Summary: What if something happened? What if Hellsing was to be wiped off the face of the Earth for a few years? Most of its members are gone, vampires are almost reduced to their legends, and Alucard is presumed to be dead. But now, an ocean away, another oblivious heir is about to find something tucked in their cellar.

Disclaimer: If I owned Hellsing it'd suck like hell and Alucard would be in his pretty little leather straightjacket more often O.o (evil – perverted – laughter)

NOTES: Hmm…let's see…there will be blood, and gore (which is just blood with gristle and bone attached), and some language, and as always the wonderful religious controversy, and maybe other bad things. But as always let's just prepare for everything other than descriptive happy time/stuff.

Kana: I don't do romance, so go somewhere else for that. Although there is an OC, give her a chance. No love, none, zero, zilch, nein. She's basically Integra…only not…

I don't know if this idea's been done before, but if it has then forgive me – but I hope to make it unique.

OOOOO

Fortune

Chapter One: Bloody Christmas

OOOOO

I. Don't. Like. Cars. They're big metal death traps, especially on slick winter roads. I mean, you could be driving along, and then boom; suddenly you're curled around a tree like a pretzel awaiting the Jaws of Life. And it was snowing, so basically it'd be one really eventful Christmas Eve if my half of the family arrived at the usual festive gathering all bloody from an unholy carnage and missing a few people ("Where's your mother?" "Still strapped to the passenger's seat…dead.")

"You alright back there, Fae?" My father looked over the driver's seat, his eyes shifting past my aunt, uncle, and a mixture of cousins to look at me in the back of the old Explorer. I shouldn't be too hard to see, since my long hair was a nice contrast between black and grey – and my dull blue eyes really didn't mask my face in the semi-darkness. My grandmother always says I look like 'one of those relatives back in Britain.'

I must have been turning a little green, given that everyone kind of edged away from me – probably afraid I would blow chunks on their bargain price holiday outfits. I hadn't been given my usual window seat in his lovely carpool, so I was beginning to feel sick. For the past forty minutes I'd been concentrating on not hacking my last few meals on the gifts in my lap.

"Yeah," I took a moment to fake a retch, just to freak out the younger cousin next to me that had been poking me with his elbow for the better half of the last hour. "I'm fine. How long until we get there?"

My comment instantly set off a round of 'are we there yet's between the younger ones. My mother answered before any more controversy could break out – when traveling with a family fit for a circus, it was best to keep things lazy and quiet until we stopped or our chance for getting in an accident shot up fifty percent.

"Another ten minutes…"

I sighed and leaned back, putting my head on the cheap cloth of the farthest seat. I was freezing since I'd caved when my mother said 'why can't you wear anything nice?' I tried to tell her I didn't want to wear anything thinner than a sweater and I'd tried to wheedle my way into wearing my favorite dark blue one, but she ended up stuffing me into some frou-frou white blouse and black skirt. I was shivering uncontrollably and my lips were about to fall off.

I didn't look good in showy clothes. My skin was a little paler than the rest of my family, and I had shoulders from some kind of bulky animal. I was a danger to myself and others wearing anything more than sneakers, and I still had the gangly teenage look even when I was toeing fifteen. My evening was going to be spent in the chair obscured behind the Christmas tree with a few thick quilts and my grandmother's old cat. And presents…

The only good part about the night would be the big 'event'. Apparently a couple important family members from England (maybe the ones I supposedly look like) had passed on, and some of their things were given to my grandmother. But there was too much for 'such and old woman like' her, so for her Christmas present to us we got to pick our own gifts from the shipment. I really liked heirlooms rather than new things, since I got to learn the history behind it.

Oh yeah…my family's name; it's Hellsing. My great grandfather was Abraham van Helsing. My grandmother was one of his children, and so on and so forth. I should be grateful for such a great and proud heritage, but not only is my name fodder for teasing about the occult, but people sure like to try to get me in trouble whenever I say Hellsing.

OOOOO

I wrinkled my nose slightly, covering it with my sleeve. Dracula still smelled like mothballs even though it had been a good five months since I last saw him. Didn't my grandmother clean him?

Oh…not the real Dracula; it's the aforesaid cat. Any real vampire in my grandmother's home would probably mean either my great Grandfather missed one, or I'd gotten a second-hand high. But anyway…

Dracula was big with my family. Every single one of my family members was completely obsessed with the undead; I barely believed someone could drink blood without gagging, let alone digest it. If there were rumors about hopping corpses in the southeast my family was on it like white on rice. If a strange body appeared in the Midwest every single one of them had to know everything about it. My father came to school last year to pick me up and somehow someone found out he always carries a silver cross on his person along with a clove of garlic – I still haven't heard the end of it. It's ridiculous.

But even after all this, I wasn't even allowed to own a copy of Dracula let alone read it. But I still did – in the seventh grade I snuck a copy from the library and became ensconced in it. I never got to read the end though; my father found out and made me take it back. Now all I had was the glory-filled tales my grandmother told; ugh.

"Fae?" A voice sounded near me. Weak, feeble sounding; my grandmother. I loved her to bits, but the poor woman would get winded by…well, wind. "Your turn."

For the past half hour my grandmother had been letting each group of siblings and parents go down into her basement, and each time they returned with even more valuable things than the last troupe. The teens were probably just going to hack the stuff on EBay. I had agreed to go last as long as I could go alone; I wanted to look at the stuff without bickering cousins in my ears.

I had taken off my shoes at the door, so I was able to wind my way through the crowds of people stuffed into this too-small house in no time. I couldn't wait to get downstairs and just look at what remained in silence. The last time I had actual peace and quiet it was two AM and I was eleven.

You hear that, Brain? I thought, opening the door to the basement. The knob was made of old copper and turned reluctantly. Silence. Remember silence?

My heart began to pound as I looked down at the staircase. It was steep and made of even older granite. The edges were jagged and looked about as inviting as a greasy man in a black hoodie with a happy trigger finger. I flicked the light switch and a lone, dim light bulb flickered to life somewhere in the middle of the crowded basement. It did nothing for me except slightly illuminate the 'Walk of Death' I was about to experience. If I died on these steps at least the bulb would light up my mangled, bleeding body at the bottom. Just one slip and I was – crap!

I'd taken one step – one freaking step – and tripped. The long black skirt my evil mother had gotten me into had caught under my foot, and I'd fallen a few steps, my legs curling under me at the last second. I was lucky that I always grabbed hold of the railing when I went down these stairs, and the rotting wood had saved me after about ten steps out of fifteen. But I still came out of the battle with a few injuries.

I groaned and bit my lip, a throbbing pain coming from the middle of my left shin. Tears sprang to my eyes from the ache, and I just knew the skin had broken. After the worst of the pain subsided I checked the leg, and found that the dark grey stockings I'd found way back in my closet had been torn by the rough edges of the stairs. A trickle of blood was beginning to slip down through the rest of the leggings from a large but shallow gash. I grimaced, already feeling the sting of the antibacterial spray mother would use. Well stairs, you better be satisfied with that chunk of me until the next time we meet.

I saw some harsher light appear in front of me and looked back, seeing said mother peering down at me. I must have been a sight, whimpering in pain as I preformed an excellent example of the fetal position. She inquired about my condition.

"I'm fine…" I moaned again as another wave of pain swept up my leg. Oh…that was going to be one nasty bruise. "Just momentarily crippled."

My mother – seeing that I was well enough to be a drama queen – turned around and told everyone I was fine. "She's just being a klutz."

Well, if my mother's insulting me, I must be uncoordinated, I thought, finally standing again and slowly going down the rest of the steps. By the time I had reached the bottom, my leg itched and the blinding pain was nothing more than a dull throb.

And the blood was beginning to trickle faster.

OOOOO

I…smell blood. After so long, is somebody bothering with the forgotten Nosferatu?

Merry Christmas indeed.

OOOOO

I finally got to see the items.

There must have been boxes and boxes of things, most of the crates overfilling with shining bronze, brass, and just a hint of silver and gold. And these boxes were all piled, a few stacks almost reaching the pink insulation in the ribbed ceiling. One could tell my family hadn't bother actually looking through it, since the only empty spaces were near the front.

"Holy crap," I breathed. "They were freaking loaded."

Being of the middle working class, the most money I ever get to see is around these gift-giving holidays, when the bank account is drained to give presents that fake our actual wealth. Our family thinks we drag in a decent amount of cash each year – we really got most of our things from the last testaments of dead people and yard sales. Our home even belonged to our long dead great uncle – thank you, come again.

But this was unbelievable. Why didn't anybody tell me the Hellsings actually had a heritage with dough? Did nobody even think to say 'hey, Fae, those relatives you look like don't share?' They probably could have taken a fraction of money from their account and made a money pool…well now I just want to have a money pool (good for all the seasons – warning: product may need to be wrung out after a downpour).

My eyes scanned the boxes again. Oh well, I forgive them.

Saying I dove into the items is an understatement. I had my googly-eyes set to maximum and the off switch was broken. It took me fifteen minutes just to get through the first 'layer' of things, since I took a few items and held them in my hands. I picked some that took my fancy.

There was an old mahogany box in one of the crates that contained withering cigars and a device that cut the ends off them. In an iron tin I found a few pairs of glasses: a large wire-framed pair, an orange-tinted pair, and a rusting monocle. I also found a couple of bullet casings which turned out to be made of silver (I plopped those in the box with the cigars for later study). It was like a museum of…awesomeness. How could anyone even think of selling this?

Just for fun, I began to try on the clothes I found. I could entertain myself for hours, and let's face it, when do teenagers ever get to play dress up?

I found a multitude of scarves and hats and blouses and pantsuits. By the time I reached the back of the gathering of stuff I still had a floppy dark fedora on, the brim covering my eyes. I giggled at my reflection when I passed an old Victorian-style mirror. I looked like a depressed safari guide. I was so wearing this to school after vacation, dress code be damned.

That's when something really interesting caught my eye.

A coffin? I walked over to the casket, examining it.

It was of old world origin, the dark – more like black - wood scarred after years of toil. The edges were molded and painted a more inviting white. An inscription was painted on it, obscured by a thick layer of dust and mildew. Instead of being rectangular and bulky like modern coffins, its sides were thinner and it was tapered at the top and bottom, and the middle was wider, where a human would clasp their hands. It was the classic flat edged diamond.

And it was incredibly hard to open. When my curiosity got the better of me – was there a body in there!? – I tried to push away the lid, even going so far as to get on my knees and doing a full body heave. It should have been easy, considering the thickness of it, but in the end it won. I had only been able to push it an inch, and the inside was so dark I couldn't see in. Bummer…I thought, pouting ever so slightly. I was beginning to think they had even shipped the dead relative.

"Ouch!" I sucked my thumb, trying not to swear too loud. I had cut myself on a splinter of wood. I looked at my thumb and scowled, seeing the sliver of wood wedged just under my skin. My nerve endings were having a bad day.

Hoping my frown was hidden by the shadow the fedora's brim made, I began to make my way back to the stairway, my treasure safely in my arms. I made a mental note to pluck the splinter from my thumb after dinner…mmm, dinner on Christmas Eve…yum.

I was barely five strides away from the coffin when it moved.

OOOOO

I definitely smell blood.

Light – fingers – almost bite – jerk away – blood. Someone was trying to get into his coffin. They ended up cutting themselves and pulling away, leaving behind a smear of blood.

If history doesn't repeat itself then I'm Frankenstein's Monster.

OOOOO

I carefully set down the small boxes I had gathered on a nearby trunk without looking away from the animated coffin. Then I looked for the nearest weapon – it turned out to be a shovel propped near a gathering of gardening products. I gripped it until my knuckles were white, ready to fight off the undead. Now I sound like the rest of my crackpot family, I thought with a determined frown.

My hackles shot up as a tongue worthy of Kiss – I kid you not – began to slide back and forth from the small opening I had made in the coffin lid, seemingly licking something away – oh…it was my blood. My legs began to tremble as the lid opened even more.

Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod – holy crap I whimpered in fear as a pale, skeletal hand finally came and pulled away the lid. I wasn't the bravest person this side of the Milky Way, and I was a few centimeters from cracking and becoming nothing more than a sniveling coward begging this undead corpse for mercy. Yup, that's me, Superman.

A gaunt head rose from the coffin like…well, a vampire; and I reacted.

The shovel hit it square in the center of its forehead with a resounding clang! It fell back with a yelp, toppling from the coffin and onto the floor, where it stayed to cradle its bleeding skull.

"Why is it always a shovel!?" it shrieked. "And in the same damn place too!" It rubbed its face for a couple seconds, letting my heart rate go down ever so slightly, before jumping back up again.

It…it was a thing! No…it was a he. A he with a lean face protruding from the stiff leather collar of his sociopath-ward-escapee straightjacket. His cheek bones were almost too high on his face, giving it an evil, menacing look when light hit him, making shadows dance across his features. His red eyes glared at me, a small dribble of blood running from a gash on his forehead from the shovel. His hair was…black? Or was it blond? What the hell? No…it was most definitely black – now at least. It hung about him, twisting and turning as if in a breeze that only affected it.

Oh…my great grandfather really did miss one…, I thought, since after all, he could only be a – don't say it; don't say it – vampire (I said it).

"Put down the damn shovel," The vampire growled, malice dripping off his words. A faint accent clung to them as well – an English accent? Oh…now I'll have the lovely image of him sipping tea as he kills me.

I shook my head, my throat tightening even further. The only sound I was able to make was a small, struggled squeak. I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming…I hit my head when I fell down the stairs and now I'm on a stretcher in an ambulance and I'm dreaming…

I swear I only blinked once…and then he was right in my face…

And he took the fedora? And…then he put it on…

My fright faded for the moment, and I loosened my hold on the shovel – don't get me wrong, I was still as jittery as a wet cat – staring at him as he inspected the hat, murmuring something about dust. He gave it a good whack with his hand, shaking this apparent 'dust' from it.

And all the while I still wielded the shovel like a dangerous weapon, until I saw that the mark on his forehead was…gone.

I made another attempt at screaming, but I once again only managed a desperate imitation of a dying mouse. The creature looked at me, his mouth twitching when I stiffened under his speculating look.

"You're bleeding," He said, pointing out the obvious. I looked at my thumb – there was no blood beading near the splinter… - oh…he meant my leg. The blood had been remotely clotted until I'd bent down earlier, which made it reopen. Now it was bleeding with new vigor.

I swore under my breath, completely forgetting about the monster/vampire and worrying about how loud my mother was going to yell at me for ruining my only pair of stockings. I dropped the shovel with a sharp clang and sat down, not caring about my skirt and focusing on the blood. I had nothing to clean it with.

The sound of the creature sitting next to me almost made me pass out. How stupid can you get? He distracted you. Damn me and my gullibility.

The vampire gently grasped my leg, his eyes twinkling with mischievous glee. His hold reminded me of a lover bending down on one knee, asking for my hand – ewww! A horrible icy feeling settled deep into my bones as the frighteningly long tongue came out, licking the wound.

"Allow me, Master." He purred with an evil smirk.

That's when I really screamed.

OOOOO

Kana: -.O I didn't mean for the last part to be romantic or anything, just Alucard being his usual, evil, teasing self. He always seems to grate Integra's nerves – why wouldn't he terrify the rookie? Especially since she hit him with a shovel – REVENGE FOR THE DEFLATED PRIDE!

Anyone who knows why Alucard was so pissed about the shovel gets a cookie. n.nV

Review and make me happy!