Chapter Text
It is 5:37 am and the sun is rising.
This is a normal occurrence that, on any other day, Grian would have slept through. The sunrise is lovely, but he's always been a night owl. Getting just a little bit more done on his builds has always been more important than a few extra hours of sleep (although his friends would say otherwise).
However, Grian has not been able to sleep at all the past few days. In fact, Grian is no longer entirely sure if he can sleep.
He's not exactly well-versed on vampires, after all. They're rare, and they don't exactly exist on Hermitcraft.
Correction: they didn't exist on Hermitcraft - until now.
Grian thinks it might've been the run-in with the Witch he'd had a few days ago, but he's not quite sure. He'd also been dungeon crawling at the time, he does have a tendency to touch stuff without thinking.
Either way, he's a vampire now. He hasn't left his house during the day for... well, since the problem started. Which, in itself, is almost another problem entirely - he hasn't been able to see his friends, hasn't been able to participate in anything, and he hasn't exactly made a lot of progress on his builds either.
Sure, he could do that at night, but at night, he has a different problem: the hunger gets worse.
Grian doesn't know much about vampires, but he knows that, at the very least, they drink blood. He - he can't drink human blood. So after a few days of avoiding the sun and avoiding his friends, he goes outside and tries to find an animal.
He'd underestimated his hunger. Grian spots a chicken, and then a moment later he's staring at it in his hands. Blood drips from his mouth, a horrible, sour taste that does little for the hunger clawing at his stomach.
He doesn't leave his house for a few more days after that. A week passes, during which he tries - and fails - to keep anything down.
Bread, fruit, stew... all of it tastes like ash going down, and tastes even worse coming back up.
Grian gives up on it after awhile. It's not helping.
A week passes, and he almost convinces himself that he could live like this. He could explain it to his friends, maybe even find a solution, or at the very least laugh it off together. Cursed by a Witch; it's the kind of thing that could become an embarrassing story, later down the road.
The problem is, he doesn't want to tell anyone. His hands feel shaky, and he doesn't feel like he can control himself. Keeping all the curtains closed just make him feel contained, his wings twitching everytime he passes the windows.
He needs to at least feed before he talks to anyone. Grian needs control - he needs to know he's not going to just attack someone just because he's hungry.
Of course, the night he decides to feed is the night that Scar finds him.
It's probably not a coincidence. The Hermits are nosy, but they'll leave well enough alone for awhile, as they all know what it's like to get caught up in projects or adventures. Scar, on the other hand, is both nosy and sharp, which means he picks up on things that others wouldn't.
The fact that it's Scar is just icing on the cake, really. Because of course Scar finds him in the most damning position.
Grian stares at Scar, blood dripping down his chin. There's a sheep in his arms, its eyes glassy and dull.
Oh Void, Grian thinks, distantly registering himself pulling the sheep closer, as though to hide the bite marks on its neck.
Scar stares back, his bright green eyes flicking between Grian and the sheep. "Hello there," he says, his voice lacking his usual energy. "Uh, G, is that -"
"It's not what it looks like," Grian says.
Scar nods slowly. "Okay. What do you think it looks like?"
"Um." Grian avoids looking down at the sheep. He hadn't been fully conscious until halfway through the feeding, and it doesn't look like he's a clean eater. "...Something bad?"
Scar's nose wrinkles. He has that look on his face, the one he gets when someone's being stupid and he's deciding whether to laugh with them or call them out.
The blood is seeping into Grian's sweater. At least he doesn't have to worry about it staining. The red will probably blend in just fine, once he's washed it.
His wings fold in a little at the thought. This isn't supposed to be convenient or easy.
Scar's eyes catch the movement. "Well then, enlighten me!" he says, faux cheer slipping back into his voice. "Whatever are you doing here, in the middle of the night, with that... uh... that poor sheep? It doesn't look like jam, you know?"
"No... no, I guess not," Grian mutters. His teeth worry at his bottom lip. "Well, uh -"
Scar's eyes widen.
Grian nearly flinches as the man comes closer, bright green eyes staring at his mouth. "Are those... Grian, do you have fangs?" he asks, and - oh. Right.
"Yeah," Grian says nervously.
Scar squints at him. "You're an avian," he says.
"Yep."
"Avians don't have fangs," Scar says, squinting harder. His own teeth, Vex-like and sharp, glint as he speaks. "Vampires do, though?"
Grian's throat closes. He shakes his head.
Scar sighs. "Is this why I haven't seen you out and about, G?" he demands.
Grian nods. "The sun," he says briefly, showing Scar his cheek.
Earlier in the week, some curtains shifted, despite his best efforts. As a result, the incoming light had burned a line down to his chin. It still stings a little.
It must also still look bad, because Scar makes a half-strangled noise in his throat at the sight. "Oh, Grian," he says sympathetically.
"It's not that bad."
"That's what you said about the sheep. I'm pretty sure it's dead."
Grian makes a face. Just because it's true doesn't mean Scar has to actually say it.
"So is it helping?"
Grian blinks. "What?"
"The sheep," Scar clarifies. "I'm assuming you're... you know. Feeding."
"You're not gonna ask like, how it happened, or...?"
Scar shrugs. "I mean, I'm assuming knowing how it happened hasn't exactly helped. After all..."
Scar's voice fades into the background. Grian vaguely registers something about farm animals and friends, but -
Scars keeps gesturing with his hands while talking. And the way his wrists look under the moonlight - Void, Grian swears he can see the veins of blood, shimmering just beneath the scarred skin.
He doesn't really realize he's leaning forward until Scar says, "G? You still with me?" and Grian blinks the haze out of his eyes to realize the sheep's long slid from his lap, and he's so close to Scar that, had the man still been gesturing, Grian would've been in danger of getting hit upside the head by accident.
Scar's eyes are soft with an emotion Grian can't quite name. "Still hungry?" the man asks.
"The sheep didn't quite do it for me," Grian manages, shrinking back into himself.
Something sparks in Scar's gaze at that. "Animal blood isn't working?" he asks.
"...No."
Scar frowns. "Do you need human blood?"
Grian's heart nearly stops at the question. He exhales shakily, unable to look Scar in the eyes.
"I don't know."