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.
Oh. Fuzzy medicine. [ Expressions aren't happening right now, not to any real degree. His eyebrows move only slightly, trying to knot into a thoughtful frown that doesn't happen. ] You didn't use the dog as medicine, did you?
No, no. You wouldn't do that. [ A long pause follows, and for a while it looks like he's fallen asleep again save for that his eyes are still open, still trying to focus on Alucard. It's hard to make them look at what he wants them to look at, everything seems so bright. The medicine isn't doing a whole lot for his normal over-sensitivity to light. ]
If I take the fuzzy medicine, and I stay here and get better. Can I kiss you then? [ Another pause, shorter this time. ] Or her. And her? [ And. Yes, good. And. ] And her.
[This is ridiculous. But charming, in it's way. This is the calm before the real storm though, when they have to tell Trevor what was amputated, how many days he's been on the morphine, and the...
...he calls himself a monster, didn't he? If not, he'd have thought it, what with a forgemaster making experiment of him while powerless to refuse Carmilla.]
The dog's fine. May show up later. [He kind of wants to be the dog now.]
You can kiss her all you want then. I...am not very good at kissing. Don't like it.
Oh. Okay. I’ll just kiss her double, if she lets me.
[ He’s never accepted it that easily before. He’s tried not to push Alucard, but he’s never been able to let it be without trying to take the blame and make it right somehow. But he’s not really in possession of enough mind to try to fix or accept blame for anything, not right now. ] If you ever change your mind, I’ll probably still want to kiss you then.
[ And that’s that. No blame, no trying to change things. Just a reconsideration of kissing logistics. He manages a feeble, lopsided, impossibly genuine attempt at a smile. ]
I love you, I think. Both of you. Even if I can’t kiss anyone at all.
[Sypha's a creature of affection, just like Trevor is in his own, reserved way. Alucard will never be like that, not really. Not in their lifetimes at least,, and that thought? That thought finally prompts him to withdraw his hand from Trevor's. It's a slow movement, that way the Belmont has no suspicions raised, but the coldness of his hand is very much gone.]
We love you too. [It's the easiest time either of them have said those words. Probably the easiest time Trevor's had of smiling.]
Try and get more rest. The dog'll come back in a little while.
[ There’s a week of this, give or take. Sypha’s glad for it, leaning down so he can, in fact kiss her. Distracting him from trying to raise his trembling hand to pet the dog (he doesn’t like it, let him be and he’ll stay here nicely). It reenergises her, and she needs the help. But it doesn’t last. He remembers, and at first that’s a blessing in itself. He’s delighted to remember their names, repeating them over and over in wonder. But then, while Alucard tries to change the IV bag- ]
No.
[ He tries to pull the line out of his arm. That doesn’t happen, his arms just flopping about. ]
Can’t- can’t dog medicine anymore. She’ll be here soon and- I need to remember what I told her. You need to know what she knows.
[Alucard sleeps little during the week. It's fine, really. He's too focused on Trevor's medical care to really panic about Carmilla, and Trevor's loopiness takes some of the edge off.
He lets himself be pet a few times. Trevor's earned it, even if Alucard tenses. It used to be much worse, and the dog stays too.
...and then Trevor says no, and it's vampire speed that responds. Keeps the arm down and steady.]
[ He doesn't remember. He barely remembers where he is or who these people are, most days. He's just stupid and happy. And scared, now. Very, very scared. ]
-things. About the castle. About- I don't remember. Too fuzzy.
[ He remembers some things. He remembers that he promised he'd keep taking the medicine that makes the edges of his thoughts all soft. And he doesn't want to break that promise. But he needs to remember. He needs to. He did- something wrong. And people are going to be hurt by it. Blame, that one thing he's been gloriously incapable of for the last week, comes crashing back. ]
It's only because Alucard looks down and sees Trevor's amputated fingers that he doesn't break into a full out panic. Instead, the panic is muted and morphs into a soft, wolf like whine of distress. It may sound familiar to Trevor. It may not.]
I...I understand why you did it.
[After that kind of torture? It's impossible not to understand.]
I can't let you stop this medicine in one fell swoop, but I'm going to lessen it a little each time then, okay? Just until the details come back to you.
The hours that follow are awful. The pain had been present before, a terrible gnawing thing, but muted. Distant. Now, now it is all-consuming. Even on a lower dose rather than nothing at all, it’s close to unbearable. For a dreadful few hours, before his mind catches up, he’s still soft and confused and doesn’t understand why this is happening. There’s choked sobbing until his voice goes hoarse. Constant apologies, as if something can forgive him and that might make it stop hurting.
He wears himself out and finally manages to sleep. When he wakes again, he’s silent and unresponsive. Sypha finds that worse than the sobbing. ]
Hidden passages. [ He says it as Alucard passes, voice monotonous and exhausted. ] Between the feeding cells and Dracula’s study. Between there and the engines.
[ The passage can’t be altered by the castle. A precaution, in case the castle ever fell into the control of an enemy. A way for Dracula to feed through a siege and move to the engine room to regain control. ]
[Alucard sits with him for the entire ordeal. It is wrong, leaving Trevor alone in such a state. Unforgiveable, even if this particular event might ask the question of the vampire's limits for forgiveness.
But he's there. Holds Trevor awkwardly during the sobs, tries to shush him when the apologies become too much. He sleeps when Trevor does, only from exhaustion and--
--oh, it is the worst possible thing, isn't it? The fail safes his father made, turned against him.]
All the passages, or just the ones that are immutable and immovable?
[There are other such passages too, but the cells, the study, and the engine are the primary triangle.]
[ He’d told her the others first, the ones that mattered least. The ways from unimportant room to unimportant room. The remnants of Dracula’s squabbles with the castle in its youth, when it had decided that it didn’t want him to go from the music room to the library and he’d forced the matter. In the end, though- ]
-two days away. She’s two days away. Take me off this medicine.
[ Trevor you can’t even scratch your nose you’re not going to be fighting anyone no matter how many drugs you are or are not on ]
[ He wants to argue. He made this mess. He needs to fix it, regardless of his ability to actually do so. He’s always got up again and kept going, this shouldn’t be different.
Except it is, in so many ways. He needs to fix what he’s broken, but he also owes them both. He can be obedient, at the very least. ]
-I’ll try. [ A pause. ] Bring a blindfold, if you come back.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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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No, no. You wouldn't do that. [ A long pause follows, and for a while it looks like he's fallen asleep again save for that his eyes are still open, still trying to focus on Alucard. It's hard to make them look at what he wants them to look at, everything seems so bright. The medicine isn't doing a whole lot for his normal over-sensitivity to light. ]
If I take the fuzzy medicine, and I stay here and get better. Can I kiss you then? [ Another pause, shorter this time. ] Or her. And her? [ And. Yes, good. And. ] And her.
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[This is ridiculous. But charming, in it's way. This is the calm before the real storm though, when they have to tell Trevor what was amputated, how many days he's been on the morphine, and the...
...he calls himself a monster, didn't he? If not, he'd have thought it, what with a forgemaster making experiment of him while powerless to refuse Carmilla.]
The dog's fine. May show up later. [He kind of wants to be the dog now.]
You can kiss her all you want then. I...am not very good at kissing. Don't like it.
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[ He’s never accepted it that easily before. He’s tried not to push Alucard, but he’s never been able to let it be without trying to take the blame and make it right somehow. But he’s not really in possession of enough mind to try to fix or accept blame for anything, not right now. ] If you ever change your mind, I’ll probably still want to kiss you then.
[ And that’s that. No blame, no trying to change things. Just a reconsideration of kissing logistics. He manages a feeble, lopsided, impossibly genuine attempt at a smile. ]
I love you, I think. Both of you. Even if I can’t kiss anyone at all.
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[Sypha's a creature of affection, just like Trevor is in his own, reserved way. Alucard will never be like that, not really. Not in their lifetimes at least,, and that thought? That thought finally prompts him to withdraw his hand from Trevor's. It's a slow movement, that way the Belmont has no suspicions raised, but the coldness of his hand is very much gone.]
We love you too. [It's the easiest time either of them have said those words. Probably the easiest time Trevor's had of smiling.]
Try and get more rest. The dog'll come back in a little while.
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No.
[ He tries to pull the line out of his arm. That doesn’t happen, his arms just flopping about. ]
Can’t- can’t dog medicine anymore. She’ll be here soon and- I need to remember what I told her. You need to know what she knows.
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He lets himself be pet a few times. Trevor's earned it, even if Alucard tenses. It used to be much worse, and the dog stays too.
...and then Trevor says no, and it's vampire speed that responds. Keeps the arm down and steady.]
Carmilla knows what, exactly?
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[ He doesn't remember. He barely remembers where he is or who these people are, most days. He's just stupid and happy. And scared, now. Very, very scared. ]
-things. About the castle. About- I don't remember. Too fuzzy.
[ He remembers some things. He remembers that he promised he'd keep taking the medicine that makes the edges of his thoughts all soft. And he doesn't want to break that promise. But he needs to remember. He needs to. He did- something wrong. And people are going to be hurt by it. Blame, that one thing he's been gloriously incapable of for the last week, comes crashing back. ]
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
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Carmilla knows details about the castle.
Fuck him.
It's only because Alucard looks down and sees Trevor's amputated fingers that he doesn't break into a full out panic. Instead, the panic is muted and morphs into a soft, wolf like whine of distress. It may sound familiar to Trevor. It may not.]
I...I understand why you did it.
[After that kind of torture? It's impossible not to understand.]
I can't let you stop this medicine in one fell swoop, but I'm going to lessen it a little each time then, okay? Just until the details come back to you.
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The hours that follow are awful. The pain had been present before, a terrible gnawing thing, but muted. Distant. Now, now it is all-consuming. Even on a lower dose rather than nothing at all, it’s close to unbearable. For a dreadful few hours, before his mind catches up, he’s still soft and confused and doesn’t understand why this is happening. There’s choked sobbing until his voice goes hoarse. Constant apologies, as if something can forgive him and that might make it stop hurting.
He wears himself out and finally manages to sleep. When he wakes again, he’s silent and unresponsive. Sypha finds that worse than the sobbing. ]
Hidden passages. [ He says it as Alucard passes, voice monotonous and exhausted. ] Between the feeding cells and Dracula’s study. Between there and the engines.
[ The passage can’t be altered by the castle. A precaution, in case the castle ever fell into the control of an enemy. A way for Dracula to feed through a siege and move to the engine room to regain control. ]
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But he's there. Holds Trevor awkwardly during the sobs, tries to shush him when the apologies become too much. He sleeps when Trevor does, only from exhaustion and--
--oh, it is the worst possible thing, isn't it? The fail safes his father made, turned against him.]
All the passages, or just the ones that are immutable and immovable?
[There are other such passages too, but the cells, the study, and the engine are the primary triangle.]
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[ He’d told her the others first, the ones that mattered least. The ways from unimportant room to unimportant room. The remnants of Dracula’s squabbles with the castle in its youth, when it had decided that it didn’t want him to go from the music room to the library and he’d forced the matter. In the end, though- ]
-two days away. She’s two days away. Take me off this medicine.
[ Trevor you can’t even scratch your nose you’re not going to be fighting anyone no matter how many drugs you are or are not on ]
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[It's a calm, level question. Given that Carmilla's being discussed, that's somethng like a miracle.]
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[ Try a week and change, buddy. ]
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[He tuts, shaking his head.]
She'll want you almost better before she attacks.
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[ He thinks for a second, and then he’s trying to get up. That doesn’t happen. His body twitches a little, but stays in the bed. ]
Sypha’s caravan. She knows- I told her their route. Shit. Shit.
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[Sypha has her means of doing that. If there is a true problem, then they'll go address it. Probably soon.]
But if I leave this room, promise me you won't try and get up. Or move. Or anything.
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[ He wants to argue. He made this mess. He needs to fix it, regardless of his ability to actually do so. He’s always got up again and kept going, this shouldn’t be different.
Except it is, in so many ways. He needs to fix what he’s broken, but he also owes them both. He can be obedient, at the very least. ]
-I’ll try. [ A pause. ] Bring a blindfold, if you come back.
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