Chapter Text
Owen lay soaking in the dwindling heat of a bath, a layer of suds floating on the water’s surface. He could see the wall behind him reflected in the larger bubbles, but not himself. Not unless the doctor gets his way, he thought with disdain. Owen slid further down into the basin until the water lapped at his chin. He tried half-heartedly to comb his fingers through his white hair and grunted with frustration when he was stopped by a thick tangle.
“Owen?” Owen stiffened at the sound of the doctor's voice, claws flexing instinctively. “You’ve been in there a while. Is everything alright?” Owen didn’t reply, though the sloshing of water as he shifted betrayed that he hadn’t, in fact, found a way to break through the silver-lined window and flown off into the evening sky. When the doctor received no answer, he spoke again.
“Do you need. . .help?” This garnered a hiss from Owen.
“I know how to bathe myself, Doctor.”
“I never said you didn’t,” Legundo replied. “But if there’s anything caked on too much, or if your hair’s matted, I have oils and such that could help. I’ve bathed patients in much worse condition, Owen, trust me.”
Owen wrinkled his nose at the offer. He opened his mouth to spit out another retort, then caught sight of his nails. Stubborn lines of dried blood were buried beneath them, matching the patches matting his hair. Owen tried once again to rake his fingers through the knots to no avail.
With a sigh of defeat, Owen turned away from the door. “Fine.” He heard Legs’ footsteps disappear back down the hall, then return, followed by the creak of the door. Glass containers clinked in his hands and Owen was reminded sickeningly of the burn of holy water bottles shattering against his back. He listened to the doctor setting down his supplies on the counter before finally turning his head enough to glance at Legundo, who was already lathering his hands with some kind of oil.
Owen settled his gaze on the wall in front of him. He was grateful for the suds concealing not only his body, but the pattern of scars that marbled his skin as well. He ran a hand up and down his arm and felt the texture beneath his fingers. The vampire startled as he felt a different touch.
“Apologies,” Legundo’s hands withdrew from Owen’s hair, “Is this okay?” Owen cast a glare at the doctor, who was now wedged in the small gap between the tub and the wall behind him, then returned to staring blankly in front of him and gave the slightest of nods. Legs’ fingers slowly parted Owen’s hair and massaged the oil into his scalp. Owen was surprised by the tenderness in the doctor’s touch and was hit with the bittersweet memory of Louis’ fingers tangled in his curls. God, why did they have to be so much alike? Every fragment of Louis Owen found in Legundo felt like a pin stabbed into his heart.
Owen found his eyelids drifting shut as the doctor worked the oil into his hair, slowly untangling the worst of the knots, occasionally scooping up a handful of water to rinse out dried blood and dirt. Owen let his eyes close. He let himself imagine, for just a moment, that was Louis behind him. Unconsciously, he leaned into the touch.
“Has Martin been bringing you enough food?” Legundo’s voice broke the spell.
“Barely,” Owen grunted.
The doctor hummed, “I’ll have a word with him.” In truth, Owen had been given more than enough bottles of blood drained from the town’s livestock. However, his appetite seemed to have abandoned him since he was dragged kicking and screeching into the town jail by scorching silver chains. He’d spent several days in that dark cell, slashing at anyone who drew near, waiting hopelessly for a rescue party that never came. It was only when Legs had found Owen curled in on himself on the cold floor that Owen was moved into the doctor’s clinic.
Despite the significantly nicer environment, Owen had refused to touch anything the humans offered him. He told himself that it was some twisted form of protest — a refusal to become dependent on his captors — but somewhere, deep in his tired soul, Owen felt himself slipping into that same hopeless state he’d spent the last 200 years in. His grand act of vengeance on humanity was over, Legs dodged the question any time Owen asked where the other vampires were, and his only remaining options were to rot in Oakhurst for the rest of eternity or accept the cure and lose the last piece of Louis Owen had left. What point was there in going on?
A sharp pain in Owen’s gut reminded him exactly how long it had been since his last meal. He wrapped his arms around his middle and pulled his legs up so his knees were visible above the water.
“Are you hungry?” Legundo seemed to read Owen’s mind. Owen stayed silent until Legs’ outstretched arm was suddenly in front of him. He turned to where the doctor was now kneeling next to him and raised an eyebrow.
Legundo shrugged, “Drink. I don’t mind. I have a hypothesis — about the difference in human and animal blood. I’d like to test it.”
“I’m in the bath. Would you eat a sandwich in the bathroom?”
“I. . .suppose not.”
“Exactly. And you’re covered in soap,” Owen replied.
Legs pulled his arm back and returned to his position behind Owen. He continued to detangle Owen’s hair until he could at least comb his fingers through it without it catching. When Owen lifted a hand to brush a lock out of his face, Legundo caught notice of his nails.
“Oh, let me get a nail brush.” Before Owen could protest, the doctor began rummaging in the cabinet under the bathroom sink and pulled out a small bristle brush. He crouched next to the tub and extended his empty hand. Owen reluctantly placed his own over it and the doctor began scrubbing away at the dirt and blood. It would have taken only a heartbeat for Owen to sink his claws into Legundo’s wrist and sever an artery, leaving the doctor to bleed out on the bathroom floor. Owen wasn’t sure if that made Legs brave, stupid, or suicidal. Maybe all three, he thought to himself.
When the doctor had finished with both of Owen’s hands, he pushed himself to his feet with a grunt and gathered his things.
”I’ll leave you to finish up,” Leg’s said, then turned and left the room. Owen quickly rinsed his hair and scrubbed the rest of his body raw until the last of the dirt was gone. He pulled the plug in the tub and dried himself off, then slipped on the set of clothes Legs had left folded on the counter. The fabric was slightly scratchy, but they were clean.
As Owen made his way down the hall to his room, he felt the slight suffocating pressure of silver embedded in the outside of the clinic’s walls. The freedom to wander the clinic was merely an illusion covering for the fact Owen was trapped here by those shimmering wards. Thankfully, there didn’t seem to be much outside his room, save for the small bit around the window.
Owen was about to settle into his bed again when he heard a knock at the door.
“May I come in?” Legs’ muffled voice slipped into the room. Owen only hummed in response, but that was apparently sufficient for the doctor. He entered holding a cloth. “Do you want to feed now?” He said it so casually, like he wasn’t offering up the very liquid keeping him alive for some kind of science experiment.
Owen wanted to refuse the offer, to let himself waste away in the doctor’s care, starving for eternity, and watch the guilt forever present in Legundo’s eyes eat him alive — one final act of revenge against the people who took everything from him. Then, he saw Louis, holding Owen’s hands in both of his, promising a better life, a happy one. I’ll try, just a little longer. For you.
Owen nodded, and Legs sat down on the bed next to him. Owen’s mouth began to water until he caught the scent of garlic on the doctor’s breath.
Owen scoffed, “Don’t trust me?”
“Merely a precaution,” Legundo replied in a flat tone.
Owen let out a joyless laugh, “It’s a gift, Doctor.”
“So you’ve told me.”
Owen shook his head. One day Legs would understand. Owen grabbed the collar of Legundo’s shirt and tugged him closer. He relished in the startled gasp that escaped the doctor’s lips, the way his professional demeanor crumpled like tissue paper at the simplest things. His other hand cupped the side of Legs’ neck for leverage as Owen leaned over him and sank his teeth into the doctor’s neck.
Hot blood coated Owen’s throat like thick syrup. Sweet relief relaxed his muscles as the sharp pangs of hunger began to subside. He was dimly aware of Legs’ quickening heartbeat as he gulped down his fill. A hand gripped the fabric of Owen’s shirt, a silent warning, but he wasn’t satisfied. Not yet.
“Owen.” There was a tinge of concern in the doctor’s voice. It didn’t matter to Owen. Days of starvation had caught up to him and the salty taste on his tongue was addictive.
”Owen.” Legundo’s voice was frantic now. The grip on Owen’s shirt tightened and tried to pull him off to no avail. The doctor tried to scramble away, but his escape efforts looked like pathetic squirming against Owen’s vampiric strength.
“Owen!” Legs released Owen’s shirt to finally yank the vampire back by his hair. “Enough!” Owen sat, blinking, as blood trickled from his open mouth. Legundo stared at him, breathing hard, before quickly releasing Owen and pressing a cloth to his bleeding neck. Owen wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. How quickly he had lost his composure. It disturbed him slightly.
“Sorry.” The apology escaped Owen’s lips before he could even register it. Legs retreated along the edge of the bed, standing for a moment, as though to get up and leave, but quickly stumbling back down. Owen expected the doctor’s face to be pale, but was surprised to spot a slight flush across his cheeks.
“You can’t- I can’t give you this level of trust if you’re going to break it, Owen,” Legundo stammered, “I thought we were making progress.”
“Progress?” Owen spat out the word. “On what, exactly? Trying to cure me? Bring back my ‘humanity’?”
“Maybe!” Legs threw up his free hand. “Or — I don’t know — prove you’re not a danger to society! You can’t leave Oakhurst as a vampire either way, but you certainly can’t leave this clinic as a dangerous one!”
Owen narrowed his eyes and turned away. I don’t see you as a meal. Those had been his exact words to Legs, yet he had nearly devoured him like one. I’ve seen what hunger can do to people. The doctor’s voice echoed in Owen’s mind. Louis would have known how to control it, he thought. He could have taught me.
A fresh wave of grief washed over Owen. He wouldn’t be here at all if Louis weren’t executed by the same vermin keeping Owen caged in this wretched town. They could have been sharing a meal, discussing the town’s affairs. They could have been dancing and laughing, hand in hand. Owen could have been curled up against Louis while he read a book from his study, soaking up the warmth of a fire and of Louis' hand in his.
“Owen?” Legs’ voice cut through Owen’s thoughts, and he became suddenly aware of a dampness running down his cheeks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell-”
“Stop talking.”
“I promise I want the best for you, Owe-”
“Stop talking!” Owen whipped around to face Legundo, eyes wild, claws clutching the bedsheets. Legs’ mouth snapped shut and he put up his hands in surrender. Owen pulled his legs up onto the bed and brought his knees to his chest. He dropped his forehead onto his knees and let his hair fall to either side of his face like curtains.
Owen looked pathetic, no doubt — like the wet cat he pretended he was when the people of Oakhurst still thought he was just like the rest of them. Even so, he couldn’t bring himself to care when memories of Louis were flooding his thoughts and coiling into a lump in his throat. His claws clutched fist-fulls of his pants. Owen wanted to hurt someone. He wanted to tear into the people that killed Louis over and over again.
A hand on Owen’s shoulder dragged him back to reality. He tilted his head just slightly, so he could peer at the doctor through his hair. Legs stared back silently.
“What?” Owen’s voice was raw from the tears.
“You told me to stop talking,” Legs shrugged, but there was no sarcasm or malice in his voice. His gaze was so. . .soft. Owen had been exposed to the cold stares of countless doctors, picking him apart to see what was broken in him, but Legundo wasn’t looking at him like a patient. He was looking at Owen like a person.
Owen bit back another wave of tears. “Why do you want to ‘help’ me so badly?” He growled. “Do you think curing me will fix you too?” Owen lifted his head now to cast Legs a mocking grin.
“No, Owen. I-” A shadow passed over the doctor’s face, and he stared past the wall at something far away. “Nothing can fix what I’ve done.” His gaze returned to Owen. “I want to help you because I care about you.”
Owen’s grin faded for only a moment before he barked out a laugh. “You care about me? After I’ve torn you and everyone in Oakhurst to shreds. You care about me?”
“Yes, Owen, I do.”
“Then you’re an idiot.”
Legundo sighed. “Alright, well, if you’re done insulting me, then I’m going to go lie down.” He brushed his hand over the bite mark subconsciously, then stood up and headed for the door. Owen watched him go. When the door clicked shut and Legs’ footsteps faded, Owen was left wondering why the room felt so much emptier now.