Vampire!141 x fledgling!reader, who was found abandoned and starved the plan
After a few more cups of bear blood, the water has cooled down, and you finally have enough strength to bathe. As you soak, the 141 takes care of your cottage.
Laundry's done, and your bed linens are clean again. The windows are wiped, and the floors are swept and mopped. Any traces of blood are taken care of, as well. Your one tomato plant has been watered, and the air is fresh once more, free from the stench of death.
Every now and then, the men check up on you to make sure you’re still above water and conscious. After tidying up, they take a seat at your kitchen table, their own beverages in hand as they concoct a plan for your rearing.
On paper, it's a simple three-step process:
-And keep you out of the Sun.
You won't enjoy step three all too much, this they know. While it's true that most of the myths are hooey, vampires are still primarily a nocturnal race.
"Until she's five, she's nothin' but a snowflake," Simon says. "But the Sun's the least of our problems if she doesn't feed regularly."
"She will make it to her fifth year," Price reassures Simon. He nods, "She's a strong one."
"Not if she skips meals," Simon pushes back. "It's good that she's drinkin' now, but fledglings can still be stubborn and put off feeding." Simon often skipped feeding in his own youth and had to be force-fed on occasion. He doesn't want to resort to that with you. "I'm not doubting her, but…"
"We're all worried, Lt.," Johnny voices everyone's concerns. "But she's got us now. And I'm wit' Price on this; fledgie's got a good heart and a proper head on her shoulders." The Scot's hand overlaps with Simon's. "We're her best chance at survival. We just gotta guide her." Simon's fingers then interlock with Johnny's in silent thanks.
"We still need to reconsider her living arrangements," Kyle frowns before taking a sip of deer. "She'll be spending most of the first two years in shadows, and keeping her in this little cottage won't do her any good."
"Think we could convince her to move to the estate?" Johnny hopes. "Bigger with a lotta space, plenty of gazebos that'll be beneficial whenever she wants to go outside." He pauses, frowning as he hears himself talking. "Damn, sounds like we're discussing a dog," he mutters, ashamed.
"We'll discuss things further when she gets out, but we have a better chance with moving," John counters back.
"Does she have any family?" Kyle asks next. "Anyone who'll miss her?"
"Amos said she's on her own. She has no one to call or reach out to. He didn't give specifics, but family's not in her contacts."
"Hmph, only a few good reasons why," Simon says with a scoff.
"Whatever the reason, we're gonna be there for her," Kyle affirms.
The bathroom door creaks open, and a light pit-pat is paired with the faint sound of water draining. Dressed and wrapped in a warm, cozy robe, you appear from the hallway, cheeks plush and warm. Not quite yet full, but you're in a much better state than before.
"Well, lookit ya," Johnny grins. "Lookin' better already."
The men clearly made themselves at home. But Simon's pulled up your recliner, and Johnny's using its ottoman.
"Oh! Mr. MacTavish, Mr. Riley, I got two extra, proper chairs in the hall closet that you can use," you tell them politely.
"Oh, this is fine, lass," Johnny waves you off. "No need to concern yerself fer us."
You take a deep breath, pulling your lips into a thin line. "My ottomans aren't for sitting, sir," you try to explain. "And the recliner will mess up my wooden floors…"
"Ohh, got ya, got ya!" They're immediately up, both he and Simon putting the furniture back in their place as you retrieve the appropriate seating. "Jus' like me nan," Johnny mutters to himself.
After soft rummaging and clattering, you soon return with two wooden chairs in your hands, mismatched to the other two at the table. "Ah, let me get those, fledgie," Kyle offers, already walking over.
"I got them," you said, pulling the chairs away as he reaches for them. But Kyle wasn't having it.
"Love, you need to save your energy and rest," the pretty Sergeant sang to you. "You need all the strength you can get."
Your lips stretch into a thinner line. He's doing that thing again, you think. Tickling my ears…
"I'm able to carry two chairs, Mr. Garrick," I try to tell him. "I may be low on energy, but I'm still strong enough to do it myself. And you four are guests in my house."
The pretty bastard has the nerve to smile and tilt his head at you. "Yes, we are the guests, but we're also your caretakers now," he says. "And we want to make sure you're comfortable. Besides, we're former military. We're used to little to no comforts. Now, won't you let me carry those chairs for you?" He even dips his chin down and hits you with the puppy eyes. "Please?"
Simon looks to where God should be while the two Johns are merely amused. Whining, you relent and let go of the chairs. "Fine, but only because you asked real nice," you said.
Definitely not because he can croon and sway my emotions like the pretty bird he is. Most certainly not that.
"Thank you, darling," and Kyle takes the chairs to Simon and Johnny, but the former doesn't sit down.
"Park it here, fledgie," he snaps to the chair. You try to protest, but, "Nah, go on. You need it more than I do." Not wanting to make a fuss, you oblige, with the Lieutenant standing by. "There. That better?"
"Now, love," John begins, resting his arms atop the table, "we need to discuss your first five years. As of now, you're very weak as a fledgling."
"You have no immunity to sunlight," John continues. "You step outside, you're ash."
"So you're saying that for five years, I have to stay outta the Sun?" you frown. "But I see a lot of vampires walk in the daylight."
"They're older," Johnny explains. "Fledglings such as yerself are still sensitive to the rays, but the time'll fly by. Gone before ye ken it!"
Kyle comes from the kitchen to bring you a fresh, warm cup of more bear, before sitting back down. "And by the end of your second year," he chimes in, "you'll be able to step outside on a cloudy day."
"I can't even step out on cloudy days?" you whine. Kyle sucks in a breath.
John sighs and decides to take back the reins of the conversation. "Your first five years are crucial. You won't be locked away, and you'll be free to do whatever you want. But to an extent and with our supervision."
"Like a child," you state it in simple terms.
"As our ward," Simon corrects.
"So you four are my guardians?"
"Your sires," John specifies. "Unofficial, but you'll be our responsibility for the foreseeable future."
"A vamp can have more than one sire?"
"It's unorthodox, but not completely uncommon," Kyles steps back in. "Usually it's when more than one vampire wants to… well, what's the best way to put this?"
"Co-parent?" Simon suggests. Kyle shakes his head. "Share?"
Another shake, "Nah, not quite."
"Yer both making it harder than it needs to be," Johnny rolls his eyes. "If more than one vampire wants to sire ye, they do it to for a deeper connection tied through the fledgling," he tells you. "It can be familial, platonic, or romantic; whatever brings them closer to their young one."
"What type is it with me then?" you ask. The soldiers glanced at each other, uncertain, not expecting such a question so soon. "I don't… quite have you four figured out yet, and if things somehow… get weird—"
"It's whatever you want it to be," John cuts in. "No type of relationship will be forced upon you. It will be what you want it to be." He pushes your cup of bear blood closer to you. "It's the sire's duty to cater to their fledgling's needs. While the fledgling learns control and discipline, and to depend on their sire. Or sires. And no matter what develops, we'll be there for you."
You look back at the cup, reflecting once again on your limited options. Only option.
Take a deep breath in, and let it out.
"What happens after five years?" you ask.
"We'll cross that bridge when we get there," John says as he takes up his own mug.
As he sips, exuding an air of authority and control, something tickles in the back of your brain. Something simultaneously great and small. Fierce and mild. Something beautiful yet… fearsome. A shiver rides up your spine, nearly convulsing as you straighten your posture.
You don't even notice the four, brief smiles hidden away.
Licking his lips, John lowers the cup. "There's much more to discuss," he continues, "but let's not rush things. You've been through a lot these past few weeks." A cool hand reaches for you, holding little warmth from the mug, and its size dwarfs your own. The physical contact tickles you again, but you keep your composure. "For now, we want you to rest. Can you do that for us?"
Taking your own cup and sipping the contents, you sigh. "Yeah, I can do that for ya."
Holy shit, fledgie, the four men think to themselves.
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