Archive of Our Own ^beta

After they kill Dracula, the immediate sense of danger is finally dispelled after long days of travel and fights interspersed. Trevor, for one, is grateful for the opportunity to catch his breath. He’s always felt a pull towards dangerous situations—and he also has pretty shitty luck—but being subject to a prophecy demanding that he save humanity by killing Dracula? That was entirely its own level of clusterfuck, and he’s more than happy to leave it in the past and take advantage of the reprieve.

“Well. What now?” Sypha asks, surveying the damage done to the entry hall of the castle. The stone arches and columns are half-crumbled, leaving debris strewn across the cracked floor and stained rugs. The sun is just beginning to rise, painting the sky a muted orange-pink and casting little dazzling rainbows across the floor where the beams of light meet shards of glass and refract.

Trevor snorts, rubbing at his sore shoulder. He digs his thumb into the muscle, and after a few circular motions, the knot of tension loosens. “Let’s not think too far ahead here. I could use a bath, some food and drink, and a nap. In that exact order.”

Sypha elbows him but misses his numerous injuries, thankfully. “Always thinking of drinks,” she huffs. “Can’t you be serious, for once?”

“I am serious!” Trevor protests. “I feel like a dozen horses trampled over me, then called up their friends and did it again. I’m in no shape for anything other than rest.”

Sypha studies his face carefully, like she’s trying to gauge how genuinely exhausted he is. The truth must show, as she sighs and relents. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to take a bit of time to recover,” she admits, though she sounds reluctant.

“There are plenty of rooms here,” Alucard says from the top of the stairway, and they both turn to him. His voice echoes through the dim recesses of the castle, and the morning light illuminates the burnished gold of his eyes. “You are welcome to stay for as long as you wish. Both of you.”

Sypha smiles up at him. “Thank you for your generosity, my friend,” she says, and Trevor nods to convey his own gratitude.

Alucard blinks, as though he weren’t expecting any sort of thanks at all. “It’s no trouble,” he says faintly before gesturing for them to follow him back up the stairs and into his childhood home.

Alucard guides them to a wing of rooms far removed from the damaged portions of the castle. The wide hallway is dimly lit, but not eerie. Within the rooms themselves, the dressers and tables are coated with a fine layer of dust from lack of use, but the accommodations are far better than anything they had on the road.

“I’ll be staying in this room,” Alucard says, tapping on the door of a suite at the very end of the wing.

“I’ll take this one, then,” Sypha says decidedly, strolling into the room across from Alucard’s. “Thank you, again.”

Alucard nods, and Sypha shuts the door. Perhaps she’ll also indulge in a bath and a long nap before scavenging for food.

Trevor surveys the rest of the long hallway, but is only given a moment for observation before Alucard clears his throat. “My room… its bathing room is connected to the room that neighbors it.”

“Uh. Okay?”

“You’re welcome to stay in that room,” Alucard says hesitantly, though he meets Trevor’s gaze head-on. “It gets rather quiet when no one else is near. Like my coffin, in Gresit. I’d much rather have someone cohabitate with me, though I understand if you’re not comfortable with such arrangements.”

Trevor hadn’t previously given much thought as to what it would be like to sleep for an entire year. Perhaps Alucard hadn’t necessarily been asleep the whole time—perhaps at some point he’d awoken, alone and in pain from his wounds, suffering in silence until the ether mercifully swept him away again.

“Alright,” Trevor says, nodding. Anything beats a frigid wash in an icy cold stream or having to piss behind a tree. If this is what Alucard wants, it costs nothing to oblige him. “I’ll stay next door, then. You’d better not take your sweet time bathing, though.”

Alucard smiles, and Trevor can’t mistake the relief that crosses his features. “I never get quite as filthy as you manage to, Belmont. I’m sure I won’t require as much time in the bath as you will.”

“Asshole,” Trevor grumbles as he heads for the neighboring room. Alucard’s soft chuckling follows him until he shuts the door.

He takes stock of the room—a large bed with deep blue covers, a dresser with an attached mirror, a wood desk, and a chaise lounge. No windows, but that’s not unexpected. A door to the right of the bed leads to the shared bathing room.

It’ll do, Trevor thinks before face-planting on the bed and promptly passing out.

-

Three hours later and somewhat better rested, they all congregate downstairs in the kitchen. Surprisingly, they find a variety of fresh fruits and vegetables in the shelves and cupboards, as well as an array of cured meats.

“I didn’t expect the pantries to be stocked,” Trevor mumbles, sniffing at some preserved ham before tearing off a bite.

Sypha seems too hungry to question the presence of the food; she’s already devoured half of an apple and is eyeing the ham in Trevor’s hand with some interest.

“Father had servants keep the shelves filled in case…” Alucard’s breath audibly catches for a moment. “In case Mother ever visited, even in his absence.”

Sympathy fills Sypha’s eyes. “But how is there such a variety?” she asks, clearly trying to divert the conversation to spare Alucard any more pain. “Surely the castle didn’t travel around just to gather this selection.”

Alucard shakes his head. “There’s a greenhouse for the root vegetables and a few of the fruits.”

Trevor raises an eyebrow. “Don’t they need sunlight?”

“There are plenty of windows. And the watering system is controlled elsewhere.”

Dracula truly was a vampire of great knowledge, then. Trevor had his doubts, but the self-sustaining nature of the castle is an impressive testament to the vampire’s intellect and worldliness. He didn’t understand humans—and really, who did?—but he certainly was no stranger to the laws of nature that govern all living things.

“Well, thank goodness for that,” Sypha says, placing several potatoes onto the countertop. With a flick of her fingers, she lights the hearth. “I really thought we were going to have to go hunting again. I’m tired of fish and rabbits.”

The potatoes are baked, and they all eat their fill while making idle conversation about both the castle and the Belmont Hold.

Alucard brings up his plans of restoration; the damage inflicted during the fight was extensive, to put it mildly. It would be a shame to let his childhood home, and father’s collective knowledge, rot away. He’s also loath to keep it unguarded and vulnerable to unsavory characters.

Trevor rubs at his chin and ponders whether he should make similar efforts to sort through the damage at his family’s hold. As it is, the library isn’t even accessible; rather, it’s just a large, open pit. It’s all Trevor has left of his own family legacy. He doesn’t plan on having any more little Belmonts running around, but he doesn’t have the heart to let the Belmont name fade into obscurity either. The family had done good work.

Sypha, for her part, seems encouraging of their plans. She’d been in awe of the books in the hold and the castle’s alchemy laboratory. But perhaps she had also believed that both Alucard and Trevor would find themselves once again without purpose, living aimless and wandering lives in the aftermath of their grand quest. 

Part of Trevor does desire that, admittedly. Even now, he can’t think of his deceased family without feeling a deep ache in his chest that he’d tried for years to simply drink away. It hadn’t worked, obviously.

“I can’t imagine either of you would want to get started on restorations now,” Sypha says slowly.

“Of course not,” Trevor grunts. “I wasn’t exactly in shape even before we fought off the demon armies.” He’s bruised all over, and he knows the pain and stiffness will be even worse tomorrow. “Got any beer here, Alucard?”

Sypha pinches the skin of his wrist, and it hurts quite a bit.

The dhampir gives him a narrow-eyed look. “No,” he says, though not without humor. “Well, none for you, anyway.”

Trevor sighs.

-

The next morning, the first thing Trevor does is look at himself in the mirror. As expected, patches of skin all over his arms, chest, and back are mottled with bruises in various shades of purple. 

I look like a fucking grape, he thinks, poking at a bruise and hissing when it smarts. Haven’t felt this sore since I was a dumb kid and fell out of a window that one time.

The white cloths wrapped around the wounds on his arms are stained with splotches of maroon. He really ought to clean himself up.

A knock sounds from the door that connects to the bathing room, and Trevor tears his gaze away from his own reflection. It can only be one person.

“Come in,” Trevor calls out. He doesn’t bother pulling on a shirt; he’s too stiff for it anyway.

The door swings open and Alucard steps through, wearing trousers and a thin white shirt that exposes his collarbones and the scar across his chest. His hair is unruly from sleep—if the dhampir had even slept, as opposed to simply resting in bed—and he’s holding some white cloth and a glass jar half-filled with a clear liquid.

“Are those for me?” Trevor asks in greeting and jest alike. “How generous of you.”

Alucard’s eyes flash up toward the ceiling for a brief moment, as though he’s requesting a higher power for some patience. “Yes, well. It would be unfortunate if you were to survive this long only to die of an infection.”

Trevor tilts his head. “I’m not familiar with whatever that is.”

“It’s why you’re to keep your wounds clean,” Alucard says, gesturing for Trevor to sit down on the chaise lounge. “You were taught to do that, yes?”

“Mm, yeah.” 

Trevor sits and sinks further into the cushions than he had expected. It makes him lose his balance, and he nearly topples over, but Alucard gently grasps his wrist and steadies him. His hand is surprisingly warm. 

“Thanks,” Trevor says.

Alucard releases his wrist and begins unwrapping the dressing on his right arm, revealing a particularly nasty gash. “Infections occur when your wounds get… contaminated? That would be the best word for it, I think, without getting into the technicalities.”

Trevor watches as Alucard removes the stopper on the glass container. Almost immediately, a sharp scent reaches his nose. “Wait, that smells like—”

Alucard huffs and seats himself on the chaise lounge as well, doing so much more gracefully than Trevor had. “Alcohol, yes, but it’s not the drinking kind. It’s used to thoroughly cleanse a surface, and it works better than plain water.” He pours some of the alcohol on a cloth, just enough to dampen it, then places the glass on the nearby dresser.

Trevor had no idea alcohol could be used in such a way, but there’s no reason for Alucard to lie about it. He watches as Alucard begins to clean the newly exposed, still-oozing wound. He only has a moment to ponder the dhampir’s self control around blood when the cut begins to sting and burn, nearly startling him out of the other man’s grasp.

“I apologize,” Alucard quickly says, lifting the cloth away and pausing for a moment. His gold eyes flit across Trevor’s features in uncharacteristic worry. “I’d forgotten to warn you that it would hurt.”

“It’s alright,” Trevor says. “As long as it’s doing what it’s supposed to.”

“If it stings, then it certainly is,” Alucard replies and resumes with his gentle strokes that are a harsh contrast to the sharp pains of the alcohol on his broken skin.

“I’d only ever cleaned wounds with water,” Trevor says to keep any awkward silence at bay. “That was what my father had told me to do, when I was young.”

He realizes suddenly that this, perhaps, is the closest he and Alucard have been to each other in terms of physical proximity—at least outside of fights. Trevor has never been able to study his traveling companion up close before. 

Alucard’s features are sharp and aristocratic in a way that makes him seem timeless. And Trevor wonders if the dhampir truly is timeless—if he’ll live long past the boundaries of a mortal’s short lifespan.

There’s a singular curl of golden hair that rests on Alucard’s forehead, right above his left eye, he notices. He feels the odd urge to brush it back, or maybe even tug on it.

“Mm, yes,” Alucard says, bringing Trevor back to their conversation. “As long as the water is clean, that’ll usually be adequate enough to prevent inflammation.”

“That’s different from infection?”

“A symptom of infection is inflammation.” Alucard sets down the bloodstained cloth and reaches for another in the form of a long strip. He begins firmly wrapping it around the cleaned wound, making several neat loops. “My father has books about this topic that might interest you, especially as a fighter prone to injury.”

“I’m not much of a reader,” Trevor admits, looking down at the stone floor. “It’s not that I can’t—I just don’t really like to.”

Alucard ties the ends of the cloth strip together in a tight double knot. His voice is soft as he says, “Yes, I understand. And I imagine reading wasn’t a priority after…”

“Yeah,” Trevor says, sparing them both the trouble and heartache. “After.”

Alucard lets a silence fall between them as he shifts and tends to Trevor’s other arm. The atmosphere settles into something comfortable; his muscles are loose and relaxed in a way they rarely are these days.

“Thank you,” Trevor says quietly. He’s not sure why Alucard has decided to play nursemaid—he hadn’t thought the dhampir gave a damn if he lived or died—but either way, the kindness of the gesture isn’t lost on him. It’s odd, now, to have people who care.

Alucard’s movements hitch for just an instant. “You’re welcome,” he replies in his deep, rich baritone as he begins working on Trevor’s other arm. “It’s no trouble.”

Later, once he’s alone, Trevor finds himself tracing the edges of the neatly wrapped bandages, admiring Alucard’s work as a peculiar warmth settles in his chest.

-

It only takes a few days before Sypha very clearly becomes bored with their new reality. Trevor can’t say he’s surprised. It’s almost as though her magic builds and builds within her wiry frame; if she doesn’t release it somehow, she’ll make trouble just to have something to do. Unfortunately, none of the restoration efforts he and Alucard have been undertaking seem to interest her much. In the mornings, she runs laps around the castle, and on days Trevor isn't feeling lazy, he joins her.

Alucard has decided to take a top-down approach in repairing the castle. Most of the destructive fighting had occurred in the higher levels. 

Trevor, on the other hand, has no idea what he’s doing. Restoration of the crypt seems like a nearly impossible task every time he stares down into the depths of the crypt’s remnants. Thankfully, Alucard seems to have caught on to his helplessness and ends up providing a starting point.

“Here you are,” Alucard says when he finds Trevor in the kitchen having breakfast. Upon closer examination, the dhampir looks more exhausted than Trevor has ever seen him; his golden hair is limp, and his eyes are dull and half-lidded. Still, he makes an effort at a smile—the corners of his lips are upturned just so. He holds out an ornate golden key studded with tiny rubies and emeralds. 

Trevor accepts the key after a short moment, slipping it into his pocket. “Uh, thanks. What’s it for?”

“A storage room on the first floor, hidden behind the stairway. You’re welcome to use whatever you’d like,” Alucard says.

Trevor blinks in surprise, but nods in acknowledgment and thanks.

The dhampir wanders away then, presumably to continue cleaning up the mess left in his childhood bedroom. Trevor doesn’t envy him. He can’t even begin to imagine what sort of trauma Alucard must be methodically unpacking and packing away.

After breakfast, Trevor takes the weighty key out and contemplates it. No matter what it’s for or where it leads, a key is traditionally a sign of trust amongst noble families; physically and metaphorically, a key gives its owner access to places that are customarily guarded. If a key is freely given, it is both a gift and a responsibility.

Alucard isn’t exactly nobility, but he isn’t entirely removed from human society either. Trevor wonders if he understands the significance of the gesture. 

I shouldn’t read into it too much, he ultimately decides. Surely he knows I’m not one for subtle signaling. And surely he doesn’t trust me as much as the key might imply.

Still, Trevor won’t let Alucard’s gift go to waste. The storage room, as it turns out, has all sorts of construction materials—wood, marble, stone, and even fabrics. 

Trevor whistles, thoroughly impressed. Not even a family like the Belmonts, the paranoid bunch that they were, had such stockpiles and tools. There are even what appear to be several extendable ladders. “Well, these could be useful,” Trevor remarks, grabbing one, testing its sturdiness, and heading outside.

The sun is out again, but there’s a breeze to combat what would otherwise be an oppressive amount of heat. Trevor has spent enough time outside on the road to know that even for humans, the sun isn’t anyone’s best friend. He thinks of burnt, peeling skin and shudders, quickening his pace.

The Hold, unfortunately, is still largely inaccessible. He can swing down with the help of his whip, but making his way back up will be a nigh impossible task, even with the ladders.

Suddenly, from behind, a voice calls out to him. “Need some help?”

Trevor turns around and grins. “How’d you know?”

Sypha shrugs. The sunlight illuminates her hair, making her light-auburn strands resemble a halo of fire around her head. “The damage was pretty bad. And you could always use some help, I think.” She strides straight for the edge of the massive pit, uncaring of the ladder he’s wrangling.

“I’m not sure if that was meant to be an insult,” Trevor says, dropping the ladder and following her. He doesn’t need to see her face to know she’s smiling.

“It definitely was.”

With a few practiced movements of her hands, Sypha summons a disk of ice. They both step onto it, and it slowly begins to lower them into the Hold.

Again, they pass by the portrait of Leon Belmont. Every day, Trevor waffles between respecting him—admiring him, even—and resenting him for forever altering the trajectory of his descendants’ lives.

“How long will your repairs take, do you think?” Sypha asks, interrupting Trevor’s quiet contemplation. The question feels loaded, somehow.

“What, are you tired of being here already?”

Sypha remains silent, and that’s answer enough.

Trevor sighs, a sinking feeling forming in his gut. “If you really want to go, you can. You know that right? It's not like you’re being kept here against your will.”

They reach the bottom of the Hold, and with quick, sharp movement of her wrist, Sypha flings the ice disk up and away, out of sight. It crashes onto the ground above with a loud crack.

“Well, I know that,” she says, and her annoyance is clear. “I just… I was hoping you’d want to come with me.”

Trevor, already making his way towards the ruins of the stairs, comes to a halt. They stand there in silence for a long moment.

This deep into the Hold, there’s hardly any sunlight. When he turns around, Sypha is barely more than a silhouette. She walks up to him, the edges of her figure fuzzy until a little ball of flame flickers to life in the cup of her left palm. Her eyes look sad, the corners of her mouth downturned. “I could use a friend on the road,” she confesses quietly.

Trevor, for one, did not sign up for this sort of shit today. He is no longer young and spry, nor is he optimistic and deluded by the ideas of adventure grandeur. Any fantasies of that sort were turned to ashes long ago.

“Sypha, while I appreciate that you enjoy my company enough to ask—”

She shakes her head. “Trevor, there’s no need to explain,” she cuts in, a wry half-smile forming on her face.

“No, there is,” Trevor insists, because Sypha is his friend, and it’s the very least she deserves. “I’ve been on the road, traveling almost non-stop ever since…” He gestures around the Hold. “Ever since my home was invaded, ransacked, and burned to the ground by the masses, with my family still inside it. I’m finally back now, and I don’t want to leave again—at least not so soon.”

Sypha’s eyes soften. “Of course. I understand.”

“And there’s also the matter of Alucard,” Trevor continues. His voice becomes quieter. He doesn’t think the dhampir is near enough to overhear them—and he probably wouldn’t eavesdrop either way—but it’s better to be safe. “I really don’t think he should be left alone.”

And if Sypha hasn’t caved already, she absolutely has to now. They’ve both seen Alucard roaming the halls, entering and exiting rooms like the dazed ghost of a lost child. This is the first time he’s lived in the castle without either of his parents present in the world of the living. It must make his childhood home feel vacant and foreign, devoid of its usual comfort and vitality.

He thinks, also, of Alucard’s words from a few days earlier—It gets rather quiet when no one else is near. Like my coffin, in Gresit. I’d much rather have someone cohabitate with me, he had said. There’s no way Trevor can leave him, not without feeling an immense amount of guilt. He’s responsible, somehow, for ensuring that the dhampir doesn’t feel isolated and abandoned. After all, Trevor knows very intimately what that soul-crushing lonesomeness is like, doesn’t he? And there are very few people he would wish that feeling upon.

“Yes, you’re right,” Sypha admits, looking down at her scuffed sandals. “It’d be selfish of me to drag you along and leave Alucard here on his own. I’m sorry for asking.”

“Don’t be. It’s only natural to want companionship, especially on long journeys.” Trevor reaches up and pats her shoulder consolingly. “I’m not going because I know you’re strong and more than capable of taking care of yourself. You’ll be perfectly fine without me.”

“And Alucard might not be.” Sypha nods, a newfound determination clear in her gaze. “Yes. This is the best plan of action, then. I’ll go find my people and protect the towns along the way.”

Trevor nods back. “Yeah. And Alucard and I will remain here and guard the secrets of the castle and the Hold. If you ever need anything, you’ll know where to find us.”

Sypha rolls her eyes. “This isn’t a goodbye, you know,” she says, her tone lightening up. “I’ll write to you both as often as I can. Maybe I’ll bring my people to visit too.”

Trevor grins. “You’d better. I still have some words for your all-too-secretive grandfather, and none of them are particularly nice.”

Sypha laughs.

And so the next morning, she packs a rucksack with some extra clothing and preserved meats. When she opens her arms, both Trevor and Alucard take turns squeezing her tight and murmuring a few parting words. Then, after thanking them for their well-wishes, she mounts a horse and takes off. They both watch her until she disappears into the trees, off on her own adventure. She doesn’t look back, but Trevor knows she’ll be thinking of them, and they’ll be thinking of her.

-

Later that night, Trevor and Alucard are in the kitchen eating fried fish with an assortment of vegetables. It’s a better meal than anything Trevor’s had in the many food establishments he’s had the displeasure of visiting.

He and Alucard sit at opposite ends of the kitchen table but are not so far apart that conversation becomes stilted. Trevor considers his companion and wonders if the food is filling, or if Alucard hungers for blood. In the tomb below Gresit, there had been a contraption filled with blood, Trevor remembers. How vital was it for the dhampir’s survival.

Alucard looks up and catches Trevor’s gaze, but Trevor doesn’t look away. It’s Alucard who averts his gaze.

“I’m surprised you didn’t leave with Sypha as well,” Alucard says, prying bits of fish apart with his fork.

Trevor shrugs. “Well, she did ask me to go with her,” he answers honestly.

This seems to startle the dhampir—he looks up, blinking; his golden eyes seem to widen a fraction. “And you told her no?”

Trevor snorts. “She doesn’t need me,” he answers truthfully.

His response seems to render Alucard entirely speechless. He’s stopped eating to stare at Trevor, his fork hovering midair. His face is open and honest—shock and relief are written all over his features in equal measure.

Really, the fact that Alucard actually wants Trevor around is much more flattering than it should be. The man just doesn’t want to be alone; that’s all there is to it, Trevor rationalizes. It’s not like Trevor is valuable in any way. He’s a terrible person to be around and he knows it.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Trevor grumbles, stuffing his mouth with fish and cherry tomatoes to prevent himself from saying something infinitely unwise. 

“No, of course not,” Alucard replies faintly, setting down his fork. He meets Trevor’s gaze and smiles, shy and tentative. “But still. I thank you.”

The sincerity of Alucard’s tone makes an odd warmth flood into Trevor’s chest and cheeks. He can only curse himself for being so easily affected by a pretty smile, and he prays that his reaction isn’t visible.

The corners of Alucard’s eyes are upturned for the rest of the meal, and Trevor realizes, quite suddenly, that this is perhaps the first time he has seen the dhampir truly happy. He finds that he likes it—perhaps a lot more than he should.

-

In Sypha’s absence, not much changes. Trevor had feared that Sypha had served as a mediator between himself and Alucard—that they wouldn’t be able to dwell together without some outside peacekeeping force between them—but surprisingly enough, they get along rather well. Trevor is a man of few words, and while Alucard is more than capable of making light, inconsequential conversation, he’s respectful of Trevor’s quiet nature.

Still, even without words, they come to learn quite a bit about one another. Alucard rises early in the morning and has nothing for breakfast but a cup of tea. Trevor rises an hour or two later than the sun and holds off his hunger until lunch. Alucard enjoys long, relaxing baths, and his favorite bath oil is the jasmine scented one. Trevor’s partial to the rosehip oil himself. 

They’d had a rose garden at the Belmont Estate, he remembers. It hadn’t been very grand—just a squared-off row of shrubs with a fountain in the middle. His mother had taken care of it herself. When he was little, Trevor would follow her around when she pruned the shrubs, curiously poking at the dead canes. The thorns would prick him, and he would bleed, but he didn’t cry. 

“Oh, Trevor,” his mother had said when she caught sight of his bloody finger. “Why didn’t you say anything, dearheart?”

Trevor had shrugged. “But it’s okay, maman!” he’d protested with the righteous indignation only a five-year old could manage.

She’d fussed over him, rinsed his little wound, bandaged it, and pressed a kiss onto it anyway. 

So, the rosehip scent is comforting, but it leaves Trevor feeling a bit tender, sometimes. Still, it's the only bath oil he uses, and when the small, delicate bottle is depleted, there’s always a new one mysteriously waiting for him the next day.

And that’s another thing that Trevor has learned about Alucard—he’s much too generous. Perhaps the dhampir feels indebted to Trevor in some way, which would be foolish. But Alucard meets his every want and need without complaint. Even earlier today, when Trevor had asked for access to the armory, Alucard had granted it without question. Trevor had taken a bow, a quiver of arrows, and an assortment of throwing knives, and Alucard hadn’t even batted an eye.

Alucard also continues tending to Trevor’s slowly healing wounds—wiping them down with alcohol, applying some sort of herbal concoction, then wrapping them with care. It’s good for Trevor’s physical health, but not good for his mental health, he thinks. Every interaction with the dhampir leaves him feeling off-balance and unsure of himself. If there were more time in the day, Trevor might dwell on that for a bit longer, but as things are, he has plenty of tasks even outside of repairing the Hold to occupy him.

In the late afternoons, after spending much of the day restoring portions of the Hold, Trevor goes out into the nearby woods to hunt down fresh game and gather whatever edible flora he can find. He’s no cook, but Alucard is an absolute magician in the kitchen; no matter what Trevor brings back, the dhampir can put together something delicious.

One day, Alucard decides to tag along with him on one of his hunting expeditions. His long hair is tied back into a low ponytail by a dark ribbon, and that one stubborn curl still rests right above his eye. The look suits him.

“Do you know how to shoot a bow?” Trevor asks as Alucard approaches.

“In theory. It’s been a while since I’ve used one. I might be rusty,” Alucard admits. He nods toward the bow in Trevor’s hands. “That was my practice bow, actually.”

Trevor raises an eyebrow. The wooden bow he’d taken from the armory is well-balanced and covered in beautiful carved-in designs. Trevor had almost assumed it to be a decoration until he’d tested its weight and the strength of the bowstring. “And your real bow?” he asks.

“Stored away in my personal chambers.” Alucard gives him a small, teasing smile that exposes the very tips of his fangs. “Shall I bring it out next time?”

Trevor nods. “I would very much like to see it,” he replies sheepishly.

Ever since he’d found the Morningstar whip in the Belmont Hold, he’d been hoping to stumble across other precious weapons slotted away in odd nooks and crannies of the library. So far, he’s had no luck. The possibility of seeing and maybe even handling the bow of the son of Dracula has Trevor well and truly excited.

Alucard must be able to read Trevor’s barely restrained anticipation because he chuckles and agrees to unearth the weapon as soon as they return to the castle. The sound of his laugh burrows under Trevor’s skin and will probably show up in his dreams tonight. But no matter; he shakes it off.

For now, Trevor offers up the throwing knives—nearly shivers when their hands touch—and they hunt.

-

As the nights begin to get colder, they spend their evenings in Dracula’s study, sitting in front of the fireplace. They share a bottle of wine and trade childhood stories. Trevor doesn’t have much to contribute; he hadn’t really gotten to be a child for very long at all. But Alucard seems to have had an upbringing filled with love and learning and love of learning.

“I suppose I’m much like my mother, in that sense,” Alucard says, refilling his glass. The light of the fire dances in his bright eyes. “Ever curious about the ways of the world.”

“Sounds like your mother was a wonderful woman,” Trevor says softly, raising his own glass. 

It’s still hard for him to envision Dracula being tied down to a human woman. She truly must have been extraordinary, to catch his attention and keep it.

“The Church didn’t see it that way,” Alucard says with no small amount of bitterness. 

Ugh. Fuck the Church, really.

Trevor shakes his head. “I think we’ve established that the Church has a terrible sense of judgment.”

“Yes,” Alucard solemnly agrees. “They excommunicated your family, didn’t they?”

Trevor nods in affirmation and sips his wine. “It was the catalyst for the fall of the Belmont clan.”

After the Church’s condemnation of the Belmonts, attitudes amongst the general populace began changing. Those who had once been thankful for the family’s services began resenting them for the inevitable collateral damage that resulted from the mere presence of creatures of the night.

“Would your parents have… heard me out? That very first day, under Gresit, I mean.”

Trevor traces slow circles over the rim of his wine glass. “Probably not. My mother, maybe. But not my father. He was very much of the strike first, ask questions later variety.”

Alucard nods like he had expected that answer. “I am fortunate it was you, then, who was my hunter.”

It takes a moment for Trevor to process the words—my hunter—and when he does, heat rushes into his cheeks and ears. It’s been a long time since he was anyone’s anything, he rationalizes. He’s not particularly good at long term relationships of any kind. It’s a natural reaction.

If Alucard notices anything peculiar with Trevor’s countenance, he pays no mind to it, which Trevor is grateful for. They’ve just barely passed the stage of walking on eggshells around each other, afraid to trigger painful memories. Despite all of their traded barbs early in their acquaintance, stepping into friendship has required a measure of sensitivity that Trevor isn’t accustomed to, while Alucard seems rather adept at it.

Trevor clears his throat. “You don’t mind that I’m not very good company?” he asks.

Alucard smiles at him over his nearly empty glass. His fangs poke over his lower lip. “Frankly, you’re the only company who has decided to stick around. I don’t have very many options, do I?” he teases.

Trevor chuckles. “No, I suppose not.”

They fall into a comfortable silence and finish the bottle of wine. Alucard puts out the dwindling fire with a pail of sand, and they head to their rooms.

“Goodnight, Trevor,” Alucard says just as Trevor touches his doorknob.

In the faint light of the hallway, Trevor can just barely make out the edges of Alucard’s upturned lips, the soft corners of his bright eyes. The tips of his ears appear slightly flushed.

He’s beautiful, Trevor thinks, and not for the first time. 

He has always found Alucard’s appearance to be pleasing in a more scientific way—the sharp angle of his jaw, the height of his cheekbones, even the length of his wavy hair. The dhampir is conventionally attractive. But now, Trevor’s own swiftly growing affection for his friend has made Alucard appear even more ethereal and otherworldly. There’s no exact science to that, is there?

Trevor dips his head. “Goodnight, Alucard,” he replies, his voice a mere whisper as though he’s afraid of being overheard. He’s never been skilled at obfuscation; his tone will always give away his true thoughts and feelings. 

Quickly, he enters his room and shuts the door behind him. It takes only a few moments to strip out of his house clothes and burrow under the soft, inviting covers.

Trevor is well aware that he hasn’t been this fond of someone in quite some time, and he’s not ready to face that, much less let it be known. That's not to say he’ll pull away or start avoiding Alucard, but he certainly needs time to himself to process and explore the depths of his newly uncovered emotions.

More than anything, he doesn’t wish for his feelings to become a burden on Alucard; he can be content with things the way they are at the moment. It almost hurts to imagine spoiling the peace, the tenderness, between them with his own selfishness. How could someone like Alucard ever want someone like him?

“Wishful thinking,” Trevor grumbles to himself before dragging the bed covers over his head, plunging himself into the dark oblivion.

-

Sypha’s first letter arrives just a few days later, slipped under the castle’s front doors. Alucard raises a brow when he comes downstairs and sees it that morning, like he’s impressed that someone actually had the courage, or recklessness, to approach a vampire’s home right to its very doorstep.

In the kitchen, Trevor shifts his chair closer to Alucard’s end of the table so they can read the letter together. The parchment is crinkled and slightly water-stained when he spreads it out, but the words are completely legible. Trevor wonders if there’s some type of preservation magic on it. Something like that would be incredibly useful for the books both in the Hold and in the castle.

Alucard clears his throat and reads the letter’s contents aloud.

Dear Trevor & Alucard,

I hope this finds you well.

I’ve reached a town with a name too long and complicated to pronounce, much less write out. But I’m safe. I met a few of the unsavory sort on the road, but I handled them, of course.

Summer is coming to an end. In a matter of weeks, it will be cold and the trees will be barren. I wonder if I will still enjoy journeying in such conditions without the warmth of family or friends. 

No matter. Something is drawing me north, so I must continue on. The townspeople here are wary of travelers coming from that direction, though they won’t explain why. I intend to get to the bottom of it. It could be more night creatures, but it could also be something related to the Church. When is it not?

I plan to leave this town in a few days’ time, so there’s no need to write back. I miss you both already. I hope you’re both well and you haven’t killed each other for reasons I don’t need to state.

Your friend,
Sypha

Alucard sets the letter down, and Trevor can’t help but huff a laugh. “She doesn’t think very much of us, does she?”

Alucard smiles as he begins to carve up an apple for them to share with deft, precise movements. “For good reason. I don’t think she was too far off when she said we were children in men’s bodies.” He offers a slice, and Trevor takes it.

“No fault of our own.” Trevor shrugs. He bites into the apple. It’s crisp and sweet, which is a rarity. He’s used to ones that are either too tart or too close to rotting. He wonders, faintly, if the castle’s greenhouse has an apple tree. “Either way, we get along better than she imagines, I think.”

“Do we?” Alucard asks, baring his fangs for a split second. They glint in the morning light, sharp and deadly, before sinking into the apple’s flesh.

The dramatics, honestly.

Trevor rolls his eyes. “Oh please. You stopped being intimidating the moment you told me to have some class.”

“Mm. That was a good fight,” Alucard admits grudgingly. “That thing you did with the whip…”

“Pretty impressive, huh?” Trevor asks, a smug grin overtaking his face. “I could teach you, if you want.”

He’s never allowed anyone else to handle the whip before—it was one of the last things he had remaining of his family—but there’s no hesitation here. It’s not Belmont practice to lend weapons, but in this case, Trevor finds that he would. He doesn’t know when it happened, but he trusts Alucard with his own life. 

“Your whip isn’t as impressive as my telekinetically-controlled sword.” Alucard hands him another apple slice, then carefully folds up Sypha’s letter and slips it into his pocket. “So don’t let it get to your head.” He stands and rinses the knife in the sink.

Trevor can only sit back and appreciatively trace the broad shape of his shoulders, down to the tapered lines of his waist. “I would never,” he says, his mouth going a little dry.

He can’t see Alucard’s face, but he knows the dhampir is smiling.

-

Curiosity about the source of the apples drives Trevor to continue exploring the castle in hopes of finding the greenhouse. As he roams the halls, he wonders if the locations of certain rooms shift periodically; he swears the armory went from the first floor to the third, then the second. Another question for Alucard. It would definitely explain the castle’s maze-like nature.

When he finally finds the greenhouse—on the fourth floor—the castle’s only other occupant is already there, kneeling between rows of what resemble pig troughs filled with dirt and greenery. Alucard’s hair is once again tied back loosely, and Trevor’s fingers twitch for a moment as he considers what the golden locks would look like twisted in a braid. 

The greenhouse itself is more than impressive. The room somehow rivals the entrance hall in size; the ceiling is high, and there are indeed an array of windows to let in the necessary sunlight. There seems to be an elaborate system of pipes delivering water directly into the soil troughs. The corners of the room host fruiting trees, while the troughs have the vegetables.

Trevor knocks on the already open door, as if Alucard hasn’t already heard him approaching. Still, when Alucard raises his head, he looks surprised, so maybe he was too absorbed in his work to fully register Trevor’s presence.

“Trevor,” Alucard greets him warmly. He’s again dressed in a loose, white shirt and simple brown trousers. “What brings you here?”

Trevor steps into the room, peering at Alucard’s gloved hands. “Curiosity. What are you doing?”

Alucard raises the spade in his grasp. “Preparing the dirt for planting. How do you feel about tomatoes?”

“I like them.” Trevor kneels down on the stone between the troughs, next to Alucard, and sees a small glass jar full of seeds. “Is that what you’re about to plant?”

Alucard hums in affirmative, using the spade to stab and scrape at the dirt in a motion not unlike rowing a boat. “Yes, but first the soil needs to be loosened up and fertilized.”

“Fertilized?”

“Yes. Plants require certain nutrients, and the soil is likely lacking them.”

Trevor shakes his head. He doesn’t remember his mother doing such things before planting her rose bushes. Still, Alucard is more knowledgeable about most topics than the average human.

“Let me guess,” Trevor drawls. “Dracula had books on this too.”

Alucard smiles. “Agriculture was the foundation of human societies in ancient times. Naturally, there are records of the practice, though perhaps not as extensive as my father’s.”

“You really like this,” Trevor realizes, registering the passion in the dhampir’s voice; the way he handles the spade with familiarity and doesn’t seem to shy away from the messy nature of gardening.

Alucard looks away, gazing out one of the ceiling-high windows. As his head turns, Trevor sees a smudge of dirt on his cheek, and he almost desperately wishes he could reach out and wipe it away—but he doesn’t think the gesture would be welcome. 

“Vampires have come to represent death. I wanted to contradict that, when I was younger,” Alucard confesses, his voice becoming quiet. “Thus began my fascination with nurturing life.”

Trevor remembers, then, how attentively Alucard had tended to his wounds that first morning he’d spent in the castle. The dhampir had been so, so careful—and even apologetic when the alcohol had stung. His bedside manner was similar to that of a nagging nursemaid, and the memory almost makes Trevor smile.

“No one could look at you and think of death,” Trevor says, which is definitely not what he meant to say. The truth slips out a little too easily, but he supposes it’s no secret he thinks Alucard is beautiful; the man is warm, brilliant sunshine personified. He’s brought life to the otherwise listless castle, and Trevor is beginning to have trouble imagining a life without him.

Alucard meets his eyes, and his mouth quirks. “That’s because you’re familiar with me and my kind. Most of all, you were raised to be unafraid.”

Trevor shakes his head. “That’s not what I… nevermind.”

Get a grip, he thinks to himself, but then Alucard tilts his head and blinks like an intrigued puppy, and it takes all of Trevor’s willpower to keep from doing something stupid like confessing how ardently head over heels he might be for the dhampir. Their lives are already complicated enough, and no doubt, someone like Trevor isn’t what Alucard is looking for anyway.

“Would you like to help me?” Alucard asks before they can fall into silence.

“Yes,” Trevor answers, relieved at the change in topic. “But you’ll have to tell me what to do.”

Alucard is already across the room and digging through a wood cabinet. “Of course,” he says, returning with another pair of gloves and a spade. “Would you like me to hold your hand through it?”

“There’s no need for that,” Trevor grumbles as he pulls on the gloves. He tries not to flush as he imagines it literally—Alucard’s strong, capable hands on his own, guiding him through the necessary movements, their bodies pressed together. The air in the room suddenly feels a bit stifling.

They spend the rest of the afternoon in the greenhouse preparing the soil and subsequently planting the seeds. Alucard says the tomatoes will be ready to eat in a handful of months, and Trevor is struck dumb by the implication that Alucard expects him to still be around months and months from now.

Alucard must be able to read it on his face, because he simply says, “You said you like them. They’re for you,” like that somehow explains everything.

“...Thank you,” Trevor replies for lack of anything more clever to say.

Alucard pats his hand, and even through the thick layers of their gloves, the simple touch makes Trevor feel like he’s been doused in oil and lit on fire—a living, breathing flame.

Oh no, he thinks, staring consideringly at the streak of dirt on the high of Alucard’s cheekbone. He’s got it bad, doesn’t he? He’s not sure how he’s going to walk away from this without getting hurt, but he’s equally unsure of how to put a stop to it. Not when he’s already in so deep, their lives inextricably intertwined due to the machinations of fate.

Trevor looks away, then, because sometimes looking at Alucard can be like looking at the sun; both are far too radiant to be appreciated without experiencing some level of sharp hurt that can’t be guarded against. But the thought of being far away from Alucard, never to gaze upon him again, is somehow even more painful.

Trevor will simply have to take what he can get, won’t he?

-

Several doors in the castle are shut tight, and no amount of wriggling at the knobs will pry the doors loose. Logically, Trevor knows that a locked door means no entry, means that he’s not welcome. But he’s never been much of a rule follower, and if Alucard really wanted to keep him out of certain spaces, he would’ve given him some sort of forewarning. Right?

The door he’s standing in front of now is of a dark wood; broad, sturdy, and likely heavy. Behind it could be a library, or a laboratory, or another greenhouse. Whatever it is, Trevor’s boredom and curiosity won’t allow him to just let it be.

As Trevor is considering his options—kicking down the door or somehow picking the lock—he sticks a hand into his trouser pocket, and his fingertips find smooth, cool metal.

The key.

“There’s no way that’ll work here,” Trevor mutters to himself, but he slips the key out of his pocket anyway.

If anything, its gilded surface seems to have grown shinier, its jewels brighter, even after having been neglected in the deep recesses of his trousers. It’s just as weighty as it was when Trevor first received it.

Well, it won’t hurt to give it a try, Trevor thinks. He lines up the key with the keyhole in the knob.

The key slides in. He twists it. Then turns the knob. The door creaks open.

Trevor suddenly becomes less concerned with what’s behind the door, and more concerned about the meaning of the damn key. He runs down a flight of stairs, turns into a narrow corridor, and tries the key on another locked door. It swings open. Trevor doesn’t know if he should feel delighted or dismayed.

The key was for the supply closet, Alucard had said, which wasn’t a lie. But apparently it wasn’t the whole truth. Either every door in the castle is fitted for the same key, which doesn’t seem likely, or the key itself is enchanted to open any door in the castle.

Trevor slips the key out of the knob and considers it again, rubbing his thumb across its teeth. Perhaps in his grief, Alucard has lost his mind. Why else would he gift a Belmont an enchanted key allowing him access to so much of the castle? Has he forgotten that their lineages are mortal enemies? That having a Belmont as a guest within the caste walls is in itself an act of betrayal of their increasingly complicated histories?

He almost wants to return the key, but it was a gift, and returning a gift is almost ruder than intruding into spaces he hasn’t been explicitly invited into. He also can’t assume that Alucard understands the significance of his actions in the context of nobility and host-guest relations. Just because Trevor has been gifted an enchanted key that screams of welcoming, of homecoming, of belonging, doesn’t mean he can take advantage of Alucard’s kindness, or worse, misconstrue it. Turn it into something it’s not.

He was given the key so Alucard wouldn’t have to unlock every damn door for Trevor while in the midst of his restoration efforts. That must be it. That’s all there is to it.

Still, once Trevor returns to his room for the night, he finds a frayed piece of cord and loops the key onto it before tying it around his neck. The gilded key rests against his skin, and the weight of it is comforting even as he spends the night thinking about things he can’t have.

-

Several nights later, he and Alucard enter the washroom at the same time. While Alucard is still fully dressed, Trevor has already stripped off his shirt, and his trousers are half undone. Alucard’s bright eyes wander across the planes of his torso before he politely averts his gaze. 

While Trevor used to not care much for nudity, something about his proximity to the dhampir seems to make him resemble a blushing schoolgirl. A hot flush creeps up the back of his neck as he hastily redoes his trousers. “Uh, you can bathe first,” he says, backing away towards the door.

Alucard doesn’t seem to have noticed his flustered state. “Your hair is getting longer,” he simply comments.

Trevor stops in the midst of his retreat. He runs a hand through his hair, glances at himself in the mirror, and yeah, his brown locks are nearly at his collarbone. He hadn’t even noticed.

“Would you like me to cut it?” Alucard asks, the corners of his mouth tilted up.

“You know how to cut hair?”

The dhampir tilts his head. It makes him look like an inquisitive puppy. “Is it difficult?”

Trevor shrugs. “Never done it before. But I don’t really care about how it looks, so if you’re truly willing…”

Alucard smiles. “Have a seat,” he says, gesturing to the edge of the stone tub across from the mounted mirror. “I’ll be back with some shears.”

Turns out that agreeing to a haircut was perhaps the worst mistake of Trevor’s life, because having Alucard’s long, skilled fingers gently combing through his locks and massaging his scalp makes him want to melt into a puddle on the floor. It’s difficult to keep embarrassing noises from slipping out; he bites his lip and chews the inside of his cheek into a bloody mess to help keep quiet.

Alucard must notice his odd reaction. “Is this uncomfortable?” he asks. His fingers slide out of Trevor’s hair, and Trevor allows himself a moment to mourn the near-devastating loss.

He clears his throat. “No,” he says, his voice hoarse. “It’s fine.” It’s perfect, actually, but he won’t say that. It’s high time he learns how to practice restraint. He’ll take whatever Alucard gives him and no more.

Alucard meets his eyes in the mirror. “Alright,” he says softly, and his hands return to Trevor’s hair. “Let me know if that changes.”

It’s more than a little endearing, how careful Alucard is. The glossy wooden comb he’s using to part out sections of hair is widely toothed to prevent tangles from getting painfully caught. His movements are smooth and sedate to avoid any tugging. He glances up at Trevor through the mirror every so often to ensure that he isn’t causing any discomfort. He’s just so considerate that it makes Trevor’s throat ache.

The last person who took care of him like this was his mother, he thinks. His mother, who let Trevor watch her plait her hair into elaborate braids, and then let Trevor try to do it himself on her long locks. Who, when asked, would plait Trevor’s hair too, no matter how long or short it was. As a child, Trevor would rake his comb through his hair and tug it through the snags and tangles until the individual strands of hair snapped. 

“Oh, dearheart, doesn’t that hurt?” she would ask, concern marring her delicate features.

“It’s alright, maman, a little pain will only make me stronger!” Trevor had replied, echoing the words of his father. He was a big boy now, and was expected to act like it.

His mother’s eyes had grown a little soft and sad around the edges. “That doesn’t mean you should ever hurt yourself on purpose, Trevor,” she had said before gently taking the comb from his grasp. “Here, do it like this.”

And when she combed through his hair, it never, ever, hurt.

Trevor’s mother was the last person in his life who loved him enough to shield him from pain, he thinks, and the fact that Alucard is doing something similar now is almost too much to bear. He’s lived the life of a vagrant for so long now that even a small measure of care like this is foreign, bittersweet and painful.

“Are you alright, Trevor?” Alucard asks, pulling him out of his thoughts.

The corners of his eyes are stinging with unshed tears, and he can’t even use his hair to hide their red-rimmed appearance in the mirror. Alucard has pulled his now shorter hair back, holding it in a loose grip at the back of his head.

“You have to tell me if I’m hurting you,” Alucard says, and he must have assumed that he’s harmed Trevor in some way, because he sounds almost devastated, which is wrong on so many levels.

“You– You didn’t hurt me.” Trevor reaches up without thinking and grabs one of Alucard’s hands. He squeezes it tight and soaks up its warmth. “You just… reminded me of something. From before.”

He doesn’t have to explain that before means before the fire, before the ashes. Alucard’s eyes dim a bit at that, but he squeezes Trevor’s hand in return.

Long after the shears are set aside, Alucard continues running the comb through Trevor’s hair. And after the comb is set aside, the dhampir braids and unbraids his brown locks. The sensation is soothing enough that he nearly falls asleep, and as much as he wants to luxuriate in the feeling forever, he can’t. It’s too much; he can’t be greedy. Alucard deserves better.

“Thank you for the haircut,” he says, and the words are almost painfully inadequate for the gratitude he feels as he meets Alucard’s gaze in the mirror. He sorely needed this.

Alucard nods, his eyes serious. It seems he understands. His warm hands leave Trevor’s scalp, and in the mirror, he almost looks disappointed, though the expression is fleeting and quickly replaced by a small smile. “I’ll let you bathe, then. Please don’t take too long.”

Trevor snorts half-heartedly and doesn’t watch as Alucard leaves, because if he had it his way, Alucard would never leave at all.

-

A week later, another letter from Sypha arrives. Alucard reads it aloud for him. It mentions where she’s at, how long she’s staying, and where else she’s going, but not much else. She writes that she misses them, and enclosed with the letter are several seeds. The letter doesn’t specify what they are, funnily enough. Perhaps she forgot, or perhaps she assumed one of them could identify it.

Alucard plants the seeds in empty pots in the greenhouse and never forgets to water them every other day. He and Trevor sit down to craft a response that boils down to we miss you too and we have managed not to kill each other, even in your absence.

Just watching Alucard pen that particular sentence in his elegant handwriting is a nigh surreal experience. Trevor wonders if his father is spinning around in his own grave at the sight of his son playing house with a dhampir, with their sworn enemies. He can’t say he feels sorry, though. Too many things in life are difficult or come at a price, but this— this, with Alucard, is easy.

Being a Belmont and being happy don’t have to be mutually exclusive. He’s quickly discovering and rediscovering this every time his eyes trace the graceful slope of Alucard’s smile, the glint of his golden eyes, the slight tilt of his head. He feels it in the warmth of his hands and the rich timbre of his laugh.

-

The serene quiet is interrupted the one day Alucard goes hunting alone.

“So you can shoot,” Trevor had said a few days ago when Alucard had downed a brown rabbit he himself could barely see through the overgrown brush and weeds. “Rusty, my ass.”

Alucard had only quirked up one side of his mouth. “I never said I couldn’t.”

And so Alucard left the castle alone earlier that afternoon—bow in hand, quiver over his shoulder, hair braided back—giving Trevor a break from hunting for dinner.

Three hours later, he returned with two fat rabbits and a basketful of edible flowers. And two humans.

Trevor’s left eye begins twitching. “And who are you?” he asks.

Alucard shoots him a look. He’s being rude and he knows it, but he just doesn’t care. Something in his chest feels tight, stretched thin and close to snapping. Trevor’s always been a man of instincts. Whatever’s happening, he doesn’t like it.

The two introduce themselves as Sumi and Taka, a pair of twins. And vampire hunters.

Something about that smarts more than it should. Did he really think he was special somehow? That he would be the only vampire hunter Alucard ever kept company with?

Very suddenly, Trevor wishes he’d left with Sypha all those weeks ago. He feels guilty about it not a moment later, but the thought persists—wouldn’t he have spared himself this odd burning pain if he had never allowed a fondness to be fostered at all?

Perhaps he’s overthinking, overreacting. But how long will it take before Alucard realizes that Trevor isn’t good or kind or easy to keep around? That he’s a drunk and a leech, uncaring and prone to dishonesty. He’s valuable because he knows how to kill, and he can do it very well. That’s all he has.

The Belmont legacy has at some points been a gift. It has also, in many other ways, been a curse, a chain around his wrists, a noose around his neck.

It’s only a matter of time.

That evening, the two rabbits go to their two guests, and Trevor drinks a little more wine than usual. He’s not even just reticent; he’s downright surly throughout the meal. Sumi and Taka seem to catch on to his bad mood and leave him alone. The twins and Alucard make light conversation around him, and it’s the most lonely that Trevor has felt since he was a foot-and-a-half shorter and covered in ash.

There’s no escaping Alucard, though. Not as long as they share the suite.

“What has gotten into you?” Alucard demands when Trevor leaves the washroom. He’s standing next to Trevor’s bed, staring at him, and he doesn’t make any effort to mute his accusatory tone.

Trevor, for one, is naked except for a towel wrapped around his waist. And that’s not the reason he’s entirely unwilling to have this conversation.

He snatches up a smaller towel from his dresser and begins to dry his hair with sharp, aggressive movements. “Nothing.”

“Do you really expect me to believe you’re acting this way over nothing?” Alucard sits down on the chaise lounge, and his bright golden eyes trace Trevor’s every move. “Is your ego so fragile?”

Trevor loses his grip on the towel, and his wet hair falls into his face, partially obscuring his vision. “What?”

“You’re behaving this way out of jealousy. The twins are good hunters—they managed to surprise me. I understand that much,” Alucard says, tilting his head in consideration. “But you’re better than they are. Is there something else to it?”

“Jealousy?” Trevor asks, incredulous. “Contrary to popular belief, I’m not actually that juvenile.”

“Then what is it?”

“Would you like me to trade rooms with them?”

Alucard looks both stunned and hurt. “Why would I ever ask you to do that?”

Trevor turns away to pick up the fallen hair towel and tries to ignore the lump in his throat. “Because they’re better company.”

And I’m selfish, possessive, bad-tempered, uncouth, and disillusioned, he doesn’t say. I hardly gave a shit about the fate of humanity before I met you.

He can’t help but recall Alucard’s own words—You’re the only company who has decided to stick around. I don’t have very many options, do I?

Well, now he does. There are people out there who are unequivocally better than Trevor. Someone as compassionate and good as Alucard shouldn’t be tied down to a person like Trevor. He’s a stain and a pollutant and feels most alive when he’s face to face with death itself. Who would want to be with someone like that?

“You foolish, infuriating man,” Alucard snarls, and Trevor finds himself suddenly on his back, pinned to the carpet, the dhampir kneeling over him the same way he did the very first day they met. But now, Alucard’s hands are warm and careful as they cradle Trevor’s jaw. His eyes are alight with an all-consuming kind of fire that Trevor has only ever seen attributed to magic. “They want to befriend us because they need help from us. That’s all there is to it. They’re not going to live here with us.”

“Yes,” Trevor says, trying his very best to commit Alucard’s face to memory. “For now.”

Because Trevor hadn’t exactly planned on living in Dracula’s castle either, had he? But a pretty dhampir had invited him in and asked him to stay, and now here he is, with no plans to leave.

Ever so slowly, Alucard leans down and presses their foreheads together, and Trevor stops breathing. For a moment, there’s nothing but the faint crackling of the fireplace and the warmth where their skin meets.

“Listen to me carefully, Trevor Belmont,” Alucard whispers, his breath ghosting over Trevor’s lips. It sends a rush of heat down Trevor’s spine. “I will only say this once. Whether now or later, in the present or in the future, I will always want you. For me, there is no other.”

Trevor’s eyes begin to sting, and he closes them. He tries to turn away, but Alucard won’t let him.

“Don’t hide from me,” Alucard says softly, pulling back. “Do you think I can’t see you? Do you think I don’t know you, Trevor?”

Trevor shakes his head.

A finger gently traces his eyelid, his cheek, his lips. The dhampir’s next words are so, so quiet. “Haven’t I given you enough time?”

Trevor finds that he can still feel shame, in that moment. So Alucard had known, likely right from the very start, how very much Trevor was attracted to him. And it didn’t take very long for simple attraction to grow into something else far more deep-rooted.

And Alucard had acknowledged it—had asked him to stay, had tended his wounds, had given him that enchanted key, and had spared him from pain at every opportunity. He’d had Alucard’s trust all along.

It was just that Trevor, in his own self-pity, had refused to let himself believe that he could have this. That he could stay by Alucard’s side, and love him, and be loved in return. He’d tried to turn a blind eye to his own feelings, hide them and deny them. But he can’t keep it up any longer.

He blinks his eyes open, and tears immediately escape.

“I’ve been waiting,” Alucard says, brushing the streams of salt away, “since that very first day, under Gresit. When we fought, you were so reckless and defiant and beautiful. You were my match, and I was yours. But I’ll keep waiting, if that’s what you really need.”

Trevor shakes his head. Something in his chest loosens, and it’s like he can finally breathe after being trapped underwater, sinking and drowning. “No. I want you. I’ve wanted you. I just…”

“You foolish, foolish man,” Alucard repeats, and this time the words sound so unbearably affectionate that Trevor’s eyes almost well up with tears again. “Let me be with you, without restraint. That’s all I’ve wanted from the very start.”

“Yes,” Trevor agrees, his throat still tight, and then he cannot say any more because Alucard is kissing him, and he’s kissing back.

-

Trevor shows up to breakfast the next morning with a ring of bruises adorning his throat, right above the necklace upon which his key hangs.

The twins look bitterly disappointed. They make plans to leave later that afternoon, murmuring half-hearted apologies to a distracted Alucard, whose eyes keep drifting to the blooming purple splotches Trevor’s neck.

And Trevor has to admit, that gives him no small measure of satisfaction.