Trevor 'The Bear Situation' Belmont (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
miraclewhip) wrote2018-11-23 08:39 pm
miraclewhip) wrote2018-11-23 08:39 pm
Entry tags:
(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? ]
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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You and Sypha should do woodcuts together and illustrate an entire book.
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[ Hmph. He feigns indignation for a few seconds before meeting Alucard's eyes. ]
Are you ready, or should we complain about my drawing skills a little more?
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[But he takes the point. And nods.]
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[ Softly, he brings a hand to Alucard's face, striking down it softly. He doesn't remember needing to treat any injuries there, but he saw the mess that she left of her forgemaster's, and how she'd painted his sister with rouge. She liked making things either prettier or uglier. ]
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Never anything there, save for my own blood.
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'f you run out of scars, just do what I'm doing and fucking guess. I'll tell you what I can.
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Mm. Take the do-over, since it is early.
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[ He half considers the hair again, but no. That didn't end well last time. He's not going to go for something he knows is terrible when he's already bending the rules to begin with. (The rules are there for a reason, even if he can't quite put that reason into words. It makes this fairer. Less about forcing Alucard to relive everything.)
He puts his hand on Alucard's chest. ]
Pretty sure I already know about the big fucker. [ That is to say, the scar that Dracula left. He can talk about it if he wants to (Dracula was there, after all, in that nightmare) but if it's not relevant, there's not much point. ]
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[The hair is cheating. Dreams took care of that, he's muttered about it before the hair is done and closed.
So the chest it is instead. And he almost laughs because leave it to Trevor to just call that the big fucker. But he takes Trevor's hand in his and traces down the scar's outline, because there's something important in it.]
Notice how the mark misses the vital organs? Heart? Lungs would have been hit, but not as badly?
[It was a controlled strike.]
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But this is not a time for minding his own business. This is actually kind of the opposite of that. So he focuses on the texture of it, on the discoloration of the skin, of the sole imperfect part of half of the best fucking thing that ever happened to him.
And he observes, because he is good at observing. In the same way he recounted the way Alucard slept so long ago, he says what he sees. ]
Would have just missed the vein here. [ As his fingers trace over where it begins, at the collarbone. ] Nicked it further down, on its way past the heart. Fatal to a human, wouldn't expect it to do a vampire in. Hell of a lot of blood. Ribs would have taken the brunt of it here. [ Lower, where the scar is at its widest. ] Probably more damage from the ribs being cut clean through and going into the lungs than from the cut itself. Misses the stomach, too.
[ Was he faking it that time he confused livers and ovaries just to be obstinate and to fuck with Alucard and Sypha? All signs point to 'yes'. ]
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But Alucard nods as Trevor repeats the diagnosis, because it's all correct. It's the scar that sits easiest for the exact reasons Trevor's outlined. It was a thing of brutal rage (shared rage, of course), but of some acknowledgement that it was still his son that was being attacked. A contradictory thing, a heavy thing to bare for one's life, but thinking of it as Alucard had long decided to do? That made the scar easier.
It's why he never flinched when the other two brushed against it. Beyond the fact it was rather hard to avoid, the emotions associated with it were long since dulled.]
There was some sense in there, still. Cold comfort, of course, but it allowed enough time to retreat.
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He kisses the top of the scar at the collarbone, where it's visible above the neck of Alucard's shirt, then sits back and waits for Alucard to take his turn. ]
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There's one on Trevor's knee that has always looked strange though. Like skin was removed and then healed back in place. His hands go there.]
This one's always looked weirder than the others.
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[ Honesty, Alucard could ask about the eye. It wouldn't be pleasant, but it was maybe the least shitty part of it. He'd gouge both of them out to undo anything else that happened that night. Trevor's taken note of the lack of questions about it. ]
I left it- maybe a month or two. But after a while I decided it was annoying and cut it open. Bunch of nasty shit comes out, and a couple little rocks. No idea how the fuck that happened.
[ Aka 'Trevor you fuck you need to clean things or at least get the bits of stone and dirt out of them before dressing them'. ]
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[He says it with the utmost exasperation. Trevor was right! It was stupid!!! And Alucard smacks the spot very lightly for the stupidity of it.]
I also wish I was surprised.
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[ Trevor you need to wash things for reasons other than avoiding turning. ]
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That's not my choice, just what you get for being such a shit.
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[WHY ARE YOU A SMELLY POSSUM TREVOR BELMONT.]
Smartest thing you ever did was let me near that stab wound.
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[ Trevor you literally just gave an entire speech demonstrating that you actually know your shit wrt anatomy you are fooling nobody right now. ]
Smartest thing I ever did was having you near me at all.
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[But at least that catches Alucard off guard, enough to stop the train to Stupid Argument Town in the midst of what's supposed to be far more serious a discussion.
There's just a smile on his face. Small and warm and bright because that's probably the best version of I love you Trevor's managed in three years. And maybe he's a little blushfaced for it, but it's hard to tell on pale cheeks.]
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He's used to it by now, but it's still something to watch the son of Dracula get flustered, even if he wears it with grace.
(He shouldn't get distracted, this whole thing is for Alucard, to help him, not to let Trevor appreciate Alucard being cute.)
He leans in, combing his fingers through Alucard's hair and settling them at the base of his skull, rubbing tiny circles there.]
I'm going to bend the rules for the next one. [ He has to, because the needles weren't one place. ] It's probably going to be awful. Tell me when you're ready.
[ He'll just keep this up until then. ]
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And it's happened over the course of these sessions. The jackassery. The judgement for bad ways of handling wounds. None of them are whole for it, but it is so much better than what it was.
His stillness now is the kind of natural, relaxed one that was always around him. How Alucard acted when there was all right with things around him. He doesn't want Trevor to stop doing what he's doing, but rules are rules. So he lets the scene continue for a minute more before nodding.]
As much as I can be prepared, I am.
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He places his hands on Alucard's. Touch at the start. ]
The needles. We're going to be here forever if I have to guess. Talk about the needles.
[ And then he withdraws. Only the awful parts now, until he can touch him again at the end and lock them away. ]
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Without anyone else to hold onto, Alucard's hands find the rug again. Palms flat. Eyes focused on the patterns worn into it already.]
Like the thread in terms of pattern. But with a different purpose. That thread was restraint, the needles were warfare of the mind.
[Trevor saw a portion of that in the dream. Alucard won't belabor it, because it descends into worse madness.]
Did you know she had the forgemaster hang onto the bishop responsible for all of this? [None of them could have known, the question's rhetorical.] Kept his corpse around for making Holy Water and the like, she used that as a particular weapon against other vampires back west en route here. Horrible eyes, even for forged creatures. Knew something was wrong, but not an ounce of resistence.
[There's a moment where Alucard's fingernails extend. Really grab into the carpet.]
The pins went in easier once that thing was on my neck. Hurt in all the little petty ways you'd think, but then she realized what that dead creature caused. How much she owed to him. And then she had him sit across from me as every inch of silver was placed into flesh in order to recount every minute of the farce of a trial my mother endured.
[There's that littlest bit of heat in the word farce. But it all falls away because the memory of it is so much worse than the anger at the act. No quiet. Just a shake.]
All the humiliations endured. The conclusion that since there were no tears shed, then that, in addition to all evidence, was proof of guilt. Because strength in the face of something like...like that was evidence instead of defiance. [And that was his mother, wasn't it? Defiant of everything. It won her love in the strangest place. It won her acclaim for her work, until that lead to death.]
And I could not tear myself free for even a moment to remove his head from his neck in response. I tried, and everything was agony for it. I...
[And there's the flood. A quiet one, no loud sobs, but there's an utter collapse at Alucard's shoulders that say everything. That was what broke him. He sat on it. Hid it from Carmilla because it'd be her victory (and an insult to what his mother endured.) But it was there and every part of him ached for it.]
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