[ There's a pattern to it, now. Trevor likes patterns. He likes things that he can measure and watch for and have it all make sense to him. Not magic, or creatures too small to see that somehow carry illness (magic), or poisons in the blood (magic). Sunset is about three and a half hours before midnight, and he turns. For half an hour, the agony is too great to think. For three hours, he has fangs. At midnight, he is human. Between dawn and somewhere around noon, he is able to walk outside in the sunlight. At noon, the sun becomes too bright and staying out in it bursts the tiny blood vessels (Alucard calls them caterpillars, or something like that) under his skin and leaves him covered in little marks like red spiderwebs. Between noon and sunset, he is in the late stages of turning. And then three and a half hours before midnight, he turns again.
Sypha is uncomfortably close for this turning. His jaw is wedged open, molars biting down on a thick piece of wood, so that she can see the fangs as she observes the changes to his skull as best she can. Something something, magic bullshit, something something, spell to help with the worst of the pain by either preventing the changing of the bone or making it go more smoothly. She pokes at the fangs with a measuring ruler, taking note of how far they push out, where the teeth that they displaced are forced to.
He hasn't eaten more than about a mouthful at each meal since before the battle. He physically can't. The process of turning twists the parts of himself that are for eating into something different, built for an entirely different sort of sustenance. The process of turning back undoes all of that, but leaves the insides of him ruined, withered away and incapable of more sipping at water and broth and warm milk with honey stirred into it (Alucard has taken to giving him that, when he can't stomach anything else, and he suspects that it's as much for Alucard's comfort as it is for his own). And it's- fine. He'll need more sooner or later, Sypha's already commented once on how his skin seems looser on him in places as his body starts to consume muscle to fuel the constant turning and turning back. But- with any luck, there won't be a later. His body has always been forced to consume itself to survive every winter until coming to the castle, he has a fairly strong idea of how far this can go and still be reversible with a few weeks of rest and decent meals.
Only now, now there's something else inside of him. He almost wants to call it survival but it isn't. He knows survival. He's good at survival. This, all of this, is survival and this thing is darker. It's- he wants to call it selfishness, but it's crueler. It's survival through terrible means, the drive to destroy something else to ensure that he continues. And it's powerful, so powerful, strong as the compulsion on this room's door had been. And Sypha's hand is right there, the blood so close to the skin from that bruise he'd left her with two nights back. And he can't warn her, because his mouth is wedged open and the desperate shouting just sounds like more of his screams from the turning process, earning only a pained smile and attempt at comfort.
The first sound is Trevor biting clean through the wood holding his mouth open. The second is Sypha yelling in alarm as he pounces her, all teeth and claws and very little Trevor at all. ]
[There is about five seconds where Alucard has a moment to really take in what he's seeing. The lab, during the actual turning process at sundown, has always been a source of issue because too much might break if something goes so very wrong. Never mind the fact it can repair itself at midnight, bodies take longer and that is where the problem is. Stray glass in the lab is fundamentally unsafe.
The wood has split, leaving fragments and splinters everywhere. Sypha is drawing up all the ice inside of her to put up a defensive wall (because even like this, even like this she cannot use fire). Three days of turning with no blood for it has taken it's toll, and the only word that can be used to describe Trevor is well and truly feral. Vampire in the worst way, in the way that his family used that fucking horrible combination to bring clarity of mind.
They're going to need that. But first they have to head this horrible thing off at the pass, and so Alucard is forced to do two things he never enjoys: using every inch of his own vampiric abilities and doing so in a room with too much glass and too many humans in it.
He dives on top of Sypha in an instant, one leg stuck up so that when Trevor lands, it's going to be in his stomach. Enough to throw him off, enough to send him flying. The goal, the goal right now is to just get Trevor out of the lab. Away from Sypha. Away from things that can break and burn and bruise, and then he'll shove his own wrist in Trevor's stupid mouth to see if that will quell any of the horrible thirst within.
(Three days. They have endured it for three days.)
[ He can't feel it. Whatever part of him is still in there and thinking and fucking holy water, Sypha. He gave you holy water. Use it! can't feel it. It can feel the aftereffects of the turning but the kick, the kick is nothing.
Or not quite nothing. It does send him flying , out through the door of the lab and into the hallway beyond it. The door of the opposite room snaps off its hinges with the impact of Trevor slamming against it. He can barely feel that, either. It's amazing, just how little pain there is, as if there can be none after the turning, and it would be so, so easy to get caught up in that, to let the painless, horrible survival lead him completely.
He doesn't. He still struggles against it. But it's useless. A low growl rumbles in his throat as he lands on all fours, claws scraping into the stone floor before he charges again, Alucard now the closer target. ]
[Alucard's on his feet on a flash, quick words given to Sypha. Close the door. Iron. Iron and the other thing, mix it and set it alight. She's horrified. He's horrified too, but the greater priority is calming Trevor not dealing with whatever horrible things will surface in Alucard's head when the smell hits.
He's out the door. The door to the lab is closed, and there's a precious second of magic sounding that means the door is also reinforced. Good. Good. She's safe. Trevor's distracted. It will have to do for now.
The landing is consistent not with vampire skills but with Belmont ones. Trevor is still Trevor, just a quicker, more vicious version of himself right now. He has new advantages, and there are no weapons here. Just claws and fangs and if the latter take control maybe it will help.
And maybe, just maybe, he's going to bait this. Extend his own nails, dig them into skin, put the scent of blood in the air. It is a horrible, horrible trick, but if dhampir blood can calm Trevor down for two seconds, then he'll take it.
He can loose a pint of blood for this, that will be an acceptable cost to prevent this from happening for the next three days.]
[ He can smell it. He can see the light of torches glinting, reflected from induvidual drops. So sharp, so clear. And he is desperate. He is ravenous, desperate from it. Trevor is gone, with the smell of blood. Entirely. There is only the selfish, and it wants and it wants and it wants and it cannot understand why it should be left to want when it has such power, such grace, that it could take anything it pleases from anyone it cared to take it from.
It is gone in the darkness and then it is upon Alucard, tackling him back with claws digging into his chest and face above his, pupils so wide with the smell of blood that there is no blue visible at all in its eyes, and it is wearing Trevor's face but it is not Trevor. ]
[The gambit works too effectively. It gives Alucard no time to brace for the impact, because the Thing That Is Not Trevor is on him too fast. Belmont battle speed supplemented by vampirism. Stupid miscalculation, when he needs calculation more than ever. Because if Trevor's going to bite (and at this point, it is clear he is), it has to be in a controlled spot. Not the wrist, it's sacred to Trevor. Not the neck, it's tied up with too many pleasant evenings in bed. The thigh is impossible to redirect to.
Elbow. Right in the bend. It'll do, there's no attachment to the spot.
This is the dumbest thing Alucard has done in some time. He shoves his elbow right into Trevor's mouth, trusting instinct first and then if nothing else, Sypha to send a horrible waft of air that will put both of them spinning for so very different reasons.
The claws in the chest will heal. The memory of that face will take much longer to fade.]
[ He bites down, and it is not clean. It is not two neat punctures and suckling at the wound. That kind of control and artistry, reducing the damage so to avoid being caught, is a skill learned and practiced by vampires who must live among humans and protect their identity. This is an animal ripping into its kill. He bites down on the flesh, fangs piercing into the artery, and then pulls back sharply, tearing it away.
(And thank god Alucard decided against the neck, because otherwise this would be a repeat of what had happened to Trevor only days ago)
And then there is blood. There is so much blood, bright and hot and thick with the smell of copper, and he lets it flood into his mouth. He consumes like Trevor so usually does when he is unwell or injured, with the kind of desperate hunger and only barely restrained fear that comes from knowing what recovering from injury while starved is like. By the time the selfishness' hunger is finally sated, his face is stained with the stuff just about everywhere below his eyes, hair plastered to his face with it. Trevor is shaking, eyes (blue again, now, pupils shurnk to a pinprick in horror) darting between the horrible bite and Alucard's face and his clawed hands, still hooked into his chest and his mouth opens and closes in horror, trying to form words but unable to, blood trickling out of it as it does. ]
[Somewhere in all of this, because this is far more painful than Alucard ever expected, he calls out for Sypha. Tells her now! And from the crack below the door there is that horrible, horrible smell. Alucard gags on it, the memories coming up to the surface within an instant. He hears a laugh that he knows is long since dead, and that, that hurts much worse than his destroyed elbow. Because it is so very destroyed, the neatness of the art not learned yet. (He won't have to fucking learn it, they're fixing this.)
When the worst is passed (and that stuff hangs heavy in the air, so heavy, so oppressive), Alucard takes his other arm and very, very carefully makes sure that Trevor's watching as everything heals. It's still instant, because Alucard is himself, and that is the reason he took this risk at all. He could bear it.
He's lost more than a pint, it seems. Not too much over, but Alucard knows that this was a one shot deal at best. There can't be a next time for this, because Sypha would not survive it. That is a simple fact.]
I'm fine.
[It's healed. Nothing lasts from you. You've profaned nothing on me.]
[ Three days. He’s a Belmont, and he kept from the temptation to feed for three days. Less. They weren’t even full days. Seven hours.
He feels sick. He wants to vomit (it would be a terrible waste, but he’s hardly thinking about that right now). The smell, though, the smell won’t let him. Too destructive. Too much like agression. Perhaps he could have been objective about this were it taking blood under different circumstances, seen it as just a measure to sustain himself. Perhaps not, he would still be himself, after all.
Cautiously, cautiously, he moves closer to Alucard. It’s wrong to, he knows it is. He doesn’t want to touch them as what he is now, because what he is now is disgusting. Moreso than he’d realised before. But even now, this is still Alucard. He was still hurt. And- that, that he knows what to do about. He can’t pull him close, not with that smell in the air, but he can wrap his arms very softly around Alucard. ]
It won’t happen again. [ And he means so many things by that. The feeding. Carmilla. The incense being used to hurt him. All of it. ]
[That softness is met with the tightest grip. Practically dragging Trevor on top of him, holding him fast, refusing to let him have even an inch of escape. The gesture is not of terror or cold calculation. It is of the fiercest protection Alucard has ever felt compelled to express, because he can only say that this is going to be fixed so many times before it starts to sound like a hollow lie on his lips.
Trevor isn't allowed to move. Not until Alucard allows it. He know that there is going to be the worst self loathing in the pit of Trevor for this. It isn't allowed. He won't permit it. This is just how it goes, this is how vampirism begins, this is a natural thing and there is only mercy that Alucard is strong enough to endure all of it.
Carmilla's barely a thought right now. The horrible concoction does not prevent protection is not a cruel instinct.]
[ He is still, because he has no choice but to be still. Alucard's grip is powerful, powerful enough that to try to move would be struggling. And he is safe here. Safe from doing that terrible thing again. Sypha stands some distance away. She does not approach (because of the blood, Trevor knows in the back of his mind, because there is so much blood and if there is even a scratch on her- he can't bring himself to listen to that kind of logic). He can hardly blame her. He wouldn't want to be anywhere near him, either.
(He is disgusting. He is disgusting. He is disgusting and he is so fucking weak. Useless.)
He can feel a warm breeze over his hair and Alucard's, as she comforts them both the only way she can from such a distance. She mumbles something about drawing them both a bath once midnight strikes, so that she can hold them safely then. He can't say sorry. Not only because he's already been forbidden to, but because how the fuck can sorry be enough for what he's just done? He hasn't heard so much pain in Alucard's voice, so much fear in Sypha's, since the boat and the silver and the communion wine. What he does say, eventually, is more cold strategy. ]
The barracks. I'll stay in the barracks. [ It's a seperate building, small, near the table. Probably used to sleep Leon and his company (they had not found a room of Leon's own in this place, and while there was no doubt as to where he truly spent his nights, propriety would have demanded that he at least pretend to keep quarters of his own). ] We can flood it with the fucking incense, and the two of you can observe whatever you need to through the mirror.
[Alucard wants to mutter about maybe getting some water in a bucket to at least clean off Trevor's face. There's a quieter horror in what that action really means, because it requires him washing his own blood off of it. The three of them being covered in blood it happens from time to time. But not like this. And never to this extent.
He manages to at least lock eyes with Sypha in the end, and that's enough to put that plan into action. The bucket is scooted over the floor with a soft gust of wind, and there's a terrible old scrap of cloth that has been sacrificed for the work. It can sit there for a few moment more.
Even as Trevor speaks of strategy (and it is good strategy, that's always the worst of it), Alucard's grip doesn't change. The worst of the physical pain is long past now. There's just this new terrible dimension of psychological torture.]
We need to clear that place out first, just in case there's anything that can do you harm.
I'll have a few hours of myself in the morning. I'll be able to find anything that's a danger.
[ It's a genuine offer - Alucard and Sypha are working so hard on this, he ought to at least do what little he can. But he's fairly certain they won't trust him to do the work alone no matter what he says. Too many opportunities to do something stupid. Too deep a knowledge that no matter how good his intentions now he'll take those opportunities when the time comes.
He stares at the bucket, but using it requires Alucard to release him. He isn't doing that, yet, and he doesn't want him to do so. He leans his forehead against Alucard's shoulder and this places his mouth uncomfortably close to a vein but- he doesn't trust himself, but he also doesn't think he's going to hurt him any further. He isn't hungry any more. And that would be a blessing, were the situation any different. ]
[There's no point in saying you're not going alone. They'll just head out with him when midnight hits, and there won't be any arguing about it. Maybe that's an abuse of Trevor's guilt for what has just happened, but anything to make it clear that this horrible frenzy has not changed as much as Trevor fears it has.
And there's the fear of something in there being fashioned into a stake or finding something else fashioned for use in that way. Alucard's sure Sypha is thinking it too. Not for tonight or the next, but they will all break eventually, and Trevor is well within his right to do so.
It's horrible, demanding his life right now.
There's no releasing Trevor until he makes it clear that's what he really wants. Alucard's not bothered by the proximity to vein, if only because he knows he can defend himself. Or would be able to if it wasn't for the incense, but he shoves that thought aside in favor of putting his lips to the top of Trevor's head.]
[ He has a lot of ways of saying I love you, distinguishable only by tone. This is one of them.
He promised that he would live. He promised it. But that was before they knew that the turning would reverse and happen again and reverse again and happen again. That was before he knew that the alternative might be harming Sypha and Alucard and- fuck, it's a blessing that he's still not powerful enough to do permanent damage to Alucard normally, but even with that it's only a matter of time before they get unlucky, before he hits something that can't heal. And that's assuming that he does go after Alucard next time, and not Sypha.
Alucard kisses the top of his head, and for a moment those thoughts dissolve into nothing. ]
[Translating Trevor into normal Wallachian is an easy job once you've spent enough time around the man. Sypha mastered the art first of course, but she had spent more time with him - and language was one of her skills. Alucard lagged a little bit behind, initially annoyed to responses of far more earnest affection he himself uttered. But he learned, and he knows what Trevor really means when those words leave his lips.
They have to talk about the ethics of this. They'll do it with the cloud of smoke hanging heavy, because it will dull some of the worst of Alucard's reactions too. A month is too high a demand. A week...maybe they can do that. A fortnight, with the past three days counted as part of it.
A deadline.
Alucard doesn't let go until it feels right to do so. Even then, it's only slightly letting up his grip, and he nudges Trevor gently. If he was Trevor, he'd let out a laugh and just say you look like shit. But he isn't Trevor, and he can't find it in himself to laugh. So instead one arm finally lets go of Trevor in full, and he drags the bucket of water over.]
[ -like a vampire. Like what he has grown knowing vampires to be, all greed and selfishness and callous survival. Something that exists only to make others suffer.
Something that he's learned in the last few years that a vampire does not have to be. He cups one hand in the water, starting to splash it on his face to start to clean away the blood. ]
-covered in blood. I feel like I'm covered in fucking blood.
[Alucard sighs, dipping the cloth into the water and trying to scrub at the rest that Trevor's not going to be able to reach. (The back of Trevor's neck is a goddamn skill, that's what that is.) The touch isn't gentle either, it's just mother hen making such everything's clean. Maybe that will get a comment, because he's mother henning a vampire, and at least that word would bring some dark laugh up to the surface.
As it is, he wants to say something. Anything to kill the terrible tension. A joke about Gresit or how really, all three of them are often covered in blood, but he can't. It isn't right. He's not the right person to make it. So he just watches that bucket grow redder and redder with his own blood instead, trying to get every last bit of Trevor cleaned off.]
[ It's too late, now, to take great mouthfuls of the water and spit them back out to get the taste out of his mouth. He probably should have thought of that before the water became so badly tainted with it.
And he doesn't joke. He doesn't say any of the obvious things. He doesn't say anything, just washes his hands and face, pulls his shirt off and tosses it into the room opposite the lab, the one that he'd broken open the door to. He'll burn it later. He only stops when the there's just as much blood in the water as there is on him and there's no more that he can clean away with it. It's diluted, at least, enough to allow Sypha to come close.
And she does come close, without hesitation. And that's fucking heartrending after all of this, how stubbornly she refuses to be afraid of him, and it's all he can do not to sob uselessly (not because of pride, not anymore, because there's none left. But crying right now means more fucking blood, means she has to back away again). ]
I'm a fucking monster. [ He says, eventually, as she curls up against the both of them, letting them both hold her weight. There's humor to it but it's sharp, bitter, absolutely not the sort of joke that Alucard was waiting for, and the laugh that follows is more like a growl than anything else. ]
[He wants to joke about dramatics. He wants to so bad, and maybe when it's all over and healed and scabbed over, Alucard will. But there's something worse about that statement, because Alucard remembers their first time in the Hold. How he talked to Sypha about where her affections seem to now lie, and if it was truly good to be with someone who was constructed of such self loathing and self destruction. He has accounted for the latter already. The former...
There's a horrible sigh that he doesn't clamp down, pulling the both as close as he can. His arms can and will take them both, but he can't find the right words that will convince Trevor no you're not. After this, he'll say the same thing, and they'll fight about it. God, and it had been less present over the years.
Shut up. That's an option to say too, but there's no kind way to say it. It's amazing how everything fails Alucard in this moment. They build up, they break, and they come together again. This time the broken pieces are tinier. Harder to put back together.
In the end, he settles on kissing the top of Trevor's head again.]
[ He hates that of the three, he's the most fragile - and he is, and he knows that he is. He's the oldest of them, the one trained from birth to face the greatest horrors that the world could force upon him. The one who's had the longest to steel himself to those horrors. The one softened the least by years of love.
And yet Alucard endures. And Sypha takes what hurts her and speaks it and turns it into soft, harmless words. And he breaks.
He leans against Alucard at that kiss. Both of them do. He holds on to both of them as tightly as he can (and perhaps the incense keeping him from holding them tighter is a blessing, because he imagines that he doesn't know his own strength right now. ]
[Time's slipped by rather badly this time around. All three of them have been caught up in this horror that to go and check a clock just hasn't happened. Alucard admits it with a soft embarrassment. They should be keeping better track of time, all of their work in fixing this requires that fact.
He doesn't move to check though. Sypha's staying put. Trevor's too cold arms are there, and they're still Trevor's arms so who cares about warmth or cold so long as they are Trevor's? Alucard would kiss Trevor on the lips and taste his own blood in his mouth if it wouldn't make the thought of monster even worse.]
[ He goes quiet, and it's partly because what is there to say, and partly because there's a quiet snore from between them, and it's all he can do to look down at her and laugh quietly and genuinely. She's a miracle, a wonder, being able to sleep at a time like this (or perhaps being able to sleep because of a time like this. That's how she functions. There's safe, and there's nothing she can do to make things better, and she's exhausted and so she sleeps because it's just that simple sometimes).
And he waits. This is as peaceful as it is terrible now, and that has to be enough.
(He doesn't sleep as a vampire. Not because of any quirk of physiology - he probably oughtn't need to sleep so much, but the effort of turning probably should affect that. It's because of that conversation he had with Alucard a few nights ago, about sleeping as a wolf and the twitching of paws in his sleep. They never investigated that (they should, when this is over, because it feels nice to have a 'when this is over' to look forward to) but he'd rather not find out if the same applies to him, if he'd have his own quirks when sleeping as a vampire.)
It takes a while. It had felt like forever, the turning and the feeding and the cleaning, but apparently it had only been maybe half an hour because time is like that, dragging itself along slowly when the world has its metaphorical heel on one's metaphorical cock. But eventually it happens. It's the third time now, and he's come to expect the strange force behind his ribs. ]
Heartbeat. Felt it. [ He says, as if the sudden movement of his body, as if he's just been punched in the chest, wasn't a giveaway. ] It's happening.
[Alucard's pretty sure that Sypha's asleep out of a combination of stress, exhaustion, and the more usual weight of the two of them around her. The last one's important, and she needs that sleep so very badly. He does too, he's well aware that he's gotten maybe six hours in full, and he needs more in order to work properly. This situation, it's not quite recovering from Carmilla, but it's closer. He's demanding more of himself, so his body must rest more like a human's.
He keeps his eyes open for a very long time, just watching the two in his arms. Saying nothing, not even venturing a sigh. They need this quiet, and they'll have it until Trevor's internal body clock realizes that midnight has come, and they must relieve this experience again.
So when it does, Alucard nudges Sypha awake.]
Okay.
[Alucard's calm. God, he's too calm isn't he? He has that thought as Sypha gets to her feet, and she's quick to move the bucket out of the way and into a corner so that they can avoid ay spills.
It does not escape Alucard's notice that the incense still hangs in the air. That's new. He doesn't say it out loud, but they'll all wonder it in a few minutes: will that help ease this transformation?]
[ 'Ease' is a strong word, maybe. It doesn't relieve the pain. But it keeps Trevor's movements and sounds slow and deliberate and safe. He doesn't thrash about, he doesn't scream, just curls in upon himself in agony. Soft whines and sobs come from him.
It also allows for pinpointing of the exact moment when he starts to count as 'human', because it's about halfway through the transformation that the whines become a much harsher yell and he begins beating a fist against the floor.
And then it's done, and the tension fades from his body, and the floor beneath him - he'd fallen on to his side somewhere in that process and only just notices now he can feel the cold stone against one cheek - is clean of bloodstains, and the door behind them is repaired and he just lies there gasping for breath. ]
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cryptsleeper) wrote2018-11-10 11:26 pm
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Sypha is uncomfortably close for this turning. His jaw is wedged open, molars biting down on a thick piece of wood, so that she can see the fangs as she observes the changes to his skull as best she can. Something something, magic bullshit, something something, spell to help with the worst of the pain by either preventing the changing of the bone or making it go more smoothly. She pokes at the fangs with a measuring ruler, taking note of how far they push out, where the teeth that they displaced are forced to.
He hasn't eaten more than about a mouthful at each meal since before the battle. He physically can't. The process of turning twists the parts of himself that are for eating into something different, built for an entirely different sort of sustenance. The process of turning back undoes all of that, but leaves the insides of him ruined, withered away and incapable of more sipping at water and broth and warm milk with honey stirred into it (Alucard has taken to giving him that, when he can't stomach anything else, and he suspects that it's as much for Alucard's comfort as it is for his own). And it's- fine. He'll need more sooner or later, Sypha's already commented once on how his skin seems looser on him in places as his body starts to consume muscle to fuel the constant turning and turning back. But- with any luck, there won't be a later. His body has always been forced to consume itself to survive every winter until coming to the castle, he has a fairly strong idea of how far this can go and still be reversible with a few weeks of rest and decent meals.
Only now, now there's something else inside of him. He almost wants to call it survival but it isn't. He knows survival. He's good at survival. This, all of this, is survival and this thing is darker. It's- he wants to call it selfishness, but it's crueler. It's survival through terrible means, the drive to destroy something else to ensure that he continues. And it's powerful, so powerful, strong as the compulsion on this room's door had been. And Sypha's hand is right there, the blood so close to the skin from that bruise he'd left her with two nights back. And he can't warn her, because his mouth is wedged open and the desperate shouting just sounds like more of his screams from the turning process, earning only a pained smile and attempt at comfort.
The first sound is Trevor biting clean through the wood holding his mouth open. The second is Sypha yelling in alarm as he pounces her, all teeth and claws and very little Trevor at all. ]
no subject
The wood has split, leaving fragments and splinters everywhere. Sypha is drawing up all the ice inside of her to put up a defensive wall (because even like this, even like this she cannot use fire). Three days of turning with no blood for it has taken it's toll, and the only word that can be used to describe Trevor is well and truly feral. Vampire in the worst way, in the way that his family used that fucking horrible combination to bring clarity of mind.
They're going to need that. But first they have to head this horrible thing off at the pass, and so Alucard is forced to do two things he never enjoys: using every inch of his own vampiric abilities and doing so in a room with too much glass and too many humans in it.
He dives on top of Sypha in an instant, one leg stuck up so that when Trevor lands, it's going to be in his stomach. Enough to throw him off, enough to send him flying. The goal, the goal right now is to just get Trevor out of the lab. Away from Sypha. Away from things that can break and burn and bruise, and then he'll shove his own wrist in Trevor's stupid mouth to see if that will quell any of the horrible thirst within.
(Three days. They have endured it for three days.)
(They are three.)
(Perhaps that is important.)]
no subject
Or not quite nothing. It does send him flying , out through the door of the lab and into the hallway beyond it. The door of the opposite room snaps off its hinges with the impact of Trevor slamming against it. He can barely feel that, either. It's amazing, just how little pain there is, as if there can be none after the turning, and it would be so, so easy to get caught up in that, to let the painless, horrible survival lead him completely.
He doesn't. He still struggles against it. But it's useless. A low growl rumbles in his throat as he lands on all fours, claws scraping into the stone floor before he charges again, Alucard now the closer target. ]
no subject
He's out the door. The door to the lab is closed, and there's a precious second of magic sounding that means the door is also reinforced. Good. Good. She's safe. Trevor's distracted. It will have to do for now.
The landing is consistent not with vampire skills but with Belmont ones. Trevor is still Trevor, just a quicker, more vicious version of himself right now. He has new advantages, and there are no weapons here. Just claws and fangs and if the latter take control maybe it will help.
And maybe, just maybe, he's going to bait this. Extend his own nails, dig them into skin, put the scent of blood in the air. It is a horrible, horrible trick, but if dhampir blood can calm Trevor down for two seconds, then he'll take it.
He can loose a pint of blood for this, that will be an acceptable cost to prevent this from happening for the next three days.]
no subject
It is gone in the darkness and then it is upon Alucard, tackling him back with claws digging into his chest and face above his, pupils so wide with the smell of blood that there is no blue visible at all in its eyes, and it is wearing Trevor's face but it is not Trevor. ]
no subject
Elbow. Right in the bend. It'll do, there's no attachment to the spot.
This is the dumbest thing Alucard has done in some time. He shoves his elbow right into Trevor's mouth, trusting instinct first and then if nothing else, Sypha to send a horrible waft of air that will put both of them spinning for so very different reasons.
The claws in the chest will heal. The memory of that face will take much longer to fade.]
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(And thank god Alucard decided against the neck, because otherwise this would be a repeat of what had happened to Trevor only days ago)
And then there is blood. There is so much blood, bright and hot and thick with the smell of copper, and he lets it flood into his mouth. He consumes like Trevor so usually does when he is unwell or injured, with the kind of desperate hunger and only barely restrained fear that comes from knowing what recovering from injury while starved is like. By the time the selfishness' hunger is finally sated, his face is stained with the stuff just about everywhere below his eyes, hair plastered to his face with it. Trevor is shaking, eyes (blue again, now, pupils shurnk to a pinprick in horror) darting between the horrible bite and Alucard's face and his clawed hands, still hooked into his chest and his mouth opens and closes in horror, trying to form words but unable to, blood trickling out of it as it does. ]
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When the worst is passed (and that stuff hangs heavy in the air, so heavy, so oppressive), Alucard takes his other arm and very, very carefully makes sure that Trevor's watching as everything heals. It's still instant, because Alucard is himself, and that is the reason he took this risk at all. He could bear it.
He's lost more than a pint, it seems. Not too much over, but Alucard knows that this was a one shot deal at best. There can't be a next time for this, because Sypha would not survive it. That is a simple fact.]
I'm fine.
[It's healed. Nothing lasts from you. You've profaned nothing on me.]
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[ Three days. He’s a Belmont, and he kept from the temptation to feed for three days. Less. They weren’t even full days. Seven hours.
He feels sick. He wants to vomit (it would be a terrible waste, but he’s hardly thinking about that right now). The smell, though, the smell won’t let him. Too destructive. Too much like agression. Perhaps he could have been objective about this were it taking blood under different circumstances, seen it as just a measure to sustain himself. Perhaps not, he would still be himself, after all.
Cautiously, cautiously, he moves closer to Alucard. It’s wrong to, he knows it is. He doesn’t want to touch them as what he is now, because what he is now is disgusting. Moreso than he’d realised before. But even now, this is still Alucard. He was still hurt. And- that, that he knows what to do about. He can’t pull him close, not with that smell in the air, but he can wrap his arms very softly around Alucard. ]
It won’t happen again. [ And he means so many things by that. The feeding. Carmilla. The incense being used to hurt him. All of it. ]
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Trevor isn't allowed to move. Not until Alucard allows it. He know that there is going to be the worst self loathing in the pit of Trevor for this. It isn't allowed. He won't permit it. This is just how it goes, this is how vampirism begins, this is a natural thing and there is only mercy that Alucard is strong enough to endure all of it.
Carmilla's barely a thought right now. The horrible concoction does not prevent protection is not a cruel instinct.]
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(He is disgusting. He is disgusting. He is disgusting and he is so fucking weak. Useless.)
He can feel a warm breeze over his hair and Alucard's, as she comforts them both the only way she can from such a distance. She mumbles something about drawing them both a bath once midnight strikes, so that she can hold them safely then. He can't say sorry. Not only because he's already been forbidden to, but because how the fuck can sorry be enough for what he's just done? He hasn't heard so much pain in Alucard's voice, so much fear in Sypha's, since the boat and the silver and the communion wine. What he does say, eventually, is more cold strategy. ]
The barracks. I'll stay in the barracks. [ It's a seperate building, small, near the table. Probably used to sleep Leon and his company (they had not found a room of Leon's own in this place, and while there was no doubt as to where he truly spent his nights, propriety would have demanded that he at least pretend to keep quarters of his own). ] We can flood it with the fucking incense, and the two of you can observe whatever you need to through the mirror.
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He manages to at least lock eyes with Sypha in the end, and that's enough to put that plan into action. The bucket is scooted over the floor with a soft gust of wind, and there's a terrible old scrap of cloth that has been sacrificed for the work. It can sit there for a few moment more.
Even as Trevor speaks of strategy (and it is good strategy, that's always the worst of it), Alucard's grip doesn't change. The worst of the physical pain is long past now. There's just this new terrible dimension of psychological torture.]
We need to clear that place out first, just in case there's anything that can do you harm.
[More pointedly, Alucard isn't moving to let go.]
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[ It's a genuine offer - Alucard and Sypha are working so hard on this, he ought to at least do what little he can. But he's fairly certain they won't trust him to do the work alone no matter what he says. Too many opportunities to do something stupid. Too deep a knowledge that no matter how good his intentions now he'll take those opportunities when the time comes.
He stares at the bucket, but using it requires Alucard to release him. He isn't doing that, yet, and he doesn't want him to do so. He leans his forehead against Alucard's shoulder and this places his mouth uncomfortably close to a vein but- he doesn't trust himself, but he also doesn't think he's going to hurt him any further. He isn't hungry any more. And that would be a blessing, were the situation any different. ]
Shit. I- shit.
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And there's the fear of something in there being fashioned into a stake or finding something else fashioned for use in that way. Alucard's sure Sypha is thinking it too. Not for tonight or the next, but they will all break eventually, and Trevor is well within his right to do so.
It's horrible, demanding his life right now.
There's no releasing Trevor until he makes it clear that's what he really wants. Alucard's not bothered by the proximity to vein, if only because he knows he can defend himself. Or would be able to if it wasn't for the incense, but he shoves that thought aside in favor of putting his lips to the top of Trevor's head.]
Sturdy fucker, remember?
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[ He has a lot of ways of saying I love you, distinguishable only by tone. This is one of them.
He promised that he would live. He promised it. But that was before they knew that the turning would reverse and happen again and reverse again and happen again. That was before he knew that the alternative might be harming Sypha and Alucard and- fuck, it's a blessing that he's still not powerful enough to do permanent damage to Alucard normally, but even with that it's only a matter of time before they get unlucky, before he hits something that can't heal. And that's assuming that he does go after Alucard next time, and not Sypha.
Alucard kisses the top of his head, and for a moment those thoughts dissolve into nothing. ]
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They have to talk about the ethics of this. They'll do it with the cloud of smoke hanging heavy, because it will dull some of the worst of Alucard's reactions too. A month is too high a demand. A week...maybe they can do that. A fortnight, with the past three days counted as part of it.
A deadline.
Alucard doesn't let go until it feels right to do so. Even then, it's only slightly letting up his grip, and he nudges Trevor gently. If he was Trevor, he'd let out a laugh and just say you look like shit. But he isn't Trevor, and he can't find it in himself to laugh. So instead one arm finally lets go of Trevor in full, and he drags the bucket of water over.]
Let's get all of this off you.
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[ -like a vampire. Like what he has grown knowing vampires to be, all greed and selfishness and callous survival. Something that exists only to make others suffer.
Something that he's learned in the last few years that a vampire does not have to be. He cups one hand in the water, starting to splash it on his face to start to clean away the blood. ]
-covered in blood. I feel like I'm covered in fucking blood.
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As it is, he wants to say something. Anything to kill the terrible tension. A joke about Gresit or how really, all three of them are often covered in blood, but he can't. It isn't right. He's not the right person to make it. So he just watches that bucket grow redder and redder with his own blood instead, trying to get every last bit of Trevor cleaned off.]
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And he doesn't joke. He doesn't say any of the obvious things. He doesn't say anything, just washes his hands and face, pulls his shirt off and tosses it into the room opposite the lab, the one that he'd broken open the door to. He'll burn it later. He only stops when the there's just as much blood in the water as there is on him and there's no more that he can clean away with it. It's diluted, at least, enough to allow Sypha to come close.
And she does come close, without hesitation. And that's fucking heartrending after all of this, how stubbornly she refuses to be afraid of him, and it's all he can do not to sob uselessly (not because of pride, not anymore, because there's none left. But crying right now means more fucking blood, means she has to back away again). ]
I'm a fucking monster. [ He says, eventually, as she curls up against the both of them, letting them both hold her weight. There's humor to it but it's sharp, bitter, absolutely not the sort of joke that Alucard was waiting for, and the laugh that follows is more like a growl than anything else. ]
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There's a horrible sigh that he doesn't clamp down, pulling the both as close as he can. His arms can and will take them both, but he can't find the right words that will convince Trevor no you're not. After this, he'll say the same thing, and they'll fight about it. God, and it had been less present over the years.
Shut up. That's an option to say too, but there's no kind way to say it. It's amazing how everything fails Alucard in this moment. They build up, they break, and they come together again. This time the broken pieces are tinier. Harder to put back together.
In the end, he settles on kissing the top of Trevor's head again.]
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And yet Alucard endures. And Sypha takes what hurts her and speaks it and turns it into soft, harmless words. And he breaks.
He leans against Alucard at that kiss. Both of them do. He holds on to both of them as tightly as he can (and perhaps the incense keeping him from holding them tighter is a blessing, because he imagines that he doesn't know his own strength right now. ]
How long until midnight?
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[Time's slipped by rather badly this time around. All three of them have been caught up in this horror that to go and check a clock just hasn't happened. Alucard admits it with a soft embarrassment. They should be keeping better track of time, all of their work in fixing this requires that fact.
He doesn't move to check though. Sypha's staying put. Trevor's too cold arms are there, and they're still Trevor's arms so who cares about warmth or cold so long as they are Trevor's? Alucard would kiss Trevor on the lips and taste his own blood in his mouth if it wouldn't make the thought of monster even worse.]
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And he waits. This is as peaceful as it is terrible now, and that has to be enough.
(He doesn't sleep as a vampire. Not because of any quirk of physiology - he probably oughtn't need to sleep so much, but the effort of turning probably should affect that. It's because of that conversation he had with Alucard a few nights ago, about sleeping as a wolf and the twitching of paws in his sleep. They never investigated that (they should, when this is over, because it feels nice to have a 'when this is over' to look forward to) but he'd rather not find out if the same applies to him, if he'd have his own quirks when sleeping as a vampire.)
It takes a while. It had felt like forever, the turning and the feeding and the cleaning, but apparently it had only been maybe half an hour because time is like that, dragging itself along slowly when the world has its metaphorical heel on one's metaphorical cock. But eventually it happens. It's the third time now, and he's come to expect the strange force behind his ribs. ]
Heartbeat. Felt it. [ He says, as if the sudden movement of his body, as if he's just been punched in the chest, wasn't a giveaway. ] It's happening.
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He keeps his eyes open for a very long time, just watching the two in his arms. Saying nothing, not even venturing a sigh. They need this quiet, and they'll have it until Trevor's internal body clock realizes that midnight has come, and they must relieve this experience again.
So when it does, Alucard nudges Sypha awake.]
Okay.
[Alucard's calm. God, he's too calm isn't he? He has that thought as Sypha gets to her feet, and she's quick to move the bucket out of the way and into a corner so that they can avoid ay spills.
It does not escape Alucard's notice that the incense still hangs in the air. That's new. He doesn't say it out loud, but they'll all wonder it in a few minutes: will that help ease this transformation?]
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It also allows for pinpointing of the exact moment when he starts to count as 'human', because it's about halfway through the transformation that the whines become a much harsher yell and he begins beating a fist against the floor.
And then it's done, and the tension fades from his body, and the floor beneath him - he'd fallen on to his side somewhere in that process and only just notices now he can feel the cold stone against one cheek - is clean of bloodstains, and the door behind them is repaired and he just lies there gasping for breath. ]
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