[ In front of sofa is a good florr. Treffy likes this florr.
He tries not to think as they head toward the usual place. Because thinking defies the point of the game. There has to be no thought in between the touch and the voicing, because both of them are very good at using thought to minimize things that have happened. Thinking stops this from working, because thought means thoughts like 'it doesn't matter', thoughts like 'I shouldn't worry them, when they've already been through so much' thoughts like 'I can bear this'.
Familiar thoughts to the both of them. There are blankets draped over the back of the sofa this time of year, and Trevor moves them onto the ground to sit down upon. Since vampire usually object to florr so much. ]
[Vampire takes a few pillows too. Even if it means some of his sewing is exposed, a flash of gold against a darker material in the dim light of the room. He'll live. They can't see the whole garment.
Settling on the floor is easy. There's no need to take shirts off for once, it's too cold and the only two scars that matter are not visible. What Alucard does is takes Trevor's hand in his, and he guides it to where it was before.]
I'll go first, unless you object.
[To remind him of how all of this works. And to make it clear how he views these things.]
It's not the easiest thing in the world to take note of, but he's made an effort not to touch there since the incident. It's happened before, because a lot of his recovery was spent in Alucard's arms and it's difficult to have someone's arms around you without the skin of those arms touching you. But he's not done it deliberately, and whenever he's been the one to accidentally make contact there, he's pulled away.
Fuck.
He brushes his thumb over it, over the blood vessel there (he can still remember it. Still picture it. Still feel it against his lips, if he lets himself.). And he's not sure he's ready to hear this. But he's absolutely fucking certain that he doesn't want Alucard to hold back when talking about it, because that would be so much worse. ]
[That avoidance has never escaped Alucard's notice. He's never forced contact until now, because Trevor's recovery? The only thing that mattered. Still the only thing that matters. This is the final step in it. God willing, this is the last time the game ever gets played.]
I gambled everything.
[It's so easy to say, isn't it? In that moment, he didn't know. He couldn't have known.]
I knew so very easily that the fight was the simple part. I knew that there were two people I love that needed two very different things, both key to survival. A moment to gather wits, and food. For the first, it was instinct. For the second, I knew that if I did this, I might make the problem worse. After all, the blood in those veins had enough of Walter in them to potentially compound the problem.
[That was something none of them truly acknowledge, was it? That somewhere, somewhere deep in there, was something far worse than Dracula. Removed only by two generations. Tempered by love and loss. Sitting and sewing a wedding dress.]
I knew the other solution too. The thing that I hate more than anything else, the thing that could compromise my own ability to ensure anyone's survival. I gambled again, and felt every memory stir.
For that gamble, I get to joke about arms instead.
He listens, and he does not apologize. He does not promise that it will never come again. He does not pull Alucard to him and cling to him for dear life. He follows the rules of the game.
(he hurt them. He hurt them both, in every conceivable way, and all because he made a flawed plan. All because he failed at the one thing they trusted him to do.)
Instead he waits for Alucard to finish. Waits a moment longer for him to describe betrayal. Hurt. Anything of the sort. It doesn't come. The whole thing is pragmatic, as it always was. Perhaps there were those things, but that would be a different game. Those aren't the ghosts that need to be chased away. And so he leans in, and he is very slow, more cautious than he has been with anything in his life. He moves toward the place that he tore open less than a year ago.
He stops a fraction of an inch away, waiting so see if Alucard flinches or pulls back, before pressing his lips softly against the crook of Alucard's elbow. And it's the most terrifying thing he's ever done. ]
[There's only a soft hand in Trevor's hair. Yes, it violates all of the rules, but this is more important. Because that injury, that horrifying moment, Alucard has never seen it as betrayal. It hurt, but only because having your entire arm nearly torn off is going to hurt, vampire or human or in between. It was the product of a terrible situation. It was no failing on Trevor's part, not really.
He strokes Trevor's hair gently. Reassuring, because he can sense the fear. It is too palpable in the air.
[ He remains there for a moment before he draws back. It's- it would be a lie to say that it made this all right again. But it's a starting point. And a starting point is what he needs.
And he probably knows what is coming next. He draws back slowly and nods. His turn. ]
[He does not kiss that patch of ashen skin. Neck stuff, even before this, was a No Go on anyone who wasn't Alucard. (He and Sypha indulged when Trevor was not around, and even then, Alucard was so very cautious about it.) A mark of respect, and perhaps an underlying worry about years of being a trained vampire killer spoiling an otherwise lovely evening in bed.
Alucard's fingers ghost over it. He's never inquired if there's sensation on that patch of skin, or if it is well and truly dead, like a destroyed nerve ending. Alucard imagines that he's happier in ignorance.
[ There is no sensation. It had gone back and forth at the time, when he was turning and turning back over and over, and he could feel there for three hours a day. It's- he isn't going to pretend it's not still weird, but it's- he's used to it now, and he can only feel there in nightmares. It being fixed would probably seem fucking scary at this point. ]
Dying has never frightened me.
[ That's- as good a place as any to start. ]
It still doesn't, save for what it would do to the two of you. But- shit, I was starting to think I'd have thirty left in me, give or take. Take, probably. I mean-
[ The alcohol, the years of malnourishment, the near constant habit of getting stabbed with things - he's taken a lot of years off his life already with some truly stupid shit. ]
-but fuck. That was all gone. In an instant. Because I fucked up. And I wasn't scared, but I was- sorry. Sorry that I'd led you both into a stupid fucking trap. That you'd have to do this all without me.
[ There's more, of course there's more. But he has to start somewhere, and the bite is the most sensible place to begin. ]
[The rules mean that Alucard cannot respond. Not properly. Not in a meaningful way. He cannot reach out and take Trevor's hands in his, his husband's hands in his because this is how the game works.
Listening to what feels like prologue, there is no new information. Alucard knew that Trevor's life before them would end him early. Never a doubt. It was amazing he survived for as long as he did, if he was a man of real honesty. Everything else was...it was them, wasn't it? Something beyond just Trevor.
He nods to show he is listening. That he is Following the Rules. And the way his hands twitch make it clear that it is so hard to follow those rules.]
It felt like- sometimes when I wake up, it feels like there's something holding me down. Something that isn't either of you. It felt like that, but from inside me. Stopping me from going. Pulling me back together.
[ Sleep paralysis is maybe not the best comparison but it's the one that seems most apt to him. It makes him feel powerless, it's desperately lonely even with the two of them at his side, and it's one of the few things that actually fucking terrifies him. ]
It didn't hurt, at first. I think any nerves that could have made it hurt were too damaged. It wasn't until the healing had started that I could feel it and- that was better, almost? I know what pain is, at least. Makes it all easier to think about. After that- I barely remember any of the first night. I know it sucked for all of us but- I don't remember a fucking thing other than it hurting.
Second day was just- until noon, it was just- being injured. I've done that before fuck knows how many times, I know how it works. Then at noon it was that thing again, holding me down, trying to drag me inside myself so something else could go to the outside. And at sunset it managed. Every fucking night it managed, no matter what I did. And then the third night-
-you know what happened on the third night.
[ He's staring downward at the blanket under them. ]
I didn't think I'd be that fucking weak. I've seen turnings. We have records of turnings. Some of them last months before they need to feed for the first time. I don't know if I'm just naturally shitty at this or if I managed to fuck my resistance to that shit up with the ale all these years. I thought I'd be stronger.
The incense was- about what I expected. Good. Couldn't think. Didn't want to think. Put an edge on the pain, because I couldn't think of anything else, but it was worth it.
[ He's shivering just a little, and not from the cold, and his voice is choked. ]
Turning back was always the worst part, even though it was the part we all wanted. Most painful part, no vampire healing. And- part of me hated giving up that much power. It was screaming 'no, no there's still so much good I can do'. That was the worst part, the turning back, and the wanting to stay as I was. It was better, once I couldn't think about it too hard.
[There are so many things that happen in Alucard's head at once. The obvious one is the heartbreak of hearing it, and that shows on his face. All the fear from before, the fear he choked back because they didn't have the time to deal with it a year ago, that's there. It's tempered with the terrible desire to drag Trevor close, and that same look on his face that Alucard had when the two confessed Sypha's horrible brush with a witchcraft accusation. (There is no nightstand to scratch.)
The pain. The particulars. They are an answer to why his mother was never turned, why his father probably never entertained the thought. Trevor's mention of how long turnings can take, why it was he couldn't resist, Alucard suspects it has nothing to do with that and everything to do with whose blood it was. Old and ancient and powerful and corrosive as hell. His father's blood would probably have a similar effect.
His fingers brush over the blanket. Trevor isn't done, so holding onto Trevor isn't an option.
But the part that surprises him most is the giving up that much power. The part that was convinced good could come of it. Words he'd never thought to associated with turning. Words that a Belmont probably wouldn't either. Strange words, and so very, very chilling.
Alucard's not going to force Trevor to meet his eyes, but there is a question in his: is there more?]
I could have put an end to all of this. To everything. To every fucking vampire in Europe - maybe in the world - that wouldn't fucking behave. To all the nasty things they kept in line. You wouldn't have stopped me, and there'd be nothing else in the world that could - there have only ever been two. There would never be need for Belmonts again.
[ He could have written a long, long suicide note. And they all know so much about those. ]
And I chose not to. Because it would have made two people kind of sad, and I'm a selfish shit like that.
[ There's one last thing, and the tone makes it clear that it's the end of it. ]
She has long eyelashes, And these stupid dimples, when she smiles. When she pretends to, at least. Only chance I'll ever have to see them properly, and it was the one time she couldn't smile. You'll have to tell me, when they're there.
[That had been de Rais' plan, hadn't it? The authority of the name Belmont to bring in all those dark things under control in full. Possibly exterminate them, all because the three had failed to find balance between what they owed to the world and what they owed to each other. (It is a question all that live must find an answer to. It is a question none has a response for until they pass.) It aches to know that part of Trevor might have agreed to it. It is worse when he says the all too correct thing: that only two could have stopped him, and they never would. For guilt perhaps, or refusal to go down the road of killing someone so loved again, or their righteous rage that this had come to pass.
It would be a novel. Not a note.
(He'd be beside Trevor for it, wouldnn't he? Sypha might pass, but he would not. Then they'd tear everything down together, clinging to each other and to memory, and they would be worse than their fathers and forefathers ever could be.)
This can only be draining the poison. Alucard tells himself that, and God if the only light in all of this is how the return of vision let him see Sypha so very, very clearly. It's something Alucard takes for granted. He won't again. He'll make sure Trevor knows, especially in a month from now. Whisper all the details he's missing when they both see her dressed in full, and then again when they're in bed for the first time together.
Then all is done. This is to be sealed.
Alucard leans over. The first and last time his lips shall ever touch Trevor's neck. He puts the softest kiss he can on the place where dead skin and living meet, and in that moment, he realizes that this is the same spot where he almost tore Trevor's throat out. Almost exact. There is such a soft gasp of realization that he might as well be a summer wind sighing.
Then he withdraws. Puts either hand on each side of Trevor's cheek, kisses forehead.]
[ It helps. It doesn't change a thing, but it helps. He'll still never know if he was right to choose what he did, to choose to be himself instead of The Last Belmont The World Would Need. But the question has hung in the air and been dismissed and is no longer stuck inside his head flinging itself against the walls.
Maybe he was wrong. But at the end of the day he owes the world nothing, and he owes the only two people who would have suffered from it the world.
Alucard kisses his forehead. Frees him. And he shakes his head. ]
One last round.
[ This is going to be the last time they do this, isn't it? The last time in a long time, at least. Because none of them will let any of this happen again. There'll be no need. He places his hands not on Alucard, but on the floor. ]
Tell me about the last time this place had a family in its walls.
[ He's never really asked. It was never proper, really. Even if he were to ask in good faith, a Belmont is a Belmont, and anything about Dracula - about Alucard's family, about his family now, at least as much as the speakers were, and maybe more so for events of the past - anything Alucard could say would only ever be intelligence. Something for him to scour for signs of weaknesses, for anything that could be turned upon his father.
He should ask. He should know. Dracula is a part of Alucard just as much as questionable filing methods and overfondness for wolfsbane and mistletoe and dogs called Dog are a part of him. He should listen, and he should listen while not tearing every word apart in search of hidden information and maybe now he's finally, finally capable of it. ]
...he sits there for a moment, stunned into silence. It's enough to hear Sypha stir from her spot. Over the years, Alucard has given bits and pieces of that information. Enough to get a laugh (when floating first came to me, I got stuck much too high once. Middle of the day, my father was asleep. Cried myself hoarse because my mother couldn't reach me), or in more somber moments when we did that too provided comfort.
But the whole of it. What it was like, beyond happy, beyond safe, he has never articulated.]
There was, after I was born, a host of unknowns. What I would need as far as nourishment, if I could be exposed to the sun at all, if I would even survive because I ran much too cold and much too warm for either of them to truly gauage if I was well. The first thing, that's why I cook. I need to balance these things. The second, my mother spoke of when I was older. In the dying rays of sunlight, my father still shrouded in the shadows, they had to test it, and it could not be taken as a science experiment no matter how they lied to themselves. It was fine, of course, but infant mortality is still infant mortality. All parents have that fear. The third...that was actual science, they charted it for a few days and were satisfied.
[To answer the question means to begin at the real beginning.]
That uncertainty made us cling to each other as I grew. Perhaps no moreso than any other family, but it was a foundation that no other would have.
[ He nods, and he listens, and he tries to imagine Dracula (Vlad Tepes) as just a man. It's strange, and it goes against every instinct he has (you cannot be trained from birth to kill a man and also believe him to be as human as you are. it does not work that way. Perhaps Leon would have regretted that things turned out that way). But he does it. Just a mother and father, worrying themselves to shadows over a child who seems sickly.
It's the most normal, human thing in the world.
He listens and he does not touch and he does not speak because this is not a conversation. There might be time for that later, if he ever particularly feels the need to discuss Dracula as a man, and if Alucard ever particularly feels the need to let him. ]
It's why princeling rankled me so much back when it had the air of insult, you know. Because I knew about that initial terror.
[Now it's affectionate, bordering on a promise of things to come. He's glad for it. Never would want it to stop. But it is worth noting all the same.
He moves on.]
I'm not going to belabor the parts that you both know from passing mentions. I was a terror if only because I was unknown. In the unknown, there was only affection and delight, because when that terror turned out to be better than expected, what else could there be but love?
[This is not an easy discussion. Not this part, at least.]
There were times that my father sat back and only watched. You'd not trust it, but we did, because he smiled to see all of it. Even alone in the study, if one of us went past the open door, it was there. And it was...easier, when I was smaller, in many ways. My personality was developing, and all the brightness and inquiry in the world was enough to lash us together beyond just being bound by love and by blood.
[Sometimes though, the details are important.][Never any Belmonts though. No nightmares about things hunting Dracula's only son.]
Belaboring the point, I think. Being older was harder in many ways, because you relate to your parents in new and stranger ways. I understood what I learned from them both, but I was at the age I wanted to apply it more, and...
[No. This isn't the right order of explanation.]
Being older made them more worried, I think. My mother wanted us to both go out into the world, but again, there was that fear of the unknown. So protectiveness manifested itself in new ways. Gresit was such a thing, for I understood much of the castle and wanted to apply it. That's how we began to relate to each other again, after all that temporary teenage awkwardness. There were days one was away or the other, but to be truly alone was rare.
[On that note, he smiles very softly.]
That is my understanding of how things were elsewhere too.
[ He doesn't scoff at the idea of Dracula being human. Being kind. Being a loving father. He did, five years ago. But even if it weren't the rules of this game (and that's why he's using this game to ask, as a promise that he won't throw this back in Alucard's face) there are things that he needs to consider and accept
Mathias Conqvist had become a monster for love, he had known this all his life. He could accept, then, surely, that Vlad Dracula Tepes had become a man for it.
And then a monster again, and then a little of both in the end.
Four hundred years of sacrifices, recent as a few years before his own birth. Four hundred years of men and women taken into the crypt before they hit thirty. Of names carved in stone because the bodies couldn't be recovered. Four hundred years of his kin bleeding and dying in the rooms of this very castle - and he knows that if he continues to work his way through it then he'll eventually find the bones. All because his family had believed Dracula beyond hope. And in the end what almost made him human again, what didn't bring him low but did make him safe, was a knife striking his front door. It's been a bitter thing to accept for a long time.
Which was why 'Princeling' had had the tone of insult in the first place, really.
That is the whole of it, I suppose. Things were strained because to grow up always brings that strain, but everything comes back together once there are new ways found to bond. Ordinary, so much as anything could be given the unique circumstances.
[The same love as any other family would have.]
They tended to pile atop each other though. That probably explains...quite a few things, when I reflect on it.
[There's a very soft laugh. Fond. Wistful. Lost in a much happier memory, because his parents were ridiculous with shows of affection. The other two would never believe Alucard if he said he was low key in comparison.]
The rest you know.
[The rest all of Wallachia knows. How that tiny scrap of recovered humanity had been lit ablaze with his mother and scattered to the winds. Alucard did not wonder about regret his father had, it had been so clear in the last moments of his life. It was what kept him up for nights after the deed was done and the two were gone: could his father have been recovered?
But that is not the question. That is not the scar being discussed. It is what love left in this place.]
[ And that is the end of it, isn't it? The rest he knows.
He places his hands back onto the ground for a moment, and then reaches them forward to take Alucard's. ]
It's important to know who your family is.
[ It's offered as a statement. As an explanation for why he asked, because it isn't the Belmont way to forget those who went before you. And now, unavoidably, Dracula and Lisa are both those who went before. But it's also an instruction of sorts. Because what Alucard described just then, that is what his family is. Far more than what his mother was was in death and what Dracula was at his worst. ]
[He gives the hands freely. Squeezes Trevor's gently, because there's warmth there and the floor, while heated, is still not as warm as either of them.]
Yes. Yours is easier to know.
[The Hold is, after all, full of Belmonts. What they have chronicled often eclipses the real details (Leon, as they have since learned, is the worst offender here), but they are known. The ones who had a higher and loftier view like Leon. The ones who just threw rice at people. All the ones in between.
What his parents have left behind misses the same details. Scientists. Their notes dispassionate unless you know where to look. Alucard does, but only because he grew up around them both and can translate all their little ways just from the text in front of him.]
Well enough to call it fair to judge them by what they've left behind here.
[ Which is. An attempt to be nice about Dracula. Because here is not the outside world. Here is not even Belmont lands. Here is where what Dracula has left behind is knowledge of all the wonderful things that people have forgotten. Here is where what he has left behind is his son, and to judge anyone as half of Alucard is to judge them favorably. ]
[That's more than enough for Alucard's ears. He squeezes Trevor's hands again. Thank you. He'll never demand peace or acceptance of his father. Not from himself not from Wallachia, not from the world, but most of all, not from a Belmont. There are 400 years of deaths there, and things cannot be forgiven. Peace, perhaps, but that is only peace.
The smile that flicks across Alucard's face is very still. Very soft. It reflects a deeper contemplation.]
I shall take that. And for all the inventions that live in this home, I am glad to have you contribute to them.
I nailed cloth to a wooden frame, and I needed his guidance to do that much. Don't try to make a big deal of it.
[ He chuckles, and it's lighter than any sound he's made over the last two weeks. Maybe he'll even sleep in tomorrow. Maybe he'll even take meals with the other two. Maybe he'll spend the entire fucking day lying on the sofa with his head on Sypha's lap as she reads, plotting with her ways to make Alucard paranoid that they're trying to take a peek at his sewing. ]
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cryptsleeper) wrote2018-11-10 11:26 pm
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[ In front of sofa is a good florr. Treffy likes this florr.
He tries not to think as they head toward the usual place. Because thinking defies the point of the game. There has to be no thought in between the touch and the voicing, because both of them are very good at using thought to minimize things that have happened. Thinking stops this from working, because thought means thoughts like 'it doesn't matter', thoughts like 'I shouldn't worry them, when they've already been through so much' thoughts like 'I can bear this'.
Familiar thoughts to the both of them. There are blankets draped over the back of the sofa this time of year, and Trevor moves them onto the ground to sit down upon. Since vampire usually object to florr so much. ]
Ready.
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Settling on the floor is easy. There's no need to take shirts off for once, it's too cold and the only two scars that matter are not visible. What Alucard does is takes Trevor's hand in his, and he guides it to where it was before.]
I'll go first, unless you object.
[To remind him of how all of this works. And to make it clear how he views these things.]
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It's not the easiest thing in the world to take note of, but he's made an effort not to touch there since the incident. It's happened before, because a lot of his recovery was spent in Alucard's arms and it's difficult to have someone's arms around you without the skin of those arms touching you. But he's not done it deliberately, and whenever he's been the one to accidentally make contact there, he's pulled away.
Fuck.
He brushes his thumb over it, over the blood vessel there (he can still remember it. Still picture it. Still feel it against his lips, if he lets himself.). And he's not sure he's ready to hear this. But he's absolutely fucking certain that he doesn't want Alucard to hold back when talking about it, because that would be so much worse. ]
Tell me.
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I gambled everything.
[It's so easy to say, isn't it? In that moment, he didn't know. He couldn't have known.]
I knew so very easily that the fight was the simple part. I knew that there were two people I love that needed two very different things, both key to survival. A moment to gather wits, and food. For the first, it was instinct. For the second, I knew that if I did this, I might make the problem worse. After all, the blood in those veins had enough of Walter in them to potentially compound the problem.
[That was something none of them truly acknowledge, was it? That somewhere, somewhere deep in there, was something far worse than Dracula. Removed only by two generations. Tempered by love and loss. Sitting and sewing a wedding dress.]
I knew the other solution too. The thing that I hate more than anything else, the thing that could compromise my own ability to ensure anyone's survival. I gambled again, and felt every memory stir.
For that gamble, I get to joke about arms instead.
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He listens, and he does not apologize. He does not promise that it will never come again. He does not pull Alucard to him and cling to him for dear life. He follows the rules of the game.
(he hurt them. He hurt them both, in every conceivable way, and all because he made a flawed plan. All because he failed at the one thing they trusted him to do.)
Instead he waits for Alucard to finish. Waits a moment longer for him to describe betrayal. Hurt. Anything of the sort. It doesn't come. The whole thing is pragmatic, as it always was. Perhaps there were those things, but that would be a different game. Those aren't the ghosts that need to be chased away. And so he leans in, and he is very slow, more cautious than he has been with anything in his life. He moves toward the place that he tore open less than a year ago.
He stops a fraction of an inch away, waiting so see if Alucard flinches or pulls back, before pressing his lips softly against the crook of Alucard's elbow. And it's the most terrifying thing he's ever done. ]
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He strokes Trevor's hair gently. Reassuring, because he can sense the fear. It is too palpable in the air.
It needs to be chased away for good.]
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And he probably knows what is coming next. He draws back slowly and nods. His turn. ]
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Alucard's fingers ghost over it. He's never inquired if there's sensation on that patch of skin, or if it is well and truly dead, like a destroyed nerve ending. Alucard imagines that he's happier in ignorance.
His fingers fall away.]
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Dying has never frightened me.
[ That's- as good a place as any to start. ]
It still doesn't, save for what it would do to the two of you. But- shit, I was starting to think I'd have thirty left in me, give or take. Take, probably. I mean-
[ The alcohol, the years of malnourishment, the near constant habit of getting stabbed with things - he's taken a lot of years off his life already with some truly stupid shit. ]
-but fuck. That was all gone. In an instant. Because I fucked up. And I wasn't scared, but I was- sorry. Sorry that I'd led you both into a stupid fucking trap. That you'd have to do this all without me.
[ There's more, of course there's more. But he has to start somewhere, and the bite is the most sensible place to begin. ]
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Listening to what feels like prologue, there is no new information. Alucard knew that Trevor's life before them would end him early. Never a doubt. It was amazing he survived for as long as he did, if he was a man of real honesty. Everything else was...it was them, wasn't it? Something beyond just Trevor.
He nods to show he is listening. That he is Following the Rules. And the way his hands twitch make it clear that it is so hard to follow those rules.]
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[ Sleep paralysis is maybe not the best comparison but it's the one that seems most apt to him. It makes him feel powerless, it's desperately lonely even with the two of them at his side, and it's one of the few things that actually fucking terrifies him. ]
It didn't hurt, at first. I think any nerves that could have made it hurt were too damaged. It wasn't until the healing had started that I could feel it and- that was better, almost? I know what pain is, at least. Makes it all easier to think about. After that- I barely remember any of the first night. I know it sucked for all of us but- I don't remember a fucking thing other than it hurting.
Second day was just- until noon, it was just- being injured. I've done that before fuck knows how many times, I know how it works. Then at noon it was that thing again, holding me down, trying to drag me inside myself so something else could go to the outside. And at sunset it managed. Every fucking night it managed, no matter what I did. And then the third night-
-you know what happened on the third night.
[ He's staring downward at the blanket under them. ]
I didn't think I'd be that fucking weak. I've seen turnings. We have records of turnings. Some of them last months before they need to feed for the first time. I don't know if I'm just naturally shitty at this or if I managed to fuck my resistance to that shit up with the ale all these years. I thought I'd be stronger.
The incense was- about what I expected. Good. Couldn't think. Didn't want to think. Put an edge on the pain, because I couldn't think of anything else, but it was worth it.
[ He's shivering just a little, and not from the cold, and his voice is choked. ]
Turning back was always the worst part, even though it was the part we all wanted. Most painful part, no vampire healing. And- part of me hated giving up that much power. It was screaming 'no, no there's still so much good I can do'. That was the worst part, the turning back, and the wanting to stay as I was. It was better, once I couldn't think about it too hard.
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The pain. The particulars. They are an answer to why his mother was never turned, why his father probably never entertained the thought. Trevor's mention of how long turnings can take, why it was he couldn't resist, Alucard suspects it has nothing to do with that and everything to do with whose blood it was. Old and ancient and powerful and corrosive as hell. His father's blood would probably have a similar effect.
His fingers brush over the blanket. Trevor isn't done, so holding onto Trevor isn't an option.
But the part that surprises him most is the giving up that much power. The part that was convinced good could come of it. Words he'd never thought to associated with turning. Words that a Belmont probably wouldn't either. Strange words, and so very, very chilling.
Alucard's not going to force Trevor to meet his eyes, but there is a question in his: is there more?]
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[ He could have written a long, long suicide note. And they all know so much about those. ]
And I chose not to. Because it would have made two people kind of sad, and I'm a selfish shit like that.
[ There's one last thing, and the tone makes it clear that it's the end of it. ]
She has long eyelashes, And these stupid dimples, when she smiles. When she pretends to, at least. Only chance I'll ever have to see them properly, and it was the one time she couldn't smile. You'll have to tell me, when they're there.
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It would be a novel. Not a note.
(He'd be beside Trevor for it, wouldnn't he? Sypha might pass, but he would not. Then they'd tear everything down together, clinging to each other and to memory, and they would be worse than their fathers and forefathers ever could be.)
This can only be draining the poison. Alucard tells himself that, and God if the only light in all of this is how the return of vision let him see Sypha so very, very clearly. It's something Alucard takes for granted. He won't again. He'll make sure Trevor knows, especially in a month from now. Whisper all the details he's missing when they both see her dressed in full, and then again when they're in bed for the first time together.
Then all is done. This is to be sealed.
Alucard leans over. The first and last time his lips shall ever touch Trevor's neck. He puts the softest kiss he can on the place where dead skin and living meet, and in that moment, he realizes that this is the same spot where he almost tore Trevor's throat out. Almost exact. There is such a soft gasp of realization that he might as well be a summer wind sighing.
Then he withdraws. Puts either hand on each side of Trevor's cheek, kisses forehead.]
We're done.
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Maybe he was wrong. But at the end of the day he owes the world nothing, and he owes the only two people who would have suffered from it the world.
Alucard kisses his forehead. Frees him. And he shakes his head. ]
One last round.
[ This is going to be the last time they do this, isn't it? The last time in a long time, at least. Because none of them will let any of this happen again. There'll be no need. He places his hands not on Alucard, but on the floor. ]
Tell me about the last time this place had a family in its walls.
[ He's never really asked. It was never proper, really. Even if he were to ask in good faith, a Belmont is a Belmont, and anything about Dracula - about Alucard's family, about his family now, at least as much as the speakers were, and maybe more so for events of the past - anything Alucard could say would only ever be intelligence. Something for him to scour for signs of weaknesses, for anything that could be turned upon his father.
He should ask. He should know. Dracula is a part of Alucard just as much as questionable filing methods and overfondness for wolfsbane and mistletoe and dogs called Dog are a part of him. He should listen, and he should listen while not tearing every word apart in search of hidden information and maybe now he's finally, finally capable of it. ]
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...he sits there for a moment, stunned into silence. It's enough to hear Sypha stir from her spot. Over the years, Alucard has given bits and pieces of that information. Enough to get a laugh (when floating first came to me, I got stuck much too high once. Middle of the day, my father was asleep. Cried myself hoarse because my mother couldn't reach me), or in more somber moments when we did that too provided comfort.
But the whole of it. What it was like, beyond happy, beyond safe, he has never articulated.]
There was, after I was born, a host of unknowns. What I would need as far as nourishment, if I could be exposed to the sun at all, if I would even survive because I ran much too cold and much too warm for either of them to truly gauage if I was well. The first thing, that's why I cook. I need to balance these things. The second, my mother spoke of when I was older. In the dying rays of sunlight, my father still shrouded in the shadows, they had to test it, and it could not be taken as a science experiment no matter how they lied to themselves. It was fine, of course, but infant mortality is still infant mortality. All parents have that fear. The third...that was actual science, they charted it for a few days and were satisfied.
[To answer the question means to begin at the real beginning.]
That uncertainty made us cling to each other as I grew. Perhaps no moreso than any other family, but it was a foundation that no other would have.
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It's the most normal, human thing in the world.
He listens and he does not touch and he does not speak because this is not a conversation. There might be time for that later, if he ever particularly feels the need to discuss Dracula as a man, and if Alucard ever particularly feels the need to let him. ]
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[Now it's affectionate, bordering on a promise of things to come. He's glad for it. Never would want it to stop. But it is worth noting all the same.
He moves on.]
I'm not going to belabor the parts that you both know from passing mentions. I was a terror if only because I was unknown. In the unknown, there was only affection and delight, because when that terror turned out to be better than expected, what else could there be but love?
[This is not an easy discussion. Not this part, at least.]
There were times that my father sat back and only watched. You'd not trust it, but we did, because he smiled to see all of it. Even alone in the study, if one of us went past the open door, it was there. And it was...easier, when I was smaller, in many ways. My personality was developing, and all the brightness and inquiry in the world was enough to lash us together beyond just being bound by love and by blood.
[Sometimes though, the details are important.][Never any Belmonts though. No nightmares about things hunting Dracula's only son.]
Belaboring the point, I think. Being older was harder in many ways, because you relate to your parents in new and stranger ways. I understood what I learned from them both, but I was at the age I wanted to apply it more, and...
[No. This isn't the right order of explanation.]
Being older made them more worried, I think. My mother wanted us to both go out into the world, but again, there was that fear of the unknown. So protectiveness manifested itself in new ways. Gresit was such a thing, for I understood much of the castle and wanted to apply it. That's how we began to relate to each other again, after all that temporary teenage awkwardness. There were days one was away or the other, but to be truly alone was rare.
[On that note, he smiles very softly.]
That is my understanding of how things were elsewhere too.
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Mathias Conqvist had become a monster for love, he had known this all his life. He could accept, then, surely, that Vlad Dracula Tepes had become a man for it.
And then a monster again, and then a little of both in the end.
Four hundred years of sacrifices, recent as a few years before his own birth. Four hundred years of men and women taken into the crypt before they hit thirty. Of names carved in stone because the bodies couldn't be recovered. Four hundred years of his kin bleeding and dying in the rooms of this very castle - and he knows that if he continues to work his way through it then he'll eventually find the bones. All because his family had believed Dracula beyond hope. And in the end what almost made him human again, what didn't bring him low but did make him safe, was a knife striking his front door. It's been a bitter thing to accept for a long time.
Which was why 'Princeling' had had the tone of insult in the first place, really.
He doesn't speak, but he nods. ]
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[The same love as any other family would have.]
They tended to pile atop each other though. That probably explains...quite a few things, when I reflect on it.
[There's a very soft laugh. Fond. Wistful. Lost in a much happier memory, because his parents were ridiculous with shows of affection. The other two would never believe Alucard if he said he was low key in comparison.]
The rest you know.
[The rest all of Wallachia knows. How that tiny scrap of recovered humanity had been lit ablaze with his mother and scattered to the winds. Alucard did not wonder about regret his father had, it had been so clear in the last moments of his life. It was what kept him up for nights after the deed was done and the two were gone: could his father have been recovered?
But that is not the question. That is not the scar being discussed. It is what love left in this place.]
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He places his hands back onto the ground for a moment, and then reaches them forward to take Alucard's. ]
It's important to know who your family is.
[ It's offered as a statement. As an explanation for why he asked, because it isn't the Belmont way to forget those who went before you. And now, unavoidably, Dracula and Lisa are both those who went before. But it's also an instruction of sorts. Because what Alucard described just then, that is what his family is. Far more than what his mother was was in death and what Dracula was at his worst. ]
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Yes. Yours is easier to know.
[The Hold is, after all, full of Belmonts. What they have chronicled often eclipses the real details (Leon, as they have since learned, is the worst offender here), but they are known. The ones who had a higher and loftier view like Leon. The ones who just threw rice at people. All the ones in between.
What his parents have left behind misses the same details. Scientists. Their notes dispassionate unless you know where to look. Alucard does, but only because he grew up around them both and can translate all their little ways just from the text in front of him.]
Do you feel you've met them better now?
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[ Which is. An attempt to be nice about Dracula. Because here is not the outside world. Here is not even Belmont lands. Here is where what Dracula has left behind is knowledge of all the wonderful things that people have forgotten. Here is where what he has left behind is his son, and to judge anyone as half of Alucard is to judge them favorably. ]
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The smile that flicks across Alucard's face is very still. Very soft. It reflects a deeper contemplation.]
I shall take that. And for all the inventions that live in this home, I am glad to have you contribute to them.
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[ He chuckles, and it's lighter than any sound he's made over the last two weeks. Maybe he'll even sleep in tomorrow. Maybe he'll even take meals with the other two. Maybe he'll spend the entire fucking day lying on the sofa with his head on Sypha's lap as she reads, plotting with her ways to make Alucard paranoid that they're trying to take a peek at his sewing. ]
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