AN: Here it is, the second half! I struggled so hard to churn this out. Who would have guessed that trying to write semi-realistic interactions could be so hard? Not this spicy nerd. But I hope everyone enjoys the conclusion, even if I did feel myself dying from sadness while writing it. I have a feeling that this won't be my last work for this series, nor this pairing. I'm in too deep!

They strike lucky again when, upon preparing to leave the next day, a carriage comes rolling by the cabin. Sypha, still groggy, though seemingly in higher spirits, calls the carriage driver over and converses with him as Trevor and Alucard wait to the side. They stand in comfortable silence, naught but a foot's width between them, and for once, Trevor doesn't feel antsy sharing the space.

Sypha soon turns to face them, her lips spread into a smile as she beckons both hunter and dhampir over. "This man has offered to ferry us to the next village. He so happens to be heading in the direction of Targoviste."

The old man - and really, Trevor thinks the word ghost covers him better - shoots their group a wary look, his thick, overhanging white brows pinching together in concern, "I've no reasoning why a group of folk as young as you would be heading for such a damned place, but I suppose that isn't quite my business, is it?"

"Don't worry too much about it. We don't have any good reason, either." Trevor shoots him a toothy smile, and catches sight of Alucard directing a slightly muddled look his way. "I guess you could say we're young and reckless."

"More as though you've got a penchant for death, but so be it. There's room in the back for the three of you. Just push aside the bags. It's only grain, you won't hurt it." The old man jerks his thumb back to the carriage, and the three of them bound around to the back, where the flap is parted enough for them to climb in.

Trevor helps lift Sypha easily into the carriage, and follows after her with a steadied push of his foot. Sypha crawls towards the front, where she finds an empty spot littered with strands of hay and spilt grain. Trevor pauses once he's under the carriage's canopy, and turns to where Alucard remains last in line, his hand twitching forward briefly to help the dhampir aboard.

But of course, Alucard clears the height easily with too much grace, and Trevor lets his hand fall back to his side. His eyes linger for a moment, before they're turning back to Sypha, and he's half crouching and half walking his way towards the middle.

Sypha leans forward, and peaks her head out of the front of the carriage's flap, "Thank you again for this. We'll pay you once we reach town."

The wrinkled driver merely waves the notion away, his ancient hand sporting many varicose veins, "I'm not going out of my way for anything, so hold your gold. There's no need."

Sypha retreats back into the dim light of the carriage. She finds a bag of grain resting against the wooden rails and leans back into it, her cheek coming to rest upon her hand, "Kind old man."

"I knew your face would be good for something." Trevor teases, which nearly results in Sypha's hand meeting his temple, if not for the quick feint he performed. He still eggs her on, despite the attempted swipe. "I mean, old man in a cart, driving in the middle of a forest. If it were me, I guarantee you he wouldn't have stopped."

"Oh, you are deplorable sometimes. Urgh!" She swats at him again, and Trevor lets her hand meet the top of his head. It's not anything painful, more like a playful bump instead.

"I bet he would have even stopped for Alucard." This gains the attention of said man, who'd found a spot in the carriage's corner, sandwiched between a barrel of apples and a crate of unshucked corn. "I think it'd be easy to mistake him for a woman at distance."

Trevor sees a slight curl to the dhampir's lips, his bright eyes coming to narrow at the hunter. Still, he makes no challenge of it, his response levelled and his head turning away dismissively, "Your wit is as dry as your creativity, Belmont."

Both Sypha and Alucard go silent, to which their other companion shares a skeptical smile with himself. When it's clear that he can't wring anything else out of them, Trevor's eyes flit back and forth between the unwilling duo, scoffing gently at their suddenly sour expressions, "You two really know how to take a joke."

"You are a joke," Sypha mumbles quietly, her knees drawing up to her chest. Her honey blonde hair falls over her eyes as she leans forward to rest her arms over her knees, and she jerks her head away quickly to knock the strands out of her vision.

There's a barely audible noise, a soft huff of breath to his left, and Trevor turns to see Alucard fighting down the barest of smiles, "Oh, so you found that funny? I see how it is, now."

"Everything is a lot more entertaining, when it's done at your expense." Trevor pours a look of scrutiny in Alucard, his brows flattening into a stark expression. "Of course, you would know very much about how that feels, correct?"

Despite himself, Trevor kicks a foot out and lets his weight fall back against a crate, ignoring how its sharp edges dig into his back. His arms come to cross over his chest, a mirror of Alucard's own posture, but it's obvious that he doesn't appreciate the double team. "You guys are no fun."

Sypha exchanges a triumphant smile with Alucard, who ducks his head into the high collar of his coat. His eyes come to close, but the shift of his cheek tells her that he's smiling as well. Trevor remains defiantly quiet, giving off the notion that he won't bother himself with them anymore. It's clear, however, that he's surrendered. The trio fall into accepted silence, with only the rickety rolls of the carriage's wheels and the old man's occasional humming at their ears.

Time passes by slowly, quietly, and Alucard soon comes to notice that both hunter and Speaker have dozed off. Sypha rests her upper body on a spilling sack of grain, her arms curled around her head as a pillow. Trevor remains upright, but his head has dipped significantly, his body slouching down the crate behind him as the fur of his cape threatens to engulf his face.

Alucard lets his eyes linger on them for a while, the passing branches casting weak shadows over the canopy, and thus painting their faces dark for a moment, only for the light to slip back in. Like this, all the fierceness of their potent personalities is muted, with only the softness of their sleep-tinged faces left to show. Even Trevor, with his sharp jawline and pinpoint expressions, appears to be at total peace in his current state. It's then that the thought passes through Alucard's mind, like a slow, insidious poison, that they're suddenly so vulnerable and mortal.

Any number of things could kill them before they reach Targoviste. Sickness, disease, hypothermia, starvation. All things Alucard can't sympathize with, except for the last one. But even then, he doubts he could die from such a thing, not like they would. Even then, he knows that there's something inevitable waiting for them at the end of it all, the one thing that will forever separate him from these two humans that are carving out a jagged space in his destiny.

Time. Age. Death .

For in the case that they do secure victory, Alucard will only have a short time thereafter to spend with them. Because while a year is long, and a decade seems out of sight for them, they are but an eye's blink away for Alucard. He will turn away for a moment, and Trevor and Sypha will be no more, just memories that will, no doubt, fade over time. Their faces will be naught but weathered paintings in his memory, with each new year chipping off even more paint.

And while Alucard is certain Trevor will produce heirs if he does survive, they will serve as no replacement for the hunter sitting across from him. Only in name, but not in flesh. It's all so bittersweet.

The inn is fuller than he's used to, and the tavern even more so. The village they'd been dropped off in is a lucky dot on a map full of tragedies. The townsfolk meander about with an aimless sort of happiness, seemingly detached from the horrors plaguing the country. Trevor's lips remained down-turned at their blissful ignorance, the charade of merriment registering as borderline offensive to him.

They should be walling up their houses and praying to whatever God they believe in, he thinks. Begging the Church to sanctify their homes and bless their children so that Satan's evil demons won't crawl through their windows and rip it all apart. But if Trevor is being brutally honest with himself, perhaps it's better that they remain this way.

Gresit is a monument to how powerful fear can be. When there's no one to blame but yourselves, it's easy to turn the pitchforks and torches towards an easy target. The Speakers were a testament to that. No, these people deserve their happiness, he thinks. Let them drink merrily until the night that their skies turn red. Living in fear is, after all, no way to live at all.

There's a rift, in every sense of the word, between Trevor and these townsfolk. As Targoviste draws ever closer, the small stone of worry settling into his stomach grows heavier, and heavier, and every night is like a dreadful countdown to something inevitable. Every shared glance with Sypha becomes a little more bitter, because while her face is here today, will it be tomorrow? Will the next image he see of her be a cooling, lifeless corpse strewn on the castle's ramparts? Or will they even make it that far, considering how blind they are to everything ahead of them?

They could turn away tonight, and leave it all behind, but for how long? Dracula's army will bleed Wallachia dry, no matter how long it takes. Every corner will be swept clean, and if they were to run, it would only offset the inevitable for a short while. In the end, there will be retribution, whether it be at their hands or Alucard's bloodthirsty father.

Alucard…

As loathe as the thought is as it crosses his mind, Trevor can't deny that the small, if not strange amity he's formed with the dhampir is good. Alucard, despite his cursed heritage and blood-soaked appetite, is good . A slave to his family's desires, the same as Trevor. Even Sypha, a slave to her Speaker's prophecy. They really have no choice in the matter, do they?

It must look strange to the spying eye, but Trevor laughs at that, the drink in his hand held halfway to his lips. These thoughts are too sobering, and he chalks that up to being too sober. He shouldn't be delving into the philosophy of his life. He should be curling up under a tree, with the taste of ale and bile on his tongue, while sleep claims him mercifully once more. There should be no Sypha, no Alucard travelling with him, no goddamned castle floating in the sky like a constant reminder of death.

There should have been no Church, no family expulsion, no fire that burned away any semblance Trevor Belmont had of a life. This is not the path Trevor would have chosen, but it's the one that's been shoved without thought into his arms. But goddamn, if he could have it any other way…

He'd probably leave tonight, without even a glance to spare over his shoulder.

He brings the tankard to his lips again, or at least tries to. His eyes had closed momentarily, suddenly heavy and stinging with an onsetting bout of exhaustion. But the tankard never meets its destination, and Trevor finds that something seems to be holding it at bay. Bleary, blue eyes blink open to find a pale, almost delicate hand pressing the tankard back by its rim, and Trevor would have assumed it to be an interested bar patron if not for the long, glinting nails that accompanied it.

He follows the length of the arm attached to it, eyes dragging past golden-trimmed cuffs to eventually meet the pensive face of Alucard, who's probably been standing behind him for an alarming amount of time. Trevor, despite the small annoyance, simpers at the dhampir, and forcefully pulls the tankard away from his hand. "You still need to work on your entrances."

Alucard retracts his hand, pulls it over Trevor's shoulder slowly, carefully, as if any brash motion will disturb the hunter and spook him away. "Should you be drinking again?"

"Are you my mother?" He shoulders away from the dhampir, twisting around so that he won't have to meet Alucard's condemning eyes. "No, I didn't think so. If you've come to try and steer me on a righteous path, then might I introduce you to my middle finger instead?" As quick as the coy smile had appeared, it's gone in an instant, with only a snarl of disapproval in its place.

The venomous retort doesn't seem to sink under Alucard's skin. The man remains maddeningly calm, and for once, Trevor wishes that he could get a proper rise out of him. There's something volatile stirring under his skin, burning and eating away at any rationality Trevor may have. It may be desperation setting in, or fear, or any combination of both, but he suddenly wants to lash out, feel his fist reverberate from the crack of bones, anything to settle the growing ire.

Alucard seems to sense this, and his next touch manages to ward Trevor's building hostility in place of earning a startled jump from the hunter. His hands settle gently on Trevor's shoulders, a barely there press of cool, fleeting fingers that seem almost too afraid to really grip at anything. The skin and muscle underneath tenses, and Trevor feels locked to his seat, with even his breath coming in silent, short gulps of air.

Alucard stands at his full height behind him, pressed to the back of Trevor's seat in a way that sends the edges of his coat brushing against the hunter's arms. Though Trevor can't see it, he can feel the pair of eyes boring down into him, like hot coals sinking through the snow. His hands remain fists on the table, clenched to the point where his knuckles are beginning to ache.

Alucard's voice comes closer to his ear, quieter, softer, though the demand is obviously there, "Follow me." He does not move, only waits patiently and with too much physical proximity as Trevor turns the order over and over in his head. When it's clear that he's frozen in conflict, Alucard's fingers begin to curl in upon his shoulders, and the sharp points of his claws dent the surface of Trevor's skin through his clothing.

It should be taken as a threat, Trevor thinks, because no vampire - half breed or otherwise - should set their claws upon a Belmont without repercussion. But it doesn't stir anger in his gut. Instead, Trevor feels his pulse jump with something akin to adrenaline, and he's certain in that moment that Alucard must hear it as well. He can feel the throbbing in his wrists, and at the curve of his neck that suddenly seems too exposed, too unprotected.

He pushes away from the table slowly, despite the urgency flooding his veins. Alucard steps away, gives him enough space to maneuver around and face him. Trevor has yet to pay his share for the unfinished tankard, but it goes forgotten in the wake of his nervousness. Several eyes turn to spy on the duo, and surely the other patrons must think they're about to slug it out… which may not be too far from the truth, depending on where this leads.

Instead, they're treated to the sight of Alucard ushering Trevor to the exit, almost politely. It's only when the bartender notices that his drink has been unpaid for that someone calls out, but a quick glance from Alucard has the middle-aged man nearly wilting under his eyes. His voice dies in the back of his throat, and the two make their way from the tavern with no further fuss.

"Let us make our way outside of town." It's the only hint Alucard gives him in regards to where they're going, but that could constitute almost anywhere, Trevor thinks. The night, while still relatively young, is chilly with a gradual mist rolling in. It leaves the exposed areas of Trevor's skin pricking with gooseflesh. As such, there are also no townsfolk wandering the mudstained road leading out of the establishment. Sypha is probably fast asleep in her rented room, and Trevor's whereabouts will remain a secret. Honestly, Alucard could be leading him to his death, and no one would be the wiser.

This is foolish, and reckless. Trevor should know better than this. Yet, Alucard has proven time and time again that he is never what the hunter expects him to be. That, and Trevor's curiosity has been piqued. He's interested in seeing where this leads, whether it be violent, or something completely unexpected. Alucard, of course, is full of strangely pleasant surprises.

They step off the beaten path and trudge into the thick canopy of the woods. Trevor stumbles over thick, protruding roots, his steps unsure and wary in the darkness of the night. Alucard suffers no such shortcomings, able to see with complete ease everything ahead of them. He waits patiently for the hunter to catch up, his footsteps coming to a stop near the edge of the trees. Beyond the thick wall of branches, Trevor can almost make out a clearing.

They step through the brush, and indeed it is a clearing, and a beautiful one at that. It's as though the forest had built itself around this one, small area, having caged it in with the towering treetops and tangling bushes. The sky above is bared to Trevor's eyes, devoid of the tattered canopy he'd just been in a moment ago, and the stars are muted behind the cover of dark, billowing clouds. The moon is full, though, and eerie in its seat upon the clouds.

The sound of metal singing sharply as Trevor turning to face Alucard. The dhampir has drawn his blade, long and glinting at his side, and his stance is guarded, familiar. Trevor recognizes the pose, and the memory of their first fight comes rushing back to him in a dizzy flurry of memories. "So you want to fight, huh? Is that what this is all about?" His hand settles upon his whip, and Trevor swears he can feel an ancient, yearning hum in the consecrated weapon.

"Discard your whip and draw your sword. There are a few things you must learn."

At that, Trevor barks out an incredulous laugh, his head shaking at Alucard in utter disbelief, "Do you think I'm an idiot?"

Still, Alucard doesn't waver in his stance, nor his suggestion. His tone hardens, and there's a brief flash of light in his gold eyes, one that has Trevor pausing and staring him down, "No, I think your ability with a sword is pitiful, and you will die if we walk into my father's castle with your current skill level."

"I don't need a bloody fucking sword. I have everything I need right here." He pats the whip on his belt, and the expression on Alucard's face darkens a bit.

"I see," It's all the dhampir offers, before his form in vanishing in a blur of red and black shadows, and Trevor feels something stir behind him, but is much too slow to turn in time to face it. Something is yanked free of his belt, and by the time he manages to whirl and track what it was, his eyes meet Alucard, whose hand holds his precious weapon in it. There's the noise of something sizzling, and Trevor spies a sort of steam rising from Alucard's hand. The shape of vibrant, red whelps form where the whip touches his skin, and he quickly tosses it to the side, rendering Trevor unarmed, except for his short sword.

"That's dirty," Trevor tries to argue, but Alucard refuses to hear it.

"Do you think my father will offer you a fair duel? For all intents and purposes, he will try to kill you by any means necessary." Alucard shifts his sword to his left hand, his dominant one, and carefully folds his other behind his back. "Now, enough complaining. Face me, Belmont."

"This is insane." It's said more to himself than anything. Trevor is well aware of Alucard's increasing strength, and to face the dhampir in his own element is a suicidal. "You know it is."

There's a slight incline to Alucard's head, his eyes studying the hunter from beneath pale lashes. Then, without warning, he's gliding forward in a blur of inhuman speed, and Trevor barely has enough time to draw his sword and shield the blow. The impact rattles the steel of his weapon, and shakes him to his very core. He can feel both muscle and bone straining under Alucard's incredible strength, his arm trembling violently under the pressure.

"You'll kill me," Trevor finds himself blurting out, almost frantically.

"No," Alucard breathes, showing no signs of straining against Trevor's blade. "But I will teach you what happens when you're underprepared." He shoves, hard, and sends Trevor stumbling back, his feet threatening to tip him over. The hunter is barely able to regain his footing before a quick slash of steel sings over his head. Trevor ducks away from the swing, but sees a few strands of his hair float down in front of his face. He realizes that that could have been his head, and swallows past a dry throat.

Alucard recovers quickly and lunges forward, driving the point of his blade towards Trevor's shoulder. He manages to raise his short sword just enough to deflect the blow upwards, but the blade still grazes his clothing, and leaves a line of thin red in its wake. Trevor sucks in a hissing breath at the contact, and tries to drive his blade forward in retaliation, but Alucard places his hand against the hunter's shoulder and shoves him forward, all the while dancing around Trevor's suddenly unbalanced body. He falls forward, into the ankle deep grass, and barely manages to catch himself on his hands and knees.

"Your reaction time is too slow." Alucard's voice comes from behind the hunter, and Trevor's teeth come to grind against each other, frustration beginning to take root quickly. He yanks himself back up to his feet, and grips his blade with white knuckles.

"Excuse the hell out of me for not being able to keep up with a fucking vampire ." He spits the word out while seething, and the look of raw displeasure that passes over Alucard's face briefly soothes Trevor's wounded pride.

If Alucard is angry, then he shows it with his next lunge, which begins as a straightforward attack, his sword held firmly in front of him. Trevor prepares to dodge to the left, his feet already carrying him in that direction, but Alucard feints alongside of him, and spins with enough velocity to knock Trevor silly when his forearm connects with the hunter's nose. Trevor's footing goes flimsy, and he stumbles back a good five feet, his hand flying to the point of his nose while he hisses out a string of curses.

Alucard straightens his stance, his sword swishing elegantly in front of him before it finds its place at his side. He stares down the bridge of his nose at the hunter, whose nose and lips shine red with a few rivulets of blood. He'd busted Trevor's nose.

It seems to light a fire under Trevor, though, and his hand comes away bloody, his fingers tightened into a painful fist. Alucard can tell that he's ready to finally fight, because the hunter remains uncharacteristically silent, though his sharp blue eyes hold a hundred fiery words in them. Trevor wipes the blood on his sash, and firms his posture, his body drawn tight and ready to pounce.

Alucard spares him a ghost of a smile, "Let's begin."

Trevor attacks first, and unlike his first few bouts of offense, he is not straightforward, but rather complex in his footing. Alucard finds that his sword strikes faster, and with more finesse than before, but never in the same spot. He's aggressive, and keeps the dhampir dancing on his feet. The window of reaction time for his attacks grows narrower, and Alucard finds that he must actually focus now to prevent the blade from piercing him. When he hears Trevor's breaths beginning to come short and raspy, he pushes back the attack, and takes advantage of his weathered state, assuming the role of aggressor once more as the hunter deflects his long, thin blade. But he is deflecting them now, despite his growing fatigue, and it's already an improvement from the start.

Their blades meet in a cross against each other, and Alucard takes the opportunity to shove against Trevor once more. Trevor doesn't allow the motion to send him off kilter this time, and purposely jumps back to regain his footing, his chest heaving with deep gulps of breath. "That's good. Better than before. But you've exhausted yourself too early " Alucard lowers his weapon, and his stance softens, his body coming to face Trevor at an angle. "You can't expend yourself in the first few minutes of battle. Don't allow your opponent to corner you, but don't be afraid to be defensive, either. Study them, if you must, but do not attack them blindly."

"I don't need you to tell me what I already know." Trevor grits out between huffs of breath, his shoulders pulling back as if to stretch his arms out. The bitter quip has Alucard raising a thin, pale brow at him, his eyes studying the seething hunter carefully. Trevor's arm comes to wipe at the still steadily dripping rivulets of blood, and the motion only serves to smear his face with crimson. Alucard watches quietly, rapt with the gesture, his attention faltering briefly at the sight. His lips part, a small showing of white behind them, and for a moment, there seems to be a shadow pass over his gold eyes. Trevor seems to notice, and takes the opportunity to take a few steps forward, narrowing the space between the two of them. His sword lowers, as if to suggest that he's done. "Do you know what I know?" Silence. Alucard doesn't answer, his eyes still lingering on Trevor's blood, enraptured by the sweet sheen of it. "I know that you lot are all the same. Show them this?" He waves his bloodstained hand in front of the dhampir's face, and notices how those gold eyes follow the movement, like an animal eyeing a hunter's stock. "And they start to get clumsy."

He chooses to swipe at that moment, his sword raising quickly and catching Alucard by his shoulder. There's the feel of cloth tearing under his sword, and the tell-tale glide of steel on flesh, before the dhampir is hissing loudly, his hand shooting out to snatch the blade. Trevor moves to yank away, but Alucard is faster in his sudden rage, and he sends both hunter and his weapon sprawling across the clearing in a single heft of his arm.

Trevor finds himself rolling across the grass, his sword flying out of his grip and becoming lost to his eyes. It knocks the wind out of him, and in the moment it takes to fill his lungs with air once more, Alucard is upon him, his now bloodied hand clasping at the hunter's throat and forcing his head back. In a moment of panic, Trevor's hands flail around his body, searching for something - anything - to use as a weapon. His hand slides over familiar leather, and his heart nearly skips a beat as he recognizes it for what it is: his whip.

Alucard leans forward, his weight a heavy restraint as he straddles Trevor. His teeth are bared, his canines long and glinting in the shadow of his face, and his eyes are wide with such a carnal look, that Trevor actually feels a chill spill down his spine. He seems to be absolutely bristling, his hand trembling in its grip against Trevor's throat, his claws pricking skin and raising small beads of blood. Behind his crown of pale, billowing hair, the moon frames his head, casting an eclipse over his features. He looks positively ravenous.

Trevor takes the chance to wound the whip around Alucard's neck, and the dhampir freezes in his descent, his face going gaunt with momentary fear. There's a hiss of flesh burning under the consecrated weapon, and Alucard's vulnerable neck begins to turn red with welts and blisters. The grip on Trevor's neck lessens, and the hunter has to suppress a desperate breath once he feels Alucard's hand slip away.

There is nothing but tense silence in that moment, with Alucard still lingering over Trevor, and Trevor's hands pulling the whip taut over his aggressor's throat. His nose burns with fresh blood, his sinuses screaming with pain, and his heart thuds away quickly in his chest, an erratic chorus of hard beats that seem to shake his whole frame. Alucard has gone completely still, seemingly forming into a statue over Trevor, his face paused in an expression of shock, or perhaps horror. It's as if sudden clarity has washed over him, sobering him to his senses once more.

Then, as if to test the waters, Trevor whispers quietly, "Alucard…?"

There's a moment that passes where he doesn't respond, and Trevor worries that the other man has somehow went catatonic, but then a certain sort of light seems to catch in his vibrant eyes, and Alucard breathes out a silent breath, his face going lax again. "I'm… Forgive me. That was…" The dhampir, for once, seems at a total loss of words. Rightfully so, Trevor thinks. "I did not mean to hurt you to this degree."

Pale hands are raised in front of his chest, and his eyes zero in on the crimson tips of his nails, where Trevor's blood shines wetly, fresh in his accidental assault. Still, Trevor's arms remain locked, his grip on either end of his whip unwavering, even as it becomes apparent that Alucard has calmed down. Adrenaline sings hotly in his blood, his face heating, his breath yet to settle. Then, Alucard's eyes are squeezing shut, another hiss whistling past his lips as his hands touch at Trevor's whip, which now barely covers a ring of burns around his neck. "Belmont…" It's an unsaid request, but the discomfort shows clearly on his face, and his eyes stare down at the hunter with a sort of tender desperation in them.

Trevor seems to snap out of it at that, and his hands relax, his fingers losing their grip on his whip as he allows the cord to fall away from Alucard's throat. The other man clutches at the burn wounds, which now sport thin slivers of blood in their wake, the cord having bit through the dhampir's skin with the prolonged contact. Alucard rolls off of Trevor, coming to land ungracefully by his side, and his face twists into something pitiful and guilty. Trevor, wordless and suddenly exhausted of both his panic and anger, gazes at him wearily.

"Forgive me…" It's uttered once more, a soft and pathetic shadow of Alucard's usual tone. "I acted brashly, and harmed you needlessly. It will not happen again. I… will understand if you refuse to trust me after this."

Finally, the tension seems to melt from Trevor's body, and his shoulders fall from their squared state, his eyes closing momentarily as he shakes his head and breathes out on a trembling breath, "No. No, I definitely overstepped my boundaries." Alucard turns to face him with something akin to disbelief, which spurs Trevor on, "Not that you didn't, either. As a matter of fact, I think this entire idea was really fucking bad. Let's try not to do it again anytime soon, alright?"

Trevor doesn't expect him to argue, and is pleased when all he gets as a reply is a slow, defeated nod. Alucard averts his eyes, almost shamefully, away from Trevor, and shows no signs of moving from his seat on the ground, his posture reflecting that of a man in mourning. It's an unbefitting image, and a strange one at that, to see a person usually so full of confidence and certainty reduced to a shadow of just that. It has the gears in Trevor's mind rolling, trying to piece together what could have made Alucard dissolve into this, because he's unconvinced that it was only his little cheapshot.

"Something's gotten under your skin." He moves forward enough to even himself out with Alucard, his knees drawing up just enough for his hands to settle upon them. Alucard spares a crestfallen glance, his eyes flitting briefly to Trevor before staring forward again. "I know you've got more control over your temper than that. Else you would have knocked my arse silly days ago."

There seems to be hesitation on Alucard's part, and Trevor leans forward enough to spy a few conflicting emotions passing over the other's pale face. Eventually, his desire to speak wins out, and Alucard's words come as a quiet, soft whisper, "I've let my thirst go unchecked for far too long. It's becoming dangerous now, but I thought… perhaps I could hold out a bit longer."

So it had been true, then. Trevor had always had the slightest suspicion that Alucard was sneaking human blood in between the moments that their group was together, but it seemed as though the man was honest in his promise not to feed properly. He'd been surviving off of measly animal blood for days, then. Despite his morality railing against it, Trevor actually feels quite bad for him. "You never touched a human?"

"No."

"Why?"

He turns to gaze at Trevor, his face sporting a somber look, and his eyes soft with truth, "Because you told me not to."

That turns the breath in Trevor's lungs icy. His hand comes to rub at the back of his neck, still sticky with blood that has yet to completely dry. He needs to do something about this, but… God, what can he do, other than the one thing that he desperately doesn't want to? The idea is incomprehensible, appalling, and rightfully so! Trevor feels as though his ancestors would turn over in their graves if they knew what ideas plagued him.

Yet… it was Alucard, who had kept his promise and proved both his trust and usefulness time and time again to him and Sypha. This was the same man who'd ensured that they had food to eat, even if it was barely enough to settle any grown person's stomach. This was the man who'd probably saved Trevor's life on more than one occasion in their battles with the Nighthorde, and that wasn't even counting Sypha. No. No he needed to do this, if not for the safety and survival of their team, then because it was a decent fucking thing to do for someone who gave so much when nothing was expected.

Besides, he'd taunted him with his blood and been the thing to set him off. It'd be poetic justice to actually let him have it. God, what a horrible thought, though. Trevor can already feel his skin beginning to crawl, and the suggestion feels like poison in the back of his throat.

But he is no coward and no slave to his own fears. Trevor Belmont isn't afraid of death, so he shouldn't fear this, either.

"Take mine, then." He faintly hears a sharp noise of surprise escape Alucard, and when Trevor turns to meet his eyes, they're wide once more. "I know, right? Absolutely insane. But we can't have you trying to fight, only for a repeat of this to happen. You might have stopped yourself tonight, but what about tomorrow? A week from now?" There's a pause between them, where Trevor's eyes narrow as if to drive home the point. "During the fight with Dracula? You'd be indirectly helping him. Do you want that?"

"No," Alucard growls, his voice dipping down into a feral tone, unlike anything Trevor has heard from him before. The simple insinuation seems to instill motivation into him, and Alucard shifts so that he's facing Trevor, and his pale hands reach out and curl around the high collar of the hunter's shirt. He stops there, however, his brows furrowing with a dilemma. "I… I'm not sure-"

"Listen," Trevor cuts him off, his voice slightly clipped, "I don't know, okay? Just do whatever feels natural, I guess. The less I have to think about it, the better off we'll both be."

"You will not hold this against me? I have your explicit permission?"

"I'm hoping we'll never talk about it again. If you mention this in the next ten years, it'll still have been too soon for me. But yeah. Go on and do it. And please God, do not drag this out." In the back of his mind, Trevor entertains the idea of passing out mid-bite. Anything to help blur the memory of this.

"I won't hurt you." His voice is soft again, but that's not all. There's something intimate in the promise, and Trevor likens it to a lover reassuring their significant other during a night of passion. The comparison is mortifying, and he has to fight down a wave of mortification at it.

He doesn't move from his seat on the grass, but Alucard draws closer, and his hands stray from their grip on his shirt to splaying gently against his neck. Cold fingers drift over small punctures, where his nails had embedded themselves just minutes earlier, and Trevor feels his skin sting at the sensation. Alucard seems to become so engrossed in his movements that Trevor feels awkward and out of place just sitting there, doing absolutely nothing except for watching him nervously. So he allows his eyes to close, to perhaps ease the burden of what he's about to see and feel, because this is crossing so many boundaries, that Trevor doesn't even know where to begin to list them all.

It only worsens when he feels the dhampir's icy breath gust over his collarbone, where his collar has been tugged to the side to expose his throat. There's the faint sensation of something skimming from the junction of his shoulder, up to right underneath his jaw, and it must be Alucard's nose, because it certainly isn't his fingers. They're currently slipping into the back of Trevor's hair, gathering up medium-length strands of russet brown hair in between them. He can feel them pulling back, urging him to follow their guidance and expose himself, but he struggles against them for a moment, apprehension getting the best of him. Alucard does not stop his urging, and Trevor eventually gives in and allows him what he wants, but the fear still remains pooled in his gut.

Strange, how all these small movements had deterred him from noticing how the dhampir had sidled up against his body, cold through his clothes and alien in the way his presence felt compared to others. Trevor is no stranger to women, and all the carnal pleasures they can offer, but this is vastly different, and not simply because Alucard is a man. Yet, the common theme still remains, and that theme is that Trevor feels as though he's being courted to a bed. Alucard touches him like a lover would, though his touch carries with it a slew of grim and deadly implications.

He feels a shuddered breath against his neck, a slight pause in movement from the other, and then, a sharp and jarring pain spreading across his skin.

There's a groan of discomfort passing by Trevor's lips, one which quickly gets cut off by a clench of his teeth. His face screws up into a suffering expression, and his hands clench on nothing, balling into tight fists so that he won't shove Alucard away. It's hard to keep himself still, his body screaming with the desire to toss the other man off, to lash out and protect himself, but Trevor holds steady, and suffers through the first few seconds.

And it is only for a few seconds. Trevor is still trying to fathom how anyone could handle something so masochistic, but it quickly becomes apparent how they do. As fast as the searing pain had appeared, it's seemingly melting away, and leaving behind something a hundred times more pleasant in its wake. It's such a quick, sweeping feeling that he fails to fight down the pathetic whimper that worms it's way out of his mouth, and once that noise has left him, it's as if the floodgates have been opened.

He not so much falls as he's dragged into a fitful bout of ecstasy, and it spreads to every point on Trevor's body, like a debilitating disease. His breaths come in short, ragged gasps, punctuated with small utterances that are more suited for the bedroom than some abandoned clearing in a forest. At some point, his hands had clutched onto Alucard, with one tangling into the dhampir's long, pale hair, and the other dragging uneven lines down his back.

He must have been falling back, because Alucard's arms shift to wrap around him, enclosing tightly around his back and pulling Trevor flush against his chest. It's here that the other seems to lose all pretense of gentleness, and Trevor feels himself being yanked forward, crushed against Alucard's body, trapped in his icy embrace and left victim to his thirst. But God, he cannot think about anything right now, can barely register how Alucard's bite grows harder, deeper, except for the way his vision sways and his body sings with absolute, raw pleasure. Alucard does not keep quiet either, and Trevor can hear through the pounding in his ears desperate little noises of satisfaction emanating from the dhampir. His need is reflected in the way that he mouths and sucks at the deep wound on Trevor's neck, in the way that his nails curl forward and dent his skin with the threat of piercing it once more.

There is blood spilling past the dhampir's mouth, leaving glistening trails down Trevor's neck, and pooling at his collarbone before seeping into the white of his shirt. Through the mind-numbing haze of his ecstasy, Trevor is barely able to register that his body is growing colder, and the feeling in his fingers and legs seem to be leaving him. Despite the warning signs, the less rational side of him would rather it never stop, would rather lay there, nearly limp in Alucard's arms as he stole his life away, drop by drop. Trevor is no stranger to pleasure, but this is beyond anything he's ever felt or experienced before. He was taught to fear these bites, but he never knew the reason why, other than the fact that it was wrong, immoral.

It's clear now, though, why. It's easy to fight back against pain, but this… This is intoxicating, addicting, and deadly, all rolled into a single act.

But he knows he should stop. He should stop him soon, lest Alucard steal his life, thus rendering their little prophecy and group null and void. So Trevor gathers what little strength he has in his arms and knocks his hands against Alucard's back. His voice is slurred, tainted with pleasure-ridden breaths, but he manages to mumble out nonetheless, "Alucard… Stop… Stop…"

When there's no pause against his neck, Trevor feels the first real slither of fear run down his spine. His hands fist against Alucard's coat, and he tries to yank at it, do anything to pull the dhampir away from him. All he receives in response is a low growl against his skin, and a threatening curl of Alucard's fingers. A gasp is wrenched from Trevor, and his head is yanked to the side by his hair. It's the first bit of actual pain he's felt since the entire ordeal began, and it's like a cold splash of water, sobering him somewhat to his senses.

"Alucard…!" There's more life to his voice, and Trevor feels a desperate surge of strength in his limbs. He worms a hand in between both his and the dhampir's chest, and shoves at him, trying to free his neck of his teeth. There's a soft gasp at his throat, and Trevor nearly collapses in relief once he feels Alucard's unclamp his mouth. All the feeling seems to rush out of his body in a single gust, and he would have fallen straight into the grass if not for Alucard, who still holds him in that deadly embrace. The numbness plaguing Trevor's body gradually begins to go from pleasant to uncomfortable, and a burning sensation spreads where the flesh of his neck had been torn. His vision swims with blood loss, and his thoughts are a jumbled, nauseous mess in his mind.

Blue eyes wander across his field of vision, lazily, disoriented, but they eventually find Alucard's face. The dhampir's eyes are half-lidded, and circled with a ring of red, which glows ominously in the shadows surrounding them. His skin is somehow flushed, his cheeks baring the smallest hint of red in them. Trevor's eyes drag down, to where his lips are damp with his blood, and his chin is stained crimson with streams of it. Even now, it drips slowly, small splatters of blood falling down onto Alucard's clothes.

God, what a foolish suggestion. Foolish, short-sighted, but still one of the strangest, most enjoyable things Trevor has ever felt in his life. A perfect interlude to death, because who on earth is going to fight against something like that? At least, not without a strong will or incentive driving them to do it.

"Some warning would have been good," Oh hell, his voice is slurred to the point of barely being decipherable.

"I must have frightened you. I'm sorry." Alucard's voice is thick with blood, and he has to swallow a few times to clear it. "I let myself get carried away."

Trevor breathes out a sharp, trembling laugh. He's all but forgotten that Alucard had been holding him, up until the point that the other man began easing him back into the grass, detaching their bodies from each other. Trevor stares up into the billowing, black clouds, but has to close his eyes shortly after, his vision swirling and threatening to make him sick to his stomach. "Hey, question," He finds himself blurting out before any forethought is given. His mouth spreads into a mocking smile, and Trevor has to fight down the urge to laugh again, "Was it at least good?"

That inspires a pause on Alucard's part, who at first seems taken aback by the question. But he eventually allows a ghost of a smile to pass over his red lips, and closes his eyes with a slow nod, "I don't think I'll yet forget the taste of a Belmont's blood for many years to come. Yes… it was good. Very much so."

"Hey, that's all that matters. At least I've got that going for me." Now there's the problem of being stuck on the ground, because Trevor is now acutely aware that his legs aren't quite working how he wants them to. It feels as if he's run halfway across Wallachia with no rest in between, and taken a few dozen feet plunges along the way. "I, uh… I can't move."

"I see that," Alucard comments dryly. He wipes at his mouth with the back of his sleeve, and while it takes most of the blood off of his face, it still leaves behind a worrying red stain. "Should I leave you here for the night? I know your pride is an important thing, after all."

"No, smartass. Help me up." Trevor raises a shaky hand, and Alucard eyes it for a moment, before taking it in his own and yanking the hunter up to his feet in one swift motion. Trevor hisses in pain, and comes to rub at his shoulder once he's steady on his feet. Despite the accusatory look, Alucard's hands still shoot out to hold him steady. "Keep doing things like that, and you're eventually going to break something."

"You'll have to excuse me, then. I sometimes don't know my own strength. At least, as of late."

Speaking of strength, Trevor is suddenly aware of what a mess he must be; nose busted, face covered in rivulets of dried and smeared blood, neck positively brimming with the same thing, and his skin having paled to a frightening degree. There was no way they could be seen wandering back into town, but then again, the hour was late. Perhaps they would get lucky. "How far back to town? I can't remember."

"A good walk away, but," Alucard takes a moment to eye the hunter, his eyes - somehow even more vibrant and colorful than before - dragging over his body. "I can get us there much faster. That is, if you'll allow me to."

It doesn't take much to figure out what the suggestion is, though Trevor does feel it stab at his ego. He doesn't have much room to argue, however, considering how his legs are trembling beneath him at the very moment. There's a moment of deliberation, and despite his pride screaming otherwise, he eventually does assent, "I don't want a word of this spoken outside of this forest. You see this?" He motions to the clearing, which somehow seems smaller since he'd first saw it. "What happened here tonight never leaves this place."

"So you agree?" Alucard asks, and Trevor gives an overdramatic nod, which only serves to worsen his sense of vertigo. "Very well, then." The dhampir is looping an arm around his back, underneath his shoulders, while the other guide's Trevor's arm across his own. He feels a cool hand settle upon his hip, and the extra support is all the incentive Trevor needs to allow his body to sag. His weight falls into Alucard's arms, his eyes coming to close tiredly against his swimming vision. "Do not try to walk."

Trevor doesn't see, but he feels his weight leave the ground effortlessly. He can feel the wind beginning to rush against his face, impossibly fast for any sort of human pace, but what else did he expect? He's seen Alucard speed time and time again, but he'd never expected to be ferried alongside the man. If it weren't for his spinning head, he may have even opened to eyes to see what it was like. Opportunities like this didn't come often, if at all.

As it stands, he finds it nearly impossible to open his eyes now, his body cooling with fatigue and blood loss. He's suddenly tired, so very tired and comfortable in a way he shouldn't be. He allows his head to tip over, rest against the dhampir's shoulder with little regard to how intimate the action is. Sleep… he wants to sleep. Even the pain, which had settled into terrible throbs over his body, is beginning to go mute behind the promise of rest.

Trevor wonders idly if perhaps he should let himself fall unconscious, if it's dangerous to allow himself fade, but his answer comes in the form of a soothing whisper, sounded by his ear with naught but a gentle press of lips to his temple, "Rest now. We are nearly there."

He listens.

Sypha stirs at the sound of their rented room's door opening. It's only a slow swing of the door, but the hinges creak horribly, and the sharp noise has her wrenching up from the bed, the covers strewn halfway over her head. She blinks, groggily, her vision blurry from sleep, but she can make out the pale tresses of Alucard's hair.

"Alucard?" Her voice is a hoarse croak, her throat dry. As her eyes adjust, she comes to notice the passed out form of Trevor held against the dhampir's side, and suddenly she's springing forward in the bed and crawling towards the edge. "Oh no, what happened?"

"A minor altercation. I assure you, he's fine. Just very fatigued." He carefully maneuvers Trevor over to the spare bed, and dumps him onto it. Despite being dead to the waking world, Trevor seems to sense where he is, and rolls over, his hands catching the form of a worn pillow and snatching it to himself.

"Is that blood?" Sypha asks, uncertainty tainting her voice. From where she sits, she can see the dark stains spilling over Trevor's shirt, and furthermore, the dried lines that seem to rake down his face. "Did he pick a fight with someone?"

"I suppose that wouldn't be a lie." Alucard sinks down to the foot of the bed, seating himself upon its edge as he peers over his shoulder at the spent hunter. "Return to bed, Lady Sypha. There's a long road of travels ahead of us tomorrow."

Sypha's face is drawn up into a disquieted expression, but she nods, acquiescing all the same. "Tell me, Alucard. How close are we to the end?" It's hard to ignore the telling stains on his face, and Sypha has to strain not to stare. In the back of her mind, though, she's slowly beginning to piece together the clues.

"A day or two, I surmise. Are you afraid?" His eyes finally leave Trevor, and they meet Sypha's own blue orbs. There's a slight raise to her eyebrows, a telling sign that she's noticed how much brighter they are.

"No… and yes. I am afraid for our battle, but not for the reasons I should be." Sypha leans back, and draws the covers back to her chin. In her guts stirs the beginnings of pre-meditated fear, and she draws her knees up to try and chase it away. "I am afraid of one or all of us dying. If I were to die, I would be fine with that. But if I were to somehow live, but know that you or him fell before me, that would be unimaginably painful."

"A relatable sentiment." Alucard murmurs, and the sound of his voice, low and soft, is soothing in the darkness of their room. "But I promise that as long as I draw breath, I will see to it that both you and him," Sypha can barely make out the motion of Alucard turning to gaze at Trevor once more, "survive this."

"Thank you, Alucard." She whispers, and her eyes flutter with the promise of sleep. Still, the thought is nagging her, and despite Alucard's insistence that she not worry, she finds herself asking anyway, "Did you feed from him?"

There is reluctance in Alucard's voice, and it only comes after a heavy moment of silence. "I have a promise to uphold."

It's all the confirmation she needs. Sypha is not offended, nor angry at the truth. She worries of Trevor's health, and why both men seem to be covered in splotches of blood. But she also knows that she won't wring anything out of Alucard. If she's truly curious, then she can ask Trevor in the morning. But for now, she let's sleep invite her back into a dreamless, merciful rest.

Troubles for another time.

How quickly those last days go. It seems to pass in a blink, and as they draw closer to Targoviste, the sky seems to drain of any color, leaving only grey tones to guide them. When the city's walls come into sight, the first thing they notice is the line of pikes lining it, with both fresh and old corpses decomposing upon them. Organs lay strewn over each other, like macabre lines of flags in the midsts of a celebration.

The stench of death has Sypha gagging when they near the gate, and even Trevor has to plug his nose at how acrid the smell is. Alucard remains seemingly unaffected, but the grim set of his eyes is a telling sign of how displeased and disgusted he is. True to the rumors, there is not a single soul about. It's as if both monster and human have abandoned this cursed place, the soil soaked in too much blood for either party to dwell on. Not that any sane soul would try and brave this graveyard of a capital.

The castle does not appear to them at first, at least not until they've trudged through the bone-ridden bowels of the city. They come upon a destroyed church, its towering form sporting the largest gathering of pikes. At their feet lies the worn, stained glass that was once housed in its monumental windows. Upon the steps lies a decaying chair, and further ahead, through the doors that have been wrung open, lies a bloodstained cathedral.

The way Alucard tenses upon the sight is not missed by Trevor and Sypha. The former spies his fingers curling into tight fists, his nails biting deeply into the palm of his hand, until thin streams of red are dripping down his pale skin. His teeth come to clench, his fangs bared at the sight in front of him, and fury burns in his eyes, brighter than anything Trevor has ever seen.

"This is where it happened." Alucard seethes, and his eyes drag up towards the sky, where the clouds seem to gather around something enormous. They move together, a writhing mass of grey and black, seemingly hiding something in their depths. Both hunter and Seeker's eyes follow to where Alucard stares, and it's not until all three have gazed upon the clouds that something begins to peek out of them.

Sypha draws her hand to her chest, a soft gasp escaping her, and Trevor draws back his hand, allowing it to settle upon his whip. Alucard, however, remains deathly still, the knowledge of what was approaching them already ingrained in his mind. He knew this demonic structure by heart, could feel its call and beckon in his veins. The resting place of his blood, the housing of his cursed legacy.

This was his father's castle.

It began to melt through the clouds, the roots of soil and ground clinging to its underside sending dirt flying through the air. The towers began to surface from the coverage, towering ominously high in the sky, and the faint sound of bells tolling could be heard ringing from within. The low buzz of mechanical whirring began to permeate the air, as the castle drifted out into the open, a monument to Wallachia's pain and suffering.

"I'll be damned. It's actually here." Trevor's voice is a low, tense murmur. His eyes shift to Alucard, who's yet to move an inch since the cathedral's sighting. "So now what? It can't be this easy, right? No demons? No resistance?"

"No, it won't be," Alucard drawls quietly, his eyes unmoving of their spot in the sky. "The most difficult task was not finding my father's castle. It will be surviving what's inside."

"This is where we could die." Sypha whispers, and her head comes to shake, almost wondrously. "But to stand by idly and sniffle in fear would be a coward's way out. No, we fight, and whether we live or die, there will be no one who can say that we at least didn't try."

"I knew there was a reason I liked you." Trevor exchanges a glance with Alucard, his mouth spreading into a hard-pressed smile while the dhampir regards him with a neutral look. "This is the final stretch, then. Pray to whatever Gods you believe in, and let's put this candle out."

" Time takes all, whether you want it to or not."

The details of their victory are blurry in hindsight, but one definite component remains engraved in the vestiges of Alucard's mind.

Trevor Belmont had been the one to strike the final blow on his father. While their victory could not have been accomplished if not for the actions of them all, it was the ending necessary to reinstate the Belmont's status within the Church. As much as Alucard knew Trevor despised the Church's dogma and its selective ways, he also knew that the survival of his family's name was dependent on its ability to thrive in Wallachia.

The Belmonts would live on, no longer disgraced and restored to their former glory. If there was ever a time that his father would rise again, there would be someone to stop him, and that was a small comfort in a sea of troubles that Alucard found himself in. For as sweet as their victory is, now he is faced with the tender mortality that all humans must meet.

It didn't help that his companions had urged him to stay with them, to live with them as if they were family. It didn't help that now, without purpose and interest in the broken country around him, Alucard felt he was rendered useless. It didn't help, that while he remained unchanging and static in the sights of the world, both Trevor and Sypha had grown, and married, and formed the beginnings of what would soon be a family.

Alucard, now a stranger to that concept, felt his presence becoming filled more and more with a stinging sort of sadness. He longed for the lulling black of sleep, for the inability to think or ponder on such things. While Sypha was sweet and full of love for him, Trevor's support was somehow more potent, yet less subtle. As the years passed by, slowly, even for a creature such as himself, Alucard found himself becoming more and more enamored by the thought of the hunter, and his strong bloodline.

It was a poisonous thought to have, especially as Sypha grew round with the promise of child. As the newlywed Belmonts entertained the years ahead of them, Alucard entertained the thought of crawling back into his crypt, and shutting the lid indefinitely. After all, what need would there be for a dhampir with no purpose, other than to prolong the curse of his wretched family's blood? For as much as he both desired to meet Trevor's lips and throat with his mouth, there was no justification for such actions, no place among this suddenly growing family for him.

Alucard was a relic, his use expended, his heart empty, his life devoid of a purpose that serve him any good. Pining for a Belmont was no good. Living in suffering silence was no good. His desires were corrupt, unholy, displaced. He wondered if this is what his father must have felt, so empty without the love of his mother. But then, he decides that the comparison is unfair and undeserving, because Trevor Belmont was never his to begin with. Sypha is strong, her magic formidable, her personality fierce and pure. She will give way to a stronger generation of hunters, and her happiness at Trevor's side outweighs Alucard's own selfish aspirations. She is good for him, much better than he could ever hope to be. Alucard loves her as well, platonically, but loves her nonetheless. He only wishes her a good and long life.

It takes months of brooding and turning the decision over in his mind, but as Sypha's delivery date nears, and the season grows colder, Alucard makes his choice on the matter. The hour is late, and the Belmont house - newly built, and lit with candles that are close to dying - shines like a faint torch in the distance. The wooded area he stands in is dark and grey with the promise of winter, and even through his cold skin, Alucard can feel the chill that bites everything it can touch.

He knows that if he lingers, someone will come to look for him. Perhaps not Sypha, as moving around is becoming more and more a chore because of her size, but rather Trevor. It's a confrontation that he both craves and desperately wants to avoid, but something keeps Alucard frozen in that spot, his eyes resting on the home that once used to be his. The memories inside, no matter how greyed they become, will stay with him, a haunting reminder of everything he wanted, but could never have.

It's masochistic, to stand there and punish himself with longing, but hasn't that always been his way? Alucard has done nothing but observe all his life, and this is just another bitter detail to be stowed away in his memory, a hurtful reminder of a time that was somehow both good and terrible.

He eventually finds himself turning away, his boots feeling like heavy weights. If he can just tear himself away from this place and disappear, he knows he will be alright. The years will sting like an open wound, but over time, it'll heal. His heart will close up, and the desire will dry out, and become forgotten with age. If he's lucky, he will never encounter another Belmont, will never open his eyes to the light of day again.

Of course, nothing is ever as simple as he wishes it were. He hears the crunch of dead leaves behind him, and turns slowly to meet Trevor, who's stepped out from the cover of a towering willow tree. The look on the hunter's face says it all, and Alucard sighs dejectedly, finding it almost painful to look at him.

Trevor speaks first, thankfully, but Alucard would have preferred if he hadn't spoken at all. "You're leaving, aren't you?"

Could he deny it? Could he lie and go away, leaving both of his companions wondering as to where he went? Would they sit and wait for them, even after Sypha's delivery, hoping that one day, he would show up again? Would they search for him, desperate to find out whether or not he yet lived, or was slain by some underhanded means?

No. He couldn't stomach the lie, couldn't live with himself if he were to leave them that way. So Alucard speaks the truth, and does it with a slight tremble to his voice. "I am."

There's a whisper of words underneath Trevor's breath, and his head turns away, his brows dipping with something akin to distress. Already, Alucard is regretting his wasted opportunity, berating himself for not leaving sooner. This is all much more painful than he anticipated. When Trevor turns back to him, his expression says it all: he's hurt. "Why, though? Were we not… good enough or something? Are you unhappy?"

He can't make this about himself, can't twist the situation to hold Trevor hostage with his feelings. Because he knows that if he were to say yes, it would seal his fate and keep him here. He cannot stay. "I long for sleep, Trevor. I've grown weary of wandering about with nothing to do besides talk. Both you and Lady Sypha have a busy amount of years ahead of you. You should focus on that."

There's a slight shake to Trevor's head, his mouth widening into a painful, miserable smile, "You're not staying for that? You're going to… just leave in the middle of the night, no words, no goodbye to Sypha?" Another shake of his head. "I don't understand. I thought we were all having a grand time or something."

"I was." Despite his words, he can still see the disbelief on Trevor's face, the way his brows pinch together and create deep creases between his eyes. He knows his next actions are unwise, knows that it will sucks him right back in if he's not careful, but he allows himself to glide closer to Trevor, closing the large gap between them. "You and Lady Sypha were more than generous to me. I cannot express in words the amount of gratitude I possess. But I've grown tired, Belmont. Let me sleep."

"If I do that," Trevor's voice has grown quiet, disheartened, "If I let you leave, I'll never see you again. I know this."

At that, Alucard allows his lips to rise into a shadow of a smile, his eyes half-lidded and deceptively content, "Do you think me immune to that same pain?"

"Then stay, Goddamnit!" Trevor finally snaps, and his hands snatch at Alucard's collar, and drag him forward, stopping just short of their noses touching. He's seething now, his teeth clenched in a scowl that highlights all the sharp features of his face. Alucard doesn't resist, let's his arms hang uselessly by his sides. He doesn't even offer Trevor a flinch. "Stay, and we'll find something for you to do. But don't lock yourself up and throw away the key. Don't waste yourself like that."

Alucard's face remains unchanging, still a mask of composed indifference. But his hand rises, slides onto the curve of Trevor's shoulder, and works its way past his collar to flatten against his neck, where the faint scars of his teeth still linger from years ago. The action barely earns a castaway glance from Trevor, but he can tell that motion has shaken him.

He lets his eyes linger over his hand, where the scars remain, and the thought crosses Alucard's mind that he hasn't tasted Trevor's blood since that night in the forest. He'd been given permission to feed whenever necessary, but not once had he asked for or been offered the hunter's neck. It's a trivial thought, considering the action that Alucard was contemplating.

He knows how scandalous it must be, how immoral he must seem, considering how Trevor's expectant wife rested in the house not even a hundred feet away. But he knows he may never get the chance to try it again, so Alucard presses forward boldly, and lays a kiss upon the hunter's warm lips. He expects nothing in return, save for a possible shove or punch thrown, but he gets neither. Instead, he feels a calloused palm slide over his own, the one laid at Trevor's neck, and the small reciprocation has his cold heart singing with what he feels must be euphoria.

He can't find it in himself to brave it any further, but it's enough, Alucard thinks. He doesn't think he'll forget this moment for decades to come, if not at all. It'll be a small comfort in his dreams, that he at least managed to procure this from the Belmont. A small consolation, he thinks. Better than nothing at all.

When he tries to part from Trevor, he feels something tangle into the back of his hair and draw him back, almost fervently, and the desperation wrings a soft gasp out of him. Then he's being kissed, hard and unforgiving, and his head is being jerked to the side, canted enough to allow the slide of lips over his own. It's a messy, awful thing, and it makes Alucard's limbs tremble with the desire to wrap about the hunter and never let him go. He gets an innocent taste of Trevor's mouth, and it's perhaps more wonderful than his blood, because it lacks the same dark connotation.

And Trevor, try as he might, clings to him, holds him firmly against him as if to suggest that he'll never let go. Alucard can feel the anguish and panic in the way that he grips at him, in the way that his fingers dig into his clothes and will him to stay put, to stay happy and subservient against him. But Alucard cannot afford him this. He cannot share another moment like this as long as he remains by Trevor's side. This is a luxury available only to Sypha, and he will not be responsible for taking it away.

So when it becomes clear that Trevor refuses to free him, Alucard does the only thing he can, and he bites down on the other's bottom lip, spilling blood and earning a startled cry. It's enough to stumble out of his hold, to retreat with unsteady steps and bloody lips. Trevor's hand raises to where his lip is punctured, the blood dribbling down his chin weakly. His eyes are a reflection of his shock and sorrow, and it's damn near physically painful for Alucard to meet them.

He licks his lips, wipes away the essence of the Belmont bloodline - an elixir that seemingly can't be matched by anyone - and offers him his final parting words, "Thank you."

If Trevor runs after him, he doesn't allow himself to hear it. Alucard turns, and disappears into the forest, first as a sprint, but then quickly morphs into his wolf form, and allows his newfound body to carry him far, far away. He runs haggard, without thought, because to think now would spell his doom. He'd turn in an instant, and run willingly back into Trevor's arms, would pervert his marriage with Sypha to sickening degrees, and he absolutely cannot have that happen.

He runs, and traverses both forests and plains, and powers through both sunrise and sunset, until his limbs feel dead from use and he's half stumbling towards what he'd been looking for. There, at the apex of a hill lined with rose bushes and iron-wrought fences, lies a crypt he'd built years ago after the battle with his father. He pushes past the creaking iron gate and into the dark structure, and wanders into its confines.

Above him, in the ceiling, lies a hole just big enough to see where the moon lies in the sky. Alucard walks towards the center of the crypt, his hand trailing over a stone sarcophagus, tracing the outlines of roses and thorns that are carved into its surface. He stops when the moonlight hits the crown of his head, and kneels down, enough to rest his arms over the stone and lay his head upon them.

He could not find any trace of his mother's ashes, but he couldn't bear the thought of having nothing to remember her by. So he'd labored and arranged for something to be built in her memory, and used the best of what he knew about her to try and make it as authentic as possible. Despite the knowledge that his mother's remains are lost to him, he feels closest to her here, allows his heart to ache dully as he sifts through his memories of her face.

He feels something sliding down his cheeks, and brushes the palm of his hand against it, only for it to come away stained with red. He hasn't allowed himself to cry in so long, that it almost feels wrong, reprehensible. But Alucard still weeps softly, sends droplets of his own blood splattering onto her sarcophagus. He fears that if he lets his emotions fester, he might lose sight of himself.

When the sky above begins to bleed pink with the approaching sunset, he rises from his spot on the stone floor, and circles around the sarcophagus to the other side of the room, where a black, gold-trimmed coffin lays hidden in the shadows. Alucard allows himself a moment to breathe, to trace the smooth varnish of his soon to be resting place. He tries not to dwell on his thoughts, but rather tries to clear his mind of any at all.

When he feels somewhat at peace with himself, he shucks off his cloak and coat, and folds them neatly, placing them at the foot of his coffin. His longsword is detached from his belt, and he lays it along the wall of his coffin, where it will be guarded with his body. The climb in feels like a dream, like he almost has no control over himself. He's a spectator, watching from afar, content with his fate, though ultimately still heartbroken over the circumstances.

When the lid shuts, he allows the darkness to lull him into a deep slumber, and says a final goodbye to the waking world.

…

…

...

Three-hundred years later, he's awoken to his father's castle once more, and the face of the man he meets within its walls is too much like his , and Alucard feels a pang of longing shoot through him, renewed and as fresh as the day he'd left it all behind.

AN: I'm so sorry! But I kind of wanted to keep with the canon to a certain degree, and this was the only way I could see that happening. I apologize if it wasn't the ending that everyone anticipated, but I hope you'll understand where I'm coming from. (Also, that Alucard/Richter implication at the end is a guilty pleasure, please don't judge me.)