Archive of Our Own

To put it bluntly, Scott Goldsmith has never known what it means to care.

He thought he knew. And what he thought, Scott didn’t think much of. To care means to put extraneous effort into something. To care is to do more than what was needed.

After his turning, Scott had initially cared about the townspeople, if he remembers correctly. A sickness weighed him down, deep in his stomach whenever Scott requested the townspeople’s livestock after a rough winter. He began asking for less and less after that, weakening himself to a point where, when someone came in at the height of the afternoon’s sun with a stake–

…Regardless.

In the centuries that came after, Scott found little pleasure or satisfaction to be found in the relationships that didn’t end with his claws or fangs in someone’s chest or throat respectively.

His myriad of fledgelings came and went, growing under his tenure, always so eager to please or to satisfy, only to skitter off to who knew where the moment they could until the bond between them and Scott faded into nothing more than a distant breeze. Other vampires who came and went, challengers and allies alike– It never went further than pleasantries, the occasional moments of snark, the handful of challenges because how could it?

It never mattered to Scott, anyhow. And if there was a specific uprising, one unassuming day, one that was not just an exciting splotch of activity but rather, a successful felling of the Scott Goldsmith for six centuries in which he was forced to sleep, only to wake alone–

It still didn’t matter to him.

It didn’t.

Either way, Scott didn’t care. After all, to care is to put more weight than necessary on something disproportionately.

But following that logic–

When one comes to be as old as Scott Goldsmith, a year passes in an instant, as something that’s no longer than a day. Days, then, pass in a blink of an eye. Everyday instances blur together.

Then it shouldn’t, none of it should’ve–

Beacons. Towers. Lips on his.

A windswept hill where a centuries old vampire shed tears for moments that lasted no longer than a blink of an eye in the grand scheme of his life.

Where devastation akin to that of a watery natural disaster, born from the earth itself quaking, followed something that should’ve amounted to nothing substantial, like a drop of water falling into the ocean.

Scott opens his eyes.

He’s struck by the weight of deja vu upon opening his eyes to find himself back in the castle, back in the dark room that he claimed as his own. Thankfully, Scott is not in his coffin, he’s in a newly fashioned bedroom in the grand attic space of the castle, laying on his back on a canopy bed of deep maroon curtains and bedsheets.

Cleo and Pearl have done quite a lot in the single year it’s been, especially in the castle. There are bedrooms in the attic now, as originally intended, instead of just opting for tiny, dusty caverns in the crypt below. One has been given to Scott, Drift, and Shelby in turn which were all in the same hallway, of course.

Not that it matters. When Scott opens his eyes, he’s not alone.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, really, nor does he really recall the journey from that hilltop grave back to the castle. Vaguely, Scott thinks there were hands tugging at him, whispering assurances when he initially refused to give into sleep, wary of the idea that he just… might not wake up again if he does and then– Nothing.

But Scott does wake again. He wakes slowly but steadily, at the same pace in which the world itself filters into his awareness.

And unlike the last time, there are people here.

On the four-poster bed, Shelby is curled up against him on one side while Drift rests against his other. Shelby is pressed closer, tucked under the curl of one of his arms with their face hidden against his shoulder, their arms pulled tight against their chest. Drift is a bit further away, with her back facing Scott but close enough that they’re still touching.

Scott stares up at the dark shadows that flicker among the wavering canopy above him and he marvels at just how… gentle the two of them have been with him.

It’s clear that they care for him in their own ways. But the way that they do is bizarre, at least by Scott’s definition. It’s disproportionate, irrational, and illogical but here he was now. He has their care and even stranger was the simple, simple fact that it doesn’t inspire the same kind of reaction as before, when Scott encountered something he could use or someone he could drain of their utility.

On the contrary, he has the strangest urge to pull away, to shrink back, at least until he can figure out what it is and what he can do in return for it.

But for now, Scott lets his eyes slip shut again, letting himself sink back into the quiet, into the heaviness that still lingered in his bones. There’s no rush to figuring it out, he supposes because these two aren’t going anywhere, anytime soon.

That much, Scott is sure.

~~~

Sometimes, Scott’s rest would be disturbed because of someone. It doesn’t happen often. As a matter of fact, Scott’s sure he can count the number of times someone has interrupted the already rare instance of him resting on one hand.

This particular time, however– It had occurred on an unassuming day, as any notable thing typically does.

During one of Scott’s last opportunities to rest before the grand finale of Oakhurst, when he thought that a battle was on the horizon and not a compromise with a doctor who wished for death, Scott recalls opening his eyes upon hearing footsteps approach. He recognized the sound, the pattern. For a moment, Scott considered going invisible and pretending like he’s not here.

But when Pyro’s steps stopped at the edge of his coffin without climbing up–

Scott’s curiosity won out.

Silently, he sat up. Leaning over, Scott peered over the edge, where he saw Pyro sitting against the side of his coffin with his knees tucked against his chest and his arms folded on top.

A faint ringing began in Scott’s ears at the sight, at the sheer audacity he perceived. But as he looked down at the top of his first fledgling’s head, Scott couldn’t help but be uninterested in engaging further, even in a malicious manner.

They made for a pitiful sight, Scott had thought.

And so he’d done nothing more besides laying back down, knowing that his disinterest, his lack of acknowledgement will likely hurt more than any cruel word he can spit.

Though Scott did recall a similar situation that went differently. In his coffin, in the daytime, same set up, different context. Despite being in a similar state of rest, Scott had fully awoken to the sound of footsteps though he remained laying, patiently waiting until Pyro’s face peeked over the upper edge.

Pyro looked down at him. “Sire.”

“Pyro.” Scott returned breezily, eyes closed, one arm behind his head, and one arm resting on his chest.

“If I may…”

Pyro stopped. Scott gave him a moment but when he didn’t continue—

“May…?” Scott prompted.

Pyro sighed. “If I may speak with you, sire. I have a concern.”

Scott waved a hand vaguely, prompting Pyro to continue but when they didn’t immediately, he cracked open an eye to look at them. Curiously enough, Pyro had averted his gaze and was worrying his lip under a fang, clearly troubled, clearly at odds with himself with whatever was on his mind.

As gracious as he thought of himself at that time, Scott waited patiently without prompting. He’s rewarded when a minute later, Pyro exhaled, long and heavy, and turned back to face him.

“...Are you sure about this?” Pyro asked.

Scott raised an eyebrow.

“Sure about what, Pyro?” Scott clicked his tongue in disapproval, to which Pyro flinched. “You know you need to be more specific than that.”

“Right– Of course, sire. I—“ Pyro smoothed down the front of his coat, once, twice, thrice. He drew in a breath that shook. “I… It’s Avid. Are you sure about Avid?”

Scott’s brows raised. He couldn’t say he was surprised that that’s what was on Pyro’s mind but still…

“I don’t know why you’re asking me.” Scott huffed with a wave of his hand. “I’m not the one who turned Avid. I do believe that’s Shelby and they did it on their own.”

“Well, yes, of course.” Pyro agreed quickly. He averted his eyes. “I just– If he comes here– If he joins us— I mean, you’re the eldest out of all of us, surely the final word will be yours–”

Scott looked at Pyro then, taking in the tension lining their facial features, the way their eyes are looking away from him— Not necessarily afraid, he doesn’t think but moreso… wary. Most importantly, he saw how, under it all, Pyro was earnest all the same about his concerns.

Lazily, Scott held up a hand with the palm facing Pyro expectantly.

“Pyro, dear.” He called out.

Immediately, Pyro’s mouth snapped shut. At first, Pyro jerked back when Scott moved his hand, seemingly by instinct before he came to the realization that the hand by his face was not meant to hurt him. But even then, their eyes flicked from his hand to his face and back again, apprehensive and mistrusting of the offered affection.

Clicking his tongue again, Scott sat up and closed the distance for Pyro. Being one of the first to have been turned out of all the fledgelings in the castle, Pyro’s skin is cold when Scott cups their face in the palm of his hand.

But despite being the first, Pyro’s breath still stuttered at the contact before stopping entirely.

Scott hummed, low and thoughtful.

“What are you worried about, hm?” Scott asked, taking care to soften his voice, to smooth out the consonants of his words and even out the sharper sounds.

A shudder tangibly ran through Pyro. Their eyes fluttered shut but still, they remained right where they were.

It took a moment but eventually, as they always did, Pyro caved, falling and leaning into Scott’s hand with the same kind of desperation that always fueled his actions. This specific kind of desperation– It made Scott think of starving animals, the way they scarfed down food and carelessly threw themselves at any semblance of whatever it was that they were looking for.

Looking back, Scott feels vaguely disturbed at the way he had known about that desperation, known about the void that existed within the first fledgling he turned in Oakhurst and instead of doing as he should’ve, Scott had instead chosen to foster the desperation into something driven, something all-consuming, something that he could use until it was pushed past the breaking point and then some.

But at that moment, Scott hadn’t cared nor known. He had only remained as he was, hand on Pyro’s cheek with a sense of affection that was as toxic and poisonous as garlic, as pervasive as the effects of holy water until Pyro gave in with a slumping of his shoulders.

“Sire.” Pyro began, weak and breathless.

Scott let the corners of his lips quirk upwards, just enough to be perceived as fond. He brushed a thumb across Pyro’s cheekbone, the claw just barely scratching against the delicate skin beneath their eye.

“Yes, Pyro?” Scott prompted.

“...Will you forget me?”

Scott blinked.

He didn’t immediately respond, finding amusement in the way tension built in Pyro with every moment that passed without an answer as he mimed thinking about it when, in truth, the answer had come the moment he heard the question.

“Have you wronged me recently?” Scott asked, once enough time had passed.

Pyro blinked. “No.”

“Are you planning on wronging me?”

“No.”

“Then there you go.” Scott smiled as he moved closer, enough that he could hear the catch in Pyro’s breath. Keeping his hand on Pyro’s cheek, Scott leaned in and bumped his forehead against Pyro’s, relishing in the sharp breath Pyro draws. “That’s your answer.”

Pyro inhaled deeply, his eyes slipping closed.

“Keep being good for me, dear Pyro.” Scott said softly, pressing his palm against Pyro’s cheek, coaxing them into leaning in. “And you should have nothing to worry about. Understood?”

There’s a faint tremor to Pyro’s frame now, delicate and barely perceptible, had Scott not been so close. He watched as Pyro chewed on the inside of his cheek, visibly warring between trusting Scott and remaining wisely wary.

Scott waited and when too much time had passed, he pressed forwards, lifting his other hand to hold Pyro’s face between both palms.

“Pyro, dear.” Scott called sweetly, quietly, brushing his thumbs against Pyro’s cheekbones.

He doesn’t say anything- His expectation was clear enough as is. Almost instantly afterwards, Pyro’s shoulders fall with a great exhale before he slumped forwards,

Scott smiled. There it is.

“Yes, sire.” Pyro whispered, reverent as always. “I understand.”

~~~

“You look like shit.”

Scott lifts his head, raises an unamused eyebrow. With a hand planted on the table and the other on her hip, Cleo looks down at him with her lips twisted into a frown.

“You and all of your little fledgelings.” Cleo continues as she pushes herself up, placing both hands on her hips now. “What happened up there, at the grave?”

Scott stills.

The weight of that moment lingers perpetually in his form. Something gave way at that moment, forcing Scott to cross a threshold he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to go back from.

That’s what happened there. Not that Cleo needs to know, though.

Scott looks away. “Nothing that should mean anything to you.”

Cleo stares at him in disbelief. She huffs, a sharp, disapproving sound. “Usually, I’d agree but unfortunately for me, Goldsmith, you lot have been about as pleasant as a group of ghouls in the castle.”

“Adds to the atmosphere, I imagine.” Scott muses dryly. He tilts his head to one side, allows his smile to be somewhat lopsided in carelessness. “Perhaps I should practice my wailing.”

Cleo glares at him, intensely enough that, for a moment, Scott wonders if she’s going to hit him. If so, he wonders if Abolish would let him throw hands in return. It’s just one person after all, and Scott didn’t ask Abolish to snipe him for just a person.

But as Scott is considering, Cleo exhales heavily, her shoulders falling.

“...Scott.” Cleo says and her voice is low and somber. Immediately, Scott responds, sitting up and sobering up in turn.

“Cleo.” He returns.

“Pearl is worried.” Cleo starts. Then she grimaces, as though what she says next pains her. “Holy spirits forbid, I’m worried.”

Scott’s brows raise. “For little ole me? I mean— I suppose a lot can be repaired in a year.”

Cleo gags— Not actually, just miming the motion, thankfully, Scott thinks he would never recover if someone truly gagged because of him. “Ew, no. I mean for your fledglings you self-absorbed prick.”

“My fledglings?” Scott echoes, choosing to not point out that Shelby, technically and regrettably, isn’t his.

“You’re lacking.” Cleo says, going as far as to emphasize the first syllable of the word. “Just as you were lacking with that first fledgling of yours. Pyro, was it?”

Nausea ripples down Scott’s spine, shuddering and sliding its way down.

“Now, now— I don’t think that’s particularly fair, now is it?” Scott mutters sourly.

“When have you been any kind of proponent of fairness, huh?” Cleo retorts. “I wouldn’t say the way you were was fair either.”

Scott’s mouth drops open, a retort already on the tip of his tongue when something about what Cleo just said registers, two words that stood out against the rest starkly, like gold against a pile of rubble.

He snaps his mouth shut, angles his head towards Cleo, scrutinizing the look on her face to try and see if she means it or not.

And when he can’t see anything–

“…Past tense?” Scott asks.

Surprise flickers across Cleo’s expression, as though she too is surprised by her own words.

The moment hangs in tentative balance. Scott holds Cleo’s eye contact and the intensity behind them reminds him of his first impression of her to begin with: How, even as a human, he had thought better of challenging or testing Cleo more than necessary.

“Yes, past tense.” Cleo’s eyes gleam, sharp and challenging. “What about it?”

Scott stares at Cleo for a moment. She stares back, unwavering as she always was. He turns away only seconds later with a theatrical sigh and a lazy shrug of his shoulders.

“Nothing.” Scott responds wisely. “Nothing at all.”

A corner of Cleo’s mouth twists upwards, knowing. But they don’t say anything, just turn with a sweep of their emerald green dress and Scott thinks that’s it when they stop in the archway and turn their head to speak over their shoulder with a hand on the frame.

“Take care of your fledgelings, Goldsmith.” She says, an almost-command that should irk Scott more than it actually did. “And for goodness sake, do something right with your life for once, why don’t you?”

Scott raises his eyebrows. He doesn’t get a chance to respond before Cleo disappears from sight.

He leans back into his seat with a click of his tongue. Do something right with his life, isn’t that what this whole debacle with Shelby, Drift, and hell, Abolish was for? It’s so that he does something right with his life because apparently murder and massacre was bad.

Shaking his head, Scott files away the interaction to think more about, maybe later, maybe subconsciously.

Later, Scott wanders out and finds Shelby where she was turned, sitting on the shore with her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms folded on top.

Approaching her from behind, Scott can’t make out her expression but he can see the despondent curl of her shoulders, the way she seems to be determined to shrink into herself. When he can see, Scott sees that Shelby is looking out listlessly across the water, focused intensely on nothing at all.

At first, Scott hesitates, wondering if it might be best for him to retreat, to maybe go back and grab Drift or even Pearl because he might’ve been able to do the right thing before when he had malicious intentions, when he didn’t have a genuine attachment, and when he was given no other choice.

But then, two things kick in at the same time to throw that idea to the curb.

First: The abject horror at the idea that he’d leave Shelby alone for even a moment longer than needed– A horror that, Scott found, is present constantly but flares at the sight of his eternal roommate’s, his first friend, the best of all vampires’ misery.

Second: An echo of Cleo’s voice to support it.

So Scott ends up stepping forwards, letting his footsteps be heard in the crunch beneath his heel. Shelby doesn’t react but they don’t startle the way Scott suspects they would’ve when he unclips his cloak, sweeps it over their shoulders, and clips it again at their front.

His hands linger on Shelby’s shoulders as he takes in their expression, all while the shore digs into his knee and likely dirties his pant leg. Shelby’s eyes remain focused on something unseen, not once flicking up towards Scott or showing any indication that she knows that he’s here in a manner that would’ve been more concerning if it wasn’t for the way she untucks one arm from the crook of her elbow to hold onto his cloak.

Pulling back, Scott hesitates. He hovers for a moment, wondering if there’s more than he should do. But just as Scott moves to stand, if only to leave Shelby be—

“Scott?”

Scott stops. He doesn’t think that he would’ve been able to do anything else, even if he wanted to. “Yes, Shelby?”

“...Can you stay?”

Scott freezes. But only for a moment because Scott finds himself moving before he’s fully processed Shelby’s request beyond what the request is.

He’s not sure what to do with the way his chest twists at how Shelby’s shoulders visibly relax when he settles beside her.

In the quiet that follows, Scott tries to surmise as to what Shelby might be doing here or what might be bothering them at the moment. The natural assumption is, of course, the topic that hangs over his head as well but something about finding Shelby here, specifically, in the place where her turning was stolen from him leads Scott to believe that things might not be so simple.

But… What else could it be?

“I was thinking about Pyro.” Shelby whispers suddenly, quiet enough that Scott thinks he would’ve missed it if it wasn’t for his vampiric hearing.

And even though he heard it, Scott mentally did a double take to make sure he heard correctly.

“Pyro?” Scott questions and he’s impressed with himself for how innocently inquisitive he sounds for how baffled, how absolutely taken aback he is internally.

“Yeah.” Shelby responds. She falls silent.

“...What for?” Scott prompts, when the quiet drags on for a little too long.

Shelby’s eyes grow misty as she stares out, her brows furrowed.

“I just…” Shelby tilts her head down, enough that the lower half of her face is hidden. “Avid got a grave. Doc got a grave. Martyn, Ren… Even Owen did.”

To Scott’s horror, Shelby’s eyes water. He panics for a moment– He already gave her his cloak, he’s already staying, what else could he do if she were to start…?

“Shouldn’t Pyro get one too?”

Scott blinks.

The question startles him out of his thoughts but this time, it’s for a different reason. Instead of feeling like it pulled the rug beneath his feet, it settles over him like a blanket or like a distant whisper in the wind that would pull his head to turn in its direction, sweeping his cloak to one side as he stares, looking for something that isn’t there.

A grave. Nothing but a stone in the ground, a wooden sign that holds paltry, insufficient words in the wake of a loss.

What does it matter, to the dead, if they get a grave or not? They’re dead.

Yet, even as Scott thinks this…

“And– And I know it doesn’t make sense, it really doesn’t, not after what he did or anything but I just–” Shelby draws in a breath that shakes, that’s audible with emotion, sharp and high pitched and her voice follows. “I don’t know. These things get so… hard and complicated sometimes and I just– I don’t know. I just– I don’t–”

Scott’s chest twists further, as though someone managed to get their hands on his organs to wring out like a wet towel. Something within him lurches, a knee-jerk reaction to Shelby’s distress, a bone-deep need to do something, anything about it.

Scott ends up placing a hand on Shelby’s shoulder after a moment of trying to puzzle out what would best suit the situation and he’s just about to pull them closer, to offer physical contact in hopes that it might help when they turn to look at him, and the pained shine in their eyes, the tightness at the corners of their mouth…

It’s chilling. Scott thinks he would break his promise to Abolish and the doctor just to make sure that Shelby never looks like that again.

“Oh.” Shelby chuckles, the sound helpless and lost. “Not that… Not that you would know either, huh? You might know even less than me.”

Scott recoils.

The statement wasn’t… accusatory, no, it was just that, a statement and yet, it lands like an accusation, like a guillotine blade falling onto his neck. Scott wouldn’t have blamed Shelby if it was an accusation, honestly, but it didn’t and he’s not entirely sure why he expected Shelby to be accusatory when–

Oh. Wait a minute. Scott thinks he can guess, actually.

From Shelby’s point of view, Scott, this elder vampire with centuries of life and by extension, experience and knowledge, came into her life and for a good majority of their time together, held all the answers and all the security in the confusion that came following her turning.

Then when it all fell apart–

Scott clenches his jaw.

For once, the assumption of his role in someone’s life as something greater than themself doesn’t fill him with satisfaction because if he is right, if it’s true that Shelby saw him as this elder vampire with all the answers, then seeing him break the way he did just days before then…

How disorientating must that be? How frightening?

Scott imagines it feels like a form of betrayal, like a form of abandonment.

But still, Shelby has been nothing but kind and patient, so unfailingly, unconditionally loving in ways that makes Scott think extends beyond just who she is as a person. As if to confirm his thoughts, Shelby turns to smile at him before saying softly, “And I don’t blame you for not knowing.”

Scott stares at Shelby in disbelief. He can picture what it's like to be in Shelby’s position and he can’t even begin to imagine approaching it the same way she is so how… why...

He stands, hands curled into fists at his sides, jaw clenched tight enough to hurt.

“You need to stop doing that.” Scott says bluntly.

Shelby’s eyes widened. “Huh–?”

She never gets a chance to say more. Scott wouldn’t go as far as to say he fled from the interaction, no, Scott Goldsmith never flees from anything but he will concede that he made haste in his departure.

Do something right with his life for once, huh?

Rushing through the forest towards an unknown destination, Scott clicks his tongue, shakes his head, and he hates the way the bridge of his nose burns.

He’s trying.

So why is it still so difficult?

~~~

There was one time where Scott’s rest was disturbed by someone physically and literally falling into his coffin.

Again, it had happened on an unassuming day in which Scott decided, upon finding that there is not much left to do in the castle, to take the momentary peace to lay down and rest for a little bit, sensing the storm within the stillness and wishing to take advantage of the quiet for as much and as long as he can in preparation. It had been the closest he got to sleep since his big nap, with Scott barely aware of his surroundings as he laid in his coffin, eyes closed and arms folded neatly over his chest.

So unaware, in fact, that Scott missed the moment footsteps approached. Perhaps, he recognized those footsteps subconsciously for how quiet, hesitant, and timid they were and he believed them to be not a threat.

Regardless, it’s not until an actual body tumbled into him that Scott jolts awake, claws at the ready when—

“Waitwaitwaitwaitwait, stop!! Stop!!”

Scott froze.

Beside him, in a coffin that is hardly big enough for the both of them to lay side by side, much less without touching, was Avid, cowering behind raised, protective arms.

The coffin was small enough that, from the legs up to the chest, Avid was essentially pressed up against Scott, only really creating a distance when he flinched backwards and curled inwards pathetically to try and protect himself. Scott found it surprisingly easy to relax upon recognizing who the invader of his space was, all but falling limp back into his prior position, uncaring of the added body beside him.

“Ah- Avid. It’s just you.” Scott sighed. He leaned back, tucked an arm behind his head to try and make space where there was none. “What do you want?”

Avid jumped, his eyes widening as he stared at Scott, arms lowering with his apparent realization that no, Scott was not about to claw out his guts like the senseless monster that so many believe him to be. Though really, Scott had thought that he should’ve. No one simply falls into his coffin without consequence but…

He could feel Avid trembling, as close as they were.

In the minimal space between the two of them, Scott notices a few things in rapid succession: The additional paleness of Avid’s skin, the teary gleam of his eyes, the hastened rise and fall of his chest in his search for breath that he no longer needed. And most attention-grabbing: The silence.

Avid was loud. Undeniably so.

He yelled his words of flattery and accusation at equal volume, screaming his paranoia to the skies and to the mountains, to whoever and whatever would hear. But now, in this quiet afternoon before the oncoming storm–

All Avid did was lay on his side, trembling, his eyes focused on something far away that Scott couldn’t see.

Scott inclined his head, allowing himself another indulgent moment to observe this curious man.

Sweet, innocent Avid. Always so afraid. Always so on edge, with the lingering warmth and habits of a human.

Scott considers the quiet of the castle, how it’s likely that everyone is resting the same way humans sleep at night, and he wonders if that is what Avid was doing that led to this moment. After all, fledgelings like himself are much more likely to dream when they rest.

What dreams, Scott wondered, carried over from when he was still human? What fears continued, what concerns still plagued that curious mind of his?

“Hm.” Scott hummed, thoughtful.

And when Avid flinched, like that one sound could condemn him—

Well it was only natural for Scott to extend an arm and slip it behind Avid’s shoulders. Just as it felt far too natural for him to pull Avid close until his chin rested on top of Avid’s head and Avid’s full weight rested against him firmly and securely.

The way Avid fit against Scott’s chest, tucking against the curve of his body, the curl of his arm— It was perfection like Scott has never seen before.

“I— Eujehuh—” Avid spluttered. “Scott?”

“Shh.” Scott rested his other arm over Avid’s middle, completing the embrace. “You’re not allowed to be troubled in my presence.”

Avid made a vaguely confused noise. Scott almost laughed.

Holding Avid was akin to holding a log, Scott thought– Stiff, unyielding, and frankly rather uncomfortable. But the moment he had that thought, Avid relaxed, bit by bit, melting into Scott like ice with a low, soft sound of contentment until he was all but boneless against him.

Scott hummed, satisfied. That’s more like it.

“Hah…” Avid sounded breathless yet relieved, as if just being with Scott lifted a weight off his shoulders. “Of course not. That’s… that’s… no. Right?”

“Hm. Sure.” Scott agreed despite not really knowing what Avid meant by that.

And that was that.

Scott fell asleep shortly after Avid’s breaths had evened out, drawn into a deep sense of stillness by the hazy, fuzzy warmth that came with having another in his arms instead of simply laying there on his own. In that brief, hours-long rest, Scott had never quite felt so at ease— It had sunken down to a level deeper than he thought was even possible.

And when they woke—

Scott cracked his eyes open to find Avid already awake and staring, wide and innocent and oh-so-visibly captivated.

“…Hi.” Avid had squeaked out.

Scott blinked.

Then, for reasons he only really knew now but not back then, Scott smiled– Without showing his fangs and without any real motives either.

“Hi.” Scott returned softly.

That was the only time Scott’s rest was disturbed like that; Partially because the chances for Scott to actually rest in that manner decreased dramatically afterwards and partially because–

Because–

The disturbance tore across time and space itself to reach him, feeling as though the world itself grew claws and tore itself into his chest, just to rip out a piece of him that Scott hadn’t known was there to begin with until it was gone, until it left behind a chill that Scott hadn’t known was being held back by a secondary source of warmth until that source was...

Hoping against hope, Scott had transformed into a bat and flown, only to land in the middle of a decimated forest and told that his hopes were for nothing.

Avid was dead, they told him.

…Scott hates how he is, now.

He hates how coming here, coming back to Oakhurst and facing it all has left him feeling like he’s made from cracked glass, like all the power and strength Scott once had has bled from him through his tears. He hates how clearly he remembers now, hates how much brighter the world is, hates–

He hates...

Scott lays on his side and stares out into the darkness of the room, alone for once in the last few days or so. There’s something thrumming beneath his skin, in the isolation, in the stillness of it all, something that he doesn’t understand. It doesn’t feel like devastation, no, but it feels like some kind of ruin anyways. Like the bounds have been broken and now there’s a toxin seeping into him, breaking down what was before and leaving behind something raw and unbearably new.

…It has been centuries since Scott has changed in any kind of substantial way.

Like a mountain, change doesn’t often come suddenly or drastically for Scott, only coming after stone gives way beneath torrents of rain accumulated over years.

As for the change in question…

Scott stares and he thinks of how this is the first time he’s been completely alone in a while. He thinks of the year that led up to this point.

He thinks of fluffy cows. Trains. The ease in which Shelby or Drift tucks against his side now.

Scott’s shoulders release its tension.

Actually— Now that Scott’s thinking about it… He doesn’t hate it. Not any of what he listed, specifically.

What Scott actually hates–

Sometimes, in the past few days, when they didn’t think that Scott was looking or that Scott wouldn’t notice, Shelby’s face would fall. They’d turn away from him and Drift would be there, filling in the space while a stark absence continued to exist on their other side.

For both of them.

There’s a third missing and Scott often lingers where he is, at a distance, up on a railing looking down, a hand partially outstretched before it falls back to be by his side.

That void.

Scott wants to fill it. But he doesn’t.

~~~

Scott isn’t sure what brings him up the hill to Avid’s grave on his own. He’s still not particularly used to or pleased with how the sight of mere stone (Never mind how many times either Shelby and Drift explained it to him.) induces such immediate distress in him but either ways, he’s here for some reason.

Perhaps it’s due to some internal, inexplicable pull towards the grave or some other kind of sixth sense because when Scott crests over the hill, he finds Drift standing alone before the lifeless stone.

His steps falter and come to a stop. Scott’s sure that Drift doesn’t know that he’s there, given that she would’ve turned around and said something by now so…

He could back away. Scott could leave and Drift would be none the wiser.

It would be easy. If Scott wanted to be even more secure, he could even go invisible and creep away but…

A gust of wind sweeps through the hilltop. It blows his cloak to one side and messes up his hair, causing the bangs to flutter wildly and blindly before his eyes.

Scott looks at Drift and for a moment, her form is replaced by three instead, with one collapsed on the ground on his knees. He can almost imagine what that must’ve looked like, from the outside— Shelby and Drift must’ve stopped for a moment and hesitated, just as Scott is doing now, wondering what they should do with the added challenge of this being the first time they’ve ever seen him like this.

But despite the challenge and the surefire discomfort they both must’ve felt, they still—

Scott steels himself and steps forwards.

Drift startles when he comes to stand by her side, whipping her head around to stare at him with wide eyes that are tinged red around the whites from presumable tears.

“Oh!” Drift ducks her head, swipes a wrist across her eyes. “Scott– Hi. What… What are you doing here?”

Scott stares at Drift. His chest twists painfully at how obviously upset she is, no matter how expected and understandable it is that she would be– There’s nothing Scott would like better than to fix it, to get rid of it, but… can he? Is there any way to really fix something like this?

“Scott?”

Scott presses his lips together. Drift’s brows are furrowing now, her eyes shining with lingering tears and concern alike.

“I… could ask the same for you.” Scott responds with a shrug.

A wry, humorless smile curls at the corners of Drift’s mouth. “What? Can’t I pay my respects to Avid on my own?”

“You can.” Scott flexes his fingers, considering. “Just wondering why you’re here on your own.”

“Why are you?”

Because I felt that you would be here and that you’d need me.

Scott raises an eyebrow. “We can go around in circles in days with this, Drift. Is that really what you want?”

A laugh bursts from Drift that has Scott’s other eyebrow raising to join the first, the sound short, loud, and like it burst from her without intention or control.

“Hah!” Drift’s head falls forward. Her hands fly up to her face, curled into fists for her to press the knuckles against her eyes. “What I want? What I want?”

Scott frowns. He steps forwards, reaching out to pull Drift into an embrace in hopes that it might offer her some form of solace, only for Drift to shrink back with a hiss.

“Do you know what Shelby tells me?” Drift drops her hands and looks up. Scott inhales sharply, feeling as though someone just drove a stake into him. “She thinks of Avid’s death and she wonders– No, she believes that it’s her fault because she turned him so maybe, if she never agreed to his insane plan, he’d still be here.”

Scott’s eyes widened. He didn’t–

He didn’t know that.

Drift throws her hands up. “Still insane, probably, driven mad by whatever was bothering him even before he got turned, but maybe– Maybe–”

Scott stands there, dumbfounded and helpless as Drift cuts herself off, only to lower her head and dig the knuckles of her fists into her eyes again. Her shoulders visibly tremble against the blank white cloudy skies behind her and Avid’s grave looms behind her like an omen.

Abruptly, Scott is reminded of a different time. It had been shortly after the news arrived that Avid had been staked, Scott had knocked on Drift’s door in the crypt-bedrooms only to be met with silence. When the silence lasted longer than acceptable, Scott looked at the door like it offended him.

“Drift?” He called out. No response.

Scott frowned. He could’ve sworn that Drift was in her room.

“Drift?” Scott called out again, knocking as well for good measure. “Are you in there? You know I don’t take kindly to being ignored~”

Scott fell silent, listening out expectantly.

No response.

But behind the door, he heard the slightest sound to indicate movement.

Scott raised an eyebrow. “I heard that. You now have… thirty seconds to get yourself presentable before I’m coming in.”

In actuality, Scott waited forty five seconds, gracious as he was, before entering, though he did note that he heard no further sounds inside during that time. Upon entering, Scott found Drift’s room to be laughably small, more of a storage closet than a room, really, but there was a bed tucked away in the corner but no…

No Drift. Huh.

Scott placed his hands on his hips and looked around, scanning the walls, the shelves, the chests, as though a whole vampire like Drift could be there until his eyes finally landed on the bed and he noticed a small lump in the middle of otherwise undisturbed, flat blankets.

“Ah.” Scott stepped forwards, coming to a kneel before the bed. He took care to lower and soften his voice. “There you are.”

Lifting the blanket revealed a little brown bat with a tiny golden monocle who hissed upon being found. To that, Scott raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Hello Drift.” Scott said pleasantly. “Mind if I ask why you are a bat?”

The Drift-bat shrunk back and hissed again. But this time, Scott heard how it crackled a little at the end in a manner that reminded Scott of the rough nature of a sob. It was then that he recalled something about fledgelings that he’d nearly forgotten, it being so long since he’d been in a situation like this.

And in the face of recent events–

“Oh.” Scott cooed, carefully sliding a hand under the blanket to reach for Drift. “Oh, Drift, darling.”

Drift hissed again, weaker this time, as Scott gently scooped her out. Her form fit in the palm of his hand, with only her wings spilling over the sides of his palms. Amused, Scott held Drift up to face-level, peering curiously at her tiny, angry eyes.

“Are you wanting to be small?” Scott asked quietly. “Hm?”

Drift shrunk back, her wings coming up to hide her as though embarrassed or ashamed. Scott couldn’t help the chuckle that escapes him, no matter how breathy and near-soundless it was. He’d almost forgotten how cute fledgelings could be.

“It’s alright if you do.” Scott said. He inclined his head. “Would you be opposed to my company? Or shall I simply– Oh!”

Before he could finish his question, Drift launched herself off of Scott’s hands with a few clumsy flaps of her wings to plant herself onto his chest, hiding most of her tiny form in the fluffy fabric of his cravat with a snuffle. There, she tucked her wings back in, holding onto Scott’s vest with nothing but her claws.

Scott had stared down at Drift for a moment, taken by surprise at the willingness Drift displayed, given that only a while ago, she was deathly afraid of him. But ultimately, he had done nothing more than sigh fondly, standing to sit on the bed instead, gently resting a hand over Drift’s back to hold her more securely against him. In a way, it made him think of how Shelby reacted, how she, too, fell into him looking for support.

And now–

Scott watches Drift and wonders how it’s possible that he’s fallen so far.

“Maybe…” Drift finally finishes, dropping her hands from her eyes as she stares down at the ground. “Maybe we all would’ve made it out one way or another.”

Scott flinches. He genuinely thinks it might be less painful if someone had torn off his limbs, one by one because he can picture it in his mind— The day they all left Oakhurst, him lagging behind but looking forward to see Shelby and Drift, laughing at each other while Avid chased after them, waving and calling for them to slow down.

But then, before he gets too far— Avid’s steps faltering as he turns, expression loose and blank before his eyes lock onto Scott’s and—

A bright, toothy grin akin to the sun itself.

“…Drift.” Scott starts haltingly, taking a half-hearted step forwards.

But Drift retreats again, stepping back with a shake of her head and a breath that shakes when she inhales. Scott stops right where he is, having been rejected (Rejected! Never it be said that he doesn’t care– It’s not everyday that Scott Goldsmith refrains from reacting to a rejection) twice now.

“It’s fine. It’s fine– I–” Drift cuts herself off, shakes her head again. “Sorry— I’m sorry, Scott.”

Scott’s eyebrows shoot towards his hairline. Apologies are nice and all but what on earth could Drift, of all people, be apologizing for?

“What for?” Scott asks, his voice even despite his apprehension as to what the answer might be.

“I just—” Drift scrubs a hand across her eyes. “For dumping all of that on you.”

Scott frowns. He cautiously takes another step forward and when Drift doesn’t recoil, he moves close enough to just… carefully rest his hands on her upper arms, doubting that she’d appreciate an embrace at the moment, if her prior behavior was anything to go off of.

He’s immediately proven wrong when, at the contact, Drift falls forwards and rests her forehead against his shoulder.

“...Drift.” Scott begins, taking care to choose his words with consideration. He carefully brushes a hand up and down Drift’s arm. “Avid was your friend too. He’s not just Shelby’s fledgeling.”

Drift sniffs. “Isn’t that why she saw what happened?”

“Sure. But it doesn’t…” Scott grimaces, hating the way the words stall on his tongue, like he knows what he wants to say he just doesn’t know the words for it. He tries again. “Look. If memory serves me right in terms of a timeline, you were his…”

Scott stops. The realization slams into him like an axe to the skull.

“...Scott?”

How did Scott not realize this sooner? How did he not–

Before himself, before Shelby, Avid had Drift. As a matter of fact, Scott’s fairly certain he hated Avid for much longer than he’s ever even liked him so what– What is he doing? What was all of this for?

Everything that happened at that first visit to Avid’s grave—

“Scott? Are you alright?”

—How badly must that experience must’ve been for Drift, as Avid’s first friend, as the only person who treasured him during a time when all the people in this accursed town thought him insane and a dead weight?

Scott takes this weight within him, this awful, awful devastation, the sense that something has broken and is seeping toxin into the rest of him and he multiplies it.

What he imagines feels unbearable. But if that was Drift’s experience then how did she— How is she—

“Scott.” A tap on his cheek. “Scott, hey. Hey bud?”

Scott snaps back into himself but just barely, just enough to be aware of Drift, standing before him, Shelby in the castle, a level of insufficiency that he, a Goldsmith, should’ve never been able to fall to and yet, here he was.

Here he was.

Scott doesn’t really remember what happens after that. He ends up back in the castle again at some point, potentially in his room though he can’t really be sure with how the colors and shapes all blur together into a dizzying, nauseating mess. Speaking of nausea, a feeling akin to it sits heavy in his stomach, inexplicable and unidentifiable but there all the same.

And all that remains on Scott’s mind is the look of absolute bafflement on Drift’s face when he first snapped back into himself.

~~~

Scott is not sulking in the attic rafters. He’s not.

Scott Goldsmith is above sulking. If anything, Scott broods while standing dramatically in the window while looking out with his arms folded behind him beneath the dark cloth of his cloak. Ideally, it’d be raining or, at the very least, incredibly downcast and cloudy.

…But alas, even Scott has to admit that it’s rather difficult to make a case for himself when he’s currently tucked away in one corner of the rafters with the angled roof wall against his back, his knees folded up against his chest, and his arms against his stomach.

There he remains. For an indeterminate amount of time.

Scott would’ve been more than happy to stay there for… Well, he supposes for all of eternity if it wasn’t for the footsteps that approached, drawing closer until it stopped just beneath him.

For a moment, the silence puts Scott on edge. He worries that it might be Shelby or Drift or maybe even Cleo, here to tell him off again for his failures with Shelby or Drift, only for the greeting that follows to sound nothing like any of them.

“Heya.”

Scott’s shoulders fall in what he supposed would be relief, though irritation lingers beneath his skin at the fact that someone is here to begin with to interrupt his not-sulking time.

“Oh joy.” Scott grumbles, turning to glare downwards and over his shoulder. “Here to give me a talking-to?”

Beneath the rafters, Pearl stares up at Scott, eyes wide and inquisitive as she cocks her head to one side. A new feature of hers since last year, wolf ears that match the color of her hair, flick once, twice while the matching tail swishes from side to side slowly beneath the dark folds of her dress.

“I mean I hope so?” Pearl responds. Then she pauses, considering. “Well– in the most literal, direct meaning, I guess. You and I haven’t spoken much after all.”

“Hm.” Scott hums.

Pearl chuckles. Her tone is light, amused, and far too casual for a werewolf vampire speaking up to an elder vampire tucked away into the attic rafters like there’s something to hide from. “Well aren’t you a pleasant source of conversation!”

Scott bares his teeth in a sarcastic grin. “Why of course. Haven’t your lover already told you how pleasant I am to speak with?”

Pearl smiles, bright and unphased. “Ironic you ask that. Cleo’s been saying the opposite!”

The grin falls from Scott’s face. He wants nothing more than to be able to disappear into the shadows he’s tucked away into and Scott supposes he could but… That’s a level of cringe, lame, and rude that he’s not really willing to fall to.

“Man–” Pearl continues, filling in the silence where Scott supposes he should’ve responded. “I can’t even begin to tell you how many of our dinners together are just her ranting about you.”

Scott resists the urge to sigh, turning his head to rest the side of his face against his knees.

“Hm.” He hums.

Silence. The back of Scott’s neck burns in a way that’s akin to the sun, letting him know that Pearl is still looking at him.

“Hey.” A shudder runs down Scott’s spine at the way Pearl’s voice quiets, softening out to be something gentler, something far too genuinely concerned for comfort. “You alright?”

Scott clenches his jaw and says nothing. He keeps his head turned and his eyes averted from Pearl, thinking that if he does this for long enough, she’ll leave, as childish of a tactic it might be– That being said, it’s often incredibly effective for the low, low cost of mild loss in pride.

But instead of leaving, Scott hears Pearl huff before there’s a slight whoosh and–

There’s a new presence on the wooden beams closest to him, just off to one side.

“You…” Scott hears Pearl settle down, presumably to sit, when her dress rustles. “You wanna talk about it?”

Scott doesn’t respond. Distantly, he can hear Shelby and Drift talking in the lower floors. A clock ticks somewhere, creating a backdrop in which he’s painfully aware of the passage of time but even after the clock ticks enough to make even Scott uncomfortable with the silence, he hears nothing from Pearl that indicates that she’s left.

Scott heaves a sigh that’s really more for theatrics than anything. With that, he defeatedly turns his head to face Pearl, who’s sitting on the wooden beam, her legs kicking lightly in the open air– It’s only polite to do so and he has to respect her dedication.

“Why are you here?” Scott asks flatly, thinking that it’d be better to get right to the point.

“Oh!” Pearl perks up. “Shelby sent me!”

Scott’s brows raise. “Shelby?”

“Yeah! She and Drift are both real concerned about you.” Pearl frowns. “They’re both worried that they might’ve upset you which is why neither of them aren’t here themselves.”

Scott freezes in place.

All at once, he feels almost physically sick in a way that’s comparable to eating garlic– Nauseating, almost dizzying, if eating garlic sat heavy in his stomach and was scorching hot, rushing through his limbs with a sense of repulsion towards none other than himself which turned out to be a rather strange experience because how would he get away from himself?

He can’t. He can’t get away from any of this– This– These new experiences, this sense of loss, everything that’s new, the failures and shortcomings that come from it, all of it–

And that–

That–

Scott Goldsmith doesn’t yell.

He was never loud naturally, that was never the kind of theatrics he preferred because he’s found that it’s often more effective to be quiet. After all, true confidence isn’t loud. True confidence is quiet, certain, and sure.

But admittedly, the volume of Scott’s voice comes close to yelling.

He digs the palms of his hands into his eyes. “Holy spirits be damned, I can’t do anything right, can I?!”

“Woah!” Pearl exclaims. “Hey– Hey now, it’s alright–”

“Is it?!”

Pearl falters. “Well, you know, the murders probably weren’t the best…”

“Not the– I don’t mean the murders or the massacres!” Scott exclaims, dropping his hands from his face. “Those don’t matter to me, I– None of it matters to me. Not anymore.”

A weighted silence follows after what could be interpreted as a confession. Scott snaps his mouth shut, turns his head away from Pearl, and crosses his arms tightly against his chest as though by doing so, he can keep everything that’s falling apart within him together.

“Anymore, huh?” Pearl asks softly.

Scott closes his eyes. He lowers his head.

Then, as though the motion might damn him, Scott nods.

A soft rustle of cloth, as though Pearl tried to move closer. She asks, just as softly, just as patiently, “What changed?”

Scott opens his eyes again. The memories of that short, seemingly infinitesimal, supposedly meaningless amount of time that was Oakhurst rise to the forefront of his mind as they often do these days.

He considers them. Compares the start and the end.

“...I started feeling?” Scott responds meekly.

“Right, right, that little detail.” Pearl mutters to herself, reminding Scott of how little he’s interacting with her prior to this. “Okay. Okay! So… How do you feel about feeling, Scott?”

Scott scowls. “It makes me feel sick.”

“Oh!” Pearl’s brows shoot up. “Oh. Oh boy, that’s– That’s not– Do you wanna say more about that or…?”

Scott grimaces. He very much does not but… Pearl is as good as anyone to talk to, he supposes. He’s sure as hell not going to go to Cleo for advice and it’s not like he’s being particularly productive by moping up here in the rafters on his own.

“It… I feel nauseous. About things.” Scott answers, after some consideration. He cringes at how lame it sounds.

“What things?” Pearl asks.

Automatically, Scott’s jaw wires itself shut.

At first, Scott’s mind jumps to deflection– The idea of admitting the truth feels akin to laying down and letting someone stake him without resistance. But then he sees, in his mind, Shelby and Drift’s face.

The smile on Shelby’s face as they tell him that they don’t blame him. The absolutely baffled look on Drift’s face.

Scott clenches his jaw. But the words come– Not necessarily easier, it still feels like being staked multiple times– but they come, if only for the small chance that by voicing the truth, Scott might be able to ensure that this will all be… solved.

“I don’t know.” Scott grits out, the words sour on his tongue as his arms tighten against his chest.

Pearl’s brow furrowed in thought. “Hm.”

“But I still want to do something— They’re not having the best time either after all.” Scott continues because Scott Goldsmith never half-assed anything and if he’s going to lay down and get staked he might as well go all the way. “And because I don’t know what to do for them to help or make it better, I don’t do anything and because I don’t do anything it makes me feel… bad?”

“Why do you feel bad?” Pearl asks.

“Because…” Scott looks down. That sick feeling is back, weighing heavy in his stomach. “If I was in their shoes, what with how I’ve let Shelby down as a supportive figure and Avid being Drift’s friend long before I even cared for him, I’d need something. I already do need things.”

In Scott’s mind eye, he sees both Shelby and Drift as they turn to look at him. They both smile at him, Shelby’s a bright, toothy grin while Drift’s thinner but no less warm with fondness.

“But they… don’t.” Scott exhales. “And that makes me want to do something more but I don’t know what that something could even be.”

A silence follows his confession.

Scott doesn’t dare look up, doesn’t dare to even begin to angle his face towards Pearl’s direction. He wouldn’t say he’s afraid of what look might be on her face but he’s most certainly… wary, at least. Of what, Scott’s not sure, seeing as he’s certainly not wary of Pearl’s judgment, he hardly knows her but–

Whatever. Moments pass without a sound, all while Scott looks off to one side, staring at the shadows of the attic like it holds all the answers in the world.

“You know–” Pearl says suddenly. “ Maybe you should just tell them all of this.”

Scott startles. “Huh?”

“A… lot of people-stuff can be complicated.” Pearl starts. Scott can’t help but snort at just how much of an understatement that can be. “But if you’re not sure what to do or if you generally don’t know something, most times, just talking with the people involved can help.”

Scott stares out into space, mulling the idea over.

Talking. Right. That little thing.

“Is that so?” Scott murmurs.

It’s hard to believe that it would be that simple. Though, now that Scott thought about it, it might not be– The idea of going up to Shelby and Drift right now feels like getting staked… a thousand times over.

“Yeah. Just think about it like this–” Pearl holds up a finger and points at Scott. “You’re lacking information. Therefore…?”

Scott sighs. He supposes it does make sense when Pearl puts it like that. “I get information.”

“Bingo!” Pearl grins. “There you go!”

Scott sighs again, the sound long and aggrieved. “I suppose you’re right.”

Pearl perks up before a big grin spreads across her face. She angles her ear towards him. “Sorry, come again?”

Scott glares at Pearl, knowing full well that the effect is diminished by the conversation prior and their current positioning in the rafters. “I can and will break my promise for a single person, Pearl.”

“Alright, alright, geez!” Pearl exclaims, holding up her hands in mock surrender. “Snappy, are we?”

Scott opens his mouth to retort, only to find that whatever snippy response he might have has died on his tongue, leaving him to close his mouth and look away again. Something cold prickles within him, causing him to tighten his arms against his chest.

All while, somewhere in the distance, a clock continues to tick.

“...Scott.”

Scott cringes. He’s beginning to hate the way people have been saying his name recently– Quiet, gentle, like a hand resting on his upper arm, a careful call for his attention like he might break if they’re any rougher.

When he finally turns to meet her eyes, Pearl smiles, bright and reassuring. “You’ll be alright. What matters most in these kinds of situations, really, is just how much you care. And I can see that you care– You care a lot and you care very earnestly, at that. So you really have very little to worry about!”

“Really.” Scott deadpans, unconvinced.

“Really.” Pearl says definitively with a nod. “It’ll come through, even if you don’t mean it to, I promise.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, Scott looks down.

Mulling over the idea, Scott can’t even begin to imagine how that might work or how that might be possible. But even then–

“...Well. I sure hope so.” Scott murmurs.

~~~

In all of his centuries of living, Scott has never felt or been made to feel bad or guilty over being self-absorbed, self-aggrandizing, or selfish. To start, he’s never labeled any of his actions as such and when he realized that they could, he hardly cared.

So what if Scott acted purely out of self-interest? It’s not as though any of the people in his life gave any reason to be considered more to him than himself.

The townspeople, a good number of those fools at Oakhurst, every vampire or otherwise he came across— None of them proved themselves to be worth thinking highly of because how could they?

At the end of the day, at the end of countless sunsets, countless dawns, it’ll just be Scott Goldsmith.

No matter the number of “individual and valued lives” that come into his life, they will all take their leave eventually. In life, all anyone has is themselves so why should Scott be made to feel ashamed to care for and only for himself? He’s all he’s got at the end of the day, isn’t it?

The fact that Scott’s done more— Sired countless fledglings under his wing, allowed the townspeople of Oakhurst to exist while he rebuilt his castle, allowed Pyro to follow after him like a lost dog, allowed Avid to—

To—

…shouldn’t it be enough? Shouldn’t it all have been enough long ago, even before Scott swore to live by a dead doctor’s promise, held in place by the judgment of two individuals he thought of dearly, and a vampire hunter he thought highly of?

Scott thinks he’s already reached it, by this point, what with crying over Avid’s grave and offering affection the way he does now so why—

Why is this… nauseating sickness something he’s feeling?

Why does he feel bad?

Scott stands before the large attic window in his bedroom, looking out onto the charred remains of Oakhurst’s forest, observing the way he can see, even from this distance, the sprigs of green beginning to push through the ash.

What a fitting visual, Scott muses, right as there’s a knock at his door.

Unbidden, he tenses. Then Scott forces himself to relax again with a breath. “Come in.”

A slight pause. Then the door clicks open and two pairs of feet shuffle in. Scott gives himself only another moment to gather himself before he turns, right as Shelby and Drift come to a stop before him.

They both look… strangely guilty, with downcast expressions and curled in shoulders, though Drift is making a valiant effort to meet Scott’s eyes.

Scott pauses, the greeting on his tongue dying at how taken aback he is by the sight. He knew from Pearl that they both thought that they’d angered or otherwise upset him but even so…

Looking at Shelby in particular, however, Scott can see, almost feel how worried they are and he decides at that very moment that that won’t do. So, Scott lets the first instinct that comes up to take hold and that instinct decides to pull him forwards, closing the distance between him and Shelby with arms that reach for her until–

“Oof!”

Shelby falls into place with their head against the side of Scott’s chin nicely, their form fitting against him just as perfectly when his arms wrap around them, with one around their back and the other around their shoulder. Initially, Shelby tenses, presumably out of surprise before she relaxes with a laugh against him.

“Can I take this to mean you’re not mad at me anymore?” Shelby asks, her tone light with both relief and teasing.

“I was never mad at you, Shelby.” Scott says firmly. He lifts his gaze to meet Drift’s eyes and reaches out, shuffling forwards half a step until he’s able to tug Drift into his embrace as well. “Neither of you.”

Drift presses into the embrace for a brief moment before she wriggles out, just enough to lean back and frown at Scott. “Then what–”

Scott grimaces. “I… didn’t know.”

Shelby leans back as well, peering up at Scott curiously. “Know?”

“I–” Scott snaps his mouth shut, pulling out of the hold but with his hands lingering on both Shelby and Drift’s upper arms. He looks down, as though he’ll find the words he needs in the floorboard below.

An echo of Pearl’s advice rings in his head.

If you’re not sure what to do or if you generally don’t know something, most times, just talking with the people involved can help.

Scott huffs. He supposes establishing the first half of that advice– In which he informs the two of them that he’s unsure– would be a good start, huh.

“I’m not sure what to do.” Scott says, keeping his eyes down. “And I don’t know… what this is.”

Along the upper edge of Scott’s peripheral vision, he sees Shelby and Drift turn towards each other, surely to share a look before they turn back to him.

“Okay…” Shelby starts. “First things first– What is it that you don’t know what to do about?”

“Um.” Scott drops his hands from Shelby and Drift to raise and turn his head away at once, arms crossing protectively over his chest. “What this is.”

“Alright! Alright, um–” Shelby gestures vaguely with her hands. “What is… this? Can you describe it?”

Scott presses his lips together into a thin line. “It’s… kind of like confusion? But also nauseating. And heavy.”

Drift whistles. “Now that’s a unique combo of descriptors.”

“I just–” Scott shakes his head. Might as well lay all the cards on the table, he supposes. “I… recently came to the realization that the both of you are also… having a hard time, being here.”

Shelby and Drift’s eyes both widen. They share a look with each other again.

“Avid–” Scott stops, waits for the rolling wave to pass before he continues. “Avid was your friend too. As a matter of fact, he was rather close to the both of you long before I was. So… I can imagine how much harder it must be for you two and I just… I don’t know what to do about that?”

Silence.

Cautiously, Scott lifts his head to better observe Shelby and Drift’s expressions and to try and gauge what either of them might be thinking or feeling.

When he can’t get anything from their mirroring blank expressions and the silence continues–

Scott clenches his jaw.

Scott Goldsmith doesn’t get nervous. He’s above getting nervous but even Scott has to admit he’s getting close to such a state with how long the silence is stretching out following such a confession from himself.

“...Guys?” Scott tries.

Thankfully, that seems to snap both Shelby and Drift out of whatever weird trance they were in as they turn to share yet another look with each other, followed by raising, questioning eyebrows and a nod of confirmation before they turn back towards Scott with something akin to delight warming their expressions which is confusing because what–

“Scott Goldsmith.” A slow smile spreads across Shelby’s face. “Are you feeling empathetic?”

Scott blinks. “Is that what this is?”

Shelby and Drift’s eyes widen further. Shelby’s mouth even goes as far as to fall open. Scott’s brows raise, bafflement washing away the tension from before as he looks from Shelby to Drift then back again, incredibly puzzled over what was happening or what he might be missing.

Then–

Drift laughs, bracing the palm of one hand against her forehead before she turns to beam at Shelby. “Holy spirits, Shelby, we got him. We got him!”

“No, no–” Shelby disagrees. “He got here.”

“Well, sure, yeah, but like– We got him here too, you know! We were just so lovable, we got an elder vampire who used to massacre and enslave for funsies to care! Give us some credit, Shelb!”

“Dawwwww, you’re right. We did it!”

Scott clears his throat. “Excuse me. I’m still here.”

“Oh!” Shelby gasps, her hands flying up to her mouth. “Right– Yes, sorry. Sorry Scott, uh–”

Drift throws an elbow onto Shelby’s shoulder, leaning her weight against them as she smiles sheepishly at Scott. “Listen, we’re just really excited because we honestly, and we say this with all the love in our heart which, as you know, is a lot, didn’t think you’d ever… learn about what empathy is.”

“Empathy.” Scott repeats, still dumbfounded. “What…”

“It’s putting yourself in another person’s shoes.” Shelby explains. “It’s the ability to look beyond yourself to imagine and understand another person’s experience.”

Scott blinks. “Oh.”

He mulls over the idea, turning it over in his head. He can see, now, how that fits the bill for what’s been going on but as Scott thinks more of it–

“Well.” Scott shrugs. “Yeah. That’s not me.”

Drift throws a hand out in front of her, gesturing. “Right?! And yet, here you are!”

Scott pauses. He meets Drift’s eyes. Then he meets Shelby’s eyes. Both of them are beaming at him and Scott considers the past few days and…

“...Here I am, indeed.” Scott agrees quietly.

“Okay, okay, this is good.” Shelby turns towards Drift, bouncing on their heels. “This is good! I doubt he cares for anyone else other than us but that’s okay! We can start there, right?”

Drift nods enthusiastically. “Oh absolutely. We can definitely work with that.”

Scott’s shoulders drop with relief at the way the atmosphere seems to have released all of its tension, like a taut rope being cut. The tease comes easy on his tongue when he says, “I’m beginning to feel like an experiment of some kind and I can’t say I fully appreciate it…”

Shelby and Drift’s heads snap towards Scott in tandem, their mouths falling open. Then, at the same time–

“Nooooo!” Shelby gasps, seemingly horrified at the idea. “No, no, that’s not– No–”

“That’s not we– We would never–”

Laughter, airy, free, and unrestrained burst from Scott as Shelby and Drift all but pounce him, with just barely enough time to twist so that when he stumbles backwards under their weight, the three of them stagger as a collective towards the nearest soft surface where they collapse which, turned out to be Scott’s bed.

Drift bonks her forehead against Scott’s shoulder. “You’re not an experiment, that’s not what we–”

Scott smiles, sliding a hand up her back to rest his hand against the back of her neck. “Hush. I was just teasing.”

Drift freezes for a moment, mouth falling open with what was sure to be a retort on her tongue. But as Shelby giggles against Scott’s other shoulder, Drift huffs and buries her face against the crook of Scott’s neck.

There, the moments passed in quiet comfort with the settling of chaos into stillness. Scott lies on his back with his legs still hanging over the bed, knees bent over the edge. Shelby has her arms wrapped around his middle with a majority of her weight resting on his right shoulder, creating a spilling curtain of white along that same side while Drift rests on his left with her arms wrapped around his neck.

A warmth fills Scott from the inside, strong enough that it nearly overwhelms him. There aren’t any words that he could think of, for all that he’s been accused of being silver tongued and charismatic, to describe how this all feels and how much Shelby and Drift have grown to mean to him.

If anything were to happen to either of them…

Scott lets his eyes slip closed. Holds the both of them closer.

…No matter. He won’t let anything happen.