miraclewhip | (for cryptsleeper)

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(for cryptsleeper)

[ He remembers- maybe about half of what happened last night. A little more, perhaps. He remembers the comments that initiated the fight. Vaguely remembers being dragged back to the inn. Remembers throwing cold water on his face to wake himself up to do the terrible fucking job of stitching himself back up that he found himself with this morning (if there was ever a chance to keep that fucking cut from scarring, well, he's gone and botched it).

And he remembers telling the fucking vampire things that he probably should not have told the fucking vampire. He doesn't remember the specifics but he knows that he said too much. More than he's told anyone in a decade maybe. All for the sake of a petty victory that he doesn't even remember if he achieved.

He's uncharacteristically quiet today, even for being as hungover as he is. He forces the almost-solid porridge down his throat when it's pushed in front of him. He drinks half the water that he was using to wash himself last night and pours the other half over his head to wake himself up after maybe an hour of sleep. He only interrupts Sypha's long, long 'discussion' when she stares at him for an indication that he's still awake. It's after that that he's dismissed to the back of the wagon, either because Sypha can't stand his presence right now or because she doesn't trust him not to fall off and end up tangled under its wheels.

(Can't blame her, being tangled up under the wheels of a wagon sounds better than being in his own head right now, even without the throbbing pain.)

He doesn't sleep, mostly because he's been told not to and he is, even more uncharacteristically, on his best behavior right now. The day is mostly uneventful until sometime in the afternoon, when a particularly foolish highwayman sees a wagon driven by a single speaker woman and tries to take advantage of the situation. He's driven off within moments, of course, harmlessly to both them and himself, and the worst that happens is that the horses are startled by Sypha's display and the wagon lurches to one side, knocking Trevor onto his side against the wooden floor. It's only after everything has been confirmed okay, once the horses are calm and they're moving again, that he places a hand to his lower chest. ]

Fuck.

[ It's warm. And damp. He's gone and opened his shitty stitches, hasn't he? ]

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[ There's a long pause before he speaks again. When he does it is thoughtful, like he suddenly knows what to do.

Which is not always the kind of tone one wants to hear from Trevor. Whether it should be worrying or comforting is maybe a half chance each way. ]

Would you prefer to have words for it?

If I said yes, it will happen and I will regret it. If I said no, then I shall be in this particular state for too long. Any answer damns me.

[Alucard's not sure what to do with that tone. It is...suspect.]

Hmm.

[ This- this probably isn't a good time. There's maybe ten minutes before something is done cooking, at most. And then there will be guests, and- Best to wait until later. ]

Once everyone's left. Not while you're in the middle of cooking. we'll need time.

[There's a pause. And one of the longest side-eyes Alucard can recall giving Trevor, which is saying something.]

What are you on about?

Can't tell you, it would ruin it.

[ And he knows how fucking scary it must be to hear 'I have an idea' from him. So he stands, approaching Alucard and putting a hand in his hair to muss it up while he talks. Because that fixes everything, right? ]

Not going to hurt you. Not going to get hurt. Not going to make you talk if you're not ready for it. That enough for you to trust me?

You needn't ask that last question.

[It's liable to be a very sketchy idea, but Alucard has long just acceptable that he trusts both Trevor and Sypha without fail. Without question.]

Once this is done, then. Or when Sypha's back from helping them pack up, if you'd rather her be there.

[ He removes his hand from Alucard's hair. It's soft, even against his burned palms. ]

In the meantime, I'll be here if you need to put me to work. No more grabbing hot pots, though.

[There's a softer sigh as Trevor withdraws his hand. Much fonder, and perhaps tinged with disappointment that it's gone.]

Is this the kind of thing where we'd be both in trouble if she wasn't there?

[It is a very serious question. And then he snorts.]

Princeling's never been in the kitchen. Doesn't know not to grab a hot pot.

Oughtn't be. Unless it goes horribly, horribly wrong.

[ Back to normal, at least for now. And maybe he won't be able to help, and those moments of everything being wrong followed by normal again is going to be the best he can hope for. ]

I slept in the kitchen. Just never cooked in it.

Likely. So all three of us.

[Alucard smirks at that. This is...better. Comfortable. Familiar.]

And curiosity never took you to educate yourself. I don't know why that surprises me.

[And they can go on like this forever, can't they? At least until dinner is ready to be brought out, and what a true pleasure it is to have so many people in the castle, actually enjoying it. The house needs that kind of joy right now. Always has, but more than ever, it is good to have the halls echo with real contentment. ]

The cook would have had me switched if I tried touching anything but the dogs' rug.

[ It's good, to be around so many people. To squabble with Arn, both of them accusing Sypha of taking the other's side. To eat and to laugh and to say fond goodbyes. They owe the Speakers so much now, more than they could ever repay. He helps Alucard clean while Sypha helps her people bundle up the spare food for the journey and then, when all is done, just throws three cushions onto the floor in the reading room (their own room is still not quite the safe, welcoming place it ought to be. Not the right place for this, not yet). He directs Sypha to take a seat at one, a little further apart than the other two, and takes one himself, pointing Alucard to the one that remains next to him. ]

If this doesn't work, just- I don't know. Punch me or something. I'll stop.

[It is very strange to be going into a Trevor idea totally blind. In many ways, Trevor's easy to anticipate, and this is...

...new. A bit confusing, actually, and liable to end interestingly no matter what. So if for no other reasons beyond love and burning curiosity, Alucard sits.]

Your confidence stuns me.

[ And he takes his shirt off, which is a wonderful way to start any plan. And before anyone can question this, he takes Alucard's hand and guides it to that scar, the one at his ribs. From back when this all started. ]

Start with something easy.

[ He closes his eyes, as if reciting something from memory. ]

Bar fight. Couldn't do my stitches right, so I had to rely on a fucking vampire's pity. And he took about the whole afternoon to do it.

[ He waits for a moment, then lets go of Alucard's hand and opens his eyes. ]

We take turns. But I just made you waste your turn on shit you already knew, so you can have another if you like. Only fair.

Do we all have to sit around half naked too, or is your current state a bonus offering?

[He's going to poke at that particular question very gently. But it is summer, and the castle was never quite made to let heat escape.]

And I did not take all afternoon. It was my first time ever performing the act, I couldn't well do a poor job of it.

[Alucard's hand falls away, but only just so.]

No, no. The example is fair, no need for repetition. Yours. Go.

I wouldn't complain. But there's barely any fucking point for you.

[ Trevor is a map of his own survival, all scares and stitches and bones that healed just a little bit wrong. Alucard, no matter what he has been though, is not. Just that one scar, one that they all know the story behind well enough.

There's simultaneously no point in choosing any place over another and every need to be careful. No doubt any place he chose would have a story, and if words will help then even the ones he already knows of ought to be spoken aloud.

In the end, he puts both hands around one of Alucard's. It's both his choice and a gesture of support. ]

If you end up fucking hating this, we'll stop.

There's other points on that front.

[The bed is still in progress, of course. New mattress has to be restuffed, the detail work on the headboard is hardly done. But there's familiar patterns now, and a few familar desires creeping up too.

Not the point anyway. Alucard steadies himself, because those hands are an anchor in this moment. The other hand stays in his own lap, unsure.]

I'll try. [It's such a good thought.]

We're both here. And we have as long as you need to take.

[ He squeezes Alucard's hand again at that. Carefully. Gently.

Tell me about your hands. ]

[In Trevor's hand, there's a fist for just a moment, and then it relaxes again. Rests there ever so quietly.]

Unharmed, mostly. The cuffs did most of the work of making them weaker to use. A few of those pins were put there experimentally, but it wasn't particularly interesting, I suppose.

[ He nods, and brings Alucard's hand to his lips, kissing as softly as he can over the inside of the wrist before letting go. ]

Your turn.

[If circumstances were just them being...them. Not all this extra horror, Alucard would straight up blush (or his version of it) at the gesture. As it is, he understands the weight and intention behind it, and there is a very tiny flicker of a smile.

The released hand lands on something above Trevor's naval. It was the kind of thing that was probably too deep and involved far, far too much luck to have not died from.

Doctor of a mother. He knew where intestines were.]

I think I called you a lucky drunk once.

Before I was a drunk, actually.

[ He closes his eyes, trying to picture it. ]

I was- I want to say sixteen? Still thought that I could fix everything if I just killed something nasty enough and left it at the church's door. [ He really is a feral cat. ] Tracked down a vampire who was dragging beggars away in Caracal - offering them work to get them alone, that whole trick. Staked him, but he punched his claws right through me. Fucker.

Nobody even cared, in the end. He was careful. Only fed on those who wouldn't be missed.

So you've always dropped dead things on doorsteps.

[It's a little flat and annoyed, but also so dreadfully fond. Of course he always did that. The Hold made it clear that kind of behavior was encouraged.

There's a gentle circle being rubbed there on that scar as Trevor explains, because the angle to kiss is a bit awkward.]

Your handiwork or a doctor's?

Doctor, I suppose. One of the people he was going to drag off knew a friend, who had a sister whose husband's cousin was a farm worker who helped cows with difficult births. He had a lot of ale, a lot of confidence, and a needle.

[ ...so a vet. He got sent to a vet. ]

Close enough. It healed well.

[You're here. And that's your turn over, Trevor.]

[ He reaches out. There are some he knows. Some he saw that Alucard was unconscious for the healing of. A little hesitantly, his hand settles on the side of Alucard's neck, just below his jaw.

Best to get some of the worst out of the way early on, so he knows for sure whether or not this was a good idea. ]

Remember, if it's difficult, you can stop.

(for cryptsleeper)

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