The first thing Ethan did when he woke was check for restraints.

The moment a semblance of consciousness returned, he jerked his limbs up and off the ground. The lack of rattling chains was a promising sign. By now though, Ethan had learned not to hold onto the feeling of relief for long. It had a way of kicking him in the ass.

The second thing Ethan did was acknowledge that he felt like shit.

It wasn't the typical post-torture-and-mutilation feeling of shit either. Ethan was getting the chills. They rippled through his body powerfully enough to make him shudder. Simultaneously, his head was pounding with a debilitating ache – freshly intensified by him kicking up while checking for shackles on his limbs. A burning heat in his skull was cooking his brain up.

Burning up and shivering with chills at the same time – a fever. Of course. Just what he needed.

Ethan squinted his eyes open in the effort to get his bearings. He found that he had not moved an inch in his time passed out. The dancing light of the oil lantern felt harsh to his sensitive eyes. The dried pool of blood beneath him had grown sticky in his time on the ground. The scent of the stale blood intermingling with the hours-old puke was enough to send another wave of nausea over him.

If his stomach had anything left to hurl, he may have puked yet again. Not that it had stopped him before.

Inch by inch, Ethan peeled his aching body off the gummy pool of dried blood until he sat up. He remained where he was for a moment longer, willing the nausea and the pounding headache to ease up. The beat of his heart was fast, rapid like he'd just ran a marathon. Not at all the slow pace of someone just waking up. His eyes remained squinted as he stared straight ahead at his cell door, illuminated by the swaying light of the oil lantern.

Seconds ticked by and became minutes. Ethan felt no less awful, which was his cue to suck it up and get a move on. First order of business was to dim the oil lantern by a smidge. Enough to stop his headache from worsening, but still just enough to provide light. Ethan smeared the sticky blood along the floor while he moved his sluggish limbs around. After far more struggle than he'd expected, Ethan got up on all fours and crawled towards the lantern.

He was practically watching the lantern's flame through his eyelashes the closer he got. His aching, shaking body was not liking the movements he was pushing it to do. His sweat-covered head similarly did not appreciate the bright light. Ethan extended his right hand out to get the job done. His stiff fingers bumped against the lantern, causing it to rock slightly.

Ethan frowned.

His fingers twitched and pulsed in the effort to close into a fist. After a whooping five seconds, his fingers successfully curled into a poor imitation of a fist. It was like if you put an alien in a human's body and taught him how to make a fist. Ethan's hand just looked wrong. And that wasn't taking into account the missing ring finger.

The uncooperative right hand was returned to the cold stone floor. Ethan used his left – fingers working upon checking – to turn the knob on the lantern. The light flickered and dimmed to an acceptable level, granting him a small reprieve.

Ethan shifted until his back hit the rusted steel cell door. He took that time to inspect his right hand for any clear defects aside from the amputation.

Cassandra had severed his ring finger at the second knuckle, leaving a sizeable stump. It was, all things considered, a reasonably clean cut. His skin had healed over accordingly once disinfected.

A part of Ethan felt he should still be weirded out by this by now. The other part of him acknowledged that, after everything, was there anything worth being truly shocked and astounded by anymore?

Jack Baker had cut his fucking foot off with a shovel. Not even at the knee. Right in the middle of his goddamn shin.

Did he need surgery and months of rehab to start walking again?

No. He needed a bottle of disinfectant and he may as well have superglued the severed limb back on. At the time, with the Baker patriarch breathing down his neck, he didn't have time to think twice about it – save for a stray what the fuck hissed through clenched teeth.

In the three years since then, plus all the tests Chris and the BSAA had put him through – Ethan found his fair share of answers.

The long and short of it was that he and Mia still had that mold in their systems. The proliferation of the mold was clearly severe enough to warrant around-the-clock babysitting by Chris and his goons. Yet at the same time, Ethan figured he and Mia weren't that far gone if they'd been given their second chance at life in the Romanian countryside. That was, of course, ignoring the fact that it was also Chris who tore Ethan's life asunder all over again.

The mold had its uses, Ethan had to give it credit. Three years ago, he wouldn't have been in one piece by the time he recovered Mia if not for the mold's regenerative abilities. Ethan's eyes fell back to the healed stump of his right ring finger.

He would have bled out and died under Cassandra's blade if not for the mold. Bela could have attempted to stitch him up, sure. But any normal human would have gone into shock and died long before Bela arrived to get her sisters off of him.

So, this all begged the question – Ethan twitched his dull fingers – why the fuck wasn't his hand working right?

He was going through all the motions. His brain was sending the signals to his hand. The same signals that got his left hand moving fell dead on his right. The movements were sluggish. Lethargic. Laggy, like his brain was a faulty internet router.

Ethan heaved a heavy sigh and began struggling to get up on his feet. He placed a hand on the cell bars to steady his shaking body.

That crazy bitch must have really done a number on him if his hand was still jacked up. Maybe some tendons or nerves got all tangled up when the wound had sealed over. It probably just needed a little more time to be ready for functional use.

A glance down allowed Ethan to take quick inventory of his current state. His hoodie and innerwear were ripped to shit in multiple spots. His right sleeve was almost completely missing after Bela had snipped it away to give his arm some breathing room. His sturdy jeans had a few tears that were definitely not designer-choice. A particularly large hole could be found by the left knee where he'd been shot by a goddamn arrow.

Absolutely fuck this place.

Where in the world could you get shot by an actual arrow in this day and age?

Ethan grumbled under his breath and pushed off the cell door. He stood on uneven feet, experimentally shifting his weight from side to side. He kept his hands splayed out in case he took a tumble – which was likely given how the nausea was still making the room spin in slow circles.

There was no escaping in his current condition. Not now, at least. The best he could do for the moment was to take a survey of his surroundings.

His cell had four walls. Two of these were of rough-hewn stone. With several dull thumps of his fist, it was an easy guess that these were over a foot thick at least. There was also no telling what was beyond the wall. To the side stone wall, it was an easy assumption that it led to the rest of the labyrinthian dungeon. The back stone wall which the chamber pot was propped against was a bit more promising – Ethan weakly kicked the stone a few times.

This wasn't his first rodeo. There was always a way out, somewhere, somehow. He had to consider every possible angle that his throbbing brain could process. This back wall could lead to some sprawling cavern system that would be his ticket out of here. Alternatively, it could be a sheer drop on the other side, given that the castle was on a slight elevation compared to the surrounding area.

But – another kick to the wall – these walls were hardy. Even if he recovered his pipe bombs, Ethan doubted the explosive payload would be enough to blow the walls open. He could duct tape as many of them together as he wanted, but that just wouldn't happen. He'd need a pound of C4 plastic explosives at the very least to get through. Something told him Bela wouldn't eagerly fetch him the military-grade explosives, even if he batted his eyelashes at her and offered his precious blood.

With this in mind, Ethan staggered over to lean on the back wall. He wrapped his shaking self with his arms in an effort to fend off the shivers that his fever was bringing. Ethan's gaze fell on the drying, smeared pool of blood on the ground, which almost resembled the wings of an angel. Like the most fucked up version of a snow-angel imaginable.

Ethan blinked several times to clear his thought process.

Focus, focus, focus.

Whatever was causing the fever was also making it difficult to home in on his thoughts.

Walls. Right – the walls.

Ethan tore his eyes from the floor and observed the other two walls of rusted steel. One side was a solid row of bars, while the front was interrupted by the cell door in the middle. Thick hinges, a large lock, and a gap towards the bottom – a slot. Probably big enough to fit a tray for feeding prisoners.

He almost expected his stomach to grumble on cue. To remind him that he hadn't eaten in – shit, how long has it been? Over a day? Two days?

Either way, Ethan felt no pang of hunger. The nausea, the fever, and the thick smell of blood and vomit in the air made sure of that. That was one of life's little mercies, he supposed.

Pushing off the back wall, Ethan steadied himself on the cell wall to his side. Despite the rust, the thick bars appeared sturdy. They were embedded deeply into the stone above and below. Breaking them would be no easy feat, especially in his severely weakened state. His eyes strained over the individual bars, scanning for any weakness. He was a systems engineer. Not an engineer-engineer that would see structural instability in a heartbeat.

That left the door. Ethan took his time approaching the cell door, nearly dragging his feet along the way. His aching, shivering body struggled to stay upright as he studied the door.

If he could somehow swipe the key from Bela, that would be the most straightforward way through. Unfortunately, attempting to grab the key would seal his death by exsanguination the moment he got caught. Something told him he would be caught. Bela seemed sharp – sharper than her sisters, Ethan reckoned. She was the last person he should try to steal a key from.

Even if Bela didn't murder him for the escape attempt, it would certainly put a strain on their relationship.

Ethan thunked his head against the cool cell bars.

Was that the word for it? Do captives and captors have a relationship? Do victims and torturers? Blood-cattle and vampire-cannibal-psychos?

Relationship seemed like too light of a word for the grave link he had to the Dimitrescu family.

Regardless of semantics – Ethan didn't want to set Bela off. The rest of the sisters be damned. At least Bela wasn't looking to torture him and cackle in sadistic glee. He didn't like it, but he needed someone to be on his side in this hellhole. Even if being on his side simply entailed no torture and mutilation. That was already a massive plus in his books. He could work out siphoning information about Rose from Bela as time went on.

Ethan was aware by now that he was in this for the long haul. Aside from miraculously stealing a key from Bela, his next best bet was destroying the door hinges with a hefty rock. Somehow, that didn't seem too probable in his weakened state. Not to mention his ass would be toast the moment the witches noticed the dents he'd put on the hinges. So, he had no choice. He had to bide his time until more opportunities presented themselves.

He only hoped Rose had time as well.

With another heavy sigh, Ethan pushed off the cell door. His shaky legs took him towards the center of his enclosure. He picked a spot far enough away from the puddle of sticky, drying bodily fluids. He eased down to the floor with one hand on the side stone wall to steady himself. Ethan was going nowhere fast. Now would be a good time to make a few entries in his journal. There was no telling what fucked up scenario he'd find himself in soon. May as well document his experiences while he had two hands attached to his body.

Cassandra may very well amputate one the next time he woke up.

By the time Ethan's absentminded hands reached his back pocket, his mistake dawned on him.

In the dim light, Ethan turned his eyes to the sturdy, medieval-looking chest beyond the cell walls. Bela had likely confiscated his journal along with everything else. It hadn't occurred to him during the frisking. He was a little more focused on his weapons being taken.

"God damnit," Ethan grumbled.

There had been no improvements to Ethan's condition in the time he'd spent inspecting the cell. The sweat dripping from his brow had only doubled in volume. His heart still beat sharply and quickly. Thoughts came and went, growing increasingly difficult to latch onto. His right hand's sluggish movements remained out of sync. Moving too fast or turning his head too snappily brought on more and more waves of nausea.

Ethan was tired.

His legs shifted, and his torso hit the ground harder than he'd intended. Ethan curled in on himself in the effort to keep his shivering body warm. His arms remained close, tucked into his body. The wedding ring on his mangled left hand glinted in the lantern's warm glow. The rough, cold stone floor served as Ethan's pillow as he stared at the ring. He watched the dance of the lamplight reflected on the ring's dirty, blood-tinged band. The only thing he had left to remember Mia by.

He was so tired.


The split second before Ethan's eyes blinked open, he kind of expected to see Daniela and Cassandra again. It was just the sort of rotten luck, the kind of twisted humor the universe seemed to have when it came to him.

He hated being right. He only wished they didn't bring Mia along with them.

Ethan found himself in familiar territory with his arms and legs chained to the floor. Just as powerless and useless as before.

Daniela and Cassandra stood on either side of Mia, who was down on her knees and hunched over. The two witches kept firm grips on his wife's arms as they watched him struggle. Their maniacal giggling filled the dank air of the dungeon.

"Hey! Let her go! Get your fucking hands off her!" Ethan kicked and tugged furiously on the shackles.

Mia's head meekly raised up to look at him. Her cascading brown hair shifted to one side and she fixed him with her glimmering eyes.

"Mia, hey," Ethan licked his dry lips. "It's gonna be okay. We're gonna get out of this."

Cassandra howled with laughter and cut in, "Are you, man-thing? How are you going to get out?"

"Silly man," Daniela giggled along and looked towards her sister. "His oafish optimism is so cute."

"Ethan…" Mia's voice cracked.

"We're gonna – we'll get out of here." Ethan held his wife's gaze. His own eyes began to brim with tears. "You and me, we're gonna get out. We're gonna find Rose. I promise."

The witches laughed all the more as if the emotional display before them were the funniest goddamn thing imaginable. Ethan's tired muscles strained against the chains to no avail. With Mia's tear-streaked face in view – with her lip that she bit to keep the sobs from spilling out – Jesus, she was tough. She was brave. She remained strong and silent amidst the witches' mad cackling.

Ethan was desperate. There was no fighting against his restraints, but there was one person in this godforsaken castle who might free him.

"Bela!" Ethan called out. His head swiveled this way and that – on the off chance that she was somewhere in the long, dark shadows of the dungeon. "Bela, please! I need your help!"

There was the briefest pause in laughter when Cassandra piped up, "You think our sister is going to help you?" She rolled her eyes and scoffed, "Please. You are prey, man-thing."

A bubble of hope built up within Ethan at the sight of movement in the shadows behind Daniela and Cassandra. Bela could help. Surely, she wasn't as bad as her sisters.

As quickly as the hope had bubbled up, it burst when Chris Redfield stepped out from the shadows. Ethan's breath hitched.

All he could manage out was, "Chris?!"

The man in question carried a large sickle in hand. The rusty blade came to rest around Mia's neck as her eyes widened in horror.

"Sorry, Ethan."

Chris slit Mia's neck open with a single swipe.


Ethan took breath in with a sharp hiss. The exhale came in a shudder – or a shiver, given by how his body was feeling. The slightest movements were making the room turn – even if his adjusting eyes were only seeing silhouettes and shadows. He was burning up even worse than before now. The stiffness in his right arm had turned into a full-blown throbbing ache.

In spite of the pain, and ache, and general feeling of un-health, all Ethan could think of was Mia.

It was all his fault. Chris may have held the gun, but Ethan may as well have pulled the trigger himself.

He should've pushed back against witness protection in Romania. He should've disagreed with Chris spearheading their relocation and security. He should've dived over Mia after the first bullet ripped through her shoulder. He should've intercepted the five rounds Chris fired into her at point-blank.

If he'd done even one of those things, Mia would still be alive.

But he had done nothing.

He agreed to Romania – forgetting that it was a world away from anybody he knew from before the Baker Incident. Away from anyone that could've come to his aid when Chris decided to murder his wife and take his baby.

He let the big, intimidating military guy handle their move and set up security. Fuck – he even went through military training under Chris' watch. It had never once occurred to Ethan, that after surviving the Baker's house of horrors, maybe he was a little qualified. He'd learned his fair share of lessons that could have gone into their relocation and succeeding security measures.

His jaw was slack when their window shattered from gunfire. As if Chris goddamn Redfield hadn't taught him the basics of how to immediately react to a hail of bullets – y'know – shit as simple as diving over people you want to protect?

He was useless. So fucking useless. What kind of man can't protect his wife?

"Ethan?"

He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of Bela's voice.

Eyes coming into focus now, Ethan made out Bela's figure crossing her arms, leaning against the corner of his cell, right by the door. Thanks to the low light of the lantern, he could make out her surprisingly blood-free face regarding him with a curious look.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Ethan muttered before raising his trembling voice, "What – you watch me sleep now?"

"Relax," Bela's eyes rolled once, "I only just arrived."

"Yeah?" Ethan squinted at the witch.

"Mhm," She hummed back.

"Fucking," Ethan grumbled to himself and rolled to his other side where he couldn't see Bela. He resumed his fetal position and shut his eyes. "Continue watching me sleep then."

Bela did not immediately respond. It was fine by Ethan. He really didn't want to deal with her right now – not while the damned PTSD-fueled dream was still seared into his mind's eye. Ethan rubbed a tired hand over his face in an attempt to ease the tension out. His hand came back damp, and he knew it wasn't blood for once.

Yeah. Great. Cry in front of the cannibalistic vampire bug-lady.

Whatever. With any luck, maybe the sad, defeated hormones in his bloodstream would make him taste bad to Bela. She could probably smell it off him.

Or, maybe it made him taste sweeter. Then she'd try to get another bite in, and Ethan would be powerless to stop her.

That's all he was after all – powerless and useless.

"I heard you calling my name," Bela spoke up. With a teasing giggle, she asked, "Were you dreaming about me?"

Ethan groaned into his hand. It was a moment of weakness and desperation. To assume Bela would ever be on his side was madness. Madness and insanity. Pad the walls of this cell and put him in a straitjacket, and Ethan felt he may just stay on his own volition. Clearly it was where his deranged self belonged.

"You got vampire bat ears too?" Ethan took a breath in between his snide remarks. Talking was enough to wind him. His body was in worse shape than it was before the dream. "Did you hear me from the other side of the castle or something?"

Ethan listened to Bela's scoff with a degree of satisfaction. He wrapped his arms around himself once more to stave off the chill while Bela retorted, "No, you just," Her voice took a babying tone, "Happen to whine and cry very loudly."

He didn't grace her with a barb back. His pride was a little too stomped on. At this point, all Ethan wanted to do was succumb to a dreamless sleep and wait out whatever was happening to his aching, quivering body.

Bela's soft sigh filled the cell, followed by the sound of her heels clicking on the stone.

"I was already on the way here when I heard you," Bela stated matter-of-factly.

"Lucky me." Ethan kept his eyes shut tight in the hopes of blocking out the pounding in his head. "Is it time for your feeding? Can you just make it quick?"

The sharp footfalls came closer until stopping just behind his back. Ethan felt a hand settle on his shoulder; Bela's thumb stroked the worn fabric of his hoodie for a moment.

"You are unwell," Came Bela's observation.

"Gee, what gave it away?" Ethan moaned into his hands; the throbbing in his arm grew particularly painful.

Another sigh – this time sounding frustrated. "Spare me your sarcasm for a moment, Ethan. Sit up."

Before he could gripe or get smarmy with her, Ethan felt Bela's hand tighten on his clothing. With a soft tug, he was pulled upright. It felt like his stomach was upended along with it. Ethan had to take a moment to blink away the stars swimming in his vision as the nausea threatened to overwhelm him. Bela kept her hold on his shoulder to steady him.

Once Ethan could bare to open his eyes fully without falling over, he turned his attention to Bela. Her brows were furrowed into a frown as her amber eyes looked him over. Her dark tinted lips – free from blood this time around – were pressed into a thin, displeased line.

It was only natural she would be unhappy with his condition. Her premium keg of blood was in danger of spoiling with whatever was going on with him.

Belatedly, Ethan took note of the ornate goblet of glass and steel that Bela was holding. Clear, fresh-looking water occupied the goblet. Tilting his head, Ethan found an opulent silver tray on the floor. Atop it was a clean, white cloth and a crystalline decanter filled with water.

For the first time since capture, Ethan became acutely aware of how dehydrated he'd gotten. There simply hadn't been much time to process it. Amidst all the indescribable pain of torture, and this feverish haze that followed, the thirst had taken the backburner – like his body had made it a point not to remind him of his dehydration while he was dealing with everything else.

Ethan's tongue ran over his dried, flaky lips. His parched throat felt as though it were loaded with coarse sand. The goblet of water looked like the most delectable thing he'd ever seen in his life

Ethan reached for the water, only for his shaky left hand to stop. It hovered inches away from the goblet. His weary eyes stole a glance at Bela, who watched him intently.

What if it was drugged? He was up against shapeshifting, cannibalistic bug-women. Who knew what they may have put in his water? Something to make him more compliant? Make his blood taste better? Or something –

Bela's giggling broke through his paranoia. She smiled wide as her eyebrows went up in what Ethan interpreted as disbelief. She shook her head for a beat before asking, "You think it is poisoned?"

When Ethan's hand hung in the air for a moment longer without reply, Bela let out another cross between a scoff and a chuckle. She brought the goblet up to her lips and took a deep sip. Her dark lipstick left a mark on the goblet's rim. She licked her lips for emphasis and gave a contented hum.

"It is safe, silly man," The goblet was extended to Ethan once more. "Come on. Drink up."

It did seem counterintuitive to poison him, now that Ethan thought about it. This fever was derailing his rationality.

Ethan's mangled left hand took the goblet. His remaining intact fingers struggled to keep a firm grip of it. This was as good as it was going to get, considering his right hand was still out of commission. After a moment of fidgeting to secure the goblet, Ethan took his first drink. The fresh, cool water felt divine as it flowed into his mouth.

"Slow down. You might choke."

The words of caution fell on deaf ears as he continued to chug from the large goblet. The thick, rough grains of sand that only Ethan could feel clogging up his esophagus were knocked free by the refreshing stream of water. He was vaguely aware that a fair amount had dribbled down his chin and over his clothes, but that hardly mattered. He just wanted more water the moment the goblet went dry.

Bela refilled his glass before he could even open his mouth to ask for more. Wordlessly, Ethan watched the goblet fill up. He spared Bela a small nod before gulping down more mouthfuls of water. He stopped a little around the one fourth mark of the glass.

The water was no cure for the fever, the nausea, or the pounding headache. But it was much appreciated just the same. The funk in his head – like there were a million cotton balls stuffed into his skull – cleared up by a smidge.

"Lie down," Bela's command came out gently. Ethan couldn't help but contrast it to Cassandra's cruelty and Daniela's… stranger and more subdued brand of cruelty.

Ethan made to lie down as instructed, just as Bela shifted. She sat on the ground and extended her legs out behind him. Before he knew it, Bela guided him down until his head came to rest on her soft lap.

Quite bewildered by this rather intimate position, Ethan could only watch in stunned silence as Bela reached over to drag the tray closer. She poured some water onto the spare cloth, folded it, and finally pressed it to his feverish forehead. The cool, damp cloth granted immediate relief to the steady, burning throbbing from moments prior. Ethan closed his eyes to lean into the soothing sensation.

Ethan didn't have the mental capacity to process the conflicting feelings. Bela's duality, this strange dichotomy of her behavior – shit, were they even two contrasting facets? She treated him well, stood up to her sisters, and never went out of her way to hurt him. What duality was there to think of?

The blood sucking.

Ethan pressed his eyelids shut a little harder in the effort to drive the point home in his hazy mind.

Bela imprisoned him here against his will. He was going to be regularly bled while powerless to escape and find Rose. That definitely contrasted being nice to him.

"You held the goblet with your left hand," Bela noted.

Ethan gave a quiet hum in affirmation.

"You're right-handed, are you not? Is that hand not… usable?"

The observation caught Ethan's attention. He opened his eyes to find Bela looking at him with a tilt of her head. That curious look on her face intermingled with the frown that had persisted since she'd given him water.

Bela was a sharp one. It shouldn't have come as a surprise that she made the deduction.

"Yeah," Ethan raised his trembling right arm up. His fingers twitched, responding slowly to the movements he wanted them to make. "Something's up."

There appeared to be some gears turning in Bela's head. Her amber irises were running along the length of his arm. If Ethan didn't know any better, he would have assumed Bela had x-ray vision. Stranger things had happened, after all.

Bela slid her gloved hand along his arm, tracing the jagged white scar that had been gushing blood only hours ago. Her other hand settled on top of the damp cloth on his forehead. Her fingers brushed against his hairline in an idle sort of manner.

"Tell me, Ethan," Bela took a breath, "How is it that your skin mends faster than any man I've seen before?"

Ethan felt there was some importance to keeping his cards close to his chest. For some reason, spilling the beans on his mold situation felt premature. Knowing how these things worked – lycans, cannibalistic bug-girls, giant vampires, assholes with big hammers – there was probably some common denominator. Some mold or mold-adjacent thing causing all this shit. He didn't need to tell Bela everything just now.

"I have… a condition."

Bela quirked a brow at him.

It sounded more mysterious in his head.

"…a condition?" Bela repeated.

"When I disinfect an open wound, press the edges together," Ethan shrugged, "It hurts like a bitch, but it closes up."

Bela narrowed her eyes for a moment, having clearly sensed his evasiveness. Yet it appeared she wasn't going to pry, at least for now.

"What other wounds of yours have healed like this?"

Gnashing teeth, bloodcurdling howls, and stabbing pain flashed through Ethan's mind in the span of time it could take to blink.

"A lot – shit," Ethan sighed. He avoided the Baker Incident for the time being. He already got into more than enough scraps in the village alone. "I got bit a couple times. Clawed up, hacked at with rusty knives. C'mon, you know how that village is right now."

"I don't, actually…" Bela broke eye contact in favor of studying his right arm some more. "Not personally, anyway."

"What? Don't get out much?"

Bela raised one brow briefly as if in acknowledgement. "Something like that."

So the three princesses were stuck in their castle? Surely, they wouldn't miss the chance to disembowel some poor villagers given the chance. That was a lot of blood gone to waste. Was it the sun? Were they really susceptible to ye olde vampire weaknesses?

Ethan didn't have the chance to press the issue. Bela asked, "Aside from right now, do you get sick? Allergies? Viral infections?"

His captor was trying to diagnose his current ailment. In the interest of preserving her supply of fresh blood, of course. Ethan was, as always, weary of Bela's intentions. But considering the alternative – shivering and convulsing and finally succumbing to whatever this was – Bela played the role of good cop astoundingly well.

Ethan humored her. It was in his best interest. "Yeah. I got a stomach bug last month. Mi-" Ethan cleared his throat, "My wife got some lamb from the market that turned out to be a little too ripe."

Bela hummed, continuing to run a gloved index finger up and down his throbbing arm as if searching for something.

"My healing thing, it – uh," Ethan went on, "I guess it doesn't work too well on stuff on the inside."

"Stuff on the inside," Bela repeated to herself. There was purpose in her movements as she deliberately studied his forearm, finger scanning up and down until finally stopping at a point midway between his inner elbow and wrist.

"Does this hurt?" Bela didn't give him so much as a warning before pressing her finger against his skin.

Ethan took a sharp inhale through his teeth as stabbing pain erupted from that point, rippling throughout his entire arm. The limb trembled weakly, joining his body in the shivers that periodically rocked him.

"Yes. Fuck. Yes, it hurts."

Bela rolled her eyes at him like he was a petulant child. "Don't be such a baby." She went on before he could complain, "Did Cassandra… strike this spot in particular?"

After all the slicing and sucking, Ethan had nearly forgotten about that initial stab. "Yeah. Stabbed me right through the arm."

"Damn." Bela's frown deepened. She placed Ethan's arm down over his midsection. With a hand to support the back of his head, Bela reeled her legs in and made to stand up. The stone floor was far colder and harder than Bela's lap.

Not that he'd tell her that.

He was already way too civil with this witch.

"I shall return shortly."

"Wait – where are you-" Ethan was interrupted by the beating of a thousand wings. Bela morphed and promptly swarmed out of the cell and around the corner.

Ethan finished, "…going?"

Without Bela to distract him, Ethan's focus returned to his poor condition. The nausea was bearable as long as he didn't move or turn his head too much. The pounding in his head improved by just a fraction. Rehydrating may have helped that. The chills were still rocking his body with shivers.

It made him sorely miss his bed back home. Tangled up under the sheets with Mia – legs intertwined, and arms wrapped around one another – there was no such thing as cold back home.

Ethan fiddled with the cloth on his forehead. He needed to not think about Mia's warm embrace right now. The heartache was too much to contend with alongside everything else. Imagining her arms wrapped around him, her face nuzzling into the crook of his neck – these were the memories and the sensations that would have him breaking down in front of Bela.

Or the way she'd whisper sorry into his skin whenever she thumbed along one of his scars from the Baker –

Not now. Not while Bela was so close by.

Ethan pointedly removed the cloth from his forehead in search of a distraction. Unfolding the fine, soft fabric, Ethan found that it was a white hand towel. Turning it over once revealed dark red embroidery in the form of a letter B.

For Bela?

Had she really used a personal hand towel on a man-thing like him? A filthy rag used to clean a latrine sounded more up their alley for him. Maybe Cassandra's alley, anyway.

There had to be some other motivation that Bela was locking away. He could understand the blood-cattle talk. But giving her lap as a cushion? The cool cloth to the head? Even the lantern she'd left as a light source? It all seemed awfully excessive for someone considered prey.

Unless Bela looked at him as a pet, but Ethan wasn't keen on entertaining that idea.

Ethan blew out a sigh.

He was humanizing her. She was the one person to show him an ounce of kindness, so of course, he was already humanizing her.

"All part of her act," Ethan muttered to himself – as if speaking the words aloud would ingrain them into his memory.

"Part of what?" Bela's voice abruptly came through even as the swarm of bugs wafted through the cell bars.

"Nothing," Ethan waved his limp hand, "Getting delirious here from this fever."

The bug swarm coalesced to form Bela's familiar figure. It was then Ethan noticed the dark brown briefcase the swarm had been lugging along.

"I know just the thing for you," Bela told him in a tone that sounded nearly pleased with herself. She knelt next to Ethan and set the bag down. She popped it open, revealing an assortment of tools – some of them with blades that glinted in the lamplight.

"Hey, wait – what is all that?" Ethan tried to keep the nerves out of his voice.

"I suspect there is a foreign object lodged in your arm. Your rapid healing must have trapped it inside when it closed the cut."

Ethan wasn't sure if it was the fever and headache, or he was just stupid. He hadn't even thought of that. With all the stabbing and cutting, it wasn't that unreasonable of an assumption. Maybe some dirt, or a loose pebble got caught in there.

Bela ran a thoughtful finger over her tools as she continued, "Whatever it is that causes you to heal so quickly is likely combating the foreign object in your arm." She turned Ethan's way fully, scrunching her face up slightly. She tilted her head side to side as if to downplay the news, "You may have early-stage sepsis."

"Sepsis?" Ethan repeated. The information was slowly sinking in.

"Yes, as in a blood infection," With a playful laugh, Bela added, "It is like you're trying to be difficult with me, Ethan – after I have been nothing but kind to you."

While sepsis sounded like a convenient excuse not to get his blood drunk, Ethan was pretty sure it could kill him if left unchecked. Pros and cons of sepsis aside, Bela was oozing confidence in her diagnosis. It had him wondering.

"Before you gave up the normal life to be a full-time cannibal bug-lady…" Ethan observed Bela's smile fall to an unamused glare, "Were you like, a doctor or something?"

Amber eyes avoided his, and her silence spoke volumes. Rather than answer his question, Bela faced her briefcase and started picking through her tools.

Ethan fought the headache to sift through the hazy memories of the past day.

Are you going to sew him back together, Bela?

Nothing I haven't done before.

It was a safe bet that he wasn't the first person Bela tried to keep alive down here. Then there was the deliberate avoidance of what she did before the bug-lady life. The doctor comment seemed to have struck a nerve. Given how she diagnosed him within the first ten minutes of seeing him in this condition – shit, maybe she was some kind of doctor. It explained the briefcase full of scalpels and other tools Ethan wouldn't bother attempting to name.

That was as far as Ethan's comprehension would let him go for now. When his brain stopped throbbing against the walls of his cranium, maybe he'd be able to turn this revelation into actionable information.

Ethan was spurred from his lapse in attention by Bela turning to him with a thick, sturdy strip of fabric in hand.

"What're you doing?"

Bela shook her head dismissively and looked as though she made the conscious effort not to roll her eyes yet again. "It's a tourniquet. Relax, little one."

"Little one? What the-"

The thick fabric was knotted securely around his right arm, just above the elbow. Ethan didn't have time to process whether he disliked man-thing or little one more. Bela took a small rod and used it to tighten the tourniquet, sending another stab of pain rippling throughout his arm.

"Fucking," Ethan inhaled, "Ouch. Yeah, just – just get that thing around my arm, why don't you?"

Bela didn't acknowledge Ethan's displeased face. She continued turning the rod and constricting the blood flow to his arm. "I do not have anesthesia, and I'm not wasting Lei to buy some. This saves you the pain, and me the trouble of searching through copious amounts of blood for the foreign object." With a courteous bow, she added sarcastically, "You're welcome."

His forearm and hand were falling asleep quicker than expected. Tingling pins and needles prickled along his skin as the blood flow to the arm tapered off.

Just the same – because Ethan could not accept that Bela was this considerate, he had to argue, "How sure are you that there's something stuck in my arm? You don't have an x-ray or anything. This is guesswork at best. What if it's something else?"

Bela's eyes lit up with frustration as her face tightened into a frown. "You ungrateful-"

She cut herself off, biting down on her lips and looking away. When she turned back to Ethan, the tension on her features had defused by a fraction. Bela clearly didn't like getting her medical diagnosis questioned. There was definitely pride she held in her knowhow.

Ethan felt almost guilty for insinuating she didn't know what she was doing. He was also grateful she didn't slice his arm open then and there in retaliation. Her sisters wouldn't have been as lenient with him.

"There is a foreign body in your arm," Bela repeated with steel and certainty in her voice, "Your immune system – this condition of yours is trying to fight the infection. You are developing sepsis as a result, and your bloodstream is being tainted."

Veering away from questioning her apparent expertise, Ethan sighed and asked, "Bela, what's the deal? My blood really worth all this trouble?"

Bela glossed over the question to pick up Ethan's mostly limp arm. She flicked his wrist and asked. "Feel that?"

"A little, yeah."

"Think of this as… symbiosis," Bela cautiously laid his arm back on the floor. "I am interested in a long term, mutually beneficial relationship."

Bela offered a smile, "I get your sweet, warm, fresh blood. You… get to live."

"More parasitic than symbiotic." Ethan grimaced. "Like a fucking tick or a tapeworm, really."

Bela slapped Ethan across the face, sending his vision spinning.

Maybe he deserved that one just a little bit.

"This tapeworm is about to stop your infection, man-thing." Bela snarled with a curl of her lip.

"Jeez," Ethan rubbed his stinging cheek. The sudden flash of pain brought about another round of pounding from his skull. He blew out a quiet exhale and closed his eyes in the effort to ward off the ache.

A sorry had nearly made its way to his lips. Ethan caught it just in time. Apologizing for offending his captor was madness at its finest.

Bela similarly appeared too annoyed to look at him for now. She turned her attention back to her kit. With purpose in her movements, she extracted numerous tools and laid them out on a relatively clean-looking cloth by his arm.

Speaking of cloth – Bela grabbed the poorly re-folded hand towel from Ethan's forehead. She wrung it once, allowing some stray droplets of sweat to fall to the floor. Then, she dampened it once more with water from the carafe. It returned to Ethan's head with a firm press.

The tingling sensation in Ethan's arm had given way now to complete numbness. On cue, Bela took hold of his arm and pressed her thumb over the nearly imperceptible swollen bump in the middle. She raised a brow at Ethan in an unspoken question.

"I don't feel it."

"Wonderful." Bela smiled. "Let's get started, shall we?"

Second time getting his arm cut open within a day, and this time he was allowing it to happen willingly. Ethan truly was overdue for a lock up in the loony bin.

"You need not watch," Bela advised as she rubbed disinfectant around the middle of his forearm.

"I think I'd rather see what you're doing poking around in there."

The distrust was not lost on Bela. She shrugged it off with a soft laugh. Picking up a scalpel, she positioned it over his skin. As if performing a demonstration for a class of students, Bela informed him, "I am making an incision to open the wound. Just a small one."

True enough, Ethan didn't feel a thing when the well-maintained blade sunk into his skin. Bela drew the cut no longer than an inch before setting her scalpel down. She replaced it with a pair of forceps and…

Ethan squinted at the tool to figure out its use, just as Bela went on, "Retractors to hold the incision open. Forceps to locate and extract the foreign body."

True enough, the retractors kept the cut parted to give free access of his open wound. Blood was trickling free at an unalarming, controlled rate. Bela began periodically dabbing at the blood to keep a clear field of vision. In between cleaning the wound, she carefully and deliberately searched the incision for the culprit.

Bela's face was set into a concentrated frown with her tattooed forehead creased, and her lips in a thin line. Ethan noted that her hands were remarkably steady. When he stuck his severed leg back on in the Baker House, a part of him worried his trembling hands may attach it at the wrong angle.

There was no shred of doubt in Ethan's mind. Bela was a doctor or something once. For reasons that his foggy mind couldn't pinpoint at the moment, Ethan felt it was exceedingly important to learn more of Bela's past – even the past of the other sisters and the Lady of the castle herself. There had to be some way he could use that to his advantage. Leverage it into getting their help to find Rose and get out of here.

A smile spread across Bela's lips, catching Ethan's attention. Her eyes locked onto his for a beat, and she gave him the slightest nod. Slowly, Bela pulled back with her forceps, extracting a scrap of rusted metal easily two centimeters in length. It fell to the stone floor with a light clink.

It was a chip from Cassandra's knife from when she'd stabbed him.

The tip of her blade must have cracked against the floor when she ran his arm through. The chip probably got wedged in his arm when she started twisting the knife, or when she pulled it out.

With the obstruction removed, Ethan immediately felt the effects of Bela's little surgery. The rapid beat of his heart relented by a degree. The pounding in his head lightened. The shivers rocking his body lost their intensity. That damn mold was already working its magic to repair him.

"Oh, Cassandra…" Bela muttered with a disapproving shake of the head. The forceps were set aside, and the retractors were removed from the incision on his arm. Bela made to grab a suturing kit from her bag before pausing.

"All you need is disinfectant?" Bela asked.

"Yeah."

Taking his word for it, Bela drizzled a generous amount of the antiseptic on the cut. She applied pressure with the cloth and waited. Her inquisitive eyes wandered Ethan's way.

"Should be okay. Feels better already." At Ethan's nod, Bela removed the cloth to reveal his mended skin. He could just barely hear the quiet breath Bela let out at the sight of it.

"We are going to talk about this special trick of yours sometime." Bela tapped at the fresh scar to drive her point home. She got to work unwinding the tourniquet above his elbow. Again, the effect was nearly instantaneous. The blood began to rush back to occupy the entire limb. Ethan was fairly certain that feeling and function weren't supposed to be coming back this soon. He attributed that to the mold doing its thing. His fingers twitched at his command, all while his skin danced with pins and needles.

"Yeah," Ethan sighed. Now that he was on the mend, his new life as blood-cattle was going to officially begin. "Got all the time in the world now, don't I?"

Bela packed up the few tools she'd laid out before returning her attention to Ethan. She gave him a small smile; her hand landed over the damp cloth on his forehead.

With a slight laugh, she placed her other hand to her chest and said, "Well don't sound so glum about it. You're going to make me feel like an awful host."

"Host?" Ethan narrowed his eyes. "Is that really how you see yourself?"

The smile Bela wore and what little mirth she had faded.

"I am the one who found you," Bela's voice remained factual as her hand eased from the cloth and over to the side of his face. She appeared to be studying his pallor. "Therefore, you are my guest."

"I thought I was your prey," Came Ethan's quick reply.

With a toothy smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, Bela remarked, "One can be both."

Ethan gave a soft scoff. "I don't think it works that way."

Bela didn't grace his argument with a reply. She continued to gaze down at him with a faraway look in her amber eyes – as if she were staring through him rather than at him. Coupled with the calming sensation of her gloved thumb stroking his cheek, it was odd, to say the least.

And a little concerning that he wasn't recoiling at physical contact with her.

To break the peculiar tension, Ethan asked, "You thinking of taking a bite for the road or something?"

Bela's long lashes batted with numerous blinks. Whatever trance or thoughts she'd lost herself in, she appeared to be free of it now. The question sunk in after a brief delay, and Bela scrunched her face up in disgust. "While the infection is still clearing out? I would rather drink from a sewer rat."

"Rest well, Ethan." Bela straightened up and collected her bag. Peeking over her shoulder on the way to the door, she added, "I will see you soon."

All the aches and pains that ravaged his body as a result of the sepsis were already beginning to subside. The mold's regenerative properties were unimpeded in mopping up whatever impurities were circulating in his system now that the strip of metal was gone. It was undeniable that the help Bela provided was lifesaving. Even if it was just a means to keep him alive longer in this symbiotic relationship.

Bela had just flitted through the cell door when Ethan called out, "Hey, tapeworm."

An irate expression crossed her face as she stopped and levelled her glare at him.

"Thanks."

Bela's brows raised in a quick, surprised manner. His gratitude thoroughly disarmed the irritation, and Bela looked positively taken off guard. Her eyes looked anywhere but right at him, and she gave what sounded like a poor imitation of a dismissive laugh. With a lick of her lips, she shrugged, "You're welcome."

She shifted into a swarming mass of flies and rounded the corner before he could think to get another word in.

A/M: Thank you all once again for reading. Do let me know what you thought of this chapter. Please drop a review, fave, follow, all those little things we writers snort up like cocaine, aside from the actual cocaine! If you write in, let me know if this chapter length is okay with you, at around 8k+ words. Brevity has never been my specialty, and I tend to average out 5-8k words per chapter most of the time. I hope you're all enjoying this (literally) bloody mess so far.