AUTHOR’S NOTE: if you are reading this, chances are you know what mpreg is. If not, it is male pregnancy. Although in this story, Girlycard is physically female, most Hellsing fans I have spoken to have noted that since Alucard is psychologically male, I should label it mpreg.

You may have read The Way to an Heir. If you have, then simply call me sadistic for making Alucard suffer again. The idea of an mpreg involving Alucard originally started with 2 version, one evolved into Way to an Heir, and the other was this one, which I finally got around to writing.

If you have issues with yaoi, mpreg, or anything of that sort, do not read. If you have issues with mentions of rape, do not read. If you read, try to enjoy the story and do not flame me for writing and sharing. If you feel you HAVE to flame me though, because you really have nothing better to do, don’t do it here, take it to my livejournal and we’ll hash it out.

With that said, on to the story.

HELPING HAND

CH 1

Hellsing was a vampire-hunting organization.

That’s pretty obvious. Not many people knew of its existence. Those who did know knew very little, but there was always one thing for certain: it hunted vampires. Creatures of the night, Medians, whatever you wanted to call them. They all fell in the path of Hellsing. Its leader was a man named Arthur Hellsing, well-known to be a drunken womanizer incredibly competent in his job. Rumor has it by age fifteen he was already a skilled marksman and had taken down more than a few vampires on his own.

There are even fewer who knew the true secrets of the organization. Really, there was only one secret, as their operations were actually pretty straight-forward. That one secret involved a certain operative. Gossip had it that it was a vampire.

A vampire hunting its own? Surely not. No one outside the organization could confirm it. Some said it was a male, some say female. Some say it was a tall, menacing-looking man, others say it was a young girl, or at least looked like one, and that she was actually very pretty if you haven’t seen her tear into anything bloody.

Rumors. Gossip. Stories. Urban legend.

Only those inside the organization knew the truth. True, Hellsing hunted vampires, but it also kept one of its own on an invisible leash. The soldiers knew. They’ve hunted in tandem with this creature. It was indeed a prowler of darkness, a thing that thrived on blood, an abomination above all else. They’ve seen it feed.

To their eyes, it was indeed a girl. And all the rumors about her beauty were true. At first glance, she appeared no more than thirteen, petite and lovely, with flawless skin and silky hair, dark as the night in which she hunted. Her lips were peach-colored, and she had a cute little button nose that sat square below wide, shining eyes that betrayed shrewd intelligence and mischief. They were, of course, unnervingly red.

She always wore white, so that every time she hunted, the victim’s bloodstains would splatter about her body, decorating it with shades of crimson and scarlet. White made it stand out. White showed everyone that she had killed. A white canvas upon which she painted with blood and gore.

Her beauty was almost ironic, the soldiers of Hellsing have always thought. How could a creature so hideous inside take on such a form? It was disgraceful. It was disgusting. She wasn’t even human. She was beneath humanity. And she dared to make a mockery of the beautiful females God had created.

Every time they went out onto the field, someone had lost their family, their friends, their lives. The human soldiers hid their sympathy because they were there to do a job. They couldn’t afford to take pity on everyone who fell to vampire attacks. They did their work with grim efficiency. The little vampire did not need to hide a thing. She felt no sympathy. Prancing about their ranks, she fought as if playing a game, feeding on her own brethrens. Which was more disgusting? The fact that she took down her own kind with relish or her lack of sensitivity for the human lives lost? The soldiers didn’t know. Many of them had lost their own loved ones to her kind.

They couldn’t stand to look at her. Yet she was always around. She seemed to be taunting them. Pathetic humans. Pitiful humans. How she must look down on them, she who was so powerful. To her, they must be nothing but ants.

How very, very ironic. She was that which they were trained to hunt down and kill.

Most of them hated her. Some more than others. They hated the way she laughed when she hunted, hated the way she decorated herself with bloodstains the way human girls accessorized with cheap earrings and rings.

Still, there was one upside.

No matter how powerful she was, by orders of the master, she couldn’t hit back.

oOo

Something was tickling his face. Walter turned in his sleep, batting at the invisible fly with his hand. It went away for a moment, then returned a moment later, more persistent than before. He shook his head, hoping it would disappear. It was much too early. What time was it? He didn’t want to open his eyes. If the alarm hasn’t gone off, he didn’t need to be up.

More tickling. He forced one eye open. The world was dark and blurry. Something was definitely poking into the side of his face.

Big red eyes.

There is no God, he thought groggily. God wouldn’t let such a hard-working boy be disturbed in his sleep. He made a half-assed attempt at pushing her away. She merely poked his face again with whatever it was she was holding. It was blue.

He rubbed his eyes and lifted his head off the pillow. The clock read 5:45. He could’ve slept for another fifteen minutes. Trying his best to pull his sleepy face into a scowl, he looked at the small figure sitting on his bed.

“What do you want?” he asked, it came out half-garbled.

Alucard grinned. “Nothing.”

In her hand was a blue pen. The cap was off. “What are you doing with that?”

“Drawing on your face.”

It took him a moment to process those words. Common sense argued that she had to be joking, that he should put his head back on the pillow and go back to sleep. But then he saw the blue streaks of ink on his hand, the one he had just used to rub his eyes. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that this was nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, if a day passed where nothing happened to tempt him to clean the vampire’s clock, he’d almost miss it.

Almost.

Still half in dreamland, he reached out and shoved Alucard aside, nearly pushing her off the bed. “Move.”

In the bathroom, he blinked hard, clearing his eyes. They finally did, and the vampire’s handiwork reflected aptly in the mirror. Apparently, she had started at the base of his neck, drawing a series of complex Celtic symbols that covered his entire neck, up to his chin, and here was where she seemed to have lost interest in the complex designs and switched to the traditional mustache and eyebrows. He closed one eye. Good Lord, she ever colored his eyelids.

Alucard stood at the bathroom door as he splashed water over his face and neck, scrubbing hard with soap. “So,” he asked her, “what did I do to deserve this?”

She played with the pen. “Why do you have to deserve it?”

“I like to think I’d at least done something to deserve the bad things that happen to me.”

“Bad?” She pulled the cap off the pen again and began to doodle absently on her own hand. Walter had to admit she was quite skilled at it. The designs on his neck were practically works of art, and the little triangular Celtic design she was drawing without even looking on her hand was little short of perfect. He wondered when in the last five hundred years she had picked up this particular talent.

“Waking up with ink all over my face is bad.”

She scoffed. “Some people are so unappreciative.”

“Some people don’t have to work all day on six hours of sleep.” He walked out of the bathroom, wiping his face with a towel. It won’t be completely clean. For the rest of the day he would walked around with a faint clue hue on his cheeks and neck. “Less than six today, thanks to you.”

“You can do it,” she said, flopping down on the bed just as he began to make it. Sighing, he dropped the sheets and got dressed instead. He didn’t both asking Alucard to leave as he changed. She wouldn’t. “You’re a big boy.”

“If you’re going to be on my bed, you might as well tidy it up.”

“I’m not your maid.”

“Then what good are you?” he teased as she sat up. “Scoot over. I need to clean up so I can go get some breakfast.”

“Always thinking about food, aren’t you?”

He would argue, but at fourteen, that was true. Keeping quiet, Walter straightened up the bed as best he could. He wanted to get down to the kitchen, eat some English muffins, and get to working for the day. If he waited for Arthur to get up, the man would drag him to the library and offer him a “morning cap” on an empty stomach, after which he’d have to stumble around drunk all morning.

“All work and no play makes Walter a dull boy.”

He rolled his eyes. “Maybe Walter wants to be a dull boy.”

She shrugged. “Suit yourself,” she said, and brushed past him getting off the bed. Something caught his eye. Spinning around, he grabbed her wrist.

“Where did you get that?”

There, right underneath her chin on her neck, half-hidden by her hair, was a red scar. It was about two inches long, still slightly swollen. He could see the edges where it looked almost infected. He knew this well.

“That’s a silver wound,” he demanded, “where did you get it?”

All laughter fell from her eyes for a moment, then lit up again, brighter than before. “It’s nothing,” she said cheerily, shielding it with one gloved hand. He tightened his grip around her wrist, but of course that couldn’t hold her. Before he could ask any more questions, she was gone, vanished from the room.