"Alucard's coming here…." Seras trailed off, worrying her lower lip. "Or… you're right, the Count." The man coming wasn't Alucard, at least not fully. It wasn't her person (if he could, in fact, be called hers at all), but instead—Count Dracula, owner of Carfax Abbey and killer… killing…. "He-he can't come here tonight!" she squeaked, leaping in place and nearly leaving the ground. "Is he coming for you?!" She didn't want to see Renfield get beat to a miserable pulp, no matter what the man himself thought.

"Not for another day or two," he reassured her, catching onto her panic. "Your poor madman still has some time left in this resort." He waved at the four walls, but there was no true merriment in his voice. When she merely looked at him fearfully, he let out a little heartfelt sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before rubbing his temples. He turned his face heavenwards, the shadows playing on the creases of his skin and giving him a more wizened appearance.

"Are you—?"

"I always need a little strength for this moment," he confided quietly. Seras couldn't tell if he were stating fact, or asking some higher power to grant it to him. Her index finger found her teeth and she began chewing on it, if only to save her lip from being shredded to pieces by her fangs. He had the oddest way of speaking, as if he forgot that he wasn't alone. She doubted she'd ever grow fully used to it.

When she opened her mouth again, planning on trying to glean some more information from him, a chill curled her toes before settling in the base of her spine. The hair on the back of her neck rose, her jaw clenching and accidentally biting her cheek. She tasted blood and panicked, her brain on autopilot before Common-Sense-Seras took back over. You're not here. No one can see you, or smell your blood. Still, she fought the urge to just back into the wall and disappear completely. I'm not here, she restated firmly.

The world around her blurred and she blinked twice, rubbing at her eyes before realizing that it was mist. She pursed her lips as it flooded the cell up to her waist, pouring through the bars of the window and spreading like thick, oozing syrup up the walls in a gravity-defying gesture. Still as grandiose as ever, even if he is just a Count. When she looked back at the window, the bars were gone, as if they'd never been there to begin with. Arching a brow, she turned to see Renfield with his elbows on his knees, back hunched as he stared thoughtfully at the fog billowing around him at eye-level.

"I wondered if you might come tonight." The mist near the window thickened, became blackened and opaque as though charred to a cinder. The molasses quality became more pronounced as it blotched and quivered, sinking as though the density was heavier than the whitish, translucent substance. Renfield laced his fingers, taking in a measured, slightly frustrated breath. "You're late, aren't you? Dawn's rising, whether or not you like it." Seras turned her head to the window, habitually looking for the telltale signs of a lightening sky. She couldn't see much through the mist, but it still looked safe for another hour or two. Why are you bothering? It's not like it'll burn you here, nitwit.

As she watched, the black mist reached the ground and rose in a graceful pillar, spreading up instead of out like one might expect it to. Up, up, up, taller than the window, billowing into a vague shape that might have been humanlike before turning slowly from the window to face the inside of the cell. A flash of crimson, macabre and bright against the blackness, caught her eye and then, as the mist cleared, she made out the folds of a cloak. It floated towards the ground as two strong arms flung it back, molding to the shifting black shapes that spread along the cracked, dingy stone. Squinting, she made out the hair next. Yards of it, miles of it, thick and cascading down to earth in a knotted mess of ebony locks that glimmered with the faintest of blue sheens in the flickering gaslight. It stuck out at odd angles, as though it had been touched to an electric current and never put to straights.

One hand, gloved in white, rose to part the bangs; at first she couldn't decide what was inherently wrong about the situation, before realizing that it was the purity of the gloves. No runes were etched in black across the stark surface; it was marred with no odd symbols or Germanic tongue. Then, while she was still processing this information, the hair was shaken back from a pale face that she could have easily picked out of any crowd. It was Alucard, and yet it was not. The features were twisted in strange, un-Alucard ways. Curious, she overcome her fear of being somehow seen and pressed even closer.

There was the same cockiness, to be sure, as well as the same sense of regality that drew the lips and kept the brow unwrinkled by paltry matters. But there was something in his eyes that caught her, causing an unknown emotion to flicker deep within her breast. She'd seen that glint before, but where? It took a moment to place, but she stiffened in shock as she recognized it: it was the same expression worn by the rogue vampires she hunted down for the Organization. Every half-ass mastermind wannabe held that same devil-may-care, undefeated attitude. It was only when they stared death in the face that they showed any signs of awakening. Until that moment came, they thought they could never be bested, that they were the one.

Megalomaniacs.

"So you wore it too…." She whispered it to him, though he had no way of hearing. Perhaps back—or, rather, forward—he heard it in the future. "I wouldn't have wanted this. Not even for someone like you." If Renfield paid attention to her words, he didn't comment on them.

"Watch yourself, before you start speaking like a true lunatic." Alucard stepped past her and she was forced to dance backwards, keeping out of his way while still getting a good look at his face. A sneer curled his lip as he studied the seated figure before him. As she gazed up at him, eyes tracing the cold, calculating jaw, she felt the strangest urge. She wanted… to touch him. She found her hand rising, reaching for the black sleeve of his suit almost of its own accord. Feeling eyes on her, she looked towards the stool and saw Renfield staring at her. The Count looked as well, though he had no way of knowing that she stood there. Her hand fell guiltily.

"Why did you come?" Renfield didn't stir, but the air felt as though he'd stood abruptly; it was enough that Seras backed another step, keeping them both in her sights. "I thought you'd be watching those men as they go through your home."

"That is not my home," he laughed, scornfully. "I do not reside in chapels." His gaze drifted over him lazily. "You know why I am here."

"Do I?" This time, there was a clear warning in the man's voice that urged the vampire not to press the issue. The Count either didn't notice or didn't care—Seras thought very much of the latter option—and only scoffed.

"You sold me out. Did you think I wouldn't hear of it?" His eyes twinkled with egotistical glee. "I have eyes and ears everywhere." He lifted the corner of his cloak as he spoke, and Seras put her hands over her mouth to muffle the shriek of surprise as nearly a dozen rats tumbled from the shadows, red eyes gleaming and little nails scrabbling as they ran for the corners of the room. She danced in place, but they seemed to avoid her as if they, too, knew she were there.

"I thought I was merely gathering intelligence, not holding down your good name." Renfield laughed himself, the sound too high and mocking to come from his throat. "In fact, I don't remember your name crossing my lips."

"You've given them something to fear, you mongering insect eater." He waved his hand dismissively. "They'll be doubly cautious now."

"Humph." Renfield shrugged. "Well, I'm a solicitor, not an intel specialist."

"In-tel?" the Count repeated, a hint of confusion in his tone. He shook his head. "Never mind that, don't change the subject. Not to mention she was in here, and you let her squirm between your fingers like the slimy maggots you fawn over without finding out where Harker is!" Seras shuddered at the mental image his words conveyed.

"It was a social call!" Renfield argued back, holding his hands up in a placating way. "And it's not like she was alone. I wasn't to know about her husband, other than the fact that she was married, and that was told to me by the good lady herself!"

"Oh, never mind!" the Count spat again, and Seras turned to the door apprehensively. They might have been in an insane asylum, but did that mean they should be yelling so loudly? Renfield seemed less serene than she knew him to be, and she wondered if that was a trait that had come with mostly Alucard-less years while the vampire was in confinement. Then again, perhaps he merely used this tone with Alucard alone; she'd certainly never tried to pick a fight with him, either. Was this his argumentative voice?

Maybe it was just that he found Alucard—her Alucard—to be an improvement from this Count. A welcome enough improvement that he sought to keep peace rather than instigate. Or welcome enough to take certain liberties, at least.

"She was only sating her curiosity under the guise of the good doctor," Renfield claimed, but the Count didn't seem to be listening.

"I'll just get it out of her myself," he grumbled, rubbing his chin with one hand. As Seras watched the bickering, she frowned. I wish I could step in, like I do at home. This seems rather pointless. Did he just come to complain? She made a 'wrap it up!' motion at Renfield, who merely arched a brow imperiously. I guess he can't technically hurry it on, seeing as this has all already happened…. But he really was doing little more than pushing Alu—the Count's buttons. At least that much hasn't changed over the centuries.

"You'll do no such thing!" The Count chuckled and vanished in much the same way Seras always saw him go, only markedly slower. "Damn you, you vampire!" Renfield cursed, kicking at the door as the mist vanished along with its commander. There was a quick scraping outside the door.

"Wa'ssit?" A voice mumbled.

"Please, tell Dr. Seward that I must see him at once!" Renfield called through the door. "At once!"

"Renfield?" Seras timidly crept towards him. "What are—" A part of her recognized the scene, having read it time and time again. "What's going on—"

"Shh, my dear. Shh." He laid his hand on her arm, and this time she saw the moon trek feebly across the floor, like a cheap fast forward on a well-played VCR tape. "This is the moment, this is the crucial, the quintessential, the most exuberant moment! Or one of them, at least."

"I think he's excited." It was the Doctor. "Steady as she goes, men." There were murmured agreements as the door opened. Seras saw Dr. Seward first, still wearing the clothes he'd worn in the daytime. As he walked in, others trailed behind him. First was a small man, thin and sickly with gray hair and a furrowed brow, as though he were under constant stress. Behind him was a tall man, tall enough that he had to duck through the door, with a bushy mustache and sparkling eyes. A genteel man in a suit followed next, with slicked hair the same shade as the dead mercenary Captain's and a heavyset face. And behind him, pulling up the rear, was an outfit she'd seen only hours earlier.

Red coat. Black vest. White shirt. Crimson cravat, neatly tied. Shining black boots. No glasses or hat, but they were indoors. The man was tall and lean, his gray hair sticking out in places and his nose nearly as broad as Dr. Seward's. He moved to look over the room, his eyes passing trough Seras, and she saw the irises were the piercing blue of—van Helsing. It's got to be. Only one person would have Sir Integra's eyes. Why on earth would Alucard wear van Helsing's clothes? That's… that's really weird! It's like me wearing his clothes!

"Well?" Dr. Seward asked quietly.

"I would that you would be so kind as to release me from the asylum and send me home now." The doctor's eyes widened in clear surprise. "I am entirely sane, as you can well see." Renfield waved a hand to the four behind him. "I appeal to your friends; they will, perhaps, not mind sitting in judgment on my case. By the way, you have not introduced me." Seras wondered if it was for her benefit that he asked. Dr. Seward closed his mouth, swallowed, blinked a few times, and then almost out of force of habit he turned and motioned to the men.

"Lord Godalming," he said, showing the one in the suit, "Professor van Helsing," the one in red, as she figured, "Mr. Quincey Morris, of Texas," the tall one with the laughing eyes, "and Mr. Jonathan Harker, of Exeter." Renfield went up and took the Lord's hand.

"Lord Godalming, I had the honor of seconding your father at the Windham," he said somberly, giving it a firm shake. "I grieve to know, by your holding the title, that he is no more. He was a man loved and honored by all who knew him; and in his youth was, I have heard, the inventor of a burnt rum punch, much patronized on Derby night." The man nodded his assent of the compliments; Seras wondered if he really had known the late Lord Godalming.

"Mr. Morris," he said next, shaking the Texan's hand with vigor, "you should be proud of your great state. Its reception into the Union was a precedent which may have far-reaching effects hereafter, when the Pole and the Tropics may hold alliance to the Stars and Stripes. The power of the Treaty may yes prove a vast engine of enlargement, when the Monroe doctrine takes its true place as a political fable." Seras felt, rather than heard, the sarcasm in his voice. The man, however, had no way of knowing the speech to be anything but true and offered a nod of his head.

"What shall any man say of his pleasure at meeting van Helsing? Sire, I make no apology for dropping all forms of conventional prefix," he said blithely, with a sort of simpering smile. Seras moved to his side and looked up at the Hellsing ancestor, noting the gray stubble along his chin. He seemed nice enough, but it was no stretch of the imagination to think of that hand, now so gently shaking Renfield's, to drive a stake into the heart of one such as herself.

"When an individual has revolutionized therapeutics by his discovery of the continuous evolution of brain matter, conventional forms are unfitting since they would seem to limit him to one of a class." Seras frowned at the man, wondering why he felt the need to pull this sort of crazy speech out just for someone like van Helsing. It made her head whirl and she didn't understand a word of it, though the Professor seemed to follow perfectly.

"You, gentlemen, who by nationality, by heredity, or by the possession of natural gifts," his tongue rolled over gifts as if to say he knew very well what sort of occult power lay in the Professor's bloodstream, "are fitted to hold your respective places in the moving world, I take to witness that I am as sane as at last the majority of men who are in full possession of their liberties. And I am sure that you, Dr. Seward, humanitarian and medico-jurist as well as scientist, will deem it a moral duty to deal with me as one to be considered as under exceptional circumstances." He finished his speech with an arch of the brow and a wave of the hand that, even with knowing him only a few days, Seras had come to know as pure-Renfield.

The four men whose hand's he'd shaken looked at one another, then at Dr. Seward. The poor doctor was beside himself, mouth agape and eyes bugging as though he couldn't believe his ears. They were all staggered by the words that had flowed from this 'madman's' mouth.

"W-W-Well, you appear to be improving rapidly, Mr. Renfield," he managed to say. Licking his lips, his eyes flitted to van Helsing and back before he cleared his throat. "Tomorrow morning, we shall have a longer chat and we'll see what we can do about scheduling your release into society." Renfield's face fell and he shook his head.

"No, no, no." He sighed, rubbing his temples again, and Seras realized that this was the moment he meant, when he said he needed strength. The comprehension floored her, and she nearly fell back on the bed as she looked on. "But I fear, Dr. Seward, that you hardly apprehend my wish. I desire to go at once—here—now—this very hour—" he emphasized, tapping his knuckles against the palm of his hand. "This very moment, if I may. Time presses, and in our implied agreement with the old scytheman it is of the essence of the contract. I am sure," he continued, this time in the same tones she'd heard him using with her on the beach, "it is only necessary to put before so admirable a practitioner as Dr. Seward so simple, yet so momentous a wish, to ensure its fulfillment."

His keen eyes stared steadily at the man's face, then slowly moved to each man in turn. Seras felt, somehow, that he was reading their thoughts rather than their expressions.

"Is it possible that I may have erred in my supposition?" he asked mildly, as though he didn't already know by the cold mask of indifference that had slowly slid across the doctor's face.

"You have," Dr. Seward replied frankly, a measure of merciless distance in his tone. Renfield heard the icy crackle as clearly as she did, and he paused for a moment, just… watching. The doctor fidgeted slightly underneath the heavy gaze.

"Then I suppose I must only shift my ground of request," he said slowly, drawing each syllable out until he must have rivaled the Texan in his slur. "Let me ask for this concession—boon, privilege, what you will. I am content to implore in such a case, not on personal grounds, but for the sake of others." I'll just get it out of her myself.

Are you trying to save them? The question went unasked, for he was still talking.

"I am not at liberty to give you the whole of my reasons; but you may, I assure you, take it from me that they are good ones, sound and unselfish, and spring from the highest sense of duty. Could you look, sir, into my heart, you would approve to the full the sentiments which anime mate. Nay, more, you would count me amongst the best and truest of your friends."

He stopped talking and no one moved, the lot of them just staring at him, and he at them. The Professor seemed to be staring more intently than the others, and for the first time Seras wondered just how much van Helsing knew, or guessed, about who Renfield was… what he was. His salt-and-pepper eyebrows, already bushy to begin with, were trying their best to become a unibrow as his forehead crinkled with thought. Seras expected Dr. Seward to reply, but there was an all too familiar rustling of a coat and then… a voice, warm and rich, booming with thunder.

"Can you not tell frankly your real reason for wishing to be free tonight?" he asked not unkindly, the accents pulling at his words until Seras had to listen hard to make sure she was catching the right meaning around the odd inflections. "I will undertake that if you will satisfy even me—a stranger, without prejudice, and with the habit of keeping an open mind—Dr. Seward will give you, at his own risk and on his own responsibility, the privilege you seek."

Renfield shook his head, each motion lower until it hung with sadness. When he lifted it again, the look was one of poignant regret. Seras reached out to him unthinkingly, but he didn't seem to notice her anymore. But I feel such guilt, and I have such regrets….

"Come, sir, bethink yourself." Van Helsing took a step closer, though not within touching range. "You claim the privilege of reason in the highest degree, since you seek to impress us with your complete reasonableness. You do this, whose sanity we have reason to doubt, since you are not yet released from medical treatment for this very defect. If you will not help us in our effort to choose the wisest course, how can we perform the duty which you yourself put upon us? Be wise, and help us; and if we can we shall aid you to achieve your wish."

Something registered in the back of her mind, something that told her that the professor was speaking on the same level as Renfield, as equals in the realm of the occult and magic. That he knew, somehow. That he was not asking for Renfield to help them help him, but to help them defeat the Count. All this filtered through her consciousness, but things were happening so fast that she barely had time to understand it and apply it to the situation. Renfield was shaking his head again, this time in clear defiance. He sighed at his shoes, swallowing slowly before answering.

"Dr. van Helsing, I have nothing to say. Your argument is complete, and if I were free to speak I should not hesitate a moment; but I am not my own master in the matter." When the head of Creation tells you to do something, you don't dare refuse. "I can only ask you to trust me. If I am refused, the responsibility does not rest with me."

"Then why do you still feel guilt over it?" Seras asked, her voice somehow hoarse. Renfield flinched visibly, but didn't look at her.

"Come, my friends, we have work to do. Good night." Dr. Seward turned, pursing his lips. Clearly he didn't understand the situation, not like her and Renfield and—dare she say it—van Helsing. Lord Godalming looked befuddled, Quincey scratched at his mustache nonchalantly, and Mr. Harker just looked tired. Renfield watched as they headed for the door, frozen by something—perhaps his own emotion. Then, with a violent movement, he lunged after the doctor's coat and held out both hands, his muscles tensed. He seemed to be holding himself back by sheer willpower alone.

"Let me entreat you, Dr. Seward," he practically begged, his voice raw with emotion. "Oh, let me implore you, to let me out of this house at once. Send me away how you will and where you will; send keepers with me with whips and chains; let them take me in a straight-waist-coat, manacled and leg-ironed, even to a gaol; but let me go out of this. You don't know what you do by keeping me here." Seras felt the tears prick her eyes and it was all she could do not to run to him and comfort him in what little way she could. He sounded like a man pleading for life, not just to escape an asylum.

"I am speaking from the very depths of my heart, from my very soul. You don't know whom you wrong, or how; and I may not tell. Woe is me; I may not tell!" He seemed ready to beat at his breast, to let out a scream or start to sobbing, but he held his peace and only the cracking of his voice let show any physical form of emotion. "By all you hold sacred—by all you hold dear—by your love that is lost—by your hope that still lives—for the sake of the Almighty, take me out of this and save my soul from guilt!"

Seras gasped, the gears clicking into place. She read along in her mind's eye, the white words of her e-book flowing along in time with his voice. But this was worse, a thousand times worse, because now she could hear the man himself say them and feel the pain that before, she could only imagined echoing out of every breath.

"Can't you hear me, man? Can't you understand? Will you never learn? Don't you know that I am sane and earnest now; that I am no lunatic in a mad fit, but a sane man fighting for his soul? Oh, hear me! Hear me! Let me go! Let me go! Let me go!" He sank to his knees, utterly despondent.

"Oh, Mr. Renfield," Seras choked, and felt the tears form a lump in her throat. "I'm so… I'm so sorry…."

"Come," Dr. Seward said sternly, yanking him to his feet. Renfield's face was wracked with emotion, but still he did not cry. He looked up into the doctor's face with a pleading earnest, but also with resignation. He knew what he wanted would not come. "No more of this; we have had quite enough already." He pointed, and at first Seras thought he was pointing at her, but he was merely motioning to the cot. "Get to your bed and try to behave more discreetly."

Renfield stared at him, shoulders slumping as the moments ticked by. Then he turned, face blank, and sat on the edge of the bed. Seras looked down at him, but he didn't catch her eye as his head bowed, as if with fatigue. Dr. Seward nodded to himself before waving to his peers and turning back to leave. Dr. van Helsing scratched his stubble, watching the lunatic before putting a hand on Mr. Harker's shoulder as they left.

"You will," Dr. Seward stopped, turning back to listen with surprise as Renfield spoke again. Seras watched with some bit of triumph as he assumed the position she thought he might, fingers spread along his knees as he lifted his head to look at the doctor once more. "I trust, Dr. Seward, do me the justice to bear in mind that I did what I could to convince you tonight."

Afterword: What? November 2015? Oh dear…. (clenched teeth emoji) Sorry!

Again, a lot of this comes from the titular book. Thankfully, Renny is a bit of a talkative lunatic. I promise the next chapter shouldn't take so long to do! I'm sorry!