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Regret courses through his veins where blood used to be. Regret over fighting Ren and M. Regret over not watching where he was going and falling into that cave. Regret over not leaving when he had the chance. Regret over starting that fight with Abolish when the man had done nothing to deserve it. Regret over following Avid into town. Regret o—
"No!"
Pyro heaves a reviving breath. Clutching his chest, he looks around the empty foyer of the castle and devolves into a coughing fit. His trembling limbs barely manage to let him stand upright, but when they do he races through halls and rooms until he spots Scott, Cleo, and Shelby sitting around the grand dining table. It should be a comforting sight after dying, but it only makes the dread over his mistake pool heavier in his stomach.
Still, he steels his nerves and shoves his hands in his pockets to hide the shaking that refuses to subside.
"They, uh… They bested me." Pyro isn't fond of how unsure their voice sounds, but the attention it immediately garners makes up for that.
A cacophony of questions overlap: Excuse me? They bested you? Where? Who bested you?
It doesn't help the pounding in his head, but something itching for sympathy pushes him to explain himself further.
"The militia. They chased me into a cave and I ran out of blood."
Despite the sympathetic glances from Shelby, and the fact that Scott is paying him any mind, one voice rings clear above them all. And it stings worse than M's sword.
"Oh my god," Cleo groans, her eyebrows furrowed and her jaw set slightly open as if she's just been presented with something offensive. "This is pathetic. I can’t believe you're the one that turned me."
Pyro's fists clench in his pockets. He'd always suspected that Cleo didn't take him seriously — no one else does — but having it said to his face is stirring up old memories. Stirring up old habits.
“Hey, I mean, it was a cave. I…" He fumbles his words as he chokes down his pride and explains himself. "I got overconfident, okay? I got cocky. I thought I could pick a fight that I couldn’t — I had my bottle in my hand when I went invisible — It was a fumble."
Cleo stares him down, no longer with disgust but with irritation and pity. "This—" their cold glare and matching condescending tone pin him in place like a stake to the throat "—is why you don’t fight. This is why you manipulate them."
Pyro's head swims. Her words replay over and over in his mind while the other three pick up where they left off before Pyro interrupted. The words are muffled in his ears; it feels like they're clogged with water. The kind that almost burns because of how long it's been trapped.
Resentment blooms in his chest. Since the moment she was turned, she's not paid an ounce of respect to Pyro. None of the vampires have. Even Shelby has spoken poorly of him behind his back; although he isn't entirely sure if they're empty words only spoken to appease the Elder Vampire. And the townsfolk are no better, casting him away the moment they found out he was turned.
The only person Pyro has truly felt respected by from the moment they met is Abolish. He doesn't overtly praise, nor does he show any favoritism towards them, but he does listen. And his consistently mild responses make Pyro feel like they understand the intrinsic value of a life and how that should be honored, undead or otherwise.
No one else cares to give them the time of day.
Pyro vaguely registers his own voice reverberating through the bones in this skull, so he must be responding to the topic at hand, but all he can think about is every little mistake he's made. Pyro knows he needed to play that safer. He knows better. But if he'd taken the offer to talk with the humans…
Scott's ever-present smirk turns on Pyro for a moment, a shock of cold terror following when Scott's eyes narrow while he mentions something about the Doctor and a cure.
Flashes of much more petrifying expressions laced with anger — the only time Pyro has ever seen Scott show genuine emotion — overlap with words that have been ingrained into their very being. Branded them a liability. And promised to make good on insuring Pyro will never live up to that potential.
I'm keeping an eye on you. Assume at any point, I am there. Because most of the time I am.
Even when he knows he's alone, he can feel Scott's eyes on him.
And Owen's.
And Czeslaw's.
That creeping feeling that he'll be confronted at any moment. Shoved to the ground. Ripped away from the small comforts he holds dear. Belittled, berated, reviled. Stripped of all hope for a more peaceful future of his own making.
For a while, Pyro thought Vampirism could give him the strength to stand on his own two feet. But every day his knees get more bruised as he's forced to kneel to those with more power. Does he need to bend to their will before he can rise? Or does he need more power so he can claw his way to a respected position, whether they like it or not?
—
Pyro vaguely registers himself calming down the more time he spends with Shelby, away from the others. He can't convince himself to be fully present — to be aware of his surroundings and the exact words coming out of his mouth — but he easily takes in Shelby's presence.
Very few things in this life have been a breath of fresh air for him: His research, Truffle, moments he's still made to feel somewhat human; once again, Abolish is brought to mind. And Shelby's kindness is among them.
Sure, her kindness comes with caveats — requests that Pyro adhere to Shelby's moral compass and complaints when they don't — but she gets to have those. Because she is nice and kind and a joy to be around despite her corruption.
That is her strength.
Her power.
As obvious as it is that she doesn't feel the exact pressure he's under, it's more comforting than frustrating. They wouldn't wish that pain on her. They'd prefer if she could continue being her lovely self, unhindered.
Pyro finds themself wondering if they actually could have made the choices she has. What if they'd acted like her from the beginning? And if they did, would they be as beloved? Or do their actions from a time before Oakhurst disqualify them from ever knowing peace without fear?
—
Pyro stands frozen.
As the others rush out of the castle to retaliate against the humans, Pyro finds the scene in front of him has a much stronger pull than some humans consecrating one of their beacons or Scott telling him to make himself useful. Neither of those things rip him out of his dazed state and into the present. What grounds him is Apo leading Truffle into the grand dining hall of the castle.
A mixture of joy and confusion shock his nervous system and finally move him to action.
"Truffle!" Pyro crouches next to Truffle and carefully scratches behind her ears like he used to, only more mindful of his claws now. She noses his hand, probably looking for food but he likes to believe she's saying hello. "You brought Truffle!"
"Yeah, it’s a treat for us," Apo explains with measured delight in their voice.
Pyro's heart doesn't beat anymore. And the blood in his veins settled into artery-clogging sediment long enough ago that he can hardly remember what it felt like before. But he still feels his heart clench and his blood run cold.
"You wanna…" Pyro has never been more parched in his life. "Do you wanna butcher Truffle?"
"Yeah. I mean," a twisted joy, something poorly masking resentment, coats their voice, "if we need to be, like, really strong vampires – get out of here eventually – Truffle has to go," Apo reasons.
"But Truffle’s sweet and kind and… hasn’t done anything wrong," Pyro retorts, sounding to his own ears like a child pleading with their mother to let them keep an abandoned puppy.
"It’s okay. Truffle wants this," Apo assures him. "Truffle wants to die."
Pyro's eyes stay locked on Truffle. She keeps looking between him and the carrot in Apo's hand. It almost looks like she's agreeing with Apo in some twisted way. Her intelligent eyes say otherwise. Connecting the smell of vampires with a familiar face. She leans against Pyro's legs without reservation.
Acceptance.
"No."
"What do you mean no?" Apo crosses their arms and watches Pyro closely.
He takes his time petting her flank, dusting off the top of Truffle's head, and pressing a gentle kiss before he stands. He may not advocate well for himself, but he can speak for her. And surely he's reading Apo wrong. Surely this is a miscommunication fueled by pain and hunger.
"No, that nodding is when Truffle senses a vampire—"
Before he can even attempt to reason with them, Apo's resolve hardens. Cold eyes paired with a slight smile. The predatory gaze of someone who's just spotted weakness in their prey. Pyro holds himself back from flinching on instinct.
"Uh huh, and you’re a vampire too, right?" Apo asks, their jaw tightening. "This is what we’re supposed to do, we’re supposed to kill everything, Pyro."
"Everything with purpose. I mean," If Pyro thought he sounded like he was pleading before, then he must be begging now. Explaining himself didn't work before, but this is Apo — his old roommate and Truffle's strongest defender — they can be reasoned with over something like this. "I’m only killing the humans of Oakhurst because—"
"Well, if you're not gonna," Apo doesn't need to finish their sentence, actions speaking louder than words.
"No! No!"
Claws rip. Blood splatters. The final noise out of Truffle, this precious, innocent creature that he would have gladly died to protect, is a blood-curdling shriek. And Pyro was too blind, too in denial, to stop it from happening. Or maybe he was too scared to face reality.
Pyro drops to his knees. He cradles Truffle close, pulling her limp head into his lap as he kneels in her blood. Her kind, intelligent eyes are left wide and glossy. Truffle is dead. His research has long since been destroyed. What will this world take from him next?
"You can have the pork chop, I’ll meet you at the crypt," Apo says casually. Callously. Completely unaffected while they bottle the blood pouring directly out of Truffle's exposed heart. "We need to go."
Pyro stays.
He doesn't know how long he stays.
He carefully coaxes her eyelids to close. Tears that he shouldn't be able to cry slide down his face, fall onto Truffle, mingle with streams of blood, and are completely swallowed by the unforgiving sea of red.
But grief will never wash clean the damage of his inaction.
Pyro only comes to his senses enough to leave when his stomach growls. He refuses to consume a single drop of her blood, let alone her body. He'll find other food. And then he'll bury her properly.
"I’m sorry, Truffle." He leans down and places a trembling kiss to the top of her head. "You were good and sweet and kind."
—
Pyro didn't realize he had moved from the castle walls until he'd maimed Martyn. He didn't process any words spoken to him until Shelby asked for the third time, "Are you gonna eat that?" while pointing at Truffle; He didn't know just how heartless Shelby could be. He didn't remember who he was upset at in the first place until he saw Apo's blood-spattered clothing. And he didn't come to his senses until he laid Truffle six feet down and marked her grave properly, adorned with foods he hoped she'd like.
Pyro is no stranger to this specific kind of memory loss, but they can't help feeling upset with their psyche for taking away what should have been precious moments commemorating Truffle. He didn't even get to feel the dirt he laid her in, his hands washed clean already. Instead of wallowing or allowing themself to be removed from the present again, Pyro kneels next to the grave to mourn the true tragedy.
His last tether to his humanity is being laid to rest.
And with her, he lays his fear.
The fear of never being human again. The fear of being hurt. The fear of being hated. The fear of being watched. The fear of those around them taking away everything they've held dear. The fear of being an irredeemable monster. They can't fear what's already a reality—
A gentle, confidently firm hand rests on his shoulder.
Normally Pyro would get chills when they realize Scott has been watching them the whole time. And normally they would relish the contact, however abrupt, knowing it's fleeting. But Pyro can't be bothered to feel anything.
"I see you found someone to mourn as well."
Pyro's eyes snap up.
Standing next to them, paying silent respects, isn't Scott. But it is the last person Pyro would have expected to search them out after today. After they'd fought him so fiercely; Practically throwing away any semblance of a connection they were delusional enough to believe was there in the first place.
"It's not easy to bury family." Abolish's distinct voice cuts through the haze that's trying to cloud Pyro's senses. "I'm sorry for your loss."
Their eyes finally meet and Pyro feels lightheaded. They hurt him and he's behaving as if it never happened. There's no hatred. No disgust. No masking smiles. Not even any pity. Only understanding and sympathy. Silent forgiveness. And it means more than Abolish could possibly know.
"I-" Pyro's voice breaks. He didn't realize his throat was so tight or that he was crying again. He must look especially pathetic now. Clothing covered in dirt and blood stains, softly sobbing. Alone. He clears his throat and tries again. "Thank you for your sympathy. I, uh… I must look like a pathetic mess down here." He wipes his eyes with the back of his arm.
"There's nothing dignified about grief," Abolish assures them and offers a gloved hand.
"There isn't, is there?" Pyro takes his hand and gives him a melancholy smile in return.
Pyro stands side by side with Abolish, the sky slowly growing darker. Yet, neither of them move.
But why? When Pyro has done nothing to deserve the company. Abolish isn't here out of obligation. Or guilt. Or fear. He's just here. And his presence is overwhelming and comforting at the same time.
Pyro never realized those two feelings didn't have to be each other's antithesis.
"I’m sorry for attacking you earlier," Pyro apologizes, breaking the silence after a long stretch when his lingering guilt feels like it's starting to taint an otherwise peaceful moment. "You didn't deserve it."
"Wouldn’t be the first time," Abolish dismisses his words like it's second nature, but his tone isn't dismissive. It feels more like a joke. And it leaves Pyro fighting against invisible forces tugging the corners of his lips up. He's really forgiven them to the degree he can joke about it.
"And yet you still found it in your heart to comfort me…" Vocalizing his realization leaves Pyro feeling more awestruck. He pulls his eyes away from Truffle's grave, looking Abolish in the face as if to assure him of his sincerity when he says, "you’re very kind."
Abolish shrugs and meets their eyes again. "You’re not so bad yourself," he guarantees with such authority that Pyro almost believes him. "At least when you aren’t backed into a corner."
"Too bad that seems to happen more often than not, aye?"
"A shame, really."
Pyro is left to study his face as they both stare in silence. He would guess they're similar in age, but something in Abolish's captivating dark brown eyes tells him he's experienced beyond his years — something about the way Pyro has seen him move when they've fought says the same. Is that how he can forgive so easily? Years of experience? Or is it the uniquely naive hope he holds out for the good in others? Maybe it's both. Still, everything about him screams poised and professional. Well, everything except a fresh nick on his cheekbone.
That was Pyro's doing, no doubt.
Most of his unprofessional moments seem to be Pyro's doing in some way, shape, or form.
"It's all going to change very soon," Pyro says with absolute certainty, moving their gaze to Truffle's resting place again. A reminder of why, "it has to."
"I happen to agree…" Abolish crosses his arms behind his back; A soldier's pose Pyro has noticed the Doctor fall into on a number of occasions. They really are on the same page; Violence is inevitable for Oakhurst and those that plague it. "Are you prepared for that?"
"No," he admits. "But I wasn't ready to lose her either, and here we are. Standing at her grave." Pyro turns his attention to the potato patch on top of the soft soil where Truffle lays. He wishes he'd found carrots. "I'll make do."
They can feel Abolish's eyes boring holes into the side of their head, but they don't look. They don't know what face he's making and they aren't going to risk seeing pity in the face of the one man who has never pitied them. The man who believed in them with such conviction that he accepted a rose from the hand of someone who should have been an enemy. And maybe they're being delusional, but Pyro thinks they can still smell the distinct, acrid scent of that wither rose on him.
"If I die, I hope you’re the one to kill me." Pyro lets the words flow out of him without filter. And he knows in his heart he believes every one.
"I don’t wanna do that if I don’t have to," Abolish states, his monotone fluctuating just enough for Pyro to pick up on the emotion pulling at his vocal chords.
When Pyro does look at Abolish, he didn't expect to be met with such a deep frown. It makes him smile. Not because of any sadistic pleasure he may or may not indulge in at times, but because he can tell Abolish actually cares. He cares much more than he lets on. Much more than he wants to admit to himself.
Once again, Pyro manages to crack Abolish's perfectly stoic facade, bringing impassioned, sentimental, perfectly human reactions to the surface.
Pyro carefully reaches out, cradles Abolish's face, and speaks with every last ounce of sincerity he can muster up. "Then I suppose I’ll have to force your hand." He leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to the cut on his cheek. "And I know that's cruel, so I won't ask you to mourn me. I'd only dare to hope you'll think of me from time to time."
The last flicker of emotion in Abolish's eyes that Pyro catches a glimpse of before he flies away — the final time he could ever hope for those eyes look at him kindly — leaves him feeling love and regret in equal measure.
Acceptance.