Chapter 1: There is no guarantee / If you go out and seek it / That truth will set you free
Notes:
Chapter title from the song "Ouroboros" by Charming Disaster!
Chapter Text
For as long as he can remember, William has never been normal. He saw things that others couldn’t, twisted abominations and sinister shadows lurking around every corner. His parents would laugh and tell their friends about their youngest’s wild imagination.
Those amused smiles started to grow tighter with time. Cheer increasingly forced and disingenuous with each year that he failed to grow out of it, to leave behind the silly fantasy of storybook monsters.
”Sweetheart, you don’t have to make up things like this for attention. Your mother and I are always here for you, if you need something you can just ask.”
It’s endlessly frustrating, the way the people of Deadwood, even his own family, never understand or believe the things William sees. It doesn’t seem to matter how much evidence he compiles and shoves in their faces. Creative photo doctoring, an… interesting arts and crafts project, a story made up by a child trying to conceptualize death in the wake of a “freak accident.” Any explanation that means they don’t have to face the plain truth that their unassuming little town is little more than a slaughterhouse.
As if the rate of disappearances and unexplained deaths are normal, acceptable. Somehow, for some reason, the vast majority of the people around him are completely incapable of something as simple as looking at the statistics and realizing something isn’t right here.
He doesn’t give up. Can’t. There must be a source to this madness, a cause.
William knows he isn’t crazy. He’s not even the only one that sees it. He has a small group of friends, others that can perceive the monstrosities that infest their home.
So he does the only thing he can: He investigates. Follows every possible lead, every breadcrumb trail of spilt blood. Like the one currently leading him through the twisted pines behind the Rusty's.
Something, some manner of spirit, has been exsanguinating people seemingly without rhyme or reason. A rare disease, the town’s coroner had proclaimed. The doctors agreed, though all failed to produce any further details of this supposed affliction.
It is through sheer luck (if you can call it that), that William managed to stumble upon the latest victim. The poor, unfortunate convenience store cashier, now reduced to a lifeless husk. The last of his vital fluids are still weakly dribbling from three miniscule puncture marks on his left wrist.
William feels guilt for his lack of reaction. This isn’t the first body he’s found, and likely won’t be the last. They still keep him up at night, the empty doll-like eyes and grayed faces of all those his little ragtag team of investigators have failed to protect flashing through his mind every time he lays to sleep.
But in this moment, looking at the man who used to sneak him 25-cent candies while his boss wasn’t looking, all William can feel is numb.
The trail William follows away from the corpse is hardly existent. If not for his sharp attention to details, and the color contrast of stray blood droplets against the white petals of the aster flowers growing beneath the trees, it would be impossible to follow.
He’s on high alert, hyper aware of the sounds of his own breaths as he picks his way through the woodlands. Mindful of every dry leaf or spare twig that could crackle underfoot, alerting whatever may be lurking nearby to his presence.
He’s well aware that this isn’t safe or wise. Pursuing this creature on his own, armed with nothing but his wits and a heavy flashlight, but what choice does he have? If he hesitates, heads into town for backup, the creature that did this will slip away into the night like it already has twice before. This may be his only chance. He needs to know.
Despite his abundance of caution, William’s reflexes aren’t nearly quick enough to evade when he is without warning attacked by a weird fucking… bat?
It tries to rip his throat out, and he just barely manages to knock it out of the air with the flashlight in his hand and run away, the faint sound of flapping wings hot on his heels as he races through the woods. Whatever that thing was, the moment in which he looked into those glowing blood-red eyes William felt a sense of dread unlike any he’s experienced in his years living in this waking nightmare of a town.
Hours later, safe in his bed, he starts to feel lightheaded. Did he lose more blood than he realized? The bite didn’t seem too bad when he cleaned and bandaged it alone in his bathroom…
His throat tightens, spasming, and suddenly William finds that he can’t breathe. He’s choking on nothing, lungs struggling to inflate.
William tries to scream, to cry for help, but all that escapes his lips is a pathetic wheeze.
Did I just discover the world’s first venomous bat!? He thinks to himself hysterically, as he convulses on his bed.
Black spots appear in his vision. There’s a sharp, sudden pain in his gums before the taste of iron overwhelms his senses. There’s also something… it feels like pebbles, maybe? Rattling around in his mouth. His thoughts are growing foggier and more distant.
He still can’t breathe.
He didn’t even- whatever had killed and drained those people… The cashier, the preacher’s daughter, his neighbor… he never found it. Never got to uncover the truth, his shallow attempt to bring peace and meaning to those untimely deaths.
The last thing William Bell feels before he dies at the ripe age of 16 is regret that he never even solved his final mystery.
William wakes up to a pillowcase soaked in his own blood, heart still and silent in his chest. And in his mouth are his own canines, which fell out- no, were pushed out, by their replacements. Something longer, sharper, and built to drain.
William’s not a fucking idiot. He’s read books. He’s been on the internet. He knows what this is. His buries his face in his hands.
Really, of all things… a fucking vampire!?
He pokes and prods at the fangs, trying over and over to convince himself that he’s somehow mistaken. Maybe, just this once, the principle of Occam’s Razor doesn’t apply.
Or maybe this isn’t real! Just another nightmare! It would be far from the first time his brain has conjured intricate scenarios in which he was taken and twisted, becoming one of the very things he so deeply loathes and fears.
That weak false hope he managed to conjure evaporates completely as he feels a sharp sting of pain, the intrusive bony growths within his mouth having punctured his own thumb. He watches with a mix of fascination and horror as a drop of dark, coagulated blood begins to ooze from the fresh wound.
In the months that follow, he does his absolute utmost to conceal his vampiric nature. Of course he does. His parents have never believed in his ghost hunting hobby, but even if he had managed to successfully convince him of that truth sometime in all these years, he knows they wouldn’t take kindly to the thing their son has become.
But… there are things he can’t hide. The way his skin is icy cold when his mother tries to kiss his cheek. The way his stomach turns and roils every time he forces down the meals she lovingly prepared. The way he has to pull a hood over his head as he steps out into the sun, unbothered by all that extra fabric despite the August heat. The way he recoils in pain when he tries to grab the rosary his father hands him to ’guide his path’ after a concerned call from his science teacher who had caught William kissing the boy he’d been assigned as a lab partner.
With all the things he's seen, the horrors he's witnessed, It's always been hard for William to believe in a loving god. As he grew older, he had accepted that he'd never manage to truly share the faith of his parents.
Even still, some part of it has stuck with him. A guilt he has to fight when he catches himself staring too long at a handsome boy with defined muscles.
That guilt, that sense of wrongness, has grown exponentially now that he is not alive. Undead. A godless abomination, who chokes and coughs up his own festering, rotten blood when he tries to invoke the Lord's name. Who cannot say amen before family dinner without the burning of hell's flames inside his chest.
Eventually, with no apparent catalyst, a tipping point is reached. His inhuman nature has gone a step too far beyond the realm of what his parents can politely pretend not to notice.
The worst part, William thinks, is that he doesn't even know what it was. What unholy little detail happened to be the straw that broke this particular camel's back. He tried so hard to pretend because he still desperately wanted his parents to love him. It wasn't enough.
And they don’t even tell him why.
What they do say is that of course this isn't because they don't love him. They just think it will be better for him! Getting to see more of the world. Getting new experiences. William is too cynical and too perceptive to let himself believe that. It would be difficult not to notice the way his mother no longer looks him in the (wrong, inhuman, red) eyes.
He is sent off to live with his brother, David, in Freedom City.
His brother, who does not have the time nor care to look after the kid brother that apparently has some strange and terrible issue that their parents awkwardly talked around, providing no real information. Even with a paid nanny doing the actual child-rearing, he is not particularly keen on the idea of William in his space, hanging around, getting in his way. David has bigger and better things to focus on.
Which is how William ends up in the town of Rockfall, a good two hour drive from the brother he is supposedly meant to be living with. Not even allowed the peace and freedom of solitude, instead living with a total stranger named Mia. David assures him that she is the best caretaker money could buy. William thanks him through gritted teeth, knowing his parents would only despise him more if he failed to perform proper gratitude for this “kindness.”
So he is left in an unfamiliar town, away from everyone and everything he has ever known. Floundering for a place in the world. Fighting a constant battle with the hunger that gnaws at him, twisting his insides until he snaps and leaves the hollow, drained corpse of a squirrel or mouse or rabbit cold in his hands to be hastily buried in the backyard.
William doesn't know what he fears most. Himself and the dark urges that fester within him, or the idea that someone else might see him for what he really is. A monster. Something undeserving of this second chance at life.
For this reason he keeps to himself far more than he did at his old school. Speaking only when spoken to. Ducking his head as he walks the halls, minimizing the chance that another might so much as remember his face.
He doesn't need friends, really, even if the loneliness feels like a physical ache in his chest. Every person he lets close is just a threat. Someone else who could potentially discover his secret. Who could expose him to the world, hastening his inevitable damnation. Even if he deserves it, for being such a terrible and loathsome thing, William can't help but dread that potential outcome.
He dearly hopes it’s not inevitable.
Chapter 2: A shadow’s creeping out in the night / You think you might want to invite it inside
Summary:
William makes a new friend!
Notes:
Decided to make every chapter a different Charming Disaster lyric, this one's from the song "Trick of the Light"!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Time passes in a strange haze. Each individual day drags on, agonizingly long, but they all muddle together. Before he knows it, William has spent a year and a half in Rockfall. Not that it means much. No meaningful relationships have been built, no roots established. It does not feel like a home. He could be abruptly uprooted again, and it would hardly make a difference.
William ponders all this under the cover of night, idly rocking back and forth on a swing on an empty playground, a lit cigarette held loosely between his fingers.
Being out alone at night used to fill him with such instinctual unease. Jumping at every slight breeze or flickering shadow. Posture hunched, making himself as small as he could. Heartbeat pounding a constant rhythm in his eardrums. Looking over his shoulder every few paces.
Now it feels more natural than anything. He tells himself it’s due to the lack of monsters around him.
(He knows it’s because he is one.)
William takes another drag from his cigarette. Between the bitter taste of ash coating his tongue and the music blaring in his earbuds, it’s almost enough to drown out his melancholic thoughts.
Almost.
It’s funny, really. He swore to his parents he would never take up smoking. They told William they’d always love him.
It seems broken promises are something of a family tradition.
His dramatic brooding is quite rudely interrupted as the chains holding up his swing are slashed clean in half with the horrible grinding screeeech of metal against metal, a blade just barely missing his neck as he crashes to the ground in an undignified heap.
“What the fuck!?" William screeches, scrambling to his feet.
He looks up, seeing his assailant to be a built and unfairly hot (why is he thinking about that right now!?) man with vibrant purple hair, pointy elf ears, and a full suit of plate-mail armor that clicks against itself with every slight movement. William would assume he was just a dedicated LARPer, if not for the demonstrably very real sword in the guy’s hands.
“UNHOLY UNDEAD ABOMINATION, PREPARE TO BE SLAIN WHERE YOU STAND!” The man bellows, very clearly telegraphing his next swing.
William’s not the athletic type. Never has been. It’s even worse now, shaky and weak and sluggish because he refuses to gorge himself on stolen blood. Even as he sees the blow coming, his attempt to dodge is clumsy at best.
He avoids the very worst of it, but the gleaming polished metal still bites deep into cold flesh, leaving an arc of golden light that burns everywhere it touches.
A split second of what must be shock, and then he is struck with the pain.
Agony, unlike anything William’s ever experienced before, far worse even than dying. A horrible searing like the sun itself has been embedded beneath his skin. He’s dimly aware that tears are pouring from his eyes, but it’s impossible to process or understand anything beyond this all-consuming pain.
It hurts, hurts, hurts and he doesn’t understand what’s happening. Who this person is. How he knew. It hurts and William is scared and he knows he’s a monster that shouldn’t exist, that this man is right to be attacking him, but he doesn’t want to die.
“Please,” William chokes out, voice thin and cracking. “Please. I’m sorry. Please."
It’s dark, and his vision is blurred. He can’t see anything clearly. William could swear the armor slides off the man before him like water, sword dissipating into sparks of light.
He blinks, and- Yeah. That medieval battle gear is gone, and the man before him looks younger, maybe? Like he could be about William’s age.
The ears are still there, though.
“Shit, fuck! I’m so sorry, are you okayyyyy-? No, stupid question. Sorry. Uh. Do you- hold on, I have a gun, I’m gonna shoot you real quick!”
“What!?” William throws his hands up, even as the abrupt motion causes his injury to pull and tear. “Wait, wait wait wait, hold- hold on! You don’t have to like, put me out of my misery! I think I’ll survive, please don’t-”
The stranger cocks his head to the side, frowning. “What? No, don’t worry. I’m gonna shoot you in a good way.”
”What the fuck is that supposed to mean!?"
The purple haired guy ages rapidly, flesh warping and shifting to fill out his frame. Between one moment and the next he is a man again, but this time sporting a poncho and a cowboy hat. William never so much as blinked, but he’s still not sure where the wardrobe chance could’ve possibly come from. Some kind of magic bullshit, he supposes.
The now-cowboy gives a flick of his wrist, and suddenly there is a revolver twirling artfully in his hand. Before William has the change to utter another word, he has already lined up the shot and fired.
He feels it strike, dead center of his forehead. A sharp ringing fills his ears, his entire vision swallowed by a blinding white. He wonders if this is the famous light at the end of the tunnel. He didn’t get to see it the first time around, but better late than never.
So this is how I die, William thinks sardonically. Not to the ghosts I spent my whole childhood chasing, not the goddamn vampire that attacked me and turned me into a monster, no! Some weirdo with a magical gun is going to be my end. Awesome. Great.
…At least he was hot…
After a long moment, his vision starts to clear. The purple haired guy is no longer a cowboy, having returned to a mostly regular (but still pretty hot) guy with elf ears. Somehow, despite having been shot in the head, William somehow feels… a lot better?
The wound in his chest, which had been burning with unmatched fury, now reduced to a dull and manageable ache. He can finally breathe again. Not that he strictly needs to, but William spends several seconds just gasping for air like a beached fish anyways. It makes him feel more like a person.
“Was- was that like, a reverse gun, or something?” He finally asks, voice high pitched and hysterical.
“No?” The guy squints at him as if he were an idiot for asking what William considers a very reasonable question. “It was just a healing bullet, man.”
“That is not a thing.”
“Oh yeah? Then how’d you just get healed, dumbass?”
William frowns. “Well… I guess you’ve got me there…”
“Sorry about the whole… stabbing you thing. I mean, that wasn’t really me, I’m kind of possessed by my dad’s friends, but I’m sorry Alphonz tried to kill you. He… means well.”
“You’re possessed?” William’s eyes widen in alarm. “I know some like, rituals, I could help-”
The elf looks absolutely horrified by the suggestion, going as far as to physically retreat backwards a couple paces. The display of caution is almost comical, considering he (or the spirit possessing him, at least) had managed to incapacitate William in a single strike mere minutes before.
“No! No dark rituals, please. They’re mostly good. I don’t want anything bad to happen to them.”
“They’re making you kill people?” William’s statement pitches higher at the end, coming out more like a question.
The elf grimaces, “in his defense, you are undead.”
“Woah, really?” William quips. “I didn’t notice!”
The guy fails to pick up on the heavy sarcasm, taking the statement at face value. “Oh goddess, you didn’t? Oh no. Um. I’m sorry you had to find out this way, you-“
“I was joking. Jeez, man. Chill.”
“Oh. Ok.”
William slowly pulls himself to his feet, shoving his hands into his pockets. They lapse into a long, awkward silence. He has no idea where the interaction is supposed to go from here. Is there some paranormal etiquette for aborted murder attempts that he’s failing to uphold right now? He wouldn’t know. It’s not like this terrible, unwanted transformation came with a handy users’ manual.
If the odd magical stranger goes 15 minutes without trying to kill him, is he legally allowed to leave?
Well, speaking of the “odd magical stranger” part…
“Hey, uh, by the way, what’s your name? I’m getting tired of calling you ‘purple haired guy’ or ‘elf man’ in my head.”
He laughs. “I’m Virion. I guess I should ask you the same. I mean, unless you want me to just call you ‘the pathetic vampire.’”
“Okay. I mean, first of all, rude.”
“You collapsed after one hit! Vampires are supposed to be resilient and stuff, not…” Virion gestures vaguely at William.
“...Yeah, I guess that’s fair. I’m William, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you, William.”
“...I’d say the same if I hadn’t just gotten stabbed.”
Virion’s mouth quirks up in a toothy, lopsided grin as he laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling. It’s been a long time, he realizes, since someone laughed at a joke he made. William’s stomach is once again turning, now for a reason unrelated to his very recent mortal peril.
The smart thing to do right now would be to leave. Even if Virion is friendly, he’s still possessed by something that wants William dead, and firmly uninterested in an exorcism. Like he’s told himself a million times before, William doesn’t need friends. He’s better off without. Safer.
Rockfall is no metropolis, but it’s a big enough city that so long as he avoids this park and the surrounding area, William likely won’t run into Virion again. Which is a good thing. Objectively. He shouldn’t be hesitating. He got to keep his life, which is far more than he deserves. Only an idiot would linger, pushing his luck, keeping himself in a dangerous situation just for… What? A slim chance to to feel less alone, for even a moment?
William’s feet remain stubbornly glued to the spot.
“Uhhh… Do you want your rectangle back?” Virion asks, digging a shallow trench in the wood chips as he shuffles a foot back and forth.
“My what?”
Virion picks up William’s phone, which had apparently fallen from his pocket earlier, holding it out like an offering. William takes it, unable to suppress a slight flinch as he feels the heat from Virion’s fingers brushing his own.
He gently runs a thumb over the new spider web of cracks in the screen protector, silently hoping that damage is only surface level. David will kill him if he breaks his phone. Or, more accurately, he’ll be vaguely and dismissively disappointed in a way that makes William want to crawl into a pit somewhere and never emerge.
William would rather not think about his brother right now.
Looking up at Virion, he asks, “did you just call this iphone my ‘rectangle’?”
“What’s an iphone?” He looks confused, eyebrows slightly furrowed a way that is unfairly cute for a guy who William really needs to remember to stay wary of.
“How could you not know what an iphone is? Do you, like, live in the woods or something?”
“No- Well, I’ve been sleeping in the trees at this park for the past couple weeks, but I live in another world. A mystical, magical world full of dragons and monsters and nightmares beyond your comprehension!”
“Oh, I can comprehend some fucking nightmares.” William laughs dryly. “But, uh, if you live in another world, why are you here? Is this, like, a vacation or something?”
Virion’s expression becomes stormy, eyes distant. “No.”
William’s special Mystery Senses (trademark pending) are tingling. More than a can, there’s definitely a whole bucket of worms here for him to unearth. A mysterious and painful story he could gradually coax out of Virion with gentle compassion and support, convincing the tough and rugged elf to let down his walls, building a trust that could perhaps bloom into something else…
The entire fantasy is ridiculous, obviously. William isn’t good at any of that. There’s a reason it’s been so easy to keep people away. His investigative strengths lie with reading people, seeing through their bullshit, picking up small clues in his environment, identifying patterns. Not what basically amounts to playing the two-dimensional endlessly patient female lead in a crappy romance novel. He’s not remotely likeable or attractive enough for that.
(Virion mentioned vampires were supposed to be tough. Aren’t they supposed to be hot and charming, too? Why did William get saddled with all the terrible monstrous instincts and debilitating weaknesses, with none of the perks? Does God really hate him that much?)
William’s not sure what manner of besotted bisexual demon is possessing him and compromising his judgement, but despite all logic and reason, he asks, “do you need somewhere to stay? I mean, you said you were sleeping in the park, and it’s starting to get colder at night. I have a couch in my room that’s pretty comfortable.”
Virion’s eyes narrow, scrutinizing William intensely. “If I agree, you aren’t gonna just suck me dry while I sleep, are you?”
William chokes. “You mean- you mean your blood, right!? I’m not- No. I won’t touch your blood.”
“You say that, but you also answered in, like, a really sus way.”
“You asked in a really sus way!” He retorts, trying and failing to sound totally chill and not flustered.
“No I didn’t, how was that sus? I think not wanting a vampire to eat you is pretty normal, actually!”
William decides to swiftly backtrack before this particular detour in the conversation can kill him for a second time. He takes a deep breath to regain composure. Stares into Virion’s eyes to convey sincerity, focusing entirely on what he’s about to say so he won’t get distracted by how sharp and stunning they are.
“I won’t feed on you. I promise. I don’t feed at all when I can help it, and even then, never on people.”
Virion maintains that dizzying eye contact for almost longer than William can bear, before finally the elf’s shoulders slump and he gives a slight nod.
“It would be nice to sleep inside again. And I think the birds in this park are planning my downfall.”
William chuckles. “Well, we can’t let them get away with that.”
They start to head back towards the dwelling that William can’t quite manage to think of as home, chatting as they walk. He nearly falls over himself laughing as Virion recounts how his attempt to steal a winter coat for himself was foiled when a protective enchantment activated and the walls started screaming at him, forcing him to abandon the garment for fear of anti-theft retaliatory curses.
It’s not until halfway home that William remembers a very crucial detail. He chooses to blame the adrenaline hangover and the fact he was literally shot in the head tonight for this grave oversight.
William has offered to let this loud, clueless, extremely sexy elf share his home.
William does not live alone.
Meaning, his options are either:
A) Somehow hide an entire loud, violence-prone magical dumbass from his live-in nanny for an unknown period of time.
Or,
B) Somehow convince her to let Virion stay.
With what little time he’s spent with Virion, William can already tell plan A would fail catastrophically in a matter of hours, if not minutes. To keep Virion’s presence a secret in perpetuity is entirely unfeasible.
That leaves him with only one real course of action.
Now, how to persuade his caretaker…
He certainly can’t just tell her the truth, that he snuck out to smoke and met a magical elf who had somehow gotten stranded in the normal world. She probably doesn’t believe in the supernatural, and people get unpredictable when their worldviews are shaken.
What if she handed Virion over to the government to do unethical experiments on him, or wring him dry of information? What if the realization that magic truly does exist was enough for her to put together the pieces, like William’s parents had, but without the lingering sentimentality to shield him. William is a monster, unworthy of the false life he clings to. He’d prefer for her to remain unaware of this fact.
Honesty is out of the question.
But… he also can’t let her think Virion is a runaway or something, because then she might report him to the police.
They need a tactic. A good sob story. Something that won’t invite too many follow up questions. Plus, Virion sounds a bit too much like the name of a dashing fantasy protagonist. If they want to avoid any suspicion it’ll need to be changed.
William wracks his brain, recalling a phone call of hers he eavesdropped on overheard a few weeks ago.
“It went really well, I think I have feelings for her”
Oh, that’s perfect.
Plan in mind, he whirls around to face Virion, who has been idly picking up acorns as they walk.
“You need to change your name. And also pretend to be my boyfriend.” William informs him.
“Huh?” Virion asks, understandably confused.
“Well we- okay, so here’s the plan, right? I need Mia, the- my… Guardian… To agree to let you stay with us. And this is important, man, you can’t let anyone find out you’re from another world. So, you know, new name.”
“Okay…. I guess I get the name part, but… Why do I need to be your boyfriend?”
“I’m gonna tell her that your parents caught us together and kicked you out. It’s the perfect lie.”
Virion nods. “Yeah, that makes sense. My father would never approve of me dating an undead guy.”
“Yeah- wait, no!” William waves his hands frantically “Because- because we’re both boys, not- do not mention the undead thing. Please.”
Virion’s face twists in confusion. “Why would us being boys matter?”
And so, after quickly settling on the name Vyncent as an alias, William then has to spend the rest of the walk explaining the concept of homophobia to an increasingly horrified otherworldly elf.
Notes:
VYNCENT IS NOW REAL :D I hope you like this chapter <3 their interaction is So fun to write.
nyanbinary_87 on Chapter 1 Tue 20 May 2025 04:35AM UTC
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