Ruin and Rebirth

Walter awakens to the unique sensation of rough flesh – calloused fingers, he realizes – upon his face. A gentle caress, a feather light stroke, but his broken body cannot help but interpret the touch as one of pain. Wincing sharply, he tries to twist his head away, only to send a jolt of violent pain through his skull. He can almost feel a disconnection within his bones, a broken spine – something that should have killed him immediately, and yet he still lives. But it won't last for long. Blood gushes around his inert body, life slipping away with every departing droplet.

It's wrong, so terribly wrong to feel blood and organs spilling out of him. Everything that's meant to be inside him is caked upon the ground. His blood evaporates in the midday sun, forever lost. He can almost taste it, his death almost tangible upon his lips.

The hands are upon his face again, but it's significantly less painful. He finds himself slipping into an uncomfortable numbness, a frightening cold that coils around his body like a serpent. He wants to struggle, scream, fight, cry, anything but just lay upon the ground and gaze up at a pair of dark eyes, but his body doesn't move. He can't even bring himself to twitch.

He never anticipated Alucard would use his own wires to kill him, but the more he considers it, the more sense it seems to make. Pride is the undoing of even the cleverest or strongest of men. Even a lifetime's worth of knowledge had failed to teach him this. But now, as he stares into death, it seems to be the only truth, the most relevant truth. It's far too late to matter.

Fingers peel away the wires embedded into the flesh of his cheek, cutting through to his mouth. Walter feels the sharp wire against his tongue as it's withdrawn, but doesn't taste the cold metal – all he can taste is blood. The life giving liquid is slowly suffocating him, but he still manages a few sparse gasps every few moments. The hot burn of asphyxiation is only a secondary pain to the agony blossoming in ripped tendons and shattered bones. If it brings death faster, then surely it must be welcome.

Blearily, he gazes up that the man above him. He cannot find the strength to tell the man that his attempts to help are meaningless and unwelcome, but Walter is sure he would fail to heed to something as frivolous as spoken language. And even as Walter gazes at him, hoping this man will stop demeaning him, he knows his message is entirely ignored.

He tries to breathe in, but finds that he cannot. The burn of suffocation rapidly builds, and suddenly it isn't a welcome death, it isn't an invited release. Walter succumbs to primal panic as the fiery heat envelops his broken body, but he cannot thrash, he cannot fight. He can only lay there, feeling every moment stretch from one devastating eternity into the next, wondering if this is hell.

Rough hands touch the back of his neck. Surely the Captain feels the snapped bone and gaping tears, knows that the slightest shift could kill Walter. He cannot possibly twist Walter's neck without wrenching his skull from his spine. Walter knows he's fragile, falling apart beneath the vicious prison of his own wires, choking to death on his own tainted blood. Even as he gazes into the Captain's dark eyes, he sees himself reflected as the Angel of Death – not a child any longer, not a mature man. He's simply an ageless beast again, as he is meant to die. No innocence, yet no wisdom.

He feels bitter.

A finger gingerly parts his lips. Walter can taste warmth and life, traits he no longer possesses. The finger withdraws after a moment, replaced by soft lips, a warm tongue pushing deep into his mouth. The kiss is awkward, even painful. Initially, it seems ridiculous and pointless. The Captain licks his bloodied teeth and ripped flesh with vigor, almost in a mockery of a kiss. But therein lies the truth.

It is no kiss. This becomes exceptionally clear with Walter coughs. Broken gasps of air slip into his drowning lungs. Every moist cough of blood is quickly lapped away, every wrenching intake of air more satisfying. In time he finds himself almost breathing normally, the Captain's tongue still twisting warmly against Walter's, catching every stray droplet of blood.

The tongue slowly withdraws, the Captain ending the unique kiss with a sharp nip against Walter's mouth. Affection, certainly not. Possessiveness is a possibility. It is difficult to interpret the man's language – for a creature so socially detached, Walter knows each action must speak volumes beyond what a simple human can show through contact. But Captain rarely indulges in even a silent communication.

Being so horrendously limited, Walter can only respond through similar means. He gingerly captures the Captain's lower lip between sharp fangs, licking at the soft flesh. Warm, alive, blood still pumping through living tissue and a healthy body.

There is a pause, but it is brief. The Captain softly returns the contact, lips tightening until Walter's fang delve deep into the flesh of his inner lip. Delectably thick blood drips down Walter's throat, leaving a trail of addictive heat in their wake. Their effect is nearly instantaneous – pleasure power entrenches his body. He feels his wounds begin to seal, the Captain's fingers pulling away wires from his wounds with precise care.

Walter is hoisted into powerful arms. He winces at the pain the sudden motion brings, but finds his injuries very much healed, broken bones and gaping wounds sealing together with ease. All that's truly left is scars and the utmost exhaustion. He falls into a dreamless unconsciousness and doesn't awaken until the rise of the waning moon beckons him.

Walter doesn't immediately know where they are, but it is silent. A dark room, an empty blackness beyond the shattered windows. Not the war, not the remains of the glorious city. The war itself is surely over by now. In retrospect, it was a very fragile war, coming and going within a single glorious night. True, the repercussion with never fade, so perhaps the Major's planning was naught for a single bloody night, but for an eternity of memories. This pitiful planet will recall this war longer after the superficial wounds mend, long after the city is rebuilt.

It's impossible to determine just how long that will take, or even if it will happen. This hell surely does not represent the Earth as a whole – it is simply too vast a planet to be done away by a single group. But this place is a city of monsters now, a city of the dead – it is broken. But he does not know the fate of this place, and the Captain will shed no light on the state of the world. Walter finds himself surprisingly apathetic to such things now, such things that once seemed so very important.

Slowly, Walter pushes himself up, sitting upon a warm bad. A familiar bed, he realized belatedly. It takes him some time to recall that this is indeed his room, the room he spent most of his life residing within. Somehow, it feels like he hasn't slept in it for years. This place, this home is just another memory he callously tossed aside in the pursuit of power, in the pursuit of strength. It means nothing.

The face that stares back at him from the mirror upon the wall is indeed that of an ageless man. Perhaps thirty, perhaps younger, perhaps older. A handsome face, but not a face that shares any of who he is, what he is. Just like the Captain, his identity is truly ambiguous. It's unsettling to him – he almost feels like he's losing parts of himself in this new body, this new existence. Traitor, freak, monster – he is no longer secure within the words that once defined his reality.

It doesn't matter. Walter has to firmly remind himself of this, but it still rings true. It doesn't matter anymore.

The Captain comes to him, silent in his seemingly heavy movements, his gaze revealing nothing of his thoughts. He's already stripped to the waist, and his powerful physique only seems to further Walter's belief that this man is the truest of monsters. The Captain's slow breaths spread a pale mist upon the frigid air; Walter's breaths do no such thing. When the Captain seats himself next to Walter, he continues to do nothing but gaze upon him. Although his expression remains unchanged, Walter knows something is different. The Captain is asking something of him.

Walter's hands move to the buttons of his vest, delicately working them free. The Captain watches, seemingly impassive, but Walter detects the way the Captain's hands clench at his sides. Walter finds himself smirking, content with the knowledge that the Captain wants him, that he wants this. Even if it only lust, Walter needs to be needed, needs Captain's eyes upon his flesh.

Walter cannot contain his body's reaction at being so heavily focused upon, and he certainly doesn't miss the way Captain's eyes trail down his torso, down until he sees the true level of Walter's appreciation.

The shirt comes off next, at a notably faster pace. The air is cold, cold enough to stimulate even his undead body. Walter had initially intended to strip fully before initiating contact, but his enticing is clearly too much for the Captain to resist. Calloused hands grip onto his back, warm and so tender. The Captain's head bows against his chest, and Walter can smell ash and smoke in his pale hair. He buries his face against it, hands curling around the course locks – it feels like fur.

A warm mouth latches onto his nipple, powerful fingers massaging against the small of his back. It's more contact than Walter has had in many years, and he hears a vocal moan escape him. It's an odd thing to hear – Walter had always been a very silent lover. But it isn't an unwelcome change, for the sound seems to spur Captain to tighten his lips around the nub, suckling harder.

Walter's hands slide down the length of the wolf's back, clutching at the warm, soft flesh. He can feel the Captain's slow exhales beneath his palms, and he finds that their only language now is one of touch and pleasure. He moves to caress Captain's face with his fingertips, the wolf twisting his head to capture his thumb between sharp teeth, his slick tongue tracing the pad of Walter's finger sensuously.

A warm hand slides down his stomach, gingerly stopping to rest upon Walter's groin, tracing the outline of hard flesh. Another uncontrollable whimper escapes Walter's mouth, and he is rewarded with a sharp squeeze that sends an unbelievable hot pleasure up his spine. How long had it been since he'd been touched like this?

Walter doesn't know what to call the man. He feels the Captain's dog tags against his chest, but he doesn't want to look, doesn't want to attach some human identity to this monster. The word 'wolf' slips past his lips, and the Captain doesn't seem to mind. He continues exploring Walter's fingertips with his tongue, eyes lidded.

They take their time, simply enjoying the pleasure of contact, the feel of gentle caresses. Walter finds himself some time later naked and on top of Captain, moving on him slowly and sensuously, staring down at a pair of black eyes that seem to capture him within their harsh gaze. He's terribly grateful to have this opportunity, to still live, to still have the ability to receive such pleasure. He wonders unworriedly if perhaps the Captain's healing blood will make him a wolf too. He doesn't feel any different than before, but he supposes there may be little difference from one monster to the next.

Hands cup his face. Rough hands that had even resisted the harsh cuts of Walter's wires, calloused and strong. Walter wonders how hard he works to keep himself as such a strength, at such a power. Why would this creature work so hard, for so long? What had he been searching for this in war?

Unanswered questions. Questions that will never be answered. Perhaps it's better not to know.

Walter feels the pressure inside him, gradually bringing him close to the edge. When he finally reaches it, it is unlike anything he'd had in the past. Perhaps the freedom he feels, perhaps the fascination for this wolf. Whatever it is, he feels a kind of joy he hasn't felt before, knowing that they belong to each other, that there is nothing else now.

There's a shudder, and the Captain closes his eyes, at the peak of his pleasure. He doesn't make a single sound, but his eyelashes flutter lightly, lips parted – his expression speaks louder than words. Walter doesn't allow him long to recover before he kisses him, moving on him again, enticing his body back to life.

Tomorrow, Walter knows they will leave this place. If Captain is here with him, it means the Millennium is dead, and Walter knows he himself cannot stay in this place much long. But it doesn't matter anymore.

They only sleep briefly that night, but it seems like forever. Captain's heat warms Walter's frigid skin, his powerful fingers curled around Walter's delicate ones. Despite their exhaustion, they share a few sparse kisses between moments of sleep. When morning comes again, Walter finds himself indulging his lust yet again, laying beneath Captain, eyes closed and fingers curled in warm hair. He remains between waking and sleep, but the pleasure and joy does not escape him.

They leave Hellsing Manor soon after. None of the masters of the house have returned, and Walter isn't sure they ever will. The Captain grabs him an umbrella as he steps outside, and he is grateful for the foresight.

The outside world is bright. No – bright isn't an appropriate word, he realizes. The world is illuminated, revealing the sheer amount of ruin.

They walk together. Everything is dead, the monsters, the humans, the creatures, the trees. Walter feels blood sticking to his boots, but he's smiling anyway, umbrella shielding him from the warm sun. They walk silently through a broken city, alone, but both are content.

There is a road before them, winding and leading far from the city. Walter isn't sure where it goes – he's never gone down it before – but he can't bring himself to care. If he is no longer victim to the failings of Dok's surgery, then he knows he had all the time in the world to worry about what's ahead of him.

For now, he simply enjoys the empty road and the open sky.

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Author's Note: For Nasumaru. Check out her gallery on Deviant art. She draw a Captain x Dark Walter picture for me at AX. I have the original framed. Ha.