An Orphanage in Winchester
by Edmondia Dantes

Disclaimer: Neither Death Note nor Hellsing are mine.

AN: Requested by starsplinter.

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They receive the call sometime around midnight, an alarmed plea for help from an orphanage in Winchester that has an unlisted number and a way to connect directly to the house line. She's not sure if it's the ghoul attack or the phone call that's more alarming.

Integra doesn't like it, so she throws on both sword and gun and clambers into the lead jeep, teeth clenched around a cigar and a deep scowl creasing her face. Beside her, Alucard is humming some mad little refrain, and she gives him an irritable swat that he doesn't dodge. "Why aren't you out there already?" she snarls, fixing him with a cool glare, and he tilts his head back and laughs.

"There's nothing left to kill," he says, half-singsong, half-pouting, "so I will go and see the mad genius who destroyed them all."

The orphanage is as gated and stately as the Hellsing complex, lit up brilliantly in the dark, and the rolling lawns are littered with headless corpses. None of the bodies are human, and that's enough to make her draw her hand up, the troops obediently falling still and silent behind her.

Integra steps down from the jeep and frowns at the laughing children who run by, carrying rotting limbs and torsos towards what seems to be the beginnings of an enormous pyre. At her side, Alucard purrs out a rolling laugh, and reaches out to tousle the blond hair of a passing boy, rosary-laden and cheerfully kicking a head in front of him like a soccer ball. The boy flashes her and the assembled troops a bright, mad grin, and races off through the field, still laughing, high and clear in the coolness of the night.

Integra exhales slowly, frowning at Alucard, who flashes her a leering smile and points a finger towards the solitary figure of a pale young man, slouching his way through the corpses, feet bare in the damp grass. "I know who that one is," Alucard murmurs, still lilting his words, "he did this, and we were not meant to be called to this place. Someone on staff must have panicked."

She doesn't blink, tracking his oddly graceful movement through the yard, the delicate way he slips between bodies and squealing children alike without touching either. "Who is he?"

"I believe you would know him as L, master."

Integra takes a deep drag on the cigar, eyes narrowing. Younger than she'd thought, but strange enough to be true, and Alucard would never lie to her. She knows the name, knows the reputation, and now knows the location, but it would be foolishness itself to confront him, especially on his own ground. "I see. Very well. Men! It's all under control here, we're going home."

As the jeeps pull out, a brilliant fire lights the night behind them.

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