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Pearl was the one to call a break, citing that everyone needs time to eat.
Personally, Apo wants this to be over as soon as possible, but they can’t stop the castle if the humans aren’t at full strength.
Especially when Apo’s stuck in their weakest form.
Whatever. She’s protecting the town as much as she’s able, and she’s getting herself out of this place. No matter what it takes, she will see Cherri again.
While the humans eat, their vampiric allies linger a distance away. The sun’s out, and the humans are eating in the open, so Apo and Legundo are sheltered under a spruce tree.
Technically, Apo doesn’t need the shelter anymore. She’s weak enough that the sun doesn’t hurt.
Doc, though…
Apo isn’t looking at Legs. Involuntary exposure therapy has only done so much for her fear of blood.
But she can keep him company, at least.
The humans are chatting quietly. Apo could probably eavesdrop, but she feels restless.
They don’t… really know if Doc wants to talk.
“Good to be out of the sun,” Apo mumbles. Oh, they guess they’re talking. Do they really want to? After how poorly conversations had been going lately?
There’s a stretch of silence before Legs responds, “It is.”
He probably just said something out of politeness. But Apo's mouth is still open.
“They were telling me I burn. In the sun. But it doesn’t hurt now that I’m so weak,” Apo continues without any real direction in mind.
“Let me look,” Doc mutters.
Out of impulse, always the doctor, Legs inches closer to scrutinize Apo. In turn, she finally faces him.
Upon getting a good look, Apo wishes she hadn’t.
Covered feels too surface level. No, Legs is submerged in viscera. Blood, his own or otherwise, ruins his once white surgeon’s robes.
Beyond that, his clothes are shredded. The monocle and glass eye are gone. The good eye is a vibrant and pained crimson. He’s recently wounded, though the vampiric healing sealed him up. Despite the healing’s best efforts, the slashes against his front and the chunk missing from the side of his head are uncomfortably visible.
He’s still recognizable, though. Still Doc. Just hurt. Not like most of the other vampires, wearing Scott’s wardrobe and acting like it’s an improvement. Ugh.
"I don't see any sunburns now. You've healed up," Legs is saying idly. When he speaks so clinically, he sounds like he did before. It's nice to hear.
There's blood on his mouth, between his teeth.
Apo must make a face, because Doc blinks and draws his head back in shame.
“You look awful,” they blurt.
“Sorry.” Legundo turns away and faces forward.
“It’s fine. You didn’t turn yourself.” Apo swallows. “Who did? You just said he.”
“...Owen.”
Of course. Apo would’ve guessed Scott, but Owen was close behind him. “Fucking Owen. I hope he’s dead.”
Legs’s voice is hollow. “I want to kill him.”
Why wouldn’t he? “Yeah. I want to kill Scott.”
“I’ll do it if you can’t,” Doc promises.
He means it. She can tell that he really means it. God, so many of them wanted Scott dead, or at least were willing to kill him. But he’s still alive.
Apo thumbs the stake at her hip. Hopefully, Scott wouldn’t be alive for much longer.
“Thanks, Doc. Same for me about Owen,” she swears in return.
Legs hums in acknowledgement. He’s holding himself tight. Apo’s worried he might snap in half.
Well, the conversation’s okay so far. Apo’s words had been failing her lately. Christ, thinking back to the argument with Cleo still pissed her off. She’d never even gotten to explain her turning without Cleo butting in and saying she’s a monster. It wasn’t her-
…Had anyone told Doc it wasn’t his fault?
Apo, locking eyes with Doc while he was on the roof, listening to Pearl tell him that he made his choice. That she’s disappointed in him.
The thought spills out of Apo’s mouth. “No one believed me either, you know.”
“...What?” Legs asks quietly.
Apo rocks back and forth gently. She feels itchy. “About my turning. Everyone believed Scott when he said I wanted it. No one let me explain it. Or I didn’t do a good enough job explaining, I don’t know.”
Legs’s voice is dry from newfound, eternal thirst. “Oh. I’m sorry.”
“They should’ve heard you. When you said he did this to you. I heard, Doc. I hate him for it,” Apo states. She hopes Owen feels every word of vitriol from her mouth.
Doc is quiet for a while. Haltingly, he begins, “Owen, he… he wanted me to suffer. He lured me. I told him to stop. I told him to get away from me. But he… he didn’t.”
Apo told Scott to wait. He didn't wait.
They can picture it. How Owen killed Doc. The slashes are mapped out in the ripped fabric of his clothes. The image they paint is awful.
“Jesus,” Apo mumbles. "I'm sorry, Doc."
Doc is rigid. Lifeless. “He called me soldier. He wants to make me into his weapon.”
She remembers Legs’s silent horror when they thought they killed Avid together. He’d hid it well, but the stance was familiar to Apo.
Quiet, grim. Knowing you could never undo what had happened. Knowing you’d always think it was your fault.
And Owen used that against Legs.
“Fuck that. Fuck Owen,” Apo spits. “He doesn’t get to do that to you. Civilian now. That’s what you told me when we met.”
Legundo is resigned. “I have to… to be that man again. I never wanted to… but if I’m going to save people, they need that soldier.”
Apo sighs. “Then be a civilian when you get out of here.”
Legs doesn’t respond, and with unease curling inside of her, Apo understands why.
“Doc,” she whispers. “You can get out of here.”
“I shouldn’t,” he argues. He’s trembling. Apo has never seen Doc cry, but there are bloody tears in his eyes. She wonders if he even notices them. “I shouldn’t.”
“Says who? Owen?”
“No,” Legs denies before pausing. “Well. Partially. But there is nothing left of me to save.”
“That’s bullshit. You’re still here. We kill Owen, cure you, and you can keep living.” That might not be enough for Doc. “Keep helping. You can still help people.”
Legs seems to subdue a choked sound.
Apo presses against Doc’s shoulder. They’re here. With him. He was alone when Owen did this to him. Apo had been alone with Scott. Too many of them were alone.
“I don’t want you to die,” Apo tells him. “Don’t give that to Owen.”
This time, Legs isn’t fast enough to restrain the sob. His red eye is squeezed shut.
“I trusted him,” he whimpers.
Apo finds his clawed hand and squeezes it.
They can't give up. None of them can. They're going to get out of here. It doesn't matter how. They're going to live. Despite Scott, despite Owen. Apo will make sure of it.
“I’m going to live,” she vows. Something burns deep inside of her. “And so will you.”