Chapter Text
Legundo was never a man of spirituality. Everything had some rhyme or reason, because there must've been a reason why he followed his orders; there must've been a reason that the dilapidated city of Oakhurst held them trapped in its confines. Theory, explanation, conclusion. It had been that way since Legs began his degree as a doctor. To find reason, and to fix a problem.
Problems come with solutions, so why was it that he couldn't find a solution to the existence of vampires? He should be able to; biology, theory of evolution, and yet it all seemed so wrong. Simple things like being unable to enter others' homes without permission wasn't something biology allowed. It wasn't an adaptation. So... why? Why do they exist? Being turned into one for that short period of time never explained anything, either. Even as he drank the blood of the last humans so they'd be cured, there was nothing that his mind could conjure up. How life after death was possible. How somehow a stake — a piece of wood, no less — could end your second life..
The stake didn't hurt, necessarily. When Legundo felt it pierce his heart, he froze very briefly. Even then, he hastily relaxed and let his body fall. He had peace, for once. He didn't need that reasoning: he could finally let his mind shut down and body release every part of tension it had. The afterlife wasn't a concept that Legs expected. He expected pitch black and silence. Nothing more, nothing less.
Yet, when he opened his eyes again, Legundo saw a man. Younger than he expected, but a man nonetheless. It wasn't an angel or the depicted God you'd see when you supposedly ascended: the man looked.. normal. White, wispy hair, with red eyes and a soft look that could only be described as pity. A fondness that read as one a parent would give to a child. That's what it felt like, and dear lord, it was humiliating.
The man walked up to the doctor with that same gaze, crouching down to gently place his hands on his shoulders. Despite Legundo initially flinching, he let himself relax. He told himself that this was what happened as you died — you'd see things to soothe yourself. He told himself that over and over like a mantra just to dismiss the warmth. The young-looking man stayed in position, speaking soft words of approval that Legundo couldn't quite recall. He squeezed his eyes shut, wincing as the soft, albeit cold breath of the other hit his paper white face. He remembered hearing a “thank you”; he didn't know what it was for, and yet it felt like it was required after the hell that occurred on Earth. A thank you for somehow making it after a difficult run, or a thank you for being the parent to multiple children who never seemed to follow your rules. Legs didn't really know.
The only thing he remembered about the man's words was a small sentence.
"You need to outweigh your sins."
Legundo looked up at that. The light behind the man was blindingly bright — it felt like it was burning him, his whole body on fire from the rays that should feel like home. It felt like a repulsive glare that the doctor had to experience — one from the military, or one from the vampire that he had tried so hard to comfort and assure. He tried to keep eye contact, vision hazy and mind drifting away. The man looked at the pitiful state of him, sorrow painting his face so sweetly. He squeezed Legundo's shoulder, pain close to none and the cold grasp a soothing balm on a stinging wound. His eyes stared into Legundo's singular one, the doctor's eyes watery from more than the light than cursed his scarred skin. With a sigh, the kind man pulled Legundo closer. His arms wrapped around the tired soul, lips moving to form a silent whisper.
"Occasio portarum in periculo aeternitatis Doctor dabitur."
The words felt like they sunk into the doctor's skin. Legundo's eyes sagged, a comfortable temperature resting atop his skin as he felt his head droop. Despite the lack of clarity from the words, he attempted to mutter them himself; the other man just huffed a laugh at that, as the land's holy pain morphed into a numbness. It felt like peace — it felt like death. Perhaps now was the end. The end of suffering in vain.
.
..
.
His eyes opened. Again?
His weary, foggy mind awoke once more. Legundo's eyes adjusted, body resting on a fine oak ground and neck pulsing with an uncomfortable pain. He let out a groan, the sudden darkness wrapping him in a blanket of ice; Legundo couldn't shiver, though, as he uneasily glanced around. One hand moved up, his gaze focusing on it with a confusion that made his brows furrow. It lacked the blood that he remembered staining his hand with, the taste of flesh and mortality no longer existent. Where had it gone? He couldn't be alive. Not again. Not after his eyes stung from something as burning as light. Not when the embrace of death comforted him so safely.
Legundo forced himself up. He stumbled forward, before catching himself and standing with a poor posture. His body — although he doubted its capability to hurt — ached, his joints cracking like he hadn't moved for a century. A groan escaped him as he turned to face where he just sat down, the weak light of the candles on the bedside tables being enough to see the lines between the planks. Legundo silently noted that the wax was soon to be of no use; he suspected he ought to hurry. Atleast, hurry to have a grasp on his surroundings.
To his right was a bed. A magnificent one at that: there were curtains which surrounded it, the polished oak a sight to behold. It looked incredibly different to when he was in Oakhurst, where the bed were weakly put together pieces of wood. Legundo was a soldier, not a lumberjack or a carpenter; the bed he made was far from a place of rest. It was merely a pad of wool to lower the chance of back pain. Legs already had back pain, so it was more to lessen that, but the point still stood. The beds only grew worse after that, with the hiding away in the doctor's test room reducing these “beds” to scraps of comfort. Here, however, the chamber was perfect (minus the chill of the air) to reside in. Legs looked at the fine curtains once more, admiring the silky fabric before he reached out to open them.
It felt like the fabric passed through his fingers, albeit the drapery easily slid open. Downwards went his gaze, and Legundo bit his tongue at the sight of a figure laying down, their body covered by the thick duvet surrounding them.
"Oh..." he breathed out. The flickering candlelight just enough to recognise the shape of the figure– the person in bed. Their hair splayed out, a black colour which wasn't dark. The texture looked familiar, as if Legundo remembered brushing his hands through the strands to soothe his racing mind when the pressure of pleasing everyone weighed too heavy a burden. A braid near the front, small and untidy, nearly caused his breath to hitch. It was familiar, uncomfortably familiar, and Legs suspected he knew why.
The doctor watched as the person's body shifted with each rise and fall of their chest, calm and steady. It was different compared to the uneven ones that the former took when resting, unable to fully relax whilst unconscious. Legundo observed as the stranger (a tentative use of the word stranger, mind you) shuffled, their body rolling over; it was done rather eloquently, as if this was a dance routine over a sleep. They stopped once they were facing Legundo, eyes remained shut.
Legs paused. He quickly recognised the face — almost too quickly for somebody he thought he wouldn't know — and bit his tongue. He didn't feel the spike of pain you normally would, something which should've distracted him from his thoughts. The doctor bit the inside of his cheek next with the same result, before he managed to speak a word.
"...Abolish?"
The awareness on who it was made the situation feel more intrusive than it initially was. Legundo took a step back, eye suddenly growing wide and lips pursed. Shit. Why was he inside Abolish's home? Was this a home anyways? This room was too magnificent (from what Legs was able to see) to be within a simple house.
"Why?" Legundo quietly whispered, desperate to understand even if no answer would arrive. His eyes darted around, trying to tell himself that he must've been hallucinating. There had to be some reason he could see his closest ally, right? A logical conclusion — Legundo was used to finding those, until he arrived in Oakhurst. Shit, now he was thinking irrationally again. His mind tried to deny the existence of the person in front of him, the person who had shown him the most respect and humanity out of everybody he had known. It was foolish.
It had to be foolish, didn't it? When there was no reason the doctor could find, it had to be some trickery of the mind. An illusion made to comfort him. He couldn't bear to imagine that he was cursed to witness Abolish live until their eventual passing: he'd lose more than he already had.
When Legundo bothered to come back to the present again, the candle's weak flame had faded, leaving only the darkness and a faint wisp of smoke behind.
"For goodness sake. Of course it's me," he spoke bitterly, letting his body sink to the floor again. He shouldn't bother to try anymore since he doubted there'd be any point. Waking up somebody who hadn't rested properly for weeks only felt worse, too. Sparing a glance at where Abolish laid, Legs mumbled (half to himself and half to the other), "Sleep well."
Curled up on the ground, Legundo let his eyes drift shut again. It took him a moment for his mind to silence itself, and even then did it take a while for him to fall into slumber. His hands clutched at his surprisingly untouched robe, the fabric enough to ground himself as sleep took over. He asked himself one more thing before sleep overcame him:
Why am I the one to watch over Abolish?
Legundo didn't give an answer to that. He didn't assume he'd discover one anytime soon, either.