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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[ He sighs, not turning back to Alucard. He's not mentioned it for all kinds of reasons - foremost that it's not a recent injury and Alucard has more important things to worry about than old wounds that haven't been dangerous in decades. ]
The eye's acting up. You know how it gets. [ He might know. Only vaguely, because Trevor isn't in the habit of complaining about these things when he's sober. His bad eye does this from time to time. The world looks hazy through it, but that isn't the difficult part. It's too sensitive to light, to the point of making him nauseous when it gets bad. All the symptoms of a hangover, with or without the alcohol. ] Can hardly go out there at all for more than a few minutes. Too bright.
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It takes all the self control to not fly into a panic about this. Alucard finishes the blood because it's this or have no strength for whatever hellish road lies ahead. He puts the bottle aside. No more from Trevor, not from here on out, not if he's dying.
It's twilight now. He doesn't want to say anything in case he's wrong, but he can test it. The action shall be strange and Trevor's clever enough to know what it is Alucard will be doing once he starts, but right now they need mystery. Not divine mystery. Just enough of it.]
Please come here. Next to me.
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You still think you need to ask. [ He says with a chuckle, settling next to Alucard and brushing a few strands of hair that evaded the makeshift hairtie out of his face.
He ties his hair back for cooking, back at home. It's been too long since they sat at their own table. ]
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He knows how it works. There's turning, and then there are familiars. Those who take a wound or two and allow the vampire responsible to see through their eyes, but only at dawn or dusk. An old rule. A quick situation to fix between the three of them, but Alucard must know for sure if they are compromised. He stares, the gold of his eyes replaced by red, keeps staring and...
...there are eyes looking back at him. In an all too calm and steady voice, he lets out the kind of hiss that would have been a thing of alarm for the other two way back when.]
I see you.
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The bite, back at the castle. He'd thought so very little of it, with everything else that was happening. Sypha had been the one affected by the compulsion, and what holy water he had left had been used to ensure that she was free of it. But it had been him, all along, who was the danger to them. Between that and the thread- just how many things had he missed? There's a stabbing pain in the side of his skull on the side of his bad eye, as if even the lantern light down here were becoming too much, and his face twists with pain, but he keeps his eyes open, staring into Alucard's.
His tone is very calm. Very still, and no louder than a whisper. ]
...fuck. I fucked up, didn't I?
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His eyes remain the fierce, furious red of Dracula. His hair is still as his mother wore it. In no other moment has Alucard's two natures been displayed so clearly.]
Remind your overlord that she resulted to human methods of restraint and torture because she feared what injury I might do to her if it was one on one. I thrive. We will meet on equal ground. She will be bones.
[He breaks the connection immediately, eyes flicking back to their normal gold. There's no pride in delivering that threat, and again Alucard kisses Trevor, this time on the forehead. Sweetly. Apologetically. Knowing full well that this next night is for all of Trevor's fears that have been kept at bay only because the three of them are three. Alucard's always been the exception to the vampire rule, and now...now this. Now the nightmare inherited by all Belmonts.]
You didn't tell me you were bitten.
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[ It doesn't sound like a reprimand, and Alucard is very good at making it exceptionally clear when something is a reprimand, but Trevor is reprimanding himself so much that it's hard not to react as if it were one. He's very aware of his own breathing now, of the way his hands are shaking, as if he's observing himself from the outside as closely as he ever observed Alucard.
It's the pain in his skull and then the kiss that anchor him within his own body.
(He's going to die now. He has to. That's the way things are. Belmonts fight until they die, else they fight until they become. The becoming is worse. Best to die first.) ]
Shit. Shit. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.
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[It was wrong to use that moment at strategy. Alucard knows it in his heart, in his bones, in every inch of him that is now about to vomit with worry about how this will play out. He takes Trevor's hands into his own immediately, squeezes with all his strength. It doesn't crush. It comforts.]
Your family had stratagems and tricks for little infractions, the stuff that doesn't involve a full turning. [They must have. Can't fight the night creatures without a few bumps and bruises.]
Tell me what needs to be done, otherwise I will suck all of the rotten stuff out myself.
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[ He's talking too quickly, far from the usual slow and bored tone he adopts for everything. Alucard's grip is comforting, anchoring, and it's all that's keeping him sane. ]
Too late to cut the arm off, far too late. But- [ And he slows, very suddenly, going still. ]
-I can leave at shore. It'll throw them off. And- They'll find me, and they'll take me back to the Hold. There'll be something there. Something I can use.
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But the rest? The rest is met with a fierce and simply response:]
No. You will endure what I did but worse, and you will be paraded in chains for nothing more than your last name. I forbid this.
[He's going to ruin Carmilla twice over for this. He keeps Trevor's hands in his, stroking Trevor's knuckles with his own thumb, trying in vein to soothe.]
There is my way, but you will not like it.
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[ He sighs, gritting his teeth. ]
I don't fucking like any of this.
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They aren't sterilized. They have my blood, I...
[They could actually turn you.]
Please. Let me do this. For me it's sucking poison out of a wound.
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Will it work? It's- shit, at least a week since. Leontine needed the transfusion after three days.
[ The situations had been different. But it's hard to find comfort in that right now. He closes his eyes, sighs and just leans forward until the top of his head touches Alucard's chest. He can't meet his eyes right now. He's been stupid. So, so stupid. ]
Do whatever the fuck you want. But if it doesn't work, I do whatever the fuck I want.
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It did not taste as if there will be too much loss. [Sorry, Trevor. He knows how that sounds.]
But this is going to go against every instinct you have. [He knows what knife to use. But as for the rest...]
Not your neck. Your wrist is an option. Or the inside of your thigh.
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[ Is enough of an answer for him, but probably not for anyone else. He hates this. He hates every bit of this. And there are only a few things remaining that havn't been spoiled. The intimacy the three of them share, as far as any of them yet know, is one of them. And this- this will spoil it. How could it not?
The one fucking thing in the world that makes him feel safe. But he needs his hands. If he can't use the whip, he's as much nothing as if he was turned. ]
Ugh. Thigh. I don't use a whip with my thigh.
[ He wants to cry and scream and vomit, possibly all at the same time. He wants a drink. He wants a drink so, so badly, to be in that space where everything is warm and softened and muted and all he needs to do is sleep. ]
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[Alucard lets go of Trevor with great reluctance. Stands up. Goes to find that one sharp knife that Trevor always cuts himself with, because that's the sharpest and probably the cleanest knife they have. The incision has to be clean. It has to be perfect. And he has to make sure that nothing goes wrong.
He returns with the knife. He kneels in front of Trevor, knowing full well that this violates certain things too. There is only one thing Alucard tells himself. This is surgery.]
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And he sits with his knees spread enough to give access for the bloodletting (he had made a joke about this, hadn't he? the first night after they left Gresit. he doesn't find it quite so funny anymore). Eyes closed tightly, hands on his knees, fingernails digging into the flesh of them. ]
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But they both know it, and this is delicate work. Alucard's mother did surgery rarely. It was for those true emergencies, and he had only ever watched once. He was in his current form then, and his mother needed help. His father was away. Traveling. A man had been gored by a great stag, and there were so many fragments still inside. His mother cut through with a sharp knife, his mother removed every fragment, and his mother managed to sew it all back up.
He makes the incision as small as he can, cutting through skin to reach the vein. Trevor's left thigh, because when they're in bed, Alucard always goes for the right one. Habit. Trying to preserve what remains.
He puts no finger into the wound, pulls no skin back, and he curses himself for being at this point. Years ago he promised himself he'd never put fang to vein, never mind skin. All his administrations in bed were always careful of this fact, it was one of the reasons he was so happy to shower them both in affection: because he could be so very human in doing it. Teeth and fangs and tongues sometimes found each other, but that was it.
And now this.
He bites into the vein as gently as he can. If he fed, he'd break the vein, pull it out and glut himself on the spray. As it is, he lets his instinct take over for finding spoiled blood, and he drains it. Vampires drinking the blood of others is uncommon, but it not unheard of. These kinds of battles over familiars happen.
But it is not that. It is no battle. It is surgery and his is the son of a doctor. He will not allow it to be anything else.]
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It would be better if it were feeding. He had been willing to be fed from. He'd been willing since before they were what they were now, before he'd given anything close to a shit about Alucard. He'd made his peace with the concept the moment he knew that they would be working with a vampire. Feeding was- it seemed more practical than this. More necessary. Something that could be hidden behind a thing that must be done.
This only needed happen because he was foolish. Because all of his family's methods had failed. It isn't the location alone that is too intimate, too wrong. It's that he allowed this to happen. It's that this is for his sake, and not for anyone else's, and he cannot rationalize anything that is done for his sake as necessary when he himself is so completely, utterly unnecessary.
He tries to imagine that the pain of it is a loose nail on a tavern floor. He came close to cutting himself at the vein on one of those, once. The sailors- they will have liquor, and they seemed friendly enough. He could ask them for a drink. Perhaps he will. It's a comforting thought.
By the time Alucard is done, the shaking has stopped. He is still. Perfectly. His eyes are still closed, his breathing steady. The only indication that anything is wrong is a slight glassiness to the skin beneath his eyes. ]
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When he pulls away, the puncture wounds remain. His mother would be horrified as Alucard puts one finger to pretty down on the marks. He isn't Sypha, he can't channel intent to heal the damn thing. But he can try, and maybe it's the pressure from his finger, maybe it's real magic, but the bleeding stops. By the grace of God, it stops.
The rest is routine. Stitches over the incision, because while it is small, the cut was deep. Alucard's gotten better about stitches, and the wound closes the fastest that it has ever closed. On any other day, he'd be proud.
As it is, he's disgusted and shamed to have come to this. He'll have to wake at dawn and take Trevor's face into his hands again to ensure the connection was broken, but...he was just tasting Trevor at the end. So it should all be gone.
So Alucard just stays there on the floor. Reaches up to find Trevor's wrist and to tug gently at it, to let him know all is said and done. He's silent again, but this time not from pain or sleep, just mute horror in all the new ways their principles had broke.
That was how they managed, wasn't it? They had their lines in the sand. ]
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A drink. He needs a drink. It won't take much - not when he's lost as much blood over the last hour or so as he has. A drink, and- dully, he wonders where the sailors sleep. If any of them have enough privacy-
-that thought he drives out of his mind. No. No.
Fuck.
He reaches for his breeches, stepping away from Alucard and pulling them back on. It's only once he's decent again that he's able to open his eyes and lie back on the cot so that Alucard isn't even in his peripheral vision and- ]
How will we know if it worked?
[ His voice is- not his. It doesn't feel like it belongs to him. It's just a throat pushing out air and making noises as it does. His face feels damp. ]
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[The most Alucard moves is to allow for Trevor to stand up and put his pants back on. He's still otherwise, he'd be a hell of a statue if anyone looked in suddenly.
Finally, he stands up. Neither one of them wants to look at each other, but there's still things to do.]
You need food. And water. [Not alcohol, he thinks. Thins the blood.] And to not exert yourself, you've given...[every part of yourself] you've given me all the trust and care I could ever ask.
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He is divided, half of him desperately tying to find something that will make this all not and the other half (the one that spoke in Alucard and Sypha's voices) carefully pointing out why all of those plans were stupid. ]
No food.
[ The first half wins, deciding on picking a fight as the best solution to this. How the fuck is he supposed to eat, anyway? It's a battle just to keep what is in his stomach down. ]
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He gets up silently and takes care of what he needs to do. Sypha's been the most skilled at the three of them with making friends. Storytelling, it's all there is to do on a ship, and she is a Speaker. Her birthright is stories. This is her element, as much as magic is.
Alucard returns with water. He has food too, but he won't force it down Trevor's throat. (He wants to. But this situation is too fraught for them both. Trevor has all of his emotions, and Alucard just feels raw.) The water is placed beside Trevor, but then Alucard goes back down onto the floor. He's not even going to try to play nursemaid in this situation. It'll end in hideous yelling.]
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He wants a fight. He wants to hurt. He wants to drink and scream and jump off the fucking boat. And his mind stops at that last one, because he really does want it, and hasn't that part of him been quiet for a fucking long time. So he lies still. Perfectly still, staring up at the ceiling
It's a long time before he finally reaches for the water. His throat aches and he doesn't know why, like there's some sort of pressure on it. His skull still feels like it's splitting open around the bad eye.
He chokes on it.
He chokes and then there's water coming out of his nose and he's coughing his throat raw and tears are streaming down his face and he can't breathe and he doesn't fucking want to breathe anyway and fuck this is pathetic.
Breath comes easier after a few moments. He lets himself slide from the bed and onto the floor with a graceless thump, then brings his knees up to his chest and buries his face in them, a soft, quiet stream of curse words and choked sobs. ]
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there is no good in character alternative for 'NERD' and that makes me sad
THERE IS NOT god thanks 15th century wallachia
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