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Scott’s not sure of why he was here.
It isn’t even the anniversary, not even close, and yet he finds himself back in Oakhurst for the second time in one year. Normally, once was enough, because Gods knows how much he despises being here, but this time? Scott had some kind of… gut feeling. An instinct.
He always trusted his instincts.
(Because the one time he didn’t, someone paid the price.)
That, however, did not answer the why. Why had he come back so soon, why hadn’t he told anyone, why was he so deadset on being here? There were too many questions and not nearly enough answers. He hated not being in the know.
Cleo and Pearl were absent. Scott had shown back up during the one week, out of the entire year, where they spent time outside of Oakhurst. Abolish, while most certainly aware that Scott had left New York to come here, hadn’t followed him. Which meant, for the first time in nearly two-hundred years, Scott was completely and utterly alone.
Scott used to think he thrived in the isolation. That living his life unbothered by others was the way it was meant to be.
But now, he just felt lonely.
How had he managed, all those years? Was he truly so hard of hearted—that it never bothered him?
Scott hates not knowing.
Knowledge was powerful, in several aspects. Knowing an opponent's weaknesses and strengths, knowing how to weave one’s will into honeyed words, knowing the best ways to kill a man without ever laying a hand upon them… Knowing exactly what kind of gifts made Shelby’s eyes light up a certain way, knowing when Drift was stuck in her thoughts so he could pull her out, knowing a particular joke that always seemed to make him laugh.
Scott has always considered himself knowledgeable. It was a positive of living for as long as he has.
But knowing, understanding his own emotions was a field left untouched. Emotions made him feel weak or useless. Powerless.
And yet, as of late, he’s begun to feel more and more okay with the fact. It’s awful, yet at the same time, it feels as if a burden had been lifted from his chest.
He’ll have to talk to Shelby about it later.
Scott strides through regrown forests, moving without a destination in mind. He wanders, aimless, knowing that he’ll be led to the right place as long as he acknowledges his instincts. His feet do not guide him to the town, or to the castle. It doesn’t even lead him to Avid’s grave, like he had initially assumed.
Instead, Scott finds himself standing at the top of the mountain, east from town, and staring at the caved entrance of the Crypt beacon. Staring at the hunched figure crouching over the gored and bloodied body of what had once been a cow. He can’t find it in himself to move anymore, neither forward nor back, blocking out the sickeningly wet crunch of flesh and bones as he fixates on the humanoid creature.
Despite his abilities, it’s hard to make out the details past the dust and blood coating them. A shiny black horn, only one, protrudes from their head, carving into the air with wicked sharpness, matched by a tail that smacks against the earth like an excited dog. Long limbs wind over the corpse, with claws for fingers that rend through the cow’s hide like butter. He cannot tell past the blood, but if Scott could hazard a guess, those claws it bore were the same blackened material of the horn and tail. Scales, perhaps. He’s not sure.
But Scott damn-well knows a demon when he sees one.
His body finally heeds his screaming mind, taking a step back and immediately regretting it, as the action is loudly followed by a ‘CRACK!’ of a stick snapping beneath his boot. The creature snaps around instantaneously, and Scott can only glimpse the gleam of a yellow eye before the figure is lunging at him, inhumanly fast for even a vampire to follow.
This is it. This is how Scott Goldsmith dies. Frozen in place, by fear of all things, in a town he hates, completely and utterly alone.
How fitting.
Scott’s eyes snap shut as he’s slammed to the ground, claws pinning him to it as the creature lets out a low, snarling chuff. He refuses to make a sound, at least hoping to die with a little dignity, as warm, blood-tainted breath washes over his throat. Waits, waits for its gnarled teeth to rip out his throat, for it to gouge those terrible claws into his chest. Waits for it to kill him.
Waits.
...Waits..?
Why wasn’t he dead?
Scott hesitantly cracks an eye open, staring at the cloudy sky in incredible confusion. The weight sprawled across his body hasn’t left, but rather, the creature seemed to be trying to gather him closer. Its face is pressed against his neck, sure, but it isn’t biting. Rather, it’s… almost like it’s nuzzling him?
What?
“Wh…”
“S…co…tt.”
Scott locks up. Looks down at the shape on his chest, at the fluffy white hair, at the darkened, bloodstained cape draped over their shoulders, at everything.
It can’t be. He died.
And yet, against all odds…
“Avid?” Scott’s voice is unnaturally weak, so very unlike him, and yet he can’t help it. It–It had to be some kind of sick dream, surely—
The demon leans back, a familiarly childish grin splitting its face. “Sc…ott!”
It’s too good to be true. That it had to just be a demon wearing Avid’s face, that it wasn’t him. But the more Scott looks, the more he just sees Avid.
And… the Gods be damned, because Scott’s always been a selfish man.
Avid lets out a startled squeak as Scott grabs his face with both his hands and yanks Avid down into a kiss, with the one thought of finally. He tastes like blood and meat, but beneath it all is that familiarly awful taste of garlic and lavender, and yet it’s so very Avid and everything like Scott remembers and Gods he wants to cry. Avid’s arms snake around his back (Scott’s going to have to get rid of these clothes later), holding Scott tightly and pressing their chests flush.
Something solid hits Scott’s chest.
He pulls away, taking a moment to relish the starstruck look on Avid’s face before steeling himself and looking down.
He suspected it. Scott knew it’d be there.
And yet seeing it, seeing the disfigured and rotted wood still speared through Avid’s chest like some sick and twisted memento, was something else entirely. Hesitantly, he reaches for it, fingers just barely brushing the edge of it, only for Avid to jolt away with bared teeth and a panicked whine. Scott quickly retracts his hands as Avid slides away from him, grimacing at himself.
Scott slowly rises to his feet, ignoring the way his knees were shaking, and raises a placating hand. “...Sorry.”
Avid makes a bewildered, strangled sound, as if barking out a surprised laugh. He gets up as well, at least tries to, teetering dangerously before he slumps over into Scott’s arms. Scott panics for a moment, until he feels the rise and fall of Avid’s chest, and nearly keels over from relief.
Unconscious, not dead. Avid must have recently awoken (how, how, how) and was incredibly deprived on all avenues. Poor thing must’ve been so tired. Scott carefully lifts him into a bridal carry, noting with a grimace that Avid was definitely larger than he had been previously, and begins making his way back toward Oakhurst. His house, of which had been provided when it was clear that he would be coming back yearly, had running water, and nights above did Avid need a bath.
Scott can only hope that Avid wakes up once more.
He calls Shelby the moment he gets the bath ready. He’s fixing the whittled magma blocks into place along the sides of the bath when she finally answers, already partially through her lecture when her voice comes through.
“—vanishing without a word to either of us, do you know how worried we were?” Shelby sounds like they’d been stressing for a while. Scott winces as he throws a bit of bubble bath into the water on a whim. The room fills with the scent of lavender. “Abolish totally knows but he won’t tell us, the dick. Where even are you?!”
“Oakhurst.” Scott turns off the faucet, shuffling out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. Surely he has a few spare clothes around… Scott spares a glance toward Avid, who he has propped against the bed’s headboard, and grimaces. He’s not sure the clothes will fit well (not like they ever did, his clothes had always hung loosely over Avid’s thin frame) anymore, but it’s the only option Scott has. He grabs anything that seems flowy, as well as a large, oversized sweater Scott only wore for comfort, and hopes it’ll do the same for Avid.
“YOU’RE WHERE?!”
Scott winces again, pulling the phone away from his ear. “Oakhurst. I had a gut feeling, and, well, you know I always trust my instincts.” He sets the clothes aside, sitting down in the chair beside the bed, pinning the phone between his shoulder and his ear. He grabs one of the bottles off the nightstand, ignoring the other six empty ones, and tips the contents into Avid’s mouth. Scott carefully massages his throat, enticing him to swallow, before continuing to speak. “I… don’t know why I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t even tell Abolish, though he probably found out anyway. It just… felt like something I needed to do myself.” Avid lets out a low, broken whine, but doesn’t wake. Scott hushes him softly. “It’s gonna be okay, you’re okay, I’m here.”
“Scott… who else is there?” Shelby’s lost her vitriol, voice lapsing into an unnerved whisper. He falls silent, drawing away the empty bottle and setting it aside, watching as some colour returns to Avid’s face. “Scott?”
“...Shelby, I found Avid.”
It’s dead silent on the other side of the phone, and Scott has to pull the phone away to check if Shelby hung up on him. They haven’t. He doesn’t say anything more, allowing them the time to think as Scott begins feeding Avid another bottle. And another. He wonders if he could borrow some from the castle, perhaps even some mutton from Pearl’s hunts… that could help Avid heal quickly.
“Scott,” Shelby’s voice is so quiet that he nearly doesn’t hear her. “Scott, that isn’t funny.”
“It’s not a joke, dear, I promise,” Scott soothes, leaning back with a tired sigh. “I’ll send a photo after our call. It’s him, just… it’s strange, Shelby. He’s different, physically.” Scott pauses. “He said he turned because he was sick, right? A wound that never healed?”
“That’s right.” Shelby’s voice trembles. “I saw it. Blackened and necrotic and… gosh, it looked horrible.”
Scott eyes the thick scars carving through Avid’s throat and nods in agreement. “Vampirism doesn’t cure anything, not necessarily. Rather, it freezes the illness in time, never fully disappearing from the body. It’s why Owen always looked sickly. Now, normally, the illness doesn’t come back after death, seeing as when a vampire dies, it’s permanent, but… Gods, of course Avid would be out of the norm. It was a demon that gave him that wound. It’s what resurrected him.”
“Oh, my God.”
“Yeah.”
“Should–Should we come up there? Oh, I can’t believe it, he’s really… oh, so help me Moon if you’re lying to me, Pyro isn’t going to be the only death on my hands, Scott!”
“I’m not, I promise. I wouldn’t lie about this.” He furrows his brow. “Get in contact with Abolish and get him to come with. He’s the one with weird expertise, he’ll know what to do with hiding Avid in public. Hopefully.”
Scott tips another blood bottle, flinching when Avid’s eyes start moving.
“Oh, shit, he’s waking up, Shelby I’ll call you back.”
“TELL HIM I SAY HI—”
Scott quickly hangs up, snaps a photo of Avid and sends it to Shelby before taking away the bottle. He leans forward, as Avid wakes. It’s slow, his eyes struggling to work open as the blood fully circulates, and it doesn’t take long for Avid to lock his gaze on Scott once more.
“Ssss…cott.”
“Hey…” Scott keeps his voice soft, carefully reaching a hand out to cup Avid’s jaw, thumb caressing his cheek. The demon(?) melts into it, leaning against Scott’s hand as his eyes flutter. “Stay awake dear. I have… Moons above, I have so many questions…”
Avid makes a disgruntled sound, shifting to get a little more comfortable, only to double over immediately. A pained warble startles Scott closer, hands gently moving Avid back into a sitting position.
“Hhh…urts. Hur…ts.”
Avid claws at his chest, oil-slick tears spilling down his cheeks as his breathing stutters. Scott guiltily shoves down the disgust that rises from the weakness vulnerability from Avid. The stake, no doubt.
Scott has to remove it.
“Avid.” The man whines in response, but the clawing ceases. Scott reaches forward, grabbing Avid’s wrists carefully. “I’m going to have to pull out the stake, okay?”
“Whh…what if…” Avid heaves out a wretched, heavy cough. “Die?”
Scott’s brow furrows. It’s a possibility, and, honestly, Scott may genuinely lose it if he lost Avid right after getting him back, but…
“Well, death didn’t stick the first time around, so…” Scott tries to maintain his neutral tone. “Besides, this thing may already be killing you. And I can’t bear to see—I don’t like… hn.” Scott trails off, helplessly gesturing with his hands. Avid makes another warbling sound, slumping against the headboard. It doesn’t seem like he wants to talk much anymore, throat already strained to its limit, so Scott lifts his hands closer to the stake. When Avid doesn’t hiss or growl, he keeps going, getting a tight grip around the weakened wood.
At Avid’s nod, Scott pulls.
Avid’s scream will likely haunt him for decades, or centuries. As will the awful sound of the stake being removed, a grating noise of flesh ripping and bones cracking.
Scott chucks the thing to the side the moment it’s out, pressing another blood bottle to Avid’s lips. He ignores the claws digging into his shoulders in favor of cupping Avid’s face again, murmuring softly and as comfortingly as he can.
It’s a slow process. He’s no Legundo, but Scott moves as gently as he can, extracting any remaining splinters or wood chunks, giving Avid as much blood as possible. He’s gone through another seven by the time the wound begins to knit closed and Avid is left wheezing weakly. Scott waits, knee bouncing up and down, trying his best to deal with his building anxiety. He just puts Avid’s clawed hand in his and holds it tightly.
“...How are you alive?” Scott finally asks the question, the one that had appeared the moment he’d seen Avid. “We all felt you die.”
Avid gives him a small, one-shouldered shrug, squeezing Scott’s hand. “D…on’ kno…w. Caaahn’t r’memb…er.”
Scott nods slowly, rubbing his eyes and exhaling, before handing over the eighth bottle. He’s running out, he’ll need to hunt soon.
“Alright, alright, we’ll… we’ll figure it out. It’ll be okay.” Scott runs a hand through his hair, dislodging it from its place. He glances back to the bathroom, reminding himself of what he had intended to do. Scott hesitates, looking back at Avid. “Would—would you like a bath, Avid?”
Avid glances down at himself and immediately cringes, lip curling at the sight of blood-and-dirt-caked clothing and skin. He nods with what little strength he has, curling an arm over his stomach.
“And…” Another hesitation from Scott. “And is it alright if I help you clean?” He means it, because, no offense to Avid, he looks two minutes from collapsing like a foldable chair. Avid, to Scott’s morbid glee, gets cherry red, obtained by the amount of blood he’d consumed. It takes a moment of deliberation before Scott gets another nod. Scott nods back, standing up and gesturing for Avid’s other hand. “Up we get, slow n’ steady now…”
They pause every time Avid makes a noise of discomfort or hiss of pain, waiting until he’s okay to move before continuing up. Scott winds an arm around Avid’s waist to support him, hobbling their way to the bathroom, Scott murmuring quiet praise and comfort with every step. It’s a painstaking process, and more than once does Avid burst into tears (Scott stamps down the thoughts of disgust with a vehemence and vitriol that would shock even Owen), but they make it into the room in one piece. Scott sits him on the counter, leaving for a moment to grab the last few bottles of blood. He gives one to Avid right away, setting the rest aside for now. “Do you need help getting out of your clothes?”
Another deep blush fills Avid’s face as he goes to shake his head. Scott watches as he pauses, looking down at the crusted fabric and at the wound, experimentally lifting his arm and whining. He looks back at Scott with the look of a kicked puppy, mildly resigned and tired. Scott can’t help but huff a small laugh, only growing louder with Avid’s affronted look.
“Here, I’ll cut off your shirt at least. Don’t give me that look, it’s ruined! The fact that it survived this long is a miracle.” Scott pauses, then curses. “Damn, perhaps I should’ve turned my tailor.”
Avid makes a wheezing sound, akin to a laugh, as Scott reaches up, curling a claw over the hem. He trills quietly and Avid echoes the sound back, raspy and warbled, yet it nearly makes Scott tear up. It’s fine, it’s fine. He begins cutting away the shirt in strips, practically peeling it off of Avid as he does. It’s awful, and Scott honestly wants to throw up, because the more he pulls away, the more that he can see.
Gods, Pyro and Owen were lucky that they were dead.
Various claw marks are cleaved through Avid’s arms and torso, marring the skin with hideous valleys and canyons of gore. There was no doubt in Scott’s mind, had it not been centuries after the event, Avid would’ve been bruised black-and-blue from head to toe. It’s clear the skin wished to knit back together, but the sheer amount of blood and rubble caked into the wounds kept it from healing further.
It had not been a peaceful death.
This bath had been sorely needed.
Scott reaches for the clasp of the cape, freezing when Avid growls quietly. He stops when he realizes, ducking his head in embarrassment as Scott raises an unamused brow at him. “Now what was that for?”
“Khh…eep. Pleeeaase.” Scott's other brow joins the one high on his forehead.
“It's so… so—I don't even have a word for how gross it looks, Avid!” Scott blusters, eyeing the tattered thing with distaste. Avid pouts at him, blinking deliberately widened eyes, as if mimicking some little kitten. Scott gives a long sigh. “Okay, okay, I won't get rid of it, yet.” Avid whines. “Listen, I can try to clean it, but if it doesn't work then it doesn't work. I do have more capes, you know.”
Avid chirps, leaning forward, and Scott unclasps the cape, setting aside in its own pile. He hands Avid another bottle and he takes it hastily, draining it faster than Scott can blink. The wounds look a little healthier, but not nearly enough to scab or close. The dirt was definitely keeping it from doing so.
“Are you able to get your pants off, or shall I do that as well?”
Scott gets a squeak in response, watching as Avid hides his face behind his claws.
“M’ fffi…ne.” Avid pauses, peering through his fingers. “B-Boo…ts. Hhhard.”
More words, that time. They were getting somewhere! Scott purrs in his relief, petering out when he processes the request. Him? That–That was befitting of a servant, such an action was below—!
No, no. Scott forces his thoughts to stop, cutting them off there. It's rather hard to unteach himself the things he'd known for a millennia, but he's… he's working on it. At least, his therapist thinks he's doing well. Scott doesn't think so.
He works slowly as he unlaces the boots, unfamiliar with the motions and so entirely unfamiliar with the sense of utter domesticity of the action that it nearly sends him reeling.
Was this what he could have had, all these years?
Another flicker of rage is swiftly snuffed out, knowing that it would be unnecessary. The people that held that rage to were dead, he didn't need to hold on to it. One boot.
It's still a struggle, keeping that anger quelled, to the point of tears building in Scott's eyes. The sting is strange and off-putting, forcing him to blink rapidly and he has to still his hands. He will not cry, he will not cry, he will not—
A hand plants on Scott's shoulder, tentative yet firm. “Scott?”
Scott breathes out a wet chuckle, leaning forward and resting his forehead on Avid's knee. Struggling, to rein himself back in, to remain composed and calm as always. “...Just thinking.”
“Ab..out?”
“The past,” he answers vaguely, unsure of how to put it into words, “typical stuff, you know how it is.” Scott clears his throat and leans back. Second boot. “Alright, they're off.” Avid doesn’t move, and Scott frowns in confusion. “Avid?”
A hand cups his cheek, shaking from a litany of different things, guiding his eyes up. Avid looks so… worried. “Ccrrh…Crrry? Whh-hy?”
Crying? Scott wasn’t—he brushes a finger over his cheek, withdrawing it to stare in bewilderment at the red staining his fingertips. Scott hasn’t cried in decades, why was he—he shouldn’t be…
“I’m sorry.” Scott croaks, resting his head against Avid’s hand. “I shouldn’t be crying, this was—this is supposed to be a happier situation.”
“Ok….ay.” Avid rumbles, running his thumb over Scott’s cheek. “S’... okkaay t’ crry.”
Scott shakes his head, pulling away from Avid’s hand (and immediately regretting losing the comfort) and brushing the tears aside. “I’m fine. Come on, those wounds aren’t getting cleaned with me sitting around. I’ll let you get in the tub,” Scott deliberately turns, mostly so he doesn’t have to see the pitying look on Avid’s face. He could care less about him getting naked, but that fucking look. “Let me know if you need any help.”
Avid responds with a grumble, sounding torn between annoyance and concern. Scott just sits in silence, turning his phone over in his hands a few times. He hasn’t checked Shelby’s response.
Minutes pass slowly, impatience beginning to build with an insistence that has Scott gripping his wrist tightly. It nearly cusps to a peak until he hears the quiet ripple of water and a slow hiss of pain from Avid, and he turns around to see Avid awkwardly settling into the bathtub. He’s… well, he’s definitely too big for it, making for a mildly amusing image of the demon crowded into the tub. It’s fine, Scott’ll make do with what he has.
Moving a few things around to make room, Scott settles down beside the tub, kneeling on the uncomfortable tiles as he sets up a few bottles. Dipping the rag into the already darkening water and soaking it thoroughly, Scott raises his gaze to meet Avid’s. “I’m going to start cleaning the wounds out first, so they can heal properly. It’s going to sting, but I can’t let you drink any blood until I’m done, okay? I don’t want it to heal wrong.”
“Liiike… heaaalth potion.” Avid nods in response, hunching over a little further before humming quietly. It’s low and quiet, yet somewhat familiar, one of the songs Avid had sung on one of the few peaceful nights around the campfire in Oakhurst. Scott works on what’s closest first, running the rag over the wounds lacing Avid’s arm, washing away the flecks of black blood and clinging soil. He resists the urge to cringe as more injuries are unveiled, appearing slowly as layers drip away. One of Avid’s hums pitches into a whine when Scott brushes over a particularly nasty gash.
“Sorry.” Scott glances down at the water and grimaces. It was already black. “..This is going to be a longer process than I had thought.”
Avid giggles, and Scott can’t find it in himself to be upset about it. He leans forward and drains the tub, turning the faucet back on. Avid makes a surprised noise, and Scott pauses to look at him.
“Wwwarm? Alrrrready, how?” Avid swishes his fingers through the water, wonder in his eyes. Scott chuckles, glancing around the bathtub and eyeing the showerhead. He resists the urge to facepalm, standing up to detach it. He’s an idiot for forgetting, the running water would help with rinsing Avid off tenfold. Curse him for being too frazzled to think properly.
“People figured out ways to warm the pipes the water travels through,” Scott explains off-handedly, winding the showerhead down, “I don’t really know how it works, but that’s also what those are for,” he points at the small cubes of magma blocks, “they make sure the water stays warm in the tub.”
“Woah…” Avid tilts his head, narrowly avoiding jabbing Scott with the horn. He fiddles with the nozzle, turning it on and setting the power level at a relatively soft spray. Scott leans down to nudge the stopper, letting the water begin to drain ever so slowly, so he doesn’t have to worry about overflowing. With that settled, he picks the rag back up and turns the spray onto Avid, laughing quietly at the squawk he receives from the demon.
“This’ll help rinse out the dirt, quicker than the rag.” Scott informs, smoothing said rag over Avid’s arm, soaking the dried blood thoroughly before rinsing them away. Avid relaxes, resuming his humming once more as Scott begins working. “Okay, what do you remember?”
“Mmm… not mmmuch.” Avid shifts his arm to the side so Scott can reach his torso easily. “R’memberrr… little.” His hand trails up to the gaping wound in his chest. “Rememmmber… being led to… my death.” Avid’s eyes flicker, and, interestingly enough, steam seems to rise from between his gritted teeth. His skin seems warmer. “Pyyro aa-and Owe-Owen. Tricked me. Killed me. Murdered me.”
Scott’s hands freeze, exhaling sharply as he tries to reign in his anger once more. “They’re dead.”
Avid blinks, steam dissipating in an instant as he processes Scott’s words. “How..?”
“Well…” Scott focuses on a particularly stubborn patch of soil. It’s hard to tell what’s blood and what’s black spotting (which, as Scott has discovered, is in fact smooth scales) but he’s got the tech down to ‘rinse until nothing appears anymore’. “I guess I may as well give you the lay down of what happened after you… died. Owen force turned the Doctor in the end, quite brutally for that matter,” Scott shudders at the visual of the Doctor’s desecrated body appearing in his mind. “Owen then decided to take the cure—”
“After all he did—”
“Yes,” Scott squints at Avid, “but he didn’t take it. He chose to die, instead. And, as for Pyro, well… Shelby confronted him and, in the end, staked him. They died in the castle.”
“Shelby… killed?”
“Yeah, she did.” Scott’s brow furrows. Pyro… invoked a lot of uncomfortable feelings in Scott, nowadays. Now that he had a therapist, there’s… there’s a lot Scott did wrong; with Pyro. Simply put, he’d failed them as a sire, as a mentor, as a friend. There wasn’t any way to fix it, though, and Scott sure wasn’t about to air out his grievances with the man Pyro murdered. “After that… Cleo, Legundo, and I spoke. That we would have the Doctor turn everyone, desecrate the beacons and… cure those that wanted it. But, while we were going through with it, there was an… an incident.”
“An incident?” Avid watches some of the black spin down the drain, a frown prominent on his face.
“After Martyn fell—was thrown off the bridge, Apo… gave him some of her blood. And when the doctor tried to turn him, it just… killed him. Sent Renhardt into a frenzy and we… had no choice. In the end, only Abolish took the cure, even if it didn’t work right, and we were free. We’re all alive, still, except for Apo. She took her life when her love died.”
“Drrrifft n’ Shelbbby?” Avid brightens visibly, only to hiss as Scott moves him forward to start on his back. He resists the urge to snarl.
“They’re alive and well,” he purrs instead, a little forcefully, ignoring the questioning sound Avid makes. “I actually contacted them shortly after you passed out, they should be on their way.”
“Hooww long w…as I out fffor? Are carrrrier pigeons that ffast?” The longest sentence Avid’s said thus far. Scott gives a proud little trill, leaning back and beginning to focus on Avid’s chest now. Immediately, he whimpers, trying to shy away from Scott.
“We gotta clean it out, hon, I know it hurts, I’m sorry,” Scott soothes, rubbing his thumb over Avid’s shoulder. “We don’t have carrier pigeons anymore, but humans are quite inventive. There are these odd little blocks that can send messages between people almost instantly! And talk to them, through this thing called ‘calling’. Quite fascinating.”
“C…an we caaaaall them?” Avid looks up excitedly, wincing again as the water runs over his wounds. Scott pauses, pulling out a few chunks of rock that refuse to dislodge.
“After we’re done with this.” Scott looks Avid over, causing him to duck his head with a flush. Scott leans forward, squinting at the wound with a strained frown. It was deep, and he doubts he’ll ever be able to get all the splinters out without digging around in it, and even then… Scott has to hope that Avid’s body will push them out. There’s not much else he can do, so he focuses on scrubbing away the dirt, focusing on Avid’s purring, which seems to vibrate through his entire body. Scott smiles to himself, moving the sprayer up to Avid’s neck and hesitating. “Is it alright if I clean this? I know you were… sensitive about it.”
Avid blinks, taking a moment to pull himself out of whatever daydream he’d found himself in, and glances at Scott for a good few seconds. “...Yeah. S’ fine.”
Scott nods, checking the water pressure for a moment before turning it to Avid’s throat. He gently runs the rag over the scarred tissue, fortunately no longer wide open and weeping blood and pus anymore. “How’s it feel to have full neck rotation, now?” Scott taps a claw to the edge of the scar, delighting in the shiver that runs through Avid’s body.
“Nice! Very nice. Don’t hurt whheeen I shake m-my head. Or mmmmove su-suuddenly.” Avid makes a point to twist his head from side to side, grinning so brightly it nearly blinds Scott. He chuckles.
“Glad to hear it.” Scott turns off the showerhead for a moment, leaning back to grab a bottle of shampoo, and looks back at Avid with a small frown. How was he… water was so going to get everywhere. “Alright, lean your head back a little for me? I’m going to wash out your hair.”
Avid chirps, leaning back and immediately scoring a line through the tiles with his horn. “...Oops.”
“It’s fine, I can replace it.” Scott frowns again. He reaches around, grabbing a towel and leans over, tucking it around Avid’s shoulders. “Hopefully that’ll keep the soap out of your wounds.”
Scott then uncaps the shampoo, pouring an unnecessarily large amount into his hand, shifting so that he’s now seated on the edge of the tub, and begins running his hand through Avid’s hair. Slowly. It’s rank, in all honesty, caked with all sorts of different fluids and mixed in with cobblestone dust and dirt. It’s a miracle it even showed slightly white, parts of it practically matching the shade of muddy-grey Avid’s hair had been pre-turning. He runs the water over it a few times before setting the showerhead down again, adding his other hand into the mix, gently scraping his fingers along Avid’s scalp. It’s clear Avid appreciates it, from the way his entire body goes lax and his purring ramps up, and Scott can’t help but giggle a little at it. He can even see Avid’s tongue poking out, while his tail thunks against the tub. Goofy fucker.
Scott rinses, rubs, and repeats until the suds stop coming out brown, taking a moment to switch out rags for a newer, softer one. He then gently tilts Avid’s head down, wiping the rag over his cheeks and forehead, scrubbing away the remnants of two-hundred years ago. It takes a moment for Avid to register, brows furrowing and purring lulling in volume for a moment, before his eyes crack open, yellow eyes softly peering up at Scott.
“There he is,” Scott croons, cupping Avid’s cheek and running his thumb over it, watching as Avid leans his head against Scott’s palm.
“Hii.” Avid sticks his tongue out again, closing his eyes for a moment and shifting around in the tub. Scott completely misses the flicker of deviousness, only realizing it when Avid’s hand wraps around Scott’s nape and pulls him down, allowing Avid to press his lips onto Scott’s. It’s not a long one, but not chaste like the one at the beacon, and Avid pulls away with a big, dopey grin. “Mmmwah!”
Scott blinks a few times, hand drifting to ghost his fingers over his lips, feeling heat rising to his cheeks. Was Scott blushing? Surely not. He does not get flustered—that isn’t how this works! Avid snickers quietly, clearly enjoying his victory. Scott, in return, flicks his forehead, earning an indignant gasp. Scott leans back, surveying his work, and nods to himself.
“Okay… I think this is good. Nothing seems to be blocking the wounds now, so it should be safe for me to give you…” Scott leans to the side, grabbing one of the bottles and handing it off to Avid, “this.” He stands up, fixing the showerhead back into place and glancing down. Avid’s already drained the entire bottle already, but this time Scott can see the blood doing its job, the wounds stitching back together. The wound in his chest would certainly need much more time, but at least it didn’t look as gnarly as it did before. “Do you want to take a proper bath, or…?”
Avid shuffles in the bath, grumbling quietly before shaking his head. “Nnnot really.”
“Alright,” Scott hands him another blood bottle, taking the empty one. “I think you’ll have enough strength to change, so I’ll bring the clothes I grabbed for you in here. I don’t know if they’ll really fit but…” he shrugs. “There’s more blood on the counter. Give me a shout if you need help.”
“Mm’kay.” Avid nods and Scott turns, heading out into the bedroom to grab the folded clothing. He drops them off on the counter and heads back, sprawling onto the bed and letting out a long breath. He stares at the ceiling, trying to process the entire day. On a whim, he goes to Oakhurst, finds Avid alive, and then proceeds to nurse him back to health. Scott willingly nursed him back to health. And–And, Avid kissed him, again. Sure, Scott kissed him at the crypt, but this was—Avid flustered him? How was that even possible? Moons above, if the Scott of the past saw him now, he’d likely try to kill himself in sheer disgust. He dawdles in his thoughts for a bit longer, listening to Avid grumble to himself in the bathroom, before finally pulling his phone out to look at Shelby’s response.
‘Oh my God.’
He sighs, glancing at the closed door before texting back. ‘He wants to call. Gonna make him rest first, since you’re already on your way. Pretty mystified by everything, right now. Told him about Owen and Pyro.’
Scott doesn’t expect a response, Shelby no doubt flying her way here already. He drops the phone onto the sheets, running his hand through his hair before rolling his shoulders and sitting up. He stands up, paces for a few seconds, then sits back down on the bed, unable to contain his thoughts to complete one task. What does he do about this? What is Abolish going to say? What if—
Okay. He’s spiraling.
What’s that game Avid plays?
Right, certainties and uncertainties.
Certainties: he’s found Avid alive at the crypt. He’s still somewhat a vampire, but most definitely a demon. It’s still the same Avid from before. And Avid still… still cares for Scott.
Uncertainties: Scott doesn’t know what will happen next. Is there a way for Avid to reintegrate into day-to-day life? Will Abolish know what to do?
Scott heaves a slow breath, the motion in of itself doing nothing more but to calm him down. That… helped, at least a little. Moons above, how does anyone manage to do this? He hates feeling like this!
His eyes immediately flicker over to the bathroom as the door creaks open, Avid peeking his head out. “Did the clothes fit?”
“Yes… um…” Avid fidgets in place. “Claws… are bad for dressing.”
Scott can’t help but snort, patting the bed, and Avid nervously steps out into the room. And, yeah, that was… well, they kind of fit? The sweater at least pools around Avid, hanging off his lanky form and practically swamping him in it, while the sweatpants barely reach his ankles. But, it looks like he got everything on well-enough, though his hair is still sopping wet. Scott rolls to his feet, walking over and leaning past Avid into the bathroom, unhooking one of the remaining towels off the rack. He gestures Avid over, before promptly ruffling his hair with it, soaking up most of the water. Moon knows he’s not about to introduce Avid to a hairdryer, not yet at least. After a good thirty-seconds of Scott fixing Avid’s hair, he finally steps back, lazily tossing the towel at the laundry basket. He then takes the chance to actually look at Avid, past all the blood and gore. At the pale skin mottled with black-and-grey patches, the razor sharp teeth with two slightly more elongated than the others, and the mismatching pair of yellow-and-mulberry eyes staring back at him in curiosity.
“...Scott? Youuu okay?” Avid’s noticeably been slurring his words less, that’s good. Oh, right. Answer the question, Scott.
“Yes, I’m fine. Why?”
Avid frowns, lumbering over to him, and Scott is made well-aware of how much taller Avid is now. He reaches down, cupping Scott’s face, mirroring how Scott did just minutes prior, thumb brushing over his cheek. Yet, unlike Scott, it’s like he’s swiping something away.
“Crying.”
Scott makes a frustrated sound, screwing up his entire face. He’s crying again? “Ugh, I don’t know why I’m… my emotions have been so infuriatingly weird lately, I apologize, I can just—AvID!?”
Scott suddenly finds himself in the air as Avid lifts him up, arms curling around him as Avid makes his way over to the bed. They’re both unceremoniously sprawled out onto the covers, Avid pulling Scott closer and resting his chin on Scott’s head as he tries to process what the fuck just happened.
“It’s okay to crry.” Avid repeats his words from before, this time far more clearer. “Doesn’t make you w-weak. Just means you care.”
Scott grumbles into Avid’s shoulder, entangling his arms with Avid’s as he sinks further into the bed.
“Okay?”
“Okay.” Scott huffs dramatically, ignoring how watery-sounding it comes out, tucking his head further into Avid’s shoulder. It’s just to calm his anxieties, he insists, as Scott listens to Avid’s breathing, focusing on the way it levels out as he begins to doze.
Scott isn’t… sure of what was going to come next. He’s hesitant to rest as well, afraid that, when he opens his eyes again, Avid won’t be there. That he’ll still be in New York, alone.
But, as Scott throws his dignity aside and burrows closer to hear Avid’s sluggish heartbeat, this feels real.
He doesn’t even remember dozing off.
But, when he’s rudely woken by the others arriving?
Avid is still there.