This had always been a risk. Leon knew that the moment that he arranged for the recreated estate to always be in winter. To always be in the deep of December on the longest night of the year, snow over the grounds and darkness king, all so that Mathias (and here it is Mathias only) could move around as safely as possible. There were things that could still go wrong, and it was never a question of how the memory spells stitched into the fabric of the estate would fall apart. It was only ever when, because Dracula is still a master of magic, and he is still deep within Mathias. Just suppressed. Just squeezed into a little corner, made to rest.
It has been weeks by fae count. Months in the human world. Long enough for cracks in the spell to happen, jogged by recollections of things that ought to be. (The modern conveniences of Dracula's castle are one of the enemies.) Worse are when the recollections are brought by Leon's actions themselves. All the gently refused kisses, all the abandonment of their bed, the question and evasion of where is Sara?
So when Leon walks into their room one night to find no electric lights on, only a fire that Mathias has sat himself in front of, it's clear that the spells have broken. The man is sat on the sofa, upright, one arm resting on the arm of it and the other on one of the cushions. He does not move to his feet when Leon enters, he only waits. Waits until Leon is in sight, and the stare that Mathias fixes upon the man betrays a great weariness. It masks an anger, Dracula's anger, something still being suppressed.
"What," Mathias says finally. "Did you do, Leon?"
Leon Belmont has never been inclined to lie. But the ability to do it is still a luxury, one that generally he has not missed. Save now. Because the truth is worse. "What I thought was right. We didn't..."
"No. We did not speak after everything happened," Mathias agrees. The way his eyes reflect the light, there's a desire to turn to anger there. It's terrifyingly clear, and Leon cannot move from the light. The most he can do is to try and redirect where this goes. Delay the anger. Make his own point.
It's a point that begins with a deeper sigh of Mathias' name. "How much do you remember now?"
"Enough," is the reply. Terse. Unhappy. "At first I thought it was my own mind obscuring memories for the sake of diminishing trauma, I've seen that happen before in patients. What was it that you wanted to talk to me about Leon?"
There's the anger. There's the rage of Dracula, a rage that will be far worse once Dracula returns to the world. It's a sign of miscalculation too, and Leon knows it in the moment. He did not account for how that fury might be let out upon the world.
"About final decisions," Leon says. He counters the rage with sorrow. "When this all happened, I did not know if your own actions were simply out of fury. Now..."
He's cut off. "What options would you have me take?"
"There is Sara's. She refused to take any part of the lot of vampirism and fights it instead, albeit in another form. Or you could stay here, where at least there is one of us."
Silence is the response. Silence and steepled fingers, the gaze of a man who is both Mathias and Dracula looking past Leon and into the fire itself. It flares suddenly. Hisses. The heat intensifies, and Leon steps forward out of instinct. The silence is an oppressive thing, but worse is the response.
It is sighed in Mathias' voice, now tired. "Neither."
When Leon repeats the response, there is an air of the incredulous. "Neither?"
"It is clear from my memories that I have already made my choice."
Neither.
Neither and it is still the eyes of Mathias that watch Leon Belmont closely. Neither and it aches, because there is naught else that can be done. It is a decision made by a thing that may be Dracula, but has made the choice as close to Mathias as he could ever be now. Dracula threatens to spring to life in those eyes, but he stays away. It is Mathias that Leon sinks down onto the sofa besides. It is Mathias that he drags into his arms and kisses, knowing that the cause of retaining him is well and truly lost, and it is Mathias who does not push him away, but rather leans into every kiss. There's fury in every one of them, tempered by the same feeling of loss.
There is an hour until sunset in the human world. Dracula will be placed there, and in seven years, one of the two will kill the other. But for a last hour, there s at least time to say good bye.
MORE SAD DADS I GUESS
It has been weeks by fae count. Months in the human world. Long enough for cracks in the spell to happen, jogged by recollections of things that ought to be. (The modern conveniences of Dracula's castle are one of the enemies.) Worse are when the recollections are brought by Leon's actions themselves. All the gently refused kisses, all the abandonment of their bed, the question and evasion of where is Sara?
So when Leon walks into their room one night to find no electric lights on, only a fire that Mathias has sat himself in front of, it's clear that the spells have broken. The man is sat on the sofa, upright, one arm resting on the arm of it and the other on one of the cushions. He does not move to his feet when Leon enters, he only waits. Waits until Leon is in sight, and the stare that Mathias fixes upon the man betrays a great weariness. It masks an anger, Dracula's anger, something still being suppressed.
"What," Mathias says finally. "Did you do, Leon?"
Leon Belmont has never been inclined to lie. But the ability to do it is still a luxury, one that generally he has not missed. Save now. Because the truth is worse. "What I thought was right. We didn't..."
"No. We did not speak after everything happened," Mathias agrees. The way his eyes reflect the light, there's a desire to turn to anger there. It's terrifyingly clear, and Leon cannot move from the light. The most he can do is to try and redirect where this goes. Delay the anger. Make his own point.
It's a point that begins with a deeper sigh of Mathias' name. "How much do you remember now?"
"Enough," is the reply. Terse. Unhappy. "At first I thought it was my own mind obscuring memories for the sake of diminishing trauma, I've seen that happen before in patients. What was it that you wanted to talk to me about Leon?"
There's the anger. There's the rage of Dracula, a rage that will be far worse once Dracula returns to the world. It's a sign of miscalculation too, and Leon knows it in the moment. He did not account for how that fury might be let out upon the world.
"About final decisions," Leon says. He counters the rage with sorrow. "When this all happened, I did not know if your own actions were simply out of fury. Now..."
He's cut off. "What options would you have me take?"
"There is Sara's. She refused to take any part of the lot of vampirism and fights it instead, albeit in another form. Or you could stay here, where at least there is one of us."
Silence is the response. Silence and steepled fingers, the gaze of a man who is both Mathias and Dracula looking past Leon and into the fire itself. It flares suddenly. Hisses. The heat intensifies, and Leon steps forward out of instinct. The silence is an oppressive thing, but worse is the response.
It is sighed in Mathias' voice, now tired. "Neither."
When Leon repeats the response, there is an air of the incredulous. "Neither?"
"It is clear from my memories that I have already made my choice."
Neither.
Neither and it is still the eyes of Mathias that watch Leon Belmont closely. Neither and it aches, because there is naught else that can be done. It is a decision made by a thing that may be Dracula, but has made the choice as close to Mathias as he could ever be now. Dracula threatens to spring to life in those eyes, but he stays away. It is Mathias that Leon sinks down onto the sofa besides. It is Mathias that he drags into his arms and kisses, knowing that the cause of retaining him is well and truly lost, and it is Mathias who does not push him away, but rather leans into every kiss. There's fury in every one of them, tempered by the same feeling of loss.
There is an hour until sunset in the human world. Dracula will be placed there, and in seven years, one of the two will kill the other. But for a last hour, there s at least time to say good bye.