Sheep Anon

You’d always saw your Julius Belmont through photographs and stories of others

His stories were whispered between others

Feats and accomplishments uttered in tones of awe

He was a monster hunter on a different level to all that came before and those who’d likely come after him

A worthy holder of the Belmont name

But besides all that in photos and in stories you see the warmth in his smile

Aquamarine eyes stern yet gentle in how they look at the camera

Snapshots of fleeting moments you’d never get to see nor experience

It was odd learning about someone you’d never met like this

Hearing snippets from others

Sometimes conflicting and other times with differing perspectives

Small details lost in the dialogue yet become more ever present with each and every thread of info

Eventually weaving together to make a vague approximation of the man

A tapestry of sorts made up of experiences not of your own

From what you got from others he was stern

Nearly always with a serious look on his face

The weight of the Belmont title on his shoulders not being taken lightly

And yet even with that he was kind and humble

Being able to take a joke or jab with a shrug

Not to mention the cowboy gear he wore with the gaudy leopard print interior proudly displaced on the lapels

the red bandana tied around his neck

jeans tattered and stained with blood

Yet you find photos that show another side to him

Those of candid shots

Of him outside his hunting gear and in a plane white t-shirt with torn jeans

A beer in hand and your mother nestled into his side

There’s so much spoken yet so much unsaid when it comes to him

You’d never known Julius Belmont, your father

And yet he lingered in your life like a phantom

But never with your own two eyes had you seen him in the flesh beside on film and Polaroids

Never once had you’d met your father before his disappearance

But according to others you had his will

His determination that rivalled even the nostalgic stubborn of mules

His smile that could brighten a day

His love for his family that would drive him to do what it took to protect

Even at his own cost

You never knew your father and yet to others your all that’s left of him

His legacy

Growing up no matter much your mom or family friends tried to shield you from the Belmont

They did this in various ways growing up

At first it was by trying to make sure you didn’t hear the whispers of others

At get togethers distant family would speak of him in reverence as they sent glances your way

Measuring if you were up to what he was

Spoke of stories of his endeavours and hunts in hushed times when they thought you weren’t in earshot

You always were

Could always hear his grand achievements

And the one mission that would lead to his disappearance and likely his grave

No matter how mom tried she couldn’t ever make them stop their murmurs

Their stares

Their whispers behind their palms and closed doors

And when she caught you reading up on monsters she moved onto stopping you a different way

Yet try as they might there’s no point hiding what was the destiny of every Belmont from you

But they try anyways

Mom tried anyways

Because maybe that’s all they can at least attempt to do before destiny sets in

Because as someone in the family once said, Belmonts don’t have childhoods or long lives

Mom hid away dads old hunting things but kept whatever else he had out

Things for when he was just Julius

Her Julius

Your dad

In a box in the attic you find his old coats and things

A belt made to hold crucifixes and bottles of holy water

The holder for his whip

His bandana that your small hands tuck into your pocket

Sometimes you sneak up to the cobweb ridden loft to admire it

To put on the top big coat and stand in his boots

You’d look at yourself in an old cracked mirror with a picture of him

Attempting to find the similarities beyond the traits others said you’d had

She finds out but doesn’t have the heart to stop you when she catches you at age 9

She just breaks down crying, holding your close as the old leather beneath her fingers creases

After that you don’t up as often, but still you’d occasionally go to ensure they were pristine

Aunt Yoko attempts to lock the door to the Belmont hold, but you quickly learn how to pick it and sneak your way inside to read all that you can

Read old tomes of magic that you absorb into your mind and encyclopedias of monsters seep into memory

She moves onto magic seals but once more you learn to dispel them

Much to her dismay mixed with pride

Alucard took a different approach to the two of them when he was around

though his presence is flighty, coming and going as he pleases

A family friend for countless generations stemming from Trevor Belmont in 1476 and somewhat of an uncle of sorts

It was hard to peg what exactly you viewed him as compared to aunt Yoko

maybe the best word would be is your friend? But even then that feels a little like an understatement

Its hard to place

But nether the less he was always there for you when he could

Showing up for birthdays, Christmas or competitions

Not to mention he said you were always welcome to call him no matter the time

He didn’t like you following in the Belmont footsteps

Quite planely said that “there’s no need for the belmonts to hunt down creatures of the night anymore”

Not after what your dad did

Not after his apparent sacrifice

But nether the less he trained you

Because “you’re a Belmont, you’ll do it anyways behind everyone’s backs. I might as well be the one to teach you before you get hurt”

The “or worse” is unsaid but spoken in the way he looks at you

As if he’d already seen your fate

Already pictured a grave and a casket

It’s not surprise coming from him though, not when he’d helped bury the coffins of so many of your ancestors

From Trevor to Juste and Richter all the way to now

Coffins he still leaves flowers by every year in the small mausoleum with plaques and names

Mom isn’t happy about it but he gives her that same look and she concedes

He taught you all he could

From new to old

Guns and bullets

Swords and spears

Whips and magic

Because he was right

You were a Belmont but more importantly you were Julius Belmonts child

You’d figured it out one way or another

At least it was better you were under strict supervision instead of off on your own

Or else you’d be made a reckless decision

You know yourself well enough to know you’d run into something head first

Even if it was dangerous

Even if it was at your own expense

Because you are your fathers child

Your much alike to the father you’d never met but also so different at the same time

Like him your skilled in the ways of hunting

But you both go about it in different ways

Holding the Belmont curse upon your shoulders in different ways as well

While he’s serious your the opposite

You put up a facade of positivity

A smile to block blows and jokes to evade fear

Because like any human your afraid of what lies in the dark

Just like all those before you though you fight through that fear

Yet monsters aren’t what your most afraid of though, that’s your fear of letting down your dads legacy and that of all Belmonts

Of not continuing the fight he and all other Belmonts set out on

A curse to many but duty to you as it was for him

And unfortunately his legacy is heavier than that of the typical Belmont

Everyone knows it

You know it

Seen the looks of others too many times as they wondered if your shrink into his shadow or grow into it

Even if mom told them off silently or alucard glared and averted your attention elsewhere you could still feel the eyes

The way they’d pick you apart to see if you’d live up to him

Be as good as him

If you were worthy enough to be his flesh and blood

And you take it with a smile

If it’s wide enough they won’t see how your fists clench and your eyes waver

If you act cocky and joke around while fighting maybe you’ll trick yourself into feeling as if your worthy enough to have him and your ancestors blood coursing through your veins

Like him you wear eccentric hunting gear

A red leather coat with the Belmont emblem stitched on the back

Crimson like the bandana he once wore and the you keep tucked away in a pocket in front of your heart

In that pocket as well is a small photo of your 7th birthday, mom holding you as Yoko and Alucard pose in the background

Yoko more relaxed and upbeat with a party hat on her blond hair

Alucard rigid but gleaming happiness shines in eyes that had seen such tragedy and loss, confetti tangled in black dyed hair

Mom carefree as she holds your small form that has cake smeared across your face

Innocent eyes gleaming at the camera compared to eyes that are now drained and tired

He took with him the Morningstar

So instead of take up alternatives

Particularly guns and swords

Because if you can’t be as talented as him with that then maybe you can be talented at another

That way you won’t be compared

That way the weight is ever so slightly better than before

Bullets smelted of holy crosses and a sword blessed by magic

They make for easy and quick battles if not for your need to show off

To prove your perhaps as good as him

To live up to his name

To live up to the name tact onto the end of yours that you still don’t feel worthy of

Out of place as you look at portraits and read stories of Belmonts past

When you die you can only hope your face will be hung up like those who came before you not out of pity

Not out of you technically being a Belmont

But because you are worthy of it

Worthy of having your name remembered if even being only a fraction of what your dad was

Because for once you’d like your name beside his even if it’s on a funerary plaque

It’s after you come back one night bleeding and half dead does your mom finally have enough

Your sure she was debating it for awhile now

That’s very clear with how easy she was able to organize the entire thing

But what sets her in motion is when she finds you bleeding out trying to heal yourself on the kitchen floor

Red staining the floor the same colour as your coat

All the while you muttered in ancient tongue

When Yoko arrived hours later to ensure you healed correctly she had begun making plans

Making calls to family friends abroad

And most importantly calling Alucard since he’s gladly fund the endeavour

She was sending you abroad

Specifically to Japan

A program meant for schooling but was now being used to keep you away from hunting what went bump in the night

Something that would be ensured would happen since you’d be living with the Hakuba’s

A Belmont ally of Shinto priests and priestesses that dated back centuries

Safe to say you weren’t exactly happy about the decision

No rebellious 15 year old would be

But you don’t have a choice in the matter

And with only a month the brew in bitterness you had to begin packing

Preparing whether you liked it or not

Trying to learn the language and culture before you ended up in a country you didn’t know a lick of

It’s admittedly hard

You’d memorized monsters and how to slay them

Techniques in fighting

Magic and spells

But attempting to learn stuff an average teenager should know is more difficult than anything you’d fought up to this point

Fighting was in your system

Down to every cell in your body

But sitting down and reading something not adjacent to something useful in a battle is mind numbing

Not to mention you don’t allow anyone to help you

Not when you felt upset

Perhaps even a bit betrayed even if mom promised it was for the best

That you’d like it

That you would be able to be a normal teenager and make friends

Something you’d admittedly never put much effort into

Because sure, you had the outgoing nature to make some

Confidence in yourself (though fake at times)

A friendly demeanour and charismatic charm

But you never felt the need for it

Because how could you connect with others who didn’t know what was on your shoulders

Why drag average people into this world of dark and burden them with monsters and ghouls

Plus how could you truly connect with them?

How do you truly connect with someone who’s only trait you share with is that your both teens

Because nothing else you liked matched up with others

You could make friendly conversation and people might like you but they never truly know you besides the smile

Besides the jokes and mock pride you put on like a jester in a comedy

Because that’s how you feel sometimes

Like the fool who speaks truth, whilst others laugh but never listen

And how could they? Not when you spout off about monsters and creatures of the night

Oblivious to the fact that nights previous to this your drenched in the blood of demons

Spectral swords gliding through the air to slice limbs whilst bullets cleaver through demonic flesh

Stopping a future massacre destined to come

All the while others around you toiled and talked away unknowing

Unburdened unlike you

Days fly by, boxes are packed and for as bitter as you are fear creeps in

Because you’d going to a new place

And who knows the next time you’ll see mom in person besides holidays or a FaceTime

Your aunt Yoko isn’t just an hour or two away, she’s across the world and won’t be there to ask for help in reading a forgotten language

The only one you’d maybe see the usual amount is alucard considering his abilities

Not to mention his cash and multiple estates world wide

You guess that’s perhaps the only nice thing with immortality besides the unknown of death and dying of ageing decay

Sitting in your room with tapped up boxes he one day sits beside you

There’s only a day or two left

You stopped counting because of your anxiety

It’s there that perhaps the person you trusted even more than your mom on account of the fact that he’d helped your family for so long

Helped you since before you could walk

Helped you up till now and would probably for the remainder of your life (however short or long that is) makes you pause

Because as you sit together he talks

Unfortunately he’s good at that sort of thing

Had a couple hundred years to master it

And he ends up making you promise him something

That you’d at least try to live normally while abroad

If not for your own sake then for your mother

Because god knows the strain she already has had with worry for you after loosing your father

She’d suffered one heartbreak as it is, don’t make her suffer another

Especially when a parent burying their child is something almost no one can come back from

And that makes you waver

Because you can’t imagine how she’d be if you died

She puts up a brave front as you do but behind closed doors you’ve seen her collapse

Seen the strain that grief holds over her even now

Years later she still mourns

Still looks across her bed

Still reaches to his side hoping to grab and to hold him once more

To at least feel his warmth still in cold sheets

Heartbreak like that isn’t easy to get over

And if she experienced yet another of that caliber (perhaps even worse in this case) she’d break

You know she would

Because the front she puts up is for your sake

She gets up no matter how sad she is

Still loves you despite your faults from under the pressure of the world and family past

And despite how upset you are about this whole thing you’d be more upset to give her more grief to bare

So when she sees you off at the airport you give her a hug and a smile despite your nerves

Remembering what you promised

Remembering that you’d at least try for her sake

All the information about the program your in is on a small pamphlet mom gives

It talks all about what to expect

The places to go and see

How it’s a program about opening up to new experiences and opportunities

It’s nerve wracking

But as always you put on a brave face

Swallow down the tears and fears

If not for your sake then for mom

Waiting for the plane your acutely aware as to how your an outlier besides another teen sitting nearby

There are families, young adults and business people waiting for the flight

Besides you and the white haired boy in the corner your on your own

Looking at the fellow lonesome teen you realize he’s as nervous as you are

Perhaps more despite his somewhat intense gaze hidden behind snowy locks

It’s in the way his golden brown eyes look at the flight time every few minutes before staring down at his phone that he fidgets with

How those same eyes scour the airport, occasionally landing on you when he thinks you won’t notice

Too nervous to reach out

But your never afraid enough to lend a hand

It’s perhaps the only thing besides combat that doesn’t weigh on you

Genuinely you enjoyed helping others

Because even if your fears of being enough ate at you, momentarily they’d disappear when you’d give whoever you saved a smile

A genuine one as you’d gently offer them a hand or used magic to heal any wounds they sustained

For as separated as you felt from most of society you still felt it was you duty to help

Perhaps because of that and your own similar fear you end up moving spaces to sit down by the boy your age

Surprise curling up in his eyes alongside relief

His name was Soma and like you he was in the same program

Apparently Neither of you had read the part of the pamphlets saying that they typically tried to pair up one of more exchange students from the same place at the same district your being sent to

That way students had at least one or more people who was guaranteed to speak the same language

The absurdity of the two of you missing that is enough to break the ice

You then your both plunged into the icey relief of neither of you being alone

That at least your both not being dropped into this without at least one person at your sides

Soma like you was put in this program on the basis of making him come out his shell

Though his reclusivity was for a different reason than you own you could relate to it

Relate to how he expressed being unable to talk to most people

Others being scared off by his weird intimidating aura

But you weren’t, you couldn’t after all you’d faced so far

So maybe that was something

Eventually as the flight begins to board you both give a sigh of relief neither of you knew the other was holding when seeing you were both sat beside each other on the plane

It was gonna be a long flight

But suddenly it felt a lot less long than what it’d be if either of you were on your own

Safe to say, both you and Soma probably be seeing each other when school started

Hakuba shrine sat atop a small mountain with red Tori gates at its entrance atop the long stone stairway

It had been built so that when an eclipse came it was aligned perfectly overtop the entrance

Mina, the daughter of the Hakuba clan who was your age said it was a beautiful sight

One you’d hopefully get to see when an eclipse came in 2035

From the few pictures she pulled up online you can only imagine what it’d be like to see in person

Something she swears that you’d both watch together

From the moment you stepped through the gates to her ancestral home Mina had been a kind and caring presence

Her family already knowing of your situation and promising your mom you’s be in good hands

And none were as good as Mina when it came to welcoming you with open arms

It’s an understatement to say that she’s kind

Mina has an air of positivity to her that just seems to make the world a bit more brighter even when it’s bleak and dreary

She was able to make you smile genuinely on hard days in which you missed mom

Even propped the idea of every month sending her a package of letters, photos and small snacks or trinkets

She took time in helping you unpack

Was patient if you stumbled over words or needed help with kanji

Gave you a tour around the sleepy village not too far from kyoto and even proposed that she’d arrange for the two of you to go to Tokyo via the bullet train

All around she’s a great person

And a friendship with her blooms just as fast as it did with Soma

Though now with the added notice that she knew of what came with the Belmont name

Knew of what lurked in the night

Of monsters and ghosts though perhaps of a different variety of what you knew

A topic you eagerly talk with her about on her condition that afterwards she takes you to her favourite Takoyaki stand and discuss of what it’s like back home from where you originated

It’s fun

Genuinely fun

And maybe for once you feel your age as the weeks leading up to starting school pass and your enrolled in the same class as her

Somehow also gaining a small bit of popularity because you were the “cool exchange student”

You guess walking around with a red leather coat and being relatively easy going could do that?

Somehow???

The smile on your lips is now a bit less fake and strained

Eyes less weary and more bright

Jokes made less out of masking fear and more out of genuine fun

Your not a normal person, you’ll never be one

But maybe for now you could at least attempt to be your age

And it’s there standing with your new classmates your introduced to that Soma enters the fray

Dressed in the boys uniform and silently nervous until his eyes land on you

Golden brown pools reminiscent of honey and brown sugar mixed together in a sweet concoction

They meet yours and they light up in an instant

As did that connection you felt towards him despite how short you’d known him

He goes to your side silently

People oooing and awwing as he then introduced himself as well

Mina by the back giving you a gentle look and smile as you motioned you over

Soma looks somewhat surprised when she motions for him as well

Thankfully the class hadn’t been super full, leading to various seats being open

Allowing for the three of you to sit together

Mina seems all too happy with the smile she sends you

Even somehow getting the three of you to sit together or nearby in most classes following this one

Not to mention how at lunch she all but drags soma with you out to lunch

Once more for the Takoyaki that you’d admit was to die for

Soma by the end seems to agree as well as you all formed together and fought over the last piece

Then deciding to split it amongst the three of you

Over 3 years Mina, Soma and you had formed a bond more tightly woven than a fine tapestry and stronger than Damascus steel

Perhaps something you’d all been missing in your lives

Because for as friendly and kind Mina was she was always a shrine priestess to others

Because for as mysterious and beautiful soma was no one had done anything but admire him from afar

And because of your father and name you were beheld with the weight of expectations and legacy

But because of that the three of you came together

Understood one another’s troubles and feelings

This forming a trio together

You all formed together in a balanced manner

Kinda like Neapolitan ice cream

3 individual flavours coming together to make a delicious treat

Blending together in harmony once it melted on the tongue

Mina was like the strawberry, sweet and tart

Though sometimes shy and soft spoken she was spirited when she had her heart on something

Practically dragging you and Soma along for the ride in the best way possible

Leading to various misadventures to various cute cafes or hiking various sacred mountain trails

Trying new things like matcha flavoured ice cream or specialty squid ink dyed McDonald’s big Mac’s

That not even mentioning how she made you and soma join the kendo club

A way for you to continue training with a blade while also including both her and soma

Speaking of him he was like the vanilla of the Neapolitan

Many at first glance see him as appealing but never choose or approach him

He was beautiful and kindly silent, but the intensity of his eyes kept them from engaging

to others he was there but to you he was everything

In all the years you’d known Soma Cruz the best way you could describe him was noble

Both in looks and in personality

From an outside perspective of just a first glance he was like a portrait of old

A solemnly beautiful face that Roman artists would’ve carved

Pale white hair with the softness and appearance of fresh snow signalling the oncoming change of season

A presence of silent strength and dominance that seemed to make the room pause whenever he entered it

Dressed well with his combination of sleek black turtle neck, jeans and his white coat with a fur collar accent by pops of blue

The only thing that threw people off were his eyes

There was a power to them

Silent and all encompassing

Dominating in how they seemed to gaze into your very soul with a simple gaze alone

Perhaps if they were a pretty powder blue others would’ve found it more welcoming

others might think blue would’ve fit him better but to you his pools of caramel were perfect

As was the rest of him from his Lillie white hair down to his heart and morals

Because at his heart Soma was nothing if not righteous

He’d always help you when you struggled with learning or translating

Never was annoyed when you’d sling an arm over his shoulder or roughhoused a bit too much

Always passed you apart of his lunch if he knew you’d like it

Unharrowingly kind

And then there’s you, the last part of the trio

It’s odd describing yourself, but you think of yourself as a laid back person

Your all smiles and jokes though now less out of masking fear and more genuine

You’d even say your somewhat fun to be around

But without Mina or soma to be there for you

To balance out the overpowering richness of cocoa and sugar

You wouldn’t be the person you are now

Because on your own your fine

Though you fake your optimism with what you want to feel

As if to trick yourself into believing your happy

That maybe if you forced it enough it would become reality

But with the company of both your friends it becomes real

Every smile

Every joke

Every laugh

Everything feels so much bearable with them around

As if your Herculean task is a bit more possible

The time had finally come for the eclipse Mina had told you of when you’d first arrived 3 years ago

In retrospect the last few years in Japan had felt both long and short at certain intervals

Short in how much fun you’d spent with your two friends

Long in the bouts of homesickness that occasional hit you when you were reminded of home

Not to say you didn’t go home for short periods of time

But Christmas break could only last so long

Especially when you’d want to return back to Soma and Mona once more

A fact your mom seemed all to happy about and Yoko was relived of

Alucard just seemed content and nostalgic when you’d regal the trouble that your trio would get into

A distant sadness in his eyes overshadowed by a melancholic sweet

But as 3 years came and went you’d finally set out to do as Mina and you had promised

Soma shortly thereafter joining in on the promise of all viewing the eclipse from Hakuba shrine together

A last hurrah before graduation

A last day trip in Japan before you and Soma told her of your suppose trip for her

She’d always talked of going to Paris one day

She loved the architecture seen in photos and the history accompanied by the culture

You and soma had already planned just about everything together

Taking note of all the places she’d mentioned wanting to see

Booking small but cozy air bnb’s or historic hotels that would be just her cup of tea

You thanked whatever god or gods there were that Alucard had too much money to spend saved up over the years

So he was all too happy to fund it

Not to mention that over the phone he gave suggestions as well as some connections he had in France if you’d had some sort of emergency

As the sky began to darken and people crowded around the shrine you can’t help but admire just how scenic it all was

Mina truly was right about this being the best place to watch the eclipse

The gate that it supposedly aligned with was hundreds of years old and yet still standing

Wood painted a vibrant red contrasting against the landscape and celestial bodies moving in the sky

Her ancestors made the right choice of placing their shrine here

Seconds ticked down as the sun and moon moved closer and closer

You could feel people holding their breaths awaiting the moment they’d aligned

The specialty glasses on your face protecting your eyes from being fried in the process

Just a few more seconds

Before everything comes into fruition you send a smile to Mina

She returns it sweetly, her smile always warm and welcoming him a hug

And you send one to Soma, him returning it after a moment of surprise and turning slightly bashful

His grin both full of brimming emotion whilst also slightly mysterious

You turn back just in time to see both the sun and moon align over the torii gate

The sun becoming a pale white ring as the moon came front an centre

Creating a solar eclipse

As the world became dark both physically

And metaphorically for you as a sudden wave of drowsiness hit you full centre

Weightlessness suddenly hits you

Your not sure what exactly had happened

One minutes you were with Soma and Mina at hakuba shrine to watch the eclipse take place

The three of you wearing those special glasses to watch safely without burning your eyes to do so

And just as the sun and moon perfectly aligned to create total darkness in the sky

A pale white ring with darkness in its centre

things then went fuzzy

Like your mind had been put through a blender and moments blurred together incoherently

Vaguely your remember Soma and Mina reaching for you

A man in a white suit

A blond woman with a beehive hairstyle

And a looming castle made visible within the eclipse

And suddenly your wafting through waves of conscious and unconscious

Going from the depths of your mind before swimming back up for small moments to be awake and then be dragged back down

For as strong as you are in body and mind your still only human

Only 18 and a bit rusty on account of not being on the field in a long while

That’s not to say you didn’t practice and train, but training is different to being on the field in a hunt

Doing kendo with Mina or archery with Soma can only do some much

Something that feels evident when you strain to keep your eyes open and acknowledge your surroundings

Your strung up against a statue of the holy Mary, bleeding from her eyes to pool around a throne

You close your eyes and then your in the same room, same position but the man In a white suit is with the beehive woman

Both of them talking in hushed tones

You occasionally make out a few words

Reincarnations

Belmont

Dracula

Lisa

Power

They blur together in your head when you go under once more

Only coming to when there’s clashing

Fighting and yelling

And then suddenly your falling and a familiar voice calls your name

Soma

Before you have the chance to crash onto the ground a pair of familiar arms catch you

Your white haired friend holding you close as your hazed mind tries to make sense of everything

His eyes look different

More intense than they usually were alongside more golden than the usual tone

As if the yellow was beginning to bleed and overpower the brown

But their still soma’s

Still Your soma’s soul at the heart of them

You see it in the way his irises dilate when he stares down at you

The way they cloud up with crystalline tears as he searches you for injuries

His voice wavering as he asks if your ok

Waning like the moon and like the celestial body retaining its beauty even if tinged with fear

You grin delirously

A smile of teeth and gums mixed with speckles of blood

Filled with grit and hardened spirits

You were a Belmont

This was nothing

So you bear it as if it were nothing

Even if your body screamed otherwise

Despite his warnings you get up

Stumbling to your feet as he used an arm to help support you

Ignoring his pleasing that you take a minute to rest before you ask him for answers

You should’ve known, there’s never a rest for the Belmonts

Your no exception

He grits his teeth but explains what had happened

Apparently some crazed cult leader believing himself to be the reincarnation of Dracula himself had preformed a spell during the eclipse to recreate a twisted version of draculas castle that up to this point Soma had fought through and was trying to obtain Dracula’s power

This man alongside the woman you’d seen before who was some sort of magic user had kidnapped you because apparently they believed a Belmonts blood could be used to get said power since it was a Belmont who had killed the vampire lord

But the woman Celia had double crossed the man named graham jones and had used him up until this point for her own personal goals

Because while apparently graham’s delusions of being draculas reincarnation were false, there actually was one that she was trying to find alongside one of Dracula’s dead wife

This all somehow would cumulate into her getting draculas power and presumable taking over the world as an evil vampire dark lord

Along with all that you and a handful of others at the shrine had been dragged into the castle including Mina and some mysterious guy named Genya Arikado that had been helping Soma till now, a magic using blond woman who was good and a brunette man who had amnesia slaying monsters in the castle

Soma had up until now patented with Genya but both split off since soma went to fight Graham and Genya went to fight Celia with the help of the blond woman Soma hadn’t gotten the name of yet

Yeah, definitely a mouthful to explain especially while sitting in a weird demon throne room

Honestly though probably not the worst weird plot a Belmont had tried to stop

That probably either goes to your dad, richter with erzsebet bathory or god forbid Trevor Belmont and fucking death itself and Dracula

Maybe you truly do live up to the Belmont name in now being in a giant vampire plot to bring about the end

Not to mention this Genya Arikado is probably most likely Alucard and the blond woman who’d helped was Yoko

But that leaves the amnesiac as a mystery

Maybe one to be solved when this entire ordeal was over with

With a sigh you dusty off your coat

Giving Soma your best grin

Only for you both to then nearly topple over as the castle shook and glyphs appeared on the floor beneath the two of you

Glowing in a blue light before things went black again

God hated you-

Time travel wasn’t exactly a concept you were the most educated on considering it was not only taboo

But also something your ancestors and family as a whole never tried to dabble in

Actions had consequences

And changing the past could potentially affect the future

That had been ingrained in you from family and alucard alike when you one day asked

Why is this important?

Well somehow that Celia woman had either messed up a spell or something went horribly wrong

The infinite corridor was both a myth and real knowledge

And it flashed before your eyes in mystical colours and flashing events as you held onto your friend

Too many things to count being shown before you in a state of falling and flying

Before-

You and Soma clatter onto a cold hard floor

You grabbed him to take the brunt end of it, but landing harshly on one end and then having full human weight on the other is a fun time

Nor is Soma’s boney ass elbow accidentally hitting you in the gut

Wheezing is what comes out from you before you can listen to others around you and soma gasping

But that’s not the notice of your attention when after taking a moment to collect your bearings you focus once more on your friend

He looks equally frazzled yet attempts to keep calm

All before he locks eyes with light blue robed people surrounding the two of you

They stand slightly afraid a few feet away

Until an old man of the group that others attempt to hold back out of fear approaches the two of you

Instinctively you go to shield soma but he beats you too it

Fear in his eyes that others wouldn’t notice yet you can see from a mile away

The old man speaks and it’s there that you and soma are made abundantly aware of two things

1) you both definitely time traveled

And just as importantly 2) he was speaking in old Romanian, like really old dialect Romanian

Something you knew from rusty lessons taught by alucard

And as for soma he couldn’t understand the barest lick of what they were saying

You don't move, not immediately. You watch life breathe in and out of his chest, and feel the long, dragged seconds stretch between the distance, the pads of your fingers pressing into the cold slab of the counter, frozen in place.

He doesn’t push. Doesn’t corner you, or raise some pointed remark on your distance. He only waits, as if that’s everything he’s willing to do. Damian has never been good at being patient, but in the wake of his appearance, it’s all he seems to be doing.

You're afraid. To speak, make a sound or move that could shatter the perfect image. You expect to turn your head just slightly off-angle, and find yourself in your sheets once more, and the life-like version of him will be gone. The ache of his absence still clung to you, even more so at the sight of him, like a sore wound you can't resist running over.

Your stomach grumbles lowly at the scent of breakfast, empty from a near sleepless night and a skipped dinner. At that, he finally shifts his gaze, and you find your breath stolen from the way that striking, unwavering green pierces through you.

“You’re starving.”

The prospect of a dream falls away, and reality strikes you hard when the stature of him remains, words falling out his mouth—something your dreams have never achieved. You don’t listen, coming up to him like a storm—hands trembling as you raise them to slowly, tenderly cup his face.

He lets you, unmoving as his gaze sinks deep into yours. Your fingers trace over his cheekbones, where that scar should be. The last you had saw of him, unmoving in the hospital—when the mere sight had rendered you immobile, shaking uncontrollably till someone had to drag you out the room. Your hands trail down his jawline, over his neck—your touch trembling over his unharmed skin. When your hand dips to where his heart should be, he captures your hand and guides it back to his face, fingers laying over yours as he presses it against his cheek, soaking in your warmth.

His own skin is barren of its expected, scorching warmth—and his lashes flutter once before his eyes fall shut, mesmerised.

"Damian." You gasp softly.

He shakes his head faintly, almost in warning not to question further. His gaze opens, and it pours over you openly, hungrily.

"Are you real?" Your whisper comes out as a broken plea, head tilting as you look at him. There are no inconsistencies, even the faint scar where a blade had passed through his palm when he was but a boy, the same raised skin you used to press your lips over in the solemnity of the night, wishing he never experienced a pain like that again.

An undercurrent ripples below his steady gaze, conveying an answer you can't uncover. "I am here, beloved."

"How?" Your voice tremors, teetering madness.

“You called.”

Your brows furrow together, the vagueness of his statement twisting your thoughts into a whirlwind. “No.. I called for you every single day. Since you've been gone.”

His expression fractures in your admission, that undercurrent in the dark green, sweeping you with its darkened shadows. You can’t read it. Not fully, failing to truly understand the depth of his gaze that reminds you that this isn’t a dream or a recreation of any normal morning from before. Damian has always looked at you with want and devotion, yes, but it has never seemed almost inhumane.

Your burning questions still linger on the precipice, torn between relief and despair, when Damian closes in. His lips capture yours almost desperately, and you realise instantly in your grief that you had forgotten this side to him. Rare, and smothered by self-control—but existing regardless, is his intensity.

The sound of his name between your lips is lost, muffled by the way his free hand manoeuvres the back of your head to bring you impossibly closer to him. It’s real, it has to be, this push-and-pull as if he can’t decide whether he could ever get enough of the taste of you.

You have held yourself together for two years—but you’re close to falling apart in the scent of him, so overwhelmingly home, something you’ve been trying to capture through his cologne bottles, his shirts—but nothing compares to the real thing.

He doesn’t fare much better, lost of all his composure as he consumes you. It’s devotion, the way he holds you like you’re the only anchor keeping him tethered to reality. “I am here.” His lips brush over the corner of your mouth, tremoring. “I’m home.”

"We need to tell your family." It's the first logical thought that's formed since you lost strength in your legs, landing on the tiles with your hand still grasped in his, knees pressing against one another. "I should be calling Dick."

His lips press together, something manic crossing his gaze but you don’t see it—too wrapped up in the novelty of a miracle that shouldn't exist. You needed to hear it, have it confirmed for you to your own face— that you weren’t the only one who sees Damian. Your steps quicken towards the entrance, hands reaching for your coat that has your phone right by the front door—tossed on the ground after stumbling home the night before.

Damian grabs you by the wrist right as your fingers brushed the fabric, tugging you back. Your widened gaze meets his own fervent expression. "Damian?"

"I can’t predict—” His hold falters, softening in its clutch. “—what happens when you walk through that door."

Your brows furrow, letting him pull you gently back towards him. Your free hand comes up to press gently against his cheek, caressing once. "What do you mean?"

His jaw clenches, a rare tension seizing his features. Or rather, one you didn't recognise on him at all. Fear.

"Earlier, I had tried the door." He explains slowly, as if the words pained him. "I had reached for the lock—and something changed. I wasn't here, or anywhere. It was silent and I didn't truly exist, not till I found myself back in the kitchen."

Your mouth dries at his words, lips parting with the low thud of anxious dread gnawing away at your gut. You had been so relieved, you hadn't even begun to name all the possibilities of this miracle having a short-end you haven't seen coming.

"Oh." You mutter, fingers fumbling loosely in the air as your hand drops to your side. "Okay. That's—"

Scary. So fucking terrifying that you can't even voice it out, the thought that he could just disappear as quickly as he reappeared back into your life.

"Maybe we can try?" Your voice lacks the confidence of someone who's willing to put the possibility of never seeing the only person she's ever loved again on the line. "If I go with you this time, it might—"

Might work. There is nothing you detest more than the what-ifs that overpower the old, a bitter habit that's sprung to life now that it has new fears to feed on.

He nods briskly at the suggestion, but the tension in his jaw doesn't fade. "Listen to me. If—"

"Damian, if what you're about to say is anything to do with disappearing or leaving—you're not allowed to say it." You cut him off.

His lips clamp together, gaze averting to the door. "I only aim for us both to be prepared."

Unlike last time. The insinuation lands coldly against your exposed skin, and you immediately move to tug the coat on to rid yourself of the forming goosebumps. You didn't want to be reminded of that first lonely night in the apartment, when the news hadn't yet settled in—and you were surrounded by bedsheets that were filled with his scent.

Call it human desperation, needing to believe in only the good outcomes—but you refuse to think further than the events that have occurred in the past twenty minutes. Damian is back, that is all that matters. The rest, you'll both figure it out together.

His hands immediately come up to the sleeves, helping you to put the coat on. The simple action renders you breathless, the way he was equipped to you like a shadow, tuning himself back into step with your own movements. You had forgotten that feeling, of puzzles pieces fitting perfectly together that it made life easy.

"I'm more than prepared." Your reassurance for him, or yourself—you’re not sure which bears more comfort. "Come on, Dami." The nickname rolls off like a soothing mantra, one normalcy laced within all the abnormality of the situation, of his presence lingering near your side like a shadow. "You better prepare yourself. You're about to experience intense familial affection."

It's easier to pretend, that anything other than a happy family reunion was bound to happen, to seal in the fact that he's really here. That's all your mind is leading towards, this impossibility existing on the morning of what should've been your second year anniversary.

His lips finally twitch, a soft smile gracing his lips as he takes your hand. It's warmer now, as if life was slowly bleeding back into him. It reassures you immensely, and your fingers tighten into a reassuring squeeze around his.

"How have—" He falters, grip tightening unintentionally over your fingers. "—they been?"

"It’s not been easy." You answer truthfully. "Bruce is taking it the hardest, his habit of burying himself in work has worsened. He needs you to snap him out of it the most, I think. Dick—he's trying to keep everyone together, but I worry for him even if he keeps pretending he's fine."

Your fingers twist the lock, opening the door. His hand still remains firmly in your grasp, and your eyes widen, gaze twisting to him in hope. "Still here." You murmur, waving your interlocked fingers with yours in his gaze.

You see it too, the faint relief that flickers in his expression. That's the very last thing you see.

The moment you take one step out the door into the threshold of the hallway, your raised hand comes up bare. The space where Damian used to occupy—is now empty.

"I swear he was here." You plead, watching as Dick paces around the apartment. "Damian was right here, and he was talking to me—and we were coming to see you."

He runs a hand over his locks, and you can tell he doesn't believe you, as much as he is trying to genuinely listen. You know it sounds cruel, going on about how his deceased baby brother is alive and well. That it makes you sound insane, overcome with grief enough to hallucinate Damian's existence—but you know that he was really here.

You aren't hallucinating, even if you had to push down any arising doubt as Dick finally stops in his tracks, turning to face you.

He looks exhausted. Packed with cases, wrinkled shirt haphazardly put on, bags under his eyes. Still charmingly Dick, but drained of the spark that used to brighten his gaze.

He calls out your name, and you hear it immediately. His deflection, his concern. You shake your head, but he raises a hand.

"You—" He swallows, and you see him assessing the right way to deliver his words. "—have been through a lot. I understand, I really do."

"Dick." Your voice comes out as a plea.

"But if you've been seeing Damian." He goes on. "I think it's time we find someone. For you to talk to."

He thinks you've gone crazy.

"Dick, I'm not crazy." You plead. "Or grieving. Damian was right here, I was telling him about you and Bruce. He made me toast."

His gaze switches to the uneaten plate, and softens into what could only be pity. You have to swallow back the bitter taste at the sight of it.

"It's your anniversary, right?" He asks.

You stiffen, before giving him a bare nod.

"I should've called." He sighs, placing the blame on himself. "I had remembered it being around this week, but work's just been so busy and—I'm sorry. I know it must've been difficult to go through this day alone."

"Please, Dick." You stand up from the couch, walking over to where he stood. "You have to believe me."

His expression tightens, a sigh leaving his lips. "I can't."

"Why?" You plead.

"Because if I do, I would've lost him twice." He admits honestly, a rare fracture of truth beneath his usual composure. "I can't let myself think that, because I have people who need me to be here, to be grounded."

You flinch, as if he struck you. His expression immediately crumbles in regret, but he doesn't take back his words. His lips part in an effort to try and smooth out the mess laid out in front of him, when his phone rings.

He curses inaudibly, tugging at his pockets to take out his phone. His gaze falls to the contact name, and his lashes narrow. He looks to you, an apology already splurging out of his lips. "I'm sorry, I really have to go. It's an emergency—but I will come visit right after."

You shake your head. There isn't a point if you didn’t have proof, and if he wasn't going to believe you, it'd do you both better if you didn’t dig into the wound so carelessly. "It's fine." Your throat squeezes tight on itself, making it hard to form your words coherently. "I'm sorry I called you all the way here, I know you've been busy."

"Hey." He calls out to you reassuringly, even as his ringtone vibrates lowly between the two of you. "I'm always here if you need me, you got that? Being busy doesn't mean I can't make time for you if you need a listening ear."

You nod stiffly, as convincingly as you could. "You should go, Dick. City needs you."

He stares at you, concern flooding his gaze once more. You smile weakly at him, pushing at his shoulder towards the door. "Go." You reassure him. "I'll text you if I need anything, okay?"

He nods once, lips pulling downward in consideration before his phone starts ringing again at a louder volume. He lets out a low sigh, hand coming up to squeeze yours over his shoulder in a comforting manner. "Anything, alright?" He murmurs.

You give him the barest nod, watching as he walked out the door, closing it behind him. The moment the door clicks shut, you find yourself on the kitchen floor.

Your sobs rack your body violently, your palms covering your mouth as you let it out. You don't know how long you spend, keeling over yourself as you rock back and forth, tears streaming down your cheeks before you eventually found yourself laying on the cool tiles, the only sensation that registers to your body.

You don't know how many minutes you spent going over the words shared between you and the Damian you swore was right in front of you, the scent of toast still lingering in the air before your eyes finally fall shut, body shutting down from exhaustion.

When you wake, you find yourself tucked in your sheets. You vaguely remember laying on the kitchen floor, not even having the energy required to drag yourself to your bedroom. The room is dark, which means the entire day has passed. Did Dick—or someone else come in through the door and carry you onto the bed?

You don't think you locked the door, but you don't trust in your memory to recall any recurring events in a faithful manner. Your gaze shifts from the window where the glow of the street lamp illuminates a warm tint over the streets, before your neck cranes to your right.

A shadow sits at the corner of the bed, back facing you.

Your heart nearly drops to your feet. Your call doesn't dare sound hopeful, almost frightened. "Damian?"

His head shifts, and green eyes, haunted by shadows—meet yours.

"Are you my imagination?" You whisper. "Am I dreaming again because if I am, this is just—” Cruel.

He doesn't answer, lifting himself off the corner to sit beside you instead. Slowly, his hand takes yours—and there it is again, that fading ebb-and-flow of warmth between his fingers.

"Talk to me." You say numbly. "Or I'll really think I'm going insane."

"I don't know—" His voice fills your ears, and the relief is almost sickening. "—how to fix this. Or make it easier to bear. I am only worsening your pain."

Your lip trembles, and you bite at it to keep something, anything from flooding out. "Do you know what day it is today?" You murmur, exhaustion plaguing your voice.

Damian doesn't even pause to think. "Our anniversary."

"Yeah." You smile wryly. "You missed it for the second time this year."

His fingers running over the beat of your pulse, freeze. The faintest whisper leaves his lips, and it is nothing short of broken. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. You’ll make it up to me, won’t you?" You swallow thickly, trying your best to keep it together. "I was going to take you to that Thai place we love down the street, after meeting your family. Thought it'd be a good welcome-back present of some sorts, y'know?"

He stays silent, but you spot the clench of his jaw, the thick lump forming at his throat.

"This is so sick." You laugh weakly, tears pooling at the corner of your eyes. "What kind of reality is this?"

You hear the faint whisper of your name. His hand traces over your temple, brushing back the loosened strands. "I'm sorry." It comes out stronger this time, as if the vowels have finally found suit a place in his vocabulary.

"Stop apologising." You scold softly. "I want you here."

He understands your request immediately, scooting closer and falling into the sheets as his arms wrap around you. In the weight of his embrace, you finally let yourself fall apart a little, face buried into his chest and inhaling his comforting scent.

"Your heart.” You whisper, unable to sense the rhythmic beating you’re used to finding. “Where is it, Dami?”

“Where it’s always been.” He murmurs, arms pulling you impossibly closer.

There is a missing link, something you’re terrified of missing. He is real, as even your mind can’t conjure something as complex as the halftime beat of his thumb brushing against your lower back, or the way his fingers brush through the nape of your neck, finding your temple and resting over it with a soothing amount of pressure.

“You—” Your voice trembles, afraid to ask. “How is any of this possible?”

“I don’t know.” He answers honestly. “I only know that you called. I was finally able to answer.”

The rules settle quickly, the do’s and don’t’s of his existence. When you walk out the front door, he disappears, but not entirely. He merely reappears in the kitchen as he did the morning you found him, time operating as a frozen capsule within the walls of your apartment, with your current present tuned down to a low, buzzing hum—enough for his presence to stay. When you exit the apartment, it’s as if life comes flooding back in motion—roaring in its intensity that Damian simply vanishes. Not home, or anywhere. As reality intended.

You can’t have people enter the threshold of the apartment either, not without Damian completely disappearing from the rooms. Your only attempt had ended with Dick pleading with you to see a professional.

The conversation still lingers like a bitter aftertaste of stale coffee, when you let yourself imagine his exhausted, frantic expression when you searched the apartment upside-down in the hopes of letting him see his baby brother again.

You don’t call Dick over much after that, only the here-and-there messages that you've recovered and that you're doing better. You don’t mention Damian, and the texts tentatively recover into a semblance of the norm, his usual check-ups and quips before he disappears into his long list of responsibilities.

You adjust, creating something sacred out of the cruelty, and you make things work, to reduce the risks of his disappearance to only what was needed—for work, or quick supply runs that are now meant for two. You have to, because you’d rather have Damian with the shattered edges of reality falling in on you, than lose him forever.

Your head rests on his chest late in the night, updating him on the past twenty-four months of your life through your photo album while he watches you, trying to bring some of the outside world in for him. That’s one strange loophole, that so long as it’s only you who witnesses it, he doesn’t fade from existence. You had tried face-timing Tim once, and felt the sudden emptiness of Damian’s weight beside you. The tears were difficult to explain, as was the way you frantically ended the call after, refusing to show how shattered you felt.

Loopholes were small miracles, ones you were trying to exploit in the hopes the world would carry on without punishing either of you for testing the waters. That eventually, you’d find a way to right the mess.

But you know it’s not enough. How could it be? When paranoia runs so rampant, or the quiet lingers too long when you’re in a different room, and you can’t stop yourself from checking—from slamming yourself into the door to catch him staring at you, as if he expected your anxious movement minutes before.

Damian is nothing but a master at concealing his own doubts, from letting his frustrations plague your own wearing strength. It does not change the fact that he is still human. You find him mostly at your desk when he assumes you've finally fallen asleep, pen in hand with his hand running through his thick locks, growing out at the edges from not having been cut for weeks. You never see what he’s writing—not before he hears your quiet footsteps and gently folds the paper away.

He would reassure you silently, a warm, gentle touch over your face, cupping them in his hands and pressing soft kisses over your skin to replace your worries. He’d whisper ‘I’m real’ over and over again till you’re sure even your imagination couldn’t conjure the trace of his fingers down your lower back, the way his gaze softens when you finally let yourself fall into his embrace.

You don’t ask unless he’s willing to speak of it, because Damian in his own way is coping with this fractured reality, where you are only able to have each other in the confined walls of your home, without him being able to truly live in this world. You know it takes a toll on him, you’re just waiting for him to realise he doesn’t have to remain strong for the both of you.

You let him have the peace of doing what he feels he must, scribbling away in urgency into the paper, because for as much as Damian has lost normalcy in his life, you could only give him whatever he was able to still grasp.

“Hey, you! It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other!” Steph exclaims, pulling you into a hug.

“Missed you too, Steph.” You huff at the impact, a warm smile spreading across your lips.

“Where have you been?” She continues, pulling back to analyse your face with a scrutinising expression. “Woah—actually, you look great. Have you been skipping less dinners?”

Your lips part automatically, almost wanting to say Damian’s taken up the cooking. It falls shut immediately, along with your expression. Your voice is tender, testing your words carefully. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Good. I’m obliged as the wiser one to have nagging privileges since Dick isn’t here—no matter how busy life gets, you can’t skip what makes life worth living.”

“Chocolate chip pancakes?” You raise a brow.

“That too.” She grins. “But I’m really glad to see you. It’s been ages.”

Your heart tremors with guilt. Ever since Damian reappeared back in your life, you’ve been putting off so much. Life outside had begun to feel like an intrusion, a compulsory step before you made it home to where the miracle sparked, suspended in time. Even now, you’re terrified the one night you let your guard down, you might come back to an empty apartment. Where you’ll fall asleep and he won’t be there at the corner of the bed, waiting for you to bid him closer and being dragged into his embrace.

“It’s really good to see you.” Your voice softens, taking in the sight of her blond locks, her purple sweater, and the underlying relief in her expression.

Her smile brightens and her arm wraps around your shoulder, dragging you along. “Come on, I’ve got this new place I want to check out. Heard the owner’s a huge fan of Spoiler.”

“You’re not going to bargain deals with your merchandise, are you?”

She hums a sweet tune, head facing forward.

“Steph.” You snort.

“What—it’s a good strategy.” She shrugs. “Tell me it’s not genius.”

“It’s definitely classic you.”

“Yeah, classic me is a genius, same diff.” She grins, steps rushing slightly whenever she gets excited, particularly when it comes to food. The door bell jingles when you both step into the small bistro, the scent of honey and sugared powder filling your nose.

You can imagine Damian’s nose wrinkling at the overly sweet scent, but the thought doesn’t have time to stick before Steph’s already pulling you over to the corner seating, with a perfect view of Wayne Tower in the distance. Your gaze flickers to the tower, before drawing it back to Steph who’s looking over the menu.

“Damian would hate this place.” She says suddenly.

The tilt of your lip freezes, and she casts you a knowing look. “You thought it.” Steph murmurs, placing the menu down. “I know that look.”

Your lips part, mouth dry. “We don’t have to, Steph.”

“No, it’s okay. I don't want you feeling like it's a no-go zone with me.” She smiles gently. There’s that part of her you never stopped admiring, her bravery to speak for what others never dared to see. “I do actually miss making fun of him.”

He misses you too, you want to say. He misses you all.

“Sometimes, I wish he left something for us.” Steph murmurs, her smile lessening into something honest. “He was loud with his actions, and he could never resist an insult but—it just feels like I have nothing much to remind myself of him.”

You pause, her suggestion seeping into your bones. Your gaze widens imperceptibly, but she doesn’t notice.

“There’s Titus, of course.” She jokes wryly. “That beast always tackles me whenever I visit the manor. Guess I know where he got his manners from.”

You’re half-tuning out, because that could be it. Damian could write something so personal to each of them—so they’d at least he know he exists somehow. In this world.

“You’re right, Steph.” You mutter, lost in thought.

“Of course I am. Have you seen Titus recently?” She snorts. “Weighs a truck if he jumps you from the back.”

You shake your head, a fond smile tilting your lips upward. Maybe finally, you have a chance through this loophole, a way to bridge the unseen and the present. You may have a way to bring him back—past the walls of your home.

The nature of Damian is beginning to reform under his bones. The burn of his questions, how he goes silent when he formulates a plan, only without the hesitation he once held in the first few weeks on the prospect of breathing life into the abnormality of his existence.

“What was your wish?” Damian murmurs, gaze peering over you as you tumble into the sheets, feeling his arms slowly wrap around you, pulling you closer to his side of the bed. “I heard you call my name, but nothing of your request.”

“It was the same thing, always.” You recall faintly. “That I didn’t want to ever get used to coming home to our apartment alone. That I could see you again, and remember what life used to feel like with you.”

The specific details of your wish echo in your thoughts, your mind capturing onto the specificity of your words. You feel his mind register it faster than yours, but he doesn't form any accusations, not the way your own brain immediately pinpoints to.

“Is that why you can’t step a foot out of our home?” You realise, dread thumping patiently as it inches closer to guilt. “Why no one can see you except for me?”

He calls out your name, stopping you in your tracks. “It is not your fault.” He says before you’ve even voiced it out. “Do not carry on a burden that isn’t yours to bear.”

“What if—if that's the reason, would you stay?” You ask in the dark. “This doesn’t feel—”

Sustainable or fair or—horrible words pile on top of the other, right at the tip of your tongue. You feel the paranoia that traces along the edge of every conversation you have with him—like the waiting still hasn’t ended. That the world hasn’t quite let loose of its claws on either of you.

“For as long you want me, I’ll always be here.” Damian reassures you, hand lifting to press against your cheek, grounding you.

That’s impossible, you almost want to say. You’ll always want him.

“What about you?” You ask quietly. “You look tired, Dami.”

He stares at you for a beat, and you feel the gears in his mind turning. His under-eyes are clear of dark circles, his body shows no signs of exhaustion, although you know he hasn’t truly slept since his return. You feel it sometimes in your half-awake state, when he lets his guard down—and the trace of his fingers over your pulse.

“It is difficult to rest.” He answers honestly, a dry swallow in his throat. “It does not feel like living. There is no calling for survival, not when I am trapped in place. I am not whole—but the feeling fades when you are here.”

“I want to make things better for you.” You wish desperately.

His gaze softens at the edges. “You are.”

“I want to actually try something. I have an idea, I’m not sure if it’ll work or change anything.” You admit. “I know you’ve been writing every night. I was thinking—would you write letters? To your family? Steph mentioned that she’d like to have something to remember you by.”

His hold tightens over your shoulders, before forcing himself to relax.

“I just think—it might work.” You go on, fingers pressed softly against the expanse of his chest, right where the fabric bunches over your grip—where his heartbeat should be. “If they believe it too, I don’t know—it sounds silly.”

"Beloved.” He calls, his expression twisting in consideration. “I’ve… already written letters.”

Your lips part in astonishment. Has that been what he’s been doing this entire time? “Leave it to you to already have a plan.” You tease softly.

His lips quirk slightly, but there’s still that lingering solemnity in his gaze that’s never fully lifted. “I’ve written letters for you too.”

Your brows furrow. “Why—”

Looking into his eyes, you spot the knowing—the underlying preparation of a man not truly believing the cards are in his favour.

“No.” Pushing yourself away from the sheets, out of his embrace—you stare at him wordlessly, that familiar pounding beginning in your chest.

“Tell me you haven’t been writing goodbye letters, Damian.” You plead.

He only watches you, choosing to remain silent because—he could never lie to you. Not without you catching it in the twinge of his expression, the purse of his lips.

“No, I don’t want to think that—not when the impossible has already happened.” You shake your head. “I can’t handle a goodbye.”

“It is not a certainty.” He reminds you.

“I know but I have to believe.” Your voice breaks. “I believed every night, that somehow, you’d come back to me—and you did. So, I don’t want a goodbye, Damian.”

”I want you to live your life.” You admit in earnest. “Not to be sealed in here, waiting only for me. You are so great—you deserve the chance to be so much more. If there is even a possibility, I want you to fight—to get your life back.”

You are asking a difficult task, for Damian who doesn't put faith in what he can't predict without data or evidence. You see the argument, the calculation weighing in his mind but then he looks at you and—something in him gives. For all that he’s fought for, defying even the rules of the dead, half-whole in a world that once belonged to him as much as it does to you, he has never found the strength to say no to you.

“Alright.” He answers softly. “I will try.”

He has broken his promise only once in your entire lifetime of knowing each other, but tonight, you place your trust in him—that he’d keep this one.

The letters are a brilliant plan. It’s the most hopeful you’ve felt in weeks. Damian waits by the door, a safe two feet away from the threshold where he had last vanished through the hold of your fingers when you both attempted to cross.

“This will work.” You mutter, strapping on your boots.

Looking back to him, Damian’s already watching you, your favourite coat already over his forearm. He doesn’t make a comment, but when you lift your arms for him to put on the coat, as the sleeves loop through—he leans in and closes the distance.

He doesn’t loosen his hold, tugging you closer till you’re wrapped in his scent—and his lips crash into yours. It’s anything but soft, nothing withheld. It’s a promise—unspoken, and a Damian unraveled. Your free hand wraps instinctively around the nape of his neck, tugging softly at the dark waves that have grown past his usual desired length.

A low sound vibrates against his throat, the intensity of him burning through his skin. It is not a goodbye, you remind yourself, refusing to let anything wet prick at your eyes. You are going to fix this—and he was going to come home.

”I love you.” You gasp against his lips, mere seconds after he finally parts to let you have air.

His hand rises to cup your cheek, gaze focused over your features—before finally looking you straight in the eyes. “I am yours. Every part of me always.”

You swallow thickly. “Always.”

You want Damian. You want him in all the worst parts of him—the part of him that left and never came back, the part of him that immediately thought to make your favourite breakfast in the first instance of his return, the only person who you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.

“I’ll be right back.” You promise, grip tightening over the letters.

His gaze flickers with want, unease—a multitude of emotions so vulnerably human, and you understand. You’re the only who will. He lets you take a step back, and you can feel it even when you turn—that he never takes his eyes off of you.

It’s a reassuring weight—of course, till the letters disappear from the grip of your fingers the moment you step out the door. Time splits on itself when your heart drops—gaze snapping to your empty hand, proof of his existence written tirelessly in the thick stack of letters gone without a trace. When you spin back around to your apartment, the sight of Damian behind you disappears with it.

He's gone.

You don't move. Not for a few minutes, staring into the empty space where he once occupied. The door remains open, the buzzing roar of life beyond the threshold numbed to your senses. Eventually, when reality hits you right below your ribs, you do what was only inevitable. You break.

Damian reappears an hour past midnight, one of the longest instances he’s ever gone missing from the apartment. One of the days you truly needed him, you spent alone waiting. He finds you crumpled on the kitchen floor, hands empty—gaze staring blankly into the wall. The wall that holds memories, picture frames of your life with him—and your eyes peer soullessly into the distance.

You faintly register the stir of tension in the air, but you’re tired. Itching faintly for something to happen, the clock ticking down in your mind rendered useless. Your last solution has failed.

Damian stands in your kitchen as he did the first time, when it had all seemed like a dream, and you have nothing to say.

Damian eventually speaks, and it is nothing you want to hear. “We must cease this.”

Your head cranes, looking at him with defeat. Still, you shake your head weakly. You spot that familiar fire, lit in his gaze when his jaw clenches at your stubbornness.

Of course you recognise it. That fire you faced before he had gone out that door two years ago. Your biggest regret had been letting him go, not fighting harder. It’s just that—you’re so exhausted. You need time to think, to replan, to not feel like you’re on the verge of puking because you’re so afraid and you can’t do anything about it.

“There is no denying this. Every instance I reappear, I see your grief—and I am reminded that I am the cause of your suffering.” He says, low and pained. “That I have failed you, and even now, I chain you.”

“Damian, stop.” You plead, trying to shut it out.

“It is the truth.” He states numbly. “You are not living. For as long as I remain, you’ll be chained to the memory, and I have to watch you lose yourself because I am not able to let you go.”

“I have failed you.” He repeats. “But I will not be the reason that you do not live. For as long as I remain here, never truly whole, neither will you.”

“Don’t you understand?” You snap. “I haven’t been whole! Not since the day you died. You leaving won’t change that. Our reality—it isn’t ideal, and it’s terrifying that every time I open that door, I fear I won’t ever see you again, but I’ve lived more now than I have in these past two years.”

“You are still hurting.” His narrowed gaze assesses the trembling of your body, the dullness in your eyes. “Tell me it is enough. Having me here—a fracture of who I used to be.”

Your lips part, and your heart tremors with a painful ache. “I don’t care.” Your voice breaks. “As long as I have you, the pain is nothing compared to not having you at all.”

“But I do.” He pleads. “I refuse to be your chain. The reason your life is reduced to this. You told me that I deserved to be something more. Have you not considered that I want the same for you?”

“What do you want me to do, Damian?” Your voice croaks, exhausted. “What do you propose we do?”

“I want you—” His expression tightens. “—to rescind your wish.”

“No.” Stumbling in your step as you try and fail to rise from the tiles, he’s in front of you in seconds.

You push weakly at his grip that steadies you, anger churning something bitter in your gut that he’s so willing to throw away his promise—the only one you have left for him to keep.

He calls your name, pleading—urgent. "I think this is the end."

"No." You shake your head adamantly, tears soaking your cheeks. "Please."

"I love you." He murmurs. "I love you, and I do not expect your forgiveness."

"What about always?" You break. "Please, I can't lose you again. I can't—I imagined this life with you, Damian. I can't have you again, and lose you—please. Don't go."

His composure shatters the second those words leave you, regret sweeping his entire expression. "I have failed you."

You don't want to hear this. You want him to stay, and for this stupid wish to last—and for the universe to answer your desperate cries to not take him away.

"I love you." Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, you clench tightly as if it could prevent the striking of the clock taking him away. "I can't love anybody else, it's only ever been you."

"I love you." He whispers in devotion, voice raw. "I have only ever seen you. It was always you."

Was. As if he's already seen the inevitability of his going.

"Damian." Your voice is scattered, torn between misplaced rage and desperation—but none of it holds true. "You promised me—that you'd never break your promises. Why?"

Why did he go out on that mission? Why did he not heed your words on waiting for back-up, for someone to be by his side? Why did he leave you alone in this damned apartment, waiting for his return only to open the door to Dick's blank expression battered, where he had to watch you fall in on yourself.

"You should've listened to me." Your fists dig into his chest. "You should've stayed home, with me. Instead of that stupid mission—and leaving me alone. You idiot."

"I know." He murmurs, letting you take it out on him. Even now, he was accommodating you—taking in all your anger even when you didn't want to leave it at this.

You're picking a fight, because you didn't want this to end. Whenever you got in an argument with Damian, he'd refuse to leave it till it was solved. Somewhere in your logic twisted by grief, you wondered if even his determination for your forgiveness would outweigh the cruelty of your wish.

"Fight, damnit—Damian, fight." You cry out, tears forming a puddle onto his shirt. "Don't leave it at this."

"Beloved." He whispers, gazing at you with so much love, it leaves you hollow.

"I wrote letters." He whispers, memorising you with intent. "As many as I could."

You faintly register his words, somewhere beneath the numbness your body is undergoing to process the heavy, sinking chain dragging at your heart.

"I know it's not enough, it never will be." He mutters. "But I wrote them to keep you company. To scream at me, to hate me—everything. What I never got to say, nothing is amiss."

A low, mocking huff leaves his lips not long after his words. "You can burn them if it reminds you of my failures, or if you wish to be part of the memory of me when it only serves you pain. But—"

He swallows, fingers tightening around you. "If you wish to hear my voice, to have me by your side—I am there. In those letters, you'll have me, always. My last thoughts, my wishes—they're all of you. They've always been about you."

“No, this can’t end.” Your voice breaks. “Please.”

“It will end eventually.” His voice lowers, attempting to soothe the cutting truth of his words. “It is my only mercy that I can face you this time, before I go.”

”Why does it have to end?” You mutter into the dark. “Isn’t this enough?”

“It is more than I’ll ever deserve.” He confesses, pressing his lips softly to the crown of your head.

Your words are lost on your tongue, a horrible taste of grief rendering you immobile as you collapse fully into his touch. He holds you, that same pressure over your temple, fingers brushing over the nape of your neck.

“Tell me.” Your body succumbs before your mind, eyes closing shut. “Everything. From the start. I want to hear it all. Please.”

His fingers linger over your temple, before brushing back loose strands of hair to tuck behind your ear. You feel it then, finally, the low thump right where his heart should be. Then, he starts, and you hear the story of how the two of you met from his eyes. You let yourself fall into step with his memory, the last you’ll ever hear of it. In the knowing of a goodbye, you focus on the slight tremor in his voice, the tight grip of his hand—and how his faint heart was finally beating now that you’ve given it back.

You find the stack of letters in the morning, kept neatly in your drawer—all addressed to different names. Father. Mother. Brown. Drake. Grayson. Todd. Duke. Cassandra. The list went on. Your own stack is separated, in a thick bundle that must’ve began from the first time you caught him writing.

The world was impossibly cruel yet fair, his letters remaining despite the impossibility, the scent of him still coating the paper. He is gone, and the existence of him remains.

Life is heightened back to its usual roar, the faint chaos of the streets beyond the walls of your apartment playing as if nothing had ever changed. The quiet greets you like an old friend, and there is no shuffling of the sheets when you wake, no toast at the counter.

Your fingers grip at the first letter, trembling as you open the first. You hear his voice immediately—and nothing prepares you for it, as if he sealed himself within the pages. You feel the warmth of his touch, the low candor of his voice, reading it to you.

"To my beloved.”

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dc masterlist -> damian + other dc works