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Robin knew everything. Humphrey didn’t know much but he knew Robin knew everything. Well, he probably didn’t but not even eighty years could shake the memories of Robin teaching him to walk, to listen to the trees and understand the earth. He’d never forget being four and walking around the village with Robin when he’d been picked up and Robin had rushed them back to the house, quicker than Humphrey could register, because he’d heard Humphrey’s mother worrying about him being late for dinner. Robin heard everything, knew everything.
Which meant he knew what Humphrey was about to do and that meant either he knew it wouldn’t work so wasn’t bothering to say anything or he knew it wouldn’t and didn’t care what happened to Humphrey.
A month ago, Humphrey would have laughed at the second option, would have been so sure that Robin cared about him. The man had helped raise him and was, in a sense, the father of his new undead life. A month ago, Robin hadn’t seen Humphrey surrounded by the bodies of 50 dead villagers.
He didn’t know if the fire poker he’d found would work. There wasn’t exactly anyone else to ask and while Humphrey didn’t think Robin was bothered about what he was planning, he thought he might drawing a line at actively helping Humphrey plot his own death. The poker would work well enough as a stake through the heart.
Humphrey paced at the top of the stairs, taking two steps down, then two steps back up. He shook his head, running back through what he had intended to say. He knew they’d be able to hear him downstairs, were probably exchanging exasperated and increasingly angry glances but he couldn’t decide how to build himself up to actually go down. He was overthinking and he knew it.
A creak upstairs made him move. As difficult the conversation downstairs would be, making eye contact with Robin while holding an iron poker would be worse.
The steps to the dungeons were very well worn and Humphrey didn’t want to think about how many times Robin had dragged someone down to die. He rubbed at his neck, where a small scar still remained and thought of waking up in one of the cells after days of agony. He knew he had been asleep and that the pain likely could have been much, much worse but all he remembered of those three days was the fire racing through his veins and the feeling of his skin patching itself back together. He had woken in the dungeons, in the dark and thought for a moment he had been buried and forgotten until Robin, his favourite Uncle Robin, had stepped forward and pulled him into a hug, telling him everything would be okay. He had clung to Robin those first few days, feeling like a child again and Robin had smiled and ruffled his hair, showing him how to adapt to his new strength and tamper down his new senses. He missed those first few days, when it was all new and good and not full of guilt and blood.
Humphrey was stood on the bottom step on the dungeons for about a minute before the villagers stepped out. Clearly, in the time it had taken him to pace away his worry, they had collected together in one of the cells and now they were staring at him from the cell door, completely emotionless. John, stood near the front, flicked his eyes down to the poker in Humphrey’s hand, then back up with wide eyes.
“Come to finish the job, have you?” Walter said, over John’s shoulder. The eight were all pressed together, each one holding onto the people next to them as if they thought Humphrey had come to snatch one of them away.
“What?” Humphrey looked down at the poker. “No, this was for you.”
They recoiled in unison, a fluid group movement and Mick shuffled closer into Geoff’s side. “Please, we don’t want any trouble, we’ll just stay down here and out of your way.”
Geoff nodded, though his expression was more challenging than Mick’s. “If you’re going to do it, just get it over with.”
“No, no. Sorry, I’m not making myself clear. This was for you to kill me with.”
He had meant to explain himself better, had everything planned out in his mind and instead, he had just said it. No build up, no care, just said it.
The villagers glanced at each other, clearly not expecting that. Humphrey opened his mouth to say something else but they weren’t looking at him and were instead nodding back and forth, having a conversation Humphrey wasn’t privy to. He’d thought he’d been getting better at understanding their little gestures, raised eyebrows and tilted heads telling more than words would, but it seemed to have all slipped away now. All that time living in the village since his death and he was back to being on the outside again, waiting for the villagers to decide his fate. Eventually Nigel was pushed forwards, though Walter and John squared their shoulders directly behind him, ready to back him up.
“Why would we do that?”
There was still fear behind Nigel’s eyes and Humphrey’s mind flashed back to shoving him against a wall, ripping out his neck without any hesitation. Humphrey flinched away from the villagers’ gaze, then forced himself to look back.
“I killed your kids.”
He remembered when they’d realised that. They’d woken up, all at once, so happy to be alive. They’d looked happy to see him, even as he stood at the top of the stairs, waiting for the penny to drop. They’d asked where the others were, where their children were and all he could do was shake his head and watch them break. Nigel didn’t have any children but he did have a wife and Mick didn’t have either. They had broken at the idea that it was just the eight of them left and then Humphrey had to turn his gaze to the other six, who were staring at him as if holding onto the vain hope that there was a misunderstanding and their children would run downstairs and Humphrey would laugh. Instead he had just sat there as Walter stumbled backwards, Wilma collapsing into his arms, as Geoff and Judith held each other as they cried, as John and Joan just stood a stared, unable to comprehend and eventually told him to leave, venom dripping in every word.
“Killing you won’t bring them back.”
Humphrey shook his head. The poker was feeling heavy in his hand and he wanted to put it down but he thought that would look a bit awkward. “I know and I’m so sorry I can’t return them to you. But, I thought, you might want-”
“Revenge?” Wilma said, glancing up at Walter. “You think we want revenge?”
“Um, yes? Or, I suppose, justice?”
They scoffed at that, and turned away. Nigel stayed in the doorway as the others retreated in the cell. Humphrey shuffled forwards, not sure what to do and Nigel rolled his eyes, stepping forward and grabbing Humphrey’s shirt. He couldn’t have moved him if Humphrey didn’t want to go but the older vampire allowed himself to be pulled, allowed Nigel to drag him to the bed on the wall. There were several mattresses on the floor and Humphrey bit back questions, only able to assume that all of them had been huddling together each night. They didn’t really need sleep but it was nice when they could get it, he supposed.
The villagers arranged themselves in front of him and he was reminded of sitting in front of Robin with his sisters, cross legged and excited as the cavemen told them stories of mammoths and tigers and megabears. His mind wandered briefly to his sisters, wondering if they were still alive and what had happened to their children when he was declared a traitor to the crown. Then he was brought back to reality by Nigel moving away from him and sitting down with the others. The poker rested awkwardly on Humphrey’s knee and he placed it on the bed, the point angled away from the villagers.
“Um.” He started, not sure what was going on. “So…”
“Why did you do it?”
He wasn’t really sure who had said it. He scanned the faces but they all had the same expression.
“I… I don’t have a reason. Robin told me to keep you there and I can’t not do what Robin says. He’s… he’s older than anything and we all come from him so what he says go, it just grips me and I have to do it. So, when you wanted to storm the house, get to the criminal, I turned you back. But then you started fighting and there was blood and I couldn’t stop myself. I wanted to run but Robin had told me to stay so… I’m so sorry.”
They were still staring, their faces blank. Eventually, Mick spoke up.
“So, if we smell blood…?”
Humphrey nodded. He hadn’t had a chance to explain anything until he’d ran from them. “You won’t need to drink it, not if you stay fed. But the smell, someone bleeding, I can’t even really describe it. It’s addictive.”
Judith moved her gaze to the poker. “Show us.”
Humphrey followed her gaze, taking in the sharp point. He picked it up again, scratching it against his palm and drawing blood. The result was instant, their eyes widening and gaze focusing on the wound. “Trust me, it’s worse if it’s a human.”
“Feels pretty bad this way.”
“Didn’t taste that good last time.”
The others tittered and Humphrey felt like he’d been left out of a joke. The others all shrugged and started shifting around, unrolling the covers and lying down.
“Wait, are you killing me or not?”
“Probably not.” Walter grumbled, rolling away from him and wrapping an arm around his wife.
“Are you sure? You don’t want to sleep with it, uh, on it?”
“Sure.” Geoff said, rolling his eyes. “We’ll sleep on it.”
“Come on.” Nigel said, tugging his arm. Humphrey again let himself be dragged around, wondering when he is going to get control over his body back. Nigel lays him down between John and Judith, both of whom throw out an arm to cover him. “We can talk about this in the morning.”
Then Nigel is lying at his feet with Joan and the others are all crowded around. They all slowly drifted off but Humphrey just lay there, staring at the ceiling. He was a bit confused how he had ended up there, how they had gone from angry to scared to cuddling him but he supposed there wasn’t much to be done. He turned onto his side, feeling Judith shuffle closer to press against his back and allowed himself to drift off to sleep.
~*~*~
He woke up alone, though there was plenty of movement around him. As soon as he sat up, a bowl of soup was pressed into his hands and he had to blink several times to figure out what had happened.
“Eat.” He heard John say. He looked up to see the rest of the villagers sat around, also with bowls of soup. “You said yourself, we don’t need to drink if we stay fed, so eat.”
Nigel handed him a roll of bread and he nodded, dipping it in the soup and eating slowly. He smiled, despite the strange situation.
“This is good. Thank you.”
Wilma chuckled. “You must not try much if this is good. Just a couple of vegetables in a pot.”
Humphrey shrugged. “I think Robin would be happy if we just lived on meat for the rest of time.”
“Cooked meat, right?”
“If I’m lucky, Robin still hasn’t quite gotten his head around how fire works.”
The villagers laughed, Mick collecting Humphrey’s empty bowl and adding it to the empty stack next to the bed. Humphrey noticed the poker was no longer there and his brow furrowed. He turned to the nearest person but they were all standing up, Walter offering him a hand up.
“Come on, lots of work to do.”
“Work?” Humphrey said, shuffling after the group. They all came to a stop in the dungeon corridor.
“Of course. If we’re going to live down here we need to make it habitable.”
Humphrey frowned. That didn’t sound right. “You don’t have to live here, you know.”
Geoff turned to him. “Are you kicking us out?”
“No, no, though you don’t have to stay, it’s up to you. But, you can live upstairs, you don’t have to stay in the dungeons.”
Geoff shrugged. “But we want to.”
Humphrey didn’t have a response to that and it seemed Geoff was waiting for one. He turned back to the group, who were walking down the corridor slowly, looking into each dungeon in turn. Joan seemed to be leading the survey and she turned to the others when she was satisfied.
“So, we’ve got eight rooms-”
“Cells.”
“Eight cells, plus the one on the end but that’s where Robin used to do the…executions… so we’re not going to use that one. So, we need at least 5 bedrooms-”
“Me and Mick don’t mind sharing, if there’s two beds.”
“Because we want to have a spare in case we have a visitor.” At this point, Joan gestured to Humphrey with her head and the rest of the group hummed in understanding. “Now, that leaves us with three spaces. One should be a communal area, another where we can eat and… hmm… do we want a kitchen?”
“Do we need one? We can get to upstairs well enough and that’s already full stocked.”
“We wouldn’t be able to get an oven or a spit down here though.”
“Never stopped us in the village, could just set up what we had before.”
“Not exactly what we had, Robin burnt the village down.”
“Oh, he was trying to help, don’t go on.”
“What do you think, Humphrey?”
Humphrey blinked, having gotten lost in the constant back and forth. The group turned to look at him, eyebrows raised.
“Well, you’re always welcome to use upstairs but it might be nice to not have to? Have something easy at hand in case you’re feeling lazy.”
Everyone nodded at that happily, and then started moving. Geoff and John tugged Humphrey along to carry some beds down from upstairs - after checking with him which ones weren’t already being used. They ended up mostly getting things from Sophie’s side of the house, which Humphrey enjoyed actually exploring for once. Humphrey tried to offer to carry everything (he had the strength, after all) but the others pointed out most things would collapse under the strain. They spent a good couple of hours trying to figure out how to get the furniture down the stairs before Robin came along and showed them how everything came apart. Of course, once they got it down and into the various rooms, they realised they didn’t remember how to put it back together and decided that it was time to have a break and get some food.
With scraps of furniture in every room, the villagers decided to commandeer the main kitchen for a bit, Humphrey following along like a lost puppy. At first they offered him potatoes to peel, then took one look at him holding the knife and shook their head, placing him with Nigel by the pot. Nigel chuckled, shaking his head.
“They don’t let me help either, I’ll mess it up.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t.”
“No, I would, never been good with a knife. We’ll just watch the stew, make sure it doesn’t stick.”
So Humphrey stayed next to the pot as various people added different vegetables. Robin joined, carrying a couple rabbits that were quickly skinned and added to the pot. Humphrey tried to catch his eye but he was too busy talking to Walter and John about the surrounding villages and their reaction to the recent fire. Humphrey turned back to Nigel, starting to ask about the poker from the night before but Judith and Wilma shuffled over, pushing the two men slightly away from the pot and adding the meat. They then stayed by the pot, starting a conversation about something from the village Humphrey didn’t fully understand. Nigel joined in instantly and Humphrey was left standing awkward, glancing between the various conversations and wondering, once again, what was going on.
After lunch had been fully cooked and eaten, the group choosing to sit on the floor of the kitchen rather than move into the dining room, they went back downstairs, Robin showing them how to reassemble the beds and couches. The furniture looked strange, fancy and formal in the middle of the stone walls but it was a living space, if nothing else. The group slumped together in the communal area, draped over couches and cushions in a way that allowed each of them to stretch out but also be completely on top of each other. Robin and Humphrey were in the corner, leaning on each other - half because it was what everyone else was doing and half as a show of solidarity against the collective that was the villagers. While the younger lot were talking, Humphrey took the time to talk to Robin.
“I’m guessing you heard last night.”
It was whispered, so low that Humphrey could barely hear himself speak but he still worried the others would pick it up. None of them looked his way though and Robin merely shrugged, jostling Humphrey in the process.
“I heard, I listen.”
“I thought you might have stopped me, if I’m honest. It’s fine you didn’t, don’t worry.”
Another shrug, this time Robin’s arm broke free of the space between them and snaked around Humphrey’s shoulder.
“Wouldn’t stop you. Would stop them, if need to.”
Humphrey’s mouth opened, then closed again. He pulled away from Robin so he could turn to face him properly. “Then why let me offer in the first place, if you would stop them?”
Robin frowned, pulling Humphrey back to his side. It felt natural, being tucked under Robin’s arm like he was eight again and watching his sister recite her favourite poem. Nothing could go wrong while Robin was protecting them.
“You thought they needed it, now see they don’t.”
Humphrey looked at the villagers, all crowded round Nigel as he told a story. Half of them had abandoned their chairs to instead perch on each other’s laps, combing hands through hair and giving each other comfort.
“But I killed them Robin. I killed their whole family, surely I deserve to pay for my guilt?”
Robin gave Humphrey a small squeeze. “Is your guilt, not theirs. You live with it.”
“Humphrey!” They both looked up at the shout. “Nigel’s done with his story, it’s your turn.”
“Really? Well, I’m not sure I’ve got a good story, if I'm honest. Robin, would you…?”
But Robin was gone and Humphrey rolled his eyes.
“He’s always doing that, running off. Oh, actually, have you heard about the time he threw me out of a window?”
The villagers all gasped and ushered him forward to sit next to - or rather, half on top of - Nigel and keep talking.
“Well, I was six years old and Robin said he could throw me from the top floor and run down and catch me before I hit the ground. So…”
They spent the rest of the night doing that, telling stories, leaning on each other. When the others went to bed, Humphrey crashed in the guest room and the next day returned to his own quarters. The villagers had their own lives to live in their new home and he would visit most days, quickly becoming a member of the family.
And if, fifty years later, after the Higham’s moved in, one of them found an old fire poker, bent and broken beyond any use, well, the villagers wouldn’t say anything about that.