Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Scott wished waking up naked on the floor wasn't a feeling he recognised, but well, he would have missed out on some great nights, had he been above this. Scott hadn't become immortal to then squander his life away, bored. Oh he could do without the headache or the cold, gods knows he hated the cold. But it seems that last night him hadn't been considerate enough to wrap him in some layers. Not that it surprised Scott, after the hellweek of two of his boytoys walking out on him like he meant nothing?? He had done worse things after a mild inconvience than party and get blackout drunk. God, he wasn't supposed to get hangover, but his head was killing him.

He frowned.

No, that wasn't right. That had been the plan, to go crazy and find new company, but his usual haunts.. had proved lacking. Oh he loved the buzz and excitement. He had enjoyed dancing, drinking, having someone obsess over him. He had felt great. Like the night could go on for eternity. Who cares that he had been broken up with? That his best friends didn't care enough and still kicked him out for their date night? This was where he was meant to be. Surrounded and loved.

Then he spotted it, a face long dead, one he created and hated, and suddenly the walls had been caving in on him, and there was no space, everybody touching and pushing, grabbing, dancing. No space, no space, suffocating warmth, hands on his shoulders, someone grabbing him, they were talking, laughing, leaning in. Arms over his back. He pushed.

Not his finest moment, fleeing outside. Oh he knew that the Scott of 200 years ago would have been laughing at him now, wondering how he could have let himself so weak. In truth, he still thought himself weak for it. Nevermind what his sire would have said. Scott shuddered as cold wrapped around his hands. He was supposed to be better than this, he knew, he knew. Weakness wasn't acceptable, he knew. Better not let anyone find out, it would get worse-

He forced his thoughts away.

He had been alone, or well. As alone as he would get, considering Abolish hadn't left him alone all week. He remembered that well. After the suffocating air of the bar, he had fled to the most desolate places he knew of, somewhere sane people would stay clear off, scared of what hid in the dark. Scott, long acquinted with what dwelled in the shadows, had been comforted by it instead. Just him, the rats, and the loud footsteps of Abolish. He noted how the other made them louder, announcing himself, probably as something borne out of consideration, after his earlier panic. Scott hated it, he wanted to snarl at the perceived pity. Instead he plastered a smile on his face, took a moment to elegantly turn around, making sure his hair flowed dramatically as he took a self assured stance to look into the familiar.. Blue eyes? Blue- not Brown- not Abo-.

He hissed, remembering the cold metal pressed against his brow. The hate filled eyes, the smug face. But above all, the deafening crack of his skull, the pain piercing through his brains.

Scott curled into himself, something he normally never did, but here, in his isolation, he allowed himself the moment of weakness as he reflected. He had gotten complacent. He had noticed the difference in the footsteps. He had dismissed it so easily. Now he was here, in this.. damp room. Damp and cold, sure to would have make him ill if he hadn't been a vampire. Cold and chained up, silver wrapping around his arms and melting the flesh away. The burning of it making the cold worse, or that might have been the bloodloss, as his body tried to heal itself and make it worse by extent.

Why was he here? A random act of violence, while unfortunate, wouldn't have been out of the ordinary, considering where he had been walking. Scott knew he still walked and talked like a noble, and it was a universal truth that he looked mighty fine, even at his worst, so that he would be targetted was not something incomprehensible. But it should have just been that. His body left in the alley, probably robbed. Who took a corpse with them? Had it not been for the damned silver chains binding him down, weakening him, ruining his arms, he would have thought it maybe a cannibal, or something sicker.
With the silver chains? Well.. Whoever did this, they definitely knew he was a vampire. A quick slide with his tongue revealed his teeth were still intact, so his kidnapper believed him to be harmless, or couldn't stomach pulling someone's teeth, even if they would regrow. He could work with that.

He started moving his limbs, carefully stretching them as he searched for damage. Aside from his arms, where the silver was wrapped, and stomach, where they had rested, only his head, expected and throat, less expected, hurt. He was hungry, which was less then ideal, and had no food, in fact, he had nothing. Scott hoped that whoever brought him here, had the decency to have stored his clothes somewhere safe. Those were designer! And of a line long since discontinued! What even was the point of taking his clothes? It was not like he would be able to strangle himself with them?! Ugh, stupid kidnappers and their stupid vile choices.

The noble settled himself more comfortably against the wall, staring at the door. A solid metal door, because of course. He would bet his fortune that it was some silver alloy, just to spite him. As if that wasn't bad enough, he could feel the damp condensing, causing droplets to roll over the back of his neck, making him shiver.

He sighed loudly, making his displeasure known the world, or at least, to himself and the room. The waiting was always the worst in these situations. If people found it so necessary to kidnap him, which he personally still found incredibly rude, then they should atleast have the decency of not making him wait. But no. He spent hours staring at the door, walking around the room, testing the door, which in fact, was a silver alloy. Sitting down again, sighing dramatically, and repeat. Once upon a time, people had known that getting Scott Goldsmith bored was a.. dangerous choice. He wished it were still those times. He remembered times in perceived captivity, where he still got a book or some sort of entertainment, just because they were scared of what he would do without it.

Those times were over. Though this made him consider if Abolish would accept it if he went back to his old ways for a day, as a treat. Oh, Shelby would scold him for sure, his fledgling had always been so sensitive about this. And drift would give him that silent, disappointed look. She had perfected it over the last centuries, making it go straight to his heart. A smile found its way onto his face, as he thought of them. He closed his eyes, as he imagined the faces of Drift and Shelby, smiling at him as they walked through a market. Shelby talking to him about some book or interest she had been obsessed with that week. Drift's solving a murder mystery and her subsequent rant about all the inaccuracies of it. He remembered Avid's face, laughing as he started the fire. Pyro's smile as he held them, and they put their warm hands on his face.

As he opened his eyes again, he was still there. Standing, watching. Not the first time he was haunted. The ghost stared, smug, at his curled form, zeroing on the chains. They looked different, Scott noted, not the white hair and red eyes he got used to, but more akin to how they used to look. Brown hair, intelligent, curious blue eyes.. blue eyes?

He sat up, forcing his body into a more dignified position despite the restraints, and smiled pleasantly at his old fledgling.

"Long time no see, Pyro."

-

Scott stared at the mirror, showing the reflection of two dead men. One who would be unchanged forever , and one barely recognisable, if not for those hate filled eyes, which should have haunted his nightmares. They didn't, and there were times he felt guilty about that. Knowing that he was the cause of the scholar's spiral, yet unable to actually feel the guilt.

Now was not on of those times. Not with their, unclawed, hand in his hair, his own bound to the sink before him. Pyro had been silent, and what he planned to do here, in this room with only a water filled sink and mirror, Scott had no idea. But he recognised that they felt confident, and that set the noble on edge more than anything else. He would not show that though. He had kept his demure smile, something they both knew to be an act, but it masked his true thoughts regardless. Something the scholar could learn from.

"You must have been quite happy, when they started making mirrors without the silver backing."

"You know me so well." Scott rolled his eyes, the comment so obvious that he wondered why the other bothered wasting air to say it.

"Hard not to, when you constantly lamented about how you couldn't see yourself." With that, the scholar leaned in, the warm breath against his making it flick, the only break in the noble's well composed expression. "Always so obsessed with yourself."

"You say that, but I am not the one whose obsession with me followed me after death." Scott smirked, aware he was playing a dangerous game by pushing back. Though when Pyro started laughing, apprehension curled around his spine, making him stiffen.

"I cannot wait to ruin you, as you did to me, Goldsmith."

The hope that this was an empty threat shattered alongside the mirror as Pyro slammed his face into it, keeping it pressed there. He hissed as he felt the broken bits of glass biting into his skin, getting pushed further in as Pyro leaned closer, carressing the skin left unscathed with a faux gentleness.

"That's much better."

He forced a straight face as his face was pulled away from the broken mirror, forcing him to lean into Pyro as the brunette tipped the vampire's chin up to assess the damage. The damned smug smile widened as the other saw the pieces stuck in pale skin, bleeding lazily. Scott watched him focus on one fragment in particular, which had lodged into his eyebrow and tried to turn his face away as he saw the other's dirty hand reaching for it.

"Uh uh, you were behaving so well, Goldsmith, don't start fussing now."

"Did you really think I would let your dirty paws touch me without any complaint?" He looked offended at the other, putting his full rich persona in the judgemental look between the scholar's hands and face.

"My apologies, how could I think such a thing." Pyro pressed closer to keep the vampire in his grip, dipping his hands in the water before grabbing Scott's face, making him wince as he felt the familiar burn of holy water dripping down his face and neck.

"Is this better, my lord?" the scholar asked with mocking sweetness at which he hissed, "Much, you have my thanks, dear."

Had he been a lesser man, he would have kicked and struggled in the scholar's hold as they reached with their other hand for the glass shard in his eyebrow, but he was a Goldsmith, goddamnit. Not just any Goldsmith, the last Goldsmith. So when Pyro pushed on it, he smiled, despite the blooming pain. When the glass was dragged from his brow, through the eyelid and over his cheek? He. Smiled. Gods, it hurt. Gods he hated the scholar. Scott knew what they were doing of course. Giving them matching scars. He still smiled. He hated it. He didn't want to look like them, broken and pathetic. No better than a dog. He kept smiling, kept all his feelings off his face as he had long been taught. Better that they don't know what bothers you.
If Pyro thought he could reduce the one and only Scott Goldsmith to tears? Oh they could try. He would have his fun ripping them up. Satisfaction bloomed as he saw the scowl the scholar wore.
"Did you really think this would bother me, dear? This is nothing." He taunted, a laugh interwoven in his voice. The words landed with the intended effect, evidenced by Pyro tightening his hold.
"I'd hoped so."

With that, they pushed the vampire's head into the holy water. Scott wanted to laugh, Pyro should know that drowning a creature like him was a futile effort, even if it was just for the dramatics of recreating the scene. But it burned. He wanted to scream. He felt it stinging in the already existing wounds, melting away the edges, the skin, the nerves and he refused to scream. It had been a long time since he had felt the weakness and burn associated with holy water. He would have loved it to be longer as he felt his damaged eye start to melt.

The vampire started trashing, nothing like the proper noble he should have been, deciding he didn't care as agony drowned out every thought. He tried elbowing Pyro in his ribs to get them off of him, his movements limited by the chains. He thought he heard the other laugh. He wasn't sure. He couldn't see, only felt pain. Pain, pain and the laugh above him. And he laughed too, holy water forcing its way into his mouth and throat and lungs. For he knew the scholar's game.
He remembered the lake, so when he felt the other's teeth on his throat, blunt, not sharp like his own had been, he wasn't surprised. Scott Goldsmith was not a weak scholar though, not some prey to slaughter. He refused to be weak. He was a vampire first, noble second and that showed as he forced his body out of Pyro's hold, breaking skin and muscles to escape, the flesh and tendons of his arms stretching too far, as he turned and twisted and kicked, forcing Pyro back.
Had he not been dizzy with pain, he probably would have thought of the teeth in his neck, which left gaping wounds as the skin tore between the two forces. But he was, and as he could breathe again, he didn't even feel the pain, only the relief of cold air on his face.
The scholar didn't let him have that though, and tackled him to the ground with a rage filled scream, biting more and more chunks out of his throat. Scott tried to push him away, hated the feeling of being so helpless, his arms still chained and pulled out of their sockets by the fall, skin flayed by his earlier panic. He refused to give up though. Him? The last Goldsmith brought down by someone so pathetic? No, he refused. He had pride still goddamnit.

But the wounds, holy water and hunger were pulling his limbs down, made his regeneration slow, kept his body forced to the ground, no matter how he tried to move and fight. By the time the noble could see again, there was nothing left of his throat, holy water and air escaping without constraint. His whole body was burning, but his face, his face was agony, not a single patch of it wasn't screaming. Not even his fresh healed eyes. And all for nothing, as all he could see was Pyro leaning over him, with a bloodied smile, admiring his work.

For a moment, all Scott saw was the blood red moon over a lake. His own face leaning over him. Then nothing.

Chapter Text

One week of vacation! One! That was all Abolish had asked for! And now he was neck deep in a murder investigation. Even if this was done quickly, which he doubted, if he was called into play, the paperwork that would ensue from this would surely take the rest of his vacation.

Someone approached him, stepping away from the body with a tired weariness that suggested they had seen many of these cases, despite not looking much over 40. It looked like he wanted to be anywhere rather than here. He could relate.
Abolish nodded at him, showing the token that the organization had procured for him and walked over to the body.
It was necessary for him to investigate, even though all the signs already pointed towards one perpetrator. The first thing he noticed, as he lifted the sheet off the body, was how exsanguinated it was. Not a drop spilled, not on the clothes, not on the street. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before continuing. The next was the bite mark low on the right side of the neck, close to the collarbone, right where the internal jugular would be. A clean bite, precise, surgical almost, showing experience, showing that the victim hadn't struggled much at all. Not the typical vampire bite either, based on the multiple wounds on each side, showing a pattern of teeth that he had only seen on one, made for rending and tearing.

Goddammit Scott.

-

A gasp tore through the silence, followed by another one, as his throat remembered the gaping wounds, now long since gone. He realized with a start it was him making the noises, and as another one wanted to follow, Scott refused to let it, swallowing it back. Stifling the sound and the need to breathe as he woke up further and became more aware of his surroundings. Another cold, damp room. Scott wanted to scream. He didn't, of course. Pyro, the bastard, had already gotten enough out of him.

Except advice, he realized, as he slowly opened his eyes, because the interior design of this place was just terrible! Absolutely disgusting. It looked like a big shower, but if it was never cleaned out. That didn't fit the mood at all! Not even a bit of a murder basement? Some dried blood or menacing tools to fit the scene? Instead all he got was metal door, likely a silver alloy like the last, and a giant mirror, which reflected the whole room. He could appreciate that part at least. Who wouldn't want to look upon his beautiful visage in all his glory. Still not very mood fitting though. He had seen churches with more menacing rooms than this, if Scott was honest.

Churches..hmm.. That.. could explain the holy water.. He glanced up, wondering if Pyro had trained to be a clergy. They were not in a church, Scott would have felt that holy presence much more, but.. Pyro was very familiar with the weaknesses he could exploit.
This could be.. quite bad, The noble was forced to admit to himself. He wasn't scared of Pyro, no he wouldn't go that far, but he knew well enough that the other would kill him, if they got bored or felt threatened. A feral beast, that one, but with fancier tricks. Why Scott once thought the other would make a proper vampire was beyond him. Barely a noble, more akin to a hunting dog. All they had to show for that miscalculation was matching scars now. If Pyro played his part properly at least.

As he tried to raise his hands to feel the scars on his neck, the noble was stopped by a burn shooting through his arms all the way to his shoulders, where they had been locked too long in one place. Riight, of course he was still handcuffed. Looking lower, inspecting the damage to his bound arms, made him hiss in horror. They looked.. terrible, if he had to be honest, which he really didn't want to be. The skin had burnt and even rotted where it touched the silver restraints too long. He could see bone and pus oozing out of flesh, reminding Scott of the undead which had risen in Oakhurst. Silver shouldn't leave scars. He knew that! He knew that his arms would go end up looking flawless at the end of this! Yet he couldn't stand the sight of them now. He clung to that knowledge as he tore his eyes away.

Scott forced himself up, straining his arms and causing the blisters to pop and bleed, coating his arms in disgusting pus. The feeling cause him to grimace, forcing himself to stifle the horror of his state and instead stepped closer to the mirror, stepping deftly around the pooled water and dirt. Beautiful visage no longer, he corrected himself mentally he took his temporary appearance in. Ironically, now more than ever, did he look the part of a night creature with his pallid skin, sunken eye, the other one covered in burns which reached his mouth, exposing some of the flesh and teeth beneath it. The scars on his throat, he noted with minor satisfaction, healed more than Pyro's ever did, enough that he could hide them easily with some well placed jewelry. He moved, raising his head as he imagined the options, a nice simple choker would do, and provide a nice base if he wanted to go more extra.

He looked away, unable to stand looking at himself for longer as his eyes fell once again upon the ruin that was his body, and leaned against the mirror with nothing more than a sigh. Best he appeared bored, unbothered by this.. temporary indignity that was his form. Taking in the pathetic environment again, he noted the unkempt state of it all. It grated on him, knowing it was very likely on purpose. Worse is that it worked despite that knowledge, as he forced his body away from the mirror, worried about the dirt and mold. It made his skin prickle, the feeling of rot already spreading by just looking at it. Made him want to tear open the flesh, skin himself, knowing he had laid in it for what must have been hours. Scott could feel it under his feet, now he was aware, could feel the dirt on his skin, mixing with the blood and pus on his arms, dripping down..

He forced himself to think of something else, that was not the dirt, not the cold, not the scar running over his face, melted open by the holy water, nor his arms, rotting away part by part, muscle by muscle, making him feel every step until he was nothing more than a walking skeleton- No, it would heal, he would heal. This was nothing. He had places to be, Pyro wouldn't take that from him, no more. They had done enough damage already.

He wondered what his coven mates would think of this. Would they be horrified of his state, how he hadn't been able to prevent it? What would they be doing? Had they had even noticed that he was gone? They had kicked him out for their date night, and knowing those two, that could go on for a while and Scott usually made himself scarce for a couple of days, get into his own dalliances.

Perhaps they would think he just found someone new to play with, and that's why he didn't return home? Or perhaps a repeat of the time he had gotten so drunk that he ended up on some random island. He really hoped they didn't think that. Quite frankly, just remembering still made him flush and worse? He still didn't know how that had happened!! Abolish knew, frustratingly enough. He of course refused to tell, just looking amused when Scott asked, and holding it over him. Which was extremely rude of him!!

At least he had gotten the vampire of the island in a reasonable time, which compensated it somewhat. After that time, the vampire hunter forced Scott to share his location with him all the time because, and the noble quoted, if Scott was gonna search the most remote places to get stuck, that was his problem, but he wasn't gonna keep searching for Scott. Which was so unfair! Scott deserved people to endlessly search for him if he so wished.

It made Scott grateful now though, knowing that the other would be here soon.

-

Abolish looked into the alleyway, forcing himself to ignore the stench of garbage and old blood. Apparently Scott had been seen here the last time before he dropped of the grid. Which was just such a great sign, with all the blood and brain matter sprayed around. He looked on in disgust as a rat ran past him, with a piece of flesh between its teeth before looking up again, going further into the alley.

The fact that the noble had been here had originally come as a surprise to the hunter, considering his distaste for places as unsanitary as this. After reviewing the footage of the night the other had spent, it started becoming more in line for the other. A dark place to be menacing until he felt in control enough?? of course, because apparently being dramatic was required when becoming a vampire. Was the wounded pride enough to drive them to murder? Perhaps, but the other wasn't ever as messy as this. It didn't make sense either. Scott wouldn't feed here, and certainly not in a way that would dirty himself.

An unlucky coincidence that he walked past here? Possibly. He doubted it.

-

Scott would like to say he had sat there stoic, the picture of a perfect noble, but god, he was deadly bored. It had been hours since he woke up and there was no sign of Pyro, in fact, he hadn't heard anything except himself.

It was.. painfully familiar, it reminded him of being buried, not awake, not asleep. Unable to move, still feeling the passage of time. The way his body froze and hardened as the years passed. Suffocating despite not needing for air. It was maddening. So he refused to sit still, trying to avoid the familiarity of the situation, avoid the slumber calling to him, trying to reclaim him even now. He didn't dare give into it, with Pyro able to come in at any moment. Without the security someone would wake him up again.

Instead he got up, and moved into a dance position as well as he could with his hands chained, and walked through the familiar steps, stepping where it was clean with grace, letting that decide his path. After a while he started humming a tune, as he could by now do the dance with his eyes closed, focusing on the movement of his throat, and how the walls reflected the sound, making it feel less empty around him. It calmed him, finding the differences between this and the coffin, breaking the hold it had on his mind.

Silence was not something he enjoyed, even at the best of times. Sure, he could wield it as deadly as any weapon in his arsenal, didn't mean he liked it. Complete silence especially he avoided, for it was his only companion in stone and what a rotten one it was. So when he couldn't dance anymore, when the movements were so overdone that it felt robotic, and the weight of forcing his body to move despite the burning pain in his arms, spreading and rooting through his body like a wildfire, he switched from songs to poems.
He started with lengthy ones, ones he had once been forced to learn to please dimwitted nobles who thought it impressive. With them came the memory of their faces, pleased first, as they respectfully listened, then bored, morphing into annoyance, and then always ending horrified, as he used their boredom as an edge to win over them.

Poems like those were only a tool to him, as he derived little joy out of of them. It had bothered Shelby, that he knew so much of them, and yet didn't share her love. Not until she found his weakness, finding that he could devour the ones that would have never been allowed among polite society. It was those he recited next, remembering the evenings with the three of them, discussing the motifs and symbolism hidden in the words, or just Shelby squeaking in joy as Drift and him shared fond looks over her head. The warmth of the company shared.

He was almost at his favorite part, mentally taking notes to discuss with Shelby, when he heard a click, like a switch springing, and the sound of rushing water above him. Curiosity made him look up, trying to figure out what he was hearing, even though rationally Scott knew it was probably just plumbing. That, unfortunately, seemed correct as the sound seemed to come from the shower head above him. Dread sat heavy in his stomach as he saw the water start to come out of it. He didn't have to touch it to know it would burn, after all, it was clear that Pyro didn't care about the sanity of this place. A quick look around proved that much.

He stepped back, when a droplet landed under his eye, on the torn and already sensitive flesh, ripping a hiss out of him as the liquid pain once again spread through the grooves of the scar. Theory proven correct about the holy water, he wasted no further time, quickly scrambling back as far away from the source as he could. He hadn't accounted for the mold though, so when he felt the slick, unexpected texture under his foot, he instinctively pulled away, stepping back into the water. He only stood in it for a second, but it proved enough to bring him down as he collapsed on the next step, the pain shooting through the tender flesh of his sole like a wildfire, eating away at the nerves, mixed with the stabbing of his already injured arm, which had hit the ground as he fell. The pain spiked, not dying down anymore as the holy water spread. He could normally handle pain, one didn't become an elder vampire without embracing it. He just needed to get through this. He had withstood worse without as much as a grimace, so why was it getting to him now? Had he gone so soft? Had he gotten so weak?

He didn't know what burned more, the holy water rinsing through his hair or the shame pooling in his gut as he saw his reflection in the mirror, saw how a Goldsmith had been reduced to laying on a dirty floor, a toy to a madman.

-

His neck prickled with the feeling of being watched, something Scott was quite used to, normally. Not here, when it was the only thing to focus on, outside of the ever present aching in his arm. The noble didn't know when the feeling started, but he knew quickly that it would drive him mad. It forced him to straighten his spine, and smile, unable to bear being perceived as weak, even as exhaustion and boredom were dragging him down. In a way he was glad for it, for the constant alertness that it brought. It helped him focus as he methodically carved away at his skin, trying to get rid of the dirt that had rooted itself deep into the flesh. Every time he thought he got closer to it being done, it dug deeper and he couldn't see it anymore over the blood, which he wiped of, licking his fingers clean before continuing.

Scott hoped Pyro would get bored soon, of this continues watching, or at least he should change it up. He had only the space in his heart for one stalker, and that position was already taken by someone much more handsome. Not that Abolish was doing a good job, he huffed, digging his nails in and tearing a whole chunk of the flesh. He was everywhere when Scott had fun, but the one time he could be useful? Gone like the wind. Typical.

The eyes were still watching. He watched his blood flow over his legs, until they dripped onto the floor, where he lazily trailed a finger through it, drawing a crude representation of a dead pig. He hoped Pyro would see that too, if he was so intent on watching. He hoped it would spark some action, instead of this endless waiting.

How long had it been? It was hard to know, when the lights never went out, burning his tired eyes. The only thing changing was the time between the water spraying, and how much worse for wear he looked every time he glanced at the mirror. He had taken to sitting with his back to it.

He hoped someone was coming soon.

-

In the end, only two things of note were found in the alley way. A bullet shell and disconcertingly, Scott's phone. Abolish already sent the bullet to the organization with a note to get as much of the camera footage of the area as they could. A quick look through the phone didn't reveal anything, except Scott's concerning love for looking at motorcycles and addiction of shirtless men.

With no new leads, Abolish accepted he would have to do what he had been avoiding. He would need to inform Shelby and Drift.

-

Hunger coursed through him, consuming all Scott's thoughts like they would provide sustenance. He bit his cheek, ignoring the many bites already there, and chewed on the flesh, leaving it raw and bloody. It helped a bit, if he convinced himself and the eyes that he actually had something to eat. That the hunger wasn't there. That the room didn't sway when he stood up. That he could lift his arms without them trembling and strained, opening wounds as he tried to block the light out. The light was just the sun, he was used to it glaring and burning him. He wasn't stuck in a small damp room, alone. No, he was laying in the swaying grass of Oakhurst, enjoying the sound of laughter as his coven conversed and played around him. Avid next to him, playing with his hair as he animatedly talked about some sort of plan he had made.

His daydream was quickly ruined as he heard a familiar tick. He moved to one of the corners, curling into himself , laying his arm over his face to try and protect it from the worst of it. He could do no more, but accept the pain washing over him, burning new lines over old, in grace. A few days ago, he would have cursed or laughed, talked to the air and ignored it, but no more sound came out of him now. He was too tired. It ached.

He wanted to go home. Lay down and listen to Shelby complain about him. Play games with Drift that would take hours, as they both refused to lose. Trick Abolish into going to the movies with him. What he wouldn't do to hear their voices now.

How pathetic. He had become nothing more than a sniffling dog, unable to survive on his own. He heard Pyro laugh at that and he whipped around to bite at them, rend their flesh open and devour their blood, and instead saw himself, looking feral as he snarled at the mirror. He flinched back, shocked by his state and the laughing still ringing in his ear, now not discernible Pyro's, but a cacophony of voices mixed together, deafening him.

Joy oh joy, he was going crazy now. Fantastic.

-

He could see the wounds worsening, under the silver restraints, layers of scar tissue his flesh tried to heal just for it to burn open again. Rot growing, blackening his veins, looking like the mold had crawled into him. Sometimes blood would trickle down his arm. Not even the metal was nice to look at, as the silver was full of scratches, where he had tried to get it off before. The door was too. It chipped his nails, grinding them down, until it hurt to use them. Not even dirt could get under them. Instead it coated his hand, along with the flaking blood. He had tried to get it off, he hated it, the way it cracked and flaked as he moved his hand. It came back.
The floor was coated in bloody eyes. He had tried covering them. New ones kept popping up. Staring at him, unblinking, much like his reflection, following him around, whispering. Or was it him whispering? He felt much too thirsty to be whispering.

He heard the click above him, flinching to the same bloodied corner he usually sought solace in, biting his torn cheek, waiting for the agony. It didn't come. He glanced up, waiting for the sound of rushing water, dread building and building as seconds passed. It wasn't coming? A minute passed in tense silence, with nothing happening. He dropped his head onto his arms, forcing himself to push down the rising anxiety that the broken pattern caused.

-

It was blessedly silent, the whispers and laughter for once receding. He didn't look up regardless, refusing to move from his position. There was nothing to be gained from it. He was too tired to move, he'd rather fall back into the damn cursed sleep than spent another day here. Nothing changed here, except for what should stay unchanging.

-

No one was coming. Scott didn't know why that hurt. It had always been like this. He was supposed to help his coven, he had always done so, given up everything he had ever been to bear the Goldsmith name. He would do anything for his coven, so why was he alone still? Why did no one care when Scott needed help. Oh they would tell themselves, he is strong enough to solve it on his own. So why should they bother? Who cares if he is hurt, he can fix it himself. He was used to this. It shouldn't hurt. They trusted him! It was entirely logical they wouldn't endanger themselves. He could do this.

He just needed to be logical about this. He was severely weakened because of hunger, an inability to rest and the constant threat of the holy water which had given him deep burns over his whole body. He was shackled, silver of course, so he couldn't rely on his vampiric abilities. He could hardly see out of one eye.. and the door hadn't opened in days, perhaps weeks.
That was the biggest problem by far, but one outside of his control. He would have to find a different way to get out, or prepare as well as he could for the moment the door would open. For either of those, he would need his hands free. He eyed the cuffs, reminded of a coyote he once saw, stuck in a trap. How it had panicked and struggled until infection and necrosis set in, how it had gnawed his leg of. He was reminded of the tearing sound it made, as he started biting through the flesh of his arm, rending and tearing it much like the beast.

Perhaps he would suffer a better fate, than it, or perhaps like it, Scott would also fall to another predator, sensing his weakness.

-

Abolish knocked exactly twice on the door before it flew open, revealing a very frazzled Shelby, and on the other side of the room, where he had heard the two talking before, a worried, but hopeful Drift.

"We need to talk."

Chapter Text

The worst part, of regenerating a limb, was how uncomfortable it was, Scott decided. Usually, this would not have been a problem, a few minute and the wound was gone. Perhaps up to an hour, if he hadn't fed properly. Now? It felt like ages had passed since he gnawed off his hand, and it had only closed enough that it didn't bleed. It wasn't even a proper scar yet! A bit of sudden movement was enough to tear it open again. He had found this out, multiple times. Would it not cripple him, Scott would almost have been tempted to burn it close with the remnants of the holy water laying around.

At least the showering had stopped, which he was almost embarrassingly grateful about, as he wasn't sure how to protect the wound… He should have thought this through.. the bit of freedom was not worth losing his hand eternally.. He would be so fucked. He needed it. He could not.. Scott curled in on himself, tucking away the wounded arm and closing his eyes, forcing himself to count to a hundred, trying to battle the spirals his mind insisted on. He wished he had listened more to Drift, at the late nights when Shelby woke up in panic. Wished he could remember the techniques she used. He did not, always removing himself when the emotions got too high. He regretted it now, mourning the possible connection to his coven that he rejected out of something feeble like discomfort.

A small mercy, to stop the holy water from drenching him now, almost certainly confirming to Scott that Pyro was watching. It was dreadful, the constant feeling of being watched. Even more dreadful how he was played with. Hurt but not too much, the only permanent damage done by the hands of the scholar, not these.. idle cruelties.

The realization didn't wane the relief the respite brought Scott, the chance to sit and rest without the constant pain. It was.. necessary. The constant vigilance causing paranoia, hallucinations, making him flinch at every little sound like he was a child again. He bared his teeth, straightening up again into a more dignified position. He could not let himself despair, it would only make things worse. His reactions were the only thing he had any control over, and he refused to let that slip. He was taught better than that.

The loose manacle proved to be an unexpected problem, another part of the miscalculation. It forced him to keep that arm to his side, as not to let the silver touch more of his body. Scott had burned himself one too many times like this, carelessly placing his remaining hand in his lap. It more often then not ended up resting on the dirty ground instead, making him to feel the dirt.. and other things he had started tuning out, as not to claw his skin of further. In fact he had started ignoring the entire arm, as the visage of rotting wounds made him want to tear off the entire arm. It was not the gore that bothered him, he didn't care for a bit of blood and flesh. The mix of pus, sweat, dirt and what else that was on his arm, mixing in with the rot and flesh? It disturbed him more than he was willing to admit, or show.

What he wouldn't do for a good, warm bath to soak in. Rinse away all his wounds and the evidence of his struggles before snuggling up on one of their heated blankets. It sounded heavenly to him, too foreign for him to be comfortable with.

-

It took maybe 2 minutes, from the moment Scott heard the footsteps until the door was opened. Two, anxiety filled minutes, waiting, listening to the footsteps grow closer, hiding behind the door, where he wouldn't be immediately visible. It must have given Pyro pause, as he opened the door, not being able to see him immediately upon entering, because he stopped, doorknob still in hand as they scanned the room.
It didn't matter to Scott though, who used the hesitation to slam the door against them, pushing the scholar into the wall. He almost didn't hear the other shout, over the rush in his ears as he smelled the blood spilling from Pyro's head. Suddenly, his whole world was the red he saw flowing, jumping on the recovering scholar, making him fall completely to the ground. He pushed on their chest with a knee, leaning over while grabbing their hair with his remaining hand, forcing Pyro's head to the side, getting a good view of the neck.

"You motherfuck—" Pyro gasped, struggling to push the feral vampire away, but it was too late. Teeth sunk deep into the soft flesh of the neck. Scott almost groaned at the taste, a starving man given a feast. It was bliss, to feel the many wounds and burns starting to fade, as his strength returned to him, only second to the feeling of having his tormentor underneath him, being the one who made it possible.
Not that Pyro was making it easy, scratching and kicking, a futile attempt at gaining back the control he so quickly lost. It only enhanced the euphoria. He closed his eyes, savoring the taste of the blood, of his regained power. The scholar should have known he would be no match for him, the last Goldsm—

Pain.

Excruciating pain, flaring through his already wounded eye as a knife got thrust into it. He gasped, instinctively releasing Pyro's neck and pulling back, meaning to pull it out. He did not get the chance, getting kicked off the scholar the moment he let go. He heard a sickening crack as his spine hit the edge of the door, before he fell to the floor, dazed. It took a moment, for everything to respond again, a moment of inattentiveness. His eyes of his opponent as he screamed internally for his body to react. It took too long. He couldn't move.. He couldn't move!

He hissed weakly as he saw Pyro approach, his body slow to start cooperating, as he felt his back piece itself back together. Mirroring his own actions, the scholar grabbed his hair, pulling him up by the delicate, dirty strands. The skin of his scalp screamed at the violation, as he felt it tear in the time he needed to find his footing, which turned out to be for naught, as Pyro used the grip to slam the vampires head into his knee. And again. And again, until Scott stumbled, the borrowed blood running in rivers over his face, thanks to his definitely broken nose. He glared up at Pyro, who seemed to be studying him, with a bone chilling amusement present in his eyes.

"Will you behave now?"

"For you? Please. Dying would be much preferable than lowering myself to your level," he spat, twisting his head out of the others grip with a spin, intending to kick the other off balance and get away. As he felt his foot connect with the others leg though, he realized the flaw in his plan as the burned, tender flesh of his foot came alive with vengeance. Pyro only stumbled, but he, to his great shame, fell, his leg unable to support his weight. He quickly scrambled back, very aware of the dangerous position he was in now, though it was clearly not fast enough, as he felt Pyro's fingers, dull, not claws, dig into his leg, right where the burns remained, and pull, causing Scott to fall on his back. He used his free foot to kick at the arm holding him, stopped quickly as Pyro grabbed that one too, before stepping on his manacled arm. He gasped, drawing a laugh out of Pyro as he started grinding his boot into the rotten, burned flesh, causing Scott to writhe in pain underneath him.

"Oh Goldsmith, I will happily fulfill that wish." He heard the laugh in the voice, saw the smug look, but it did not register for him, as his world became white hot pain, as the scholar stepped fully on to the arm. It took perhaps a second, but for him it felt like hours, for the pain to recede, and he could see again.

Perhaps though, that was not for the better, as the scholar had waited for it, a wide, cruel smile adorning his face, not dissimilar to the ones he used to sport, before they pushed in a long, rusted nail through his neck, throat, and cervical spine until it drilled into the ground, all the while, leaning in close, kissing Scott lazily as the vampire screamed and then started choking, blood starting to pool in his throat. He wanted to hit pyro, break him until he was not recognizable anymore, but as he tried lifting his arm, he quickly how futile it was.
He couldn't move. He could barely feel anything, not even the debilitating pain of seconds prior. Just the dirty, rusty nail, his blood pooling in his mouth, and the disgust, shame, panic, panic, panic as Pyro was still kissing him. Their hand caressing his cheek, playing with his lips as his tongue started lapping up the blood in Scott's mouth. His own heart, beating for the first time in centuries, as panic and revulsion stirred it, with no outlet besides the thump thump thump, beating away. The unwanted action only serving to make him choke on his own blood. Panic flooding every part of his mind as he still felt their tongue between his teeth, exploring his mouth like they had any right to. He bit down, hard, and laughed manically as his own blood mixed with the human's. He hardly could register what was going on anymore. The sting of his head and tear of his neck as Pyro slapped him, his spine cracking at the sudden movement, registering, but not given context. Only the burn of their lips, still felt even now could pierce the veil of his mind.

"You, Goldsmith, have a problem." The scholar said distantly, a laugh echoing in his voice as he looked down on the prone vampire underneath him, playing with a lock of the pale hair. "I mean, I leave you alone for what, maybe a week and you have made such a mess of yourself, how pathetic. You truly can't do anything yourself hmm? Always relying on others to help. Guess they finally had enough, otherwise they surely would have come and got you by now, I mean, they know where you are. And yet they leave you to me."

Scott, unable to retort despite the many things he had to say, just hissed at the other, blood bubbling on his lips with the action. He knew Pyro had to be lying. He had to. It could not be the truth. Why would they not come? Surely he was not that much of a bother, that they thought he deserved this?

Had Pyro been a bit closer, he could have reached him, sunk his teeth deep into the rotten mass of a man, but despite the scholar practically having been draped over him, grinding against his unresponsive body, they were sensible enough to keep their distance from his fangs now. It was surreal, how Pyro played with him like a doll. Poking and prodding at the different wounds and burns, bursting open blisters and blood just to smear it over Scott's chest and lips, making him taste the mess. Kissing his hand and throat, in a sinister replica of nights gone before, where he had tried to please Scott. He could feel them, the marks left behind by Pyro's lips, forced to memorize the placements despite himself, wanting nothing more to claw, bite, skin the pieces of flesh, until he was clean again.

He wasn't sure if he would ever be clean again. It didn't feel that way. The touches spreading rot until there was nothing of him left but a husk. He hoped it would be an unfeeling state. That eternity would not be this.

Pyro had left at some point, he hadn't noticed, the sensations long lingering after the man was gone. They had left the door open. It was insult to injury, to see the hallway for the first time, to be so close to freedom. To see the concrete and wiring, signs of the outside which he desparately clung to. He wondered if he screamed, if people would hear him. He never before had wanted to scream, seeing it as a childish display of emotions that was underneath him, even at his worst. Now he wanted nothing more than to cry out, and could not, only choking on blood as a result. If only he wasn't so pathetic, able to bear the pain, and move. He could not. His control, which he prided himself on for so long, extended now over nothing, not even his own body.

Useless.

Perhaps it would have been better, to have been granted a quick death than witnessing himself deteriorate further with each passing moment.

-

By the time the scholar came back, he had collected himself again, staring at the ceiling, but not seeing it anymore as he listened to the scholar's footsteps.

He could tell that Pyro was enjoying it, circling around Scott with a slight bounce in his step as he was preparing.. whatever nefarious idea they had. Something with the chains they'd been carrying, which he, personally, was not eager to discover more about. A sentiment Pyro obviously didn't share, as they practically radiated glee, his giggles filling the room like he was some sort of child. And with the same infantile joy, he sat down on top of Scott, tapping on the nail still embedded into his throat, like it didn't send shocks through his entire system.

"You should consider making this part of your wardrobe, little Goldsmith. You are so much more tolerable when you are quiet like this… perhaps people would even consider staying, heh."

He saw red at the insult, baring his teeth. It would look horrendous! Besides he had people! That liked him! Probably.. He had a coven! That was more than Pyro could say! Sure, they didn't come rescue him, but that was just because they trusted him! They knew he was strong enough, that he didn't need help.. right?

He closed his eyes for a second, forcing out a garbled string of swears in response, despite his torn vocal cords, just to bother the man.

The chuckle above him was as familiar a sound as the click above him, and instinctively he tried to curl up, hide his head away, only succeeding in jerking his head to the side and tearing up the wound once again, right where it had been healing.

"Right.. what were you saying there?"

He had been tricked, he realized with a start, showing exactly how much power the other wielded over his psyche with such cheap tricks that should never have worked on him. He felt tears burning in his eyes, forcing them desperately away as humiliation stacked on humiliation. He wondered how much lower he would fall as he glanced at his captor, taking in the ever growing smile at his passivity. He looked away again, forcing himself to stare at one point in the wall.

"You truly have become pathetic. To think…" He didn't know what Pyro thought, as they quieted, noting the lack of reaction. The scholar sighed, obviously disappointed, before standing up and dusting of his knees. He hoped that would be the end of it. For Pyro to leave. He dreaded it more. His unresponsive body at once too familiar and too foreign. At least if the scholar was here and wanted to play, he would have to remove the nail.
He heard Pyro walking away, and he hated that that was all it took to make him start panicking, just the promise of this continued forced helplessness undoing him. He hated the barely audible plea escaping him, another humiliation to swallow, this time one entirely of his own creation. He hated most that Pyro had heard it, that it worked, and had stopped. That the scholar approaching him filled him with dread and relief at the same time. Not that the relief stayed long, as he was roughly grabbed by the hair and made to look up in the smug visage of the other as a whine escaped his lips.

"Repeat that for me, darling?" Scott swore their eyes almost sparkled as they made that ludicrous request. He would have spit in their eyes for it, if he wasn't sure it would lead to him staying stuck on the floor, with some extra wounds to nurse. But he couldn't get himself to repeat the noise either. Not when they looked at him like that, not when the hatred was choking him still. He supposed that was intentional. Pyro knowing him well enough to make him walk into his own suffering, or be forced to give up his last dredges of dignity. He couldn't. He was scared of who he was becoming, here in this forgotten hole. He needed to keep hold of himself. Even if it cost him.

"Why must you always be so difficult? Your pride isn't worth shit here" They sighed, having noticed the reluctance. With those words, he stood up, dragging Scott up with him by the hair, tearing the nail through the flesh, through the muscle. He could feel bits of skin sticking to the nail, together with the caked blood loosening as he started choking again, the mixture sliding down to his lungs, making him only choke more. He got no reprieve from the abuse though, as Pyro immediately dropped him, forcing him on to his stomach so they could tie his hands behind his back, before taking out the crown piece, a muzzle which he forced around Scott's jaws. Nothing more than a mockery, forcing him to keep his mouth closed. Not that he could have done much regardless, pain and exhaustion having wrecked his body, now his spirit being chipped away at.

He should fight. Do what he did best, start a fight. Enrage. But he was so, so, so exhausted, hardly even able to feel his body and wanting nothing more than to curl up. So he let himself be dragged over to the middle. Let Pyro manhandle him into chains, which lifted his arms behind his back, straining his shoulders and making him lean forward to alleviate the pain.

Only when the scholar tried to make him kneel, did he offer resistance. Planting his feet and locking his knees, glaring at the other. He could not speak, he did not need to. His message was loud and clear. Scott Goldsmith would not kneel. It seemed only seemed to amuse Pyro though. As if his rebellion was inconsequential. Suddenly, Scott understood how Owen must have felt, 200 years ago. The all consuming rage that drove the man forward, at everyone's expense, including his own. Able to go past limits only to bring ruin. An inferno, leaving behind only destruction.

And just like Owen, he was brought down low with little effort, as Pyro shattered his kneecap with a single precise strike of a knife. He fell, unable to support his weight, a scream stuck in his throat as he hit the ground, jostling the wound further. He forced a ragged, wet breath, trying to concentrated on that, instead of the shattered pieces of bone digging into muscle, or Pyro's hands on his legs as they restrained him further into the kneeling position.

Another breath.

Ignore the burn in his arms, as Pyro pulled them further up, forcing him to lean further down, his face almost hitting the ground, to prevent his shoulders from popping out of their sockets.

Inhale.

He closed his eyes, drowning out the feeling of his hair brushing the filthy, disgusting ground. Drown out the laughter, the whispers and caresses as Pyro admired his work.

Exhale.

No reaction. Not when the scholar talked about the crown piece or pushed his face to ground with their shoe, leaning over him.

Inhale.

A snap. His ear twitched against his will. A huff above him.

"Show me your pretty eyes, won't you, sire~"

He huffed, stubbornly keeping his eyes closed.

"Tch, coward. Well, as you wish then, you can go into your death blind."

His eyes snapped open at that, glancing furtively between Pyro and the stake they held. He got a second to feel the panic, to try and do something. Instead he was frozen, forced to watch the manic grin as he felt the stake pierce through him like lighting.

He thought he knew pain intimately, thought it was a familiar foe, an old friend, but nothing could have prepared him for this. He heard a scream, echoing and mixing with the burn, and laughter and pain and rot and deterioration and laughter and-

nothing.

Blissful nothing.