Work Text:
They’re standing under the oak tree, the one still thick with leaves casting convenient shadow, when that nasally voice interrupts them, “What you guys doin’?”
The whiny hunter. Knowledgeable enough to know vampire weaknesses, but not smart enough to recognize one on sight. Scott’s almost offended. He may be weakened from his centuries asleep, but quite frankly any hunter worth their silver should still be able to spot him from a mile away and get a stake in his heart through the back.
Or, well, try to get a stake in him. He’s enjoyed pulling many a hunter apart who’ve tried.
This hunter isn’t competent enough to verbalize what he’s seeing, or to convince anyone else. Just smart enough to know it in his gut, and not nearly confident enough to act on it..
“Scott wanted to show me something he found in the woods,” the all-too trusting Sausage replies, “a castle, or something.”
“Oh!” the hunter wrings his hands, shoulders hunched but eyes bright with suspicious, “well, maybe I should come with, you know, just in case. Safety in numbers and all that!”
Scott shifts his weight from foot to foot with calculated deliberance, emitting a faux-air of subdued anxiety as he hums, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
This has the unfortunate effect of the hunter perking up, shoulders pulling back as he oh so innocently asks, “Well why not? Surely it’s not safer for just the two of you to go alone.”
He thinks he’s won, his smirk tells Scott so, and it brings him so much joy to shatter the delusion. “Well, Avid, it’s not safer for me,”
Sausage immediately catches on with a commiserating nod, but still the hunter blinks in confusion. “What?”
He plants a hand on his hip, confidence and self-assurance oozing off him and away from Avid. “Avid, you’ve made several baseless accusations against me in the last few days, including one that I murdered Shubble, when she was perfectly fine!”
“I said sorry for that!” and there returns the nasally tone and the hunched shoulders as Scott closes in.
“And you seem really deep into this vampire delusion,” he keeps on, ignoring the boy’s floundering, “how do I know I won’t, I don’t know, trip over a garlic patch and you’ll stab me for it?”
He tilts his head, the very picture of innocence, and pretends not to notice Sausage nodding alongside him.
“I won’t!” he insists, floundering, “I won’t even say the word vampire. If I do, you can send me right home!”
“Sorry, Avid,” Sausage pipes up, hook-line-and-sinker. “Scott’s right, it’s just not safe. You're unstable, man.”
Scott takes a step back, satisfaction in his pores, with a smirk just for Avid. Just for fun.
Avid desperately swings an arm towards the horizon, the death throes of a boy who knows he’s lost but isn’t ready to give up yet, “well the sun’s going down! That’s not safe!”
“It’s close, we’ll be quick,” and to emphasize his point Scott begins walking, and Sausage dutifully follows behind, “unless you’d like to delay us any further?”
Avid steps back, head downturned, shame burning his cheeks red. It’s Scott’s favourite look on him. “No, I just hope you both come back safe.”
“Don’t worry, we’ve got weapons for the zombies and wolves.” Sausage pats his stone sword in emphasis. His silver one just happened to go missing this afternoon (is at the bottom of the river where he had Owen toss it). In the scabbard, Avid can’t tell the difference.
“Okay,” he says, quiet and small, “I’ll be waiting for you both.”
Scott waves him off as he walks past, “Don’t wait up too long. If we get caught out after dark it’ll be safer just to hunker down where we are than risk the woods at night. After all,” he smirks, giving Avid a lazy grin over his shoulder, “there are vampires in these woods, are there not?”
Sausage gives a little chuckle, but Avid looks downright murderous. Still, the little boy grits his teeth and deliciously does nothing.
Good boy.
There are no more interruptions to him and Sausage leaving town. They walk through the woods side by side, making casual chitchat about nothing at all. The words are drivel, far below Scott’s standard for eloquent conversation, but the point of the act isn't his entertainment. As he asks Sausage about his books (fictional and dry), his home life (bland and empty), and other questions pertaining to Sausage's person they keep walking. The sun dips lower and lower in the horizon, the shadows stretch farther and farther on the ground, and the distracted Sausage does not notice how far they've walked from town.
(Far enough that no one would hear his screams, should Scott lunge now, he knows. But no, he's saving him for something else)
(Someone else)
As they get closer and closer to his castle he feels his chest grow looser at the familiar scents, the perfectly silent woods, and finally the crumbling bridge to his home. His nest.
“Wow, you weren't kidding, there really is a castle out here!” Sausage exclaims, eyes wide in marvel as he takes the place in.
Scott hums. If only he could have seen it in its former glory. “Unfortunately it seems I mistimed our little adventure, and the sun is setting.”
Sausage blinks, only just now noticing the orange streaking the sky and the shadows reaching for him with hungry clawing hands. “Oh, oh no!” He spins around with a frightened gasp and wide eyes, “maybe, maybe if we leave now we can make it before dark!”
“Nonsense,” he waves away the idea with a practiced casual precision, “Those woods will already be crawling with ghouls of all sorts. No, let's spend the night safe inside the castle.”
Sausage looks so different from his earlier ease, nervous and unsure, but Scott holds out his cloak with a pointed arm towards his home, and the clueless Sausage walks forwards without further argument.
As they cross the destroyed bridge (destroyed by, he imagines, the townsfolk who cursed him to slumber to avoid anyone disturbing what was supposed to be his eternal rest) his sensitive ears begin picking up the faintest sounds of whining. Too high for the human Sausage to hear, and good thing too, or the jumpy man might have turned tail to risk the forest after all.
He walks 2 steps behind him, a slight he'd normally never tolerate, and keeps a comforting hand on the other man's back just in case he decides to make a run for it.
They enter his castle without further fuss, and it must be dark if Sausage's squinting is any indication. All the better, he can't see Owen watching from the shadows.
The whining has gotten louder, but still isn't audible to human ears.
“Wow, this place is kinda creepy in the dark,” Sausage chuckles nervously.
“Hm, can't relate. I feel right at home,” literally.
Owen keeps his distance, but Scott can practically taste the hunger radiating off him. Alas, this meal isn't for him. Still, he follows as they move deeper into the castle. Scott hangs back a few more steps, letting Sausage get ahead, until he’s parallel with Owen.
With lightning speed he reaches over to grab the youngling’s arm, who stumbles in his pace, frozen to a halt at Scott’s grip.
“Please,” he pleads, eyes still locked on Sausage ahead, too far to hear their chatter, “please, I’m so hungry,”
He pulls Owen close, until his lips practically touch his ear, “He isn’t for you,”
He can practically taste Owen’s hunger as he whines, but it does nothing for Scott. He isn’t his fledgling.
He shoves Owen away, further back away from Sausage, “know your place,” he hisses, before jogging to catch up to his wandering prey.
Sausage has, in the time he was distracted, found the stairs leading down to his crypt. From here, the whining has gotten loud enough even the clueless human can hear it. “What is that?” he asks, “It sounds hurt.”
“Maybe it’s a person,” Scott innocently suggests, “maybe they’re hurt. We should make sure they’re okay.”
“You’re right,” Sausage nods, “I guess we’ll just-” and he gingerly lowers a foot onto the first step, and then the next, and the next, squinting to see in the pitch darkness as he descends further and further from any traces of light.
Scott and Owen follow on silent feet, Owen behind Scott like he’s meant to be. Sausage, too caught up in his own anxieties, doesn’t seem to notice the lack of noise of any kind. Maybe the whining is too distracting.
Finally, after what feels like eternity, they come across his nest.
It isn't anything special, not like he'd wanted it to be. He'd always thought, back as a young 200-something vampire, that when he finally turned someone he'd have a luxurious nest built for them of only the finest silks, thick drapery over the windows keeping any hint of sunlight away from his sensitive fledgling, and an entire town locked away in his dungeon for feeding when the time came.
His current nest is not up to this standard. For lack of drapery he’s been forced to build underground for darkness instead. His silks have all rotted over the centuries he spent asleep, and he had to scavenge for wool and moss in the forest. Owen called it cozy. Scott calls it barbaric.
Still, it seems comfortable enough for his Pyro, who doesn’t know any better. The fledgling is curled up in the moss, deep in his instincts, and whining softly for his sire. It pulls something in Scott’s hindbrain, something primal that makes him want to lunge forward and wrap his arms around the new-turned, to hum and purr and soothe until his growing aches go away.
But this isn’t something that can be soothed with purring alone, and so Scott resists the temptation, and instead pushes Sausage forward. The man, never the wiser, takes the bait, “Pyro?! Oh my god, are you okay?”
His fledgling blinks his eyes open, wide and hungry, at Sausage. He whines again, but begins to stand, and Sausage, the ever-innocent fool, offers his arm to help him up.
It’s the last mistake he’ll ever make.
In the face of his hunger, with a warm blooded human presented to him so closely, Pyro can’t recognize his former acquaintance. Scott knows all he sees is blood and meat, so it comes as no surprise to him when the young one lunges.
But he isn’t used to his newfound supernatural speed, and overshoots by just an inch, but an inch is all Sausage needs. Seeing Pyro’s savage expression and sharp fangs, he stumbles back with a startled shriek.
“Pyro, what are you doing?!” he screeches, falling back on his bottom in his desperation to scramble away. Scott can smell as he scrapes his palms on the rough cobblestone floor, and the tangy iron blood hits the air, inciting his hungry fledgling further who growls as he stalks closer.
Sausage’s back hits his knee, and Scott doesn’t move. “Forgive him, he’s still learning,” he drawls, keeping Sausage firmly in one spot, “It’s hard, you know, suddenly having all these instincts, and speed, and-” he kicks Sausage in the back, throwing him forward towards Pyro, “hunger,”
“No, no, no,” Sausage cries as Pyro approaches, stalking low to the ground. He’s drooling, his puny fangs fully extended as his hunger overrides his lingering humanity.
It was hard to stay away these last few days, but it was a necessary evil. Had he tried to feed the poor thing before he was ready, before he was on the edge of starvation like this, he might have tried to refuse. He might have done something foolish like trying to fight back against his instincts, or even fight back against Scott, and if the food had gotten away? If they’d managed to run back and warn the rest of the town?
Well, Scott would have been forced to kill them all, and that would be so messy, and then they would have had to move to a new town and start all over. No, better to let the town settle and establish itself, reproduce as good cattle should, and Scott and his fledgling will be fed for centuries. Just like before.
“Scott!” Sausage shouts as Pyro gets atop him, supernatural strength pinning him down, “Scott, help, Avid was right! It’s a vampire!”
“He was right, wasn’t he?” Scott hums, and finally Sausage seems to catch on to his non-chalance and complete lack of concern, and his eyes widen in horror.
“No,” he wails, struggling, “No, please, I’ll do anything, anything you want! I’ll- I’ll bring you another townsperson- two! Two townspeople!”
He’s shoved his arm into Pyro’s mouth to hold him at bay, but the fangs have pierced all the same, and the blood that drips in slow lazy drops down his arm only incites his fledgling further, ripping into the arm with savagery befitting a dog as he tries to loosen his fangs to get to the real prize.
“Scott,” Sausage sobs, “please, please,”
Scott squats down next to the struggling man, but doesn’t get any closer, “and, what, exactly? Let you go to return to town, to tell Avid of the nest here, of my weak and vulnerable fledgling?”
“I won’t,” Sausage shakes his head through his tears, begging and desperate, “I won’t, I promise, I won’t tell anyone. I’ll bring you all the animals, all the people you could ever want, please,” he cries.
Scott shakes his head with a tut, “That, I must say, is not worth the risk.”
Before he can say anything more, Pyro finally manages to free his fangs with a pop, and lunges. This time his fangs pierce the real prize, Sausage’s neck.
Immediately Scott sees the venom take effect as Sausage’s struggles ease. His fledgling hums in delight as he swallows, and the arm he’d previously used to push against his assailant falls. His eyes glaze over as the venom takes firm hold, and he slumps to the floor lifelessly.
Well, not completely without life, not yet. His cheeks lose their human red flush as his blood drains away, but still his tears drip down his cheeks. Still he lets out a heartbroken groan.
The iron-tang permeates the air, and it comes as no surprise when Owen once more materializes by his side, “I want some,” he demands without inflection, eyes locked on to the feeding happening. “I need some,” he corrects, “I’m so hungry,”.
He sides eyes the young-yet-old vampire next to him. He’s a strange case, 200 years old but asleep for most of it, and most importantly not his fledgling. He doesn’t know the details of what left this young man orphaned and alone, not yet, but he’s fallen into his lap and so that now makes him his problem.
He could abandon him too. Not wait around for whatever made his sire leave, and chase him off the lands. He should do this, he has no instincts nor obligation towards this pseudo-fledgling, but something makes him hesitate. Maybe it’s his newfound sirehood making him sentimental, maybe its the desire to expand his coven, or maybe its his intellect knowing now is not the time to be making enemies; Whatever the reason, when he notices his fledgling slowing in his feeding but Sausage still breathing, he finds himself giving the slightest, tiniest, dignified nod.
Owen wastes no time once the permission is given, falling to his knees and getting his mouth on the limp wrist. Pyro gives a slight growl, but doesn’t release the neck though Scott doesn’t think he’s drinking anymore.
Scott can’t help himself anymore, and he too takes a knee by his fledglings, though it isn’t to feed. He purrs, petting Pyro’s head, and the young one leans into his hand, finally slipping his fangs from the neck, causing Sausage to fall hard. His head bounces off the stones with a smack, but doesn’t manage to dislodge Owen gorging himself.
The youngling vampire watches on enviously as Pyro crawls into his lap, purring with satisfaction at his finally full belly. Scott too purrs, soothing his young one and rewarding him for his behaviour all at once. He needs to make sure, in these early vulnerable days, that his young one embraces his vampire nature, lest he end up stunted and misdeveloped.
Owen looks halfway there, torn up by his own instincts and hunger with no sire to guide him, filled with self loathing and hatred. Scott has a feeling a little affection will go a long way with this one. Yes, he’ll keep him. He’ll make a very useful tool, especially with the townsfolk.
They return to town the next day just after sunrise, he and Owen, to Avid pacing anxiously at the town’s border. When he spots Scott, with no Sausage by his side, his face drops in despair.
“Where is he?!” he shouts, racing forward to grab Scott’s lapels and jerk him close. His human breath stinks, “What did you do to him?”
“What are you talking about?” he demands, haughty and superior, pulling back as far as he can without risking the integrity of his coat. “Owen is right here!”
“Not Owen, Sausage!” They’re drawing a crowd now, Shubble and Martyn emerging from their homes, blinking their eyes sleepily. Others too draw closer to the sound.
“Let him go, Avid.” Owen demands, dangerous and flat, “you’re acting mental,”
“What’s going on here?” someone shouts, and a pair of hands drag Avid away, “Avid what are you doing?”
“He killed Sausage!” Avid shouts, tears building in the corners of his eyes, face red and flushed with anger and desperation, “Last night he and Sausage left to check out a castle, and they never came back, and now he’s here alone!”
Scott dusts off his coat, removing the invisible stain left behind by the pesky boy, and more importantly the garlic scent that seems to stick to Avid no matter the time or day. It wouldn’t do to upset his fledgling when he returns.
“Like I killed Shubble?” he scoffs. “I showed Owen the castle, Avid, and I never saw Sausage last night.”
He can already see Shubble’s face scrunching up at the reminder of that night, and Martyn rolling his eyes in dismissal.
“No, no!” Avid insists, “I saw you, you were with him under that oak tree!” he points, “I saw you! I swear!”
“Did anyone else see me leave with Sausage?” he drawls with an innocent quirk to his head. Check mate.
“Uh,” Avid turns, looking at the gathered crowd, all shaking their heads. “Surely, surely at least one of you saw! Come on!”
“Avid…” Shubble starts, but he cuts her off.
“No!” he insists, “I saw them! I know I did!”
“Maybe you mistook me for him,” Owen suggests with little inflection, and a barely concealed rolling of his eyes. “We did stop under the oak tree before we left, but we never saw Sausage.”
“You’re lying!” Avid shouts, face flushed and angry. The crowd turns away from him and his hysteria more and more.
“What it sounds like to me,” Scott says, calmly and measured, “is that Sausage is, presumably, missing and you want to waste time looking for him baselessly accusing me of fairytales, again.”
“He’s right,” Ren chimes in, “we need to put together a search party, don’t you know. First Pyro, now Sausage? Trouble’s afoot, I say.”
The crowd turns back towards town, presumably to gather supplies and organize themselves, but Avid still stares at him murderously, eyes glowering and clenched fists shaking, and so Scott indulges himself. Just a little.
He flashes Avid a smirk, letting just the tiniest hint of fang slip through, before strutting past him, “I’ll leave the searching up to the peasants. I’ve been up all night, I think it’s time for a nap.”
He had Owen rip out the silver first thing after turning Pyro, but the carpet still sits, and he walks over it confidently while Avid watches, none the wiser.