Chapter Text
The cobbles beneath his feet threaten to echo, the sound of him slowly making his way inside the home being broadcasted to whoever’s still inside. He’s careful, breath held within his chest as he makes his way through the winding corridors that are there for nothing but decoration.
The lit torches flicker in warning on the walls as he passes by them, casting his shadow larger than he is in a poor mimicry across the walls. He passes beneath another torch, swallowing down the discomfort it brings him to be so close to an open flame. Something crackles behind him and he spins, cape flaring out behind him as he readies for an attack.
The hallway is empty.
He relaxes his stance, swallowing back the anxiety as he realises it was one of the torches hanging on the wall, the flames simply crackling as they devour another piece of the burning item.
He turns back to his mission, slightly less concerned about stealth as he makes his way through the house. The owner hasn't come across him yet, so he doubts they're actually home. He quickens his step a little, peering into each room he passes by.
He glances around the fifth one of this section of the house, only pausing when he notices the chests and barrels lining the walls of the room. He slips inside, the door shutting behind him with a click, a hand lingering on the sanded wood for a moment longer.
The chests are neatly labelled too, making it a lot easier for him as he makes a beeline for the chest labelled as valuables. Lifting the lid of it up, he finds quite meagre results. He frowns, ears twitching downwards as he stares at the pitiful amount of diamonds the chest contains.
There’s maybe a handful of actually valuable items inside, and he really only hesitates a second before taking them. He leaves a few behind, obviously, he’s not a complete monster and this person is obviously struggling already.
He doesn't feel too guilty, tucking the rubies and diamonds and various other shinies away, not even when the chest looks even more empty and desolate than before. All it really needs is a cobweb and it’d look like the owner had abandoned this place completely.
He closes the chest again, latch clicking shut as he presses it down. He pauses, hand still resting against the chest lid as he listens. He turns his head to the side, looking at the door a little more closely.
He can hear footsteps coming from beyond it, echoing down the overly warm hallways. He swallows, glancing around the room for a means of escape. The hallway outside is one way, and he’s trapped himself at the end of it, completely at the mercy of the owner when they enter.
The window is entirely out of the question too, much too small for him to fit out of, and even then it’s too high up for him to even hope to reach. He glances around the room again, eyes flicking over the small nooks that he could've easily fit in before, but he would struggle to do anything but make an idiot out of himself with them now.
The handle of the door twists, and he presses himself into the corner of the room, just behind a particularly tall stack of barrels and hoping that they're really short-sighted. Or just stupid. Stupid works too.
His heart rate spikes as the door creaks (had it creaked when he opened it? He can't quite remember), reaching into his throat and filling the small space uncomfortably until he feels as though he’s going to choke on it. His heart shouldn't even be beating still, he’s dead and there’s no blood to flow through his veins. Still, it continues to echo in his ears, heart continuing to spike as he bundles himself into the corner as tightly as possible.
He hears someone enter the room, their footsteps the exact opposite of cautious or quiet, borderline stomping towards one of the chests at the opposite side of the room. He presses a hand over his mouth to stifle his breathing, entirely unwilling to give up the stolen items now that he’s made it this far.
He watches Joel’s back, keeping his breathing carefully slow behind his hand as the man rifles through his chests, searching for something that he can't seem to find. He watches as the flames in his hair sputter and spit, sparks flying across the room.
He watches one of them travel towards him, pulling his foot away from it as it lands on the floor. He continues to keep quiet, even as an icy chill begins to steal it’s way across his skin, numbing him as he continues to watch Joel’s back, hardly breathing as he moves around, searching other chests.
The cold expands, lifting off his skin but still present, before wrapping tighter again, ribbons and ribbons of it winding around his heart and squeezing until he’s afraid it might burst entirely. Still, it continues to hammer, feeling as though it’s beating a bruise into his ribs.
He doesn't dare breathe as Joel makes his way towards him, even as his limbs disappear from feeling, replaced entirely by a cold numbness that takes over everything else.
Joel seems to grow taller as he approaches, slowly inching upwards. When he looms over him, he’s several times his height, despite him curling in on himself, keeping his eyes trained on Joel.
The blaze ignores him completely, even as his eyes drift over him, rifling through one of the barrels hiding him. He either finds what he’s looking for or gives up, as he leaves the room, door shutting with a click that makes his ears hurt.
His hands have already slipped away from his mouth at this point, breaths coming out in short gasps as he struggles to breathe in slowly. His heart continues to pound, almost uncomfortably, as he sits there, half-slumped against the barrel beside him.
When he looks up again, breathing much more level, his vision still appears tunnelled, items around him stretching upwards, impossibly tall as they surround him. Even the barrels beside him are taller than he is.
He moves, bringing his hands to press against his face, hoping that the small dose of reality would bring him back to himself again. Something swishes over the floor beside him, and he startles, heart jumping again. He’s not actually sure why he’s so jumpy today, but it’s really doing no favours for his heart.
He presses his hands to his face, almost catching himself on his nails. He pulls his hands away again, blinking at the things that are definitely not his hands in front of his face. They look closer to wings, skin spread in a thin layer between every bone.
He gasps, a gut-wrenching feeling of his bones moving jolting him back to reality. He slumps forward again, breathing shaky as he inhales slowly. He ignores the sensation of his bones shifting and scraping against each other, a sickening sound that echoes in his ears as he lays there.
The pain takes longer to fade than the odd numbness, but it’s still gone in a matter of moments, leaving him in an undignified heap on the floor. His hands are hands again when he checks, no wings spreading out from beneath them and definitely no claws.
He stares at his hands, slowly spreading his fingers out, before pressing them together again. He feels like he’s going a little insane, actually, sitting on the floor of Joel’s storage room, a pouch of stolen items at his hip and trying to convince himself he didn't just turn into a bat.
But, unless he’s started having incredibly vivid hallucinations that’s definitely what just happened to him. He rolls his shoulders, feeling a few of the bones pop back into place with an almost satisfying crack.
He stands, hand on a nearby barrel for stability as he straightens up. The world around him spins slightly, and he struggles to remain upright for a few moments as his vision greys out, small, black spots appearing across his eyes.
Right. He’s not a bat anymore, he’s himself again. But that still doesn't explain any of it in the first place.
The air around him is stiflingly hot, and it seems to push and pull at him until he can't think straight, the overwhelming heat of it jumbling his thoughts until he can't even think straight. Yet he’s never hallucinated in his life , not even when it’s way too hot for a person to even consider living somewhere. And Joel had definitely not seen him, skipping over him entirely, and turning into a bat is more probable than him spontaneously turning invisible.
Vampires have history with turning into bats, even if he hadn't been able to do it before, he apparently can now and he’s really not about to question his luck there. It was a net gain today, and the weight of the gems at his side is evidence of that.
He turns to the window again, considering it as a more viable option of escape this time around. Joel’s up now, for whatever reason, maybe he was too loud while going through his chests or something, and to leave through the front entrance or any other entrance would draw unwanted attention to him.
He climbs onto one of the barrels stacked beneath the window, resting his knee on the next one as he boosts himself up to unlatch the window. He pushes it open, a welcome breeze making its way into the room. The cold air brushes over his cheeks in a way he wouldn't describe as anything less than blissful. He allows himself a few moments to soak up the sudden cold before his thoughts return to the task at hand.
Theoretically, if he could turn into a bat, he would be able to fit out of this window. If he can fit out of this window he can prove that it is not a hallucination and also get away from this house as quickly as possible without being caught.
He sits on the barrel, stopped at the first hurdle of his plan as he realises he doesn't actually know how to change. It had just happened, a spontaneous thing in the moment. He stares at the ground, frustration slowly growing as his plan grinds to a halt.
He groans, bringing his hands up to drag down his face, trying to get his brain to start working again. And preferably soon because he’s already late for the meeting and Shubble might actually skin him alive this time.
The cold air drifts over his fingers, numbing them slightly. He jolts, looking around at the window again. Right, cold numbness before he changed, that’s a thing that happened. He focuses on his fingers, feeling as the numbing cold settles further into his skin.
He imagines the feeling spreading up the rest of his arm, before blooming out across the rest of his body like a gushing stream of water. His heart begins to beat a little faster as he focuses, and he swallows, reminding himself that Joel’s gone, Joel’s not here anymore.
His head spins, even with his eyes closed, and he closes them tighter, ducking his head down. Cold ribbons of air make their way around his limbs, wrapping tightly around him, and squeezing, compressing.
The pressure releases, and he gasps, inhaling the air he had been starved of. His bones ache, feeling as though they've been stretched and twisted. The room is larger, the same as before, and he stares downwards, over the edge of the barrel he’s currently perched on.
This is weird, he decides, backing up a little and glancing at the window again. It’s a greater distance away, but bats can fly, and it really can't be that hard to fly when you already have wings.
He escapes through the window, much more significantly bruised than he had been before entering that house. There’s no one to prove that he crashed three times though, so he’s taking that as a personal win.
The air around him is also pleasantly cool, a slow breeze dancing around him, brushing against his wings. It’s an odd feeling, but not one that he particularly minds. He doesn't get time to enjoy it, dipping towards the hidden entrance in a few minutes, slowly drifting downwards.
He swoops inside the meeting room, shifting back midway through his descent and stumbling to the ground. He’s slightly out of breath, pausing as his vision spins again, fading out completely this time as he straightens up.
“Scott?” Sausage has half-risen from his chair, hands pressed against the table. “Where have you been ?”
“Joel’s house.” He still feels a little dizzy, but nods in Shubble’s direction anyway. “I stole a few things.”
“Isn't he really poor?” Shubble asks, still sat in her seat, hand resting on the palm of her hand.
“Oh he’s so poor.” He laughs. “He’s even more poor now, I stole most of his valuables, not that there was really anything to steal at all.”
“Is that why you're late?” Sausage sits in his seat again. “You're never late for our meet-ups.”
“I had a little self-discovery along the way.” He shrugs, making his way over to where Sausage is sitting. “Found out I can change into a bat,” he rests a hand on the back of Sausage’s chair, “You know, the usual.”
He watches as the other two appear to buffer, before Sausage is twisting in his seat to look at him, a similar shocked expression on Shubble’s face.
“The usual?” Sausage sputters. “What do you mean you can change into a bat.”
“I'm a vampire, aren't I?” He asks. “I'm pretty sure it’s in the job description.”
“Not yours.” Shubble no longer looks as surprised as she had before. “We checked, remember?”
“Well, we didn't check well enough, I suppose.” He swings his legs over Sausage, settling easily in his seat, even as the other protests. “You're sat in my seat, angel,” he reminds, “If you're sat in my seat, you know the consequences.”
“It’s not your seat.” Sausage crosses his arms. “It’s a seat, and I can sit where I want. Especially when you never show up on time.”
“I'm always fashionably late.” He shrugs. “What can I say.”
Shubble sighs loud enough to interrupt their conversation, pinching the bridge of her nose with her fingers. He watches as a few shadows wisp away from her, eyes tracking them across the room. “You two are insufferable.” She informs them, with all the patience of an impatient person.
“So you tell us every week.” He grins.
“And yet you continue to invite us back.” Sausage adds.
“I'm not entirely sure why, really.” Shubble shrugs, already looking tired, less than five minutes into talking to him. “Though,” she looks at him, “You changing into a bat could prove useful to us.”
“In what way?”
“Maybe…spy on a few meetings? You know as well as I do that there’s a task force out there plotting our murders.”
“True.” He nods. “I could also find out the best times to target people.”
“Ooh yeah,” Sausage nods, “We haven't been able to prank anyone in an age .”
“We went after Lizzie two days ago.” He reminds. “You almost fell in the Void three times.”
“And it was worth it.”
“Not really. She didn't even show up.”
“But she might have.”
“But she didn't.”
“But-”
“I think we get the idea, Sausage.” Shubble interrupts. “Just, find whatever information you can, yeah?” She directs the last part at him, and he nods, sitting up a little.
“I’ll do my best. Would be bad for business if one of us died.”
“Glad you think of us so highly, Scott.”
“Of course.” He grins at her. “You up for drinks at my place?”
“Always.” Shubble stands from her seat. “You better have the good stuff too, an apology for being late and all.”
“What kind of person do you take me for?” He presses a hand to his chest, mildly offended. “Of course it’s the good stuff. I stock nothing else.”
“The only thing you stock is blood, Scott.” Sausage complains.
“And it’s the only thing I need.” He stands from his seat, offering a hand to Sausage. “Though I might have a few snacks today, angel.”
“You say that every time.” Sausage rolls his eyes, taking his hand anyway. “Let’s see if you're telling the truth this time, hm?”
“When have I ever lied to you?”
“Like, thirty seconds ago.”