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The Nail of Helena feels unnaturally heavy in his calloused palm.
Alexander Anderson is familiar with the weight of negative consequences, and this holy relic reeks of it. Here he stands, in all his Catholic virtue, with a weapon of mass destruction cradled between his fingertips. Not twenty feet away, his arch-nemesis, the almighty Alucard, begs him to reconsider.
He almost wants to apologize for the horrified, miserable expression on Alucard’s face. It looks so out of place, entirely different from the vampire’s signature smirk, and it sets him off-kilter. For a moment, he contemplates the possibility of victory without the nail.
“A monster like me,” Alucard’s voice rings through the open air, “a weak monster who could not bear to be human, must be defeated by a human.”
It certainly paints a nice picture, the righteous conquering the wretched, but despite Alexander’s prowess in battle, he knows his inherent status as a human puts him at a severe disadvantage. Even though his opponent is weakened by the loss of his souls, Alucard’s technique, honed over five centuries of battle experience, far overshadows his own.
Without the direct influence of God, his likelihood for success is less than one in a million. The entire world’s safety hinges upon this confrontation, and that is a risk too large to depend on the off chance of a miracle.
Alexander drops to his knees in a mockery of prayer, holding the nail above his head, poised to strike through his ribcage. In a moment of panic-induced mindlessness, he thinks back to the way Alucard had said his name after watching him slaughter the ocean of familiars blocking his path.
The words themselves were nothing new.
“I’m impressed, Alexander Anderson!”
But he almost sounded reverent.
Alexander looks up at the nail. It’s beautiful in its own right, shining with the luster of deadly bloodshed, not unlike the red-clad vampire and his polished pistols. The sun glances off the argent metal surface.
The nail glows brighter.
And brighter.
And even brighter.
Well , he thinks to himself, it's a holy relic. Of course it does creepy shit like that.
Squinting against the rapidly growing light, Alexander catches one last glimpse of Alucard’s silhouette before the glaring luminescence covers his field of vision.
Suddenly, he finds himself inside a room shrouded in warmth and red-tinted sunlight.
It’s an odd color, and it’s slightly off-setting. It reminds him of a certain vampire. He decides not to contemplate it too much.
Alexander blinks a few times, still light-headed from the effects of that godforsaken nail.
Cataloging his senses, he realizes that he can feel a malleable surface, not unlike a foam-stuffed mattress, pressing up against his back. There’s also a suspiciously human-shaped mass weighing down on his torso and the muted noise of chirping birds outside. Across the room, his eyes are drawn to the most noticeable appliance; a pair of garishly decorated crimson drapes.
He smiles fondly. That would explain the redness of the bedroom. What else did he expect? After all, his lover did have a knack for hoarding the most atrocious sanguine-colored items.
Wait.
His lover?
His lover?
He, Alexander Anderson, regenerator, weapon of a Catholic God, paladin of the Vatican, ace of the Iscariot, had a lover?
What in the absolute fuck ?!
The weight on his chest moves.
He can feel it snoring onto his right nipple .
He inhales deeply in a failed attempt to calm his frazzled nerves.
Without meaning to, he whispers, “Lu.”
And for some reason, that single syllable strikes someplace deep in his soul. He can sense a powerful wave of intimate adoration resonate within the room. He’s never experienced anything like this before, and it makes his heart ache.
The figure on his chest refuses to budge.
He tries again.
“Hey, Lu, I’m talking to you.”
Still nothing.
“I know you’re not a morning person, but you have to wake up.”
This time, there’s a muffled grunt against his collarbones that sounds vaguely like a long, drawn out “Noooooooo.”
Alexander sighs. He knows what he has to say next. He knows that they have this argument nearly every single morning.
“If you don’t go to work on time, the Big Boss is gonna kick your ass.”
The person finally lifts their head off his sternum.
Of course, he thinks.
Of course I would get stuck with the most deranged, arrogant, disgusting, narcissistic-
Alexander stills as Alucard’s exhausted eyes meet his own. He looks incredibly soft and vulnerable, bathed in the dim, crimson-colored sunlight filtered through their drapes. Alexander can’t help but smile. His hand automatically reaches up to ruffle dark ebony locks of hair.
“Integra’s not that bad,” Alucard’s voice is always a bit raspy, a little more baritone, in the mornings. Yet again, Alexander doesn’t know how he knows that, but he does, and the familiar rumble brings him immense comfort. “She’s a reasonable manager.”
Alexander snorts.
“Any reasonable manager would fire you for your consistent tardiness.”
“Oh, shut up,” Alucard whines. “Give me five more minutes.”
Alexander shakes his head.
“No can do. I already let you sleep twenty past your alarm. You really have to get going.”
Alucard smirks, looking up at him through thick eyelashes.
“I can totally get going if that’s what you want.”
He chuckles before shooting an highly skeptical look towards Alucard’s midsection.
“Even after last night?”
“You make a good point.”
Alexander watches as Alucard flops back onto his chest.
“My libido is completely gone, as is my energy. I’m drained right now. My ass hurts. Could I just stay in bed today?”
“Nope. My ass also hurts, and you don’t see me lazing around. In fact, I could still go for at least two more rounds.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“ Really? ”
“ Really.”
Alucard laughs, and it might be the most beautiful sound he ever hears.
It breaks his heart.
“I’m impressed, Alexander Anderson!”
He almost sounds reverent.
Alexander doesn’t want to lose this moment, but his eyes are tearing up, and the holy light is starting to cloud the corners of his vision. He blinks, once, twice, trying desperately to cement the last vestiges of this encounter into his memory.
But even as he fights against the will of the nail, the contours lose their shape, the details bleed together, the colors wash away…
And the red disappears.
The dreary scene from before returns to his peripheral. Surrounded by crumbling buildings and the cloying scent of blood, Alexander turns to face his nemesis (lover).
Secretly, he hopes their alternative selves are safe and happy, unaffected by the casualties and losses in this war. Perhaps, in another world, they would have found everything they needed in each other.
But right now, as dear London burns in hellfire, there is no place for what could’ve been. He has a job to do - a vampire to annihilate.
The silver glints enticingly in his hand. He closes his eyes.
Alexander Anderson thrusts The Nail of Helena into his heart and prays for deliverance.