Chapter Text
Moonlight filtered through a gap in the curtains. It washed the walls in crimson light, making it almost appear as if they were bleeding. It was an unnatural warning to all that saw it, unfortunately it fell entirely on deaf ears. Time and time again, settlements would pop up on that cursed land. And all of them would meet the same violent end.
Legundo could feel it in his bones, that desire to kill. It wasn’t his own. He’d never been a pacifist; he’d forged himself to the rhythm of war drums after all. He knew what it was like to claim lives for glory and justify it in his mind. There had been times, however rare and shameful, when he’d thought back to the number he’d been praised for, to his victims, and he’d felt an inkling of pride. And there had been a time when he’d believed that it was either him or them, and when he believed that to be a fair bargain. What he felt now wasn’t anywhere near as complex, but it was far more ancient, more primal. Hunger. All encompassing, alien, and terrible hunger.
He still remembered the day he died. The sunset on that steep cliff. Cleo’s blood-stricken face (vampires couldn’t cry, not in a human way, not anymore), the way their voice trembled when they confessed not to know what they were supposed to do, the way they’d looked so very small and fragile. One last horrible thing. That had been supposed to be the end.
So why was he back? Why was he being consumed by this unbearable hunger?
Was this a new form of punishment? Had whatever Higher Powers that existed gotten tired of watching him and Owen run around in the same dungeon, hurting each other again and again, while refusing to let go? It was bound to happen eventually. Misery wasn’t all that entertaining.
“You’re awake” a voice he couldn’t place. Smooth, calm. Lacking the horror his grotesque visage should have caused anyone with a modicum of common sense. He didn’t remember them; there were few faces he’d managed to hold onto during his time in Hell, and even fewer names. Despite that, he could tell that they would end up pissing him off. “You should eat”.
He wanted to refuse.
His weakness was a shield. It protected the fragile new thing that had sprouted from the wreckage they’d left behind. The hope that Cleo had managed to cultivate. And he knew it was her doing, because he’d seen her days prior as she stood atop a podium, speaking in her usual matter-of-fact cadence to a quiet crowd. He remembered how overwhelming hearing the heartbeats of all the humans around had been; he remembered the smell wafting off of a scraped knee, the way his fangs had itched, and his claws had twitched. But, for her, he’d found it in himself to show restraint.
Now, away from Cleo’s soothing presence, it was hard for Legundo to keep himself on the right path. And it was impossible for him to find his voice and beg whoever was there to leave him to rot.
The mattress he was lying on creaked with the weight of another person. He could feel it dip to his right. And then white hair cascaded in front of his eyes. Slitted pupils, crimson irises, and pearly white fangs came into view right after. The clean, cultivated look that spoke of old money was enough for Legundo to remember who that voice he’d heard belonged to. Of all people he could be greeted by during one of his very few moments of clearheadedness, Scott Goldsmith was pretty far down the list of people he would have liked. As a matter of fact, there was only one person below him.
He renewed his efforts to try to turn down the offer for food then. His lips parted. His skin, dry as it was, felt as if it were being stretched beyond its limits from just that, but he persevered. It was hard to remember how to form words. In Hell with Owen, he hadn’t needed to. Not because they didn’t speak (yell), but because they’d been nothing but souls, neither bound to the rules of the physical plane. In the end, all he managed to achieve was a feeble groan.
Instead of understanding the meaning behind his muted plea, Scott used his own fangs to rip open his wrist and then pressed the fresh wound against Legundo’s mouth. Against his will, he found himself swallowing. The nobleman’s blood tasted sweet, vaguely floral, decadent. It was such a luxurious meal after centuries of deprivation, and before he knew it, he was sinking in his fangs with gusto and greedily taking in all that he could. He had to be stopped eventually, two fingers pressed against each side of his jaw, painfully parting it.
As much as he had always disliked Scott, he was grateful he hadn’t been allowed to kill him, however temporarily. He had more than enough blood on his hands already.
“Out of everyone… why you?” Legundo managed to croak out eventually. The hunger hadn’t been sated, not the one he’d been saddled with upon his return. But he’d regained some strength, some lucidity, some control. He felt considerably better. Perhaps starvation hadn’t been the best way to deal with his newfound monstrosity…
Scott was busy licking his own wound, keeping even one sweet drop from being wasted. It took him a while to answer, as he waited patiently for his skin to stitch itself back together. “There weren’t many other options up for the taking” he finally confessed, just as nonchalant and uncaring as Legundo remembered him to be. “Avid is currently in a feral state, and Drift and Shelby don’t want to leave him alone, but we also can’t keep him with others. Pyro and Owen were violent and volatile last time around, but they never attacked each other. So we figured they were fine to share. And Abolish is keeping an eye on them, since he’s the most capable of us. And that leaves you and me, my dear Doctor”. He ended his explanation with a smirk and a flirtatious wink that made some heat rise to Legundo’s cheeks (a byproduct of the fresh blood in his system and little else).
Of all the names that had been mentioned, only a couple sounded familiar. Time had eroded most of his memories; however, Owen and Abolish he still could recognize. And he was immensely happy to hear that the latter was still around, keeping an eye on those who might not have otherwise behaved. But the implications of that fact didn’t escape his notice. His sacrifice had ultimately been useless. The cure hadn’t worked. There was no other explanation as to why someone, who was supposed to be human, was still alive centuries later.
It was beyond his understanding how, after a failure of that magnitude, his old friends had still found the grace in their hearts to build such a lovely grave for him, choosing to remember him as the Doctor he never could quite become instead of the war monger of his youth.
“Abolish…” he repeated quietly, hoping for the unstated question lingering in the space carved out by his grief to reach Scott that time around.
Miracles happened nowadays in Oakhurst, it seemed, because the way Scott’s shoulders slumped slightly, and his eyebrows knit together made it clear that he understood. And it wasn’t hard to figure out why the subject of Abolish’s immortality may have been a sore topic for him. Few were immune to his charm; even fewer could measure up to him in battle. The young hunter had both qualities. So the nobleman couldn’t continue down the path he had once taken without consequences, and that surely got on his nerves.
“Right. The cure worked” Scott hurried to softly assure him. Legundo had never thought him capable of showing such honest compassion. He was pretty certain that had to be a new development. Unless it was just another layer of manipulation. Knowing the nobleman, that was far more likely. “Mostly, at least. Abolish is not a vampire anymore, but he does still have some vampire blood in him. It’s complicated… he’s immortal, but mostly human. You did help, Doctor, I promise”.
Legundo blinked in confusion.
Was that what had twisted Scott’s face in worry? Was he simply concerned for Legundo and his easily wounded ego? Was he not bothered by Abolish’s presence?
“You really did change” the realization hit him suddenly. Legundo wasn’t sure of how to handle it.
He’d spent centuries in the deepest depths of Hell, not only refusing to change himself, but holding Owen back from doing so, too (that effort was reciprocated. No Saints were to be found in eternal damnation). That experience had filled his head and pushed out the very notion that people could become better. The mission he’d once devoted himself to had turned into a ludicrous thought experiment he had no time for. A fantasy with no basis in reality.
Death was stillness. It was pain. It was an endless trial.
But Scott hadn’t died, and neither had Abolish. Or Cleo. Or all the people the nobleman had mentioned that he hadn’t been able to hold onto. They weren’t shackled to their old selves. They weren’t stuck in a loop. They were free to pursue new paths and bring out the best in each other.
What an odd thought that was.
It did make sense, however. Not to Legundo, not yet. But he could tell that there was a logic to it. Eventually, he would grasp it.
“I’m trying” Scott murmured, breaking him out from his confusing musings. “I’m not there yet. Even after two centuries, I often find emotions that are new to me. But I have kept my promise to you; not a single person has died because of me since your sacrifice”. That seemed to be the bare minimum, not truly something to brag about, but Legundo did kind of understand the nobleman’s pride in the matter. The capacity not to cause harm was a novelty to him, much like it had once been for the Doctor.
Yes, the two of them had once been cut from the same cloth.
He would have been lying if he said that wasn’t a major part of the reason why he’d disliked Scott so much from the get-go. The man reminded him not only of those who had sent him and hundreds of thousands more to die, but also, and more despicably so, of his younger self. Of the young general who had been praised for earning his country a bloodless victory while standing upon a mountain of corpses high enough to touch the sky. Of the young adult who’d somehow been so stunted in his empathy that he’d taken pride, for however short a time, in that achievement.
Owen had tugged at his heartstrings; the hurt he caused was spurred on by his own suffering. He was the idea of Legundo’s younger self that he’d fabricated to avoid falling apart. To keep the guilt at bay. To keep himself from staring in the face of the actual monster that he had once been. And, in a way, when the lumberjack had shed that facade to reveal that he was no different than all the rest of the selfish assholes who thought the world owed them its misery, he’d done him a favor. He’d made him realize that there was no point hiding behind endless pretenses. That the difference between the pitiful beast he wanted to believe he’d been and the proud bastard he’d actually been was minimal, if it existed at all.
And, now, Scott, his true reflection, was reaching for his redemption the way Legundo had once tried to do. While Owen, his distorted mirror, had been rotting underground with him. There was something poetic about that. Some grander meaning he probably could have inferred, had his head not been clouded by hunger and bloodlust that weren’t even his own.
“Are you still a noble?” he found himself asking without any of the frustration that would have once accompanied such a question. Perhaps, even if he didn’t grasp his lesson yet, he could intuit something about it. Forgiveness wasn’t so beyond reach now that he lived once more. Or, well, the vampire equivalent of it.
“Not really. That’s not as much of a thing anymore. I resumed my family’s original craft instead. I’m a jeweler. Or, well, a goldsmith, as we used to call them. And, when I’m not doing that, I help out Drift with her detective work, and give consultations to the organization Abolish and Shelby work for”. He sighed dramatically then, throwing his flowy white hair behind his shoulders in a wide gesture. He’d always been one for the theatrics. “All this hard work really doesn’t suit me. Alas, nobody is paying me for just looking pretty, and we have to earn our steaks somehow…” his whining was playful and lighthearted, and it did rip a smile from Legundo.
“You’ll live” he deadpanned. Although the corners of his mouth were still quirked up.
In the end, perhaps waking up to Scott’s presence hadn’t been as terrible a fate as he’d originally thought. And he was certainly happy they’d kept him and Owen apart for the time being. He’d had enough of that man to last him an eternity. He pitied Abolish and the other person Scott had mentioned for being stuck with him.
If he had to figure out how to live again (and it seemed that he did), then he was glad to do so in the company of people who would push him to better himself, not of the man who kept him as miserable as he’d always been.