Archive of Our Own

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Right so remember when I said I might be doing a V!Owen and V!Legundo Veinbound story?

Complimentary experimental first chapter :) 

This is, as it says, experimental. If you like it, I'll keep writing it. If you don't, then it's fine, nothing gained nothing lost or however that saying goes. Anyway have fun! 

Legs won't :)

TRIGGER WARNING: Attempted suicide, sorta gore and blood. Please do not read if you don't feel comfortable with that!

When Legundo closed his eyes, willfully giving into the cold that rose to cradle him in death, he never expected to open them again.

You can imagine the confusion and panic that takes hold when he gasps, surging up before running directly into old metal.

He's thrown back with a cry of pain, back into a new wall of grates that causes his surroundings to screek and grrrnn perilously. Something wet runs down his forehead, thick and sticky between his frantic fingers when they brush it and draw away with red.

Before that has wholly sunk in, there's a pause, a scream of rusted mechanisms failing and snapping, and Legundo's insides lurch as he begins to plummet.

His panic is short-lived, however, as the blunt-force trauma of not one but two strikes to his skull catches up with him, pitching him into darkness.

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Legundo is slow to wake the second impossible time.

His head throbs, made no better by the light before his eyelids. Something tickles the back of his throat with each impossible breath, the smell of dreariness and gloom thick in the air. Coughing tells him that he probably hurt himself more on the way down–his chest spasms involuntarily afterward and it feels as though his ribcage closes in a little with each inhale.

He's alive.

He should not be.

He died. He knows he did, he trusts that Cleo's aim was true, that the stake pierced his heart, and that they would have buried him six feet under. They had the mutual understanding that tells him he trusts that.

Wherever he is now, he gets nowhere by staying sprawled across the ground.

Unwillingly, he forces himself to open his eyes and instantly closes them with a groan as the light worsens practically tenfold. At least he's already blind in one eye; can't blind him much more than that. Slowly, the light dims to something tolerable, so Legundo tries again.

The ground is cold, comprised of gravel and strange material he has no name for. Some sort of stone, but not any kind he recognizes. Reluctantly getting onto his knees, the man looks around.

This is not Oakhurst.

Among the rubble, Legundo picks out twisted bits of metal alluding to what had held him before–a cage, a box of some sort, which must have been attached to a sort of pulley system. An elevator, maybe. It would explain the shaft he'd fallen from that looms over his head.

Then, there is the orb of wispy blue flame. It dances and bobs, weaves and floats around, no real direction to its movements as far as the man can tell. It gives off enough light to see his surroundings, reminiscent of the lantern-light providing more visibility at night in Oakhurst. There is no red tinge or such a pressing darkness here. This is the dark of an unlit room rather than the dread and evil of supernatural forces. The air is cold in his lungs, and the ball of flame offers no warmth.

How is this possible? He should be dead. He died. He is far more intimately acquainted with death than any man should be, he knows exactly what it feels like. There was no difference when Cleo killed him.

So why is he here?

He still has his claws, a few of which appear to have chipped or broken in his post-mortem tumble.

Surely they are no less sharp.

Slowly, Legundo lifts his hand, almost able to feel the pounding of his silent heart. The pounding of his head worsens, a heat rising behind his eyes that feels unnatural to the cold around him.

He's breathing air.

He should not be.

He cannot be.

Just let him rest.

With that incentive driving him forward, Legundo claws at the main artery in his neck and tears it away, rewarded with a violent burst of blood that coats his dried-scarlet hands even further as he drops the piece of flesh that came with it. He staggers but does very little to actually stop his descent to the ground, closing his eyes as he waits for the blood loss to take him.

It never does.

The sense of liquid gushing down his throat and shoulder begins to fade, the sharp pain of his incision drawing back at the same time.

Eventually the man opens his eyes, horrified to discover the wound had healed on its own in record speeds, even for a Vampire. "No." He whispers, two fingers lingering over where he had drawn blood minutes before. "No...no, no, no..." Legundo shakes his head and stumbles back into the wall behind him, sitting heavily with his head in his hands.

He was supposed to be dead!

Why can't he just die?

With no way to suggest what time it is (or any sense of it at all), there is no way to say how long he sits there, drowning in his panic and terror. At least back in Oakhurst he had a purpose. What is he supposed to do here? Where even is here?? He can't even die! At least there was a way to die–or there was supposed to be-before! What does he do?!

He only has one path forward.

A section of wall has crumbled, revealing the hints of a space beyond.

It's the only thing he can do.

And for now, that is his only option.

Continue forward.

A/N

For those who’ve read my other VSMP-related fic: this does not take place in the Damn These Vampires universe. This is just me giving Normal V!Legundo a Bad Time because I can.

Chapter Text

Legundo steps into a room (of sorts) through the break in the wall, the weird fire-light going ahead of him as he scans his new surroundings.

There is ash and flaky particles drifting in the air, reminiscent of snow but oppressive like heavy rainfall. The blood spatters (not his blood; too old and it doesn't smell like his) follow him, cast with no measure of scarcity wherever he looks. In addition, there is a shallow channel that he makes an effort not to step in, the reddened water anything but appealing. He tries not to breathe too deeply through his nose, lest he be overrun with the stench of ancient rot, char, blood, and rubble. Overall, this place is decidedly not friendly. Above him, the Vampire can see what appear to be platforms, a challenge to his physical capabilities, but feasible. He doesn't have a better option.

Legundo then begins to inspect every nook and cranny, even trying to scale the cracked stone walls only to get cut palms for his efforts.

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He comes across a barrel tucked into a corner, in which he finds a sherd of pottery, red and emblazoned with the shape of a jewel. Keeping it in his pocket for later, he also finds a metal bar. There's a few pieces of wood around, maybe he can use it to break them.

Standing up with the tool, the man passes by a wall of bars with a small gap in the stone beside it. He wouldn't have paid any mind to the break, were it not for the glint of blue light that shone through. Pausing, he slowly goes back to look again. If there's a light source, maybe there's something useful over there.

There is an enormous hallway, challenging the size of the main hall in the Castle, and on the opposite side to him is another barred wall and a hole.

There is a face staring back at him through it.

They have long, messy white hair, sharp, hollow features, and dark eyes that seem to cut into him just as deep as his claws had.

There is a fear that rises, paired with an anger that he hurriedly wrestles back into a box.

"No. No, no, not you..." Legundo whispers, the claws of his ribcage tightening a little more around his lungs and unbeating heart. Even so, there is almost a tangible pounding associated with elevated heart rates. He's unsure if the tremble in his breath and hands is from fury or terror.

Across the room, Owen laughs, bitter, malicious, and hateful.

"Of all the faces I could have expected to see down here, I never counted yours among them. What could you have possibly done to have been sent here, Doctor? Was your 'good' not enough for the world?" He calls, voice dripping with mockery and his sneering expression reflected crystal clear through his words.

"I don't–you're dead, how are you–? No!" Legundo exclaims, dragging a hand over the side of his head.

"Yes, Doc, I am dead. And so are you!" Owen says, pressing against the bars separating them. "This is not–! No, this isn't it. I was dead. This is...this is something else." Legundo states, surprising himself when he hears the conviction echo across the hall back to him. Owen snorts, brushing hair out of his face. The braids have come undone, leaving the unpinned locks in his eyes. "Really? I hadn't noticed." He says sarcastically. "I do not have time for this, Owen." The bloodstained Vampire groans. "I should be dead. You should be dead. We aren't. We're obviously trapped. There must be a way out of here. However, I am not seeing one on my own, nor are you. If you did, I assume you would have been long gone by now." He reasons, using that to remind himself to remain calm. As much as he was speaking to Owen, he was also saying that for his own benefit. Last time, he was so full of anger. He gave into it. It ultimately got him nowhere. It never has, and it never will. The elder Vampire scowls, which is all the confirmation Legundo needs to know he's right. He takes a deep breath, choosing to ignore the fact that he needs air again as soon as he realizes it. "I think the only way we get out is if we help one another."

Owen steps away, teeth bared in opposition, but the death-denied man continues, raising his voice to make sure he can still be heard.

"I'm just as thrilled about that as you must be right now. But the sooner we can agree to work together, the sooner neither of us ever has to see the other again." He hopes. They have absolutely no idea what lies ahead after this. What if this is it?

It can't be.

He refuses to accept that possibility.

There is always a way out.

Owen hisses angrily, returning to the hole without looking at his supposed-to-be-dead fledgling. "Very well. In the effort of truly being rid of you...I will cooperate." The man dips his head in gratitude. "Thank you. Now, did you find anything that stood out to you in particular?" The other Vampire considers, then holds up a collection of sherds like the one Legundo found. "These. And a brush. I tried sweeping away the gravel, but there was only bones. Have you seen the upper levels?" The half-blind Vampire shakes his head, wincing quietly. Being without his monocle, he's swiftly developing a headache. The cool air helps a little, at least for now. "There's a set of pots there with symbols marked on them. Some of them match the things I have." Owen summarizes, as Legundo regards the small piece of engraved pottery he'd removed from his pocket. "I have one of those with me. It has a jewel mark on it." He offers. "One of my pots has a jewel on it." Owen replies, then freezes as something groans. Luckily, it sounded very far away, even to both Vampires' sharper-than-normal hearing. "Is there any place that our rooms connect? A weak part of the wall?" The man wonders, mostly under his breath as he scans the space he has. "There's a tunnel in the floor. It's by the stairs." Owen answers. The man lifts his head. Even with supernatural hearing, surely he shouldn't have heard him speak?

"The fires. I can hear you through it." Owen explains, catching on before words of questioning have left the man's mouth. The doctor sighs, momentarily dropping his head. "I suppose that makes things easier. Hold on, then." Stepping away from the bars, Legundo stalks around, pausing on a board that creaks under his boot. He still has that metal bar, right? Time to see if it works.

Gripping it in both hands like a pickaxe, the Vampire strikes the wood with as much force as possible, nearly losing balance as the board crumbles a lot easier than he'd expected. The rest of the panels blocking the way are quick to follow, leaving him ample space to hop in and out. Given the fact that the injuries he sustained from climbing the walls healed moments after, a couple splinters shouldn't be much of an issue. "I take it you've found the tunnel, then?" Owen asks, startling him more than he'd care to admit. The disembodied aspect to this communication reminds Legundo of when the elder Vampire was concealing himself through invisibility. It only lacks the watched feeling, and at least with no heartbeat, Owen can't tell how he feels so acutely. "Yes." He answers, dropping in and ducking his head to follow the roughly-carved passage. From the map developing in his head, it does seem to be leading under the wall dividing him and Owen.

Legundo turns a corner, and suddenly he's there.

He stops, uncertainty warring with old emotions that have no relevancy here and several instincts shouting all at once to fight, to run, to stay away, to step forward. Anger, fear, guilt, determination.

Owen looks visibly unchanged from when he'd turned the doctor: unfathomably tired, yet eyes sharp and vigilant, and deceptively quiet in demeanor. After taking that brief moment to collect himself, Legundo walks up to the unfinished gap in the wall. It's bigger than the one in the cell walls themselves, but still too small for either of them to actually get through to the other side. "I have the sherd. Can I–I saw some gravel on my side. If there's a brush, then there has to be something to be done with it." He says, then pauses.

Legundo jumps back, narrowly missing claws to his face. Owen chuckles darkly, leaning against the hole in the rock. "Ah, so close!" He sighs. The man leans against the wall, breathing heavily. Had he still a heart, it'd be hammering. "This gets us nowhere. I'm sure you want to get out of here." He says carefully. Owen narrows his eyes in amusement, very similar to the way Scott would smile at the others. "What if I want to kill you, doctor? I've killed you before. We're already dead, so there is nothing waiting for us, should that be where escape would lead. What's stopping me from doing it here?" He asks. A silence settles over Legundo's features, a cold blankness to his expression that visibly unsettles the other Vampire.

"You can't. I've...I tried already."

This makes the elder Vampire pause for a moment, dropping the antagonistic appearance for genuine, brief wonder and surprise. "You tried it on yourself. I haven't done anything. Perhaps I could help you." He offers, recovering and letting his claws audibly trail over the barrier separating them. The way he said the last sentence makes Legundo's shoulders tense up. He knows that tone.

"It's far too late for that." He replies, struggling to keep the box of anger closed. It is his fault he's ended up like this. It should have ended in Oakhurst. But now he's here with the reason he'd killed Martyn. With the reason his killing Martyn killed Ren. The reason that there was two more lives he was unable to save. "The only way either of us has a chance to leave is if we put up with one another, one last time." He insists. "It didn't work that well the first time." Owen points out, rolling his eyes before tossing a brush at him. It clatters to the ground, coming to a stop a few inches from the man's boot. "Give me that sherd of yours, then go see if you have any pots. If you do, tell me what symbols you have. I might have some of yours." Owen instructs. Legundo narrows his eye a little, only moving to pick up the brush.

Finally Owen takes the hint and backs away, waiting for the doctor to put the piece of pottery on the rock separating them. He makes himself walk forward again, leaving the engraved object where the other Vampire could reach it, then turns on his heel and returning to his room without another word.

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There is a barrel hidden within the wall, giving him another shard, and with that in his pocket, Legundo sets about climbing to the uppermost platform he'd spotted in his initial scan. 

Hauling himself up onto a ledge, he catches sight of something red, the blue light bobbing towards it as he focuses his attention. He has three pots, it sounds like Owen had five or six. The Vampiric doctor readies himself for the next leap, hands scrabbling for purchase among the cracked bricks for a moment. One more jump. 

This one is a little higher than he'd thought, catching him in the chest and driving the air from his lungs. The man's left hand hooks into a divot in the stone, the only thing preventing him from falling to a painful death-that-is-not-death below. Would he even be healed for that? Sure, he's been healed of flesh wounds and revived, but would that apply to if he broke a leg? He isn't exactly thrilled to find out. 

"What are you doing?? You already said you can't kill yourself." Owen asks. Legundo doesn't respond with words, only a wheezing groan as he drags himself up the rest of the way. There is a line across his chest that will undoubtedly bruise, his lungs recovering from the sudden lack of breath gradually but surely. 

"Where do you think we are, Legs?" Owen inquires suddenly, continuing to do whatever it is he's doing while the doctor stares at the ceiling. "This is not where I was when I died, either. It was worse. much, much worse. It was dark...so, so very dark, both too cold and too hot at the same time. I felt cramped and frozen, like I wanted to stretch out but couldn't, framed in the uncomfortable position those dark hands had left me in as they dragged me down. I could not tell if I was still moving or not. It...I felt like I was on the verge of trying to take a breath, but never could. There was no such thing as air. Only the dark, and the knowledge that I had truly, without any room for doubt, lost Louis." The Vampire tells him. Legundo stays silent. Is he supposed to pity him? Does he want to? Can he? "I saw him again, for a moment. Just before I was dragged down. He looked so peaceful. But his eyes were sad. He knew before I did what awaited me. I didn't even get to say goodbye. Just like last time." 

That interests him. 

He did see Louis, then? 

Two weeks ago–two weeks before he died; time has no meaning here–Legundo would have been happy for him. He would have hoped that Owen could find his own peace through that. Now, he's unsure how he feels about it. "But he was well?" He asks. "Yes." Owen answers quietly. The bloodied doctor forces himself to sit up, groaning wearily as he does. 

"Why would you tell me that?" 

Owen is silent for several seconds, coughing quietly(as does Legundo) from all the particles in the air. 

"Who else would I tell?"

It was a personal admission, telling him about Louis. It was something Owen had trusted the doctor to hold his tongue about around everyone else, and he had held true to that, even as everything continued to escalate, even as the rage and the marching took over. It was never his place to divulge what Owen had not freely shared with the others. It wouldn't have served much of a purpose anyway, only angered the Vampire and turned him against them even more. 

"I have three pots on my side." The doctor says slowly, leaning closer and tilting his head to see past the bars and identify the symbols. "One's a sword, one's a jewel, and the other one looks like..." He pauses, briefly debating if Owen knew about the mythical creature. "Well, spit it out!" The other Vampire urges. 

"A Warden."

"A what?" 

"It's claimed to be an ancient thing lurking in these enormous caverns, deep below mountains. It–nobody's seen one in years, or at all, as far as I know, but they have something to do with sound and infection." He explains. When he was younger, he'd been interested in old accounts of a strange illness known as Skulk Infection. With his information being only one transcription of a doctor's study and two references to it in a textbook, Legundo gave up shortly after. He had more important things to pursue. "Alright. Is it...it has this circle in the middle, and horns like a cow?" Even though Owen can't see him, the man nods. "Yes." He confirms, getting back to his feet and rolling his shoulders. "Sword, jewel, Warden..." Owen mutters. "Um–I have all three of those on my pots, and I'm missing a sword piece." He reports. "I have it." Legundo states, already wearily eyeing the challenge of getting back down. Would it truly be so horrible to just fall? It'd just bring him back, and it's faster than trying to maneuver the small ledges and overhangs. His boot shifts, edging forward in contemplation before he crouches and jumps to the shelf he'd used to get up.

He has to keep moving, not just for himself, but for Owen's benefit. Neither of them make it out of here if they aren't both making progress. Just keep going. He can rest after. One last thing. And then he can be done.