Don't be ridiculous. If this works, I have to give it a halfway decent name and enter it into the Hold. Which means Sypha gets to name it, because you'll just name it Rock.
[It is a joke. A real one, because there's no greater joy than dragging Belmonts for their terrible sense at naming things. It even comes with the closest thing that Alucard has managed to a smile in over two weeks, because he was grimfaced even before this turning nonsense began.
His eyes remain on the needles in Trevor's arm, even as a final pair of hands come to rest on the stone. Sypha tries to speak of magic in plainer terms, that intent is more important than thinking of it as magic in any way that involves mysticism or spells or anything else because intent is at the base, but they've all tried to explain magic to Trevor time and again.
So Alucard settles for something blunter:]
Put every single stubborn thought you've ever had into this thing by running it over and over in your head. A portion, I realize, shall have to do, since you've spent a lifetime behaving like that.
[It's close to that same joking tone, but with greater urgency. They have little time left, and Alucard needs to do his part too.
I have watched this happen for nine days. I will not allow this. I will not permit this. I am the only man who may have even a fraction of that cursed blood in my veins, and that is only because my mother loved my father so dearly. I love this man just as much, if not more. So for that, for the concept of equviliant exchange, I shall draw all of it out. This man is a man, no other's will can change that fact. I say these things through no faith in a God, only in myself and in knowledge that the world runs on intent. It is my intent that all of this will be so, and I shall rend the world in two if I am defied. I will not permit this and the world shall heel to my commands.]
We already have a 'Rock'. And a Rock Two through Five, I think. It would be 'Rock Six'.
[ ...the first sentence is true, because of course it is. It's a thin disc of petrified wood, polished to a mirror shine and it's a component of an unfinished contraption used to intercept magical communication.
But there'll be time for making fun of his ridiculous fucking family later. If nothing else, they'll have three hours to burn, and it'll be nice to have something stupid to talk about instead of just sitting and mourning for him while he's still alive and right there.
There's no artfulness to his own thoughts, no commanding. They start out as a lot of consideration of how shitty this is going to be if they fail, but that immediately feels wrong. At odds with whatever it is that Alucard and Sypha are doing, (he doesn't know why he knows this, he just knows it to be true) because it's considering failure and they aren't doing that. They can't do that.
He wants to know if Alucard does the stupid thing with his paws - and that feels like the least powerful thought in the world but it's the one he finds and grasps onto. He wants to know if Sypha ever chooses to grow her hair out, now it's an option for her after years of being impossible. He wants to go through Enid's writings with Alucard, he wants to go through all his sisters' work with him, to offer whatever proof he can find that the scene from that dream would never have happened. He wants to give Sypha the half-completed collection his grandfather made of the Speakers' history, the one that was left unfinished out of respect for their wishes. He wants to go home and lie on the grass in the space between his childhood home and Alucard's with the two of them, flanked on each side by places that were always full of love. He wants to take Sara home, lay her by Leon's portrait and go back to using his old whip. He wants to eat strawberries after being tempted so long by the ones in this place. He wants to sit on a rug in silence on the floor of the library and reach out to touch the inside of Alucard's elbow and be told that it was worth it. He wants to steal berries from Sypha's plate even though he has his own and get threatened with a pastry fork until he surrenders his own in turn. He wants so very many things, and he wants all of them so much. ]
[One last bit of banter. One last bit of light before it all begins anew. Another last hope to spend. Alucard is so very quiet as the last minute passes. As Sypha says that all the intent the stone can reserve is full, and that when she calls for it again, they all need to be able to lay hands and repeat their thoughts as the transfusion tries to work again.
Alucard braces himself. His eyes are no longer on Trevor, but on the tubes, waiting for the signs that the blood has begun it's terrible transformation. The intent mixed with blood mixed with the Blood of Christ mixed with the spit of an excommunicate, it's been flowing already. It has been added preemptively, and for the love of whatever will make this transformation stop, it will be more effective than all past tries.
He tenses. Keeps nails as nails rather than as claws. He doesn't breath.
[ The pressure starts. It starts in the point between his nose and the inner corners of his eyes, where the bone is thinnest (he has been learning so much about the structure of the human skull in the last week. He can manage an educated conversation with Alucard on the topic). And he knows how this goes. The bone snaps there first, at both points, then along the line of his scar, where it was scored over before so many years ago. Most days that's enough room for it to reform with the bony growths that aren't actually teeth (he has also been learning so much about the structure of the vampire skull). Some days it's not, and the bone between his nose and teeth cracks at the right side, along where the fang will eventually be.
But that doesn't happen. It's just pressure. Painful pressure, but just pressure. Nothing breaks. And it hurts, but what the fuck doesn't hurt right now? And if anything the pain sharpens his focus, because 'I want it to not fucking hurt' is a powerful thing to focus on.
He wants to lie on the grass with them both on summer afternoons, until he burns in the human way because all Belmonts, ironically, get fucking sunburn, and then stay there all through the evening to let the cool evening air soothe it. He wants Alucard's lips kissing down his spine. He wants Sypha to try out that thing she keeps threatening to, with the fake cock attached to a selection of straps. He wants to see if Alucard ever manages to successfully keep chickens when he's on such good terms with the local wolf back and wouldn't dream of denying them a meal if they were hungry. He wants to watch from the outside with Alucard, hand in hand and both staring in absolute fucking adoration while Sypha reunites with her family, all love and warmth and stories, and then try to excuse himself but fail as she drags the two of them into the firelight and forces them to introduce themselves to seventeen new people who they somehow havn't managed to meet any of the previous times this has happened.
There are false starts. He can feel his insides twisting about again, but then they stop. He chokes and pants with pain and- blood. There's blood in his mouth. And that's both horrible and a good sign, because whatever's happening inside him the vampire blood at least isn't healing it. ]
Fuck, fuck. [ His neck is bleeding. It's not as terrible as the original wound, but there's blood at the seams of that grey section of skin as his body rejects it. Because it's not part of him.
[There's blood coming out of Trevor's neck. Alucard's first and only instinct is to apply pressure to the wound because he's bleeding from his fucking neck and that's a quick way to die. It takes a moment of him lurching forward to realize that no. No this is good. It's working. Trevor's agony is muted so much more than it has been in any of these other attempts and...
...and Sypha tugs on him. Demands more intent for the stone, demands it from both, because it has already begun to dwindle and it needs more, more, more to work. Alucard hisses because he's too caught up in that terrible fear of Trevor just bleeding out in spite of all of this, and Sypha has to physically move Alucard's hands where they need it to be.
There is a wild shred of hope. That shred has been in Alucard's grasp twice before in this process, and he clings to it as fiercely as he can. Puts every last bit of intent that he can into the stone he has in his hands (is in Sypha's hands, is in Trevor's because she's brought his hands back up too, even the one with the needles in it).
Get out. Get out of those veins. We are not our fathers. Get out. It is the will of no God that he be whole and human but ours. We who destroyed Dracula himself. We who have written Carmilla from the pages of history. We who do the things no others can because we have the strength to do it. This destroys that. This destroys the world. This is apocalypse in waiting and I shall not allow it. This is my intent, this is my will, all of this is my world and nothing may destroy it again.]
[ And with that- with that it's done. He knows that it's done, because he's a fucking Belmont. And because he's become the local expert on how it feels to suddenly have vampire blood gone from one's system after having that exact thing happen eight times. The rest of the process he knows - a lot of it he's been through even before all of this. There'll be sores over the next few days, opening themselves up to push out the last of it. Nothing supernatural, nothing magical, just a body rejecting something contaminated.
And it must be visible to Sypha, too, because she leaves the stone and the tube in Alucard's hands and moves hers to his neck, trailing fingers across the join between human and vampire skin to burn the seam shut. Distantly, he can smell burning flesh, but he can barely feel it. Everything else hurts too much, the burning is just more and it fades into the rest of it. That little bit of something terrible, that he'll have to keep. It would never heal as a human. But- it's discolored skin. Nothing worse. He'll live with it.
Sypha's arms are around his neck and shoulders now, pulling him tightly against her. And he's tired. So, so tired. But they have three hours. Three hours to send him through the mirror. Home, probably, but really to anywhere that isn't this estate. Because fuck, this cannot be reset.
[It isn't until Sypha heals the wound that Alucard even dares to entertain the thought that somehow, this has worked. He still has the stone in his hand as Sypha drags Trevor close to her. He's just staring at them both in total disbelief.
He gets to his feet, stone left on the floor for a moment. Goes over to the box of medical tools they've stashed in the corner in case ther was a need, and with that he takes out bandages. Bandages because the injection site will not heal automatically.
(It won't heal automatically!)
It's so easy to focus on the requirements for removing the transfusion equipment. Needles out. Bandages applied with all the right pressure. Equipment moved far away in case there is any horrible lingering vampire blood that can undo all of this.
He's whole. He's human. He looks like absolute shit. (There is a joke about how Trevor always looks like shit. Or maybe the Vampire Jesus joke is better. No. That comes after a few days of quiet.) He's Trevor again, in all the ways that matter most. And for that there's a thin, nervous laugh that betrays total bewilderment at this success, before Alucard buries his head on Trevor's chest and settles besides his heartbeat.
They have to make sure this doesn't reset. Alucard's not actually sure Trevor can stand easily, never mind go through a barrier. Or a magic mirror. But it has to be done, and then the two of them can order the Belmont to rest and pack up the estate. There's too much equipment scattered around, they have to deal with the horse too, and and and
and Trevor is human so everything else is lighteness.
And because he can. Because it'd be wrong not to, there's a softer laugh from Alucard, pressed against that very same heart.]
[ It's going to be months before he's back to how it was. It's the lost muscle mass mostly, because he's lean and haggard in a way he hasn't been since the last winter before Dracula's rampage began (it had been a long winter, and he'd been ill during it, and being ill meant no hunting, no working, no money to buy food and so little of it to spare that he couldn't have anyway). It's been a while since he's been able to see his ribs so distinctly, and his elbows are probably sharper than Sypha's right now.
But he's alive. He's alive and he's what he ought to be and he can touch both of them without it feeling profane and wrong and-
-and fuck it. The world can manage without him at his best for a few months. It managed for a decade and a half without a Belmont. ]
Mine was a short but eventful tenure.
[ He can maybe, maybe stand. It's lucky that their room is the easiest place in the world for any of them to focus on, because the chances of him making it as far as the bed before collapsing if he's more than a few steps away from it are very low indeed. But then, the floor isn't so bad. He could sleep there, on their own stupid floor, in their own home, as everything that he ought to be. ]
[Two words very rare from the vampire. Because he's certain that is the only reason that this has happened at all. Faith. Trevor's specifically, Trevor's belief in the church's power to deny Heaven because of the concept of excommunication. No addendum. No your God. Just that.
It's impossible to miss how worn that body is, being pressed so close to it. It wasn't as bad even yesterday, but the toll of being fully, properly human must be the explanation. Magic bullshit that no one has the desire to come to understand.
Sypha has her head buried in the top of Trevor's head now. Alucard can hear ever kiss she plants there. He doesn't have it in him to move with now, at least not for another few minutes. They can't linger, not really. But it'll have to be so. He'll have to stand up and undo all the castle defenses and they'll at least get Trevor home. Alucard can send everything through the mirror. Clean up the estate, take what they need, and then follow them all home on another wild arc of lightning. He'll collapse too after that, then where else shall they end but in their room, ice to the door, the only world that matters being the one that exists in that perfect room.]
[ His hands are unsteady. One finds its way, eventually, to Sypha. The other has a more difficult time, because the arm that had the needles in is just about useless right now. But after a few attempts it flops down in Alucard's hair, his fingers curling in and out of it. He can manage that much. ]
A little longer. You both only have to be strong for a little longer now.
[ It's not the most Trevor-like of things to say, and the soft and almost coaxing tone of it even more so, but this is a rare situation. He's safe. Alive. And he can manage to be The Strong One for a few minutes, at least. He owes them both that much. ]
You're both fucking miracle workers, and we can all rest soon.
[That unsteadiness is scary. But it is a sign too, a sign that this may very well be over and done. Alucard is not fully convinced. Won't be until the sun is down. But they can be home so very soon, and they will know.
(The house has no food. They'll need all of it for Trevor, for himself, for Sypha, because they have all barely looked after themselves.)
The softness goes unremarked upon. He is grateful for it.]
Mmm. It'll be too warm to use too many blankets when we're home.
[It is May now, there are no frosty mornings. Just cool ones, blossoming into beautiful spring air. Promise of summer on the wind.]
Speak for yourself. I'm going to pretend to be Sypha and make a cocoon.
[ He's- actually feeling cold. Not in a dangerous way (okay, a little in a dangerous way, because a lot of it really is down to the loss of mass and blood). But for the last eight days he has by this point in the evening been Actually Dead and incapable of feeling the cold. It's a strange thing to be running warm again, to be capable of being a little chilly. ]
I might even drag my old cloak into the bed while you're not there to stop me.
[ That one's- okay he means it, but it's still an empty threat, because how the fuck is he going to manage that when he's not going to be able to get out of the bed? ]
[Trevor could ask for anything right now and it would be granted. Alucard's still not moving, he's also now paying attention to Trevor's heartbeat in a more conventional way. Noting that he is running much too cold, and there's going to be a lot of dealing with blood loss too.
He can do that. Easiest thing in the world. The other two have had plenty of recoveries related to that, and the warm weather means greater bounties at the market. He can cajole the local pack to bring something to the doors (my pack is very unwell and I cannot hunt).]
It's in the chest at the end of the bed anyway. Not that far.
[ He's already given away where they hid (put away, he just never thought that it might have been put somewhere sensible) his cloak. In truth, he's probably not going to push it that much - they've already done so, so much for him, and he's already going to have to ask more so that he can recover in any sort of timely fashion.
But he likes to make empty threats. ]
Get me a cloth, if I get to make unreasonable fucking demands? I don't want to get blood on the bed that I actually care about.
[ He has already got blood on it. He has 100% got blood on it in the past. But there are little things like that that they have to care about and preserve anyway. Little lies, like 'there's never been blood on that bed', or 'there'll be a quieter time when they can be together', or 'they can stay with him forever'. ]
[Never, in truth. Because there is death and there is accepting it, and then there is a nine day living nightmare with shrieks, noises that should never be, too much blood consumed, and a host of horrors that they will have to speak of together to heal in full. But that is not for right now.
For right now, Alucard is able to extract himself from the space that he has claimed as his, and get the cloth. There's a pile over with the medical supplies, and he does one better. He goes outside and fetches a bucket so Sypha can make water from her ice.
The bed I actually care about.
The words don't hit Alucard properly until he's back down on the floor, waiting for Sypha to get the ice not only melted but to a nice, warm temperature that will feel far better on skin than well, ice water. And there's finally a real smile on that stupid face of Alucard's, because it's the kind of shit he always latches onto.]
[ It's good to see them smiling again. Really, really smiling. Sypha's good at the kind of smiles that have gritted teeth behind them, and there have been a lot of those lately. The real kind is much preferable.
(Perhaps he could have died and not cared. Or turned and not cared. But he'd have always cared very much about not seeing those warm, stupid smiles again.)
There's not too much blood to wash off. A lot around his throat (and he manages not to flinch as the cloth catches against burned skin, because he can see the worry in Sypha's face as it does). A little around the arm. And that's it. That's it. No places where he's manages to claw himself, or tear at his hair hard enough to pull away pieces of scalp. No tears of blood. No deer blood or Alucard blood. There's so very little, less than after some bar fights, and it's about the closest anything can get to feeling amazing right now. ]
Like it never fucking happened.
[ Okay that's a bit much. He's still about half the size he was a week and a half ago. Still with that patch of grey skin. Still in pretty fucking horrible shape. All of them still exhausted physically and mentally and emotionally. But he's content to just pretend all of that isn't true, just to give the whole thing no power at all over them. They wrote Carmilla out of existence, no matter how deep the damage she left was. They can do the same with this. ]
[There's practically nothing in the bucket. Nothing after the water seemed to turn red every other time. It is so wild to witness that, as wild as any of the other transformations that have happened. And the satisfaction of the Belmont is not covered in blood, Alucard moves everything away and gestures to Sypha. Trevor's not walking. Not right now.]
You'd have to look hard for evidence, at least.
[This very much has happened. They're all defined by their scars, the physical and otherwise. Alucard sees the patch of grey as he lifts Trevor into his arms, and that patch means that one day, when so much more time has passed, they will play that old game and put all of this to rest once and for all.
He stands. Trevor's much too light. There's less of him, which would be an upsetting thought on any day but today. There's less of him, but he is more whole than he has been for over a week.]
Sypha, can you operate the mirror and then take him? I have to undo most of the defenses remotely.
[ The worst of the pain is starting to fade now, and it's pleasant to know that it won't be returning again at midnight. It's pleasant to know a lot of things. That he can sleep in the same bed as the two of them again is the one he's focusing on right now, because sleeping sounds just wonderful. It's going to be his activity of choice for the next week at least. And he absolutely intends to abuse his 'I almost died' privileges to force the both of them to join him.
He sinks against Alucard, and he feels very small right now, but it's not too much of a problem. This is okay. Everything is okay. Sypha's at the mirror now, and they're all going to be home, and by the time he wakes they'll be together again where they belong. ]
Alucard.
[ His voice is quiet, and it sounds like he's about to continue but doesn't, which is generally a sure sign that he's going to ask for something. ]
[He's not sure where this will go. All Alucard knows right now is that there is too light a weight in his arms and that he hates it, but he hates it least out of literally everything that has been forced upon them last week.
There's things to pack. He has to put Trevor down in a moment or two, because Home will freak out at them if Alucard doesn't drop all the protections of it first. (He has to get the doors to response to Sypha and Trevor. It's been on the to do list for a while, admittedly.)]
Good medical practice. My mother would yell at me otherwise.
[They're at the mirror now. Sypha has it looking outside at the castle, the castle that's hidden as just a group of trees right now. Alucard needs both hands to undo everything, and so that means for the time being, Trevor must be on the ground.
As he's lowered, Alucard presses an all too tender kiss to Trevor's forehead.]
[Alucard begins to dismiss everything that has cloaked the castle and kept it safe. It knows him even from this terrible distance. It warms to all those commands, because them being given is a sign of homecoming. Life again.
As Alucard does so, something strikes him. And there's a terrible laugh for it.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cryptsleeper) wrote2018-11-10 11:26 pm
no subject
[It is a joke. A real one, because there's no greater joy than dragging Belmonts for their terrible sense at naming things. It even comes with the closest thing that Alucard has managed to a smile in over two weeks, because he was grimfaced even before this turning nonsense began.
His eyes remain on the needles in Trevor's arm, even as a final pair of hands come to rest on the stone. Sypha tries to speak of magic in plainer terms, that intent is more important than thinking of it as magic in any way that involves mysticism or spells or anything else because intent is at the base, but they've all tried to explain magic to Trevor time and again.
So Alucard settles for something blunter:]
Put every single stubborn thought you've ever had into this thing by running it over and over in your head. A portion, I realize, shall have to do, since you've spent a lifetime behaving like that.
[It's close to that same joking tone, but with greater urgency. They have little time left, and Alucard needs to do his part too.
I have watched this happen for nine days. I will not allow this. I will not permit this. I am the only man who may have even a fraction of that cursed blood in my veins, and that is only because my mother loved my father so dearly. I love this man just as much, if not more. So for that, for the concept of equviliant exchange, I shall draw all of it out. This man is a man, no other's will can change that fact. I say these things through no faith in a God, only in myself and in knowledge that the world runs on intent. It is my intent that all of this will be so, and I shall rend the world in two if I am defied. I will not permit this and the world shall heel to my commands.]
no subject
[ ...the first sentence is true, because of course it is. It's a thin disc of petrified wood, polished to a mirror shine and it's a component of an unfinished contraption used to intercept magical communication.
But there'll be time for making fun of his ridiculous fucking family later. If nothing else, they'll have three hours to burn, and it'll be nice to have something stupid to talk about instead of just sitting and mourning for him while he's still alive and right there.
There's no artfulness to his own thoughts, no commanding. They start out as a lot of consideration of how shitty this is going to be if they fail, but that immediately feels wrong. At odds with whatever it is that Alucard and Sypha are doing, (he doesn't know why he knows this, he just knows it to be true) because it's considering failure and they aren't doing that. They can't do that.
He wants to know if Alucard does the stupid thing with his paws - and that feels like the least powerful thought in the world but it's the one he finds and grasps onto. He wants to know if Sypha ever chooses to grow her hair out, now it's an option for her after years of being impossible. He wants to go through Enid's writings with Alucard, he wants to go through all his sisters' work with him, to offer whatever proof he can find that the scene from that dream would never have happened. He wants to give Sypha the half-completed collection his grandfather made of the Speakers' history, the one that was left unfinished out of respect for their wishes. He wants to go home and lie on the grass in the space between his childhood home and Alucard's with the two of them, flanked on each side by places that were always full of love. He wants to take Sara home, lay her by Leon's portrait and go back to using his old whip. He wants to eat strawberries after being tempted so long by the ones in this place. He wants to sit on a rug in silence on the floor of the library and reach out to touch the inside of Alucard's elbow and be told that it was worth it. He wants to steal berries from Sypha's plate even though he has his own and get threatened with a pastry fork until he surrenders his own in turn. He wants so very many things, and he wants all of them so much. ]
no subject
[One last bit of banter. One last bit of light before it all begins anew. Another last hope to spend. Alucard is so very quiet as the last minute passes. As Sypha says that all the intent the stone can reserve is full, and that when she calls for it again, they all need to be able to lay hands and repeat their thoughts as the transfusion tries to work again.
Alucard braces himself. His eyes are no longer on Trevor, but on the tubes, waiting for the signs that the blood has begun it's terrible transformation. The intent mixed with blood mixed with the Blood of Christ mixed with the spit of an excommunicate, it's been flowing already. It has been added preemptively, and for the love of whatever will make this transformation stop, it will be more effective than all past tries.
He tenses. Keeps nails as nails rather than as claws. He doesn't breath.
Work. Work or I rend everything asunder.]
no subject
But that doesn't happen. It's just pressure. Painful pressure, but just pressure. Nothing breaks. And it hurts, but what the fuck doesn't hurt right now? And if anything the pain sharpens his focus, because 'I want it to not fucking hurt' is a powerful thing to focus on.
He wants to lie on the grass with them both on summer afternoons, until he burns in the human way because all Belmonts, ironically, get fucking sunburn, and then stay there all through the evening to let the cool evening air soothe it. He wants Alucard's lips kissing down his spine. He wants Sypha to try out that thing she keeps threatening to, with the fake cock attached to a selection of straps. He wants to see if Alucard ever manages to successfully keep chickens when he's on such good terms with the local wolf back and wouldn't dream of denying them a meal if they were hungry. He wants to watch from the outside with Alucard, hand in hand and both staring in absolute fucking adoration while Sypha reunites with her family, all love and warmth and stories, and then try to excuse himself but fail as she drags the two of them into the firelight and forces them to introduce themselves to seventeen new people who they somehow havn't managed to meet any of the previous times this has happened.
There are false starts. He can feel his insides twisting about again, but then they stop. He chokes and pants with pain and- blood. There's blood in his mouth. And that's both horrible and a good sign, because whatever's happening inside him the vampire blood at least isn't healing it. ]
Fuck, fuck. [ His neck is bleeding. It's not as terrible as the original wound, but there's blood at the seams of that grey section of skin as his body rejects it. Because it's not part of him.
Because this is working. ]
no subject
...and Sypha tugs on him. Demands more intent for the stone, demands it from both, because it has already begun to dwindle and it needs more, more, more to work. Alucard hisses because he's too caught up in that terrible fear of Trevor just bleeding out in spite of all of this, and Sypha has to physically move Alucard's hands where they need it to be.
There is a wild shred of hope. That shred has been in Alucard's grasp twice before in this process, and he clings to it as fiercely as he can. Puts every last bit of intent that he can into the stone he has in his hands (is in Sypha's hands, is in Trevor's because she's brought his hands back up too, even the one with the needles in it).
Get out. Get out of those veins. We are not our fathers. Get out. It is the will of no God that he be whole and human but ours. We who destroyed Dracula himself. We who have written Carmilla from the pages of history. We who do the things no others can because we have the strength to do it. This destroys that. This destroys the world. This is apocalypse in waiting and I shall not allow it. This is my intent, this is my will, all of this is my world and nothing may destroy it again.]
no subject
And it must be visible to Sypha, too, because she leaves the stone and the tube in Alucard's hands and moves hers to his neck, trailing fingers across the join between human and vampire skin to burn the seam shut. Distantly, he can smell burning flesh, but he can barely feel it. Everything else hurts too much, the burning is just more and it fades into the rest of it. That little bit of something terrible, that he'll have to keep. It would never heal as a human. But- it's discolored skin. Nothing worse. He'll live with it.
Sypha's arms are around his neck and shoulders now, pulling him tightly against her. And he's tired. So, so tired. But they have three hours. Three hours to send him through the mirror. Home, probably, but really to anywhere that isn't this estate. Because fuck, this cannot be reset.
...They can take a moment to celebrate, though. ]
no subject
He gets to his feet, stone left on the floor for a moment. Goes over to the box of medical tools they've stashed in the corner in case ther was a need, and with that he takes out bandages. Bandages because the injection site will not heal automatically.
(It won't heal automatically!)
It's so easy to focus on the requirements for removing the transfusion equipment. Needles out. Bandages applied with all the right pressure. Equipment moved far away in case there is any horrible lingering vampire blood that can undo all of this.
He's whole. He's human. He looks like absolute shit. (There is a joke about how Trevor always looks like shit. Or maybe the Vampire Jesus joke is better. No. That comes after a few days of quiet.) He's Trevor again, in all the ways that matter most. And for that there's a thin, nervous laugh that betrays total bewilderment at this success, before Alucard buries his head on Trevor's chest and settles besides his heartbeat.
They have to make sure this doesn't reset. Alucard's not actually sure Trevor can stand easily, never mind go through a barrier. Or a magic mirror. But it has to be done, and then the two of them can order the Belmont to rest and pack up the estate. There's too much equipment scattered around, they have to deal with the horse too, and and and
and Trevor is human so everything else is lighteness.
And because he can. Because it'd be wrong not to, there's a softer laugh from Alucard, pressed against that very same heart.]
I'm back to being the worst vampire in Europe.
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But he's alive. He's alive and he's what he ought to be and he can touch both of them without it feeling profane and wrong and-
-and fuck it. The world can manage without him at his best for a few months. It managed for a decade and a half without a Belmont. ]
Mine was a short but eventful tenure.
[ He can maybe, maybe stand. It's lucky that their room is the easiest place in the world for any of them to focus on, because the chances of him making it as far as the bed before collapsing if he's more than a few steps away from it are very low indeed. But then, the floor isn't so bad. He could sleep there, on their own stupid floor, in their own home, as everything that he ought to be. ]
I'll let you keep your title from now on.
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[Two words very rare from the vampire. Because he's certain that is the only reason that this has happened at all. Faith. Trevor's specifically, Trevor's belief in the church's power to deny Heaven because of the concept of excommunication. No addendum. No your God. Just that.
It's impossible to miss how worn that body is, being pressed so close to it. It wasn't as bad even yesterday, but the toll of being fully, properly human must be the explanation. Magic bullshit that no one has the desire to come to understand.
Sypha has her head buried in the top of Trevor's head now. Alucard can hear ever kiss she plants there. He doesn't have it in him to move with now, at least not for another few minutes. They can't linger, not really. But it'll have to be so. He'll have to stand up and undo all the castle defenses and they'll at least get Trevor home. Alucard can send everything through the mirror. Clean up the estate, take what they need, and then follow them all home on another wild arc of lightning. He'll collapse too after that, then where else shall they end but in their room, ice to the door, the only world that matters being the one that exists in that perfect room.]
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A little longer. You both only have to be strong for a little longer now.
[ It's not the most Trevor-like of things to say, and the soft and almost coaxing tone of it even more so, but this is a rare situation. He's safe. Alive. And he can manage to be The Strong One for a few minutes, at least. He owes them both that much. ]
You're both fucking miracle workers, and we can all rest soon.
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(The house has no food. They'll need all of it for Trevor, for himself, for Sypha, because they have all barely looked after themselves.)
The softness goes unremarked upon. He is grateful for it.]
Mmm. It'll be too warm to use too many blankets when we're home.
[It is May now, there are no frosty mornings. Just cool ones, blossoming into beautiful spring air. Promise of summer on the wind.]
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[ He's- actually feeling cold. Not in a dangerous way (okay, a little in a dangerous way, because a lot of it really is down to the loss of mass and blood). But for the last eight days he has by this point in the evening been Actually Dead and incapable of feeling the cold. It's a strange thing to be running warm again, to be capable of being a little chilly. ]
I might even drag my old cloak into the bed while you're not there to stop me.
[ That one's- okay he means it, but it's still an empty threat, because how the fuck is he going to manage that when he's not going to be able to get out of the bed? ]
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[Trevor could ask for anything right now and it would be granted. Alucard's still not moving, he's also now paying attention to Trevor's heartbeat in a more conventional way. Noting that he is running much too cold, and there's going to be a lot of dealing with blood loss too.
He can do that. Easiest thing in the world. The other two have had plenty of recoveries related to that, and the warm weather means greater bounties at the market. He can cajole the local pack to bring something to the doors (my pack is very unwell and I cannot hunt).]
It's in the chest at the end of the bed anyway. Not that far.
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[ He's already given away where they hid (put away, he just never thought that it might have been put somewhere sensible) his cloak. In truth, he's probably not going to push it that much - they've already done so, so much for him, and he's already going to have to ask more so that he can recover in any sort of timely fashion.
But he likes to make empty threats. ]
Get me a cloth, if I get to make unreasonable fucking demands? I don't want to get blood on the bed that I actually care about.
[ He has already got blood on it. He has 100% got blood on it in the past. But there are little things like that that they have to care about and preserve anyway. Little lies, like 'there's never been blood on that bed', or 'there'll be a quieter time when they can be together', or 'they can stay with him forever'. ]
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[Never, in truth. Because there is death and there is accepting it, and then there is a nine day living nightmare with shrieks, noises that should never be, too much blood consumed, and a host of horrors that they will have to speak of together to heal in full. But that is not for right now.
For right now, Alucard is able to extract himself from the space that he has claimed as his, and get the cloth. There's a pile over with the medical supplies, and he does one better. He goes outside and fetches a bucket so Sypha can make water from her ice.
The bed I actually care about.
The words don't hit Alucard properly until he's back down on the floor, waiting for Sypha to get the ice not only melted but to a nice, warm temperature that will feel far better on skin than well, ice water. And there's finally a real smile on that stupid face of Alucard's, because it's the kind of shit he always latches onto.]
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(Perhaps he could have died and not cared. Or turned and not cared. But he'd have always cared very much about not seeing those warm, stupid smiles again.)
There's not too much blood to wash off. A lot around his throat (and he manages not to flinch as the cloth catches against burned skin, because he can see the worry in Sypha's face as it does). A little around the arm. And that's it. That's it. No places where he's manages to claw himself, or tear at his hair hard enough to pull away pieces of scalp. No tears of blood. No deer blood or Alucard blood. There's so very little, less than after some bar fights, and it's about the closest anything can get to feeling amazing right now. ]
Like it never fucking happened.
[ Okay that's a bit much. He's still about half the size he was a week and a half ago. Still with that patch of grey skin. Still in pretty fucking horrible shape. All of them still exhausted physically and mentally and emotionally. But he's content to just pretend all of that isn't true, just to give the whole thing no power at all over them. They wrote Carmilla out of existence, no matter how deep the damage she left was. They can do the same with this. ]
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You'd have to look hard for evidence, at least.
[This very much has happened. They're all defined by their scars, the physical and otherwise. Alucard sees the patch of grey as he lifts Trevor into his arms, and that patch means that one day, when so much more time has passed, they will play that old game and put all of this to rest once and for all.
He stands. Trevor's much too light. There's less of him, which would be an upsetting thought on any day but today. There's less of him, but he is more whole than he has been for over a week.]
Sypha, can you operate the mirror and then take him? I have to undo most of the defenses remotely.
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He sinks against Alucard, and he feels very small right now, but it's not too much of a problem. This is okay. Everything is okay. Sypha's at the mirror now, and they're all going to be home, and by the time he wakes they'll be together again where they belong. ]
Alucard.
[ His voice is quiet, and it sounds like he's about to continue but doesn't, which is generally a sure sign that he's going to ask for something. ]
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[He's not sure where this will go. All Alucard knows right now is that there is too light a weight in his arms and that he hates it, but he hates it least out of literally everything that has been forced upon them last week.
There's things to pack. He has to put Trevor down in a moment or two, because Home will freak out at them if Alucard doesn't drop all the protections of it first. (He has to get the doors to response to Sypha and Trevor. It's been on the to do list for a while, admittedly.)]
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[ That's the closest he's going to get in a long time to admitting that the dregs of the fear are still very much there. ]
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[He isn't.]
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[ It's fond, and he's not smiling, but there's a normalcy to that insult that they've not had for a little while. ]
Humor me. Would it wake you?
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[They're at the mirror now. Sypha has it looking outside at the castle, the castle that's hidden as just a group of trees right now. Alucard needs both hands to undo everything, and so that means for the time being, Trevor must be on the ground.
As he's lowered, Alucard presses an all too tender kiss to Trevor's forehead.]
It would. In an instant.
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Because I'm that fucking tired. I think I could.
[ And with that, he just watches as Alucard dispels all of the many, many magics that protect the castle. Home. They'll all be home so soon. ]
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[Alucard begins to dismiss everything that has cloaked the castle and kept it safe. It knows him even from this terrible distance. It warms to all those commands, because them being given is a sign of homecoming. Life again.
As Alucard does so, something strikes him. And there's a terrible laugh for it.]
Nine days. Third multiple of three.
[It's fucking ridiculous.]
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