Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Why did you ask her to meet you?” Owen’s hoarse voice rang around the silent night. The withering trees, nearly hibernated fully for the winter, echoed his refrain. Why, why, why?

The crisp air burned Avid’s lungs. The darkness left much to the imagination, shadows wandering the forest seeking flesh. Vampires in the trees, ready for murder. A vulture circling overhead, ready to gouge his eyes out. Avid’s thumb fingered the edge of one of his many silver daggers, digging into the skin but not slicing. Not yet. 

Owen’s voice came from everywhere and nowhere, emanating from every piece of foliage on the island and ‘round the tower. The beacon didn’t provide nearly enough light, scarlet rays bathing Avid in hues of his imminent death. His nervous sweat shone on his wrists. His silver buckles on his many belts and straps holding holy water, multiple spare stakes, and four silver knives glinted bloody. The vampire hunter’s weapons should have scared Owen; they didn’t. Rather, the lumberjack was intrigued. He didn’t need the knowledge, he wanted it. Ever since the death of his lover, he had wanted for little but to see him again. Yet, knowledge was one of the few things he cared for. He wanted to know. He wanted to understand people, in a way he never had the chance to in his mortal life, always excluded from others. 

The boils on his hands itched beneath the bandages. As he crouched in the shadows atop the tower, Owen’s bones shifted uncomfortably in their sockets from years of sickness-induced malformation. He breathed in and then out, an unnecessary breath whose only purpose was to alert Avid to his presence before he leapt from the town to the ground of the island, inches from the vampire hunter’s face. 

“I asked you a question, hunter. Won’t you answer it for me?” Owen bared his uneven teeth in mimicry of a smile. He didn’t flinch when Avid drew his silver knife, though the aura of the metal screamed at Owen’s nerves. The sharp point threatened to rip the woven wool vest that once belonged to Lewis, making Owen even angrier than before. The brevity in Owen’s words belied the seething, feral emotions toiling in the pit of his ever-empty stomach. How he wanted to rip the so-called vampire hunter to shreds, here and now, with no thought as to how either town or coven would react.

Avid, despite being the one to have the other at knifepoint, sweated profusely. The scent of fear cloaked him like a homing beacon to the vampire, and he was a mouse cornered by the cat. 

Finally, Avid managed to squeak out a response. “W- Where is she? She should be here by now, and, uh, how did you know I talked to her… this was supposed to be a secret!” He was afraid, so very afraid, and Owen knew it. Owen, who had bragged about how many he had killed. Owen, the least likely vampire to spare him his fate. Scott would enjoy teasing Avid just for fun, Pyro and Shelby might still be his friends, everyone else– well, everyone else wouldn’t be hunting humans in the middle of the night. Hopefully. Owen was categorically the worst person who could’ve shown up. 

“She’s not coming. She doesn’t want to see you, not after the way you hounded on vampires from the very beginning, after you made it seem like she could come back to town only if she was human again. Shelby is very happy in the castle, and doesn’t need you for company.” The lies came easy from Owen’s tongue. Avid didn’t need to know Owen deliberately kept his invitation from reaching her. Avid didn’t need to know Shelby probably would have shown up to defend him, should she have known. Avid was gullible, more so than all other villagers on Oakhurst combined, and for a town of dumb humans that was saying a lot. 

“I didn’t– I didn’t mean it like that! No, no, Shelby likes me. We’re friends…” Taking advantage of Avid’s moment of weakness, Owen twisted and ducked under where Avid was still holding his dagger to his chest. With all the dexterity of a fox, Owen snatched the dagger Avid held, twirling it between his fingers like a toy. If Owen had nothing else– nothing but an empty hole for a heart, empty lungs for his breath, and empty promises with the other vampires– he had flair. He could be dramatically intimidating, if he wanted to, and want to he did. 

“Really, Avid? Are you dumb enough to believe she likes you? Cares about you even? She’d be happy if I brought her your head. Rather, perhaps she’d like it better if I brought you alive, so she could drink you dry. She’s taken a liking to human blood recently, I hear.” Another out-and-out lie. Shelby, infuriatingly, had been insistent on eating only animals. Humorous, to even make the distinction. Humans who refused the gift were merely animals themselves, if they could not see the benefits. They were stupid, idiotic, hateful. They killed him. They hated me. They still do. 

Avid was quiet again, eyeing where the blade danced between Owen’s fingers. “Cat got your tongue, hunter? Come now, won’t you tell me why you wanted to meet with her? At least I was gracious enough to accept the invite.”

“I didn’t invite you.”

“Well, that’s a shame. Guess you won’t be getting any messages to the coven, then, if you won’t talk to me.” Owen mocked. Holding Avid’s silver blade by its wooden handle, he threw it across the water ringing the island they stood on and into the forest beyond. As Avid’s face fell, he relished in the sight.

“Fine.” 

“Fine, what? Use your words, now, kid.” He enjoyed seeing Avid seethe, and calling him young was a surefire way to do so. After all, the boy was even younger than Owen was when he was turned, all those years ago. Owen had been twenty-five when he received the gift; by his own admission, Avid was no more than twenty-one. Such a child, to think you know how the world works. So young, to have grand ideas of slaying everyone you see as the enemy. So young, to be saying these words. 

“I’m sick, Owen. I– I invited Shelby here because I was going to ask her to turn me. I know it… it sounds crazy to hear from me. When I was small, a creature attacked my and my friend in the woods. It scratched me– really bad. It’s never healed, and now– it’s getting worse. I am afraid. I, uh, don’t often admit that. I’m fucking terrified. I was going to ask Shelby to turn me so I could be healed. I’m afraid my mind is running away from me, too.”

Owen stood in stunned silence as Avid rambled on. “I keep blacking out for hours, I wake nowhere near where I last remember, I feel dizzy all the time, I just– I need help. Listen, I– I thought the thing that scratched me all those years ago was a vampire, but I was wrong. That’s why I was so angry, I thought… I don’t know what I thought, but I was wrong. You guys are in control of yourselves, and I want that. I don’t want to die.”

Owen just stared. Stared at this boy, who was so young to think like this. So right, to seek the gift for its true purpose. Too many of Scott’s recent fledgelings refused to think of this as something good, which is why Owen had never sired anyone. He did not want an ungrateful childe. But Avid– he was afraid. Of Owen, yes, but also of himself. Of his illness. 

Owen looked into Avid’s violet eyes, noticing the tears pooling at their edges. For the first time in many, many years, Owen was speechless. He blinked, and in front of him was himself, the way he last remembered looking before the gift took his reflection from him. He was shorter, then, but still tall, not yet having fully matured. Owen hardly looked at his reflection when he was alive, due to his hatred of his own appearance, yet staring into his own eyes made him pause. The version of him he saw in Avid was afraid. His boils and blisters, hastily covered in linen bandages, had not yet scarred over. His hair, long and unruly, hid his dark eyes. He blinked again, and Avid was standing there instead. Shorter hair, slightly lighter of a brown. Purple eyes, not dark as pitch. Smooth, unbroken skin, at least where Owen could see it. Then, not for the first time, his eyes landed on the bandages on Avid’s neck; the ones Owen had always assumed offered a scant bit of protection from a vampire’s fangs. That must be where he’s hiding his injury. 

“Show me.” It was a command, and one Avid could not ignore. His voice struggled to continue being laced with venom, and he hoped Avid didn’t notice him softening. 

Avid feared for his life, in this moment. Owen’s expression was unreadable, as usual. Had he hit a nerve? Said something wrong? Yet, as he timidly unwrapped his  neck to show the vampire his wound, an aura of compassion filled the space between them. Owen took four steps toward Avid, one more than was probably necessary to get a look at his neck. He crowded into Avid’s  personal space, a move clearly meant to intimidate. Avid stood still as stone, holding his breath as the vampire examined his neck. At any moment, Owen could kill him. He wouldn’t turn him, Owen hadn’t turned anyone yet as far as Avid knew. Any moment, he would awaken to find himself with another lifelong injury, another limp to add to his menagerie of issues. Any moment now, the vampire would sink his claws into Avid’s jugular, tear out his throat, and leave him for dead, for his body to be washed away by the tide. 

“Avid?” Owen’s breath ghosted over where he leaned to look at his neck. Avid was going to die. He was going to die, and he was never going to go home. He would never get to prove vampires were real. He would never be free of his illness. He would never get to find a cure, for vampires or for himself. The next words that came out of Owen’s mouth made Avid do a double take. 

“I would give you the gift, if you would like. You could be free of this.” Avid’s heart nearly stopped then and there. Owen, the most evil of all the vampires, was offering to turn him. Consentually. Maybe, in some crazy circumstance, Avid could imagine Owen forcibly turning him, for a laugh or to torture him, or maybe even just as a show of power, despite Owen never having turned anyone else. Owen was violent, deranged. He was insanely creepy, the most effective at spooking the townsfolk. Avid had never understood Owen. Why now did he want to turn him? 

“W- Wh… Why… You would do that for me? After all I’ve done is be awful to you and Scott?” Owen turned Avid’s words over in his mind. Yes, Avid was annoying as all get out. Yes, Avid was the one person Scott had specifically said not to turn. Yes, Owen hated Avid. Yet. 

Avid was like him. Never in his centuries of life had Owen related to anyone, really. He was always alone, until Lewis. Then, he had gone back to being alone far too soon. Avid was here. He saw a younger him standing here, being offered a chance for a cure no amount of sadistic doctors and their pet leeches could ever give him. He saw Avid, and knew he had to offer. Perhaps Avid had changed his mind, perhaps he only wanted it if Shelby would turn him. However, Owen had to help this poor boy who reminded him of himself before he had been broken beyond repair. Before he had lost the one person who had ever cared for him. Before he had murdered thousands of humans to seek peace that never came. 

Owen tsked. “I have no time for emotional revelations, my dear hunter. Do you want the gift or not? This is your last chance. If you refuse, I will tell the rest of the coven to never turn you, and you will sit in your hatred and fear forever, with no cure.” Avid didn’t need to know the rest of the coven wouldn’t necessarily listen to him. He didn’t need to know Scott had already forbidden his fledgelings from turning Avid, on the basis that Avid had been an annoying asshole to Scott for weeks. But it didn’t matter; for Owen was not Scott’s childe, nor would Avid. Owen served no sire. Scott could go kick rocks if he disagreed. 

Avid flinched at the threat. “Yes. Turn me. I have no other option, Owen, please. I don’t want to die.”

“Good!” Owen’s voice dripped with false kindness. As much as he was doing a good thing for Avid, the thought wouldn’t leave Avid’s mind that Owen would only turn him if it would somehow benefit himself. Still, he had no other choice.

“Get ready, this is going to hurt.” Owen bared his teeth at Avid, before he bit down on the side of his neck without the infected scratch. It did hurt; Owen wasn’t lying. It was like ice in his throat, splitting his nerves apart with measured precision. His airway closed up, and he almost blacked out. His brain swelled against his skull as the blood rushed there, as the rest of his body was drained. Toxic venom, as welcome to Avid as holy water once was, pumped from Owen’s saliva into Avid’s system. He felt the strange sensation of blood being sucked from his vital artery. Owen hungrily lapped at his throat, growling like a wolf come to kill the sheep. 

Yet, he was his savior. Owen reveled in the fact that he was doing a good deed, for once in his life. Avid had practically begged for the gift; it showed how far above the humans he already was. He would be a good fledgeling; Owen’s first. It felt right, that this pitiful excuse for a vampire hunter would be his first childe. Scott had many childer, yet Owen was alone before today. Alone, but for the memory of Lewis. Owen knew he was also Lewis’s first (and only) childe; thus the cycle repeats. Sire to fledgeling; savior to sick. Death and life, entwined like the strings of fate that bind everyone in Oakhurst to this small patch of woods. Owen was doing a good deed; perhaps his first, and possibly his only. Saving someone from their illness by way of giving them the gift; it was what Lewis would’ve wanted him to do with it. For one fleeting, senseless moment, Owen felt remorse for all he had done, for all the lives he had taken, when he could have saved them. Yet revenge burned deep into his bones. 

As he picked up the limp, sleeping form of the newest childe of the coven, and prepared to carry him to the palace, Owen felt the ghost of his lover looking on, proud.

Chapter Text

When Owen arrived on the stoop of the grand palace, Avid cradled in his arms, the rest of the coven was there to greet them. Clearly, they had smelled the new blood on the air, and were waiting for evidence to tell them who had been turned. It must have been quite the shock, Owen knew, to see Avid of all people being brought back with him. Not that Owen cared; as much as Scott pretended he was in charge, both vampires knew Scott had no power over him. If Owen wanted to turn Avid, despite Scott’s instructions, there was nothing he could do. 

Owen said nothing to Scott, Pyro, or Shelby. He simply skirted around them, sent Scott a death glare, and pushed open the grand oak doors to the palace with his shoulder. If he were still human, Owen may have been exhausted from hauling Avid’s dead weight all the way from the ruined tower, yet his vampiric strength allowed him to carry him down the long, spiraling stairs and into the crypt. Owen became detached, not even thinking as he laid Avid down upon his owen bed, fluffing pillows and arranging blankets to cradle the childe during his slumber. Owen knew most vampires took less than twelve hours before they awoke, yet his own slumber had lasted three days; perhaps it was to do with his illness. Thus, it stood to reason Avid would need longer as well. Owen assured himself these were logical reasons he should be giving Avid such a soft place to sleep. Anyone would do this for their childe! Owen was not nesting. He wasn’t. He was simply giving Avid a nice place to sleep, since he’d likely be out for a few days. 

The former vampire hunter unconsciously pulled the blankets further around himself, bundling deeper into the not a nest. Owen didn’t even know what he was doing as he knelt by the bed, stroked the childe’s hair, then pressed a small kiss to Avid’s forehead. 

“Someone’s nesting, I see.” The cold, sarcastic voice of the Grand Sire– however much Owen hated calling him that– broke the comfortable silence, and made Owen’s stolen blood boil. He turned to see Scott, perfectly composed, standing at the door to Owen’s room. Owen hated how since this was technically Scott’s castle, he could enter any room uninvited.

“Fuck off, Scott.” The words dripped like the venom pumping through Avid’s veins. Owen’s lip curled, and he crouched defensively in front of the sleeping childe. There was no doubt Scott noticed his tense form, and Owen hated how he saw Scott as a threat, even while knowing he couldn't hurt another vampire for the life of him. Scott was never good, especially to the humans, yet he treated each and every vampire around him like they were his own; caring for and teaching them even when help was not asked for. Owen seethed as he recalled his own first few days awake, Scott constantly attempting to act as Owen’s own sire. He remembered soft hands holding his, pride in Scott’s words when Owen drank Pyro’s blood before he was turned. No doubt Scott would attempt to impose himself on Avid as well.

Scott continued to mock the younger vampire, and Owen hated how he wanted to hang on every word. “So protective, are we? No, I will not ‘fuck off’. This is my palace, my coven, and I will know why and how the foremost vampire hater ended up in my brood.” 

“He is not in your brood.” Owen barely managed to get the words past his cracked lips. “He is mine. It’s none of your business.”

Clearly, Scott was growing bored with the back and forth. “Owen. You are mine, however much you deny it. You live in my palace; you survive on food I provide for us. You will tell me of the circumstances of Avid’s turning after he wakes up, or neither of you will be welcome here any longer.” With that, the elder vanished into thin air. Owen knew Scott could be in the shadows, still listening, but he didn't care anymore. Scott was not his sire. Owen did not belong to him. Not yours, not yours, not yours, Goldsmith. I am my own vampire. I follow no sire. My sire is dead. My sire is dead, and Scott Goldsmith will never replace him. Owen began to breathe quickly, as his human reflexes returned in states of stress. 

I do not belong to you, Scott. Owen could feel the breath in his dead lungs.

I belong to Louis. Flashes of fire, smoke. The feeling of smoke in Owen’s lungs when he awoke from his turning slumber. The way he stopped breathing while murdering the humans. The way he didn't breathe for two centuries, locked underground in a tomb of his own making. I belong to the grave.

Keeping himself in the twilight sleep he’d practiced during his two century nap, Owen curled up in his bed beside his fledgeling. His breathing stopped, willing himself to calm. He knew breathing too much might raise his blood oxygenation levels too high– he’d read that in one of the books in the crypt’s library, a vampiric medical codex Owen didn't want to admit fueled most of his knowledge of his own kind. It wasn't like Louis was around to tell me.

That will not happen to Avid. It cannot happen to Avid. He will have the cure to his illness, but he will know the peace of vampirism without the pain. 

Avid will not know the pain I did, however much he deserves it.

Avid dreamt. In his sire’s arms, Avid dreamt of fields of wildflowers. Avid dreamt of blood on his own hands, blood in his mouth. He dreamt of his eternal life, free of pain from his infected wound. 

Avid dreamt of Elle. He dreamt of her laugh, when he’d accidentally drop a pinch of blaze powder into the vials on the wrong side of the table, and it’d mix with the coal and combust. He dreamt of how his failures were once mistakes to laugh at, not life-and-death misjudgements. Avid remembered fire in his veins, smoke in his lungs. He remembered the first time he felt love. Not romantic love; the love of a family. It was Elle who had given him that, when she hugged him and promised to always come back to their lab, no matter what. 

Avid dreamt of the promises of another, who would swear to protect him. In his sleep, his memories melded with Owen’s through their new bond; they both held memories of these things. Owen remembered an embrace, a promise to come back to him after his slumber. A promise to protect him from the town, from their hatred. Owen remembered the fire in the town square, when he realized he would never have that. Avid remembered the stake, bloody in his hands, when he realized he could never have that. 

Avid remembered the feeling of holding a piece of wood in his hands, using a silver knife to whittle it into a stake. Owen remembered the axe slung over his back, the expensive silver blade the only nice thing he owned, only justified by the profits that could be made with the extra wood he could chop. He remembered the way the trunks of the trees splintered beneath his hands. He remembered the way the body of his partner splintered beneath his hands. 

He remembered love. He remembered family. He remembered the illness that consumed his life. He remembered the companion who helped to take it away. He remembered the fangs sinking into his neck. He remembered the power in his undeath. 

He remembered the taste of fire and life.

He remembered the smell of smoke and death.

When he awoke, he felt the warmth of the pyre, despite who was set ablaze. He felt the warmth of his sire, despite the vampirism seeping the body heat from him.

Avid opened his eyes to find himself cradled in Owen’s lap, and he nearly screamed. He remembered hating this man– no, this creature– mere days ago. The burning in his soul ran deep; Avid could not forget the threats, the stalking, the fact that Owen admitted to killing thousands of people– that he’d been proud of it.

Yet, he couldn't bring himself to be afraid. Something in his heart he could not comprehend told him he was safe. He was loved. He knew he was loved by the creature who razed the town centuries ago. He knew he was safe, here in his arms. Avid couldn't make himself scream, despite the burning in his throat. He couldn't let himself be angry, when this monster was what he was now. They were the same; Avid had asked to be like this. 

Avid had asked to be hungry, as he was now. It rattled his bones and weakened his muscles, the hunger ate him from the inside out and he could not suppress the pitiful whine that harmonized with the rumbling noise from his gut. 

Owen woke to a cry for help; a plea for food, for blood. Somehow, his body knew he was needed. His twilight sleep broke easily, and he noticed his childe burrowing his head into Owen’s shoulder. Owen wanted to be disgusted by this affection, yet he couldn't bring himself to. He knew he needed to care for this baby bat, and he knew how. He carded his fingers through the vampire hunter’s hair, and offered his other wrist to him. He unwrapped the linen bandages from his wrist, hoping the childe wasn’t conscious enough to see the scars beneath. His rational mind screamed at him– this was his blood, earned fair and square through the slaughter of animals living in the courtyard. No one should be entitled to his vitae, especially not this rat. He regretted for one fleeting moment turning the young man, yet his caring side squashed that insecurity as soon as it was able. The young hunter took the wrist offered to him, and bit down.

There was almost no pain, yet a strange sensation flowed through him as he felt his blood being lapped up hungrily from his wrist. Never before had Owen been siphoned from, and he had hoped it would stay that way. Owen had never wanted anyone else to get close to him, to break through the layers of stone and wood that had grown around his bitter heart, yet Avid had managed to break his way in with his sob story. Stupid, stupid. I shouldn't have been enthralled by his reminder of myself.

After Avid was done feeding, Owen re-wrapped his arm, decidedly not paying attention to the second bite mark he’d ever allowed to mar his skin. It would eventually be hardly noticeable amidst the other scarring, yet now it was rimmed with redness and angry flesh. 

“O-Owen?” The pitiful voice belonged to Avid, who was attempting to push himself out of bed. If Owen’s internal clock was right (and it was rarely wrong), Avid had been abed for four days– an impressive length, even surpassing Owen’s own three days. His illness must have been even worse than as described, if it’d taken the gift four entire days to cleanse him. 

In response to Avid’s voice, Owen made a noncommittal noise of acknowledgment. “How long as I out? I mean, it felt like a while, but I don't really know, ‘cause there’s no sunlight here–”

“Four days.” Owen stopped his rambling where it stood. 

Avid fully sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “And… how long were you here with me? Have you… have you been here the whole time, just for me?” Avid’s eyes were wide; he clearly didn't think he was worthy of such care. He was right.

“... Yes.” Despite how undeserving Avid was of his help and care, Owen refused to leave him during his turning slumber. No fledgeling should be left behind, not after what happened to Owen. Owen was not invulnerable; he knew very well he could have died at any point, to the humans or the other vampires. He refused to die while his childe was asleep. As much as he fancied himself Avid’s Louis, he didn't want to end up the same way.

I will not fail him. Not like I failed you.

Chapter Text

On wildly unsteady feet, Avid pushed himself away from the monster who lay beside him. The vampire hunter felt his bones, brittle and rickety, grind against each other where cartilage should have been. He felt the sinews drying and turning rubbery, holding his fragile form together with the promise of tightly coiled muscles. The vampire beneath him snarled, yet fear did not yet awaken in his heart; he must escape. 

There was no escape; not from the hands that had felled thousands of townsfolk in this very castle, where they had run to after the village was burned to ash. No screams would ring true after the monster was done with them, yet he did not wish to harm this escapee. Owen caught Avid by the wrist, and it was obvious which of them had only been turned for a few days. The elder jerked him back, setting the fledgling off-balance so he would fall back into bed. Avid seethed at how easily owerpowered he was; how easily the vampire had forced him to sit once more. Avid bared his teeth, and Owen felt a hint of pride in his rotten chest. 

“Sit.” Commanded Owen. There was no argument; it wasn't like Avid could get up again without Owen grabbing his arm again to force him to sit. 

“I’m not a dog.” 

“Then act like it.” Owen said matter-of-factly. “Listen, I need to go and hunt. I’ve been starving for four days because of you, and on top of that you drank from me. I’m going to ask Pyro to watch you; and you’d better behave. If my fledgeling is badly behaved, Scott will be mad. You don’t want to see Scott mad. Understood?” 

Avid didn’t have the words to respond. Owen sounded like an angry teacher; like his parents when he’d bring back a bad report card. He sounded like the babysitter, when Avid would be put in time out for trying to run away when playing outside. Stupidly, childishly, Avid wanted to stick his nose up in the air and scoff at Owen for condescending him. He wanted to affirm that he was his own person. He wanted to scream and cry. 

He didn’t. Avid nodded, strands of his mousy brown hair falling into his eyes. He felt a hand stroke his hair, then the bed next to him rise when Owen got up. 

Avid heard the door open. Then, he heard the door close. If he listened closely, he could hear Owen’s soft footsteps as he walked down an unseen hallway beyond. What Avid didn't hear was the door clicking locked. 

Avid waited just long enough he hoped Owen wouldn’t hear, willing himself to stop breathing as not to make any noise. Mindful of the slight creaking of the bedframe, Avid slowly rose, his socked feet landing softly on the wooden flooring. He needed to get out of here; he couldn’t exist any longer in this godsforsaken castle with these murderous vampires. Even if now, he was as godsforsaken as they. 

Avid winced at the thought of running through the woods with only socks on his feet, as his shoes were nowhere to be found, yet he was desperate. He had to get out of here– had to get back to town. He crept towards the door, and as he turned the knob he was relieved to find it was indeed unlocked. Either Owen hadn’t thought he’d needed to, or he had forgotten; either way, Avid was escaping now. 

Jack Von Pyroscythe did not like being told what to do– okay, maybe that was a lie. He sometimes liked being told what to do, but only if the orders came from a certain man with a perfect face and glistening fangs. Pyro didn’t like being told what to do by Owen, that’s for sure. He didn’t like being treated like a servant in his own house, by someone who realistically didn’t have any power over him. Yet, for some godsawful reason, Scott had taken a liking to the stray vampire, and insisted he ranked above even Pyro in their little coven. Thus, for purposes of pleasing Scott, he was forced to take orders from a scrawny lumberjack who’d never taken a a bath a day in his life. 

The walls of the palace whispered sweet promises to him, keeping his feet moving even when there was nowhere he’d rather be than babysitting Avid, of all people. Avid! No one in the coven could believe Owen had really turned him. He was such a know-it-all asshole. 

When Pyro opened the door to Owen’s bedroom, though, it was empty. His latent survival instincts kicked into full gear, screaming at him all the awful things Scott and Owen would do to them if Avid got lost on his watch. He hasn’t even made it to the room yet, and the rat had flown the nest, so to speak. 

No, no, no. He’s not gone. I must have the wrong room, and Avid’s sleeping peacefully one door down– I mean this is definitely Owen’s room, but maybe he’s in a different bedroom now! I haven’t let him escape. He hasn’t run away. 

Owen’s not going to kill me, because Avid is right in the next room over. Everything’s fine. 

Avid was not in the next room over. 

Nor was he in the room after that.

Or the room after that. 

He wasn’t in Shelby’s room, wasn’t in Apo’s (mostly abandoned) room. He wasn’t even in the grand crypt, where Scott had slept for centuries until the beacons woke him. Avid was gone. 

I am so dead.

Avid was also dead, but not completely gone yet. Back in town, the blood rushed in his sensitive ears. The blood caked into his clothes from when he’d spilled while drinking from Owen’s wrist cracked and made Avid want to take a bath. His scalp ached, as if he had pulled his hair into a too-tight ponytail for days on end. He was cold. His fingers and toes had little blood, and the wetness that crept through his socks from running through the mud seeped into his bones. 

Avid was exhausted. Avoiding any other townsfolk, an easy enough feat seeing as most of them seemed to be out and about, Avid entered his and Drift’s home. Once inside, he wasn’t quite so lucky, however, as Drift was sitting in the corner of the living room with her desk in it, writing furiously about who knows what. As Avid entered, Drift turned, and could not believe her eyes– Avid is alive! He’s not dead, he’s not dead, he’s here– 

“AVID!!” Drift all but screamed as soon as she saw his face. She got up in a blink of an eye and ran over to the door where he stood, taking in his unbrushed hair, bloody clothes, and the smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. She almost hesitated, then brushed off the feelings of unease and pulled Avid into a tight hug. 

“Avid, oh my gods, we were so worried! We went looking for you– you’ve been gone for four days, we thought you were dead! Where have you been, you must be so hungry, let me get you some potatoes, oh, garlic! You love garlic, don’t you, here, have some.” Drift was rambling, clearly excited, and she pulled out a clove of garlic for him,which he took then pocketed, the scent rancid in his withering lungs. Crushed against her chest, Avid could hear the thump, thump, thumping of her heart, the rush of blood right under her skin only separated from his fangs by a few layers of fabric– and Avid was so hungry. The only blood he’s had so far was in his less-than-lucid state when Owen fed him from his own wrist, and never before had he felt this bloodthirst, if he just leaned (hungryfeedfeeddrinkblood)

A little– (bitebitedrinksinkyourfangsinandlive)

Closer– (Bite her, Avid)

No. 

Avid, this is Drift! Your roommate! Avid stumbled back, fighting his mind for control as he pushed Drift away, much too harshly for comfort, and anyone looking on would not see Avid, but a monster deserving of a stake. The wild hunger in his eyes, the deathly silence of his ceasing bodily functions, reeked of a vampire who couldn’t control himself. He’d almost killed Drift, his only friend (other than Shelby, he hoped) since arriving here. 

All at once, a deep-seated feeling of regret pushes its way through Avid’s veins, Owen’s borrowed blood lighting his self-loathing on fire. I shouldn’t have become a vampire. (Drink, Avid, she’srighttherelungeforherneckanddrinkAVID)

I tried to attack Drift. I’m horrible– I’m not myself. I’m a monster. (Youareavilecreatureyouarenotyourself)

And there’s only one thing monsters deserve– 

Yet Avid couldn’t bring him,self to drive a stake into his own heart, he stood in the shadows beside his house and held his stake to his own heart, as he always thought he would if this happened– and couldn’t. The splinters of the tip of the stake tore into his short, scratched his skin beneath, yet didn’t draw blood– Avid didn’t have enough of it to rise to the surface so easily. He almost pushed the final bit, but—

If Shelby can be saved, so can I. He couldn’t. So Avid did the next best thing, and stepped into the “Vampire Research Clinic”. The last resort. THe silver embedded into the walls tied twine around his heart, strangling him. I have to, I have to, before I lose control–

And Avid, the vampire hunter turned vampire, locked himself in his own silver cage.

Chapter Text

Avid breathed in. He breathed out. Tried to convince himself he still needed to, tried to convince himself his blood was not yet oxygenated. Tried to stop thinking about his heart's slowing pace.

Avid also tried not to think about Elle. Tried not to think about this feeling of all-consuming fear and hunger and pain that came from turning. He tried not to think about how starving she must have been, how if he had given her blood she might not have attacked him.

How, if he wasn't a coward and a paranoid excuse for a vampire hunter, perhaps she'd still be here. How she might comfort him now, hold him like a babe and wipe his tears. How many times she had done that, in their youth; although they were the same age, Avid had always been afraid of the world. He had always had a deep-rooted sense of terror that wound through every fibre of his muscles, and forced him to run instead of fight. There had been many a time Elle had been his emotional support; a sister in place of either of their own absent families.

Avid missed her. He missed her ghost stories, that always used to make him even more afraid than before. He missed sitting around their campfire during a mission, huddling close and feeling wanted. 

He missed feeling loved.

Instead, he only had the cold stone on the floor, the cobbles eating at his flesh. He had the silver bars, forged by his own hand, through which to look at the life he betrayed. He had the door. The horrible, silver-plated door, which he had crafted for this exact purpose; for keeping himself contained. 

He had the thrum of the holy beacon in the centre of town. He had the wind whistling through the trees, the very forest in which he had died and been resurrected. He had the murmurs of townsfolk, rising before the sun he'd never be able to stand beneath again. 

He had his stake, still stained with his sister's blood. 

He had his stake.

It would be so easy, wouldn't it? Avid knew very well how angry the vampires would be with him for merely existing. He knew how angry Shelby was with him, that she didn't even show up to meet at the tower. He knew that Owen would be fucking pissed. 

He knew it was only a matter of time before someone else did it. He knew he no longer had anyone who would care. He knew what the townsfolk would say; a sad way to go, ironic, isn't it?, paranoid vampire hunter, how stupid. How idiotic to get yourself turned only to stake yourself. How foolish, to dig your own grave. Little Avid, so naïve. So insane. 

He doubted anyone would care. Owen would probably only be annoyed he didn't get to do it himself, once he realized how pathetic Avid really was. Shelby would probably be glad. Drift would be sad, but she would never know the danger she was in from him. 

Avid took the stake out of the leather loop on his belt. He ran his rough thumb across the grains, purposefully sliding the opposite direction to cause tiny splinters to pierce him. His other fingers picked at the twine that held the cross guard to the main shank. 

Avid unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt to expose his chest. After all, he didn't want to tear his clothes. Always a poor boy at heart, it seems. Always worried about the damage you could cause, except when it's her. 

The carefully whittled tip of the stake dug into his skin, her dried blood ready to finally mingle with his own and prove they were bound by blood and not happenstance. He was ready to join her. 

Just as he was about to make the final push through his flesh, there was a noise, a hiss. Avid looked up to see a small white bat squeeze its way through the silver bars on the window to the outside. In a moment, the bat became humanoid, sinews and muscles shifting into the form of a very familiar man. For once, he didn't seem to care about crouching down, getting his pants' knees dirty or dusting the floor with his cloak.

A snarl on his lips and disdain in his eyes, Lord Goldsmith grasped Avid's hand tightly where it held the stake, threatening to crush fragile metacarpals. Avid sucked in a breath.

"Stop." People kept telling Avid what not to do, and he was sick of it. With a grunt, he tried to shove Scott off of him, but was only met with the crunching of his own bones in his ears as his hand was rendered useless. Batlike screeches rang in his ears, yet he tried to focus on the lord's words.

"What dost thou believe you will achieve with this?" Scott tilted his head, like an animal watching prey, and immediately Avid's muscles locked up. Something newly rooted in his subconscious wanted to (yield, yield, tell him what he wanted to know, be a good little fledgeling). It wanted to (pull Scott closer, wrap his arms around his neck, bury his face in his elder's shoulder). He wanted to be safe and warm. 

He knew he would never be warm again.

The other part of Avid wanted to curse him out, scream and sob that he could do what he wanted. Insist he had to die. Insist he had nothing left to live for. 

Yet, through the turmoil inside his mind, only a whimper made it into the outside world. Pathetic, he thought. A sad excuse for a vampire, a sad excuse for a human.

"Avid, dost thou bequest comfort? A nigh childe are you. Come here, young one." Scott gently forced Avid into dropping the stake, then reached out to invite Avid into his arms. Likely begrudgingly, the childe made himself comfortable in the elder's arms, still snarling as a rabid dog might. A chirp escaped Avid, and Scott felt warmth blossom inside his heart as it had not for nearly a millennia. He coaxed Avid to rest his head on his shoulder, running his manicured hands through ashy hair. "Shhh, let us return to mine nest, yes? Thou must not concern yourself with those in the castle afore slumbering more." A groan of protest came from the younger vampire. Scott continued to comfort him, even as he picked him up and carried him through an inconspicuous escape tunnel dug into the wall, that Avid had somehow not noticed before. "'Tis alright, Avid. Thy mind is yet developing. I could not count the number of mine childer whomst hath considered the end. Yet, thy life is important. One night, thou shalt understand." 

With his mind wrapped in honey-colored syrup, limbs askew upon a soft mattress, Avid pleaded not to have to get up yet. His creaky morning voice cried out in a room filled with the familiar scent of garlic, and the warmth of another person protecting him from the monsters that roam outside. 

"E-lleee, do we have to finish the experiment today? Couldn't we just sleep in for once?" As his voice bounced off the walls, it was immediately obvious this was not his room. The vibrations told of stone walls and soft cushioning, echoes dulled by fabric, not barren wood walls and floors in the side of a cliff.

"Pleasant morn, fledgeling." A familiar voice laughed, far too close to his ear for comfort. Instantly, Avid was aware of the fact he was not home. The memories came crashing down upon him, dried blood and mud caked into his bones. The crunch of those same bones in this man's hand, the soft way his hair was being petted. Yet, Avid could not bring himself to pull away this time. The syrup on the back of his mind wanted him to stay here in this strangely warm embrace, such a rarity in his life. Annoyed at himself, still he snuggled closer to the vampire lord he knew to be holding him. His logical mind, nearly lost amidst the chaos, rebelled fiercely, screaming at him to scratch, claw, bite, kick. To drag himself away from the vampire, the monster beneath him. 

“Such an affectionate one, art thou?” The lord made cooing noises at Avid’s snuggliness, and he couldn't make himself stop. It was as if something within him was drawn to the elder vampire, knew he belonged to him. 

What am I thinking? I don't belong to him. Not to anyone. If anything, Owen probably thinks he owns me. Owen– he’s gonna be so mad when he finds out I ran away. Hells, he probably already knows! Scott’s probably already told him about finding me, Owen’s on his way here to stake me, he’s going to kill me, I don't want to die to his hand–

“Cease.” Scott’s voice, accented in a way Avid could never place, spoke to drown out his racing thoughts. “Thou shalt not concern thyself with thy sire. I shall deal with him– he shall not learn of thy traitorous mind.”

“My– my what?” Avid finally got the courage to ask what the hells Scott was talking about. 

“Thy thoughts, my dear. Thou'st not take stock of thy own instincts? Thy mind hast turned against thy sire. It has reverted to an ancient, survival state; one in which it seeks to take refuge with the nearest Elder it can.”

“I– I don’t understand, Scott–” Will you speak in modern English for once?? Gods, you’re old.

“In its quest to survive, thy mind hast taken me as thy sire. It no longer believes Owen to be your maker; it has seen how he failed thou, how under his watch thou didst not love thyself as thou shouldst… in attempting to end thy own life, thy mind abandoned its maker. Thou hast chosen me, instead.”

Avid paled even more than before, if it was even possible given blood already abandoning his veins. “My survival instincts… chose you?”

“Aye.”

“When from the beginning, I wanted you dead because you're a vampire and a monster.”

“Aye.”

“And now that I’m a vampire, my mind just went ‘who’s the closest old vampire to latch onto’ and was like ‘yep, Scott’s good.’”

“Indeed.”

“Oh, fuck my unlife.” Avid then buried his face into Scott’s shirt, clinging tighter to him than to anyone he had known before.

Chapter Text

There was a rabbit on the lakeshore. Its miniscule heart went pitter-patter in the beast’s ears. It was tiny, the picture of innocence. It wouldn’t even be half a meal. Not that much satiates me anymore. 

The beast stalks. The blood pumps. Then, it doesn’t. The monster in the woods kills. Just like it always will. 

Then, a sharp ripping in the chest of the monster, eerily similar to the feeling of the death of love. Too close to that place in the beast’s heart where it cares. Where it carries the emotions it dares not name. Where it remembers. 

Has someone died? This was what it felt like when… when he died. Who could it be, though? He wondered. Then, he remembered how disconnected he was from the rest of the so-called ‘coven’. He felt so deeply the pain of losing someone. He knew he was too far removed to have felt his from anyone except one of his own. 

In his centuries of life, Owen had only ever sired a singular fledgeling. 

A fledgeling he left in the care of one of Scott’s, mere days after he woke from his turning sleep. 

I am going to murder that suck-up pathetic irresponsible little–

Shelby was reading in the newly refurbished library when Pyro found her. It was night, so the curtains of the window were open, and the silver moonlight gilded Shelby’s peaceful face as she sat and read. Pyro’s demeanor was the exact opposite. He was hyperventilating, almost choking on unnecessary deaths, and his hands– nay, his entire body– was shaking. 

“Sh-Shelby?”

“Oh hi Pyro!! Hell, you don’t look so good. What’s wrong?” She looked up from her book, big eyes worried. 

“Uhhh… can we talk in private? I, uh, might’ve…”

“... Done something you weren’t supposed to, and now need my help to cover it up?” Shelby sighed, but closed her book (something about vampire biology, Pyro read on the cover), and hugged it to their chest as they led Pyro to their bedroom in the crypt. 

Closing her door behind them, Shelby sat on her pink bedsheets, then patted the space next to her. Pyro hesitated before sitting where she had directed, lowering their eyes to avoid eye contact. 

“So Pyro, what’d you do?” 

“I never said I did anything! I just asked to talk in private!”

Shelby lowed a knowing gaze at them. “Pyro, Every time you want to talk to me it’s because you need help, or did something, or want advice.”

He hated how well his first childe read him. She was right annoyingly often. “Well. Yes. Um.”

“Stop hesitating and spit it out!” Shelby leaned over and shook Pyro by the shoulders.

“I…. may have been asked to babysit Avid while Owen goes hunting and I may have dilly-dallied a little bit and like Owen left and then I went to his room and it was empty and I don’t know where Avid went and Sire specifically told me to listen to Owen and now I’m not only scared Owen will kill me but also Sire is going to be like really mad.” Pyro said it all in one breath, to make sure he wouldn’t break down before he told her. 

“I’m not gonna lie Pyro that seems really, really bad for you.”

“Obviously!” He finally made eye contact with his blood-sister, pleading with his eyes for a magical solution to his problems. 

“Soooo we need to find Avid. Or hide you. Probably hide you, actually, cuz I don’t know where Avid could possibly be. It is worrying that he’s gone, though, but first priority should probably be making sure Owen doesn’t murder you in the next five minutes as soon as he finds out.”

Pyro gulped. Shelby was right; there was so way they were finding Avid before Owen found out Avid was missing. “Okay. So. Yeah, that… makes sense. Should I go hide in my nest?” Pyro couldn’t think of anywhere he wouldn’t be found. 

“No! Are you an idiot, Pyro? God, if I wasn’t here to talk some sense into you, you’d’ve died a long time ago. Your cave by the lake is the first place they’ll check! We should make a new place, a hole in the ground, and you need to hide. I know you won’t like it, but I’ll bring you blood. I can’t let you die. I don’t know about Scott, but Owen seems crazily protective about Avid.”

“Okay. Okay. Let’s make me a safe cave. Far away. Maybe in the far corner, near the boundary?” Slowly, Pyro was catching his breath.

Shelby held one of Pyro’s hands in both of theirs. “Pyro, we’ve got to get out of here. There’s an emergency escape in the wall over there, then we’ll bat, and you’re going to follow me, okay? You aren’t in a mental state to make decisions right now. Follow me.”

After Shelby poked her head out into the crypt hallway to check if anyone was nearby, they both stepped as silently as they could towards the escape, then flew away to safety.

Scott scoffed at the hangings of garlic donning the eaves above his nest. He hated how the smell of the herb reminded him of years chain’d to the earth, condemned to untimely slumber  by those whomst doth dare curse him. Yet, it was necessary; the stench herefore wouldst mask the scent of new blood in the air, as none of his vampyre ‘covenmates’  shouldst trace his new-begot childe to his uplocked nest in the rafters of the castle. 

Entering the boarded-up window through through a crack betwixt the boards as a bat, the lord of the castle shifted into his humanoid form, afore checking his childe was well. He’d only left for but three minutes, flying down to grab bottles of blood from the courtyard near the animal pens for both Avid and himself. He almost hated himself for how horribly worried he was. He stalked over to the bedside wherein he lie, then did something unheard of– the mighty Scott Goldsmith knelt beside him, studying the frankly adorable way Avid buried his head into the plush pillow beneath him while he rested. He almost chuckled, then, surprised at his forthcoming amusement, stifled it. 

How poetic, thought the lord, that mine others fledgelings seeking this one shalt not search thy own residence. He was quite proud of himself for figuring this ruse, hiding the new blood in the very castle wherein dwelt those who search for him. 

That unpleasant thought led him to consider the maker of Avid– not the sire, no longer. He recalled the first lesson his sire had taught him– that one’s sire mustn’t always share the title with their maker. After his own maker had abandoned him shortly after the turning-slumber ended, Scott had found a kind vampire to instruct him, raise him as a benevolent sire shouldst. 

He related too much, mayhaps, to the plight of young Avid in this way. Avid, too, was not cared for by his own maker, and thus had chosen Scott as his sire instead. A maker was simply the one whomst turned the childe; a sire was who raised them. 

Mayhaps, Scott mused, Owen didst not know of how to teach a fledgeling, because he himself was without a sire. Not just a maker, no, but Owen was utterly lost for his unlife. How lonely art thou, Owen, that thou dost not understand giving another the comfort of companionship? How little dost thou feel belonging, that thy own childe hast attached himself to another? 

What shall thou feel, Owen, when thoust shallt gaze upon thy childe, grown a bit more and with hair white as snow? Wherefore willst thou believe is the cause? 

Avid didst not deserve such a sire ast thou. He shalt know kindness. He shalt know love as you never have. 

[Scott scoffed at the garlic hanging from the ceiling above his nest. He hated how the smell of the herb reminded him of his years in his crypt, cursed by those witches who dared go against him. Yet, it was necessary; the stench here would mask the scent of new blood in the air, so none of the other vampires could trace his most recent fledgeling to his nest hidden away in the rafters of the castle. 

Entering the boarded-up window through through a crack between the boards as a bat, the lord of the castle shifted into his humanoid form, before checking his childe was well. He’d only left for but three minutes, flying down to grab bottles of blood from the courtyard near the animal pens for both Avid and himself. He almost hated himself for how horribly worried he was. He stalked over to the bedside where he was resting, then did something unheard of– the mighty Scott Goldsmith knelt beside him, studying the frankly adorable way Avid buried his head into the plush pillow beneath him while he rested. He almost chuckled, then, surprised at his forthcoming amusement, stifled it. 

How poetic, thought the lord, that my other fledgelings won’t look in their own house first. He was quite proud of himself for thinking of this plan, hiding the new blood in the very castle those who searched for him lived in.

That unpleasant thought led him to consider the maker of Avid– not the sire, not anymore. He recalled the first lesson his sire had taught him– that one’s sire isn’t always necessarily the same person as their maker. After his own maker had abandoned him shortly after the turning-slumber ended, Scott had found a kind vampire to instruct him, raise him as a good sire should. 

He related too much, maybe, to the horrible situation Avid was in. Avid, too, was not cared for by his own maker, and had chosen Scott as his sire instead. A maker was simply the one who turned the childe; a sire was who raised them. 

Perhaps, Scott mused, Owen didn’t know how to teach a fledgeling, because he himself was without a sire. Not just a maker, no, but Owen was utterly lost for his unlife. How lonely are you, Owen, that you don’t understand giving another the comfort of companionship? How little do you feel belonging, that your own childe hast attached himself to another? 

What will you feel, Owen, when you will see your childe, grown a bit more and with hair as white as snow? What will you think happened? 

Avid didn't deserve you for a sire. He will know kindness. He will know love as you never have. ]

Avid was dead. He must be. There was no other explanation for the way Owen, the monster that lurks in the forest, felt. It felt eerily similar to how it felt when Louis had finally passed, after being burned for hours upon hours on end. It felt like a part of his own self was being stripped from him. It felt like the knowledge that his soul will never know peace, never know comfort. It felt like rage, and it felt like love. 

It felt like a cry for revenge.

Someone had killed his only fledgeling. Images of Avid tied to a pyre flashed in his mind, of a brave executioner finally staking him when the job was done. But no; there was no prolonged process– Owen hadn’t been away from the castle longer than an hour. Someone had taken the opportunity and ran. 

Someone had left Avid unattended, or worse, assisted in his death. Jack Von Pyroscythe, you are a dead man. 

But not yet. Owen knew the perils of rage. He knew the emptiness a rampage left in his bones. He knew he must be deliberate, calculating. He would keep up appearances. Likely, given their fragile connections to Avid, no one even noticed his death’s shockwave. Perhaps Scott might– he was the most closely bound to him. Scott had sired Louis, after all, and therefore Avid was his great-grand-fledgeling, technically. However, bonds that far apart are not very strong, as Owen knew he felt next to nothing of Scott through the dormant part of his brain that, for two brief moments, had been shared with others. Any others in Scott’s brood– Pyro, Shelby, Cleo, and now apparently Drift– wouldn’t feel anything for the poor ‘vampire hunter’. 

He was banking on this fact for his plans; Owen decided he wouldn’t tell the others yet about Avid’s passing. He would put up a façade of worrying about him being lost somewhere. He would still act mad at Pyro, but not as much as he really was. And he would plot. 

Avid opened his eyes to find he was still in bed wherever Scott had taken him. He found that he was traitorously comfortable, despite the probable danger. He found, also, that his dream of the garlic-scented laboratory wasn’t entirely inaccurate, as garlic hung from the ceiling, overwhelming his senses. Then, he noticed two bright red eyes, framed by silver hair, at the edge of his bed. As he knelt by Avid’s bedside, Scott looked horrifically nonthreatening, almost as if he wasn’t an evil vampire, but someone who cared. 

“Scott? Are you.. Sitting there looking at me doing nothing?” 

“Am I not allowed to ensure you are all right, my dear fledgeling?” Scott tilted his head, like an owl inspecting the world.

Avid felt his face warming at the softness in Scott’s voice, at the way he called him dear. “No, you, uh– that’s not, not what I meant–”

This time, Scott couldn’t hold back his amusement. “Oh, sweet thing,” He chuckled, “Ist mine mere presence and a singular word enough to send thee reeling, hm? To steal thy breaths? Quite unnecessary, also. Thou dost not necessitate oxygen from the air any longer. Thy stolen blood holds all it needs.” [Translation: “Is my presence enough to make you overthink yourself, hm? To steal your breath? It’s unnecessary, anyway. You don’t need oxygen from the air; your blood has it already.]

Avid paled even more, if possible. He opened his mouth to speak, yet Scott didn’t give him a chance. “Avid, I hast found us blood to consume. Thou needst to keep well, here–” Scott opened the cabinet door on the bedside table, and took out two long-stemmed wine glasses. As Avid watched, hatred for this grand evil melting before his eyes in every move of the vampire’s deft hands, Scott struck a match and lit a candle for light. “Incredible invention, these fire-sticks. Pyro taught me of their existence, and dost thou not agree these art the most convenient of all modern technology. Fire at my very fingertips, no struggling with flint!” [Aren’t these fire-sticks cool? Pyro told me about them. Don’t you think these are the most convenient modern technology? Fire on demand, no flint required!]

“Scott, are you older than matches? What next, are you gonna tell me you didn’t have newspapers! Or the printing press!” Avid was stunned out of his speechlessness with the revelation of just how old Scott was.

“News papers? As in, letters the messengers would hand off?”

“Scott.” 

“Avid?” Scott was smiling, showing off those sharpened fangs, and yet Avid wasn’t afraid at all. In fact, he felt happier when seeing the elder show joy.

 “You’re older than newspapers!”

Scott sighed. “I’m entertaining distraction. Herefore, childe, allow mine pouring of this blood into these glasses, then we canst sit and converse, aye?” [I’m getting distracted. Here, let me pour blood into these glasses for us, then we can sit and talk, okay?”]

“Fine. But I need, like, so many details about how old you are. You– you are fucking ancient!”

Scott laughed, letting go slowly of his reservations. When was the last time he hadst allowed himself to laugh? To revel in merriment of those nearest him, and feel no shame? It must have been nearly a millenia. 

With steady hands, Scott took a bottle of blood from a pocket inside his cloak, then used his sharp teeth to uncork it, pouring half into each crystal chalice. 

Why is it kind of hot when he uses his teeth like that? Avid thought, then What. What is wrong with me. No! No, Avid, you cannot find the big evil vampire hot. You cannot want to (kisshimlethimholdyousirewarmnestingpleaseholdme–)

As if he read Avid’s mind, Scott sat next to Avid on the bed, then took the two glasses from the table, handing one to Avid and keeping one for himself. It was quite a large bed (Heavens and hells forbid Scott Goldsmith own anything un-luxurious–), yet Avid immediately felt far too close to him. He couldn’t, couldn’t, let himself fall for the ancient evil vampire who’s killed thousands and is older than newspapers.

Somewhere in Avid’s subconscious, the knowledge that he already had clawed at the door of the closet of denial. Scott smirked at Avid, threatening to break that door down. 

“So… thou implored to know how long I hast walked this earth?” [So… you wanted to know how old I am?]

“Y- yeah. Yeah.” 

“I entered the world of the living on the fourth of the Ides Of November, in the ninety-fifth year after the last held Roman counsel.” [“I was born human on November tenth, ninety five years after the last Roman counsel.”]

“What the hell does that mean.”

“If ist true to have been six hundred sun cycles since my slumber began, I am nearly fourteen hundred years old.” Avid stared at Scott. Scott stared at Avid.

“Oh my fucking gods you’re older than– I don’t want to think about it too hard, actually. Nope. Nuh uh. Um, technology has evolved a lot since, like– the four hundreds.”

“I always ere curious of new technologies, be it as it may I am older than living memory, during mine time afore mine great slumber– I dost not necessitate information on anything older than six centuries– yet, sweet Avid, you wouldst do well at teaching me about the modern era. At the time us vampyres canst leave this accursed land, mayhaps you might show me all I hast missed?” [I’m always interested in new technologies, even if I am so old, before I was forced asleep– I don’t need you to tell me about anything older than six hundred years. Sweet Avid, you would be good at teaching me about newer things, though. When we vampires can leave, maybe you could show me all I have missed?”]

Avid’s eyes were wide in fear. Scott leaned closer to the fledgeling, sinking down into the bedding to appear shorter, less threatening. He knew he was scaring the poor thing, something he normally loved– he wouldst adore to revel in terror he drew out of the humans and all his other fledgelings. Yet, something made his withered heart flip when Avid spoke to him. Something deep-rooted made Scott, for the first time in ages, care. 

So, as Avid tried not to show his terror, Scott gave a true smile. Moving slowly to allow Avid to pull away if he wished, the elder drew closer, then tenderly held Avid’s chin. He looked into those violet eyes, as if committing them to memory afore the turning of them to red. He ran his other hand through the fledgeling’s still-brown hair, not yet faded by blood, and he let himself experience this emotion. This care. 

Then, Lord Scott Goldsmith, murderer of thousands of humans, a so-called unfeeling monster, whispered low, “Thou needest not be afeard of me. Thou art precious, Avid. I will protect thy skin. Relax.” 

[“You don’t need to be afraid of me. You’re precious, Avid. I’ll protect you. Relax.”]