A/N-- Hey all, I'm back! And guess what? This fic actually has a plot now!! That's right, I just finished the plot today! And it looks like it will be mostly Evanescence songs with two Avril Lavigne songs off her second album and a surprise guest appearance by Michelle Branch at the very end! Just wanna thank my reviewers before I go and write another chappie:
The Wishmasters- Okay okay I'm updating!!!!! See!!! UPDATE! LOL. Now go update yours!!!!
Papillio- That's so weird... My Review Alert didn't send me an email about your review. I was just browsing and I realized that this had two reviews so I read it there... how weird!! Anyways, thanks for the review! Evanescence does rock... but they're a bit overused in this category as far as songfics, so I'm gonna use Avril Lavigne for this one.
Jade- I hadn't realized how emotional it is, actually... but I'm happy it came out that way. I'll try and maintain that throughout the rest of the story, but I'm not sure how it'll turn out! Thanks for the reviews on both this and Solitaire!
Well, on with the show!
Chapter Two:
Take Me Away
Van Helsing awoke in his small room just as the monks were leaving it again. He could only assume that they had been changing his bandages, and looked down at himself; he was naked to the waist, with nothing on his midsection but bandages where the vampire's claws had torn into him. His first thought was 'Ow' and his next thought was also 'Ow.' But after that his brain was devoted entirely to 'Carl.' He leapt to his feet (here it must be noted that his brain did waver to 'Ow' once more, but quickly became stuck on 'Carl' again) and began to walk out the door, only bothering to pull on boots and throw his coat over his shoulders. He was a bit miffed that it was all torn and stained, but shuddered as he looked at the rips and realized that Carl, too, had been attacked and dropped from the sky.
Stupid Friar. He really isn't a field man. He could've been hurt! Maybe that was God's way of telling me that I shouldn't ask him to come on more missions with me. Yes, that's it. Van Helsing thought to himself as he walked down the halls, mechanically making his way to Carl's room.
It startled him a little how well he knew the way, but quickly remembered the reason. Carl had had nothing but nightmares since they returned from Transylvania, and the Hunter would go often to his side in the middle of the night to make sure he was alright. He wasn't even sure how he knew that Carl was troubled. Their rooms were too far apart for him to have actually heard the panicked Friar calling his name, so the only answer was that it was some kind of instinct, the same instinct that drove him there every night, no matter where he was, to wake up as though Carl had been shouting for him. There were even nights in the Vatican when Carl wouldn't be calling out at all, but he would wake up, shuffle off to his room, and sit at his side, just staring at him.
We are good friends. He thought, although somehow it seemed a sparse answer.
Van Helsing arrived at last at Carl's room and let himself in, closing the door behind him. The Friar was curled up on the bed, on his right side. He knew that was the side his friend preferred; nine times out of ten when he came in at night, Carl was lying on his right side, just at the edge of the bed, so that the small window was pouring waves of moonlight over his contented face. Now of course it was sunlight, but the effect was still nothing short of dazzling.
He smiled broadly at the sight of his friend wriggling under the covers and muttering something about Glycerin 48 and took up his customary seat; a chair pulled from the desk and set at the side of the bed. He sat there and watched him, waiting for him to wake up.
Carl wasn't really sure what he was dreaming about. He wasn't entirely asleep; the fact was that he rarely slept deeply. He'd sleep for a few minutes here and there, get up, shuffle around, write something, and then curl up once more. For the larger part of his life, he had not slept much at all. But ever since he had come back from Transylvania, the need had been there and he thought he knew why.
Nightmares or no, Van Helsing would come in almost every night to check up on him, and something about his presence soothed Carl. Once he had found out the Hunter's midnight visits, he'd started sleeping more often. He liked being in the man's presence, but had never been able to tell Van Helsing that he knew he was there, every night. Maybe it would drive him to stop coming. I mean, what would he think of him if he knew of his longing for these silent nighttime visits every time Van Helsing was away? More importantly, what would Carl think of himself?
Well, it didn't matter now. Van Helsing was probably waiting for him to wake up, he already knew that he had entered around five minutes ago, pulled up a chair and sat down. Carl sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes in a gesture that even Dracula would've had to call adorable.
"Morning Van Helsing." Carl yawned, stretching but yelping as his bruises and cuts screeched at him.
"Careful there." Van Helsing cried worriedly. "Don't want to reopen those wounds."
Carl's gaze flickered to his friend sleepily, and he didn't say anything for a moment as though he was still trying to process what had been said. Actually, he was just staring at Van Helsing... he had never seen him having just woken up. His hair was still a little ruffled and his eyes not yet fully cleared. The Hunter probably didn't know it, but he had rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward slightly so that his coat fell open. There were a few strips of cloth that came just around his ribs but didn't cover his chest; bandages for the wounds on his back, he supposed. But he wondered if Van Helsing knew that his broad, muscled front was entirely open to the Friar's view. His eyes lingered there for a long while, wondering if the skin covering the muscles was warm, wanting to run his hands over it and find out. And if it was cold, he wanted to curl up there and let his body make it warm...
What the hell was that thought that just went through my mind? Carl shouted suddenly at himself. WHAT am I thinking? I am a man of God...
"Go." He croaked, turning his face from Van Helsing to hide the look of fear on his face. Sweat was dripping slowly down his body, from pain that was not just physical. It ran so deep that no one could begin to guess it, not even the one who possessed it.
"What?" Van Helsing asked incredulously.
"Go! Didn't you hear me?" Carl cried, more angrily than he intended.
"I only came to make sure you were alright Carl!" Van Helsing shot back. "You really could've hurt yourself doing a stupid thing like you did!"
"Oh, like you don't pull stuff like that every day?" Carl spat, his eyes still refusing to meet Van Helsing's.
"But I've been train-"
"You've been trained to die!" Carl shouted finally, jerking his head to look at Van Helsing.
He couldn't even feel the hot tears of anger and sorrow pouring down his face, but each one was like an arrow being shot into Van Helsing's heart. That organ now felt sick and hot with pain, pain he could only assume Carl was feeling. Unconsciously, he reached out to touch the Friar's now wet cheek, allowing the tears to flow over it. Carl's crying slowed at the touch and he found himself wanting to lean into the touch, give Van Helsing permission not to just brush at his cheek with the very tips of his fingers, but to cradle his face with his whole hand. He began to do so, but then both men leapt back as though burned when electricity lanced through them. Van Helsing stumbled backwards, knocking over the chair, and Carl almost hit his head on the wall behind him. Both froze for a moment longer, their eyes locking... and then Van Helsing ducked his head and walked quickly out of the room, hands jammed deep in his pockets.
Carl fell against the wall and dropped his head into his own palms, but there was no electricity there. They were shaking slightly, not firm and reassuring like Van Helsing's might've been.
Might've.. He thought bitterly. Why do I care so much that he didn't wipe away my tears? Why does it matter? He knew there was a word for what he was feeling, but it couldn't come to his lips at the moment. Or maybe there wasn't any word for it at all. It certainly felt too deep and complex to be described by any mortal terms.
----
I cannot find
A way to describe it
It's there, inside
All I do is hide...
----
Van Helsing went quickly back to his room, not making eye contact with anyone. He knew then that his eyes betrayed his emotions: hurt. Maybe he should stop visiting Carl at night if he didn't like the contact of his hand. It was true, sometimes the Friar would shift in his sleep and moan and he'd be unable to resist reaching out to stroke his cheek with the back of his knuckles, brush back some of that messy hair, or even take his hand and give it a squeeze if he was frightened. But... he didn't want to stop going there. Even then he wanted to turn around and run back to his room, wipe away all his tears and beg forgiveness. But he couldn't. So he flung himself onto his bed and tried desperately to make that hurt, longing feeling go away.
He was sick of hiding his midnight visits, sick of worrying that he'd anger Carl if he knew. He wanted this tormented, confused feeling to just up and go to hell.
----
I wish that it
Would just go away
What would you do
You do if you knew
What would you do?
----
Carl curled in on himself, his sobs shaking his body and causing his numerous cuts and bruises to yell at him even more loudly.
Go ahead, scream at me! He yelled back at them mentally. Someone needs to! I've been bad! I don't know why, but I have! His wounds were all too happy to comply, redoubling their pain. He relished that tearing feeling then, and reveled in it for a few more minutes before hauling himself to his feet. His work. He'd bury himself there.
But even there he felt hollow, puttering idly around, not doing anything of real use. He had always been lonely at the Vatican, but now he realized whose fault it was. Van Helsing's. He didn't want just anyone, he wanted the Monster Hunter there beside him. The shock nearly crippled him and for a minute, he leaned shaking against his work station.
"Are you alright Friar Carl?" asked the nearby monk who made the swords.
"Yes, Father." He managed to eek out, even adding a small smile. He was anything but alright. All this time he thought his loneliness was natural; everyone wanted friends. But the realization that it could be something much more was sickening and painful. He fell into a sitting position on the floor, shaking slightly. Strangely enough, the only person he wanted near him in that moment was the very person causing the pain. Gabriel Van Helsing.
----
All the pain
I thought I knew
All the thoughts lead back to you
Back to what
Was never said
Back and forth
Inside my head
I can't handle this confusion
I'm unable, come and take me away
----
Van Helsing removed his boots, threw off his coat, and then lay back down on his bed. He knew he needed rest, that's what breaks are for, right?, but all he could think of was Carl. He knew the smaller man had come so close to being killed the previous day, but he was sick of being alone on his life-or-death missions. Carl was right, he was trained to die. But he found himself not wanting to die alone.
Maybe it was his fault for that fate. Maybe he was too clammed up, too cool. Maybe he should open up more to Carl, tell him how much he meant to him.
But much does he mean? How can I tell him what I don't even know?
-----
I feel like I
Am all alone
All by myself
I need to get around this...
------
Struggling, Carl finally regained his feet. It was useless to wish for Van Helsing to appear and pity himself for the aching longing he left in his absence. This time it was no mission for God that had driven him away, it was his own cold words.
He started as his trembling hand broke an empty beaker, and stared with fascination at the drops of blood on his hand. He had hardly scratched himself, but they were there. Odd, it had only taken a single two letter word to send Van Helsing away. But how could he show him that he wanted him to stay, even if he didn't understand the reasons? No one knew how lonely he was, and he had never been brave enough to tell them. Once more, he didn't know the words. They came out wrong today anyway. When he had said 'go,' he had meant 'stay' with all his heart.
Great, He thought. If my heart has decided to become involved in this, whatever it is, it sure as hell won't end up right.
----
My words are cold
I don't want them to hurt you
If I show you
I don't think you'd understand
Cuz no one understands...
----
Van Helsing thought of how may times he had been lonely on his missions. Hell, he was always lonely, he realized. But he had never been really missing someone, unless it was someone he couldn't remember.
"I've been getting more and more lonely since Transylvania." He muttered to himself. His first thought was 'Anna,' but then he realized something else. That was the first mission he had really got to know Carl on.
Sure, he had been there in London, but that was brief and not as deadly or trying as Transylvania. Maybe now the little Friar had made him see the yawning void in his life, and now he ached to fill it. He wasn't sure whether to hate Carl or thank him for it, and he didn't have time to think about it. His head suddenly shot up as instinct flooded him, warned him that someone was in trouble.
"Carl..." He whispered to his silent room, pulling himself quickly to his feet and barreling out the door, stopping only to retrieve his coat this time.
----
All the pain
I thought I knew
All the thoughts lead back to you
Back to what
Was never said
Back and forth
Inside my head
I can't handle this confusion
I'm unable, come and take me away
----
Carl found himself resting very lightly against the edge of his work station, still staring at the two or three drops of blood on his palm. He poked the cut experimentally, fascinated by the two new drops that congealed with the others. What was he still doing here? He could drown himself in that red sea at any time. It's not like he was doing anything important anyway. Perpetually working at his lab, trying to change something while doing it. But Van Helsing, he was the one who was really out there, getting somewhere.
Getting closer to death! I don't want him to die! He shouted mentally. But that had been the bane of his existence as he waited for midnight meetings, watched for solitary figures to walk up the steps of the Vatican. Every time he did one of those things in and was met with loneliness, he was faced with one horrible fact: that Van Helsing might one day never come home.
He squeezed the small cut a little harder. It wasn't like anyone would notice.
-----
(I'm going nowhere)
On and on and
(I'm getting nowhere)
On and on and
(I'm going nowhere)
On and on and up and on
------
Van Helsing's pace quickened and then doubled on his way to Carl's lab. He actually aware of where his feet were taking him; apparently they had had some secret conference with his heart and were now determined to get somewhere. He just assumed that he was going to Carl's lab, and confirmed those thoughts when it came into sight.
Carl was leaned up against his workstation, for once idle, captivated by something in his hand. When Gabriel drew closer, he saw that it was blood and knew immediately that this was cause for concern. Carl hated blood in any way shape or form...
"Carl?" He asked. The Friar looked up quickly.
"I-i cut myself. But no, not like that!" He amended quickly upon seeing the look of horror on Van Helsing's face. "It was an accident..." Carl hung his head, but not fast enough for Van Helsing to miss the distant, glassy look in his eyes.
The Hunter reached out and cupped the Friar's injured hand in his own, wiping away some of the blood to look at the cut. It was small, he must've forced the blood out on purpose. He caught hold of Carl's other hand, then dropped it to tip up his head and stare into his eyes; he was met with the same vaguely lost look as before. Brushing some of his reddish hair out of the way, he rested his palm on Carl's forehead and noted that his whole body was clammy and he was shaking slightly.
Carl closed his eyes and leaned into the touch of Van Helsing's hand with a soft moan. Of course, Van Helsing would never suspect that this was done out of desire. He assumed that it was another sign of Carl being sick.
And I am. Carl thought. Sick with a disease I cannot name out of fear...
"You're sick, Carl!" Van Helsing chided gently. Both noticed that he still had not relinquished his hold on the Friar's hand, but pretended not to.
"I don't need you to tell me that." He quipped with a shadow of his usual impertinence.
"Then you shouldn't have left bed in the first place."
"Well you left, too." He said so softly that his companion almost didn't catch the words.
"Come on, let's get you back there." Gabriel sighed, at last dropping Carl's hand and beginning to walk forward, his other hand resting lightly on the small of Carl's back and leading him that way.
"I want to lean on you, Van Helsing. I'm tired... so tired..." Carl whispered drowsily as they walked on. He was hardly sure that the slurred words were his; everything grew blurry under the mask of pain.
"Go ahead. Anything for you, my dearest friend." The warmth of those words was the last thing Carl could hear clearly before everything went fuzzy. He dropped his head to rest on Van Helsing's shoulder, although he was somehow stung by the words he had said.
Please don't call me that... Anything but that.... He thought.
Van Helsing led the barely conscious Carl back to his room, telling anyone who glanced curiously at them that he had been working too hard so soon after injury and needed to rest more. They left it at that, but did whisper a little at the fact that he closed the door behind them and that they could hear the creaking of the Friar's bed shortly thereafter. But they didn't know that, with utmost tenderness, Van Helsing was sliding Carl under the covers and helping him shift into the position he knew he found most comfortable from many nights watching him sleep. After that, he sat on the bed beside him and lay his arm across his lap so he could clean and bandage his injured hand. Carl didn't stir throughout all this, so he felt safe to do one last thing.
He raised the bandaged hand to his cheek and held it there, crying softly onto it. He knew that Carl would never do it in his waking hours and would probably draw back in fear as he had done earlier if he knew what was happening. But he ceased his tears and allowed the bandaged hand to fall back to the bed motionless. Van Helsing himself slid off the bed and knelt there, his head resting on the mattress so he could watch Carl's sleeping face.
"Please be safe, Carl." He whispered. The Friar would never know how close he had come to saying 'love,' and maybe it was right. He then stood and began to slip out the room.
"Don't go." Carl rasped. Van Helsing turned swiftly and saw that his friend's eyes were open slightly, watching him.
"You need your rest." Van Helsing said sadly.
"You can sit beside me. I want you to." He continued in his barely audible voice. It was almost husky, Gabriel realized. "If you have to go, take me with you." He began to sit up.
"No. I'll stay." The Monster Slayer half-smiled, righting the fallen chair and sitting down once more. Carl smiled and began to drift off again. He needed Van Helsing to think him asleep for his plan to work...
It did. Within minutes, his friend was asleep too. Carl sat up slowly and tiptoed behind the chair, reaching around to wrap his 'friend' in a half embrace before slowly pulling off his coat. He lay it almost reverently to the side, then slowly pushed Van Helsing forward so he began to slide off the chair. But Carl was there to catch him just before he fell, and managed to pull him up onto the bed and tuck him in. The Hunter slightly and groaned, allowing Carl to catch these words:
"No... I'm staying.... here with Carl..."
The said Friar reached out for one of Van Helsing's hands, resting it lightly against his cheek and allowing a few tears to fall onto it. He spoke then, not caring if Gabriel heard him or not.
"I'm glad...."
----
Take me away
Take me away
Take me away
----
A/N-- Jeez... this is an emotionally draining story!!! Seriously!!! I knew it wasn't gonna be a bundle of laughs, but I didn't expect it on this scale!! Anyways, tell me if it's too over the top or if ya love it!! I know there wasn't a lot of action, per se, in this chapter, just a lot of thinking, but if you review (and the Wishmasters hand me some more inspiration) I'll get up the next chappie quicker and it's gonna have another fight scene!
The Wishmasters- Okay okay I'm updating!!!!! See!!! UPDATE! LOL. Now go update yours!!!!
Papillio- That's so weird... My Review Alert didn't send me an email about your review. I was just browsing and I realized that this had two reviews so I read it there... how weird!! Anyways, thanks for the review! Evanescence does rock... but they're a bit overused in this category as far as songfics, so I'm gonna use Avril Lavigne for this one.
Jade- I hadn't realized how emotional it is, actually... but I'm happy it came out that way. I'll try and maintain that throughout the rest of the story, but I'm not sure how it'll turn out! Thanks for the reviews on both this and Solitaire!
Well, on with the show!
Chapter Two:
Take Me Away
Van Helsing awoke in his small room just as the monks were leaving it again. He could only assume that they had been changing his bandages, and looked down at himself; he was naked to the waist, with nothing on his midsection but bandages where the vampire's claws had torn into him. His first thought was 'Ow' and his next thought was also 'Ow.' But after that his brain was devoted entirely to 'Carl.' He leapt to his feet (here it must be noted that his brain did waver to 'Ow' once more, but quickly became stuck on 'Carl' again) and began to walk out the door, only bothering to pull on boots and throw his coat over his shoulders. He was a bit miffed that it was all torn and stained, but shuddered as he looked at the rips and realized that Carl, too, had been attacked and dropped from the sky.
Stupid Friar. He really isn't a field man. He could've been hurt! Maybe that was God's way of telling me that I shouldn't ask him to come on more missions with me. Yes, that's it. Van Helsing thought to himself as he walked down the halls, mechanically making his way to Carl's room.
It startled him a little how well he knew the way, but quickly remembered the reason. Carl had had nothing but nightmares since they returned from Transylvania, and the Hunter would go often to his side in the middle of the night to make sure he was alright. He wasn't even sure how he knew that Carl was troubled. Their rooms were too far apart for him to have actually heard the panicked Friar calling his name, so the only answer was that it was some kind of instinct, the same instinct that drove him there every night, no matter where he was, to wake up as though Carl had been shouting for him. There were even nights in the Vatican when Carl wouldn't be calling out at all, but he would wake up, shuffle off to his room, and sit at his side, just staring at him.
We are good friends. He thought, although somehow it seemed a sparse answer.
Van Helsing arrived at last at Carl's room and let himself in, closing the door behind him. The Friar was curled up on the bed, on his right side. He knew that was the side his friend preferred; nine times out of ten when he came in at night, Carl was lying on his right side, just at the edge of the bed, so that the small window was pouring waves of moonlight over his contented face. Now of course it was sunlight, but the effect was still nothing short of dazzling.
He smiled broadly at the sight of his friend wriggling under the covers and muttering something about Glycerin 48 and took up his customary seat; a chair pulled from the desk and set at the side of the bed. He sat there and watched him, waiting for him to wake up.
Carl wasn't really sure what he was dreaming about. He wasn't entirely asleep; the fact was that he rarely slept deeply. He'd sleep for a few minutes here and there, get up, shuffle around, write something, and then curl up once more. For the larger part of his life, he had not slept much at all. But ever since he had come back from Transylvania, the need had been there and he thought he knew why.
Nightmares or no, Van Helsing would come in almost every night to check up on him, and something about his presence soothed Carl. Once he had found out the Hunter's midnight visits, he'd started sleeping more often. He liked being in the man's presence, but had never been able to tell Van Helsing that he knew he was there, every night. Maybe it would drive him to stop coming. I mean, what would he think of him if he knew of his longing for these silent nighttime visits every time Van Helsing was away? More importantly, what would Carl think of himself?
Well, it didn't matter now. Van Helsing was probably waiting for him to wake up, he already knew that he had entered around five minutes ago, pulled up a chair and sat down. Carl sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes in a gesture that even Dracula would've had to call adorable.
"Morning Van Helsing." Carl yawned, stretching but yelping as his bruises and cuts screeched at him.
"Careful there." Van Helsing cried worriedly. "Don't want to reopen those wounds."
Carl's gaze flickered to his friend sleepily, and he didn't say anything for a moment as though he was still trying to process what had been said. Actually, he was just staring at Van Helsing... he had never seen him having just woken up. His hair was still a little ruffled and his eyes not yet fully cleared. The Hunter probably didn't know it, but he had rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward slightly so that his coat fell open. There were a few strips of cloth that came just around his ribs but didn't cover his chest; bandages for the wounds on his back, he supposed. But he wondered if Van Helsing knew that his broad, muscled front was entirely open to the Friar's view. His eyes lingered there for a long while, wondering if the skin covering the muscles was warm, wanting to run his hands over it and find out. And if it was cold, he wanted to curl up there and let his body make it warm...
What the hell was that thought that just went through my mind? Carl shouted suddenly at himself. WHAT am I thinking? I am a man of God...
"Go." He croaked, turning his face from Van Helsing to hide the look of fear on his face. Sweat was dripping slowly down his body, from pain that was not just physical. It ran so deep that no one could begin to guess it, not even the one who possessed it.
"What?" Van Helsing asked incredulously.
"Go! Didn't you hear me?" Carl cried, more angrily than he intended.
"I only came to make sure you were alright Carl!" Van Helsing shot back. "You really could've hurt yourself doing a stupid thing like you did!"
"Oh, like you don't pull stuff like that every day?" Carl spat, his eyes still refusing to meet Van Helsing's.
"But I've been train-"
"You've been trained to die!" Carl shouted finally, jerking his head to look at Van Helsing.
He couldn't even feel the hot tears of anger and sorrow pouring down his face, but each one was like an arrow being shot into Van Helsing's heart. That organ now felt sick and hot with pain, pain he could only assume Carl was feeling. Unconsciously, he reached out to touch the Friar's now wet cheek, allowing the tears to flow over it. Carl's crying slowed at the touch and he found himself wanting to lean into the touch, give Van Helsing permission not to just brush at his cheek with the very tips of his fingers, but to cradle his face with his whole hand. He began to do so, but then both men leapt back as though burned when electricity lanced through them. Van Helsing stumbled backwards, knocking over the chair, and Carl almost hit his head on the wall behind him. Both froze for a moment longer, their eyes locking... and then Van Helsing ducked his head and walked quickly out of the room, hands jammed deep in his pockets.
Carl fell against the wall and dropped his head into his own palms, but there was no electricity there. They were shaking slightly, not firm and reassuring like Van Helsing's might've been.
Might've.. He thought bitterly. Why do I care so much that he didn't wipe away my tears? Why does it matter? He knew there was a word for what he was feeling, but it couldn't come to his lips at the moment. Or maybe there wasn't any word for it at all. It certainly felt too deep and complex to be described by any mortal terms.
----
I cannot find
A way to describe it
It's there, inside
All I do is hide...
----
Van Helsing went quickly back to his room, not making eye contact with anyone. He knew then that his eyes betrayed his emotions: hurt. Maybe he should stop visiting Carl at night if he didn't like the contact of his hand. It was true, sometimes the Friar would shift in his sleep and moan and he'd be unable to resist reaching out to stroke his cheek with the back of his knuckles, brush back some of that messy hair, or even take his hand and give it a squeeze if he was frightened. But... he didn't want to stop going there. Even then he wanted to turn around and run back to his room, wipe away all his tears and beg forgiveness. But he couldn't. So he flung himself onto his bed and tried desperately to make that hurt, longing feeling go away.
He was sick of hiding his midnight visits, sick of worrying that he'd anger Carl if he knew. He wanted this tormented, confused feeling to just up and go to hell.
----
I wish that it
Would just go away
What would you do
You do if you knew
What would you do?
----
Carl curled in on himself, his sobs shaking his body and causing his numerous cuts and bruises to yell at him even more loudly.
Go ahead, scream at me! He yelled back at them mentally. Someone needs to! I've been bad! I don't know why, but I have! His wounds were all too happy to comply, redoubling their pain. He relished that tearing feeling then, and reveled in it for a few more minutes before hauling himself to his feet. His work. He'd bury himself there.
But even there he felt hollow, puttering idly around, not doing anything of real use. He had always been lonely at the Vatican, but now he realized whose fault it was. Van Helsing's. He didn't want just anyone, he wanted the Monster Hunter there beside him. The shock nearly crippled him and for a minute, he leaned shaking against his work station.
"Are you alright Friar Carl?" asked the nearby monk who made the swords.
"Yes, Father." He managed to eek out, even adding a small smile. He was anything but alright. All this time he thought his loneliness was natural; everyone wanted friends. But the realization that it could be something much more was sickening and painful. He fell into a sitting position on the floor, shaking slightly. Strangely enough, the only person he wanted near him in that moment was the very person causing the pain. Gabriel Van Helsing.
----
All the pain
I thought I knew
All the thoughts lead back to you
Back to what
Was never said
Back and forth
Inside my head
I can't handle this confusion
I'm unable, come and take me away
----
Van Helsing removed his boots, threw off his coat, and then lay back down on his bed. He knew he needed rest, that's what breaks are for, right?, but all he could think of was Carl. He knew the smaller man had come so close to being killed the previous day, but he was sick of being alone on his life-or-death missions. Carl was right, he was trained to die. But he found himself not wanting to die alone.
Maybe it was his fault for that fate. Maybe he was too clammed up, too cool. Maybe he should open up more to Carl, tell him how much he meant to him.
But much does he mean? How can I tell him what I don't even know?
-----
I feel like I
Am all alone
All by myself
I need to get around this...
------
Struggling, Carl finally regained his feet. It was useless to wish for Van Helsing to appear and pity himself for the aching longing he left in his absence. This time it was no mission for God that had driven him away, it was his own cold words.
He started as his trembling hand broke an empty beaker, and stared with fascination at the drops of blood on his hand. He had hardly scratched himself, but they were there. Odd, it had only taken a single two letter word to send Van Helsing away. But how could he show him that he wanted him to stay, even if he didn't understand the reasons? No one knew how lonely he was, and he had never been brave enough to tell them. Once more, he didn't know the words. They came out wrong today anyway. When he had said 'go,' he had meant 'stay' with all his heart.
Great, He thought. If my heart has decided to become involved in this, whatever it is, it sure as hell won't end up right.
----
My words are cold
I don't want them to hurt you
If I show you
I don't think you'd understand
Cuz no one understands...
----
Van Helsing thought of how may times he had been lonely on his missions. Hell, he was always lonely, he realized. But he had never been really missing someone, unless it was someone he couldn't remember.
"I've been getting more and more lonely since Transylvania." He muttered to himself. His first thought was 'Anna,' but then he realized something else. That was the first mission he had really got to know Carl on.
Sure, he had been there in London, but that was brief and not as deadly or trying as Transylvania. Maybe now the little Friar had made him see the yawning void in his life, and now he ached to fill it. He wasn't sure whether to hate Carl or thank him for it, and he didn't have time to think about it. His head suddenly shot up as instinct flooded him, warned him that someone was in trouble.
"Carl..." He whispered to his silent room, pulling himself quickly to his feet and barreling out the door, stopping only to retrieve his coat this time.
----
All the pain
I thought I knew
All the thoughts lead back to you
Back to what
Was never said
Back and forth
Inside my head
I can't handle this confusion
I'm unable, come and take me away
----
Carl found himself resting very lightly against the edge of his work station, still staring at the two or three drops of blood on his palm. He poked the cut experimentally, fascinated by the two new drops that congealed with the others. What was he still doing here? He could drown himself in that red sea at any time. It's not like he was doing anything important anyway. Perpetually working at his lab, trying to change something while doing it. But Van Helsing, he was the one who was really out there, getting somewhere.
Getting closer to death! I don't want him to die! He shouted mentally. But that had been the bane of his existence as he waited for midnight meetings, watched for solitary figures to walk up the steps of the Vatican. Every time he did one of those things in and was met with loneliness, he was faced with one horrible fact: that Van Helsing might one day never come home.
He squeezed the small cut a little harder. It wasn't like anyone would notice.
-----
(I'm going nowhere)
On and on and
(I'm getting nowhere)
On and on and
(I'm going nowhere)
On and on and up and on
------
Van Helsing's pace quickened and then doubled on his way to Carl's lab. He actually aware of where his feet were taking him; apparently they had had some secret conference with his heart and were now determined to get somewhere. He just assumed that he was going to Carl's lab, and confirmed those thoughts when it came into sight.
Carl was leaned up against his workstation, for once idle, captivated by something in his hand. When Gabriel drew closer, he saw that it was blood and knew immediately that this was cause for concern. Carl hated blood in any way shape or form...
"Carl?" He asked. The Friar looked up quickly.
"I-i cut myself. But no, not like that!" He amended quickly upon seeing the look of horror on Van Helsing's face. "It was an accident..." Carl hung his head, but not fast enough for Van Helsing to miss the distant, glassy look in his eyes.
The Hunter reached out and cupped the Friar's injured hand in his own, wiping away some of the blood to look at the cut. It was small, he must've forced the blood out on purpose. He caught hold of Carl's other hand, then dropped it to tip up his head and stare into his eyes; he was met with the same vaguely lost look as before. Brushing some of his reddish hair out of the way, he rested his palm on Carl's forehead and noted that his whole body was clammy and he was shaking slightly.
Carl closed his eyes and leaned into the touch of Van Helsing's hand with a soft moan. Of course, Van Helsing would never suspect that this was done out of desire. He assumed that it was another sign of Carl being sick.
And I am. Carl thought. Sick with a disease I cannot name out of fear...
"You're sick, Carl!" Van Helsing chided gently. Both noticed that he still had not relinquished his hold on the Friar's hand, but pretended not to.
"I don't need you to tell me that." He quipped with a shadow of his usual impertinence.
"Then you shouldn't have left bed in the first place."
"Well you left, too." He said so softly that his companion almost didn't catch the words.
"Come on, let's get you back there." Gabriel sighed, at last dropping Carl's hand and beginning to walk forward, his other hand resting lightly on the small of Carl's back and leading him that way.
"I want to lean on you, Van Helsing. I'm tired... so tired..." Carl whispered drowsily as they walked on. He was hardly sure that the slurred words were his; everything grew blurry under the mask of pain.
"Go ahead. Anything for you, my dearest friend." The warmth of those words was the last thing Carl could hear clearly before everything went fuzzy. He dropped his head to rest on Van Helsing's shoulder, although he was somehow stung by the words he had said.
Please don't call me that... Anything but that.... He thought.
Van Helsing led the barely conscious Carl back to his room, telling anyone who glanced curiously at them that he had been working too hard so soon after injury and needed to rest more. They left it at that, but did whisper a little at the fact that he closed the door behind them and that they could hear the creaking of the Friar's bed shortly thereafter. But they didn't know that, with utmost tenderness, Van Helsing was sliding Carl under the covers and helping him shift into the position he knew he found most comfortable from many nights watching him sleep. After that, he sat on the bed beside him and lay his arm across his lap so he could clean and bandage his injured hand. Carl didn't stir throughout all this, so he felt safe to do one last thing.
He raised the bandaged hand to his cheek and held it there, crying softly onto it. He knew that Carl would never do it in his waking hours and would probably draw back in fear as he had done earlier if he knew what was happening. But he ceased his tears and allowed the bandaged hand to fall back to the bed motionless. Van Helsing himself slid off the bed and knelt there, his head resting on the mattress so he could watch Carl's sleeping face.
"Please be safe, Carl." He whispered. The Friar would never know how close he had come to saying 'love,' and maybe it was right. He then stood and began to slip out the room.
"Don't go." Carl rasped. Van Helsing turned swiftly and saw that his friend's eyes were open slightly, watching him.
"You need your rest." Van Helsing said sadly.
"You can sit beside me. I want you to." He continued in his barely audible voice. It was almost husky, Gabriel realized. "If you have to go, take me with you." He began to sit up.
"No. I'll stay." The Monster Slayer half-smiled, righting the fallen chair and sitting down once more. Carl smiled and began to drift off again. He needed Van Helsing to think him asleep for his plan to work...
It did. Within minutes, his friend was asleep too. Carl sat up slowly and tiptoed behind the chair, reaching around to wrap his 'friend' in a half embrace before slowly pulling off his coat. He lay it almost reverently to the side, then slowly pushed Van Helsing forward so he began to slide off the chair. But Carl was there to catch him just before he fell, and managed to pull him up onto the bed and tuck him in. The Hunter slightly and groaned, allowing Carl to catch these words:
"No... I'm staying.... here with Carl..."
The said Friar reached out for one of Van Helsing's hands, resting it lightly against his cheek and allowing a few tears to fall onto it. He spoke then, not caring if Gabriel heard him or not.
"I'm glad...."
----
Take me away
Take me away
Take me away
----
A/N-- Jeez... this is an emotionally draining story!!! Seriously!!! I knew it wasn't gonna be a bundle of laughs, but I didn't expect it on this scale!! Anyways, tell me if it's too over the top or if ya love it!! I know there wasn't a lot of action, per se, in this chapter, just a lot of thinking, but if you review (and the Wishmasters hand me some more inspiration) I'll get up the next chappie quicker and it's gonna have another fight scene!