Hello all Van Helsing fans! Since, in my humble opinion, Vlad/Gabriel is the most obvious pairing in VH, I decided to leave the realm of writing fluff for a time, and actually write something with plot. This will be slash - shouldn't be anything too heavy, but in the event that there might be anything which some people might not want to read, I will give a warning at the beginning of the chapter. You're safe for now, though. ;) The story will take place from their meeting to Vlad's murder. The writing may be slow-going, so bear with me on that account. Please enjoy, and thanks to ShelobTinuviel for a lovely beta/CC job!

I. Prelude to a Life

They found me collapsed upon the steps of the church, rain-drenched and all but dead. I knew not how I got there, or why I felt so weak. My mind was empty save for two things: my name, and the knowledge that somehow I would find safety within the Vatican.

They took me in, and the cardinal took me under his wing. His name was Clemente, a short and intense but good-natured Spaniard who refused to let me leave even after I was well again. He asked me many strange questions, if I ever had any memories which I could not explain.

"Of course not," I told him. "Ought I to?"

He looked at me as if he did not take me seriously. "We'll see," he said, stroking his thin black beard. "You think on it, and we'll talk again in the morning."

As I slept that night, I dreamed of many strange things. There were no complete stories, no resolved conflicts, just bits and pieces of unfamiliar places and people – and monsters in abundance. I awoke, thoroughly unsettled, just as Clemente walked through the door.

"Buenos dias, my friend," he greeted me, pulling a chair up beside the bed. "How are we this morning?"

"I'm just splendid; don't know about you," I responded, half-growling out of frustration and confusion.

"Well enough, well enough." Despite his friendly countenance, he was not one to forsake business. "Any midnight revelations?" he inquired, almost facetiously.

I decided to be honest, and spoke, turning the thoughts over in my mind, still trying to make sense of them. "I dreamed all night of strange places, of people I've never seen before." I had hoped for answers, and when he did not respond I wondered if this was not what he wanted to hear. "I don't know if that means anything, but it's all I have for you."

He nodded, lost in thought, then took a deep breath and informed me that the signs were clear. I had given the name, and then proven myself to be Gabriel Van Helsing, the great monster-hunter of the Knights of the Order, who never truly died but always was reborn to continue to protect the world from evil.

I told him he was being absolutely ridiculous – I was no monster-hunter! and the dreams of the previous night had been enough to permanently turn me off to the idea.

"You do not believe me?" I shot him a rather cynical look, as though daring him to prove me wrong. "Very well." He rose from his chair and smoothed his red robes. "Even so, I would like to show you something which may be of interest to you. Here in the Vatican we have a great underground laboratory, which houses thousands of people, all workers for the Order. Perhaps to go down there would jar your memory?"

I was skeptical, but quickly dressed and went with him. We passed through halls lined with artifacts, and great chambers covered with frescoes depicting angels, until finally we reached the body of the church.

I made straight for the confessional, and was extremely surprised to find myself standing inside it as if I had been drawn by some unseen force, just as I had been drawn to the church itself. Clemente, not yet betraying any surprise, entered the other side. Suddenly he pulled a lever, and a secret staircase revealed itself.

If my original surprise had been great, then now it could be called shock. The cardinal asked with a twinkle in his eye if now I believed him. I told him I supposed I did – how else could I have known where to go?

Thus, Gabriel Van Helsing resumed his work for the Knights of the Holy Order.

I was sent on missions all over Europe, and all the knowledge I needed for traveling and slaying beasts came back to me. I would pick up a weapon and find that I already knew how to use it; suddenly I was a veritable treasure trove of information regarding all things unholy and how to kill them. Most of the work I did seemed nothing too challenging – warlocks and werewolves and such – but a stray vampire here or there kept me on my toes. I traveled all over the continent and even made my way across the sea to Africa a few times. Often I would reach a place and have the distinct impression that I had been there before. Yet it seemed that I was always alone. Whenever I passed, people would stare and then quickly look away, like they had heard of me and thought it best to keep out of my way. I would move like a shadow, doing my work as quietly as possible (often not very quietly at all) and then slipping away unhindered. When I returned to Rome, Clemente would always have a new task for me.

One time I spent several months in France, tracking down a group of particularly nasty warlocks. As so frequently seemed to be the case, I was not able to bring any of them back alive – and after all, who wants to travel hundreds of miles having to drag an irate warlock along? I was therefore expecting a rebuke from Clemente upon my return.

I did not get what I expected.

I arrived back at the Vatican to discover that Clemente was dead, having caught a nasty illness: an afterthought of the black plague. In his place was an older man with wiry grey hair, called Cardinal Grammen. He curtly explained to me what had happened. I said it was a pity, for Clemente was a good man. Grammen's response to this was that if he really was a good man, then he would have lived to be sixty; clearly God did not think such a man was fit to be doing His holy work. I kept rather quiet after that.

A few changes had occurred in my absence: deaths, births, breakthroughs. But the most noteworthy was a man who had come to aid the Order, having arrived just weeks after my departure to France. He was another hunter, the son of a Transylvanian count. His name was Vladislaus Valerious, which Grammen told me as though he thought it terribly rude of the man to have such a difficult name to pronounce. He did declare to me that there was something about this young nobleman that he did not like, but that he seemed to be a virtuous person. I was about to quip, "Judge ye not," but then thought better of it. While Clemente would have laughed and concurred, I had a feeling that this one would not.

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