Speaking of how she functions [And here Alucard raises his voice, projecting it loudly so Carmilla can be heard, relying on his father's awful penchant for the dramatic], here is the part where she tests all her pretty little words out against us to try and throw us off guard. All the better to attack us with.
Our family is low hanging fruit, of course. Awful and bound to work.
[He smashes the iron with a little too much gusto. It's good, having something to smash at all. The satisfying noise of falling chains but---
[ There's warmth to him. Trevor can think that much, for just a moment. Not much, but more warmth than he'd have expected, and more than he could feel from the half-frozen stabbed man in a village outside Gresit a year and change ago. He does fall forward when the chains break, legs having gone unused for far too long to hold his weight. Then the thought is gone, lost in a mixture of dread and shame and delirium. ]
Oh dear. Have I been outsmarted? What can I possibly say to draw you here, into my clutches? [ Carmilla's voice is no less self-satisfied as she flits back into view. ] Oh well. I suppose I shall have to settle for this old trap.
[ ...and with that she slams a foot down on her side of the walkway with enough force that the stone cracks, sending the turret crashing downward. ]
[The world goes sideways. The world goes careening downwards, and Alucard is the only one of them that can fly. It's a scramble as Sypha tries to get to the door so she can pull herself out and find something to catch them all while Alucard has to reach out for the Belmont and clasp him close.
Shit. Okay.
That's Trevor in his arms, and he weighs both so little and so much all at once. It's through floating that Alucard manages to get them both out the door, but oh---
Sypha's latched onto his leg for dear life. Shit.]
Can the ice be a platform or---!?
[she nods, but Alucard floats on, because being out of the turret is the requirement. Sypha's single free hand summons a giant floating patch of ice, cushioned with snow so they can all catch their breaths. It's a moment of reprieve. Only a moment.]
[ The room twists, and he thinks he knows what that means right now. He scrunches his eyes closed and waits for unconsciousness to wash over him. It doesn't. That's not what this is. The world just continues being all wrong as the ground falls away from beneath his useless feet and- his right arm still obeys him, and he tries to use it to hold on to Alucard. It's stiff and weak and it feels like he's doing something wrong, but he tries.
Then there's ground again, soft but solid and cold and he gives up on understanding anything. None of this seems real anymore.
The other two don't have the luxury of retreating into their minds like that, because Carmilla is very much real. Looking down at the three of them, she extend a hand and clicks her fingers.
The castle comes to life. Not in the way Dracula's does, not with gears and engines and a rumbling semi-conciousness. In the way that an anthill comes to life, all writhing creatures pouring out of the open main doors and clambering up the walls, winged ones launching themselves downward from the hole left by the broken walkway toward Alucard and Sypha. ]
[Alucard looks to Sypha, who is staring down the awful things that are pouring out of the castle. They have to retreat. They have to--
---or Sypha could ignite a wall of flame to engulf the castle. Sure. That's an option, and Alucard knows the next part well. He makes sure Trevor is comfortable in the snow, pats his head awkwardly, and then launches himself at Carmilla, all teeth and fangs and fury that has simmered for much too long.]
[ Snow. Snow is happening and that's- fine. As normal as anything else that's happened in the last few minutes. His mind can't keep up with the strain of it all at this point, and unconsciousness does finally come for him.
Carmilla steps back from the flames, moving back into the castle, and so she doesn't see Alucard's charge. She catches him before his teeth find flesh, gripping his hair to pull his head away from herself, long claws raking over his scalp. The burn from the contact with those nails is immediate - her poisons weren't prepared before their last encounter. She's ready for this one. The momentum from his charge isn't lost, through, and both of them go flying backward, the floor cracking beneath her as they both hit it. ]
Finally come to see me, have we?
[ She's stronger than she ought to be. Stronger than she was before. The kind of strength that only comes from an Elder Vampire devouring another elder. It is odd that none of the fleeing vampires mentioned the vampire Godbrand, previously so willing to serve her.
Her hand twists in Alucard's hair and she smiles. ]
[Alucard doesn't care about strength. She isn't Dracula, so she isn't his equal. She's close though, but that doesn't stop him from snarling like the wolf he sometimes is as one of his hands reaches up into her mouth to latch onto one of her fangs.
It is a terrifying risk. If she gets him, she'll drain him. But Alucard understands what's happening, and if he can make her life harder, than so be it. So he yanks that fang with a red hot fury.]
Shut up.
[It isn't a great comeback. But he doesn't care.]
This would be the least of my father's punishments for eating your own.
[ There is a howl, more animal than human, and a crack, and then the tearing of flesh as the fang rips free of Carmilla's mouth, ripping her gums as it goes. When it comes loose, there's a chunk of skull attached to it. Carmilla flips the two of them over so she's above Alucard, blood dripping from her mouth onto his face, one hand still wrapped up in his hair, and then slams the heel of her spare palm down on his chest over that great scar from Dracula's claws. ]
Still a little tender here, some days? [ She asks as she slams down again. Her voice is harder to understand now, distorted by unrooted teeth and ruined gums. ] He was good enough to tell me about your troubles.
[ Outside, a flying demon gets a little too close to Sypha for comfort, swiping at her. She falls back, concentration broken for a vital second, crawling backwards until her hand touches the dropped vampire killer. There's a heavy, inexpert slap of the leather against demon and then that hissing, burning noise. She's hardly a Belmont, but at that range she doesn't need to be. ]
[That howl is worth it. That howl feels like just a little bit of repayment for how awful the past decade and change has been. Oh, there's a sharp hiss of pain when Carmila slams her hand against the scar, but it doesn't matter. It's worth it. She's in pain and she's angry and if he gets her other fang, at last she's depowered.
But he can't focus on vengence. Not now, not really. Sypha needs him. Trevor needs him.
Alucard brings his knee up and knocks it into Carmilla, the hand not holding her fang reaching over to dig claws into her wrist. Escape is the priority. Going home is the priority, then moving the castle somewhere even more remote.]
[ Even a body with vampire strength is still a body, and pressure at the wrist loosens her grip. She brings her palm down one last time, this time missing slightly and catching Alucard's side instead, and then digging in her poison-tipped claws there. It won't keep him from moving, though. It's a last, spiteful move, not any real form of capture.
Outside, the ice is starting to crack but Sypha is having some luck with the whip. She has it shoved into the mouth of one of the flying creatures, tugging at it from behind like the reins of a very, very unruly, flying, carnivorous horse. It struggles and tosses and tries to make her life difficult, but she has successfully gained a means of escape for hem all. ]
[Alucard hisses when he detects the poison enter him. It's not lethal, not in that dose, but it's a problem they don't need when Trevor is going to be the center of their lives for so long now.
She's retreating, and Alucard must do the same. He flees, floating through the skies in search of Sypha and--
---Oh.
Well okay.
Alucard blinks once, aware of the tear in the fabric of his shirt (Carmilla's claw marks are there). But there's no luxury for a second glance. He does as he's instructed, grabbing Trevor and then....
[ Bold of you to assume there's a plan. Trevor's the plan guy. Sypha's just here to Sypha. ]
Hold on to the-
[ -she doesn't know what this thing's called, actually. She looks to Trevor, who is far too unconscious to be useful at this point, as if he's been useful at any point in the last 20 tags. ] -hold on to this thing. Once we're a good distance, we can- do something. The castle. We can try to make it come to us.
[ They don't have time to trek back to Wallachia. Even without her knowing of the poison, Trevor doesn't have a forgemaster's magic keeping him alive any more. He won't last long without treatment. ]
[Holding onto the night creature is just sitting Trevor between himself and Sypha, and holding onto Trevor like an anchor. The rest is wild, exhausted hope and fear, and trying to contact the castle as Sypha navigates the night skies.
The castle knows that there is danger. Sypha's made a few adjustments to it before they left, so it could come when called.
He starts reaching out, over the miles. The process is not instant.]
[ There's only so much she can do to help. She's tried to reverse engineer some of the fascinating work that Dracula did on the castle, but parts of it are fundamentally incompatible with her will. Too much work from her and she risks damaging the engines.
Also, she's steering a furious giant bird man, and that's not really ideal for multitasking.
Steering is a strong word, in truth. She's trying to keep the thing moving away from Carmilla's castle rather than back to it. But the whip is fast burning through its head. The thing's wings stop flapping before the whip burns all the way through it, as the consecrated leather gets too close to the things brain for it to continue living. And suddenly, they're falling.
Falling all of about four feet before coming to a crash landing on the Castle's roof, skidding across toles with just the demon's body to pad the fall. It's not the most comfortable landing ever, but they've just about survived it. And they're on the top of the castle. Sypha stands unsteadily and then dusts herself off as if everything were fairly normal. She's amassed a few scrapes, mostly from trying to jam a whip into a monster's mouth, but nothing major. ]
We should- probably move it again as soon as we can. She'll be following soon.
[Alucard doesn't know if it's the sense of panic that helps draw the Castle to them, his own sense of ownership, or something else all together. He isn't about to question it as it comes into view, almost landing atop Carmilla's awful horror house.
All he knows is that the sight of a night creature's head being lopped clean off is far too disgusting to deal with, and then they're all tumbling down.
[ She sets about figuring out the right way to do that before knocking politely on the castle's roof, thanking it quietly when it's kind enough to produce an open window there. Below, there's the sound of it rearranging itself, creating the most direct possible path between where they are and the engine room.
Good castle indeed.
With some awkward, careful manipulation of wind magic to avoid jostling him around too much by heaving him about, Sypha manages to get Trevor into the castle. ]
[Best castle, even. Because the minute the other two are inside Alucard follows, having rush by to get to the engine room first. It's not good, being inside while Carmilla is still out, but so be it. (Her fang is still in his hand.)
He's barely in the engine room when everything hums to life. Alucard murmurs to the castle that it ought to guide Sypha elsewhere, and so their path is no longer the engine room but the operating room, something barely used but essential right now. A wild fury of fear and anger guides to castle so very far north, out of Wallachia and into the frozen north of Europe, with no sign of life for miles and a mountain side to hide in.]
If anyone approaches, inform me.
[The castle shudders, understanding, and then goes silent. Alucard's own feet speed him to the OR.]
He has missed grey. Nothing in Carmilla’s castle was purely functional or less than beautiful. Plain, unornamanted grey stone is more comforting than he ever thought it would be. His brain can’t quite process the warmth, the light of torches, Sypha’s arms around his torso dragging him forward. None of the things that really ought to be of comfort. But grey he can understand. He slips back into unconiousness partway there and wakes again as Sypha struggles to heave him up onto a table.
He should try to help her with that. He does try to help her, but his arms and legs don’t seem to want to move when he tells them to. He can’t quite bring himself to be concerned. Blessedly, for now, he doesn’t quite recall much of anything at all from moment to moment. He’s aware of Sypha’s arms, sometimes, and of the colour grey. And of the smell. ]
-stinks. [ He complains weakly, and then his face falls still and when it moves again he seems to have forgotten that he just spoke.
He’s not wrong. The smell is- not pleasant. He’s rotting. It wasn’t so bad before, in Hector’s vicinity. Without the forgemaster here to control it, though-
One leg, the right, is completely useless from the knee down, wrapped up in the same twine that his arm was - at first to cut off the flow of blood to it and kill the limb, then to keep bad blood from it finding its way back into the body. A start has been made on forging it, judging by how the nails extend into long claws, but not enough of one. It’s likely to need to go. The same is true for the little finger of the left hand from the first knuckle and the ring finger from the second. The rest of that hand is grey and leathery save for the palms and insides of the fingers, which are large open sores.
There are more of those sores along his sides and back, some flanked by knotted grey flesh and some by rot. The cuts they began as are small but deep, little pinpricks in groups of four with a fifth below them. It’s not hard to imagine how they could have been formed by a hand digging into flesh. Less so when one looks at the silhouette of that hand in green and purple and yellow bruises at his neck, thankfully devoid of the smell of rot. Can’t exactly amputate the neck.
The ear and surrounding area are both the worst and the cleanest. The forgery has been finished there, which means that there shouldn’t, at least, be any risk of infection travelling to the brain and eyes. Like a wound cleaned with maggots. It has been left for a while, though, and while infection isn’t a risk from the cut itself, that side of his head is a mess of matted, unwashed hair and chunks of dry flesh and dried blood and pus that’s at a pretty significant risk of causing infection through anything close to it. Even through closed eyelids - and he has sunk into sleep again - the eye on that side can be seen glowing slightly.
The main immediate concerns are the leg and fingers, before they begin to affect the rest of the body, as well as the very real possibility that his body is likely to shut down entirely from shock. ]
[For a few moments, neither of them know what to do. He's gone into shock, or he's at that near point. There's so much gray flesh, so much stink, so much dried blood, that the emotion of the whole thing is overwhelming. Alucard wants to scream from the horror of the sight, but the luxury of time to do so isn't there. Not really. Not in meaningful way.
So preventing shock comes first, Sypha being the one to do the work of it while Alucard runs next door to his father's medical books and calls out passages of useful information to try and stabilize Trevor. It's hard, so hard, and beyond terror when there are moments that seem as if Trevor's slipped away entirely, but somehow, impossibly, the shock is chased away after an eternity of trying.
Ether is next. They need him quiet and unconscious for however long this takes next, and then?
They discuss. Alucard admits that turning Trevor outright would fix everything but then create new problems. Sypha agrees in quiet horror that it's possible but he'd never forgive either of them. If it's to be an option, Trevor makes the decision for or against. No other way.
Then the work begins.
One of them stays in the operating room with Trevor, the other researches. Makes potions and powders and salves meant to alleviate the smaller moments of decay. To try and promote healthy flesh. At one point, Trevor's leg is opened up entirely with clean, gloved hands and more salve to force life into deadening flesh. Trevor's blood is cleaned by an experimental apparatus hooked up to a blue stone that takes almost twelve hours to do the work but impossibly does it all the same.
They nap, eventually. Four hour shifts each, and then they go back to the work. Time again has no meaning. The fingers, they may just be beyond salvation. The sores? Cleaned and scrubbed at least, made neater and cleaner if not fully healed. The area near the ear is...well it's cleaned. The dry flesh pulled away, the rest scrubbed, sewn, and carefully taken care of as best they can.
Everything else is an awful waiting game for them to play. The ether is removed, but there's morphine in Trevor's system to dull the pain. The stone for blood cleaning remains attached for safety's sake.
Then they both sleep by pure accident and utmost exhaustion. Both human. Both flopped over each other. Both terrified of the future.]
[ The first few times he wakes, there's no real indication of it. A flare of the nostrils, a twitch of the fingers of the good hand. No more. He can't manage more. Whatever thoughts he comes up with are gone in seconds, and he returns to dreams.
The latest time, he's still not capable of much. He can open his eyes, even if everything is far, far too bright. Doing so doesn't answer any questions. He feels like he should know where he is, how he got here, why his body isn't doing as he says-
He doesn't. And he can't quite bring himself to worry about that too much. His brain feels soft around the edges, fluffy. Like a big fluffy white dog. He's not quite sure who he is or why he's here or why he can picture that dog so perfectly (all stretched out in front of a fire, in a room with a bed and a rug and an armchair), but he knows he likes thinking about dogs.
He also knows that there are people near him. A lady? Probably? Flopped over a man's lap, forward so her face is flat against his bed, lying in a puddle of her own drool. And the man, sleeping with at least a little more grace. ]
Wake up. [ He says, and he's a little surprised by how small and fragile the voice that comes out of his mouth is. Like he's speaking in cobwebs. ] Wake up.
[ He tries a few times to get Alucard's attention and then, whether those attempts succeed or not, tries to gesture toward Sypha. When that fails, he tries to point at her with his eyes. She snores into her drool puddle. ]
She's beautiful.
[ Just wanted to wake you up to tell you there was a cute girl. Important information there. ]
[Neither of them are surprised by how slow Trevor is when he comes to the first few times. Alucard's added a few IVs to Trevor's better arm to help get water and nutrients into his system, and to deal with the fact he needs extra strength. The fingers weren't improving. They had to go.
Making sure he's in a comfortable bed has been the most important part for recovery though. The room is kept warm by the castle and by Sypha, and Alucard rests atop the bed as a wolf for extra warmth if it's needed.
Other nights, they just collapse against each other. It's after a day of Trevor care and Carmilla planning, and every inch of them just wants to rest.
Alucard stirs when Trevor speaks though. He can't not and--
--oh, he's even saying real words.
He sits up carefully, not trying to wake Sypha. He'll get yelled at for it, sure, but she's worn as thin as he is.]
Belmont. Belmont. [ He frowns at that, trying to figure out why his mind goes in so mamy emotional directions at that name. Then trying to figure out why the man speaking that forename aloud is important to him. Then giving up, just looking up at Alucard with glassy eyes that glow exactly the right amount (zero) ]
You’re beautiful, too. So beautiful.
[ He’s going to be like this for as long as he has painkillers in his system. Which, for better or worse, might be just about all the foreseeable future. ]
[Alucard doesn't know what else he can do in response to that. The glow? The glow's absence is a relief, and he reaches out to place his hand atop Trevor's. It's a gentle gesture, one that has a little fear in it.]
If I say ‘pretty fucking great’, will you keep doing that?
[ Calling him by name. Holding his hand. He doesn’t remember why those things are such a big deal but they are. But bravado only goes so far. He tries to squeeze Alucard’s hand and the remaining fingers only twitch slightly. ]
Everything’s- bad. Hurts. Can’t move. [ He frowns. ] Brain’s all- soft and fuzzy and heavy. Like a big dog. There was a dog here before, I think. I woke up for just a second and there was a dog and now there isn’t. It hurts and there’s no dog.
[ but there are pretty people, maybe ones that don’t want to hear about the missing dog. ]
But you’re here. You’re here and you’re really pretty and I want to kiss you.
[This is a lot. Of course, this is also the morphine talking, not Trevor. Well, it is Trevor, just a very morphine happy one. Alucard does force himself to keep holding onto Trevor's hand though, mostly because the comfort it provides is clear to the vampire.]
You have a lot of medicine in your system to numb the pain right now. That's why it's very fuzzy.
[It isn't why there's no dog, but right now, that is't important.]
I am here. But you're recovering, and I don't know if you should even sit up, never mind attempt to kiss anything.
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Our family is low hanging fruit, of course. Awful and bound to work.
[He smashes the iron with a little too much gusto. It's good, having something to smash at all. The satisfying noise of falling chains but---
Trevor probably can't stand.
Alucard dives in so he can catch that fall.]
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Oh dear. Have I been outsmarted? What can I possibly say to draw you here, into my clutches? [ Carmilla's voice is no less self-satisfied as she flits back into view. ] Oh well. I suppose I shall have to settle for this old trap.
[ ...and with that she slams a foot down on her side of the walkway with enough force that the stone cracks, sending the turret crashing downward. ]
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[The world goes sideways. The world goes careening downwards, and Alucard is the only one of them that can fly. It's a scramble as Sypha tries to get to the door so she can pull herself out and find something to catch them all while Alucard has to reach out for the Belmont and clasp him close.
Shit. Okay.
That's Trevor in his arms, and he weighs both so little and so much all at once. It's through floating that Alucard manages to get them both out the door, but oh---
Sypha's latched onto his leg for dear life. Shit.]
Can the ice be a platform or---!?
[she nods, but Alucard floats on, because being out of the turret is the requirement. Sypha's single free hand summons a giant floating patch of ice, cushioned with snow so they can all catch their breaths. It's a moment of reprieve. Only a moment.]
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Then there's ground again, soft but solid and cold and he gives up on understanding anything. None of this seems real anymore.
The other two don't have the luxury of retreating into their minds like that, because Carmilla is very much real. Looking down at the three of them, she extend a hand and clicks her fingers.
The castle comes to life. Not in the way Dracula's does, not with gears and engines and a rumbling semi-conciousness. In the way that an anthill comes to life, all writhing creatures pouring out of the open main doors and clambering up the walls, winged ones launching themselves downward from the hole left by the broken walkway toward Alucard and Sypha. ]
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---or Sypha could ignite a wall of flame to engulf the castle. Sure. That's an option, and Alucard knows the next part well. He makes sure Trevor is comfortable in the snow, pats his head awkwardly, and then launches himself at Carmilla, all teeth and fangs and fury that has simmered for much too long.]
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Carmilla steps back from the flames, moving back into the castle, and so she doesn't see Alucard's charge. She catches him before his teeth find flesh, gripping his hair to pull his head away from herself, long claws raking over his scalp. The burn from the contact with those nails is immediate - her poisons weren't prepared before their last encounter. She's ready for this one. The momentum from his charge isn't lost, through, and both of them go flying backward, the floor cracking beneath her as they both hit it. ]
Finally come to see me, have we?
[ She's stronger than she ought to be. Stronger than she was before. The kind of strength that only comes from an Elder Vampire devouring another elder. It is odd that none of the fleeing vampires mentioned the vampire Godbrand, previously so willing to serve her.
Her hand twists in Alucard's hair and she smiles. ]
Isn't this nostalgic? Fond memories.
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It is a terrifying risk. If she gets him, she'll drain him. But Alucard understands what's happening, and if he can make her life harder, than so be it. So he yanks that fang with a red hot fury.]
Shut up.
[It isn't a great comeback. But he doesn't care.]
This would be the least of my father's punishments for eating your own.
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Still a little tender here, some days? [ She asks as she slams down again. Her voice is harder to understand now, distorted by unrooted teeth and ruined gums. ] He was good enough to tell me about your troubles.
[ Outside, a flying demon gets a little too close to Sypha for comfort, swiping at her. She falls back, concentration broken for a vital second, crawling backwards until her hand touches the dropped vampire killer. There's a heavy, inexpert slap of the leather against demon and then that hissing, burning noise. She's hardly a Belmont, but at that range she doesn't need to be. ]
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But he can't focus on vengence. Not now, not really. Sypha needs him. Trevor needs him.
Alucard brings his knee up and knocks it into Carmilla, the hand not holding her fang reaching over to dig claws into her wrist. Escape is the priority. Going home is the priority, then moving the castle somewhere even more remote.]
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Outside, the ice is starting to crack but Sypha is having some luck with the whip. She has it shoved into the mouth of one of the flying creatures, tugging at it from behind like the reins of a very, very unruly, flying, carnivorous horse. It struggles and tosses and tries to make her life difficult, but she has successfully gained a means of escape for hem all. ]
Adrian! Grab Trevor!
[ ALSO, CHECK OUT HER COOL NOT-A-HORSE. ]
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She's retreating, and Alucard must do the same. He flees, floating through the skies in search of Sypha and--
---Oh.
Well okay.
Alucard blinks once, aware of the tear in the fabric of his shirt (Carmilla's claw marks are there). But there's no luxury for a second glance. He does as he's instructed, grabbing Trevor and then....
...what the fuck is the plan, exactly?]
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Hold on to the-
[ -she doesn't know what this thing's called, actually. She looks to Trevor, who is far too unconscious to be useful at this point, as if he's been useful at any point in the last 20 tags. ] -hold on to this thing. Once we're a good distance, we can- do something. The castle. We can try to make it come to us.
[ They don't have time to trek back to Wallachia. Even without her knowing of the poison, Trevor doesn't have a forgemaster's magic keeping him alive any more. He won't last long without treatment. ]
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[Holding onto the night creature is just sitting Trevor between himself and Sypha, and holding onto Trevor like an anchor. The rest is wild, exhausted hope and fear, and trying to contact the castle as Sypha navigates the night skies.
The castle knows that there is danger. Sypha's made a few adjustments to it before they left, so it could come when called.
He starts reaching out, over the miles. The process is not instant.]
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Also, she's steering a furious giant bird man, and that's not really ideal for multitasking.
Steering is a strong word, in truth. She's trying to keep the thing moving away from Carmilla's castle rather than back to it. But the whip is fast burning through its head. The thing's wings stop flapping before the whip burns all the way through it, as the consecrated leather gets too close to the things brain for it to continue living. And suddenly, they're falling.
Falling all of about four feet before coming to a crash landing on the Castle's roof, skidding across toles with just the demon's body to pad the fall. It's not the most comfortable landing ever, but they've just about survived it. And they're on the top of the castle. Sypha stands unsteadily and then dusts herself off as if everything were fairly normal. She's amassed a few scrapes, mostly from trying to jam a whip into a monster's mouth, but nothing major. ]
We should- probably move it again as soon as we can. She'll be following soon.
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All he knows is that the sight of a night creature's head being lopped clean off is far too disgusting to deal with, and then they're all tumbling down.
Good Castle. Best castle.]
Get him inside. I'll move us.
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[ She sets about figuring out the right way to do that before knocking politely on the castle's roof, thanking it quietly when it's kind enough to produce an open window there. Below, there's the sound of it rearranging itself, creating the most direct possible path between where they are and the engine room.
Good castle indeed.
With some awkward, careful manipulation of wind magic to avoid jostling him around too much by heaving him about, Sypha manages to get Trevor into the castle. ]
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He's barely in the engine room when everything hums to life. Alucard murmurs to the castle that it ought to guide Sypha elsewhere, and so their path is no longer the engine room but the operating room, something barely used but essential right now. A wild fury of fear and anger guides to castle so very far north, out of Wallachia and into the frozen north of Europe, with no sign of life for miles and a mountain side to hide in.]
If anyone approaches, inform me.
[The castle shudders, understanding, and then goes silent. Alucard's own feet speed him to the OR.]
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He has missed grey. Nothing in Carmilla’s castle was purely functional or less than beautiful. Plain, unornamanted grey stone is more comforting than he ever thought it would be. His brain can’t quite process the warmth, the light of torches, Sypha’s arms around his torso dragging him forward. None of the things that really ought to be of comfort. But grey he can understand. He slips back into unconiousness partway there and wakes again as Sypha struggles to heave him up onto a table.
He should try to help her with that. He does try to help her, but his arms and legs don’t seem to want to move when he tells them to. He can’t quite bring himself to be concerned. Blessedly, for now, he doesn’t quite recall much of anything at all from moment to moment. He’s aware of Sypha’s arms, sometimes, and of the colour grey. And of the smell. ]
-stinks. [ He complains weakly, and then his face falls still and when it moves again he seems to have forgotten that he just spoke.
He’s not wrong. The smell is- not pleasant. He’s rotting. It wasn’t so bad before, in Hector’s vicinity. Without the forgemaster here to control it, though-
One leg, the right, is completely useless from the knee down, wrapped up in the same twine that his arm was - at first to cut off the flow of blood to it and kill the limb, then to keep bad blood from it finding its way back into the body. A start has been made on forging it, judging by how the nails extend into long claws, but not enough of one. It’s likely to need to go. The same is true for the little finger of the left hand from the first knuckle and the ring finger from the second. The rest of that hand is grey and leathery save for the palms and insides of the fingers, which are large open sores.
There are more of those sores along his sides and back, some flanked by knotted grey flesh and some by rot. The cuts they began as are small but deep, little pinpricks in groups of four with a fifth below them. It’s not hard to imagine how they could have been formed by a hand digging into flesh. Less so when one looks at the silhouette of that hand in green and purple and yellow bruises at his neck, thankfully devoid of the smell of rot. Can’t exactly amputate the neck.
The ear and surrounding area are both the worst and the cleanest. The forgery has been finished there, which means that there shouldn’t, at least, be any risk of infection travelling to the brain and eyes. Like a wound cleaned with maggots. It has been left for a while, though, and while infection isn’t a risk from the cut itself, that side of his head is a mess of matted, unwashed hair and chunks of dry flesh and dried blood and pus that’s at a pretty significant risk of causing infection through anything close to it. Even through closed eyelids - and he has sunk into sleep again - the eye on that side can be seen glowing slightly.
The main immediate concerns are the leg and fingers, before they begin to affect the rest of the body, as well as the very real possibility that his body is likely to shut down entirely from shock. ]
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So preventing shock comes first, Sypha being the one to do the work of it while Alucard runs next door to his father's medical books and calls out passages of useful information to try and stabilize Trevor. It's hard, so hard, and beyond terror when there are moments that seem as if Trevor's slipped away entirely, but somehow, impossibly, the shock is chased away after an eternity of trying.
Ether is next. They need him quiet and unconscious for however long this takes next, and then?
They discuss. Alucard admits that turning Trevor outright would fix everything but then create new problems. Sypha agrees in quiet horror that it's possible but he'd never forgive either of them. If it's to be an option, Trevor makes the decision for or against. No other way.
Then the work begins.
One of them stays in the operating room with Trevor, the other researches. Makes potions and powders and salves meant to alleviate the smaller moments of decay. To try and promote healthy flesh. At one point, Trevor's leg is opened up entirely with clean, gloved hands and more salve to force life into deadening flesh. Trevor's blood is cleaned by an experimental apparatus hooked up to a blue stone that takes almost twelve hours to do the work but impossibly does it all the same.
They nap, eventually. Four hour shifts each, and then they go back to the work. Time again has no meaning. The fingers, they may just be beyond salvation. The sores? Cleaned and scrubbed at least, made neater and cleaner if not fully healed. The area near the ear is...well it's cleaned. The dry flesh pulled away, the rest scrubbed, sewn, and carefully taken care of as best they can.
Everything else is an awful waiting game for them to play. The ether is removed, but there's morphine in Trevor's system to dull the pain. The stone for blood cleaning remains attached for safety's sake.
Then they both sleep by pure accident and utmost exhaustion. Both human. Both flopped over each other. Both terrified of the future.]
time for some EXTREME MOOD WHIPLASH
The latest time, he's still not capable of much. He can open his eyes, even if everything is far, far too bright. Doing so doesn't answer any questions. He feels like he should know where he is, how he got here, why his body isn't doing as he says-
He doesn't. And he can't quite bring himself to worry about that too much. His brain feels soft around the edges, fluffy. Like a big fluffy white dog. He's not quite sure who he is or why he's here or why he can picture that dog so perfectly (all stretched out in front of a fire, in a room with a bed and a rug and an armchair), but he knows he likes thinking about dogs.
He also knows that there are people near him. A lady? Probably? Flopped over a man's lap, forward so her face is flat against his bed, lying in a puddle of her own drool. And the man, sleeping with at least a little more grace. ]
Wake up. [ He says, and he's a little surprised by how small and fragile the voice that comes out of his mouth is. Like he's speaking in cobwebs. ] Wake up.
[ He tries a few times to get Alucard's attention and then, whether those attempts succeed or not, tries to gesture toward Sypha. When that fails, he tries to point at her with his eyes. She snores into her drool puddle. ]
She's beautiful.
[ Just wanted to wake you up to tell you there was a cute girl. Important information there. ]
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Making sure he's in a comfortable bed has been the most important part for recovery though. The room is kept warm by the castle and by Sypha, and Alucard rests atop the bed as a wolf for extra warmth if it's needed.
Other nights, they just collapse against each other. It's after a day of Trevor care and Carmilla planning, and every inch of them just wants to rest.
Alucard stirs when Trevor speaks though. He can't not and--
--oh, he's even saying real words.
He sits up carefully, not trying to wake Sypha. He'll get yelled at for it, sure, but she's worn as thin as he is.]
...Hello to you too, Trevor Belmont.
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You’re beautiful, too. So beautiful.
[ He’s going to be like this for as long as he has painkillers in his system. Which, for better or worse, might be just about all the foreseeable future. ]
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[Alucard doesn't know what else he can do in response to that. The glow? The glow's absence is a relief, and he reaches out to place his hand atop Trevor's. It's a gentle gesture, one that has a little fear in it.]
How do you feel?
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[ Calling him by name. Holding his hand. He doesn’t remember why those things are such a big deal but they are. But bravado only goes so far. He tries to squeeze Alucard’s hand and the remaining fingers only twitch slightly. ]
Everything’s- bad. Hurts. Can’t move. [ He frowns. ] Brain’s all- soft and fuzzy and heavy. Like a big dog. There was a dog here before, I think. I woke up for just a second and there was a dog and now there isn’t. It hurts and there’s no dog.
[ but there are pretty people, maybe ones that don’t want to hear about the missing dog. ]
But you’re here. You’re here and you’re really pretty and I want to kiss you.
[ flirting: nailed it ]
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[This is a lot. Of course, this is also the morphine talking, not Trevor. Well, it is Trevor, just a very morphine happy one. Alucard does force himself to keep holding onto Trevor's hand though, mostly because the comfort it provides is clear to the vampire.]
You have a lot of medicine in your system to numb the pain right now. That's why it's very fuzzy.
[It isn't why there's no dog, but right now, that is't important.]
I am here. But you're recovering, and I don't know if you should even sit up, never mind attempt to kiss anything.
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