Archive of Our Own

“Nosferatu. Does this word not sound to you like the midnight cry of the deathbird?” -Nosferatu (1922)

—

Pyro has been a vampire for two weeks, and he thinks if he goes a day longer, he’s going to keel over and die from hunger. 

At first, he’d tried to do his best with raw meat. Unfortunately, the college student life means that he can’t suddenly afford to eat steak every day, no matter how necessary it may be. 

Don’t get him wrong! He’d managed at first: he does need to eat less, after all, so one pork chop or chicken breast every two days was… manageable, but not great. It wasn't until he found himself nearly hissing at some poor lady who was reaching for the same pack of meat he was, that he realized that maybe, this isn't as sustainable as I thought. 

That thought is only driven home by how the raw meat is less effective every time he eats it. It's not blood, as his vampire brain loves to remind him. It's not, and so even though it's close, he's still achingly, unforgivably hungry. It’s like only eating salad for two weeks. Technically you’re getting nutrients, but it isn’t everything you need.

He can't work on his thesis without getting distracted by the thought of food. Teaching has gotten increasingly difficult– grading papers is near impossible. Every mention of food has saliva pooling in his mouth, even if that food is completely unrelated to his… new dietary restrictions. 

Apo is starting to get suspicious, too. They were never the closest, but it wasn’t rare that she’d make a meal for the both of them and they’d eat it in companionable silence as they each worked or studied. He almost wishes she was on a deployment right now, much as he hates that thought, because then he wouldn’t have to keep coming up with excuses for turning down the food she makes. Maybe if she was gone, he’d be able to figure out his whole situation without her shooting him offended (or worse, concerned) looks all the time.

One night, he actually found himself thinking about how much easier his life would be if he could get his hands on a live pig or something. He was halfway into googling that when he realized, with the sort of horror that made his fingertips numb, that he one, would never be able to afford a live pig and two was actually, really considering draining the blood from a living creature. 

He couldn't even bring himself to regret it, or feel sick, or something. He is so, so hungry.

Pyro’s constant hunger, and subsequent lack of ability to work, is starting to show. His thesis has sat basically untouched in his files since he’s been turned, when progress should have been a given, considering how he just got back from an extended field study of Oakhurst not two weeks ago.

That falling behind on his thesis is why he's in the university at all today. His advising professor, perhaps one of the nicest women Pyro has ever met in academia, wanted to catch up. She said she was concerned. 

Knowing how his vision is blurring, how bile is creeping up his throat, how his hands are shaking, Pyro would be too. He’s so distracted by that (and, by extension, how he plans on hiding that from his professor) that he doesn't even notice Owen until he nearly runs him over. 

“Oh gosh!” Pyro stammers, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t– Oh. You.”

“Me!” Says Owen, his voice thick with false enthusiasm. 

“Why are you here?” Pyro asks, barely biting back a curse along with it.

“Why are you here,” Owen shoots back, as if he wasn't in the history wing of Pyro’s university. 

“You know what I mean. You're a few years removed from needing a degree, right?” 

“Maybe I just want to go on a journey of self improvement!” Owen smiles. His eyes reflect no light. 

For lack of a good response (beyond a shiver that Pyro prays Owen didn't see) Pyro glares at Owen, hoping he can convey just how much he isn't buying what Owen’s trying to con him into.

It works. The elder’s smile drops, and in its place comes an expression of pure annoyance. 

“Scott told me to talk to you.” He says, in a way that tells Pyro that he was probably forced, more than asked. “He wants you to come to his manor. Says he’ll accommodate you there for a few weeks.”

“That's–” Pyro takes a moment to wrestle with the complicated ball of emotions that makes itself known to him at the mention of his sire’s name. “Did he say where his house was? He gave me some, ah, instructions, but they weren't particularly helpful.” 

Not particularly helpful is something of an understatement. It would be better to use the phrase completely insane, or, as if he's never heard of street names before. 

Seriously. The guy told him to ‘follow his scent to the outskirts of the city.’ What does that mean.

Owen mutters something about an old bat who's never even thought about adapting before pulling out his phone. It is very weird seeing a centuries old vampire use a phone. 

“Give me your number,” Owen says. Pyro abides, of course, but he isn't happy about it. 

About thirty seconds later, Owen nods to himself. “Alright, I sent his address to you. Take care not to piss him off, alright?” 

Pyro opens his mouth to reply, but is cut off by his advisor’s door– he almost forgot where they were– opening. 

“Dr. Young!” Pyro smiles (close-lipped, of course), and makes his way to the door, glancing over his shoulder as he does. 

The hallway behind him is empty.

–

Pyro spends the next three days conflicted. 

He keeps checking the text Owen sent him. There hasn’t been any follow-up, not that Pyro expected any, so it’s just been that one text. 1245 E Union Street. 

On one hand, Pyro feels some sort of self-righteous opposition to the idea of seeing Scott. The man had made a bloodbag of Pyro in a cold alleyway, and turned him into a bloodthirsty monster on, what, a whim? By mistake? Scott’d barely given him instructions on how to find him after he’d woken up. Just thrust Pyro’s new reality upon him and left. Didn’t bother with a checkup, didn’t bother him with anything. No, instead Owen had done that. Owen! Pyro is pretty sure the dude hates him, and they’ve only spoken three times! 

On the other… he’s hoping that the stupid reptilian part of his mind he’s dubbed ‘Pyro’s vampire brain’ will finally shut up after he shows it how little Scott cares. Living (or an approximation of it) proof that whatever attachment Pyro feels towards the guy is just a sham, something built on empty hope. It’s the worst. Every time he so much as thinks of Scott his brain lights up with calls of sire! Sire! Sire! 

It’s hard to swallow when he knows that Scott couldn’t care less about him. 

He’s staring at his chat history with Owen again, this time sitting at the dining table with his work spread out in front of him, Apo sitting across from him eating cereal, when she finally loses her patience. “So, are you going to tell me why you’ve been so weird lately, or am I going to have to figure it out myself?” 

Pyro freezes. Looks up. 

He really isn’t that close to Apo. Actually, he isn’t that close to anyone. Most of the time he spends with her is during meals, both of them too busy to really hang out outside of the bare minimum that comes with living together, and even then– well. He’d seen the concerned looks, but Apo, despite being fairly high up in the military, is not a confrontational person. How bad must Pyro look for her to be asking something like that?

She continues, “Is it that you’ve barely been sleeping? If so, then get some sleep. I promise the thesis will wait.” 

If Pyro wasn’t astonished before, he is now. That’s probably the most concern she’s ever shown for him. He forces his tongue to unstick itself, and replies “No, it's not that. Sorry, I didn’t realize I’d been obvious.”

Apo raises an eyebrow, looks him up and down in a slow, purposeful way, and returns to her corn flakes. “Whatever you say, Pyro.” 

Pyro splutters, “Everything is OK!”

Apo doesn’t even look up as she says, “tell that to the guy you refuse to text back.” 

“What! How–” Pyro looks down, realizes his phone is still open, and fumbles for the power button, “Do you even know that I’m refusing to text him back!” 

“You’ve been looking at that text and sighing wistfully for days, Pyro.”

“How do you know it’s just one person! What if I’ve been making lots of friends lately!”

Apo doesn’t even reply to that one, which is completely fair, because Pyro doesn’t have friends, not even among the other grad students, but it’s nonetheless hurtful! Instead, she finishes off her bowl of cornflakes, and gets up to wash her dishes. “Reply or don’t, Pyro, but don’t torment yourself over it.” 

It’s shockingly good advice. He tries to think of something to say in reply to that– a rebuttal, an agreement– but it’s like someone suddenly shoved a bundle of cotton in his mouth for how dry it is. Instead, he watches, mind spinning, as she loads her bowl into the dishwasher, walks over to the door, grabs her bag, puts on her heavy military boots, and walks out. She doesn’t even glance back at him before she leaves, just calls out a half-hearted ‘goodbye’ as she closes the door. 

Pyro gets very little done for the rest of the day.

–

In the end, it ends up feeling like he never had a choice in the first place. A foregone conclusion. 

(Pyro is so hungry).

–

It’s almost humiliating to be here. Scott had completely abandoned him, and now Pyro is, what, begging for his help? Still, as much as he really doesn’t want to admit it, he wants to see Scott. He also might kill someone for real if he doesn’t eat something soon, but he’s trying to ignore that right now. 

Pyro sucks in a deep breath (it doesn’t do anything physically, but the motions help clear his head just a bit), and rings the doorbell. 

Scott’s manor is less of a manor and more of an upper middle class home. It’s big, yeah… but there isn’t anything about the place that screams vampires live here. Two stories, white slats, with windows only on the North and South walls. The yard isn’t anything special– dry enough that Pyro figures it's mostly watered by nature. It is gated, so Pyro isn’t close enough to make out some finer details, but… to be honest, Scott’s house is completely unremarkable, at least for the area. 

Pyro is jolted out of his observations by a voice– is that Owen?– crackling out of the intercom at the gate. “You can come in.” 

There’s a soft clicking sound, and Pyro pushes open the gate door. He’s greeted with the sight of a beautiful courtyard, albeit one that looks like it hasn’t been maintained with the most care it could be. Now that he’s in the gates, his vampire brain, which before had been mostly quiet, is buzzing with excitement. He almost feels giddy, or tipsy, or some combination of the two. 

Pyro makes his way to the front door and raises his fist to knock. Before he makes contact, though, it swings open, revealing Scott. 

Sire! Sire sire! His vampire brain chirps. Scott! Sire! 

“...Hello, Scott.” Pyro says out loud, instead of the variety of probably-embarassing sounds he wants to make. 

“Pyro!” Scott smiles. There is no trace of the man who abandoned him in an alleyway to be found in his expression. It’s disconcerting. “Here, come in.”

Like that, his feet get unstuck from the glue trap he’d been unknowingly struggling against, and he steps (at first too fast, until he grabs ahold of himself and forces himself to at least try to be normal) into the manor. 

It is, in a word, gorgeous. Where the outside is bland new money, the inside speaks to generations of wealth and power. It’s all wood and hand-crafted finery. The staircase to his right has hand carved posts. The rug is a real Persian one,nice enough that Pyro can tell, even through his shoes. He thinks there might be a Rembrandt on the back wall? How does Scott have that?? 

“Sorry this place is so small,” Scott says, as if his house is something Pyro could ever hope to afford. “I normally live near Oakhurst, but that stopped being an option, a few years back.”

Pyro ignores the murmuring of his vampire brain, which is still trying to convince him that giving Scott a hug and/or plastering himself at the elder’s feet is really the best thing to do right now, to really think about that for a second.

He's a history student. He is a few months out from finishing his doctorate in history, actually! Coincidentally, his PhD is in the history of Oakhurst. He might be the world's leading expert in Oakhurst, actually, which is why he can tell you, with certainty, that Oakhurst is not somewhere anyone has lived in at least 300 years, by virtue of all the massacres that happen there. 

…Actually, now that he's thinking about it, is Scott why all those massacres have happened there?? How old is Scott? …Does Pyro want to know?

(Is he going to be the cause of a massacre, someday?) 

Pyro shakes his head, as if that will dislodge the thoughts he’d really like to not be having right now, and zones back in on what Scott is saying. 

“I’ve heard from Owen that you’ve been… struggling” he says, enunciating every syllable with an air that tells Pyro that Scott probably hasn't struggled with anything in a very, very long time. “To adapt to being a vampire.

“Why you haven't come to me before now I don't know. I hate humans, sure, but you're a vampire now!” He turns to face Pyro, his red eyes swirling with something Pyro doesn't know how to identify, “I'm not that scary, right?” 

Pyro doesn't know how to tell Scott that for the last two weeks, the scariest part of being a vampire– aside from the blade of hunger constantly hanging just above his neck– has been the constant, constant crooning in the back of his head for a sire. The sire that his human brain knows is the reason his entire life has been upended. 

“Uh,” he starts, before immediately getting cut off by Scott. 

“I'm kidding, of course. Ah, here we are!” They’ve stopped in front of a door, which Scott happily throws open. “This is our library! I’m quite proud of it. Shelby and Owen helped put it together. We’ve got all sorts of stuff in here. You’re a history major, right? Maybe you could get some use out of this dusty place.” 

“Yeah, sure.” Pyro says, fingers itching to lose himself in there now. Instead of doing that, though, Pyro forces his feet to follow Scott as he leads him to the next location. 

“This is our drawing room. Shelby– she lives here sometimes– likes to use this room for her writing. I’m sure you could occupy it when she isn’t” Scott shoots him a thin smile that Pyro doesn’t know how to interpret, before moving to the next room.

The tour continues in much the same fashion. Scott will show off his vast wealth like it’s normal, and Pyro will pretend like he’s ever even been anywhere near this nice, and all the while he ignores every bright flashing signal his vampire brain (and occasionally human brain) sends him. Eventually, they make it to a sort of sitting room, where Scott sits him down and asks him if he wants anything.

“Water? Tea? Contrary to popular belief, we can be hospitable.” Scott says, laughing a little at his own joke.

Pyro laughs along with him, but cuts himself off once he hears how thin and reedy it sounds. “No, I’m ok. Thank you.”

“Alright then!” Scott sits down on the sofa opposite Pyro, “I’d like to talk about what I can do for you.” 

Pyro swallows dryly around the lump in his throat. Sire provides, sire provides. 

“Mmm, let's think.” Scott examines his (very sharp, very long, immaculately painted) nails, seeming, for all the world, completely disinterested in what they're discussing. “I can get you blood. As much as you need! If you’re worried about it being human blood, don’t worry. We’ve got ways to work around that. You can stay here too. Consider it an open invitation.”

Pyro, embarrassingly, can feel drool pooling in his mouth, “And what would you like in return?”

Scott smiles. “Not much at all! Feeding the pigs, for one. Some other assorted jobs. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t eat up too much of your time. I can be reasonable!” He puts a hand over his chest, something like pity in his eyes, “Plus, I know how it feels to be alone because of your vampirism. So does everyone else who stays here. We can be your community, Pyro.” 

Pyro purses his lips. His fangs dig into the thin skin there, and it barely hurts. His mouth doesn’t fill with the taste of iron. He’s cold. It’s so cold. He looks down at his hands, and they aren’t his hands. They’re pointed and tipped. Stained black at the end of his nails. He should say no. He’d come here with the intention of saying no. 

(A hand at his neck, checking his pulse. Pyro’s eyes flutter. He doesn’t know why he feels so dizzy. He can remember– pain, for a moment, and then bliss, and now… something. Something creeping through his veins. Like what he imagines blood replenishing would feel like if it was done at a hundred times the speed. Lackadaisically, Pyro opens his mouth to question what’s going on, where is he, wasn’t he supposed to be home? Why is he so cold? 

He gets barely half a syllable out before something is being shoved in his mouth, and he barely has a split second to question it before something feral overtakes his brain and he’s biting down, jaw snapping shut with the force of a cobra. 

Pyro doesn’t remember the next few minutes beyond the vague impression that he must have met a God, and that God must have blessed him with pure ambrosia, rich and sweet and plentiful. 

It is, probably, the happiest Pyro has ever been, no matter how uncertain he is of the validity of that euphoria. 

Then, he shudders awake, meets Scott and Owen, and suddenly the world is so much crueler than Pyro ever knew.)

(Weeks of clawing hunger. Weeks of guilt.

Pyro had always been fine with the knowledge that he was nobody’s favorite. That his parents only tolerated him in a passing way, that his peers were never really excited to have him as a collaborator when they were paired up. 

Apo’s concerned eyes. Apo leaving without a second glance. Desperately hoping for his parents to call him so he can vent.  

Community, Scott says. 

He’s been so nice. He offered Pyro food. He’s meant to care for Pyro, isn’t he? Was that first time just a fluke?)

(Pyro is so hungry).

Pyro’s heart doesn’t pound in his chest as he opens his mouth, hesitates for a split second, and says, “...Ok. I’ll join you.”

He immediately regrets it. Sure Scott is being nice now, but what about tomorrow? In three months? Scott’s already broken his trust, it should take more than a promise of food and friends to convince him otherwise. Pyro almost takes it back— but then Scott smiles, and it looks genuinely happy, and the idea of ever doing that to his sire melts with the rest of his stupid brain. “Excellent! Oh, you must be so hungry. I’ll be right back.” There’s something sickly-sweet in his voice that Pyro can’t quite focus on, too distracted by the vampire part of his brain exploding in raucous joy. His sire! His sire is getting him food! A real meal! 

You’ve had plenty of real meals! Pyro shoots back, like he’s trying to wrangle a whining child. In response, his vampire brain briefly seizes control of his vocal chords, and Pyro makes some sort of sound that he didn’t even realize people were able to make. Like a bird’s chirp, or something.

Pyro resolves to literally never let that happen ever again. 

Scott steps back in the room not a moment too early, arms ladled with bags of– god, that is a lot of blood. 

Pyro barely registers his nails digging into his legs until Scott lightly slaps at his knuckles. “Don’t do that, you’ll waste blood healing it back up. Here.”

Then everything sort of whites out for a little bit.

Once he’s got the presence of mind to realize that he’s already most of the way through a very large bag of blood, Pyro makes a half-hearted attempt at slowing down, but it’s really hard to do that when what he has in his hands is warmth and joy and his mom’s home cooking and a midnight meal split with his freshman year roommate a week into college and— it's gone. 

Pyro feels like he tried to reach out for something and just barely missed it slipping out of his fingertips. A little petulantly, he stares at the blood bag, like more will appear just because he wants it to. He doesn’t even notice Scott leaving and coming back until the bloodbag is being gently pried out of his hands. Pyro digs his nails into it in reply, punching through the plastic and refusing to let go… until another bloodbag is waved in front of his face. 

Immediately, Pyro lunges for it, and, with the empty bag still half stuck in his death grip, opens the new one to gulp that one down with just as much greed as he had the first. About halfway through he slows down. Without the constant chanting of hunger hunger hunger and subsequent meal meal meal, it’s easier to think. And to realize just how rabid he must have looked. 

He looks up and meets Scott’s eyes a little sheepishly, but still steadfastly sipping on the blood bag in his hands. 

Scott laughs, “I haven’t seen a fledgling go that crazy for blood in a few hundred years!” ‘

Just like that, the tension that Pyro had built up in his mind disappears, and he rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry. I didn’t realize how… hungry I was.” 

“Don’t worry about it. Like I said, we have all the blood you could possibly need. …That being said, Owen told me you’re still interested in completing your degree, right?” 

“I mean, yeah.” 

“Then try to keep blood drinking at a minimum, alright?” Scott examines his (very sharp) nails. “The more you have, the less… human you appear.”

Pyro, ignoring the part of himself that spits pride, the part of himself shouting ‘I’m perfectly good at restraining myself!,’ dips his head in assent. 

Scott nods. “Then I guess I’ll show you to your room. Find Owen tomorrow, he’ll tell you everything you need to know about your duties around the manor.”

Scott leads him up the stairs and down a hallway until they’re in front of an inconspicuous door. It’s some sort of wood, like every other door in the house, carved basically but outfitted with an intricate handle. They’re in the sleeping area of the house, something which Pyro only knows a little bit about, because Scott had sort of skated over it during his tour earlier. 

“This can be your room.” His sire swings open the door to reveal an almost victorian-style bedroom. It feels like a guest room, what with the bland, impersonal art on the walls and the complete lack of clutter, but it’s nonetheless beautiful. “It might be a little dusty, but I’m sure you can handle that.” 

“I– Thank you, Scott.” Pyro turns to face his sire,  “Thank you.”

Scott stares at him, blood-red eyes searching Pyro’s face for something unknown to him. He comes to some sort of conclusion, though Pyro has no idea what that conclusion could be, and his mouth twists in a way Pyro can’t interpret. His vampire brain is, for the first time today, completely silent. 

“Don’t mention it.” 

Pyro opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, and just as Scott is about to disappear beyond the doorway to Pyro’s new room, he asks the question that’s been looping in his head ever since Owen delivered him that message. 

“Scott.”

His sire turns to face him, his performative smile fading. 

“...Why?”

“Why what? Offer you food? Because a rabid vampire is only going to stir up trouble for the rest of us.”

“But why give me…” Pyro gestures to the room around him and all of its splendor, “This?” Why reach out? …Why now? Why do this when you could give me the bare minimum? Why give me a place to sleep when you know I can’t? 

Scott is silent for a few moments. “Call it a sense of responsibility. Or Owen’s doing. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Thus begins the true start of Pyro’s time as a vampire.

–

At first, Pyro only visits the manor on his way back from the university. After that first day, Scott has been an impressively difficult man to find, and, respecting the idea that Scott is probably just busy, Pyro never spends more than thirty minutes doing his chores. On days where he needs to eat, Pyro finds Owen, who is usually in one of, like, three places, and Owen will bring him what he needs. 

Eventually, though Pyro wouldn’t be able to tell you the exact turning point, he starts sticking around for longer than strictly necessary. He’ll spend some time in the library before heading home, or hang out in his bedroom at the manor working instead of in his apartment. 

Apo hasn't called him out yet, but her looks of concern have started turning into looks of suspicion. Pyro suspects the only thing stopping her from asking is the fact that her own work seems to be ramping up as well. These days, she's been assigned more and more night shifts, and she always comes back with frazzled hair and exhausted eyes, like she's been out on the field. She never goes out on the field, her hemophobia too strong to do much more than security.

He’d ask, but, well– it'd be a little hypocritical. Instead of focusing on her, he's been trying to wrangle his academic life once more. He'd never been more grateful he took Scott’s deal than when his university life finally felt manageable again. His classes are back to being basic enough he could teach them in his sleep, and having so much access to books from hundreds of years ago means that his thesis is being written at an unprecedented pace. Pyro’s advisor even said she thought he was on track to finish in the next few months. Life has just been easier since he took Scott’s deal.

That doesn't mean there aren't cons, though. For one… Scott only seems to make himself known when he needs Pyro for something. 

Not that– not that Pyro has really done anything to make Scott spend time around him beyond that, but…

Would it kill the guy to show some gratitude? 

It would be less humiliating if Pyro didn’t immediately roll over for him, he thinks. It feels like when he’s apart from Scott, he can think clearly– make his own choices, decide how he wants to spend his time– but the moment Scott so much as looks at him, he can’t say no. Can’t even conceive that no is an option. Can’t conceive that he has options. 

Gather and wash the sheets. God! What bothers Pyro isn’t even the cleaning! Scott is doing so much for him, being so generous in this nightmarish scenario. Scott didn’t have to let him into his house, or lend him access to their dubiously-sourced animal blood. He didn’t have to. So don’t think Pyro is complaining! He’s not! 

But just– the way that Pyro perks up like a dog around Scott. He wishes he could control it. Be grateful in a somewhat normal way. 

Pyro kicks the door in front of him three times. He’d knock, as is polite, but his arms are encumbered with the sheets of, like, five beds, and he doesn’t feel like making the trip down to the basement to drop these off when there’s only one bedroom left. 

The ‘knocking,’ as it were, is mostly cursory. Every other room has been empty, the sheets stale and unused (including his own, to be fair), so he isn’t expecting it when he hears a slightly muffled “come in!”

Pyro fumbles with the sheets, trying to juggle them and the doorknob, before he gives up and drops them in the hallway. He’ll pick them back up in a second. Instead, he enters, and– 

“Oh! Are you Scott’s new fledgling? Hi! I’m Shelby, it’s really great to meet you.”

She’s got maroon hair, a sweater, and blood red eyes. She’d almost look like Apo, if it weren’t for the bright smile she’s wearing. 

“...Nice to meet you?” It comes out like a question, but really. Scott had vaguely mentioned her during the tour, he thinks. Maybe some other time, an off-hand mention of ‘My other fledgling.’ In any case, he’s been coming around long enough that he had sort of written off her existence. Like she was someone Scott once knew, but didn't anymore. Evidently, he was wrong. “I’m Pyro. Weird I haven’t seen you around before!” He laughs a little at the end, and immediately clams up. Was that too accusatory for a first meeting? He doesn’t want to make a bad impression.

Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to notice, or, more likely, mind his stumbling. 

“Yeah! I’ve been on a field expedition for a little while. Just got back a few days ago!” 

Pyro’s ears might as well have perked at that, all embarrassment forgotten. “Field research? What kind? I’m a researcher, you see– historic researcher, but I’m engaged with field work as well. It's nice to meet someone like-minded.”

“Really! That’s so cool! I do something similar, I guess– with the history and all. I’m trying to track down all of the magical creatures in the world!”

…What?

“What?” 

“Yeah! When I was turned I was on a real Bigfoot kick, but I’ve sort of gotten over that.” She leans back in her chair “I was actually just on the hunt for some werewolves up North. They can’t kill me with the vampire curse, so I’m determined to track one down. Interview them if I can! Wouldn't that just be fascinating? I wonder what the transformation feels like, if they still have their human mind or if they go full wolf.” 

He must be making a face, because Shelby gives him a look, “I know what you’re gonna say. Believe me! I know werewolves are real! They killed my parents-” Huh? “-And besides, if vampires are real, who’s to say werewolves aren’t too, huh?”

Pyro opens his mouth to argue, but pauses, considers what Shelby just said, and decides she… probably isn’t wrong. “Alright, I’ll concede that.” 

“You should come with me some time! Scott usually pays for me, so you shouldn’t have to worry either” she smiles, fangs on full display. “So what do you research? Must be pretty interesting. Scott only likes interesting people, you know.” 

Pyro staunchly ignores the way his vampire brain starts screaming at that (Scott thinks we’re interesting!) and replies “this little town over in the East called Oakhurst. It was a hotspot for a lot of murders a few centuries ago, but there isn’t a lot of research on it. There’s something of a superstition around it in the historic community, so most people avoid the area. I never really got that, I guess, but I always found what little we knew interesting, so I’m writing a book about it!”

“Oakhurst! I’ve heard of that! I think Owen’s mentioned it before. Scott too. You should totally talk to them. Or, like. At least Scott. He’d probably help you… Actually, now that I think about it, I think Owen is from there! You might not get a lot out of him, though.”

Pyro thinks about how Owen only seems to look at him with indifference at best and disgust at worst, and silently agrees. If he tried to ask Owen about something personal like Oakhurst, the other vampire might kick him out of the house, Scott’s opinions be damned. Instead of saying any of that, though, Pyro just nods, voices his assent, and carefully doesn’t think about how insane it would be to have an interview with someone from Oakhurst. 

From there, the conversation drifts. They talk about Shelby’s hobbies (reading, though she clams up a little when he asks about what) and his own (writing he says, because it’s better than nothing); music and shows they’ve both seen, mutual complaints about how busy the city gets at this time of year. 

It’s nice, albeit surface level. He hasn’t had a conversation like this in a while. Not since he got turned, if he really thinks about it. It makes him realize just how badly he’s missed talking to people about things that aren’t business.

At some point, Pyro realizes that enough time has gone by that he needs to go feed the pigs. That ends up sparking a whole new conversation, this time about how Scott sources the blood he feeds them. 

“A long time ago, I told him I wasn’t going to drink human blood, and he’s been OK with that. Back in the day we used to just get blood from livestock, but nowadays he gets Owen to source blood from a bunch of different butchers and factories and stuff, I think.”

“Really? Then what are the pigs for?” It isn’t that Pyro thought they were getting all of that blood from the few pigs they keep, but he doesn’t know why else they’d have them.

“Oh, they’re good for cleanup. And sometimes on really special occasions we’re allowed to drink the blood straight from the pigs. Refrigerated stuff just isn’t quite the same, you know?” Her eyes suddenly dart around, “Not that I’m complaining! Obviously. Just saying.”

“No, I get it.” He does. He really, really does. “It’s a little stale sometimes, right?” 

Shelby’s shoulders unwind a little from where they’d tensed. “Yeah. Never thought I’d be able to tell stale blood from fresh blood, but I guess that’s just how it goes!” 

Pyro laughs, “Believe me! I know!” 

Neither of them said anything particularly funny, but they both still chuckle about that. Pyro checks his phone and– “oh, gosh! I’m gonna be late. I’ve really got to go.”

“Alright then! Don’t be a stranger Pyro.”

“Same to you, Shelby!”

Despite the macabre turn their conversation took, Pyro leaves with a feeling like cinnamon hot cocoa warming up his cold, dead chest. He’s happier than he has been in… a while. Human-happy, too. It’s nice. Even before he was turned, this sort of unblemished happiness was rare for him. He doesn’t spend a lot of time around people that really, truly get him, and who could possibly get him better than his own sire-sister, no matter how different their circumstances. 

He closes the door behind him, takes a step, and– stumbles. Would have fallen if not for his shiny new reflexes. His foot is tangled in the sheets he left by the door. 

Goodness sakes. He forgot the laundry. 

– 

Settling is easier than Pyro thought it would be. After meeting Shelby, it was like a metaphorical switch was flipped in the house. Where before he was sucking blood straight out of bags like an animal, now he eats with the other members of the house, give or take a few people, depending on the guests they have or if Owen is around. 

The guests are new too. He’s met a few– Cleo was sarcastic and witty the entire duration of her stay, and Drift was generally nice, even if she had an infectious sort of nervous energy about her. While at first Scott’s promises of community had felt like exaggerations, Pyro is slowly finding that he has a place here. It’s routine, comfortable. Apo is barely home anymore anyways, so she doesn’t give him a hard time about how little he sees her anymore. He has sent her many, many photos of Truffle, though.

Truffle is one of the pigs he feeds. She’s a little sweetheart with a brown patch over her left eye– the runt of the herd, soft, with the biggest puppy eyes he’s ever seen and an adorable snout she uses to snuffle at his pockets when she thinks he has treats. She’s also one of very few animals since his turning who doesn’t immediately sense something off about him. He gives her extra carrots at mealtime, and she lets him pet her. He’s never had a pet before, but if this is what it's like, he thinks he can see the appeal.

Apo has also fallen in love with Truffle, even if she’s never met her. It’s been a nice point of connection between them, and in some ways, he feels closer to his roommate now than he did when they saw each other every day.

Everything is comfortable, and his life finally feels like it’s gotten itself together, which is obviously why everything goes wrong.

He’s going into the pigs’ food stores one night, planning to take some photos of Truffle for Apo, when he sees his first dead body since becoming a vampire. Obviously, he freaks out. 

Pyro knows that Shelby is out right now, and something in him rebels against the idea of being weak in front of Scott, so he decides to go to the only other person he possibly can in this situation.

“Owen,” he says, racing into the man’s study, his voice shaky with panic “Owen, why is there a body in the pig food?”

Owen barely looks up from his laptop, “Just feed it to the pigs, it’ll be gone by morning.” 

“That’s not what I meant. Why is there a body at all?” 

That gets Owen to look at him– albeit briefly, and only to give Pyro an unimpressed look. “You can't seriously think that we have no casualties, right?”

“I thought…Shelby said we don't kill,” Pyro’s tongue is thick and heavy in his mouth as he tries to rebuke Owen. Never has he felt more like a petulant child than he does at this moment, “I thought– you guys didn't kill."

Owen double clicks something on his screen. “I mean, we don't for you two, or any visitors, but Scott and I need a little…more than that sometimes. We try not to totally drain people, but…” he shrugs, his voice completely apathetic, “accidents happen.” 

Pyro isn’t really sure what to say to that. Logically, he knew all of this. Scott has done far, far worse than murder one person– Pyro and Shelby are walking, talking proof of that. Pyro’s very thesis is proof of that. But this? It’s closer to Pyro than every massacre Oakhurst ever saw. It’s closer, in some ways, than his own murder, because this time— it’s almost his fault she’s dead, right?

She was fairly young. Hallowed in death, of course, but if he could imagine her with six more litres of blood, she couldn’t have been over thirty. And Scott (maybe not Scott, maybe Owen, for whatever difference it makes) had killed her. He, Scott, has been so kind to Pyro– his human brain and his vampire brain have a hard time reconciling that Pyro’s steady rhythm in un-life is a direct result of Scott’s cruelty towards the living. It doesn’t compute. He’s been able to ignore it, but– there’s a body in the pig pen. 

Owen doesn’t even glance at him when Pyro turns tail and flees his study. 

(He ends up feeding her to the pigs. They seem happy at getting something different from their usual grain and vege. Even Truffle, which is a stupid thing to feel betrayed over, because she’s just an animal. Pyro can only bear to watch for a few minutes before the roiling in his gut (revulsion, tinged with his stupid vampire brain’s jealousy) forces him away.

As soon as he can, Pyro leaves. Normally he takes the bus home, but without the need to sleep, Pyro ends up walking half the distance of the city thinking of nothing at all, white noise flooding his ears and his legs being piloted by nothing other than the desire to walk, as if that will bring that woman back to life.)

Pyro spends that night collapsed in his scarcely-used bed. The sheets smell like dust. Pyro doesn’t bother to change them. Instead, he stares at his ceiling fan in silence, thinking. He doesn’t even try making vows to never return, because Scott is Scott, and Shelby has been nothing but nice to him, and… he really doesn’t have anywhere else to go anyways. He’d probably go crazy and kill someone, and where would that land him? Where would that land the rest of the vampires in this city– the ones he’s met, and the ones he hasn’t? Nowhere good. 

He’s almost stuck, much as he hates to think of it like that. He’s just repaying the gratitude he feels towards Scott.

“At least they try not to.” Pyro says, not wincing when the words come out bitter on his tongue, “At least they don’t make Shelby and I do it.” 

(It sounds like denial to him, too.)