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Owen is unwell.
Not from any sickness or disease. No, something about a vampire's immune system, much like that of a true bat, kept most illness at bay. Certainly something Legundo would be eager to study, if given the chance.
But it turned out, vampiric absolution was not impervious.
Certainly not to a tummy ache. Of all the things to take down a vampire, who would've guess a hearty bowl of stew would do the trick? Yet here Owen lays, curled in a fetal position upon Legundo's cot, moaning and mewling like a hungry kitten. It was almost ridiculous, a terrifying creature of the night, the lives of thousands ended upon his fangs, brought low by a simple tavern meal.
"I promise you, Renhardt's food is not as bad as you make it out to be." Legundo hums, following his meticulous sorting system to locate the herbs he had in mind. How he wishes for the medicine cabinet he left behind, but Legundo was always a resourceful man. He knew how potent herbs can be, from poison to palliation. Others laughed, called it old wives' remedies. He knew better than to ignore a lead, especially from local knowledge.
If only he listened better to the superstitious. Maybe then, he wouldn't have found himself trapped in Oakhurst. Maybe then, he wouldn't have fallen in love with a two hundred year old vampire still mourning his last lover.
Maybe then, he'd know what foods were safe for vampires to eat.
Thankfully, he isn't alone, and Shelby is a welcome source of knowledge. Of course, that only came after Owen tried to partake in a meal at Doncha Flow, a show of good humor to the tenuous truce the mortals and vampires have made. It was almost comedic, his attempt at a smile despite the looming vomit clawing up his throat. It wouldn't have been the first time someone puked all over the tavern, perhaps it would have even endeared Owen to the rugged older man.
Instead, as he's always done, he held it in. Held it in, until Legundo found him doubled over in pain. Now, he lay in the doctor's bed, leathery wings outstretched behind his contorted figure. Safe to say, this was a new one for him. But Shelby's knowledge has come in handy, alongside Sausage's donation of blood. He might just have to listen to some of her 'fanfictions', if this works as he hopes.
A heap of ginger, from the storehouse of Scott's castle. Dried leaves of chamomile, plucked from the hillsides in the dark oak forest. Barberries, like droplets of blood, crushed between mortar and pestle. All of it, dashed into a warm cup of crimson. Hoping that a medium of blood will allow the vampiric digestive system to uptake the herbal properties. Shelby called it "vampire tea", Legundo is calling it an experiment.
Turning back to his patient, the doctor gives a slight pause. He's never seen Owen's wings before, and now they're draped across his bed, talons resting on the floor. The scientist in him cant help but wonder why, of all times, they chose to appear now. Did his body think he was in danger? Or could he no longer hold them back, so focused on other pains? There were old wounds, two hundred years left unhealed, he couldn't help but eye. Could Owen feel the pain they wrought, even when they weren't visible? Had he just assumed that was the pain of his new life, just as his old? Was it feeble attempts at weaponry that tore the membrane, or desperate nails digging for escape?
It didn't matter, he has more pertinent issues to attend to. Like this upset tummy Owen seems to believe may be his undoing. Legundo's approach warrants no response, however the second he lays his hand upon Owen's shoulder, a weak, pathetic hiss escapes the lumberjack.
"Oh, please. Don't play evil vampire when you've been bested by a bowl of stew." Legundo huffs, aiding Owen as he turns over. "Now drink."
"Attempting to poison me, doctor?" Legundo goes deathly still, and regret paints across Owen's features. Without another second of hesitation, he grabs the drink, lifting the cup to his lips. "Apologies."
"It's… it is what it is." A long silence falls between them, neither willing to look at one another or break the quiet. By the time Legundo has the courage to glance back at his patient, he's relieved to find the cup has been emptied. "Hope that helps you feel better."
"I don't reckon Sausage's blood tastes that strongly of chamomile." Leaning back, Owen's face remains pinched, skin tone a shade closer to Scott's than his warm amber. Still in pain, but not enough to voice it. As much.
"Shelby had the idea. Make it like a tea, introduce the medicinal properties of herbs through something your body won't reject."
"Who would've thought, vampires and humans working together." Closing his eyes, Owen lays back in the cot, wings outstretched as if he forgot they existed.
Legundo, on the other hand, can't look away. There was a haunting beauty to them. Veins like shattered glass, stretching from the frame of the wings. Each curve of the digits like the sharp edge of a scalpel, all reaching from the acute black talon at the peak of the umber wings. It takes all of Legundo's strength not to reach out for it, so curious as to how soft and smooth they'd feel.
What he cannot help, however, are the words that fall from his mouth. "Do they hurt?" Looking over his shoulder, back to his pathetic fetal position, Owen furrows his brows. The doctor nods his head towards the objects of interest. "Your…wings."
"Yes." A short, pointed word. But there's a breath just after it. "But it's a pain I have endured long before I existed with this gift."
"And those wounds, they never healed?"
"Guess not." And that was about as much from Owen as the doctor was going to get. While Legundo pondered over a dozen different theories as to why they still look fresh, Owen has accepted their tattered form.
It was one thing to live with an illness that brought pain, a burden Owen carried and endured that Legundo found resolute. But to let the pain fester, simply because it is an old friend? He believes Avid would call that a 'toxic mentality', or something of the like.
"I can help." Words he's said so many times, and so little were they taken.
"I do not intend to be your pet project, or an experiment, especially with something as delicate as my wings." Owen turns over, wings shuffling beneath him. He looks less like he's about to vomit, though still unfit for anything but bedrest.
"It's not… I promise, I only want to help. I care about you, Owen. And I want to care for you." In a daring act, Legundo sits beside the vampire, placing one hand on a crooked knee. Offering his warmth to the cold, living corpse. Offering his support, his whole heart, if only Owen would take it.
Indecision warps through his patient's expression. Eyes flicker across the room, taking in his surroundings with animalistic precision, while Owen's jaw tightens, loosens, and tightens again. Eventually, though, resolution steels through his muscles.
"Alright. You may attempt." Relief washes over Legundo, shoulders relaxing. "But when I say we are done, we are done. I will not hesitate to rip out your-"
"Rip my throat out, yes, I've heard this threat before." Legundo huffs, getting up from the bed. Letting Owen stew in his objections, the doctor returns to his cupboards, mind racing with a challenge.
He's never worked on something like this before. Cartilage was one thing, but a membrane as fine as wings? He'll be damned if he doesn't do his best. Care for Owen, as more than a patient. More than a friend.
It's only after he already lit a candle does Legundo realize sutures may make the wounds worse. Rip Owen's wings like he'd rip Legundo's throat. No, he needs to be clever…
"Doctor?" Owen almost sounds concerned, watching as Legundo digs through a pile of furs. He had planned to make a blanket from them, but cowhide was commonplace, now that the two factions have combined food sources.
And thankfully, Pearl made rabbit soup the other day. He was no tanner, but a soldier becomes many things in the trenches.
It wasn't long until he had a pot of boiling rabbit skins, strained and reheated until the material was coagulating. Adding some healing herbs to the concoction, Legundo is pleased with his creation, despite limited resources.
Owen, when he turns around, less so. "I am not drinking whatever it is you just made. Shall I remind you my warning?"
"Its not a drink this time. I would think a lumberjack like you would know how to make hide glue."
"I had my pick of resins." His voice is low, pale red eyes narrowed on the bowl in Legundo's hands. But not aggressive. Not even when he sits down, though he does flinch. Wary eyes flickering. "Do you plan to glue my wings closed?"
"In a way, but I need you to trust me." When he looks up, Legundo meets Owen's gaze. When he speaks, his voice is quiet. "Can you trust me? Like I trust you?"
Hesitation. Long enough for Legundo to question his approach, to wonder what their twisted relationship really is. But just before he is about to give up, abandon his post, a slow nod breaks their eye contact.
Wings sweep aside, and one settles into the doctor's lap. It's difficult to hold back his awe, but Legundo does his best to remain dignified.
Even when a very undignified noise escapes Owen, at the very first touch of his ministrations. Both seem startled by such a noise, and Legundo pulls away.
But his wrist is quickly caught by preternatural reflexes, vampiric strength holding back his retreat. Eyes meet once more, a conversation without words. A trust earned, even with the tinge of color warming Owen's cheeks.
So the doctor continues. Focuses his attention on the membrane across his legs, and not the stuttering breaths next to him. Tracing two hundred year old wounds like the shattered pieces of ancient pottery. Hoping the strange biology of vampires will take to his attempt. Despite it all, grateful for the trust Owen has given.
One wing completed, they go through an awkward shuffle of bodies and limbs to reach the second. Legundo only dares to glance at Owen once, but the flustered expression on the vampire remains with him until he seals the last wound.
"Al-" Clearing his throat, Legundo tries his words once more, ignoring the way his heart flutters. "Alright, should be done. The glue will harden, and hopefully the salve I mixed in will encourage healing. I just…wouldn't go flying or fighting with those while they heal."
A muted hum rumbles free from Owen, and Legundo can't help but notice the left wing remains in his lap. Owen had always been quick to shirk away touch, flinching like they were burns. The doctor hardly breathes, unwilling to break this truce, this rare connection between him and the man he has fallen for. Fighting the urge to trace the fingers of Owen's wings, the soft but sturdy skin and the power they wield. He wonders if Owen's lips would feel the same.
Reminding himself the reason Owen was in his house at all, Legundo forces his train of thoughts back onto it's rails. "How does your stomach feel?"
"Like the food is clawing through my gut." A very vivid description. "But less like it will be my demise."
"That's an improvement, at least." Legundo takes mental note, wondering if it was simply time, the herbs, or introducing blood that eased his tummy ache. Perhaps all three, but only repeat experiments would show. "You don't look like you could walk home without losing your guts."
"To monsters or my mishappen meal?" A smile tugs on the doctor's lips. Owen always had a way to make him smile, in even the little things. From the way he pulled back his coiled locks, to his cheeky crafting of words.
"Both. If you want… you can stay with me." Warmth rises on Legundo's cheek, feeling like a teen boy all over again.
"Expect me to sleep in the rafters? Or do you have a coffin waiting in the wings?" This time, an eye roll is what Owen earns.
"My bed is big enough for two- so long as you put your wings off the side. I'm not giving up my own bed, though." A selfish reason, but he has worked hard to turn this place into a home. A place he's willing to live in. And maybe, all it's missing now is someone to live with him in it.
"Ah… thank you, doc." The color has returned to Owen's cheek, bright and blushing. He won't meet Legundo's gaze, rather becoming very interested in the glue on his wings.
"Don't mention it."
He won't. But they both will be thinking about it.