Work Text:
The motel room is small. Without funds, they’d had little options beyond clawing their way up the building’s wall, carefully prying open a window and slipping into an empty room. The act alone makes Arthur feel more inhuman than he has in a long time, shrouded in shadow, claws hooked into brickwork. As he’d climbed inside, he’d thought bitterly that the only thing missing from such a picture was bloodied lips.
He avoids the bathroom as they all get situated. Where he stands, by the open window with the night breeze hitting his face, he can pretend for a moment that all is as it was. Emizel’s somewhere behind him, talking about the quality of the couch; Grefgore keeps trying to butt in to excuse himself back to Hazel’s apartment; Shilo is silent. It isn’t quite how it should be, but it’s nice enough to keep Arthur from losing himself to his thoughts.
(He leaves the window open before turning in for the night. It does little to stave off the nightmares.)
***
Shilo’s awake before him. Like most mornings, Arthur wakes to find the prince of the Ventrue by the small window into the room, staring out at the cityscape. His eye socket is no longer empty, a shining golden glass eye there instead; Arthur can only conclude Grefgore obtained it for him.
“You’re up early.”
“So are you,” Arthur replies, stopping just shy of Shilo’s side. “How are you faring?”
“Alright.” Shilo lifts a hand to gesture up at the glass eye. “Grefgore got me this. It’s… Helping.”
“Good, good…”
They dwindle into silence. It isn’t entirely comfortable, but it doesn’t feel heavy, either. Arthur catches a glimpse of himself in the window and wishes he didn’t.
“Arthur…” Shilo begins. He doesn’t look at him, not properly, anyway. “You said you deserved… this.”
Arthur only looks at him long enough to see the prince gesture in the direction of his face. “Yes.”
“... May I ask why?”
“I told you, I did terrible things, Shilo. Not just to my own family. To look like this… Is another curse I must bear.”
Shilo shuffles closer to him, bumping their shoulders together. “Well, for the record, Arthur, I do not think you look that bad.”
“You don’t have to lie to me, prince.” This time, Arthur is the one not to look at him, staring forwards out the window, at the night sky.
“It is not a lie. You’re still… Arthur. Even if you did look terribly horribly awful, anyway, I wouldn’t care.”
A feeling scarily too close to family eases the tightness in Arthur’s chest, and he turns his head to look at Shilo. “The eye suits you.”
Shilo’s face lights up. The sheen of his glass eye is a little unnerving, but the bright gold paired with his real, flesh red eye does fit him. Scarring around it has healed nicely, whether naturally or through vampiric power, Arthur hasn’t asked, thin and sunken into his face, only a slightly paler white than his unmarked skin. Shilo bares his fangs a little as he speaks. “Really?”
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
“Arthur, that may just be the nicest thing you’ve said to me.”
Yeah, well, don’t get used to it, he tries to say, but all that comes out is, “Is it?”
“You are many things. Nice is not usually one of them.”
Arthur breathes out. He isn’t surprised, really, that he isn’t friendly, or good, or nice . Jaded to the world, he’s cold and sharp as steel, used to cutting those who catch on his edges. Maybe it’s time that, too, changes.
“Arthur,” Shilo says, after the silence holds for a moment too long, “Did you get the answers you were looking for?”
“Not entirely.”
“... That doesn’t feel fair. None of it does.” Shilo pauses, catching Arthur’s eye. “Emizel lost some of his memories. I tore out my own eye, and you…”
“Became a monster?”
“Gave up more than any of us,” he finishes. “But… do you even know what you are looking for anymore?”
Arthur swallows, his throat feeling dry. “For peace.”
“For yourself? Or for everyone?”
It shouldn’t make him hesitate in the way it does; a simple question that should have a simple answer. Instead, it feels loaded and heavy, weighing on him. To be a vampire is to suffer, isn’t it? Surely it has been, when his own existence has been little more than deeply, deeply bitter since being turned. Blood, death, pain. It loops like a cycle and Arthur is determined to end it.
But then he looks at Shilo. Really looks at him, beyond the innocuous face and fragile words. Vampirism has not been kind to Shilo, nor has it been as cruel as it has been to Arthur. Despite all Shilo has seen, all he has lived through, he still looks like that , all prepared to do what is right, to make the world better. He isn’t perfect. He isn’t without bloodstained hands. He isn’t without the beast within.
He does make Arthur want to be better.
“For whoever I can,” he settles on, not meeting Shilo’s eye. “Isn’t that all any of us try to do?”
“Maybe.” Shilo leans on the window, the gentle night breeze shifting some of his hair back and forth in slow waves. “Or maybe we try to be more than that.”
“Maybe,” Arthur murmurs. “But can we really be more than monsters?”
“And who’s to say we are the monsters, Arthur? Lions hunt. Wolves eat meat. We drink blood. It’s survival, isn’t it?”
“I’ll go hunt.” He gets to his feet, not looking at Shilo. “And bring back some blood for you and Emizel.”
“Thank you.”
Silence lingers in the air as Arthur swings out through the window, far less gracefully than he would have only a month prior. Cold darkness envelopes him as he leaves the room, and for once, the shadows don’t quite feel welcoming.
“Arthur.”
He lifts his gaze. “Yes?”
“You aren’t a monster. Not to me.”
“Don’t be so naive, prince.” His claws dig deeper into brickwork. “Or so soft.”
“Arthur, I promise, I am tougher than I look.”
Just over a month ago, Arthur would have laughed at Shilo’s words. Now, faced with the prince like this, his jaw set, scarring around his eye, he doesn’t share that same sentiment. Shilo cries easily; Shilo misses his home; Shilo is naive. But that same Shilo tore out his own eye to gain knowledge from beyond the stars, and even before that was the reason Arthur, Emizel and Grefgore stepped away from the Unseen One in one piece. Tough takes on a new meaning when it comes to the prince.
Arthur swallows. He curls his one free clawed, terrible hand into a fist, as if that somehow will make the world safer. In a voice far too gentle, even for him, Arthur says, “I know.”
“Be careful.”
“Don’t you worry, Shilo,” Arthur says, the corners of his lips twitching upwards slightly, “I’ll make sure I come back in one piece.”
He unhooks one clawed hand, shifting it further down the wall, readying himself for the rest of his descent. Cold night air snatches at his clothing and bites into his skin. Shilo looks down at him.
“You’d better. Orders of the prince.”
At that, Arthur can’t help but let out a low chuckle. “In that case, Your Majesty, I’ll make sure I try extra hard.”
Shilo’s gaze darkens. “I’m serious, Arthur.”
“Shilo.”
A moment’s pause.
“I’ll be okay.”
Then, before the prince can respond, he begins his descent down the wall of the motel. He doesn’t look back.
***
Arthur makes it back just before sunrise. Bottled blood sloshes as he swings through the window and lands feet first on the floor with a soft thud . Peaceful quiet fills the room as he crosses it, wiping blood from his chin.
“You’re back.”
He turns to look at Emizel, pulling a bottle from inside his coat to toss to him. “Here. I got plenty for the others, too.”
Emizel catches it cleanly and easily. “Shilo’s turned in for the day. He, uh, he wanted to wait up, but… He looked like he needed the rest.”
Arthur’s struck suddenly by how thoughtful Emizel can be. He’s abrasive, sure, and hot-headed, but there’s small moments like this where he thinks of others, and it’s almost too weird to comprehend. “He was worried I was going to go and get myself killed.”
“Oh.” Emizel uncaps the bottle and takes a swig. “Were you?”
“Going to get myself killed ? No, of course not — why the fuck would you think I was?”
He shrugs. “Dunno. You seem the type.”
“ Seem the — You’re insane.”
“At least I’m not ugly ,” Emizel shoots back. Arthur’s mouth shuts with an audible clack of teeth on teeth.
“Shit, man, I didn’t –”
“Just drink your blood, Emizel.”
As Emizel obeys, sipping at the bottle of blood, Arthur turns his gaze to the window. In the dimming moonlight, he can see himself stare back, all sagging skin, haggard and twisted as he breathes. Large fangs protrude down over his chin, sharper than ever before. Downturned eyes, ears sagging at the tips, not even a trace of who he was left behind in it all. Ugly doesn’t even begin to cover it.
“You know I don’t, like, actually care, right?” Emizel sets the now empty bottle down on the small coffee table of the motel room. “I mean, you’re still, y’know, Arthur .”
The hint of a smile crosses his face for a second. “You walked around LA entirely naked and showed up last night with your teeth missing – I can believe you don’t care.” The amusement in his tone drops as he continues, “But.. I looked like my father.”
“Before?”
“Yeah.” Arthur exhales, staring at the half-there, monstrous reflection of his face in the window, and sees his father’s eyes look back. “Before. He, well, he wasn’t too fond of vampires.”
Emizel looks at him. “So, what, you’ve become the thing he hated?”
“Something like that.”
“Eh, well, I don’t know much about having a father, man, but I think you’re pretty… Okay, I guess. Don’t get me wrong, you aren’t the coolest guy out there or anything, but… Yeah, you’re alright, man.”
Arthur can’t help the way his lips twitch upwards at Emizel’s words, even while he feels deep-seated sadness at the reminder of the memories Emizel gave up to gain the knowledge he has now. “Truly confidence inspiring when you put it like that.”
“Oh, fuck you,” Emizel spits, dramatically turning his back to Arthur, “I try and be nice when you’re being all extra broody and you just — Fuck you, man.”
Arthur laughs, for the first time in a while. “Never change, boy. Never change.”
“Wasn’t planning to. I mean, I’m a vampire and shit, I’m cool as fuck.”
“I’ve always thought of being a Kindred as a curse.”
“Oh.” Emizel pauses for only a moment before adding, “Well, sucks to be you, cause this shit is awesome .”
Arthur looks at him. “Isn’t it your bedtime?”
“About that, broody…” Emizel slings an arm around his shoulders without hesitation. “I’m gonna check in with Theo. I mean, it’s been a month, and I missed his birthday, and–”
“Are you asking my permission, boy?”
“... No ,” Emizel says, turning his head away to hide his expression. “I just figure, like, you’re old, and like, you suddenly became really ugly, and if I just vanished you might stress to death, or something.”
Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. “Just go, Emizel.”
Emizel salutes him. “Yessir!”
Arthur fondly shakes his head as the boy scrambles out the window into what’s left of the night. He isn’t worried about the impending sunrise. Emizel might not be the smartest kindred he’s met, but he’s not going to get himself killed crossing town. If he does, well. Arthur wouldn’t entirely be upset about it.
(It’s a lie that doesn’t settle in properly. He watches Emizel go, and then stares after him long after that, with the kind of worry only family can impart onto someone.
He tucks the bottles of blood into the mini-fridge and discards the one Emizel had drunk.)
***
Turning in for the night, Arthur makes himself comfortable in the closet, like always. Void takes her place beside him with a quiet “mrrp?”
As he falls asleep, he resolves to do right by the twins, by his boys, by those who inexplicably care for him now. In some way or another, he will do what is right. New face or not, he’s going to change, going to be better.
It’s about time he tried something new anyway.