Hellsing Fan Fiction ❯ Youth and Innocence ❯ chapter 1 ( Chapter 1 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Youth and Innocence

Chapter 1

Standard disclaimer: All characters belong to Kohta Hirano and his publishers. I have no stake in them.

This is set in the period 10 years before the anime/manga begin. Elements from both are included here.

The young girl's hand rested on the door latch for a second before she jerked it away. Time blurred together, minutes or hours before when she had first put her fingers on the cold metal, an image had flooded her mind. A monster, horrible and hungry, stood flailing his black hair in triumph as men, soldiers, probably Nazis, died all around him; their blood going to feed his savage need. No hallucinations troubled her now. No, this time she was closing the door on her own horror. The same monster stood inside the room; she could see him in her mind. He stood triumphant, white hair flailing as he devoured the last of her uncle and his lackeys' blood.

I killed the bastard, she thought as she leaned her back against the door. I should feel really bad about this, and I do, in a way. I feel sorry he betrayed me. I'm sorry to have lost several agents, though their treachery now saves me from later trouble with them. Still, she reasoned, we haven't men to spare. Her top agent was away on a mission but due back shortly. He was her father's best friend and the man she grew up calling `Uncle' Walter. Tears welled up in her eyes for the millionth time in the last few days. “Walter, I need you,” she whispered. Laughter issued from behind the heavy door. Her shoulder still bled and stung whenever it rubbed against the arcane symbols behind her. I've got to get out of this dungeon and see what needs doing before Walter returns, she took off her glasses to wipe her eyes and looked up at the duct work. There was the vent she'd crawled through to get down to her father's crazy idea of protection. A sad smile eased along her face. Father. Dead and betrayed in such a short amount of time. Slowly, Integra headed to the stairs.

Savoring the last molecules of blood he could squeeze from one of the bodies in front of him, Alucard smiled. He often did, partly because it worried others, but also because of the joy he felt. Yes, as corrupt as he was, and as old as he was, the vampire felt great joy. Felt it all the way to his core, to the blackened souls of the damned he carried within him. It was what kept him going, kept his undeath fun. Boredom, he knew, was the enemy when you lived hundreds and hundreds of years. The devil had once told him that. It was part of the reason she'd let him become what he was, a king of the forsaken. He did alleviate her boredom, for a time. It was also the reason he'd been bound by this awful curse. I became too set in my ways, he considered, too predictable. Being the master vampire in Europe was boring. His wives? Boring. The young Lucy, however, his sweet English rose, she'd held the promise of shaking things up. Alucard leaned back, lying like a corpse among the others. He didn't usually gorge, but after 20 years with nothing, indulging himself could be forgiven. Morning had broken and the child was moving about far above him. Young... no more than thirteen, this child. Still, she'd stirred him. He loved the spark of fire she'd lit in him. Her ancestor had trapped him, bound him to their blood, but even with the torture, the experiments, and their attempts to redeem him, he was able to appreciate her for what she was, an innocent.

Integral Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing, he thought, my new `Master.' Laughter shook his long body once more. Yes, this will be fun. Her purity made his teeth ache. As always, he was torn when thinking of innocence. Most of his being longed to defile it, but a small, older voice within him wanted to enjoy it, respect it. He shook his head and rose to reach for the door.

As soon as his dry flesh touched the latches, a surge of electricity, along with mental pain and the last rebuke of Sir Arthur Hellsing, Integral's father coursed through him. “Here you will remain until you are needed, servant.” Dammit! Hadn't the girl broken the seal? Surging his shadow self near to but not touching the door, he formed a dog's head and sniffed. His muzzle twisted up into a snarl. On the other side of the thick wood, he could smell her, smell her blood lingering. New blood added to the old as she closed him in. She was smarter than he'd thought. That puts a new curve into things, Alucard smiled, his annoyance gone. I've rested twenty years, he thought, a blink of an eye to me, but a generation to them. A new generation to play with? How delightful. He piled the bodies into a low throne. Rigor had just begun to creep into them, keeping the chair almost sturdy as he reclined. He tapped his forehead with a bony finger, remembering what she'd said about Walter.

Without looking around, Walter felt the eyes of the soldiers on him. They were blatantly curious as to why he was there. To the men dressed in drab fatigues, he looked like someone heading to an office, which he was. Dark slacks, matching vest and dress shirt. The only thing he lacked was a tie, and that was in the black briefcase his feet pinned against the wooden bench. Walter was also about forty years older than most of them. He reset his monocle with a black-gloved hand. Even if they'd seen the Hellsing badge he'd flashed their commanding officer, they wouldn't have understood. To them, he was a civilian. To him, they were grunts. When numbers or brute force was necessary, he had no qualms about working with the army. For the work he typically did, though, he needed only himself and maybe a few select agents. Get in, make the kill and get out; that's the Hellsing way, he smiled. This last mission was simplicity itself, mainly an intelligence-gathering gig though he was able to let off steam on a few misguided followers of a vampire cult. It was a welcome distraction from all the pain of the past few months. Ah Arthur... A tear threatened to fall, but Walter rubbed it out of his eye as if fatigued.

“Mr. Dollnez, sir? Com line.” The sergeant sounded most deferential following a quick conference with the officer in the main cab. Walter nearly fell off the narrow bench as the lorry lurched about a corner. His long legs helped keep his balance, reaching across several soldiers to grasp the heavy hand-held radio.

Color drained from his face as he listened. “Yes sir, Miss.” The man closest to him couldn't resist eavesdropping, but Walter doubted he could understand anything between the code used and the scratchy connection. “Understood. I should be there within the hour. Please be careful Miss.” The loud crackle as the line disconnected was audible to those around him, nearly deafening his right ear. Walter shook his head, quite a temper, that one.

“Bad news, then, eh?” A friendly jab in the ribs as he passed the handset back caused Walter to wince. Cracked ribs seemed to take forever to heal at his age.

“No, not especially,” he pursed his lips tightly, then took an offered cigarette, “just… unexpected.”

Integra watched him arrive on motorbike, its engine sputtering all the way up the drive. She wanted to yell out to him, or run and catch a ride like she'd done as a girl. Standing tall and straight, hands behind her back, she longed for those easier days. Her father had impressed upon her that she was born to be a leader, lives depending on her at all times. She had thought he meant the lives of agents, like Walter who now waved at her as he removed his helmet and unhooked his briefcase. After watching her father die, she'd come to the realization that he meant much more than that. She was responsible for all of England. No, she reminded herself, all the peoples of the United Kingdom relied on her to keep them safe from the demons of Hell. The Royal Order of Protestant Knights will be coming soon and I'll tell them that I am ready.

His smile changed as he bounded up the steps toward her. “Integra? Miss Hellsing? Are you all right?”

A million answers flitted through her mind, but she settled on, “Agent Dollnez, report.”

He concealed his surprise as quickly as he could. “I have a full report written,” he tapped his case, “but I think we'll be hearing from the rest of them again. I was only able to interrogate minions.” His face was all business, but he was searching hers for clues as they walked inside the large mansion doorway. In the marble lined foyer, she looked even paler. “Miss?”

“Yes, very good. Have the report on my desk.” She looked up at him and realized that her vision was clouding. Thank God I lasted until…

Walter caught her as she collapsed. He felt the bulge in her black jacket where she'd packed fabric over her bullet wound. Several of the house staff came running and helped him carry her to the closest study. It was one that the family used to greet formal guests. Back in the days of feudalism, the lord of the manor would use it to make tenant farmers and complaining creditors wait. As such, it was richly decorated and lined with signs of the family's prestige. Of course, the Hellsings had purchased it about a hundred years ago, so it wasn't their own family swords or rifles that lined the mantel, though their pictures did. The furniture had been updated and it was on one of the lush leather couches that the young girl was draped. She stirred and fought off the helping hands. Walter nodded at them to leave. “Integra, you're bleeding? You didn't mention being injured.”

She shook her head for a minute and fought back tears. Damn my uncle's soul, she thought. “I said he'd tried to kill me!”

Walter's eyes narrowed, no need to point out that she'd kept it all pretty vague and he'd had to piece it together. “And the bodies?” As she grew paler still, Walter opened the wet bar near the bookshelf and pulled out two glasses and a crystal jar of brown liquid. He pressed a shot glass into her hand. “Just take it slow,” he hoped it wouldn't tar his already blackened soul to give her whiskey at so young an age, “drink it all.” He downed his in a heartbeat.

She coughed and grabbed at her throat as the nasty heat wound its way down her. “He, they… still there, with him… it.” She took a deep breath and tried to get command of herself again. It had taken too long to calm down this morning, after trying to staunch her shoulder wound. She'd collected some data from the Teletype machine and the computer rooms, but made no decisions regarding her uncle's body or her newly found monster. Like a child, she'd kept praying that all would be well once Walter returned.

He paced in front of her. Several things still didn't make sense. “Then where is he, the vampire? Alucard?” It was already afternoon, he'd be awake after twenty years of sleep. Had he gone wandering to celebrate his new freedom?

“Alucard?” Integra felt fully in control of herself again. The whiskey was horrible, but effective. “You know him? Knew of him?” Walter's face did not change; his gray eyes were locked with hers, but unreadable. Her pitch rose as her anger did. “How is it I did not? Why did my father do that to me!” Blue eyes rimmed in red stared at the man who sat down next to her.

“There's no time now to worry about that,” he soothed and patted her hair. Walter wasn't overly fond of children, but this one was special to him. He'd been present at her birth and watched her grow up into a little lady.

She wanted to yell, but he leaned forward and hugged her. At first, she tried to struggle, but Walter was quite a bit stronger than she. Integra had't been able to sleep except in very small naps while trying to escape her uncle and his men. Now that weariness combined with the relaxing effect of the alcohol.

Walter kept hold of her as her tears began. “Tut tut, child, it will be all right. I'll see to it.” He felt her stiffen and was proud of her for wanting to protest. She would be a fine commander some day. This is not the day for it, though. She needed sleep. He held her tightly until she was lost to the world.

After calling her family's physician, Walter carried her upstairs to bed. He sighed as he closed the door. Nothing to do for it, he decided. With her governess standing guard over her, he would go look for his old `friend.'

The first thing Walter noticed was how carelessly the cleaning was done in this part of the mansion. The lower dungeons had been closed off, of course, but even the upper area and the stairways seemed covered in dust. He could see the pattern of footsteps indicating men running and, in the other direction, a set of small footprints. He hoped those were Integral's and picked up his pace. Deeper into the labyrinth of hallways he went, guided by memory. We'll need better lighting here, he noted. It was hard to pinpoint, but he thought he might feel a bit of excitement at the idea of Alucard's return

“Angel of Death.”

The voice sent a chill up his spine and his pace slowed as he approached the closed door. He smoothed a hand through his graying hair. Walter's lips curled into sly smile as he realized what had happened. “Lord Alucard, you're still trapped.”

“She's quite a girl, isn't she?” Alucard remained in his gruesome throne, but used his extra eyes to look outside the mystical barriers on the door. He saw Walter lean against the door and pull out a pack of fags, lighting one before answering.

“She would be, wouldn't she?” He exhaled and chuckled. “Got the best of you, what?”

“Is it still safe, Walter?” The question had been burning at him, but he saw a look of confusion on the agent's face. “Did he keep it safe?”

Understanding seemed to dawn slowly. “Oh, that. Yes. Yes, I'm sure it is. Hmm, not sure where, though. I'll have a look, it may be in storage.”

Alucard relaxed, closing his eyes, but keeping Walter in his mind. “You've grown old. Do you still see action?” He smiled as Walter stiffened and shrugged.

“I do pretty well, for an old man.” Gentle laughter issued from the cell. Walter's ego soothed; he was only being teased. It will take a while to get used to his sense of humor again, he told himself. “From what I heard, you've grown old as well. Rotting corpse? I believe that's what she called you.” More laughter issued forth, louder now as though Alucard had come closer to the entry.

“If you open the door, I'll show you a rotting corpse or three,” he knew Walter couldn't, though. They'd been through this twenty years ago. He watched as Walter slid down the doorway into a crouch, his knees cracking softly in protest. They stayed like that for some time, until the sound of Walter standing and stomping out his cigarette let Alucard know that he'd be alone again. “Am I to be freed from this blasted cell?” He felt that he must ask, even if it felt like weakness.

Walter sighed. “The Knights will probably decide if she's able to take on the whole organization, at her age.”

“That's not what I asked.” He slouched back to the middle of the room. “Her last blood relative is dead. She is my master now.”

“Quite so.” He pursed his lips, considering next sentence, “I'm not sure she's ready for that.” Walter began to walk away, knowing that the chill he felt was not due to the cold basement. I'd better head to the warehouse first he thought, and look for that damned coffin.

Walter carefully lifted the documents on the desk, nodding slightly as he read the printouts. He sifted through them, arranging them across the desk in order of importance. To the left of the reports, he added his own and a fellow agent's work. Where relevant, he placed some of the printouts on the reports.

In the last week of his illness, Integra had started moving some of her own items onto her father's desk. Still, she had yet to really make it hers. Walter peered into the trashcan and saw some photos of Lord Richard, the disgruntled and now deceased younger Hellsing. She'd been busy yesterday that much was certain. How much she could've absorbed of the dispatches remained to be seen. He checked his watch again. In deference to her age and all she'd been through, he had instructed the staff to let her sleep, though he had been awake since dawn. It was approaching ten, however, and he felt it might be time to do something about it. If depression was going to start, he didn't want her to indulge in too much rest. Picking up the intercom phone, he rang down to the kitchen and told them they could see to her food.

“Nothing to see to, sir. She's been and gone,” the voice was perky, clearly pleased by her appearance this morning. “Some kippers, toast and jam, sir. Ate right well for all she's been through.”

“Ah, thank you.” Walter held the phone under his chin as he considered where she might have gone.

The grass soaked her from socks to skirt hem, but Integra was used to that. The deep green color of the grounds had to be paid for. Damp weather was hardly a steep price for the verdant paradise around her. Coming up on the old iron gates, she slowed. There were piles of brown dirt alongside the grave where her father would be placed. Though her uncle had argued with him he'd decided to forgo a wake. “A simple service at the graveside, like we do for the agents,” he'd said and she was following his wishes. She hadn't wanted to listen at the time. Integra's eyes filled as she remembered how much she'd wanted them to stop talking about death. Here it was, though. She would make certain his wishes were carried out. The black hearse would bring his body home and they would lower him to the ground.

She sat at the mausoleum where her mother's ashes had been placed several years before. Silently, she began to talk to her. “Mother? I don't know what I'll do without him.” A shiver ran through her and her shoulder's shuddered. There was no answer, just as there had never been since Lady Hellsing had passed on, quietly in her sleep. Integra could hardly remember her face, but her mother's scent would still come to her from time to time. She'd taken all of the old scarves her mother favored and kept them in a drawer. Just opening the drawer sometimes calmed her nerves during her father's illness.

The wind shifted suddenly and she shivered again, making herself get up. I'll be back here soon enough, she thought sadly, and I won't be alone. The guest list was small, but there were eleven very important men coming to judge her. The Protestant Knights effectively ran England behind the scenes. When one of their numbers died, it was a huge blow to the whole group. Arthur had prepared them as best he could, but it would be a rough transition. Integra knew her uncle had his supporters among the group and they would need convincing. This was a deciding moment, but one she had been raised to handle. As she walked along, she scuffed her shoes against the stones. I can do this, she asserted to herself, I can do it because I must. The sound of clapping seemed to come to her mind. It made her smile.

Walter stood by the back patio door watching her return. It was four hours until the burial service and they still had bodies to dispose of. “Miss Hellsing!” She turned at his voice and composed herself.

“Uncle Wal-” she stopped as he held up his black-gloved hand.

“Miss Integra, your mother favored you calling me Uncle, and even your father feared her wrath enough to let you do it, but now?” She had been raised to call adults either by their title or to use aunt and uncle to describe them. Perhaps her mother missed the closeness of her own family, but it felt out of place now. His gray eyes held no resentment at the switching of their positions. He was, in fact, amused. “I would prefer you refer to me as Walter, or as an agent.”

Her shoulders relaxed slightly. “Thank you… Walter.” He held the door as she entered. Integra shook off her jumper and tossed it to a nearby love seat. She crossed her arms, letting one hand touch the gauze over her healing wound. “Your report?” She arched an eyebrow as he reacted to her change of topic.

“On the desk, as you requested.”

“Good. I'll read it as soon as,” she paused, noticing a family photo on a bookshelf. “Um, they'll be here in a few hours and there's the, you know…” her face flushed as she fumbled for words.

“As soon as you feel ready to, I'll accompany you, young miss.” Walter fought back a need to protect her. He would be willing to clean up the mess as he was accustomed to doing during field work all the time. Thirteen year olds should be loitering in shopping districts or whatever it is they do, he thought, but she needs to face this.

She nodded, but stayed where she was. “I know what he is,” her eyes met Walter's, “but why?”

“Are you wondering if we should kill him?” The lines around his eyes crinkled as she looked away. The barest whisper of the word `yes' hung in the air. He'd often asked himself the same thing, at her age. “The easy answer is that he's damned hard to kill.” He watched her body stiffen, as if he was implying she was weak, but he went on, “the hard answer is that he's your servant, through your great grandfather, and can be a great asset to Hellsing.” Walter was prepared for many more questions, but she began to walk to the doorway.

“Let's get this over with, then.”

Walter was pleased to see that his chat with the butler the day before had yielded some result. The stairway and a little bit beyond had been swept at least. From the broom and accouterments that were lying haphazard across the hallway, he imagined that the cleaners had been called away suddenly, or Alucard had found a way to frighten them from a distance. Most likely the latter, he decided. They passed locked doorways in silence; Integra's shoes providing the only soundtrack. Click clack, click clack. Walter's black leather shoes were Italian, custom made and nearly silent. They were as supple as a dancer's, but with some stability due to the amount of running that was part of his work. The supernatural seemed to hate sitting around in nice libraries to be killed. Well, there was that one job some years ago, he remembered, but the exception proved the rule.

His wardrobe was quite simple, not like in his youth. There were pictures still in existence of him in his flamboyant days. Now he stocked only what was necessary to get the job done. For the job at hand, he should have probably swung by his quarters to get coveralls. He looked down at Integra, her face cast in grim determination. Her clothes were likewise ill suited to hauling dead bodies about, dressed as she was in a simple black dress and Mary Jane-style shoes.

Integra slowed as they neared the room. She heard sounds in her head, but couldn't place them. Music? Howling? Screams? It wasn't loud, more like a background humming though it became louder as they neared the last corridor. She glanced up at Walter, but he didn't appear bothered by it. They hadn't spoken since he'd gestured her down the staircase and she was unsure how to break the silence. She took a deep breath, noticing the musty, damp scent. “Un… um, Walter,” she looked up as he stopped. “What, what should I call him?”

There was laughter in his eyes as he considered his answer. `Uncle Alucard' seemed too good to pass up, but her face was so earnest that he couldn't bring himself to say it. “I find, Miss, that you can't go wrong by being polite.” He smiled at her. “You may also ask him how he would like to be addressed. He is your servant.”

Her face took on a thoughtful expression and she bit her lower lip before asking,“Are we ready, then?”

Walter flexed his gloved hands and exercised his shoulders. Shouldn't need to battle him, he thought, but you never know. Twenty years is a long time to be left to molder. Which face will the monster wear? A shudder ran down Walter's back at the memories of Alucard's early attempts to seduce him. He looked down at Integra and nodded.

She reached her hand out to the metal, hesitated, and then tried it. There was no sound, not even the rhythm of breathing as they held their breath, waiting for something to happen. Nothing did. She had opened it before. Integra gave a confused glance up at Walter before jiggling the handle again, more vigorously this time. A horrible realization crawled along Walter's spine. When he could find the words, he began, softly, “Young Miss.” He put a hand on her shoulder, trying to calm her. “Young Lady Hellsing,” she still did not respond and her frustration was mounting, “Integra, stop it!” Either the commanding note in his voice or the dark sound rumbling from behind the doorway cut through to her. Integra, hand still on the door, looked stunned.

“He doesn't want to tell you, child,” came a voice, like a wave crashing down.

Integra's eyebrows knit, a small furrow appearing on her forehead. “What?” Phrased like a question, it came out sounding more like an order. “Tell me what?”

“She will make a good leader, won't she, Angel?” Alucard chuckled at Walter's annoyance. “Still,” the voice droned on, “will she have anything to back up that arrogance?”

“Walter, what does he mean?” her voice had an edge of anger.

“Well,” he would try to be truthful, but he could sugar coat it, “as your father taught you-“

“No,” she interrupted, “what won't you tell me?”

“Oh… yes.” Walter's fingers twitched. “I will make this quick.” With one fluid motion, he grabbed her hand off of the door and before she could protest, sliced a line down her pinky finger with a wire. Alucard's laughter masked her scream as Walter pinched the hurt finger and ran it along the runes nearest the latch.

Integra pulled away, her eyes venomous. “Don't you ever!”

He ignored her and opened the door. Causing pain didn't bother him, breaking her trust, though it was the most expedient way, did. The cell was a sea of darkness, the only light falling in from the hallway sucked up immediately. Walter was jostled out of the way by Integra. He put a hand out to stop her, but she pushed it away and proceeded down the stairs with an air that the Queen would've envied. Walter pulled his torch out of his pocket and shined it ahead of her. The sight before them knocked any thought of his transgression out of both their minds. Richard Hellsing and his cronies lay before them. In an apparent effort to be helpful, Alucard had stretched their bodies out, forming a cross and placing their heads, or what was left of them, between their knees. Walter noted that Alucard had split several bodies open in places, either when he killed them or later, he couldn't tell due to the blood loss. He supposed he wouldn't be writing a report on this case, but he couldn't stop his brain from inspecting the scene.

Integra whispered a prayer and put her hand up to her nose to block the stench. The wounded hand, with the smell of her blood, over all the other odors was too much. Integra turned her head and let the churning of her stomach rush out against a corner.

Walter moved the light along all the walls. “Alucard? Show yourself.” By the time he caught a ripple of movement on the ceiling it was too late. The door slammed shut. He forced the contents of his stomach back down as he knelt to help Integra up. “Ah. I forgot to warn you about his sense of humor.” She looked at him and he could see the myriad of emotions playing across her face. He smiled kindly as she worked through her thoughts.

“This is,” Integra waved her hand to encompass the locked door, the bodies and even the corner with her partially digested breakfast. “This is normal to you?”

His smile broadened. “Indeed, Miss.” He handed her the torch and went to try the door. Though it was closed, the latch had not caught and he was able to open it. “Stay here while I get the bags and cleaning things.”

She stood mutely, surveying the grisly sight. Although the cell was cool, some decomposition had begun and their bellies had swollen against their belts. She supposed it was rigor that caused their hands to curl, but it was as if her uncle had his fist raised at her. She looked away. Blood stained some parts of the wall, but it was impossible to tell how long it had been there. It could've been the whole twenty years she mused. A sudden and chilling thought occurred. “Uncle Walter! Walter! Agent!” She used any name she could and stopped only when she heard him skidding through the doorway, his wires glinting off her torchlight. “Where did he go? Where has he gone, Walter?”

Integra watched his face go from fierce back to friendly. “He won't have gone far,” he stepped out and then back in, this time with body bags, a mop and bucket. “Daylight and all. Let's finish this task quickly, then we'll have an hour to clean ourselves up before the memorial.” He handed her a vinyl apron, some gloves and the mop. “Be a good girl and see to the floor.”

Walter turned to the corpses and missed Integra battling herself over whether to whack him with the mop. She gave up and moved to the bucket. “How does this work? Can't we get someone to do this?”

Walter straightened up, his back to her. “No, Miss.” The Hellsing staff had very low turnover. They required a lot of their people, but they compensated well. No one questioned why they needed to become expert at getting blood out of carpets and upholstery, and few asked why they weren't to go into the lower basement. He continued to move bodies and associated parts into the bags and smiled when he heard her try the wringer a few times. The new director was starting off quite nicely.