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90stvshowgoth · 3 years

Text

—PULLING TEETH

—ch.1 —ch.2

summary: after suffering a night creature’s attack the night before, you awake to find yourself not only alive, but tucked into bed, the strange man who’d been your rescuer sleeping across from you.

w/c: 4563

tags: slow burn, eventual smut, friends to enemies to friends to lovers, sickfic

a/n: nearly two months later and i finally release the next chapter. rip. i’m sorry for the awful hiatus everyone! although updates will be slow, i still intend to finish this story, and have a clear ending in mind >:) hope yall enjoy!!

The world you woke to was awash with pale yellow light, the brightness enough to make your eyes wince after being in such comfortable, dreamless darkness for so long. Your brain was slow to comprehend where you were, an aftereffect of shock being the most likely case. But with the twitching of your fingers, it was abundantly clear that somehow, someway, you had survived.

You didn’t delude yourself for a moment into thinking the sepia haze you found yourself was the afterlife, the throbbing pain in your head and ankle was enough to nip that notion in the bud as soon as it bloomed. But if you weren’t dead, where were you?

Consciousness went to your body far faster than your brain. Your senses assured that you were tucked into what must’ve been the softest bed you’d ever slept in, with warmth reminiscent of the sun filtering onto your exposed skin. The stiff cotton of bandages tucked neatly against your wounds was nothing if not a familiar feeling, at least.

The room you found yourself in was painted with that same yellow that first dotted your vision, its furniture grand and carved from oak, looking much older and more expensive than any you’d seen before. You couldn’t help but notice that for such a luxurious room, it was rather bare, with only a few bits of essential furniture dotted around the suite,

And a pale man with golden hair resting comfortably on the couch across from where you slept.

He might’ve been one of the prettiest men you’d ever seen, with sharp features carved around a thin, narrowed nose, and defined collarbones half-hidden behind a flowy white shirt.

“...Hello?” Throat wincing at the strain, you were suddenly all too aware of the sandpaper texture that coated the roof of your mouth.

A squeak you would’ve called undignified escaped you when his full eyelashes opened, instantly locking onto yours. Even from this distance the stranger kept himself at, you could easily see their vibrant golden color, much the same as his hair.

“Good, you’re finally awake. I was beginning to consider you might’ve knocked yourself out into a coma.” You didn’t respond right away, focused instead on recalling sparse memories of the night before, a dull horror falling over your face as you thought again of what hunted you through the blackened woods.

This stranger must’ve been the observant type, deciphering your thoughts from just the shell-shocked way you stared at the bandages looping down and around your body, “There’s nothing to be afraid of anymore, you know,” you jerked your head up to look him in the eye, “nothing can get to you in here. You’re safe now.”

His words were of some assurance but mostly they just took your mind off the hauntingly fresh memories from last night, “Where am I? Ho-How close are we to Arges?”

His eyebrows knit in concentration as he spoke, as if he was weighing the burden of the words on his tongue, “You’ve found yourself in my castle. As to its exact location… I’d say two kilometers or so from the nearest town, southeast of here.”

You blinked, whatever measurements he was using were lost on you and you hoped he’d get that from the clueless look you so obviously wore.

After a moment your host must’ve realized not everyone got whatever fancy education living in a castle provided, rephrasing himself, “About a day’s ride on horse to Arges.” Your eyes shot open at that, the soles of your feet aching after hearing his estimate.

“What?” You said, panicking, “I ran that far?’

“Did you really not know?” Adrian asks carefully, as if his compassion might spook you.

No, not compassion, you correct. Pity.

“I’m sure this is a lot to take in all at once, but try not to injure yourself any further.”

At that, all attention fell back to your injuries, experimentally raising first your left then right arm, wincing at the flaring ache that ripped its way down the limb from your shoulder after stretching too taut.

“Careful. You’ll undo all my good work,” You flinched at the cold bite of his words and he must’ve noticed if his sigh that followed was any indication, “You took a hell of a beating to get here, I’d advise against movement for a little while.”

You perked up at that, taking in the bandages that you felt adorning the rest of your body in a new light, “You did this?”

“Who else would you think?”

Shrugging didn’t seem to be an adequate response to your host, so you went on, “I mean, don’t you have any servants or something?”

He resolutely shook his head, and your lips twitched into a frown, “...Then who else lives here?”

It was only after a lengthy pause that you realized what his silence begged you to unspokenly know, “You aren’t saying you live in a castle… alone?”

Your host couldn’t manage to hold eye contact with you any longer, scoffing instead as he looked to the floor, “You sound so horrified by my life.”

“Don’t you ever get lonely?” You couldn’t help but notice the way his grip on the armrest tightened at your question, worsening the look across your face.

He didn’t answer, he didn’t have to, the lack of one spoke loudly enough on its own. Instead he pulled himself from the couch, standing up with a mumble about going to get you a glass of water in the smaller room beside your bed, leaving you to your thoughts. Although as much as you wished it would subside, the events from last night seemed adamant to thread themselves into your being although you desperately tried to ignore them.

After the first half-hour of running your memory truly became a blur of blood, teeth, and rain, but the illuminated sight of the castle’s imposing silhouette towering over the glade was fresh in your mind. A tall, spiraling thing that rose high enough into the ashy clouds above that you couldn’t see where it ended. You could probably stack every trade shop, house, and church in your village on top of each other and the building you’d make would still be dwarfed in the castle’s shadow. The idea that someone could live in such a place miles from the nearest town with only dustmites for company sat wrong in your chest.

He returned with a glass of water and a warning not to drink too fast. You manage to, slowly, head reeling. If the man notices your disorientation, he doesn’t say anything. Despite what your instincts beg you to do instead, you heed his instructions and take one leisurely sip of water at a time until your headache begins to subside.

“So, would you think it’s fair of me to ask the name of my patient?” He still kept some distance from you, something you didn’t find too weird, nodding with an unsteady smile.

When you told him his eyes lit up, repeating it back to himself under the hush of his breath. You might’ve thought it was your imagination if not for the way you saw his barely parted lips form the syllables.

You cleared your throat, hoping to distract from the faint pink dusting onto your cheeks, “And what about yours?”

His soft smile fell away, replacing itself with something unreadable.

“It’s… Adrian Tepes.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at that, the name for some reason familiar, inviting a brief sting of déjà vu before the sensation passed like a fleeting shadow.

You shake it off, extending a hand to where he sat at the end of your bed despite the wince of pain that stemmed from moving even your less damaged arm. It might sting, but you muster as much ernesty into the gesture as possible.

“Well, thank you, Adrian Tepes… you saved my life.”

Molten eyes widened, looking from your outstretched palm to your face, for what, you couldn’t say, before finally taking his hand in yours. When you made contact with his skin your smile faltered briefly, unsettled by the coolness to his touch but again you brushed the notion aside. Pulling away soon after, you noticed Adrian’s lips pressed firmly into a line whenever he drew the slightest bit closer to you, flinching away from your touch like one of the untrusting feral cats you’d take pity on from time to time back home.

Home.

All of a sudden you were thinking about your old cottage sitting on the outskirts of Arges, no longer just a structure made from cobbled stone and brick-thatched roof, but a home. Your home. Commissions and projects still left unfinished across your bed, half-sewn bodices and sleeves all indented with pins and string. All the potted plants you’d taken inside would be long dead by the time you made it back, and of course the stray cats that often sit by your windowsill and beg for scraps would be missing you dearly, knowing your house was an easy mark because you’d cave into their demands for food every time.

You were pulled from your thoughts by Adrian calling out your name, a tinge of worry in the crease of his brow.

“Are you alright?”

“Sorry, I—It’s a lot to take in, I guess. All of it, I mean.” You muttered, unable to come up with anything better than a lackluster response.

“I understand,” your host was softer with his wording, able to pick up on your distress, “I’m… sorry. About all of this.” What did he mean by that? You fumbled to grasp at whatever Adrian thought he did wrong before he nodded towards your broken ankle, hidden under linen, and you knew he only meant he was sorry that you had to endure it at all.

You shrugged, “I’m not.”

“Pardon?”

He looked at you as if you’d grown a second head, and you stumbled through trying to explain yourself, “I—Adrian, although last night was…” a snap of the night creature’s jaws flashed behind your eyes, “scary… The point is, I’m lucky to be alive. Most others don’t get the luxury of being saved, let alone healed afterwards.”

Adrian’s lips barely parted and shut as he tried to think of a response, something unreadable darkening his fair features. The silence wouldn’t last, it seemed, as soon the tension was broken with the almost comically loud rumbling of your stomach.

Air pushed through his nose, “Where are my manners… Would you like me to fix breakfast? You must be starving, I’m sure.”

“Really?” You winced as the wonder in your voice betrayed you, still not used to the idea of a blue-blood like Adrian offering to make food for someone like you as if it was second nature. “I mean, thank you, sir, but I—“

His eyebrows shot up, “Sir?”

A hint of red found its way to your face, “I mean, you never said… I’m sorry, is it Lord Tepes instead?”

It might’ve been his turn to blush.

“No! No,” his voice almost cracked, an odd bout of nerves tickling out a cough, “just Adrian, please.”

“Oh,” you smiled, “well.. Thank you, Adrian. It’s been a while since anyone’s cooked for me.”

At the mention of food your stomach groaned once again in protest. You’re hungry. You always are these days, but then again, so is everyone else. Famine has almost started to become a stronger horseman than war or death in Wallachia these days. The last time you’d eaten was yesterday, a lunch consisting of apples off a nearby tree and a half-loaf of bread that had already begun to mold, but you still made a point to be thankful for every gluey bite. It was more than most people could afford.

He frowns at the edge of your bed, “Then it seems we’re both in luck. After all, what’s the point in learning how to cook if there’s no one to cook for?”

Standing up, his long legs made quick strides towards the door, though that height might have something to do with the leather boots strapped up to his calves, “I won’t be long. The kitchens aren’t far. If you need anything, simply call for me, and I’ll hear.”

A weak smile seemed satisfactory to placate Adrian’s request, another muttered “thank you,” reaching out before the door closed behind him, leaving you alone in his riddle of a castle.

Without anything to do while you wait, your mind turns inward, thinking more about your savior with the pretty hair.

You decided it was impossible he wasn’t some form of nobility, his posh intellect stood out like a sore thumb and completely betrayed his background, especially in comparison to your… less than average education.

Though you briefly entertained the idea he was a squatter with a background in medicinal practice taking up residence in an abandoned castle, you eventually had to scratch that idea. He seemed far too in his element for that to be the case. He’d introduced himself with only a first name, no honorifics or lordship attached. He hadn’t even asked you to call him sir, unlike every other nobleman you’ve encountered in the past through your business, each leaving a similar acidic taste in your mouth, and Adrian left no such thing.

So who the hell was he?

Standing alone in the kitchen, Adrian thinks he might’ve gone a bit overboard.

On the tray he meant to take back to your room sat scrambled bird’s eggs topped with salt and tomatoes, an apple, a bowl of steamed oatmeal drenched in honey, and a glass of orange juice made from one of the fruit trees that still barely clung to life in his father’s old greenhouse.

Still, he couldn’t help himself. He wasn’t lying when he said it’s been a while since he had the chance to cook for another person, a wince finding its way to his face once he realized that last person had been his mother, only two weeks before her execution.

Adrian picked up the tray of food and carried it to your room maybe a bit faster than needed. Speaking with others seemed like the best way to stop his train of thought from spiraling any further. After all, that was one of the things he loved about spending time with Sypha and Trevor.

His knuckles rapt against the doorframe only to be greeted by a giggle from the other side, “This is your house, I don’t think you have to knock.”

“Well then,” he leaned his back into the doorframe, presenting the meal with a bit more dramatics than necessary, “forgive me for being polite.”

Your eyes widened to a comical degree once you saw the food, alight with awe, “You’re… so forgiven.”

He chuckled, sure to keep his mouth shut once he got close enough to set your food down. If you told him that less than twenty-four hours ago you faced a likely traumatising near-death experience, he wouldn’t’ve believed you. Not with your eyes shining like a child’s on Christmas morning. He wondered if this might be more food than you’d ever seen on one serving, jaw slack with shock then closing in confusion when he set the entire tray on the empty space of your mattress and walked back to his seat on the daybed.

“Are you not having anything?” You were probably worried about seeming rude, and he wanted to be sure his patient didn’t have any misgivings about accepting his hospitality.

Adrian was quick to brush away the question, “I assure you, I’m full. There’s no shortage of food in the nearby woods, I can promise that neither of us will go hungry. Besides, you need to get your strength back.”

Even though you were eyeing the meal like it might bite you, there was no hiding the drool along your lips. Though uncertain, you didn’t press him for more, and a breath he technically didn’t need to be holding left him when you finally dug in.

He might’ve scolded Trevor for doing much the same thing, gulping down food and drink as if it would be snatched away at any moment, but he reasoned that you of course had a valid reason for doing so.

You only paused after catching sight of his expression, wiping a stray piece of tomato with your wrist.

“Is there something on my face?” You said through a mouthful of eggs.

He shook his head, “No, don’t worry over it, I was overthinking.”

“Hm. Penny for your thoughts?” While you were downing half the orange juice in one gulp, Adrian mulled over how to properly string his wording.

“When was the last time you were full?”

Whatever you were expecting him to say, that question clearly wasn’t it. At once your face shifted, somewhere between bitter and sad.

“A bit.” And before he could say anything else, a resolute scoop of eggs was enough to end that conversation before it began.

The pair of you fell into an uncomfortable silence, interrupted by the scrape of unblessed silverware against ceramic. If he could, Adrian would kick himself for his insensitivity. Of course it’s been a while since she’s had a proper meal, the whole damn country was starving.

Adrian shifted his weight where he sat, trying his hardest not to stare by instead casting his sights at the clouds outside, racking his brain for what to say or if he should say anything at all. In his defense, he hasn’t interacted with anyone in what felt like several months; though admittedly he might’ve been wrong as he couldn’t bother to keep track of time or dates anymore, not since the day he woke up from that coffin.

“Can I ask you something?” Your question nipped him away from his thoughts before they could take hold.

“Always.”

“Who are you, really? I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, but I know nobility when I hear it,” he knew you’d ask this eventually, but truthfully Adrian hoped he would have avoided the subject for as long as he could. He didn’t enjoy lying.

“My father,” he sighed, “was a Voivode. A prince of Wallachia,”

You went to speak but Adrian could already tell what you were about to say, and wanted to quickly interrupt any preconceived ideas that might be brewing, “Now don’t go thinking I’m any sort of prince-”

“—Aren’t you though? Like, by definition?”

Adrian frowned, “I rather doubt that. Shortly after the end of the crusades my father was excommunicated by the church. You can probably guess how my family lost any nobility it might’ve had claim to after that. All but this castle, it seems.”

It was a fool’s errand, he knew it, but Adrian tried his damndest to speak in as many half-truths as possible instead of outright lying. It felt less guilty somehow. If you were going to be staying in his castle for the foreseeable future, he wanted you to have some idea of who you were actually talking to.

Besides, it wasn’t his fault if you thought he was talking about the squabble in Varna thirty years ago instead of The First Crusade of 1094.

“That’s… Jesus, Adrian,” you looked shell-shocked trying to wrap your head around everything, “I’m not sure what to say.”

“Well, as long as you don’t start reciting bible verses, you’ll be reacting better than most people would.”

You laughed. It was hard keeping a smile off his face when yours was so infectious, but there was no other choice. If he did, there isn’t a chance you wouldn’t see the daggers in his mouth.

“Trust me, I share no sympathy for the church. I’m practically one step away from becoming an excommunicant myself.” You dove for the sweetened oatmeal and proceeded to slurp it down with a hunger that would’ve put even Trevor to shame.

“Oh? And how did that happen?”

You stopped chewing, no longer looking at him but through him, mind wandering somewhere else.

“Can… we talk about it some other time? Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

He nodded, and a weight visibly lifted from your shoulders, “Of course. We don’t have to talk about anything that could make you uncomfortable. Some memories aren’t worth reliving.” And he hoped, by some extension, you would offer him this same courtesy.

“Did you say you came from Arges?” You nodded, taking another spoonful of honeyed wheat, “If you don’t mind me asking, what was your trade?”

Though you talked with your mouth full you at least had the decency to cup a hand over your lips as you did so, “M’ a seamstre’th.”

“…A seamstress?” Nodding eagerly at his translation, a chubby smile reached your cheeks that did wonders for his culinary ego.

Choking on an overeager bite, you pounded your chest with a closed fist for a moment to clear it away before you continued. You spent your meal recounting the ins and outs of your daily work, almost rambling at some points about your irritable clientele. By the time you’d finished the bowl of oatmeal, Adrian had gained an adequate understanding of the Arges flea markets and how to dye sheets of cotton from wildflowers. He occasionally threw in his two cents but for the most part just let you do the talking.

“Work’s been slow since the world fell to shit, but I’m managing. The only real clients I get these days are aristocrats with so much money on their hands they can afford to ignore that the country’s on fire.”

“That sounds dreadful,” you giggled at his deadpan, agreeing wholeheartedly.

“It’s not all bad. At least I get to dress myself in whatever I want,” your optimism cut short when you accidentally gestured to the ivory nightshirt Adrian had leant you, “or… most of the time.”

He hadn’t exactly been paying attention to what you were wearing when you arrived, your dress too ripped and muddied to see any of its craftsmanship. But still, knowing you most likely made that dress yourself brought a small pang of guilt to remember cutting it to pieces, even if he had reason to.

“Right. Sorry about that.”

You shrugged, “Eh, it’s alright. There was no saving it. Besides, I can make a new one when I get back home.”

An idea so perfect came to mind it’s a wonder Adrian hadn’t thought of it earlier, “What if you could make one here?”

“Can I?” Your voice betrays the cautious excitement behind it, instantly assuring him this idea was the right one.

He risked a small smile while he talked, “Of course. I’ll have to go into town to pick up some supplies anyways. Would you be able to make a list of everything you’d need?”

A blush sparked to life on your face, “Maybe? But I don’t think—“

Truthfully he

“You’ll be here for a while by any means, so it might be best to pick up extra fabric and thread just in case. A dozen or so yards should be more than enough. I wouldn’t want you growing bored—“

“—A dozen yards!?” You cried before any common sense could stop you.

“Is there something wrong?” He seemed unfazed by the little outburst, a finger tapping against his cupid’s bow while he contemplated the logistics of his plan.

Resting your head in your palm, you gave a laboured sigh at your host’s enthusiasm, “Fabric is expensive these days, Adrian, even if you live in a castle. Because of the hordes, there aren’t many people alive to make and sell fabrics themselves, plus, merchants rightfully avoid this country like the plague. You’d be lucky if you found one or two yards of decent quality, and that’s pushing it.”

He didn’t appear the slightest bit discouraged, only mumbling some affirmation loud enough to know he’d heard what you said, and was choosing to ignore it.

“Don’t be so difficult. Money is no object, I’m sure to find what you need.”

The two of you were at a standstill. Adrian clearly wasn’t budging no matter how reasonable your argument, and it left you frustrated beyond belief.

“…Fine,” you said through gritted teeth. It’s evident you couldn’t stop him from doing this favor for you, and instead of telling him just how much the gesture warmed your chest, instead you averted your gaze and muttered, “If you’re going to do this anyway, you can just go to my house.”

“What…” It seemed you managed to pull him away from his train of thought, stuttering the syllables of your name while a blush sputtered onto his temples, “What are you doing?”

Without explanation you craned your arm down into the neck of your loaned shirt, ignoring both the ache it caused your shoulder and the look Adrian gave you as if you were insane. Cupping one hand around your breast, you dug between the bindings and your flesh until the texture of warm metal brushed your hand.

You dug the key out from your bra with a triumphant smile and revealed your house key in the light like buried treasure, amused to no end by Adrian’s look of sheer dumbfoundment.

“Catch.” You allowed yourself to laugh after tossing it towards Adrian, the key fumbling between his fingers before he could snag it from the air, blush worsening, if that was even possible.

He stared at the still-warm key in his hand with such thinly-veiled embarrassment you almost felt bad for hiding it there. Almost.

“You’re… awfully trusting, aren’t you? Allowing a stranger to come into your home without you there?”

To be honest, you considered it, yes. While Adrian seemed perfectly polite and leagues above most men in terms of courtesy, he was still a stranger in essence. And yet, “Why not? You’re letting me do the same.”

He frowned, as if expecting such a response. “There is nothing stopping me from ransacking your home while you’re here in bed—with a broken ankle, might I add.”

“It’s really not that big of a deal, Adrian. I mean, you live in a castle. It’s not like I have anything worth stealing, unless you’re fresh out of crooked needles and dust-mites.”

With his frown evening out, you continued, “I live along the main road, so my house won’t be hard to find. Just keep on the main road east through town until you reach some sheep farms. I live across from one. You’ll know which one’s mine ‘cause I left some dyed fabric out to dry on the wire.”

“…Fine,” he sighed, absentmindedly thumbing over the key, “I’ll leave for Arges tomorrow. Let’s hope none of your neighbors mistake me for a common thief.”

You nodded wisely, “They might sick their flock on you.”

Adrian smiled, no teeth showing, but it reached his eyes and somehow made his whole complexion softer.

“That’s a fight I might not win.”

The two of you broke into giggles, filling the hazy morning air with a comfortable warmth that somehow managed to distract you from both your swollen ankle and the memories of last night that nipped at your heels. You reasoned that the sensation had everything to do with the banquet of food Adrian had presented quite literally on a silver platter, and definitely not because of the company that came with it.

@silentwhispofhope @red-riding @rebloggedfanficoffandoms

#adrian: hey you. you’re finally awake. you were caught trying to cross the border right? same as us and that horse theif over there—#adrian tepes x reader #adrian tepes #alucard #alucard x reader #adrian x reader #castlevania #castlevania netflix

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90stvshowgoth · 3 years

Text

—PULLING TEETH

—ch.1 —ch.2

summary: after barely escaping death at the jaws of a night creature, you find sanctuary in a dreary old castle seemingly in the middle of nowhere, and unknowingly land yourself in the care of a being you couldn’t have ever expected to take pity on a human like you.

w/c: 4369

tags: slow burn, friends to enemies to friends to lovers, sickfic,

notes: i haven’t finished the third chapter of bne because WOW kurogiri you are hard to write man. in the meantime here’s this thing i wrote while i was at a hotel in yellowstone like two weeks ago.

You hadn’t ever put much faith in scripture when you were younger, much to the dismay of the pulpit and preachers in your hometown, you’re sure. But even you knew a truly biblical storm when you saw one.

The rain had soaked your clothes straight to the bone, the tense grit of your teeth all that kept them from chattering. It was painful to run through the cold even without clawing hooks of branches littered in your path; each finger, limb and joint frozen stiff yet forced by will alone to keep moving at the same breakneck pace through almost utter darkness.

Your stomach lurched as the ground was suddenly pulled away from under you, falling face-first into the wet dirt and leaves of the forest floor, lightning revealing the toe of your boot caught under a gnarled tree root. Without wasting a second you tried yanking your leg free to no avail, the salt of your tears indistinguishable from the ocean of rain weighing you to the ground.

It was then you heard it again, far closer this time. A guttural, whining howl that carried like the wind sent a newfound vigor into your thrashing. Sheer panic was all that gave you the strength to wrench your foot free from its hold, a sickening pop within your flesh clearly audible even through the roar of rain sending a shooting pain up your leg. Your mouth opened wide to scream but nothing could escape.

A part of you didn’t want to get up, couldn’t summon any second wind to keep running. By this point all it felt like was delaying the inevitable. You’d gone through so much only to die here...

But as soon as your eyelids fluttered shut the memory of what was chasing you flashed behind them, now wide open as you clawed your way onto your feet. The utterly hollow sockets unmoving in its cracked open skull, the leathery skin of its face peeled back to the bone showing off it’s rows and rows of teeth. God, the teeth. Flat, herbivorous molars guarded by pointed canines and concave, antler-like incisors that littered the roof of its mouth, with tusklike fangs almost glowing under spare moonlight and carved from the sharpest yellowed ivory.

When Dracula’s hoards began sweeping through the lands of Wallachia you’d seen first hand the slaughter that followed, but never before had you seen a night creature that liked to play with it’s food.

The storm had robbed you of your senses, the downpour feeling as if you were being held beneath the ocean; rout screaming through the trees, making your eardrums ache despite the palms pressed firmly against your ears. Adrenaline pumped so thickly through your veins that you couldn’t feel the pain you’re sure should’ve been coiling around your ankle, instead there was only a numbing panic that swallowed up any thought or feeling that didn’t keep you moving forward.

All at once you felt gravity betray you, the ground turning to a sheer drop as your back was met what must’ve been hard stone; jagged outcroppings of rock carving cuts alone your spine and shoulder blades. Luckily your hands were already shielding the sides of your face, saving you from any permanent damage, but the same couldn’t be said of your body. Freshly splitting gashes dug like rivulets down your legs and stomach, a long cut up the side of your arm that snagged on a pointed outcrop of the hill. For a horrified second you weren’t sure just how far this drop would go.

Thankfully not far, it seemed. Just as the thought took root your crumpled form made contact with silken grass, catching you almost tenderly after your fall. Bleeding, trembling hands slowly released themselves off your head, eyes uselessly trying to adjust to the dark through the warm blur of your tears.

At that moment a clap of lightning ripped itself through the black canvas of the atmosphere, illuminating the unmistakable silhouette of a monstrously imposing castle.

In the midst of panic you hadn’t spared a single thought as to who the castle might belong to or the very likely possibility that whatever baron or lord had taken up residence inside might actually prove more dangerous than the night creature itself. You weren’t even able to see it, not after the lightning passed and the towering structure flickered back into the darkness that surrounded you. The thunder that followed shook the ground and grassy stems you clung to; finally chasing you off the earth and sending you stumbling forward once again, only this time in the vague direction of a castle.

You almost slipped when the footing beneath you turned from wet dirt to slick stone but you managed to catch yourself before falling this time. Half walking, half crawling, you made your way up that waterfall of a staircase to the doorway which stretched above you so high you couldn’t see where they ended and the night sky began.

You practically threw yourself onto the doors once you reached the front gate, the broad archway unyielding as you banged your fist on the hardwood. The voice that escaped your lips didn’t sound like your own— far too high-pitched and shrill but it would have to manage as you screamed till your throat stung for anyone inside to open the doors that barely budged under your relentless shoving.

The stone beneath you was slick with water, making it impossible to get the foothold you normally needed to push the doors open, each failed attempt and unheard plea only making you feel all the more powerless, yet still your bloodied fists beat against the irreverent doorway.

You heard it then, the carnal, delighted howling of the beast stalking you. Whipping around, even through the darkness you could see the creature’s blue sockets alight with whatever magic that sustained it. Two beacons of azure light in the middle of a torrential rain from the other side of the clearing, quickly getting closer.

With a manic strength you didn’t know laid dormant you tried your damndest to shove it open, frantic looks behind you only proving what you already knew. It was almost on you, so close that you could start to hear its ragged breathing over the rain.

In one last, desperate bid for life, you took a running start and shouldered a crash into the unyielding door, the massive entryway budging open just far enough to throw yourself inside.

You were far too delirious to properly take in your surroundings, the entire room a dizzying mess of lavish and muddied colors. Instead, with the door closing behind you like a lock, leaving you utterly exhausted, you collapsed onto the floor.

There you lay, bloodied, broken, and sporting a new dislocated shoulder on what felt like carpet, the sensation almost enough to make you vomit. You were probably in more pain than you’d ever felt in your entire lifetime but all you wanted to do was cry with hysteric joy at escaping that monster and its teeth. You were safe.

You weren’t spared even a single moment to breathe before the night creature slammed itself into the towering iron doors, dislodging its weight but not by enough to pull its lumbering body through the doorway yet.

Like before, you tried to get up, tried to keep running, but with a fresh horror you realized you couldn’t summon your body to move save for a few twitching limbs, blood loss finally taking its toll. The carpet beneath you began to stain a far darker red under your half-dead form, but still you remained aware of each painful second, each slam of the monster’s body on the doorway budging open more than the last.

One wiry hand clawed itself from between the door’s gap, the sound of its claws scraping against its surface was like nails on a chalkboard as it pulled its hulking, gnashing appendages through the doorway. As the shrill noise carved its way into your eardrums, you finally went limp. Not unconscious, but loose as a rag doll and without an ounce of resistance left to give, finally resigning yourself to the fate you’d fought so hard against. With weary eyes beginning to grow heavy, your final thoughts were of wondering if maybe the universe is at least kind enough to let you bleed out before the creature finished dragging itself inside the castle to finish you off.

The last thing you saw before blacking out was a pale figure with golden hair; and as you let your eyes shut, the shrill scream of the night creature carved itself into your eardrums, following you down into blissful unconsciousness.

Alucard was having a hard time admitting to himself just how dreary he found the book he was reading. It was an old thing he’d loved when he was a teenager, and the pages were still yellowed and dogeared in those same places he had indented what felt like only yesterday. Those memories of his “before” were still painfully clear, so vivid he swears he could sometimes catch a glimpse of his mother’s smiling face as she stood in the doorway and Adrian wondered if this was in part what drove his father mad. The fact that waiting would in fact not heal his wounds, but keep them open and festering as he stood the test of time.

Every adventure that used to keep him up until the early hours of the morning, reading with rapt attention by dying candlelight, now seemed dull in comparison to his own plights that transpired only a few months ago. Each conversation between the characters felt so bland, taunting him with their sham of a life, reminding him all too well that they were just ink on paper. He had been staring at the words for so long, his brain had tricked itself into believing they were spelled incorrectly.

Alucard snapped the book shut, pinching the bridge of his nose and knocking his head against the back of his chair, lacking the energy or motivation to do much of anything else. Part of him was exhausted, too tired to move. But he knew all too well what awaited him in his nightmares if he was unfortunate enough to finally get some rest.

It was then, as he slumped forward to rest his achingly empty head in his hands, he heard a scream.

His eyes blinked open, the sound, however distant, sent a spasm of adrenaline through his limbs and he’d leapt from his chair, his nails lightly digging into the mahogany as he heard it again. He would’ve simply written off the noise as the wood of an old house settling during a storm if it weren’t for the torment in the muffled cry.

The study he found himself taking residence was in the east wing of the castle, several floors away from the entrance hall, where he swore that the faintest squeak had come from. One disadvantage to only being half-vampire was that his senses weren’t as sharpened as his others. He barely even registered the sound, buried beneath several layers of rubble and carpentry.

Still, he did. And hearing it made him come to a very rational conclusion.

“Goddamnit,” He had shot up out of his seat at the noise like a startled cat but after a moment of distended silence he sighed, resting his weight on the chair’s crest rail, squeezed his temples, and decided, “I really am losing my mind.”

It was bound to happen eventually. It had been almost two months since Sypha and Trevor had gone off on their merry way, leaving him an ancient relic among his own kind. He hadn’t seen another soul since, not counting the various animals or night creatures that stalked through the underbrush near the grounds, though it was debatable whether or not they even had souls.

He’d stopped denying his loneliness weeks ago, around the same time he actually considered sewing a few cloth scraps and spoons together to make doll-like replicas of the two who’d left him behind. The idea might’ve seemed mad to him a couple months ago, but then again, it at least gave him something to do. The boredom was perhaps the worst part, among many others.

But when he heard it again, that high-pitched scream, Alucard stopped to consider if maybe he wasn’t crazy after all.

He was out of the study in an instant, taking long strides down the winding corridors, one hand running along the wooden inlay of the wall beside him. He might’ve not been a full vampire but he still had some measure of his father’s senses, and through the imperceptible rumble of the structure beneath his fingertips, he could feel the most infinitesimal reverberations of something bashing repeatedly against the castle doors.

It almost sounded as if someone was knocking, banging their fists at the doorway, but he quickly squashed the notion as soon as it bloomed in his chest. He couldn’t let himself get his hopes up again, not when the crushing weight of having his optimism dashed was such a tangible fear.

This wasn’t the first time one of the forgemaster’s pets came sniffing around his father’s castle and it wouldn’t be the last, but Adrian was finding it difficult snuffing the small spark of hope that had lit inside him. For a moment he’d let himself wonder if someone instead of something was at the gates for once, some traveller or grave-robber that might’ve relieved him of his endless solitude, however briefly.

He could sense he was getting closer when the sounds of the front doors rattling filled the half-destroyed remnants of the hallways. But just as he’d reached the fourth floor, Adrian found himself almost tripping over his own feet, halting dead in his tracks at the heavy scent of iron in the air.

Human blood— but more than that, uncovered from the deafening curtain of the rain, he heard the wild tremor of a very human heartbeat.

Eyes wide but body still stiff, he was finally snapped out of his daze by the feeling of cold steel, his sword cutting through the air and into the palm of his hand.

With an energy long since missing from his veins, Adrian threw himself down the foyer, his feet not even touching the ground as he dashed through the corridors known to him like the back of his hand, spurned to go faster with each resounding bash of the monster’s claws against the doorway. By the time he’d reached the second floor the smell of blood was almost overpowering, but his steps, or lack thereof, didn’t falter. It wasn’t hunger that drove him, but instead his mother’s and his own will ringing through his ears to at least try to help people.

He willed himself to look away from the grotesque sight on the floor, this was no time for sympathy. Instead he honed his nerve as he leapt from the railings just as the night creature managed to pull itself inside. With one sure stab of his sword he’d split down the middle of its decaying, deer-like snout. From beneath the pulsating mass of reanimated flesh, Alucard could hear the collagen of its frontal lobe audibly snapping and splintering under the weight of his sword.

The shriek it gave as his steel was driven into its inverted head was enough to make his ears sting. Twisting his wrist for good measure, he kicked himself off its flayed head and landed neatly on the stone below. But just when he turned his head to take a step towards the human barely clinging to life, boney talons came whirring through the air straight towards Alucard’s skull. If he had dodged even a few milliseconds later, the creature would’ve carved him cleanly in two, its claws near enough to slice a few unfortunate strands of golden hair.

The dhampir turned narrowed eyes towards the night creature who seemed to be paying no mind to the gaping hole he had made in its head or the pints of tar-like blood that spewed from the laceration, pooling at its feet. Its jaws unhinged like a snake, rows of jagged teeth unfurled before his eyes, and it broke into a running start before moving to swallow him whole.

Drawing his sword arm back, he flung the blade straight down the monster’s throat, its hollow eyes expressionless even as its body contorted in unimaginable pain while his longsword internally sliced open a gash from its throat to its intestines, blackened blood bubbling from its pulled back lips. Alucard took another pitiful look at the figure lying half-dead on the floor, then back to the night creature that still clung to its wretched existence. Even after all he’d seen and been through, he still felt disgusted at the sight of human skin and blood caught between its twitching claws. Loneliness must’ve unhinged him a bit, as the sight made Alucard sure to call his blade back slowly, vengefully, no longer wincing at its last sounds of gurgling anguish.

It was a young woman, skin pale with blood loss and features almost indistinguishable through centimeters of caked on dirt and gore. She was breathing, though barely, covered in heavy, ragged clothes soaked through with rain. Her cuts were an infection waiting to happen and at the sight of them he spared no more time before scooping the human’s limp form into his arms and spiriting them away to his mother’s old medical wing. Her study was a place Adrian would often find himself visiting ever since he was stranded here, perhaps in some masochistic endeavor to feel something other than boredom or guilt.

It helped that it was close to the entryway, and within moments he was throwing open the doorway, supporting his charge so she’d rest them above his thudding heart.

With one hand Alucard swept away the books and pencils that were left scattered on the work table and with the other he gently set the unconcious girl on the bench, turning to rummage around through the drawers that were scattered nearby. He’d need tongs, bandages, disinfectant, and warm water. Luckily a sink sat in the corner, as his mother might’ve used this room for medical purposes eerily alike to his own and had been in need of similar things. As quickly as time would allow he drew a vat of warm water and swiped a rag from its hook, rushing back to his patient’s side with a purpose he hadn’t felt in months. Once he’d gathered the few tools and supplies necessary he settled on first getting them out of those rags, otherwise she was sure to catch hypothermia if she hadn’t already.

He used to be embarrassed about this part of the work, the thought making him scoff as he tossed cut strips of muddied fabric to the side. Alucard was at least thankful that both her bindings had escaped relatively in-tact and he didn’t see reason in stripping them, for this stranger’s sake as much as his own. Any optimism on his patient’s condition was cut short, however, when he looked up along her collarbone, noticing the bulbous indentation beneath their shoulder, bone clearly dislocated from its socket.

How much had they struggled to get here? The thought was enough to unsettle him, all too aware by now of the mountains of corpses who hadn’t managed to escape his father’s hoards; who either hadn’t fought as hard as you or had simply been unlucky. It made him all the more determined to save you, so desperate to clear some of the red from his ledger.

He softly felt his way along your clavicle, touch gentle as if he were apologizing for the pain he was about to cause, before resting his other hand below your shoulder blade and reset the bone with a fleshy pop.

When you had no reaction to the pain other than a fleeting series of twitches on your face he felt his shoulders relax ever so slightly. He’s glad that you were knocked unconscious, if only to spare you any more suffering for the night. You had earned that at least.

It was then the thought of a coma or some long-lasting head trauma came to his mind. But he’d seen one such patient alongside his mother when he was fifteen and he’s sure he’ll never forget the disturbing sound of that man’s heartbeat, no trace of vitality in the constant metronome. There was no such stillness in your chest. Calm from sleep and blood loss, yes, but far from steady, pulsing in defiance at the helplessness of your species.

The more skin revealed to him made the twisting feeling in his gut worsen, counting three deep lacerations along her back and forearms, stomach damn near plummeting when he cut along the seam of your trousers, revealing the swollen, blotchy inflammation of a broken ankle.

As if to make up for the cruelty they were dealt, Alucard was gentle with every inch of bleeding skin as he soaked away the traces of dried blood and soil, wringing it out until the water he’d drawn turned sour and had to be constantly rinsed out. By the time Alucard was finished he’d actually managed to uncover a human being under all that filth, light snores falling from your parted lips. Most of your injuries weren’t severe, bruises assembled into a painting on her ribs to her back, along with dozens of scrapes and surface-level cuts adorning the revealed skin; but nothing that proper disinfectant and bandages couldn’t fix in three or four weeks.

But your ankle was another story entirely. As the night carried on he’d routinely changed the rags he’d left on your inflamed skin, cooling down the swelling well into the evening until his fingertips were pink and sore. The bone near the ankle was still painfully distended, easily reset, but the unconscious sounds of pain that slipped from your parted lips made him almost feel guilty while healing your wounds; as if he was sorry to cause any further pain, even if he knew the sentiment was futile. Thankfully, he found some spare ankle splints in a supply closet nearby, proving that even after death his mother was a far more prepared doctor than he could ever be.

Something he tried to keep firmly at the back of his mind was the exact length of the healing process, one that would leave his charge bedridden for at least four weeks straight, more so if he calculated in the physical therapy afterwards. Either way, the rains had just begun to set in and it was clear that without any carriages or horses to take them into town, he had managed to acquire an unwilling house guest for the foreseeable future.

And Alucard hated himself for the spark of joy that idea lit in his chest.

It was an awful thing to be thankful for, that someone else’s suffering might inadvertently lead to the lessening of his own.

By the time he was finished the sun had already begun to creep above the horizon, the torrential rain weakening into a sunshower as morning light shone through the window onto him and his patient. Despite the sinking guilt at benefiting from his company’s trauma, when he looked at their sleeping face he was hit with the burdening truth that they had lived to see another day because of him. It felt good to help people, not through some violent proxy like how he’d killed his father to save the country, but through saving a single human soul with nothing but his own skills and shaking hands.

Shaking they were; sore and reddened from wringing out the towels he’d laid to cool down your swelling, cloth turning hot almost the second it touched the blistering skin. Once he was certain the bleeding had finally stopped, he’d given you a healthy dose of painkillers that would hopefully numb the inevitable shock when you woke up.

On that note, Alucard thought that perhaps allowing his charge to wake up in a hospital wing, surrounded by scattered, bloody tools amidst the smell of their own gore might not be the best way to calm down someone’s nerves after such an ordeal.

He held you like you were made of glass as he took you from the medical table, resting your sleeping head on his shoulder before leaving the ward behind. There was an abundance of spare bedrooms lining the halls and all he had to do was pick the first one he came across for his new guest. They were still on the first floor and with your ankle so badly damaged it’d be best to keep it that way for the time being.

The room he’d chosen at random seemed fine enough. Pale yellow walls lined with floor-to-ceiling windows gracing him with a view of the sunrise even he couldn’t deny the beauty of. After he’d tucked them into the king sized sheets, however, Alucard found himself at a bit of a stand still.

Should he leave? It’d be best to, wouldn’t it? And yet, after the weeks spent in isolation, Alucard hadn’t realized just how much he missed the simple chorus of another person’s breathing. It was a hypnotic thing that tricked his own pulse into falling in line beside it in tandem. For the first time in days, he was genuinely tired, exhausted from the hours he’d spent trying to bring his patient back from the brink of death.

Across from your bedside, Alucard saw a furnished loveseat practically beckoning him to rest, and he found no reason to deny himself sleep any longer, despite whatever nightmares he might face. Besides, he told himself, it was best to stay in the same room to keep a close eye on your condition, should anything change.

Because when you woke up he’d have more than a few questions to answer, and several of his own to ask.

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