Log ; Finished

[compactcrucifix.livejournal.com]

Log; Finished

When; Monday, March 31st

Rating; PG-13

Characters; Count Vladislaus Dracula, rekindled_heart, and Gabriel van Helsing, compactcrucifix

Summary; Vladis meets Van Helsing - for the third time.

Log;



Gabriel van Helsing was no stranger to confusion. He felt it when Carl explained some new device that was not for hitting people, for God's sake, when some clue to a half-forgotten memory teased his consciousness with that persistent deja vu, and when events presented problems that simply could not be thrown through walls or windows.





Although this was a highly unusual problem in and of itself. He'd never fallen asleep beside a campfire and woke in the chill night air of a graveyard. Atypical, indeed. And worse, in the middle of the night.



He'd wasted no time checking himself over for injury or robbery, because he still had his Tojos, and what he had most of all was impatience as he set off like a grim shadow between the pale and quiet stones. If he'd lost his memory again, so help him God...



...well, there was a good chance no one else could.



The nights had been steadily growing warmer. The ice and snow had melted these past few weeks. He prefered cold. He prefered white, all while, frozen lands, he prefered winters and falls to sullied springs and summers. Still, even with the warmth, the nights stayed frozen enough, that it willed the Count into walking. It had been some time since he felt so considerably...alone. Before, he had Aleera to return to. His gem, Samara, distant in the absence of her mother. Simmering anger..in the, once again, absence of his Angel.



There was nothing. Nothing but cold.



Vladislaus wandered the rooftops of the city, shadowing from one to the other. Disgusting. Idiots. What he wouldn't give for the sweet, simple rolling hills of his home country. The fierce glowing white of his ice palace. Anything, anything that felt familiar...anyone...



His head lifted towards the wind...surely it was only a ghost of it. Something left, when he was still -here-, not...the man himself...but it was enough. Vladislaus lept from his perch, and disappeared into the night.



If this was someone's doing, Van Helsing was going to make them think twice about it, and that was if he was feeling generous. He paused by a tomb near the far end of the graveyard to get his head together, trying to calm himself down. It probably wasn't kidnapping.



The Hunter looked up into the night sky, feeling the blood sing in his veins - wisping remnant of the change wrought in him by the wolf. He always knew when it was approaching full, now. The Transylvanian mission had been taxing in more ways than one.



Something teased his senses that was not the kiss of the moon, but that was its equal easily in primal, almost curious wickedness.



It was exceedingly familiar, and he slowly brought his pistols to bear, thinking back to having loaded them with blessed silver bullets, which would make absolutely no difference whatsoever, if he was right, and he didn't particularly want to be right, not this time, because...



He turned.


Oh. How...-terribly- unexpected...



Vladislaus lightly leaned against the trunk of the tree, it's shade obscuring him from the moon. Oh, Gabriel, Gabriel, Gabriel...even without the were venom, his senses were as sharp as he could make them. Even now, he was gazing -directly- towards him...his rugged, ungroomed features, the swooping paranoid eyes--how he knows you, Gabriel!



All his misery seemed to have lifted in this very moment. How he -hated- him...and how glorious this situation had become.



In an instant, Vladislaus shadowed to a second tree, rustled leaves in his wake. He could have easily -avoided- this, but where's the fun in that.


It wasn't his imagination. Couldn't be. Something was there, but it was impossible that it was--.. couldn't be, but it had to be.



Tonight was shaping up to be very unpleasant.



He cocked one of the pistols, just the righthand one, an empty threat--a bluff, nothing more. An owl wouldn't know what it was--a wolf wouldn't care--but a human adversary would recognise the challenge. And so would he.



Vladislaus tilted his head, infinitely amused by his prowess as a hunter. Gabriel either -knew- what--or who--it was...or, as the case would most likely be, he simply wanted to get something of an upper hand on whatever creature was taunting him by flashing one of his ever-present guns.



Either way. Typical Van Helsing behavior.



His silent form floated behind the hunter--he could almost -taste- him in the air--he briefly touched loose strands of his hair, and once again disappeared into the trees. The Count was far too entertained.


Gabriel whipped around; his reflexes, after all, were only human, and offered him nothing but the dark and brooding shadow of a tomb. Mentally, as best he could, he ran through his options. It didn't take long.



It was fight, or flee, or surrender. Surrender was out of the question, and the Count - he was almost entirely sure it was he - was too quick to allow for flight, unless Van Helsing could distract him, and that meant fighting.



At least he was good at fighting.



He hopped up onto one of the longer stone table tombs, eyes scanning the darkness intently. Even with the aid of the evil sense that drifted like smoke about his mind, he knew he'd only see it coming if Dracula wanted him to.



"Afraid?"


He was so very unnerved, his Angel. One would think he would be -used- to this by now...Vladislaus laughed. He laughed, and it echoed off the tombs, obscuring his location. He probably planned for it. Suppose it was time to throw him something of a bone...



Lightly folding his hands behind his back, he silently paced the branch he currectly occupied.



"Can't stand it, can you, Gabriel...so vunerable...never being in control? Hm?"




The Hunter's face became completely impassive. This, above anything else, was a sure sign that he was struggling to control his emotions inwardly, trying not to show surprise... but for a man who could hear heartbeats, a simple skip could, and likely did, betray him. It was him.



And Van Helsing struggled with a curious kind of relief, mingled in with the frustration, the incredulous anger that he hadn't just stayed dead, that he was making him face this, again. That he might haunt him for the rest of his days..



But he remembered him, this time.



"You did this, Dracula?" He hesitated, still holding off from firing, "Brought me here? Why?"



Oh, there. There it was---it was small, and easily ignored, but Vladislaus savored it. A gentle hiccup in his heartbeat. No matter what happened between them, Gabriel -still- felt a tinge of worry...something strong enough to change his heart.



And then, came his voice. THEN came his question. Vladislaus paused, cold and silent. Why? had HE brought him? There was a moment Vladislaus stared off into nothingness. Once -again-, his Angel suffered a curious case of amnesia. He could just spit.



There was a mirthless chuckle, as Vladislaus shadowed to a different tree, just to see him from another angle. The chuckle grew into a laugh. A laugh into wild cackling. Empty, hysterical and unnerving. When it finally ceased, Vladislaus crouched on his branch, glaring at his prey through the leaves.



"Believe me, my dearest Gabriel, of all the places I could deliver you, -this- is not one."


The ensuing silence couldn't possibly have been long enough to collect his thoughts. A diabolical situation, and the ever-arrogant, ever-commanding Vladislaus Dracula was not behind it?



He wanted to dismiss the vampire as a liar, but the one thing Dracula had never done was lie to him, and even begrudgingly, he could give the Count that. Besides, Dracula would have been eager to take credit for the effortless capture.



He scowled. Nothing angered him more quickly than having no one to blame... save perhaps Dracula having the upper hand. That was frustrating to the extreme.



"You've got a bad habit of not staying dead," he muttered.


"Just as it's so difficult to kill -you-. Uncanny, isn't it. "



He contemplated his neck. Covered and hidden, the Count could still see the pulsing vein through the cloth and skin. Or, perhaps, he only -wanted- to see it. Killing him seemed like such a good idea at the moment...even if he wouldn't stay dead, it would still feel rather good for the first few hours afterwards.



"You have...such a poor memory, Gabriel. I tire of it....tell me something..my Angel...do you truly wish to never remember, or are you merely afraid of what you will find."



Gabriel's reply was a grunt, inarticulate, disinterested--although he filed the thought away for later pondering. Dracula was very good at throwing him off balance, just when he should be thinking of something else. He couldn't tell if the bastard did it on purpose, or if it was part-and-parcel of the Count's nature.



He forced himself to consider the second question, even as he stepped down off the grave and started to walk towards where he thought the vampire's voice was coming from. No use firing blind, but if he could get closer... He didn't plan any further than that, but he would make Dracula regret taunting him like that.



"I don't trust you," He said, blandly, "And I am not that man any more, Dracula."


"Hardly -man-, Gabriel, do keep up." There was a light smirk in his words, as Van Helsing came closer. Very good, hunter, very good...



"You try so very hard, Gabriel...but you still dream, don't you. You still wonder, your..curiosity...overrides whatever you think you feel in light of me. Doesn't it."



The Count couldn't really understand why he felt so..elated. Even if he had lost his memory, again, there was something just so very amusing about this entire situation. About Van Helsing and himself. His lonliness forgotten. He could almost -thank- him...while quietly biting out his throat...



The Hunter's attention flickered from the words, trying to filter them as noise, trying to dismiss them; as before, this tack never worked well enough for his liking. Dreams... Dracula knowing things that only a confidant would know. But there was a price; there was always a price with men like him--monsters like him--and it was usually in blood.



"Depends," He said mildly, "Seems like you only speak in riddles anyway."



Close enough. He stopped, eyes scanning the trees, and then in a moment, took aim and fired thrice in quick succession.


There was a split second for the Count to sigh. Honestly, wouldn't he learn? Vladislaus was quick enough to dodge them, though he allowed one of his bullets to catch him in the arm. Silver, of course, and equally blessed as a cross might have been. Gabriel did not get points for creativity.



He moved from the tree to a headstone behind his ever paranoid angel. Head tilted, he watched his back. He allowed the silence to sink into the air before speaking again.



"Really, Van Helsing..." When annoyed with his precious fallen, his surname is used. Vladislaus lifted a hand, the burning bullet traveling through the skin and appearing in his palm.



"Here we are, having a civil conversation..." He moved the bullet to his thumb and forefinger, a light smoke rising from his burning fingertips. "Manners, manners, manners..."


The Hunter didn't turn immediately - his composure was a spiderweb's thickness as it was, and he was fighting to keep some semblance of control. There was a very real possibility he'd die, or so he had told himself, but he'd not give Dracula the satisfaction of knowing he knew how hopeless it was.



He finally consented to look over his shoulder, taking note of the bullet and its ineffective holiness. Silent testament to Dracula's inhumanity, despite the veneer of polite and noble gentleman.



"You're playing games," Van Helsing couldn't help but take the bait, and then turned fully, "I want answers."


"Then ask your questions." He sharply tossed the bullet at Gabriel's feet. "I might feel generous."



Cat and mouse was the game, and needless to say, the Count was rather good at it. He wanted to render him helpless, -now-, but...good things come to those who wait. After all, Gabriel consented to a little banter, in the midst of bullets and blood.



He could wait. It could prove amusing.



No motion came from Van Helsing for a number of seconds; he seemed to be contemplating the bullet. His options remained fight, flight, surrender, but none of them were particularly appropriate. There was talking, but the smarmy Count was always so frustrating, always so damnedably in the know. He took Gabriel's certainty and dashed it to the floor - and the certainty of the amnesiac was tentative to begin with.



"What is this place?" He clearly begrudged the question regardless of the answer - his hatbrim obscured most of his face, but for his mouth, which was set in an unhappy frown, "...how did you come to be here?"

Vladislaus couldn't help a smile. A grim, thin smile, that could, at any given moment, change into a sinister grin.



"This place, my dear Angel...is called The City." He gently paced from one headstone to the next, as if stepping on clouds. "Aptly named, mm? It is, as I have been told, nowhere in any given universe. Ruled by deities--not unlike the God you so serve--, and governed by curses. The -ticking-, you might have noticed...well, I'll let you find that out for yourself."



The Count perched atop a cross-shaped headstone, light and graceful, like the very air.



"As for your second question.." He shrugged, ever innocent. "The same as you. The City takes you. And it will not let you go."


The gloved hand tightened into a fist. Van Helsing didn't like what he was hearing, or the manner in which it was being told him - but it was a step above Vladislaus's usual cryptic metaphors. Perhaps he wanted to see just how the Hunter used the information given, so that he could delight in watching him run about like a mouse in a maze with no exit.



"I don't know a God cruel enough to put me here with you," he ground out. He knew it was childish, and infantile, and asking for a fight, but dammit, why did Dracula always get to things before him? Just once...


"I do." If only he knew how cruel his God could be. The Count would gladly -tell- him...but deaf ears are never worth speaking to. Not even his.



"But it is not only -I- that inhabits this...dark, dangerous place. I would take care with whom you fix your aim upon, Gabriel...You should know full well what it means to be a man within the monster...and the joy of pets."


The expression this time was plain: a man struggling not to lunge, and stricken by flabbergasted silence. The restraint lasted him all of five seconds. Monster! Who was this blood drinking fiend to dare talk about him--about Anna--Velkan.. Jekyll... hundreds of unnamed souls that haunted him nightly, telling him, oh, yes, he was just like the things he stalked.



All this passed in the blink of an eye, one or two sparking neurons, and an incoherent cry of rage as Van Helsing's boot slipped, twisting against a root for a brace, and leapt up at the Count, arms outstretched. It was notable that he didn't go for any weapons, regardless of their ineffectuality. All he really wanted was a solid body beneath a pair of fists, and to forget a while.


Now, in all honestly, he wasn't prepared for this. He felt the jump of Van Helsing's heart, the quickening breath--but even the Prince of Night can suffer shock here and there. A quip maybe, an non-committal grunt, a small lapse of silence--but the body hurdling towards him hadn't really crossed his mind.



It was enough of a surprise to knock the count onto his back. His reflexes quickly returned, and effortlessly forced Gabriel's body beneath his own. His hands gripped the sleeved arms, straddling the hunter quite securely. A precarious situation in the very least....He tilted his head, and smiled.



"Temperamental Angel...


At times like these he felt less like a person and more like a weapon, just a streak of anger and pain-making mindlessness. Of course, a few moments later, the red had left his vision and he was lying on his back over someone's grave, possibly soon to be his own, looking up at the Count with an expression of defiant anger.



"Don't call me a monster," He managed, inane from his position, "I won't hear it from you."



He didn't offer any great resistance, knowing the vampire's strength was immense, and only squirmed to try to free something in his coat from digging into his back.

"Ah, yes...all the Hells forbid I do such a thing...though, my dear Gabriel, I seem to notice you are without the monstrosity that plagued your vicariously pumping veins when we last met. Pity....mortality keeps you so weak..."



He had only glanced at this face before. When they had been close, that first meeting...he had only seen it, for a number of seconds, and once again at the ice fortress, in mid-change between man and beast. His mangled face, in a flash of sharp teeth. Vladislaus found himself just..gazing down at the face he knew so well. He hadn't truly looked at him, since he had died...and that ever-present sadness and loathing was apparent in his eyes. He might as -well- have been a monster, as far as he was concerned.

Gabriel snorted, cold, visible breath in the air, and growled up at him, though it lacked heart. The anger was already ebbing... Dracula was right, dammit. Van Helsing had killed the princess--and her brother--in different forms, at different times.. he had no excuses.



"I am what I am." And it sounded hollow even to him.



Dracula's face was familiar to him only as that which had unleashed demonic hell in pygmy form onto a village of helpless people, the face that had used the Frankenstein's monster mercilessly to that end. The face that looked far softer out of sepia toned tableaus projected onto the Vatican's walls... The thought persisted: unlike the church, Dracula had never lied.



"Get off." He said levelly.


The Count merely stared on at him. He was considering...well, a world of things. It was -amusing- Van Helsing was still trying to have some sort of upper hand, even ordering to be released. He had not had Gabriel under such control since that...blasted hand-cuff curse. Which reminded him, the absence of his ring for a second time...



Vladislaus leeaaaned deeply into his Angel's face, seeing eye-to-eye quite literally. Merely a breath away...the man's heart, his blood, they were pounding in his ears. He could nearly remember the feeling of his own, as close as he was to Gabriel's.



"I answer to no one...Gabriel..."


His breathing slowed, as he looked up into those onyx eyes, the ones that blazed like the underside of an ocean's wave when he was well and truly angry. Cat and mouse, indeed, but so long as Van Helsing was alive, he would not cower, even pinned under a paw.



Gallows humour came to his aid, as it had from long, long practice.



"Do you take requests?"

He smiled. It could have been affectionate. The same way a scorpion mother might gaze upon a sickly baby, moments before devouring it. His fangs lengthened as he spoke, breathing cold air onto his mouth



"...Really, Gabriel...you're such a simple creature...if only you knew how...complex one could be."



Time could have frozen, really, the long agonizing seconds Vladislaus took to tear his gaze from him. In one swift action, the Count lifted his enemy from the ground by his shoulders and sent him flying into a nearby tomb. He took a moment to lightly adjust a stray strand of his hair and advanced on him again.


Van Helsing didn't fully realise what was happening until it was much too late to prevent it; he tried in some respect to balance his weight out, and came half an inch from braining himself on a stone wall. Even as it was, his shoulders collided forcefully enough to knock the wind from his lungs for a few seconds. He struggled to move, tried to find the strength to get up. Dracula was strong. Van Helsing kept forgetting exactly how strong, and one of these days it would cost him more than an embarrassing landing.



He found a retractable cross--useless, his ongoing mental soliloquy added helpfully--and rose, bracing himself against the back wall briefly, and then starting forward. To the right and the left of him, sightless skeletons observed his passing with dusty sockets, and he found himself smiling faintly. This was something he understood, at least. Less than Dracula's mysterious looks and unusual turns of phrase.



"Glad we got that out of the way," He breathed.

Vladislaus very nearly tip-toed around the rubble, crossing his legs in an almost carefree way as he walked.



"Precarious postion you have yourself in, Gabriel...and this time, you are without unnatural assistance..."



He gently tugged on the cuff of one sleeve, smoothing the non-existent fabric, heading silently into the darkness. Another game, in another place. The putrid smell of death wafting from the catacombs...he quietly wondered to himself, his thoughs straying from Van Helsing for only an instant--if there is no -death- in the City...then why are there these remains, these brittle rotting bones...


The Hunter took a moment, pausing at the entrance of a stairwell that seemed to lead deeper down, underground. He didn't know whether it would be better to remain where he was, or to head deeper down, into cramped quarters where the Count's satanic alter-form would have more difficulty maneuvering. He didn't fancy the thought of being trapped in the dark with Dracula at all, but he preferred it to being out in the open with the HellBeast bearing down on him.



"I don't need help," Van Helsing retorted, returning the cross to a hook inside his jacketsleeve and snagging a torch from the wall, before bolting down the stairs two at a time, fumbling in his coat for a light.



It was clumsy. The whole plan that was forming in bits and pieces in his mind was clumsy. But on the other hand, he didn't have any better ideas.


So, he has decided to go -down-.



Gabriel wasn't a champion of deep thought...venturing further into the darkness, the winding stone, there was little chance of him turning the tides on the Count. Of course...if anything, his fallen was resourceful. Irrational, but resourceful. Vladislaus gazed down the darkened stairwell, folding his arms behind his back. He was prepared for an array of flying weapons, anything the hunter could get his hands on.



"One could beg to differ, my Angel..."



His descent was silent, not a breath of noise.



This was a desperate compromise, and Gabriel knew it. He lit the torch, thrusting it forth in the dark, and let his gaze play over the catacombs, running one hand along the wall to his right. No magically convenient vials of werewolf venom presented themselves, and even if they had, he would be disinclined to take them. No use temporarily killing the Count and then having the beast kill untold numbers of people...



But he wasn't planning so much as he was fleeing, and that was troubling.



Even more troubling was that the corridor he was running down terminated quite abruptly in front of him.



"Wonderful," He murmured, looking around and then slotting the torch into the eyesocket of a skull sticking out from the wall, "A dead end."



He began to rummage in the depths of his coat for something...anything.


There was a flickering light, disappearing down one of the many ducts. An orange glow, a beacon, to guide him. Honestly, it was like cornering a frightened animal...with an array of weapons. Eventually, Gabriel would back himself into a crevice, with no hope of escape...a short game, but no less fun.



"Always running...always hiding--even when you fight, Gabriel, you -hide-. You lock away whatever empathy that keeps you from doing your jobs...after all, what would happen if you felt for every creature you -hunted-..."


Breathe, Van Helsing. He told himself. Crossbow. No, and in the enclosed space it was just as likely to misfire on him as it was to mildly annoy Dracula. The pistols were out, and with them followed the Tojos. All the silver, diamond-edged blades or holy-water drenched weaponry in the world wouldn't stop the Count; it was like something stronger kept him going. Something that transcended "unholiness" and made it look almost petty by comparison.





He pressed his back to the wall, feeling bones among the dirt, and, at the words echoing down from the hall in front of himself, promptly forgot the plan, pathetic as it was. Empathy?



"You don't know me," He responded, pitching his voice that Dracula would hear, "They didn't deserve mercy."



There'd be no getting out of this corridor alive, unless he could learn to pass through solid earth.


He had to laugh...even with Van Helsing's abnormally calm heartbeat, he could sense his fear. He could hear his forced breathing, he could smell is sweat. Didn't know him? One had to -wonder-. Vladislaus took his time, pacing down the corridor with leisure, watching the glowing light grow stronger. It seems Gabriel had already hit a wall. Pity.



"Oh, didn't they...even with your brief stint as a creature of night, my precious Left Hand, you have..yet to understand what it is to be monsterous. What it is to have mercy..our mercy...of course, who am I, Gabriel, but a heartless, soulless beast?"



He gestured violently, his tone growing more fierce.



"Who am I, but a faceless behemouth, a depraved villain, one of the MANY damned, bound to wander the earth and feed on FLESH AND BLOOD, for all of eternity?! Who am I to YOU, oh, great murderer, great hellion Hunter, but another notch, after so many before me?"



He rounded a bend, the torch in sight.



"Who am I, Gabriel."


Even prepared to see Dracula, the figure in the severely cut, almost-militarily styled jacket made him catch his breath and reconsider again. Even if he couldn't kill him, he could go down fighting...



But there'd be no sense in that.



His mouth worked a moment. He'd wanted to say, "Evil, you're evil," but the sense that brought such brief elation to the fore when he'd closed with a man like Hyde was not present now. Oh, it still hung about Vlad like candle smoke, but the wick was no longer burning with it; it no longer blazed forth from him as he would expect from a man called the Son of the Devil.



He swallowed. This was confusion beyond the pale, beyond waking in a graveyard, beyond being told by what he'd assumed to be just another vampire about his own mind and his own past, and actions he couldn't recall.



He took up the torch - it would serve just as well as any other weapon he had, and he wanted the light.



"I don't know," He admitted, "If I can believe you, I've killed you twice, but the second time you'd left me no choice." That, at least, was the truth, as he'd seen it. "But you're not just another monster."



He raised his eyes above the flame to risk a glance at the vampire, "Or you'd've killed me and been done with it."


Vladislaus stayed where he was. The warm flickering torch hung just below the gaze of the other, and he locked eyes, if only for a moment. He could -see- the dark nearly absent freckles there, about the deep irises. It wasn't often Gabriel gave him pause. Had he been the hopeful sort, the Count would have searched for the long dead recognition in those eyes.



His well of hope had long dried in Hell.



"...Very good, Angel...your running has come to an end." And so begins his silent path down the dimly lit cavern. "...but..will you turn, to see what you left in yourb wake. Now we will see..if you learn to listen."

Gabriel had reconciled the idea of dying long ago; in a job like his, he was reminded of it every day. He lived for the thrill, for the last second rescues, for the defiance in the face of near-insurmountable odds.



This was different.



This was a situation caused by his carelessness. It never should have happened. He hadn't even been protecting anyone.



He lowered the torch to his side, and wordlessly tossed the retractable cross in his other hand to one side. If he'd had a head for metaphor, he might not have been so quick to do so, but he was far from the walls of the Vatican City.



"I'm listening."


It wasn't something he'd expected. He waited for a ploy, a gunshot, a stake to come flying, as he came ever closer, but...nothing did. He mused on the cross. How many of those wretched things did he own.



He stopped. Mere feet away. His face was considerably unreadible, something of his own defense, when he..was unsure. If not unsure, then cautious. So close. And all too far away.



"..There is a difference between hearing...and listening. " He gently tilted his head, a light knowing sneer on his lips. "You have not listened a single day in your mortal life."



He gestured meaningfully. "What makes you so ready now."


Amusement. Dracula was a man of endless amusement. Van Helsing watched him quietly a moment, considering, and then shrugged.


"I'm not a werewolf. You're not killing anyone. I don't have a reason to hurt you."


Save for generic and acute annoyance, but Van Helsing never used that as an excuse. Nor did he say "kill"; currently, the hunter wasn't kidding himself, with regards to his options--or lack thereof.

"Hurt me. Of course not." Oh, most certainly, he didn't have reason right -now-. He could very happily argue his motivations four-hundred years ago, but...one needs a memory to -argue-.



"Are you afraid, Van Helsing. Do you fear the dreams in battle, your--mammoth scars...what you left behind." He gestured lightly. "An identity you're no longer allowed...but is this one any better, you wonder. Hm. You are the creator of that which plagues you, Van Helsing. It was you."

He tipped his hat ironically at the former, not missing the tone, for a change. Perhaps Vladislaus was angry about the initial shooting... Well, he'd been worried, and lost, and taunted. Dracula had asked for that!



"Then I'll accept those consequences," He said, much more calmly than he felt. He took a step forward; Dracula was always the one to close the distances, and Van Helsing was feeling the strain of having a wall at his back much too acutely.


The Count had long learned to control his temper. Not very -well-, but at least he made a small effort. He could have ripped him open, spilling his intestine. He could have picked his skull apart, with his very nails. There was a distinct growl, one of his hands lifting, and quickly forming a fist, lest an enlongated claw finds itself imbedded in someone's neck. There was no point in attacking him now. If you scare an animal when they've only just started to trust you, they will never come back again.



"Will you." It was all he could do. "Guiltless, blameless vagabond-- I am your consequence!"


At the growl, Van Helsing froze, as a man hearing the ice groan under him might. He didn't know what he was doing--all he knew was that he wasn't dead, so it had to be working.



"You made your own choice to sell your soul," He said carefully, "unless they lied about that, too."


The fist lowered, another humourless laugh floating through the air. He looked upwards, as the sky was far, far above them, through the stone and mud.



"They. Your precious Vatican...that single scrap of information may be the only truth they have held to you, Gabriel." He turned his eyes to him again. "My soul has long been bartered....but it was you who who delivered me to him. It was you, who murdered me--it was you whom I have to thank for endless suffering...only you."


Silence followed. Van Helsing was not a wordy man to begin with, and he struggled to find some retort. He couldn't. He had no memories to fall back on; no original perspective of the event, and the Church had told him nothing of his true history with Dracula.



"If that is true.." He paused, helplessly. "Then you are right to hate me as you do. But I can't feel sorry for something I don't remember."


"...So taxing...it must be, Gabriel, to be as you are...what and who you are...so weighty, to be without what you have done--"



He couldn't contain himself now. He forced the hunter against the wall, one strong hand upon his chest, the other against the stone and grime. His face very nearly distorted in his anger, near transforming, and still strangely holding back.



"To FORGET ALL YOU HAVE KNOWN! Resolved and BLANK, clean as God's fingers!! And I DAMN you, Gabriel! I damn YOU and you CONVICTION!"



Stone scattered across the cavern, a dusty foul cloud forming around them. It was all he could do, really, to keep from spilling his blood. The claws had only just grazed his face, digging into rock and mud instead of flesh.

The hunter didn't flinch, but his heartbeat surged in response to the desire to regain some control over the situation. Conviction! From the time he'd first met--well, second met--the vampire to now, he'd been as unsure of everything as he'd ever been before. Rudderless, without a guide--without a past, and without the humility needed to ask for it back.

"It hurts you that much," He said, evenly, reaching up one handedly to touch the vampire's wrist. His other hand was reaching into one of his coat's many pockets for a stake, "Why? No one else to share in your pain?"

His eyes narrowed at the Hunter, in the quickly settling dust. He hated him. He hated him, with a passion--and that was just it, he felt -passionately- for him, like a raging blue fire, wanting to engulf him and erase him forever.

And yet...he didn't want him gone. Not now. Not ever.

It was startling, how split his needs were...

"..Never share...only recognize."

Van Helsing felt for a moment as though he were walking a tightrope, one side tied to his past, and the vampire's foot on the other, teasing. He hated the feeling. It turned the world into a quick panic response, into a game of who-has-control, a scrabble for security.

He only knew one way to amend the feeling.

His fingers curled around the stake, and he whipped it out and plunged it into the vampire's chest. He knew full well it wouldn't kill the creature--this time, at least--but... and God help him... it felt good.

There was an initial grunt as the silver thing was shoved through his rib-cage. Honestly. Honestly.

Vladislaus gave Gabriel a distinct disdainful look. He removed his hand from his chest and lightly steped away, taking hold of the stake.

"Pefectly..." He yanked it from his body, the hole cleanly closing. "--Uncalled for."

The Hunter felt better with boots on the floor, but not too much better. He noted the vampire's annoyance was minimal, and wondered if it even hurt, just a tad. Just a little?

"So was this whole conversation." He spoke flatly, the way he'd petulantly address the Cardinal, "I'm going home." Wherever home was, from here..


He toyed with the stake, turning it over in his hands. He was like a child. Just as rebellious, just as...difficult. A large, insufferably violent child. He smiled. A cruel, ill-wishing smile, one Gabriel often drew from him, simply by breathing.

"Home, Van Helsing." He gently tilted his head. "There is no home for a wanderer."


"Home is anywhere away from you," Van Helsing retorted stiffly, starting down the corridor. He'd dropped the torch, and he'd be wandering in the dark, but he didn't care. He burned with the dissatisfaction of a job poorly done, and a growing worry that he was in well over his head.


As the flickering flame started to die, Vladislaus stayed where he was. He had no need to run for safety, no need to leave this dark place that was rank with the stench of death. He watched the retreating form of his enemy, his angel, his former friend. He spoke, enough for his voice to carry, but..it wasn't meant to be heard...not by the man he was now.

"What is that saying...'Home...is where the heart is.' And where does your heart truly lie, my Gabriel. Where indeed."