Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

The less said about that first initial surgery the better. Victor was a man who knew the exact amount of pressure it took to crack open a man’s rib cage to get to the heart. But he would not have anticipated the strength of stomach it took to rip out his own femur. He had to move quickly to prevent himself from bleeding out, but once the new femur was in place in his hip he was able to apply a tourniquet to keep the bleeding under control as he stitched the new leg in place and connected the nerves and major blood vessels.

It helped to pretend it wasn’t him. That he was back in the lab before any of this had happened, that it was just an early experiment, long before he realized the key ingredients to true reanimating. That got harder to do as the nerves were connected, a low continuous current being pumped into the leg from the heel to keep it alive, sending random zaps of sensation despite the nerve block applied to his stump. When he first managed to make the toes twitch he had to stop for nearly a full minute to contain the manic relieved laughter.

When he finished the final stitch; closed up the last gap, tightly wrapped the seams with gauze and finally released the tourniquet he began to weep uncontrollably. He wasn’t sure if it was from exhaustion, pain, or a longer guilt he never seemed to be without these days. He sat on the table for a long time, just watching his new toes. Willing them to twitch and grinding his teeth as the nerve block began to wear off- and then regretting it as the expression pulled at the stitches still holding his cheek together. He wondered for a moment if this was how the creature might have felt- like the wrong move would tear it apart completely. He comforted himself with his certainty that it had no real higher understanding.

If he had created something that truly felt pain like this but had no words to speak it- then perhaps he really was a monster. But no, he had sewn together the nerves for the creature himself. He knew sensation would have been less acute to the creature, in time, as it regenerated and the bodies it was made from began to work in harmony he had hoped it might grow new nerve endings. No, it wouldn’t have felt the pain Victor felt now, and really it hadn’t been intelligent, he was sure of his failure in that regard. Besides, the worst of the pain came not from the newly attached leg, but from where it’s dead weight pulled at his living and healthy muscle.

He left the current running through it for long enough that he could feel it just tickling his hip before finally detaching himself. He figured based on his experiments with the raccoons, he should keep off of his leg for at least a week, but as he wiggled his toes with the delight of a child, he couldn’t help but deem the attempt a success.

***

He had left the bandages in place for two days before he changed them. He didn’t want to risk introducing new bacteria to the joining stiches. The new leg didn’t hurt at all, the sensations in it were rather limited, but that was to be expected, he was thrilled that there was any sensation at all really. Though he was a bit disappointed that the colour match was off, it had been hard to tell what exact shade the skin would be until he started pumping blood through it. But he tried to brush off the concerns of vanity. He had built a custom platform onto his wheelchair to allow the leg to remain outstretched to take as much of the pressure off of the healthy tissue as possible, but the chunks of his original thigh muscle constantly burned with the unfamiliar weight of the new limb, somehow already unused to the strain of carrying the weight. The space where the reanimated and living tissue met itched something awful and Victor was looking forward to the bandage change if only to lightly scratch at the stitches. What greeted him upon removing them though, was not at all what he had expected.

The donor tissue looked healthy enough, still off coloured but no different from the way his creature had looked- but what should have been the healthy tissue it was bonded too, has taken on a dark colour, and felt almost spongy to the touch. Victor swore violently. It didn’t look like anything he had seen before, not gangrenous exactly, the formerly healthy tissue had pulled back from the new limb but since he had overlapped the skin and muscle and it appeared almost as if his own skin was rejecting the new leg, refusing to bond with it. What had he done wrong? This hadn’t happened to the raccoons! At least, he didn’t think it had, it occurred to him that he hadn’t really waited any significant amount of time between transplant attempts; he hastily recovered the stitches and wheeled himself over to the raccoons, he hadn’t exactly been paying attention to them after the final attempt had been successful, but now he gazed in horror at the realization that every single one of them save the one that had attacked him and escaped and the control subject lay dead in their cages.

Victor looked back at the healthy new leg, he gently rolled his ankle and wiggled his toes.

No. No he couldn’t lose it again. There had to be another way to save himself. He rolled back to the operating table and slotted himself back into the mirror box he had made to perform the surgery in the first place. He peeled back the bandages and this time the smell hit him. It was a smell Victor was more than familiar with. It was the scent of death.

He cautiously touched at the joining point of the new and old flesh, and what should have been his healthy living tissue tore like wet paper under the pressure. He barely managed to keep from throwing up.

There was only one thing that could be done he decided. He would need to replace more of it with donor tissue. That part seemed healthy enough, and the creature hadn’t shown any signs of gangrene. Maybe if he left a strip of exposed muscle in between the donor tissue and his own it would prevent this from happening again.

Once again he wrapped the leg up as best he could and made his way to his lab morgue as quickly as he could, grateful he had not yet disposed of the bodies he had stored there.

He was less precise with his harvest this time around. Time was of the essence. He couldn’t tell if the heat he felt was from fever or fear, but he moved like a man possessed.

He ended up needing to replace a large chunk of his thigh muscle too, after discovering that the rot had gone more deeply in some places. It took hours of back and forth, trying to literally hold himself together but wheeling back for more scraps to fill in the holes. When he was finally done and the leg was wrapped tightly once again, he made the mistake of forgetting about the wound in his face and wiping his hand across it. Yelping in the unexpected pain of something not controlled by the nerve block.

There was blood on his hand when he pulled it away and at this point he honestly wasn’t sure if it was from the impromptu leg surgery, or from reopening his stitches. Not for the first time he found himself missing Harlander, though the grief was tainted with a bitterness. He felt no real guilt over the man’s death, he wouldn’t have lasted much more than a year at most with how far the syphilis had progressed. In many ways the grief Victor felt over the man’s death had nothing to do with who he was, and everything to do with who he had pretended to be. Nonetheless, as Victor wheeled himself over to where he kept his hand mirror to examine his face he felt the loss of companionship more deeply than he had expected. If nothing else than to share with someone who understood what he was working on.

The blood had indeed come from the cut on his face, the deepest of the scratches once again sluggishly bleeding, and for a brief moment, Victor eyed the scraps of skin he had used to reconstruct himself and considered using a graft, but quickly dismissed the idea as visions of his own disfigured face rotting off his skull presented themselves to his mind. No, it would scar badly enough as it was, there was no need to add to it. The smaller of the scratches at least remained closed and seemed to be healing nicely. He practised a few expressions in the mirror seeing the way the cut contorted and warped. He really hoped by the time William’s wedding came around that at least had healed.

He ended up needing to do three more grafts before he figured out how to stop his own flesh from rotting off of his body. The patchwork of dead men and women ran all the way up his chest, stopping just above his heart. He had been lucky in that none of the necrosis seemed to have affected his back in the same way- that was actually what clued him into what he was missing. When he laid down on the operating table, he could feel a very small amount of the current he pumped through the dead tissue humming- that was how he realized he needed to treat his own living tissue the same as he treated the dead, and pump it full of the same current.

The discovery came at the cost of days spent rebuilding himself as he felt his muscles and organs rot inside of himself. By the time he got it to stop he honestly wasn’t even sure what all had ended up replaced in the manic attempt to keep himself alive. He vaguely recalled removing one of his own kidneys at one point, but he genuinely couldn’t have said if that was reality or merely a truely horrible nightmare. He felt now, more than ever, that he had done the creature a kindness by killing it. If it had been intelligent, the horror of knowing exactly how it was made may well have broken it. Victor was a man of science, a man who truly believed in pushing the boundaries of what was possible, and even he could barely look at himself without some degree of revulsion. Less from the visuals, though without clothing he was a gruesome sight to behold, and more from the bone-deep knowledge of how it felt to rot from the inside out.

At one point he had found maggots chewing on one of the grafts, and some days it felt as though the writhing sensation never left him. They had actually been quite useful for seeing where he needed to focus his attentions as he found the maggots rarely went after healthy tissue when necrotic tissue was available. Even still, it was a sensation he was sure to be reminded of in his nightmares.

However, when he was finally able to take his first steps, fully healed and no longer feeling the phantom pain of a leg long since removed, he told himself it had been worth it. As the grafts finally took, and he was able to walk for longer and longer distances he found it easier to lie to himself. Especially with the leg covered by clothing so he didn’t need to look at it… and keeping away from mirrors so the scars on his cheek did not mock him. He felt almost like himself again. The man he was before the madness of creation had gripped him. The man he was before Harlander, and Elizabeth. Perhaps the man he should have been all along.

He took walks through the orchards now, and even occasionally smiled at the servants. With some careful cosmetic application the scars weren’t too terrible – present, sure, but less angry and red. And as long as he kept his shirt buttoned as propriety would demand the scars that snaked their way up his chest were invisible, and with Elizabeth set to marry his brother in a few short weeks time there was really no reason to fret about that. He had never before her had any interest in that sort of thing, and with her firmly off the table, it was perhaps best he keep it that way. He couldn’t imagine trying to explain the scars away.

And while he had originally thought to unveil his leg to the world as the medical marvel it was, the screams of the servant who had walked in on him still echoed in his mind.

It had been an accident really. He had finally started sleeping at more normal hours since he had finally stopped the rot, and the grafts no longer needed to be constantly kept bandaged. However, his few staff were not used to finding him actually in his rooms when they went about making the bed, and his servant- Andolf he thinks the man’s name was; had come in. Victor had gone to bed without putting a shirt on, as was often his custom when he was too tired to bother getting changed, and so the angry mess of scars was on full display when Andolf entered.

Victor had had to pay the man extra to keep quiet and attempted to explain it away as connected to the accident that broke his leg.

He wasn’t entirely sure the man had believed him, and he had handed in his resignation later that evening. Victor had had a great deal of scorn, disgust and fear directed his way – it was the nature of the work he engaged in – but it was always towards the work, never to him. Never at the sight of him. He wondered now if this is the reception the creature might have received had he not put it out of its misery. He knew people were petty and small-minded, of course he did, but he had always felt that if they could just see what he could do it would change their minds- but now he was not so sure. Now he found his own mind plagued with doubts.

He decided to focus on the wedding. He wouldn’t wish to upstage William with his research at any rate. For now, he would keep it hidden. Then perhaps once William returned from his honeymoon, he could discuss with him the best course of action. These days Victor wasn’t sure he could entirely trust his own mind. After all, what had he been thinking performing such an operation on himself without help, and without more in depth research?

He honestly couldn’t even imagine what William might have to say about it, and that was the problem. He seemed entirely incapable of reason when the madness of creation had him in its grip and perhaps, it was time to put it all finally in the past. Perhaps, he thought as he stood by his mother’s headstone, it was time to let the dead rest.

Chapter Text

The journey to his brother’s estates was more tiring than Victor had anticipated. While he had healed enough for travel, and frankly far faster than he would have thought, he still found he tired easily. It was a constant struggle to move in a way that didn’t make him feel like he was a threadbare and over patched coat – and while he himself knew exactly how strong his stitches were, every time he moved and felt them pulling on skin and muscle he felt like he was about to tear himself apart. 

It was about a three-day coach ride, and while Victor had initially intended to make the journey with as few stops as possible, he ended up asking the coach driver to stop for the night at the first suitable inn far sooner than he had anticipated – a fact that he was certain the driver was secretly grateful for.  

Victor found himself paying far more attention to his appearance then he had previously ever done as the driver made their arrangements for the night. Checking and double checking to ensure his shirt was completely buttoned in a way that made him feel vaguely claustrophobic, and trying to hide as much of his face as he could behind his coat collar. While the flesh on his face was his own, the scar was still red and angry, and he was terrified that someone might insist on calling a doctor who might attempt to examine him. It was paranoia he knew, but even still he couldn’t quite shake the look of horror his servant had given him. He had tried to allow his facial hair to grow over it, but it had grown in patchy and drew more attention to his face rather than less. 

He had never much cared for the fashion of such high and restrictive collars. It reminded him too much of his Father. So when it had come time to prepare himself for this journey, he had found himself at a loss looking at his clothing with the relaxed cravats and loose necklines. 

He ended up venturing into his fathers old rooms. They hadn’t been touched since the man had died more than a decade ago, but even still, the servants had done an admirable job in maintaining the chambers. The high collared coats his father preferred fit him well enough, though he was grieved to find that they were a bit too long to be a perfect fit. The thought flickered in his mind that he could have made himself taller when he replaced his leg, it wouldn’t have been that much harder to add some extra length to the undamaged one- but he pushed the shameful thoughts from his mind. If he kept his head down amid the collar, the scars were much less noticeable and that was the point. He told himself there was no point in trying to measure himself up in comparison to a dead man. He let himself take comfort in the fact that his father would have hated that he had taken his coat and tried to leave it at that. 

Besides, he had far bigger concerns. If he were to run into a well-meaning physician… well, it was best not to think too hard about that either. While Victor had taken notes during his self-construction, they weren’t his best work, and without the context of those that had gone up in flames all those weeks ago, he doubted he could explain what he had done to another physician in a way that didn’t make him sound like a mad man. Though a part of him still craved the recognition, and respect, he was starting to doubt that he would be seen as anything beyond an abomination. 

It would have been better to wait to travel until all the stitches were fully healed, and he no longer felt like a strong breeze would blow him apart, but by the time he arrived in England there would be hardly a week until the wedding, and Victor truly did wish to support William, so he had deemed it a risk worth taking. Even still, he was grateful when he finally found himself on the inn’s bed. 

For once he happily used the title inherited from his father to get the best room. He considered as he lay in bed if perhaps it might not be a decent wedding present to William if he were to disclaim his title. William was the next in line for it, and it would fall to him should Victor do so. He would make a more attentive Baron at any rate, and it may help him in the financial sector to have a title, rather than simply be of noble lineage. He would have to ask. Though Victor was not by any means attentive to his title, there were responsibilities that came with it, not that he himself had upheld any of them. Even still, it would not do to force those onto William if he didn’t want them. Though Victor personally felt he would do a much better job of it all. 

He must have drifted off, as he woke to a deep pain in his leg, and found he had somehow managed to fold it under himself as he slept and the hip wasn’t sitting quite right. He had noticed that the joints in his new leg were much less stable than the one he had been born with. And this wasn’t the first time he had needed to relocate a stubborn joint. He was again grateful the nerves were less developed, and he wondered in hindsight if this was why his creature had struggled with fine motor control. The pain was a bit more than the usual dulled sensation though which confirmed Victors theory that he was slowly regenerating nerves in the donor tissue. 

It didn’t feel like a complete dislocation so he gently pulled the limb towards himself and rotated it until he felt it pop back into place. He shuddered at the strange sensation, and decided that perhaps he had slept enough for the night. It was early, but not so early that the inn staff would not be awake, so Victor rang for an attendant to ready his coach and once again he was on his way. 

***

“Victor! You’re here! Do you need help with- oh!” William greeted him with such enthusiasm that Victor couldn’t help but smile as he exited his coach. He carefully adjusted his coat, to better hide his cheek, though he had taken pains to apply cosmetics to the area that morning. 

“William!” He said warmly opening his arms to embrace his brother. William pulled back first, giving Victor a long look, and he shifted self consciously. Reassuring himself that there was no way his brother could see through his shirt to the mottled tissue beneath. 

“You must be tired, let me take your bags and one of the servants can run you a bath.”

Victor felt some of the tension leave his body at the thought. 

“That sounds perfect, thank you,” he agreed, and tried to ignore the way he could feel William watching him as they entered the manor. 

*** 

The heat of the bath was incredible. He felt as though it entered into him through each of his new scars and settled into his new bones. Though it was odd to look so directly at the difference between the halves of himself, he had been avoiding a true bath to allow everything time to heal. If he closed one eye as he looked at himself he could almost pretend he was still normal. But if he closed the other eye… it was as though gazing at his creature – though in many ways messier. The leg itself was neat, but the sections of hip, stomach and chest where he fought against necrosis were far more haphazardly pieced together. It almost put him in mind of a fish scale sort of pattern. He pulled curiously at one of the seams and was pleased to find it held; but he decided it was best to keep the bath short- he didn’t relish the idea of seeing the way the different skin textured wrinkled with longer water exposure. 

There was a basin of hot water ready for him to give himself a quick shave after the bath. Victor took a moment to put on a pair of trousers and a robe to hide the most obvious scarring and began to lather up his face. He had to be extremely careful shaving around the facial scars, but he managed it well enough. It was when he went to close the razor that he ran into trouble. Despite having done so hundreds of times, for some reason this time the blade stuck, and when he increased the pressure to close it, the fingers of his left hand slipped and he ended up driving the blade directly into them. 

Victor swore loudly as he yanked his hand from the blade on instinct, inadvertently deepening the cuts as he pulled his fingers along the blade. He quickly tossed the razor to the side and looked around for a towel to staunch the blood. He noticed not long after the wound had been covered that it really didn’t seem to hurt like it should have. Cautiously, he pulled the towel back to inspect the damage, only to be met with unblemished skin. 

Had he not been staring at the bloody towel,  he would have doubted he had even cut himself at all. His eyes fell back on the razor, then back to his hand. Slowly, like he wasn’t the one in control of his own movements, he set down the towel and grabbed the razor, flipping it open with a flick of his wrist. Then he covered the blade with his hand, just as he had seen his creature do what felt like an eternity ago and squeezed. 

The pain was exquisite, and he cried out and dropped the razor without really meaning to. He stared at the gash in his palm in stupefied wonder, trying to reason what could have made him do such a stupid thing, but as he watched the skin began to knit itself back together. He shuddered violently at the sensation so much like maggots, but couldn’t tear his eyes away from the fantastical sight. Somehow, he was healing just as his creature had- he needed to test this immediately. 

Did different parts heal differently? What if he cut a toe off, would it grow back now? His mind churned with questions and he answered the first by slicing open his wrist, and watching for any differences in healing, he was so caught up with his new discovery that he failed to hear the knock on the door.   

“Victor?” His head snapped up at the sound of his brothers voice, he froze. He wasn’t sure what to cover up first, his chest? The blood? The feet clearly visible at the end of his trousers where there should have been only one? 

“Ah.” He ended up saying. It seemed that he was going to have to give explanations before the wedding after all.