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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Oh. Hello, you must be little Trey's friend. We're so glad he hasn't been lonely without us, but it's time for him to come home. Back to us.
[ The voice is not Carmilla's. It's softer, warmer, and that only makes it sound more mocking when the tone when it is Alucard who picks up the mirror is a dead giveaway. The word 'friend' is dripping with contempt. Outside, the snarl has been heard. Trevor knocks on the door twice before reaching for the handle to enter. ]
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He puts the mirror aside. The cuts from the glass heal instantly. He is whole and that is a refrain Alucard has been repeating since that one night Trevor was in his dreams.
The knock is a kindness. Alucard doesn't know how to repay it properly, but the most he can do is take to his feet and open the door calmly. When Alucard speaks, it is with the utmost restraint.]
We need to go below the deck, into the deepest part of this vessel before I recover that...thing.
[It's bad. That's what he's trying to say.]
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And- There is still noise coming from the shards. Quiet, now. Muted to almost nothing, but he can feel his heart twist even if he cannot consciously hear it. ]
Below deck, then. I'll let Sypha know-...
[ He doesn't move, though. He isn't moving closer to the broken mirror, but he can't quite bring himself to move away. He can't. And then he says three words that almost certainly won't improve the situation at all. ]
The mirror. Compulsion.
[ This wasn't just another attempt at psychological warfare. It was an attack, one that relied upon Trevor being the one to be summoned to look at the mirror. They can't draw Sypha in the same way, at least not without capturing a Speaker to act as the bait. It won't work, not without a clear line of sight. Maybe not at all, with the mirror broken as it is. But he can't move away. He's going to need shoving out of the door. ]
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[He hates those words. Those mirrors made so many months away bearable. Let them be together in every other way except being right beside the other, hand in hand in hand, curled up, close.
Alucard goes past Trevor, taking one large rough hand his finer ones. Holds tightly and starts walking, starts planning how to even articulate this new assault. Carmilla's skill at psychologically fucking them all up is bar none.]
What comes next pains me to reveal on any level. And I am so sorry.
[He keeps leading Trevor below deck. This is so that whatever reaction there is, the whole of Istanbul only hears the muffled version.]
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His grip is tight. Almost painfully so. Alucard is good at remembering his own strength (there were maybe one or two incidents, the first time they all slept together, that he hasn't quite managed to live down), and so that in itself is a bad sign.
Before long they are in the hold. The deepest part of the hold. It's cooler down here, all sound muted by the water surrounding the ship, and the crushing feeling of the sea on all sides held back only by timber and tar. ]
We go any further down, we'll be in the water.
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[They are in the bowels of the ship. Deepest and darkest. There's no natural light. And he turns to face Trevor, guilt and anger on his face making his face look so much older than either one of them are.]
Your family has some notes about devilforge mastery, so I'll assume you know the concept. Carmilla has one and...
[Fuck. He breathes out.]
When we arrive, I'll take care of this. You should not have to endure the action this requires.
[The tiny little piece of the mirror that still works is activated.]
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[ Anger doesn't come. Despair doesn't come. Nothing does. He opens his mouth. Closes it again. He considers those words over and over, turning them over in his mind. A forgemaster. They had already suspected that. There had been more of late, too many to be only natural or the remnants of Dracula's forces. Distantly, distantly he already knows what Alucard means.
They were excommunicated. They can be revived. Revived with some fragment of themselves still there. ]
No. [ He swallows. There is something in his throat. Something sharp and angry, where he is eerily calm. It's trying to claw its way out. He swallows again. ] Forged or not- [ They are still vampire hunters. ]
...Show me.
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Alucard's holding the mirror rather than let Trevor take it. And his eyes are never off him, not for this.]
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[ Enid. Second eldest. Quiet and bookish and always smiled more around dogs than around people. Married her best friend out of convenience, and slept in a different room from him with the maid who she brought into the household. Trained from childhood to take over the Belmont archives, even though she couldn't for the life of her remember most people's names. Had the dog who sniffed out the bad blood in their eldest sister preserved and brought into the hold after his death, indexing him under 'G', for 'Goodest boy'. Gentlest of his sisters, faked sickliness to get out of her training once it moved on from dummies to real night creatures. Adored their nephew, but kept trying to give him bones. Wore skirts that dragged across the ground, and let him sit on them and be pulled across the floor when he was young. Twenty six, when she died. Younger than he is now. ]
Never finished her training. Decent grasp on defensive magic, never used it in real combat. Do what you like.
[ She's not a danger to Alucard. And it's sickening, to be seeing her in terms of strategy. In terms of danger. But it's easier. It's so, so much easier.
And then she speaks. ]
A vampire, Trey? Is that what you left us for? Is he keeping you, Trey? Is he hurting you?
[ It's there again, the compulsion. His sister is gone from some of the pieces, a pale grey face replacing it, and he is still. Too still. This was a bad idea. ]
You can come home. Soiled and broken, we will still love you. We miss you, Trey. Come home.
[ His fingers twitch. His hand hovers over the Morning Star. Now might be a good time to turn that thing off. ]
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He takes Trevor's hands in his. Squeezes, squeezes hard, daring to use more of his strength than he would ever dare to use in normal circumstances. Center. Center. Come back. You're here, under the ocean, the compulsion is of no power to you.
There are thoughts in Alucard's head, half formed, about how this falls to the Church for being so foolish. But no. Never a thought to be said.]
No records of this. No testament to her. Nothing but bone, if for no other offense than this.
[Alucard remembers what that damn stab wound started with.]
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Tried to help that maid down out of a window. Two arrows, and her grip loosened and she fell back into the flames.
His hands hurt. He was reaching for the whip, wasn't he? Because of the vampire. He can't move his hands. Everything is blurred, like when he looks through his bad eye. ]
I can go home.
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So he does the next best thing, which is give him a headbutt.]
It's a compulsion, stop!
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Fuck. Fuck, fuck. Ow.
[ That headache is back again. The one that he usually associates with his eye. It's hard to say if it's from the broken compulsion or the headbutt, but- shit, it's a harsh reminder that that could have been far worse if he'd not been drained of the bad blood. He sinks as he speaks, until he's fallen to his knees with his body falling limb, held up only by his hands in Alucard's. He's found the anger when he next speaks, half-screaming. ]
How low- how fucking low-? How much more-!?
[ How much more can she do? Or how much more can they bear? It might be both. ]
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She's a good strategist, and that's part of the problem. Alucard can admit that much. And the fury that rolls off Trevor, that's a horror in and of itself.]
Until she thinks we've broken.
[There is a quiet urgency in Alucard's tone, because there's a truth here: they've already been as broken as this experience can allow for. Everything else fuels the rage and desire for vengeance.]
And we're very prideful, stubborn idiots, the three of us.
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[ Not broken yet. Maybe he's wrong. Maybe she has already succeeded, and broken things just have sharp edges. Maybe he's just fucking lying. Either way, being stubborn is the most comforting thing right now. He continues to just hang from Alucard's hands - it's better this way, because there's nothing to do with all of the emotion. He can't exactly go around smashing things - that would end poorly on a boat. Can't fight. Can't get drunk, for all sorts of reasons but mostly right now because it would end in him doing one of those things. Can't even demand that one or both of them fuck him until he can't think, because god, he just watched his sister's corpse. Sitting next to Carmilla. On their bed. There's nowhere for all of the fear and the hurt and the rage to go other than to turn in upon itself and consume, and the comfort that Alucard and Sypha can offer is warm and safe and pleasant but it can only do so much and right now it feels less like a warm blanket enveloping him and more like the same blanket tossed uselessly on top of something small and scared and feral with too many claws.
He wants to tear out his hair. He wants to tear off his skin and claw out his eyes. He wants to punch a hole in this fucking boat and drown and it's only been a few seconds since he said they weren't broken yet and maybe he was wrong after all because all he can do is scream. ]
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[There have been so many pains. And out of everything Carmilla could do, it turns out this? This is the worst yet. Because there's nothing to say or do or any way to help Trevor through what Alucard cannot even imagine.
He can speak of taking care of this burden so that Trevor is not forced to do it, he can hold on until this raging storm of fury quells, but in between there is true powerlessness. And it isn't about Alucard's feelings at all. There's few things worse than being this helpless in the face of someone else's agony.
So he holds on. Says nothing else. He is here and that is the only thing he can be.]
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And eventually the screaming ends. The tears stop. He can taste iron. It hurts when he next speaks, and his voice is barely a whisper. ]
She can't hurt you. Never finished her training. If you see others- if there are others, don't-
[ Leontine trained to fight Dracula. First in generations that they actually thought might stand a chance. ]
-I can't let them hurt you. I'll...-
[ His voice trails off into silence. He's still talking, still trying desperately to turn this into strategy, but his voice is gone. ]