WARNING: usage of the word 'damn' and it's derivatives in a strictly religious sense, and of the word 'Hell' in a strictly religious sense. Spoilers for Hammer Films Horror of Dracula and Brides of Dracula.
DISCLAIMER: I am not a practicing Catholic. This was also written a while ago. Any inevitable errors in the characters are not meant to be offensive - I am willing to correct things if it's not centric in the plot.
He sighed, carefully pushing to door to the cellar open; wincing as it creaked for age and for want of oil. First looking behind the door, he looked around the room, quickly surveying all corners and furniture. There was a dull 'thump' in a nearby room, and he crossed the cellar to quickly pull aside the curtain. Seeing the shut coffin, he sighed again; setting the silver crucifix atop the lid and pushing himself up to sit atop the coffin.
All was silent, and he listened to the mice in the wall behind him and the wind whipping through the cottage above. As the minutes ticked by and the mice moved not, he frowned and twisted back to look at the wall.
"...It is original—I will grant that."
The scratching ceased and the only sound left was the Doctor's breathing and the wind above.
"Your usual modus operandi involves disappearing into the coffin or leading me on a merry chase—hardly attempting to wait me out." His hand strayed towards the crucifix lying beside him. "Either way, this will always end in the same manner."
"...How? With my death?"
Van Helsing turned forward again, looking away from the wall. "Yes, I suppose—if it may be called that."
"If it may be called that?"
"When you continually reanimate yourself by some trick or another, then what is the purpose of this chase?"
There was no answer; and the Doctor frowned, wondering where the other conversationalist had gone. Twisting back again, he flinched when he realised that the Count had come out from the bolthole and was standing directly behind him. Reflexively, he grabbed for the cross; but the vampyre held his wrist away.
Dracula winced, backing away from the crucifix and pulling the Doctor with him, back out into the main room of the cellar. Van Helsing struggled against him, but he only held both of the Doctor's wrists together instead and continued to pull him along. When the Count deemed the distance suitable, he spun the Doctor away from him; hard into a corner. The Doctor immediately attempted to rise up, but then stilled as he saw that the stranger only stood and watched him.
"Hope."
Still tense and glancing around for a weapon or an escape from the corner he was backed into, Van Helsing abruptly jerked his full attention back to the Count as the rigid silence was broken. "I beg your pardon?"
"Perhaps the reason that the chase continues is for hope."
"Hope? How so?"
"You hope that the world will one day be free of evil, and I hope that perhaps one day the end result of these chases will take instead of reversing itself inevitably."
"...That the result will take?"
"There are much simpler ways to take revenge or to rule people than going far out of one's way to do so—as well as there are many better ways to escape a pursuer that waiting at the top of the stairs to be seen before fleeing." He sighed in near exasperation. "Either sit down or stand up—don't stand there betwixt the two; you look nigh to fall over."
The Doctor straightened up, unwilling to let his adversary have any more advantages over him; but the sudden movement left him quite dizzy, and the vampyre reached out the steady him. Van Helsing pulled back, but only collapsed further.
The Count sighed, picking the Doctor up in his arms and tightening his hold when the Doctor tried to struggle free again. "Be still."
"Put me down.'
"You can't walk, and lying on a bed is much more comfortable than the hard floor."
Van Helsing stopped struggling, but didn't relax. "...and for what reason do you care?"
The Count didn't answer, lying Van Helsing down on the simple cot behind the coffin. The Doctor tried to sit up, but winced and fell back as soon as he moved his neck.
"Be still!" He glared at the Doctor, and then gently felt the man's neck. Instinctively, Van Helsing jerked away; tumbling off the cot with a cry. For a moment, the Count bent over the bed in the same position he had been, but then he leaned over further to see the man. He sighed, and lifted the unconscious man up to place him on the bed again.
The Doctor took a deep breath, slowly turning his head to the side and freezing when the stabbing pain in his neck reminded him of his injury. Carefully blinking open his eyes he slowly focused on the wooden ceiling above him. As he watched the dust sift through the cracks, he estimated the time to be nigh unto dusk; and he frowned as he remembered that his bag of weapons had been left upstairs. With it being nearly nightfall, he would at least need the cross—or something to shape one after his was left on the coffin...
His thoughts trailed off and he tensed as he remember exactly why he was concussed and alone; and his hand nervously raised up to his neck, carefully examining it for any marks.
"There aren't any."
Forcibly, he stilled his flinch, finishing his self-examination. Unable to hide his relief as he found for himself that the Count's words were true, he relaxed into the cot; letting his eyes fall shut. Hearing a sigh beside him, he opened his eyes again and carefully turned his head until he could see the Count.
"I would give you your bag, but you have proofed it against me."
"What am I still doing here?"
"Resting. Your neck should heal quite soon, and then we will continue."
"...Continue?"
"As I doubt you will simply lay aside your determination to kill me now that you are here, yes—continue. And perhaps this time it will take."
Van Helsing watched the vampyre for a little while, thinking. "Could you not simply go out into the sunlight?"
"I am not that desperate, Doctor. I do not think suicide would bring me any peace in the end."
"Oh?"
"If Suicides are condemned to eternal fire, a vampyre suicide will surely fare no better."
He thought about it for a few minutes before answering: "True—isn't it odd how, to correct another's unforgivable sin, we must do another? And that our sin is applauded while yours brings only horror?"
"Odd?"
"Yes—perhaps 'sad' is an apt description as well..."
"Now you ramble..."
"Ramble? I think not!" He winced and made himself relax again. "But no—simply musing on the apparent morality of the situation we find ourselves in." He frowned slightly. "I recall the crucifix being safely atop the coffin to bar your from entering or exiting—where did you spend the day, and how long have I been out?"
"All that is required is the dirt, and that is all around us; I merely slept outside. And as for how long you were out: for an entire day. You must have been quite exhausted—do you not sleep?"
"When I can." He sighed. "And if another comes? I know you do not want me to have any sort of protection as it would be a weapon against you, but if another kindred of yours comes? Am I merely to be protectionless?"
"If I were able to bring you your things, I would—it would relieve me of the burden of standing guard myself. As it is..." He vanished from the room, and Van Helsing attempted in vain to push himself upright to look for him. Seconds later, the vampyre returned with two sticks of kindling and handed them to the Doctor.
"What's this?"
"Two sticks, that if need be," He withdrew from the side of the cot to the far side of the room, "You can shape into a cross and use it as protection."
He placed the sticks together and held them out, and something within his posture indescribably relaxed. Carefully, he laid the sticks down beside him. "Thank you. But you spoke of 'standing guard' - why?"
He frowned more and let his cloak fall shut around him. "You must rest." He bowed. "Good night."
"Wait!" He stifled his cry and slowly relaxed back on the bed as the Count vanished from the cellar, ignoring his call.
Van Helsing sighed, lying a hand over the wood beside him—weak protection it was, but it was still something of a relief to have it. From experience, he knew how easily it could be batted away or dropped and lost—but he also knew how powerful it was against the Undead. Pulling the pillow more beneath his neck to support it, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes; preparing to sleep. Perhaps when he awoke his head and neck would cease to be as debilitating and he could at least fetch his silver crucifix closer to him—if not fetch his bag and leave.
But that was not for the moment, and now was for sleep.
It sounded faintly like water boiling—or rather, beginning to boil. A faint hissing on the edge of his hearing, and he smiled slightly at the thought of something hot to drink, almost returning back to the pleasant dream he had. But at the same time, something pulled him further out of slumber: the unwavering sense that something was wrong – terribly wrong.
Feeling someone lean over him, he frowned, ready to scold the Count for looming and worried that he was in danger regardless of the Count's professed intentions. Reaching for the sticks that laid beside him, that had been his meagre protection, he gasped slightly when his fingers felt nothing. Reaching further and praying that he had only shifted it in his sleep, he opened his eyes and tensed when he saw the figure leaning over him—a figure that was decidedly not the Count, nor human.
Steeling himself against the pain, he pulled away, but the hands of the women held him down; and he was unwilling to move his head if it would do little good. Pulling against the strong hold, he began praying—the words of the Lord's Prayer coming to mind automatically. The vampyres hissed at him, but simply moved his head to the side—ignoring his instinctive struggles as the desire to live overrode the pain—and bent low. As his heart pounded faster, he felt dizzy and saw the blackness close in around his vision; and he almost welcomed the unconsciousness as an escape from the moment of his damnation.
A dreadful crash assaulted his senses as he gradually awoke. Feeling someone still at his throat, he brought his hands up to struggle free, wincing at the sharper tinge as the fangs ripped away. Desperate and determined to not die as a tethered prey, he twisted away from her off the bed. Pulling himself up by the wall and trying to hold himself still, he glimpsed his crucifix still atop the coffin. Eyeing the stalking vampyre, he edged closer to the coffin and then suddenly dashed for it as she tensed—his fingers closing over the silver just as he collapsed against the coffin nearly unconscious from pain. Twisting back to face her, he held the crucifix up—never so glad that it was a weakness to the vampyres as he was now.
Reaching for him, she recoiled with a scream; and he allowed the cross to settle on his chest. Watching her try to think of a way to reach him regardless of the cross, he remembered her companion and listened for her in the room. Grasping the crucifix tightly and holding it in her direction as he used the Count's coffin to pull himself up, Van Helsing quickly glanced over the room in search of the second vampyre. Seeing nothing, he began edging around the coffin towards the door, now intent on reaching his bag to better protect himself.
She followed him, always trying to attack but recoiling quickly. He remained close to the walls of the cellar, watching her as he backed towards the stairs. As he stumbled through the door into the main room of the cellar, he winced and scrambled upright again—attributing the lack of pain to the adrenaline that must be pounding through him at the moment.
As he worked his way backward across the cellar, he felt someone behind him. He closed his eyes for a moment. In situations such as this, there were very little options for who could be there: in the most probably case, it was the second vampyre that attacked him—coming to finish it; in the second case, it was the Count—and as he was a vampyre as well and one that the Doctor had often either tried or succeeded in killing, he had little hope in any assistance from that quarter; in the third case, it was another human that would be able to assist him in slaying this vampyre—but that was by far the least likely.
"Put that down, Doctor."
He sighed, hearing the Count behind him. He began to turn sideways—to ward both vampyres off at the same time—but the Count quickly spun him out of the way before Van Helsing had fully turned, and the cross dropped from his hand as he slammed into the wall again.
As soon as the cross skittered across the floor out of the way, the she-vampyre attacked again. Van Helsing jerked back, but the Count caught her first; and the Doctor watched in surprise as the vampyre fought against the women. Still adrenalised and knowing that it would soon wear off and that the pain would return – likely worse – he began edging away from the fighting pair towards the stairs, intent on escaping.
Suddenly, the fight stopped; and he froze, uncertain as to whether the wrong vampyre had won or if they had come to an agreement concerning him that he would never appreciate. Looking up, he saw that she had separated from the Count – backing away from the fight. Surrendering the 'prey' to the elder vampyre, she left the cellar.
Van Helsing watched her leave, glad he had not made it to the steps. Slowly, he turned back to look at the Count, wishing that the Crucifix wasn't so far out of his reach.
"What will you do now?"
He frowned as he crept around the edge of the room to come to the Doctor's side. "...It seems as if I will watching you join me in damnation."
Van Helsing flinched at the thought, his hand automatically coming up to his throat. "No – that cannot happen."
"What will you do? You have been bitten – even if you were to kill yourself, you would still walk again. Accept it – what else can you do?" His smile was slightly bitter. "Perhaps you may kill yourself after all and then tell me how it fares with vampyric suicides."
Van Helsing slightly shook his head, wincing. "No – I have avoided it before, and have always kept the means with me since."
The Count drew back in surprise. "You have been-! But if that were so – why is it not repeated?"
"For the reason that most victims are enthralled and unable to realise precisely what is happening to them." For a moment he was silent, and then he added: "Perhaps."
"And Harker? He had come to slay us – why did he not apply this means of salvation?"
He sighed, the sorrow that he had felt when he had discovered Jonathan's fate reemerging. "I would not know. Perhaps it was too late to both save himself and kill the vampyres; perhaps he had not the implements; perhaps he did not know..." He fell silent for a moment and then mentally shook himself out of those thoughts. "Please, help me upstairs."
He frowned but then pulled the Doctor up, his eyes widening in surprise when Van Helsing blacked out at the sudden movement. Shaking his head at his own thoughtlessness, he gathered the unconscious man up and carefully made his way up to the cottage. Knowing that whatever the Doctor would use would be within the bag he carried with him, the Count gently laid him down on the ground as close to the bag as possible.
Leaving the room to fetch a glass of water and a piece of bread, he returned to find Van Helsing beginning to awaken. Setting the water and bread beside the man, he retreated a few feet, watching as the Doctor carefully pulled himself upright and took a drink of water.
"Thank you."
The Count didn't answer, thinking. "How did you learn of the cure?"
He took a bite of bread before answering. "I don't recall precisely. I must have heard or read it somewhere, but it was simply an idea that occurred to me when I was a victim of the Baron – I hardly dared to hope it would work, or that I would have the strength to finish it; but it did..." He twisted his torso to look around the room, a hand going protectively to his ribs. Wincing, he pulled himself over to his bag, opening it and pulling out a heavy square of iron. He slid the iron to the Count and said: "If you would be kind enough to start a fire in the hearth and heat that metal..."
Curious, and hoping – praying? – Van Helsing's plan would work, he set about building a roaring fire on the hearth, nestling the iron amongst the searing coals and settling back to wait. Turning back, he watched the Doctor prepare, taking a rope and a silver bottle from the bag.
The Doctor slowly pushed himself off the ground, pausing on his knees to calm dizziness and fend off the encroaching blackness. When he felt steady again, he stood up completely and made his way over to the fireplace, bringing the rope and bottle with him. As he tied the rope tightly to an outcropping beside the fireplace, the Count watched in confusion.
"What are you doing? You'll only rip it free..."
He glanced up for a moment and then returned to securing the rope. "I very much doubt I have the fortitude to remain still for this – especially as I know what to expect."
Watching him, the Count could see the Doctor trembling; and he tried to imagine what could be so terrible that – even in the face of eternal damnation – it would make this brave man tremble.
"And I will need to remain in place." He set the bottle down beneath the outcropping and took a deep – if shaky – breath.
The two figures waited in silence, and the Count built up the fire a few times as they waited for the iron to heat up enough. After several minutes, Van Helsing swept the coals away from the red-hot metal and nodded; seeing that it was done. The vampyre watched as the Doctor wrapped the rope tightly around his left hand, loosely binding him close to the outcropping. Pulling his collar far to the side, Van Helsing took a deep breath and picked up the metal with the pinschers, staring at the redness with eyes that betrayed his terror.
The Count reached forward to either stop or help him, but Van Helsing steeled himself and pressed the iron against the bite in his neck. The strangled scream was weak, and the Doctor collapsed nigh fainting back against the outcropping. Slowly, but with a nervousness that was a mix of fear and urgency. Lifting the silver bottle – now the Count noticed that the lid was gone – he poured the liquid within liberally over the terrible wound on his neck.
Confused, the Count stared at the man that was nearly passed out against the wall, breathing shallowly. Gazing around the man's hand, he could see the symbols on the bottle and realised that the liquid drenching the Doctor was Holy Water. Looking back up, he drew back slightly as he saw the furious burn begin to fade and the bite marks close and disappear. As the wound disappeared entirely, Van Helsing lifted a trembling hand to feel his neck. The stillness that settled on his face as he collapsed entirely to the ground was one of relief and not of unconsciousness; although that was shortly dominant.
He awoke with a shaky breath, his hand going once again to his neck and his eyes raising gratefully to heaven as he found no evidence of the bite. Struggling to sit upright, he untangled the rope that had twisted around him and pushed it away, leaning back against the wall again. Closing his eyes, he slowly straightened his collar and buttoned it up, returning at least a meagre protection against the vampyres.
Feeling someone watching him, he opened his eyes; smiling wryly when he saw the Count still watching him from beside the hearth.
"...You are healed."
Van Helsing began to nod in agreement, but stopped with a hiss as he remembered that his wrenched neck had not mended yet. "Yes, I have."
"Did you know that your cure would work?"
He hesitated. "No, I didn't – it might have only been a fluke the last time, or perhaps the circumstances had greater bearing on it that I realised. It seems that I was blessed and that was not the case."
The Count smiled briefly before standing smoothly up, and the Doctor glimpsed great sorrow for a moment before it was swept behind a mask of aloofness. "Will you remain here for the night, or will you accept my assistance?"
He carefully looked up at the vampyre. "Will you truly allow me to remain if I wish?"
"All humans must sleep – and you will heal sooner lying in a proper bed."
"As long as you remember that I am not undead -"
"Were you undead, you would not be injured." He carefully lifted Van Helsing from the ground, waiting a moment for the Doctor's equilibrium to settle. Once the dizziness had faded again, he supported the Doctor back down to the cellar, settling him upon the cot behind his coffin. When he saw the stakes the Doctor had brought with him and had hid beneath his pillow, he smiled slightly.
"You will sleep well then."
Van Helsing winced as he settled his head on the pillow, relaxing and letting his neck rest again. "Sleep well? As long as I move not, perhaps – but I think I will sleep better come morning."
"Would you not rather be asleep should they return?"
"Without a chance to fight? No – I would rather face it." Considering the faint amusement in the Count's eyes, he added: "Or at the very least do all that I may to forgo your fate, even if it is in vain."
"Perhaps you should address the problem of poorly timed swoons."
"I do not swoon."
The smile was bright and swiftly stifled, and the fangs inspired no fear in the Doctor for once.
"A naive child or a maiden swoons – I faint."
"Oh?"
"Yes, there is a difference – and quite a logical reason. Medicine has proven that too great an emotion can possibly induce unconsciousness."
The Count nodded solemnly. "Then the maiden 'swoons' from great emotion, and Van Helsing 'faints' from great emotion."
Van Helsing tried to suppress his amusement; but the laugh broke forth nonetheless, startling the Count. "Very well – you have won your case."
The Count inclined his head towards the Doctor. "Let us pray that you win the war."
Van Helsing sobered. "If quantity alone is enough to tempt the heavens, then certainly we have God on our side."
"Quantity has naught to do with it:" He abruptly stood up, "God has long abandoned us to our damnation. I bid you good night, Van Helsing."
The Doctor watched the vampyre sweep from the alcove, returning to his watch without. As he closed his eyes, the peaceful faces of Harker, Baroness Meinster, Gina, Lucy, and many other victims paraded across his mind – the faces that reminded him daily why he continued in his hunt, why he stooped so low as to murder men, women, and even children whilst they slept in their beds. Each time the stake sank into the heart, or the sun burnt away all organic material, the last expression on their face was one of peace – that their eternal, immortal torment was done at last.
Exhausted by the attack and the trauma of the cure – and also simply by his way of living - Van Helsing slept through the day, the night, and well through the following day. When he finally did awaken, he felt rested for the first time in quite a while, and he smiled slightly at the irony of the situation that required a vampyre to allow him to rest from fear of vampyres.
Experimentally, he moved his head, finding it didn't hurt nearly as much as it did; and he carefully pushed himself upright. Finding that the dizziness had abated much, he sighed in relief, knowing that soon he would be hale enough to leave the Count's company. Standing up and walking across the room, glad to be able to stand upon his own strength and to no longer be entirely confined to the bed.
As his strength gave out and he fell against the head of the coffin, he mentally scolded himself for assuming something to be certain too soon. Wincing at the hollow feeling in his stomach, he realised he hadn't eaten in quite a while, for he had never finished the bread the Count had given him. Leaning heavily against the coffin, he glanced back towards the bed and dismayed at returning without dragging himself back or returning at all on his own. Glancing over the coffin, he realised that the lid had been slid back.
Looking within, he could see the Count. The vampyre could be described as looking 'dead', but Van Helsing knew that was inaccurate, for peace was absent from the undead's visage. He sighed, wondering about the Count's history. Had he loved before he was changed? Had he perhaps had children – siblings? Had they been changed as well, or had they long passed away? What had been taken from him, and how did it happen? Was it prolonged, leaving all wondering at his 'illness'; or was it quite sudden?
"The one who hesitates at dawn to kill the vampyre often loses his chance."
Van Helsing breathed in sharply, forcing himself to remain still and use the coffin as a support. The Count stepped out of the coffin and looked the Doctor over.
"You are ill."
"Simply tired."
"You have slept for several days – how are you tired still?"
"Sleeping for long periods makes one tired as well, and weak – and no food aggravates this."
Understanding appeared in the Count's eyes. "Of course." He was silent for a moment and then glanced over towards Van Helsing's bed. "Do you require assistance in returning?"
The Doctor took an experimental step and gasped as his knees buckled. Smiling ruefully as the Count steadied him, he replied: "It seems that I do."
The Count nodded minutely and patiently supported the Doctor as he made his way back to the bed. When Van Helsing was beside it, he sat down – not lying down as that would do little good at the moment. "Thank you."
The Count nodded once and then abruptly left, leaving Van Helsing shaking his head slightly.
"It seems as though conversation is not on his agenda now..." He leaned against the wall, feeling tired even though he knew it was merely the aftereffect of too much sleep. He glanced around the small room and wished for a book of any sort to distract himself with, and prayed that he would improve and strengthen soon.
"Dr. Van Helsing?"
He jerked awake, blinking at the man looming in his vision. Realising that he must have fallen asleep again, he frowned. "Yes, Count?"
"You have not eaten."
He began to retort that he knew that quite well and that he couldn't fetch sustenance on his own, but then noticed the tray of food resting beside him on the bed. Surprised, he glanced up from the hearty meal at the vampyre. "I – thank you."
The Count bowed in acknowledgement and then retreated, leaving Van Helsing to enjoy his meal in solitude.
The Doctor looked over the full meal, smiling when he saw that it was still quite hot and steaming; and taking a slow sip from the warm drink. As he pulled the tray closer to him, he noticed something beneath and pulled out several new medical journals and paper of the newest event in England.
He smiled when he saw it, taking a bite of the food. It had been a while since he had been home...
The next several days passed swiftly, and Van Helsing recovered quickly. The good nights of sleep, the hearty meals, and the respite from the far that shadowed his steps worked miracles, and healed much more than simply his body. He dreamed again, and not only of the night anymore.
Taking up the notebook that the Count had brought once the journals and paper had been finished, he absently read through his notes within. He knew that this holiday – for lack of a better word – would be ending soon. The rest that he had received here would disappear again, and he would spend his nights murdering people to set them free and his days trying to confess things no one would believe.
He glanced up towards the door to the alcove, his thoughts turning to the vampyre that had helped and guarded his while he recovered. He wished there was something he could do in return for the Count, but could think of no favour that would be of equal worth. While he knew he could do what he did for many other victims, he could not bring himself to entirely consider that a favour – only able to see it as murder.
"You think too much."
He blinked, focusing his vision and seeing the Count framed within the doorway. He smiled slightly, glad for the company – whomever it might be. "It is what differentiates us from beasts."
"Mind, body, and soul – humans are the only creatures to have all three."
He sighed, knowing of the importance of the trinity there. "But there is always a way of redemption."
The vampyre was silent for a moment, and Van Helsing almost expected him to answer before he changed the subject: "You are better."
"Yes – thank you for your assistance."
"It was at my hand you were injured – it was my obligation."
"Very well." Automatically, he glanced towards the doorway of the alcove before remembering that he stayed within a cellar. "It is nearly dawn?"
"Past – I was distracted by...business."
He frowned before nodding. "Then I bid you good day, Count."
"And I, you, Doctor." He stepped into the coffin and laid down. Before shutting the lid, he turned one last time to Van Helsing. "I thank you, and bid you adeui."
"Pardon -" He sighed as the lid slipped shut over the Count's face and the vampyre slept.
Shaking his head slightly, he pulled his bag out from beneath the bed and slipped the notebook and stakes into it. Standing up, he quickly made the bed he had used; although he did not expect it to be used again. Looking around the alcove one last time, he purposefully made his way around the coffin and towards the main room of the cellar.
As he stepped onto the stairs, he paused and looked back towards the coffin. Glancing down at the bag he held, he sighed. Returning down the steps, he opened his bag and slowly withdrew a stake and his mallet. Reentering the alcove, he pushed the lid of the coffin away, gazing down at the vampyre within. Hesitating, he almost smiled as he remembered the Count's words about hesitation, and he positioned the stake above the Count's heart.
He looked away as he brought the mallet down, expecting to hear the scream of the Count as the stake penetrated his chest – but the silence was nearly as terrible. To repay kindness with murder – he hit the stake a final time and then let the mallet drop from his bloody fingers into the coffin, stepping back on suddenly shaky limbs.
He breathed in deeply, his eyes closed. Stepping forward again, he hesitantly looked into the coffin, half expecting the Count to awaken and attack him – but there was no reaction. He leaned against the coffin and looked within, memorising the look of peace and joy on the Count's face – and he remembered the vampyre's words before he slept.
He had known what the Doctor would do – had known that he would return. And he had done nothing. He had simply lien down and slept, knowing how vulnerable he would be to attack.
Van Helsing sighed. At the very least, he could ensure that the vampyre's peace was eternal.
Van Helsing emptied the ashes slowly in the river, letting the water quickly break up and separate the dust. Burnt several times over, the ashes were the remains of wood, vampyre, deer, dirt, silver, garlic, holy water, holy objects, and everything the Doctor could think of to add to forever kill the Count.
When the ashes were gone – swept away to the sea – he stooped and washed out the vase he had utilised. Standing up again when he was certain all traces were gone, he stowed the vase away within his bag and looked out over the countryside he found himself in.
Perhaps purgatory was quite real, and much closer than people thought. For the life of a vampyre was either Hell or Purgatory – and Hell could never be escaped. But he would give indulgences – and he prayed for forgiveness from heresy – and he would be the confessor of the undead. If a few sleepless nights and a few avoidable illnesses brought on by lack of food or rest were the coins he had to pay for the immortal souls of others, he would gladly pay.
AN: I've only seen Horror of Draculaand Brides of Draculawith Peter Cushing and—while am VERY unlikely to watch any of the rest due to the content - have read of the other films in the series; and I though it rather humourous that Dr. Van Helsing continues to destroy Dracula (well, later at least - not in the Brides film) and Dracula keeps coming back. Wouldn't it get old sooner or later? And Dracula is written more after Saruman and Van Helsing is...I don't know: The Gentleman. On proofing the bag, I just thought it likely so none of the vampyres could steal it away from him or something...And by 'proofing' I mean carving or marking crosses or suchnot on the leather. For the most part, they are both honourable men, and Dracula is old enough to be quite tired and ready to die. But, I've messed with him a little and made him Catholic – it's not that much of a leap given the rest of the vampyric lore, but still... And yes, Van Helsing (what is his first name?) keeps passing out – but seriously? VERY likely – especially from someone that passed out for no reason when subdued by Dracula. Thank you for taking the time to read this! Gramercy, and God bless! 6-2-2015