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The castle is a mess supported by charred pillars and wobbly cobblestones. They threaten to fall and bury everything.Maybe Alucard wishes to be buried, too.For some time, he’s alone with this thought.The last of the Tepes, without a goal, without a family; just a name and the weight of the soldier he was, once, trapped here for days and months and probably eternity.His eyes fall on the severed heads and the torn bodies of his father’s generals. They slowly decay into nothingness, their ashes flying away through windows and doors opening to a sun Alucard doesn’t want to see. Death has its own kind of freedom, he believes.Alucard bites his lower lip and closes his eyes. He wishes he wouldn’t feel so much; hopes this pain would end quickly.A foolish desire. For vampires, days are nothing but a handful of seconds in an immortal life. The raw pain of loss and anguish will haunt him for a long time, he knows it. He can feel their weight now, in his careful steps and his crooked spine as he walks to his father’s small, secluded room.Shards of a broken mirror are embedded in the ground. A few wooden planks are broken. Some books have missing pages, others are ripped. Against a wall, on a molding desk, a portrait of Alucard's mother is the only thing to not have suffered any damage. He watches it, frowning, lips trembling.“Mother,” Alucard whispers. “What am I doing?”His father’s room is the only one he can stay long enough without breaking apart. He wonders if his father was the same –if this place was his shelter when Lisa died, where he could find peace in his mind and focus on simpler, happier times.Anywhere else in the castle is... Too much, for Alucard. The hall is too big, too chaotic to feel at ease. The throne room is one of the last places he wishes to be –he can imagine his father plotting genocide there, and it twists his guts unpleasantly. His parents’ room is a vault of souvenirs he wishes to forget; so much Alucard wonders if he should board it up.Then, his room. His room with painted stars and stuffed toys; with laughter and memories of a time gone too soon. With the charred carpet where his father died, and the bloody stake still somewhere on the floor. Alucard couldn't go back there. Couldn't pick it up –the weapon of a kinslayer.Alucard is in so much pain. He wants to disappear and he wants to live; he wants to feel the cold winter breeze on his skin and he wants to fall into oblivion.Alucard doesn’t know what he wants, and he fears eternity won’t help him understand.His father’s chair feels too big as Alucard curls up on it. He rests his face against his knees and feels the tears seep through the fabric of his pants. He stays like this for God knows how long, until he hears the broken door of the castle crack; until he hears a few tentative steps; until he hears a sharp gasp and the loud cacophony of a falling candlestick.Alucard is quick to be on his feet, his still moist eyes flickering red as he whisks himself to the main hall, his sword singing in the air as it follows him.Alone in the empty hall, a silhouette is poking at the rails of the stairs and the wobbly stones of the wall. There are fascination and concern painted on the intruder’s face.It is still too early in the morning for the sun to reveal their face, but Alucard would recognize this unkempt stubble and these bright blue eyes anywhere.“Belmont?” Alucard breathes in disbelief. “Why are you here?”"Hey," Trevor says. Then, after a moment, he adds, repressing a chuckle, “What? Not offering a drink? Not taking off my coat? Rude. I mean, there’s my place –or what’s left of it– just under your castle and shit, but it’s still your place, here.”Is Alucard going insane? Belmont was gone, gone with Sypha to new adventures or exploring or wherever they have set their sight on. He can’t be here. He has a life to return to.But Belmont’s face cracks into a broad smile, and his laugh is too loud to be a madman’s illusion, and Adrian needs to touch him.“Hey, you all right?” Trevor’s mutters, calming down. A hand reaches up to gently pat Alucard’s, grasping his arm. “Hey. Alucard. Adrian.”Trevor is warm and real. Maybe too much. His presence is too overwhelming in this deserted, ruined castle; too alive in this supposed tomb. He shouldn’t be here, Alucard thinks, maybe aloud, because Trevor is frowning and squeezing his hand again, once, before he let go.“We shouldn’t have left you,” Trevor says, gently. “I figured you wanted time but…”Alucard thought he needed time, too. But not only. He realizes it now.“I’m sorry,” the man continues. It’s unnaturally soft from him. “Adrian, I’m sorry. But–”Alucard is a little desperate, a little clumsy, when he slides his arms around Trevor’s shoulders. Trevor let out a small sigh.He returns the embrace without a word, and it’s maybe what Alucard wanted from the start. A companionable silence; letting him being alone without the weight of being lonely.Trevor laughs, gently. “I’m here.”