TITLE: Sanguine, My Brother
This must be someone else's dream.
This thought pervaded firmly, like a parade of elephants, crowding inside his skull. His Last Domain, his great coffin, seemed so far away from his mind. He knew that is where his body slept, but of what did his vampiric mind dream? He always dreamed. He always remembered.
But he had not been to this place before. It was a city burdened by the weight of monsters. Demons pillaged and raped everywhere among ruined shells of buildings, copulating with wild, passionate abandon with anything they can find, devouring humans and each other in their race to gain power. It was a disgusting dream. Vampires rarely did dream about anything specific, but almost always recollected their worst (or perhaps best) memories in their day sleep. He did not remember this place at all. So, he realized, this must be someone else's dream.
Bemused, he waited for his status as just a floating observer to change, or night to fall, or for something monumentous to gain his attention. He noticed nothing above the usual activity for awhile. The black shackles of sleep began to loosen, and the vision darken. Light trickled in, and he firmly rooted himself back into the room, staring, forcing his field of sight to expand and include that little flicker. A gateway? A door was opening on the rooftop of a tall, immeasurably wide building. But there were no walls, and no door. Just an enormous glistening rectangle of white; so white that he felt his dream-eyes aching. A figure garbed in red was passing through it. Then the rectangle slammed shut, swallowing the figure, leaving Alucard extraordinarily breathless.
The dream faltered, jarred from the vision, and then the ordinary things began to filter in. He lost the control he had in that bizarre vision, and let the familiar memories of his past wash over him.
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This must be somebody else's dream.
His boots clicking on cobbled London streets, he gave a cursory look around himself at the clean shop windows and well-dressed individuals in business suits and citizens in street clothes. Just as he stared at them, they stared back. He was not exactly dressed for this kinda weather, bein' cold and all. It was freezing as hell and he could see his breath, and he was not exactly dressed for layers. What's more, that tell-tale tickle at the back of his neck that bothered him at all times was gone. That meant no demons. And no demons meant he had to be dreaming. There would always be demons; if there weren't, just what the hell was he good for? How was he gonna make a living? What was he going to do?
This had to be a dream. Yep, couldn't be no other way.
The longer he walked, the more streets he saw. And in every street he kept getting weird looks. Eventually he had to cross his arms over his chest, then button his jacket to keep his skin from turning red from chill. He gave a little nod at a driver before he jogged across the street, his unusual white hair spiking slightly. Jeez, these people acted like they had never seen a sword before!
There was a magazine stand waiting there. He picked up a paper, staring at the cover. He read the words quietly to himself. The paper for was a city called London, and he realized that everywhere around him people's words sounded strange, clipped, and almost musical. Dropping the paper back onto the stack with its brothers, he wandered to the corner, and stood there, staring up at the clear blue sky, his blue eyes catching the light of an alien sun.
What the hell? I just stepped through that door. I didn't realize it would take me somewhere else.
SHIT! It was a trap! I can't go back now, I can't go back and fight demons, or save anyone... Shit!!
"Uh, excuse me? Watch your language, if you please, sir!" The magazine seller looked at him, disgruntled. He was a pot-bellied fellow who wore a deep blue jacket, jeans, and a pair of thick glasses.
The devil hunter Dante looked up, realizing he had exploded in curses right there on the street. A little girl in a school uniform blinked up at him, her disgruntled mother holding hands over her ears. "What'd he say, mama? Mister, you have a cool sword!"
"Yeah," he replied, rubbing the back of his head. "Real smashin', kid."
"Can I have it?" the girl stepped up onto the curb, much to her mother's great fluster.
Dante looked down at her, indecision and embarassment coloring his cheeks pink. "Uh."
"Can I? Please?"
"Serena, come on now!" The mother, whose dark hair and large, intelligent eyes, seized her daughter by her jacket, pulling her back into the safe circle of her presence. "You there, d-don't come any closer!"
"But mama--"
"Lady, you can relax." Dante frowned at her. "I ain't no sicko. I'm just new here."
"Sword," the girl whimpered, stretching her hand out. She grabbed his jacket and pulled on it. Dante gently detangled her mittens from his jacket buckle.
"Uh. Er, c'mon now, cut it out, hey? I gotta wear this."
"SWORD!!" she squealed, wriggling against her mother's tenacious hold.
"Oh, for heaven's sake!" the woman cried, releasing her daughter. "Please don't let her hurt herself!"
Dante grinned, and slid his sword down so she could touch the handle. It was a heavy, lethal looking weapon, a work of art as well as warfare. He didn't really think much about that kind of stuff, so he was kind of flattered when people offered to look at his sword, and appreciate it. "You done, kiddo?"
"Yeah. It's real cool!"
The smug-looking half-devil gave his unbidden accomplice a little grin, tousling her hair before he straightened. "You should listen to your mom and do what she tells ya, alright?"
"Okay." With a cuteness that only children possessed, she sidled back up to her mother's side, took her hand, and together they crossed the street. The woman looked over her shoulder more than once, and quite possibly scolding her daughter with promises of punishment and nights without dinner.
Dante wrinkled his nose and grinned. And then he chuckled. "Well, well. This place is fulla ordinary, boring people. What a drag." He crossed the other street, into an unsettling darkness. His cash was exchanged for the currency in question in a building that smelled too clean and whose employees were youngish homely women with bobbed haircuts and clean, fair skin. The sun was setting when he bought himself the only place he knew would take him in. It was a seedy little place that must have doubled for a brothel. In the tiny room with a sink on one wall, he stared at the bed, then took the pillow, fluffed it up, and took up a spot on the brown, questionably stained carpet.
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Walter C. Dornez perused the paperwork that Integra had left behind while she retired to stave off a growing migraine. It was freezing outside, promising snow if the weather provided. Muted, late autumn light caroused through the tall, colorful windows; the freshly wiped tables glowed. A report fell on top of the stack suddenly, and his monocle flashed in irritation before he noticed that it was one of Hellsing's agents, red-cheeked from the unforgiving England cold. "This just in from the commissioner for Sir Hellsing."
"Another red-light district case?" he sighed, giving the yellow paper a cursory glance over. The movement of vampires in groups was something to contend with. Usually, greater supernatural beings were involved; smaller operations almost always tried to conceal themselves under the guise of some sort of sexual trade or ordinary crime syndicates.
He left the quiet, church stillness of the library with its stained glass windows to pick his way to the gym. The echoes of metal striking metal guided him to the master of the estate. He entered the gym, whose waxed floors were covered with blue mats to protect the handiwork, to the sight of Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing fencing saber-to-saber with a familiar instructor. She wore snug but comfortable fencing wear, her hair bunched up away from her face into a mask. Her fencing instructor was an old friend of the Hellsing family, and while they danced with swords of death, Walter waited patiently with the report in hand. Her body moved fluidly and impossibly, striking and feinting, her skill unparalleled in a single human woman.
When she was through, the male bowed and tugged off his mask. He was a handsome fellow, but through personal experience was notorious for gallivanting the red light district hunting for gentlemen of ill breeding. Walter gave him a cursory nod before he addressed Sir Integra.
"Another report, sir, from Soho."
"Right here in London?" The woman's face twisted into a scowl. She tugged her mask from her face and shook her hair out. She eyeballed the report swiftly, before finding the interesting bits and took her time. Walter stood by, thinking perhaps where Alucard might be so no one need repeat the information found in the report. However, it was more of a way to prepare himself should he want to avoid the vampire at all costs.
He'd been acting fairly odd lately. It was as if he hadn't quite been sleeping well - but that was ridiculous in its own right.
"Walter, fetch Alucard. I'm sure this will just be a matter of cleaning house." Integra's smile was not a kind one. Often Walter wondered whether she caught whatever madness possessed the fickle count; the slaying of vampires was serious business, but it was like a game they played each night that a quarry dashed across Integra's desk.
"Yes, sir." He turned, bowing appropriately, trying to mask the displeasure of waking the unusually lethargic nosferatu.
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Dante had a feeling something was up. Long before he ever shut his eyes, he could feel his skin crawling as if unwanted hands were touching him, cold lips whispering in his ear. It was kind of gross; he liked his ladies warm. When he opened his eyes again, the touches on his skin were hardly imaginary. Their eyes and their faces reminded him of the unwanted attentions of a certain lady... Nevan.
Metal clicked noisily in the muffled space. The ratcheting reload was unmistakable; the women were no stranger to it. Their unresponsive prey swung himself up off the floor and leveled his guns at their pretty faces. "Oho. Twins. But," he grinned, "I think you ladies are in the wrong room. The dressing room's down the hall on the left." He jerked his chin to the door; the creatures - whatever they were (probably vampires, or succubi, whatever) - hissed, their repulsive mouths widening to reveal teeth full of fangs (okay, so they were vampires), leaping for his throat.
With unfaltering speed, he opened fire on his sneaky bed partners without much in the way of hesitation; monsters were monsters, no matter who they were. It was only a matter of whether or not they had any legitimate reason that could otherwise be worked out by, y'know, talking about it.
However, this art of "negotation" was much more physically demanding. Not to mention fun as hell.
The room became a veritable shooting gallery; the vampiresses were fast but there was nowhere they could possibly run, except maybe leave the room. From outside, his window must have looked like as if a strobe light was going off to onlookers were it not for the tell-tale reports of gunfire. The vampiresses screamed their last in their own blood, melting into the floor.
"Tch. All talk." He blew smoke from his guns. "Heh. This place is starting to get interesting fast." With no further commentary, he kicked open his door, arms held out, one barrel down one hallway and the other sighting a figure down at the other. There were not many other people awake at this time of night; the moon was still high, the cold air blowing through the open window in his bedroom, chill on the backs of his legs.
"I don't know who you are," the figure down the hall said, his accent potently native to some Germanic country. "But you will be dead soon, herr gunslinger."
"I wouldn't make a wager on that one, pops. I just wasted your little girls; pretty low if you think a few chicks are gonna get under my skin." Dante cracked his neck, shoulders rolling under his jacket, popping tendons and joints.
"Perhaps you're right. But a few 'chicks' can accomplish much if executed under the right circumstances." The man turned; his eyes were red, and the pulsating power of a vampire rose to claim the room. He wore an antique Third Reich jacket with the swastika band still stitched into it, and his blonde hair was combed back from his face. "You are not like any human I've ever met. You will taste most divine, I think." Laughter thick with the syrupy bloodlust of the undead floated down the corridor toward him.
And then the Nazi vampire was right in his face. Dante kicked out with his leg, knocking him back, bullets raining from the heated muzzles of Ebony and Ivory. On a sidenote, Dante noticed that there was not a sound other than the noises of battle. It was as if no one even stayed here. Just my luck; I walk into the sex parlor of a fucked up vampire Nazi named Hans What's-His-Face, and get--
His cry of pain surprised even him. The vampire was wielding some sort of dual blades, daggers that had just recently cut into him. Using a sword in this small of a space was stupid, unless he planned on tearing the place apart. Oh well; not the first time. The steel felt good in his hands again. With a whoop of sadistic, childish joy, he slashed off a section of wall that crumbled like dust; the vampire's arm flew off, the blade landing with a 'thukk' in a door. It was almost surreal; the vampire howled with pain. "Impossible! You can't possibly be this powerful!"
The half-devil flicked blood off his sword, shouldering it like a baseball bat. "Yeah, I know. I get that a lot; you ready to die now or what?"
The vampire swore at him in German; it sounded less impressive than Dante would have hoped. It was like listening to a guy try to puke and clear his nasal passages at the same time. He rolled his eyes, before taking a blurring lunge forward to remove his head. But before he could arrive, he saw a white hand appear out of nowhere, exploding through the nazi vampire's chest in a spray of bright, crimson blood. Boots scraped carpet, and Dante could only watch as a figure dressed in a crimson Victorian trenchcoat and smoldering red eyes returned his gaze with unmatched hostility.
The stranger seemed bemused; his lips twisted into a maniacal smile that set Dante's nerves ablaze. He was immediately annoyed. "Alright. That was MY vampire, for one thing. You cramp everyone's style like that, pal?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," the stranger sighed, his wide red fedora hiding his eyes. His hair was purest black, and a bit mangy in Dante's honest opinion (though what else could he say about his OWN hair?). Something familiar about the guy's voice set Dante off.
"Hey, you're kind of... familiar." He cocked his head. "Haven't I seen that hat before on some kid's cartoon show or somethin'?"
"I dreamed about you," the stranger said, raising his hand to his lips, and chuckling as Dante watched him nonchalantly lick blood from his fingers. "Though you were much more attractive in that dream."
With a slight saunter, the halfdevil stepped back. "Slow down, cowboy. Tell me your name."
"Alucard. Now... dream-boy. Look behind you."
Dante shook his head, tipping his head to one side. He noted with some disdain with his peripheral vision that the doors of every room had opened, and masses of undead were emerging. "Well, well. We got a party started. What to do?"
"How about you go home, and let me deal with these filth?"
"Uh, no?" Dante turned, sneering at his enemy. "They woke me up out of a sound sleep, groped me in ways I don't wanna be groped, I'm tired and cranky and I wanna knock some heads. You just wait your fucking turn."
The nosferatu grinned a scythe-like smile full of pointed teeth. "Try to stop me... if you can."
And it was on. Dante traded his sword back in for his trusty pistols, spinning them expertly in his deft, calloused hands before ducking in a crouch to fill the bodies of the undead with bullets. To his shock, the crazy bastard in the hat had a set of guns quite like his own, only Dante's were decidedly cooler in his honest opinion. They blazed a bloody path through legions of undead (well, it was a hallway so really, they cleared them out in seconds. When it was over, their guns were hardly smoking before turning them on each other.
In less than a minute, Dante flew out the second story window and landed in the street, his jacket riddled with bullet holes. He stood up, wiping blood from his face, ignoring the group of uniformed soldiers ranging around the building.
His opponent smugly floated down from the very same window, reloading his weapons. "Are you finished?"
Blood spattered from bulletholes littering his body. His jeans were stained an oxblood red, darker red than his jacket. On the snow, the bright droplets steamed in the frigid air. Alucard seemed absolutely unharmed; Dante licked his thumb, grinning ear-to-ear. "My name is Dante."
"I know, Dante." Alucard smirked, his obscene tongue slurping the blood from the muzzle of his gun. His weapons were steaming. "Aren't you the least bit curious about what happened in my dream?"
"Nope."
"We're still dreaming, you know." Alucard looked around. Then he raised his weapon and shot one of the uniformed gentleman between the eyes. Their was a gout of blood and a groan, and the man fell to the ground dead. "I couldn't have done that, you see, if this was reality."
"What the he--" Dante stared, blinking. "What do you suppose we do?"
The vampire crossed his arms over his chest, his guns disappearing under his trenchcoat. "I suppose I must wake myself. I have been dreaming for many hours into the night now. Walter and Integra must be beside themselves trying to rouse me."
Dante realized that his bleeding had slowed. He was not really weakened in the least bit, and with a sigh, he sat down. The rest of the uniformed men seemed frozen statues, unmoving and totally unresponsive to the death of their fallen comrade. Dante, on a whim, walked over to one of the frozen men and, with a slight smirk, pushed one of them over. He fell like a cardboard cut-out. "Heh."
"Stop fooling around!" Alucard snapped. "I must wake from this...strange dream. One of us here does not exist, and it sure as hell isn't me."
"But how can you be sure?" Dante turned, clicking his tongue. "This could be MY dream. I walked in through a gate and found myself in this place called London. How can I be sure this isn't reality either?"
"I would have killed you by now." Alucard's wicked smile firmly pasted itself on his lips.
"Yeah, yeah, and I'm frickin' Father Christmas. Don't let this cool red jacket fool you." He laughed coarsely, looking up at the sky. The snow, everything here, felt real enough to him. But to this guy... just what the hell was going on?
"You exist only in my mind," the vampire said, approaching the white-haired youth without even so much as leaving a single footprint in the virgin snow. He touched the sword on his back. "Only a figment of an immortal mind gone stagnant with an existence that fails to sustain its own meaning. Perhaps if I killed you, I would finally go entirely mad, awaken and kill everything, including myself... or simply sleep on forever, in a cyclic horror story, unending for eternity."
Dante blinked. "Dude, are you seriously morbid?"
Alucard shrugged. "Maybe."
"Guess we can fight more or... just sit down and wait. I'm sure something will happen sooner or later." And with that, the half-devil squatted down on the edge of a car, seating himself there firmly while rubbing his arms for warmth. Well, it was worth a shot, anyway. Alucard walked over and sat down beside him, and for a long time he said nothing at all, perplexed and almost amused. It started snowing again within the minute, a blitzkrieg of white flurries that tickled the half-demon's nose.
Dante sneezed.
"Here." Alucard put his hat on top of his head. "Enjoying the weather?"
"No; I think my nuts just fell off but I could be wrong." Dante blinked a little, a bit confused as to why he was suddenly chummy with a guy who could shank him with his bare friggin' hands. "I envy you. Probably can't even feel the cold, can you?"
"Nope." Alucard grinned, his wild mane of black hair falling short of maniacally whimsical as he brushed his hand over the hood of the car, then proceeded write with his finger on the windshield Wine is fine but blood tastes better.
Author's Notes: WELL. So many of you (well, wait, only three people) want me to continue this travesty. I know it's hard to believe, but it's really hard for me to make stupid with two characters I absolutely love. Maybe this can be funny AND serious at the same time. Huhhh, well, this is tres difficile as you can imagine.