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Trevor was dying. The swirling lights which briefly surrounded him, making him think he was dead already, gave way to a hard surface and chill which seeped right into Trevor's soul. No way would anything but dying feel both painful, numbing, and alone at once.
Right before darkness overtook his vision, he noticed the ground--fancy marble, covered in blood.
Of course. Must be hell.
0-o-0
It was not hell. It at least, not a part Trevor had heard stories of.
When he woke, he was still in pain--head throbbing and right arm feeling like bugs crawled all over inside his skin. Awful. So points towards it being hell. On the other hand though, the room was warm, while soft sheets and blankets encased him on a plush bed.
Would demons try to make him comfortable?
He got the answer to that when one such demon walked in the door--feathered bat wings, grey horns, and extra eyes all a startling contrast to the smooth white walls.
And of course, Trevor couldn't move without extraordinary pain, so by the time he had gotten only one elbow underneath himself, the demon had already reached the bed and pushed him back into laying on it. Gently though, which was weird. Trevor didn’t bother returning the favor, grabbing the demon and twisting its arm to the side, or trying to. With no leverage and one arm which barely managed a touch before pain flared up, all Trevor managed to do was push the demon’s hand slightly to the side. It’s face remained inscrutable; Trevor hated it (that was easier than fear).
“Where am I?” he hissed.
“My castle.” Trevor perked up at the voice, trying to see over the broad shoulders of the demon still holding him down. “Or it is now. I see you are prone to violence upon waking.”
“I’m prone to violence upon being held prisoner.”
“Oh?”
The person rounded the demon; Trevor saw a man, meticulously shaven and finely dressed, who held himself with all the confidence of one who had grown comfortable with themselves and their power. Huh. Probably wasn’t hell then, just… somewhere that wasn’t Dracula’s castle. The man’s eyes roamed up and down the parts of Trevor exposed outside the blankets, which was how Trevor became suddenly aware of his very little clothing over his many, many bandages.
“You are still injured,” the man continued. “We’ve been tending to that arm, especially, since you appeared just inside the main hall.”
There was a question in that statement--how did you arrive?--but Trevor ignored it like he ignored his lightning-shaped burns. Not like he knew exactly either, and it wasn’t important to him. He just wanted out.
“You’re too kind. Really. Your demon is exactly what I love to wake up to each morning.” Not that it would stop him from sarcasm, apparently.
“It is night,” the man said, brow raised.
So it was. “Well, I hate to be a poor guest to whatever-castle-this-is but the moon is wasting.”
“It’s cold.”
“Good, bracing breezes.”
“And snowing.”
Trevor paused, then said, less sure than before, “I can cover my tracks.” Wallachia had moved past freshly fallen snow. Where was he? In the mountains?
“I appreciate your enthusiasm,” the man said dryly, “but it would be poor manners for me to turn you out in this weather, and with those injuries.”
“Can’t have that,” Trevor grumbled. “What will the neighbors think?”
“Indeed.” Smiling complimented the man’s face, bringing to it an aspect of calm which might have put Trevor at ease in another circumstance. A little hand signal had the demon backing off, finally. Trevor stayed still though--brute force wouldn’t work in his condition. “I realize I have also been remiss in introducing myself. I am Isaac.”
“...Trevor.”
“A Belmont, correct?”
Trevor tensed, scowling. He wished desperately for a weapon, but aside from the main ones he’d lost in his last fight, the man--Isaac--had likely taken the backups to another room. “How the fuck do you know that?” Wait, if he had the weapons and his clothes-
“You wear your crest proudly.” Yup.
“Great.”
“And yet, you will find that you are not dead.”
“If you’re looking for information-” Trevor started, tone making it clear he would give any.
“I wouldn’t expect it. Nor do I need it.” Isaac moved closer, something in them speaking of an experienced fighter, close range probably. He poured water from a pitcher, each movement obvious as though to put Trevor at ease. “Though I would be curious what has happened to Wallachia, that a Belmont comes tumbling through a magical portal directly into my home.”
Trevor frowned. Maybe he just got lucky and ended up in the castle of some eccentric noble further away. The demon standing near the door was evidence otherwise, but who was Trevor to speak on the limits of friendship? Alucard had certainly shown him otherwise. Even so, Trevor doubted his luck. He did allow Isaac to place some strategic pillows and help him sit up, because he hated having conversations which felt even more vulnerable.
“Should be better, now that I’ve killed Dracula again. And Death.”
Isaac nodded along until the last couple of words. “Death?”
For the first time the entire conversation, he looked surprised, the cup of water paused in his outstretched arm on its way to Trevor. Trevor couldn’t help smirking, even as he held his hands out and wiggled his fingers in silent request. Little pinpricks of pain ran up and down them, but it was worth it to be annoying.
“Yeah. Ancient spirit, fed on death, carried a huge scythe. Only reason I got laid out like this is the weapon I used has a killer backlash.” Ha. Killer.
Isaac hummed, said, “Impressive,” and placed the cup within Trevor’s hands, curling his own around Trevor in a way which was far too sensual for a simple task. Did he think Trevor couldn’t hold it up on his own?
Cheeks burning, but unwilling to call attention to it, Trevor just brought the cup to his lips on his own and took a sip. Then another. Huh, he hadn’t realized how thirsty he was.
“I wasn’t aware such a spirit was involved in the resurrection, but I must thank you for allowing Dracula to rest again.”
Trevor raised a brow. “You’re welcome, I guess? Why do you care? You’re far off in whatever country this is.”
“Styria.” Choked on his next sip, which wasn’t helped when Isaac leaned over to gently pat his back as he continued with, “And I was once one of Dracula’s generals.”
Trevor coughed harder, convinced he’d inhaled the entire cup somehow. Through the film of tears he’d gathered, he noticed Isaac looking suddenly worried, leaning closer even as Trevor tried to lean away--a fruitless endeavor since his body wished to curl up against the coughing fit and pain which followed each motion.
“You’re bleeding through,” said Isaac. “We’ll have to change these- Abel! Breathe, slowly, try to count to three with each one…”
Trevor tried, but he was still exhausted, and his body went limp as he passed out again.
0-o-0
The next time he woke, Trevor was leaned back against a firm body, fingers brushing through his wet hair.
“Ah, you wake again.” Isaac leaned over the fire, placing a kettle on the hook there. “Your injuries are better, but please try not to cough them open again. Many small injuries can be just as dangerous as one larger one when it comes to infections. I am well versed in such care, but if opening them up can be avoided, we should.”
“Don’t know if I should find that comforting,” Trevor croaked.
The hands in his hair brought a wetted cloth to wipe further, and something clicked in his mind. If Isaac was by the fire, who-? A little turn to his head gave him a quick vision of five placid eyes looking back at him, and little fangs poking out from the top lip, before a wing smacked the side of his head--again, gently--and two clawed hands turned him to face forward again.
“What the fuck,” he whispered.
Isaac strode over to the bed, looking down with what Trevor recognized from Alucard’s usual stoic act as hidden amusement. “Yes, forgive me for not doing it myself. I am still not very fond of touching other people, especially strangers. Abel was kind enough to agree to clean up the rest of the blood and grime matted in your hair. I’m sure you will be far more comfortable without it.”
The fingers and their claws scratched lightly along Trevor's scalp; a shiver ran down his spine.
What the fuck, he thought again. But it wasn’t to be the last time such odd gestures happened.
When Isaac was unavailable, off running the Styrian sisters' castle which he apparently killed his way through, Abel came around with food and drinks, more bathing supplies, and medical supplies such as salves and more bandages. Little frowns pinched the demon’s eyes if he found Trevor bleeding, while conversely, if he could convince Trevor to sit against him and take little finger foods from him, he would flex his wings and brush his hands along the side or back of Trevor’s neck. Weird. What was even weirder was what a problem it was for Trevor’s libido.
He’d been injured a lot in his life--thus most injuries didn’t affect how horny he got. But noticing a pretty face with playful eyes was entirely different than noticing a demon’s nicely toned butt.
It wasn’t Trevor’s fault though! Demons weren’t supposed to have such human-like buttcheeks to wave around!
If Trevor believed his thoughts--and occasionally dreams--about Abel were bad when they visited him separately, having him and Isaac in the same room was infinitely worse. Both had a calm demeanor, but where Abel was straightforward, Isaac was teasing. Isaac knew that Trevor knew that Isaac knew about Trevor's filthy little musings. Trevor had looked up a couple of times after tracking Abel through the room to see Isaac blatantly watching. Each time, the man would grin.
In what had to be retaliation, or staking his claim, Isaac started touching Abel within Trevor's sight. Sometimes a little brush over a wing, which fluttered under his hands, and sometimes cupping Abel's cheek while delivering instructions.
Every move was calculated, and damn if it wasn't working.
0-o-0
“You are looking better.”
“Implying I looked bad.”
Isaac made a thoughtful sound, something like agreement without stating it outright, so all Trevor could do was scoff in response. In one of the rare shows of allowing touch, Isaac was changing the bandages on Trevor’s burned arm himself. The arm really had looked bad before, weak, shaking, and covered in terrible, blistered red burns. Isaac and Abel had both been careful about how often they kept bandages on, to avoid sticking, and were also conscientious of the pressure such a wrapping would place on Trevor’s limb. All in all, it was… nice, from a demon and purportedly no-longer-forgemaster-general.
Only one week had passed, one week, and Trevor was getting antsy, ready to get up and explore. Or ready to hit the road. He wanted to contact the others at Dracula’s castle, tell them he wasn’t dead. Also, he wanted to get away from this oddly nice situation with two attractive not-quite enemies before he fucked something up. His attractions to people had never really led anywhere good. Not for him, not for the people of his affections.
“Bend this.” Isaac tapped on one of Trevor’s fingers.
Trevor did his best, but the fingers on the other sides of it moved also. They did a few more tests, trying out each finger and the hand as a whole. He wouldn’t be wielding any weapons with that hand, but Trevor could still move and feel with it, which was nothing short of a miracle.
“I have heard only a little of the Belmonts,” said Isaac, wrapping up Trevor’s arm once again. “Though I suspect your ability to heal from such a harrowing fight might be part of the reason vampires feared you.”
“That and their penchant for losing their heads.”
Isaac chuckled. “Perhaps. But I think your family had something vampires seem very lacking in. Something which stood up to their centuries-long power in a way which frightened their perceptions of themselves.”
“Yeah?” Trevor thought to himself, wondering about his ancestor’s weapons and knowledge. Then remembered his own knowledge of weapons landed him in a distant country with horrible wounds. “Like an ability to keep doing stupid shit?”
“Like the ability to do difficult things for the sake of other people’s happiness.”
Trevor swallowed. Isaac’s hands were careful as they held and wrapped Trevor’s. “It’s just what the Belmonts did. When they weren’t being betrayed.”
“A shame.” At Trevor’s skeptical look, Isaac said, “I’m not foolish enough to believe we would have gotten along, but I believe, if they were anything like you, they were attempting to make Wallachia a better place. And recently, I have found the beauty and worth in making the world better for the future.”
Nothing came to mind--Trevor was stunned. He’d known Isaac was… well, good wasn’t the best word. Helpful, or compassionate, or merciful, maybe. Trevor knew he’d killed, but so had Trevor, and he couldn’t judge for that, not when the both of them had apparently found something worth living for, something bigger and better and kinder.
But Trevor, well, the last thing he’d done was survive a fight he’d thought he’d die in. He’d done it for all the people who created things, and built anew. Isaac was doing that, making a safer land for the people who could begin to move back in without the shadow of a vampire fortress looming over them. To hear Isaac say he was worthwhile, that he respected his family… Trevor shook his head.
“Well. Good luck, then. With your future.”
“I suppose I shall need it.” Isaac tied off the bandage and lifted Trevor’s hand. Right then, Trevor’s mind went horribly, embarrassingly blank, because Isaac lifted Trevor’s knuckles right to his lips in a gentleman’s kiss. “He’s very stubborn.”
Trevor let out a brilliant “Uh” with a few cut off, sputtered sounds for extra brilliance. Isaac, the cheeky bastard, only smirked.
Well, Trevor thought to himself, sure he was flushed from his cheeks back to his ears, Maybe I can send a letter, instead.