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Owen couldnt exactly pin-point when he started to change.
Maybe it was in Hell, with the doctor's warm embrace enveloping him, forgivness even after death. He hadnt even noticed, how his cold glares from across the inferno softened, or how his teeth bore less.
The doctor's grudge softened in turn. He hadnt noticed that, and across the years he hadnt noticed as they edged closer to eachother.
The existance of their son was enough testamant to the fact that something had changed during Hell. He was created from their ... complicated feelings, though. Not exactly anything good— just complicated. That wasnt when he changed, was it?
Maybe it was even further than that, maybe it was just how the weight of Louis' disappointed gaze crushed him at the pearly gates. How he had crumbled to ash. How he had blazed in life and and walked through the lake that burns with sulfur. Maybe Hell had changed him, as was it's purpose, or maybe it was Heaven's longing.
But nevertheless, Owen had changed somehow. The edges softened, wittling him down like a piece of wood.
Maybe it was after Hell. The revival of Oakhurst's old residents brought him and the doctor back from the grave, and even his dearest angel had returned. Maybe it was in the small argument silenced by Legundo's lips, or maybe it was in Louis' insistance on taking them both in after his manor was rebuilt.
Maybe it was in the domesticity, the sickeningly calm domesticity, where he started to change.
It was tense at first, awkward, even. It felt like the three vampires were constantly stepping on eggshells around eachother, before the exterior broke and they collapsed into eachother.
It had been quite nice, the situation Owen found himself in. It was almost Heaven, which was ironic, considering where they were just before.
He had his doctor. He had his mayor. He had his lovers, and his family, and then he had his town.
His reluctant coven had also seemed to have changed over the years he was dead— without threat of war, or a barrier preventing them from leaving, or any stakes and holy water or silver pressed against their forms, things were calmer.
Content was not a feeling Owen came across often. But the slow mornings, and quiet nights, and calm days tended to soothe him.
Even now, in the quiet of the manor, cuddled against two bodies—neither corpse nor human—his mind stirred.
"You softened me." He suddenly blurted out, his tone almost sharp— only towards himself. He'd never be sharp towards his lovers—
God, he was too far gone now.
Louis lifted his head to glance at Owen, his brow raising in question. Legundo stirred too, shifting his arms around Owen and setting down his book.
"What exactly are you talking about, love?" The mayor asked softly.
"You two. You softened me. You wittled away at me." Owen grumbled, crossing his arms and absently scratching at the scabs, which were no longer covered in bandages.
When did that happen? When had he softened enough to bear looking at the scabs and scars, let alone let others?
"And is that a bad thing?" Legundo sighed, pulling Owen a bit closer. The doctor's scent filled his mind, clouding it. As if he wasnt already off track.
Owen scoffed, turning away. "Yes—"
"I dont know. I like the softened you." Louis muttered, leaning down and brushing his nose against Owen's neck. Owen let out an involuntary chitter, shifting.
"When did this even happen?" Owen mumbled, almost melting against the others.
"Love— my heart, are you truly confused on this?" Louis huffed out a small laugh.
Owen nodded hesitantly.
"I... how did you even manage to coerce me to this—"
"I dont think it took any coercion, Owen. You just... 'softened', as you put it, on your own." The doctor interjected.
Owen stuttered out nonsense, burying himself in his partners' arms.
More time passed.
Owen noticed how the changes continued.
He found himself content with time alone. He found himself apologising for his misdeeds.
He found that, in the new mirrors with a lack silver, he felt a soul staring back at him rather than an empty reflection.
He found the recovering orchard of Oakhurst calming. He found his axe hesitant. He found his bloodlust, which had been steadily depleting, was nothing more than the inherent hunger all living creatures had.
He found he had a new cowardice towards reckless things. Towards pain. Towards inflicting it on others or on his own body. He found he had an urge to live. He hadnt felt that in a long time.
He found he enjoyed soft things. He found he enjoy himself, his life within Oakhurst, and his lovers' gazes. He found he enjoyed a family. He found he enjoyed the company of the other residents.
When had this happened? When had his bark been wittled away? When, in Hell or Earth, did he change?
He had died in blaze when Louis first did, he had died that day and onwards walked a husk.
So why was there warmth? Why did he get granted this domesticity?
When had things changed? When had he paid his penance?
It was all a blur, he barely remembered.
Love made him approachable, love made him sweet.
His fangs had softened, too, built not for tearing apart skin and cartilidge, or piercing through an animal's veins, instead he had that of a carnivore's— when had his violence been quelled?
Love made him cordial.
It seemed to never end.
Small changes day by day, second by second.
Sometimes Owen missed the days he'd glare at an empty mirror, wake to a cold coffin instead of a firm embrace.
Townsfolk wouldnt dare to pass him, they'd only shoot him down from the sky, throw holy water, place silver.
But that all changed, in these new circumstances.
Especially in this rebuilt town, in the quiet and warm manor.
Especially under the soft covers. In the rooms with softly filtered sunlight.
In the whispers, kisses, love bites, the soft embraces, the tired cuddles. Change grew in how soft chitters and purrs filled the deafening silence.
Even now, Owen couldnt pin-point when he started to change.
Even now he'd accepted that he had, he still couldnt figure out when, or how, or why.
Love made him soft.
For the best.