Disclaimer: Hellsing belongs to Kouta Hirano.

Author's Notes: This is a birthday gift for Dreadnot (edited by herself), she wanted Walter love, thus her friends provided. Slightly AU post war, spoilers of volume 8. This is a prequel to my fic: The Female of the Species.

Strings

He arrived too late to help his leader and his creator – their bodies were already impaled on the highest poles of the sinister just-made forest that grew at an alarming rate. Butler stood before them, staring blankly as his wires swirled around his body, cutting through skin and bone of the minions who dared to approach him.

Strangely, Butler felt such triumph roaring inside him. He tilted his head, unable to explain his happiness nor to express it, outside he resembled the emotionless, pretty puppet that Major wanted him to be.

A puppet without strings and without a purpose.

Butler touched the stick where his creator was impaled, smearing his digits on the blood dripping from his now red lab coat. It smelled rotten and dead. Regardless, he bent down and lapped at it, ignoring the groans of the zombies around him and their predatory gazes, he stayed to lick the liquid eagerly until the last drop.

"Trying to achieve your freedom? Good there's still fight inside you, Walter."

Butler jumped, surveying the perimeter; his wires danced madly forming a protective silver halo. The dead minions were gone, not a trace of them anywhere. His eyes narrowed. The male voice sounded so close, almost brushing his ear, yet at the same time it seemed the source was the confines of the earth.

"Or in your mind?" The voice suggested before laughing. The laughter spread around him – the earth was mocking, the sky and even the dead on the sticks joined, their peals were identical, the same malicious basso tone.

Butler even found himself compelled to laugh, he could not stop his own seemingly mute vocal cords from releasing the contagious sound. His jaw clenched, biting his own lips to close his mouth, to avoid this possession. In his distraction, he had not noticed a sharp sword cutting down his defences, rendering his wires useless. He realized he had dropped his guard too late when the armoured vampire used his shadows to imprison him. Butler felt the heavy gaze scanning his body yet something did not allow him to struggle - that small portion of himself that wanted to embrace death after awaking as a vampire.

"So, you are still alive," the vampire lifted him, commanding the shadows to bring him closer to where he stood. Butler just stared at him, wordlessly. The other vampire's smile was terrifying, yet he felt no fear; on the contrary he was safe.

"It must be painful for you, Angel of Death, to have your wings clipped and become fallen," he murmured, caressing his right cheek with his gauntleted digits. His mouth moved to his ear, and despite being dead, Butler had the urge to shiver. "It could end now and you will become a real angel, but you won't be able to do anything, only watch us from afar in Heaven," he told him, the vampire's voice lulled his senses to complacency. "Or you could stay here, where now is Hell on Earth, and make a difference as a demon."

Butler did not react immediately, but his vision fogged after a few minutes, he coughed blood, like something was eating him from inside, as if he was destroying himself.

"Are you going to disobey your Master?" the vampire asked, tightening his grip on his body. With his free hand, he cradled Butler's skull almost gently. "She gave you orders, didn't she?"

"Return to me no matter how!" The woman's commands resounded in his mind, increasing the turmoil. He knew her; Butler saw the aristocratic features of Integral Hellsing in his thoughts.

"As an angel you failed your God and Messiah. Therefore you should learn to serve them as an adversary," his captor finished, brushing his hair away, undoing his ponytail.

Butler screamed, as pieces of his self shattered and his mind started to leak with memories of another life, other allies and other missions that were taken away from him by the glitter of a needle and a scalpel.

"A-Alucard!" Walter rasped, straining his voice, it felt like a newborn talking for the first time. What he had become? What they had done to him? He was ashamed, unable to stare at his former partner.

"That's not my name anymore but you may call me like that," Alucard growled against his ear. "What will it be, Walter? Angel or Demon?"

Walter felt the edge of Alucard's sword on one side of his neck and the pressure of his fangs on the other. He thought of Integral and Hellsing, she did not need two demons in her household but it was not his choice. She had chosen for him.

"Of course, Walter. There's no such thing as free will for angels, they depend on their God's wishes," Alucard pointed out, reading his thoughts on the issue. He dropped the sword to the ground and fastened his hands on him to rip his vest away, baring Walter's throat to him. Sniffing his former pulse point, the older vampire lapped the skin there, inducing enticing shivers along Walter's spine.

"Alucard…" Walter trailed off, wrestling to avoid the blankness of Millennium's control, the remorse for not been able to aid Hellsing during the war, to keep hold of his own violent emotions. He writhed and arched to Alucard's mouth, yearning for the cold comfort of those reeking lips, as repulsive they were.

"Ssh," Alucard silenced him, placing a digit on Walter's lips. "We shall rule this hell before our Messiah turns it into the Kingdom Come," he added, his words lost themselves as he sank his fangs in his neck, breaking slowly the layers of his skin, it was as mindful as if they were breaking a maidenhood. The penetration shook Walter's system with how painful and blissful it was, beyond any earthly experience. The shadows that once held him faded away and he felt limp and helpless in the other vampire's arms.

Walter did not kid himself; he knew what was happening. Despite the tenderness of his swoon, he felt strangled and trapped in his own body. He was fully aware that with each mouthful of blood Alucard was sucking out of his veins, he was forsaking his freedom.

He felt them forming, stronger than ever - the strings had returned to control the pretty puppet now and forever.