Chapter Text
Dark grey clouds cover the sky, making the forest dim and gloomy like night is falling. Owen is wandering through a small clearing when the first raindrops fall from the sky. He hurries back under a dark oak canopy just in time to escape the downpour.
Someone is watching him.
He can feel it, a burning gaze on the back of his neck. He tightens the grip on his axe, wondering if this is how animals of prey feel when they’re being hunted. A violent coughing fit takes hold of his body, the taste of blood filling his mouth. He leans on the oak for support while trying to regain his breath. The cold weather is taking its toll on his already weakened body.
He needs to get back to Oakhurst before the storm gets any worse.
“Hello Owen.”
Owen twists around, gripping the axe with both hands, ready to strike while searching the forest surrounding him for the doctor. The vampire is standing a few meters away, half hidden in the shadows of another tree. Owen points the axe at him, clenching his teeth from the ache shooting up his arms. “Stay back doc.”
The corner of Legs’ lips quirks up as he steps out of the shadows. He’s tilting his head to the side, vibrant green eyes locked on him. “You’re sick.”
The tight grip on the axe handle makes Owen’s hands throb, the tension putting an extra strain on his joints. He keeps glaring without responding.
“I can help you,” Legs says, inching closer, arms raised like he’s approaching a scared animal. “If you let me.”
Owen takes a step back to keep distance between them, backing into the tree he was using for shelter. The doctor has him cornered. “I don’t want your help.”
“What a shame.”
Legs moves with inhuman speed, grabbing Owen’s wrists and pushing him up against the tree. Pinning Owen’s hands against the bark, digging sharp claw like nails into the hand still holding onto the axe, forcing Owen to drop it with a hiss.
Owen tries to pull away but the doctor is stronger, using inhuman strength to keep him in place. Their eyes meet, unblinking like it’s a contest to see who will cave under the tension first. Owen’s heart is pounding so hard it hurts, but he refuses to look away.
The green of Legs’ eyes is so… familiar.
Maybe a shade darker, lacking a glint of life. Missing the warmth that would fill them whenever they looked at him.
“You’re dying, Owen.” Legs says softly. Owen blinks, the warm memories dissolving to the beat of rain hitting the ground, dragging him back to the cold forest. Legs isn’t looking at his eyes anymore, his attention on Owen’s neck, the racing pulse that is there. Owen swallows.
“I can cure you.” The doctor whispers, leaning closer.
It takes everything in him not to fight back at those words. I can cure you, I can help you. He’d heard those words so many times he’s lost count. And it was always a lie. No doctor has been able to help him, every single one that Louis paid to help failed him, left him with no answers or explanations.
Said there was nothing they could do.
Owen scoffs. “By turning me into a monster?”
Legs’ eyes meet his in an instant, and for a split-second Owen thinks he might have seen regret in them, but then it’s gone, the doctors unbothered mask put back on. He studies Owen for what feels like forever, the hairs on Owen’s neck rising. This is what it feels like to be hunted.
“You’re only a monster if you chose to be one,” Legs says, loosening the grip on Owen’s wrists.
Owen ignores the urge to try to pull himself free. He should save his energy in case the doctor tries to attack him. “You need blood to survive, you kill people.”
“I don’t have to kill people,” Legs responds swiftly, leaning in even closer to whisper in his ear, “let me show you.”
The proximity makes Owen’s stomach squirm, heart beating in his ears as he tries to keep his breath steady and slow to calm down. But it’s like his throat is closing up, and he supresses a cough. “What-” he starts, voice hoarse, but Legs interrupts him.
“Do you trust me?”
Are you insane? Owen bites down the response. His hands are starting to become numb from the way Legs is pinning them, he moves his fingers in an attempt to keep the feeling in them. He narrows his eyes. “No.”
The corner of Legs’ lips curves up slightly and something shifts in his green eyes. This is amusing to him, Owen realizes. Like a cat toying with its food before eating it. Legs drops Owen’s wrists, but doesn’t move away from him.
Then he smiles. “You wound me. What have I done to cause this distrust?” he asks, holding a hand to his chest in mock offense.
Owen holds his hands over his chest, twisting his wrists and bending his fingers to return the feeling in them. He holds eye contact with the doctor, like looking at him will keep him from moving. “You’ve been lying to us for weeks.”
“That makes two of us,” Legs shoots back, tilting his head slightly to the side. “You haven’t told anyone about your illness.”
Owen bites his tongue, responding through gritted teeth. “I had no choice.”
“Neither did I.”
A chill runs down Owen’s spine, because the doctor is right. Even now Owen can hear Avid’s loud voice as he parades through Oakhurst, yelling about vampires and monsters. About how they need to kill them, ‘before they kill us’.
Owen didn’t believe Avid. Nobody seemed to believe him, not until they saw the vampires desecrating the holy beacon in the castle ruins. Owen had stayed back to observe as Cleo and Martyn ran in to confront them, and while Shelby, Pyro and Legs fled, Scott had stayed behind.
Denied everything.
But they knew what they saw.
And they took what they saw and ran with it, back to town telling everyone. Martyn called them bloodthirsty monsters. But they hadn’t really done anything to them, had they? They just fled. Kept themselves out of harms way, like any human would.
Owen looks down. The doctor is right, they hadn’t given them a choice. To his horror, Legs crouches down in front of him to meet his eyes again, and this time when he takes Owen’s hand, it’s with a gentleness Owen hasn’t felt in years.
The only thing keeping him grounded is how Legs’ hands are ice cold.
“Do you trust me?”
Owen pulls his hand out of the doctor’s grasp, clearing his throat, but his voice is still horse when he responds. “You haven’t even told me what you’re asking me to trust you for.”
“I suppose not, apologies for my unprofessionalism.” Legs rises back up again now that he has Owen’s attention, a new glee to his voice. “A vampire does not have to kill to survive. We can simply feed on a live human, no turning or murdering involved.”
Owen narrows his eyes, not entirely convinced of what to think about this. Legs gives him a small smile. “The initial bite is what hurts most, but vampires have venom to help with that. It will relieve the pain,” he leans closer, whispering in Owen’s ear. “All, of your pain.”
Owen keeps staring ahead of him, over the doctor’s shoulder. His body is aching, joints and limbs stiff from the cold. Another wave of pain shooting up his arm from his fingers, like a second heartbeat. “That’s it?” he asks quietly, yet again becoming very aware of how close the doctor is to him, a hand on either side of his body keeping him trapped.
“A slight discomfort when you’re being drained, but nothing compared to what you’ve already endured.”
He can feel the air hitting his skin with the words. “No turning?” he whispers.
“You have my word,” Legs whispers back, lips gracing Owen’s ear.
Owen bites the inside of his cheek, tastes the blood filling his mouth. Legs exhales beside him, like he can taste the blood too. Someone who does not have to breathe, someone who hasn’t been breathing for god knows how long, exhaling like any other person would.
“Okay.”
Legs’ hands move instantly, one pinning Owen’s body against the tree and the other carefully pushing his head up to the side, exposing more of his neck. He doesn’t give Owen any time to anticipate what’s about to happen, or to change his mind.
Lips touch his neck, and a second later they part for sharp fangs to bite down into soft flesh. Instinctively Owen tries to pull away, but between the doctor’s body and the tree, there is nowhere to go. So, he grabs the doctor’s shirt, pulling it into his fists. The pain on his throat is barely distinguishable from the pain in his hands.
And then its like the floor gives away under him, he gasps for air like he has been holding his breath for years. The weight that has been keeping his limbs heavy, the pain he’s gotten so used to is gone. Like it was never there to begin with.
He tries to even his breathing, as the doctor drinks, tries to not fight against the sensation as Legs’ body becomes warmer with his blood.
The world starts blurring around the edge of his vision, and Owen taps Legs’ back, slurring his name slightly. “Legs, that’s enough.”
Legs detaches from his neck slowly, lingering for just a second before he pulls back. Owen stays completely still, waiting for the world to stop spinning as Legs digs something out of his pocket. When the doctor looks at him again, he smiles, revealing the fangs that had just been lodged deep into Owens flesh. They’re still stained with blood.
Owen tries to push himself from the tree, but he’s still dizzy, the doctor catching him before he falls. “Easy now,” he says softly, helping Owen sit down on the tree roots. “Eat this, it’ll help with the dizziness.” He holds up a small cloth bundle.
Owen takes it without a word, untying it to reveal a handful of roasted chestnuts. He takes one, taken aback by the unexpectedly soft and chewy texture. It’s sweet and earthy, an underlying smoked taste. Louis would have loved it.
The doctor is watching him with undivided attention, and its only now that Owen notices how he’s changed. His eyes are not as vibrant as they were just a few minutes ago, the colour duller, making his eyes look like a green-ish grey lake. But they’re also shining with something new. Not life, but with curiosity.
His gaze drifts down, and before Owen can react the doctor has moved closer again, holding something against the wound on his neck. “We don’t want that to get infected, I don’t think your body could handle another issue like that.”
He cleans the wound, but Owen doesn’t really feel it. He can only feel the warmth of the doctor’s touch, the cold of the earth beneath them. The occasional raindrop that lands on his skin, having found its way through the canopy above. Is this how it feels, to not be in pain? To not constantly be aware of every inch of your being?
“There,” Legs says when he’s done covering up the mark he left. He takes the now empty bundle, then he grabs one of Owen’s hands, putting a thumb on his wrist like he’s going to feel for Owen’s pulse. As if he can’t hear it. “How are you feeling?”
Owen just hums in response because he doesn’t know how to answer.
Legs nods, like he had gotten a proper answer. “The effects of the venom will wear off in half an hour or so,” he starts, looking down at Owens hand in his, turning it over and tracing a thumb over the scars covering his skin. “I can still help you,” he says, barely above a whisper. “You’ll live forever, no pain or fear, you could do whatever you please.”
Owen doesn’t respond. Thoughts straying from the doctor, the tracing over his scars feeling too familiar, too comforting. Memories of a gentle face laying in the back of his mind, just out of reach. Could this have...?
“I’m afraid not,” Legs says, snapping Owen’s focus back to him, glaring into those dull green eyes. Tainted by the curse vampires endure to live forever, but still looking too much like his.
“How do you- what?”
“Blood holds memories. I can see flashes, feel the emotions from your past.” He pauses, and something about him changes. His eyes soften, his shoulders sink as the muscles in his body relaxes. He almost looks human, and it makes Owen’s instincts scream. “What was his name?”
“Louis.”
Legs sighs softly. “Unfortunately, your Louis died because of human fear, because of ignorance.” Owen tenses, and slowly, he pulls his hand back. Legs lets him, loosens his hold without any other acknowledgement. Then he continues, sincere with every word. “If your memories of him are true to who he was, I don’t think he would have fought back, even if he had the power to do so.”
Shouts and screams echoing through the hallways of the manor had woken him. But Louis hadn’t made a sound. When Owen had finally managed to get to the town square, people whispered about how he hadn’t fought back at all.
He knew what he did was wrong.
This is what happens when you worship the devil.
The memories resurface quickly, leaving him with the taste of burnt flesh on his tongue.
Owen set the town ablaze before he left. The days following, he had eavesdropped on people from the neighbouring villages gossiping about the casualties from the fire.
It wasn’t enough.
It would never be enough, for what they took from him.
“Considering everything he did for you, I’m sure Louis would have wanted you to take any cure offered to you.”
Owen swallows, blood boiling under his skin. Before he knows it, he’s pulled a knife from his pocket, holding it up against the vampire’s throat. Without the stabbing pain, his limbs are light as a feather, letting him move without thinking. He stares into the doctor’s dull eyes, resisting the urge to slit his throat. Just barely. “Don’t you dare talk about him like you knew him.”
Legs doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t even acknowledge the threat, instead he leans forward, making a thin line of red blood bead on his skin where the knife sits. He looks down at Owen, calm as ever, mouth curling up at the corners in a smile. “Got it. My apologies.”
The lack of reaction is so unsettling that Owen doesn’t know how to respond, frowning before he can even think to mask how disturbed he is. This only makes Legs’ smile grow wider, flashing his pointed teeth.
Then Legs pulls back, rising to his feet in one swift motion. He brushes dirt off his doctor’s robes, before extending a hand to Owen. Owen looks at it for a second, before quickly taking it – so used to taking any help he can get to move, scared the offer will be taken away if he hesitates too long.
Legs pulls him up like its nothing, and yet again Owen is amazed with how easy it is to move.
It feels like a dream, like he’s floating in water. Is this even real?
He looks down at his hands, studies the scars he’s carried for as long as he can remember. Curling his fingers into fists, sighing at how effortlessly they move to his wish. A glint of mental enters the corner of his vision, heart skipping a beat he looks up to meet Legs’ gaze again. The doctor is holding his axe.
“You should make a decision soon.” Legs says blankly, whatever amusement or interest he had shown earlier hidden behind the doctor mask again.
“Is that a threat?” Owen asks, eyeing the axe with caution.
The slightest draw of eyebrows, before Legs seems to realise. He lifts the axe, holding it up in his open palms for Owen to take. “No, but I wasn’t exaggerating earlier when I said you’re dying. Your body is shutting down,” he says slowly as Owen takes the axe back.
Owen feels the weight of it, tightening his grip on the handle without wincing. He’s heard this all before, every single doctor he’s ever seen has said the exact same thing.
There is nothing I can do for you.
“I can smell the decay.”
Owen’s gaze snaps back up, but the doctor is gone.
He looks around, scanning the forest for any sign of movement, but there is nothing. He appeared and disappeared out of nothing, like another haunting memory.
Owen swallows, reaching up to feel the bandage placed around his neck.
Solid proof that what just happened was real.
He inhales, letting the cold air fill his lungs, before exhaling slowly. Then he continues walking through the forest till he finds a path that’ll take him back to town. The rain has eased up a bit, filling the forest with a soft hum. He can’t help but think about what the doctor had said.
Dying.
He knew, of course he already knew he was dying, he’s lost count of how many doctors has told him that. But this time it feels different. Before it has always been an assumption, something said because they didn’t know how to help, couldn’t figure out what was wrong with him. He had never been given an estimate for how much time he had left, because nobody knew.
Owen steps out of the forest, into the open fields surrounding Oakhurst, when a new flare of pain shoots up his leg. He almost trips over himself, cursing under his breath. He continues walking, and every time he puts weight on the leg it hurts, again and again and again and again.
Shutting down, smell the decay.
If he hadn’t been so close to town, he might have screamed.
You can’t keep going like this. Louis’ voice rings in his head from one of the countless conversations they had had about his illness, about treatment. About how he’s only getting worse.
We’re running out of time.
Quietly, he echoes back, “I know.”