Chapter Text
Ida didn't like kids.
The ones in front of her were the first class to grow up in relative comfort, the first who were forming from a clump of cells in the womb during that awful year when bloody rain fell without pause. The year Ida was learning how to hunt animals, set traps, sleeping rough and setting fire to the bodies of her comrades. The year Mavis killed her own mother and was killed in turn by her father. The year Tamara and Gabriel were killed inch by rotting inch, and Walter started drinking himself into an early grave.
The year the world found out that the supernatural - vampires, witches, werewolves, night creatures - were very much real.
"Susan," Ida said irritably, "a risen corpse is attacking you. Why are you laughing?"
The corpse in question, a skinny boy with pimples and permanently red cheeks, was throwing a volley of small leather beanbags at Susan as she tried to dodge them.
"Ow!" the girl cried when one clipped her nose smartly.
"Will shouting 'Ow!' at it stop a risen corpse from killing you, Susan?" The girl looked back at her in sullen silence, eyes watering in pain. "Will it stop it from capturing you? Will it stop it from killing you and then eating your corpse? Will it stop it from raising you from the dead as a comrade-in-arms?"
Susan huffed as the other children laughed at her. "There aren't any monsters around the castle, Ida," she said in an irritated 'you fucking moron' tone.
Ida knew it wasn't real to these kids. To a few, yes; the older ones who'd lost parents, siblings or friends during those early days. But to most of them, it was just something the grown-ups talked about, as irrelevant to them as the Renaissance or equilateral triangles or whatever her own teachers used to drone on about when she was their age.
"There'd be far more, Susan, if we were all as woefully unprepared as you. You're cleaning the weapons store tonight, and helping Chaucer clean and dress his kills for the next two weeks."
A hand shot up. Ida nodded brusquely at the boy, who said, "Actually there is a monster in the castle."
"Do you really want to have this conversation, Matthew?" she asked coolly. Her voice was deadly quiet, like Mavis' used to be when she was well and truly pissed off. The boy held her gaze for a moment before dropping his eyes.
"I figured," she sighed. "For those of you who haven't caught on, Matthew is talking about Lord Alucard." She looked at Matthew so long he started to squirm, then asked, "Tell me, Matthew, how old was Lord Alucard when his father tried to purge the world of humans?"
"One hundred? Maybe two hundred?"
"Wrong. He was nineteen. How old are you, Matthew?"
"Thirteen."
Reaching behind her, she pulled a cord and a scroll unfurled from the ceiling to reveal an image of Dracula, with bloody eyes and snarling fangs, to the class. A few of them flinched, but some, namely Susan, made a show of looking bored.
"Vlad Țepeș," she said. She always called him that, even in her head; she refused to use the name history was determined to remember him by. "Tell me, Matthew, if this…thing showed up in your home, threatened to kill your parents and suck your siblings dry, what would you do when it demanded your allegiance as it forced you to become a creature of the night? Would a simple 'No thanks, Mr. Lord of the Night?' do the trick?"
"How did a creature like that get anyone to follow him in the first place?" Susan asked, disgusted. "He looks like a wild animal!"
"Good question," Ida said, and tugged a second cord, dropping a scroll with an image of a proud, smiling Dracula, a gentle arm around a human woman with a baby in her arms. "When Lord Alucard was born, Vlad Țepeș looked like this. Very different, isn't he?"
"He was hot," someone whispered.
"He's too old for you, Finley," Ida said dryly. The class laughed. "But he wasn't only handsome. He was also charming. He was intelligent. And fiercely protective of his family."
"He wasn't always cruel?" Paul piped up.
"I believe he always had a cruel streak," Ida said carefully, "As do we all. But his vendetta against humanity began in earnest when his wife was murdered by the Church. Before, he was just charming, handsome, and extremely intelligent." She paused and leaned back against the desk. "Tell me, why are you being taught all this?"
"So we can learn to protect ourselves from night creatures."
"In part, Finley. Anything else?" After an uncomfortable silence, a hand slowly rose into the air. "Thomas?"
"To teach us how to resist being seduced by supernatural creatures and becoming one ourselves."
"Exactly."
The kids gaped. "Like we would!" Susan spluttered indignantly.
"You don't think you could ever be seduced by the supernatural, Susan?"
"Never."
"Hm. What about you, Finley?" She smirked and the class burst into laughed as Finley blushed, tugging on her braids. "Tell me, what if a friend of yours had been hurt by something in their life, and reached out to you for help? No talk of torture, or rape, or even world domination. Just a plea for help and a desire to make the world a safer place by caging the bad guys." The class murmured, uncomfortable. Ida didn't care; coddling them would kill them faster. "When I was starting to properly learn what you are learning now, Lord Alucard and Julius were in charge of our lessons. Lord Alucard told us that anyone – anyone – could falter if the circumstances were right. We all laughed at him. He asked who in the class was the least likely ever to be seduced by the supernatural. We debated for a while, and eventually I was chosen." She rolled her eyes. "I was infamous for being a goody-two shoes."
Smirks and giggles from the class.
"Julius told me to take my stance. Then he told me that nothing I said or did during the fight would be punished - which was good judgement, in his case."
"Why?"
"Because during that fight, Lord Alucard pushed me so far that I wanted him to bite me so I could use the chance to stake him."
"And you didn't get punished?" Matthew asked as the class erupted into furious whispers. Ida shifted slightly.
"No."
"But Ida," Finley managed, "how could you want that? You teach us how to defeat night creatures and stay alive."
"I can do that because I understand the temptations they offer. I know their weakness as well as my own. I can fight them because I understand how dangerous and tempting the supernatural are. You can't fight what you don't understand."
"Are you going to try to get us to fight you?" Mary asked.
"You think I want to get my ass kicked by Julius?" Ida snorted. "I'm sure some of you would be delighted if I did."
"Did Lord Alucard get in trouble?" Mary persisted. "I mean...with Mr. Belmont there..."
So they aren't entirely ignorant of their history, Ida thought with satisfaction. At least not all of them.
"No," she said slowly. "but Julius separated both of us before anything got out of hand." She cleared her throat. "It's four o'clock. Time to head to the third hall." Let Rosa beat the snot out of them before dinner; maybe then she'd have an evening without the kids pestering her.
Mary was the last to leave, lingering by the door. "Ida? How did he get you to-?"
"Another time, Mary. You're late for fencing," she said finally. It had been a while since she'd let herself think about that day and the disturbing feelings that had churned in her gut. He actually apologized after class, said he hadn't meant for that to happen—he didn't say what that was, but they both knew—that he'd only been trying to make her angry enough to slip. Having a centuries-old vampire apologizing was almost as much of a mind fuck as what had happened while they were fighting. Almost, but not quite.
Since that was her last group of the day, she packed away the beanbags and her papers before she wandered through the corridors to the greenhouse, as she did most afternoons. That class was supposed to be just practicing evasion and light defensive theory, and instead she'd gotten dragged into a conversation about Alucard, Julius and Vlad Țepeș. Now, her head was swimming with the bloody rain and her own three years of personal hell.
That first year, they taught themselves because the adults couldn't, or wouldn't. The year they were hunting monsters, everyone had assumed that once Carmilla was dead, everything would be okay. But nothing was okay. Mavis and Cam were dead. Celine couldn't even look at Ida most days because Daniel was torn apart by hellhounds trying to save her. If it wasn't for Ida, Daniel would be alive. Celine didn't blame her – she said so, on almost every occasion they spoke - but it lingered in the background, poisoning their relationship. They rarely spoke, nowadays. Ida was busy sending children into the arms of monsters to learn how to kill, while Celine patched up the ones who came back, and watched Walter drink himself into a coma. The once energetic, romantic-at-heart Sophia donned plain black dresses in perpetual mourning, a sick rendition of Queen Victoria mourning Prince Albert. Without Louise, Sophia went through the motions in a frighteningly doll-like manner, an elderly widow in the body of a young woman.
Ida thought of all of her friends now gone. Mavis and Gabriel and Tamara dead. Louise and Daniel and Cameron dead. Sophia was the walking dead. Walter had one foot in the grave. Carter was alive, but his mind was so addled that visitors upset him, so Ida hardly ever saw him.
And her parents. God, it still hurt to think about it.
It was the most ironic thing that the only person she considered herself somewhat close to was Alucard. Julius and Rosa and the other instructors were kind to her, and she respected them, but she wasn't particularly close to any of them. Not really. Only Alucard, the dhamphir who lurked in the top-most tower. Alucard, who spent years avoiding the company of others. Alucard, who risked his own life and his safe solitude by opening the doors of his castle to refugees who brought hordes of demons to his home.
Alucard, who was as lonely and fucked up as she was.
Julius looked up with a tired smile when Ida entered the fourth library late that evening. A conscientious leader of their little community, he met with each of the instructors every week to ensure things were running smoothly. She paused in the doorway, seeing he had company.
"I can come back-"
"No, come in, Ida," he insisted, gesturing at the seat beside him.
Ida obliged, pouring a cup of tea and fixing it to Julius' liking before handing it to him. Julius picked it up left-handed and took a sip, the stump of his right hand resting in his lap. He was still devilishly good with Vampire Killer (something about training with both hands as a child), but he still needed help with the little things, like bathing.
"Chaucer says we'll need to stock up on meat soon," Julius said as Ida took a sip of her own tea. "The weather is going to turn soon."
"I'm sure I can find a few volunteers."
"Some of the younger students?"
"They need experience and a healthy dose of fear. Little bastards are far too full of themselves."
"There are other ways, Ida."
"I'm not sending them on a night hunt until they can handle themselves, Julius. They can hunt rabbits and deer until I'm satisfied they won't wrangle themselves in the traps."
"All right," the man sighed. "I'll trust your judgement."
"Thank you," Ida said, then, after a pause, "Um. I told them about the time I lost my temper." She didn't need to specify which time she meant. They all knew. She glanced at the dhampir by the window. He was watching, listening, as was his norm. He rarely spoke. Julius told her last week that he hadn't in over five months. He wouldn't even talk to Julius, who was probably the closest thing to a friend for the dhampir. Ida wondered what had happened.
Before Julius can answer, one of Darius' boys appeared, asking for Julius to mediate on a matter.
"Do you mind waiting for me here?" he asked, rising.
"Not at all."
Julius made his way out, muttering under his breath about how it's always something, and left Ida alone in the library with a dhampir and a time-traveller who still dressed like he was an extra in a Shakespeare play.
"Miss Quinlan," Saint Germain began from his armchair by the fire. "Do you think it was wise to tell children about that?"
Ida shot him a disgusted glance because of course he knew. Julius probably fucking told him. "Shut the fuck up."
"Now, now, my dear," he fussed, starting to puff up.
"Don't 'my dear' me, you old coot. I know Julius likes you, but I think you're the biggest git I know."
A soft laugh came from the corner. "I thought I had that title," Alucard said, a small smile playing around his lips.
"You don't even make the top ten," she shrugged, trying not to look shocked that he was actually talking.
"Oh?"
"No."
"Might I enquire as to who has the honour?"
"Well," Ida said, pretending to think about it, "I suppose Carmilla would have to top the list, with this puffer fish coming in a close second."
Alucard threw back his head and properly laughed. Ida tried not to stare. She could count on one hand the amount of times she'd seen him smile throughout the years, but she'd never seen him laugh.
"Who else?"
"Well, Celine and Cam started out as three and four, and the order honestly depended on my mood, but they were dropped. Cam died years ago and it was a stupid argument anyway, and Celine…"
"Yes?"
"We argued about her brother when we were sixteen and she called me a cunt."
The dhampir scowled, and Ida suppressed a shiver.
"We were kids, I broke her nose right after and we moved on. Besides, she doesn't have a lot of people left who care about her."
"And this concerns you why…?"
"You'll find this hard to believe, my lord, but Celine is my friend. Most of my friends are dead now. Sophia doesn't leave her room, Walter is usually drunk or sleeping it off, and Carter is being kept in isolation."
"Don't call me that," he said suddenly.
"What?"
"My lord," he said, mouth twisting as though he'd tasted something nasty. "I never deserved the title, not when I received it at my father's death."
"You earned it when you spent your days protecting humans from their own stupidity."
"I quite agree," Saint Germain said, raising his tea cup.
"Did anyone fucking invite you to join in?" Ida snapped. "Piss off."
Alucard laughed again, rich and warm. His eyes crinkled and Ida felt her throat hurt, like she'd swallowed a stone. When had she laughed like that? When was the last time she had actually laughed? She couldn't remember, why couldn't she-
Alucard stopped laughing, raising a brow. "Is something wrong?" he asked, the faintest note of concern in his voice.
"No. Just thinking of something ridiculous." She took another sip of her tea. "Well, if wishes were horses, then beggars would ride, as Chaucer keeps saying." He said nothing. "Well, as long as I'm being ridiculous, I wish there was a way that would let me go back and fix all this, so that my friends weren't dead, and Carter wasn't insane, and my parents were safe, and Julius had his hand back, and you weren't so fucking broody."
"Well, actually-"
"I distinctly heard Miss Quinlan telling you to fuck off," Alucard said, and it should've sounded wrong and jarring for him to swear, but apparently dhampir's can make swearing sound smooth and sweet.
"But there is a way to fix things," Saint Germain insisted.
"Then why didn't you tell anyone? Why didn't you fix things?" Ida hissed.
"Be glad he didn't," Alucard sneered. "He causes enough trouble with his mere existence."
"Fair point," she agreed. "For a man who preaches goodness and forgiveness, he has his own share of cock-ups."
From his chair, Saint Germain huffed.
"But that isn't the worst of it." After lord knew how long of bottling it up, Alucard was on a tear. "The absolute fucking worst is that he decided to make a homunculus and stuff my parents' souls into it because he wanted to see his girlfriend."
Ida felt faint. Alchemy was called 'the forbidden art' for a reason. "He made a homunculus? With your parents' souls?"
"Mm."
"You mean this absolute shitbag shattered souls because he had to play Dungeons and Dragons –"
"Because he wanted a lay, yes."
"Oh come now, that's hardly fair," Saint Germain protested. "I was coerced!"
On a bit of a tear herself, Ida barrelled right over him. "Instead of taking a step back and wondering why he shouldn't mess about with soul magic, or the afterlife, because they are banned for a very good reason? Which I assume is because of him?"
"Top marks," Alucard said coldly, then, at the sound of the door opening, composes his perfect features back into the same impassive mask he always wore.
Julius entered the room. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting so long, Ida," he said, walking back to his chair, exhaustion hanging off of him like a cloak by whatever pissing contest he had to stop.
"Should we do this another time, Julius?" she suggested as he sank into the worn fabric of the armchair.
"Yes, dear. If you don't mind."
Ida glared at Saint Germain with venom in her eyes. It was his fault Julius looked so old and exhausted and frail. It was his fault that the bloody rain fell. But, she admitted to herself as she reached for the door handle, it wasn't him that had all that blood on his hands.