Chapter Text
For as long as he remembered, he had been a waste of space. His dad had reminded him of it daily. He was useless, garbage, a monster. A killer.
Oh, he had been a killer for a lot longer than that horrid day two hundred years ago.
His first victim had been his mother. And thus it was his fault that his father started drinking, which caused the town to despise them, and their (mainly his) lives to become absolutely miserable. He would wake up, make them breakfast, do the laundry, clean the house, fell trees for enough money to keep their bellies somewhat full. Meanwhile, his dad spent his days in the tavern, drinking too much everyday and spending about all the money he had earned.
No, life hadn’t been kind to Owen. But he supposed that this was his role in the world. Maybe he had been bad in another life, maybe he had sinned.
Oh how naive of a boy he had been back then.
He felled his first tree at the age of eleven, after his father kicked him out of the house once more because he had been breathing too loud. It had been a cold winter evening and there was nothing for him to warm himself. With skilled sneaking only a child could do, he went to the neighbour’s shed and raided it, coming out with a heavy stone axe that weighed probably more than he did.
He dragged it behind him—leaving a trail through the snow—until he reached the borders of the spruce forest next to Oakhurst. That is when he lifted it for the first time and smacked it against a young sapling. He barely made a dent, but something in his heart grew lighter; there was a weight on his chest that lightened every time he brought the axe against the tree.
It took him longer than he would’ve admitted now to bring the sapling down and chop it into pieces. And at the end of it his hands were full of splinters, and sore and red from exhaustion. They ached, but in a good way. The ache he felt in his hands and his muscles, took away the ache resting within his soul.
He carried the logs towards the outskirts of town and built himself a little campfire. He shuddered when he thought about it now, something about fire had haunted him ever since–… No. After putting all the twigs in place, and finding some patches of dry-enough grass, he began rubbing two pieces of wood against each other in the hopes of igniting a spark.
He had spent three hours trying, exhausted and shivering from the cold. And not once had a town member made their way towards him, and offered him a warm bed and a nice meal. No, his dad had made them the town’s pariahs. He saw them though, looking through their windows. Eyes curiously watching the kid stuck outside, but that was all they did. Watch.
He wanted to say that things got better after that night. He still got kicked out of the house every few days, but his skill with an axe grew, and—what once took him three hours—became ten minutes. He learned to hone his craft, spending most of his days outside with his axe. The neighbours had never mentioned theirs missing, and so he never gave it back.
He chopped and felled trees, and when the skies started to darken earlier and the nights grew colder, he sold his logs. The townsfolk never gave him much, but it got him something to eat. He had felt happier than he ever had.
But of course happiness only exists for it to be taken away.
His dad had found out about his flourishing business, and the money he once had to buy himself some food, disappeared to liquor. Of course it did, everything he did resulted in it getting thrown to liquor. But he kept his head down, worked harder, earned more, and tried to forget everything around him.
It kept being that way for five more years. Until his dad finally kicked the bucket. His drinking had finally gotten the best of his liver and his heart, and one day he just flopped over and never got back up. There was no funeral, for no one really cared about him, certainly not Owen. Instead he buried him somewhere in the woods and forgot where. To be honest, he always lost his way in the woods, no matter how often he stepped into them.
He didn’t stay in the house he grew up in. Instead he sold it to a young couple and began spending his days making a cabin just outside the walls of the village, closer to the forest. There was no use of living in a village which didn’t care about him. The cold had hardened their hearts, but most of all his.
It was around this time that something in the town of Oakhurst began to change. A stranger had settled within the walls that people had grown fond of very quickly. Owen had heard him to be a smooth-talking man with unmatched charisma, but a gentle soul that cared about everyone’s well-being.
He didn’t meet him right away, only seeing him a few times in passing when he went inside the walls to sell his logs. And there was no reason for him to, he was a bitter teenager who had been abandoned by the world and he was a popular young man who shined in the sun. They couldn’t have been more different.
Some years went by and he slowly grew out of his teens. His lanky body slowly turned into a more sturdy frame, that of a real lumberjack. Even the townsfolk started to warm up to him, and just—if only for a second—he began to have hope in people again.
But of course hope also only exists for it to be taken away.
It started with a small itch, a spot on his arm which had begun to redden. He thought nothing of it and just kept on going, chopping as he went. But slowly they started to form on his other arm too, burning in the cold climate of Oakhurst. They itched and they hurt until he couldn’t feel them anymore, growing weaker as the weeks passed. The town's members started looking at him differently too. Their eyes glazed over the red patches of skin and distanced themself ever further from him. And thus he began to wrap his arms in bandages every time he went out.
The numbness in his arms, and later also his legs, made felling trees more difficult. And with people avoiding him like the plague, sales dropped significantly, until he was struggling to get around. He was at his lowest, nothing from the time that his father was still alive was worse than this. This time it was all on him.
Around this time, the stranger was appointed mayor. He had smooth-talked his way to the top and with his guidance the town was booming. People were happier than ever and parties were thrown every month now that they had the luxury. Owen had never hated anyone more.
That was until one day the stranger made his way to his cabin. He was splitting some of the logs he had gathered the day before and bound them together with rope, when he saw a figure making their way towards him. He paid it no mind; no one in the town wanted to see him willingly, so he wasn’t too worried.
But the figure came closer and closer, until he stood directly next to Owen. Far more close than any of the town’s folk had ever come.
“Hello, Owen,” he had said, that silky voice of his sounding even nicer than the stories had told him. He couldn’t help but hang onto every word he said. “My name is Louis, I’m the new mayor in town.”
Yes, Owen wanted to say, yes I know. But his eyes got lost in that of the man standing in front of him. Curly hair fell to his shoulders, a nice chestnut colour. And his eyes, they might have been the bluest he had ever seen. They were like an ocean sending waves that crashed against his very soul.
At last a small, “hi,” escaped him. The man standing across from him wasn’t human, he was far kinder than any of the human race could ever have been. Maybe he was an angel sent from the heavens to give him a helping hand. Maybe God had finally taken pity on him.
The mayor’s lips slowly turned his welcoming smile into an amused grin, and Owen’s eyes followed every bit of it. They followed dimples that formed as his lips widened, and they followed his eyes as they sparkled out of mirth. This had to be an angel.
“You don’t seem as bad as some of the town’s folk have made you out to be,” the mayor mused as his eyes gave Owen a once over. In hindsight it had been similar to how a butcher would look at a nice piece of meat, but Owen did not see it then. Instead he revelled in the attention that was paid to him, he revelled in this small bit of human interaction.
He did not know what to say to that, even if the man’s voice hadn’t rendered him speechless. Should he invite him in for tea? No, none of the town’s folk had ever wanted to be that close to him, so why would he? What could he do that would please him? What could he do to make him stay just a little bit longer, to keep hearing his voice?
“Maybe we should drink a cup of tea,” the mayor broke the silence, as if hearing Owen’s inner struggle. “To get to know each other better?”
He did not know what possessed him—he had never been a man fond of social interaction, preferring the solitude of the forest—but he found himself nodding rapidly. Yes, he thought, yes I want to get to know you better.
That was the first day they spent together; indulging in the other’s thoughts, laughing at jokes the other made, or even just sitting in silence and enjoying each other’s company. For the first time in weeks Owen felt good again. For the first time in weeks it didn’t matter that his arms were too weak to lift his axe, because at the end of the day he had him.
He didn’t know when it had started exactly, but he did remember telling Louis about his illiteracy one day, and the next he was sitting in his office, learning how to read. Some days he would spend hours going over a single page, deciphering the letters printed upon them, and some days Louis would read him some of his favourite books. And oh boy, if there was one thing that Louis loved more than his town and its people; it was books.
In those short two months Louis had read almost all of his favourites to him. His lovely voice filled the air, making Owen more relaxed than he had ever felt in his life. Louis reading to him was the first time he had truly felt safe. Inside his office, the world didn’t seem so bad anymore.
But of course—as most things in Owen’s life went—that happiness started coming to an end.
He had been so caught up in his own delight, that he had forgotten to see the faces of distrust around him. The faces of people wondering what their once beloved mayor was doing with the town’s pariah. They began whispering to each other; had the diseased lumberjack gotten to their mayor? Had he corrupted his mind?
He hadn’t paid attention to the people at all, and maybe that had been his downfall. Trust makes you blind.
It was on the last peaceful day in his life, that things started to go downhill fast. He had been spending the day in Louis’ office again, Louis was reading Moby Dick to him. Until suddenly he put his book down, pulling Owen from his trance-like state. He had eyed him carefully, seeming to be nervous for the first time, and it took him a while to find the fight words.
“What if–,” he interrupted himself. “What if there was a world where you would be rid of this terrible disease? What if there was a world where we could spend eternity with each other?” If it hadn’t been for his serious face, Owen would have cracked up. Be free from this disease? Spending eternity with each other? There was no world in which such a thing existed.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Louis sighed, eyeing him up carefully. “But what if I tell you that there is a way.” Owen squinted his eyes at him, and let out a sigh of his own.
“If there was a world like that, it would only exist in my dreams,” he relented. “Maybe for another life.”
His words made his friend perk up with interest. His ocean blues got that twinkle again, and his smile turned hopeful. A hope that Owen didn’t have left.
“So you agree?” Louis asked him, and—sealing his fate—he nodded.
“Owen, my friend,” friend, always just a friend, “I have been hiding my true nature from you for a while now, but this gift that I have…it can get lonely. And I can’t think of anyone but you to join me in eternity.
“I am, what they consider to be, a vampire.”
He didn’t know what to do with those words. Should he laugh, cry, run in terror? Vampires didn’t exist, they were just stories told by adults to frighten the children. He didn’t know which of those emotions ran over his face, but by the sight of Louis’ grimace, it mustn't have been the reaction which he had hoped for.
“I see that you don’t believe me, my friend,” he stated and got up from his chair. Something in the air shifted as he did—growing more dangerous—making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “And why would you, when you have not seen any proof?
“Let me show you.”
And with those words the body of his dear friend twisted, turned and shrunk, until a flurry of bats took his place. Several flew away immediately, but one remained hovering in front of him. Was that Louis? Was it really him? The bat clicked once, and then turned back into Louis.
Owen should have been frightened, he should have turned tail and ran. But instead of seeing a monster standing in front of him, the only thing he could see was his friend. His only friend. The only person who had cared for him in the entirety that he had been alive. Louis didn’t abandon Owen, so why should he abandon him?
“Please say something,” his friend pleaded to him, not taking his stunned silence as a good sign.
“So eternity, huh?” Owen found himself smirking. Yes, his friend was a vampire. But he found that he didn’t care at all. If he had a chance at ridding himself of this disease and spending the rest of his life with the only person that gave a damn about him, then that was something he would take with both hands. No matter the cost. Humans weren’t deserving of life anyway, at least none in Oakhurst were.
“Is that a yes?” Louis cautiously asked, taking a tentative step towards him. He reached out his hand for his, and Owen took it, enclasping Louis’ cold ones with his own bandaged ones.
“Yes,” he whispered back, knowing Louis could hear him no matter how soft his voice was.
The man circled him, hand caressing his body, claiming what was soon to be his. He went to stand behind him, brushing his long brown locks away from his neck, but keeping their hands held tightly together. Louis’ cold frame radiated against his warm one, his breath fanned over his pulse-point. But Owen wasn’t afraid, he hadn’t been for a long time. Not as long as he was there with him.
Then it happened; a sharp pain in his neck and then a numbing pain flowing through his veins. His eyes began to droop and his body was giving out on him. He felt someone catching him, guiding him down onto something soft, and he remembered the peaceful feeling of someone holding him, knowing it was alright. And in his head there was but one thought.
Sire.