Chapter Text
They lived peacefully together, continuing the cycle of rise and repeat. Apart from now, Apo had nothing to hide and everything to share. Cherri adjusted to the change far better than Apo did, that is, until she moved up in levels. Cherri enjoyed the outdoors, the garden, painting in the sun. So, when she first experienced the sizzle of sunlight against her skin, it felt like a slap in the face. Apo told her it takes time to get used to burning. She didn’t believe her until she had no choice but to.
Next was hunger. Animals were easier to adjust to. Cherri had always been someone who loved easily and trusted openly, and the idea of looking at the people she cared about in any way other than with warmth sat wrong with her. Apo talked her through it the way she wished someone had. Patiently. Honestly. Without making her feel like a monster for what her body wanted.
Some nights were harder than others. Cherri would lie awake, trying to imitate sleep. Sometimes she’d sit up and find Apo staring at her hands, claws curling inward. They’d go outside together and sit in the dark until it passed. Apo slowly talked about Oakhurst more.
It was different, sharing it.
The garden came back. Cherri found workarounds: early mornings before the sun climbed too high, late evenings when the light went gold and soft. Apo would watch her from the porch sometimes, the way she moved between the rows, humming to herself, and thinking that Cherri had made eternity look like something worth having.
Twenty-one years passed in an instant. Time moves faster when you are no longer counting it. They'd moved once, a few towns over, years ago now, quietly, without much explanation, before anyone started counting too closely. Their house was different from the last one. Still comfortable. Still them.
The sharp metal clack broke the morning quiet as the mail slot snapped open. A soft thud followed as the bundle of envelopes collapsed onto the entryway rug. Apo gathered it without looking, set it on the table, and moved toward the window, pulling the curtains back. Cherri picked them up, shuffling through them when she paused. “Apo?”
She held the letter toward her. Apo glanced over and recognized it immediately.
They didn't move, their shoulders locking into a rigid line that gave them away instantly. Cherri watched Apo close her eyes for a fraction of a second. They moved forward, taking the envelope from Cherri's hands. Apo set it on the table and began to pace around the kitchen. She stopped, picked it up, and set it right back down. They moved to the window, staring blankly outside, before coming back. Finally, Apo picked it up again with a sharp exhale, looking annoyed at herself for hesitating, and tore it open.
Abolish kept it brief, the way he kept everything brief. Scott had been going to the past. Twelve years of it, trying to pull Avid out of something that had already happened, and it was getting worse. He needed it to stop. He was asking for help. He was asking her specifically.
Apo handed it over to Cherri.
Cherri took the paper, her thumb brushing against Apo’s trembling fingers before reading the few, stark lines. The kitchen went entirely still, save for the hum of the refrigerator. Cherri looked up, her gaze searching Apo's face.
“What are you going to do?”
Apo looked back out the window, her jaw tight. "He wants me to go back to Oakhurst."
The room went quiet.
"No," she said finally.
Cherri leaned against the doorframe. "Okay."
"I mean it."
"I know you do." She knew Apo's first refusals were never really the conversation.
They looked around their kitchen; a bitter laugh escaped as she stared at the familiar shape of everything they had built here. The safety of it. Everything Oakhurst wasn't.
"He can find someone else," she said. "It isn't my problem anymore. Scott made his choices," Apo continued. "He can live with them."
"He's not living very well with them from the sounds of it."
Apo turned around. "Don't."
"I'm not defending him." Cherri held up her hands. "I'm just saying what the letter says."
Apo crossed her arms. The silence stretched between them. Cherri gave her a pointed look.
"Don't tell me it'll be good for me."
"I wasn't going to." Cherri crossed the room and stood in front of her. “But you’ve been carrying Oakhurst for twenty-one years,” Cherri said softly. "Every nightmare. Every clench of your fist. I can go with you. You won’t be alone this time.”
Apo looked at her. "I'm not going," she said. But it was quieter this time.
A few days later, Cherri found Apo at the table, the letter in hand. She walked back, planting a kiss on her head, heading for the garden like most mornings, when Apo stopped her.
“Scott was the one who turned me,” Apo spoke fast.
Cherri didn’t say anything. Just waited like all those years ago.
“Owen lured me out to the crypt. Scott and Pyro were already there. Called me their next meal. I rambled about a bargain. Then it went as I told her before: it was me or someone else. I was going to kill Scott; I cut my axe into him over and over. He came back each time, acting like turning me was going to be some gift. Like he was doing me a favor. I couldn’t let it be someone else.” Their voice dropped, “Not like that did much good.”
Apo continued, “This letter. This is more than just Oakhurst; it’s asking me to help the very person who put me through this, who put us through all this. Abolish means well, but that doesn’t change what he’s asking of me. Scott made his bed; why should I clean up his mess?”
Cherri took a deep breath. “So? You think Scott doesn’t deserve help? Forgiveness?”
“Don’t.”
“Apo, you have always been the most selfless person I know. You chose this life because you didn’t want anyone to. Remember when you told me about Martyn? What you did to save him. Or what about Shelby? I know we haven’t talked about her much. I understand you don’t want to help Scott. But why is it that?”
Apo went quiet.
The ticking of the kitchen clock filled the space between them, suddenly deafening. They stared down at the floor, their hands clenching into tight fists. Cherri didn't press. She just stood there, a steady, anchoring presence in the middle of Apo's internal storm.
"Because I'm terrified of him," Apo whispered, the truth finally tearing out of her. She looked up, her eyes bright with a mix of old fear and deep-seated shame. "I'm terrified to look Scott in the eye again.” She held her breath. “And Shelby”. Their face twisted. “She was the only one who actually tried to be my friend. She wanted to help me adjust to this miserable vampire life. And what did I do? I bit back at her. I got so consumed by the hunger and the anger that I actually tried to kill her."
They let out a shaky, hollow laugh. "Scott turned me into a monster, Cherri. But if I go back to Oakhurst, if I face him, I’ll be right back at that damn castle door, axe ready, and helpless.”
Cherri didn’t flinch. She gently wrapped her hands around Apo’s trembling fists until they slowly began to unclench.
“You were drowning, Apo,” Cherri said softly, her voice steady and certain. “You had just been hunted down, bitten, and forced into a nightmare against your will. Of course you bit back. Monsters don't spend twenty-one years carrying the guilt of the people they hurt. Monsters don't build a life like this.”
She gently guided Apo to look at her, waiting until their eyes met.
“You aren't helpless anymore. Twenty-one years ago, you were alone at that castle door. This time, you have me. Scott didn’t make you a monster, Apo. He just handed you a blade and expected you to cut everyone around you. But you fought your way out of the dark, and you chose to build this house with me. Oakhurst can’t take that away from you. Not unless you let it.”
Cherri squeezed her hands, offering a small, reassuring smile. “We can face the castle door together. You won’t be alone.”
Apo briefly looked back at the letter. Lips pressed as they nodded.
𓆩𓆪 ཊཌཬརདཏ 𓆩𓆪
Oakhurst looked the same.
That was the worst part, somehow. Twenty-one years, and it sat there unchanged, the same cobblestones, the same tree line, the same hill in the distance. Like it had been waiting. Like time meant nothing to it.
Apo stopped at the edge of town. Cherri's hand found hers without a word.
The streets were empty. Still abandoned. Trapped in the kind of silence that had settled in and made itself permanent. Apo had known that silence once. Had lived inside it.
She exhaled slowly and stepped forward. Their feet carried them through town before she decided to. She didn't notice until the house she'd built with Pyro came into view and Martyn's house stood just past it, walls still burnt. They looked away, squeezing Cherri’s hand.
The bridge came into view as they climbed the hill. The castle still stood high in its former glory. The doors were heavier than she remembered. Or maybe she was just more aware of them now. The weight of the wood, the familiar creak as they opened. The smell of stone and cold air hit her immediately and sat wrong in her chest.
The grand hall was lit when they found it. The long table sat in the center of it, the same as it always had, chairs pulled out at odd angles like the last meeting had just ended. Cleo looked up first from the far end of the table and stilled.
"Apo." Her voice carried.
"Cleo." Apo nodded.
A beat. Then Cleo's face broke into something warm, and she crossed the distance quickly. The hug was brief but genuine. Apo accepted it with something loosening in her chest she hadn't expected. Pearl was nearby, hovering at a polite distance. They exchanged a nod, a few words, nothing heavy. Pearl had always been like that, present without pressing, and Apo found she was grateful for it now.
Abolish stood in the middle. He looked as he always had, unhurried, carrying himself with steadiness. He gave her a long, measured look and then a nod that said everything the letter already had.
Shelby waited in the doorway leading to the ballroom. She stood up straight when Apo entered, and for a moment neither of them moved. Twenty-one years, and she still had that same guarded look from the last days in the castle, when the pretending stopped, and Shelby looked at her like a stranger wearing someone else's face.
"Apo," she said finally.
"Shelby."
Drift stood beside her, quiet and watchful. Apo gave her a small nod. Drift returned it.
The room settled into surface conversation. The journey, the town, how little had changed. Apo pulled out a chair and sat down. Cherri settled beside her without being asked, close enough that their shoulders touched. They focused on that instead of the invisible weight of Scott. Nobody said his name yet. It sat at the table, anyway, occupying the empty chair at the head of it like it always had
She found out Scott was in town, staying at Avid’s house. Everyone warned them that he might still be trapped under the spell, lost to whatever magic had broken him, but Apo headed out anyway with Cherri following right behind.
Scott was exactly as they had said he would be, silent and unreachable. But Apo didn’t turn back. She waited. She was willing to come back every day until he woke up if she needed to.
When Scott finally opened his eyes, she was standing directly above him. His brows pulled in as she spoke.
“Are you fucking stupid?” Apo demanded.
“What?” Scott snapped, his voice sharp and defensive.
"I asked if you were fucking stupid! Messing around with dark magic, going to the past!" She threw her hands up, the fury she had carried for days finally boiling over.
"What's it to you?" Scott scoffed, glaring up at her. "What are you even doing here?"
"Abolish kept sending me letters." She let out a heavy sigh. It had only been one letter, really, but Scott could think otherwise.
"So? You could have just left it alone."
Cherri stepped forward, her presence a calm anchor in the tight room. "She wanted to. I convinced her to come here. I'm Cherri, Apo's partner. They told me about all of this." She gestured vaguely to the space around them.
Scott watched Cherri, his expression blank until something finally clicked. He looked back at Apo, his gaze hardening.
"Trust me, I never wanted to set foot here again," Apo said, her voice dropping to a cold, steady register. "I'd rather spend the rest of my life forgetting this place."
"So why don't you?"
"You think it's that easy?" Apo let out a bitter, hollow laugh. "How could I? The worst year of my life was spent here. And thanks to you, it's something I have to acknowledge every goddamn morning when I find an empty reflection in the mirror. When my hunger gets heavy. When I'm terrified of hurting someone I care about. When I look at Cherri and feel guilty at the thought that I almost never made it back to her. Oakhurst is a fucking curse; it lingers, and it never goes away."
Apo watched Scott. She saw the exact moment his face fell, his eyes drifting down to his own hands.
She knew that look. Not because she knew Scott; she didn't, not really, not beyond what he'd taken from her; but because she recognized what it looked like when someone was drowning quietly inside themselves. She knew the way the silence around a person could get too loud. She knew how guilt carried a particular weight that sat entirely differently from grief.
She didn't want to recognize it. It would have been so much easier not to.
The house suddenly felt smaller than it actually was. The low ceiling and pressing walls created an inescapable, suffocating trap. She was aware of Cherri standing just behind her, of how little room there was to breathe, and of how Scott somehow managed to take up less space than the silence bleeding out of him. His hands were pale against his knees. She found herself staring at them the way she sometimes stared at her own.
What they'd done. What they couldn't undo.
You have always been the most selfless person I know, Cherri’s voice echoed from their kitchen.
God, she hated that Scott was sitting here looking like that.
"Scott." Their voice came out softer than they intended, the anger draining out to leave only a heavy exhaustion.
He looked up, his defenses stripped away. "I just can't give up," he whispered.
Apo looked back at Cherri. She found her partner already watching her, steady and warm, the way she always was. Reassured, Apo looked back at Scott and held out her hand.
He glanced down at her palm, then shook his head, pushing her away. He forced himself up, trying to hold his posture high and guarded again. He looked at Cherri, something unreadable passing through his eyes, before his gaze snapped back to Apo. For a brief, agonizing second, pure guilt took over his face. Without another word, he walked away.
The sound of his retreating footsteps faded, leaving only the oppressive quiet of the small house behind. Apo stood still, her hand still slightly extended in the empty air where Scott had rejected it.
Slowly, she let her arm drop to her side. The suffocating weight of Oakhurst hadn't lifted, but as Cherri stepped up beside her and silently slipped her hand into Apo's, the walls didn't feel quite as close anymore.
𓆩𓆪 ཊཌཬརདཏ 𓆩𓆪
The grand hall had emptied and filled again more times than Apo could count over the past few days. It had a rhythm to it now; people drifting in and out, conversations starting and stopping. But this time, everyone sat down at once. That meant it was serious.
Apo took her chair near the far end; Cherri settled right beside her. They watched everyone sink into the familiar shape of people who had been worrying together for a very long time. Shelby held her hands tight in her lap, her knuckles white. Drift sat close to her, a quiet protector. Pearl and Cleo were seated next to Abolish, who stood at the head of the table looking like a man who had rehearsed this conversation a hundred times in his head and still dreaded having it.
The short version was this: Scott had been going into the past for twelve years. He wanted Avid back. And he was getting worse.
Apo listened, her jaw locked, saying absolutely nothing.
"He's going to kill Owen and Pyro. I just know it," Shelby pleaded, her voice trembling.
“He wouldn’t, right? He knows what that would mean,” Drift frowned, trying to find a thread of logic to hold onto.
“You didn’t see him," Shelby shot back. "The way he looked at the stairs, like there was someone there, like Avid was right there. The way he talked about Owen’s and Pyro’s hatred for Avid. The look in his eyes... he asked for the book to do what he needed it to do. If he goes back this time, he’s never coming back.”
Everyone kept talking, their voices overlapping, filling the hall with a desperate, useless noise. Apo bit her tongue, her anger, disappointment, and guilt all bubbling up into a toxic heat in her chest. She couldn't listen to it anymore.
"Burn the book," Apo said flatly.
The room went dead silent. Shelby's eyes cut across the table, sharp. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. Burn it. Problem solved."
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"I know what it would stop." Apo leaned back, crossing her arms defensively. "He wants to rewrite history because he can't accept what happened. That's not grief, that's stupidity, and you're all sitting here entertaining it."
"Apo," Cherri said quietly beside her, a gentle warning in her tone.
"No, she hasn't been here," Shelby's voice sharpened. "She doesn't get to walk in after twenty-one years and act like she understands any of this."
"Then explain it to me."
Before Shelby could fire back, Drift's voice cut through the tension. It was quiet. Careful.
"We took the book once," Drift said. "Hid it."
A heavy, suffocating pause stretched across the table.
"He locked himself away," Drift continued softly. "He took silver to his skin until we gave it back."
The room went completely still.
Apo stared at the grain of the wood beneath her hands, her breath hitching. She knew what that was. Not Scott's specific version of it, perhaps, but she knew the exact shape underneath. She knew the thing a person reached for when existing got too loud, when they desperately needed something, anything, to make the world quiet, even if only briefly. She knew the precise moment when dying felt infinitely more manageable than continuing.
She had been close to her own version of that once. Closer than she'd ever told anyone. Even Cherri.
The sudden, terrifying realization that she mirrored Scott in his darkest addiction suffocated her. She pushed her chair back violently. The sharp, screeching scrape of wood against stone cut through the silence like a slap.
"Fine," Apo said, her voice tight and hollow. "Figure it out amongst yourselves."
She didn't look at Shelby, or Drift, or the sudden, worried frown forming on Cherri's face. She didn't look at anyone as she turned on her heel and walked out of the grand hall.
Behind her, Abolish let out a long, quiet exhale, the decision made for them. "I'll start preparing."
𓆩𓆪 ཊཌཬརདཏ 𓆩𓆪
She didn't go far. The castle had a way of doing that, corridors that turned back on themselves, rooms that led nowhere new. She'd learned its layout once out of necessity, and apparently her feet still remembered.
She found herself outside Avid's room without meaning to. The door was open. Scott sat on the floor, head down, hands tracing the cracks in the stone. His sleeves had shifted, and Apo caught the red lines peeking out before she looked away.
She stood in the doorway a moment longer than she intended. This wasn't the Scott she remembered. Scott was all charm and control, honeyed malice and satisfied smirks. This person looked hollowed out. She thought about silver against skin. About all the things a person did when they ran out of other options.
She stepped inside. "Hey."
Scott looked up, searching her face for something. Whatever he expected, it wasn't her. "Oh."
Apo leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "I want to apologize. For the other day."
"Why?"
"I didn't know the full story." She kept her voice even. "I still think what you're doing is stupid. But I get it. I'd go to the end of the earth and back for Cherri."
Scott scoffed. "You don't get it."
"I'm trying to be nice here."
"I don't need your pity."
"It's not pity." Apo pushed off the doorframe and looked at him properly. Really looked. The dull skin, the tired eyes, the way he was holding himself like staying upright cost something. "Don't act all prideful. Not when you look like that."
"Like what?"
“Colorless.”
Scott looked back down at the floor. Something in his jaw shifted. "Sorry."
Apo blinked. Of everything she expected, that wasn't it. She nodded slowly. "Everyone's worried. You make it obvious what you're planning."
"Truthfully?" He let out a broken laugh. "I don't know if I could go through with it. I want to save him. I want him back. But leaving Shelby and Drift..." He shook his head. "That's hard."
"Then don't." Her voice came out quieter than intended. "Stop going back. They're waiting for you."
"I can't."
"More like you won't."
Scott's jaw tightened. "Thanks for the concern. I'm fine."
Apo looked at him for a long moment. The red lines on his arms. The cracks in the stone, his hands kept tracing, as if he pressed hard enough, something would give. She knew what fine looked like. She'd said it herself, standing outside a house in the dark for months, writing letters pretending she was somewhere else. Fine was never fine.
"Alright," she said finally. "I'll leave you to your wallowing."
She turned and walked out, glancing once over her shoulder. Scott's eyes were already back on the floor.
She found Cherri outside her old room. She stood with her back to the corridor, one finger tracing the letters carved into the wood of the door. Slow and careful, like she was reading something in a language she was still learning. Apo's name. A staple of the time in which they claimed this room as theirs and then spent time pretending it wasn’t. Still there after twenty-one years.
"Be easy with him," Cherri said softly without turning around.
"He's the reason we are like this."
Cherri turned toward them, reaching for her hand. "That may be true." She pulled her closer. "But look on the bright side." Her eyes were warm—that particular warmth that Apo had crossed impossible distances to get back to. "At least I get to spend eternity with you."
Apo rolled her eyes. Held back a smile and mostly failed.
Cherri leaned forward, resting her forehead against theirs. Apo felt her shoulders drop, the tension she'd been carrying since the grand hall loosening its grip.
Footsteps echoed nearby.
"Oh, sorry," Drift mumbled, coming up short when she found them. She quickly ducked her head, trying to move past.
"Drift," Apo called after her.
She stopped, looking back. "Yes?"
"I'm sorry. For earlier. Can you tell Shelby, too?"
"You can tell me yourself," Shelby's voice cut in next door.
Apo felt a sudden heat rise in her face. "I didn't know you were there."
"I didn't want to interrupt." Shelby stepped forward, her arms loosely crossed. The careful, guarded expression from the ballroom was still there, but something in the lines of her face had shifted slightly.
"I'm sorry too," Shelby added. "I shouldn't have spoken to you like that."
"It was a surprise coming from you."
Shelby's mouth turned up at the corner. Just barely. "How long are you planning to stay?"
Apo looked over at Cherri. Cherri smiled warmly, turning her gaze toward Shelby. "If it's alright... until we know everything is okay?"
Shelby's expression opened up a little wider. "You're more than welcome to."
"Wonderful," Apo said drily. "Another extended stay in Oakhurst."
"At least this time nobody's trying to kill you."
"Right back at you."
Shelby huffed a breath that wasn't quite a laugh, but it was close enough. She gave them a small, parting nod before turning back down the corridor. Drift immediately fell into step beside her, glancing back once over her shoulder.
Apo watched them go until their shapes disappeared into the twists of the castle. Beside her, Cherri squeezed her hand, a quiet reminder of the present. Apo looked back at her name carved into the old wood of the door one last time, before finally turning away from it.