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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[ 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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[ There's- a lot to unpack there. There are things he'll need to come back to (it shouldn't be possible to force someone to make water holy. It needs faith someone with their mind taken from them ought not have faith.)
He reaches for Alucard's hands, before anything else, brushes fingertips over the long nails softly. Before he shreds something. He'll regret it if he does, Trevor knows. See evidence of his father's rage inside him on whatever he's damage and try to be rid of or hide it. And if he tries to be rid of this ritual, this tool that they have for making him speak- well, he'll think of something else eventually. But it'll mean more time with the pain. ]
Are you done?
[ It sounds dismissive. It isn't. He needs to know. He can't move to hold him before he's said all that he needs to say, and right now there's nothing he wants to do more. ]
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He does nod. Silent, not looking up. Knowing full well that the fear and anger and sense of defeat from that horrible fucking day is on his face and he still can't bring it Sypha and Trevor to see because they saw him so broken already. The full picture is worse than the mirror's teases]
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And then he moves, so that he's sat with a chair behind him supporting his back (sure, he could just sit in the chair. But he prefers the pile of cushions. And logistically, the chair won't work for this). He puts Alucard down in his lap, pulling him tightly against his chest and surrounding him as best he can. Where he cannot, because he is not quite broad enough to fully wrap himself around an adult man, Sypha is there and her frame is small but her unseasonably warm robes are long and baggy and between them they can surround Alucard entirely so that they are the only things he can see or touch. ]
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He doesn't really register the lift either. Just that he's in Trevor's lap and every last bit of space has been filled by Sypha and they're going to be there for a very long time.
Which is fine. His forehead is resting in the space where Trevor and Sypha meet because it's comfiest there, hardest to see them there, and if anyone needs to shift, easiest to work from that point.
Maybe this is what they might've done if they stayed the first time, before there had to be a second time for this. Maybe not. And that drives the collapse in their arms too.]