Chapter Four: Forging Bonds

            Carl came knocking on the door a little past midnight, glancing nervously over his shoulder as he stood waiting for Van Helsing to open the door. "It's Carl," he called in a hushed voice.

            The door opened, the Van Helsing's frame filled the doorway. "Carl…what are you doing here so late? Come in."

            Carl was ushered into the house, the door shut and bolted behind him. "I'm sorry it's so late, but I was very very busy today and only now have gotten a chance to leave. Listen, I've come on Cardinal Jinette's orders. He's getting a little impatient about you finding this creature thing; he is afraid it will kill someone else soon."

            "Tell him," said Van Helsing, "That I'm doing my best." He glanced at the sofa. "I kind of have other things on my mind, but don't tell him that. He'll want to know."

            Carl nodded and leaned toward the sofa, looking. After a moment he drew back with a start. "What's wrong with Dracula?"

            The hunter sighed. "Speaking of that creature…he told me he had a run in with it while trying to escape the city."

            "Why would he be trying to escape the city in the first place?"

            "I'll tell you later; it's a long story. Let's just say we had a little fight, but everything's okay now."

            Carl rolled his eyes. "It begins."

            "And what's that supposed to mean?" came Van Helsing's voice; he had hurried into a back room. He emerged a minute later a bundles of medical supplies in his arms, and when Carl didn't answer him he regarded his friend with frustration. "I said, what's that supposed to mean?"

            Carl shrugged. "It's just that you two have been enemies for so long…even if he is changed, I still expect you two to clash once in a while."

            "It was a…fluke," said Van Helsing, still defensive, and carried his burden over to the sofa, where he knelt down and dropped them. Carl went around and knelt next to him, taking stock of the vampire's injuries.

            "If this creature we're looking for can do this to the king of vampires, we've got a major problem on our hands," he mused.

            "We'll  find it. We'll kill it." He looked at Carl. "Can you sew?"

            "I happen to be rather highly trained in the area of medical treatment," said the friar proudly. He dropped his voice. "I kind of have to be, working with unstable chemicals and weapons, you know."

            "Good." Van Helsing smiled. "And I thought you'd be squeamish."

            "Why do you say that?" asked Carl indignantly. "I happen to be not at all squeamish, I'll have you know."

            "My mistake," said Van Helsing dismissively. "Help me then, Mr. Medical Training." He bent foreward and began to clumsily bandage a gash on the vampire's slim, pale arm. "Damn," he grunted. "Sorry buddy, this is the best I can do for you."

            "Move over," said Carl, shouldering him. "I'll do it." Van Helsing regarded him with surprise. "Hey, if you help all his bandages are going to end up looking like that thing," he pointed to Dracula's arm, "and it would be an insult amidst my ministrations, damn it."

            Smirking, Van Helsing leaned back and watched, content to be out of the action for once. Carl's skills were admirable, and he was not lying about not being squeamish as he tugged tendons and flesh back over bone, stitching skin and muscle together as neatly as a seamstress, clipping off bits of un-sewable ragged flesh. So intent was he in his work that he didn't even stop to wipe his brow until he was halfway through. He looked up to give his eyes a break…

            …right into the obsidian eyes of the vampire.

            Carl squeaked and jerked back, leaning away from the sofa, fear shining in his eyes. He held his needle before him protectively, as though it would serve as a useful weapon should the vampire attack.

            Now awake, Dracula stared at the friar curiously, and looked down at his wounds. "I assume this is your handiwork?" he asked. There was a gentle humour in his voice.

            "Y…yes…" stammered Carl. "The sewing, I mean. Not the wounds."

            Dracula laughed. "I know you did not do those, little friar. A big great beast did those. You are very skilled." He looked rather impressed.

            Carl quickly overcame his initial fear, remembering how gentle the vampire seemed to be. "Does it hurt?"

            Dracula smiled. "Yes."

            "I…I'm sorry…"

            "Thank you, little friar, but you need not pity me. I have not felt so close to being a living thing in centuries."

            Awed, Carl only nodded and gestured to Dracula's wounds. "A mortal would never have survived those wounds, but you're not in great shape yourself, if I might be so bold to say. May I…continue?"

            "By all means. Thank you for your help." He smiled as Carl resumed his work, trying to be careful so as not to further hurt the vampire. After a while of quietly enduring this treatment, Dracula finally looked up at Van Helsing. "Thank you, Gabriel."

            "For what?"

            "For allowing the Devil's son back into your home."

            Van Helsing waved a hand. "You know, fear no evil, blah blah blah." He smiled at Dracula, and then his face grew serious. "You're welcome," he said. "Our words were equal; I cannot in good faith hold them against you, when I myself have sinned the same."

            Dracula laughed suddenly, so that Carl had to pause his sewing. "You never claim to be a holy man," he chuckled, "yet by God you speak like one, Gabriel."

            Van Helsing stared at him for a moment, and then, incredibly, he began to laugh too. He looked down at Carl to see the friar's shoulders shaking with silent mirth, and suddenly he felt a whole lot better about everything.

Because at least they could laugh.

The night wore on, and Carl worked tirelessly on the long task of seeing to Dracula, who sat still and patient, talking with him sometimes, other times with Van Helsing. Most of the time, however, he was quiet and subdued, his eyes on the windows as he watched for his enemy to rise in the east. Van Helsing could almost feel the thrumming of his thoughts, and figured that he probably appeared the same way to his former enemy, whose perceptions and powers in the matters of the mind far surpassed those of any man or beast. Yet he did not flaunt these powers, and remained humble in his own way. He wrinkled his nose as Van Helsing finally got up to pour himself a tumbler of whiskey, and the hunter made a small show of drinking it, knowing it disgusted Dracula.

            God, we're like children, he thought, and snorted into his glass. The vampire cocked his head curiously at him. His neck wound, which Carl had not gotten to yet, gleamed wetly in the low light of the room. Van Helsing felt a small chill touch him. He died from that wound, he thought. And it is the last remnant of my time as a werewolf…and maybe the last remnant of his life of evil. God willing. In a strange, sick way, he wanted it to remain as a reminder of these things. Then a disgust for himself overwhelmed him, and he quickly banished the foul thought from his mind, determined never to think it again.

            "Gabriel, Carl," said Dracula suddenly, his voice quiet and gentle in the silent room. Both men looked up at him curiously, and he smiled. "During my time in…stasis…I managed to pick up a little knowledge that I think you both might be gratified to hear. I have waited for the right time to tell you, but I can wait no more. Now is a good enough time, I think."

            "What is it, Vlad?" asked Van Helsing quietly, but he already knew what this was about. Carl turned his head and looked at him owlishly; never had the friar heard Van Helsing refer to Dracula by his first name.

            "You both knew the princess Anna Valerious," said Dracula, "and I know that at least one of you loved her quite dearly." He smiled at Van Helsing. "I also know that upon my resurrection your thoughts would be of her and her family, and your fears would be that they would not be allowed in Heaven, their pact with God negated upon my return."

            "I will admit, I feared that," whispered Carl, and gave a yelp as Van Helsing dove practically into his lap and seized Dracula by the hand, clutching it tightly to his face. His eyes were bright and feverish, his knuckles as white as his face.

            "Tell me," he begged, and there were tears filling his eyes for the first time since she had died. "Tell me it isn't so, Vlad. Tell me!" He dug his nails into the flesh of the vampire's hand and shook it violently.

            Dracula watched him for a moment, his face the picture of an untold sadness. But then he smiled slowly, and placed his other hand on his former enemy's head.

            "It isn't so, Gabriel."

            Both men stared at him for a moment, and then Van Helsing gave a choked cry and jumped to his feet, weeping fully now; tears of joy and profound, endless relief. How he had believed that the curse was reinstated! How he had thought that her death was for nothing, that it all had been for nothing! Carl was smiling happily and got up to hug his friend, who returned his embrace so enthusiastically that all the air was squeezed out of the friar, who really didn't mind at all.

            Amongst all this sat Dracula, watching them both with a small smile on his face, but in that smile was the deepest and most profound sadness that could have been expressed by a creature such as he.

            Finally, Carl returned to his place and Van Helsing sat across from Dracula, the whiskey in his hand again. He looked happier then Dracula had seen him in a very long time, last lifetime included. For that he was glad, but he felt rather uncomfortable, seeing, of course, that it had been he who was the fate of the Valerious'.

            "So she's in heaven," said Van Helsing hoarsely.

            "She is, and all her family. When my powers were stripped of me and I was unable to create conquest, the Lord saw to it that the pact stood. I remained vanquished from their lands, and they remain in heaven."

            Van Helsing closed his eyes and smiled. Then he opened them again, but his smile did not fade. "It feels as though you've given me a great gift, my friend," he said.

            If Dracula could have gone paler, he would have. His mouth opened a little in shock.

            "What's the matter?" asked Van Helsing, leaning foreward concernedly. He made as if to rise, but Dracula shook his head.

            "No one," said Dracula distantly, "has called me 'friend' in over four hundred years, Gabriel. It appears as though you have given me a gift, as well."

            The two of them, beast and hunter, smiled genuinely at one another, and so it was that the bond was forged.