Chapter 1: Chapter 1 How Dark Is It In Your Mind?
Chapter Text
The clicking was what woke him up. A steady roll of clicks on wood, tap tap-tap tap-tap-tap. He blinked his eyes in the morning light. This wasn’t the barn of his employers, or even the spare bedroom in their house. The ceiling above him was rough stucco and dark wood beams. He ran his fingertips over the rough blanket beneath him. The sun caught on the dust floating through the air, particles dancing by like tiny fairies. It was beautiful. That damned tapping caught his attention again. Tap tap-tap tap-tap-tap. He lifted his head and immediately regretted it.
Perched on the foot of the bed was a man. Fluffy reddish blonde hair shimmered with the odd copper strand, dark eyes blinking slowly at him. He seemed to be wearing a worn red cape over a brown work shirt. What looked like a feathered cloak laid across his back, ruffling in the slight breeze. Thick black claws attached to tapered fingers tapped again. Tap tap-tap tap-tap-tap. An awkward smile settled on his face.
“Ah, hello there! Might I ask where I am? And for some water, if it's no trouble?” He asked. The blonde hopped down and grabbed a pitcher from beside the bed. The design on it showed a flock of passerines playing in a blackberry bramble, the tiny eyes of the birds shining with enamel. The man handed it to him after helping him lean against the headboard.
“...hello there! … no trouble.” His voice parroted back at him.
He gasped excitedly. “That was my voice! You're so talented! Can you only mimic who you're talking to, or anyone you've talked to?” He asked. The blonde seemed to like the compliment, eyes gleaming as he puffed up his chest in self-satisfaction.
“...mimic …anyone … Silly.” He said, his and an unfamiliar British voice used.
“Wow!” He exclaimed, rubbing his cheek. He frowned, the texture of his skin strange to him. He turned his hands around and over, examining dozens of scars he had no memory of receiving. He threw the blanket aside and lurched out of bed, eyes locking on the mirror hanging on the wall. He stumbled back from his reflection upon reaching it, unsure of what he was seeing. Most of his skin was mapped in thick, painful-looking scars. He ran a finger along the thick claw marks reaching from under his jaw and across his cheek and nose. One of his ears was notched, though his ears seemed more pointed than he remembered as well. The flesh of his chest and arms was striped with healed slashes and punctures. His warm tanned skin had an ashy pallor to it and his eyes… Oh, Lord Above, his eyes.
He had always been told he had the prettiest spring green eyes, tiny golden brown flecks scattered through. Now they were the color of coagulated blood, dark splotches partially hidden by his long lashes. His thick umber brown hair hung the same way it always did at his shoulders.
“What happened to me?” he asked.
“Several vampires used you like a chew toy.” A voice spoke from the doorway. The man was tall and thin, with shiny black hair cut in waves around his ears and a carefully maintained mustache. His bright ruby red eyes looked him over.
“You cut a very striking figure! Very intimidating. I'm glad you survived the change. Would have been such a shame to lose talent like yours.”
“Talent… like mine?” He asked. The man nodded. “Yes! The embroidery on your cape was yours, yes?”
“Uh, yes? I did the embroidery. Why?” He asked, baffled.
“I'm so glad I was right! That skill is what saved your life, after all. Well,” The man chuckled. “Existence, I suppose. We Hermits, you see, collect beauty. Beautiful creatures, beautiful skills, beautiful things. Humans sold to the arena are usually torn apart for blood sport, but we vampires do have the option of claiming someone who catches our eye. The beautiful poppies on your cape were so pretty, I had to claim you. Too much of a waste otherwise.”
He was absolutely baffled. Of all things to save him, it was his sewing. His sewing. Oh, and apparently he was taken in by a vampire. After being sold. He wondered who had sold him, what he had done that could have upset someone. His lungs felt tight and sweat beaded his brow. Why would anyone sell him to vampires?! He had heard of vampires, everyone has. And now he might be surrounded by dozens, maybe hundreds of them! His fingertips felt pinched and his mouth felt crowded. He hugged himself tightly. Too much! Danger! Gotta get out! He bared his teeth and hissed at the vampire, surprised even as he made the noise how vicious it sounded. He snapped his teeth. The vampire held out his hands as if to calm an animal. The vampire’s voice washed over him.
“Calm yourself! You're panicking and might hurt yourself. Please calm down so I can explain.”
He couldn't calm down! Whatever had happened, the vampire in front of him was dangerous. He snarled and snapped his teeth. The vampire stepped back, seeming a bit afraid himself. Good, he thought. A splash caught his attention. The blonde had dumped the water on him. He hissed. The blonde hissed back. He cocked his head. The blonde pulled a wine skin from the bag at his side, and uncorked it. The smell hit him like a bull. It smelled warm, and sweet and good. He reached out and the blonde gave it to him. The thick liquid was flowing down his throat before he could think to put it to his lips. All the fear ebbed away, a hunger he hadn’t even realized he had being satisfied. The skin seemed to be empty far too soon. He dropped it with a splat, dragging his forearm across his mouth, licking the fluid off as he did.
He very abruptly came back to himself and realized he was licking his arm in front of two strangers. Shame spread across his face as he cleared his throat. The vampire burst into laughter, holding his sides. The blonde stared at him, a bright blush burning his face before they looked away.
“I don't suppose you would be willin’ to tell me your names?” He asked. The vampire managed to pull himself together and cleared his throat.
“I am Mumbo, and this here, is Grian. He's been taking care of you while I was securing your place with the other Hermits.”
He raised his eyebrow. “Mumbo?” Mumbo giggled.
“I found the name fit me better as a vampire than my old one did. So.. Mumbo it was!”
“So I can just… change my name?” He asked. He turned back to the mirror.
“Absolutely! Most do, either to hide from prior associations or because their old names don't fit.” Mumbo replied.
“I think…” He smiled. “I'll be Scar. Scar Goodtimes.”
Grian held his thumbs up in approval; Mumbo clapped him on the shoulder with a smile.
Maybe, Scar thought, things aren't so bad after all.
Chapter 2: This house says my name like an elegy
Notes:
☀
Time to earn a bit of that Graphic Violence tag!
Title is from Curses by The Crane Wives
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It turned out that Grian could talk just fine, he just liked to play that joke on every new Hermit. His real voice was a chirpy British thing, a bit nasal but altogether pleasant. Mumbo, being his ‘sire’, was in charge of teaching Scar the ropes, like who everyone was and answering questions about his new state of being. He found he liked his new family. A lot of them were interested in seeing his embroidery, and whether he would be willing to do it in exchange for trades. He was honestly a little shocked that the vampires liked his stuff so much.
“I certainly can't do that. I don't have the patience!” A vampire named Pearl told him.
“I'd end up stuck full of needles!” Said Jimmy, a relatively new vampire.
Grian just waved his taloned fingers and smirked. It made him feel nice that he could provide something to the group.
Learning to be gentle when he was so much stronger was a bigger task than he had thought as well. He didn't feel any stronger, so it was a frustrating surprise when he pulled a dresser drawer apart when he was trying to open it, or broke a shovel in half picking it up. Grian had a good laugh at his frustration before taking him out to a quarry owned by the coven to work on control.
Xisuma had learned with the first few vampires that they sometimes needed an area to simply destroy. So he purchased an area of land every time they settled and sold the resulting gravel to the humans. Grian flew overhead as Scar ran along below.
Scar found that he loved running now. Before, he had been unable to run for very long without his legs giving out on him. Now he never seemed to tire, and was far faster than even the fastest horse on the ranch had been.
The quarry was a wide pit in the ground with sloped sides covered in piles of stone shards and boulders. He skid to a stop, Grian landing on a rock slab near him with perfect grace.
“Alright! I want you to crush a rock in your hand.” Grian sat back on the stone and attempted to preen his wings.
The light caught on the bright red and yellow feathers, making them shine in the sunlight. Pretty bird, Scar thought. He shook his head and smirked. Easy task, he thought. He picked up a rock the size of his fist and pressed it between his hands. It crumbled into dust. He looked around, judging rocks by whether he thought he could crush them. He grinned at a boulder that was about waist height. Perfect, he thought. He ran to it, but didn't account for the uneven ground: he slipped on the loose stones and smashed through the rock face first.
“Scar!” Grian squawked. He flew over, crouching on the rubble as the avian grinned down at the vampire. “I seem to remember saying your hands, not your face.”
Scar groaned and lifted his hand in a rude gesture as he lay dizzy on the gravel. Grian cackled as he jumped back, finding a stone for himself. A good round piece about the size of his clawed hand. He pulled Scar to his feet, and handed it to him.
“Now take the feeling of when you've broken rocks today. How your muscles felt, your blood. And put the tiniest bit of pressure into your fingertips. Crack the rock like an egg.”
Scar looked at the blond puzzled, ran the calculations, and put his fingertips to one side and thumbs to the other. He pressed slowly, and it cracked in half with a small bit of dust floating away on the breeze. Grian leaned in, eyes wide.
“That is beautiful!” He gasped.
The broken stone was lined with thin purple crystals about the width of his pinkie finger. They sparkled and shone in the light, and Scar marveled at how they reflected in the blonde's dark eyes.
With a blush dusting his ears, he gave half to Grian. The man smiled, eyebrow raised in question.
“For you! You really seem to like it, and it's pretty! Like your wings! So you, um, you should have it.” He grimaced. That was terrible! He thought.
Grian's face bloomed in blush as he gripped the piece with a smile.
“I love it.” Grian hopped up on Scar's shoulder and settled in. “Did you know that exchanging pretty things is how some birds court?” The avian smirked mischievously.
Scar smiled up at him. “Is it now?”
The walk back was filled with comfortable chatter.
Scar found he quite liked hunting. The thrill of the chase, the song in his soul. It just had certain rules.
It was the Hermits’ policy that they preferred to hunt criminals, but the odd wanderer was generally on the menu. Revenge was also on the table he found out. Mumbo was more than willing to tell him that it was his previous employer who had signed him over. He didn't know why he had, or what he had gotten out of it. But he was more than willing to run across the plains to escort Scar to his old residence. It had never been much of a home. It was at the edge of the cow pasture where Scar came upon his old boss.
The sun was setting in fire over the field when Enoch heard the footsteps coming up behind him. Thinking it was his new farm hand Joseph, he called out.
“What a bright sunset! All blush and glow with red seeping through. Moments like this, boy. They make a life worth living.” He turned his head to smile at the young man, only to have the expression chased off by pale horror.
The man standing beside him was tall and tan, boots adding little to his height. But where once healthy unbroken skin had been, dozens of thick scars crossed over his flesh. A particularly large one curled over his cheek and nose. It looked like a wild animal had tried to peel his face off.
“True, Friend. Very true. You never know how long these moments will last.” His red eyes flicked to inspect Enoch’s expression with a smirk. He leaned against the fence, facing the man directly.
“So tell me, Friend o mine. What was I worth to you? Musta been something special to sell me out to be slaughtered like ya did.” The man grinned, teeth glinting in the low light. “Least I hope so. Would be a cryin' shame if I weren't worth anything to you, after all I did. All those hours blistering in the sun and breaking my back in your fields. And you sold me, Friend . So tell me,” He drawled. “What'd ya get?”
Enoch whimpered. “T-two hundred dollars. Is what they offered. But you're dead!”
The man whistled, sounding impressed.
“Oooh, nice! Good to know my corpse was expensive. And fer what exactly? Cuz ya were convinced I had stolen your wife away? That I had taken her in yer own home?” He scoffed. “Yer wife is fine, Friend, but she's not my type. And to insult my honor like that,” He hummed. And between one breath and the next, Enoch was pinned against the sharp wire and worn wood of the fence. “Well that's just monstrous .”
He sunk his teeth into Enoch's throat with a snarl, ripping and tearing the flesh apart. Blood splattered his face and neck, dripping onto the dry grass.
He leaned back with a contented sigh. With a smirk, he dropped the corpse.
“See you in hell, Boss man.” He looked out across the field where the squat whitewashed fence surrounded the house he had once stayed in. He smiled like a fox in a hen house.
“Oh, Ms. Charlotte! I've come for supper!” He hollered.
He met Mumbo where he had left him, the brunette's meager possessions in a chest under his arm as well as all the money he could find in the house. He had torn up the place a bit to make it look like a robbery, and was riding the high of fresh blood in his system. Mumbo smiled when he saw him, shaking his head in amusement.
“One of these days,” he said. “We'll get you to eat and not come out of it looking like you bathed in their blood.”
“Oh, but think of the drama! The look in their eyes when I smile!” Scar chuckled.
He pulled Mumbo into a side hug.
“Do you feel any better?” Mumbo asked.
“Much better. The look on their faces will be treasured for years to come.” He grinned. “I just have one thing left to do.”
He cackled as he unhooked the gate on the cow pasture. “Be free! Cause chaos!” He crowed, waving his hat.
Mumbo beckoned with a fond chuckle and he chased after his sire, dust kicking up behind them.
Notes:
Fun fact! Two hundred dollars in 1890 is equal to $6,937.67 in today's dollar due to inflation.
Chapter 3: And when you move, I'm moved
Summary:
Grian notices something about Scar and Coven Leader Xisuma investigates.
Notes:
☀
Sorry for the late chapter, my son was in the hospital.
Warning for vampires being morally gray and killing innocents and not so innocents.
Title is from Movement by Hozier.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Grian had noticed that Scar had a habit of singing. He would sing when sewing. He would sing when he went for walks. And odder still, he sang when he hunted.
His low voice would reach out across the prairie under the moonlight, and the humans would walk out of their tents or homes and come look for him. They wouldn't even grab weapons! Grian had his suspicions, but he wanted to ask the coven leader Xisuma his opinion. He was pretty old and wise after all.
Xisuma looked thoughtful as Grian described what was going on. He asked to go on a hunt with Scar to see for himself in a few weeks time.
Crouched on the ridge, they looked down at the wagon. A family had been camped around it, and were fast asleep inside. The native warriors on the opposite ridge were wide awake however. The wind carried their scent over the grassland to the two vampires, bringing feral smiles to their faces. Xisuma motioned for Scar to do his thing. He stood up with a grin and began to sing.
“I'm starving, darling
Let me put my lips to something
Let me wrap my teeth around the world
Start carving, darling
I wanna smell the dinner cooking
I wanna feel the edges start to burn
Honey, I wanna race you to the table
If you hesitate, the getting is gone
I won't lie, if there's something to be gained
There's money to be made, whatever's still to come”
As he sang, the warriors walked slowly through camp as if in a daze. They didn't even look at the wagon as they went, bows slack in their grasp and faint smiles on their faces. They walked right up to them. Scar grabbed one by the wrist and pulled him into a dance. Xizuma pulled his human close and sunk his teeth into his throat. The man flinched in his grasp, but did nothing else, simply closing his eyes.
“Get some
Pull up the ladder when the flood comes
Throw enough rope until the legs have swung
Seven new ways that you can eat your young
Come and get some
Skinning the children for a war drum
Putting food on the table selling bombs and guns
It's quicker and easier to eat your young.”
Scar twirled the man, pulling him close as he sunk his teeth into the tan flesh of his prey. His eyes fluttered shut as he drank, prey barely twitching in his arms. Drinking their fill, the cooling corpses were left in the dust as they walked back the way they had come. Xisuma mulled over what he had seen.
“Why did you start singing when you hunt?” The ancient vampire asked. Scar tilted his head, thinking over his words.
“I've always sung when doing something. Mending fences, slaughtering cows, sewing; always had a tune on my breath. It just seemed to make the work go by faster and be better quality. I've just always done it. I don't even think about it too much. Instinct, I guess?” He replied, scratching at the blood drying across his nose scar. He shrugged. “It seems to be much more useful nowadays.”
Xisuma wryly smiled. “It would seem you have some magick, most likely from a fae ancestor. We could find out exactly, through magic, if that is something you want.” The ancient vampire explained.
Scar scratched at his cheek in thought. “I think I would like that. To know a bit of where I'm from.” He tilted his head. “What do you need me to do?”
Xisuma told Scar about a carved out area beneath the Hermit's home base where the clan usually did complicated rituals. It wasn't the first time a new vampire found out they had magic and wanted answers. The magick had become predictable in use. He would just need to follow instructions and speak some words.
Walking back together, Xisuma thought on what he knew about the young man trotting along at his side. Several of the Hermits had good things to say about his kind nature and willingness to take on any projects. Grian was always nattering on about his thoughts on the matter, and Mumbo seemed quite impressed with how quickly he had made himself at home. His last report had been about how Scar had gone on multiple errands into human settlements for things the hermits needed. He was dependable and resourceful.
“I have a vested interest in how you’ve been doing. Many young vampires lose control and end up getting themselves killed by hunters. I don’t think that will be a concern with you.”
“Sir?” Scar asked, confused by the odd praise.
“Several of the Hermits have been rescued from smuggling operations and human laboratories. There have been rumors of an exotic smuggling operation moving through the state this month. I want you to help.” Xisuma explained.
“What do you want me to do?” Scar asked.
“With your power, I think we might be able to get in and out without losing anyone this time. If you can influence the guards and help keep the prisoners calm or get them on our side, we might be more successful than we have been in the past.”
Scar rolled the thought through his mind, humming.
“I'll do what I can. Let me know when.”
Xisuma smiled. “You'll know.”
“So what did he say?” Grian asked, trailing behind with a wide basket. Scar dropped a handful of ripe blackberries into it as he walked along.
“He said that he thought I was part faerie or something, and that he could do some magic in a cave to find out what kind.” Scar quipped, passing more berries back.
The avian nodded. “I thought you might be. That or a siren of some sort. And I know what ritual you're talking about.”
Scar grinned back. “You thought I was a siren or a faerie? Aren't both of those beautiful creatures that lure unsuspecting mortals to their death?”
Grian cracked a grin. “Good thing I'm not mortal then.”
More berries. Plop.
Scar scratched at his cheek. “I don't think I ever asked what ya are, have I? How did ya end up in a vampire nest, Grian?”
The avian’s wings ruffled, his clawed hands tapping on the basket.
“Avians are rare these days. Brightly colored ones more so, as we're more likely to be stolen away by humans. I was not cautious enough, being a young child who wanted to know who these odd wingless creatures were and why they were hanging around our forest. It is still embarrassing how quickly I was caught.” The blonde let out a tired laugh. Scar sat on the dirt, patting the spot beside him. The avian dropped down, laying his head in the vampire’s lap.
“I spent ten years in a cage being gawked at day in and day out. Eventually Xisuma passed through the area, and heard about me. He and a bunch of vampires raided during the night. I found out later that several had died getting me out. I didn't understand until years later why anyone would risk their lives like that. He set me free under the condition that I stay with the Hermits for the most part. I was a bit of a brat about it honestly. It wasn't until I got Mumbo hurt that it started to sink in that I wasn't a prisoner. I had just been taken into a new flock. And I was very much letting them down. So I looked after Mumbo while he healed up and learned I was a fantastic caretaker! So that's what I continued to do. Heal and take care of my flock. Just like I took care of you.” He blinked up at Scar. He had such an intense look in his eyes that the avian had to look away.
“Hey.” Scar called softly. “Look at me.”
He did, and deft fingers combed through his cinnamon blonde curls.
“I'm sorry that happened to you. I was only taken for a few days, I can't imagine ten years. You must have been so brave.” The vampire pressed a chaste kiss to his brow. “I'm glad we got the chance ta meet though. Thank ya for takin care of me.”
“Of course.” The avian smiled. Soft sunbeams caught his attention, the light dappled across Scar's face like stars. How pretty, he thought. I'm glad I got to meet you too.
Notes:
Thank you all who have been reading, this has been a lot of fun to write.
Hope you all have a wonderful new year.
Chapter 4: I'm Starving, Darling
Summary:
Scar finds out more about himself and we meet Martyn!
Chapter Text
4
The cave system was expansive underneath the base, twisting turns and sudden drops that made it an unknown fortress to any invading hunters. A few Hermits spent their time there, mining and mapping the system and expanding it further for their purposes. Grian led Scar down and down a rough staircase deep underneath the expanse of buildings that the Hermits called home. Grian explained that the tunnels carved deep into the red rock were meant to be a way to escape if Hunters ever tracked one of them back to base; they just had to make it out the other side.
A wide carved room off the steps had a wall of chests and an ornate table draped in red fabric inside. A circle of candles were being lit by a blonde man wearing a heavily embroidered green shirt. He turned and stood as they approached. Xisuma walked over from where he had been perched on a chest.
“Hello there. Grian. Scar.” He nodded to each of them in turn. He gestured to the blonde. The man's blue eyes reflected strangely in the candlelight. “This is Martyn. He will be performing the ritual.
Scar reached out to shake the man's hand, surprised at how warm his hand was, like someone who had been inches from a bonfire.
“Nice to meet you Martyn! You are very warm!” Scar greeted enthusiastically.
“Nice to meet you too. And thanks?” He smiled broadly, his sharp canines on display. “Alright, so here's what'll happen. Scar will lay down in the center of the circle, and I will paint some symbols across you and then chant. You will fall asleep and enter the dream world where you will be able to speak to your ancestor. This is not a physical place: you can't interact past words. Got it?” He said with practiced ease.
Scar stepped into the circle and lay down. “Let’s do this.” He said.
Martyn's touch was gentle as he brushed his fingers against the vampire’s face, swoops and dots marking the skin. The mark over his heart was a little more difficult, as Scar kept flinching. The thin paste smelled like blood and pungent herbs, and made his sensitive nose itch. Finally it was done.
Martyn stepped back and held his hands over him. The words he chanted were in a rough but musical language, swirling into his mind as he felt himself drifting to sleep. He gasped.
He jolted upright, eyes scanning everything around. A trail of bloody footprints led away into the fog. He seemed to be sitting in the middle of a field, the cold grass beneath him making him shiver.
He pulled himself to his feet and quietly followed the trail. They were small graceful things, bare toes oddly visible for being on a worn grassy path. A faint sound caught his attention. He sniffed the air, but could only smell wet grass and blood.
The further he traveled, the more he realized that the sound was singing. A woman's voice singing in that same musical language that Martyn was chanting in. He found her sitting on a large flat rock by a bent tree.
She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Pale milk white skin, and thick curls of auburn hair cascaded down her shoulders and back. She wore an old fashioned green dress, trimmed in gold knotted embroidery. Her hands were long and slender, long claws coated in blood. She smiled up at him, her bright red eyes shining.
“Hello there, handsome. What may I call you?” She said, her words strange to him but clear in meaning.
“My name is Scar Goodtimes.” He replied.
She smirked. “What a strange name. Though, I suppose it is fitting. Still,” she curled her hand around his cheek, stroking the scars. He only felt a breeze where skin would have met skin. “You have been through much, grandson.”
Scar inhaled sharply. She looked like a vampire, but that would be impossible if she were telling the truth. Mumbo had had a very uncomfortable conversation about the undead birds and bees that explained as such to him. Grian had laughed at them both.
“What are you, if I may be so bold?” He smiled nervously, showing off his fangs.
She gasped, a wide smile gracing her perfect face. “A fellow blood drinker! Splendid!” She squinted. “Vampire?”
He nodded. She tapped the side of his neck. “The mark is still here, faded as it is. I am sorry for your pain. It is not an easy existence. And what of my son? Is he dead?”
Scar curled his hand over his heart.
“I never knew my parents. They died, or left, when I was still a little one. I don’t know what happened to them.”
The woman sighed. A pale glassy tear slipped down her cheek. “You asked me a question and answered mine in exchange. I am Dearg Du, sweet grandson. I think it’s time for you to return, before you no longer can and linger here forever. Be cunning, Scar Goodtimes. May your voice serve you well.”
Scar sat up with a gasp, heart thumping in his chest. His throat burned with thirst, a raspy growl crawling its way out. He lurched to his feet, mind hazy and instinct pulling him like a puppet. He lunged at the flash of gold to his left, knocking it to the ground. He sniffed and bared his teeth. The gold wasn't food but it was in his way; he shoved it aside and looked around. All the colors and details ran together in painful swirls. He shook his head to clear it. A high pitch whistle caught his attention and pulled him forward a step. Swirls of red and blue waved in front of him, fanning a familiar scent. He breathed deeply, trying to comprehend the emotions tied to the smell.
Concern,
Happiness,
Sorrow,
Hope,
Hunger,
Love.
Pretty bird.
Scar leapt, pulling Grian to his chest, and caging him in the safety of his arms. He scented the trembling avian, his breath ghosting the blonde's ear. He smelled like safety. Scar could keep him safe.
Shadows approached and he hissed, claws settling closer around Grian. The avian spoke to the shadows and they retreated, pulling Gold with them. One remained, speaking quietly at him. Scar wanted him to leave. He hissed, snapping his teeth. Grian whined sharply. He sounded scared! Scar would protect him. He rubbed his scarred cheek against the blonde's cheek, humming. The vampire laid his head on the shorter man's head.
More shadows rushed in through the doorway at them. Scar snarled and snapped his jaws as Grian was pried from his arms and he was held down. The shadows wouldn't give up their hold though, and one swayed in front of him. Red bloomed across its arm, and someone held his jaw open. He struggled, sniffing the air. It smelled familiar, but he couldn’t place it through the panic and hunger. Blood dripped into his open mouth and he swallowed instinctively. Pupils pin pricked, he greedily drank what flowed into his mouth.
The shadow pulled away and Scar licked his lips.
Scar squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head in hopes of on some level forcing what he was seeing to make sense. He whined as the world suddenly came back to clarity, the sudden change forcing him to squint. The shadow bleeding in front of him came into focus as Mumbo knelt down.
“M-Mumbo?” Scar rasped.
The tall vampire smiled gently. “Yeah, mate. It's me. Good to have you back.”
Scar fell forward, exhaustion slamming into him all at once. The arms holding him up were the only thing keeping him from falling face first to the floor. He closed his eyes.
“I'm so hungry.” He whispered.
“I know, mate. We sent for some skins of blood for you.” Mumbo motioned behind him and the hands holding him up let him go. Mumbo pulled him to his chest and rested his bloody wrist against Scar's lips.
“Drink. I don’t want you going feral again.” Mumbo ordered.
The warm blood coated his tongue like dark chocolate: bitter but sustaining. It was almost entirely unlike human blood, he found. Only lukewarm instead of burning hot and it made his thoughts feel slow, tired and willing. But he was so thirsty.
Eventually, the bony wrist was replaced with a wine skin filled with warm blood. Sweet as honey, good as gold, nothing compared. His thoughts ran faster and clearer, his throat immediately soothed. He groaned at the relief. The first skin was quickly replaced with another.
“Feel better?” Mumbo asked. Scar hummed contentedly and nodded. He cracked open his eyes.
“That was… an experience.” The young vampire stated tiredly. Mumbo laughed.
“It’s always an experience, I'm afraid. Not an uncommon one, though, so most of us know the procedure. Generally a good bit more damage perhaps.” Mumbo sighed. “It’s why most vampires live in covens. Not only safety for ourselves, but other communities as well. A single feral vampire can do the damage of twenty with no conscience, and no reasoning with. If caught early enough, the process Is incredibly simple to reverse.”
He pet his long spindly fingers through Scar's thick brown hair. “It’s also why hunters are so paranoid about us. That, and the blood-drinking.” He chuckled.
Scar looked around. Xisuma was cleaning up the ritual stuff, but Grian and Martyn were nowhere to be seen. “Where's Grian and Martyn? Is Martyn okay? I vaguely remember whacking him.” He asked.
Mumbo's smile dimmed. n was knocked back pretty hard, but for the most part he's fine. Grian…” Mumbo sighed. “I think he was scared more than anything. You did scratch up his arms a bit, but nothing that won't heal up with good food and rest.” The tall vampire combed his hair back from his forehead.
“You essentially held him hostage, Scar. Do you remember what was going on?” Mumbo asked quietly.
Scar worried his lip with his teeth. It felt like his heart dropped into his gut at the idea that he scared Grian, let alone hurt him. The memory was foggy but clear enough.
“I couldn't see for beans. Just a wash of colors and shadows and movement. I saw a flash of color and reacted. I think that was Martyn? But he wasn't food. I heard something sharp… a whistle? I saw blue and red moving. And I could…” Scar took a breath. “I could smell him. I needed to keep him safe from what was going on. I… thought he could keep me safe. From what was going on. Then everyone rushed in and took him away … I think I freaked out. I didn't mean to hurt him.” The brunette leaned back against his sire’s chest.
He felt the man's chest rumble and had a brief moment of renewed fear before he realized the vampire was laughing.
“Incredible. You are so utterly smitten that the thought to attack him just never occurred. That is impressive.” Mumbo chuckled.
Scar blushed to his ears. “Yeah. I guess I am.” He thought about Grian, afraid and hidden away from him for safety.
“What can I do to make it up to him?”
Notes:
I wonder what's up with Martyn...
Chapter 5: You Gotta Face Up, You Gotta Get Yours
Summary:
Scar makes his move and apologizes.
Notes:
Title is from I'm So Sorry by Imagine Dragons.
Warning for brief kissing scene.
Chapter Text
After following his sire’s advice, Scar found himself at the home of a lady vampire named Lizzie. She was a short and graceful thing, with pale pink hair and sharp blue eyes. Scar explained what happened and asked for her help in setting things right. She laughed.
“I was the last vampire they performed that ritual for. I broke three arms, and nearly disembowelled poor Martyn on my way out. Thankfully they caught me before I made it out of the tunnels, but it was a close thing.” She set about getting a jar of preserved blackberries and some bowls with other baking ingredients. “They need to get that poor man some armor if he's going to keep acting as the coven mage. His kind just aren't as durable as us.”
“His kind?” Scar asked.
She quirked a delicate eyebrow. “His kind. Werewolves. Sure, they're just as strong as us, just as fast, but a good enough hit and they're out for a week when we'd be out for a day. Thankfully, they're still immortal. All the wolves in the coven are such sweet boys, I hate to see them get hurt!” She exclaimed.
She directed Scar, explaining when to use what ingredients and how fast to stir. He was far more adept with roasting the rabbits, but by the end of it there were two trays: each with an herb roasted rabbit, a slab of cheese with bread, and a slice of simple blackberry cake. According to Lizzie, it was the perfect recovery meal.
“My husband was a very clumsy man. He could find every hole in a field with his foot, and every rock with his toes. And every time he'd come home to me, all charm, and ask me to make him something. I'd make him this meal, and even broken bones would be mended in a week. Though we didn't have blackberries where we lived, I think it's a lovely addition.” She mused, a blush dusting her pale cheeks.
Scar smiled. “What was he like? Your husband.”
Lizzie grinned. “My Joel was such a sweetheart. He would do anything, even if he thought it was silly, to make me happy. He built our home with his own two hands, everything just for us and the life we wanted to live. He was so strong! We were happy.” She smiled, the expression bittersweet. “I was killed not long after we were married and our house was burned to ash.” She wiped a tear away, lip trembling. “I wish every day that I could have had even one more day with him. Tell that man how you feel and see what happens. No moment with the ones we love can be replaced.”
“What happened to him? Your Joel?” Scar asked. He picked up one of the trays and followed her to the main base.
“He was being dragged away when they attacked. I never saw him again. It's been sixty years. If he survived, he would have died to old age by now.” She answered.
Scar fiddled with the tray in his hands, mulling over her words.
His feet took him easily up to the northern tower of the base. He took a deep breath and knocked on the carved wood of the door.
Grian swung it open, leaning against the frame. “And what brings you to my humble abode, Scar?”
Scar lifted the tray. “Food for you!” he exclaimed. They both flinched at the volume; the vampire grimaced in embarrassment. “May I come in?” He asked softly. Grian stared him down, searching his expression. He shrugged his thin shoulders and gestured for the brunette to follow.
“Go ahead.”
The room was filled with things that reflected the light. Large shards of crystal lay upon his window sill, piles of river glass were in dishes on a table with a few hag stones mixed in. Wooden carvings were leaned against the far wall, and a leather harness was hung on a hook with a bright red scarf. A few weapons were hung on the walls, for display or use. It was pretty and dangerous, just like its inhabitant.
Grian pulled the rabbit apart, making short work of it and the cheese. He smiled at the cake slice, seeming to be thinking over something. The avian sighed. “We need to talk, Scar. What were you trying to do?”
Scar explained, just as he had with Mumbo, his side of it. He still apologized for scaring the avian. Grian stared at him throughout, face falling into an exasperated smile by the end.
“Do you honestly think I could have survived this long if I couldn't protect myself?” He scoffed. “I could probably take you down right now.”
“Oh, I don't know about that. I'm pretty strong!” Scar smirked. Grian grinned with all of his teeth.
“What do you have to lose then?” The avian said condescendingly. Scar frowned. Grian set the tray aside and stood in a ready position by the bed. Scar readied his fists. Grian chirped and rushed forward. Scar swung for his stomach, Grian curled out of the way. Grian punched the vampire's shoulder joint, Scar stumbled back. Grian elbowed the distracted man in the throat and knocked him back. Striking quick with his clawed foot, the avian pulled Scar's leg out from under him. He lunged forward, necklaces dangling as he pinned the vampire to the floor with the dagger he pulled from the sheath on his leg.
“I could kill you right now!” Grian shouted.
Scar's gaze followed up the blade held to his throat and he stared in wonder at the panting avian perched on his chest. A bright blush erupted across his cheeks and warmth pooled low in his gut. He said the first thing that came to mind.
“You’re beautiful.”
Grian blinked, his hold on the dagger weakening. He looked down at the man, blush coloring his own pale features.
“You’re an idiot.” The blonde sheathed the knife and kissed him with all the ferocity of a wildfire. Scar tangled his fingers in the avian’s curls and urged him on, tugging lightly. Grian gasped, lightning arching up his back. Scar brushed his tongue across the other's lower lip, begging entrance. The avian moaned, twining their tongues in a dance. Scar's hand drifted down to the space between the avian’s wings, brushing against the feathers.
“SCAR!” Grian shouted, wings fanning out.
The door burst open, and Mumbo charged in with his sword drawn.
“Don’t kill him!” He shouted.
Scar watched in great amusement as Grian turned slowly to face the door, icy glare on his face.
“I'm not going to kill him. I might kill you if you don't leave.” He stated with barely concealed fury. Scar valiantly held back his chuckles at Mumbo's horrified face.
“Are you alright Scar?” He asked. Scar smirked.
“Never better.”
“Okay. I'm going to leave before Grian turns me to stone.” Mumbo said, quickly retreating.
A moment of silence, before both burst into laughter.
“Well that killed the mood!” Grian giggled.
“I don't know about that. Bloodlust is a very fetching look on you, Pretty Bird.” Scar smirked. He laid back on the floor, hands beneath his head and began to hum softly.
Grian leaned over him.
“Pretty bird? Really?”
“Ab-so-lutely! You have bird wings, and are stunningly gorgeous. Seems apt to me.” Scar smiled innocently.
Grian blushed at the praise, laying across the vampire’s chest. He listened to the slow heartbeat pumping away next to his own rabbit-quick pulse.
“What’s your intentions here Scar Goodtimes?” He asked, a hesitant smile pulling at his lips.
Scar grinned wolfishly.
“Well, I plan to court you until you either decide to be mine or finish the job God couldn't and finish me off once and for all.”
Grian cackled. “This should be good. I accept your proposal.”
Scar pressed a soft kiss on his brow.
Chapter 6: You and I Drank The Poison From The Same Vine
Summary:
The time has come for the raid on the supernatural smugglers. Martyn has been working undercover and has brought back intel. Scar finally experiences the true brutality of vampires on the hunt from their side.
Notes:
Warning for bloodshed, and brief descriptions of gore and
Scar being sappy at mildly inappropriate times.Chapter title is from Daylight by David Kushner.
Praise the Sun and rock on.
Chapter Text
Grian and Scar were relaxing in a field when the vampire’s sensitive ears picked up a low whining noise coming from the direction of the base.
“What’s that noise?” Scar asked.
Grian tilted his head, wind shifting through his feathers. His coal dark eyes widened.
“It’s the signal for a clan meeting!” He shouted, jumping to his feet. He took off into the air following the noise, Scar running along on the ground.
Everyone was gathered together in their groups when they arrived. Grian flew to Xisuma and Mumbo pulled Scar aside.
“Big night ahead of us. Raids are always a bit of a mess, especially a group like this one. Martyn's info shows that they have several creatures locked up and definitely some enchanted items. Loads of goodies.” Mumbo explained excitedly.
Scar scratched at his scar across his cheek.
“Do you know where I'm supposed to be in all this? I've never really fought before. Except the arena of course.” The brunette asked.
The tall ravenette stroked his chin.
“I imagine you'd be kept to the rear where you'd be better protected. Your voice could be the advantage we need, after all.”
“I've only used it for hunting, but I'll do my damndest!” Scar said nervously. He took a deep breath and smiled. “Never know until I try, right?”
Mumbo grinned. “That's the spirit, mate!”
Xisuma clapped his hands loudly.
“Alright! This is a captive and kill raid. Martyn's information has shown that they have several captive creatures, as well as multiple enchanted items smuggled into the country. Some might be dangerous, so be cautious if you encounter any. Trust your instincts. Scar will sow as much confusion amongst the smugglers and guards as he can. Wolves will rush in first, causing destruction and taking out remaining defenses. Martyn is on ledger duty.” Xisuma took a sip of blood wine from the skin at his hip. “Grian is support in the air. If you hear him, get out of the way. Vampires will rush in and finish off any stragglers. Help each other, we're all Hermits.” Xisuma glared at the werewolves. “This is not a competition. Take it seriously. That is all. Take position: we will move out soon.”
The wolves all gathered around Martyn who held out a bag. Each of the men stripped down and tossed their clothing in the bag. One of the men, Etho, whined loudly about putting his face cover in. Martyn reasoned that it would just get torn if he tried to keep it on, and Etho grumbled as he complied.
Etho was a tall and slim young man with snowy white hair that fell into his face. The face cover had hidden several very deep scratches across his nose and lower face. They ended just above his ribs. It looked like something had tried to rip out his throat with extreme prejudice. He held his hands in front of his face in an attempt to hide the marks. The wolves transformed, a horrifyingly beautiful change as bones shifted and turned, skin tore and regrew in new shapes, bare flesh sprouted fur and claws. The wolves shook out their fur and stood next to Martyn as they waited for his signal. Martyn strapped the bag to his own back and snapped his teeth at the pack.
Xisuma commanded them to move, and the Hermits tore across the prairie like the wind under the moonlight.
The encampment was bigger than Scar thought it would be. Dozens of canvas tents and several large iron cages nearly covered the field, guards marching along the edge of the torchlight. Scar smiled at how the one guard seemed to jump every time a shadow moved. He stood by a small tree just beyond the light and sang.
“So I know what you've been thinking
That you're the only thing that's
Lurking in the night
But you aren't safe within the shadows
'Cause tonight begins the hunt
And you're in sight
Moonlit eyes under still and haunting sky
I can see within the soul you've stowed away
Tend your fire
Draw this cursed evening's ire
Try your odds and you just
Might become the prey.”
The guards froze where they stood, eyes wide with fear. A sharp whistle rang out behind him and the wolves surged past, howling and snapping sharp teeth as they ripped into the guards. The men fell silently beneath the fangs and claws, unable to fight back. Martyn ran through into camp, several wolves following close behind.
“Tonight's the night! I can feel it!” The blazeborn demon exclaimed. He gnawed on the bars anxiously.
“Stop chewing on the bars, Tango. You'll chip a tooth.” The man in the next cage warned. “And calm down, you'll waste your energy if it is.”
Tango fiddled with the gold armbands on his biceps, tail twitching back and forth. “How can you be so sleepy, Joel? Aren't you werewolves supposed to be running around at night?” He asked jokingly.
The werewolf in question shook his hair out of his eyes. The thick green streak swung back into place. “I'm old, let me rest my creaky old man bones.” He laid back down on the hay scattered across the iron floor. “You got any more of that bacon, Ren?” he asked.
The guard rolled his eyes. “No, you ate all of it, including mine! Poor Tango didn't get any!” He turned to the cages, hands on his hips. “Bacon is rationed! It was a pain to get it and I had to hide it from the cook!” Ren said, gesturing. “I think he could smell it on me.” He muttered nervously.
Tango paced the floor of his cage, tail swinging restlessly. “It smelled good too. Tonight smells like freedom though! Just gotta fixificate the locks and get past the other guards and the scary cook and the woods and…”
“Tango Tek. Breathe. ” Ren commanded softly. “If you guys escape tonight, I'll… I'll cause a distraction for you, OK? Just please don't get caught. I've seen what these people do to creatures they think aren't worth the trouble.”
The burly avian rolled over to face Ren, the cords on his wings dragging through hay. “You gone soft on us, Ren? Are we people now?” He murmured.
Ren sighed as he leaned against the bars. “You've always been people. I'm as trapped as you are at this point. Nowhere to go and no one to go to.”
Joel snorted. “I don't know, you seemed pretty friendly with that other guard, the blonde.”
Tango perked up. “Martyn! He gave me some extra water the other day.” He said. “Where is he anyway?”
Ren frowned. “He comes and goes as he wants.”
Joel stood up suddenly. “Something's coming. Do you hear that?” He said.
Ren quickly turned to grab his keys and just… stopped. Frozen in place with a startled look on his face, his hand twitched.
The avian rolled to his feet. “Ren? Talk to us! What's going on?!”
The human couldn't answer.
Joel shushed him. “I smell other werewolves. It could be a raid; we need to leave.” He crouched, leaning into the change as his face lengthened, nails sharpened, bones twisted. He shook out his fur with a huff, green fur fluffed at his brow.
Tango whined. “Is he gonna be okay, Skizz?”
The avian didn't answer, watching as Joel tried to maneuver the keys away from Ren.
“Be careful!” He whispered.
Joel carefully closed his teeth around the keyring and gently pulled. His fang caught the edge of Ren's hand, pricking the skin. Joel smelled the blood and snapped his teeth, shaking the human’s hand.
“No! Bad Joel! Let him go!” Skizz yelled. He slammed his fists against the cage, startling the wolf into dropping the man. Joel whined, shaking his head. A tear trailed down Ren's face as he collapsed into the bars. Joel sniffed the man's face, licking his cheek in apology. Ren squeezed his eyes shut, his body trembling. Joel tossed the keys to Skizz, who unlocked the cages. They gathered around Ren, who still hadn't moved much. The noise was easy to hear now. Singing traveled the wind, soothing their minds. Tango looked around frantically, noticing the sudden lack of guards and sudden addition of blood on the grass. Skizz picked up Ren and carried him as they ran, Joel scouting just ahead. Then an explosive fell from the sky.
Scar had worked his way into the camp as easy as water once the guards were frozen.
“That adrenaline rush when weapons fly
It's the fear that brings out that body high
So you know that I'm stuck
Here paralyzed with you
In a midnight clash of circumstance
At the mercy of my inhuman hands
I will bring myself to
See this challenge through it's a stalemate
In a twist of fate
When you're face to face with death itself
Grounds of battle where no heroes dwell
For a light thrill or a cold night's chill
You will be this hunter's golden prize
If you leave your guard down, paralyzed.”
He turned to face some movement beside a tent when he was knocked back a step with a sharp gasp. A crossbow bolt stuck in his shoulder. The song interrupted, guards and smugglers alike began to run and fire upon them. He lurched into cover and ripped the bolt out, whining as the wound closed. He heard Grian's distant shout as he must have seen the commotion. It was quickly followed by a boom that shook the earth.
“What in Hell?” Scar looked into the sky.
He watched as Grian pulled jars from his side bag and threw them at the scattered humans. They burst open on the ground in a fireball that set several tents ablaze. The light cast the avian in shades of red light that made him seem soaked to the bone in blood. Scar sighed at the sight, charmed by the man’s battle prowess.
Ren's breathing came in short gasps as he was jostled back and forth in the avian's arms. His hand felt like it was on fire as he cradled it close to his chest. Something in the sky was throwing nitroglycerin at people fleeing the flood of vampires and werewolves rushing through camp. Joel had scared several off as they ran, trying to make it to the woods. A small lady vampire jumped into their path and hissed. Joel barked and snarled, fur bristling. The vampire’s face scrunched as she looked at the werewolf, sniffing the air. She reached a hand out.
“Joel?”
Joel cocked his head, his expression as baffled as it could be.
“It’s Lizzie, honey. Do you remember me?”
Joel sniffed the air, his approach as cautious as he could stand. He sniffed her throat and she let him.
“What is happening?!” Tango screeched.
Skizz was just as confused. “I guess they know each other?” He whispered in reply.
Joel licked the woman's cheek as she wrapped her arms around him.
She brushed her pink hair out of her face and smiled, tears dripping down her cheeks.
“He's my husband.” She said, laughing.
Scar lunged, dragging the man that stunk like old food to the ground as he tore open his throat. The old man gurgled, his knife stuck in Scar's upper back. Scar shoved him aside as he ran to his next target, the screams in the darkness as Grian's laughter high above its own song. Xisuma held a man up by his throat ahead of him. The man had stabbed a wooden stake into the vampire’s gut, and the fury on his tan face was incandescent. He ripped the man's head from his body and tossed it aside. He threw the human rushing at him from the side straight into the fire, his screams burning Scar's ears. The old vampire met Scar's eyes, and a common exhausted yet excited energy simmered between them. Both rushed off to clear out more of the camp as explosion after explosion rocked the earth.
Martyn ran as fast as he could through the camp. The red ledgers were safely tucked in his bag and the knife in his hand was coated in sticky blood as he slashed the throat of another obstacle. He needed to find Ren, and no one would stop him, not even Xisuma himself. He sniffed the air again, the trail faint and hard to follow under the stench of smoke in the air. He took off again, vaulting over a wolf gnawing on a man's leg. Footsteps thundering and heart pumping, he skid to a stop behind an avian. His knife flew to the man's neck, held at steady pressure. The man swallowed, eyes turning to Martyn in fear.
“Martyn?” Skizz asked quietly. “Put the knife down, buddy.”
Martyn withdrew, eyes wide and hands shaking. “What happened to you guys? We thought you'd be in the cages. I went there first to free you, but you were long gone.” Martyn turned and slashed, catching the smuggler that rushed him across the eyes. The man shrieked as he was kicked to the side, bones breaking around the impact of Martyn's leg. He fell still. Ren groaned in Skizz's arms, pain making him tremble. Martyn rushed to him, laying a hand against his cheek.
“You’re alive. You're alive. You're alive.” Martyn chanted, pulling the man into his own arms. Ren closed his eyes, the blazing pain too much as he passed into unconsciousness. Martyn clutched him close, desperately glad that the only one he had wanted to leave camp with him had survived the assault.
A cry of surrender went through the camp, and the fight was over.
Chapter 7: Tell Me All Of Your Troubles
Summary:
Ren starts to come to terms with what happens and Martyn offers him a place to stay.
Notes:
☀️
Y'all... This chapter was crazy brutal to write. My ADHD absolutely wrecked progress on this for ages.
Hope you enjoy!Chapter title is from Whisper by Burn The Ballroom.
Chapter Text
The burning came and went, just as lucidity and consciousness came and went. Like his veins were on fire, like his muscles had turned to charcoal. The itching in his hand and arm like a thousand fire ants crawling through his skin spread quickly. The convulsions through his back and legs as the fever hit scorched and shocked like a live wire. The blood coating his teeth as he choked and coughed smothered him. Ren had never known anything like it. And yet, there were brief moments of relief throughout the ordeal. A cool cloth wiped across his face and neck, a drink of water carefully held for him. Finally, he truly opened his eyes. And everything was more.
Sunlight streaming through the open window cast scattered rainbows of light on the glass and the thin linen blanket thrown over him felt oddly rough. He pinched the material between his fingers, confused by the sensation. He sat up slowly, teeth grit as the soreness in his muscles made itself known with a fury. He tried to get his bearings as he looked around the room.
Ren appeared to be in someone's bed in a small cabin. He could see several other buildings nearby and hear people walking around outside. It seemed… happy. There was none of the tension that had run rampant through the camp. A hesitant smile tugged at his lips.
The front door creaked open and light footsteps echoed across the wood floors. Everything seemed so much louder than usual; the sloshing of water in a pitcher, the scrape of a wooden bowl across a plate, the shifting of cloth against skin as the man walked. Ren had always been surprised by how quiet Martyn was. Now he wondered if he had simply never listened closely enough. Martyn set the plate and pitcher aside on the bedside table and sat on the edge of the bed.
“It's good to see you awake, mate. It was pretty touch and go for a bit there, but you’re past the worst of it. How are you feeling?” Martyn asked. His normally cheerful face looked tired, bags under his eyes far darker than Ren remembered. Ren picked at the bandages on his hand.
“I've… been better. Sore and confused mostly. Hungry.” Ren rasped. Something smelled incredible on that plate and Ren could not concentrate. It looked like a broth with a hunk of bread in it. It smelled savory and salt and Ren might just kill this man if he didn't hand it over.
Martyn glanced at the bowl and chuckled, the broth quickly in Ren's shaking hands. He gulped it down like it was the last drink in the desert, a satisfied groan leaving his lips with the last drops on his tongue. The last of his aches seemed to fade away, a sort of energetic strength taking its place. The bread was mild and had soaked up enough juice that it didn't matter. Once he had devoured everything given to him, Martyn questioned him.
“What do you remember about the raid?” Martyn asked. “Records show you were supposed to be on front gate guard duty when the pack began their attack. According to Skizz, you had been guarding them for several hours beforehand. I want to know what led to you being bitten by Joel, instead of being at your assigned post.”
Ren's brow furrowed as he tried to recall that messy night. “I've been taking more shifts guarding them. I didn't trust Ed not to be a cruel bastard when he watched them.”
“Ed was that guy with the mustache who tried to pour water on Tango that one time, right?” Martyn asked. Ren nodded.
“We had just come up with a plan for the others’ escape when a strange feeling came over me. I reached for my keys and found my body paralysed. Joel said something about a raid and shifted. He tried to take the keys from my hand, cutting my skin in the process. He then…” Ren trailed off, eyes widened in shock as the bite replayed in his mind. “He bit me. I'm… I'm not even sure he meant to.” Ren held his bandaged hand up, unraveling the thin fabric. His breath caught in his throat when he laid eyes on the fully formed scar across his hand, a wound that would normally have taken weeks to heal. Ren had been in that camp long enough to know enhanced healing when he saw it. “He turned me, didn't he?”
Martyn's calm expression faded into a sad smile that tried its best to seem comforting. “He did. You survived the turning as well, obviously. Many don't survive those first days, so I'm thankful you pulled through.” Martyn held Ren's hand. “I was terrified when I came upon the cages and found them empty. I thought they might have executed everyone.” He sighed. “I didn't want you to be dead. Thankfully I was able to follow your scent and found Skizz and the others. Even still, turning in such a place was far from ideal. I'm sorry it turned out like that.”
Ren stared at the hand in his, suspicions finally making sense. The pale skin against his palm had always seemed burning hot; now they were the same temperature. The constant disappearances, the patient lectures, the way he got along so well with the creatures they guarded. He felt his heart break a little.
“You're one of them, aren't you? The werewolves that raided the camp. Were you some kind of spy sent in to dig out all our secrets? Was I…” Ren squeezed his eyes shut, teeth feeling far too large for his mouth. “Was I just another way you got information?” He rubbed the rough skin across the meat of his palm. Red filled the edges of his vision as he growled at the blond. “Did you know this would happen? When you chose to murder everyone in that camp?” Ren snarled. His eyes burned as he lunged across the bed and knocked Martyn to the floor. “You knew people there! I knew people there! People that had families, children! And you fed them to some monsters!” Ren roared.
Martyn's eyes blazed gold as he twisted, pinning Ren beneath him. “Hold your tongue! You and I are both well aware that if something hadn't been done, Joel and the others would have faced slavery and worse.” He growled. “And they wouldn't have stopped with them. Creature after creature, person after person, stolen away and doomed to hell on Earth. Those monsters agree that that is no life for anyone. Those monsters are kinder than almost any man in that camp. We give justice and free captives when we can. We do our best to send creatures back home if we can or find them a home if we can't. We aren't tossing people in cages with no comfort. As it was, a few of your comforts were salvaged when we took the camp apart.” Martyn seethed. “Bdubs thought it might be nice to have some familiar things as you get used to everything.” Martyn said, his claws pressed carefully on Ren's shoulders, just barely digging in.
“Bdubs?” Ren asked, tension and anger bleeding away a bit. Martyn smirked.
“A priest, if you can believe it. And a werewolf in my pack. One of those monsters.”
“Alright, alright. Gracious.” Ren huffed, suddenly realizing how hard he was breathing. He laid his head back against the floor with a quiet thump. Slowly, he watched the gold bleed out of Martyn's eyes as he forced himself to calm down.
“What do I do now? It wasn't really a life working in the camp, but it was all I had. How do I do… this?” Ren asked. He held his hand up to examine and watched the claws revert back to short nails.
Martyn stood up and held a hand out. Ren gratefully took it and stood, surprised at the ease with which he was pulled.
“You take it one day at a time. I don’t really mind if you stay with me, and I know the pack is eager to meet you. To show you all we can.” Martyn shrugged. “You don't have to stay if you don't want to, there are other packs out there that the coven has connections to.” Martyn grinned. “I wouldn't mind if you stayed.”
Ren thought it over. His prospects were incredibly slim if he chose to leave immediately. No control, no idea what changes he would need to make to survive. No money to his name. And a debt that had to be repaid for taking him in at his weakest.
“Show me.”
Chapter 8: Double Vision From the Blood We've Shed
Summary:
Scar has a chat with Martyn and Martyn tells a story.
Notes:
☀️
Guess who's back?
Thank you to everyone who has checked out this story!Title is from State of My Head by Shinedown.
Enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The sun is blinding. He turns and slashes and runs, but there is nowhere to run to. Pain. Blood. Run, run, RUN. PAIN. BLOOD. BLOOD. BLOOD. He screams…
Scar sat up with a gasp, his hand over his slowing heart. The fear lingered even after recognizing the temporary guest room that had slowly become his permanent lodging. He closed his eyes, and listened. Metal against a sharpening stone, snoring, pacing footsteps, knitting needles clacking. Whistling. The sounds that filled the night in a tiny town at rest.
He turned toward the window and tossed his blanket aside. A few steps and he saw the world washed in white, bleached like bones left to dry in the sun. The pale grass beyond the village built into the mountain side waved like the stormy waters of a painted ocean. Resting in the middle was a somewhat familiar blond figure. The whistled tune continued along the breeze.
Scar pulled on simple clothes and left his room behind. The quiet tapping of his boots seemed to echo loudly in his sensitive ears, and the sudden silence where grinding metal had scraped told him Mumbo had heard him too. He followed the hallway around and down the stairs where lantern light cast gentle shadows across the tidy kitchen and dining room.
Mumbo stood up, his hand still on the small whetstone he had been using. A pile of knives and daggers of various sorts were set aside and a row of finished knives lay neatly on his other side, gleaming in the light. He wiped his hands off with a rag and motioned for Scar to speak with an amused tilt of his mustache.
“I saw Martyn was out dilly-dallying in the moonlight and thought I would join him. Best not to waste the night after all!” He said, gesturing to the door where faint whistling could still be heard. Mumbo's eyebrows raised in confusion, but a gentle smile rested on his lips.
“I see. Best not to leave the poor man to his own devices then. Be safe, and be smart.” Mumbo responded cheerfully. He sat down to continue his task as Scar walked past and opened the door.
“Scar?” Mumbo called out.
“Yes, Mumbo?”
“You don't need my permission to leave. I trust you not to keel over outside my door.”
Scar's cheeks tinted with embarrassment as he left, quiet chuckles chasing him out into the night.
Martyn was still laying in the grass whistling when he approached. He tilted his head in greeting as Scar sat down.
“And what brings you out on this fine night? I thought you were one of the ones who slept.” Martyn asked casually. Scar started braiding some grass as he thought over what to say. Martyn snorted. “Goodness, it's not that deep. I'm out here because I couldn't sleep anymore.”
Scar paused. “Much the same.” His rough hands fiddled with the woven cords as he joined them together. “Does it get easier with time?” He asked. Martyn just stared at him. “The nightmares. The…the fear.” Scar touched the broad claw marks that swiped across his face. He sighed. “Mumbo treats me better than just about anyone did when I was human, but whenever he reaches for me I can't help but remember the way his claws sliced through my face and the agony of his fangs tearing open my neck. I'm grateful to be here, truly, I just…”
“It takes a while to forget what it felt like to be the rabbit, instead of the wolf.” Martyn finished, understanding flashing across his face. Scar nodded. Martyn hummed. “I think you'd have a bit more in common with a few of my wolves. From what I've seen, vamps tend to be a bit… gentler with humans they're meaning to turn. Bond and all that. You got turned much in the way we wolves tend to. Violent and drenched in blood.” He said. He shoved his blond hair back from his face. His blue eyes looked exhausted. “I've met ones like you, and they tend to either stake their sires or leave them far behind. They were also in terribly violent relationships with them, so it was a mess each time regardless. Talk to Mumbo. He’s been waiting for you to reach out anyways.”
Scar raised an eyebrow. Martyn rolled his eyes. “He has the same senses you do. He can hear your heartbeat freak out every time he gets close.” He snarked. Scar scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Why did you choose to talk this over with me anyway? I'd have thought Lizzie or even Grian would be on the list to talk to before me.”
Scar finished the last twist and placed the woven crown on his blond head. “You just seem like someone I could talk to. I… I'm not sure why exactly.” Scar answered, shrugging.
Martyn pulled it carefully down and held it gently in his rough hands. His eyes grew distant as he stared, as if lost in memory. He blinked and looked back at Scar. “That so?” He asked. Scar nodded.
“Want to hear a story?” He asked. Scar nodded uncertainly. Martyn cleared his throat.
“One upon a time, there was a kingdom ruled by a King and his devoted Hand. The Hand cared for the King above all else and followed out any request given to him within his power happily, morality be damned. Emboldened by the power this gave the King, he ordered more and more terrible deeds until he had a bloodlust to rival the devil and the Hand became known as the Red Hand of the King.
Jealous of the favor the Hand held with the King, his royal advisor plotted to have the man killed. He whispered in the King's ear, and caused doubt to grow in his heart. The advisor paid an assassin to attack the King as he slept. As he was a warrior himself, the King disarmed the assassin before the Hand rushed in to protect him. Angered he had to defend himself, he berated his faithful Hand. Neither knew at the time that the Hand's evening wine was tainted with a sleeping drought by a maid. The advisor used the distraction to plant a false contract in the Hand's quarters that framed him for the attack. When guards found the papers, he was brought before the King in shackles.
“My most devout soldier and faithful Hand, a traitor! Have I not been kind to ye? Have I not given ye all ye have asked? And still ye shame me so! What do ye have to say for yerself?” The Red King shouted.
Tongue leadened by the sleeping draught, the Hand could only shake his head, tears in his eyes. Further enraged by this, the Red King ordered the Hand be flogged to death for his treachery. And so he was broken and beaten until he had only a breath of life left. The Red King ordered him thrown out into the snowy forest. “Let the wolves feast on his corpse!” He laughed.
The Hand was left in the snow to die, and in that moment wished foulest revenge upon the Red King for his betrayal.
A wolf passing by took pity on the man and dragged him back to her camp. Her bite changed him and forged him into a beast fit to kill a King. She too wanted revenge against the King for his cruelty and gladly took what she saw as an offering from the gods. She briefly taught him their way and he bid her farewell and returned to the castle.
The King was shocked to see his Hand return and greeted him coldly. “Return to the forest, o spectre! Leave me not in suspense! Return to yer cold grave!”
“I will not.” Said the Hand. “For your death is my reward.” And with a lunge, I tore out the throat of the Red King. So ended his reign.”
Scar stared at this man in horrified silence. “What did you do next?” He asked.
Martyn smiled, bearing all of his teeth. “I slaughtered everyone in the court. No one escaped, and no one survived.”
“Nothing is as simple as I thought it was, is it?” Scar asked. Martyn nodded at him.
“You’re getting it! After the death of the court, another kingdom absorbed ours, and the people began to prosper again. Their deaths saved the kingdom from ruin.”
Scar tilted his head. “How did you find out about the advisor?” He imagined a bloody confession before the man died.
“I went through his quarters after I killed him. He gloated about everything in a journal, the pompous dick.” Martyn explained.
Oh. Scar thought. That was anticlimactic.
“We are violent creatures by nature. There's no getting around that. Sometimes good things come out of it though.” He mused. Martyn stood up, his back cracking loudly as he stretched. Scar wrinkled his nose at the noise. “Lots of the Hermits have stories and it probably won't hurt to ask. You can ask the wolves too, if you wish.” Martyn gestured towards camp with a shooing motion. “Go talk to your sire, I've said my piece. See you later Scar.”
“Wait!” Scar called out. Martyn turned back. “Why did you tell me your story?” He asked. Martyn smirked.
“You just seem like someone I could talk to.” He answered.
He wandered towards one of the cabins that hugged the mountainside. Scar walked his own way, determined to buck up and talk to Mumbo. The night seemed brighter than when he had left.
Notes:
I had so much fun writing Martyn. He's such a wonderful mix of disconcerting and friendly. If you haven't seen anything of the Vampire SMP yet, highly recommend his POV.
Chapter 9: Doesn't Matter If It's Not Our Day
Summary:
Ren has trouble coming to terms with his new life. Martyn just wants a simple day and his pack to get along.
Notes:
Praise the Sun and Rock on.
Chapter title is from Who We Are by Imagine Dragons.
Enjoy!
Chapter Text
Ren stared at the blonde in disbelief. He was starting to regret his resolve in seeing out the madness his life had become. He had only been conscious a few days, and Martyn had been showing him off to various creatures across the village with an exuberance that seemed more like an excited puppy than a fearsome monster. Everyone had been so nice to them that it felt more like a dream than anything else. No one was trying to poison anyone else, nobody had to steal from someone else to have their needs met. It really was nothing like the camp.
Martyn had even been telling the truth when he said some of his belongings had been brought along. His bible and book of poems sat on top of the side table beside him. His mother's rosary hung around his neck. None of the people- and they really were people, no doubt left in his mind- treated him badly for working at the smuggler camp. He had been told over and over in that camp that a cursed bite made you little more than an animal in a human skin. He kept finding himself wondering if it would just take time or if it was just another lie he had been taught. And now Martyn was asking him to see a priest.
“Are you worried about my soul? Do I even have a soul anymore?” Ren asked quietly. Martyn scoffed.
“Of course you have a soul! Even demons have a soul of sorts. If it was missing, you'd be a husk shambling around not much better than dead. But I've noticed you've been a bit sad and I thought you'd have a few things in common?” Martyn rambled. He really seemed to be doing all he could to make him feel at home. It was confusing. But it also made him feel warm in a way he hadn't in a long while.
Ren nodded. “Right. The Lord.”
Embarrassment painted Martyn's face as he realized what he had implied. It was such an uncomfortable looking expression that Ren had to laugh.
“Honestly. Let's go meet the man.” Ren said, smirking. Martyn clapped him on the shoulder as he headed out the door. Ren couldn't help the flinch.
There seemed to be a crowd standing at the edge of the village when they left the cabin. Martyn's easy smile dropped off of his face at the sight. Once they were a few yards away, two men strolled out of the crowd to meet them. The taller of the two shoved his snow white hair from his face as he gestured toward the crowd. Ren wondered what a man who lived here would have to hide under a face covering. Images of hidden rows of needle teeth and curling tongues too large for a human mouth came unbidden to his mind, and he shook his head to clear it.
“He's really done it now. He brought a cow here.” The man said. Martyn paled.
“Shit. Is it branded?”
“It is.”
Martyn groaned, grinding his knuckles against his eyes. “Alright. Might as well. Ren? This is Etho.” He gestured to the man who had been speaking. Etho waved back. “And this is Father Bdubs, the person we actually came to see. I have to go try and talk some sense into that moron before he gets the village burned down with all of us inside it.” He walked into the crowd.
“What's going on?” Ren asked.
Father Bdubs sighed. “Mr. Joel has been making himself a menace trying to impress our dear Miss Lizzie. He's gotten rather destructive, but this is something else.”
A voice rose stern above the crowd. “You cannot bring a branded cow into the village. The humans care more about their cattle than their neighbors, and will send a Marshall to come collect. None of us want the kind of trouble that would bring, so run along Pup, and put that thing back where it came from.” Martyn called out. Ren and Bdubs pushed their way to the front of the crowd. Martyn was staring Joel down with more irritation than Ren had ever seen the blond wear. Joel was leaning against what seemed to be a large dairy cow. He looked up at Martyn with such a smug face that Ren had the sudden urge to shake him until sense fell out.
“I think I would have preferred the wolves again to a Marshall.” Etho shook his head. Ren remembered Martyn complaining about Joel releasing a bunch of actual wolves into the camp the night before. According to him, they were getting into people's homes and breaking things, not to mention the poor creature that got stuck in the caves.
“Is a Marshall really that bad? I heard those wolves were a menace.” Ren asked. Father Bdubs shook his head.
“Not the human kind of Marshall. They're extremely powerful mages and creatures that work for the government to take out ‘problem creatures’. Cattle rustling is a serious human crime that could attract one's attention.” He said.
Joel stretched his arms and stood. “It's just a cow. Nobody would even miss it!” He exclaimed. Martyn rolled his eyes. “They cared enough to brand it, Pup. Take it back.”
Joel squared his shoulders. “I'm not a pup. And I'm certainly not afraid of some idiot human police, or whatever. I just want to get the critter to my sweet Lizzie. She deserves nice things.” Joel cracked his knuckles, and the crowd fell silent. “And I fail to see how a coward like you could lead any pack. Maybe you should just hand it over. I wouldn't be afraid of some idiot with a gun and a badge.”
Etho sprinted back into the village as the crowd murmured. Martyn waved his hand, and the noise quieted once again. “Are you challenging me for leadership?” He asked coldly. Joel laughed.
“Obviously!” Joel confirmed, eyes shining gold. The crowd backed up into a ring around the two werewolves and someone pulled the poor cow to safety. Ren looked back and forth between the two. One who he had known as a lonely man who adored his wife, and one who had done everything he could think of to make him more comfortable.
He turned to the werewolf at his side. “What is happening now?” He asked, frustration and worry coating his words. Father Bdubs pursed his lips and pulled at his collar.
“Joel challenged Martyn for leadership of the pack.”