Chapter Text
He couldn’t breathe. It was a deeply unfamiliar feeling. As a vampire, he didn’t need to breathe, per se, so he never really felt the desperate need for oxygen. Now, though – now he did. He felt the burning in his lungs, the pressure pushing at his ribs demanding air and sustenance. It was so jarring that for a moment, he was completely lost, frozen with no idea of what to do about it.
Then, something in his hind-brain kicked in, and he began digging. He clawed at the soft dirt above him, uncaring of how it crumbled over him, getting into his mouth and eyes and nostrils. Some strange buzzing beneath his skin made him frantic, plowing over any sensible thought he had as he just dug. He needed to breathe. He needed to be out, to not feel the heavy weight of the Earth pressing in on him from all sides, needed to go go go.
His fingers became scraped raw and his nails cracked and bleeding by the time he saw light. An animalistic noise escaped his mouth as he dug with more gusto. It was a true second wind, adrenaline driving away the way his vision had begun to go fuzzy and spotty from lack of oxygen. Moments later, the sky opened up above him, and he could finally – finally – breathe in a fresh gulp of air.
Said inhale was immediately followed by him hacking and coughing up all the dirt and soot that had entered his body, over and over in a coughing fit that nearly made it impossible for him to climb out of the hole he was in. Yet he managed to do just that, scrambling for purchase to pull himself out as his lungs forcibly cleansed themselves from debris. Something shifted in his body, and suddenly the coughing became vomiting. He upended his stomach on the dull grass, throwing up nothing more than bile and more dirt. It burned as it came up, splattering on the ground around him and coming up out through his nose as he still found himself coughing between heaves.
When his body finally finished ejecting all it had, he half-rolled over half-collapsed onto his side, only barely missing the puddle he’d created. He panted heavily, staggering wheezes that burned and ached with every inhale. His vision was blurry from the tears his fits had sent rolling down his cheeks, but he was too out of it to wipe them away just yet. He didn’t have the wherewithal to do… much of anything just yet. Vaguely, he noted he was staring down at a forest, the sun beaming down at him, but he couldn’t make out many details. Something about it was sickeningly familiar, though.
Where… was he? What on Earth was he doing? Why was he…
The last thing he remembered was Him. His eyes had been bright with tears, staring down at him in – what had it even been? Disappointment, pity? Owen didn’t know. It had been so long since he’d last seen His face. Even then, it had been at a distance – He had been framed by the light of the Holy Gates much like the angel Owen always knew he was.
Shadowy claws of monstrous sinews had stabbed into him, their sharp appendages digging into his skin and bone to drag him down into the depths he’d come to deserve. It had burned so, so much. It burnt worse than silver, worse than the sun, worse than holy water. He always thought he knew what pain was, but it had hurt too much for him to even scream. All he could do was stare back at Him, savor His image, take in all that was Him Him Him.
Darkness covered his vision as a fiery inferno licked at his skin. He wondered, is this what He had felt when the townsolk burnt him to death? Had Owen, too, been doomed to feel the hurt that Oakhurst had done unto Him? Maybe that was okay, he had thought. Owen had been His teeth and claws, and now he could take His pain, too. Maybe that was simply how things were meant to be.
Then, he was here. And… where was here, exactly?
It took longer than he was proud to say for him to get his bearings. He felt… weak. Weaker than he had been in a long, long time (but never quite forgotten.) It was obvious enough that something was wrong with him. He hadn’t needed to breathe in actual air in two hundred years. Digging out of the dirt had been – shockingly difficult, and a weak check revealed that the scrapes and cuts on his hands had still yet to heal despite being so minor. And then, there was that infernal sound in his ears. It was buzzing and thumping, nearly drowning out all else. He could feel it beneath his skin, concentrated in his ears and chest. Almost like a… like a…
…a heartbeat?
Owen shot up with a choked gasp. No, no, that couldn’t be possible! He was – he was dead, he chose death. He chose to rest. He saw Him – Him! It was either death or vampirism, and it always had been. Those were the only choices Owen could bear to consider. He could either live with His gift or not live at all, no other options.
Why – why did he feel so fragile, then? He shivered and felt chilly as if the temperature actually mattered. His hands ached and bled sluggishly, caked in dirt. His stomach rolled, a stone sitting heavy and nauseous within him. His lungs still burned and greedily took in air. Why, why, why did the air feel so sweet to breathe? So relieving?
He pushed himself up on his elbows and rubbed at his eyes with his filthy sleeve. Now cleared of tears and leftover dirt, he could finally get a clear view of his surroundings, and they made him stop cold.
It was… his original waking place. The tomb he’d dug for himself after avenging Him. Behind him, the beacon stood tall and wholly untouched. There wasn’t a hint of otherworldly magics in the air, or even a trace that Abolish had been through. In fact, it looked like no one had been there in… quite some time. Two hundred years, one might hazard a guess.
With great effort, Owen got to his feet. His limbs were unsteady, his legs threatening to buckle beneath him with every other step. He felt – off-kilter. Discombobulated in a way he rarely, rarely felt. He couldn’t have… imagined all that, surely? These past few weeks – or was it months? – couldn’t have just been a… a too-vivid dream? A creation of his troubled mind to prevent him from peaceful slumber?
…No, no. He was not nearly creative or smart enough to come up with such… colorful personalities. Something else was afoot. He needed to figure it out, needed to investigate. But where to start?
Oakhurst, his mind supplied. He could see what the townsfolk were up to. Clearly, something had gone wrong with that so-called cure that Abolish performed for him. Something deep inside him that had long-since been shattered yet still found ways to break ached at the thought. He had put his trust in Abolish, and… now look at him. Fucking idiot, just why did he keep giving out chances to other people? Why was he so stupid? Why were other people so – so monstrous? First they wouldn’t let him live in peace, now they wouldn’t let him die? After so long of trying to kill him? What the hell did he ever do to them?
That was it, then. He would show up at town and demand an audience. If they killed him on sight, then so be it. He couldn’t find it within himself to care anymore. Whatever happens, happens. He was just so tired. Even if he returned to that Hell that He had seen him off to –
An involuntary shudder went down his spine.
No matter. It wasn’t like a tormented existence was anything new to him.
It took a great deal more effort than he was used to exerting just to walk. At least, more than he was used to since receiving his gift. The constant aches and pains of his leprosy as a human had all but become a memory once he’d been turned, but it now came back with a vengeance. The twinge in his knees and calf muscles were like old friends to him, returned once more to nip at his heels. Though it rankled him terribly, he ended up using the axe he found in the ruined tower as a makeshift walking stick. Even with that assistance, though, he found himself more shuffling down the mountain than properly walking.
He cursed up a storm under his breath as he carefully picked his way down the underbrush and stone, hating how often he needed to pause to catch his breath or massage feeling into his legs. Eventually, he came to a familiar break in the trees that revealed the lake. He scowled at the sight, holding more bitter memories than pleasant ones of that place. Just looking at it made the doctor’s voice ring in his ears.
Death was too good for that beast… but if I am here, then was death too good for me, as well? He thought with a huff. He shook his head free of the thoughts. It was better not to waste time or energy thinking of that poor excuse of a man and his paper-thin morals. Owen would just start seething again.
Movement down below caught his attention. He squinted, following the smudges that had to be people as they crossed the water, but he couldn’t make out who they were. In truth, he’d noticed quite quickly how dogshit his vision now was. He hadn’t known until he became a vampire how much his disease had eaten away at his eyes, but his sight was just yet another casualty claimed by it. Here and now, his vision was once more returned to a mess of colorful smudges out in the distance, lines blurred out until it was difficult to make out heads from tails.
Should he go down to see who was at the lake? He didn’t think he saw white hair, so they were more than likely humans, unless the doctor had gone on a rampage. Not entirely impossible. If one of them was Abolish, he figured he would get answers. If not, he might get staked on sight. Or…
He reached up a slightly shaky hand to twirl a lock of his hair around a finger – hair that was his natural chestnut brown, no longer white.
Maybe he… wouldn’t be murdered immediately?
He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
Well, either way, he had to finish making his way down the mountain, so he might as well check out who the wanderers were. Whether they attacked him or not, he was simply too tired to care. He wanted answers, yes, but if he were felled before he got them – well, by that point, it wouldn’t matter now, would it?
He sighed as he made up his mind, already fed up but too stubborn to admit it even to himself. Slowly, he began to pick his way down, gritting his teeth at every step that shot stabs of pain up through his nerves. It took far longer than he would have liked; Long enough that the people who went up to the beacon had already came out and crossed the lake once more, putting them almost directly in front of him. They didn’t seem to have noticed him, though he had been told that he had a rather unfortunate ability to sneak up on people when he didn’t intend to. By that point, he could hear their voices – and what he heard was… confusing, to say the least.
“ – this place is kinda creepy, don’t you think? Like… the air is so still.” That was… Pyro’s voice, wasn’t it?
“I know, I was just thinking that. It’s so quiet. Forests aren’t supposed to be this quiet. There’s supposed to be some kind of sound of wildlife.” That was Pearl.
“There’s something strange afoot, though I’ll admit that building was rather interesting. I’d like to spend more time poking around in it once I’m settled in town,” Pyro continued. He and Pearl strolled along the bank of the lake, their voices oddly congenial and light-hearted.
What was going on? Why were they acting so buddy-buddy, without even an ounce of tension? Why wasn’t Pyro’s hair white? They were speaking as if… as if they had never seen this place before. It was eerily similar to the conversations the townsfolk had had during the early days of rebuilding Oakhurst. But – why? It made no sense.
He stared blankly at the two’s silhouettes, unable to wrap his mind around it. Their conversation became a little more hushed as their figures grew more and more detailed, and it was with a start that he realized it was only because they were coming closer that he could see them more clearly. He took a step back, his confusion pushing him to want to run away, but by them it was too late. He had already caught their attention.
“Hello? Is someone there?” Pearl called out. She raised an arm up high and waved it. “Hello~? We see you, there near the trees!”
Pyro waved, too. “Hello! Fancy seeing someone else around here!”
They were treating him as a stranger. Maybe they didn’t recognize him -? But no, no, that was stupid. They were too familiar with him by this point. What were they playing at here?
He did not raise his hand to wave, nor did he shout out at them the way they were him. He could make out them pausing and looking at each other, muttering to each other quietly enough that his painfully un-vampiric hearing could not make it out. They approached him some more, though it was noticeably more slowly now. Cautious. As if they shouldn’t have been cautious of him before?
Finally, he could actually see their faces. They appeared… normal. Pearl’s face was void of scrapes and still-healing claw marks, her hair clean and tidy. Pyro’s skin was warm and red and full of life and his eyes were plain brown. Their clothes, too, were neatly pressed and void of blood stains and hastily hemmed tears. They were just – normal.
As normal as they day they arrived in Oakhurst, like copies borne from Owen’s memory.
“Hello there!” Pyro greeted once they were in a decent enough range. Owen saw the both of them look him up and down, no doubt taking in his ragged appearance and the way he leaned heavily on his axe. Subconsciously he straightened back up and pulled his shoulders back, though it was a fruitless attempt to make himself seem taller. He was sure he looked awful…there wasn’t any vomit on his clothes, was there? Oh, God, there better not be.
“…hello,” Owen replied cautiously. His voice was hoarse. A dull sting in the back of his throat was easily ignored. “What brings you two… here?” Here could mean Oakhurst or the lake, specifically. Owen wasn’t entirely sure which one he meant. Nothing about his made sense.
“Ah, well – we’re both on our way to Oakhurst. We were just passing by this lake here, and was curious about this ruin, is all,” Pyro explained, gesturing towards themself and Pearl. “I’m Jack von Pyroscythe, but you can just call me Pyro.”
“I’m Pearl. Might we know your name? What brings you here, hm?”
Owen blinked slowly at them, considering. He shifted his weight, hand clenching and unclenching the handle of his axe. “My name is Owen. I’m from here.”
The two of them perked up. “You’re from Oakhurst?” Pearl crossed her arms and tilted her head, the rose in the hair shifting with the movement. “I thought the town was abandoned?”
“It was,” Owen said dully. Then, “You should leave.”
Pearl dropped her arms, now squinting at him. Pyro scratched their head. “Uh…pardon?”
Owen hefted his axe up and onto his shoulder. He narrowed his eyes, leveling them both with a severe glare. “Leave. This place is cursed,” he said. “Get lost if you know what’s good for you.”
He didn’t know what was going on, really, and it pissed him off. They were acting so strange, so – so dstant in a way that had nothing to do with distaste for him and everything to do with unfamiliarity. There was no recognition in their eyes, no overt distrust or anger. There was curiosity and apprehension, yes, but nothing hostile. There was nothing that spoke to the history they’ve shared over the past months.
Pearl didn’t scoff, but it was a near thing. “Excuse me? I don’t understand. What curse?” She looked to Pyro, but he shook his head, equally off-footed.
“There’s a curse on these lands. Anyone who settles here for too long dies a painful death. If you stay here, you’ll die, too.” Their expressions tightened, tension settling over their demeanors. Owen could see the questions in their eyes – more curious than cowed, which – was disgusting, even now. He sharply added on, “So fuck off, why don’t you?”
Whatever further prying Pearl and Pyro had been about to attempt was cut off by that. Their expressions scrunched up in equal parts irritation and discomfort. This time, Pearl did scoff.
“Oh, whatever. You…” She trailed off, shaking her head. She looked him up and down and huffed. “Come on, Pyro. This guy’s a creep.”
Ouch.
Owen held back a flinch, but couldn’t quite disguise his grimace. All he’s doing is telling them to leave. What part of that constituted being a creep? He’s – he’s just met them. Or something. He still was having trouble wrapping his head around it, unable to fully process whatever was going on, but from their behaviors, at least, it seemed that – seemed that there’s been some kind of… reset, of sorts.
Telling them to leave was a kindness, really. Oakhurst was a graveyard, a gaping pit that dragged in any and all who enter to their agonizing demise. Yes, Pyro would receive the gift of vampirism, but the humans would torment the vampires nonstop over and over again. So much new blood would come to soak into the dirt of this accursed place. So many monsters would be prevented from being created if only they would just stay away from this hellhole.
“I only give you this warning for your own sake,” Owen growls through gritted teeth. “If you want to throw your lives away, be my guest! It’s of no concern to me.”
With that, he turned on his heel and stormed off. He allowed his anger and hurt to carry him past the treeline, out of the sight of Pearl and Pyro. He eventually had to give into the pain of his joints and muscles, though, and lean against a tree for support. He wheezed, gritting his teeth and clenching his eyes against the onslaught of pain that racked his being, his body protesting standing and walking without support when he was still so sore and ill. His stomach twisted, nausea clawing at his throat once more, but it was different from when he’d woken up. Now, the nausea was a lesser issue that was simply accommodating a larger, more sharp pang in his stomach.
He was hungry.
His knuckled clenched the handle of his axe hard enough to turn white. Some things stayed the same, though, no matter how furious and confused and scared and exhausted he was.
It was time to hunt.
Chapter Text
For the second time that day, Owen found himself on his hands and knees, upending his stomach. It was so much more painful this time around. The once sweet and tangy taste of blood on his tongue was now foul and rancid. He’d thought – perhaps foolishly – that he could simply gorge himself on the first chicken he found and that that would be enough to clear his head from the fog of hunger. So, so stupid. He should’ve known. What with all of the other… disgustingly humanistic symptoms he’d been exhibiting, he should’ve known that he could no longer somach raw meat and fresh blood. His stomach rioted against him the moment the pale pink flesh was torn between his dull teeth. And now he was here, curled in on himself with a stomach cramping like he’d been stabbed, throwing up the single piece of meat he’d bitten and whatever bit of stomach acid he’d managed to accumulate since the last time he threw up barely even hours ago.
It took much longer for his stomach to settle this time. He could’ve sworn he was on the verge of blacking out with how few chances he got to breathe between heaves. The muscles in his stomach hurt so much, he could barely stand to move once the nausea had run its course. In all honestly, he was a little worried that if he stood up too soon before his stomach was really settled, than he might just collapse entirely and remain on the ground until morning. Not that the thought of rotting with the underbrush was entirely unappealing, but he liked to think he had more decorum than that.
He erred on the side of caution and waited until he was absolutely, completely sure he wouldn’t upend his guts a third time before dragging himself off the ground. He leaned against a tree as he caught his breath, his mouth now absolutely disgusting. Maybe he should’ve snagged a drink at the lake before he stormed off.
Well, fuck.
He couldn’t eat raw meat anymore. Perhaps the only thing more inconvenient than only being able to eat raw meat was being totally unable to do so. That meant, unless he wanted to starve to death (and who did?) he needed to scrounge around for materials to make a furnace, or at least a campfire. Fucking excellent.
He wasn’t sure he had the strength to go mining. His body was weakened from both hunger and overall illness. It was a miracle he could lift his axe in the state he was in. Maybe he would just stick with a simple campfire, then – he knew well enough from his life as a lumberjack how to make a fire without flint and steel. He could… look for some berries as well, perhaps? It had been a long time since he last ate the wild berries that grew in the forest. He couldn’t quite remember if he enjoyed them or not.
Pushing past his pain and exhaustion was a skill that came back rather quickly for him, thankfully. His hands shook as he gathered fallen branches and dried grasses, dragging them towards a small clearing up with an exposed bit of stone against the mountain. He’d brought the chicken carcass as well since it was mostly whole, and though he’d considered looking for fish in the lake, he ultimately decided against it. He doubted he’d be able to eat that much, anyway.
He set up his campfire after some effort and put the chicken on a makeshift cooking spit to roast. He took a quick rest afterwards, curled up by the blessedly warm fire with his head on his knees and massaging his sore muscles. After a while, he heaved a great big sigh and pushed himself back up, wincing as he did. While he waited for his food to… cook… (what a horrible statement)… he might as well do something to keep himself busy. Gripping his axe, he shuffled into the woods to start collecting wood.
He didn’t have much of a plan. Or rather, his plan was more built around things he didn’t want to do rather than things he did want to do.
The biggest and most vital part of his so-called plan was this: he did not, under any circumstances, involve himself with Oakhurst. He did not want to meet with any of its denizens, human or otherwise. While a deep part of him still cried out for blood, yearning to see the walls of that damned town burn – he’d done that already. He was tired. Tired of the drama of the war, tired of always being dragged to and fro. He got nothing out of doing it the first time, and he’d get even less attempting a second.
Maybe he could leave before the beacons were set off?
… No. As amusing as it would be to mock them through the barrier, he didn’t think it would be possible. With his current state, he doubted he’d be able to make it that far before the townsfolk gathered and consecrated the first beacon.
He wasn’t sure how long he could stay hidden, though. Pyro and Pearl were more than likely to inform the townsfolk of the “””creepy””” man that had warned them to leave town. That meant it was only a matter of time before someone set about searching for him – Avid, more likely than not.
God. He was going to have to deal with Avid again, wasn’t he? That was just what he needed.
He decided to take out that frustration on the trees. The motion of axe cutting into wood was familiar, almost comforting in a way. Yes, his arms ached and his hands shook, but eventually the constant motion and impact of swinging his axe led to the limbs become numb and void of sensation. It would be a bitch to deal with later, but it was an old tried and true method of working through his pain.
He dulled his mind and phased out as he chopped and gathered. After some time that he, quite honestly, would not be able to recall passing after, he blinked back into his tired and trembling body. He was panting from exertion, his arms barely able to lift up the head of his axe. He was a little dizzy and swaying on his feet. He swallowed against the rancid burning of his throat – his mouth still so, so dry – and made his way back to his makeshift camp. He couldn’t carry all of the wood he’d chopped, but that was fine. He’d return for the rest later.
The chicken was done roasting when he collapsed in front of his fire, groaning. The smell made him absolutely ravenous, though there was a part of his mind that was still all mixed up, repulsed on principle by the idea of cooked meat. His still-numb fingers had trouble pulling the meat from bone, but it was no matter. He was more than used to just tearing carcasses apart with his bare teeth.
He was deeply shocked by just how good the now-cooked chicken tasted. It was juicy without being bloody, and he found himself trying to suck the juices out with nonexistant fangs by habit. It took a great deal of strength in order to not stuff his mouth as full as possible. If he choked or ate too quickly and threw up once more, he might truly just lop his own head off and be done with it all.
The chicken had no herbs, seasonings, or really anything at all to eat with it, but that was fine. He hadn’t had the privilege of such things often back two hundred years ago, and he found he didn’t really care much to fuss about it now. There was garlic he could’ve added to it, he supposed, but… Eugh. He was repulsed if only by the idea of it. He didn’t really know what he was missing, anyway.
He finished his meal off all too quickly. His face and hands felt sticky, though this time it was from simple juice rather than blood. He stomach was just bordering on being unpleasantly full, but for once luck seemed to be on his side, and the meat sat just fine. Though, he was now quite sleepy…
He didn’t have a bed or sleeping cot of any kind, nor did he even have so much as a wall to protect him from the elements. As much as he found the whole thing troublesome, he decided that the chances of a single night sleeping completely exposed in the forest floor was unlikely to kill him, and would, in fact, only leave him very much in pain in the following morning. Grumbling to himself, he got to work constructing a very simple lean-to in his little camp. It was, quite literally, the least he could do.
Mid-way through his lazy construction, he felt a shiver go down his spine. It was familiar, yet not. Instead of the cold drop in his stomach he’d felt last time, it was like a warmth had run over him. Was that what the humans felt every time a beacon was consecrated? It was so much more pleasant than the simple adrenaline rush a desecration had given him as a vampire.
That, in combination with his full belly, meant that he was hard-pressed to keep his eyes open once he crawled under his shoddy shelter. The sun had barely dipped past the horizon, and yet he still found himself welcoming darkness almost as soon as he curled up.
Owen decided to stay close to the lake, at least for the time being. His… unfortunate diet meant that he now needed water to survive, and at any rate, he recalled fishing not being very taxing on his body before he’d been cured with vampirism. He wouldn’t get the same plentiful catch as the old fishing spot to the north of Oakhurst, but hopefully that meant he would be less likely to be run upon.
…Of course, there was the lake beacon attracting fools to be nearby, but that was unavoidable.
(The fishing spot was also, unfortunately, quite the long distance away, and though he wasn’t ready to admit it to himself just yet, he knew that he was in no shape to make that long walk. Especially if he was going to go around the town instead of through.)
It was fortunate that he was so skilled in lumbering, as it gave him quite a bit of wood to work with. When he woke up, he was hungry once more, but it was no longer nearly as debilitating as it had been before. It was simple enough to push through in order to get some work done.
He chose a spot that was about an equidistant point between the lake and the wards put up by the beacons – close enough that going fishing or gathering water wouldn’t be too much of a hike, but far enough that no one would (hopefully) have much reason to venture out. He himself wasn’t quite sure if he’d been out this way before except for maybe once or twice. It should be solitary enough, he supposed.
The actual building of what would be his (temporary? He had no long term plans to stay here…) home was a horrid experience. Not only was he lacking in supernatural strength, but he also had his own crippling weaknesses to contend with. It was a small miracle that he even knew what he was doing, thanks to his part in reconstructing Scott’s castle, but that didn’t make the labor itself any easier.
About halfway through the day – when his useless hands slipped once more while he was trying to hammer in a piece of foundation – he decided to throw in the towel and call it quits for the day. Otherwise, he might’ve decided to just set the whole damn structure ablaze with him inside. He had worked up a sweat – something he hadn’t done in so fucking long – and that, coupled with the fact that he was still partially covered in dirt from his awakening yesterday, pushed him to decide risking a venture to the lake for a well earned bathing session.
He wasn’t fully starving, thankfully, as he’d been snacking on berries he’d picked throughout the day. Still, he brought a sharpened stick with him on the way to the lake, both to walk with and hopefully use as a spear to catch some fish. Not for the first time, he bemoaned the fact that he could no longer consume things raw and reap immediate benefits from it. No, he was once more cursed to slow, painful recoveries from his body’s failures.
When he reached the lake, he stayed hidden in the shadows of the trees, watching carefully to make sure no one was there. He could no longer hear heartbeats and distant footprints, and his eyesight truly was piss poor at these distances, but after a few minutes he felt comfortable declaring the lake free from pests. Even still, he knew he didn’t want to spend too long out here and risk being stumbled upon.
He made quick work of disrobing before wading into the water. He closed his eyes out of pure habit. In his youth, he’d hated the sight of his diseased, sore marked body. Even in his later years, he detested his inability to see his reflection and gaze upon what He had gifted him.
The speed at which the water became murky was truly disgusting. Owen made a face and swam a bit further in, though he was careful to keep his ability to touch the bottom. The water was honestly far too frigid for swimming of any kind, but it was… rather pleasant on his joints. The rest of his body protested at the chill, but it soothed the aches in his wrists and knees. He sighed at the blissful feeling and allowed himself just one moment to indulge in it.
Still. He didn’t want to spend too much time here.
He took a breath and dunked his head beneath the water. He made quick work of scrubbing his face and scalp. When he came up for air, he began the arduous process of trying to detangle the mess that was his hair. He had no soaps or even a comb to work with – which was probably one of the few things he missed about Scott’s castle – but it wasn’t like he had much to work with before he had been turned, anyway, so he knew how to work with what he lacked.
He didn’t really have cloth to spare, either, but he made do with handfuls of sand on the bank of the lake, using it to scrub at his skin until it was nice and pink. He had to stop for a moment and stare down at his arms as he did so, relishing, not for the first time, how… easy it was to wash his body without open sores leaking pus and blood covering him head to toe. Back then, the idea of rubbing sand on his arms would’ve made him faint in fright. But now… it was just so, so simple.
He dunked his head again, going out on another attempt to comb his hair out with his fingers. It was a deeply frustrating venture. So caught up in his actions was he that he failed to notice the sounds of voices and footsteps floating by until a high-pitched shriek blasted his ears.
He spun around instantly, heart hammering in his chest. His wide eyes met an equally wide pair that belonged to none other than fucking Avid. Accompanying him was Drift, who had already spun on her heel to give Owen her back while covering her eyes with her hands. Apologies fell out of her mouth like rain, her voice strained and tense.
Avid, it seemed, was the one to shriek at the sight of Owen, as proven by him pointing directly at him and shrieking once more. Realizing that Avid was staring at his bare fucking chest, Owen made a choked sound and all but fell backwards into the water, wrapping his arms around himself in an effort to cover up. He wasn’t sure what was redder – his face, Avid’s cheeks, or the tips of Drift’s ears.
“Y – you-!” Owen stammered, deeply unnerved by how Avid continued to just stare at him, hand shaking at it remained pointed towards him. “Stop staring at me! Lecher!”
“Lecher?! Me?! Why, I – That’s not – you!” Avid stammered in his usual fashion. Beside him, Drift blindly reached out to whack him in the arm, and he whacked her back. “How am I the lecher?! You – you’re the one bathing where anyone can walk in on you!”
“It’s a lake! It’s normal to bathe in lakes!” Owen growled out.
Avid’s face was progressively getting redder and redder, though Owen really couldn’t tell if it was from offense or embarrasment. He sputtered again and through his hands up. “Don’t you have a house to bathe in?!”
“No,” Owen ground out.
Avid paused, seemingly off-footed by this. His mouth opened once and then closed. “Well – why not?” He asked, which was truly an outrageous question, even for him. Drift whispered sharply at him something that Owen couldn’t catch. He winced, and then his eyes widened, and he pointed once more at Owen. “Wait -! You’re that creep that Pyro and Pearl were talking about!”
Was that seriously what the pests of Oakhurst were going to know him as? Fucking hell. He had one conversation with them – one! He barely even fucking said anything!
His expression darkened as he scowled up at the man. “That’s a bold thing to call me considering you’ve yet to stop staring at my naked body. Fuck off.”
Avid made a noise not dissimilar to a tea kettle. Drift scoffed and threw out an arm to the side, hooking it over Avid’s neck and dragging him into a pseudo-head lock. He yelped loudly and pinwheeled his arms as he stumbled into her, but her grip on him didn’t falter. She moved her head back – not enough to risk a glimpse of him, but enough so that she could call out over her shoulder. “Sir, I am so, so sorry for my companion! I assure you we mean no harm, he’s just – he’s – please just excuse him!”
As if, Owen thought mulishly to himself. I should kill him again just for this!
“It’s… no matter,” he gritted out instead. He really couldn’t bring himself to pretend to be cordial about this, but he hoped that it wouldn’t be held against him in this specific instance. Though, given how he already seemed to have a reputation as a creep, he was sure they’d find a way to spin him as the villain of this situation anyhow.
“We’ll let you finish up here! And, uh – I, I’ll – I’ll tell the other townsfolk you do your laundry and, erm, bathing here so that we don’t – erm, interrupt again!” Drift spoke quickly, still partially wrestling with Avid in her grasp. “Um – sorry again, really!”
Owen said nothing as she dragged her companion back the way they came. Avid protested the whole time, as he was wont to do. He heard the trail end of Avid’s shrill voice going, “I wanted to test if he was a vampire -!” before their voices were no longer distinguishable to him. Sighing irritably, he considered the merits of swimming to the very bottom of the lake and allowing himself to drown. Maybe he would end up haunting Avid’s nightmares that way. Didn’t that sound lovely?
In the end, he decided not to, even if it was really tempting. He’d begun to shiver, so he swam his way back to the lake shore and pulled himself up onto land. Now distinctly aware of how open he was out here, he nearly tore his clothes in his haste to pull them onto his body. His clothes were still rather dirty, and the way the cloth stuck to his sopping wet body was very unpleasant, but he’d just have to put up with it. Once his house was finished, he’d come up with a better way to go about bathing and perhaps laundry.
He casted a single long gaze over the lake, debating whether or not to try fishing while he was there. The decision was made for him when a breeze blew by and positively wracked him with shivers until his teeth chattered. No, no, he would not be staying out here any longer. He was in desperate need to dry off by his campfire. He would just have to be satisfied eating berried for the rest of the night, unless an unlucky chicken crossed his path on the way back.
Groaning at the thought of trekking back while cold and wet, he grabbed his walking stick and began to move.
Chapter Text
Finally, his house was complete.
Well. It was more of a shack, really.
Shed?
It was quite small. Not that it bothered him, of course, though he had to admit it did look a little silly. It had enough room to fit what was essential though, and that was enough. There was a fire pit in the back for keeping warm and cooking food. There was a chest that could double as a table. A crafting table, a furnace. An empty corner that he’d taken to sleeping in that would (soon, hopefully) be where he bed sat once he gathered some wool. In short: He had everything a man could possibly need to live on his own. On the inside, anyway.
He had cleared out a bit more of the surrounding area in hopes of starting a small garden of sorts, or maybe to build a pen to keep some chickens. He remembered vividly how there came a point in the vampire-human conflict where there simply weren’t any animals left in Oakhurst at all. If he could help it, he would like to be exempt from that fate, even if he could, technically, subsist on bread and fish alone.
His body complained loudly as he trekked through the woods, desperately begging to be allowed to rest after the trial that was construction work. He firmly ignored the twinges and aches with an experienced hand. While he, too, very much desired the chance to lay down and do nothing, he knew that such a thing would only be worth it if he had something softer than leaves to lay down on. Hence, why he was taking the day to travel south of the lake and into the plains in search of some sheep. He hasn’t felt like torturing himself trying to force a mining trip just yet, so he had no iron for shears, but he figured they were unnecessary at the moment. Sheep had a lot more meat than chickens did, and dragging a few home would provide food for a good while. At least, it would tide him over while he rotted in bed and recovered from the strain of the last few days.
He knew he had to be careful traveling through the plains. They were wide open and directly bordering the rebuilt Oakhurst. He knew it would be very, very easy to spot him, and those damned townsfolk were far too nosy to leave him alone if he was seen. He supposed he wouldn’t be too upset if it was someone like Shelby that sought him out, but with his luck, it would just be Avid again. Or – god forbid – the doctor.
With his eyesight, though, he knew he didn’t want to wait until nightfall to sneak around, so he’d just have to grit his teeth and bear it if someone decided to bother him. Though, maybe he really should just head to the town first and properly “meet” everyone. Sate their curiosities and let his natural repulsive aura encourage keeping away from him. That would work, right?
…Ugh, but then he would definitely see Avid again. Boo. He supposed he’d just have to hold back the urge to stake him on sight. He might not be a vampire, but a stake through the heart is a stake through the heart.
To Owen’s utter disappointment, he could already see people out in the fields by the time he broke through the treeline. He cursed up a storm and damn near broke his walking stick over his knee out of sheer frustration. Seriously? Why was everyone suddenly turning up wherever he went? Was this his true eternal punishment, to just never have a damned moment of peace?
He couldn’t tell who they were from this distance, but frankly, he didn’t care. He decided to simply ignore them and focus on finding some sheep. He didn’t have any wheat, but he did pick a bundle of wild grasses along his way out of the forest, and he hoped that he could entice some animals closer with that as a substitute. If possible, he’d prefer to just lure the animals back to his home before slaughtering them – it would be much much much more preferable than killing them here and having to drag them one by one back.
If he had to do that… well, he was sure he could manage to build a good enough bed using the wool of only one sheep, right? Three was excessive, anyway. Who was he to have such luxury?
The sound of baying caught his ears. With one last baleful glare at the townsfolk in the distance (likely doing the same thing as him, in all honestly) he turned and began heading in the direction he’d heard the sound from. He was glad for his hearing to not be as affected by his illness as his eyesight had been, but it was still a far cry from how sharp his ears were as a vampire. It seemed that with every hour that passed, Owen grew more and more irritated by his lack of vampirism.
Really, why in the hell was so much of the coven hellbent on finding that cure? Being human was awful compared to being a vampire! He was so much weaker like this. And they all wanted to say vampirism was a curse? Ungrateful idiots, the lot of them. They wouldn’t know a miracle if it bit them on the ass.
After some careful picking about the area and a lot of straining his ears, he finally spotted a sheep and its lamb grazing on some grass. He dug around his pockets for the grass he’d brought and crouched down low, trying to make himself seem smaller. It had been a while since he was able to get close to animals without freaking them out – one of the very few drawbacks of powerful vampirism, unfortunately. He was extra careful now to avoid frightening them. He only wanted the mother, really, but if he could take the lamb as well…
…maybe it could be his own Truffles? He wouldn’t call the poor thing Truffles, though. That was always a horrible name.
He clicked his tongue much like he was trying to call a cat. The two sheep’s heads shot up in his direction. He hushed them quietly before raising the grass in their direction. “Come here, little lamb-y lamb… Come here, I won’t hurt you,” he called out softly. He clicked his tongue again. The mother sheep’s head tilted as it began to step towards him, and the lamb followed suit, trailing after its mother. Internally, Owen began jumping for joy. “That’s it, come here… Such a good girl, yes…”
The sheep approached slowly. Owen stayed low, waiting patiently. It seemed to be interested in his offering, which was nice, but he still wasn’t sure if he could keep its interest long enough to lure it all the way back home. Maybe he was better off killing three sheep over the course of three days instead of trying to fit all of it into a single one.
Finally, the sheep was close enough that he could make out the twitch of its nose at it sniffed him. He flattened his hand out, offering the grass, and let a satisfied smile prod at his lips as it took a cautious nibble straight from his palm. Now, all he needed to do was slowly walk back, and keep the grass just out of reach so that the sheep would follow –
“Oh! It’s you! You’re that guy!”
The sheep bleated loudly and took off in the other direction, jumping so hard in fright that its hooves kicked up clumps of dirt directly into Owen’s face. He fell back onto his ass, sputtering and shaking the dirt off, dropping his grass in the process. He heard irritating gasps from behind him followed by a squeaked out apology that meant absolutely fucking nothing to him.
He growled as he turned his head around, leveling a glare at the first person he could find and landing on Apo. She was accompanied by Ren and Cleo, who were looking off in the direction that the sheep had ran off in with a wince. Apo looked equally as abashed and let out another apology.
“Oh, shit, I – I didn’t realize you were, uh… Sorry…”
I’ll rip out your innards and use them to cushion my bed in place of the sheep, Owen thought mulishly. What he said was, “…Not a problem. I wasn’t going to kill a sheep in front of its young, anyway,” which was much nicer and only marginally a lie. He absolutely would’ve, but he also would’ve deliberated on it longer than usual. “Now, what were you saying about me being that guy?”
“Ye be th’one Avid set about peepin’ on the o’er day!” Ren partially giggled in his cursed tongue. It was just as grating on the ears as always. Not for the first time, Owen really wished they would’ve managed to turn him instead of M. It would’ve been better for everyone involved, he thought.
“You’re also the mysterious local that warned Pyro and Pearl to skip town,” Cleo added. She held an analytical gleam in her eyes as she looked him up and down. He didn’t like the way she was looking down at him.
Scowling slightly, he felt around for his walking stick that he had dropped and used it to pull himself back on his feet. He wiped off more of the dirt that had clung to his clothes, moreso out of principal than any real attempt to get clean. He desperately needed to find time (and energy) to do laundry. Or maybe to raid Scott’s castle before the vampire moved back in…?
He saw the way their eyes darted towards his tight grip on the stick and forced himself to relax, standing in a way that was much less reliant on the stick for support. He nodded slowly. “I suppose I am. And I’ll extend the same warning to you lot. Don’t bother trying to start anything here. All Oakhurst brings is death and ruin.”
Apo pursed her lips and hummed. “And yet, you’re here. Why is that, huh? Avid said you don’t even have a house.”
Owen’s cheeks heated slightly. “I have a house now. I just finished building it…”
“That still doesn’t answer my question.”
So pushy, as always. “What’s it to you? You’re outsiders. I don’t owe you any kind of information,” he spat out. “Leave or don’t leave, I don’t actually care. It makes no difference to me.”
He could see Apo getting defensive and gearing up for a fight. It was so easy for him to get a rise out of them. He didn’t particularly want to argue with her at the moment, even if he still held a rather nasty distaste for the person after the many hypocrisies he’d witnessed from her before, but it was just so easy. She was one of the townsfolk that held a particular sensitivity to his rottenness.
Cleo cleared her throat softly and laid a hand on Apo’s elbow. When Apo glanced back, the two seemed to hold a wordless conversation with their eyes alone that ended with Apo taking a deep breath and visibly calming themself down. Cleo turned to Owen. “Would you mind at least elaborating on this so-called curse of Oakhurst? My family is from here, so I at least know some of its history regarding its plagues, but I’ve never heard of it being cursed.”
Hypocrites comforting hypocrites, as always. Owen couldn’t decide if he liked them more or less than Apo.
He debated on what to say, or if he even should say anything at all. He sincerely did not actually care if they took caution against anything or not; He just wanted them to leave him the hell alone for as long as possible. He wouldn’t dare make himself look genuinely knowledgeable on the area, that was just looking for trouble. He was already making himself appear unpleasant, he knew, so now all he needed was to be unreliable. If he couldn’t be good company (and when was he ever, even when he tried?) and he couldn’t be a good resource, then they should all simply forget about his existence entirely. That was the hope, anyway.
What to say, what to say…
…Hm. That might just be stupid enough to work.
“Vampires roam these hills,” he deadpanned. He made direct eye contact with each of them, unblinking as he gestured a hand to the surrounding area. “Land is full of’em. They’ll be in your walls, soon.”
Crickets. The three townsfolk stared at him, and he stared back. He began regretting his words as soon as he said them. That really was stupid. Could he take it back as a joke? Ugh, but then they would think he was someone they could joke around with… maybe being seen as stupid was better than being seen as friendly.
“Dear god,” Ren whispered loudly, “Methinks ‘e’s actually serious. We’ve got erselves another Avid.”
“Don’t you dare compare me to that pervert!” Owen barked out instantly. Fuck, fuck, fuck, hell. How did he fail to consider that -?! This was horrible! He should’ve taken it back! The only thing worse than being seen as friendly is being seen as similar to Avid!
The group took a collective step back when he snapped at them. Apo then took another, larger step back, giving him a look that was nauseatingly similar to how they used to look at Avid when Oakhurst was first being resettled. “O…kay. Uh, curse noted. Thank you,” they said politely. She clapped her hands once and looked at her companions. “We should be heading back to town now. Um, just wanted to say hi…”
“I understand you’re living outside of the walls, but if you ever need anything, you’re free to stop by and trade,” Cleo said once Apo had trailed off. She gave Owen a small smile, though it had an awkward edge. “We’re setting up farms and ranches, and we have a doctor as well. We’d all be more than happy to help with whatever you’d need.” The other two nodded rapidly at her words.
Owen had less than zero intentions on taking them up on the offer. He had no interest in any of their goods or services. If he couldn’t craft or forage it by himself, he simply didn’t need it. If he got hurt and fell sick, then he would simply die. He’d sooner succumb to sepsis than let the doctor take a crack at him.
Really, the idea of willingly stepping foot into Oakhurst for any reason was so repulsive that he couldn’t hold back a grimace. “Erm…I’ll keep that in mind,” he mumbled. Distantly, his ears caught the sound of baying, and he gleefully took the excuse to leave the conversation. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go find another sheep. Bye.”
He turned on his heel and stalked off without another word. He heard them all whispering and muttering behind his back, but it didn’t matter one bit to him. They always did that, anyhow.
In the end, he managed to lure two sheep all the way to the lake before they began to grow antsy and uninterested. He figured that that was as well as things were going to go, so he slaughtered them both and began the arduous process of dragging both carcasses back to his home. After that was the even more frustrating process of shearing their wool and cleaning the bodies. His hands had gone numb again after he’d finished dragging the second sheep to his doorstep. That compounded by the shakiness that had yet to leave since he woke up meant that by the time he was finished stripping the sheep of their wool, skin, and meat, his hands were covered in knicks and shallow cuts from the constant slipping and his inability to feel the wounds.
He set part of the sheep on his fire to roast. He washed his hands in the now-stagnant bucket of water he’d dragged up from the lake yesterday night and rewrapped them with his old bandages. The wool he’d collected wasn’t quite enough to make a bed with, but he still eyed the pile longingly as he sat next to the fire. It would be so easy to just call it a night…
But no, he had to clean up at least a little. With creaking bones, he set about pulling the skins outside and hanging them up on some nearby branches, a half-baked idea in his head about trying to tan them into leather (a skill he was, admittedly, not great at.) He dug a small hole nearby to store the sheep’s bones in. He knew how to make a decent bone broth, but since he lacked the tools for proper cooking at the moment and didn’t want to deal with the blood and guts attracting wild animals (or worse, wild Goldsmiths,) he’d just… put them to the side for now. It definitely wasn’t that he was too tired to walk down to the lake to toss them in. No, definitely not.
The mutton was rather dry and gamey when he pulled it out of the fire, but it was much more filling than chicken, so he had no complaints. His belly became nice and full, and the warmth of both the fire and the meat warmed his sore muscles pleasantly.
As for the bed, well… did he even need one, really? Could he not just… lay down with the wool?
He was exhausted enough to consider it. He slowly lowered himself onto his side, half-laying on the wool and half-pulling at tufts to cover him like the world’s worst blanket. It was, unfortunately, the most comfortable he’s been since getting dragged into Hell, and he lost any and all will to get back up and craft something less demeaning.
Is this my life now? He thought to himself, despairingly. Resigning myself to sleeping on the ground like a farm animal? This is more pathetic than how I lived two hundred years ago.
It truly was. At least then, he’d had a real house with real furniture. He also didn’t have to worry about insufferable humans bothering him because everyone went out of their way to not bother him.
This new life must truly by Hell. He had absolutely nothing. Really, the only reason he was trying at all to build anything was because the last time he killed himself, it didn’t fucking work. Even when he gives up immortality, he’s still not allowed to die. Death clearly didn’t bring him any closer to Him, but was this really any better? Did it matter? Hell was Hell, but life without any piece of Him was also Hell.
What was he supposed to do? Live out the rest of his days, hurting and outcasted without even the promise of his illness granting him an early grave? If he couldn’t burn down this new Oakhurst last time with the gift of vampirism at his side, then he highly doubted he could do so now. Maybe –
No. Absolutely not. He refused to be sired by anyone other than Him.
“Maybe I can try killing myself again,” he muttered to himself. He stared up at his ugly, roughshod ceiling, watching as the shadows from the fire dance around the wood. Maybe if he got really desperate. If Hell just tossed him about out into Oakhurst once more, he’d be well and truly pissed. Besides… he wasn’t sure if he could stand to see an expression like that on His face again.
He shut his eyes. No sire to lead him, no false coven to protect, and not even a death to work towards. Maybe he was just doomed to be a graveyard keeper for Oakhurst. After these fools rip each other to parts, he would just wander about the area, and tell anyone stupid enough to stumble upon him to fuck off the way he did Pyro and Pearl. Maybe he’d cut down every single tree that grew here and burn the seeds and saplings. Salt the Earth, ensure there was absolutely no possibility of resettlement. Scour around, make some TNT, and blow up Scott’s castle, maybe? He felt like Scott would’ve mentioned the presence of other vampires that would be woken up by such a thing if they existed.
The idea of completely decimating Oakhurst was comforting, but it was a distant comfort. As much as he wished it weren’t so, he didn’t think ruining the town again would ever come close to the satisfaction that his initial massacre had brought. He was just so, so tired.
He’ll think about what to do after the current denizens finish their squabbling and fuck off, he decided. For now, he needed to focus his energies on just staying uninvolved. Last time, he’d been an outsider in his own coven. Surely – surely it couldn’t be that hard to be left alone, could it…?
Chapter Text
Owen had lived completely alone for most of his life. His childhood ended very, very early. Red patches of skin appeared on his lower back when he was barely eleven years of age. They’d been small, not particularly itchy or uncomfortable. His child self hadn’t even noticed them; It had been his mother giving him a bath that realized something was wrong with his skin.
The patches themselves didn’t hurt, so his younger self hadn’t fully grasped the weight of the issue. Both of his parents had been religious folk, though somewhat estranged from Oakhurst’s branch of church, specifically. He recalled them arguing day in and day out about his newly discovered illness. None of the holistics they employed did him any good. Trying new remedies was expensive. The townsfolk noticed their recent purchases and whispered incessantly.
The illness grew slowly at the time, but the fact that it grew at all infuriated them. And Owen was sure that it was fury, not worry. By the time his mother had had enough of the snake oils and herbal salves and dragged him to the priest for divine aid, the spots had spread to his shoulders and his parents had stopped touching him entirely – not even to patch a cut. (Of which there were many, as he’d always been a clumsy child, and the growing numbness in his fingers and toes and irradiating from the red patches made it so much easier to hurt himself by accident.)
The trip to the priest, of course, resulted in nothing but his parents’ ire. Less than a week later, his mother had up and left Oakhurst entirely, screaming her hatred for his father for impregnating her with such pure evil.
From there, it was his father dragging him to and fro to whatever doctor or academic claimed had found a secret cure. Bloodletting, foul emetics, acid treatments, even flogging – his father consented to it all, heedless to how much Owen cried and begged for it to stop.
Eventually he, too, gave up. Owen woke up just a scant few weeks before his thirteenth year to find the house cold and empty without so much as a note to track his father by. No one from Oakhurst came to check on the poor, sickly child abandoned by his parents. No one worried for his well-being or even so much as pitied him for his fate. As far as the townsfolk were concerned, he had driven them off all on his own and so deserved the following isolation.
He couldn’t say with complete honesty, either, that he really lived in Scott’s castle. He had a room there, yes, but would that be considered living? The castle was less of a home and more of a place of work, like the lumber mill. He went there for food, to recover from fights, and to make plans with the rest of the coven. He never went there just to relax, never found himself out in the forest wishing he were back in that bed. Scott and Shelby and Pyro lived there – Owen had been a… a long-term guest, at most. A stray cat wandering back towards those that fed it.
So, yes. Owen was used to living alone. It was peaceful, wasn’t it? On his better days, when he wasn’t curled up in pain and drowning in anger, that was what he told himself. It was peaceful living by his own means away from the hustle and bustle of the town. He could take his days slow. He rose from bed when he wanted, cooked what he wanted, spoke quietly to himself without worrying about anyone listening in. He did his chores to his own standards and no one else’s. He could take walks out in the forest and watch the birds flit about for as long as he wanted to without anyone waiting up for him. That was peace, wasn’t it?
Before his turning, the only caveat to all that was the lumber quota he always had to fill. As much as the townsfolk hated him, it was hard to argue with the quality of his products. He couldn’t just wile away his days doing nothing; He still had to work. Now, though? He wasn’t even beholden to that much. None of those slimy worms would get supplies out of him, not even a single stick. He had nothing to offer them, and so they would have nothing to ask of him. He was really, truly a man for himself and himself alone.
It was with this in mind that he did not leave his shack for three days. He remained curled up in his sleeping corner, wool pulled tight around himself, and simply lay there. Occasionally he would get up to stoke the fire if he got chilly, or if his stomach panged he would munch on some dried meat or berries, but that was it. He did, unfortunately, have to trek down to the lake for some fresh water on that third day, but he was fortunate for once and encountered absolutely no-one on the way there. Then, he returned to being a lump of wool.
He was quite good sleeping for hours upon hours uninterrupted. A leftover vampiric trait that he’d yet to completely grow out of, he assumed. Even when he wasn’t able to be truly asleep, he had an ability to detach his mind from his body and drift away into a fuzzy and numb state. His body remained still and unmoving while his head was far, far away from conscious thought and feeling. It was a skill he’d picked up at a young age – even younger than his disease, in fact. It made his body’s need for constant rest so much easier to bare with, as he could simply… skip forward in time, almost. Hours felt like seconds in that daze. It was quite helpful.
At the end of his little…rotting fest, he felt leagues better – physically, at least. The numbness was unlikely to go away, unfortunately, but it was an old acquaintance and one he knew he would readjust to whether he liked it or not. (In fact, not even vampirism had been able to completely undo that kind of deep scarring his illness gave him – though it was now much, much more present.) The pain, however, was almost entirely gone. All of the scrapes and cuts he’d accumulated were all scabbed over, his joints were no longer inflamed and creaky, and his muscles were soft and pliant. His stomach, too, was finally settled, and after all of the meat and fruits he’d been eating, he started to actually feel somewhat energized.
Well, now. What was he to do next?
A garden, he thought to himself. That would be simple enough. The sooner he started, the better. He had no plans to look for magic books to help grow anything.
And so, he spent a day digging in the dirt beside his shack. Tilling dirt was not entirely unlike chopping down trees, if he really put his mind to it. He felt a bit more helpless during the actual planting part, unsure if he was really treating the seeds right or not, but… well, he supposed he’d just have to wait and see what the result was.
He then decided to take advantage of his newly regained energy to go foraging around the woods. He could never have too few berries, and he knew there were more than a few apple trees scattered about that he could pick from. He still steered far, far away from the wild garlic growing in patches around the place, just by habit more than anything. He picked up some rocks and stray branches and vines and leaf litter – very useful things to keep on hand. He even squashed a few spiders to carefully extract their webbings, thinking about how much easier on his body it would be to fish with an actual pole as opposed to a spear. It was a rather good haul, if he did say so himself, and he very happily allowed himself to once more spend the rest of the day doing absolutely nothing but sleep.
The next day, he felt even better, and thought he might’ve even been up for spending a day at the lake fishing. In a rare moment of optimism, he figured that he probably wouldn’t even be tempted to drown anyone if they stumbled upon him and tried to talk. How daring of him!
With that in mind, he took his newly fashioned fishing rod and a small wooden basket and made his way down to the lake. He’ll probably need to bathe again soon, but it was a… little daunting of a task given what happened last time. He’s been trying very, very hard not to think about how hard Avid stared at him, but he supposed it only made sense that it was harder to push the event from his mind while at the actual crime scene.
He knew, of course, why Avid had stared so hard. It was plainly obvious. His torso was just as littered with scars as his arms were. Most of them were caused by his vampirism, technically; When his disease was cured, the countless pustules and rashes had left behind pale white swatches of skin across his whole body. There were other, more real scars, of course – like from the floggings and acid treatments, for instance, or from when he’d just been learning how to properly fell trees and a branch had scratched him deeply in the shoulder – but in the case of his torso, a majority of them stemmed from his illness being cured.
His skin was a roughshod patchwork of discoloring, and he knew good and well just how unsightly he was. Far be it from him to assume someone like Avid would’ve had enough house training to know not to stare at the deformed, though.
He huffed a bit as he took a seat on the lake shore. That was enough of that, now. He was ruining his perfectly mediocre mood by thinking about these things. Better to just focus on the fishing.
A few hours went by like that. The fish weren’t plentiful in the lake, but he still managed a few bites here and there; Few that were a good enough size to be worth keeping, however. Occasionally, his mind would stray into unsavory territory, as it was wont to do. He wasn’t very good at distracting himself, especially with such a meditative chore. Then again, he’d always found it hard not to marinate in his thoughts and feelings.
Owen tried to imagine He was beside him. He liked fishing, didn’t He? At the very least, He liked calm and peaceful activities and being out in nature. Maybe He would’ve just liked to lounge around on the grass and listen to the birdsong. Or maybe He’d talk – Owen remembered that He could be such a chatterbox sometimes, filling in Owen’s awkward silences as easy as breathing. He’d talk and talk and talk and Owen wouldn’t be given a chance to think unhappy thoughts.
Ah… but Owen wasn’t sure what He’d talk about, here. He’d never been good at predicting the things He would use for conversation.
“Have you ever wondered what it would be like to be a bird? Always up in the air, flying and singing and eating little worms… Hm… I think we’d make a fine pair of doves, don’t you?”
“Ah, look here at this clay – see how pigmented it is? When it’s dried and ground down, it provides such a brilliant red for painting! I’m pleasantly surprised to see it in this area.”
“Oh! A dandelion fluff landed on your nose! You know what that means, right Owen? Someone’s pining for you~ Oh, stop it, stop! I’m just joking, hahaha!”
He’d looked so unhappy last time Owen saw Him. Maybe He wouldn’t joke around with Owen at all. Maybe even His graciousness had its limits.
“Would it kill you to smile a bit more…? You know, you’ll never feel happy if you don’t look happy.”
“That was quite rude of you. What did that poor girl ever do to you? Why must you be so nasty all the time?”
“Oh, bother… What’s got you all worked up this time, hm? Someone looked at you wrong? Your hands hurt? Owen, Owen… Shouldn’t you be used to this by now?”
His brows furrowed as he stared at the makeshift bobber sitting in the water. Did He... ever say those things to him? That didn’t sound like Him. That didn’t sound like Him at all. And yet, Owen could hear the words so crisply. A perfect image of His scowling face formed in Owen’s head, but had Owen ever truly seen Him scowl like that? That couldn’t be right. He would never look at Owen like that.
Unless…
…He’d been watching Owen from up in the sky with that expression this entire time?
“Oh, hello there.”
For once in his life, Owen was actually thankful for being walked upon. His newly human heart was pounding in his chest in a way he didn’t enjoy one bit. He briefly entertained the thought of snapping his walking stick in two and driving the sharp end into his chest just to make the accursed organ stop, but the thought went as quickly as he came.
He looked up and to the side to see Scott Goldsmith walking towards him. His gait was just as insufferably relaxed as always, utterly unconcerned with his surroundings in a way Owen knew wasn’t a front at all. Scott was just that confident in himself and his strength, and that dismissive of those he deemed below him. Owen would be lying if he said he hadn’t tried to imitate some of that power last time, but he’d also take that admission to the grave. Again.
Owen nodded in greeting and gave a quiet ‘hullo.’ Scott came to a stop beside him, looking down with a slightly quirked brow. Owen knew he didn’t look particularly intimidating and figured he appeared less so without his vampirism giving off an aura. Scott was probably trying not to laugh at the pathetic looking man he’s undoubtedly heard so much about.
“So, you’re that loner that has the whole town in a tizzy. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Scott said, proving Owen’s suspicions. “Well, as much as there is to be heard, I suppose. Not a whole lot to go off of, now is there?”
Owen shrugged. He glanced at his bobber before returning to Scott. “There’s not much to tell. I’m just a lumberjack,” he said. Wait… had he even given them that cover story yet? Did he forget? He must’ve, if the growing gleam of curiosity in Scott’s eyes meant anything.
“A lumberjack? How quaint. Nothing wrong with being a laborer,” Scott nodded despite his baldfaced lying. Owen knew good and well what Scott felt about hard labor. The man had been insufferable during the reconstruction of the castle.
Then again, he’d still done it of his own initiative.
Still! Completely unbearable.
“Simple men like me only need simple lives,” Owen said even though he was really tempted to call Scott insufferable to his face. He’d probably be killed on the spot. Oh, but what a way to go? Why didn’t he think of that before agreeing to let Abolish cure him?
“Are you?”
Owen squinted. “What?”
“Are you a simple man, Owen?” Scott practically purred. The gleam in his eye was slowly growing more analytical by the moment. “I doubt a simple man would be living all alone, just on the outskirts of ruin. Not in Oakhurst.” Saying this, he crouched down, becoming closer to Owen’s eye-level. Of course, he didn’t sit down fully the way Owen was. His clothes were too fine for that.
Owen, of course, was far too used to Scott’s tactics. He wasn’t intimidated by the sudden proximity, nor was he particularly enchanted by the lilt of his voice. “It seems you know my name, but I still don’t know yours.”
Scott’s eyebrows rose imperceptibly. It was rare for people to be fully unaffected by his charms. They put up masks and pretended otherwise, of course, but Owen knew intimately how the sound of a beating heart betrayed one’s true state regardless of their outward stoicism. There was no nervousness to hear or smell on him, however, and he was sure Scott picked up on that.
A smile stretched across Scott’s face, an expression not dissimilar to a cat. He laid a hand on his chest and inclined his head. “Ah, apologies. You’re right, how rude of me. I am Scott Goldsmith – as an Oakhurst native, I’m sure you’ve heard of my family?”
“Oh, I’ve heard plenty,” Owen couldn’t hold back the muttering. He didn’t even have to look to tell that Scott’s gaze sharpened – he could feel it.
“Good things, I hope?”
God, Owen so wanted to say no, if only to see Scott’s face. Seeing Scott’s emotionless demeanor break had been a rare but genuine treat of living in the castle, and one of the few good things about spending so much time with the man. It had been somewhat of an unspoken game within the coven – one that Shelby had won easily, if on accident, when Scott read one of her little “books.” Really, the look on his face as he kept frantically turning pages had been so great that Owen had almost been satisfied enough to die then and there.
“Just the usual,” Owen landed on. It was a safe enough answer. Scott nodded slowly, accepting it but not without his smile briefly twitching into a smirk.
Then, Scott sighed loudly and tossed his hair back. “Finally. At least someone here understands who I am. What a relief!” He exclaimed dramatically. Owen already knew he wasn’t going to like whatever Scott said next. “You should really stop by the town, set the record straight with the settlers. Let them know who’s really in charge here.”
“Absolutely not,” Owen said immediately. He dragged his eyes away from Scott and back out onto the lake. Not a single nibble this whole conversation… Scott must have been scaring the fish away.
Scott hummed. “Why-ever not?”
“Place is cursed. I stay away,” Owen replied simply. It wasn’t even a lie, if you thought about it.
“So you’ve told the others. Cleo claims you believe the land is… full of vampires?” There was something testing in that sentence, Owen knew. Scott was probably probing to see if he was going to be another Avid. He could hear it in his tone, the way he was just verging on being truly judgemental. Which – was still very offensive. He was nothing like Avid, thank you.
Thinking about being considered the same ilk as Avid pissed him off just enough that he let the words, “Well, a Goldsmith would know, wouldn’t he?” slip out of his mouth completely unfiltered. He knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as he said it. In the sudden silence that followed, his grip on his fishing rod increased more and more until he felt the dull pressure of what he knew would be splinters digging into his palms. He did not look at Scott.
His heart did not stutter when he felt a cold hand fall on his shoulder. A single finger poked him in the neck, right where his pulse point was. “Ah, so you have heard about my family. And yet…” Scott murmured darkly, “You don’t appear to be scared of me. I don’t think you’re a very simple man at all, Owen.”
Owen shivered. It was the first physical reaction he’d had to Scott this whole time. Scott laughed softly, and Owen could only imagine the infuriatingly pleased expression he had on. Imagine, because he still refused to look at the other. It wasn’t fear that kept his eyes away. It couldn’t be.
“I think we could have a lot of fun together, Owen. I’d love to get to know you better,” Scott said, his voice getting closer and closer to Owen’s ear. Or rather, closer and closer to Owen’s neck.
Owen froze. He’s not going to kill me, he thought dumbly. He’s going to turn me. The realization made his calm heart finally begin to speed up. Scott’s dark laughter in his ear sent another shiver down his spine. The hand on his shoulder slowly migrated to the back of his head, where fingers weaved in between his curly locks and tugged lightly to get him to tilt his head.
Fuck. Owen should probably do something. No – he needed to do something. He couldn’t get sired by someone that wasn’t Him, no no no – that was an even worse betrayal than accepting the cure. He would only become a vampire by His fangs, no one else’s. Especially not Scott Goldsmith’s. He couldn’t, he just couldn’t.
But he was so weak, he knew – his accursed, horrible, no-good excuse of a body was so weak as a human. Scott’s grip in his hair already felt like iron shackles. Maybe – maybe his earlier idea of snapping his fishing rod and using it as a stake could work? No, there was no way he’d twist around faster than Scott could sink his teeth into him.
What was Scott thinking? It was broad daylight at the lake, anyone could walk in on this!
Then again – if he was going to attack anyone in broad daylight, it would be Owen, wouldn’t it? The hermit that half the town hadn’t even seen for themselves, that no one knew where he lived? Wasn’t the whole point of his newfound isolation that no one would come looking for him?
This thoughts were spiraling. He was helpless. Scott’s fangs brushed his skin –
”Uwahh!? What’s going on here?! Scott!!!”
For what was probably the first time in Avid’s whole life, someone was happy to see him. And that someone was Owen.
Scott pulled back from Owen as quickly as he could while still maintaining his grace, whereas Owen all but threw himself away from the vampire. They both turned to see Avid in all his vampire hunter glory, wide eyes flickering back and forth between the two of them while his crossbow remained centered solely on Scott. A few leaves and twigs stuck out of his hair, as if he’d genuinely burst out of the bushes.
“Hello, Avid,” Scott greeted dryly. He adjusted the collar of his cloak and dusted off a bit of dust.
“Don’t ‘hello, Avid’ me, mister!! What were you just doing to him?!” Avid cried out, lifting his crossbow just a bit higher.
Scott sighed long-suffering, as if he were truly the one being inconvenienced by the situation. Which, well – Owen had been on his side just a few weeks ago, so in a way he did understand and sympathize, but – but still! He was not up for turning!
“I was just getting to know our resident lumberjack a little more, Avid. What, am I not allowed to be social?” Scott asked as he crossed his arms.
Avid narrowed his eyes. “Then why were you so close to his neck, huh? And why were you grabbing him like that?!” He growled. Crossbow still aimed at Scott, he addressed Owen, his tone going from tight with anger to almost disgusting in its sincerity. “Owen? Are you okay? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
Owen found himself at a cross-roads. He could either toss Scott under the proverbial carriage, or he could lie and protect his identity. It would be deeply, truly hypocritical of him to rat Scott out, he felt. He might be a vampire no longer, but he was sure he’d always identify more closely with the creatures of the night than he ever would with humans. It would be a betrayal of himself and everything he’s ever stood for to just – expose Scott. Especially since he didn’t even want the other dead, just – away from him. He was less upset about being nearly bitten itself than the fact that he knew it was going to be a turning bite. Feeding, he could understand. Hell – it had been a good enough day physically speaking that he might’ve even offered up his blood if only Scott had asked (but when did Scott ever ask?). He drew the line at turning, though.
He definitely didn’t want to expose Scott as a vampire. He didn’t want the man to just walk away unscathed, either.
“Your town is full of perverts and lechers,” Owen spat out. “Tell me again why I should ever bother with going inside the walls when I can’t even be left alone outside of them?”
Scott’s head whipped around so fast that it looked painful. His usual mask of arrogance and distance was completely dropped, replaced with an expression of such pure offense and disbelief that Owen nearly broke character to cackle. Oh, it still had nothing to the faces he’d made while reading Shelby’s book, but it was still gold. His eyes were so wide and his mouth was practically on the floor. Scott was, for once, made completely speechless.
Avid was similarly agog, staring at the two of them in a strangely fitting mix of horror and embarrassment. His arms fell to his sides, his crossbow hanging from limp fingers. “He… you… What?”
Owen huffed and rolled his eyes. “Come fetch your Lord Goldsmith and get out of my sight. I want nothing to do with any of you or your wandering hands and eyes.”
A slow blink was all he received. Avid nodded stupidly. “Uh… okay. Erm… Scott? We should, uh, go. Um… I’m doing house inspections today, and they’re… about to start…”
It was a true testament to how much Owen’s cheeky little cover story swept the rug from Scott’s feet that he followed along behind Avid without complaint. Owen saw him place a hand to his temple like he was fighting off a headache, a deep frown replacing the delightfully offended expression he’d worn moments ago.
Owen watched them leave, the sound of them (Avid, really) rustling through the brush getting fainter and fainter until they were, at least, fully gone. He groaned tiredly and flopped down on his back, suddenly far too tired for a day spent only fishing. He might’ve fended Scott off for now, but it was only pure coincidence that Avid had been tracking the man down. He’s managed to put his foot in his mouth in the most inconvenient way and draw the only thing worse than Scott’s ire – his interest. He doubted he’d be so lucky to have an idiotic savior come bursting through the treeline next time Scott tracked him down.
And if he knew Scott at all – the other would track him down.
Notes:
i really can't tell you why owen's go-to comeback is to just call people perverted. i think it's his giant anime eyes. its in his nature to go "k - kyahhh! baka!" and slap avid across the face but unfortunely hes too emo for that.
Chapter Text
Scott was definitely going to be a problem, Owen knew. The vampire was too prideful to let Owen’s insult go unpunished forever, and his curiosity was too powerful to remain unquenched. There was also the fact that Scott knew that Owen knew he was a vampire; Owen may have avoided outing him as such when Avid showed up, but how is Scott to know that Owen won’t reveal him later? It’s simple – he can’t. That made Owen a threat.
It was so, so tiring. He figured that the best way to get ahead of the curve would be, maybe, to seek Scott out himself to clear the air, but… Scott had no reason to trust Owen in that regard. He might even twist such an attempt into an accusation of blackmail, which would only make him trust Owen less and make him more into a problem. If Owen made him angry enough then maybe – maybe – Scott would consider him too much trouble to spend an eternity with and avoid turning him entirely… but the bastard had said the exact same thing about Avid, and then had been utterly charmed by the fool (though Owen knew the man would have never admit such a thing out loud, it was a bit obvious to see.)
This put Owen in a tough spot where he really wasn’t sure how to defend himself. He didn’t mind per se if Scott killed him or used him as a livestock – well, maybe he’d mind a little about being a farm animal. His only line was drawn at being turned. Unfortunately, he knew better than most how infuriating it was to listen to humans ramble and rave about not wanting to be turned. He had a perfectly good reason, though! Much better than those insipid townsfolk!
Even just thinking about their whining made him roll his eyes as he trekked through the plains. It had been a few days since his encounter with Scott, and he’d spent the whole time holed up in his house. Out of want for something to do, he’d began to straighten the place up and make small improvements. He’d put together an actual bed frame for when he had enough wool for a proper cot to sleep on, and he’d finally started to make good on his idea of trying to tan those sheep hides he had. The area around his house had been cleared out somewhat of trees and shrubs, leaving room for a ramshackle little pen that he could maybe keep some animals in. He even – and this was properly the improvement he was most proud of – fashioned together a pot from the metal ores he’d found while moving dirt around. His culinary opportunities have improved tenfold!
It was with that marvelous accomplishment in mind, though, that brought Owen back out onto the plains. He was a bit more prepared this time – he’d woven up a basket out of kudzu that he could wear on his back to make it easier to carry things back to his house. He’s also upgraded his spear to one with a stone tip so that he could hunt without worrying about blunting his axe.
His main goal of the day was hunting. The few fish he’d caught only lasted him so long, and he’d ran out of the mutton he’d made a while ago. If he could kill a cow at least, then he could dry out some beef to store… or, he could find some more sheep and finally have enough wool for a bed! Sleeping in a lump on the floor was fine and all, but he knew his body was going to start protesting soon. As much as he knew he could handle a great deal of pain and discomfort, it also just seemed… rather inconvenient, to be honest.
So: Owen was hunting. He still went out of his way to give Oakhurst a wide berth. He was a little less concerned about running into anyone out in the plains this time, though. He wasn’t quite keeping track of the days, but he knew it had been a few weeks since he woke up here. By this time, he reckoned that the town was more focused on gathering materials up further North than wandering about this area.
Still – the chances of Scott finding him alone out here might have been low, but it wasn’t zero. Owen didn’t think that Scott would just attack him out in broad daylight, right in view from Oakhurst’s walls, but he did think that Scott would follow him back to his house. Worse than the idea of getting attacked was the idea of anyone in this awful place knowing where he lived.
There really wasn’t a whole lot of animals in Oakhurst, to be fair; The land was far too sick to attract much life. What could be found was few and far between, especially with a town being rebuilt practically a stone’s throw away. He encountered a few chickens, but mainly left them alone with the exception of checking around for nearby nests of eggs. The pigs, too, he ignored. A gift to the vampire community, though they would never know it was from him. Pig blood tasted the most similar to human blood, after all.
He did eventually find a cow, though it was a bit on the smaller side as most animals in Oakhurst typically were. That was almost preferable to Owen, though, as there was only so much that he could carry on his back. He slaughtered it quickly and dressed the body down as much as he could, focusing mainly on just meat and its hide. Leaving the rest of the body behind was… unfortunate, but less so when he thought of it was a way to scare the townsfolk (mainly Avid.)
It was a little harder to walk around with the basket on his back half-full of cow remains, but he was fortunate enough to at least be far past the point of being disgusted when covered in blood. Though… he really should start looking into a way to get more clothes soon. Maybe it wasn’t too late to scrounge around Scott’s castle…? …No, no. He’d have better luck snooping around the crypt for where he’d left His things.
He wandered around for a bit longer, though he didn’t see many more animals. He did find some eggs, thankfully. While scuffing about in the grass looking for tracks, he even found a wild potato! It was… rather small, but he knew how to get a few sprouts to grow from a single head. He felt much more confident growing wild potatoes than wild wheat. It was one of the things he’d learned to grow himself as a child after the shopkeeps stopped wanting to sell to him.
Beef, would-be leather, eggs, potatoes… he looked up and his eye caught on a flash of white. He pushed himself off his knees with a groan, leaning on his walking stick for just a second before fully turning to look around. There, up on a small incline closer to the town walls was a small lamb – and Owen had a strange feeling it was the same lamb he’d seen the week before. Except… where was its mother?
Frowning, he began to pick his way up towards the lamb. It heard him coming easily, its head snapping up from where it had been nosing the grass and staring directly at him. He froze. He still couldn’t see or even hear its mother nearby. He didn’t think she would just… abandon it, would she? Weren’t animals better at that sort of thing than humans? Some sort of… biological imperative to protect their young that humans seemingly lacked?
The townsfolk killing its mother seemed like the more likely event, though he’d be surprised that their sentimental hearts didn’t think to take the babe in. Unless they didn’t know the sheep had a lamb? The humans were rather stupid. Even as a vampire, Owen had known to try to avoid eating the mother animals until the babies had been weaned off. It was how you kept the food around longer. A small part of him had been hoping to find the lamb with its mother and to keep them both in his newly built pen until the young one was old enough for him to slaughter the mother.
He sighed distastefully and lowered himself to sit in the grass. He crossed his legs and rested his head in his hands, staring dully at the lamb. It tilted its head, seeming to analyze him, and then cautiously began to approach. It lost its caution as he stayed still, careful not to spook it. By the time it was in touching distance, Owen could see its little tail wagging. A small, tiny part of him wondered if it recognized him from all that time ago.
It nosed at his foot curiously. What a pitiful, pitiful thing.
“I have no grass for you, nor any milk,” he mumbled. The lamb, of course, did not understand his words and gave a bleat in response.
The lamb was cute in the same way most small animals were cute, he supposed. He was sure the townsfolks’ hearts would be shattered if they knew they had orphaned the poor thing. If it was too young to go without its mother’s milk, then it was doomed to starve slowly. In that sense, it would be a mercy to put it down. It would be humane.
Owen had no qualms about killing children. He had killed every child in Oakhurst; While he avoided killing adolescent livestock for logistical reasons, there was nothing emotional holding him back from doing so.
The lamb’s nose suddenly came very close to his face, enough so that he could feel its soft puffs of breath. He tensed, afraid it was going to lick him like some unruly dog, before it thankfully backed away and gave another bleat. Its tail was still wagging.
…What was he doing here, exactly? He didn’t particularly feel like killing it. There was always a chance it could stumble upon a surrogate, or something. That was something that happened in the wild, wasn’t it? At any rate, he still needed to find a sheep that was worth the slaughter.
He stood up and rolled his shoulders with a grimace. The basket’s weight was taking its toll on his back, that was for sure. God, what he wouldn’t give to at least have the strength part of his vampirism back…
The lamb jumped back as he stood up, but did not overtly run off. He quirked an eyebrow at the little thing and made a shooing motion with his hand. “Go on, be off,” he said. “I’m not a very merciful man. You’re of no use to me starving to death, so there’s no use in cozying up to me.”
It bleated and bumped its head against his leg. Clearly, it was stupid. He sighed and, against his better judgement, reached out a hand to scratch its ear.
Now, on to find a sheep actually suitable for slaughter.
The weather was thankfully as overcast as ever as he picked his way across the plains. The lack of hot sun beaming down on him made the exertion of his trip much more bearable. Though, a part of him was admittedly just a tad bit interested in whenever the next sunny day was, few and far between as they were in Oakhurst. He was just curious to feel the sun without its characteristic sizzle on vampiric skin. That said, it wasn’t really something he was actively looking forward to. Even before his turning, all of the time he spent deep in the woods meant he had grown accustomed to being out of the sun, and it wasn’t something he ever found himself truly missing.
He reached one of the roads leading out of Oakhurt without finding any other animals of interest, and decided that his shoulders were aching enough to warrant a proper break. His basket was dropped carelessly to the ground so he could stretch out the kinks and pains in his back that had steadily grown. He might need to adjust the straps later on at some point.
From there, Owen had a rather clear view of the town and its walls. Technically, anyway. It was far enough away to just be a vague smear of color, but if he squinted he could just barely parse out movement past the gate. The town was more-or-less rebuilt by now, wasn’t it? Avid had mentioned the house inspections at the lake. At the very least, then, everyone’s homes were finished.
He fully lay down in the grass and felt a pop in his back at he did. I wonder if Sausage is living alone, or if he has holed up with a new roommate? The thought came unbidden. Not that Owen had been much of a roommate in the first place, honestly. It was just an idle thought, though, and not one he ruminated heavily on as he munched on the handful of nuts and berries he’d brought with him on his walk.
He jumped at the sudden feeling of breaths on his cheek. An embarrassing noise left his throat as he physically recoiled off the ground and snapped his head to the side to see –
The lamb.
It, too, jumped back with a surprised bleat at his startled reaction, but it was quick to step right back into his space and nose at his hair. He tried to push it away, but it was undeterred. Irritation made him growl quietly.
“My hair is not for you to graze on, you –“
Bleat!
“Do not interrupt me, have you no resp –“
Bleaaat!
“I’m not arguing with –“
Bleaaaaaat!
Owen gave the lamb a mulish look as it stupidly blinked at him. Was this what he had come to in life? Two thousand seven hundred and ninety-nine (plus one) people he killed with his bare hands, and now he was having stand-offs with farm animals? He was losing stand-offs with farm animals?
Growling again, he reluctantly held out his hand and offered the berries to the lamb. He wasn’t sure if sheep even ate fruit, but – oh yes, there it went. He grumbled as it ate from his hand, leaving disgusting slobber all over his palm. There went his lunch, he supposed. Taken by a four-legged thief.
“I hope you’re happy with yourself,” Owen continued to grumble. The lamb bleated in response, which he could only assume meant it was, in fact, very happy. Though, now that he thought about it… if this lamb was old enough to eat actual food, then… was it fine without its mother’s milk? He paused his grumbling as he considered this, his expression lightening up a bit. Perhaps it wasn’t doomed to starve after all. In that case –
He slid his basket of cow back onto his back. Then, he crouched down, and before the dumb animal could react, hauled it up into his arms and lifted it straight off the ground. It loudly bleated its discontent right in his ear. He winced, but otherwise paid it no mind. Eventually, it shut up.
Guess I’m not doing much more hunting today, he thought to himself as he began the trek back home. It was much more slow-going now due to the added weight plus his inability to use his walking stick with his arms full of fussy animal. The haul overall, though, was very satisfactory for him. He had supplies for leather and jerky, he could start growing some more reliable crop, and now he had a new companion.
Not companion companion, of course. He’d eat the thing eventually. It would be more useful in the long run to rear it for wool, though, and at any rate, he’d need to wait until it reached adulthood before he could even consider butchering it.
“You hear that, Missy?” Owen grunted out at the squirmy lamb. “You’ve got a few years guaranteed room and board. If I can keep you from the vampires once the wildlife gets scarce, ‘course.”
Bleaaat!
He found himself chuckling despite it all. The poor little thing hadn’t known it was walking into a trap by approaching him. He had tried to warn it that he wasn’t merciful, though. He didn’t see what it got out of struggling in his grasp like it was. Ah, but he was going to be so sore and achy by tomorrow…
That was just the name of the game, wasn’t it? He wouldn’t be Owen if he wasn’t sore and achy all the damn time.
Traipsing through the woods was a little bit more difficult than walking the plains, if only because he couldn’t really see his feet to watch for roots and vines. He knew he’d have to check over his feet and ankles for cuts or scrapes and the like later that night, but he wasn’t all that concerned.
The lamb – which by that point had stopped its struggling and upgraded to trying to chew on his bandages – was deposited into the newly-built pen with a startled bleat. Owen closed and locked the gate, then stood watching the lamb with his hands on his hips and a smug expression. The little fool had nowhere to run, now. Just as Owen had planned.
Then, he went about unloading the rest of his catch of the day. The eggs were safely stored away in his chest inside, while the potato was cut up and planted around his garden. He’d be seeing the fruits of those labors much sooner than the wheat he was trying to grow. The rest of his night was spent working on the cow parts he had gathered. Cutting the beef into strips to dry by his fire was much, much easier than scraping off the membranes of the hide he’d gathered, but was necessary all the same.
His dinner that night was a half a fish, a boiled egg, and a handful of nuts. He was inordinately satisfied with it. After he ate, he simply sat by his fire and let the warmth seep into his bones. He’d always run cold, even before his turning. The heat from the fire helped relaxed his tired, tender muscles as he idly massaged his shoulders. As he sat there, he let his mind drift to anything and nothing. Like it often did whether he liked it or not, it drifted towards Oakhurst.
Despite his annoyance with Scott, he was curious as to what the elder vampire’s plans were. Rather, he was curious to see if any of his plans have changed without Owen’s presence as a co-conspirator. Owen had done a lot of the dirty work for Scott in those early days when the coven had few-to-none fledglings. Would feeling like it was completely him against the whole town affect the way Scott played with everyone?
Maybe he was completely fine. Maybe the lack of other vampires during this time was a complete non-issue. The possibility sat bitter on Owen’s tongue. He knew that he had never had very much sway or standing in the coven, especially towards the end, but he… he still liked to think that his presence had mattered. To Scott at least, if not to the fledglings. Who else in the coven had been loyal until the very end? Who else had never been swayed by the humans’ pretty lies? Who else had taken the time to actually try to teach the fledglings while Scott was off on his own?
You killed one of your own, his mind hissed at him as he stewed. You killed one of your own and then you left the coven.
“Avid was the least trustworthy one out of them all. He was going to lead them all to ruin,” he spat quietly, staring into the flames of his fire pit. “I left them my own fledgling to slaughter the humans with. It was a net zero loss.”
There was no possible way that a single human left Oakhurst alive after he died. Legundo was a monster, and he’d probably gone feral after losing his sire bond to Owen so quickly after being turned. Unlike other members of the coven like Shelby, he knew that the doctor would be more than capable of rending the townsfolk limb from limb in Owen’s absence.
He was unwilling to entertain any other possibility, and so firmly shut the door on any other thoughts relating to the doctor and what happened to Oakhurst after Owen went to hell. It wasn’t like he would ever know for sure, anyway. Returning to his original train of thought and considering what Scott’s plans are now was much more important, if only so that he could plan for a way to avoid getting involved.
Tiredly, he rubbed his eyes. Why couldn’t isolation be simple like it used to be? Two hundred years ago, he’d been cut off from town no matter what he did to ingratiate himself. Even before his death, no matter what he’d tried to feel closer to the coven, he always wound up on the outskirts. So why did it seem like now that he wanted them all to leave him alone, he was having to bend over backwards to avoid them?
It was infuriating. Absolutely, utterly infuriating.
He pulled his legs to his chest and rested his forehead on his knees, letting out a heavy breath. His luck had to turn around. It just had to.
Chapter Text
The next day, Owen realized that he had a problem. A major, highly irritating and inconvenient problem. It was also rather embarrassing, if he were to say so himself. He had, quite stupidly, not considered how he was going to take care of Missy. Specifically: he didn’t know how he was going to feed her. The forest floor wasn’t exactly lush with grass, and his attempt at wheat farming had yet to provide anything.
The weight of this problem hit him at dawn as he was staring down at Missy’s animal pen. Missy stared right back up at him, bleating in the most demanding tone he’d ever heard from a sheep. Said bleating had woken him up, which was the only reason he was awake at dawn, and he was indescribably unhappy about the whole situation.
“You are a troublesome little thing,” he scolded her. He yawned, and was only met with yet another indignant bleat as a response. So, so troublesome.
Missy began pushing her head against the wooden pen that was now her home in an unfortunately adorable fascimile of a ram’s headbutt. Again, she bleated. Owen watched her do this with bleary eyes, but he was just too tired to pretend it didn’t melt his heart a little. Eventually, after a particularly long and baleful bleat, he sighed and put his hands on his hips.
“Oh, alright, fine,” he huffed out. “I’ll take you out to graze. But you had better behave!”
That in mind, he fixed himself a very small and very brief breakfast of exactly half a handful of berries (he was not nearly awake enough for his appetite to hit) and then gathered some of his leftover spiders’ web and kudzu twine to fashion together a makeshift lead. After all the trouble he’d gone through up until this point, he really didn’t want Missy catching a fright and running off.
He gently tied the lead around Missy’s wooly neck and opened her pen. Remembering last second to grab his walking stick, he then began to lead her out of the forest and into the plains. It was incredibly slow-going and more than a little bit aggravating. It was so early in the day that the sky was more gray than anything, and that combined with the naturally dark shadows of the forest’s thick foliage meant he had trouble seeing where he was going. Of course, in his youth, he’d had plenty of experience navigating alone in the dark – but that was before he’d been spoiled by vampiric dark vision. That was also without a fussy little lamb trying to yank his legs out from under him every ten minutes.
He exhaled sharply in relief when they finally broke out of the treeline and the growing light of the sunrise meant he could finally see. Missy bayed excitedly and yanked him forward at the sight of the tall grass. He almost didn’t catch himself as he was dragged along behind her, but she thankfully didn’t go very far, only enough to reach the flora and begin eating. He groaned tiredly and put his hands on his knees, holding back yet another yawn. Was this really going to be his new routine from now on? There had to be a better way than just taking his sheep out for a walk every morning.
Missy was wholly oblivious and whollt unconcerned with Owen’s disgruntlement. Her little woolen tail swung back and forth behind her as she trotted to and fro, munching on dewy grass and being a general pest. Maybe Owen could take a day or two to just walk through the plains and cut down the taller grasses? Maybe fill up a few baskets’ worth for little Missy? That might be a venture worth looking into…
The sun finally began to peek over the forest canopy as he walked Missy further into the plains. It was thanks to this light that he caught sight of a smudge leaving Oakhurst. As he squinted at the faraway image, the smudge then became two smudges that went two separate directions. One went further East into the dark oak, while the other came closer West lakeward. That meant the smudge was getting closer to him, but it didn’t appear like the person was actively approaching him. Still, it was rather early in the morning for the humans of Oakhurst to be up and about, wasn’t it?
Not my problem, he thought resolutely. He paid the unrecognizable smudges no mind as he idly followed along beside Missy’s grazing frenzy. After a little while, it became clear that Missy was no longer so concerned with food so much as chasing around crickets and the tiniest of field mice. Every time one leapt up from the grass, she gave a startled bleat and jumped back towards him, only to once again begin nosing the ground for life moments later.
Owen didn’t know how long he stood there watching her play around in the grass, and knew even less about how long he’d worn a stupid smile while doing so. He wiped it off his face with a quick shake of the head and tugged at Missy’s lead. “Alright, alright, that’s enough. I have things to do, we can’t be out here all day long. Time to go back,” he chided. Missy only struggled against his tugs for all of five seconds before dutifully trotting along behind him back into the forest.
What things did he have planned for the day? He could gather more food to dry out and store maybe, or spend the day felling some trees to add to his wood storage… Oh! Maybe he could use the day to finally wash his clothes! He didn’t have any lye soap of course, but even just a soak in the water would be great. Oh, but scrubbing clothes always made his back so sore afterwards… At least his hands were too numb to hurt from the strain of clothes washing. And laundry would at least keep him inside all day – yet another way to postpone what he knew would be an inevitable run-in with Scott.
Well, that decided it. He was going to wash his clothes. How exciting.
It was a small mercy that he was no longer afflicted with the lesions and rashes of his youth. Back then, he couldn’t afford to buy high quality fabric or to overwash and wear out his clothes too soon. At the same time, though, the constant grime and grittiness of his clothes had been dreadful against his wounds, always so irritable and painful. His arms were spared the brunt of it due to his bandages, but as for the rest of his body? His shoulders, his back, his legs? Awful.
The scars leftover from his disease being healed were fairly sensitive, but it was nowhere near as painful as the spots used to be.
He wasn’t in a particularly big hurry to get home, so he meandered a bit as he picked his way back. It was definitely his own decision to walk so slow, and had nothing to do with how often Missy would get distracted by this and that and pull at her lead to go investigate. He was a grown man with the blood of thousands under his fingernails; He was not allowing his pace to be dictated by a little sheep.
As Missy stopped in her tracks for the nth time to nose at some nondescript hole in the dirt, Owen gave a silent sigh. Despite walking for so long, they were only about halfway back home, and were definitely straying closer to the lake than Owen usually liked to be. The reason for his distaste of the proximity made itself known by the dull thunking of an axe hitting wood reaching his ears. One of the townsfolk must be nearby collecting wood. How irritating. Surely though, it can’t be too hard to avoid them…
He jumped back as a fox suddenly jumped out of the hole Missy was investigating. Missy leapt high as well, bleating sharply. As the fox skittered away, the end of her lead flew out of his hand. He scrambled to snatch it back, but ended up tripping over his own damn walking stick and landing on the ground with a painful thump!
“Ngh-!” He hissed as he quickly pushed himself onto his elbows just in time to watch Missy race deeper into the trees. Most notably not in the direction of his house. He glared at the empty space that Missy stood at just seconds before. Grunting, he used his traitorous walking stick to pick himself fully off the ground. There was a dull ache in his knee that twanged and pinched when he shifted. He had to hold back a curse. Of course he would hurt himself barely a week after he’d recovered from his initial awakening. Of course this stupid, useless, no-good human body would once more curse him with its fragility.
Stupid fox, stupid mortality, stupid, stupid, stupid…!
He grumbled incessantly under his breath as he set off in the direction Missy ran off to. This is what he got for being indulgent in something as insipid as livestock. He needed to get an actual supply of feed for the pathetic wretch so that he wouldn’t have to take her out of her pen again. All of the trouble he went through to catch her, and she runs off the very next morning? How dare she. He was doing her a favor! She was doomed to be killed and eaten within the month, more likely than not! God…
He could, by some grace of luck, see a very obvious trail left behind by Missy’s escape. It was mostly just trampled leaves and kicked up dirt, but for someone like him that had spent so much of his life in the wilderness, it was still pretty easy. The simplicity only just barely soothed his irritation.
The sound of tree-cutting stopped as he trekked through. He paid it no mind, single-mindedly focused on finding and re-kidnapping his errant animal. He similarly paid no mind to the strangely hot feeling in his palm. If he had any remaining luck on his side, then it would be just as easy to scoop Missy up and carry her back home as it had been the first time. Then again, if luck had ever been on his side in the first place, he wouldn’t be in Oakhurst at all.
Lo and behold –
“Oh! What a cutie!”
Owen could’ve screamed. Pearl’s voice was followed by a familiar bleat. He heard her coo and rolled his eyes aggressively. Schooling his face into something a little less virulent, he picked his way through the trees and toward’s Pearl’s voice. Of course, of course Missy would run into the only other person in the forest.
Could be worse, he supposed. She could’ve ran into Scott or Avid.
He broke into a tiny little clearing to find Pearl with her hands on her knees, looking down at Missy with a small smile. An axe stood against her leg, and stacks of tree branches and split logs lay tied in twine around her. She’d been the one felling trees, it seemed.
Before he could even consider how to make his presence known, her head shot up in his direction. She’d always been the one to most easily hear him whenever he tried to eavesdrop on others.
Pearl stood straighter, the smile on her face milding out into cool curiosity. It did not escape his attention how one of her hands brushed against the handle of her axe, though it still remained ungrasped.
“Hello, Owen. Long time no see,” she greeted simply. Her head tilted to the side as her eyes trailed him up and down, evaluating. “Heard plenty talk about you in town, though I haven’t managed to catch a glimpse of you myself since we first met. How have you been?”
Talk? They talk about him? What the hell could they possibly have to talk about? He’s about as interesting as the mulch on the ground. He blinked three times in quick succession before clearing his throat. “I’ve been fine, Miss Pearl. I simply try to keep to myself. I’m not much company.”
Pearl hummed. “So you say, and yet Avid brings your name up quite often.”
“He what?” Owen hissed, physically recoiling at just the thought. His name in Avid’s mouth. Disgusting! “Wh – why??”
Something about his expression or tone of voice had Pearl quickly slapping a hand over her mouth, though she wasn’t quite fast enough to hide the beginnings of a snicker. Though she was quick to school herself, there was still a flicker of a smile on her lips, and Owen’s face felt a little warm at being laughed at.
“Well, he seems quite insistent on using your belief in vampires to rally the town against them. Or, well, against Scott, specifically,” she explained. “Speaking of – I heard you had a run-in with Mr. Goldsmith as well. Thoughts on his supposed vampirism?”
Owen huffed but forced his hackles to lower. He supposed something like this should’ve been easy enough to anticipate. But still, him? Being a help to Avid in his ever-growing witchhunt? He stomach soured at the idea. He’d need to find a way to nip that in the bud. Regardless of how badly he wanted to remain an outsider to the town’s soon-to-be conflicts, he simply could not stand the idea of being Avid’s aide.
“I suppose he’s a vampire in the same way most nobles and spoiled brats are,” Owen replied dryly. Again, Pearl chuckled, though she didn’t bother hiding it this time.
“I couldn’t have put it better myself.”
Their…surprisingly easy chat was interrupted by a loud bleat. Missy, apparently having grown impatient with being ignored for so long, had begun to stamp her front hoof and bonk her head against Pearl’s shin. Pearl made a surprised noise and took a small step back, meanwhile Owen scowled and put his hands on his hips, reminded as to why he was being forced to socialize in the first place.
“Speaking of spoiled brats – Missy! You leave Miss Pearl alone right this instant and get back over here!” He barked out. Missy bleated once in a way that he was certain meant she was talking back to him. Oh, why did he have to pick such a bratty lamb to take home? He narrowed his eyes and raised a hand to snap his fingers. “Missy. Here. Now.”
Missy stamped her foot once, twice, and then bounded over to him. Her leash trailed behind her, slightly dirt stained with a few thin vines and thorns wrangled around it. He sighed tiredly and leaned down to pick it up, only to pause as he saw his hand. He remembered the heat that he’d felt earlier but had pushed out of his mind. Looking down at his palm, he could now quite clearly see a nasty looking friction burn sitting right in the crevice of where his hand bent and along the pads of his fingers.
He sighed again and gave Missy his most disappointed look. Her taking off as she had and snatching the lead from his hand had given him rope burn. He didn’t know how she could stand to look up at him so cutely.
“Woah -! That doesn’t look good. You alright, man?” He jumped a little at the proximity of Pearl’s voice. She was standing to look over his shoulder, her brows furrowed as she saw the red abrasions covering his palm. He took several steps back and pulled his sleeve over his hand, clearing his throat as he did.
“Fine, it’s fine. I don’t even feel it,” he said, and it wasn’t even a lie. He didn’t feel it. It just didn’t mean much for what the severity of the injury was; He didn’t feel much of anything in his hands at all.
Pearl gave him a weird look but didn’t comment on his all-but-running away. “It doesn’t… look fine, Owen. You know, we have a doctor back in town. He could take a look, make sure you’re alright.”
His face twisted from discomfort into disgust faster than he could even think. “I want nothing to do with your doctor.”
The clearing became awkwardly quiet. Owen’s face heated once more at his outburst. He lowered his head, avoiding Pearl’s judgemental gaze by instead focusing on Missy. He grabbed her lead with his unhurt hand, to which she bleated quietly and rubbed her muzzle against his knuckles. He needed to take her home and put her back in her pen, and then… he supposed he could repurpose his old bandages for his hand? Ah, but he knew better than most how easily even the smallest of wounds could get infected. Maybe he could scrounge around the forest to make some sort of poultice… Oh, and now he definitely wasn’t going to be able to wash his clothes like this. Honestly…
“…What did you say her name was?”
Owen blinked hard. He looked out the corner of his eye, not moving to face her but still peeking over slightly at Pearl. Her expression was… normal. Just normal. He hummed questioningly.
“The lamb,” Pearl clarified, gesturing over at said animal. “What did you say her name was? Little Miss?”
“Missy,” Owen corrected before he could stop himself or insist that she didn’t actually have a name. He tried to backtrack, “That is, I mean – It’s not her name, it’s just what I’ve been calling her.”
As if that isn’t the definition of giving something a name…
“She’s such a sweetheart. Did you just catch her this morning?” Pearl asked, still continuing the conversation and acting like it was just normal to give names to livestock. Maybe it was to more whimsical folk – God knows he could see Shelby doing something like that – but Owen was a pragmatist through and through.
He shook his head. “No, I brought her home yesterday. I was just taking her out for a graze this morning. I don’t really have much in the ways of feed for her quite yet.”
“Oh, well!” Pearl perked up slightly and clapped her hands together. “My roommate – you’ve met them already, I think, Cleo? – has been farming and growing food like crazy since we’ve settled down here. If you come down to Oakhurst, I’m sure she’d be more than happy to lend you some wheat.”
Forces truly are conspiring to bring me inside those wretched walls… He put on a sheepish expression, though he felt it was more of a grimace than anything. “I don’t exactly have much to barter with, Miss Pearl. I don’t care much for visiting that hellhole, either.”
Presumably ignoring his latter comment, Pearl waved a hand and smiled. “Oh, that doesn’t matter. Cleo loves animals, so I know they wouldn’t mind giving you some feed. We’re a pretty self-sufficient town, anyway. We don’t have much to lose by helping out a neighbor.”
Ugh. This was just great. What was another reason he could use to decline her offer? Maybe he could just walk away and ignore her? Him and his stupid mouth – he couldn’t believe he just outright admitted to needing animal feed. Think Owen, think…
“Baaaah!”
He glowered at Missy. It was as if she could tell they were talking about food for her. Such an obnoxiously demanding little thing.
“I don’t suppose we could arrange for you to just… bring the feed out here to me?” Owen suggested. It was weak even to his own ears.
Pearl hissed through her teeth. “I think the key would really be to show Cleo the Little Miss’s cute face. Don’tcha think?”
“It’s Missy,” he corrected under his breath. More loudly, he sighed, and then pinched his brow. It seemed that he’d been running away for long enough. It was finally time. “Fine. I’ll come with you to Oakhurst.”
Notes:
deus ex missy