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Martyn still thinks about Oakhurst sometimes.
They both do, he knows, he and Renhardt. But where Ren is reminded of it every time he sees Martyn, Martyn is reminded of it every time he doesn't see himself.
"Wait, wait," Apo had interrupted just before the doctor bit Martyn. "It has to be me."
Every pair of eyes in the semi circle, both red and not, had turned to her. The doc froze, his fangs bared, hovering over Martyn's wrist.
"What?" Martyn had asked.
"It has to be me, Martyn. I'm sorry."
She had explained about the bridge, and how she saved him, and how the body couldn't handle two hosts, and how-
"So I can't turn back?" Martyn had realized just before she said it. ""Cause if I want to turn back, you would have to…"
It was dead silent as his realization sunk in.
"Martyn, I'm really sorry."
The sun is barely an unpleasant tingle on Martyn's skin as it rises over the horizon. Renhardt has yet to wake, and Martyn has yet to sleep. He thinks he'll stay up early today, though. Their off-set sleep schedules means that he and Renhardt almost spend less time together now then they did during their stay in Oakhurst, despite the fact they now live together.
'Vampires don't need sleep,' Cleo had once written in a letter, 'but fledglings nap like they don't have anything better to do.'
Their house is modest, built on a cliff over the ocean where the mist keeps out the worst of the sun. They have a small pen of cows and sheep, along with patches of a few different vegetables. It's not too far from a town that Ren visits to trade. It could be a damn postcard, Martyn had dryly remarked when they'd first stumbled upon it. Renhardt had barked out a laugh, and Martyn knew they would have to stay.
"Mr. Woodhurst," Ren had muttered, his eyebrows twisted. Apo shifted back and forth, her skirts swishing. Martyn hadn't moved since his realization a few minutes ago, but when he hears his name his eyes flick to Ren.
"We canny stay here, Mr. Woodhurst," he cajoled softly. Martyn squeezed his eyes shut, forcing a shaky breath in and out. Ren crossed the circle till he and his friend were face to face. "You've gots to do what you've gots to do."
"I…" Martyn began, before trailing off. He hung his head, resting his forehead against Renhardt's shoulder. Ren's arms came up to pull him close, tucking him under his chin.
"I don't want this to change anything," Martyn whispered against his skin. "I don't want to change, and I don't want…
"I don't want us to change."
It had been a little over a year since they settled down, and a few more since Oakhurst. Martyn had made the decision not to keep too close an eye on time passing. He thinks if he did he would lose his mind. What's does 'today' even mean when there are so many more coming?
"Well, isn't this a lovely surprise," a voice interrupts Martyn's train of thought as strong arms encircle his waist from behind. Ren places a kiss against the back of his neck and Martyn melts till his weight is mostly being held up by Ren. "I thought you'dve been vast asleep by now."
Martyn twists his neck to place a kiss on Ren's cheek. "I thought I'd stay up early today," he explains, feeling the vibration from Renhardt humming in acknowledgement reverberate through his back where they're pressed together. Ren squeezes him, and they sway back and forth in the weak early sun. "Have you got anything on the books?" Martyn asks.
"Not'hing in particular," Ren replies. "Tending to the sheep an' the carrots. Though if you're staying up, I've written a letter to Mr. M, would ye mind reading it over?"
"Sure," Martyn replied easily. He and M had been working together to teach Renhardt how to read and write. It was slow but satisfying work for all three of them.
"I thank ye kindly," Renhardt said, pressing his face into Martyn's pale blond hair.
Renhardt had hesitated, just slightly. Martyn didn't blame him, but he couldn't say it didn't hurt.
"You'll… you'll still be yourself, Mr. Woodhurst," he had replied shakily. He pulled away so he and Martyn were face-to-face. "Nothing's gonna change, I won't let it."
"Well, not nothing," Scott had muttered, before being elbowed sharply by Cleo.
And Apo, for what it's worth, looked horribly guilty as she drank his blood. She hadn't even been able to meet his eyes after, instead wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and staring at the ground.
Every vampire in the group heard Martyn's heart beat for the very last time.
Martyn tried to burn this moment into his brain, to remember every detail as he breathed in deeply. The salty smell of ocean water, Renhardt's steady breathing against his back, the chirping of the morning birds. Peace was a precious thing, he had learned, and it was important to savor every second of it you got.
The two swayed in silence for a while longer, before Renhardt eventually squeezed him again and pulled away. "Have ye eaten already?"
"Is this your subtle way of saying you're hungry and want breakfast?" Martyn turned around to grin cheekily at Ren, who just pecked him on the lips.
"Maybe it is, dont'cha know."
Martyn rolled his eyes, pulling away. "C'mon then, Specs. I'll read your letter while you eat." Ren trailed behind as Martyn entered the house, grateful to be out of the sun. Renhardt fetched the letter, and busied himself making breakfast while Martyn read it. It was always interesting to read Ren's writing, to 'hear' his words untainted by his cursed accent.
"So?" Ren asked as he sat down. He had never been ashamed of being illiterate, which made him that much easier to teach, but Martyn knew from his schooldays that having your work checked over never got less nerve-wracking.
"It's good," he said. Renhardt visibly perked up, his lips curving into a self-satisfied smile. "Just one tiny mistake here," he pointed to the error, "that honestly, M would probably read over."
Renhardt frowned in concentration at the mistake, biting at the inside of his lip. "Is it… is it missing a comma?" he asked.
"Bingo," Martyn replied, grinning. Renhardt nodded slowly, considering his mistake, his eyebrows still furrowed. "I'll grab you a quill, you eat your breakfast."
Martyn flitted to the living room where the writing desk resided, grabbing a quill that was still flush with ink, along with an envelope and a stamp.
There had been a plan—well, calling it a plan was generous, but a concept at least— that Martyn and Renhardt would leave Oakhurst together. Martyn would confess tearfully that he lied about being rich, that there was no father or manor waiting for him, and if Ren forgave him for lying he would ask to please come with him, he didn't care where. There was no one waiting for him, no place to call home. Following Ren had just made sense at the time.
That had been before he knew that his fate had already been sealed weeks ago.
"Mr. Woodhurst?" an uncannily familiar voice interrupted his train of thought.
"Hey, Specs," Martyn replied, the words tired. He had stayed behind while the others turned the beacons. There were no humans left in Oakhurst, and soon they could all leave.
Renhardt came and sat next to him on the grass, following his eye line to the barrier. They sat in brittle silence, listening to the wind whistle through the glass.
"What are you gonna do now?" Ren asked. Martyn shrugged.
"I dunno. I'm not going home."
Ren raised an eyebrow. "But what about your father? Won't he be worried?"
Martyn shrugged again. "He's not looking for me. Trust me."
Ren hummed, taking off his glasses to clean them with his shirt.
"What about you?" Martyn asked.
Renhardt shrugged. "I don't know either. Abolish said my curse being lifted was probably temporary, so I guess I'll just keep looking for an actual cure."
"Is it weird hearing your own voice after so long?"
"It's so weird," Renhardt deadpanned, surprising a laugh out of Martyn. When Martyn looked over Ren was smiling like he'd achieved something. Warmth spread through Martyn's chest. They fell silent again, though this time it was a warmer sort of quiet.
"Here you go," he said, pressing a kiss to his temple while handing the stationary over. Ren hummed in thanks around his food, swiftly correcting his mistake before marking the address on the envelope, sealing and stamping it.
The two sat in companionable silence as Ren finished the rest of his breakfast. He cleared his plate, placing it in the sink to wash later. Martyn rose to his feet and stretched.
"Should we get on with the chores, then?"
"Aye, let's."
Renhardt fetched the tools from the shed while Martyn grabbed the sunhat that Cleo had sent him. The sun was now properly overhead, and would start to hurt if Martyn stayed outside for too long. They met on one of the garden paths, Ren giving Martyn the gardening tools and a peck on the lips before heading off towards the sheep pen.
Tending to the carrots was a tedious task, and Martyn soon lets his mind, and eyes, drift. He watches Renhardt fuss over a sheep, murmuring comfortingly at it as he sheared it. His long hair had gotten slightly grayer over the years, but he still moved in the same strong and decisive motions as he had when they first met. There was something enrapturing about watching him doing mundane things, like pushing his glasses up his face or brushing the stray wool off his pants.
They both felt it as another beacon fell, as the strange feeling of growing more powerful washed over them.
"One more to go," Renhardt commented, "and then we can leave."
Martyn hummed. "Then you can be cured, and then we can leave," he corrected. The words came out more bitter than he intended, and he could see Ren turn to look at him in his periphery.
It felt ridiculous, mourning a life he was never even promised. Even if he had stayed a human there was no guarantee Ren would have wanted him to come along with him, but he couldn't help the aching feeling that he had had something stolen from him.
"It's funny," he started, "I had thought that after all the vampire business was cleared up I would just follow you around wherever you wanted to go." He laid back in the grass, staring at the cloudy sky. "I guess that's not an option anymore."
"Why wouldn't that be an option anymore?" Ren sounded borderline offended at the idea. Martyn refused to let hope stir in his chest.
He rolled his eyes like it was a dumb question. "They can't cure me, Specs. You don't want some vampire following you around."
"You're not 'some vampire', Mr. Woodhurst," Renhardt rebutted. He sounded affronted, and the hope Martyn had been denying dug it's claws in a bit deeper. He didn't say anything for risk of his voice cracking.
"I'd love it if you came with me," Ren confessed quietly. Martyn clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut. Unsure of what to do with the flood of emotions that suddenly washed over him, he lay unnatural still. If his heart could still beat it would be pounding right now.
Could he let himself do it? Could he follow Renhardt around, knowing what hunger might make him do? Some of the vampires seemed rational, like Cleo, and even Scott to a degree, but there were plenty of unhinged ones as well. Memories of Pyro's ramblings echoed in his mind. Could he trust himself not to-
A cold hand cupped his cheek. He opened his eyes in surprise, only to find Renhardt leaning over him. His blue eyes were shining despite the overcast day.
"Martyn. Please come with me."
There was nothing else to be said.
"Alright, Specs. I'll come with you."
Martyn's reminiscing gets cut off when a shadow suddenly blocks the sun. He squints up at Renhardt's backlit silhouette.
"Slacking off, are we now?" he asks. Martyn grins cheekily.
"You are a very distracting view, I'll have you know. Hardly my fault I can't focus."
Ren rolls his eyes, crouching down next to Martyn. He grabs his own gloves and tools, and pointedly starts gardening. Martyn sighs dramatically in response, before continuing his work as well. Ren hums as they pull weeds.
Together they finish quicker than Martyn would've liked. He could've stayed in that moment forever, for all he cared. But Renhardt wipes the sweat from his forehead and makes a satisfied noise before standing up. He extends a hand to Martyn, who doesn't really need it but takes it regardless, letting Ren heft him up.
"Thanks," he says, brushing the dirt off of his pants. "What's next?"
"I was gonna start preparing the wool, if you'd sit with me."
"I'd love to."
They carry the raw wool over, along with several pouches to separate them into bundles. Martyn lugs over a large bucket of cold water for the bundles to soak in, before sitting down heavily on the chair next to Ren. Ren cleans the wool methodically while Martyn watches him from under the brim of his hat.
"You know," Martyn breaks the silence, "your letter to M got me thinking it might be time to visit him again."
"That would be lovely, don'tcha know," Ren agrees. "His new book is coming out soon, we could pick up a copy."
"Have him sign it and pawn it off. Become super rich," Martyn jokes, grinning as Ren rolls his eyes at his suggestion.
"I meant to read, Mr. Woodhurst," he plays along.
"Fine, we buy two copies, one to keep and one to pawn." The second half of his sentence was rendered somewhat incomprehensible by a yawn that he failed to stifle.
Renhardt shot him a sidelong glance that he chose to ignore. The sun was nearly at it's peak, and the early hour was starting to wear on him.
The two continue to chatter as the day stretches on. Renhardt fills him in on the gossip from town, continuing the long and ever developing story of the butchers potential affair with the baker. Martyn listens in relative silence, chiming in here and there with his own suspicions, though they were frequently interrupted by yawns.
It was only once the sun had reached its peak, and Martyn had yawned for the third time within one sentence, that Renhardt let out a chuckle. "Go to sleep, dear heart, it's plenty early already."
Martyn's oncoming protest is cut off by another yawn, causing Ren to raise his eyebrows rather pointedly.
"Alright, alright," he says around the yawn. Martyn stretches in his chair before getting to his feet. He leans over Ren to press a goodnight-kiss to his cheekbone, but to his surprise Ren stands before he gets the chance.
"Hey now," he murmurs, bending over to kiss the corner of Martyn's mouth. "Thank ye for staying up with me."
"You don't have to thank me," Martyn replies, leaning into Renhardt's warmth. "It's not like I did it just for you, you know."
"You know what I mean, Mr. Woodhurst," Ren says, his words tinged with exasperation. Martyn just laughs in response, stretching up to kiss him properly.
"I do, don'tcha know," he quips, just to watch Ren roll his eyes.
"You think you're so clever," he gripes, which just makes Martyn laugh even more. His laughter is eventually interrupted by a yawn, causing Ren to look at him pointedly.
"Alright, alright, I'll hit the hay," he acquiesces, his words slightly garbled by the yawn. "Good afternoon, Specs," he says, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Woodhurst," Ren replies softly, pressing a final kiss to his lips. Martyn pulls away, heading inside and climbing the stairs to their attic bedroom.
He crawls under their quilt, letting drowsiness wash over him.
Martyn knows he won't ever stop thinking about Oakhurst, that the memories of that town will follow him for the rest of his overextended life.
But he also knows that he'll always have the memories of this place, of this time spent Ren in their tiny seaside paradise.
He thinks that evens out quite nicely, all in all.