Chapter Text
Erwin’s never been so underwhelmed by the outside appearance of what most teenagers would consider a ‘haunted’ mansion before in his life.
It’s rickety and horrid-looking, one very well suiting for a house of the dead. It is large, though, he’ll give it that—it’s a good three stories, most likely a basement underneath. He’s rounded it a few times and spotted a storm shelter in the back, which isn’t uncommon for this area. There’s a shed, which he’d poked his head into, but the contents had just been old, rotting boards and a few skittering mice. There are dying rose bushes on either side of the large wooden porch, though there’s vibrantly green ivy creeping up the entire west side of the building (with the amount of rainfall the surrounding city seems to bring in every year, he thinks it’d be harder to get rid of the ivy than grow it, and he’d learned from his mother that keeping rose bushes alive was one hell of a job anyway).
The only thing about the entire place that catches his eye is the massive, round stained glass window on the top floor. It looks like it has an impressively arched ceiling, at that, a thin brick chimney popping out of it to the east. He can’t see through any of the plain paned windows, the heavy curtains covering them not budging in the slightest.
A glance to his watch tells Erwin it’s just a quarter past two in the morning.
It’s a full moon, presenting him with all of the lighting he needs for a successful hunt. It’s late enough that there shouldn’t be any uninvited company or unwanted surprises. He’s scoped the place out for long enough (bordering a week) that he knows there’s light activity inside, but never out. His reports inform him that there’s only one dormant occupant of the house and he’s fought the urge to paint a visual or form any expectations.
If there’s one thing about vampires that he’s learned from experience, aside from how to kill them, it’s definitely that they’re unpredictable beings.
It takes Erwin twelve disciplined, near-silent strides to take him from the rusty iron gate to the steps of the porch. He tests the bottom step with his boot, wary of its age (he’s fallen through too much wood before; his weight is predictably hard to hold up in most cases). When he’s confident it won’t cave or squeak too wretchedly, he takes the three cautious steps up onto the platform. The porch accepts him with ease, no whining or groaning under his feet as he moves to the door. The suspicion doesn’t settle into the pit of his stomach until he pushes the door open and there’s not even the slightest squeak from the hinges, no brushing of old wood against the floor.
He realizes it’s futile to curse anything now.
Any seasoned vampire would’ve known his presence the moment he’d stepped onto the property. Unless the creature is asleep, it’s probably lying in wait for him, a trap between them. All of the vampires he’d met had liked to think that they were rather clever, talented things. This one would, no doubt, think itself the same.
The entryway of the mansion is surprisingly well-loved. The hardwood floor is a little worn and scuffed in certain places, but overall rather sleek. Grand ivory stairs with beautifully and intricately carved railing wait directly in front of him though he can’t see where they lead. There are bookshelves among bookshelves lined up along the walls, a comfortable-looking chair behind an antique coffee table placed in the corner. There’s a book, as worn and tattered as the outside of the house, placed next to a pair of what appeared to be store-bought reading glasses.
I guess immortals can’t get their hands on prescriptions, he thinks, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.
The contradictory inside of the mansion almost throws Erwin for a loop, if he’s honest with himself. It’s so human-like and different from the other places he’s been sent on hunts that he could easily forget that he’s on one at this very moment. His goal is clear, present and accounted for—things like this just keep him on his toes, keep him ready for more surprises. He’s alert, he’s prepared, and this is the kind of stuff he’s been trained for.
With every step he takes, he tests the floors with the edge of the boot, much like he had the steps of the porch, for any give or noise. False floors are the oldest trick in the book and he’s seen so many fall for them. He won’t let his pride suffer.
The door cracks closed behind him and he spins, expecting a figure, a face, some sign of life, but there’s nothing.
He almost laughs to himself at how cliché the moment is. As he takes one wary step back from the door, foot still searching for any signs of a trap, he calculates.
It knows I’m here, he tells himself dryly. I can wait until it gets bored, or I can run right into a damn cage. Knife on left thigh, gun in the back, rosary—
Erwin’s world tips backwards as all of his weight is brought down to the floor—his foot had caught onto something, stupid, stupid, stupid, your own damn fault for not looking—and he lands on his back with a crack. The air is forced out of his lungs and he gasps, sitting up as quickly as his body will allow, and by the time he’s breathing again—
“Hello there.”
He freezes for a fraction of a second. The voice is soft, pitch too high to be mature, too silky not to be. It’s disorienting, but he feels the adrenaline burning through his veins, raging and steering him so close to autopilot that he doesn’t realize what he’s doing until red eyes meet his. The figure is perched on the support beams of the ceiling, legs dangling and winging. He only catches a glimpse of light golden hair before the vampire is dropping down from its makeshift seat directly above him.
Body reacting quicker than his mind, Erwin releases a soft hiss of air (a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding) and rolls to the side. The momentum he creates pulls him away from his predator (prey?) just milliseconds before it’s too late—
But there’s an ugly snap and he’s falling.
He’s falling and he’s lost his stomach somewhere back in the entryway, probably even before he’d fallen on his back the first time. Even when he’s stopped, when he’s not falling anymore, his back aches in a way he’d never imagined and he’s fighting for breath.
“Your mother should’ve taught you manners,” that silky voice tells him, thickly laced with an English lilt. He catches a glimpse of red and gold again before his eyes shut against his will and he feels himself growing limp. “It’s common courtesy to ask permission to enter someone’s home before you just do it.”
+
Erwin wakes with a start and a stutter. The inky blackness slowly seeps from his vision as he forces his eyes open, forces them to take in the room around him. He doesn’t doubt that he looks ridiculous, dazed and confused as he stares around what he’s assuming to still be the basement he’d fallen into. There’s a small end table in the corner adjacent to him with a candle stand, three long and flickering candles sitting snugly in their respective spaces. His knife and gun sit on the table.
Curled up in a chair—similar to the one he’d seen in the entryway of the mansion—sitting next to the table is a sleeping boy.
Vampire, Erwin corrects himself. Christ knows how old he actually is.
He’s pale, no color to his cheeks or nose; evidence that he hasn’t fed in some time. His hair is just as golden as Erwin had thought it to be, even with just the small glance he’d gotten from before. He is literally curled in the chair, his legs drawn up to his chest as he holds something rectangular in his arms. His head rests on the arm of the chair, hair splayed across his cheeks and forehead. He’s wearing surprisingly well-kept clothes—a large coat that Erwin thinks is unnecessary (it’s not cold out tonight) on top of what appears to be a wool sweater, jeans and worn-down tennis shoes. All aside from the coat, Erwin thinks that maybe the clothing really does suit him. He can’t be much older than thirteen or fourteen, considering his size and the roundness of his cheeks.
The vampire breathes slowly, steadily, his eyelashes fluttering just slightly as his eyelids move with whatever he’s dreaming.
Discomfort settles in his chest were suspicion had been the last time he’d checked. Was he really supposed to kill a child? Could he kill a child? He wasn’t dead yet, obviously, so the boy likely had no intentions of killing him.
Erwin shifts slightly where he sits, as much as he can, before he feels the ropes wrapped unkindly around his arms and calves.
He’s tied to a fucking wooden chair.
Suppressing a groan, he rolls head before tilting it back to stare up at the ceiling. A careful square of concrete has been removed from the ceiling, big enough to fit a fully-sized grown man through with ease. He can see a slab of hardwood that he assumes is the floor from the entryway of the mansion. Thin pieces of wood are wedged perfectly, strong enough to just barely hold the slab up on every corner. They look fairly weak, though, like they could snap with ease.
“Moulding strips.”
Erwin doesn’t jerk or jump, but he almost does. He stills, slowly turning his attention to the boy sitting in the chair. He’s got that sleepy look to him, eyes not wanting to open all of the way, lips a little swollen, hair still a little messy and sticking up in certain places. He does what he can to smooth it down, managing a soft little whiney yawn as he does. He places the book on the end table (Erwin reads ‘Essays on the Human Anatomy’ and almost considers it ironic) before he stands out, straightening out his sweater.
The boy smiles a little faintly as he turns his attention to the ceiling, admiring his own handiwork with no shame.
“They’re not very strong,” he says, voice tinted with mirth. “I figured you’d take it down, based on your size. It was kind of a shot in the dark, but I must admit I’m pretty proud.”
Erwin’s a little impressed, himself, and it’s hard to hide. The boy had put together three separate traps to make one more intricate trap, one that could have easily failed if he had made the wrong move, but he hadn’t. He had fallen straight into the vampire’s hands, fallen victim to his plans just the way he’d wanted.
“The false floor was a little cliché, don’t you think?” he finally challenges, and his voice is hoarser than he’d expected. Like he hadn’t just fallen an entire story onto hard concrete. “I could’ve easily gone in a different direction.”
“You fell for it, didn’t you,” the blonde boy replies dryly, eyes shining. He even smiles, an angelic little gesture that just makes Erwin all the more wary of him. He may be look like a child, he decides, but he definitely doesn’t think like one. He thinks like a predator, an owl spying on its mice. “You could have, but you didn’t. And the chances were fairly low. I was on a beam slightly to your left, so your natural reaction was to go the opposite direction. It’s just how the human mind works—no hard feelings or anything.”
The vampire steps closer to him, kicking pieces of moulding strips out of his way as he goes. There’s a little bit of blood on the floor and Erwin supposes that’s probably his. How the boy resists it, he’s not sure.
Erwin can smell the faint scent of honeysuckle.
“No hard feelings,” he repeats. He rolls the words around on his tongue and they taste bitter. “Of course.”
Erwin gives an experimental tug on the ropes. They’re tight and give him no slack. The edges of the chair press into his skin, leaving faint imprints that will likely leave bruises. His legs are tied tighter than his arms, leaving him absolutely no allowance of movement unless he wants to fall to the floor, chair and all. Movement in general is a lost cause, he decides.
He’s stuck in that damn chair until the vampire lets him free.
“I’ll make a deal with you.”
At the words, Erwin’s head snaps up and he stares at the blonde boy standing in front of him, arms stuffed behind his back, angelic little fucking smile still on his face. He looks a little smug, a little conniving, but there’s something hidden behind his eyes that Erwin can’t really place. Doubt? Faltering?
Either way, a vampire hunter striking a deal with a vampire sounds counter-productive.
“And what does this deal entail?” Erwin asks slowly, each word cautious and on-point. He doesn’t look away, even when red eyes return his gaze and stare right back. “I don’t have much on me right now.”
“You have exactly what I need, worry not.”
Erwin’s skin crawls and a tingle shoots straight down his spine. He holds a moment to himself to regret getting into this situation—he’s never failed once before—but he doesn’t dwell. He can’t dwell, or he’ll end up dead by sunrise, he’s sure. The vampire that’s holding him captive doesn’t seem aggressive or dangerous, and in fact is more of a child than a threat to him, but he can’t doubt the potential. Trifling with a vampire of any stature is what gets a person killed.
“My name is Armin.”
The hunter raises his eyebrows, a question. He receives a smile in return. It’s more genuine than the unnerving one he’d gotten just moments before.
“We should probably get acquainted if I’m going to be feeding off of you.”
Erwin’s eyes narrow.
It’s not like he hadn’t been expecting it. It’s not uncommon for vampires to try to strike deals when their own lives are on the line, but the roles are reversed now. He’s not holding a holy blade up to Armin’s neck, he doesn’t have a rosary burning into the boy’s skin, and he doesn’t have the barrel of a gun pointed directly at his heart. He’s tied to a chair, left to helplessly sit as Armin decides his fate. He’s sure he could overpower the small boy if he was released from his confines, it’d be no heavy feat, but the ropes are strong and the chair is sturdy.
In summary, the vampire knows exactly what he’s doing and he’s simply waiting for Erwin to realize it, too. He’s not confident enough to scare the piss out of the hunter, but he doesn’t underestimate himself.
“I suppose that all I gain from this arrangement is my life, then?” Erwin asks tiredly. He wishes he could stretch his legs out right about now. “I become your personal blood bag and you don’t kill me.”
Armin tosses his head to the side and stares off to a dark corner of the basement. He pretends to roll the idea over in his mind a few times, like that’s not what he’d just proposed, like he hasn’t completely thought it through, but Erwin isn’t ignorant (by his own standards, at least). He’s on equal playing ground for the first time in his life and it’s almost invigorating (knowing he’s more or less going to have the life drained out of him is much less invigorating; he’s heard that shit hurts, anyway).
Armin turns his gaze back to Erwin, but doesn’t look him in the eyes this time. He looks him over, watches the way the muscles of his arms twitch when he tries to shift a little, watches the rise and fall of his chest.
Erwin definitely feels like that mouse again.
“You should value your life more.” Armin doesn’t move away, but he shifts his weight to his other foot in one fluid motion. He moves in a way that makes Erwin uncomfortable—he’s too smooth to be real. “You’re acting like it’s just your life. Like it’s not worth it.”
“Maybe it’s not worth it,” Erwin says coldly, eyes narrowing once again. The pale skin of Armin’s jaw contracts as he clenches it, and Erwin spits, “Maybe I’d rather die than help the thing I kill for a living survive.”
Cold fingers grip Erwin’s chin brutally and he tries to jerk away on instinct. Armin’s skin is so cold it nearly burns him, and he finds that in itself immobilizes him. Armin’s eyes have gone dark by the time he meets them and he fights back an unwelcome shudder. He’s never really been this close to a vampire before; true enough, he’s killed plenty in the last several years, but he’s never been so close. He can see every detail of Armin’s irises, feel his surprisingly chilly breath on his skin, smell the surprising scent of honeysuckle from his hair or his clothes or just him entirely. So that’s where it’s coming from.
He’s so inhumanly human that it’s terrifying.
“I’ll just take your blood as an apology for coming here to kill me, then,” Armin whispers out, never breaking eye contact and never giving Erwin the chance to look away. Erwin swallows; he can’t help himself. “And maybe teach you how to you value your life and put your pride aside.”