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Legundo's blood didn't come off easily in the cool water. It had dried and crusted beneath Owen's claws, and while small clumps of torn skin were swept downriver--absolving him partially of the guilt eating at his chest--the curved underbelly
of his sharp nails were still grimy with flaking crimson as he pulled back.
Digging his boots into the rocky hillside, Owen picked his way up towards the castle that he'd taken such pride in constructing. For a family of traitors, his mind hissed, as he hauled his exhausted limbs up, up, up into the jagged peaks.
The vampire strode through the tall doors of the castle, immediately lifting his eyes to skim for bats tucked into the arching rafters. A flicker of movement flitted from one wooden beam to the next.
"Hello?" Owen called in a voice more brittle than he'd have liked. His esophagus felt like a snake, twisting itself into knots around the lump in his throat.
Silence.
Must've imagined it. Blinking back tears, Owen plops himself into the nearest chair, kicking his feet up onto the long table with uncharacteristic disregard for the way his boots flaked dried mud onto its sleek surface.
He wrapped his arms around himself, allowing his body to fold inwards around where his vital organs once sat. He closed his eyes, feeling the grounding stillness of his own body, the cold singe of his fingertips on their opposing arm.
The memories came rushing back before he could stop them. Replaying in vivid shades of red behind his eyelids; His argument with legs, the way the doctor's flesh had yielded beneath Owen's slashing claws as they nicked an artery, how still and quiet he had been in death. Owen hadn't been able to look his corpse in its lifeless eyes, immediately striding away from his kill. Wasting perfectly good food, for there was no pride in Legs' death. Only a gaping pit in his stomach that opened impossibly wider.
One more person to care about him with their blood on his hands.
Legs didn't care about you, his mind sneered, he's just as human as the rest of them. Owen screwed his eyes shut tighter, chasing away the visions of flame and pitchforks that danced behind his eyes. He would not dwell on Louis' end, only let its anger drive him forward. He would purge Oakhurst of the disease that called itself humanity, and he would do it in his sire's name.
Still, tears burned behind his eyes.
He's not sure how long he sat there, swimming in the burning-cold water of his own mind. A few minutes? An hour? A day? He's not sure either when his face grew wet for the first time in centuries, or why his own hands were too heavy to wipe away his tears. The only thing he knew that he was chained to his purpose--to hurt what hurt him.
"Owen." A familiar voice, one he dreaded to hear. Tipped with its accent that had come to be associated with a friend, Scott's presence at the other end of the table was powerful, but, in this moment, friendly.
Owen lifted his head, agressively wiping away the tears that had collected on his cheeks, flushed with emotion (namely embarassment) and breathless despair.
He swallows the lump welling in his throat and adresses the other vampire with as much monotony as he can manage, "Scott."
The elder vampire scoffs, "Don't just 'scott' me. I've been watching you feel sorry for yourself for the last twenty minutes. I've never seen you so emotional--What's bothering you?"
Dryly, "Nothing."
"Okay, fine, not telling me is your loss." Scott huffs, leaning back into the large plush chair at the other end of the table, "But come on. There must be something I can do."
"Leaving me alone."
"So you can wallow in your feelings? Come on, that's hardly the Owen I know."
"Really?" Owen raises a brow. "Wallowing is pretty standard for me."
"Okay, sure, but I'm still not letting you dry drown in self pity. Come sit with me!" Scott's voice is cheery as always, with its sing-song lilt ever present. Owen's not sure when it stopped being annoying and started being... comforting??
"No thanks."
"You hate me."
"Sure."
"Wow," A gasp of mock offense, "Rude. Now will you come sit?"
Owen dragged out his exasperated sigh. He had seen Scott, Pyro, and Shelby make themselves awfully close in that chair, cozying up to one another like cats. Scott's hands carding through the fledglings' silky hair, pressing chaste kisses to their foreheads or knuckles before sending them off on some suicide mission or other. He had always sat to one side, sipping on whatever poor animal's blood he'd poured himself that day.
Scott had always offered Owen a place in his lap, and every time Owen had half-sneered at the other with a curt shake of his head- ignoring the odd envy swimming in his chest. He wanted, more than anything, for this to be one of those times that he'd just shrug off Scott's offering of closeness, but he found himself drawn towards the other vamp.
"Fine," Owen hisses between his teeth, and Scott's brows quirk upwards in surprise, but his always-thin smile widens impossibly as he pats his lap.
Owen pads across the room, his mud-caked boots heavy on his graceful feet. He comes to hesitates in front of Scott, but the taller vampire outstretches one hand towards him. In his other swirls a golden goblet half-full of red wine--one of the few human foods vampires can still consume.
Owen takes the hand carefully, and allows himself to be guided slowly into Scott's lap. He sits upright in the space between the other vampire's knees, free hand resting on one of his open thighs to steady himself.
"Relax," Scott's voice croons, "You're so tense. You can sit close." He releases Owen's hand and smooths his own down the smaller male's back until the space between their bodies narrows and closes. Owen shifts to adjust his awkward limbs until both of his legs are curled over one of Scott's, head tucked into the icy curve of his slender neck.
The other vampire smells almost floral, and Owen deeply inhales to draw in the pleasant scent. There's a rushing quiet where Scott's pulse point should be, and Owen marvels at the way his throat bobs with a graceful sip of wine.
"In the mood to talk yet?" Scott inquires, to which Owen gives a little shake of his head. Scott hums thoughtfully, carding his clawed fingers gently through Owen's silky hair. In one easy movement he hooks the claw of his index finger into the hairtie pulling Owen's hair back into a ponytail, pulling it free and allowing his curls to cascade down his shoulders like a waterfall.
"You have nice hair. What's your secret?" Scott asks, his voice soft in the dead quiet. Owen just shrugs, tamping down a contented purr as Scott scratches his scalp and runs his fingers through the sleek strands. He feels like a fledgling, vulnerable and naive letting himself be pampered like this.
"Oh come on, there has to be something."
"Genes, I think. I don't take the best care of it." Owen murmurs, leaning back into the hand that's practically petting him. The comfort of the situation sings over the shame searing at his throat.
"Lucky." Scott huffs, then his smile returns twice as wide. "Comfortable?"
"I suppose." Owen responds coolly, but his easy tone belies the way he melts into Scott's body until they're melded together.
"You look it. When's the last time you relaxed?" Scott teases, tucking Owen's hair from in front of his eyes to behind a pointed ear.
"Quiet." Owen mumbles, earning a chuckle from Scott. But he does fall quiet, and allows Owen to slip into the cool waters of half-conciousness; as close as a vamprie can get to sleep.
When Pyro and Shelby return they join Scott at each side, chirping at each other and giggling over Owen's slumbering state. They've never seen the usually uptight vampire so relaxed, and are especially surprised to see him with his guard so low in Scott's hold of all people.
Still, it's a nice arrangement for their little family.