his reflection, he was seeing his past self.

"Still, you managed to respond in time," you reminded him gently. "You won the battle."

After all, he had reached his supply of Rouge in time to save himself from his bloodlust.

When he turned his gaze to you, however, there was no relief in his expression. As he smiled wryly, you could swear there was even a trace of fear hidden there.

"I wonder how long that will be the case."

It was a strange thing, to hear Napoleon doubt himself. It hurt your heart to see such uncertainty and vulnerability in his face, when he had done so much throughout your time together to alleviate those same feelings in you.

"Napoleon," you began slowly. "There is a reason you are so trusted here, you know... Not only the children who look up to you, but also the residents, who have lived hundreds of years and seen the very best and worst of the world. If all of us have faith in you, it is no fluke."

His eyes trailed back to the mirror, looking once again into the past you could not see. “I could still disappoint you yet,” he remarked quietly, bitterly.

“Napoleon.”

When you repeated his name, your tone sounded more serious, causing him to glance at you with a bit of surprise. For a moment, you simply stared back at him, your eyes far gentler and more forgiving than his own. 

“I won’t pretend to understand what it is that haunts you,” you said carefully, “but I know you must’ve been lonely.”

He huffed softly, not quite a laugh. “What are you saying, nunuche…?”

“I’m saying, I know you carry a burden that is heavier than most. And I know you’re used to feeling like you have to do it on your own, like you have to be strong for everyone all the time.” The words tumble out. “But you don’t need to handle these things alone anymore. Everyone here cares about you. And not just because of what you can offer them.” 

His expression fell slowly, as he listened to you speak. 

“Lean on them. Lean on me,” you implored, taking his hand in your own now. “Let us be here for you, the way you have always been there for us.”

He studied you quietly for a moment, and then—

“Snrk.”

He began to laugh. It was still a soft, weary sound, but it sounded much more like him—the Napoleon you knew. And it was such a relief in that moment that you didn't even have the heart to tell him to knock it off, as you normally would.

“You know,” he said, a little glimmer of amusement in his eyes again. “You really can be quite tenacious sometimes.” 

“Yes, well, I wonder where I got that,” you teased gently, glad to see him coming back to himself, but not about to let him off the hook. “And anyway, I’m serious.”

Napoleon gave your hand a little squeeze. “I know.”

“If you don’t listen to me, then the real nunuche here is you.”

“I know, I know.” A smile flickered on his face again. 

He turned his gaze back towards the mirror. Now he could see the light in his own eyes again, still lingering there despite all the pain and stress of the years. That wounded, monstrous part of himself was there, as well. But with you there, seated beside him, he could almost look past it. He could almost see what you were seeing in him. You, who had so bravely extended your hand to him, even after seeing him at his worst.

This time, he would be the one to reach out to you.

Pulling his eyes away from the mirror, Napoleon instead looked to you. It was almost an instinct now, to wrap his arm around your side and draw you closer to him. And you were happy to oblige, leaning into his embrace. Your touch was warm and comforting. Grounding. A reminder of the humanity that still remained in him.

"You win," he muttered, letting himself slump against you a little at a time. "I'll lean on you awhile."

"You better."

He laughed through his nose at your immediate reply, his eyes falling closed. Enveloped by your warmth and affection, he could feel a semblance of peace again. He could let go and forget about everything else except your presence. And he could trust that everything would still be okay when he opened his eyes again, all because you were right there beside him.

He didn't know how long this moment would last, but he would savor every second of it.

With his head leaning on yours, his arms wrapped snugly around you, he allowed himself just this moment to breathe. Gradually, his heartbeat settled down as you sat together on that cold bathroom floor, and the rest of the world—past and present—faded away.