Van Helsing had killed may times before, but never like this. He had shot, cut, mutilated, stabbed, and ultimately annihilated so many monsters, he couldn't remember them all. Many of the "monsters" had been normal people, forced to do horrific things against their will. They couldn't help it. They had no choice and yet they had to die. By his hand they often did die.
Many innocent bystanders had been killed during his missions. Often, he was the unintentional cause of their deaths. Sometimes a stray bullet or an arrow was their downfall, or his failure to complete an "objective" that eventually killed them.
At first the killing had taken its toll on him. He had to remind himself that those he killed would only cause more death if he let them live. Those who were killed in the crossfire were unfortunate casualties of a war that must be fought. The war of good versus evil had raged on through the centuries. It wasn't going to stop now. So he had learned to live with the death as best he could. He was forced to become almost numb to the death he caused.
Almost, but not completely. There was the young girl, only 4 or 5, that had had to die. She'd been fed upon by the Undead. If he hadn't finished her properly, she would have become Undead herself. The child was too weak to do anything in her defense. She couldn't lift a finger much less plead for her life. He had taken one look at her and realized that she had no chance. Even if he could get her proper help quickly, it would be too late. So he had "put her to rest" as he liked to think of it. It was the best he could do for her.
He never forgot the look in her eyes as he drove a stake through her heart. The girl didn't understand what he was doing or why, only that he had betrayed her. Killed her when he should have saved her instead. There were others, boys and men who had been bitten by werewolves, or women who had the misfortune of having one in their beds. People of all ages who were cursed to live the life of the Undead, spreading their curse as they drank to live. They all had to die and he was the one who had to kill them.
But nothing, not the death of the girl that had first made him believe the cries of "Murderer!", the deaths of innocent bystanders, or any of the multitude of other deaths he had caused prepared him for this death.
Anna was dead, and he had killed her. Unlike the others, it had not been accidental nor justifiable. No, he had killed her for no reason. She had been trying to save him and he had killed her in cold blood.
He kept trying to tell himself that it wasn't he who killed her, it was the monster he had become. It hadn't helped.
The thought may have helped him deal with the grief if it had been anyone else but her. Something made Anna's death unique. It was the first time he had been the cause of the death of someone he cared for. She had been more than an ally, or someone whom he was charged to protect. She had become a friend and, possibly, something more. There were few that he would call friends. His life a mostly solitary one. Losing any one of those he considered friends shook him to the core.
Being the one that killed them-that was nearly unbearable.
Van Helsing had been as close to total despair as he had ever been the day of Anna's funeral. He and Carl had brought her to a cliff overlooking the ocean she had dreamed of seeing. Carl read the prayers while Helsing bore the funeral torch to her pyre. It seemed to be the heaviest burden he had ever carried. When Carl finished praying, Helsing dropped the flame to the wood. The fire caught quickly, the smoke rising as the flames leaped and danced around Anna's body. Her face had looked so peaceful in the moments before the fire consumed her completely, that it was hard to believe that she was dead and not merely asleep.
In the silence that had followed, he stood and respectfully watched her last moments. The air had been still, unusually still for a place near the shore, so he was surprised when he felt a gentle breeze. It had blown his hair back, tugged it as though it was trying to turn his head. He obeyed and turned to look at the sky.
There he saw, or thought he saw, Anna. She smiled down at him before coming to rest with the ghostly images of her father and brother. She kissed them both, then all three smiled. She was with her family again, and she was happy. They all were.
It was then that Van Helsing realized that though he had killed Anna, he hadn't failed her. Her family could rest in peace now. She was with those she loved best.
She had given her life for his, and now he would continue the work they both had been blessed, or cursed, to do.
He smiled. In her memory, he would continue the fight.
To the very end.
A/N: So that's my first Van Helsing fic. I would love feedback, as I think I may write a few more Helsing fics. Constructive Criticism is MUCH appreciated. Especially on characterization and verb tense (not sure it was consistent, but I tried. Grammar is NOT a strong point lol).