Archive of Our Own

He can’t see anything.

He never can. It’s dark and he feels almost murky. The In-Between, he likes to call it. Not conscious but not fully asleep either. 

He’s waiting, he knows. He remembers. To heal. For the wound etched deep into his chest to stitch together and be one with him again.

To get another chance against his father and save humanity. To honour his mother’s memory.  

So Alucard waits.

But somewhere, sometime, the dark begins to lighten up and he’s not where he left off. 

— — — 

He’s in a clearing. Or the remnants of one. A burnt manor lies before him, charred and black and in ruin. 

The earth crunches under his feet as he walks closer to inspect it. So very large and sprawling, he thinks he can feel an undercurrent of power here, a magic that’s strong and ancient. 

And yet now only one of its towers still stands. 

The wind whips around him but he can’t feel it. Not fully. It’s like a phantom's touch, a caress of the future, the promise of what’s to come. He spreads his fingers out, letting the gale whip between them. Clenching his hand into a fist, he feels it scrape at his skin as it escapes the trap, running from him. 

He hears it then, a faint keen in the air. It’s closer to the ruins and the breeze heads in its direction. Chasing it. 

He follows. 

It becomes clearer, a high-pitched sobbing that reminds him of when he saw it. 

A blackened pyre and a destroyed lab. 

His mother. Or what was left of her.

He’s in the middle of the ruins now and sees him then—a boy. 

His back is to Alucard, but he can still see the ripped and dirty tatters of clothing hanging off him, his hunched posture as he holds something in his arms and cries. 

The sobs are loud, so full of grief and rage that he takes a step back. The boy doesn’t notice him, holding the thing closer. 

Slowly, Alucard walks around him and sucks in a sharp breath. 

A body. Charred and skeletal and small, lies in the boy's arms, shaking with each of his wracking sobs. 

“Please,” he begs. “Please.” 

Silence is his response. 

The boy continues to sob, clutching the body closer. He doesn’t notice Alucard and Alucard wonders where he is. How he got there. 

Is this a dream? 

For a while, he watches. There is nothing else for him to do. 

The boy’s cries are still loud and never-ending and at one point when he shifts, the skeleton makes a shhh sound as it moves, and then its arm falls off. 

The boy screams, desperately trying to reattach it, mumbling words about how he'll make it better.

And Alucard can’t handle it anymore as he rushes forward, falling to his knees in front of the child. 

But the boy doesn’t look up, doesn't feel the gravel shift with Alcuard’s arrival. Alucard tries anyway, places his hands on small, pointy shoulders and shushes him, murmuring gentle words and trying to help him. 

He does what his mother would have done to him.

“It happened to me too,” he whispers. “I was too late.”

The child hiccups, a small wet thing. 

“Don’t leave me.” He begs. “I need you, I can’t— I want—”

He shudders and Alucard feels the shake under his hands.

“I need someone.” He cries, finally letting go of the skeleton— of the last object of what Alucard assumed was family— and curls up into himself, almost leaning into Alucard’s embrace as he does so. 

Alucard looks around them. It’s dark now. He’d appeared to him when the sky was still blue. 

The child had been crying for hours. 

“What’s your name?” He tries. “What happened?”

Nothing.

Sighing, he runs his hands through the boy's hair, the dirt and soot darkening it to a deep black. 

He can’t see Alucard.

The boy shifts, leaning away with a sniffle and Alucard watches as he gazes down at the skeleton for a long second, then slowly gets up with shaky legs. 

He looks down again and this time Alucard can see his face. So very young and sad. His eyes are blue and full of tears. 

Crouching he gathers the body in his arms, moving slowly, sluggish outside the ruins. Alucard follows and sees the remnants as he does. 

A broken chandelier, scattered cutlery and swords. He steps on something soft and moves his foot aside to see a doll with a charred smile. 

Throat tight, he catches up to the boy and watches as they reach the edge of the clearing, trees and plants still green and alive. 

It’s peaceful here, he thinks, despite the fact that a place of death is just behind them. The boy must think so too, because he gently lets the body down. Turning to the earth beside them, he hesitates for just a second before he digs into it, nails delving into the dirt below. 

For a second, Alucard’s frozen, confused about what's happening. The child’s hands are covered in dirt, nails blackened as he moves the earth aside, pawing it first sluggish then quickly, angrily as the minutes tick by. 

Oh.

A sob builds in his throat but he lowers himself next to him, intent on digging out dirt with his own hands. His fingers touch the cold earth, grabbing it firmly as he pushes it away. 

He notices that it's taking longer for him. That the dirt looks like it's back to its previous level when he glances at it again. 

But he still does it. 

Soon, the grave is dug, deep and clumsy. The child lowers the skeleton into it gently, staring at it for a while before he looks around. Something catches his eyes and Alucard watches him go and return with a bright flower, yellow and blooming and strong. He places it next to them and pushes the mounds of dirt over them, body shaking as he does. 

“I’m sorry, Zoe.” He murmurs. “I wish I was quicker. I wish you were here.” He shakes his head, eyes now angry and small fists clenching. “I’ll never let it happen again. I’ll be quicker, I will! I’ll save everyone!”

“I promise. My word as a B—” 

A harsh wind erupts around them, muffling the child’s small voice. They both look around at the shaking branches, the rolling dirt. Behind them, the ruin of the manor sounds almost mournful. 

The boy stands up, eyes roving over the small grave and manor ruins. The grief still surrounds him, a cloak of it wrapping around him until he moves again. 

This time, the boy looks in Alucard’s direction, where he was still kneeling on the ground. His eyes widen, and he takes a step back as his hands go to his side, to the whip Alucard hadn’t noticed until now. 

“What?—”

But Alucard could feel it then, a heavy sensation surrounding his body, melting into his mind. The world was darkening but Alucard looks back at the boy, small and afraid and brave and smiled. 

“You can do it.” 

He takes a small step forward and Alucard blinks and— 

Nothing.

He’s back in the dark, almost drowning in its heaviness after being exposed to the wind, the earth and the child’s emotions. 

In the In-Between. 

— — — 

It happens again. 

Alucard’s not sure how long it’s been. Time doesn’t exist to him. But when he sees the boy again, he’s older. Maybe a year or two. 

This time he’s wrapped in a big, old cloak. The tattered thing flutters as the boy uses it to shield himself, walking through a forest full of snow. 

Different location. 

Different time. 

And different because this time the boy sees him immediately. 

“What the fuck?”

Alucard could say the same. 

“Hello,” he tries. 

“Hey,” he seems confused. Walking closer, his eyes rove over Alucard, face unimpressed as it pokes over the cloak. “Who are you?” 

For a moment, he hesitates. The name he was given belongs to him. But the one he chose is who he needs to be. To face his father and the world he’s created. 

But, in front of him is a child. A child who’s alone and left to face the cruelty of the world.

In his face, Alucard sees his own.

“Adrian.” He answers truthfully.

“Oh.” He shrugs. “I’m Trevor.”

Now he’s close enough to see the boy’s face clearly and Adrian notes the weariness in it. A scar runs over his eye now, red and garish. 

He’s about to ask what happened when Trevor gasps, pointing at him with anger.

“Vampire!”

“Well—” he doesn’t explain, doesn't get the chance to because Trevor is already turning away, walking leisurely through the forest. 

What?

“Wait!” He calls out. 

Trevor responds without looking back, “I’ve had enough of you all in the real world. This is my dream, leave me alone.” 

Adrian froze. 

A dream?

But.

But how? Last time, it wasn’t a dream. He was sure of it, he was. 

But Trevor did see him this time immediately. Maybe it was a fluke. Maybe—

Maybe he’s hallucinating as he recovers. Maybe this doesn't even mean anything. A dream that passes his time?

Maybe. 

He doesn’t allow himself to think about it as he quickly walks over to where the boy—Trevor— is. 

He was building a snowman. 

“I thought I told you to fuck off.” 

He flounders at the profanity. “Well. This is your dream. How can I do anything?”

He groans, “I guess.” 

For the next few minutes, Trevor ignores him, patting the snow firmly in a big ball of snow. 

Taking his cue, Adrian kneels to make his own. It reminds him of the last time he was with Trevor, but instead of snow, it was dirt. 

Trevor gives him a dirty look as he does, inching backwards as if he can’t stomach being around his kind even in his own mind. 

But he sighs, “So, entertain me.”

“Why?” Adrian’s perplexed as to why he’d even speak to him based on his attitude. 

Trevor huffs, “I said so.”

“You don’t like vampires.” It’s not a question. 

“Why would I like you bloodsuckers?” He scoffs. 

“Well… I suppose that’s true.” At this point, he couldn’t blame any human for fearing them. Dracula’s rage, vampire attacks and a Church that fed them lies. 

What else could they believe?

Trevor must have the same problem.

But he continues, “But, not all of us drink without consent. I’m a doctor and—”

“Oh good, tell me another.” Trevor laughs.

“What?”

“A vampire doctor. Fuck, I think this is what exhaustion does.” 

He can respond to the first half of that, to explain what he does but he latches onto the second instead. “You’re tired? Why?”

“You bastards!” He points to his face, the scar is bright red against all the snow around them. “Almost bloody take my eye out and then destroy all my shit.”

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, oh. What type of vampire can be a doctor anyway?”

The kind my mother raised. He swallows. “Have you gotten it treated?”

“What?” His hand ghosts over the wound. “No. It’ll heal fine.” 

“It will not,” he says with disapproval. “When you wake up, clean it thoroughly. Keeping it clean is necessary, you don’t want it getting infected.” He pauses. All their medicines were unavailable to the boy. “Use some wine, it’ll serve as an antibiotic. Or honey,” he adds on, remembering Trevor’s outcry at his supplies being destroyed. 

His lip curls as he takes in the tattered cloak. “Use clean wool as a bandage. Boil it beforehand.” 

Trevor stares at him. “Of fucking course. What else do you want me to do? Tell the vampire to bite me to speed up the healing?”

Adrian rolls his eyes. “I’m only trying to help you.” 

“I don’t need it.” He takes in Adrian’s clothing, his long hair and eyes. 

His expression grows confused and Adrian watches as realisation then disbelief covers his expression.

“Wait. I think… have we met before?”

He froze. Did he really remember? 

Adrian flounders on his response. Should he tell the truth?

Trevor’s looking up at him with suspicion and anger but beneath that, Adrian can see it.

Fear.

The words spout out immediately, “Yes. I… saw you once. A year or two ago. I—”

“You were there,” he breathes. “I saw you, I knew I did. But then you were gone.” He staggers up. “How is this possible? This is a dream?!”

“I don’t know. I just ended up here.” 

“Sure you did.” He sneers.

“I can’t do anything to you. It’s your dream.” He reasons.

“Damn right, it is.” He points dramatically. “Begone beast!”

Seconds passed and Adrian raised a brow, unimpressed. “Seriously?” 

“Oh, fuck off.”

But Adrian feels it again. That same heavy, murky sensation. 

He sighs. “I’m leaving. Please treat the wound, it may get infected.” 

“You’re not leaving without my permission, you prick!” He contradicts his last words.

But Adrian does.

— — — 

This time when he comes in, he doesn’t see Trevor again. Not straight away. He’s too busy looking at the view in front of him. A manor. The manor.

Trevor’s home. 

It’s intact now. Bright and strong and clean. 

He doesn't want to go in. It seems like an intrusion. 

Cupping his hands around his mouth, he shouts, “Trevor!”

It echoes. 

“You, again?” Trevor’s walking over to him. Another cloak covers his body, this time less tatty, though still rough and brown.

Adrian scrutinises him as he comes closer. “Your scar healed.” He notes with satisfaction 

A hand goes up to the injury, scowling as he realises Adrian’s watching. “No thanks to you.” 

“I told you how to—”

“Nope,” Trevor waves a hand around. “My time to talk.” The look he levels is heavy and full of suspicion. 

“Who are you?”

“Adrian.” 

A roll of eyes. “You said that. How are you in my dreams? How were you there before… but that was real life?” He shifts as he says it and Adrian can see that under the bravery, he’s still a child. And he’s afraid.

Of him.

“I’m not sure.” He says honestly. “I’m, well, I’m asleep.” 

“No shit. So am I.” He deadpans.

It was his turn to roll his eyes. “I was injured. Badly. I’m recovering now but I’m not— I seem to be visiting you in your dreams. And for that first time? I’m not sure. It was the first time it had ever happened to me either.” 

“Huh.” His arms cross over his chest. It reminds him of a kitten hissing, its tail puffed and trying to appear bigger. “You almost seem like you're telling the truth.” 

“I am.”

“You’re a vampire.” 

“So we've established.” 

This time, Trevor unrolls his whip. “You’re after me.” He nods as if it was the obvious conclusion. “You’ve done some fucking magic and now you’re chasing me in my dreams. 

“Why would I want to find you? I don’t know you.” 

“Maybe not me specifically. But you want to wipe us out completely, don’t you? Well, I won’t let you.” 

He’s in a fighting stance now. Tension bared in every limb. 

“Stop. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He snarls, “Liar.” 

For a child of fourteen? Thirteen? Trevor was quite quick. The whip came barrelling towards him and for a moment Adrian has the ridiculous thought of hunter . 

Dodging it quickly, he throws his hands up. “Listen to me. I am not your enemy—”

But he’s already barrelling towards him and when Adrian goes to dodge him now, the landscape shifts and he slips into a river. 

What the hell? 

But it’s too late and the glint of metal meets his skin in a horrifying clash. 

Everything goes black. 

— — — 

This time, the darkness is suffocating. There’s an echo of something rushing in his ears— No, not his ears.

He can’t feel himself. Not exactly. He knows he has ears because he can hear. But he doesn't have a body. 

There are no limbs he can shift, no eyes he can use to look at himself.

Panic surrounds him and he forces himself to breathe deeply. 

No. He’s simply recovering. 

Just in a different state. 

Trevor.

It’s because of him. Something about the child is affecting his rest. 

He wonders how that happened. What’s connecting them.

He wonders what he’s doing now. 

— — — 

Crying meets his ears. 

It’s familiar but also not. 

This time the sniffles are full of rage and dark mutters, and there are promises of vengeance, not love. 

He sees Trevor, crouching against what seems like an old barn door, packs of hay surrounding him. 

“What happened?”

Trevor jumps, catching sight of him with wide eyes. 

“You,” he breathes.

“Me.” 

“I killed you.” 

“Not exactly.”

He shakes his head, eyes hollow. “What is happening?”

“I told you. I don’t know.” 

For all his anger last time, Trevor doesn’t react in fury. In fact, it’s the opposite. He sags back into his bed of hay, trembling. 

Concerned, Adrian walks closer, sitting a few paces away from him.

“Where are we?” He asks gently. 

“Some fucking barn.” He says after a moment. 

“Why… why are we here? Last time—”

“We don’t always get what we want.” He snarls, facing him suddenly. Tears streak across his face, and he scrubs at them harshly. “I want to go back home. But it’s never coming back.” He spat. 

“I know,” he answers gently. 

He waits a few moments, following the shadows the candlelights created around them. 

“It’s not a very comfortable spot,” he remarks softly.

Trevor scoffs. “It’s all he’d give me.” 

“Who?”

“The farmer. Paul.”

Trepidation crawls up his spine. “Paul? Who is he?”

“The farmer. Fuck, aren’t you listening?”

He sighs. “Why are you in a barn? I’m worried,” he said honestly. “This isn’t safe—”

“Nowhere’s safe,” he interrupts heatedly. But after a few seconds, he sighs. “There was a bad storm. Came out of nowhere. I don’t got any money and the inn wouldn’t let me stay. Paul was gonna let me stay with him but then he saw—” he stops, lips trembling. “He said he’d let me be with the animals. Wasn’t bad enough to let me freeze outside, I guess, fucking saint.”

Adrian mulls that over. 

“What did he see?” What would make someone turn a child away?

“My shirt,” and before he can clarify, Trevor was talking over him. “What happened after I killed you?”

“I went back, I guess.” 

“Back where?

“I'm healing, remember?”

“And you’re asleep.” He nods but his face is scrunched up. “Doesn’t make much sense.” 

He smiles. “How’s that?”

“If you’ve been sleeping and visiting me, you’ve been asleep for two years. That’s kinda fucked up.” 

He laughs. “Yes, I suppose so. But obviously, time isn’t the same for me or you.” He frowned. “Speaking of which, how old are you?”

“Fourteen. I think. My birthday… it was sometime in winter, I don’t know.” 

“I see.” He sighs. “Alright. Well, I would recommend staying in a home, it’s not safe to be by yourself.” 

“I tried. No one would take me.” 

“Why not?”

He rolls his eyes. “You know why.” 

“No. I don’t.” 

But suddenly Trevor was crying, bright eyes filling with tears. “You do and that’s what’s fucked up, you know? You’re a vampire and you still treat me better than them.” He sits up, facing him and the grief on his face is unbearable. 

“Why?” He cries. “Why do they hate me? I didn’t do anything to them, I swear. I never— I just want to go home.” 

“I know.” Hesitating, he shuffled over. “Sometimes, people cast blame when there’s nothing else they can do. When they don’t understand anything else.”

His mother’s face came to mind. 

“My mother,” he starts, “she was a doctor. A real doctor with real medicine. She travelled and she studied but the Church… they called it witchcraft.” He sighs. “They burnt her at the stake.”

Trevor sniffs, rubbing at his eyes with clenched fists. He wipes his face, looking over at him with wide eyes. “Those assholes.” 

He laughs, a choked thing. “Yeah. It— it wasn't good.” 

“They were the ones who killed my family, too.” 

And Adrian wants to ask why. Wants to know who his family was to warrant such destruction but Trevor’s eyes were still full of tears and grief that he told himself he’d ask later.

“Yes,” he murmurs. “They seem to like casting blame. I wonder who they’re blaming for—”

And he stops. 

“Trevor,” he breathes. “The—” demons, he means to say but his throat is suddenly filled with what feels like needles and his mouth is heavy, painful. 

That same feeling surrounds him. The one that takes him back to his rest, the one that surrounds him in his coffin. 

It’s the one that’s stopping him now.

He swallows painfully. “Where are you? You need to leave Wallachia, now.”

“Why?” 

“The entire country… is under attack,” he grits out, throat becoming tighter with each word.

Trevor stared at him blankly. “I always knew vampires were off it, but shit. This is new.” 

“This is not time for jokes. This entire country will be overrun.” 

“Uhuh.” 

“I’m serious. Dracula threatened the country after,” the words die in his throat. “After he grew angry.” 

Trevor stares at him, his amusement washing out as he realises he's serious. “But… there’s been no sightings of Dracula for years. Not for something serious. You… you’re wrong.” 

And Adrian stares at him, at his honesty. 

And the pieces begin to fall together. 

“What year is it?”

“1470?”

Fuck. 

“What? What is it?” 

“I’m dreaming.” He said blankly.

“So you’ve said.” 

“No. I’m—” and he stops. Because Trevor was a child and Adrian was not going to burden him. 

“I think I’m losing it.” 

To his credit, Trevor only nods empathetically. “I used to think that when I was injured. I hated sitting around and getting better.” 

“I’m surprised you did.” He remarks.

He grins. “My mother would always find me if I did.” His face drops and Adrian quickly speaks to distract him. 

“I never got sick, and I always healed well. But my own mother still fussed over me.” 

And then Trevor surprises him. “What would she say now? About you being a vampire?”

Oh. Trevor assumed he was turned. And he had no reason to do otherwise.

He answers slowly. “I think if she heard about what happened to me… she would be very sad. She always cared. Sometimes too much.” 

“That’s what makes a good doctor.” His insight was surprising. 

He smiles. “I suppose it does.” 

“Did you? Care too much?”

“I thought I couldn’t be a doctor?” He remarks playfully. 

Trevor snorts. “I’m losing it too, I guess. But did you?”

He hums. “Not as much. But I cared.” 

“Better than nothing.” 

“Indeed.” 

“So what do you think this is? That’s making you visit me?”

“Well,” he draws a finger in the dirt, thinking. Before he had no idea but now he knew that Trevor was in the past. Perhaps in the future, he had contact with some magical object that Adrian did too. Maybe there was a spell. Maybe Adrian was simply dreaming too intently. 

He shrugs. “There’s too many possibilities.” 

“Fucking magic.” 

His eyes narrow. “You know, you do seem more comfortable with it than other peasants.” 

“You're right, maybe I’m the witch.” He grins but at that moment a large clap of thunder shook the barn. 

Trevor flinches. Hard. 

“Shit,” he met his eyes and he straightens. “What?” He barks, defensively. 

Watching him for a moment, Adrian looks around, locating an unlit lamp on top of the empty stables. As he grabs it, it flickers to life. It seems dream logic luckily still applies here.

“Is it alright if I sit with you?”

Trevor hesitates but nods. Adrian makes his way to him, dousing the other candles as he does. Ignoring Trevor’s confused expression, he sits and places the lamp between them.

“We needed those candles.” He complains. 

“You can dream some more up.” He said simply, pushing the lamp closer to the wall so it lit up the surface. 

“Now,” he starts. “What's your favourite animal?”

“I don’t know?” He trails off, casting suspicious looks at him. “Why?”

“I need to base it off something.” He pauses. Smiles. “I always liked wolves.”

“Sure? I don’t get it.” 

Placing his palm down, Adrian bends his thumb upwards extending his index and middle finger as he did. Glancing at the wall as he works, he smiles when Trevor gapes at the shadow. 

“Shadow puppets.” His eyes are wide. “I haven’t seen them in forever.” Nostalgia seeps into his voice and Adrian moves his hands around, making the wolf move closer to them. 

“Do you like it?” 

He grins, beginning to nod before he stops. “I’m not some kid,” he scoffed. “This is for children.” 

You are a child, he thinks but that’s not the route to take with Trevor.

He shrugs. “That’s too bad. They say the ability to mimic animals corresponds with one’s creative and intellectual ability.” It didn’t but Trevor takes the bait.

“It does?”

He hums. “All major inventions were made by those who could do it. Even my mother and she was a great doctor.”

That seems to spur him into action as he scrambles closer, fumbling with his hands as he copies Adrian’s hand pose. Another smaller dog appeared against the light and Trevor laughed as he moved his quickly, trying to chase Adrian’s. 

“What other animal shall we do?” 

“My brother once showed me a bull.” 

“Oh, I haven’t seen that before.” 

Eager, Trevor curls his thumb and index together, tilting it in the light. 

“Oh, I see.” Copying him, Adrian moves his around and wondered if it was too much to make sound effects. Trevor wasn’t a child but he was enjoying this at the very least. 

“We should try to make a dragon.” Trevor almost shouts, excited. 

“How are we going to do that?” 

Trevor shrugs. “Dunno. But let’s try.” 

Shrugging, Adrian follows suit, twisting his fingers around strategically to make something close to it. 

“I think I saw the snout!”

Adrian frowns. “That’s supposed to be a tail.” 

And Trevor starts to laugh, bright and loud, fingers falling out of their strategic pose and clutching at his face. 

“It didn’t look like that at all!”

“You try it.” He sighs loudly, shoving Trevor lightly but smiles at the sight of the boy laughing. 

“No, watching you is fun enough.”

“Ah, so I’m free entertainment.” 

“I said that before, didn’t I?”

“You did.” 

Trevor calms down and this time joins him in trying to make a dragon, a joint effort wherein all their hands are joined making some blob on the wall. He was still laughing softly as they did it. 

Soon Adrian felt it. He sighs.

“I’m leaving now.”

Trevor’s face snaps to his. “What? Why?”

“I can’t control it. I just go, eventually.” 

“Oh.” Trevor swallows. “Right.”

He doesn’t say anything again, not until Adrian feels the room begin to dim. “Are you coming back?”

Adrian went to speak. To tell him he hopes so. 

But by that time, he was already gone. 

— — — 

He’s standing in front of an inn. A hanging sign depicts a laughing woman and the words above it proclaim it ‘The Laughing Lass.’ 

He enters to see Trevor surrounded by empty glass bottles.

He’s older now. Adrian thinks he’s skipped another few years.

“Hello, Trevor.” 

Trevor froze, the bottle still raised to his lips. He twists, catching Adrian over his shoulders and blinks.

“Well, shit. You’re back.” 

“I am.” 

He doesn’t reply, eyes boring into him for a moment before he sighs, shifting over to make room at the bar. 

“Have a drink.” 

He moves over to him, taking in the scattered empty bottles. “Drinking is the cause of several liver problems. You’re too young to be getting inebriated, anyway.” 

“I’m saying this in the most polite way I can Adrian but fuck off.” 

His brows rise. “You just asked me to sit.”

“You know what I meant.” 

He does but he doesn’t like the sight of this, of Trevor sluggish and angry. His last sight of him had been a laughing child, amused at the shadow puppets Adrian distracted him with.

He tells him this. 

“Yeah, well. It’s been three years for me. Shit happens, Adrian.” He brings the bottle to his lips, judging him. “And don’t think some shadow puppets are gonna distract me this time.” 

“You did like them.” He notes.

He cringed. “For some reason. You caught me at a bad time.”

“And this isn't?”

“I’m drinking in a dream, you idiot. No liver damage here.” 

“Dreams translate to what usually occurs in real life,” he tilts his head. “If I need to remind you of the barn—”

“Fuck off.” But there’s no heat behind the words. “I wanted to drink here. Before I was asleep. In real life? Fuck, when I was lucid, how’s that?” 

He doesn’t interrupt. Trevor’s itching for a fight, and he won’t give it. 

“But I wasn’t allowed in,” he spits. “So I’m here in a dream. Great, isn’t it?”

“Why weren’t you allowed in?”

“Oh, I’m not doing this again.” He slides a bottle over to him. “Drink.” 

He does. It tastes sour. 

Strange that he can taste in a dream. 

They sit in silence, Trevor finishing off several more while Adrian still nurses his initial bottle. 

“Are you a lightweight?”

“No. Alcohol doesn’t particularly affect me.” 

He froze, glancing down at his mouth before he laughs harshly. “Right, fucking forgot you were a bloodsucker.” 

This again.

“I hope that means that my mannerisms were enough to convince you that species differentiation is not as big an issue as others make it to be.”

He snorts. “No, it means I’ve let my guard down.” He peered over at him. “Actually, I was waiting to tell you. I did some research on this bullshit.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Asked around since the hold is— I just asked around. And guess what?”

He shifts in his seat, eagerly waiting for an explanation. “What?”

“There’s jack shit.” He grins lazily. “Nothing’s been recorded like this.”

“Are you sure?”

“Well, there’s more information I haven’t looked at but that’s not possible.”

“Why not?”

He doesn’t answer, only watching him closely. Then he sighs, shrugging as he goes back to his drink. 

“Do you drink this heavily when you're awake?” He asks since he won’t get answers about anything else. 

“Sometimes.”

“If you will heed my advice, limit your consumption.”

“And if I can’t?”

He sighs, a little angrily. “Why not?”

“It helps me forget.” 

Oh. He suddenly hates that it ever brought it up. 

He wonders how Trevor’s done it. How he’s carried this heavy guilt with him for years. Adrian’s mother had died only recently and he still grapples with the loss, sleeping in a tomb that only protects him physically. 

He misses her. So much. 

And Trevor may be a human, a mortal who compared to him has no discernible strength nor power but… Adrian thinks he’s the strongest one here. 

“So, are you bored?”

“What?”

“Sleeping all the time. Aren’t you bored?

“I suppose,” he measures his words. “It’s a necessity for me to heal though I do think I am wasting time. If I were able to wake up sooner, I would.”

“I get that.” Trevor reaches over and suddenly there's an extravagant cake in front of them.

“What?” He responds to Adrian’s look. “I felt like something sweet.” 

“I quite enjoy cake.” He admits.

“Really? Does blood also taste sweet?” He looks intrigued. 

“It does. Though sometimes it can be bitter.” He shoots him a look. “With all the alcohol you consume, yours would be the latter.”

“Ha!” He barks. “So I just need to keep drinking and any vampire that takes a bite out of me would hate it? What a deal.” He smirks.

“So what have you been up to?” Trevor’s cutting the cake now, pieces of fruit crushed over the blade. 

“This and that. Country’s still a shit hole so there’s always work to do. Dodged the Church a few times, though. They’re getting slower. Fat.” 

“I’m not surprised.”

He laughs, a barking, rough thing. 

“Yeah. They’ve confiscated a bunch of shit. I can barely find any books, not that they’d be useful.”

“Why not?”

Trevor freezes, his eyes fixed on the cake. “I can’t read. I used to know how but I forgot. The letters… they don’t make sense anymore.” 

He comes to the realisation that Trevor is absolutely tragic. 

He knew how to read. No one, other than the high-born in Wallachia was taught. Adrian remembers the sprawling manor, burnt and black. Perhaps Trevor was from a noble family but why would the Church burn them?

It didn’t matter. It already happened. 

But he was taught. He was loved, and it was taken away from him. And now everything that was connected is too. 

And Adrian remembers his mother again, smiling and warm as she traced her finger over the letter of a book, as she sounded them aloud for him to repeat. 

She did it for him.

And someone did it for Trevor. 

Adrian wouldn’t let him forget it. 

Focusing for a moment, he squints down at the table and thought, opening his eyes and grinning at the book now in front of him. 

He slides it over to Trevor, “here. Let’s practise.” 

“What?” He looks at Adrian, the book then Adrian again. “Fuck off. Don’t fucking pity me. I’m not your damn charity case.” He shoves the book back to him. “Go fuck yourself.” 

“Trevor,” he reprimands, “I’m not doing this because I pity you. I’m doing it because everyone deserves to know their letters.” 

“As if you believe that.” 

“I do.” He measures him. “Your family taught you, did they not? Just as mine taught me. This is our connection to them, Trevor. Don’t let your pride break it.” He pushes the book back over to him. “And you merely forgot them so it won’t take long.” 

Trevor shakes his head, staring at the book and then at him for a long moment. “You’re so strange. Why do you help me? Back in the barn and now… you’re a fucking vampire.” 

“I have met many people, Trevor. Many people who have had the luxuries of life offered to them on golden platters and yet are more cruel and undeserving than the unfortunate they scorn.” 

He meets his gaze. “You have been ostracised and neglected and yet you remain good.” 

Trevor scoffs and Adrian speaks over him. “You have. And am I not a prime example? You hate vampires and yet you let me stay here, let me experience a world other than the darkness I endure. Why?”

“Because I’m bored.” He grunts.

He shakes his head. “No. You know why. And that’s why I also stay. Why I’m helping you now.” 

He flips the book open. “Let me help you now.” 

Trevor stares at him, lips parted, eyes wide with disbelief. A moment passes before he nods, slowly.

“Alright.” 

— — — 

The dreams passed. Each time, he met with Trevor at different times and at different locations.

Sometimes it was somewhere Trevor knew or visited and he’d explain his trip vividly, drawing Adrian in with his surprising storytelling. 

Every time he returned to the In-Between, he’d recall Trevor’s words and repeat them over and over again, transforming the darkness around him into Trevor’s view. 

Trevor didn’t know it but he’d given him a lifeline, something to distract himself against the darkness. And each time, he’d remember Trevor’s mumblings on how he didn’t need Adrian’s help and huff. 

If only Trevor knew how he returned the favour. 

According to Trevor, months had gone by in the real world. Or well, his real world. The dreams were becoming more familiar and regular for him, less of a time jump than those previous times that Adrian had left him. 

He could see the change in him, in both of them, at the recurring instances, 

Trevor hadn’t negatively mentioned his vampiric state once. 

— — — 

There’s a beautiful sunset over them. It reflects onto the creek, covering everything in a shade of warmth. 

They’re standing in the water, pants rolled up as they fish.

“I don’t think there’s any fish here.”

Trevor snorts. “You have no patience.”

“No, I’m simply logical. If there were fish here, we would have caught one by now. It’s a simple conclusion.”

“Or you’re making too much noise and scaring them away.” 

That makes him quiet much to Trevor’s delight. 

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Oh, no.” 

“Fuck off. But do you think we’ll meet? Once you wake up?”

He stops. He would wake once he was healed and move on to find his father in a battle that he was sure to die in. In a country that was already dying. 

And he still couldn’t tell Trevor about the demons. He could only give his weak warnings that Trevor rolled his eyes at, muttering that his sleep was affecting his brain. 

“I don’t know.” 

Trevor didn’t look disappointed, only shrugging. “It’d be funny if we did.”

“What would you do?” He’s curious. “I’m still a vampire, remember?”

“Yeah, I guess I'd have to kill you.” 

Adrian huffs. It was amusing how Trevor thought he could best him in combat. He was a mere human civilian like the rest of Wallachia. He could understand the sentiment, though. Trevor had said he’d gotten his scar from a vampire as it stole his things.

He frowns at that. He knew other vampires in Wallachia viewed humans as cattle and playthings but to needlessly torment Trevor who was a child then, was cruel. 

Well, he thought, at least they spared him. 

“I will give you a fair fight.” He offers, graciously. 

Trevor laughs. “So will I.”

— — — 

“You said your birthday was in winter.” 

“Huh?” Trevor glances up at him from his lazy sprawl in the grass. They’re in the middle of a field, spring grass green and wild around them. The air is warm and the sun hot and Adrian breathes it in.

“When we met in the barn. You said your birthday was in winter.”

“Oh.” He straightens at that, watching the field around them with a blank face. He’d just been complaining about how inconvenient the season was. “I forgot. It’s been years and I never celebrated it again.”

“I see. Do you know how old you are now?”

“Hmm, let’s see.” He begins counting on his fingers, muttering under his breath. “Eighteen.”

He looks over at Adrian with a smirk. “You’ve been asleep for six years, old man.” 

“I am not old,” he ignored the first half of the sentence. 

“Hmm, in vampire years maybe not.” 

“I actually… wasn’t turned that long. Before I was injured.” He keeps up the pretence of his Dhampir form. “I’m twenty.” 

His birthday had barely passed before his mother died. And then his father—

Trevor is watching him closely, eyes roving over his body before he stops, flopping down into the grass again. 

“Yeah, well. You’re gonna look twenty forever.” 

“I think I look fine at the moment.” 

Trevor laughs, but it sounds choked. “Yeah. You’re alright, I guess.” 

— — — 

“Okay, what the fuck is this place?”

For once, Adrian shares the crude sentiment. It's a dream. But it’s not one of Trevor’s. Because Trevor wouldn’t know the electrical lights of the castle, the deep red carpeting that runs above the hard floor. 

He wouldn’t know what the lab looks like, futuristic and wonderful. 

This isn’t Trevor’s dream. 

It’s his. 

Trevor blabbers as he walks around, touching the various medical instruments with a carelessness that makes him cringe. He forces himself back, barely, remembering that none of this is real. That Trevor can’t really destroy anything. 

“I must seriously have an overactive imagination.” His brow is furrowed as he looks at the centrifuge. “Except, I don’t.” 

Because he thinks the dream is his. 

And Adrian doesn't know what to say. 

“Weird, fucking lab.” He stares at it. “You know, I can only think of one person who would have a place like this.”

That catches his attention. “Who?”

“Dracula.” 

He stops. “Oh?”

“Yeah, he’s got a fucking teleporting castle.” 

“And how do you know that?” He stalks around the room, taking in the familiar setting, a familiar ache settling in his chest. 

Longing. 

“My brother told me.” 

“And how does he know that?” 

“My father, I guess.” 

He shakes his head. He knew myths and legends had found their way to the common folk but the castle’s teleportation was lesser known. He supposed someone, a farmer or traveller,  had to have seen it when his father wasn’t careful or caring.

“I wonder what this shit does.” 

“It’s science. Medicine.” He runs his hands along the displayed instruments, their metals gleaming against the light.

“How do you know?”

He turns to see Trevor squinting at him.

“It’s just a feeling.”

“Well, it’s fucking weird.” He approaches him, picking up the centrifuge Adrian was looking at.  “How does it even work?”

“I don’t know,” he lies. 

Trevor hums, tilting it this way and that before he leaves it, brushing past Adrian. “Look.”

He does. It’s a diagram of the body, one of the many they had lying around. It’s simpler than the rest, thankfully. He doesn't think a detailed diagram with arteries the world didn’t even know about would be easy to explain. Even Trevor would pause at it. 

Trevor inspects this one carefully, murmuring under his breath as he reads over the labels. “I don’t think I ever learnt all this.” 

“Then it’s probably not correct,” he proposes. Another lie. 

“Maybe.” 

Something makes him turn and Adrian pauses at the small medical kit that’s appeared on the table. It’s the one his parents started him off with. A small suturing kit lies within it. 

Clicking open the box, he sighs at the sight of it. So small and delicate. How was he ever that young?

He blinks and the kit’s gotten bigger, a thick skin pad next to it. Adrian huffed, taking a seat at the table and organising his space. Trevor’s still puttering about behind him. 

By the time he comes over, Adrian’s already done several perfect sutures over the skin pad, neat and tight, just as his mother instilled in him. 

“Huh, pretty good.”

He pushes it towards Trevor. “You try.” 

Trevor’s stitches are quickly done and imperfect. But they’re tight and do the overall function of stitches. 

“Don’t really have time to make sure they're perfect if I’m bleeding out, do I? But they do the job.” 

“They do.” He looks over their sutures, side by side, neat and messy. 

“You know,” Trevor starts. “Imagine if this shit was real.” 

Adrian froze. “Why?”

He gestures with a hand. “Looks complicated but it might actually do shit. If we had stuff like it, life would be so much fucking easier.” His smile is a sour thing. “Imagine that. Not being scared for your life because of a fucking fever.” 

Before Adrian can respond, Trevor’s next words have him freezing. “Your mother was a good woman, Adrian. It’s shit that you lost her.” 

Adrian’s never swam before. But he’s sure that if he did, this is what a wave would feel like. 

Trevor’s words crash into him like one.

There’s a familiar ache of loss bubbling in his chest. But it’s familiar. Adrian can handle it.

What hits him harder, what makes the wave crash onto him again, is the kindness behind the words.

Trevor’s shown more understanding than Adrian expected, more empathy than he’s used to.

It’s not the usual bluntness or crassness. It’s not the sarcasm or venom.

It’s nothing.

It’s everything.

Trevor’s always been different. Adrian had sensed that before, but this—this is something else. 

For a moment, Adrian can’t find the words, too struck by the rawness of it all. All he can do is stare at Trevor, feeling an unfamiliar tightness in his throat. 

“I know.” And he pauses. “You really want all this? You don’t think it’s strange?”

“Oh. No, it’s definitely fucking weird. But… imagine if we had it,” the wonder on his face makes his breath catch. 

“Imagine.” 

— — — 

“Which one’s that?”

“Cassiopeia.” 

“Hey, I think I remember that one.” Trevor’s smirking as he looks up at it, triumphant that his knowledge finally matches Adrian’s.

They’re in a place neither of them recognises, looking up at the night sky above. 

“Did your family teach you?”

“Yeah, I only remember the ones I use for hunting and shit now but I think I was taught them all.” He sighs, eyes tight as he gazes over it. “I think.” 

He hums. “If you’d like, I can teach you again. It might make you remember.” 

There’s no response and he looks over to see Trevor staring at him, mouth parted.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.” He shakes his head quickly. “She was some Greek queen right?”

“Yes. She brought ruin on her kingdom, supposedly, boasting about her daughter's beauty.” 

Trevor snorts. 

“You don’t believe it?”

“It’s just stupid.” 

He hums. “Yes, most of the myths were. Greek Gods seem to be impractically vengeful.” But he stops as he remembers another powerful being full of rage and grief and his war against humanity. No matter the era, it seemed some things never changed. 

“That’s the problem with immortality.” Trevor nudges him. “You’re gonna get bored and the boredoms gonna lead to shit entertainment.” 

“I think I will be fine.” 

He scoffs. “Really? Seriously, what are you gonna do for the rest of your life? Just sleep?”

“I will wake up soon.” He says with certainty. Anyone else would not but his father’s machines and medical inventions were nearly mythical. 

Trevor doesn’t say anything, just watches him with something painful in the curl of his mouth. 

“I will,” he says again, a bit forcefully. 

Trevor’s voice is soft and so unlike him. “I know.”

— — — 

Trevor’s got a heavy, white-furred cloak on. He seems proud of it, twisting around for Adrian to feel the fur. It’s soft. 

“Hunted it myself. It was hidden in the snow but I tracked it easily enough. I was thinking it was a gift.” He adds on at his questioning look. “Since you told me my birthday was in the winter.” 

He smiles at that. “It’s a worthy gift.” He looks at the stitching, running his hands over the rough fabric. “Make it yourself?”

“Yeah.”

He hums and Trevor makes an offending sound. “What? Think I can’t do that?”

“I never said that.” 

“You were thinking it.” 

“I wasn’t.” 

“Whatever. Beatrice said it looked good.” 

“Beatrice?”

“A barmaid. It’s that inn by the river.” He explains even though Adrian wouldn’t know it. 

“I see.” He shifts. “Perhaps it was simply to get a tip. Flattery is a common tool for service employees.”

He shakes his head. “Nah, she didn’t want me to pay her. Not like that anyway.” He says in a wry tone. 

“Oh.” 

That shouldn’t be surprising. Trevor’s a grown man, and he can do whatever he likes if it’s safe. 

It shouldn’t be surprising to him. 

The silence stretches and he realises Trevor is waiting for a response, watching him carefully. 

He clears his throat. “Well, I hope you are at least being cautious.” His voice comes out dry. “Pregnancies can often—”

“Oh, no! Fuck off! You’re not lecturing me about that. I’ll take the hygiene one again, seriously.”

Trevor’s expression is scrunched up, hands outwards and pleading. He’s blabbering about soap and brushes with vigour, walking backwards as if trying to get away from him.

Adrian grins. 

— — —

“I didn’t know you played.”

There’s a grand piano in a grand theatre hall that he and Trevor are the only patrons of. 

The location isn’t surprising. It’s not the first strange place Trevor's brought him to, and Adrian wonders, as he often does, how Trevor manages to find himself in such places. Or perhaps, how he drags Adrian along with him in the first place.

He was still contemplating the dragon cave Trevor had shown him when a toneless voice rang out behind him.

“It was my mother.”

When he turns, Trevor’s staring down at the keys. His eyes are unfocused.

“She knew how to play and I just… watched her. Learnt from her, I suppose. She didn’t even know until she caught me one night. I was playing the same song she had in the morning.”

He begins to press on keys, a light, dancing tune emanating from the instrument.

“It’s wonderful.”

It’s true.

“I didn’t forget.” He huffs, “Strange, isn’t it? I forget everything else but this I remember.” He stares up at him. “Do you know why?”

Adrian doesn’t and says so.

“I think I do,” Trevor replies. “It’s this,” his fingers run over the keys, “this action . When I play... my hands know. They just know. They always do. Everything else, everything theory , is gone.”

“That’s an interesting hypothesis.” Though it does make sense. Trevor had always seemed more confident with his body than his mind. 

A small, sardonic grin curls on Trevor’s face. “It must be a family trait.”

“How so?”

But he doesn’t reply, shoulders shaking with laughter and muttering how it’d make perfect sense.

A part of Adrian wants to ask. Wants to collect another piece of him while he can. The other is content with seeing Trevor happy.

Stepping closer, he leans beside Trevor and runs his hands over a combination of keys, hearing the familiar melody rise over them.

Trevor looks at him, brows raised. “You can play?”

“My mother wanted me to learn as many instruments as I could. Though, I could never find one that stuck.”

His brows rise higher. “You can play multiple?”

He nods.

“Of course you can. Prick.” But he looks back at the keyboard and after a second, runs his fingers over the keys on his side. 

Adrian recognises the duet. He presses his own keys in time, playing in sync with Trevor and hearing the full melody release itself, loud and clear.

“Anything you can’t play?”

He thinks. “I could never master the trombone.”

Trevor’s laugh is a deep, joyous thing.

— — —

When he returns to the In-Between after that instance, he swears he can hear the familiar duet playing around him.

But he can’t be sure.

He never can.

— — —

“Oh, shit.”

Adrian agrees. 

It’s night in their dream. He and Trevor had been walking next to a creek, talking aimlessly about nothing and everything. He had found Trevor glancing at him several times, turning his way sometimes to catch him in the moment. He’d hold his gaze for a moment before looking away. 

He never asked. 

They walked following the stream as it got wider and reached under a rock formation they couldn’t pass. 

They’d gone around instead, following the rush of water, the only sound that echoed around them. And then, now, they stumbled onto it.

A large lake. A glowing large lake. 

“Biolumence,” he breathes.

“Fuck is that?”

“It’s caused by a chemical emission of light. I read about it once.” He wonders if this is his mind influencing their dream again. 

Hesitantly, Trevor knelt down, wading his fingers through the water. It rippled from his touch and when he drew his fingers out, they were glowing. 

“Holy fuck.” Trevor looked up at him, grinning. “Why haven’t I seen this shit before?”

“I think it usually happens in the oceans.” 

He scowls. “Wallachia is so shit.” 

That made him laugh and he looked over at the glowing surface, light blues and greens covering the surface. At least they had seen it here. 

Splashes caught his attention and he looked over to Trevor wading in, glowing colours sticking to his body as went in. 

“Trevor! What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?”

“You— this could be dangerous.” 

“It’s a dream, remember? Nothing serious will happen.” He turned, raising an arm to beckon him over. It was covered in colour. “Come on.” He paused, smirking. “Unless you’re scared. I get it. Running water and whatnot.” 

He scowled, watching as Trevor went deeper. He reached the middle of the take, the water reaching his chest. Not too deep then. 

Carefully, Adrian ran his fingers over the surface, just as Trevor had done before. The colour coated his fingers and he wondered.

This was a dream. He had died all those dreams ago because Trevor had killed him but he’d returned later on. And that was because Trevor wanted to kill him. It was his dream and Adrian died just as he wanted. 

He looked over at Trevor. He was moving his arms through the water slowly, grinning at the way it moved under his touch. Looking up, he caught Adrian’s gaze and smiled softly. 

His feet were moving before he could comprehend it and was washing through the water to him. 

Nothing happened. No explosive death and no suffocating, dark feeling to take him back. 

Triumphant, he makes his way forward. Trevor’s watching him carefully. 

“Feel like exploding?”

“Not yet.” 

He laughs and reaches out, grasping Adrian’s upper arm and pulling him forward. 

“What are you—”

He’s dunked underwater, water flooding his senses before he’s pulled back.

“What was that for?”

“I felt like it.” 

Adrian stops, watches him for a moment. Trevor’s eyes widen. But by that time it’s too late.

Adrian reverses their positions, slamming Trevor under the water and shaking him for good measure. 

“What the fuck,” he splutters, shooting water out of his mouth. “That was way worse than mine.” 

“I just felt like it.” 

There was a beat of silence before Trevor lunges at him with. Adrian barely dodges, surprised at the speed, feeling the rush of water as Trevor’s hand swipes through the surface, sending a cascade splashing behind him.

He pushes his own wave of water to him, glowing blues and greens rolling over the surface. Trevor dodges it easily and in a single moment, disappears into the water. 

He doesn’t come back up. 

“Trevor?” He scans the shimmering surface for any sign of him.

There’s none.

Moments pass, and he swallows.

He shouldn’t worry. It’s not deep enough to drown. He peers into the depths, but all he sees is the vague shadow of the bottom.

Just as he’s about to try to take a look himself, his lack of swimming experience be damned, something surges up behind him, pushing him downwards with a laugh. 

He surfaces, coughing, smacking one hand forward while the other wipes at his face. “You asshole.” He blinks, scowling at the sight of Trevor’s grinning face. 

“Not so graceful, are you?” Trevor teases, leaning forward with a smirk on his lip. He’s covered in the glowing bioluminescence, the algae glinting against his skin. 

“I’m a vampire, not a fish. I’ve never swam before.” Adrian shoots back. 

“Good thing for these dreams, huh?” He laughs, teeth bright against their surroundings and Adrian stumbles when he winks. 

“Yes,” he mumbles. “Good thing.” 

For a few moments, they’re still, eyes tracking over each other as the world glows around them. 

“Listen,” he watches Trevor’s Adam apple move as he swallows. “I’m,” he stops, sighing heavily as he moves his gaze away from Adrian, looking at the water instead. “I’m glad I met you.” 

He doesn’t say anything and Trevor huffs. “I know. Fucking weird, you’re a vampire and I’m a B—”

“I’m glad I met you, too.” He rushes out. 

Trevor's eyes are wide, surprise and hope etched across his features. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He breathes. Adrian shifts closer, a ripple increasing with every movement. It all leads to Trevor. It feels like that on the inside too. “You make it… easier. Being like this.”

“I should be the one saying that. You don’t get it, Adrian. Ever since my family left, I’ve been alone. Everyday.” He sighs. “Except when I sleep. Barely even then. You don’t show up sometimes, bastard.” 

He huffs a laugh. “I wish I did. I wish I could.”

“Fucking magic.” Trevor snorts but his grin is wide and happy and—

“Yes,” he chuckles softly, watching the glow on Trevor’s face. “Fucking magic”

— — — 

Something’s different when he materialises in. They’re in a field, not so different from the one they lounged in before. But this time,  the sun isn’t lighting the world overhead. This time the grass is short and brittle and cold. 

This time Trevor is angry. 

He doesn’t say anything. Not immediately. Trevor’s back is to him as he approaches, hands poised on his hip as he watches something in the distance. 

Adrian goes closer, intent on tapping Trevor on the shoulder or shoving him over to later make fun of him for it. It’s fun. He never would have looked at it like that before. 

But before he can, as his fingers graze Trevor’s shirt, the world becomes a blur and he’s flipped onto his back. 

He doesn’t see it coming. Doesn’t register the tip of Trevor's whip as his throat. It’s shameful but… he’s become comfortable around Trevor. Becomes better. 

He never would have seen it coming. 

Trevor’s straddling him, his weight pressing him down into the hard earth. 

“What are you doing?” 

Trevor’s expression is full of anger and pain. “You were telling the truth.” He whispers. 

“What?”

“That time about the country being in danger. You were telling the truth. And I was so stupid and young and naive, I didn’t follow up on it.” 

The ground shakes and his vision blurs.

Oh.

Trevor’s time has finally caught up to him. 

“You didn’t say anything.” Trevor hisses. His hands are now circling his throat, whip discarded in the grass beside them.

It’s better, he thinks. He’d rather have Trevor’s hands than the holy material. 

“I could have stopped it,” Trevor says fervently. “If you told me how it happened, I could have stopped it.” 

“No,” his voice is shaky. “It doesn't work like that.” 

“How would you know!” He shakes him like a rag doll. “You’re asleep you fucking prick. You don’t know how you got here and the only information you have is from me . So you don’t know that. ” 

“I’m sorry.”

It’s all he can say.

“Why?” Trevor’s look is— 

He forces himself to look, to keep his eyes open. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I couldn’t. You don’t understand,” he sighs. “Every time I tried, something would stop me. The same feeling when I have to leave. What I feel around me when I go back. I couldn’t tell you.” 

“That’s bullshit,” and his voice is wet. “You could’ve drawn it. Fucking tapped it to me in code. Done anything.” 

“I’m sorry.” He repeats.

“Fucking vampire. You’re all the same, I should've known. I should’ve never—” 

He stops, and his eyes are so full of pain and Adrian knows the same emotion is covering his own face. 

Adrian wiggles and uses his own strength to slip an arm out of Trevor’s grip. He starts to move, reactively, but Adrian moves his arm closer, and cups Trevor’s face with his hand. 

“If I could change it, I would have.” His vision is blurry. “If I could save you—”

And the horrifying, real possibility that Trevor may not survive this hits him in the chest. 

Trevor sees it and huffs. “Save me? Asshole. It’s the other way around. I’ve got more work to do than ever.” 

“You don’t have to do anything. Leave Wallachia,” he begs. 

“How many times do I have to say it?” He's frustrated. “I’m a—”

The wind blows over them, loud and high and causes them to press closer against its bite. 

“It’s my responsibility.” He finishes once it’s quiet. 

“I didn’t hear you,” he utters, stupidly. 

Trevor’s brows scrunch together. “Figures.” But he’s determined. “Tell me how to stop it. You have to know something.”

A heavy feeling surrounds him, flooding his mouth and crawling down his throat. He can’t say it, Can’t say anything. But Trevor is looking at him, pleading and desperate and it’s Trevor. 

“Dracula,” he gasps out. 

His teeth click together painfully. 

“What? Where is he? Come on, Adrian.” 

He shakes his head. “I can’t.” He grits out. And maybe Trevor finally understands because he loosens his grip, leaning back as Adrian’s hand follows. He looks defeated. 

His voice is lifeless. “So this is it.” 

Adrian wants to tell him that there’s a chance. To tell him that he’s recovering and knows his father’s mind but his head floods with darkness and he knows there’s no possibility of it. 

The suffocating feeling increases, draping over his body and mind and he knows it’s coming.

And this time it feels different. 

Hurriedly, he sits up, almost knocking their heads together as he does. 

“What—” 

“I’m leaving.” He doesn’t have to clarify.

“Fuck.” 

He huffs, cupping Trevor’s face again desperately. “Listen to me, I wanted to tell you. To help you. I wish I could have.” He tightens his grip. “Stay alive. Please, I want you to live and— I want to find you.” 

Trevor's eyes are wide.  

“If you don’t want me to then I won’t.” The words are painful. “But stay alive and don’t be stupid.” 

The darkness is covering his eyes and he can’t see anymore. He tells Trevor this. 

“Stay safe.” He whispers. 

For a moment, there’s pure silence. No sound or shift from Trevor for him to hold onto. The pressure is pushing at him now. It’s telling him to go. 

But then, rough hands are pulling him close and warm lips are pressing hard against his. 

“Find me, you fucking bloodsucker.” The words are choked. “Find me.”

The press of nothing envelopes him completely. 

— — — 

He waits. In that dark pit he lies in. He waits and waits. 

But he doesn’t visit Trevor again. 

He replays his memories in his mind over and over and over again. It’s the only flash of colour, only vibration of sound, of press of heat that he experiences again. 

Find me. 

I will, he vows. 

I will.

— — — 

The hiss of gas fills his ear and for the first time in what seems like years after his meetings with Trevor, light fills his eyes. 

It’s too much and he shuts them immediately, rising out of his coffin to levitate above. 

Someone tripped the trigger. Someone is here.

He can smell them. Foreign and unfamiliar. 

His hand goes to his wound, feeling its stitched skin and firmness. It has healed. 

A shift echoes in the room and he speaks, eyes still closed, head bowed. 

“Why are you here?”

A woman’s voice answers. “The story. The Messiah sleeps under Gresit. The man who will save us from Dracula.”

Ah yes. He recalls it. The Sleeping Soldier. Aided by the Hunter and Speaker they will save the land. 

Her voice is breathy, full of excitement. She believes. 

But the other…

“And you?” He asks. “Are you in search of a mythical saviour?”

“I fell down a hole.”

The voice is deep and familiar and full of amusement and disbelief. 

It fills his head with memories and emotion and Trevor’s scent wraps around him, something he could never smell before, earthy and warm. 

His head snaps up, and Adrian makes immediate eye contact with Trevor who stands beneath him next to the unfamiliar woman. 

He’s smirking, hands on his hips as he takes him in. “Well, well.” 

He’s wonderful. 

“Leave us.” He commands the Speaker who watches on, shocked and uncertain. 

“I don’t—” her eyes are full of confusion.

“It’s okay, Sypha. Just give us a moment.” Trevor says but his eyes never leave Adrian, nor do his. “Trust me.” 

She heeds Trevor’s command, giving them a second look before she leaves the room. 

It’s all they need. 

Trevor makes his way forward and Adrian drops down from his position, rushing ahead with the same desperation he felt when he was last with Trevor. 

Trevor meets him the same way. 

They collide in a clash. 

“Fucking hell,” Trevor mumbles against his lips. “Should’ve known it was you. Who else would be dramatic enough to be down here.” 

But Adrian doesn’t care, pressing Trevor closer against him, exploring his scent in a way he’d been aching for. 

“I found you,” he breathes. 

“Technically, I found you. Can’t even follow simple instructions, huh?” But his voice is full of warmth and relief and he presses their foreheads together as he stares into his eyes. 

“Don’t fucking leave again.” 

He chuckles. “No. Not this time.” 

Never again. 

— 

Sypha returns after a few minutes. He supposes it’s their fault for how she reacts. 

“Belmont!” He hears the Speaker exclaim and for a moment he thinks, oh. 

But Trevor is pulling him closer, reaching forward to knock their foreheads together as he looks up at him, Adrian straddling his hips.

“You know,” he starts. “Looking back, the clues were all there.” 

“I could say the same for you.” 

A Belmont. He should have known. He remembers how Trevor’s words were drowned out by wind and how his own voice choked when he tried to explain his story. 

How strange.

He’ll look into it later.

“You’re a hunter.” He looks behind him, at the Speaker who’s holding a fireball between her fingers. 

“Oh,” he chuckles. “I wasn’t expecting this.” 

“What?”

“Do you know the full prophecy?”

Trevor shakes his head and Sypha dutifully recites it, not noting how their eyes gleam as they hear it.

“So I’m stuck with you, huh?”

“Yes.” The word is triumphant. 

Trevor traces his scar, light and teasing. 

“Good.”