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? ]
no subject
So he does the next best thing, which is give him a headbutt.]
It's a compulsion, stop!
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
[ 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. ]
no subject
[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.]
no subject
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. ]