#august crinamorte oc

[oddsconvert]

Shattered #10 - Happy Birthday, August! Part III

Previous / Masterlist

CW: kidnapped whumpee, captivity (kinda/kinda not), defiant whumpee, whumpee thinks caretaker is a whumper, forced to kidnap references, vampire caretaker, threat of violence/death, weapons, adult language (pls let me know if I've forgotten any!)

AND FINALLY! THE LAST PART FOR AUGUST AND LUCAS' BACKSTORY! 🎉 Thank you so much for your guys' patience, with this one - it means everything <3 We resume with our usually scheduled Declan next chapter! 😍 And a mahoosive thank you to @darkthingshappen for her beta and help!

---

August feels like a stranger in his own home. A prisoner in his own home; his sanctuary now nothing more than a gilded cage. He is forever and always a captive of his own compassion and a victim of his cowardice. 

But August curses himself for daring to think like that. It’s unjust to think like that, especially on a night like tonight. The frantic hammering of a human heartbeat upstairs is his bleak reminder that he’s not alone anymore, and yet somehow… he’s never felt more alone in his life. The quiet has never screamed so loud, and the walls stretch to endless empty space around him.

For decades, August has been a ghost haunting this house. Lost in the in-between, a nobody with nobody. For decades, August has been at peace with that. Or at least, he had convinced himself that he was - if he dared to admit that the solitude was crippling, then the silence would drag him under and swallow him whole. Contentment was a convenient lie for the last century, but August’s loneliness is a glaring truth rearing its ugly head. He isn’t ready to face it.

Despair gnaws at his insides, sharper than the bite of the cold nipping his skin. Daylight has been and gone, and now moonlight bleeds through the dusty drapes. The ornate windows have blurred over with swirling white as the blizzard wails like a banshee and rages outside. August waits and waits, the grandfather clock in the corner ticks with a maddening slowness. He waits for something, anything and nothing all at once. He doesn’t know what. His comeuppance, perhaps? A wooden stake plunged straight through his spine? 

The human is still hidden away upstairs. Hours have bled by without a sound, not a whisper of movement and not a creak of the floorboard. No doubt he is plotting and scheming, waiting for his perfect chance to strike. Who could blame him? If August were in the human's position, trapped and desperate, the only natural urge for survival would twist his mind too.

August repeats his earlier vow in his mind like a broken record, over and over. When the snowstorm clears, the human will be released, and not a second later. He is a healer, not a gaoler. Every fibre of August's being aches with the need to atone. He will right this wrong no matter the cost. 

A sudden chill snakes down August's spine. A different kind of chill than the frosty air that fogs his breath. He snaps around, his eyes zeroing in on the dark figure lurking in the doorway. The human. They hadn’t made a sound, they’d just…appeared. Materialised out of thin air. Their sunken-in and bloodshot eyes lock with August’s in the dim light. His stance is imposing, his demeanour threatening. August feels strangely diminished by the very sight of him, as though he’s two inches tall.

"Hungry."

A single grumbled word is all that leaves the human's lips. Barely audible but the demand is crystal clear. Not a beg for scraps or a plea, it’s a demand. An attempt to claw back a sliver of control in a situation spiralling wildly out of reach for both of them. The terse delivery, the lack of a complete sentence - it speaks volumes. August isn't worthy of conversation, of any respect or dignity. He isn’t human, afterall - why should he be treated with any humanity?

The realisation eats away at him more than the rumbling of the human’s stomach.

That’s another thing. August forgets how quickly the human’s digestive system and their metabolism works. It’s a miracle how they live as long as they do. It’s as though the second they swallow, their belly immediately roars for even more. It must be impossible to keep up. August can’t keep up.

"I-I'll see what's in the pantry," August stammers, his voice cracking under the weight of the human's burning stare. "It- It won't be much, but..."

He shuffles towards the kitchen and its meagre cabinets. A can of chicken chunks, a tin of kidney beans, cobwebs and layers of dust line the shelves. The human catches a glimpse of the miserable sight, his expression drops to a mix of disapproval, offence and somehow, something akin to pity.

“If you plan on keeping me prisoner, you need to feed me, vamp,” the human snarls with contempt, “That’s human biology 101. Didn’t you claim to be a doc?”

August's jaw clenches. That hit a raw nerve. He wants to retort, to defend his capabilities, but the accusation lodges itself deep in August’s gut. He feels a flush of shame and embarrassment fill his cheeks, because the man’s words were a bitter truth. How can he call himself a doctor? When all he’s responsible for is pain and misery? He can’t even provide basic sustenance.

August finds himself at a loss for words. He can’t even look at the human. Instead he hangs his head and anxiously picks at the skin on his fingers.  “I-I …I didn’t p-plan this. Any of this-”

“-Food,” the human makes his demand again. His fuse running short.

“H-Help yourself. You don’t have to ask. Please, just make yourself at home.”

“This will never be my home,” the human spits venomously, his hands balled tight into fists.

“No - I - I didn’t mean tha-”

The human tears past August in a huff, his body vibrating with barely contained rage. His shoulder slams into August with deliberate malice. August, however, stands firm and absorbs the shove without a flinch. He watches as the human throws himself at the kitchen with the ferocious hunger of a starved lion. He wrenches the cupboards open with bone-jarring bangs and slams them shut with enough force to rattle the windows.

“So what’s your plan?” the human side-eyes August, squatting down to the lower cabinets and flinging them open. They’re empty too. They all are, really. He groans in frustration and slams them shut. “Earn my trust to break it? I’ll be a mindless zombie in days?”

"My plan is to return you to where I found you. As soon as I possibly can. Without hesitation." 

“‘Without hesitation?’” the human scoffs, a bitter and humourless laugh, “what a fucking joke.”

He snatches at cans and packets, what few there are that he can get his hands on. He crams a half-empty bag of dry pasta and a tin of peaches into his arms - god knows how long they’ve been there. Nothing that constitutes a full meal but his stockpile will stretch to a couple days, at least. August feels a weight settle heavy on his chest at that. He knows with a devastating certainty that the bridge of understanding between them is crumbling away. The human will surely disappear upstairs again, never to be seen. There will be no getting through to him. Strangers, they will remain.

The human fills his arms and races back towards the stairs. August scrambles after him, his voice tight, "Please, can we just talk? Before you-”

“NO! Don't follow me! Don't talk to me. Don't you dare come anywhere near me. Don't even knock on my door. You want to make good on your promise? I don't want to hear from you or see your face until we’re heading back to human territory. Comprende?!”

If August had a tail, it would be between his legs. His shoulders slump as he nods solemnly, shamefaced.

“I understand,” August croaks,  “I’m so sorry. I won’t come near you until it’s time to go.”

“Not a moment before, and not a damn second later,” the human growls with a point of his finger, veins bulging in his neck that August can’t help but notice.

One moment he’s there and the next, he disappears up the stairs in a flash. He slams the door like a hormonal teenager and August hears the unmistakable screeching and scraping of furniture being dragged across the room all over again.

*!*!*!*!*

Lucas doesn’t count the days it’s been. He doesn’t need nor want to. Even if he tried, the numbers would slip through his fingers like grains of sand. He refuses to be one of those prisoners who scratches tallies into the walls until there’s no space left to etch, until their sanity crumbles to nothing.

Either yesterday, or three days, or a week ago - Lucas can only guess, everyday has turned to mush - the storm knocked out the power lines. The house plunged into pitch-black darkness and stayed that way ever since.

It’s now or never. The vampire or him. Lucas knows no-one is coming to save him. No-one is looking for him. He can’t afford to be the damsel in distress and wait for a saviour or a miracle. The gnawing ache in his stomach and the dwindling rations remind him that his clock is ticking. 

Only one of them walks out of this alive.

Lucas grits his teeth, his resolve hardening like steel. He will be the last one standing. He dismantles his barricade, and the stake finds its way back to his palm again. His fingers curl around the splintered, shaved wood. On tip-toes, he sneaks through the shadowed hallway. A too-loud creak of the floor and Lucas freezes on the spot, his ears pricking. When nothing comes of it, he creeps on towards the stairs.

How will it feel? Brief hesitation coils around his gut. His hands turn clammy. How will it feel to take another’s life? There’ll be blood on his hands for the rest of his life - maybe guilt will eat him alive. But needs must. If he doesn’t slay the monster, there’ll be no life left to be wracked with guilt. How many countless other lives will this save aside his own?

Lucas holds his breath, cautiously poking his head through the bars of the stairwell railing. In flickering candlelight, the vampire hunches over a worn chessboard. Its face etched with an ageless ennui, it tediously moves the black knight across the squares. Somehow, its pale skin seems even more ghostly in the dim light, but Lucas notices how its dark eyes seem to hold a profound loneliness and deep despair.

The vampire was playing all by itself; the opposing white pieces stood sentinel in their starting positions. A ragged sigh escapes its lips as it captures a white pawn with a languid grace. The victory, if it could be called that, brought no spark of joy or satisfaction to its eyes. The vampire simply reset the captured pawn. And played on.

Lucas watches the vampire, his mind in turmoil. This isn’t what he envisioned; being kidnapped by a vampire. He’d imagined a life of forced subservience, drained for every drop of his blood. He saw himself fighting tooth and nail for a life no longer worth living. A life as livestock, waiting for slaughter. His grip on the stake loosens, and he stares down at it with deep contemplation.

This doesn’t feel like the nightmare Lucas had always feared it would be. This vampire, this monster that stole him… has kept to every promise it’s made. Lucas can’t believe that he’s admitting that. It hasn’t used persuasion. Why? It would be so easy, like taking candy from a baby. Lucas would have no choice but to grovel at its feet and offer it a drink from his neck. But the vampire hasn’t even tried to feed, claims it doesn’t want to feed. The vampire hasn’t laid a hand on Lucas. It’s given him peace and solitude, food and drink, endless promises to return him to human territory, safe and sound. 

A wave of doubt crashes over Lucas. Could he dare to trust the vampire’s word?

“Care to join…?”

Lucas jumps out of his skin. The vampire is looking right at him, its gaze fixed and intense. For a moment, Lucas fears the worst. Has he angered the creature? But as he looks closer, he realises that the vampire's expression was not one of anger. Instead, there’s a raw desperation and longing in its eyes, a look that Lucas had never seen or maybe cared to notice before. He quickly and discreetly shoves the stake into the waistband of his jeans, and grabs the bars of the stairs like the prisoner he’s been so convinced he is.

“What do I win?” Lucas calls down. There’s still hesitation to his voice, an air of stubbornness. He’s not fully prepared to let his guard down just yet.  

For the first time, the vampire actually smiles. “Bragging rights. I never lose.”

Lucas hesitates, a mixture of curiosity and trepidation coursing through him. Perhaps this game of chess would help pass the time before he goes back, and maybe, just maybe, it would give him a chance to glimpse into the mind of this vampire. He nods and heads down the stairs as the vampire frantically and meticulously restarts the board.

“I’ll let you go first, of course. Give you a headstart. It would be unfair otherwise,” the vampire lightly teases.

Lucas moves first, his fingers hesitating slightly as he places a white pawn forward. The vampire responds with equal care, its movements precise and deliberate. They play in pregnant silence, the only sound the soft click of the pieces against the board. An eternity and a half passes before the silence is dared to be broken.

“I’ve been thinking,” The vampire ponders, “when the power is restored, is there anyone you could call? Just to let somebody know you’re safe? That you will be back as soon as you can?”

Lucas leans back, his eyes glued to the board, and without looking up, simply replies, "Nope."

“No-one at all? Not a single soul?” the vampire presses.

“That’s what nope means, don’t it?” Lucas takes a pawn, and the vampire uncomfortably shuffles in its chair. “You know that no-one’s looking, that’s why you chose me, remember…?” a condescending smirk curls on Lucas’s lips. Like he can afford to prod and jibe. He’s feeling more at ease, his confidence growing with each passing moment.

"Anyway. You must be the softest leech going. Either that or you're playing the long game. The self-restraint is mind-boggling... don't you want a bite? Bet the smell is driving you almost cuckoo," Lucas outstretches his arm and waves it underneath the vampire's nose.

Lucas doesn't know how much he even believes what he’s saying anymore. His thoughts are a whirlwind. He has been so hellbent on survival, on staying one step ahead of the vampire, that he hadn't had a second to breathe and take a step back to really think about what was happening. He watches the vampire's face closely, searching for any sign of weakness or desire. Is the restraint genuine, or is it just a facade?

Instead the vampire’s face falls and it gasps, reaching out for Lucas’s wrist, “Your wound-”

The gash on Lucas’ palm is deep, the edges jagged and uneven and the skin around it is inflamed and swollen. Lucas had bigger fish to fry than worrying over a silly little cut, but now he notices it, he feels it throb with dull pain.

“That’s not looking good. Would you let me take a look at it?”

Lucas quickly retracts his arm and cradles his hand defensively. His eyes narrow. “If you win. If you win, maybe I’ll let you. But what do I get if I win?”

The vamp seems satisfied by that. So certain of its inevitable triumph. “I told you. Bragging rights.”

Lucas isn’t so certain that the vampire will best him. He remembers the long days spent practising his moves against the undefeated champion. His grandpa was tough, but Lucas had always held his own. There were times when he thought he might just be able to beat him, but the old man always managed to pull through.

A flicker of nostalgia and a flicker of grief passes over Lucas's face.  “My grandpa. He was the undefeated champ. But I got pretty damn close on occasion. This will be childsplay.”

The vampire’s face softens, its voice gentle, “Is he…still with us?”

“If he was, do you think I’d be sleeping rough on some sopping wet cardboard?” Lucas makes another sharp move, capturing one of the vampire’s pieces. Silence fills the air, and Lucas sighs.

“Why aren’t you using persuasion? You could easily win this. Make me move my knight and the game’s all yours,” Lucas suggests, shrugging. The vampire lets out a low chuckle, his eyes scanning the board as he calculates his next move. But Lucas's words lingered, a nagging thought in the back of his mind.

“No…but, in all seriousness…why - why aren’t you using persuasion? Like, at all? I’d be powerless to stop you. I’d… be y-yours,” he stutters. “Entirely at your mercy. You wouldn’t have to follow through on your promise to free me.”

The vampire's ruby-red eyes widen in shock. Its mouth drops open as though he’d been struck. It averts its gaze down to the flickering candlelight.

“Why would I?” the vamp laments, “I don’t want to use persuasion. To what aim? I’ve made a promise to you, and I intend to keep it. I value your trust, and I would never do anything to jeopardise it. You deserve your free will. Your choices and your thoughts are, and will always be, your own.”

“I didn’t choose to be here-” Lucas' lips respond quicker than his brain can comprehend. He can tell those words cut like a knife to the vampire. 

“No… you didn’t.” The vampire whispers, its tone heavy with guilt. “And that will haunt me for as long as I shall live.”

Lucas is taken aback. He’d always assumed that vampires were cold, unfeeling monsters - devoid of all emotion. But here, he saw something different. He feels something different. The vampire’s words were filled with a mournful regret. He fears he’d been too quick to judge, too eager to paint the vampire as a villain. Maybe there is more to this creature than meets the eye.

The wind suddenly picks up outside, it howls and screeches, whipping against the glass. Lucas stares out the window, a chill running down his spine as he watches the snow swirl and fall.

“I hate to say it… I am glad you are here. Not out there tonight,” the vampire says, watching the blizzard too with a heavy heart.

"Yeah. Me too,” Lucas mumbles. 

"What would you do?” the vampire frets, dragging itself back to the game’s attention and playing its turn, “If you were? Where would you go?"  

"I...I don't know,” Lucas shrugs, “Loiter somewhere warm inside until they chuck me out?" 

"Is there truly no-one you could go to?" 

"No-one. I – I don't have any family left. And try making friends in a nomadic lifestyle. I'm never in one place long enough to keep friends. And if I'm honest? I'm shocked one of you lot hadn't snapped me up sooner. I was...kinda expecting it." 

Every night was a gamble, every morning was a blessing. Lucas always had to be careful, to seek refuge in shadows and find safety in numbers wherever possible. He knew it was coming sooner or later. He was always a sitting duck for a vampire to come along and nab.

“Forgive me if I do say, I am glad I was the one to snatch you up. And not another.”

The walls Lucas put up seem to be slowly knocked down brick by brick. He doesn’t feel like a hunted animal or a captive anymore. He doesn’t feel like he has to look over his shoulder at every turn. It feels almost…safe. 

“Yeah… guess I probably lucked out, huh?” 

Silence falls once again, Lucas looks down to the board. But now he sees an opportunity. With a swift and decisive move, Lucas advances his rook, placing the king in check. The vamp’s king is trapped, cornered by Lucas's pieces.

There’s no escape. The vampire’s face falls as it realises. Lucas has won the game.

“There’s no way-” the vamp mutters, shaking its head in disbelief. “Well played,” he concedes, offering a hand out to shake. Lucas takes it readily. 

“I - I know we made a deal, but please may I look at your wound?” the vampire tries its luck.

“Finee,” Lucas rolls his eyes jovially, “Guess I’m feeling benevolent. Coming off a high from my win.”

*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*

The human sits on top of the examination table, swinging his legs nervously like a child. His eyes flitter around the room, eyebrows furrowed. There’s no sign of the destruction and chaos he unleashed last week. 

August approaches him and gently lifts the human’s hand, examining the slash across the palm. “This looks deep,” he murmurs to himself, turning the human’s hand to different angles and reaching for a bottle of antiseptic.

“Luckily, I don’t think it’s infected. Just a bit swollen. I have some antibiotic ointment - neomycin - and we’ll dress the wound. Shouldn’t give you too much trouble.”

As August pours the antiseptic onto the wound, the human flinches and hisses through his teeth. His eyes squeeze shut, snatching his hand away. The sudden movement startles August, who flinches back too, his heart hammering at his ribs.

"Are you alright?" August asks once he’s caught his own breath, his voice filled with concern. He tries to appear confident and in control, but the truth is, he’s just as nervous as the human.

"Yeah, I'm fine," the human replies, his voice a bit shaky. "It just stung a bit, is all."

August nods, his eyes filled with a strange intensity. "Want to know something?" he asks. The human nods, his own eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

"I used to be terrified of humans," August confesses.

The human’s eyebrows shot up. "You? Scared of humans? A vampire?"

“My mother spun tales of hunters, mobs, and lynchers. I was taught hell hath no fury like a human. I grew up believing our own blood bags would tear me limb from limb should they grab hold of me. I thought humans were my natural predator."

The human is silent for a moment, his mind racing. "…when it was the other way around," he finally finishes. “I’ve lived my entire life in fear of you - of your kind.”

“Me too. Our practices are cruel-”

“What makes you so different?” The human cuts in, desperate for answers, “Why - Why are you being kind to me?”

August gently applies the ointment to the human’s wounded palm, then a clean bandage securing it with a strip of medical tape. He places a cold compress on the area to help reduce swelling and pain.

“Kindness costs nothing, but means everything,” August explains, “You were not put on this earth to suffer, or to be my food. Nor would I ever want that. You deserve your freedom -  your humanity. I will live my life, and you will live yours.”

“Why-Why did you take me? If you never wanted me, if you never wanted this … why am I here?” the human croaks, tears brimming in his eyes. 

“I was left with no choice, I promise you. I - I took you to save you. My family - they forced my hand. They said they would take you if I didn’t. They would hurt you. They would make your life a living hell. It was the only way I could stop them - It was the only way I could make sure you made it home again-”

A tear freely rolls down the man’s cheek, he quickly swipes it away. “You…You saved me?”

“I’m so sorry it had to happen this way. But I would do it ten times over if it meant I knew you were safe in my hands.”

The human closes his eyes, and exhales a deep breath of relief. August can see the weight of the world lift from his shoulders. “T-Thank you,” the human whispers.

“Please,” August shakes his head in abnegation, “Don’t thank me. I don’t deserve gratitude. You deserve every apology I could ever utter, and still it would never be enough.”

August scuttles across the room to his cabinets, rummaging around for the painkillers he knows are hiding in there somewhere.

“August?”

August’s heart leaps. He stops still, the world stops still. It’s the first time the human has spoken his name. Not vamp, not leech, or monster. August. It’s like music to his ears.

“My…My name is Lucas. Lucas Slater. I - I thought if I gave you my name… I was giving myself away. But I trust you with my name.”

It’s not much, but it’s more than August could have ever hoped for. It feels like the sun rising after a long, dark winter. His legs feel as if they might give out beneath him, he has to lean against the countertop to steady himself.

“Lucas.” August whispers to himself. He can finally put a name to the stranger.  “It’s - It’s nice to finally meet you, Lucas.”

*!*!*!*!*!*

The day finally arrived. The day Lucas had been waiting for was finally here. Hometime. To where or whatever his home is supposed to be. But home has never been just a place to Lucas. It’s always been a feeling, a sense of belonging. This house, that was supposed to be his prison, has become more of a home in this short time than he has ever known in his entire life. The days spent with August felt like a new lease of life, their connection grew day by day. At night, Lucas slept like a baby, without a care in the world. In a toasty bed, and not on cardboard and newspaper. With a warm belly, and no starved rumbling. For the first time, he feels that sense of belonging he’s craved.

He’s never belonged anywhere, and neither has August, it seems.

The snow has melted, revealing a landscape that was both familiar and foreign. It looked so much like human territory but felt worlds apart. As they drove through the countryside, Lucas couldn't help but think about all he would leave behind. The vampire's old, dusty house had become his asylum, a place where he felt safe and protected. He had grown to trust August, to rely on him.

Lucas couldn't shake the feeling of dread that had been gnawing at him all morning. He knew his time with August was coming to an end, and the thought of leaving filled him with a sense of loss. He had grown to respect the vampire, more than he ever thought possible. He glances at August in the rearview mirror. His expression is unreadable, dormant. He’d been quiet all morning. He stares absentmindedly out the window, lost in thought. Lucas wonders if August feels the same way. They both live such lonely lives. A nobody with nobody. What if he stayed? Would that be so awful? 

They continue driving in silence, the only sound the gentle hum of the car’s engine. Lucas watches the road pass them by from the window, edging closer and closer to human territory. Lucas feels his stomach sink. Going ‘home’ shouldn’t feel like that. This isn’t right.

"Stop the car," Lucas blurts out.

"You want to get out here? We're still miles away yet!" August queries.

"No, I... I've been thinking," Lucas stammers. "How do you... feel about a new roommate? I guess I'd feel bad leaving you to your lonely, boring self with your dusty, old books."

Lucas silently scolds himself, using his humour as a shield. He lets the mask slip, and his lip wobbles with impending tears.

"I - I have nothing back in human territory. You plucked me from the streets, my cardboard bed, my only possession was a paper cup with a few coins... I'll do anything. Odds are another vampire will find me again in no time and I - I doubt I'll be as lucky to get another one as kind as you - it'd be like lightning striking the same spot twice."

"If you truly wish to stay, you're more than welcome..." August began, his voice soft. "The guest bedroom is yours for the taking, stay as long as you need or want. Please do not stay on my account, or out of fear of me. You truly are free to go."

Lucas hesitates, a thousand what if’s fill his mind. This is quite possibly the most idiotic choice he’s ever made, but it just feels right in his gut. It’s the path he’s meant to take.  "I - god this is so stupid, I barely fucking know you but... I think I trust you. If this kindness is all an act or a game then hey, props to you for keeping it up this long, you deserve to feed off me."

August can't help but smile, a gentle expression that warmed Lucas's heart. "Only if you're absolutely, positively sure. You can change your mind at any time. But...I'd like that. I'd like that a lot."

Lucas takes a deep breath. He rests his head against the window.  "Turn the car around. Let's go home."

---

Shattered taglist: @octopus-reactivated @whatwasmyprevioususername @ramadiiiisme @darkthingshappen @whumpsday  

@thecyrulik @t0rture-me @redwhump  @the-cryptid-finch  @snowstuffscuff

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump   @wolfeyedwitch   @interdimensional-chaos  @termsnconditions-apply   @whump-blog  

@leyswhumpdump @not-a-space-alien   @onlybadendings   @darlingwhump @sparrowsage   

@flynnswhumpprompts @whumpcereal  @wolves-and-winters @ashh-ed  @idkmansomeusername 

@whuarri  @33-sdtr-45 @pigeonwhumps  @canislycaon24  @the-whumpers-grimm

@damienxozmoze @predacon-skydrift @morning-star-whump @neverthelass @espresso-depresso-system

@only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @androgynousqueenie @yetanotheraltwhumpblog @fiifii000 @that-one-small-world

@doodlepoodle154 @sodacreampuff @cupcakes-and-pain @topsheepstudent @mylovelyme

@anonfromcanada @astrokea @turn-the-tables-on-them @bloodredfountainpen @fleur-a-whump

@tobiaslut

[oddsconvert]

Shattered #10 - Happy Birthday, August! Part II

Previous / Masterlist / Next

CW: kidnapped whumpee, captivity (kinda), defiant whumpee, whumpee thinks caretaker is a whumper, forced to kidnap references, vampire caretaker, unwilling whumper, forced to be whumper, ALOT of self-loathing and fucky thoughts and guilt and all of it, weapons, adult language, mentions of blood, brief mention of vomit/nausea, reference to toxic/abusive family dynamic (if I've missed any, please let me know! <3)

Part two! A long time coming! The final part should drop in the next few days/this week! :D thank you to the amazing @whumpcereal for her AMAZING beta on this 🥺🫶

---

August has always dreamt of cake on his birthday, the warm scent of sugar and butter taunting his vampiric senses like forbidden fruit. The cake would be chocolate, of course. Every human loves chocolate; it must be the tastiest thing on Earth. This year, there would have been one hundred and thirty candles, barely fitting on top of it. And August could blow them all out and make his birthday wish. Just like the humans do.

But if the flickering flames on his imaginary cake could really grant his wishes, he wouldn’t wish for chocolate. With a single puff of breath, he’d wish to rewind time and erase this horrific day out of existence. Or, perhaps, he’d wish for a clean slate - a life free from the regret that eats him alive. But above all, he would wish to finally be happy - whatever that means. But where does August get the gall to wish for his own happiness when he is the catalyst of another’s misery? 

He stole a human being tonight. He crept through the streets, snatched them from where they slept and locked them away. He’d lurked in the shadows and all, like a true monster. As far as the human is aware, they saw the stars for the last time this eve and they’ll never feel fresh air stream through their lungs again. August could see it the moment their eyes first locked - the human feared the blood coursing through his own veins was his no longer, that he had become nothing more than food.

No, if August had birthday candles, he should be wishing for the human’s pain to stop, not his own. He should pray for any memories of this miserable night to fade away, and for the human to feel nothing but warmth and safety for the rest of his days. How dare August make this about himself?

How dare August call himself a doctor?

Really, if August is anything other than a feral creature, he is a coward. He can’t find a drop of courage in his selfish core to face the human. Of course not. That would mean facing up to what he has done to the human.

Instead, August kneels in the bathroom, and he hugs the toilet bowl tight in his arms. He sputters and heaves as spit dribbles from his lips. It’s a battle against wave after wave of never-ending nausea. August is sickened by himself. Repulsed by the cruelty that he and his kind are capable of. Even if he earned his family’s stamp of approval tonight - something he’s always dreamed of and strived for - it wasn’t worth it. Not one bit. He refuses to hurt, abuse and sacrifice an innocent life for a scrap of their regard. Curse their prideful smiles and damn their hollow praise.

CRASH! Shattering glass pierces through the silence in-between retches. August’s heart leaps up into his throat, and his gut clenches.

His human is awake - no! August shakes that insidious thought from his head. Not his, and never his. The human does not belong to him. 

August wills the ground to open up and swallow him whole. The thought of skulking down to that basement with his tail between his legs and shame swelling in his chest - it turns his already churning stomach with bubbles of dread. Still, he must. He peels himself from the bathroom floor, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and makes his way downstairs to greet his guest. There’s not a second spare to wallow and drown in self-pity.

He grips the stair bannister for dear life, his knees threatening to buckle beneath him. Still, he forces his dragging feet to move one step at a time down to the basement. There’s no backing out of this, no turning and running now. August needs to face the music–or face his victim, rather. He must fix what he’s done to this poor human.

There is the sound of a jarring crash, and then another dull thud resonates from behind the locked basement door. August’s shaking hands fumble to fit the key in the lock. With a click, the door opens, and he cautiously descends into the dimly lit basement, every footstep echoing in the sudden, eerie silence.

That is until he hears the human’s heart. It pounds like a war-drum in August’s ears, each beat louder and more erratic. August flicks the light switch, and as the basement floods with light, he freezes on the spot, beyond horrified at the scene before him.

His life's work, decades of dedication, lay in ruins. His surgery looks like the aftermath of an explosion. All the furniture is flipped over, and shards of shattered glass sparkle across the floor like jewels amongst the blitz. Charts and graphs once meticulously hung on the wall now dangle in tatters, their scientific data reduced to meaningless scraps. His medicinal cabinets have been ransacked; trails of viscous liquid snake across the concrete floor from countless broken vials. The air is thick with the acrid smell of chemicals.

And there, behind his masterpiece of destruction, cowers the human, pressed flat against the farthest wall, a scalpel gripped in trembling hands held out before him. Its sharp tip is pointed in August’s direction, glistening against the surgery's harsh strip lights.

August has seen fear in human eyes more times than he can possibly count, but he has never seen fear like this. The human’s eyes burn with such primal terror that they touch the very core of August’s being. In the man’s eyes, August sees his own fear, his own isolation and his own despair. But August stays there, unable to look away no matter how it hurts him. He is trapped in this man’s stare, lost in a labyrinth of his own reflections.

But August feels something else too. A raw and untamed emotion. Rage. All-consuming anger that makes goosebumps prickle down the vampire’s pale skin. Rage courses through the human’s veins like a river of molten lava.

“You stay the hell back!” the human roars until his voice wavers and wobbles. He swings the scalpel into the empty space between them, stabbing at the air. “Don’t you dare come near me!”

August’s hands fly up in surrender. Words escape him. What could he possibly say to make this right? Where does he even start? Surely nothing he could say could do justice to his regret.

“I’m sorry-”

That’s the first thing that blurts out of August’s pathetic mouth. Because it is the only and the most sincere thought that comes to him. As though his apology could ever mend the damage or heal the pain he’s caused tonight.

August is shaking now. He can’t stop. His palm slams against his mouth as he chokes back a guilt-warbled cry. “I’m - so…I’m SO sorry. I - I don’t - I…I -I never. I didn’t want to hurt you. I - I won’t hurt you! I don’t want this. Please - y-you have to believe me. You’re safe here-”

August moves without thinking, over the rubble and glass shards. He moves barely an inch closer, and the human erupts into panic. Like a great cat, the human swiftly pounces and flips the table in front of him to form a barricade, stopping August dead in his tracks. Surgical instruments clatter about, and yet more glass scatters across the cement floor. 

“I SAID STAY BACK!” the human brays like a feral animal. His chest heaves dramatically as his lungs seem to fight for breath, and he takes an unsteady step back to create even more distance between them. Gingerly, he cradles his hand, still clutching the scalpel. A gasp escapes his lips as crimson wells from a sudden gash. The tang of iron hits August’s nostrils, drool coats his tongue and his fangs tingle, ready to feed. He wrestles with his animalistic instincts and pushes back the unwanted and primal hunger that threatens to take over. He knows he doesn’t want it, but his body thinks he needs it.

The human had hurt himself in his own destructive frenzy. August can’t help but feel responsible for that too. But that doesn’t seem to deter the human, in fact, it fuels him. He launches himself at the countertops. In one fluid motion, sweeping his arms  across the surfaces, clearing it of every single object in a deafening cascade that shatters across the floor.

“HUMAN! PLEASE STOP!”

The human doesn’t speak, but a slow, cold anger radiates off him. Brows slam together, his jaw clenches until the muscles stand out starkly. A single word, each syllable dripping with disdain, finally leaves his lips:  "'Human'?"

August immediately realises his mistake. Guilt eats him from the inside out. You utter barbarian; he scolds himself.

“I have a name, you know!” The human snaps incredulously, bloody hands curling into fists.

“Of course, of course! Just…” August breathes, “What is your name?”

“Why the fuck would I tell you?!”

The bookshelves are the human’s next victim. He doesn’t bother pulling or ripping at them; he just bulldozes them with a barge of his shoulder. The shelves topple with a cacophony of splintering wood and flapping pages. His gaze is already fixed on his next target: a framed diploma hanging on the wall, defying the human’s rampage.

“Wait, no! P-Please, not that!” August begs, hands clasped together in supplication. The diploma represents his proudest achievement, everything that he’s worked so hard for. It is the only proof August has that there may be good in him somewhere. “Please! Don’t destroy anything else! I just need you to hear me out!”

“Open the door and let me walk out, vamp,” the human scowls, glossing over August’s pleas. “Or do I have to go through you?”

August swallows hard, the human’s casual threat sending a fresh wave of terror through him. He doesn’t doubt the human’s raw strength or willpower for even a second. The destroyed furniture and the fiery defiance in his eyes promise more violence. A heavy silence stretches between them, thick with tension.

“I - I want to help you - please just let me explain all of this-”

The human slams his fist into the nearest wall, a crater of dust left in its wake. August flinches into himself. Then, the man lets out a sound that no soul should ever have to hear. It’s a keening cry - a grieving wail for the life he fears he has lost. It rocks August to his core. It’s bloodcurdling. 

“Why’d you choose me, huh?!” The human seethes, damn near foaming at the mouth. “Is it because I sleep rough on the streets? Is that it? Because my life is so fucking expendable?!”

Then, it’s as if a dam has burst. The human’s face just crumples as a choked sob croaks from his lips, barely even audible. Slowly, he slides down against the wall. Head in hands, shoulders slumped, any bravado completely drained from his posture. 

“You knew no-one would come for me… didn’t you?” The human manages a whisper, his head hung low in defeat. Words just seem to keep failing August time and time again, he can only watch miserably and quietly. 

“DIDN’T YOU?!” the human bellows, eyes bloodshot and wild as his head shoots up. August flinches at the outburst.

“What gives you the right to play god?! What makes my life worth any less than yours, or any other person you could have plucked from the damn street. It was a shitty life. But it was my life! There was nothing left to take from me, and you took it all anyway. You’re a… you’re a parasite.”

August bites his lips and nods, a silent, pathetic apology. He is a parasite. Every word burns like a red-hot fire poker but he knows he deserves every scorch. Scarlet-shame colours his cheeks. Monster, parasite, animal - he’s all of the above.

“I won’t stop fighting you,” the human huffs through tears of fury. “I won't stop until I kill you, even if it kills me. You're right. I have nothing, and no-one. Nothing to lose but everything to gain. So if I’m going to go down, I'm going down swinging. Do your worst…leech.”

Leech.

August has always thought of himself as a healer. A protector. It is here, in this moment, he finally realises he is nothing more than the predator he was born to be. Afterall, there is no denying what he has done. He did take the human, he took away everything the human had to take.  He, too, sinks to the floor in devastation, landing heavily in a cross-legged slump opposite the tear-streaked human. 

Worst birthday ever.

August is drained and depleted, but he won’t waste any more breath on defending himself; he isn’t worthy of any defence. But the very least he can do is comfort the human - help him to weather the storm and be the anchor he needs right now.

“You can keep the scalpel,” August sniffles, “if it gives you some comfort. If it helps you to feel safe.” It’s an impotent gesture. A scalpel would be useless against him in combat if it really did come to that, but hopefully the human can see the sentiment behind the offer. “All I ask is for a minute of your time, and I promise, I will explain everything to you.”

The human stares at the scalpel in his hand and then locks eyes with August’s in a silent duel. No accusation, no defiance this time - only a deep well of desperate inquiry burning in their depths. A million silent questions hang in the air. He begrudgingly nods for August to go on.

“I will take you home tomorrow morning. I swear it. I wish I could open the front door for you and let you stroll free and wave you off into the world, but we’re deep in vampire territory right now. You wouldn’t last five minutes out here on your own. You’ll be snatched back up in a heartbeat, and by a creature less...inviting than myself. We will go after sunrise tomorrow and not a minute later, you have my word.”

“Your word,” the human spits, “Your word means jack all to me.”

“Then let me prove that I am who I say I am - a man of my word. Let me show you to a bed for tonight. Let me give you food and water, and a pillow to rest your head. And then I will leave you be, to get all the sleep you want and need, and I will keep to myself. The next time you see me, it will be to make our journey back to human territory.”

“...Why should I trust you?”

“I’m not asking for your trust.” Heaven knows August doesn’t deserve it, could never earn it. “I’m asking, from the bottom of my heart, for your leniency. You could, and probably should, drive a stake through my chest for what I’ve put you through. I cannot say I would blame you, if you did. But…why don’t we both survive the night, and come tomorrow we go our separate ways?”

Relief floods in as the human seems to reluctantly ponder the deal. It’s just a night. They just need to make it through the night, and then they can both go back to their separate lives and try to forget each other's faces. The human must realise that too, because his boiling anger seems to simmer down. August rises to his feet and slowly moves across the room to extend a helping hand. The human only grunts his curt refusal and snubs the offer, forcing himself up off the cold and unforgiving ground. 

“Spare bedroom. First floor. It’s all yours for the night. I’ll show you to it.” August nervously beckons the human over as he heads towards the basement door. The man sluggishly follows behind, keeping a distance that feels like miles. August feels distrustful eyes burning into the back of his head. He half expects to feel the scalpel pierce his spine any second.

But it doesn’t. As August leads the way upstairs, their unified steps echo strangely in the emptiness of the house. With each turn, the sheer scale of this place, his home, hits August anew. In the company of this poor stranger he’s pulled from the grime of the street, the house feels absurdly oversized. Every step reveals yet another opulent space – a bathroom, a bedroom, a study, a library, another bathroom.  August marches him through this excessive display of wealth with a sinking heart. Does he truly need all this, especially when the man trailing behind him apparently doesn’t have a penny to his name or a roof over his head?

August pauses before what is now the third bedroom door they’ve come across, this one already ajar. Inside, the air is stuffy and still, as though the room hasn’t been disturbed in decades, and it hasn’t; it is  untouched and unslept in. A sliver of moonlight creeps through the drawn curtains and slices across the four-poster bed. 

“This is yours,” he motions the human through the doorway, “for the night-” he quickly repeats. He chooses every word with due care and diligence, to reaffirm that this situation is by no means permanent.

Hesitantly, the human steps inside. His eyes flit across the ornately carved furniture and over thick layers of dust. August takes his moment to disappear down the hallway, returning minutes later with a tray holding a jug of water, a glass and a bowl of steaming chicken soup - he was lucky to find the tin of it at the very back of his cupboard. A strained smile tugs at August’s lips as he sets it down on the nightstand. 

Again, the human recoils from him, pressing himself into the corner of the room.

“I’ll go now, okay? I-I hope you can get a good night's sleep. If you need me, for anything, my bedroom is on the very end of the hall, on the left”.

“I won’t need you,” the human scoffs. “Go. Leave.”

The rebuff curdles August’s smile, his lips twitch nervously. “As you wish…” he mutters, stalking towards the door with defeat. Hand on the doorknob, he pauses, “My name is August, by the way. Could I please at least know your name, too?”

Rooted to the spot, the human squares his broad shoulders, a challenge radiating from his posture. “Names are sacred, leech,” he declares, teeth gritting together. “I plan to keep that secret for as long as I can keep my mind.”

The human’s words strike August like a physical blow. The air whooshes from his lungs, deflating him like a pricked balloon. Regret, sharp and bitter, settles in his chest. He can’t stay a second longer, not with the humiliating spark of unshed tears threatening to spill. His family is right, he’s a weak and pathetic excuse for a vampire. With a twist of the doorknob, he flees down the hall to his bedroom. He collapses onto his bed and buries his face in the pillow.

— 

For the human, however, sleep will be a stranger tonight. Any last vestige of drowsiness flees as the vampire vanishes. Sleep just isn’t in the cards. He has to hold out until dawn. He scrambles for anything he can get his hands on to barricade the door. It’s his first line of defence overnight;it will give him a fighting chance and an advantage over the creature.

The heavy dresser groans in protest as he drags it across the room to block the door, scratching and scraping the floorboards along its path. He doesn’t think twice about the damage, if the vamp gets to destroy his life, then he gets to destroy it’s property. Then the rickety chair and the desk it sits at gets pushed into the barricade. And the bedside tables, the bookcase too. Finally, his gaze falls on the bed and its sturdy oak bedposts. He pulls his scalpel from his pocket and digs his scalpel into the wood, feverishly wedging a chunk out of it with all the strength he has left. Shavings rain down as he whittles it down to a sharpened point. Slapdash, but a stake nonetheless.

Every creek of the settling house, every rustle in the wind sets the human’s teeth on edge. He crawls into the bed and slips under the blankets. He’s pleasantly surprised at how soft they are, and how the mattress feels like he’s floating on a cloud and how warmth seems to instantly envelop his fatigued body. He’s not felt this much comfort in…in, well, years.

But he can’t afford to let his weary eyes slip shut. He stays watching the door like a hawk from his bed, his staked clutched close to his beating chest.

Morning can’t come quick enough.

*!*!*!*!*

Dawn finds the human bleary-eyed but alert. His crafted weapon is still clutched tightly in his palms as he half-stares and blinks drearily at the barricaded door, as ready and poised to attack as he can be. Moonlight has dwindled and now sunlight beams through the velvet curtains instead. He leaps up, rips the curtains open and basks in the sun’s kiss. It’s something he thought he’d never feel again,

He survived the night. It’s nothing short of a miracle. A silent thank you rises in his throat as a single tear slips from his eye. Someone, he thinks, has to be watching over him. His parents, he hopes. There’s no way he would have made it through this without them.

Now the vampire just has to hold true to his promise. If his word holds any weight, the human will be back in human territory before dusk. Yet, the whole situation defies any logic. The human can’t wrap his head around the absurdity of it all. Why would a vampire snatch him, just to return him by nightfall, less than twenty four hours later? He can’t fight the feeling that a deeper motive lurks beneath the surface, a sinister plan at play. Suspicion clings to the human like cobwebs. Beyond the hospitality and kindness… the vampire has to be up to something.

The human dismantles his barricade and heads out to go downstairs. Every fibre of his being screams ‘it’s a trap!’...but the human can’t deny the smallest sliver of hope in his chest, piercing his bubble of suspicion. The vampire had kept true to its word so far, it had left him alone and untouched, fed and watered, a bed to sleep in. It hasn’t laid a hand on him nor tried to feed. In fact, it had kept far away.  Maybe the vampire deserves the benefit of the doubt. Maybe, there isn’t anything more to this than meets the eye, and there are no strings attached? 

But hope is a dangerous thing, tempting him to lower his guard and leave himself vulnerable for thirsty fangs to sink into. No, he thinks grimly, tightening his grip on the makeshift stake. He will not trust, cautious acceptance will have to do. He’s ready to fight with all he’s got when it all heads south.

He reaches the landing and sneakily peeks over the railing. The vampire stands by the front door, guarding it like a troll bridge. To stop the human from escaping? The vampire meticulously folds up his sleek, black umbrella and places it back in his stand. He looks so tall, impossibly tall, even from the human’s vantage point. The vampire is dressed in a three-piece suit and leather dress shoes that seems more suited to an office boardroom than house wear.

As the human strains for a better look, a sudden creak of the floor makes the vampire snap his head up. Chilling red eyes lock with the human’s in a way that sends a jolt of pure terror down the man’s spine. Would he be punished for this? Would the vampire strip him of his free will and send him marching down to the basement for punishment? He’s heard they can do that–and worse. All the fear sparks anew. He can’t catch his breath - he’s panicking.

But the vampire's eyes aren’t actually filled with the predatory and furious glint he expected. Instead, a swirl of emotions flickers within them - concern, sorrow,  even…anxiety? It’s a disarming sight. This creature looks nearly as worried as Lucas feels…

—

"There's been a change in plans,” August laments.

August could literally hear the human’s heart drop in his chest, like a lead weight falling into a deep well. The human’s eyes are wide with despair, and his mouth drops open as though he’s been struck across the cheek. A wave of guilt crashes over August, and he isn’t oblivious to how this looks. It looks like the betrayal and deceit the human has anticipated since he first set eyes on August.  August is well aware he just crushed the man’s hopes to dust, and confirmed every doubt and fear. But it’s out of his hands. Mother nature is a cruel mistress.

“No-” the human rasps, nearly falling down the stairs as his legs give out on him.  “No, vamp. You said you’d take me home. You said today. You promised-”

“That’s not the element that’s changed. My promises are sworn and imperishable. There is, however, a delay.”

"A ‘delay’…” The human repeats incredulously, a hint of sarcasm to his tone. His suspicion eats away at him, misplaced though it is. August is many things - a liar, he is not. But there’s no way the human could know that. Not yet, anyway. The human takes a cautious step back from August, staring him up and down with disdain. 

"A storm is raging outside. The streets are thick with snow and ice, and the skies are dark with thundering clouds. It’s too dangerous to make the drive.”

“I don’t care,” the human snidely retorts. “I’ll walk it if I have to. Just open the door for me, and I’ll be on my merry way. I’ll be out of your hair and you can have your big, lonely mansion all to yourself again.”

Yes, his lonely mansion. All to himself. The words sting more than August cares to admit. He winces like a knife is twisting in his belly. When the human goes home, he will be all alone again. It was nice…is nice…the company. Talking to someone that’s not a suffering patient or his own reflection in the mirror.  He already feels the emptiness settling over him once again. He longs for companionship, for someone to share his home with. He sighs, knowing that he'll have to wait a bit longer for his wish to come true. He can’t keep the human here–at least not indefinitely. But he will have to make the human understand that tonight is non-negotiable. 

“You can’t-” August shakes his head. The man would never make it home. Not with the minus temperatures and the blankets of snow.

“I can. I am. Move,” the human growls, his hands balled into fists. Only then does August notice the crude stake in the human’s white-kncukled hand. No, this human will never be his friend, but even still, August has a duty to him.

The human storms towards the door and tries to push it open. It doesn’t budge. He barges his shoulder into the door, desperately ramming it. Still it doesn’t give. Soon, he’s kicking and shoving and a warbled cry rockets up his throat. Despite his frantic assault, the door only cracks open slightly.

“Snow,” August chimes in, pointing to the falling white powder crumbling through the gap in the door. “We’re snowed in. Must be at least twelve inches of it, I would think.”

“No. This can’t be happening. We-We climb out the bedroom window!” The human’s eyes light up at the idea, sprinting towards the staircase in a panic.

“And then what will you do? Trek all the way back to human territory in this snowstorm? Do you know how far out we are?”

In the blink of an eye, the human tumbles to the floor in a heap, screaming into his hands, pulling at his hair. The blizzard howls like a banshee outside, a gust of snow blows in from outside. The human knows he’s stuck here. He’s trapped here, with a bloodsucker. He’s going to die. Or at least that’s what he must believe. 

“I can’t stay here. With you. I won’t do it.”

“Please,” August says. He resists the urge to move closer; there’s no point in riling the human any more than he’s already riled himself up.  “My word is my bond. I won’t harm you. But I can’t in good conscience return you to where I found you. I’m a physician. I can’t put anyone in harm’s way. To sleep rough on a night like tonight–it would be a death sentence.” 

The human laughs coldly. “Was this your plan all along? Crush my spirits? Delude me into thinking it’s my choice to stay?” 

“I don’t control the weather,” August sighs. “This doesn’t change a thing. I will still take you home as soon as the roads are clear.”

The human remains silent, his jaw clenched. With a final, hate-filled glare, he storms towards the stairs, and, like a sulking teenager, stomps upward in a whirlwind of fury. The slam of his bedroom door reverberates throughout the house.

But the human is still here. He is still safe. August hasn’t failed entirely. 

An exhausted breath escapes August’s lips. He isn’t used to this, the vulnerability of sharing his haven and bearing the weight of responsibility for another life. A knot of unease tightens in his gut. These forced close quarters may at least offer him a chance to ease the human’s fear and earn a crumb of forgiveness, but August can’t help but wonder –  will they be able to bridge the chasm between predator and prey?

This is going to be a long couple of days…

---

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[oddsconvert]

Shattered #9 - It's Cruel To be Kind

Previous / Masterlist / Next

Apologies for the wait!!! 🥺❤️

CW: Whumpee thinks Caretaker is new master/whumper, vampire caretaker, bloodbag whumpee, reference to vampire whumper/previous abuse/captivity, bloodbag whumpee, recovery whump, aftermath of nightmare, emotional breakdown/self doubt (August going through it!!!) [Pls lemme know if I missed any! 🫶]

---

The wind is swept from August’s sails. It feels as though he’s adrift in the open ocean. Lost at sea with no waves or wind to carry him to shore. A storm rages overhead, lightning splitting through the pitch-black sky, dark clouds rolling in. There’s an island on the horizon, a glimmer of hope. It calls August - it beckons him. And he tries with all his might to paddle there, waiting for the gust of gaia’s wind to propel him towards salvation.

It never comes. The ferocious ocean waves sway August further away. Totally stranded and utterly helpless. 

August skulks out of Declan’s bedroom in bruised defeat. The desperate screams for mercy and freedom fade until they’re nothing but a distant echo, swallowed up by the silence of the house. This isn’t working. This isn’t fair. They’re getting nowhere. The road they are paving for the human’s recovery is nothing more than them blindly stumbling in the dark and feeling their way around, and it’s to Declan’s detriment. At his expense. Torturing the already tortured soul. 

It’s cruel, August thinks. He took an oath when he devoted his life to medicine; he swore to alleviate pain and suffering, to do no harm, and uphold ethical practices. This cannot be ethical. Surely. What he’s doing feels downright criminal and inhumane. Is it worth the healing of Declan’s body only to terrorise his mind? Leaving him in perpetual anguish and dazing confusion day in and day out. Keeping him hidden and isolated far away from his loved ones.

August slides his back down the wall, head buried in his hands. He can still hear Declan’s shrill cries ringing in his ears, piercing through his heart. Honestly? He always hears them. Day and night. Since that first day Declan woke up and nearly burst his eardrums with his terrified screams. August’s conscience won’t let him forget them, it’s harrowing.

Because Declan is scared half to death of August. The screams are because of him. 

Home might just be the best medicine for Declan. That is the true cure August is searching for. Declan may not be held here with ropes and chains or kept under the lull of persuasion; but he is wholly and unwillingly dependent on August for his survival. Declan has no choice now but to rely on the vampire for his entire humanity -  he’s too weak to fend for himself, let alone chase his own heart's desire. He is reliant on the vampire for his nourishment, for his health, safety and protection and even his communication. His whole way of life. The only way Declan can exercise his own free will, is if August helps him to.

And well…Declan keeps asking for home. Who is August to deny him that?

“He’s going to try some sleep again,” Lucas whispers across the hallway, careful to slowly and gently pull the bedroom door to. No loud or sudden noises. They’ve learned that the hard way. “I’ve promised him we’ll leave him to it for tonight. He just needs space to breathe.”

And then what? Declan jolts awake an hour later in floods of tears and hiccuping sobs again? Do they ignore it this time? Leave him be and let him cry it out? Or send Lucas back in…he likes Lucas. August knows he shouldn’t be, but he’s so envious of that. He’d never harm a hair on Declan’s head, he’s fought tooth and nail to save him. Why must he be branded the bad guy?

August knows the answer. That doesn’t make it any easier.

“I have never seen fear like that in my life,” Lucas slumps beside August on the floor, a far-away look on his face like he’s just seen a ghost. He stares blankly, dead ahead, at the floral wallpaper across from him, and shakes his head in disbelief, “What the hell do you put a man through to make him scream in his sleep?”

Hell. Exactly that. That’s what you put him through. You turn him into a zombie, living dead. A body forced to live when its mind is melted to a puddle. You send him to tango with death and live to tell the tale. Hurt him until he can’t feel it, and even then still hurt him some more. It’s impossible to comprehend the horrors Declan suffered, or fathom why or how someone could do that to another living, breathing being. But it happened, and August can’t change that no matter how hard he tries. 

“Lucas? Do you think we’re doing the right thing?”

It’s a question that’s been rattling inside August’s skull for a while now. Guilt and sympathy fighting each other to the death. He only ever wanted to help Declan back on his feet, bring him completely back to himself and, help deliver him home all in one piece. August could never live with himself if Declan went home to his family,  lifeless and comatose. They may as well have sent him with his casket too. And he can’t send him back as he is now; the tattered man weeping himself into another dread-fueled nightmare.

Or can he? Should he?

“Without a doubt in my mind,” Lucas asserts, certain as can be. He says it with his entire chest, and he seems almost offended by the question. He straightens himself from his slouched slump on the floor, sitting up against the wall and crossing his legs underneath him, “What makes you ask that?”

August opens his mouth, but no words come out. His jaw clicks shut before he can even dare try. If he says it, it makes it all real, doesn’t it? Every worry springs into existence, everything he’s frightened of is brought to life. August will have to face all his mistakes and misdeeds, every foolish mis-step he’s taken in Declan’s care. But he has to own up to it sooner or later. Face the music. So he can do what’s right by Declan.

“I fear…  I fear we’re doing more harm than good to the boy.”

“August-”

“W-What if I’m getting this all wrong?” August falters, his voice thick with shameful, threatening tears. As Lucas shuffles closer to console him, August crumbles even more into the floor and wishes the ground would swallow him whole. “What - What if we’re hurting him, and sure maybe not hurting him like that vile monster who stole him but... in a different way?”

Declan still thinks and feels like a prisoner. He was trapped in Vince’s basement, and then he was trapped in his mind, his body and now trapped all over again. This time as August’s patient, stuck helpless in bed. 

But Lucas shakes his head passionately, giving a reaffirming squeeze to August’s knee. Lucas is too good to August, too kind and forgiving. It’s more than he could ever deserve in this life or the next. But right now his words of encouragement fall on deaf ears, August needs to be told how it is. And it's plain as day that his presence is damaging Declan, not helping him. Declan is still suffering. He’s supposed to be free and thriving, and he’s still hurting.

“Were it not for you, Declan would have taken his last pained breath that first night you brought him home. Even worse, he could have died a broken shell of a man in that basement, alone and suffering. You revived him. You gave him a second life.”

It doesn’t feel like it. What kind of life is jumping at shadows and cowering behind blankets? Terrified of what’s around the corner. A thousand words trapped in his mind that he could never say.

“I bought him. Like livestock…he thinks he’s my property-”

It’s time to call it a day, and let him give up the fight and lay down his sword.

“He’s just scared, August. He’s so scared, and all alone and horribly confused. He’s been through hell and back. It’s not you.”

“It is me, Lucas,” August disagrees,  “It’s what I am.”

A blood-sucking monster that stalks the night looking for its next prey to feed from and drain dry. August has spent his whole life trying to break free from that mould, to run far away from what he’s supposed to be and never look back. Somehow Declan sees right through him, right down to his core. He sees what August refuses and tries to hide from. His own blood, his very nature.

“How could he ever heal at the hands of something he fears the most?” August asks, disgusted with himself. He should rip out his fangs and run outside to bathe in the sun’s agonising rays. It sickens him that he is associated with the brute that did this to Declan. That August’s kind hunt and kill humans for food… for sport. Who could blame Declan for being scared of vampires. August is scared of vampires.

“He deserves better-”

“-Declan deserves you,”  Lucas’ tone was clipped, as if his word was final and there was no possible room for discussion. But August had known him so long, he could hear the affection underneath the terse words. “You are the best thing that could have ever happened to him. You were the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Lucas once looked at him the same way Declan looks at him now. With nothing but fear and disdain in his eyes. Backed into the corner like a scared small animal.  August remembers the way he felt when they both locked eyes for the first time, terror meeting terror; it felt like he wasn’t worthy of breathing the same oxygen. That he was a monster, and should whittle the stake himself and hand it to Lucas with an apologetic bow. 

Has August always mistook help for harm?  He must be doomed to repeat the same cycle of pain. Maybe it’s just in his cold-blood. His vile, worthless blood. Vampires hurt humans. That's how the story goes. There’s nothing he can do to escape that fate.

“My friend,” August chokes up, grabbing Lucas’ hands to squeeze in his own, and stroking his thumb over his wrists.  “I wronged you. I hurt you. Just like I’m hurting Declan now.”

A thousand apologies could never make up for what he’s done, the hurt he inflicted. Years down the line the shame and regret still plagues him, festers inside him deep down. Over and over he’s told he’s forgiven, more times than there are drops in the ocean. Again, it doesn’t change the fact it happened.

“You saved me,” Lucas gasps in awe, astounded by August’s confession. Something they’d both long agreed was water under the bridge. “ Just like you’re saving Declan. Would you have given up on me?”

“Never.”

“Then why give up on him? When he needs you more than I ever did?”

A fire lights inside of August, determination burns within him. This isn’t throwing in the towel, this is him fighting. Doing what’s right, even if it feels wrong. If it means letting go-

“I’m not giving up on him. I would never give up on him. I want to do what’s best by him.”

“I trust you, August. And I think if you just hold in there, Declan will learn to trust you too. It just needs time.”

Time does heal all wounds, as they say. And maybe Lucas is right. Maybe if they just play the waiting game, Declan could make it through to the other side, unharmed and unafraid. Yet August knows that these aren’t fresh wounds - not anymore - they’ve turned to ugly, withered scars. A permanent mark on the boy’s mind, body and soul. There’s no curing that. But could Declan learn to live with that?

“Tell yourself what you tell him. He’s not a captive. We’re going to take him home, yes?” Lucas quirks an interrogative brow, and August nods miserably in response. Declan is starting to feel like a captive against all intent and promises. “I think if we drop him off in human territory now - lame and pain-riddled, scared of everything that moves - that is what would be cruel. Us looking after him and building him back up for a little bit longer; that’s the mercy he’s begging for. Even if he doesn’t realise that right now.”

“How do I know which path to take?” August whispers with a wince, like the daunting thought threatens to implode inside his mind.

“Humans know so little of vampire persuasion, how it affects the brain and body. He could be stuck like this forever. His family will get half their son back at best. Who knows if his state will deteriorate? If he’ll ever walk or talk again. We can help him, August. You know that we can help him feel human again.”

“I don’t want to cause him any more unnecessary pain,” August laments, “He’s been through enough.”

August was never under any illusion this would be easy. He was prepared to weather the storm from the second he first laid eyes on Declan. Down in that basement; knelt and bound, small and fragile, unreachable and lifeless - drowning in Vince's power. August can help Declan, he’s got him this far already, he’s nearly out of the woods. They could do it, this could work. But at what cost? 

“Whatever you decide, I’m with you,” Lucas promises, “Wherever you go, I’ll follow. Always…”

August had saved Lucas before, hadn't he? Perhaps there is still hope. Perhaps he can still save Declan.

---

Thank you to @darkthingshappen for beta-ing this chapter!!!!

Next update will drop on Monday! (7/8) 🫶 Time for a lil flashback to how August and Lucas met... 🤫

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Let me know if you would like to be added or if I forgot you! 🥰

[oddsconvert]

Is it common for vampire children to fear humans? Or is August just weird?

Not at all! Vampire children are taught that humans are food, that it's natural and normal. Humans are normally so deep under persuasion that they could never fight back either.

August's parents messed up big time by scaring him with the humans. They would tell him that their blood bags would rip him limb from limb and want his head for revenge. I think to an extent, the family did genuinely believe that too - they see humans as animals - but they definitely used it to manage August's behaviour and make sure he didn't go poking and prodding or doing things he wasn't allowed to.

[oddsconvert]

What would August do if he could turn into a human for a day?

He'd spend the whole day in human territory for sure, to experience their way of life! (I imagine a Cinderella scenario, where he knows he's going to transform back at midnight, so he'd rush home before he'd turn back into a vamp).

August would try whatever foods he could get his hands on! He'd give himself such a stomach ache and make himself sick with how much he'd eat in such a limited amount of time! It would be so weird to him how delicious everything smells/tastes in comparison to before!

Of course, he'd spend the entire day outside. He'd let the sun kiss his skin and bathe in its warmth. It would be his only chance before he's doomed to his life of shadows again.

He would be friendly and chatty with the humans he meets. They wouldn't be scared of him - they would view him as one of them - it would be his dream come true!

[oddsconvert]

How and when did August stop fearing humans?

There's kind of two answers for this!

One point was when he was still a child, and his mother threw him into the dark cellar with all the mansions bloodbags as a punishment (knowing he would be petrified and hopefully scare him straight). August thought the humans would maul and kill him but instead they showed him kindness and cared for him through the night... much to his mother's furious disapproval 🙈 but that eased his fear of humans a little! But not entirely - he still feared humans as a whole, and understood why they might want revenge for what vampires have done to them.

But after he left the family home, he could finally have a mind of his own and he knew in his heart of hearts that he couldn't bear the treatment of humans. As he started to delve into his studies and medicine, and finally interacting with and helping vulnerable and fearful humans who haven't felt a gentle touch in years - he realised there was nothing to be scared of. And if ever a human was to hurt him, it would most likely be out of fear or to protect themselves 🤷‍♀️

[oddsconvert]

Where does August get his blood? If he drinks from Lucas, then where did he get it before?

He does drink from Lucas in our current timeline! With Lucas' consent, of course! And just a little from his wrist, definitely not his neck.

Before Lucas though, I think August paid a pretty penny for some ethically sourced blood packets ;) I imagine bags of blood probably shipped from overseas where vampire and human relationships are a taddddd less tetchy, and maybe there is some volunteer blood-donors for vamps! 🥰

[oddsconvert]

Did Vince ever give Declan iron rich foods (ie molasses, red meat, spinach, legumes, cereal, etc) to affect blood iron/taste? If Lucas or August served him anything like that, what would he do?

Oh, he definitely did! I feel if Lucas or August were to serve Declan that now, in the current arc we're in, Declan would enter full-blown panic mode. To him, it would confirm his fears - he'll think August is trying to make his blood taste nice and he's going to feed from him. He'd be an inconsolable wreck...but I don't think he'd fight it. He'd submit and ready himself for August to drink -

- much to August's inevitable horror.

[oddsconvert]

Asking about your boys to cheer you up a bit: Vampires can only drink blood? What would happen if they tried to eat something else? Before living with Lucas, how did August get blood?

For my vamps, I picture food does nothing good for them. It doesn't taste nice to them, doesn't satiate them - and they can't digest it as well as humans, so it can really mess with their stomachs and cause them a lot of discomfort.

Before Lucas, August would buy packaged-blood to drink. But he would splash out and only buy ethically sourced blood from overseas, donated by willing volunteers. There's packaged blood that is cheaper, but it's produced by blood-farms and by captured thralls.

[oddsconvert]

✂️ for august?

✂️ - What is one of your OC’s worst memories?

When August was a little baby vamp, he was deathly scared of humans - they were his biggest fear. His parents would spin tales about human hunters and mobs and tell August that the cruel, nasty humans would rip him limb from limb if given the chance. He believed that humans were vampires natural predator...not the other way around.

He lived in a big stately home growing up, and his family had MANY blood bags. August used to avoid them like the plague, wouldn't even make eye contact. But he did feel sorry for them. One day when he'd been 'naughty', his mother dragged him kicking and screaming and locked him in the cellar overnight, where their human blood bags were kept, to teach him a lesson. Poor August pounded his tiny fists on the door and was hiccupping/crying/screaming for his mother to come back and save him. He really thought he was going to die. That the humans could get their revenge for what his family has done to them.

He's never been that scared in his life to this day.

[oddsconvert]

Would Declan’s mind-body connection ever have been restored if August cared for him as well as he could but hadn’t been able to obtain and administer the persuasion vaccine?

His body would have physically healed but I don't know if Declan would have ever come back to himself. There might have been the tiniest hint of alertness and awareness to him - a flicker in his eye, a twitch of a finger - but I think that mind-body connection would have been pretty much severed.

[oddsconvert]

Was August born on August?

Yanno what, I've been asking myself this question ever since August popped into my head a couple years back!

I'm deciding yes. I don't even care if it's corny, August was born in August (although it's not the only reason for his name, his parents like strong/powerful/leadership names) 😌

[oddsconvert]

Shattered #8 - Lies, Lies, Lies

Previous / Masterlist / Next

CW: Whumpee thinks Caretaker is new whumper/master, Vampire Caretaker, Reference to vampire whumper/previous abuse/captivity, Bloodbag Whumpee, Recovery/Rescue, Nightmare (drug induced), Panic attack, Talks of death/hopes of death, Denial, Paranoia, Drugs/Medication, Noncon drugging(?) Loss of speech, loss of autonomy

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(let me know if I’ve missed you or if you’d like to be added!)

-

How do you plead for your life with pen and paper? Would the fear, desperation and agony translate to the ink? The question wracks Declan’s brain, pounding against his aching skull as he clutches onto his pen like it’s his last lifeline.

It might be.

A shaking, yet stern death grip nearly crushes the plastic. Countless balls of paper are scrunched up and strewn across the room, and the notebook sitting on his lap is drowning in countless scribbles, all scratches of words that he determined were not enough to save his life. Splotches of ink once begging for home, or even a scrap of mercy; now blurred. Splattered with his tears. 

The vampire thinks he’s fast asleep. Resting, recuperating - whatever the hell it is he should be doing. But Declan’s night is August’s day. The terror keeps Declan wide awake, knowing that the creature is stalking the halls, waiting for the right moment to strike when Declan lets his guard down to sleep, at his most vulnerable. Why else would he have taken Declan in?

He’s scoured the room already; there’s nothing to whittle or fashion into a makeshift stake. There is no protection. Because August has thought everything through, of course. No weapons, no defence nor even privacy or dignity.

He’s a prisoner again and nothing more, he reminds himself. He won’t be fooled by the simplicity of a blanket or hot meals, even if the feeling of fullness in his belly feels like an impossible blessing he knows he’s not worthy of. His purpose is to be a blood-bag. Food. It’s nothing short of cruel and barbaric to trick him into thinking that anything more than anguish lies on his horizon. Freedom is a privilege not for the likes of him. He’d squandered his, took it for granted. 

The vampires had won. They’ve broken him down into nothing. The leeches have taken everything from him, and even with nothing left to give, they still want more. They can’t suck him dry of his blood, so they’ll drain his life away. He misses when he didn’t know the difference. 

Please - Declan writes down for the millionth time. It’s a good start. It’s just whether he pleads for mercy, or maybe for direction and orders? Just so he can know what his new master actually wants from him. It feels like he’s back at square one all over again. Stumbling in the dark, so terrified of the unknown and not knowing what to expect, how to behave and stay out of trouble. He knows now. It took everything from him, but he knows how to be good now and he just wants to show August how well behaved he can be. He won’t fight back, just so long as August tells him what to do. He’ll listen. 

He could write ‘please let me go’ and leave it up to August’s interpretation, whether letting him go means returning him home or…to finally be put to rest. If August truly wants to be merciful, and follow through with his promises of no more pain; he’d put him out of his misery. It would be a kindness.

The jarring creak of the door snaps Declan out of his thoughts;  he yelps and stuffs the notepad quickly under his blanket. He is quick to hide the damning evidence that will no doubt land him his first punishment from his master. He can’t lose the little comfort Sir is allowing him right now. Not yet.

“Oh. I’m sorry. I thought you’d be asleep,” August mumbles, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck as his eyes dart all over the room to avoid eye contact. 

Declan presses his back flat against the headboard of the bed, his spine forced pencil straight, cowering under his blanket, glancing over the top. His eyes stay peeled on August, pupils blown wide with fright. Like a scared puppy in the pound, cornered by the dog warden. He’s sure August was hoping he was asleep. It’s easier to take advantage of a blood bag when they aren’t ready for you. Declan knows. He knows all too well.

“I was just going to-" August trails off, pointing to Declan’s bedside, sheepishly scuttling over to turn up the drip. The look of panic in Declan’s eyes instantly glazes over into a foggy, far-away look. A wave of ecstasy crashes over him. Pain melting away that he didn't even notice was there, he'd long grown accustomed to it.

"There. That should be more comfortable. I hope."

Declan’s eyes roll back into his skull, eyelids fluttering shut as he lets out a low and throaty groan, slouching back into the bed. Even the panic seems to be shoved down deep in his mind, even if he doesn’t want it to. He just lets the sleep come for him, no energy to push back, and steal him under. 

Only then does August notice the dozens of balls of paper littered around the room and Declan's notepad sticking up in a jagged shape underneath his blanket. August rifles through the sheets to pull it out.

“What?” August gasps to himself, flicking his thumb through page after page of just black ink blocks.

He can't make out much. It's all scribbled out. But he can make out a few words lurking underneath the abyss of swirls.

A few “please”’s are hidden in there, a “home” dotted here and there. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what the intention of the letter was. A letter crying out for mercy. Declan still can't quite comprehend, or even trust that he's in good hands. That just maybe the hell he’s endured is truly behind him and he can look forward, without having to look over his shoulder. 

August can feel his heart drop in his chest. He can feel the terror radiating from the pages, and it’s devastating to think of what must have been running through Declan’s mind in the moments when he tried to write those letters. 

They can't keep going like this, round in circles with this breakdown of communication. How can August ever get through to Declan if the boy can't even voice his worries and wants? There’s no way for August to guide him. 

It doesn’t matter. August will figure it out. Tomorrow, he will begin the journey to help Declan recover his voice. 

*!*!*!*!*!*

“D-Declan? Oh, my baby… I’m here. Sweetheart, it’s going to be okay-”

Mom? 

The tears already spill down his cheeks before his eyes can flutter open. The world stands still around them. In this moment, there’s just him and her. Nothing else exists. No horrors lived through, and no monsters hiding under the bed.

She’s here. She’s really here. She doesn’t look a day older than the last time he saw her, God knows how many years ago now. Same outfit too. The scratchy wool sweater he bought her for her birthday one year, beige with bunnies on it. 

His jaw stutters open, a strangled rasp making its way out instead of all the words he wishes he could say to her. How much he’s missed her, thought of her every single day that he could think, loved her with every fibre of his being when all his world was consumed with hate.

All he can do is weep, stretching his arms and reaching out for her, grabbing at the air with his hands. She daren’t wait a second longer, sprinting towards him and pulling him up into a crushing embrace, wrapping her arms so tight and burying her nose into his ruffled hair. Who knows if she’ll ever let go again?

She smells the same too. She smells like home. 

After all these days of August swearing safety and freedom, all those lies he’s been fed, this is it. This is the first time he’s felt he can accept that he’s safe. Now that she’s found him, everything will be okay.

Declan squeezes tighter, tighter than ever before. He nuzzles in towards her belly and lets his eyes slip shut. It’s time to finally go home. 

Then, a dark chortle rumbles above him. The sweet smell of perfume diffuses in the air, and a musty smell swims up Declan’s nostrils instead. The room feels stale, like all the light has been extinguished and the air has been sucked out of it. Or maybe it’s his own lungs; all he knows is that he can’t breathe all of a sudden. The terror grips his throat again. The arms around him crush against him, and sharp nails dig into his back. 

“Aw. Needy little blood bag, aren’t we, Deccy?”

Vince.

Where did  his mother go? She was just here in his arms. The world was right again, and now it’s been flipped upside down. The dark snuffs out the light, and loving touch is replaced with pain. 

In the entire time Declan lay dormant, his eyes saw a thousand horrors that his mind wasn’t awake to comprehend. Now, he’s awake. Now, he can understand and feel the fear. How can that be fair? That living as a zombie, not quite here but not quite gone, is somehow miraculously better than the alternative? 

Life. Life that he fought tooth and nail for. But he lost himself in the fight. And now Vince has come back to drag his sorry ass back down to that vile basement, to reclaim what’s rightfully his. It doesn’t matter how many times Declan tries to remind himself that he doesn’t belong to anyone; Vince is always there to remind him of his place. 

Declan screeches, trying in vain to untangle his limbs from the demon who tore his life to shreds. He thumps his fists against Vince’s chest to get out of his grip. It doesn’t matter. Vince holds him easily. Finally, With all the strength he can muster, Declan shoves Vince out of his arms, pushing him away from the bed as he goes stumbling backwards.

But it’s not Vince who staggers away from him. 

August nearly trips backwards over his own feet and stares back at Declan in astonishment, hurt painted across his face. August’s eyes are full of betrayal and concern, and Declan can’t wipe the confusion from his face. None of this makes any sense. He heard Vince, he saw him, he felt him.

“I’m so sorry. Did I spook you? I didn’t mean to. You’re okay, no-one’s going to hurt you!” August stresses, holding his palms out before him as if to demonstrate his innocence. 

Declan's head is about to implode. He can't begin to fathom what's unravelling before his very eyes. Curling into himself, he wails, mourning the loss of home all over again. The universe won't grant him an uninterrupted moment of silence, not without fear.

If he could, he’d go back and talk to himself; go and speak wisdom to the poor old Declan curled up and sobbing himself to sleep on his mattress and tell him it’s okay. To stop fighting. Because what was he fighting for?

He thought he was fighting for life. But what kind of life is this suffering? Is pain and terror? Deception at every turn.

Strangely enough, Declan recalls hearing a voice telling him that. That it was okay, everything would be okay. To let himself fall, because Vince’s words would be there to catch him. The burden of thought and choice, the risk of messing up would be taken away. He’d be the perfect vessel and blood bag.

At the time, Declan thought it was Vince’s persuasion luring him into giving over that final bit of control. Sweet tempting words to let him slip away,

Now, he wonders if it was him. If it was that final bit of him left suffocating under Vince’s power, laying down the sword. Giving up the fight. Telling Declan that they lost, but that’s okay. The sweet surrender of sleep was coming. 

Whatever was coming for him, was okay. It would be better.

It would have been. If it wasn’t for August. The saviour that’s condemned him…

*!*!*!*!*

Declan jumps awake in his bed, springing to sit upright, a scream tearing its way out of his dry throat, drenched in cold sweats through to the sheets. He pats his cheeks, feeling the dampness of tears latch to his fingertips.

It wasn't real.

No-one is there. A sliver of moonlight spotlights the space where August was standing moments ago. No, not August, Not Vince… or Mom. She was never here, they're still worlds apart. And it's like a knife to the heart, losing her all over again. 

He's living to suffer, despite the words his captors try to delude him with. Alive under August's wish only, to feed from and toy with. It doesn’t matter that August hasn’t used him yet. He will. Declan knows it. It’s August who is responsible for this; he caused that vile nightmare. August had drugged him in the middle of the night. 

The blood pounds in Declan’s ears, his heartbeat thumping rabbit fast in his chest. Panic beats him to a pulp, and he chokes on his own wet sobs as he desperately gasps to catch his breath. He rocks back and forth in his bed, slamming his palm over his mouth to trap in the cries.

Footsteps thunder down the hallway, and Declan’s ears prick up at the sound of sprinting at lightning pace as August and Lucas burst into the room. They both look terrified.  They must have  heard the blood-curdling scream echo through the house, and come running that very second. To subdue him again, Declan is sure.

"Declan! Everything okay in here-?"

Declan doesn't respond, he can't - he's too busy crying himself into hysterics, hyperventilating for breath. His eyes so wild, bloodshot red that they nearly matched those of the monster gawking at him in shock.

“What’s wrong? What happened?!” August gasps, rushing to one side of Declan's bed, Lucas the other. Declan cries out again, rolling away from August and reaching out for Lucas for protection, grabbing onto his t-shirt and burrowing his face to hide away. He must look so pathetic right now.  But Lucas is the one thing he's got left that’s closest to humanity in this place. An ally, someone he can rely on.

“C-Ca…Can’t-” Declan pants, sucking in desperate breaths as nausea twists in his gut. 

He can’t do it. He can’t cope anymore. He can’t be here, he can’t be food, or a plaything. Whatever he’s done in his life to deserve this, he’s so fucking sorry. But surely it’s time served by now, there has to be a point where he’s suffered enough. He deserves to go home and be free like the vampire keeps promising him he can. Why give him false hope? So he can revel in watching it be crushed again?

Lucas kneels down to Declan’s level, shooting him a solemn look. He slowly reaches for Declan’s trembling hand and places it flat on his chest, “Do what I do, yeah? Match my breathing. Slowly now, in and out.”

Declan feels his hand puff out with Lucas’ chest, following his exaggerated breaths. He focuses solely on matching, keeping in time–he does know how to do what he’s told, after all. He keeps inhaling through the nose…deep breath…back out again through the mouth. His eyes stay trained on Lucas’, and they breathe together until Declan’s back in the rhythm and the staccato gasps for air are no more.

“There we go. You’ve got this. It’s going to be okay,” Lucas consoles, beaming a smile at him. Deep down, Declan feels like he may be able to spare a pinch of trust in him. 

“I think you just had a bad dream. You’re safe, Declan," August chimes in. He sounds as though he’s trying to comfort, and even if Declan doesn’t believe him, he tries his best to not to scream at the top of his lungs to stop lying, no matter how badly he wants to. It doesn’t matter anyway. August probably knows exactly what he’s thinking. They always do. 

"Can you say it back to me? You’re safe.”

Declan presses his lips together. Not a chance. He's not falling for it, not playing along with the sick mind games. That is, of course, until Lucas nods encouragingly at him, a reassuring smile begging him to at least try. Maybe if they hear it, hear him try, they’ll leave him alone. 

“S-...s-sa-” Declan stammers and stutters, his voice barely rising above a whisper. The entire time, his brain is begging him to not believe his own words.

When was the last time he truly felt safe?

“-fe. S-sa..fe” 

Who is safe anymore? Where is safe? What does that word even mean anymore? He thought maybe Lucas was safe… and he seems it. But maybe he's just as bad, he's complicit. Declan pulls his hand away from Lucas and holds it close to him. It’s a fool's game to trust.

“S-Sa..fe.”

He’ll never be safe again. 

Declan bursts into tears, shaking his head furiously and snatching his notepad from the bedside stand. August stops and takes a step back to give him space. Declan feels August’s eyes as he writes. 

L I E S

August crumbles to his knees at the sight of the words. Declan doesn’t understand. If he’s angry, why doesn’t he just hurt Declan like Vince always did? Why go through the motions of pretending to care? It’s not as if it makes a difference. Declan is August’s to use, no matter what.  

"Declan, please believe me. It's not a lie."

LET ME GO

"I will. I promise I'm not - I'm not keeping you here. You’re not a prisoner. No harm will ever come to you. You just need to heal, then we can look at getting you home. I can’t send you back like this - a shell of yourself."

The mask slips, August has finally dropped the ball. Just like Declan knew he would eventually. He’s being sent back to Vince. Patched up and shipped back. He just can’t believe August can dare refer to it as ‘home’. He was right all along, he knew August was tricking him. It doesn’t make it hurt any less, knowing that when he’s recovered and healthy, August will hand him back over to Vince so he can be broken all over again. 

It’s not fair that he woke up. It’s not. He’s been through hell and back. What is the fucking point if he’s only being made strong enough so that they can drain him all over again? They had no right to wake him up. They had no right to continue his suffering. Who gave August the right to play god?

-

Special thank you to @whumpcereal for the amazing beta on this for me! <3 and to @darkthingshappen and @sparrowsage for cheering me on when I was struggling!

[oddsconvert]

What are your OCs' uhhhhh...*checks notes* favorite colors?

AHA! I found this post from way back when! I knew I had them written down somewhere!

Also just now realising I never included Lucas...boo hiss boo me. Lucas' favourite colour is purple too 🌂💜🌌 !!!

[oddsconvert]

What would happen if his family found out that August was sheltering two humans?

August's family would kill them; Declan and Lucas. They wouldn't even steal them to be their own bloodbags. They would be so disgusted and disrespected by August, they would want to hit him where it hurts, and it would absolutely destroy him. He would be ostracised and disowned, they'd smash and tear apart his surgery.

He'd be left with nothing.

[oddsconvert]

What does August think of vampires and humans?

August really has no time for vampires, he's so disappointed in his own kind. If he could renounce his vampirism and become a human, he would in a heartbeat. He finds vampires way of life and practices cruel and barbaric. And he's under no illusion that humans are the perfect species without their flaws or drawbacks, but he definitely does not view them as food to be hunted or livestock - he sees them as living, breathing beings with wants, needs and desires just like vampires are.