Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It had started in the early afternoon.

Pearl carried the wicker washing basket against her hip, filled to the brim with sheets, pillowcase and shifts. It wasn’t often you’d get a day so sunny in Oakhurst, so everything went out.

She was pegging the fabric along the rope connected to ruins of people gone past when she heard the noise for the first time.

She thought it may have been a delicate birdsong at first, or perhaps, the wind whistling through the leaves, but the longer it continued the more Pearl’s concern grew.

It became grating, not in the way that nails scraping against wood is, but like when you can’t remember what you were going to say. Pearl had to find the source.

Abandoning the washing, she tried to figure out where the noise was coming from. Her ears, little vampiric points tufted with fur twitched as she followed their lead.

She walked circles around Oakhurst. First she checked all the buildings and shacks, and then under stairs and ledges, and then inside barrels and chests before she finally planted her feet in the spot.

There was a single, unpruned rose bush in front of her, nearly covering the twin slabs of stone with names and titles crudely engraved on them. The ringing was persistent, yet so far away, but it was the most potent here, Pearl couldn’t deny it any longer. A tremor of terror worked its way down her chest as she stared the grassy ground, no sign left of a hole dug decades before.

Pearl dropped to a knee, pressing her ear against the earth, praying that her mind was playing tricks on her, but when she felt a faint tremor through the earth she shot up and paced away. She had to finish the washing.

The two ate their meal in near silence. Cleo had started dinner by telling a tidbit about their day, but when Pearl barely responded they quietened down.

Pearl had stirred the soup around with her spoon for the somethingth time when Cleo finally spoke up.
“Okay Pearl, what’s wrong?”
“Huh?”
“You’re acting strange, why?”

Pearl dipped her head, she couldn’t use the full moon as an excuse, it was barely a sliver in the sky right now. Cleo took her silence as an answer.
“The uh, anniversary is coming up soon, is that what you’re thinking about?”

Pearl’s tongue dried in her mouth, dead weight threatening to topple her over headfirst. The words felt supernatural, prodding and poking at her about her sins. She placed down her spoon shakily, trying to work out how to phrase it.

Cleo reached a calloused hand over and stroked Pearl’s knuckles.
“I know, it’s hard—“
“No, no it’s not that it’s…” Pearl mumbled and Cleo looked up in interest as Pearl squeezed her hand.

“I think… someone’s alive in that grave.” Pearl could feel Cleo looking at her, a brief pause in her rubbing before she continued.
“When I was outside today, I heard it, a bell ringing. It was coming from the ground underneath Martyn and Ren’s graves.”

They had all seen the two humans die, untimely and unfortunate deaths fuelled by emotion and plain bad luck. Apo had quietly suggested adding a grave bell, just in case. Cleo and Sausage had scowled at her, accusing her of mocking the tragedy of their deaths but Pearl had decided to entertain the grieving woman. They didn’t have the material for a proper system, but Abolish had a small, handheld bell in his residence; part of his disguise, apparently.

They placed it between the two men’s heads in their shared coffin, haphazardly put together by a grieving author with no experience in the trade. He refused Apo’s help with it and Cleo decided that it would probably be therapeutic for him to do alone.

It was buried with them, just in case, and Pearl had nearly forgotten it was even there, until today.

Pearl dragged her hands out of Cleo’s grip, covering her eyes.
“I don’t know why, I just ran. I couldn’t face it. Oh my god, what if they’ve died again because I left them? I’m so—“
Cleo grabbed Pearl’s hands and pulled her to her feet.
“Let’s go check.” They both moved to the front door, and Cleo grabbed the shovel from the garden as they began their march to the graves.

The lantern in Pearl’s hand swayed gently in the wind. Dirt covered their dresses, buried in their fingernails and Pearl could swear she could taste something earthy.

Cleo was in the hole, shovel swinging when a loud crack echoed through the field. Pearl looked down into the pit, “Is that..?” Cleo scowled as she watched the dirt fall into the freshly formed hole in the top of the coffin.
“Yes, come help me dig.”

Eventually, after some persistence, the top half of the coffin was revealed. It had rotted out, the untreated wood returning to the earth, but it also meant it was pushing chunks of tree into whoever was in the coffin.
“Martyn? Ren? We’re here,” Pearl called out, kneeling down and beginning to tear at the wood herself.

The first thing she saw was a shoulder bone. it was covered in scraps of white fabric, withering away. The sight made her shiver a little, so she moved to the other side instead, tearing strips of wood away from there.

The silkier fabric she was looking at was also threadbare, but importantly, underneath it was soft, plush skin and wiry, blonde hair. Pearl stepped back, looking down on the corpse as it lay still, not a breath, or a twitch coming out of it.

Cleo grabbed Pearls waist, and when Pearl looked over at them she was met with that troubled expression so often misconstrued with annoyance.
“Cleo,” Pearl started, looking back to the coffin, “Is he—“

Crack! The corpse inside the casket shot up, bursting through the delicate wood encapsulating its body. He had wild eyes, just as blue as they looked when he had died. A gentle ringing sounded out from his hand, a small, butlers bell, gripped so hard Pearl thought it might shatter within his fist.

Pearl let out a short, shocked scream, scrambling a few steps back from him as she planted her palm against her mouth. Cleo stepped in front of Pearl, looking down at Martyn.

Martyn didn’t heave, or breathe at all for that matter. His body was completely intact, untouched by the rot, and his skin was as pale as the moon was bright.

“Martyn,” Cleo started, trailing off as she looked back down at the dead man. Martyn stared back up at her for a few, tense seconds before a crude smile began tearing its way across his cheeks.

“What happened last night?”

Chapter Text

Martyn was laying on Cleo and Pearl’s living room couch, dressed in only his knickers and one of Cleo’s spare nightgowns, a slightly itchy woollen blanket was covering the rest of his skin. He kept his eyelids limp, so that the pair would think he was asleep.

They had dragged him out of the rotten coffin, Cleo holding him up, and then carrying him in her arms when his legs gave out. They didn’t talk much on the way back to Oakhurst, Martyn was grateful for that.

Pearl had prepared a bucket of chilly water, holding Martyn’s sleepy head up as she washed the dirt off him, Cleo preparing his pajamas and couch. Apparently they’d already converted his house into a goat shed. Martyn professed his dissatisfaction but in truth he didn’t care for it one bit.

They both tucked him in, like some sort of child and Cleo stroked a finger along his brow bone before the two went to another room to talk away from Martyn.

He could hear them now, low and mumbled, but he could tell it was about him. Apo, Cleo said. Doctor, Pearl said. Ren, both of them said, quite a few times actually. Where were they all anyway? Kicked to the castle after their house was turned into animal shelters? Martyn could believe it.

Eventually they quietened, putting out the remaining candles and heading to another room. Martyn could hear a glass of water being placed next to his head before silence rang through the house.

Martyn couldn’t sleep a wink. Maybe it was the whole buried alive thing, maybe it was just his nerves, maybe it’s something much more sinister that Martyn doesn’t want to think about right now, but no matter what, he couldn’t sleep.

The morning had come around eventually, birds beginning their songs, and Cleo and Pearl had begun pacing around the house. Martyn continued his faux sleep until Pearl left, he planned on waiting till Cleo had disappeared as well but his plans were subverted.

“Martyn,” Cleo called from the kitchen, “are you awake?” No use pretending to sleep for any longer.
“Yeah,” he mumbled, pushing himself up and wincing at the noises his back let out.
“Come on over, I’ll make you breakfast,” Cleo ordered, and Martyn obliged.

“We only really have meat, sorry, vampire stuff.” Cleo moved to unwrap the steak on the bench, left there to thaw as Martyn cocked an eyebrow.
“Vampire? What about Pearl?”
“Oh yeah, she’s a vampire too,” Cleo amended nonchalantly, slicing into the beef.
“Oh.” Martyn shouldn’t be surprised really, Pearl would only really be a vampire on her own terms, at least Martyn hoped that’s what happened, she seems happy enough.

A plate slides in front of him, a big, hunking slab of raw meat, purge oozing out the sides. Cleo tossed a knife and fork as an afterthought and began looking through the kitchen.
“I could give you an egg or two as well, that shouldn’t be too bad for your stomach.”

Martyn turned his nose up at the steak, sonething he couldn’t place roiling in his belly.
“Are you going to cook it first?”
“Huh?” Martyn grabbed the fork and prodded at it like it could leap up and start attacking him any minute.
“Are you going to cook it?”

Cleo looked at him like he was an idiot, cracking two eggs into a pan and turning the heat up.
“You drink the blood from it, go on rich boy, it won’t bite.” Oh yeah, he’s supposed to be rich, isn’t he?

After another look of horror pointed in Cleo’s direction they made a face of realisation.
“Martyn, you’re a vampire. You drink blood now.” Martyn freezes a moment. He guesses that was obvious, looking back at it; no human would have survived being buried alive, and last he remembers, the doctor had begun turning him, where is the doctor?

“Yeah, of course. Why else would you all bury me in a coffin with a random skeleton, vampire initiation,” he spat with no real venom, poking at the meat slab.

There was a lengthy pause from Cleo as she began fishing the eggs out of the pan, her thoughts echoing around the room.

“Martyn, how much do you remember?” Martyn clicked his tongue, looking out the window at the Oakhurst remains.
“I remember the doctor turning me, and then my legs got weak, and then nothing.” Martyn offered up as he grabbed the plate of eggs off of Cleo, mouthing a thank you before hungrily digging in. They were bland eggs, tasted like nothing in particular, laid by one very sad chicken, Martyn could assume.

“Martyn, you died,” Cleo started, “You just dropped. We found out afterwards that Apo had given you her blood, and when Legs turned you the sireships clashed, that’s what killed you, or so we thought. Ren went into some sort of rage, just slashing and yelling at us. Scott put him down. You two were buried together.”

Martyn paused with a strategic mouthful of eggs. So, Ren’s dead then? Thinking back to it, the skeleton in the coffin with him bared some resemblance. Shirt of cotton, pants of wool, a weathered suspender hanging down, touching Martyn’s leg. If he’s a vampire who’s his sire? Apo, who kept him alive using her blood, or the doctor, who unknowingly sentenced him to death because of the former? How long was he buried there? How long does it take a skeleton to lose all its flesh?

“Martyn,” Cleo started, before the front door swung open behind them, Pearl trying to pry her shoes off.
“I’m back!”
“I can hear that,” Cleo turned to Pearl as she approached, Pearl planting a quick kiss on their cheek, holding her dirty hands away from either of them before running over to the basin.

When Cleo looked back at Martyn they barked out a laugh. The man was sat with his lips ajar, staring wide eyed at the two of them in shock. Cleo whipped around and grabbed Pearl by the jaw, planting a long, extra drawn out kiss on her lips. Both Martyn and Pearl made various noises of surprise.

“So, you’re—?”
“Yes Martyn, we’re married,” Cleo responded, giving Pearl a loving stroke on her cheek as they let her go.
Martyn coughed, returning to scrape the yolk from his plate.
“Didn’t take you two long to hitch up.”

At this, Pearl gave Cleo a confused look, and Cleo’s mouth popped open with a small ‘o.’
“Martyn,” she began, “it’s been thirty years.” Two large revelations in one day was too many for poor old Martyn so he did the next best thing, shoving it down.
“Oh, okay.” Martyn continued staring holes into his dirty plate as the two hesitantly began talking again. Martyn’s interest perked when he heard his name.
“—Martyn clothes, but it’d be a trip. Martyn, I have some spare clothes,” Cleo began talking to him, “but I only have dresses, if you’d like we could try and see if Scott left anything behind at the castle?”
“I don’t really care what I wear, the dress is fine.” Martyn answered and Cleo nodded, wiping her hands on a tea towel and muttering that she’d be back.

“Are you going to drink that anytime?” Martyn raised his head to meet Pearl’s eyes, who had moved around the table and was now sitting in the chair next to him. She indicated towards the hunk of untouched meat and Martyn put on a shudder.
“I am not drinking blood from that.”

He turned up his nose and leant back in his chair but instead of getting annoyed at him, Pearl just giggled.
“It’s okay! You’ll enjoy it, you just need to try, come on Martyn.” Pearl pushed the plate towards him, meeting Martyn’s unsure gaze.
“Just pick it up,” She instructed, “and bite, your fangs will come out naturally.”

Martyn hesitantly reached for the steak, trying to get the least amount of juice on his hands as possible and lifted it to his mouth. He glanced at Pearl, seeing her encouraging smile, then dug in.

He wasn’t sure what exactly she meant by the fang thing, because Martyn wasn’t feeling any difference with them, but even with whatever wasn’t happening with his teeth Martyn could feel something going off in his brain, animalistic and hungry. He leant over the plate with a fervour he hadn’t felt in a long time and tried to bleed the prey dry like it was going to run away.

He hadn’t even noticed the mess he was making until he felt a thumb under his chin, Pearl catching the bloody mess before it rolled down his neck and onto Cleo’s cotton nightgown.

He had knawed into the meat in about five different places, leaving full human mouth bite marks rather than two delicate pinpricks like a vampire would when Cleo returned. He barely noticed when they let out a quiet laugh, his brain only really acknowledging their presence when they walked up, lifting his head with two of their fingers and delicately wiping the remaining blood from his face, it made him feel— something.

“How was that? Seems like you enjoyed.” Cleo asked, and Martyn took a few beats to try and calibrate an answer.
“It’s not… It isn’t awful. I feel…”
“Powerful?”
“Yeah, powerful,” there was a comfortable pause between the three of them, the pair had their hands resting on either one of his shoulders, the weight keeping Martyn grounded.

“Is there any more?” Martyn eventually asked, the desire and hunger scratching lightly at his insides.
“You should probably lay off it for a bit,” Pearl started, “It’s your first time feeding, you’ll get sick if you eat too much.” Martyn hummed in disappointed agreement.

“Wash your hands in the basin, then I’ll give you your clothes,” Cleo ordered, and Martyn obeyed. Once he was clean Cleo handed him a pile of various fabrics and sent him to their bathroom. The walls were a light, minty colour, paired with a heavy, white curtain, remnants from the distant winter. There was a mirror on the wall, a single, thin crack through it, the rim decorated with golden paint, partially rubbed off.

He placed the folded clothes on the sink, instinctively looking up at the mirror as he began undressing when took a sudden step back, some vile feeling getting caught in his throat. In the mirror he could see the green of the walls, the bleached cotton nightgown, the stream of light where it broke through the curtain and nothing else. Martyn was gone.

He moved away from that side of the bathroom after a few short breaths, opting to just dump Cleo’s nightgown on the floor, and got changed into his clothes for the day.

It was a simple, calico dress, blue and striped with some nice flatlining detail around the collar. Martyn smoothed down the chemise underneath, and wore only a single petticoat for convenience.

Martyn left the bathroom with the nightgown in hand and left it on the edge of the couch.
“Where’s Pearl?”
“She’s left to go hunting, I’m going to check over the ewe’s, they’re due over the next few days. Will you be alright by yourself?”
Martyn scoffed, “Yes Cleo, I’ll be fine, I’m not a child.”
“I can’t tell sometimes,” She sneered, turning to head out the door, “You’re allowed to wander around outside, explore a little, it’s changed since you’ve last been here.” With that, she exited, leaving Martyn on his lonesome.

There were a few places that came to mind first. Is the castle still standing? Were all of the beacons in the same place? What would him and Ren’s grave look like when not shrouded by night? Martyn didn’t know whether he could stomach that thought, looking into the cracked coffin and seeing Ren’s despondent skull, but oh how he wanted to.

The thought pulled at the top of his spine as he left the fences of Oakhurst, the opposite direction from the grave site and began to wander. The surrounding area looked more green, he noted, like there were no pesky beacons sucking the life out of the soil. He could hear birds tweeting to each other, leaping from branch to branch above his head. He could hear their heartbeats, it made his mouth water.

It had been an uncountable time that Martyn had been wandering, the trees above hiding the sun from his view when he heard it, he smelt it. Four little paws drumming against the earth beneath the both of them. Martyn stepped forward once, and again, and again. His mouth hung open like some sort of animal, hoping that the rabbit he could see up ahead would just leap inside.

It was wholly unaware of his existence, digging for something in a nearby bush, it didn’t even notice as Martyn quietly moved forwards, slow as can be, until it was just out of his arm reach. Martyn leapt first; the rabbit, finally sensing something awry tried to bolt, but Martyn had already got his hands on the creature.

He dug his teeth into the prey, feeling it squirm with desperation, but when Martyn held on tighter it shuddered to a halt. It twitched once, twice, and then submitted to Martyn, limp in his arms. He wasn’t sure how long the frenzy lasted for, all he could focus on was the blood in his system, but eventually his source dried, and no matter how many different places on the animal he bit into, no more of that nectar was given to him.

The haze cleared for a moment, and Martyn stumbled back, dropping the poor rabbit in fright as he grabbed at his face, being met with blood smeared violently around his mouth, touching the tip of his nose and running down his neck, leaving a nasty stain on the bust of Cleo’s dress They’ll be real happy about that, he thought, his stomach roiling threateningly.

Martyn was frightened, of himself, of whatever monster just tore itself from him in that moment. Is this how vampires become evil.
He finally rose from where he had fallen to his muddied knees, stumbling forward. He had to find some water, clean himself of his mess. That’s when he heard them.

It was that time of year again.

It rolls around before you can even process the last. It feels like Shelby can barely set her bags down back at their apartment when she sees the red circled date on the calendar again. The event isn’t named, because all three of them know what’s happening.

They said goodbye to Scott’s driver as they walked towards the direction of Oakhurst, the treeline slowly thickening the further they walk until it opens up, the curves of rock and bush becoming more and more familiar until there it was; the crypt.

They left their bags at the bottom while they batted up, landing softly on the mossy ground next to Avid’s dirt covered grave, untouched by the flora around it. Shelby and Drift talked to the grave, telling it what they had done this year, what was new with the world and how much they missed him. Eventually the sun began to tickle the tops of the trees and they had run out of things to say, not much good conversation when your subject can’t reply, it seems.

Shelby rose, Drift following her lead.
“Are we going to find the lovebirds now?” Scott asked, giving Drift an attempt of a comforting pat to her shoulder.
“May as well, we could try and find some food to bring them for dinner?” Drift offered, beginning to slide down the side of the mountain, taking out various saplings and bushes on her way down.
“Ew, you can maybe, I don’t feel like getting this suit dirty,” Scott commented as he followed her down, taking the hill much slower, Shelby in tow.

They reached their bags eventually, Drift busied with collecting their things.
“You understand, you know how hard it is to get blood out of this colour—“ Scott suddenly cut himself off, an uncharacteristic hitch of breath coming from his throat.

This was strange enough, but when Drift dropped the luggage she was holding, stumbling backwards, Shelby knew something was wrong.

Craning her head around to face the direction that her friends were looking in Shelby saw it too. Peering from behind a weathered oak tree, blood running down from his slightly ajar mouth and a single, white streak falling from his blonde hair.

She gasped, “Martyn?”