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To say that Owen didn’t notice how… close Avid and Scott had gotten in the few days since the man had moved into the castle would be a fucking lie.
It is honestly with great despair that he witnesses Scott growing softer around the edges with Avid, normally condescending hums turning interested and filled with the occasional laugh or smile. Scott is in no way a subtle man, but the problem is exactly that: if Scott hasn’t acted on it, then it means he hasn’t realized yet, which is honestly worse than Scott possibly, blatantly, flirting with the worst man possible.
(He does not think about how he can almost superimpose the indulgent smiles Louis gave him onto Scott, and he does not want to think about the implications of that in regards to him.)
After the revelation that Scott’s fledgling had turned Owen, he had noticed how the elder kept a closer eye on him than usual. Before, Owen was sure it was because he was competition for resources (Scott later explained that 200 years was barely out of fledgling range, which basically meant he was trying to babysit Owen), but now he really had no idea.
If he was trying to gauge Owen’s emotions, then he certainly fucked up by sending him and Avid on a damn supply run for flowers. Seriously? Flowers? It has to be the most contrived reason to go frolicking through the woods with someone he loathes entirely.
When Avid happily agrees, Owen is about ready to tear somebody’s throat out, and is only tempered by Shelby appearing and giddily asking if they could find some poppies for her room. Owen can’t hold up the hostility with Shelby, so he begrudgingly agrees, and gives Scott a glare that would’ve sent a weaker man skidding away. Scott just gives him a smug look. Prick.
Fine, whatever, he’ll suck it up this one time.
The good thing is that Avid doesn’t really try to talk to him, and only keeps close enough to not be separated. Their less-than-pleasant interactions have left the preferred effect of stopping any sort of small talk.
In total they’ve gathered about nine flowers in total, varying in types that Owen hasn’t been paying attention to enough to differentiate. Avid has, if by the way he’s murmuring about one of them and softly touching the petals. Actually, with the way he’s counting, he might actually be doing something so much worse: he loves me, he loves me not.
Good lord, was he five? He’s honestly about to say something, maybe a snarl about acting like a child, or something a little more raw than he wants to admit, but he doesn’t get the chance to.
Right as he takes a step, the ground beneath his foot collapses and he goes toppling down.
It’s not a long fall, and it doesn’t even necessarily hurt when he hits the ground. What does hurt is the fucking silver block dead center in the pit, stinging Owen’s skin more than the minor cuts. There must be more hidden beneath the dirt, because usually even just one silver block wouldn’t stop his healing, but he can feel bruises already forming on his skin and the small cut on his temple trickle with blood.
The one time he leaves his pickaxe behind.
Avid peers his head over the side, eyes wide, “Oh my gosh, are you okay?”
“Of course not,” Owen hisses, sitting up and trying to get as far from the silver as possible. “What the hell is this?!”
“Oh, shoot! Sorry!” Avid says frantically, looking around with barely concealed panic. “Before I uh- before I realized being a vampire rocked, I- uh, I made a few pitfall traps. I thought I'd gone and covered them all up again so nobody could copy them and use my trap against us. The townsfolk must’ve figured it out.”
Well, at least he can rule out direct sabotage. Avid’s a shit liar on the best of days, even worse when left alone with Owen. He may despise Avid, but at least he was consistent.
“Well, how do I get out?” Owen yells, pressing himself against the side to be as far from the silver block as possible. It doesn’t really work, since the pit is barely a three by three, and he can’t jump out like this. Avid could probably pull him out, but the idea of willingly touching the man made a burbling concoction of hatred, guilt, and sorrow in his stomach and he refused to give it any more power over him than it already has.
Avid shuffles a little closer to the edge of the pit, meeting Owen’s likely pissed expression with one of extreme guilt.
“I- uh. I don’t have any tools, but I think I can-”
Avid is struck by something, water splashing around his frame as he gasps in pain. Holy water, probably. Burning skin drifts into Owen’s nose as Avid is hurriedly shoved into the pit where Owen had been only a few seconds previously.
Martyn’s head of blond hair peers over the side, Ren not far behind.
“We gottem! Nice aim,” Martyn says gleefully, pumping a fist in the air. Ren stays back, evidently still concerned about the two cornered vampires and taking caution rather than expressing joy, though he does look a little pleased at the praise.
“Uh, what’ll we do with ‘em? They’re too strong to kill now, don’t’cha know?”
That throws Martyn off his game, pausing in his revelry as he thinks. Christ, did they seriously get trapped for no reason? He’s going to kill Avid, and then stake Scott for putting them in this situation in the first place.
“Why do you just let us go, and I promise to give you a headstart to Oakhurst?” Owen suggests, glaring down his captors. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Avid shuffle away from his collapsed spot, pulling himself up in painful motions. He’s favoring one side more than the other, evidently more hurt by the holy water than Owen initially thought. He quietly prays Avid can stop projecting the persona of a weak puppy, and maybe they could actually bluff their way out of this.
Martyn eyes him warily, “Like hell I’d do that! You’d probably, I dunno, rip me to shreds or something!”
An accurate assessment.
Martyn glances over to Ren. “D’you think Doc would like them? To like, test the cure? Or maybe—”
Owen’s ears start to ring, droning out the rest of the sentence. Legs wouldn’t, he said he wouldn’t, Legs said he would never force Owen, he promised. He can’t lose the last thing he has of Louis, he can’t, Legs promised—
“—smarter than that! He won’t fall for a stupid pitfall trap!” Avid yells, snarling and hunched over the silver block like it’s the table back at the castle. Vaguely, Owen wonders how he can do that with so little pain, when even touching silver causes him to break out in lesions. “And besides, we don’t wanna be cured! Legs won’t force us!”
“Well, maybe he’s changed his mind since you turned,” Martyn argued, turning on his heel and walking away from the pit, “Watch them for me, Ren. I’ll be back with the Doc to see what he says.”
Ren nods and backs away from the trap.
For all that Avid had been snarling and yelling, like some kind of feral cat, the fight drained as quickly as it arrived. Avid slumped a little, sitting back against the dirt wall and curling up.
“… he wouldn’t, right?” Avid asks, “I mean, Legs and I fought a lot, and I don’t think he liked me much, but he wouldn’t… “
Owen didn’t really have much to say to that. Hoping had never given him anything but pain, and while he wants to believe that Legs would never be that cruel… he’s been proven wrong before.
“And Scott, he wouldn’t get trapped like us, right? He’s too smart for that, he’s so smart,” Avid continues without any input from Owen. This must’ve been what Martyn had suggested, using them as bait. It makes sense now why Avid got so upset, disgusting as it is. “I mean, if we were Shelby, maybe he would come, but I don’t think… I don’t think we’re that important to him? I dunno.”
“Maybe if you stopped talking so much, maybe he would come for us,” Owen scoffs, snapping a bit. He’s tired, the sun keeps burning him, and the silver is giving him a headache. He’s not gonna keep playing nice with Scott’s boytoy when he won’t stop talking.
Avid wilts a little more, and Owen has to turn his head away so his stupid chest stops hurting. He doesn’t care. So what if he hurt Avid’s feelings? He’s lucky Owen didn’t have a stake on him, otherwise there would be one less vampire in Oakhurst. Permanently.
The sun shifts in the sky as time passes, and the shadows begin to lengthen in the pit, something that Owen shuffles into as soon as he can. It does unfortunately put him next to Avid, but since he’s actually shut up for once, it would be preferable to burning.
He’s briefly thinking about Ren above them, when Avid decides to speak again.
“I wanted to give you a real apology.”
Owen looks at Avid, the other not even looking at him, instead focused on the hem of his sleeve.
“Oh, save it. I don’t want your pitiful apology,” Owen says, scowling. He will not be pitied by an annoying fledgling.
Avid blinks a few times, wiping at his face with his sleeve, but continues like Owen hadn’t interrupted.
“I was sick before coming to Oakhurst. Not, like, traditionally, but I had this… wound on my neck that just never healed, no matter what I did. It always hurt, and would make me black out sometimes, and I wouldn’t know exactly what I had done at that time. It just kept getting worse, and I was scared. I was losing control, and the only way I could feel safe is if I could identify who the worst monsters were, and that I wasn’t it.
“You were right, that I had the makings of a monster in me, but I hope I can be better. Now I'm not as scared.” Avid flicked his eyes up to briefly look at Owen, but directed them down just as fast. “I’m… I’m not a good person, I know that, but I’m sorry for hurting you. I hope we can try being friends?”
It’s a weak little plea, and Owen doesn’t know what to do with it.
He hated Avid, hated him because he was like the people who killed Louis, hated him because it was like looking in a funhouse mirror, hated that someone like Avid gained some form of acceptance when Owen had been rejected so fiercely. Nothing about it was fair. If Owen couldn’t have acceptance for his faults and flaws, then Avid shouldn’t either, and he swore he would make sure Avid died alone and afraid.
But like this, Owen could see how round his face still was, lingering with youth, and the wide eyes didn’t help the image. He looked like some kind of kicked puppy. He was just a kid.
His chest felt tight as his stomach roiled, churning with something like regret.
How many kids had he killed that looked like this? How many were still clinging to their mother’s skirts when Owen had torn them to shreds. How many of them wanted nothing to do with Louis’ public execution, how many were just as scared that they would be next?
“I like to give second chances,” Louis had said one night, sat by the window and highlighted by moonlight. They were more than a little wine-drunk, and Louis had at some point shifted the conversation to philosophy and personal beliefs.
Initially, Owen had scoffed, “Why? Most don’t deserve it.”
“The world isn’t perfect, I’ll admit that. But there are good people out there, ones who have done horrible things when thinking they’re doing what’s right. I like to think that to be human is to have the ability to change, and I like to offer that to those less fortunate.”
Louis’ eyes had lingered on Owen’s face in that moment, and Owen had struggled to breathe a little under it.
He didn’t understand it then, people had always been so cruel for things he couldn’t control, so he couldn’t fathom giving others the kindness he lacked. But Louis had given him that olive branch, hadn’t he? Hadn’t he offered the shunned, sickly man on the edge of town kindness when Owen expected hostility?
He really didn’t want to think about that now, not when he’s trapped in a pit in the sun, not when Avid is next to him as a permanent scarlet letter, not when humans were just above them and waiting to set a trap.
He has to bite the inside of his cheek to focus on anything but the curled figure. He tastes iron on his tongue.
Emotions later, worry about escape now.
Thankfully, whatever merciful god was out there decided to give Owen a break, because soon he heard the flutter of bats and the flat, angry lilt of a Scottish voice.
“Hello, Ren,” Scott says, and Owen can practically taste the pleasant rage on his tongue, “I would suggest you leave so this doesn’t get ugly.”
“Aye, that I cannot do, fiend,” Ren snarls, and Owen can hear the faint shifting of feet on grass. He doesn’t know for sure who has moved, and it sets his nerves on edge to not be able to see what’s happening. Avid is in a similar boat, if the constant shifting in place and flinching at each small sound is evidence.
Scott speaks again, “Maybe I should rephrase. Ren, you need to leave before things get bloody.”
Neither moves from what Owen can hear, but the tentative quiet is broken quickly by the sound of a sword being unsheathed. Ren likely makes the first move, as soon Scott hisses and Ren shouts in pain as the vampire gets a few good licks in. It's an unfair fight to begin with, human versus vampire, but a full-powered one takes more than one rash man to take down with a silver weapon. The clash or silver against sharp nails is still ear-piercing, and Owen instinctively lowers himself down and winces. He tugs Avid down too, who’s looking all wide-eyed and nervous, likely running through all the horrible ways this fight could end.
It doesn’t matter, because not even a few minutes later, someone retreats on foot and reeks of fresh blood. An appetizing smell that declares the winner even before a white hair peers over the edge.
“You know, when we sent you to get flowers, that didn’t mean go digging for them.” Scott looks vaguely disappointed in them, pouting exaggeratedly as he scans their hunched forms.
Yup, still a prick.
“We’re fine, thanks for asking,” Owen scoffs, pushing Avid stumbling forward towards the hand being reached down to grab them. It’s exceedingly hilarious to see Scott grab the back of Avid’s vest and yank him up like one scruffs a kitten, made funnier yet by the squeak of surprise that escapes his lips.
He follows suit quickly after, pulled up by his hand unlike Avid. Scott has deigned to give him some sort of dignity, thankfully, and Avid likely wouldn’t have survived seeing him scruffed even with his sincere apology. Owen didn’t mind Scott seeing him as a borderline wreck, that ship had long since sailed anyway in that crypt, and Scott was less likely to blabber about it to his childer than Avid was. Scott’s touch does linger a little, some kind of reassuring notion that Owen isn't certain who it’s for, but it leaves soon enough and thus tolerates it.
The sun starts to set in the sky, probably an hour out from the night creeping in, and Scott seems willing to let this situation fade just as easily. And while Owen would’ve normally liked to brush something so embarrassing away with all the subtlety of a cannon, his brain loops the apology Avid had given.
The worst part was that it was actually genuine, which is probably where he keeps buffering.
People don’t change, that’s something he’s believed all his life and been reinforced repeatedly. He wasn’t a forgiving person, preferring to go scorched earth after a person’s true nature had been revealed, and humanity had bared its rotten insides plenty when Owen first got sick. Those who were nice always were, those who weren’t never got better.
And yet, Avid has changed. For a man so vehemently against vampires and their general existence, he’s leaped head-first into this life with fervor upon being embraced. He despised Scott, and yet now fawns all over him like a lovesick puppy. The Avid from before had to get an apology torn from his throat, and he gave one to Owen willingly. Humans never change, and yet Avid has.
He would blame the fact that vampirism changed people into who they truly were, and that wouldn’t change, but even that’s not fully true. Even Scott’s honed edges had softened over time, dulling with the constant company of at least one fledgling at all times.
He doesn’t know what to do with it, but he has to do something.
Scott will hear him if he starts this conversation now, so he waits until they reach the castle, depositing the few flowers they had scrounged up in Shelby’s hands, brushing away any concerns. It’s only when given the sanctuary of the stone roofs that Owen drags Avid down into the crypt to talk, ignoring the confused sputtering Avid does.
He tucks them into a shadowed corner, because he refuses to be caught embarrassing himself more than necessary.
They stand there in silence at first, Avid’s shifting nervously as Owen gathers the nerve. Feelings weren’t his thing, and apologizing certainly wasn’t, but apparently he’s gone soft in a matter of a few hours (or insane, either works).
“Your apology…” Owen starts quietly, not meeting Avid’s gaze. “I don’t… it wasn’t really about you.”
He doesn’t even have to look to know Avid is giving him that inquisitive, dog-like head tilt. Interested and trying to take in everything he can.
“My… my sire, his name was Louis. He was the only person who treated me… like a person, like I was worth something,” Owen knows vampires can’t cry, but the way his throat tightens and eyes burn with the phantom sensation makes him consider whether that’s actually true or not. He doesn’t know why he can talk about the slaughter he committed in only a few days, but trying to explain what happened to Louis is too much. “They didn’t even know he was a vampire, they burned him for having supposed occult items.
“I always thought humans were disgusting, selfish creatures who would sacrifice the kind to save their own skin. I had just woken up when you came in, raving about vampires, and all I could see was that you were just like the people who took him away from me.
“They offered no apologies then, but you did,” Owen says. He crosses his arms, claws digging sharply into his skin as a reminder that because he’s apologizing, it doesn’t mean he’s powerless. “I still don’t like you, but… you’re not as bad as I thought.”
Avid smiles, “I’m okay with that! I don’t think most people like me, really.”
“Well, you’ve got Drift, Shelby, and Scott. They like you well enough,” Owen points out. “That’s a good start to being somewhat likable.”
“I guess—wait, y-you said… Scott likes me?”
Owen blinks once. Twice. Three times. A few more for good measure.
Oh Jesus Christ, absolutely not.
Listen, this pep-talk was far outside of his emotional range already. Apologizing was already a monumental task, he could not handle Avid having a mini crisis because he didn’t realize Scott liked him at least a little. This was not a conversation he was having.
“I am not having this conversation. Go, I don’t know, smooch Scott or something, anything that gets you away from me.”
He didn’t wait for a response, instead transforming into a bat and flying out of the catacombs. He was getting a bit peckish anyway, so getting some blood to replenish would be good.
Anything to get away from whatever that would turn into.
—
A few hours later, Owen returns with a full stomach that he almost immediately loses at the sight before him.
Scott’s back in his throne, posture perfect and alluring and absolutely preening on his high seat. Avid is sat fully in his lap, dressed in some of Scott’s clothes, cheeks and ears obviously reddened against his otherwise desaturated skin. It’s already bad enough that they’re cuddling in a coin space, but then Avid leans up and places a kiss on the elders face, laughing as Scott looks at him with something borderline fond.
Owen has possibly never been more tempted to stake himself before this moment.
“That is actually gross, get a room.”
“Aww, Owen,” Scott croons, “are you jealous? There’s plenty of room in my lap still. I won’t complain about having two pretty boys on me.” He leans his head on the curl of his fingers, braced on the armrest, grinning cheekily. It’s clear even with Owen’s withering glare that he’s enjoying the attention, and not even attempting to hide or be ashamed.
“Yeah, no, I’ll pass on that. It's like looking at your grandpa when he gets a twenty year old boyfriend.”
Avid giggles sheepishly, but Scott gives him a look of incredulous hurt, greatly offended by the jab as it seems. It likely doesn’t, seeing as how blatantly he was showing Avid off like a prized poodle, but let it never be said that Scott wasn’t an attention whore first, vampire second. Otherwise, Owen is not-so secretly pleased, the bastard deserves to be knocked off his high horse for once in his life, and if the others in this coven won’t do it, then by gods will Owen fill the role.
“I am not a grandfather!” Scott squawks, and Owen just crosses his arms.
“You sired my sire, that’s like, the definition of a grandfather.”
Avid laughs, face solidly flushed.
—
It’s not until later that he seriously talks with Scott.
They're double-checking the escape routes they previously made, seeing if they were untrapped and still inconspicuous among the cliff’s stones and plants.
“I think we need a new plan.”
Scott looks over to him, pickaxe dug into part of the wall where he was carving out a new route.
“Oh?” He asks, and Owen feels like a bug being dissected under Scott’s curious gaze.
“I don’t think we can convince everyone to turn, and we risk loose cannons if we do. I think we need to find a way to all make it out, or none of us will.” He doesn’t face Scott as he speaks, kicking at a small stone with his shoe. “That, and… I don’t think Louis would want this, the turnings and the violence.”
The elder hums, “What brought this about?”
He does not say what he immediately thinks of, because he is well aware that there is a fine line between teasing a cat and poking a bear. While he may have had no initial plans of living past slaughtering Oakhurst again, he very much would like to keep breathing for now (well, he doesn’t actually need to breathe, but you get the drift).
So, he does not say “your boy-toy” like he desperately wants to.
“Just… a little introspection after being stuck in a hole for a couple hours.”
Owen turns his gaze away even as Scott’s only increases in intensity. The cracked, chipping rocks of the catacombs aren’t exactly an interesting sight, but he doesn’t have to worry about that when they get smashed under his pickaxe all the same.
Slowly, the sounds of work taper back in, Scott seemingly accepting that Owen would not be answering further questions. It’s a long time still before they finish double checking the escape routes, and even later when they get the chance to rest. Owen had escaped to the attic above the dining hall, listening to the muffled laughter and conversations down below, content with the minimal silence afforded in the forgotten space.
Of course, Scott still found him.
The elder vampire didn’t say anything at first, simply settling in next to Owen. He left an acceptable distance between them, enough to give space but also not so far as to make conversation awkward.
“What do you know about the beacons?” Scoff eventually asked.
Owen blinked, “Not a whole lot. They’ve been here the entire time I was, but they sort of just rose in and out of the ground. Same with the crypts. Why?”
Scott didn’t respond for a moment, rubbing a thumb over the fine material of his coat. He absentmindedly played with the embroidery, lightly pushing the golden buttons along the edge. If Owen wasn’t mistaken, that was usually a sign of anxiety, as he used to pick at his bandages in the same way. But Scott doesn’t do anxiety, Owen had never seen the man nervous before, never on the back foot.
It’s genuinely concerning, and Owen is trying to muster up enough courage to ask if everything was fine when Scott speaks again.
“I think I have an idea of how we can all leave.”