[In the end, the theory is this: the stone is science and the stone is magic. The stone is powered by Sypha's intent, which is that when the blood from the one tube passes in, it will be purified, and the tube that it exits from shall clear the rest of the veins. The stone works like transfusion, adding more iron to the system to flush out any vampiric traces in a way that won't be painful. And if there is the tiniest bit of communion wine to goose the system along, well. This is Trevor's blood. They need faith in this mix of science and magic too.
There are times when one of them sits down next to Trevor, leaving the other to work. There's quiet terror threaded in every action, but when either of them are down beside him, it leaves. He cannot have that weighing him down, not if this is truly the last of him. He shall have none of the mourning that will follow in his wake.
And when it is time, or as near to as they can tell, Alucard is the one who is holding all of the equipment in hand. That's practicality, because this is vampire blood. The last thing the three of them need is for her to turn as well. (Perhaps, Alucard thinks in the very back of his head, perhaps that would not be the worst outcome. They would still be together, after all.)
No warnings. No prelude. Just a rub of alcohol at two spots on Trevor's arm, and then the puncture of two needles through skin. Hissed instruction to the skin to not fucking dare an attempt to heal and...it seems to obey.]
[ There's a pinch. And- this ought to feel strange, really, his blood taking a different path than it should. But it's not the weirdest thing that's happened to his blood today. As it is it's just two pinches. A strange tiredness, as whatever it is that's been sustaining him is pulled out from him. It still hurts- everything still hurts, but that's not a change.
He's watching the window, watching the soft red glow reflected on the wall from the inside of the curtain. It's fading now. Fading. And Fading. And gone.
And he screams, bringing both hands up to his face and knocking the needles and tubes out of his arm as he does. He doesn't care about them right now. He can't care about them right now, because he can feel his skull changing shape, the bones of it stretching and cracking and reforming, teeth being shoved out of place to account for the presence of two bony growths from the front of it. He's digging his claws into the side of his head to try to control the pain of it and- claws, there are long claws where there were previously short and blunt nails. He can hear his heartbeat in every part of him but it's slow, so very slow.
And he can feel a hand on his, pulling it back from his face to stop him from clawing at it further, and the broken skin knits together instantly but the insides of him are changing now, the slow healing now instantaneous, bones and tissue knitting back into place in some places and withering away in others and-
There's a pained cry. Distant, feminine. Trevor, you're hurting me, and it's all too overwhelming to understand what he's doing, how tight his grip on Sypha's wrist is. ]
[It's the sound of bones changing shape that makes Alucard blanch. He's heard bones break before, he's caused that, and the sound is always horrible. The worst, he's thought in the past, is when the sharpened bones break through the skin itself, the noise combining with screams of pain and white sharpened bits that come out of the body at angles they never should.
This is worse. This is worse because everything still stays inside the body, and the body is contorting in ways it never, ever should.
Instinct doesn't help him in this moment. He tries to recover the stone and the equipment first, but no, he can't. Trevor's agony is too wild and frenzied to do anything but try and. And. He doesn't fucking know, to keep Trevor from hurting any of them, but most of all, Trevor himself. Gloved hands (because of course he's wearing gloves for this) struggle to hold him down, hold him fast, keep him still. But no. He's clinging to Sypha too hard, and it's all Alucard can do to squeeze Trevor's other hand. Demand attention, demand a fight, distract, disorient, anything, everything, to make this stop for even just a second.
He's never witnessed anything like this. And no wonder his father never ventured this thought upon his mother. He could never bear to see his wife pained, and this....]
[ There's no despair. No anger. None of Trevor's comfortable old haunts. There's just twisting, crushing pain in every part of him, something horrible and wild writhing about in his skin and and bones and trying to crush everything in there. He's screaming still, so much that there's blood from his ruined throat in his mouth with every cry, as it heals and tears again with each breath. He can't even feel it when desperation forces Sypha to use ice to pry his hand open, when it closes again on a spike of it that passes clean through skin and muscle and bone. He can barely feel it when all of that reforms.
Sypha's scrambling backwards, encasing his arms and legs and throat in ice and- it's cold. Logically he knows it's cold. But he can barely feel it. It isn't just not being able to feel it in comparison to the pain, he can barely feel it at all. It doesn't seem cold, and there isn't even pressure against his skin as his throes break through it easily.
He's clinging to Alucard's hand now, with crushing force that he could have never achieved before, claws digging in to tendons. He can smell blood from it, he can smell it so, so clearly, more clearly than he's ever sensed anything in his life.
His grip only loosens when the turning starts to come to an end. The pain is still present, all-consuming, but it's a crushing ache instead of the living, snarling thing tearing at him from the inside. He can hear the bones of his skull reforming, his teeth finishing their rearranging. He can hear Sypha yelling again, to stop, to please stop can't he see he's hurting Alucard, and his face is streaked with red from crying from the pain and he would still be screaming but he isn't breathing. His lungs aren't demanding air. And without it there's nothing left in him for sound and so he just lies silent and still twitching from the pain. ]
[He can take the physical pain. It barely registers, after all, he's his father's son. This is a newly formed vampire (this is Trevor) and so even with all that strength, wild and untamed, it only smarts. He'll take it all if it makes any of this easier, he'll let the blood drip down his arm and pool on the floor, he'll take it, take it, take it even as Sypha has to back away.
There is so much horror here that he cannot process an inch of it. Not the agony of Trevor in those screams, not Sypha as her magic fails her in every way that matters, there is only the moment and enduring it all. In looking at red streaming down a face that should only ever be full of living skin, not the horribly ashy stuff that there is there now.
They didn't have time to even see if the stone worked. This is reality now. This is what they have to endure, and there is only pulling Trevor to his chest and waiting for that terrible, terrible twitching to stop. There are no tears on Alucard's face, not now, not yet, just eyes wide, expression impossible to place. Even he doesn't know what he's feeling.
(No. He knows. It's the terrible feeling of anger that Sypha cannot hold Trevor from the other side, because of blood.)]
[ He can see individual strands of Alucard's hair.
That's his first coherent thought. He never could before. He could feel them, but to his eyes it was all one big golden, flowing, soft mass. His eyes are sharper, so much sharper, and when he blinks (does he need to?) there's none of the roughness of a scarred left eye against the inside of the eyelid.
He's still, now, save for his fingertips still twitching up and down, playing at trying to form fists but failing. ]
I'm sorry.
[ He manages to speak eventually, drawing in one gasping breath to speak. He can't feel anything, really, anything at all save for the residual pain, but the knowledge that this blood must have got here somewhere, that that horrible bruise on Sypha's wrist must have come from something. Even if the guilt's not hit him yet, he knows he's hurt them both. ]
[Alucard holds him there. He doesn't know what else he can do. He doesn't think there is anything else he can do or say or even think to cut the horrible tension of the ever-present moment. Trevor is so cold in his arms, colder than himself, and it is terrible thought to have. That weight is warm and pleasant and sometimes a little crushing, but that was never a problem. Usually it turned into something more playful. Or just an evening of insults.
There's none of that now. There's the sound of Sypha standing up and bringing over a clean cloth, and for that at least Alucard can do something. Wipe at the blood on Trevor's face, because Sypha needs to hold him too. It is terribly cruel to deny her that.]
Don't.
[Don't apologize for things that can't be controlled. Don't say a word. Just. Just don't. This already a horrible moment. Anything, anything at all, will make it worse.]
[ The cloth confuses him for a moment, and then it's- it would be almost humiliating if he had it left in him to care, because fuck off and stop making a big deal of him crying it fucking hurt okay he's allowed to. And then it comes away from his face red, and he understands and what's left of his stomach twists.
He wants to talk. He doesn't have anything to say but apologies and goodbyes, but the silence is terrible. But he doesn't. Sypha moves in to hold him and he raises his arms unsteadily and wraps them around both of them.
Warm. They're both so warm. It's nothing new, from Sypha, but Alucard has always been cool to the touch. And it's- it's strange. Alien. Like he's holding two different people. One so hot as to seem deathly feverish, one just warm in a way that neither of them have ever been 'just warm' (that had always been him).
He needs to go to the whip. He needs to finish this, to return to Sara. To serve her with all of the other sons of Leon Belmont who fell in this way.
But he's selfish. He's selfish and he's afraid and he wants just a little longer with the two people who saved him and brought him this far. So he just holds on to both of them, and he doesn't sob. He can't. There'll be blood again, and then Sypha will have to step away and that can't happen right now. ]
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cryptsleeper) wrote2018-11-10 11:26 pm
no subject
There are times when one of them sits down next to Trevor, leaving the other to work. There's quiet terror threaded in every action, but when either of them are down beside him, it leaves. He cannot have that weighing him down, not if this is truly the last of him. He shall have none of the mourning that will follow in his wake.
And when it is time, or as near to as they can tell, Alucard is the one who is holding all of the equipment in hand. That's practicality, because this is vampire blood. The last thing the three of them need is for her to turn as well. (Perhaps, Alucard thinks in the very back of his head, perhaps that would not be the worst outcome. They would still be together, after all.)
No warnings. No prelude. Just a rub of alcohol at two spots on Trevor's arm, and then the puncture of two needles through skin. Hissed instruction to the skin to not fucking dare an attempt to heal and...it seems to obey.]
no subject
He's watching the window, watching the soft red glow reflected on the wall from the inside of the curtain. It's fading now. Fading. And Fading. And gone.
And he screams, bringing both hands up to his face and knocking the needles and tubes out of his arm as he does. He doesn't care about them right now. He can't care about them right now, because he can feel his skull changing shape, the bones of it stretching and cracking and reforming, teeth being shoved out of place to account for the presence of two bony growths from the front of it. He's digging his claws into the side of his head to try to control the pain of it and- claws, there are long claws where there were previously short and blunt nails. He can hear his heartbeat in every part of him but it's slow, so very slow.
And he can feel a hand on his, pulling it back from his face to stop him from clawing at it further, and the broken skin knits together instantly but the insides of him are changing now, the slow healing now instantaneous, bones and tissue knitting back into place in some places and withering away in others and-
There's a pained cry. Distant, feminine. Trevor, you're hurting me, and it's all too overwhelming to understand what he's doing, how tight his grip on Sypha's wrist is. ]
no subject
This is worse. This is worse because everything still stays inside the body, and the body is contorting in ways it never, ever should.
Instinct doesn't help him in this moment. He tries to recover the stone and the equipment first, but no, he can't. Trevor's agony is too wild and frenzied to do anything but try and. And. He doesn't fucking know, to keep Trevor from hurting any of them, but most of all, Trevor himself. Gloved hands (because of course he's wearing gloves for this) struggle to hold him down, hold him fast, keep him still. But no. He's clinging to Sypha too hard, and it's all Alucard can do to squeeze Trevor's other hand. Demand attention, demand a fight, distract, disorient, anything, everything, to make this stop for even just a second.
He's never witnessed anything like this. And no wonder his father never ventured this thought upon his mother. He could never bear to see his wife pained, and this....]
no subject
Sypha's scrambling backwards, encasing his arms and legs and throat in ice and- it's cold. Logically he knows it's cold. But he can barely feel it. It isn't just not being able to feel it in comparison to the pain, he can barely feel it at all. It doesn't seem cold, and there isn't even pressure against his skin as his throes break through it easily.
He's clinging to Alucard's hand now, with crushing force that he could have never achieved before, claws digging in to tendons. He can smell blood from it, he can smell it so, so clearly, more clearly than he's ever sensed anything in his life.
His grip only loosens when the turning starts to come to an end. The pain is still present, all-consuming, but it's a crushing ache instead of the living, snarling thing tearing at him from the inside. He can hear the bones of his skull reforming, his teeth finishing their rearranging. He can hear Sypha yelling again, to stop, to please stop can't he see he's hurting Alucard, and his face is streaked with red from crying from the pain and he would still be screaming but he isn't breathing. His lungs aren't demanding air. And without it there's nothing left in him for sound and so he just lies silent and still twitching from the pain. ]
no subject
There is so much horror here that he cannot process an inch of it. Not the agony of Trevor in those screams, not Sypha as her magic fails her in every way that matters, there is only the moment and enduring it all. In looking at red streaming down a face that should only ever be full of living skin, not the horribly ashy stuff that there is there now.
They didn't have time to even see if the stone worked. This is reality now. This is what they have to endure, and there is only pulling Trevor to his chest and waiting for that terrible, terrible twitching to stop. There are no tears on Alucard's face, not now, not yet, just eyes wide, expression impossible to place. Even he doesn't know what he's feeling.
(No. He knows. It's the terrible feeling of anger that Sypha cannot hold Trevor from the other side, because of blood.)]
no subject
That's his first coherent thought. He never could before. He could feel them, but to his eyes it was all one big golden, flowing, soft mass. His eyes are sharper, so much sharper, and when he blinks (does he need to?) there's none of the roughness of a scarred left eye against the inside of the eyelid.
He's still, now, save for his fingertips still twitching up and down, playing at trying to form fists but failing. ]
I'm sorry.
[ He manages to speak eventually, drawing in one gasping breath to speak. He can't feel anything, really, anything at all save for the residual pain, but the knowledge that this blood must have got here somewhere, that that horrible bruise on Sypha's wrist must have come from something. Even if the guilt's not hit him yet, he knows he's hurt them both. ]
no subject
There's none of that now. There's the sound of Sypha standing up and bringing over a clean cloth, and for that at least Alucard can do something. Wipe at the blood on Trevor's face, because Sypha needs to hold him too. It is terribly cruel to deny her that.]
Don't.
[Don't apologize for things that can't be controlled. Don't say a word. Just. Just don't. This already a horrible moment. Anything, anything at all, will make it worse.]
no subject
He wants to talk. He doesn't have anything to say but apologies and goodbyes, but the silence is terrible. But he doesn't. Sypha moves in to hold him and he raises his arms unsteadily and wraps them around both of them.
Warm. They're both so warm. It's nothing new, from Sypha, but Alucard has always been cool to the touch. And it's- it's strange. Alien. Like he's holding two different people. One so hot as to seem deathly feverish, one just warm in a way that neither of them have ever been 'just warm' (that had always been him).
He needs to go to the whip. He needs to finish this, to return to Sara. To serve her with all of the other sons of Leon Belmont who fell in this way.
But he's selfish. He's selfish and he's afraid and he wants just a little longer with the two people who saved him and brought him this far. So he just holds on to both of them, and he doesn't sob. He can't. There'll be blood again, and then Sypha will have to step away and that can't happen right now. ]