The Irish believe that butterflies are the souls of the dead waiting to pass through purgatory.

Russischer Bär

Starry Heavens

There was something that seemed delicate about him, something indefinable that seemed utterly inherent within him. So strong, yet if caught vulnerable, so easy to break, to distort. The butler had not had the strength to struggle for long, but the energy he did have within him had been an impressive display. Walter had put up a brilliant fight in the last moments of their battle, something worthy of a lycan, of a vampire, yet he was still just a human. He tired, he gave in, he succumbed to the weariness.

After that, capturing him was just a matter of asphyxiating him until he fell unconscious. Captain had not held his throat for too long, and had kept careful attention to the butler's heartbeat as not to kill him. Somehow, a part of him couldn't kill the butler. It would have felt like a waste, but no… it would have felt like a loss.

Captain did not feel emotionally attached to many things, but he would not dispute that there were a few things, a few people he did feel some emotion towards. For whatever inexplicable reason, he had never quite forgotten that young fiery boy from all those years ago. The fire that seemed to burn in the eyes of the boy, the viciousness, the agility; all of these things still existed inside Walter, but they were muted, lessened over the years.

But there were always ways to regain such things.

Indeed, it felt wrong to see Walter so old, so battered. Captain could not stomach such a sight, while the memories of that young, violent boy still haunted him. Even the Walter of that younger age had lost the battle, but he had had the strength and stamina to escape. This Walter was so old, so delicate, like the fragile wings of a butterfly.

Captain had stared down at the man for a long time after he had succumbed to unconsciousness. Even in the old, withered face… beauty remained. He was more peaceful than that boy had been, more understanding, yet that fire had never died. That effervescency, that beautifully vicious edge.

Captain had carried him with a possessive tenderness, back to Doc. Wordlessly, he had asked for this creature to be strengthened. It was what Major had wanted, of course, but Captain silently knew that he wanted it more.

The process would have been painful for Walter, had he been conscious. But he had been in a deep slumber, and he didn't even stir from his sleep when the chip was implanted into him. Most of the others were conscious during this task, but Captain had not allowed such a thing – this man was too old to face such agony, and it would be too detrimental. The Doc had seemed dejected at this, but he had still worked as efficiently as he could. A quick surgery, too fast, but it would have to do.

Doc had left afterwards. Captain stayed behind, studying the new face. A strong, inexplicably wolfen face that drew him, a beautiful black-haired creature. Walter's features were strong, absolutely masculine. There was no sweetness, no frailty left to speak of.

Somehow, artificially removing his human weakness felt like tearing a part of Walter's soul away. Captain wished he had not felt so disheartened at this, and a part of him could not help but regret. No matter what, that piece of Walter would never be recovered; it was long gone now, and he knew there was no reason to pine for it. He instead focused on the new power, the perfection that vampirism had brought this man.

Walter had stirred quickly. His new body did not feel the same weariness he had experienced before, and when his eyes fluttered open, he was utterly awake. Calm, too, which was something Captain had not expected. Most of the others had met vampirism with fear, panic, incomprehension, but Walter seemed utterly at peace with it. Some part of him understood what had happened. Something deep inside him did not fear this.

Captain was impressed, but the emotion did not permeate his impassive expression.

Walter did not speak, he simply sat up, tilted his head to stare at the Captain. They regarded each other silently for a long moment. Captain wasn't sure whether he'd imagined the spark of recognition in the butler's eyes or not, but he found himself apathetic to the expression.

If Walter was meant to break out of this brainwashing, then he would, in due time. Surely, Doc had known there was a possibility, especially with such a hasty procedure.

The black eyes of the butler burned into his. Walter said only one thing to him, a faint whisper. 'I remember…'

That was all. After that, Walter fell silent. Clearly, whatever he remembered was faint, and it was whisked away. There was a flutter of frustrated confusion in Walter's eyes, but it quickly faded away as well.

Walter closed his eyes as Captain dressed him in his new garments, didn't even twitch when Captain pushed back the dark strands of hair, tying it. There was a certain intimacy in the gesture, and Captain found himself strangely afflicted by it, this strange, addictive emotion. There was a passion simmering in his veins, and he quietly breathed in Walter's scent.

Beautiful, subtle. There was a certain taste of freedom, of wind and air.

Captain handed Walter the gauntlets, the wires, but did not adorn him with the items himself. They were a curious weapon, slim gloves with long metal braces inside the fabric to hold it's shape, to help pull and conduct the dangerous wires. A part of him was curious to see if Walter would remember how to use them. Within a short moment the butler had pulled on the gloves, utterly in control of his precious weapons. There was familiarity in the man's eyes, a comfort in being given the wires.

The butler stood, eyes immediately falling on the pile of bloodied clothes he had possessed before. The Captain allowed him to look through them; instinctively, Walter could sense those objects had been his, yet he took nothing. He simply set them down and joined the Captain.

Gently, the Captain had placed the new monocle over the man's eye. His fingers lightly grazed the define cheek as he pulled away.

They departed together. Captain did not look back, a part of him blindly trusted the new companion. There was something about this dark figure, something that drew him. The scent, the dark eyes, the stern face; he hadn't seen such beauty since laying eyes on another of his kind, another werewolf.

Even though Walter was a vampire now, Captain didn't truthfully see it that way. It was almost as if Walter was a part of his pack, his brood. Or perhaps, it was that Captain himself was now a part of Walter's coven. Either way, it felt like true camaraderie, an equality that was not breeched by their different races.

The battle had raged until the dawn, and Walter had only left Captain's side when beckoned by the Major. The chip had specified the Major as his master, so it was a natural reaction, and Captain felt nothing ill towards it. No jealousy, no possessiveness, just an understanding that the programming was stronger than kinship. He'd wait patiently for the man's return each and every time.

Many had fallen, including the paladin, the messiah. The fight was so convoluted that Captain could no longer determine who was winning. Guessing by measure of the Major's glee was inadvisable, if not utterly foolhardy. The Major would have been happy no matter who was winning, simply because of the bliss of chaos.

While Captain believed in this war, believed in the dominion of supernatural creatures above the weak humans, he was also not disillusioned to the truth.

The Major was a bloodthirsty madman. Major did not fight to change the world, nothing of that sort. He simply fought because he could, because he wished to. Major had no dreams of a different world, a world of vampires and lycans, a world where the supernatural creatures were not masked in shadow. There were only dreams of war.

But Captain relished in this war. He was a soldier, and this was his purpose. The Major's insanity did not truly bother him.

He stared at the fires for a long time after the daylight had waned, and the moon was on the rise again. The fires were burning the entire city, and by the end, it would be uninhabitable. A deadened place, a wasteland of ash and corpses. Not even freaks would be able to survive here for long, and they would move on and carry the fire to other places, feasting and raping, rampaging through the land until all resources were lost.

No matter. There were other levels of survival; the Doc had ways to sustain them after the humans were wiped out. Captain himself required nothing, so he felt no fear.

He heard Walter approach behind him, the quiet steps on the ash-covered ground. The butler was watching the fires too, and they stood in comfortable silence.

Captain felt a hand come to rest on his side, the vampire moving closer to him. His entire body was alert to the faintest touch of Walter's chest against his back, the sensual movement of strong fingers on his hip. Years of training had taught Captain how to drown out pain and agony, but touches so soft, so gentle were a rarity. A shiver ran down his spine, his breathing hitched.

Walter's breath fanned over the back of his hair, and he could feel Walter's chin light brush against his shoulder. Captain tilted his body to seek out the man, a minute gesture that he was sure Walter didn't miss.

'I remember,' was a faint whisper against his ear. Captain closed his eyes, listening.

A suddenly rip of pain shattered the moment, and Captain froze in place, paralyzed by the sudden, inexplicable agony. He drew in a wet, choked breath of air as the pain blossomed in his chest, through his heart and lungs. There was a wet sound, an unnatural, sickening sound of torn flesh. His vision blurred, but not before he saw what had happened.

A silver stake through his heart. The butler had stabbed him through the back.

An arm surrounded his waist tightly as his balance waned, and Captain sagged back limply into Walter. The embrace he received seemed almost loving, tender. Even through the pain of death, Captain felt more sensitive to Walter's arm around him and the comforting sifting breaths against his hair.

'I remember that I hate you,' snarled the butler quietly against his ear, twisting the silver.

Captain gasped, but it was the only sound he made. He could have cried out, tried to warn the others, but no. Walter had won, and Captain would die as silently as he had lived.

He tilted his gaze down to the arm surrounding him, and saw that Walter's gauntlet had been torn open at the seams. That's where Walter had hidden the silver, within the fabric. Walter had not come into the battle unprepared to face the wolf, and Captain could not help but feel a new measure of respect for him, for the human Walter.

Walter had played to win, had gambled his life and sanity in order to come out victorious. And Captain… had been deceived.

Pride had blinded him, perhaps, but it didn't feel like pride. It felt more like trust… but in what?

Trust in the enemy, Captain realized. As misplaced at it was, he had felt genuine trust.

The wound didn't hurt anymore, but he felt cold. After a moment, Captain hazily realized that it was the gust of wind against his blood. The crimson fluid soaked his body, and he knew he was bleeding to death. He could feel ice down to his very heart, he could feel the silver deep inside of him. It was almost like an icicle.

Captain sunk to the ground, Walter's soothing embrace still supporting him. His body felt light, but so numb.

He tilted his head up as he was lain on the ground, stared at the orange licks of fire in the distance. The dark form of the butler and the orange fires seemed to meld together as his vision blurred, and he was distantly reminded of a Russischer Bär, a beautiful butterfly with orange wings like a spark of flames.

Walter was not delicate, no… That was just a deception.

Powerful, strong. Beautiful. This man was not a vampire, not truly. Not once had Walter drank blood, he had not embraced the new power. Walter had remained true to humanity.

The flames licked against the starry sky, and Walter truly looked like an angel of death in that moment, standing on the precipice of the fires of hell and the stars of heaven. Breathing became difficult, and it felt as if the air itself were heavy. Captain's body no longer felt like it belonged to him, it was distant, unfeeling. His gaze began to blacken with that image of that beautiful golden fire flickering behind the elegant form of the butler.

The shadows consumed Captain's vision, and the fires broke apart into thousands of butterflies fluttering against the starry sky.

The butterflies carrying the souls of the dead to heaven.

In reality, Captain stood no chance.