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Caeli et Inferno	By : Jubalii Category: Hellsing > General Views: 1929 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: The anime: Hellsing \| The OP: not me \| Do I own it, or make money from it?: No \| Will I own it?: In my (Taylor Swift voice) Wildest Dreams oh oh oh

Chapter List
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Perhaps running all day yesterday had tired him out, or perhaps his poor mind was too overwhelmed to bother him with nightmares, or perhaps that woman, that Seras, had done something in his mind to block bad dreams; whatever the case, Fulton woke up from a restful, dreamless slumber feeling completely refreshed. He blinked at the ceiling, feeling comfy and warm in his thick flannel jams and the warm blankets tucked neatly around his thin frame.
            A part of him wanted to believe that the whole ordeal was nothing more than a long, drawn out nightmare that was more vivid than any other, but as he turned his head he noticed the old notebook had been placed neatly on his nightstand. On top of it was two pieces of paper and then his glasses, folded neatly and serving as a makeshift paperweight. He stared for a long moment at the blurred sight before sitting up in bed, shoving his glasses on his nose and grabbing the two papers. One was the bloodstained fragment; it seemed as though someone had taken the time to smooth out a few of the crumples, though the dark splotches remained untouched. The other was a letter, written in a cramped, but neat, hand.
            Dear Sir:
            Presumably it is daytime as you’re reading this, which means that I’ve already turned in. I’ve taken the liberty of moving all my things back into my old room in the basement. All the boxes that were in my room are now in the hall. We can discuss what’s to be done with them when I wake up. We’ll also discuss how to get this place back up in order, but I think I can handle a good deal of it. I hope your day is pleasant.
            -Seras V.
            P.S.: Don’t try running away again. I’d hate to have to chase you down at nightfall. Also, now that I think about it, why don’t you read some of that journal? I’d rather not have to explain it all, and you’ll be more prepared for the days to come.
            -S.V.
            The idea to run hadn’t occurred to him, but now he considered it. This was his house, so why should he run? And besides, if Seras had wanted to eat him, she had had more than enough opportunities to do so by now. He could consider himself—for the moment at least—safe. For a while, he stayed in bed and tried to sleep some more, but he became incredibly hungry and needed to relieve himself, so he eventually rose.
            He cleaned himself, dressed himself, brushed his teeth, and then wandered down to the kitchens. A real lunch was out of the question, but he managed to make himself a sandwich and, after cleaning up the mess, he ate it silently at a table in the large, empty mess hall. For some reason, his father had laid off the mercenaries; the rest of the staff had been fired after the death of his parents. There was no one in the house other than himself, and the vampire sleeping in the basement. He wasn’t sure how to feel about this, so he ignored it for the time being and finished his sandwich, washing it down with some milk that was two days over the expiration date, but hadn’t soured.
            Afterwards he was at a loss as for what to do, so he went back to his bedroom and made his bed. He sat on the neat sheets, thinking about Seras. She had been able to peer inside his mind, hadn’t she? What if—what if he could do the same thing? He’d sort of felt her in his mind as he spoke last night… he closed his eyes and concentrated, trying to recreate the strange feeling. It gave him a headache, but at the same time he felt as though he were getting closer.
            T-there! A small tug in the back of his mind; that was her. In his imagination, he could see the edge of a rope floating in the blackness of a brain. He grasped the rope and pulled with all his might, widening the hole in which it came from. Then his mind was abuzz with slow, even waves that lapped through his consciousness with a lazy precision. Sleep waves, he thought absently. At some point in his extensive reading, he’d also read on sleep, but he couldn’t remember much beyond the Deltas and Alphas.
            For another long while he merely sat on his bed with his eyes screwed shut, feeling the evenness of the waves, stunted occasionally by a small bump as the mind switched gears and fell in and out of deep sleep. He marveled at them with all the infantile wonder of his eight years, and then all at once he grew bored with just watching. Maybe if he followed the waves, he could see into her mind? His mind had no corporeal body in his imagination, but all the same he stuck his ‘hand’ through the hole that led from his mind to hers, pushing through and trying to fit his whole ‘body’ inside.
            It gave to a certain point, and then he came to an impasse. Confused, he pushed hard against it, but it gave about as much as a steel-reinforced door. He batted his imaginary hands against it, mind beating for all it was worth, but the impenetrable wall remained and kept him from the Draculina’s mind. Clicking his tongue in exasperation, he gave up for the moment and instead pushed his feet against the wall like a springboard, using the propulsion to guide himself back through the hole and into his own mind once more. He slumped against the sheets, a fine sheen of sweat glimmering on his forehead though he’d not moved once during the entire session.
            What do you want? The hard feminine tone was sleepy and irritated, most likely at being woken up midday. He frowned at it, but he was only a child and she was a grown-up, so he couldn’t chastise her for such a mean voice.
            Sorry. I was just looking at the link between us, he explained, not sure how to best word it. There was a pause, and yet her mind buzzed with quick, rapid activity—thinking?—before she spoke again.
            As long as you don’t need me, she finally answered brusquely. Good day, Sir. Try not to wake me again.
            Yes, I will. Won’t. Will try, won’t wake you, he stammered mentally, blushing. There was a click in his mind, as though she’d shut some sort of door, and then he was alone again.
            He spent the day about as productively as an eight-year-old could be. He went to the playroom and built a small fortress for his soldiers out of Jenga blocks and an old shoebox, he slid down the banisters and raced around the foyer when he felt a burst of energy, he spent a good hour staring out the window at a pair of birds on their nest in the hedge below the sill, and he wandered down to the basement stairs.
            Getting on his hands and knees, he pressed his cheek to the floor and could just see the edge of the boxes that Seras had spoken of in her note. He wanted to go down and rifle through the contents, but doing so might wake her and he’d given his word that he’d try to stay quiet. Giving up on getting more than a glimpse, he shrugged and wandered back to the kitchens.
            He finally sat down to read the notebook in his father’s office, a carton of ice cream he’d found in one of the freezers nestled between his legs. He ate the raspberry crème ice cream with relish, licking the spoon as he carefully wiped his hands on a napkin and turned over the first page of the notebook. It appeared that this was a journal of his ancestors, and he was surprised to find the first entry to be filled with a girl’s handwriting.
            “The Daily Record of One Sir Integral Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing, leader of the Hellsing Organization”. Her writing was even and calm, even if the things she was writing about weren’t. He found it an interesting read, and just from the first few pages alone learned quite a few things.
            One: his ancestor Integra was twelve when she began writing in the journal, but even at that young age she was a no-nonsense type of girl. She wrote only what needed to be written, and while her writing was first-rate, it meant she often left things out. Fulton supposed that she assumed the next person reading the journal would have some notion of what she meant, and therefore didn’t spend time going over particulars.
            Two: Rather than dealing in mercenaries and keeping troop records for the crown, the Hellsing Organization of old dealt with taking out supernatural creatures that posed a threat to humans. Along with an elite army, they also had a vampire that Integra referred to in her writing as ‘A’.
            Three: this ‘A’ wasn’t a very nice vampire. He was rude, loud, liked to shoot things, went where he didn’t belong, played cruel tricks on Walter—who he assumed had to be a butler or staff of some sort—and kept Integra at her wit’s end trying to keep him under control.
            At 6:00 he felt Seras wake up and then felt a surge of something that ran along his skin and raised the hair on his neck. It felt powerful, so he decided it must have been Seras herself. He tried her mind again, but could find her. Perhaps she didn’t want to be found. He went back to his reading, the empty carton of ice cream on the floor at his dangling feet as he rested his head on one arm.
            It seemed that there was some sort of symbols on ‘A’s gloves that prevented him from doing too many bad things. Integra could control him through the gloves, though in the journal she wrote of how hard it was to learn exactly how. Apparently, it had a lot to do with saying things in such a way that ‘A’ couldn’t find a loophole and go on a bloody rampage. It sounded more like a fairytale than real life, but at this point he was more than happy to go along with anything the journal threw at him.
            The plot skipped a few months when Integra was in her twenties, and then picked back up again, this time with Seras thrown into the mix. ‘A’ had brought Seras home one night from a mission, and Integra hadn’t been very happy at the sight of the unconscious girl. There’d been fighting, and shooting, but ‘A’ had been steadfast for once and refused to kill her, or take her away. So Integra had eventually conceded and let Seras stay.
Fulton paused, scratching his head as he read over a few more passages. He didn’t really understand how this Seras in the book and the Seras he had met yesterday could be the same person. The Seras in the book was a bit loud, but gentle and cheerful, and a kindhearted soul to boot. She cried when ‘A’ got mad at her, offered to help Walter, and seemed wary of Integra herself. How had such a change come about? Did Seras suffer a fall and hit her head? Or did something else happen to cause a complete mood change? He felt Seras’ mind open up to him and he marked his place in the journal, hands folded on top as he waited for her to show up. The best thing to do would be to just ask her.
This time she came not in or out of the floor, but through the door like any normal person might. Perhaps she worried about his mental health? In any case, she looked a thousand times better off than she did the night before. Fulton couldn’t tell if it was the bath, or maybe her…food… (he dared not think the real term), but she looked much better. Her eyes weren’t so sunken, her cheeks rounded a little more and with a faint hue. Her skin was as pale as before, but now it seemed to have some more elasticity. Her scarlet eyes held some vivaciousness now, and even her hair was bouncier and had a bright, if not healthy, sheen.
Even her dress was more befitting. She wore a fitted suit, sapphire with dark navy pinstripes that ran the length of the suit jacket and pants. Her shoes were actually black boots, polished until her reflection shone back up at her. Her blouse was white, and a navy tie the exact color of her pinstripes was tucked neatly into the jacket. On one lapel was a tiny pin in the shape of a dove, and just beneath it another pin with the Hellsing crest—that, it seemed, had changed little over the decades.
She had a blue fedora perched on her head; a black and a white feather had been stuck into the hatband and were being held there with a little red pin. On her nose sat a pair of strange glasses; they were so small and round that she could easily look over them if she so chose. The sides resembled welding goggles, and the lenses were a murky grayish-blue instead of being clear. When she looked directly at him through them, they turned the bright red of her eyes to an off-brown color.
As bizarre and outdated an outfit as it was, it seemed to suit her perfectly. Fulton was actually impressed with the sharp wardrobe, and kept his eyes on her as she sat down in a chair opposite him and the desk. She pulled off the hat and glasses, placing them on the edge of his desk and leaning back in the seat, adjusting one white glove pretentiously. When her glove was to her liking, her eyes swiveled to him and she looked him over before gracing him with a surprisingly sweet smile. It put him on guard, as he still wasn’t sure how to take such a changeable attitude.
“Hello, Miss Victoria,” he said politely, breaking the silence. “I—I trust you slept well, despite me?” One slender blonde eyebrow rose, but she didn’t rebuke him for his interruption earlier.
“I slept just fine,” she replied, her voice a smooth purr. “And you will call me Seras. I’ve never had a Hellsing call me Miss Victoria, and I don’t plan on starting it now.” She eyed him a moment more. “About those boxes…”
“Oh, right.” Fulton chewed his lip. “I really don’t know where to put them, unless you just want them in the attic? I… I don’t know how my father used to do things,” he added quietly, feeling almost guilty at his lack of knowledge.
“What happened to your parents anyway, kid?” She seemed to catch herself. “Sir.” He blinked; she kept calling him Sir, though he really wasn’t any sort of nobility. The Hellsings were old blood, to be sure, but his father hadn’t been a ‘sir’, and he didn’t see why he had to be. But it wasn’t anything worth arguing over.
“There was an accident. I don’t really know what happened. My aunt just said there was an accident.” He hadn’t been allowed to see the bodies until they were in the casket, and even then he’d only been lifted high enough to see their faces and kiss them one last time.
“And where’s your aunt?” Fulton started.
“M-my aunt doesn’t like me. It was her son that you—” Seras waved his words away impatiently.
“I know that, I know that. I got as much from his blood,” she huffed. “I want to know where she is. It might be worth paying a little visit. After all, accidents are hardly ever what they seem, are they?” she chuckled, the light from the large picture windows glinting off her unusually sharp teeth.
“I don’t know,” he half-whimpered. “I just don’t know.” Her grin faltered and she tsked, shaking her head.
“Pfft. You’re a bit of a crybaby, aren’t you?” she asked, but he could tell the question was rhetorical. “I’ll have to toughen you up a bit.” He shivered at the implication of her words, but didn’t say anything. “Now, what do you think of that journal?”
“It’s really interesting,” he said amiably, internally grateful that she’d turned the topic away from darker matters. “I mean, this Integra seems interesting, at least. But who’s ‘A’?”
“ ‘A’ is…completely and utterly none of your business.” She picked at a nail through her glove. “For now, at least.”
“But where’s he at now?” Seras turned her head to him, her gaze icy and hard now.
“He’s none of your business,” she reiterated. “Not until you’re older, and you’ve read the entire book and completely understand its meanings.” Fulton wilted.
“I doubt I can ever understand everything about the book,” he complained. Seras rolled her eyes.
“Well then, you’ll never learn about him, will you?” she snapped. She tossed her legs up over the arm of the chair, crossing them. “Now, enough crying over that. We’ve got to get busy. Get an army, get some staff, get orders of blood coming in, take inventory of food and weapons, get some missions rolling….” She counted off on her fingers, trailing into silence before turning to him. “You get all that?”
“No.” He stared blankly, feeling stupid. “Why do we need blood? Or an army? Or staff? Can’t you just take care of me?”
“I’m not your damn babysitter, ki—Sir.” She sighed and shook her head. “I need blood to eat. Vampire, remember? I like bagged blood; you don’t have to deal with souls that way. We need an army because we’re Hellsing, and we need staff to take care of this place, the army, and you.” Her smile became livid and violent. “You’ll be the one to raise the Hellsing empire back to its former glory.”
“B-but I don’t know anything about raising empires!” he protested. “I’m only eight!” She leaned over the desk and he smelled the irony tang of blood on her breath; it turned his stomach.
“No excuses,” she sneered. “Not when I’m around. Think of me as an… older sister of sorts. I’m here to bully you into becoming more than what you are.” Fulton leaned away from her as she ruffled his hair, a look of despondency written across his face. I don’t think I want to become your idea of something more, to be honest.
Too bad, she replied mentally, hearing his thoughts. It’s not like you really have a choice.
The next morning, Fulton awoke to a flurry of activity. He ran down the stairs in his jams, wondering what on earth could be making so much noise at seven in the morning. When he got there, he saw men and women running to and fro. It reminded him of a louder version of his father’s business, and somehow the sight set his mind at ease. He stood on the lowest step, watching while staying out of the way.
“Ah, you must be Master Fulton?” He turned, holding onto the railing as he saw a young man making his way over. The man was tall and thin, but broad-shouldered. He wore a neat white shirt and black pants with a white apron, his long brown hair tied in a loose ponytail. He made a theatrical bow when he reached the stairs. “I am Winston; Miss Victoria hired me to be the butler for this house.” His voice was soft and warm.
“Oh. How do you do?” Fulton stuck out his hand. The man smiled good-naturedly, coming far enough out of the bow to shake it. “Are you the one that’s going to be taking care of me, and feeding me?”
“Are you hungry?” the man asked, head tilting. Fulton nodded, his stomach growling as if it wanted to agree as well. “Alright then, come along into the kitchen and I’ll see what I can whip up. It’s been a while since I cooked, but a chef hasn’t been hired yet and I don’t see one coming in today, at the very least.” Fulton trailed after him, watching the men in suits coming in and out of the house until they turned a corner and the front door was no longer visible.
“Where’s Seras?”
“Oh, she’s around here somewhere,” Winston hummed thoughtfully as he ushered Fulton into the kitchen ahead of him. “I wouldn’t bother her right now, though. She’s the type of person that will come to you.”
“I’ve already figured that out, I think” Fulton muttered as he was seated at the counter. Winston found a frying pan and set to work on some bacon and eggs, both of which came from a newly stocked fridge. Fulton watched him sleepily, hearing the hustle and bustle outside the door. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that a new leaf was turning over for him. Maybe I should keep a journal, too.
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Caeli et Inferno