Tag: Hellsing Ultimate

Hey I mean if you offer it, I’m happy about any Anderson scenario. SFW or NSFW whatever you prefer. But only if you want to write it haha. :D

Hey! Thank you for sending this ask, and for working out specifics with me! This scenario went a bit longer than I’d expected, so I hope you enjoy!

This is going to be buried under a cut, not because it’s NSFW, but because there’s themes of jealousy and a Yandere!Anderson, which might not be everyone’s cup of tea. Please heed the warning if you’re sensitive to stuff like this.

Anderson loved his partner. They were sweet, wonderful with the children of the orphanage, their knowledge of the Bible nearly rivalled his own. That was why he worried about them constantly.

Not about their safety, oh no. The orphanage sat comfortably near the Vatican, one of the most heavily-defended locations in the world. His partner’s safety would be guaranteed.

No, what worried him was losing them to someone else.

The priest was getting on in age, that much was true. Though his regeneration kept him looking younger, he was no longer the energetic youth he used to be. Perhaps they’d want someone their age, who would be able to keep up with them when he no longer could. Maybe they’d be looking for someone who didn’t kill for the Vatican, who wasn’t such a dangerous individual.

These thoughts troubled him constantly, drawing his mind away from more immediate tasks. More than once had he been in the middle of a mission, a thousand miles away from the Vatican, and his thoughts had gotten consumed with the thought of his beloved being cradled in someone else’s arms, his own self all but forgotten in his absence.

Anderson prayed for guidance, all the time. He prayed more for this than he’d prayed for anything else in his life. Eyes filled with tears, he’d walk the gardens of the orphanage, or standing behind the pulpit after mass, or seated on his bed, hands clenched together tight enough to rip his gloves, chanting the same prayer under his breath. He’d ask for God’s grace and guiding hand to lead him through these trying times, to find the faith in his partner he so desperately needed. It never seemed to really help, these thoughts were always on his mind.

He never told his partner how he felt, how worried he was that he’d lose them. God’s Assassin, the Angel Dust, the Regenerator, could not summon up the courage to talk through this with his partner.

Things got worse when the new student priest arrived. He was their age, far more beautiful than Anderson. Clean-shaven, hair as red as a cherry. His voice was even more beautiful.

And he was getting entirely too close to them.

It started innocently enough. The occasional lingering glance from the scarlet-haired priest, lasting just a little too long when Anderson’s partner walked away. Then came the gifts, anonymous presents of flowers. They assumed the gifts were from Anderson, but the priest knew the truth.

Then it was the talking, the offers of dinner. They were too innocent to know what the scarlet-haired priest was alluding to, they were far too naive to think he meant anything other than an innocuous lunch.

The final straw for Anderson was the kiss. The red-haired priest, tired of their naivety, stole a kiss in the garden at dusk. Anderson had seen through the window of his room. His partner backed away, flustered, excused themselves before fleeing into the building. That would not happen again. He’d make sure of it.

His partner was his, nobody else’s.

Just as quickly as the cherry-haired priest had arrived, he’d vanished. Bishop Maxwell explained, in the company of Anderson and his partner, that the young student priest had been excommunicated and exiled from the Vatican, though he was remarkable scarce on details. He didn’t relent anything further when pressed for why the priest was excommunicated.

But Anderson knew the truth.

In the middle of the night, Anderson and Maxwell, accompanied by a small cadre of Iscariot guards, had entered the young priest’s room. Maxwell read him the charges, a lengthy list of pure lies, enumerating sins ranging from selling indulgences, to heresy, to the sin of fornication. The young priest dropped to his knees, begging for forgiveness, begging the church officials to see that these charges were untrue. But they didn’t listen.

Of course, the guards didn’t know the truth, but Maxwell did. Maxwell, Anderson’s closest confidant, the only one who knew how Anderson felt about his partner. The Bishop understood entirely, and was willing to grant this favor to his old friend.

In the darkest hour of the night, they’d transported the priest to a bridge, overlooking the deepest body of water near the Vatican. Though bound and gagged, the priest screamed, terrified. They’d tied his legs to a concrete block. Anderson sighed, praying. Praying for the young priest’s soul to find salvation in the afterlife, mostly, before burying one of his bayonets in the cherry-haired priest’s chest.

The terrified student priest grew silent, and they threw his body into the river as though it were garbage to be dumped. Anderson cleaned his blades as the Iscariot members cleaned up the blood.

He’d do it again, if he had to. Nobody was going to be with his partner but him.

Nobody.

I’m here to Feng Shui your blog to ask you for some fluff headcanons for visiting the theme park with The Captain? :)

OKAY, THIS BOY, THE PUREST GUY EVER IN A THEME PARK! He’s been so sequestered away from the world for the past few decades that he’s never had the opportunity to visit one!

Imagine his quiet awe at all the lights, the sights, the smells, the sounds. You can’t see it in his face but you can feel it in his eyes. He’s so excited to be there, it’s unreal. At first, the sheer number of people kind of overwhelm him, but having you nearby helps calm him down and stay relaxed.

Those rigged games that are always super hard to win and get a prize from? No problem for the Captain. You would be walking away with armfuls of stuffed animals if you let this guy play these games.

On the flip side, imagine winning a stuffed animal for him! The look in his eyes when you win him a giant stuffed bear or dog, a huge stuffed animal nearly as big as he is. Of course he doesn’t say anything, but you can just FEEL him thinking “HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO CARRY THIS?!”

The Captain is always slightly disappointed by the thrill rides. Never because they’re not thrilling, but because every single thrill ride is too short for him. The most massive rollercoasters are too short for the poor man, so expect to be riding a single ride half a dozen times or more until he’s decided he wants to move on.

Captain is in love with the food, no matter how unhealthy it may be. Fried foods, funnel cakes, hot dogs, cotton candy, it doesn’t matter to him as he continuously eats between rides.

No matter how many times you’ve taken him to a theme park, every visit is like the first visit in terms of his awe and love of all of the park around him. At least once a week you’d have to visit, that’s how much he loves it.

Imagine spending the entire day there, long enough that both of you are fully exhausted when you finally leave, and the sleepy puppy that is the Captain is struggling to keep his eyes open while up to his neck in stuffed animals that form that day’s haul of fluffiness.

Things you think each Hellsing and Iscariot Member would like about me? XD

I understand you might have been joking, but you’ve been such a good friend since I met you that I couldn’t resist answering this one first.

Integra:

Definitely your honesty and genuine personality. You seem like someone she could trust which is something she needs in her life.

Alucard:

Respects your resolve. Your unwillingness to give up and embracing of whatever life gives you is impressive to him.

Seras:

Loves your chipper attitude and politeness, you remind her of herself.

Walter:

Respects the way you help and care for others, reminds him of the person he knows he should be.

Pip:

Wholeheartedly enjoys your sense of adventure, which meshes with the worldliness of a traveling mercenary like himself.

Father Anderson:

Is enamored by your spirituality and seeming willingness to consult or work with a higher power for support in your life.

Enrico Maxwell:

Jealous of the self-confidence you have, aspires to having that level of self-belief without others worshipping him.

Heinkel:

Admires your fighting spirit, like Alucard, she highly respects your refusal to submit to unfortunate circumstances.

Yumiko:

She likes your hair.

Haha good stuff here. Can I request jealousy headcanons for Hellsing?

These were surprisingly tough to write, these are headcanons I hadn’t really thought of before today. Hope you enjoy!

Alucard:

Is probably the most overtly, aggressively jealous of the Hellsing members. If he feels like his S/O is looking elsewhere, true or not, he’ll be sure to reassert himself to them. Especially possessive, frequently reminds his S/O that they are his, and he’s theirs, even if this causes confusion when they don’t understand he’s jealous.

Integra:

Very passive-aggressive. Would probably order extra surveillance on her S/O, just to keep eyes on them, but nothing too intrusive. However, she’d probably realize when she’s gone too far and would have the state of mind to sit her S/O down and explain her feelings to try and get a grasp of how they really feel.

Seras:

Quiet, sad. Likely has constant thoughts that her S/O changed their minds about being with her, not wanting to be with a vampire that could kill them so easily. Probably constantly worried about accidentally doing something that would scare away her S/O, so every time she has to drink blood or fight, she’d be desperate to ensure that they’re somewhere they can’t see her. Wouldn’t confront her partner or talk about how she feels, instead she would probably internalize everything excessively.

Walter:

His expression of jealousy depends on who he feels his partner is interested in. If he feels he’s losing his partner to a fellow human, he would likely express a similar internalized anxiety to Seras; feeling that his partner wants someone younger than him, that they’re not really interested in someone as old as he is, whether it’s true or not. If he feels like he’s losing them to a being such as Alucard, he would become very aggressive and competitive, deadset on besting this being in a fight to prove to his S/O that he’s really the one for them, not anyone else.

Pip:

Likely highly disappointed if he feels like his partner is looking to someone else. Would try very hard to keep them with him, including all sorts of romantic gestures that would seem out-of-nowhere to his S/O who’s clueless of his feelings. He fully well understands that things like this happen, but he really doesn’t want to lose his S/O, so he’ll do everything in his power to prove his love to them in the hopes they won’t leave.

Alucard vs. Dragon

Here’s the little Alucard fighting a Shadowrun dragon that I posted about earlier. Just a short little bit of imaginative what-if scenario, nothing too big. Hope you all enjoy!

Alucard wasn’t quite sure he’d heard that right. A dragon. A fucking… Dragon.

Sighted over Ypres, Belgium, it had caused a significant amount of destruction, burning away nearly half of the city and killing fifteen thousand people before being chased away by a joint squadron of the Belgian and French Air Forces. They had wounded the beast, hitting it nearly a dozen times with missiles, but nobody was sure to what extent they had hurt it.

It disappeared off radar shortly after the engagement, but the Hellsing Organization, with the assistance of Her Majesty’s government, were contacted to hunt it down.

The Royal Air Force begrudgingly offered their assistance, in the form of a C-130 cargo plane, aerial reconnaissance to track down the dragon, and a special weapon gifted from their contacts in the United States.

It hadn’t taken terribly long to track down the dragon again. It had resurfaced in eastern Belgium, terrorizing Brussels. The Royal Air Force cargo plane delivered him as close as possible to the site of the dragon’s attack. He could see it already.

A massive, gold-colored beast of prey, easily the size of the cargo plane in which he strode into battle. Talons and scales that glinted in the light of the fires from the city below. Two sets of thick legs and a pair of incredible wings. A wyvern.

Flames flickered around its maw before it spat out another long stream of green fire, burning so hot that even from a dozen kilometers away, the vampire could feel its warmth on his skin.

At the sound of the cargo plane’s turboprop engines, the dragon turned its head. Alucard grinned wildly, eager to do battle with such an awesomely powerful creature. He laughed, stepping back into the cargo hold.

“Nothing more than a canary!” The crew of the cargo plane were visibly distressed by the situation, more so by his reaction. Alucard sauntered over to the plane’s cargo, ripping off the tarpaulin with gusto.

Strapped to the floor of the cargo plane was a GAU-8 Avenger, a car-sized, rotary-barreled cannon chambered for the same ammo that would later see use in the main weapon of Miss Seras Victoria. It had been specially reconfigured with a handle and trigger, sized for human hands.

Alucard took a deep breath.

“Releasing Control Art Restriction Systems… 3… 2… 1… “

The dragon roared, spitting fire. It was just slightly off target, the flames going wide and scorching the tail of the cargo plane. Alucard gritted his teeth at the heat, as it blistered and burned his skin.

“Approval of situation A recognized; commencing the Cromwell Invocation.”

The dragon opened its mouth, and he could see the glow of the flames deep in its maw as it prepared to breathe again.

“Ability restrictions lifted for limited use until the enemy has been rendered silent.”

Eyes erupted from the black of Alucard’s cloak, and a colossal tendril of darkness wrapped around the heft of the GAU-8 to his side. With little effort, he hefted the enormous gun to his shoulder. At the sight of this, the human crew of the cargo plane, very quickly, sequestered themselves away in the cockpit. Alucard took aim as the dragon began making its way in chase of the C-130.

“Why hide, humans? Doesn’t anybody want to see Sylvester kill Tweety-bird?”

The vampire squeezed his trigger.

Even with his immense strength, heels dug into the deck of the cargo plane, the recoil was immense. The gun issued an incredible, graunching roar as it spat forth explosive death at 4000 rounds per minute. The No-Life King found himself inching backward, slowly, by the force of the recoil.

Hundred of rounds went wide, slamming into the ground and buildings of the city of Brussels. Hundreds of other rounds found their target.

The dragon screamed in agony, a blisteringly loud roar that could be heard even over the din of the cannonfire. Dozens of small explosions erupted along its body and wings, bringing forth a spray of fire, shrapnel, and gore as the dragon’s left wing was torn from its body, falling to the ground like a crumpled piece of paper. The dragon followed suit, dropping ten thousand feet and slamming into the upper stories of the Proximus Towers.

The vampire, knowing his job remained incomplete, set off at a run off the ramp of the cargo plane, leaping to the earth below and bringing his newfound toy with him.

He didn’t particularly care who saw him. The Brussels citizenry were already in an uproar as their city burned, and everyone who glimpsed the black-coat-clad man walking at the forefront of a shadowy cloud merely turned and fled.

The walk to Proximus Tower 1 was mostly quiet. The dragon, grievously wounded, growled in pain, letting out a weakened roar as it gazed down from its new steel-and-glass bed and saw the vampire Alucard.

He chuckled ominously. “What’s wrong, Tweety? Swatted out of the sky by a puddy tat?”

Alucard raised the godly gun and fired another burst, ripping into the dragon’s chest and stomach. He was met by a flash of heat that seared his skin, melting his form and the gun he held in his hand. The dragon stopped after only a few seconds, satisfied that its attacker would die along with it.

The vampire reformed slowly, gazing forlornly at the melted remnants of the gun that shot down a dragon. So much for that piece of glorious artillery.

He began to run up the side of the building, his destination; the hole in which the dragon laid. He wanted to ensure it was dead.

However, upon his arrival, there was no dragon to be found.

Instead, at the center of its carnage was a tall, lanky, olive-skinned woman, missing an arm at the shoulder and with countless bullet wounds riddling her stomach. He shook his head, clicking his tongue.

“Disappointing. A dragon, yet not a dragon. A human, yet not a human. You’re nothing more than a common pyromaniac.”

She let out a weakened growl, baring sharp teeth despite her human form. She bore a slight Flemish accent.

“You… disgust me, vampire, demon of the night. I am a majestic being! I am a proud being! Far greater than you and the pathetic humans you so willingly defend.” She began to struggle to her feet. “Filthy, arrogant humans. Filthy, arrogant vampires. I wanted to assert my dominance. To show all of you pathetic creatures who would really rule this world.”

The vampire smirked, his voice deepening. “Pathetic? You’re just a common thug with wings.” He extended his arm, bringing out the heavy, .454 Casull handgun he favored in combat. He aimed at the dragon-turned-human’s head. “Any last words, canary?”

She growled again. “My… My NAME IS-”

Her words were cut short. He’d fired a shot through her head, splitting her skull in two and sending spray of blood and bone to the wreckage behind her.

“Oops… My finger slipped.” As he holstered the gun and stepped over what remained of the dragon’s corpse, he turned to face it. “I have no respect for wanton killers like you.”

The vampire flipped open his flip phone, dialing the Hellsing Manor, with Integra’s extension. He could make his way home now. He knew she would have a shitload of paperwork to fill out.

(Note: Some dragons in Shadowrun can assume human forms, I went slightly different and had this dragon have her true form be a human.)

Hellsing: Forest Fire Part 6

All I’m gonna say is that I feel really bad about writing some parts of this chapter. If you thought I was done making Claude feel like crap, you’re sorely mistaken! 🙂 

As always, please feel free to send any critiques, comments, or hate mail my way!

A shuffling noise in his cell made Claude open his eyes. He had fallen asleep, he supposed. Across the room, perched in a chair in much the same way as an actual cat, sat the catboy Schrodinger. Claude sat up slowly, wincing at the twinging in his bandaged chest (it still ached like a mother-). He rubbed his eyes, blinking. At some point in his sleep, his glasses had fallen to the floor. Oh well.

“Mm… Why are you here?” His mood was mildly improved from earlier; sleep tended to do that for him. He reached down and retrieved his glasses.

“I saw you vere sad earlier. I vanted to come und make sure you vere better.”

Claude yawned quite loudly. “I was sleeping.”

Schrodinger nodded slowly, then sat up straight, ears perking up. “I just vanted to tell you zat you don’t have to be sad!” He was suddenly next to Claude, perched in the exact same position on the bed. “You und I, ve are like brothers, ja?”

The catboy giggled. “Ve are ze two who break ze universe, don’t you see? Ze man who could see ze future, und ze boy who is everyvhere und novhere. Ve’d make ze perfect team, nein?”

Despite how he felt, Claude couldn’t help but be a little endeared by this. He managed a weak smile.

“I’m sure we would. But I, uh… I don’t have control of my powers. Things just kinda happen, y’know?”

“I vouldn’t be so sure. Ze Doktor seems convinced you could be made to. I saw him scribbling in his notebooks just a few hours ago. I haf not seen him so obsessed vis anything since he experimented on me!”

The soldier was more than a little worried about that. Whatever that mad scientist had in mind for him was definitely something he wanted no part of.

He had to get out of here.

        That turned out to be easier said than done. Everything in Claude’s room seemed to be designed to his disadvantage. The bed was bolted to the floor, the toilet and sink made of metal and practically indestructible. All of the food finery was plastic. No shirt, just shorts that didn’t even have a string.

        He had contact with another living being for less than an hour a day, the Doctor coming to change his bandages and ask questions.

        It had been nearly eight days since his capture, and Claude hadn’t even been allowed to leave his room. It was starting to drive him mad. On top of that, he desperately needed a shower. He hadn’t even had the luxury of someone coming in to bring him something to eat, not since the day Zorin read his memories. The sink had been the only saving grace he still had, his shining steel oasis in the middle of a desert cell. He knew what this was, they were starving him out.

        And it was working.

        At the dawn of the ninth day, Claude curled up on his bed. He was desperate for even the slightest bite to eat. The Doctor had been continuing to run his tests as though nothing was wrong, and completely ignored Claude when the soldier brought up the topic of food.

        As the thought began to run through his head of offering to pleasure the Doctor in exchange for food, the door opened. In stepped the Major, flanked by soldiers, with a sickening grin on his face.

        Claude struggled to stand and face the Major, he was so weak from hunger. The Major only grinned wider.

        “Ahh, still such a fighter. Zat’s good!” He began to pace around the small cell. “Nine days vithout food… I could scarcely imagine ze pain you must be feeling!”

        Claude muttered. “I bet you couldn’t.”

        The Major walked slowly around Claude in a circle, eyeing him up. “You vant to eat, yes?”

        He gulped loudly, speaking quietly. “More than anything.”

        “Follow me, zen, Herr Grey.” The Major turned and exited the room, and Claude slowly followed him. He was led into a room, roughly twice the size of his cell.

        In it, around a table, stood the Captain and First Lieutenant Rip van Winkle, both dressed in what could charitably be considered civilian clothes. In the back stood First Lieutenant Zorin Blitz, dressed in her usual attire, along with four guards.

        He was so hungry that the first thing that popped into Claude’s mind was the startling lack of food in the room. The Major turned to him.

        “Vhile ve still have quite enough rations, our stocks of… Fresh food, have begun to run low. Our sadly human benefactors need to eat, as do you, Herr Grey. Our battalion must eat as vell, but zeir dietary needs are much more… Specific.”

        “So, what, we run to the supermarket and grab some food, then hit up the local butcher for blood?”

        There was a smattering of laughter.

        Shit, I knew things weren’t going to be that easy.

        The Major chuckled. “Oh, no no no! No, ze Captain, and Rip Van vill both be tending to ze needs of our human hosts und yourself. Obersturmführer Blitz und yourself vill be capturing a source of food for our vampire battalion. Fresh food, I might add.”

        Claude’s heart sank. There was no way he meant animals. That only left… Oh no.

        “You vill be provided a uniform und your veapons. Zis vill be a test of your loyalty to Millennium. If you do not assist in ze acquisition, or if you try to escape, or try to prevent us from accomplishing our goals, First Lieutenant Blitz is under strict orders to put you down like a mad dog.”

        The First Lieutenant’s voice piped up from the back of the room. “Und I vill do it vis pleasure.”

        “Now, Herr Grey! Suit up, und meet in ze hangar bay in tventy minutes! Oh, und Captain… Keep an eye on him.”

        All of the remaining vampires exited the room. Only the Captain stayed behind.

        Claude’s shotgun and pistol were on the table, as pristine as they had been when he was captured. Sitting beside it, neatly folded up, was a vicious mockery of his Hellsing uniform. The green coloring had been turned granite grey, all the patches that had been on his old uniform had been meticulously replicated using Bundeswehr and Waffen-SS patches and medals. Even his beret, once a bright red, was now dark black and proudly bearing the Nazi Reichsadler.

        And it was all he was going to get as far as clothing.

        Claude shyly avoided eye contact with the Captain as he stripped out of his shorts and began adorning himself with the new uniform. It wasn’t until the belt had been firmly snugged around his waist that Claude noticed the Captain only looked away when his own gaze moved in that direction.

        What’s with him? Surely, he’s seen a guy getting dressed before.

        He shrugged it off, continuing to dress. The new uniform was certainly more comfortable than the old one. Perhaps it was made by Hugo Boss. Now fully festooned in the Millennium regalia, he turned to his weapons. They looked identical. Even the ammo was the same, though mixed in with the silver shells were steel-cased ones, undoubtedly loaded with shot meant for humans.

        By God, everything about this pissed him off.

        The soldier, nonetheless, dutifully loaded up his guns and ammo. Captain walked over and took Claude’s wrist, beginning to write on the back of his hand.

        “AS THEY SAY, LIE BACK AND THINK OF ENGLAND.”

        “I’m not English… But I appreciate the sentiment. Thank you.”

        Captain nodded. Together, they walked out to the hangar bay.

        Claude was completely taken aback. An enormous zeppelin, its side emblazoned with the swastika and the words “Graf Zeppelin III.” It filled most of the hangar bay, but still stood tall enough that, snugly nestled underneath it was a convoy of four Mercedes-Benz lorries, each pulling a full-length 15-meter trailer. Two of the trailers were occupied by 10-man squads of vampires. The lead lorry merely had the two First Lieutenants. This was the one to which the Captain led Claude.

        They were seated in chairs bolted to the floor of the trailer. Claude took the seat next to Rip van Winkle, while the Captain sat directly across from him.

        Blitz gave him the briefing. “Ze Captain is in charge of procuring ammunition from our allied arms dealers in Rio de Janeiro. First Lieutenant Rip Van is in charge of acquiring comestibles in the same city. You und I vill be gazzering humans from ze Rocinha favela. Twenty kilometers from ze city, ve vill be svitching trucks. Ze Captain takes ze lead truck, Rip Van vill take ze second truck, I vill take ze third truck, und you vill be taking ze tailing truck. You und I, Herr Claude, vill be in charge of our own squads on zis mission.”

        Her eyes narrowed, and she raised a finger before pointing it at Claude. “Ze Major is placing qvite a lot of trust in your abilities, UND your loyalty. If you do not pull your veight, or anything zat might compromise us, I promise you I vill personally eat you alive, piece by piece. Do not disappoint ze Major, und most importantly, don’t disappoint me, human.”

        She spat out the word “human” with such venom, with all the same regard one might feel for the dog shit they’ve stepped in.

        Claude merely looked up, into her eyes. He had a fresh fire in him, furious from the role he was being given, furious at Millennium for giving it to him, furious because there was nothing he could do about it.

        “Look, Obersturmführer…” He could say her title with just as much poison. “I don’t wanna be here. You don’t want me here. I don’t give a shit, I’m not putting up with your attitude. You want me to prove I’m loyal, fine, I’ll do it. I may as well do what I’m told, right? I’ll lead my squad and I’ll accomplish the objective and you-“ He jabbed his finger in her direction. “Will stay out of my goddamn way!”

        He was pretty sure he’d never seen anyone’s face get that red before. She opened her mouth to reply but the Captain merely put up his hand, shaking his head at her.

        It was going to be a long ride to Rio.

——————————————————————————————-

        It really was a long ride. They had been travelling for almost two hours now. Aside from Rip van Winkle’s humming, all four were in near-total silence. Claude hated it. The two hours had given him some time to think over things and lose some of his anger. Not all of it, but some.

        He looked over at the humming, bespectacled woman to his left. He looked across to the silent Captain who had been glancing in his direction once or twice a minute for the past two hours. He looked at the fuming, tattooed woman who quietly sharpened her scythe, occasionally sending him hateful looks.

        “So…” The soldier piped up, breaking the silence so unexpectedly it even caught him off guard. “What’s your ideal free time activity?”

        The other three paused. Zorin sneered. “Vat ze fuck are you talking about?”

        “C’mon, you have to have something you enjoy doing to help you unwind, Miss Hieroglyphics.”

        Rip van Winkle was the only one to offer up, at first. “Oh! Zen mine vould be sitting in mein room, listening to Der Freischütz on ze record player!”

        Zorin grumbled softly. “A pack of cigarettes, a liter of blood in a stein, und a set of veights to lift.”

        The Captain motioned to mime an action, but Rip Van interrupted him. “Until recently, he’s spent his free time training! But now he seems to be very interested in ze Doktor’s vork, especially concerning…” The Captain quickly threw a spare stripper clip of ammo at her, shutting her up and causing the First Lieutenant to glare at him.

        Zorin nodded her head at Claude. “Und vat about you, human?”

        “Oh… A glass of apple cider, some cheese-and-crackers, and a copy of Game of Thrones, or Harry Potter. Especially if it’s raining outside, which, I live near London so… Every other day.”

        They continued to talk like this for another hour, when the lorries came to a halt and he had to move into the trailing lorry. The vampires in this trailer were much more talkative, like soldiers at war. He stepped in slowly, noticing their looks of hunger.

        Claude cleared his throat.

        I don’t know if they can smell fear. Or anger. Or both. They probably can.

        “I’m Herr Grey, and I’ll be your squad leader tonight. We’re under strict orders to capture your food sources for the next several months. Now, I may be a human, but I am NOT having any bullshit tonight! No feeding on anyone until we return to base, no killing anyone you don’t have to! If one of you blood-suckers steps out of line…” He gestured to the silver shells lining his bandolier. “I will put you down like a dog, understand?!”

        The soldiers nodded, their looks of hunger turned to a sick look of respect. They all saluted with a “Sieg Heil!” Claude choked back the bile rising in his throat and took his seat.

——————————————————————————————-

        Their raid into the favelas was a nightmare. The two lorries rolled in from separate ends of the Rocinha neighborhood, soldiers exiting and storming into the shanty houses like common criminals. One by one, they extracted men, women… Even children.

        Every pocket of resistance to their actions was crushed accordingly, every individual with a gun dropped before they could even fire a shot. Claude led his squad as ordered, despite every fiber of his being screaming at him not to.

        Filling the lorries took an hour, if that. Claude and Zorin’s squads combined had taken nearly four hundred people.

        Except for the chairs the soldiers sat in, it was standing-room-only, with the terrified, screaming civilians crammed together like sardines in the pitch-black trailers.

        For Claude, none of it felt real. It was as though the orders were being given by someone else, like he was just observing actions and events on a theater screen. Even as the lorries rumbled back to base, he felt like he was in a complete daze.

        The screaming in the trailer gradually turned into quiet crying, whimpering, and praying. He wanted for all the world to just turn his gun on these people, end their suffering now so they wouldn’t have to deal with what would come later. But he knew the gesture would mean nothing, Millennium would just send out another convoy and procure another two hundred people. And he would be dead, with no way of getting back to Hellsing.

        Their arrival was heralded with the trailer doors opening, and a cadre of soldiers shepherding the poor people to holding cells deep in the base.

        Claude shambled out like a zombie. He couldn’t focus, even as the Major congratulated him with a little speech, a pat on the back, and an offer of a new room and food. He looked at the others, at Rip’s gleeful smile, at the Captain’s sympathetic gaze, and at Zorin, and her grudgingly approving look. A look like she might, potentially, have the slightest bit of respect for him. That look twisted his stomach in painful knots.

        Even as he was led to his new room, sat before a veritable smorgasbord of delicious foods, he felt utterly detached from the world. He ate the smallest bite before his stomach felt so full. The Major and his guards left, and as the door clicked shut, Claude bolted for the room’s bathroom.

He inaugurated the toiled by vomiting, releasing all of the built-up guilt and self-hatred in one big mess. He kept going, over and over and over again, until he had nothing left to give. Claude collapsing into a fit of crying, so loud that he didn’t even hear the door open.

        Claude felt the familiar presence behind him, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. The massively-tall, green coat-clad man crouched beside him, taking the still-crying soldier into his arms.

        Claude didn’t think twice before wrapping his arms around the warm Captain, pulling him as tightly as he could. The Captain helped him to his feet, leading him back into the room.

        The food left by the Major had grown cold. How long was he in the bathroom?

        Captain gestured to a new addition to the table. A bottle of cider. He began writing on Claude’s back.

        “I HAD RIP BUY SOME. I THOUGHT IT MIGHT HELP YOU FEEL BETTER.”

        He didn’t really have a stomach for food, even after all nine days without food, and puking his guts out. But Claude felt he could force back a glass of the familiar apple nectar.

        As he sat at the table, pouring a glass, he saw the Captain turn towards the door.

        “Um… Wait, please don’t… I mean don’t go.”

        The very tall man turned, a quizzical look on his face.

        “I, uhh… This is a lot of cider. I couldn’t possibly drink it all by myself. Would you care to drink with me?”

        Captain paused. Claude could see the slightest bit of red on his face, even past the high collar of his coat. After a moment or two, the Captain nodded and sat down beside him, filling his own glass.

        (Wow, this update was a devil to write! I wish I could say this is the last we see of Angsty!Claude, but he’ll be back. There’s going to be plenty of more heartwarming moments but there’s one big moment I’ve got left in store that will break him just as bad, if not worse, than we’ve seen him. I promise I don’t hate him but I’m trying to keep the same dark tone as the source material. There WILL be a happy ending, though, I promise. Thank you for reading!)

Hellsing: Forest Fire Part 5

(Note: The title of all posts have been retroactively changed to reflect this title)

Soo, I caught some inspiration the other day and spent the last couple days writing this! Be warned: This update is very long. A lot of important plot stuff vis-a-vis Claude happens.

Thanks again to @herushingu / @scintillant-h (Not sure how you wanted to be tagged, sorry!) for sending me the ask that gave me some ideas for some of these plot points.

Also, if you’re able, I’d really appreciate feedback, critiques, questions, anything to let me know what you think of the story so far! I greatly enjoy reading everyone’s thoughts about it! 🙂 Hope you all enjoy!

London burned. Countless souls perished under an unstoppable onslaught. A trio of zeppelins burned through the sky, their sides bearing the Nazi swastika. Alucard, lost at sea, lured by a trap, unable to prevent the slaughter at London. Did he even want to stop it?

        A legion of souls, sons of the Vatican, guns borne skyward as they marched, clad in their capirotes, to the beat of the drum of an egomaniacal madman. Joining the chaos they fight, expanding the war in London ever-greater.

        Death, the likes of which had never been seen.

        Claude awoke in a cold sweat, bolting upright. His body was stiff, torso constricted. He threw off the thin, scratchy blanket covering his body. His torso was bare of any shirt, covered by a series of pads and bandages across his chest.

        What happened? Where am I? He looked around, head throbbing from the dream.

        Claude was on a small, metal-framed bed in a cell. Meticulously clean, furnished with a sink and toilet. Above the sink was a small mirror. The door to the cell looked like it belonged in a prison, a solid metal door with glass window and port for food, painted the same off-putting cream color as the walls and floor of the room. The bed in which he sat had to have been some sort of military bed, judging by its olive drab sheets and nonexistent softness.

        And the smell. His senses adjusted to the new environment and he noticed the smell. A sickening mixture of raw disinfectant and embalming fluid. It brought tears to his eyes, the strength of it all. This room must have been cleaned mere minutes before his arrival for the stink to linger this long.

        The room was depressingly small. Less than three meters in length, only about two meters in width. Claude guessed if he laid flat, arms above his head, his toes would touch one wall and his fingers another.

        He stood, head still aching, and made his way to the mirror. Had to be made of metal. No glass to be broken here.

        A cursory examination revealed nothing changed about his appearance other than the bandages on his torso and his legs clad in… green shorts?

        Whatever magical painkillers that had been coursing through his body, numbing the ache in his chest, were wearing off. Claude winced as he felt the dull ache of freshly-repaired broken bones.

Memories of last night came flooding back. He remembered his capture, the short catboy standing on his broken chest and the beast of a woman who broke it in the first place. They took him for his ability. They wanted to use his power for their own purposes.

I suppose that’s fair. That seems to be my only real purpose, these days.

How long had he been here? It couldn’t have been long, much less than a day. Did anyone at home know he had been captured?

Or… Or do they think I’m dead? 

His bedroom was doubtlessly a mess. He remembered what happened to his roommate. It wouldn’t be a poor assumption to think the same had happened to him. His mind wandered to Pip. How would he react?

His unpleasant thoughts were cut short at the sound of footsteps outside his cell. From the sound of it, had to be five people. Lots of uneven footsteps, out of synch with each other. Claude turned from the mirror, facing the door and whatever was about to come through it. He backed himself against the wall. The footsteps got louder, and he could hear a key turning in the door.

It opened, in stepping two guards, adorned in full Wehrmacht regalia, each soldier wielding what he recognized as old Sturmgewehrs. They pointed their weapons at him once each soldier was in position. His muscles tensed. If they were here to kill him, he wouldn’t go down without a fight.

“Oh ho! Our little var prize is avake!” The voice threw him off. It belonged to a man, slightly shorter than Claude himself. Blonde, bright yellow eyes, glasses. A rotund man, in a white suit with white jacket. He opened his arms as he walked into the room, as if sarcastically asking for a hug.

Behind him was a much taller individual, with blonde hair, robed in a white labcoat and bare stomach, with strange-looking glasses. Even though Claude couldn’t see his eyes, he resented the way the man looked at him; a sense of sick curiosity, as though Claude was an attraction to be perused in the halls of a Ripley’s museum. The taller individual spoke next.

“Ja. He is lucky to be alive, much less avake. Obersturmführer Blitz nearly killed him. Even she doesn’t know how he still breathes.”

The shorter blonde man held up a hand.

“Ah, small miracles, Herr Doktor.”

“Yes, my apologies Major.” The Doctor spoke.

The Major continued, a grin spreading across his face that Claude desperately wanted to introduce to his boots. Were he wearing boots and not barefoot.

“My sincerest apologies for ze brutality vis vhich you were captured. I assure you zat Miss Blitz has been severely reprimanded.”

“I should hope so…” Claude winced, interrupted as a random jolt of pain went through his chest. He rubbed a spot on the bandages softly, desperately wishing for some more of those painkillers. “Where’s the fifth one? I heard five separate footsteps.”

“Und very astute! Ohhh, it’s like Christmas!” The Major brought his hands together dramatically, grinning more widely. “Our fifth member vaits outside for vhen ve leave, do not vorry. Ze matter vis vhich you SHOULD concern yourself, is vhy are you here?”

“Because you vant… Want…” Dammit, that stupid German accent is getting stuck in his head. “Because you want to use me as a weapon. Turn my precognition into something you can use for your own gains.”

The Major tittered, nodding his head. “Yes! Zat is correct!” As his laughter subsided, he walked closer, eyes deliberately meeting Claude’s. The Major seemed to sober up a bit. “I can assure you, you have my promise zat if you cooperate, you vill not be harmed.” Claude severely doubted that. “Und who knows? Maybe, vone day, you vill have a place at my side like Herr Doktor here.”

Claude wanted to be sick. He knew what this was; a bullshit ploy to gain his cooperation. He opened his mouth, wanting to tell the Major to fuck off, that he’d never get Claude’s help. Then he looked at the soldiers with their guns, at the Doctor who eyed him with the same fervor a burglar might look at a safe to be cracked. He could only imagine the sick experiments running through the Doctor’s mind. It occurred to him, that resist all he might, these were obviously very capable people. They would get what they wanted whether he agreed or not.

Claude looked at the Major, deadly serious. “I don’t agree with what you’re trying to do. Suppose I don’t want to help you.” He needed to press his luck, to see if he could crack the aggravatingly cheery veneer the Major seemed to have. To Claude’s great surprise, if his words had any effect at all, the short blonde man did not show it.

“I can promise you, ve are much more capable zan you think ve are. Assist us, und be revarded for your cooperation. Defy us, und be strapped to a table, limbs removed und fed to our vampire soldiers, head locked into a machine zat tells us every thought zat passes through your head, every image that pops into your precious little brain.” He stepped back, clasping both hands together. “You make ze decision, Herr Grey. Captain! You may enter!”

So, Claude was right.

With his dramatic statement, the Major stepped out of the room, followed by the Doctor and both soldiers. The door did not close, however, as in stepped a monstrously-tall man, draped in a dark green coat, with hat and pants of the same color, carrying a tray. Over the collar of his coat, Claude could see a pair of dark red eyes peering at him. The Captain paused at the sight of Claude, now seated in the bed, hugging his knees to his chest.

Claude paused, staring back at the Captain, who was still just standing in the doorway. He grimaced at the much taller man, distraught from the previous conversation.

“Are you gonna give me what’s on the tray or not?” This seemed to snap the Captain out of his trance. He nodded and walked over, crouching down and setting the tray in front of Claude.

Two slices of rye bread, a piece of dried sausage, cheese, greens, and a plastic mug of water. Claude sighed.

“These are combat rations, aren’t they?”

The Captain nodded, still silent. For some reason, that just pissed Claude off further.

“Look, I’m your prisoner, I get it. You can say whatever the hell you want, I don’t care.”

At that, the Captain rolled his eyes. He pointed to his mouth, then wagged his finger. Ohhhhh…

“You can’t speak.” The massive man nodded, seemingly aggravated.

Claude took a bite of the bread. Like the rest of the food on his plate, it was dry, tasting strongly of salt. He suspected he was probably the only person here who ate normal food.

“Look, big guy, Captain or whatever. I didn’t mean anything by it.” What the hell? Why was he apologizing to one of the people holding him captive? Then again, he supposed this guy hadn’t done anything to wrong him.

The Captain nodded, closing his eyes. Does that mean he’s not mad? Whatever he felt, the Captain reached out and took Claude’s free wrist, turning his hand so that the palm faced the floor. He began tracing words into the back of Claude’s hand, letter by letter.

“EAT WELL. EXAMINATION TOMORROW.”

The Hellsing agent nodded. “Okay. Thank you.” With that, the Captain stood to his full height, exiting the room. Claude sighed quietly, finishing the last of his heavily-salted rations and drinking down the water.

Plastic cup. Plastic tray. No chance of a weapon here.

Time moved slowly in the cell. Absolutely nothing to do. Claude found himself repeatedly changing positions in bed, staring at the ceiling, the wall, the mirror, counting his toes.

He figured about three or four hours had passed when the Doctor came in again, flanked by two guards. The Doctor motioned for him to sit up and face the wall, whereupon the labcoat-clad man began changing Claude’s bandages carefully.

Claude looked down, his eyes finally able to see the extent of his wounds. What had once been broken bones under his skin were now a set of six ugly surgery scars. That was… Disheartening.

“Oh, don’t look so glum. Zey’re very becoming of a soldier like yourself.”

Claude suppressed a sigh. “What all was wrong with me?”

“Five broken bones, a punctured lung, und various internal wounds. I did ze best I could vis vhat I had, but it seems you’re still healing as fast as you should be.”

“Yeah, well, I’m regrettably still human, so it’s gonna take a while.”

The Doctor let out a giggle. “I could fix zat in a day, mein freund. Just say ze word!” He sounded so eager.

“I’m gonna have to take a rain check on that, Kevorkian.”

“Tsk. You humans und your sense of self. So… Boring.”

After a few more checks on the healing of Claude’s wounds, the Doctor exited the room. The rest of the day passed with a very tall, bespectacled woman bringing by food for what Claude could only assume was dinner. Once he couldn’t stay awake any longer, the soldier laid back in the uncomfortable bed and fell asleep.

——————————————————————————————-

Hellsing Manor, assaulted. A zeppelin destroyed, spitting forth its horde of vampires. Pip, hit in an explosion. Badly wounded, fighting. He carries a wounded Seras on his back. That… That woman, Zorin. A scythe through Pip’s back seals his fate. He falls. Seras drinks of his blood. Pip… Pip dies.

Claude woke up in an instant.

“No…” He whispered softly, hot tears dripping down his face. “No, no, no…” He curled up, hugging his pillow closely.

Why? Why did he have to be here?

He wasn’t quite sure how long he was there, crying. Was it because he loved Pip? Or was it because Pip was just the first man to return his affections? Was he more than just a passing interest to the Frenchman, just an eager font for the mercenary to drink from before he moved on? Did… Did Pip even care that he was gone?

By the time the Captain and two guards had arrived to pick him up for the examination, Claude was silent. He still closely hugged his pillow, curled up on his side, silent, eyes red and face stained with tears.

The Captain saw this, helping Claude to his feet with an unshakable stoicness.

They walked through the halls of… Wherever they were. The whole world around them seemed to have an underlying stink of blood. He could smell it everywhere. In his neighboring cells, on the guards, in dry patches on the floor that he had to step to avoid. One door, he guessed it to be their cafeteria, stank so furiously of blood and decay that he had to force back the bile rising in his throat.

And the temperature. It was colder than it had any business being.

Why couldn’t they at least give me a damn shirt?

All of the guards eyed him hungrily. Literally hungrily, as though they saw him to be little more than a walking London broil. He ignored their gazes, instinctively sticking close to the Captain, who towered over him. Claude barely came up to the officer’s stomach.

They arrived at the examination room.

Okay… Okay, there are far too many people here.

The bespectacled woman from last night, Zorin, the cat boy, the Major, the Doctor, some guy in a suit with a whispy mustache, and now the Captain. No guards. Claude guessed it was because of these people. He could practically feel their power, it radiated in his bones with a sense that any one of them could turn him to meat paste in an instant.

It was the first time in his life he’d ever felt so utterly trapped.

The Doctor gestured to a plain gurney furnished with little more than a sheet. Claude sat awkwardly, under the off-putting stares of everyone in the room. The Doctor walked before him, a wide smile on his face.

“Now, Herr Grey, ve are going to begin ze examination to determine ze extent of your powers. Now… About how long vould you say you’ve had zese abilities?”

Claude sighed. May as well cooperate.

“About three years.” The Doctor scribbled something, nodding.

“Vas zis before or after your rescue by ze Hellsing organization?”

“Now hold on, how the fuck-“

“Before. Or. After, Herr Grey?”

Another sigh. “After.” This seemed to freshly energize the Doctor. He clearly had some theory working in his head, and it was pissing Claude off. The Doctor looked up.

“I am going to have First Lieutenant Blitz read your memories-“ Claude opened his mouth to object, but the Doctor held up his hand flatly. “I do not care for your consent. Zis is going to happen no matter vhat you say.”

Zorin walked over, grinning at the dirty glare Claude gave her. He remembered the other night, when she beat him within an inch of his life. He remembered his vision, seeing the sick look on her face as she killed Pip. She removed the glove on her right hand.

As the First Lieutenant moved the hand to his forehead, Claude could see an eye open in her palm. In an instant, everything went black.

And suddenly, it’s like he was there all over again. With the images flashing across his eyes, he could hear Zorin’s voice, talking to the others.

The woods around his grandfather’s house were aflame. The whole neighborhood was. There had been a vampire attack, and when Alucard arrived to stop it, the vampire decided to cut his losses and start a fire in an attempt to escape. The vampire had taken refuge in his grandfather’s house following a gunfight with Alucard, had taken everyone inside prisoner. When Claude tried to resist, he was shot, kicked through the front door of the house. The boy coughed, shot in the lung, bones broken from the impact with the door. The tall, enigmatic, red-coated vampire approached, walking past Claude. More gunshots echoed from inside the house, and Claude closed his eyes as he realized what happened to everyone inside. Alucard and the vampire continued to exchange gunfire, when finally the no-name blood-sucker died where he stood. Integra spoke up, bringing Alucard’s attention to the still-breathing Claude, lying on the floor. Something about how he knew too much, but they couldn’t let him die. They’d have to take him in.

Claude stifled a sob, his throat aching with the effort not to cry, even as tears flowed as he remembered losing his family.

“Vat’s zis?” Zorin paused, digging further into Claude’s mind. “I see two sets of memories, of ze same event. Vone in vhich he is rescued by Hellsing, und vone in vhich he dies.”

She began digging through more memories, more recent ones. “Zere are two sets of memories for everything he does. A vorld in vhich he lives und breathes, und a vorld in vhich he does not exist.”

Her hand withdrew, and his vision returned to the world around him. Claude wiped his eyes, in control of his senses once again. After pondering for a moment, the Doctor piped up.”

“Major, I have a theory. I believe zat Herr Grey is not too unlike our Schrodinger. His powers draw from a flaw in ze universe.”

“Please elaborate, Doktor.”

“In zat moment three years ago, he vas supposed to have died. Ze universe shows him vhat occurs in ze ozzer vorld. Zat is vhy he sees events as zey may be und not as zey vill be.”

The Major let out a chuckle, looking at Claude.

“Ahhh, Herr Grey. Two roads diverged in a burning vood. Und you took ze road less traveled-by. Und zat, zat has made all ze difference.”

Supposed to have died. That phrase echoed in Claude’s mind like cannon fire. Supposed to have died.

I should be dead. The thought that crossed his mind every waking moment for the past three years was now confirmed, here, in front of all of these… These freaks.

I shouldn’t have survived. I knew it.

The Captain’s stare seemed to soften at what the Doctor said. Even Schrodinger and the woman in the glasses looked different. Claude hadn’t really paid much heed to what happened after the Doctor’s announcement. Some more discussion, a drawing of his blood for testing, and then he was unceremoniously marched back to his room.

Claude sat on his bed, silent. He turned to the Captain, face wet with the tears he’d shed on the walk back, throat sore from the quiet sobs he’d let out when the others were out of sight. The Captain looked as if, for all the world, he wanted to speak so he could say something to the soldier, but he knew he couldn’t. He walked over, gently taking Claude’s wrist, and wrote on the back of his hand.

“I’M SORRY.”

Claude nodded once, still silent. The Captain left slowly.

Claude laid down. He wanted to be anywhere. Anywhere but here. He wanted to be at Hellsing Manor. He wanted to be at his grandfather’s house three years ago, so he could throw himself at the vampire one more time. He wanted to see Pip, Integra, Seras, even Alucard.

More than anything, Claude wanted a hug.