Chapter Text
Scott was centuries old. He’d believed himself to have the lost the capability of emotions years ago, possibly decades, likely within the first century. For a while, he’d choked it up to simply vampirism, that was a lie he told himself. If anything, vampirism heightened emotion, it did not dull it.
Scott did that to himself, and he wished he could do it again.
His heart that no longer beat felt like it were to break. Ringing, loud, and obnoxious like he used to be in his ears. Avid’s dead, and Pyro killed him. Avid who cared callously, without condition, who gave Scott attention because he wanted to give it. The Hunter—the Alchemist—that had run into Oakhurst screaming of vampirism. The one who had begged Shelby to turn him, the one who had stolen the holy water to prove himself.
And Scott wishes, oh he wishes, to simply tune out the emotion again. I suppose this is another lesson that proves caring too much ends up hurting. His voice sounded hollow to his own ears.
A grave—a cenotaph because Scott didn’t know where Avid’s body was—on the top of a lonely hill. It’s only company after Scott walked away was a wither rose. He thinks Avid would like wither roses, they reminded him of the other man, in a way.
But Avid could not see the rose, did not know who planted it, didn’t even know it was there. Because he was dead, and he’d been betrayed.
Caring too much ends up hurting.
The reason he’d stopped caring to begin, tuned out emotion in every sense of the word.
Drift and Shelby found the headstone eventually, Scott knew they would. He let them think the other built it, the elder vampire didn’t know how to care, after all. Scott folded in on himself, he was quiet again, manipulative as a way to survive. He didn’t speak to Shelby as easily as he had before, the woman didn’t understand, and she never would.
Animals went missing, and none of them knew why. The townsfolk yelled, screamed that the vampires were killing all of the livestock. Did they ever get tired of being loud?
Scott felt a darkness in Oakhurst. Perhaps it could simply be himself, Scott was a monster, after all.
Some people just enjoy being a monster.
All the makings of a monster.
Scott, who chose to be a monster, who chose to block out the world. Who laughed when Shelby had cried for them to remain friends on the riverbed, who had mocked Drift as she asked brokenly how could you.
Quite easily.
Scott swallowed the blood within the bottle, the metallic taste wasn’t a pleasant one. Had it ever been pleasant? He couldn’t quite think of a time where he’d genuinely enjoyed the taste. The thrill perhaps, the power, but never the taste. It caught Scott more off guard than he thought it should have.
He swallows out of necessity, not pleasure.
The beacons are turned and all he can think of is a fleeting kiss and an excitable man.
The humans fight and Scott only wishes that one of them were the manic, purple eyed man, he’d once been. Scott had failed him, so severely.
He was the elder, the sire. What kind of vampire did that make him, one that couldn’t even control his own fledgling. One that couldn’t get a handle on a mere two hundred year old. His throat burns, tight in an emotional way Scott hadn’t felt in centuries. He sits beside Avid’s cenotaph, wishing the cold stone were another person. Wishing instead of words carved into stone they were spoken aloud. Wishing he would’ve grabbed Avid after the initial kiss and continued it.
Scott was a failure, the real reason he’d stopped caring. Because he was too cowardly to handle it all.
A scream echoes through the forest, Scott stands. Looking over the deadwood’s, then to the burnt remains of what used to be the live wood. Birds scramble to escape the treeline.
Scott lands, looking directly at the crypt, at the creature standing just outside it.
Scott does nothing as Avid tears him apart, he knows Avid can’t control it. The monster that had brought him back, that vampirism was supposed to save him from.
Two words off of Scott’s lips before vocal cords are torn out, “I’m sorry.”
Drenched in blood that hadn’t been his own in centuries, the elder vampire watches the demon that used to be Avid run away. Scott bleeds, he closes his eyes, relishing in the pain. The first semblance of feeling beyond guilt. Humans come next, Apo’s the one that stakes him, through the heart that had already been shredded. Had been useless for decades.
The embrace of death is one Scott knows well. He enjoys the pain of dying again. Hoping somehow Avid could know that he meant the last words he’d spoken to the monster in his wake.
And then… The numbness of death subsides. Scott is alive and he feels his heart beat.