Chapter Text
They never should have left him on his own, that much is clear.
He’s been hurting without them, and while Trevor is staring at the brand new stone being laid down over the foundations of what was once his home, Sypha rushes forwards. She leaps to envelop him in a hug, robes flying.
“You! You stay with us from now on, okay?!” she demands.
Not one of them is alone for so long again, not after that day. Not after seeing the dolls. Yes, Alucard tries to play it off as something funny, doing his best impression of them both, but he’s not fooling either of them.
Falling into the same bed together feels like the most natural thing in the world. Before long, their emotions are so tied up in one another that it would be impossible to pull their lives apart, even if they tried. One or two of them might leave for supplies or to gather information or to deal with something harmful to the people living in the towns and villages in the area, but they’re never away for longer than a fortnight. Usually, it’s just a week at the most.
The best days are the ones where they go out together.
It’s the day of the summer solstice and Trevor is taking them to the nearest town for them to share in the Midsummer festivities. Everyone is getting together to celebrate the upcoming harvest, and after an end to the fear of the last couple of years, the atmosphere is brighter and louder and rowdier than usual. It hasn’t even struck noon yet and people are already drunk in the street.
Sypha grabs Trevor’s collar before he can slip away to join them. He turns and gives her a pleading look.
“One,” she relents.
He grins and they go over to a stall which is very popular. There’s a bit of a crowd, but they - for the most part - respectfully make room to let the three of them through. It’s not like they can keep a low profile, and everyone in these parts knows them in some way.
Trevor does not pay for his tankard - all three of them are well-known now - and they shuffle away to let the brewer take another person’s coin. He props up a wall to drink and they pause, look around, get an idea of what there is on offer.
Everywhere their eyes land, there is something to draw attention, some delight for the senses. A band of musicians has already taken ownership of the main square, and individual buskers have marked out their claims around the streets. Women are offering beautifully embroidered works of all kinds, picked out in dandelion yellows and rich greens and bright scarlets. Games of skill and chance abound, and Sypha is already quietly making plans for them to compete against one another. More importantly, she’s deciding exactly what tactics she needs to use to beat them.
But first, once Trevor has finished the last drops of beer, she drags them over to a baker selling pastries and sweet rolls and cakes of all kinds.
Thin rays of sun slip through holes in the awning and bounce off the glaze on top of the charmingly-shaped rolls. Some of them have been formed into little birds, others have been plaited and woven together, still more have been made into flowers. She greedily breathes in the smell of freshly-baked bread and a comfortable warmth settles in her chest, teasing the smile that always plays at her lips into something bigger and brighter.
She walks away with a roll shaped like a hedgehog, still hot to the touch. When she bites into it, the sweetness of a smooth apple compôte bursts out over her tongue. A surprised bubble of laughter bursts out of her, but before she can wipe a little drip of apple from her chin, a smooth thumb is already there for her.
“What’s left of last year’s harvest, I’d imagine,” Alucard says after he licks his thumb clean. “Smooth. Very nicely made.”
She elbows him playfully in the ribs. “And it’s mine! You had your chance and you got that boring cheese roll instead!”
He concedes her point and the three of them wander off to look at one of the games of skill. It’s a fairly simple targeting game, but of course, Trevor decides to get competitive.
“I could beat you with my right hand behind my back,” he brags.
“Well, I could defeat you while blindfolded,” Sypha retorts with a wide smile. They fall into a discussion of rules and handicaps and, of course, what kind of forfeit he will have to carry out when he loses. Alucard stands back and watches with a fondly exasperated smile on his face and, if Trevor were asked, a deep sense of smug superiority nestled deep in his soul.
She hadn’t killed Dracula or moved his castle or found her sleeping soldier by entertaining the possibility of defeat, and she isn’t going to start now.
When they’ve finished ironing out the details - it’s not bickering, she’s above her boys’ pettiness - Alucard has disappeared. And not in the ‘I’ve slipped away to find a nice surprise for you two’ way, but in a way that has a deep, cold weight settling in her chest and constricting her throat.
She shares a look with Trevor. He nods. They split up, circle around the stalls, find each other again with no luck and down one dhampir.
“He can’t have gone far.”
“I asked around - nobody’s seen him.”
When they find out that he got himself kidnapped , Sypha instantly turns to glare at Trevor and elbow him in the ribs. This is serious!
He’s unrepentant, even if he does try to look at least sheepish, if not apologetic. To nobody’s surprise.
Sypha suspects she’ll probably see the funny side of things after he’s back safe with them.
When a cart is seen heading out of the town at a suspiciously high speed, they don’t even need to look at each other to start following. Determination speeds their feet and pushes them faster, keeping it in sight. The stories of the three of them have spread, and with the universal adoration they receive - which Sypha very much enjoys - comes danger. People who want vengeance for Dracula, people who want to make sure the Belmont line ends, people who want to use them to prove themselves.
So they breathe a little deeper, push a little faster, follow their kidnapped lover - and oh, she’s going to enjoy teasing him for being a damsel in distress after this - as best they can. Of course, they can’t keep up with the horses in a steady canter, but they can at least keep it in sight.
And of course it’s an abandoned church they end up at. One that is falling to pieces and far enough from anything that nobody is going to come across it by accident. As of yet, Sypha has never had any good experiences with anything that’s come from an abandoned church.
Even before it began to crumble, it was only a small building. More of a chapel than anything else. Just a simple stone box that would have served an equally small population. Bare rafters stretch their broken silhouettes against the sky, except for in a few small patches where roofing still clings to the ribs beneath. Lichens and moss have colonised the walls in an inexorable climb upwards. Windows which never held glass gape blindly, bereft of any shutters or coverings.
The forest around them is deadly silent.
No birds sing; nothing is moving in the undergrowth; even the flying insects have vanished.
“Why do I get the feeling they didn’t do this to find out what we want for a heroes’ feast?” Trevor asks drily, already palming one of his throwing knives.
There are two people swathed in rust-red robes at the entrance. Hoods conceal their faces and the cloaks brush the ground.
They don’t even need to look at each other to make the plan.
Sypha distracts them, Trevor runs up behind before they can sound any alarm and knocks them out. They drag them off into the woods, strip them, bind them, gag them. Not one word passes between them until they’re done.
“What do you think?” she asks, holding her arms out wide.
“Blue suits you better,” Trevor tells her, tugging the hood down to shade her face. He pauses for a moment before lifting it up just a little bit to kiss her. “How about me?”
Neither robe fits them very well - Sypha’s drags on the floor, and Trevor’s hovers a couple of centimetres above his ankles. But they’ll serve for the task they have to accomplish.
“Hmm…” She looks him up and down. “I like it better when I can see your thighs,” she teases before pushing his cloak open to pat the outside of one playfully.
“You’re a menace,” he says fondly.
All that’s left to do is to put her folded over-robes up somewhere safe before going in to rescue their boy. They duck through the doorless archway into the old chapel.
And it is instantly uncomfortable. This place radiates wrong, wrong, wrong. In so many different ways.
They’re both on edge, both straining their senses for any little sign that could be all the warning they get. The stone is crumbling, dead leaves have collected in little corners, and spiders’ webs span every little space. This place has not been used for worship for a long time.
It’s empty. The sunlight which filters through the trees outside and the rafters above picks out the details of an empty room, with no features other than a stone block on a raised platform which must have once been the altar.
Again, with no communication needed, they drift apart to search for any sign of Alucard. There are at least four other people in here, and no immediate sign of their passing can be seen. They have to be hidden somewhere .
Trevor finds the stairs.
The descent is steep and the light fades quickly. They keep going down, tapping out to find the next step, one hand on the wall, until there are no more stairs to descend. They follow the wall until they can see a glow at the end. Sypha estimates that they’re underneath the chapel’s entryway, now.
They still haven’t seen anyone.
As they get closer to the orange glow at the end, the rumble of distant voices gets louder and clearer.
The passageway opens up into a chamber. Filled with people in the same rust-red robes that they’re wearing. And there on the wall, daubed in a sickening blood-red, is a giant demonic sigil.
Well shit.
They have to get him out of here sooner rather than later.
Sure, they might have something nice planned for the only son of Dracula, but for some reason, as the chanting swells, Sypha isn’t that optimistic.
“...You distract them,” she murmurs. “I’ll find him.”
If he’s not broken out yet, they must have some kind of extra hold on him. She’s the best choice for dismantling whatever it is.
Trevor nods.
She grabs him by the clasp of his ‘borrowed’ robes and pulls him down to her level for a kiss. “If you get yourself injured, I’ll be very cross with you.”
“Meet you outside the church.” He straightens up, tugs the hood down low over his face, and walks in to join the group.
For a moment, Sypha thinks he’s finally learnt how to be subtle.
Then the yelling starts.
She rolls her eyes, but a distraction is a distraction.
She slips through, unnoticed in the chaos, and finds herself in another passageway lined with doors. She walks down, testing them, until she finds one that does not open.
Not without some persuasion, at least.
It swings slowly open, letting dim light into a dark room. And there, hanging off the far wall, is Alucard. She lowers her stolen hood after glancing down the passage to make sure they're alone.
His head hangs heavy, hair tumbling down over his shoulders, down over his chest. He’s been stripped half-naked and almost seems to glow in the gloom, his skin is so pale.
Trevor’s done a good job at drawing everyone off, so all she really needs to do is step inside, remove his bonds, and leave.
She clears her throat.
His head lifts. A few loose strands of hair curtain his face, hiding one eye. His lips part, resignation slipping into surprise.
Sypha is a little insulted.
“You didn’t think we’d be coming after you?”
One corner of his mouth tugs up. “I wasn’t sure you’d be able to distract Belmont from the beer and children’s games,” he replies.
"It took some work," she jokes. She pushes the door shut behind her with her foot and sweeps her arms out. Flames spring to life in the air, flooding the little chamber with light.
Oh.
Oh no.
Her tongue drags over her lip as she takes in the sight. He’s fully tied up and unable to move anything but his head. The bonds constraining his wrists push his chest out so she can fully admire the lines of his muscles. She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, eyes dropping to the lines crossing his thighs, and imagines what it would be like, seeing him strain against them when they had first been put on.
“How are they holding you so well?” she asks, and oh, that’s the bedroom voice. Oops.
“They’re enchanted.” He looks at her properly and recognises that look on her face. “Sypha, is this really necessary?” His voice rings with a very different kind of resignation to before.
She smiles slowly, making a show of looking him up and down, committing the sight to memory. “Yep, I’m pretty sure it is.” The curl of delight in her voice is like a cat pouncing on a little bird with a satisfied twitch of the tail and flick of the ears before settling down to enjoy her prey.
“Sypha, there are cultists who want to sacrifice me to a demon. Can’t we do this later?” While he knows that neither of his lovers would ever let him get hurt in the same way he knows the sun rises in the East, there is no concealing that quavering note of panic in his otherwise perfectly level voice.
“Is that a promise?” She hurries closer, bending to get a look at his bonds so she can systematically deconstruct them. But not before pressing a quick little kiss to the corner of his lips and playfully tugging on a strand of hair.
He closes his eyes, those lips silently tracing out the pattern of a prayer to the world for strength.
Sypha grins.