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The Vampire Center for Vampire Awareness is quiet, a stillness broken only by the laboured breaths and restless sleep of the creature locked behind the cell door, and the gentle bubbling of a brewing potion.
Avid tears his eyes away from the prone form, fever-slicked and writhing on the cot Legundo had forced him to drag into the cell. If he had it his way, even the cold stone floor would be too good for the monsters.
Owen would be human again soon, though, as the cure works its way through his gaunt body, burning out the curse and coaxing his organs to function properly once again.
The cure.
When Apo had tearfully revealed their turning to him and Legs, Avid had reached for his stake without a second thought. He wouldn’t- he couldn’t let the townspeople get hurt, not again, not any more. His panicked breaths mingled with Apo’s own– she didn’t need to breathe, she was a monster, a vampire– But the Doctor’s strong hands held Avid’s shaking arm back.
Legundo was convinced they could find a cure. Apo wanted- wanted help, wanted to be saved. Avid hadn’t had the heart to tell them it was pointless.
But the military woman let herself be locked up, in the silver cage Avid never truthfully hoped would find use. The Doctor began his testing, drawing blood and making notes and asking questions that Apo answered to the best of her ability.
One wrong move, one slip in control, and Avid would stake her where she stood. He made sure they all were well aware of that.
He was already grappling with the vindication and dread, clashing in his heart, at being proven right, finally, without question. The others of Oakhurst who cast him out, called him crazy, a madman, couldn’t deny the truth of vampires and the supernatural any longer. Legs still called it a disease, something to be studied and fixed, still looked at Avid with disdain and the gaze of someone trying to decide whether he was worth puzzling out or a lost cause, but Avid was right.
He shivers, recalling Owen’s hate-filled words on that cliff. Two thousand, seven hundred and ninety nine… Apo might have been redeemable, might have been able to hold on to her human instincts for long enough, but Owen was beyond saving. He was sure of that. Even if the cure worked on him as well, Legs would have to see that the humanity was long-gone from the lumberjack’s blackened heart.
Truthfully, Avid hadn’t expected it to work, for Apo to be able to come back from the clutches of undeath. Before… before, Avid and his partner were researching ways a cure might be made. Avid knows his way around an alchemy set, and their old base was littered with failed concoctions. They had never had an actual vampire captured and able to be tested on, though, and when She–
There hadn’t been time. Nothing was ready. It was self defense– He didn’t have a choice. He didn’t.
Owen lets out a pained whimper across the room, and Avid lets out a shuddering breath of his own. He returns to monitoring the potion, the next batch of Vampiric Cure that they needed to have prepared.
It had been a stroke of luck, truly. A tome found in one of those odd crypts scattered around the forests, riddled with holy words and blessings and the details of an ancient ritual to return life to the unliving.
Combined with Avid’s extensive knowledge and research into the history of vampires, into alchemical ways to combat their effects, it was only a few rounds of trial and error before something stuck. Before something worked. (Apo was invaluable, a willing subject to be tested on, even through the pain. Vampires might not be able to die from conventional means, but they can definitely feel pain.)
(Had She been in pain? Was She in there, somewhere, begging for Avid to stop, begging for help the way Apo had? Was the blood staining his hands for nothing?)
(“You have all the makings of a monster.”)
(Ironic, coming from the one who slaughtered the entirety of Oakhurst like cattle two centuries ago. Avid wishes the words didn’t cut so deeply, didn’t ring so true.)
A sprinkle of powdered bonemeal, silver melted down into a shimmering liquid, dark blood collected from willing townsfolk. Stir thrice, wait for it to thicken, watch the clock. Holy words muttered intermittently, the same warmth the beacons released flowing through him with their power.
The motions are soothing, familiar. Alchemy had always been like this, a balm to Avid’s rushing mind, his restless, twitching hands. It made sense, it was science, in a way so few things in his life did.
The heavy silver door to the Vampire Center pulls open, a white-clad man standing in the entrance.
“Avid.” The Doctor greets. Avid only nods in response, focused on the bubbling potion before him. “How is he doing?”
“...Still out,” Avid responds after a moment, eyes flicking to the vampire behind the silver bars. “It’s taking longer than Apo did, but I think- that makes sense, with how much, much longer he’s been a vampire for, and everything.”
Legundo hums, entering the cell and walking over to where Owen lay. Avid tenses, putting a hand on the crossbow loaded and ready on the table. Legs really shouldn’t be going in there, alone, with no protection, what if Owen wakes up, what if it doesn’t work, what if-
The Doctor shoots Avid a patronizing glare, rolling his eyes, and the vampire hunter sheepishly lowers the crossbow he hadn’t realized he’d aimed. Deep breath. It’s okay.
He watches nervously as Legundo puts the back of his hand to Owen’s flushed forehead, wiping the damp hair out of his face. It’s almost tender, and Avid has to look away, a sick feeling rising in his gut.
When the Doctor finishes whatever check-up he was doing, he writes something down in that notebook of his and tells Avid to inform him when Owen awakens.
Avid agrees, of course, and Legundo sweeps away to do– whatever it is he does. Surgery or something. Checking on Apo, probably. Maybe making sure Martyn’s broken leg was healing correctly after his fall.
Avid is left alone with the unconscious vampire, slowly regaining his heartbeat, yet again. He runs a hand through his hair, tugging on it briefly in that distracting way that gets him out of his head, and returns to his alchemy.
Maybe he can atone, by returning the humanity to the vampires that threaten Oakhurst. He hopes She would be proud. He hopes this is enough.
Maybe he can finally scrub the blood from beneath his fingernails.
Watching the newly-living lumberjack, curled into himself and motionless in the evening light, Avid can feel the frustration boiling over in him.
Apo had been overwhelmed, but joyous to be free of the vampiric curse. Owen didn’t ask to be saved, to be fixed, but surely being human again was infinitely better than being one of those monsters.
Owen certainly wasn’t acting like it, though. After he had first woken up (had begged to be killed, taunting and angry and a little terrifying, still, even without those sharp fangs and blood-red eyes), Legs had dragged Avid to the town center, where Oakhurst held a meeting around the comforting glow of the beacon.
It reminded Avid too much of the meeting before everything was revealed, when Owen (that manipulative, murdering bastard), had given that sob story about burning children and vampire hunters. When the other townsfolk had refused to meet Avid’s eyes, even Drift.
Even now, with the existence of vampires being irrefutable, Avid knows most of them still don't like him. Cleo watches him with pursed lips and a raised eyebrow, Legs barely tolerates working with him in order to cure the vampires.
It was fine. They didn’t have to like him. He was used to not being liked, to being too much for most people.
(She wasn’t most people– She treated him like an equal, like a partner. And he killed her for it–)
Legundo took the lead in updating Oakhurst on Owen’s recovery. Reminded them of the plan, to fortify the walls and stick together. To capture, not kill, any vampires they came across. (Avid hopes that they can free Shubble especially from the curse– he would never forgive himself for being unable to save her from her own, monstrous, roommate).
Now, back in the Vampire Center, sharpening stakes (just in case, just as a precaution), Avid can't tear his eyes away from Owen. He still doesn't trust the man, far from it– he wasn’t exaggerating when he called the lumberjack a murderer.
It's just- hard, to put the image of Owen, the bloodthirsty, red-eyed vampire, full of anger and revenge and power, together with the frankly pitiful form in front of him. Owen seems shaky, refusing to eat, refusing to talk, glowering at anyone who came close to the bars.
Avid approaches him anyways.
“Where are the others, Owen?” He asks, far from the first time the question had been posed. Martyn had led a group back to the ruined castle, only to find it empty. The Vampires were holed up somewhere else, surely. “I know you know where they’re hiding.”
As expected, Owen doesn’t answer. His eyes narrowed into slits, teeth (blunt and human) bared in a soundless snarl.
“You’re still a monster, aren’t you?” Avid mutters, hand clenching around the hilt of his crossbow, strapped to his side. “You and Scott lured Pyro, lured Shelby into this. You’re- he’s probably manipulating them, convinced them that there is no other way! You turned Apo, but she was able to get away from you creatures! I’m sure if you hadn’t poisoned Shelby’s mind, turned her against us, she would beg to be fixed!” The words are sour on his tongue, but he can’t stop them from spilling out.
“And we wasted the cure on you, didn’t we? It wasn’t even the– the vampirism making you evil, huh? Have you always been like this, Owen? Had the makings of a monster?” Avid spits, the heat of rage and hurt and fear and guilt coiling hot in his veins, “Had you been planning your massacre before you were even turned? Did the people of Oakhurst deserve to be slaughtered?”
He isn’t prepared for the way Owen suddenly lunges forward, gnarled hands gripping the silver bars separating him from Avid. He tries to scramble backward, breath hitching, but Owen reaches forward and grabs Avid by the collar. It’s a terrifying parallel to the way he had grabbed him close, whispered threats in his ear, behind the ruined castle. Avid can feel Owen’s warm breath this time though, can see himself reflected in his wide brown eyes.
“They deserved to burn in hell for what they did to me, to him,” The lumberjack hisses, ragged voice catching on the words. “They deserved far worse than anything I could have done, and I’ll do it again, to you, and the rest of the fools calling this place home.”
The threat rattles Avid, and he falls backward when Owen releases him abruptly. He can feel his own heartbeat hammering in his chest, mouth dry. Owen sags, energy depleted, falling to his knees in front of the bars, haloed by the sunlight filtering through the window behind him.
“...Right,” Avid swallows nervously, still trying to catch his breath. “I’m– I’m gonna go, uh, check on– on the cows. Yep.” He pulls himself to his feet, trying to convince himself he doesn't need to stake Owen, it’s fine, he’s just– adjusting. Yeah.
A strangled, slightly hysterical laugh escapes him as he avoids looking back into the cell, even though he can feel Owen’s hate-filled glare on his skin. Hate-filled, but the air was tinged with something else even more familiar to the vampire hunter than rage.
Grief.
Avid nearly slams the silver door shut behind him, taking a second to lean heavily against it and breathe in the fresh air. In, hold one-two, out. Over, and over, until his hands stop shaking. Like She taught him.
He can hear a slam, and muttered growlings, coming from within the building. A choked, hurting noise, like a wounded animal. What might be muffled sobs.
Avid has to leave. Legs can check on Owen. Avid has to– he can’t be here, right now.
The hurt lacing Owen’s enraged words is too familiar. The way his voice broke on the word, on “him,” makes Avid want to scrub his hands clean again and again and again.
Pushing off the door, Avid hurries toward where he and Drift share their home. The detective he calls his friend would know what to make of this.
Probably.
Maybe.
He should take a bath. He feels dirty.