I spent a fair portion of today typing this up, hopefully it goes somewhere. I’ll be posting it here if anyone’s interested.
Fires, burning. A flash of white teeth, fangs. A dozen dead bodies, familiar faces lying among them. Caught in a crossfire. Gunshots, loud as cannons. Two beasts locked in battle, diametrically opposed. One independent, a vicious killer, remorseless eyes scanning the flame-ringed battlefield. The other, a red-coated lapdog, leash held by a woman of incredible will. The woman’s eyes burn with fire greater than the flames around them, she roars to her pup, distracting him. A boy, scarce younger than herself, alive among the dead, but barely. He coughs, lungs filled with blood, drowning. More gunshots. One of the two demigods falls. The boy hears footsteps, a flash of red, then nothing. Darkness.
Claude Grey jolted from his sleep, heart pounding as he awoke.
God dammit, he thought. Not again.
He hadn’t had this dream in a while. The day he found out that everything he thought he knew about the world was wrong. Rubbing his exhausted eyes, he turned in the pitch-black bedroom to look at his alarm clock.
1:08 A.M.
Piss.
Claude groaned softly. He’d only gotten three hours of sleep, if that. And after that dream, he knew he wasn’t getting anymore.
Resigned to spending his day as a barely-awake zombie, Claude swung his legs over the side of the bed, blanket spilling to the floor. He shambled over to his closet, opening it slowly and struggling to find his uniform in the darkness. He dressed quietly, trying not to awaken his sleeping roommate, before slipping out the door into the hallway.
Hellsing Manor, at this hour of night, was practically lifeless. The halls were void of movement save for the occasional guard on night patrol. The normally bright lights lining the walls were dimmed so as not to disturb the residents sleeping in their rooms. Claude squinted against the new light, his blue eyes adjusting slowly.
It was a long walk to the kitchen from his room, halfway across the Manor, down to the ground floor. His boots clicked softly on the stairs as he descended.
Left from the stairwell, then right, right again, then left.
The kitchen was substantial, sized and stocked to serve more than a hundred people. Claude needed a cup of coffee. He rifled through the cupboards, looking for the bag of black nuggets of salvation. His hands found the proper bag, full of Sulawesi coffee beans from a brand he could never be bothered to remember.
Pour the beans, then grind. Brew.
As he waited on the coffee to brew, Claude became increasingly aware of the slight tremor in his hands. It always returned after a dream.
Dammit all. He growled quietly, smacking his hands on the kitchen counter. Once. Twice. Thrice. He knew what the shakes meant, as did Integra, as did Alucard.
He needed to get himself under control. It was far too unbecoming for an agent of Hellsing to shake like a small child after a dream, even after the visions he often had in his sleep. Claude found himself hitting the counter more, as though hurting his hands would bring an end to their shaking. As if begging him to stop, the coffee machine beeped, its signal that the drink was ready.
He poured it into a thick mug, no added sugar, just a spoonful of sweetened, condensed milk. Claude sipped at the intoxicating brew, checking his watch.
1:30 A.M. Sir Integra wouldn’t be awake for another five hours. Claude knew she would want a full report of his dreams on her desk by noon, as she always did. He was the only member of the Hellsing Organization who had to do this.
With another heavy sigh, he returned to his room, grabbed his laptop, and moved to the boardroom to get a start on his report. His hands continued shaking ever-so-softly as he typed.
Walter had found Claude in the boardroom at nearly 5:00 A.M. With barely-concealed surprise, he nodded as the soldier explained why he was up so early. Claude asked the butler to inform Sir Integra where to find him when she awoke.
Sure enough, at seven o’clock sharp, the tall, impeccably-dressed blonde woman entered the boardroom, one hand holding a mug of coffee and the other holding a large three-ring binder. She walked to the seat beside Claude, pulling out the chair and sitting down wordlessly.
“So, Mr. Grey…” She sipped from the mug, idly opening the binder and flipping to the divider labeled [March, 1999]. “Walter tells you’ve been at work since the wee hours of the morning.”
“Yes, Sir Integra.” Claude nodded, dutifully passing her the stack of papers written in the template he made for reports. “I… Found myself awake at an early hour, from a dream last night.”
Integra scanned over the report, her brow furrowed as she began to read, a look of familiarity on her face.
“The day Alucard and I rescued you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s been almost a month since you’ve dreamt that dream.”
“It has, yes sir.” Claude nodded respectfully. “I do apologize. I have no control over my visions.”
Integra waved her hand dismissively. “No apologies. I do understand things such as this are far beyond the control of people such as yourself and I.” She smirked. “Your visions have been useful more than once.”
As she spoke, her eyes drifted to Claude’s hands, hidden in his lap, below the table.
“Your hands, let me see them.”
“Pardon… Pardon me, sir?”
“You heard me. Your hands.” Her tone shifted, more stern than before. The soldier sighed, lifting his hands and resting them on the table. They trembled softly, even as Integra took them and quietly examined each one, turning them over in her own hands.
“It’s gotten worse.”
“Yes, sir. It’s just like-“
“Belgium.” She interrupted. “That means something’s going to happen, doesn’t it?
“I suppose so, sir. I don’t know when it will be, but it must be soon.”
Integra huffed, nodding quietly. Her eyes closed, and she sat in thought for a moment, planning their next course of action. After nearly a minute, she reopened her eyes. She quietly popped the rings of the binder and filed the report amongst hundreds of others. The softness in her voice, however slight, was once again replaced with the same pragmatic tone as always.
“Keep writing your reports, then. Attend drills and patrol as usual. If you faint, I want you to inform me immediately, no matter to whom I’m speaking. And…” She gently tapped his left hand with a gloved finger. “I want you to see Walter for something to help calm that tremble in your hands. You’ll do nobody any good if you can’t stop shaking in an emergency. Understand?”
“Absolutely, sir.” Claude nodded. Sir Integra nodded in return. Without further adieu, she stood, binder and coffee mug in hand, and exited the boardroom.
Claude followed suit, making a different turn to go hunt down the Hellsing butler, Walter.
The Rose-Clad Demon Doctor 