[ They take care of each other. It's not easy, it never is, but they try to make it easier. And some days maybe Alucard can't leave the safety of a single room. And maybe some days Sypha grits her teeth and smiles while ice forms on the hems of her robes. And maybe some days Trevor smells of something that could strip paint from wood that absolutely was not in Dracula's cellar. But those become just days. They're not life. Life is careful and delicate and more domestic than he's ever even tried to imagine. He hunts and tends the garden and Alucard cooks meals and Sypha reads and reads and reads. Dracula's work, not his family's, and the things that he dreamed up to make all of this easier. Using his work as a guide, they move plants to different parts of the kitchen gardens based on how much sun and shade they need, so to make them grow better.
And they try to treat each other the same way. A careful balancing act of sun and shade and water and vegetable waste and affection and distance and words and silence. And they try to grow toward the sun. ]
Alucard,
[ He doesn't write often. He doesn't really need to. He has two perfectly literate suckers to do his writing for him. He certainly doesn't write to said perfectly literate suckers because he could just talk to them like a normal person. But sometimes exceptions must be made. ]
Meet me after supper. The balcony at the east tower, the one that overlooks the old house.
[He accepts the feeling of fragility first. It's the easiest, because that's the plainest of all truths. Alucard is fragile. Brittle like glass, but aware he cannot shatter in front of the other two, lest he cause more harm. That is unfair to them both, because to be here is far more important for them than any of his own wants. And oh, there are wants. Days he wants to really have them leave for their own safety. Other days are marked by silence, with Alucard out foraging much of the day.
They're disasters co-habitating together. Trevor's drinking, Sypha's ice, Alucard's depression. It's awful. But it is balanced, and all three of them tend to that balance as best they can.
The plants aren't a metaphor, Alucard tells himself more than once. They're only plants. It's cruel to abscribe more to them.
Finding the note? That worries him. But Alucard compiles all the same, taking the long, human way up the stairs rather than floating. That it is a balcony rather than a room is a curious detail.
He walks out, hair messy from spending most of the day outside in the forest.]
[ He smells clean. Suspiciously so. He's still not in the habit of excessive bathing, and unless he was wrangled into a bath by Sypha, the cleanliness generally means that he's trying to be rid of some other smell. A night's worth of drink, usually.
The nights are getting a little warmer, but not enough to be out here without the pile of blankets he's buried in (he's going soft, being here). He outstretches an arm, inviting Alucard into the blanket pile. ]
I- wanted to talk about what happened. Before we came here. Back when she still liked apples.
[ He waits for Alucard to get settled, but no longer. The waiting isn't going to be the worst part of this, but there's still no reason to prolong it. ]
[ This was the reason for the balcony. So he could stare out at the sky and forest and land surrounding the estate. So that they wouldn't need to look at each other. But he looks at Alucard. He can't bring himself to make that distance. ]
During the attacks, one of his creatures found their way into a monastery. I don't know why. Maybe he thought it would be poetic justice, to subvert the monks into being part of his mission. After he died? They set about trying to bring him back. Didn't succeed.
[ He shakes his head. ]
They said it was hell. I'm- not so sure anymore. But it was somewhere, and he was there.
[Alucard forces himself to listen. To fly off the handle without details is pointless, no matter how much he wants to. Needs to, because someone is trying to invite worse harm back into the world.
Bringing Dracula back. Alucard feels himself shudder, and he draws his knees up.]
The fuck would I know? I just know that there was only one other person there. There are more dead assholes than that. I've sent more people there personally than that. I- know more people have to be there than that.
[ This is the last thing that he wanted to happen. And the only real evidence he can offer that it wasn't hell, that he hasn't condemned his father to something terrible? Could backfire so easily. He doesn't know. ]
-the other person who was there. She looked like you.
[Alucard's long accepted the fact that in any kind of afterlife that had an ounce of justice, his father would be in Hell. It was just what would happen. But for it to be true? Demonstrably? That's different. That comes with a new kind of guilt.
One that gets put aside for something softer. More broken. He speaks to himself rather than Trevor.]
Of course. Of course she is, why should she be spared?
There was nobody else there. Just them. And- they were together, and not hurting. I don't know that he even wanted to leave. And if it were hell- I would have recognised someone, distracted or not.
[ Okay, so this is going badly. Very badly. He didn't know what he expected, only knew that it wasn't right to keep this from Alucard, and-
-shit, he regrets everything. ]
Maybe they're happy. Maybe each other is enough for them.
[ He sighs. ]
It's better, isn't it? Than them being different places? I mean- assuming it was Hell. Assuming everything else was right. The other place doesn't seem like a place with a whole lot of room for doing good.
[ It's a quick response. Too quick. He shakes his head. ]
It'd be easier, if they were. It'd all make more fucking sense. It'd- [ He lets go of Alucard's hand. ] -maybe I'd remember what half of them look like.
Churches are run by men. Not any God, Belmont. They'll get rules wrong.
[But that last part lands, and Alucard chases after Trevor's hand. Squeezes back, because Trevor's problem? That's worse than Alucard's so far as the dhampir is concerned.]
I don't understand it. I don't know if I understand anything anymore. If that was Hell, that means- I don't like what that means. And if it wasn't, I don't know what that means, and I think that might be worse.
I've seen every little thing I know about the world challenged, here. Your father creating lightning and storing it and moving it around. Making water flow upward. Every last thing that she does. Miracle cures and fires that start themselves and-
[ The last is quiet. A confession. ]
-it makes me scared, sometimes. The bad sort of scared.
Dante isn't canonical, but he depicts hell as a place of layers. You can think of them like different cities or countries, and they all have their own geography. You might think of what you saw along those lines, if that gives any comfort.
[But it probably doesn't. Alucard sighs.]
What my father made here is things humanity can do. It's just understanding the natural world and putting it to work. But--
[He's bad at comfort too. ALucard squeezes Trevor's hand again.]
Dante just wanted to fuck his favourite author and you know it.
[ That brings a little levity into his voice. Dunking on poets is always a good feeling.
It doesn't last, but he doesn't pull his hand away ]
Am I? Because it feels like I want to see my mother in hell, just so that I know she's where I thought she was. Like I'm the kind of person who'd let people suffer because the alternative is acknowledging that everything I know is wrong. Like it I were the one holding the torch-
[ He pauses at that. He was talking about his own home but. Talking about burning people. Maybe not good. ]
-I like it when she calls me an idiot, you know? Because that makes it all make sense. Of course there's things I don't understand, if I'm an idiot. It's nice, for a while. But then- there's no fucking point in even trying, if I'm just never going to understand anything.
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SO HEY YOUR DAD SAYS HI
And they try to treat each other the same way. A careful balancing act of sun and shade and water and vegetable waste and affection and distance and words and silence. And they try to grow toward the sun. ]
Alucard,
[ He doesn't write often. He doesn't really need to. He has two perfectly literate suckers to do his writing for him. He certainly doesn't write to said perfectly literate suckers because he could just talk to them like a normal person. But sometimes exceptions must be made. ]
Meet me after supper. The balcony at the east tower, the one that overlooks the old house.
Trevor.
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They're disasters co-habitating together. Trevor's drinking, Sypha's ice, Alucard's depression. It's awful. But it is balanced, and all three of them tend to that balance as best they can.
The plants aren't a metaphor, Alucard tells himself more than once. They're only plants. It's cruel to abscribe more to them.
Finding the note? That worries him. But Alucard compiles all the same, taking the long, human way up the stairs rather than floating. That it is a balcony rather than a room is a curious detail.
He walks out, hair messy from spending most of the day outside in the forest.]
Yes, Belmont?
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The nights are getting a little warmer, but not enough to be out here without the pile of blankets he's buried in (he's going soft, being here). He outstretches an arm, inviting Alucard into the blanket pile. ]
I- wanted to talk about what happened. Before we came here. Back when she still liked apples.
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Alucard accepts the hand when it's offered. His touch is feather light as he climbs into the pile.]
Are you certain that I should know?
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[ He waits for Alucard to get settled, but no longer. The waiting isn't going to be the worst part of this, but there's still no reason to prolong it. ]
-I saw your father.
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But then Trevor speaks and yet again, the world stops. He stares. That can't have been heard right, but--]
How?
[A word. A whisper.]
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During the attacks, one of his creatures found their way into a monastery. I don't know why. Maybe he thought it would be poetic justice, to subvert the monks into being part of his mission. After he died? They set about trying to bring him back. Didn't succeed.
[ He shakes his head. ]
They said it was hell. I'm- not so sure anymore. But it was somewhere, and he was there.
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Bringing Dracula back. Alucard feels himself shudder, and he draws his knees up.]
Where else would he be if not Hell, Trevor?
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[ Excommunicants. ]
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[The questions are soft. Not combative.]
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[ He reaches for Alucard's hand. ]
I don't know what the fuck I expect you to do with this information. But I can't- I couldn't not tell you. Not forever. You deserve to know.
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So then you missed details.
[But that isn't as important as this awful realization:]
I put him there.
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[ This is the last thing that he wanted to happen. And the only real evidence he can offer that it wasn't hell, that he hasn't condemned his father to something terrible? Could backfire so easily. He doesn't know. ]
-the other person who was there. She looked like you.
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One that gets put aside for something softer. More broken. He speaks to himself rather than Trevor.]
Of course. Of course she is, why should she be spared?
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[ This is going terribly. ]
There was nobody else there. Just them. And- they were together, and not hurting. I don't know that he even wanted to leave. And if it were hell- I would have recognised someone, distracted or not.
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[He looks out. Over the forest. Over the setting sun. At the twilight colors.]
Alone with only each other. My mother without a world to do good in. My father with her, but without being able to rejoince in her brightness.
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-shit, he regrets everything. ]
Maybe they're happy. Maybe each other is enough for them.
[ He sighs. ]
It's better, isn't it? Than them being different places? I mean- assuming it was Hell. Assuming everything else was right. The other place doesn't seem like a place with a whole lot of room for doing good.
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[But only that much. Alucard tugs his blanket cape around himself, all but swallowed in it now.]
Thank you.
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[ He squeezes Alucard's hand. ]
It wouldn't have been right not to tell you.
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[For all that this hurts, it's still better to know rather than not.]
Did you really want to see your family there?
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[ It's a quick response. Too quick. He shakes his head. ]
It'd be easier, if they were. It'd all make more fucking sense. It'd- [ He lets go of Alucard's hand. ] -maybe I'd remember what half of them look like.
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[But that last part lands, and Alucard chases after Trevor's hand. Squeezes back, because Trevor's problem? That's worse than Alucard's so far as the dhampir is concerned.]
I'm sorry.
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I've seen every little thing I know about the world challenged, here. Your father creating lightning and storing it and moving it around. Making water flow upward. Every last thing that she does. Miracle cures and fires that start themselves and-
[ The last is quiet. A confession. ]
-it makes me scared, sometimes. The bad sort of scared.
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[But it probably doesn't. Alucard sighs.]
What my father made here is things humanity can do. It's just understanding the natural world and putting it to work. But--
[He's bad at comfort too. ALucard squeezes Trevor's hand again.]
You're allowed to be.
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[ That brings a little levity into his voice. Dunking on poets is always a good feeling.
It doesn't last, but he doesn't pull his hand away ]
Am I? Because it feels like I want to see my mother in hell, just so that I know she's where I thought she was. Like I'm the kind of person who'd let people suffer because the alternative is acknowledging that everything I know is wrong. Like it I were the one holding the torch-
[ He pauses at that. He was talking about his own home but. Talking about burning people. Maybe not good. ]
-I like it when she calls me an idiot, you know? Because that makes it all make sense. Of course there's things I don't understand, if I'm an idiot. It's nice, for a while. But then- there's no fucking point in even trying, if I'm just never going to understand anything.
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