milliways_bar | (no subject)

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van helsing

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Van Helsing rests on the bed, Mother curled up against him, one of his arms around her back, the other folded behind his head.

One small lamp on a table provides the only illumination in the room, casting a pale yellow glow toward the bed.

He kisses her forehead and studies the shadows of her face in the dim light; reaching down with the hand that was behind his head to gently trace the lines of her features.

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She smiles a bit, and runs a questioning finger over a set of scars.

He looks down at his chest where her fingers are tracing and takes a deep breath. "Werewolf bite," he says simply, as though that would be all the explanation needed; knowing that it's not.

An eyebrow raises and she waits

He strokes her hair, wondering if she knows the stories of what happens when one is bitten by a werewolf.

She has no clue, and no way to tell him that without moving. So she waits.

Another deep breath. "Guess there aren't any werewolves in the extremely distant future." He wanted that to be light, humorous, but it didn't work. He kisses her forehead again and explains: "Traditionally, when one is bitten by a werewolf, one is then cursed to become such a creature by the light of the full moon." He stares at the ceiling as he speaks.

She nods, and waits for him to continue, tracing the scars slowly.

"Being a werewolf, especially in my time, is a bad thing. Werewolves kill without mercy, without conscience. The man may or may not remember what has happened, but knowing what is possible wears on the conscious mind. Pouring guilt into one's soul. Or that is how I saw it in Velkan, Anna's brother, moments before he tore at my flesh and I fired a silver bullet into his hide."

Limited range of vocal sounds is such a pain. Is she going to have to poke him for every part of the story?

He sighs a little. "There's more, yes. The curse of the werewolf is incurable - or so we thought. Somehow, Dracula found a cure. We - Anna, Carl, myself - went to Dracula's castle to find a captured friend and this cure." He is walking through the story, avoiding all points of contact with his emotional turmoil during the entire ordeal - focus on the job and the emotions don't matter.

She raises her eyebrow again. There is a long streach of difference between focusing on the job and being an idiot about emotion. However, its his deal if he wants to keep it all in.

"Carl had figured out that the only way to kill Dracula was to find a werewolf strong enough to fight the mental control Dracula seemed to have over such creatures, that could also fight Dracula. This is where the unfortunate werewolf bite became an asset. But, impeccable timing was also crucial. If Anna and Carl did not find the antidote before the twelfth stroke of midnight, there would be no possibility of a cure, whether Dracula was dead or not." One hand is still stroking her hair, he moves the other to trace invisible lines over her arm - at least giving him something else to focus on while he talks, his hands were getting fidgety.

As always, she is quietly listening. This is far outside her expertise, but it seems that he should talk about it.

"Dracula, pompous ass that he is, gloats and prances around, taunting. Doesn't work. Of course, the wolf is only present in the actual light of the full moon. If the moon is hidden, there is no wolf, which makes the fight a bit more daunting. But I was there to destroy this vampire and I would either destroy him or die trying."

She nods again, and tucks her head against his chest as she continues to trace scars.

"There is a strength, a power, a rush when the wolf takes over. Only felt for a moment, but it's there and almost missed when it's gone." The tiniest bit of emotion slides into the story as he speaks. "The fight was fueled by rage - at the death of innocents, at the kidnapping of a friend for use in his experiments. Dracula was taking a life to give his evil spawn life," his voice is taking a harsh tone, angry. "I could not allow that. One wrong move was all it took and I tore out his throat," his only reference to himself as the wolf and not the wolf as a separate being that was not a part of him.

She nods again, imagining as best she can the fight.

"I don't remember much after that, except suddenly not being the wolf, not feeling the wolf and holding Anna's lifeless body in my arms beneath the seemingly too bright light of the full moon through the turret window." He sighs, closes his eyes and rests his head against hers.

She pushes his hair back and sighs softly.

He slides his arms around her, holding her close, feeling her near. It's comforting, since he can't speak now, his voice caught at the hitch in his throat. Talking about Anna and the wolf was cathartic, but not enough - he left pieces out - important pieces.

A soft sigh and she shifts to rest his head against her chest. Just being comforting.

Tilts his head a bit and kisses her neck. Then takes a deep breath. "Carl is the only other person who knows that I killed Anna. The fact that I was a vicious werewolf at the time is irrelevent. She saved me - injected the antidote and died for it," he admits softly, nervously stroking his fingers along her side to her hip and back to her shoulder.

She nods again, and cups his cheek in her hand. People die. Its a fact of war. Stressing about it won't bring them back. Amoral? perhaps.

He shakes his head. "I was there to save her. Help her family. She wasn't supposed to die. Not then and not by my hand."

A small sound, not even enough to be a mumble. She can't connect with the pain. She's sorry that he's putting himself through it.