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The scene was clear, the stage set as it always was.
Dracula on his gilded throne, watching the four warriors who’d come to stop him fight for their lives against his descending horde, with the barest hint of a smile. Their party spread thin across the vaulted room, Trevor in the center barrelling through enemies to try and reach the count himself. Alucard to his left, dark hair swishing through the air as he cut down a barrage of Medusa heads, one after another. Grant to the right, climbing a wall to try and gain the high ground over a giant spider. And Sypha dead ahead, caught between parrying a pack of skeletons and the unrelenting fire of a bone pillar goading her towards the middle of the field.
They should have matched their opponents better. Grant, ever-agile, ever-fast, should have been weaving through those skeletons, in his element. Sypha, damn near unbeatable from a distance and sporting the best range by far, should have been up against the Medusa heads and covering Alucard, hitting hard and unrelenting, while he battled the spider. It had been bad orders on Trevor’s part. Fault in his leadership of putting Grant on the spider when they’d first burst in, of leaving Sypha and Alucard to find enemies as they were doled out.
It had happened quickly, a whirlwind of woe around the keep. Grant tackled into a pillar, picked up and thrown into the wall a second time for good measure. A loud crack, sharp like the thunder that followed when lightning split the sky. Trevor knocked off his feet by a stray shot from the bone pillar Sypha was trying to take out, looking up to realize that the violent crack had been the fall and popper of a skeleton’s whip connecting with Sypha’s leg. Alucard quickly overwhelmed by the rush of three warriors’ worth of enemies setting their sights on him.
Dracula, rising from his throne.
Trevor clambered to his feet only to be caught again by the bone pillar, releasing his whip and hitting the ground with a thud.
Alucard was preoccupied with the horde. Grant was recovering by the wall. The noise of the keep faded to the background as Trevor picked his head up and his gaze fell on the mage a few meters in front of him, trying to maintain balance as she flung spells at the calmly-advancing Dracula and floundering, hand flying to her leg as the bloodied limb gave out under her.
No.
Trevor dove for his whip, teeth grit as he saw the realization dawn that the count was taking the magic like it was nothing . Grant yelled something and charged the towering vampire with Sypha firing his cover, a tactic they’d gotten much use from, but this time, for this enemy, the cover had no effect. A few handfuls of white-hot fire were deflected by almost lazy dodges, while a barrage of icy spikes shattered against him. The still-recovering ex-pirate was swatted aside like a flea. The witch scooted back, trying again to scramble to her feet and, again, falling to the frigid stone. Trevor’s hand curled around his weapon.
He would not see them killed. If someone was going to pay for his rubbish strategy at the beginning, it was going to be him. And beneath the responsibility of being leader, beneath the selfless desire to prevent as much death as he could, there was the strange, sharp, specific feeling that he wanted the danger to get the hell away from her .
He ran. She stumbled. Dracula stepped forward, wicked claws outstretched.
It happened so fast.
He broke into a sprint, fist tightening around the whip at the same moment Dracula raised his hand. For just a moment, time froze as if they’d used the stopwatch. The moment condensed to a brief glimpse of Sypha trying to summon balls of lightning as quickly as possible, all desperation and determination and fear. The mist blanketing the floor curling murky white around the air displaced by her body. Dracula poised for the kill, staring down the first of four lives he was set on personally collecting tonight. Trevor’s fingers tightly clenched around the whip.
Time resumed to a slow crawl. His eyes were open wide, focused on the talons as they tore the air, and Dracula slashed towards her, Trevor raised the whip and lunged forward and–
The treacle slowness of time snapped forward into a single instant. His vision filled with red. A sickening sound served as the accompaniment to razor sharp claws ripping through flesh. The sudden pain was blinding, and over the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears and the thud as he hit the stone, he could hear Sypha scream his name.
The sound’s memory yanked him violently back to the present, echoing in his head as his eyes shot open, his jagged scar twisting around the expression as he sat up, panting in the dark.
The pain faded to memory as Trevor scanned the room, relaxing as the sights sunk in. No battle, no monsters. To his right did lie a warrior, but one with no current trace of fight in her, her arms half-cradling her pillow with an expression peaceful in sleep.
He released a shuddering breath and willed his pulse to slow, leaning back against the headboard. He ran a hand through his hair, damp with sweat, and turned his head to look at her. His silvery gaze lingered on her for a moment before he sighed and squeezed his eyes shut. He tossed his head back, mind still heavy with sleep enough that in his jumbled state he forgot it was no longer a pillow behind him, but the very solid wood of the headboard.
Thunk.
Sypha jolted awake as Trevor’s pained yelp rang throughout the room, looking around wildly as she propped herself up onto her forearms. A chill was already pervading the air, the temperature bending to the will of her magic.
"We're fine, we're fine," he assured her, waving the hand that wasn't holding the back of his head. He grit his teeth. "'Twas the headboard."
Even in the dark, he could see her posture relax. Warmth returned to the room as she sank a little into the mattress, briefly touching her forehead to the pillow as she let out a breath. "What happened?"
"You took a pillock for a husband," he answered with a wry grin, slightly twisted in pain.
She scoffed, tossing her head the way that was usually accompanied by rolling her eyes.
With a flourish of her hand, the fireplace in the corner of the room ignited, bathing their bedroom in a citrine glow
"Why are you even awake?" She rolled over and sat up, drawing a leg out from beneath the blankets and stretching, her joints creaking as she bent them back and forth.
He sighed and lay back, falling heavily into the pillows. The ache in his head was already fading. "Would you believe me if I told you I was merely hungry?"
"Hm," she yanked her thigh to her chest and her knee popped with a violent noise that always made Trevor wonder how she could do that so nonchalantly, without any care for the fact it sounded like she'd broken her bones.
"I would place all my trust in you being hungry, and absolutely none in it being the reason you woke." She rolled her ankle, more of the disturbing cracks following.
Trevor hummed, a smile playing at his lips. "Care to wager what it was, then?"
She smirked. "I try to abstain from pointless bets."
"Wise."
They fell into a soft silence, Trevor avoiding the gaze he knew lingered on him to instead stare at the flickering hearth. In the quiet, there was room for his thoughts to drift back to memory.
"Stop that." Came her voice, her tone gentle.
"What?"
"That thing you do."
"I'm not doing anything?"
"Yes, you are." She scooted to his side of the bed and leaned over his face, curtain of hair tumbling around him, bright and rufescent with the reflection of the flames. "You're doing that thing you do."
"There's no thing!" He chuckled in spite of himself.
"There is! " She insisted. "That thing you do, with your face."
He tilted his head. "Frowning?"
"That." She poked his cheek. "It means that you're upset. Stop it."
"...Frowning?"
"Thinking about whatever it is that upsets you."
He smiled in spite of himself. "Distract me, then."
Her mouth twisted and she dropped her head, gently bonking her skull against his. "I can recite some of the poems from the Canterbury Tales and bore you back to sleep."
He pushed himself up and bonked her back. "You only know 'Wife of Bath'."
She grinned. "That's all 'twould take."
He shook his head, reaching up to touch her cheek, fingers combing into her hair. "I don't want to keep you up."
Her grin softened into something gentle, her eyes twinkling. She leaned down, face inches from his. "How many times must we tell each other we don't mind staying up?"
He chuckled briefly. "’Twill take at least a thousand, I think."
"I'd better learn to start talking very fast then." She rolled off of him, lying beside him and resting her chin on his chest. "Are you alright?"
"Only a night terror. 'Twas nothing serious."
"Would you mind if I asked the contents?"
"Not at all. 'Twas the battle."
She poked his chest this time as her mouth twisted into a sardonic smile. "That absolutely does not narrow it down."
He gave a strand of her hair an affectionate tug. " The battle."
The sorceress’ face fell, all humor gone in an instant. "The eye?"
He nodded.
Her shoulders sagged, the fret immediately starting to show. "Does it still hurt? I can—"
"Lie down." He chided, tone light and humored as he grabbed her arm and pulled her down before she could finish sitting up. She settled on her side, watching him. "I'm fine. There's no pain, only memories."
She blew her bangs out of her face. "If it hurts-"
"It doesn't ."
"Are you sure ?"
"I think I'd know, love."
Her eyes drifted from him to the sheets, anxiously darting around. "You could be lying.”
"I'm fine ." He rolled onto his side to face her properly, matching her pose. "You worry too much, hex."
He was teasing, that nickname always his go-to for gentle ribbing, but there was concern underlying his voice.
Her humorless laugh didn’t reach her eyes. "You think I'm unaware of that?"
He frowned. "Are you fine?"
She scoffed and looked away. "I know, logically, your eye is alright. Still, magic is a finicky thing, and I wouldn't be surprised if something goes wrong. I know I did everything correctly, but if something happens, then it'll be doubly my fault."
Gaze hardening, his brow furrowed. "Doubly?"
Her eyes widened as though caught in a trap.
"What do you mean 'doubly'?"
She hesitated, saying nothing.
"Sypha, what do you mean doubly?" The huntsman repeated, the confusion making way for irritation.
She sighed, voice patient and tinged with defeat. "Let's not argue about this again."
"It wasn't your fault."
"Trevor, please."
"It wasn't –"
"Please."
He went silent, but his mouth was still drawn into a hard line. Normally, he’d be willing to take a break and discuss later, especially considering it was the middle of the night, but it was that tiredness that sullied his judgment enough that he didn’t want to drop this. The silence only lasted a moment before he inhaled.
"You know it wasn't your fault." He stared at her as she sighed again, her face the picture of resignation. "You know that." He sat up.
She spoke calmly. "If I had avoided the skeleton–"
"I'm the one who ordered Grant to the other side of the battlefield, you wouldn't have been overwhelmed–"
She sat up to join him. "You had no way of knowing that would happen." She met his slight glare with measured equanimity. "You made the best decision you could with what information you had."
"And it nearly killed you and Grant–"
She cut him off. "We all made the decision to fight. You know that . Perhaps not all of us chose to go, but all of us made the choice to stay. Whatever became of us after would not be your fault."
"Then why are you so convinced you could have stopped me from losing an eye?"
On the next sentence, the calm in her voice unnerved him despite the new hard edge it had gained. "I was willing to die, Trevor."
"Well, I wasn't willing to let you."
She scowled and leaned toward him, eyes burning. "I knew the risks; I chose to stay. It was my choice to risk death, and in the end it would have been my choice to die."
"And in the end, it would have been my choice to die for you.”
The louring look she was giving him stalled and a brief moment passed before she responded quietly. “That would have been unwise from a tactical standpoint.”
“Wh–”
“My magic barely affected Dracula until after Alucard had weakened him and you had taken a few shots. You were far more important in terms of tactics.”
He could pinpoint why the statement upset him, but he caught himself off guard with just how livid the words made him. “You must think either very highly of my character or very poorly of my leadership if you genuinely believe I was thinking about tactics when I took the belt for you.”
“I think highly of both your character and your leadership, which is why if only one of us were able to survive through that fight and we had to measure the options, you were the far more important choice.”
“It doesn’t matter if I was more important to the fight, you were more important to me .”
“I- Trevor, you were more important in all areas! To the fight, to the enemies, to our friends, to me !” She burst, gesticulating towards him. She inhaled sharply through her nose. “I don’t want to watch you die for me. I don’t want you to go on my account. It worked out in the end, but–” She took a moment to think, choosing her next words carefully. “I would be very upset if you– if you died.”
He deflated. “I don’t regret anything,” he said quietly. “You know that.”
“Yes and ‘tis terrifying ! I know you’re perfectly willing to do it again! I know I’d do the same but… oh,” she lamented suddenly. She wilted. “I’m sorry for raising my voice.”
He shrugged. “Don’t worry about it.”
She gave a sheepish smile. “We have established that a lack of worrying is not easily achieved on my part.” She wrapped her arms around her knees and rested her chin on them. “Trev, I’m sorry.”
“I’m the one that decided to pick a fight,” he pointed out, scooting closer.
She gave him a dry look. “Bickering isn’t exactly rare for us, love. The shouting, however, is , so I’m sorry.”
“I don’t mind. I’m sorry for pushing.”
She heaved a sigh. “I feel stupid.”
“You’re not .”
“We’ve just had a row about, fundamentally, whose fault it is you lost an eye, and then about how we both care enough to die for each other in battle.”
He considered. “Alright, we may both be a little stupid.”
“A pinch of idiocy.”
“As far as whose fault it was goes—”
She made a face. “Are we really—?”
“ Shh . Even if it were your fault, which it wasn’t—” he disregarded her scowl at this— “You did also fix it, so… consider your nonexistent debt repaid.”
“You lost an eye, Trevor.”
“It got better.”
She smiled, though it fell quickly, lost to a downwards stare. “I thought you were dead. For a moment.”
Trevor froze.
“I saw him connect with your face, or maybe your neck, and you simply… fell. The blood was everywhere.” She uncurled and took his hand, scooting over and leaning against his arm, much the same way they had that day, beaten and bloodstained as they were. “I couldn’t tell if you were breathing until Grant ran over, and you were back on your feet so quickly that I spent the last half of that battle stunned you were even alive.”
Sypha turned her cheek against his skin, nuzzling tenderly against his shoulder. “Don’t make me watch you die, alright?” She asked gently. “I may as well have already seen it, and I didn’t care for it then; I don’t think I could endure it now.”
“I can’t make a promise like that in good conscience.” He murmured, resting his head atop hers. “I would break it as soon as it was necessary. Bad form, making promises you can’t keep.”
She swallowed, moving to fold her arms around his. “Then… I suppose promise me you’ll give a holler if you think you’re about to drop dead, so I at least don’t have to watch.”
He chuckled, burying his smile in her hair. “If I feel a slight case of death coming on, you’ll be the first to know.”
Her quiet giggle lifted his spirits. “I appreciate it.”
“But of course.” He kissed her crown. “I assume I will never need a similar warning from you, as I have only ever seen you endure lower leg injuries and am thus forced to conclude you are some kind of modern Achilles.”
She snorted. “Trevor, the heel injury is what killed him.”
“I kno- oh.” He straightened, glancing down at her with a grin. “Don’t give me that look.”
She pressed her lips together in an effort to hide the humor. “I’m not giving you a look.” Immediately, she simpered, taking his face in her hands and pecking his forehead. “You are very pretty, and that is good enough for me.”
“Oh, hey —” he tried to catch her as she twisted away, faceplanting into her side of the bed, her laugh echoing through the room.
“All I said was that you are pretty.” She protested as he wrapped her up in his arms, incorrigible as she was. "And many other things besides."
"I'm good with a whip." He humphed, burying his face in her shoulder.
She ruffled his hair. "You are very good with your hands."
Both pairs of eyes widened to the size of dinner plates and though he attempted to suppress it, Trevor’s restraint lasted only as long as it took to glance at her rather horrified expression and he burst out laughing.
“I– you –” Her cheeks puffed up indignantly.
He, unlike her, could not possibly have looked more delighted at the mistake. "Is–” he sucked down a breath between bursts of laughter. “Is that why you like me, hex?"
Sypha groaned. "I meant weapons!"
His voice wavered with the force of his laughter. "Love, that is not what you said."
"Weapons go in your hands and– ugh." She put out the hearth with a wave and abruptly turned over in his embrace, facing away from him with a ‘hmph’. "I'm tired , give me a break ."
He stifled his fading glee in the crook of her neck, wrapping his arms around her and giving her midsection a light squeeze as he came down from the much-needed moment of brevity. Grunting, she rolled over in spite of herself and settled into the mattress with a slight smile when he held her tighter, face pressed against her sternum.
With a wry smile and fond eyes, she pushed a hand under him and folded her arms around his neck, fingers slipping into his hair. “Comfortable?”
“Not being so right now would be very difficult,” came the muffled reply. “If you would refer to the position of my face, I have very little to complain about.”
He could practically hear her rolling her eyes, but her tone remained affectionate. “You’re lucky that I’m aware you are being facetious.”
“I am also very comfortable.”
She exhaled a laugh, raking her nails through the hair at his nape. “Go to sleep, you brute.”
“I love you, too, hex.”
She rolled her eyes again. “ Sleep .”
He smiled. “Really, though.”
“I know.” She pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Goodnight.”