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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[ He's quiet, since they came back to the castle. Quiet like he used to be - ready enough to pick petty fights or to make semi-witty comebacks, but not really willing to talk. Communicating exclusively in insults and self-deprecation. He's been keeping his distance as well, even on that sacred first day home, always somewhere in the hold or in what remains of the Belmont house.

(He'd toyed with the idea of rebuilding it. He hasn't done so. There's no need- they all have a home. This ruin can just remain a ruin, be a monument to the old Belmonts the way that the deeper parts of the castle are a monument to their oldest foe. There will be flowers growing from the ashes there in spring. All sorts of them. In winter, it's only those dark climbing things, the ones that always made it look like bats were crawling over the walls.)

Now, now that they've managed to get him into the same space as them, he's staring at Sypha, expression unreadable, and it takes him a moment to notice Alucard's movement. ]

Shouldn't you be pretending to sleep?

Should't you?

[The question is asked softly, as not to wake Sypha up. They've both noticed that the quiet has lingered. They've both pondered what to do about it, agreeing time and again that they'd ask about it the next morning.

It has been too many next mornings. They're in that liminal space of time now, both night and morning, and sometimes in that space, it is easier to talk. Alucard has availed himself of it a few times already. The concept isn't sacred like the first day home, but it is there and it is constant.]

[ He sighs, turning onto his back as heavily as he can manage without either waking Sypha (avoiding this is easy enough, as long as there's someone near to her she can sleep like a log) or managing to roll out of the bed (a significantly greater threat). ]

I don't see why I can't have my cloak in bed. I like my cloak.

[ That is so very obviously not the problem. ]

It's drying. You'll catch a cold.

[Clucking sounds in the distance.]

Have you slept at all tonight?

[That's the more important problem, and something Alucard didn't catch initially. He dozed for his standard two hours not too long after they all piled into bed, meaning that Trevor may will have just been awake this entire time.]

It didn't need washing.

[ He doesn't answer that. Which means 'no'. He hasn't. Instead, he just stares at the ceiling. ]

She didn't tell you that she was sick, did she? [ And then hurriedly, because even while he's being an introspective selfish arse he knows exactly how bad an idea it is to tell Alucard that without context. ] -Nothing serious. She's fine now.

[There is a moment's quiet sigh from Alucard at the response. He did not this miss this Trevor at all. He grated, and after so much time spent with a much more mature version of this man, this was even harder to deal with.]

You're taking on the mantle of heavy thinker.

[It is said with mild concern as not to set off a bigger kneejerk reaction, but whatever those thoughts are, they are weighing Trevor all the way down. One doesn't need to be a genius to know it either.]

Sometimes, shit needs thinking about.

[ It's half-snapped, rather than spoken, and even though he's not facing Alucard the cringe on his face is practically audible in the silence that follows.

He wants a drink. It's been a while since he's wanted a drink. ]

...it's why we got back later than we expected. We spent a week in Slatina while she recovered. The doctor there was an idiot.

[There's no escaping Sypha's grip, so Alucard's first instinct (to get out of bed and stare Trevor in the face) isn't going to happen. But the hand that he has free (again, iron grip) clamps down on Trevor's shoulder with just enough force to show that this? This needs to stop.]

Most doctors are idiots. That's not the point, Belmont.

[Surname only. That's thin ice.]

[ It really does not have to stop. He can keep this up until Alucard kicks him out of bed. He kind of wants to get kicked out of bed, in the same stupid, cowardly, self-destructive way that he wants to have a drink. ]

They sent the bailiff after her, to have her whipped. Because we'd told them we weren't married. And they thought she was pregnant.

[ The punishment didn't end up happening. Alucard can probably tell this much, because Trevor only sounds tired and slightly annoyed and not incandescent with rage. And also because nobody has ever, ever succeeded in making Sypha play along nicely with something that she did not want to do. ]

[It is so much for the better that Alucard was not there for this situation for any number of the deeply personal and extremely obvious reasons. Which is probably why Sypha did't bring it up at all.

But the emphasis on that last word, there's something to be said about Trevor not being subtle. In this moment, it's a blessing, because it means there's no more teasing out why he's acting like an ass.

Alucard readjusts himself, sitting up as much as he can in bed. The furs fall from his shoulder, and he makes no attempt to reclaim them.]

Familial duty is never without thought, but it's of no use to think it over in the space of only your own mind.

[Alucard is also a disgusting hypocrite, but that's because the other two aren't home as often, so he can't talk about this.]

[ They'd been careful. Moreso than literally anyone else in Wallachia, more than likely, given that the wealth of medical knowledge here meant that they could be careful. He should have known not to take it seriously. Sypha hadn't, she'd laughed it off in between heaving into a bucket (a flu is what it had been. One nasty enough to force them to find a town to rest her in, but just a flu).

Duty. Now there's a word he's not heard in this context in a long, long time. ]

What the fuck am I supposed to say to her? 'Help me decide if I think someone ought to vomit that much for the better part of a year, because I can't tell if it'd be a good thing or a bad one'?

[ Someone. Not Sypha specifically. Not that there are exactly any other candidates, but- god, he has enough thoughts on this all by himself without considering how fucked up it is to expect her to put herself through hell just because- ugh.

This seemed so much less daunting when he was ten years old and it was all planned out for him because he was the only boy. ]

Yes.

[Alucard stares at Trevor for a moment to drive home the point (why is it that the communication brain cell went to him between the three of them?), but after that, everything about Alucard's body language relaxes. Because there's only one point left for him to make, and then it's on Trevor to dictate the path this goes down.]

Or someone else who's spent too much time thinking about what is owed to those old desires when completely unforeseen circumstances have arisen.

You're going to make me have this discussion sober, aren't you?

[ He's not asked that in a long time. And he doesn't even need to ask, really. He has to do everything sober. Not because Alucard or Sypha enforce it, though he's sure they would try, but because he does. He's well enough now that Alucard and Sypha can drink in his presence without the temptation to join them striking him, but- well. Chances are that he'll never be well enough to trust himself with just one drink. ]

Leon Belmont's quest ended with your father's death. The line doesn't need to continue.

Has drunk Belmont logic ever done you any good? Besides, you'll let out the warm air.

[Belmont logic in general is...fine. But the point is mostly about moving, because if Trevor gets out of bed, then there's a greater chance that the conversation ends and he'll be in the same mood come morning. Perhaps worse.

No. That is the practical and rational response. [This thing the three of them do, managing the fall out, it's thankless work. But because it is three, it demands a network of hands rather than reliance on one family and one family alone. That is a fairer way to deal. No one family ought to shoulder a burden.]

Pretend that there's none of that. If it was just us, the circumstances far more ordinary, what would you want? I don't know isn't an answer, we wouldn't be speaking like this if that wasn't the automatic response.

[ He doesn't like it. The Belmonts have had allies before, but it's always really been just them. All of them linked by blood, all of them made as ready as they could ever be. There was no need to involve outsiders, to force others to face things that nobody ought to face.

Now, they have the Speakers for eyes and ears and mouths. Allies in most towns in greater Wallachia, mostly just people who sought out the aid of one of the three of them. So many people being put in harms way, most of them outcasts of some sort or another because outcasts are the ones they can trust, for the sake of people who couldn't give two shits about them. He wants to shoulder it all himself, the way the Belmont family used to. But he can't. They can't. This is the way it has to be. ]

If it were just us. If Wallachia weren't still fucked beyond belief. If it were at all fair to put something into the world as it is right now. And if doing so didn't mean half a year of vomiting for Sypha-

[ It's- a lot of 'if's. A lot of them. There's another unvoiced thing, as well. If they weren't destined to leave Alucard alone, someday. Because it'd force him to not just go to sleep for the rest of his life if there were a new Belmont needing his support. But- that's selfish, both to expect of a hypothetical person and to expect of Alucard. ]

I- suppose? It'd be- it'd be the normal thing to do, wouldn't it? If everything was normal. If you take out everything else- it's just if it would make her happy.

If it wasn't this as the cause, it would be some other external force making everything, as you've put it, fucked. The Ottomans and the Hungarians are still using the entire region as their buffer, and alliances are changing much too fast these days.

[In the great fuckening of the night hoard, politics still reigned. Alucard tried to pay attention to it because the machinations of Turks and the Hungarians impacted what they could do, how fast news could travel, and what the safest routes were. In many ways it made his being homebound in advantage. He knew what was happening and could advise. Not in real time, but as close to it as possible.]

Mm. I can't say for her, and this is ultimately her call. [Trevor's right about where the work lies. Alucard's not read his mothers own notes on the matter to get a great depth of insight (and there are two sets, general and personal and personal is filed under never ever ever), but he knows the basics.]

But beyond normal. And beyond happy. There'd be no expectations of family business either, would there?

No. Not anymore. I give exactly enough of a shit about this work to do it myself, not enough to force it on anyone else.

[ He gives it a little more thought after his immediate answer, though. ]

Enough training to be safe. There are still a lot of horrible things out there with old grudges. But no more. The Vampire Killer can go into the family junkpile with everything else, for all I care.

Do I have to curate the junk pile too?

[He's serious.]

I think that much would be reasonable. And responsible, given where anything will be growing up. This place was never childproof, not even for myself.

I'll soak it in demon blood until you can touch it safely. Then you won't have an excuse not to.

[ That gets the first non-spiteful laugh out of him in a few days. He's not going to make Alucard do anything. He's just going to leave him with a bunch of unsorted junk and far too much free time, knowing that he is exactly the kind of extremely fastidious nerd who won't be able to just leave it in chaos.

Which is to say yes. He has to. ]

And- Belnades. Not Belmont. At least until they're old enough to decide whether they want to paint the target on their own back.

How very thoughtful.

[The words are said, dry as wine but that laugh is worth everything. It's chasing away the younger Trevor that required stabbing in order to bring about any real change. Not that a second stab wouldn't be considered in Alucard's thoughts, but it would be vetoed by Sypha.]

...Yes. That would be prudent. [It's a thought that Alucard hadn't taken into consideration. But that kind of foresight is proof that regardless of decisions made, in theory Trevor's mature enough to do this.] You realize that there's a fifty percent chance they'll just want to live in the library and the Hold, right?

[ He's still pro-being-stabbed. It's easier than difficult conversations, even now. ]

Well, far be it from either of us to complain about anyone else disappointing their father. [ Joking. He's joking. And it's- still both an insult and also self-deprecating, but the tone's at least softer now. ]

[Why are you like this Trevor.]

That is the luxury we're afforded, through all of this. [The gesture is vague and delivered lazily. There's still one hand resting on Sypha's side under all the blankets, and the other is sticking out just behind where the end of Sypha's pillow meets the start of Trevor's. Movement is hard.] Both rock bottom and the highest heights have been achieved. Everything else begins anew.

[Dracula's defeat was one part of the equation. That there was a Belmont living in the castle and, for the lack of any better word consorting with a vampire was the other part of the equation.]

Highest heights.

[ He repeats that very quietly. Is that what this is? It- seems about right, if 'this' is taken as their time together, and not the ongoing situation. He turns onto his side again, so that his jaw rests against Alucard's hand, one hand against Sypha's back and the other reaching over her to rest against Alucard's hip. ]

They can read outside. They can't live in the fucking demon castle and also never see the sun.

[ That's entirely the wrong image to be giving. ]

Mm. It's the best framework for it.

[Alucard closes his eyes for a moment. His own mediations on what all this is, what legacy is born of guilt, grief, and the contradictions of what brought the three of them together in the first place. There's logic to it, and it tries to acknowledge all the contradictions that surround them.

The weight in Alucard's hand causes his eyes to flutter open again. The thumb there gently rubs against Trevor's cheek, soft as can be.]

This may surprise you but I also was outside quite a bit as a child.

Hard to picture it. But part of that is where outside is right now. Somehow I imagine that the castle wasn't anywhere near Belmont lands.

[ It rarely was. Not never, but rarely. ]

I spent half of my time in trees, the other half of it with the dogs, and did exactly as much work in lessons as I needed to to avoid the cane and no more. Not really any surprises there.

(for cryptsleeper)

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