Chapter Text
He should be angry.
And Avid was angry, at first, when he realized what had happened — that he’d been lured into a false sense of security, wanting so badly to be useful and to be accepted that he’d ignored the instinct to run — that Owen and Pyro had brought him here not to help set a trap, but to dig his own grave.
He was angry, too, when he woke up down there in the cold, forced to dig his way out.
Avid was angry as he stood shakily in the afternoon light, slowly readjusting to being alive (or something like it), but when he peered down at his hands, Avid forgot about his anger at once. The skin of his right hand, once a pale, corpse-like gray, was now inky black like the night — like the Void.
Avid gasped, turning his palm over to observe the corruption that had begun to cover his skin, midnight black crawling up his arm and to —
He reached instinctively to his neck, to the scratch that had haunted him his whole life, and felt the softness of skin that had grown over the way it was supposed to but never had. Avid could no longer feel the familiar claw marks, no longer had to suppress the urge to flinch whenever he made contact with them.
Avid began to laugh, crazed and delighted at the impossible revelation that his scar had healed.
This was what Avid had wanted when he asked Shelby to turn him, desperate and hurting and thinking of nothing other than please make it stop…
This was all he’d wanted. Pyro and Owen, in their cruel attempt to corner him and seek revenge — to be rid of a liability — had unknowingly granted him the thing Avid wanted most.
Startled, Avid turned, suddenly, toward the sound of footsteps from nearby.
“I—” The words died in Owen’s throat as he took in Avid’s appearance, instinctively taking a step back, a haunted look on his face.
“Come to finish the job?” Avid asked with a rueful smile. “I don’t think I have any stakes on me right now,” he added, patting his empty pockets for effect, “but, well, you don’t seem to care all that much about it being a fair fight, so…”
Owen blinked, opening his mouth as if to speak before closing it again. For the first time since Avid had known him, the elder vampire seemed at a loss for words.
“What-” Owen started, scanning Avid’s figure in a manner that could be considered frantic, “what happened?” His voice was strained, almost choked, when he said it.
Avid could have laughed at the irony. “Well,” he started, deciding to indulge Owen with a recap, “you and Pyro basically told me to man up and get out of my room, and then we started going on this lovely little bonding trip through the woods—”
Owen shook his head. “No, not that,” he said, dismissively, “I mean… what- what are you?”
Avid’s brows furrowed in genuine confusion. “I’m… a vampire, remember?” This time, he did laugh, as he added, “What, did you hit your head on the dirt you placed above my head or something?”
Though the movement was faint, barely able to pierce through Owen’s usual controlled stoicism, Avid could have sworn he almost flinched.
“Ohh,” Avid singsonged, feigning a sudden realization, “I get it, now. Don’t worry, I’ll catch you up to speed: surprise! I came back!” Avid punctuated this statement with jazz hands, not missing the way Owen’s eyes flicked to his right one, which had noticeably changed color.
Very subtly, Avid tucked the offending hand behind his back, diverting the conversation topic to his new discovery: “And, since you and Pyro did the generous favor of murdering me, I guess the whole healing aspect of vampirism finally kicked in, because I’m cured!” He laughed when he said it, pulling down his collar with his free hand to show Owen how his scar had finally healed. “See? My scar is gone! I’m not sick anymore.”
Owen looked almost pained. “Avid,” he began, slowly, “I don’t… I don’t think you’ve been cured of whatever was ailing you before. I’m no doctor, but I… I think it’s spread.”
“What?” Avid asked with a forced laugh, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Aren’t you supposed to be killing me again, or something?”
Avid peered around, looking toward the forest, “Where’s Pyro, anyway? I know you don’t like to deal the final blow yourself.”
Owen looked conflicted. In truth, he was — as much as he wanted to get rid of Avid then and there, there was a part of him that couldn’t help but look at Avid, so visibly unwell, and sympathize. He thought of Louis, how he had been the only person to look at Owen and see him, beyond the effects of his disease…
“Pyro isn’t with me,” Owen decided on, swallowing down his righteous pride. “I came to check myself.”
Avid nodded, slowly, taking all of this in — Owen’s odd change in demeanor, his tone as deceptively soft as it had been in the boat, when he’d said, “You’re just a kid,” and Avid let himself believe he meant it. “Okay…” he said, “so you’re not here to kill me for real?”
Owen sighed, long-suffering. “No,” he replied, like he had been internally fighting himself on the idea and lost, “no, I’m not here to kill you. Pyro isn’t either. I… I think that, despite everything that’s going on right now, you might need to see The Doctor.”
Avid’s eyes widened. He took a step back despite the distance between them. “What? No way! Are you crazy?!”
Owen pursed his lips. “Maybe,” he replied, simply, “but as much as we may have our respective gripes with The Good Doctor right now, I have a feeling that he’ll prioritize your care over any petty grudge.”
“You do realize how much this seems like a trap, right?” Avid asked, gazing skeptically at Owen.
Owen sighed. There was an air of exhaustion about him, as if some unseen force was commanding him to stick around — and, not for the first time, Avid wondered what his angle was.
“I recognize how it might seem that way, yes,” Owen replied, “but, Avid… if I’d wanted to kill you, I’d have done it already. I’ve had plenty of opportunities.”
“Well,” Avid scoffed, “so far it’s seemed like your strategy is to lure me into a false sense of security and then have someone else do it, so…” he shrugged.
Owen closed his eyes for a moment, trying to maintain his thinning patience. He reminded himself why he was doing this at all, why he cared: he thought of Louis’ face, open and non-judgmental, offering a kindness that Owen’s disease had rendered him unworthy of in the eyes of the other townsfolk (and, most importantly, in his own).
“Look, Avid,” Owen started, his voice low and level, meeting Avid’s now multi-colored gaze head on, “if you don’t want help, I won’t force you. But it’s clear that something has happened to you after Pyro killed you, and…,” he took a deep, steadying breath, “and I know what it’s like to be sick. And to want so badly to be well. And I just- I truly just want to help, if you’re amenable to it.”
Avid swallowed, looking away. “Okay,” he mumbled. “I- I believe you. Just… don’t make me regret it.”
Owen breathed out a shaky sigh of relief. “I’ll do my best not to,” he replied, softly, surprising himself at how much he meant it.