Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Before things turned sour, Francesca had Dan make a promise to jump ship if he felt things were becoming irredeemable. After seeing Herbert’s closet full of rejects, it’s suffice to say he could no longer stand by him.

When he was interrogated, Dan offered all the information he could. He explained the properties of Herbert’s reagent, how long they’d been conducting their experiments, Herbert’s history, the fact that their experiments had become violent to the point of murder. Arkham PD initially thought Dan was schizophrenic.

The Judge was originally unsure what charges they would even be attempting to convict Herbert of due to their unique circumstances, and ultimately the only charges that could stick were the murder of Carl Hill, unethical experimentation, and corpse desecration. Herbert was sentenced to life in prison with no possibility for parole.

During his trial, Herbert never looked at Dan, even while he was testifying against him. Dan had half hoped Herbert would even accidentally make eye contact, just so he could feel some semblance of closure. They never formally said goodbye, after they were separated in the chaos, Dan didn’t see Herbert until they were in court. He didn’t look to be present throughout, he sat in silence, spaced out, only shifting every once in a while. Seeing Herbert reduced to this pathetic display made Dan momentarily regret turning him in in the first place.

In order to receive a lesser sentence, 6 years probation, Dan was advised to play up his role as the incompetent accomplice. He had to depict himself as nothing more than a victim and Herbert as a narcissistic manipulator who was willing to do whatever necessary to get what he wanted, which was only half true.

Daniel and Francesca moved out of Massachusetts and into Rhode Island at the earliest chance possible, they’d made attempts to settle down and experience normalcy. Dan, naturally, had his medical license revoked but had taken up becoming a professor at a local university.

Years passed and Dan was making progress in cutting Herbert out of his daily thought processes. Sometimes he still thought about him, but only in passing. He and Fran had a daughter, a dog, a stable income, lived in a white picket suburb. It was everything he figured he wanted in life but for some reason he did not feel as fulfilled as he thought he should.

One evening. he’d seen a commercial for a documentary being produced straight to DVD about “Dr. Herbert West: Necromancer.” Acting despite himself, he called the number on the screen and ordered a copy. He didn’t think about it until after it was already done, but Francesca would not want this in their house, she would make him throw it out if she ever saw it.

~~

When it arrived, Dan hid it in a box of pancake mix and waited until he was home alone until he could watch it. It was horrible, it mischaracterized Dan and Herbert to such extremes that they came off more as archetypes than people. So horrible in fact, for some reason Dan felt compelled to write to Herbert and tell him about it. After he finished that thought he realized how stupid it was, to throw away years of therapy and progress over a shitty hyper-sensationalized documentary. He threw away the DVD.

The thought gnawed at him, though. Over dinner, laying in bed at night, at work, in the car, he realized at any point he could send a letter to Herbert. He held off for a few weeks, hoping the feeling would pass, but it didn’t. He wanted to tell Herbert everything, about his family, his career, his life after leaving him. He wanted to tell Herbert how much he hated him, how badly he wished he could go back to before they met and turn him away at the door. He wanted to tell him how much he missed him, he wanted to tell him that he yearns for their passive interactions, their constant hipside attachment, their sleep deprived conversations.

He and Herbert were never an item, they were just close friends. Sure, they lived, worked, slept, and ate together, people may have even confused them for romantic partners, but they were just roommates. Sure, Herbert knew Dan more intimately than Francesca did, but they had just met at different times; it wasn't a testament to the validity of their bond.

For a few weeks he was able to keep himself from attempting to make contact, but eventually that dam broke. Dan’s daughter, then nine, had caught him smoking, a habit he’d promised Francesca he’d quit after her birth, not wanting to be a negative influence. It resulted in an argument that they’d been avoiding for years which became more fueled by emotions than logical reasoning as it continued. It was that evening that Dan had written his first letter to Herbert, updating him on the state of his life. He let the letter sit in his office for a while, sealed and stamped but with no return address listed yet. He debated for a while if he even wanted to hear back from Herbert, giving out his new address would put his entire household in jeopardy with Herbert’s unpredictable behavior. Dan had no way of being sure Herbert wasn’t still plotting to break out and murder him for his betrayal. He fervorously wrote the return address and dropped it in the mailbox.

Chapter Text

   Inmates marched over the web-like catwalks from the yard to the cafeteria for dinner. Herbert was carrying an alternative medicine textbook under his arm, he had been researching what obtainable methods he might have been overlooking with the rats. In the cafeteria, Herbert was served alone, and sat alone, and ate alone. He did his best to not draw unnecessary attention, reading let him look preoccupied enough to shake off anyone feeling particularly social while still benefiting him practically.

   “Mail!” Moncho yelled from the office window opposite from Herbert’s end of the cafeteria. Herbert barely acknowledged what he said, Herbert never got mail so there was no point in paying attention as he began calling out names alphabetically.

   He zoned back into his book before his serenity was broken with a, “West?”, he almost thought he imagined it until he heard another, more agitated, “ West?"

   The sound of his plastic utensils hitting the metal tray was an assault on Herbert's, nervous and heightened, senses. He stood wearily, he hadn’t received mail since the media frenzy immediately following his trial. He sped-walked toward the office window stiffly and took his envelope without a word. 

   Once seated, he examined the ivory envelope, sure enough, addressed to one Herbert West, Arkham State Penitentiary , listed as being from Daniel Cain, South Kingstown, RI . Herbert stared in disbelief at the ink for a few minutes. He came to the rationalization that it was likely a fan or a prankster trying to get into his pants or obtain bragging rights. He folded it and tucked it into his breast pocket, deciding to leave that as a problem for future Herbert.

   Back in his cell, he just tucked it onto a shelf and left it to collect dust for a while, thinking whoever wrote it would lose motivation from a lack of response and they’d both forget about it, but once the letters started coming they didn’t stop. They began coming in almost every day. 

   Moncho had begun teasing Herbert while distributing mail, “Another love letter from your boyfriend, West?” he’d say.

   After two weeks of consistent letters with a consistent address and handwriting, Herbert got annoyed enough to begin reading. He sat on the floor of his cell, opening every letter and laying them out in chronological order before he read from left to right. Each letter gave him tonal whiplash, from kissing his ass, to threats, to complaints about life in the suburbs, to pleas for forgiveness, to recaps of their day. Whoever was writing to him was at the very least familiarized with his case and the personal lives of those involved, but that doesn’t mean anything. Anyone could impersonate Daniel with enough dedication. Maybe the person writing to him just had some depraved need for Herbert to acknowledge them.

   He let the letters flow in for a couple months, curious how long it would last with no input from him. It began feeling almost like this person was writing a diary instead of addressing Herbert directly. He would read the letter, put it on his shelf, and wait for the next. Eventually, upon receiving tangible evidence that it actually was the real Daniel Cain, in the form of an up-to-date photo of him and his family, Herbert wrote back. It was funny to Herbert, seeing Dan looking so… old looking. Not ugly by any stretch of the imagination, just different than how he remembered him. He was wearing glasses in the photo, oval lenses with the only metal being for the arms and bridge, Herbert wondered if they were permanent installments. He thought about how different he might also look to Dan if he saw him. It’d been just over twelve years since they saw each other last, so it makes sense that they’d have aged and looked different. Herbert caught himself feeling a twinge of self consciousness before he quickly stamped it out.  

   He was unable to disguise his present disdain towards Dan. He called out his audacity to talk to Herbert like he’s some therapist after he got himself into his current situation, married and picture-perfect, while Herbert was forced to rot in prison for his foreseeable future. He poked at Dan, Wasn’t this exactly what you wanted? The nuclear family? You’ve begged for this bed, and now that you have it, I think it’s reasonable that you lay in it for a while. The entire time he felt like he was dancing precariously between directly making jabs at Dan’s character while still trying to keep him hooked. His anger did not outweigh his need for attention.

   Their back-and-forth continued for a few weeks and eventually they had returned to communicating as they previously had, close to amicable. Occasionally Dan would include a photograph to show family activities and events, on rare occasions Herbert would offer up a doodle or sketch depicting his own environment in return. Herbert had not forgiven Dan for turning him in, and likely never would, but he was the closest thing to a friend than anything he may ever have. Herbert had been itching to tell Dan about his experiments he’d been conducting with rats sans reagent, but he was positive someone was screening his letters before sending them out.

   After the frustration passed and realization set in, Herbert felt as if his stomach was flipping when reading letters from Dan. He imagined him hunched over a desk writing to him in secrecy, flinching over creaks in the hallway. It boosted his ego to have someone jeopardizing their peaceful life just to talk to him. He found particular pleasure in analyzing the occasional puddle of ink or scratched out sentence, he let his mind run wild and think about what contributed to them.

   They discussed the possibility of obtaining a phone call. It wouldn’t be easy for either side considering their circumstances, but both were stupid enough to agree to try. Dan sent Herbert his phone number in one of his following letters and gave him his typical household schedule. Dan could not call Herbert at a time that was convenient for him, so they both just had to hope whatever schedule the prison held for Herbert matched Dan’s own.

   I can always justify it as a work call if Fran were to come home early, I can say I needed to extend my office hours due to special circumstances, Dan had mentioned.

   Four days later Dan received the stark response of, I question your professionalism if you’re giving students your cell phone number.

   He wondered if Francesca would leave Dan if she knew they were in cahoots again, he wondered if he wanted that. If Herbert were to somehow get out of prison, he always figured he’d just move to the Midwest and lay low, but maybe Rhode Island was on the table as well.

Chapter Text

   The day Herbert’s letter arrived Dan left work late, narrowly beating Francesca home. He was flipping through the mail as he walked up the entryway but had to stop and re-read the return address a few times before realization settled in. He could feel his heartbeat in his fingertips and face, he felt like he was going to throw up. 

   He fumbled with his keys to unlock the front door, dropped the stack of miscellaneous envelopes in the foyer, and sprinted up the stairs to his office, taking two steps at a time. He didn’t even register the golden retriever eager to greet him at the door.

   It had been so long with no response, Dan began to think he may never get one. His hands were trembling while attempting to use his letter opener, and despite his best efforts the contents were quickly tainted by wrinkles and sweat. He adjusted his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and began scanning.


       Hello Daniel,

   I did not think I’d hear from you. 

   I’m impressed to see you’re still with Francesca, with a child no less. The latter does not surprise me. I warned you that she was not the one, but wasn’t this exactly what you wanted? The nuclear family? You’ve begged for this bed, and now that you have it, I think it’s reasonable that you lay in it too. Or was it that she was simply the only option you had? the only person on this planet who has seen what we have seen and the only person you could relate to? Does she know you’re writing to me? Have you thought about how she would respond to seeing a letter from me in the mailbox? Maybe you don’t care, maybe you’re willing to throw away a decade of marriage over the mere possibility of hearing from me. The lack of foresight is almost appalling.

   Are you fulfilled as an educator? I can imagine how difficult it must be training future healthcare professionals after having given up that career path. Do they know about our history?

   To answer a few of your questions; No, the food is not good. No, I do not have friends. Yes, they have given me access to reading material. No, we do not have decent water pressure. Yes, I have thought of you. No, I have not instigated any physical altercations. No, we wear blue, not orange.

   If you are going to contact me and expect me to reciprocate, which I assume you do with the inclusion of your address, I need to know you won’t decide to leave me once commitment becomes inconvenient. I’m not sure what your goal of writing to me is, but I hope this isn’t some self-serving step in your therapy.

  I appreciate your reaching out, it’s been a while since I’ve spoken to anyone even remotely worth speaking to. I wonder if we would be able to call.

                                                                      - H. West

   Dan heard footsteps on the porch steps, he folded the paper and stuffed it haphazardly into his desk drawer. He checked himself in the hallway mirror before walking towards the entryway, smoothing his hair, his sweater, wiping the sweat from his brow. Francesca was entering the front door as he reached the staircase landing.

   “Daniel, Alessandra, dinner!” She called out, not yet noticing Dan. She was still dressed in her scrubs and holding a pizza box precariously on one hand, her purse in the other.

   “She’s not home yet, Emily’s mom won’t be by until eight.”

   “Oh my gosh, I totally forgot. More for us, I guess.” She laughed while walking towards the kitchen, Dan not far behind.

   Francesca’s Italian accent had faded slightly, blending with her surroundings. It was still identifiable, just a bit more vague. Dan found it endearing, a testament to their time together, he’d thought.

   “So, how was work, Honey?” Francesca greeted Dan in the kitchen. She placed a hand on his bicep and left a glossed kiss on his cheek.

   The pizza box sat open on the kitchen counter, a stack of paper plates adjacent. Every friday they had a lazy dinner night, no dishes, no cooking. Whenever they would get pizza, it was only ever plain cheese because it was the only kind Alessandra would eat.

   “It was okay, the usual, I guess.” He was so distracted he couldn’t even begin to summarize his work day. “How were things at the hospital?”

   “It was a good day! You know the patient I told you about on Thursday? She had a…” Dan began to zone out, as much as he wanted to hear what Francesca had to say, he also felt like the mundanity of recapping their days at work was pointless right now. All he wanted to do was write back to Herbert, he wondered what the delay in the mail was. He thought about what Herbert said, Francesca would freak out if she saw they were speaking again, she might take their daughter and leave. If Herbert ever got out? If he ever came to their home? He ate quickly and passively nodded along with Francesca’s monologue, trying to get back upstairs as quickly as possible. 

   Francesca grabbed his hand, bringing him back to the present, “Hey, if there's something wrong we should talk about it, we shouldn't let things fester. You've been so on edge recently, is something going on at work?"

   He rubbed his open palms to his face, "Fran... don't you ever want to just get up and go somewhere new? Or do something new? I don't not like the lives we've built, but don't you ever feel like we could be doing more?" 

   "I understand where you're coming from, but we have to be realistic, too. Sure, yes, I would love to go travel on a whim, or go skydiving or discover a new species, but we have responsibilities. We're not young anymore, we have a family, we have bills to pay and mouths to feed."

   "In Peru though--"

   "Is this about him?" Francesca stood up and began clearing the table.

   "What are you talking about?"

   "You're listing things you would do with him, not me. I really thought we worked past this, should we get back into contact with Dr Briggs?"

   He turned to face her at the counter in his chair, "God, I'm not regressing. This isn't about Herb--"

   "Stop," She threw her hand up, "Don't even say that name in this house."

   "This isn't about him, I just don't feel fully fulfilled anymore. I feel like I'm not doing anything."

   "Maybe you need a new hobby, but I don't think returning to impulsivity will do you any good. We are stable and we are content, that's what matters. Impulsivity and whims aren't sustainable." She pulled him into a brief kiss, "Don't do anything you'll regret, okay?"

   "You're right, sorry, I won't. I'm probably going to go start winding down, I've had a pretty bad headache most of the day." He pinched the bridge of his nose, for added effect.

   “Alright… Well, I’ll be up later. If you start to feel better later, you can always come back down, too. I’m sure Aless and I will be up late tonight.” She’d moved in to hug him goodnight, but Dan just squeezed her hand and walked out of the kitchen.

   He tried to keep a slow pace to add to the tired appearance he was going for, but once out of sight he sped it up. He sat back down at his desk, scribbling rushed words and numbers onto a piece of lined paper. Having his frustration directed somewhere else in the present moment, he was able to push past the harsh words that Herbert wrote to him. It was justified, Dan reasoned, Herbert had a right to be angry with him after he’d testified against him. 

                                                                                                                   ~~

   Francesca did end up setting Dan up with his former psychiatrist, Dr Briggs, for a few sessions just to check-in. Thanks to patient-client confidentiality, he opened up about speaking to Herbert behind Francesca's back. Dr Briggs asked Dan if they were engaging in an affair, which he adamantly denied. Dr Briggs knew that Dan and Herbert had at one point been sexually and even romantically involved, but he also knew that Dan wasn't gay, or even interested in men halfway, Herbert was the only man he had ever, and likely will ever have, been with. Without the same set of circumstances they'd experienced before, it was unlikely that he'd ever feel the same way about him again. He could never be loved in the same carnal, now-or-never way that Herbert loved him, but Francesca was safe and consistent.

   "Did you and Herbert start sleeping together before or after Megan died?" Dr Briggs asked.

   Dan looked at him like he'd just shot his dog in front of him, "After," he scoffed, "obviously."

   "Do you think you confused a combination grief and companionship for love?"

   Resuming therapy was pointless, Dan could stop speaking to Herbert whenever he wanted. He didn't need an outsider to tell him the intricacies of his own relationships. Their communication was so distant from real-life interactions and Dan felt a sense of power and safety in this. Herbert couldn't bribe him, or touch him, or try to visit him while they were in a period of avoidance. Dan could just stop writing whenever he wanted and that would be it.
                                                                                                                     ~~


   One March afternoon, a few weeks after their regular back-and-forth started, Dan was setting his keyring on the foyer table when his phone began ringing. He’d stopped assuming every call was from Herbert, so he didn’t check his phone with urgency anymore. He casually reached into his back pocket, on the display was a phone number he didn’t recognize beginning in “617”, the call was coming from Massachusetts. He immediately jumped to the conclusion that it was him. Without pausing to think, he quickly clicked the talk button, pressed the phone to his ear, and rushed towards his office. The voice that came through was robotic and feminine.

   This is a prepaid call from “Herbert West” , an incarcerated individual at Arkham State Penitentiary. This call will be recorded and may be monitored. If you believe this call should be private please hang up and follow facility instructions to register this number as a private number. To accept this call press one, to refuse this call press two.

   The sound bite of Herbert stating his name own caught Dan off guard, he sounded less nasally than he’d remembered, deeper, more raspy. Maybe he was putting it on for the sake of safety against other inmates. 

   He stared at the keypad on his cell phone for a moment, finger hovering above one. He slowly pressed the button and released it even slower.

   You may start the conversation now.

   Background prison ambiance cut in, but besides that there was silence on the other line. It was quiet like that for what felt like minutes but realistically couldn’t have been longer than 30 or so seconds.

   Although reluctant, Herbert spoke first, “Hello, Daniel.”

   Dan felt on the verge of vomiting again, he wasn’t sure if he was terrified or excited, he struggled out a “Hi”, but it could’ve also come across as just a particularly audible breath.

   Herbert continued, “I think now that we’ve confirmed that we are allowed to communicate through the phone we should stick with it. There is a faster turnaround rate with less room for miscommunication. Unless you object, I can follow the schedule you’ve provided and call every other day or so.”

   “Uhm, yeah, that’s fine I think.” Dan paused for a moment, he could’ve sworn he heard a sharp exhale on the other line, “If I ever don’t pick up, just assume it’s not a good time. What should I even save the number as?” Mostly a rhetorical question.

   “Herbert.”

   “You know I can’t do that”

   “Why not?”

   “You know why, Herbert!” He caught himself raising his voice and quickly dropped back to a whisper even though he was home alone, “What are we doing here, anyways?”

   “You reached out to me, that’s your prerogative” Herbert began snipping at him, Dan had to reel him back.

   “I just… I don’t know, Herb. I felt like I was getting cabin fever, everyday is the same, I--”

   Herbert scoffed, “You feel like you’re getting cabin fever? You think everyday is the same? Consider the audience Daniel! These are pathetic excuses, I’m hanging up, don’t wri--”

   “I missed you,” Dan interjected.

   Silence.

   “I just wanted to be able to talk to you again”

   “Marriage must be on the rocks if you’re seeking comfort from the man you put behind bars.”

   “Sometimes I wish I didn’t.”

   There was another long pause filled only by the noises of Herbert’s surroundings.

   “I have to go, you need to mull that over for a while and seriously decide if you do or don’t.” Silence fell between them before Herbert spoke again, spitting it out quickly, “I’ll call on Wednesday. If you want to continue communication with me, answer, if you want to stop here, decline and don’t reach out again.” Then the call dropped.