[Fic] The Ninth Circle [3/?]

[candelaria]

Title: The Ninth Circle [3/?]
Characters/Pairings: America, France, England, Spain, Italy, Germany + OCS (Portugal, Romania and Ireland)
Rating: R
Warning: (Monster AU) Mild language, blood and gore, vampires and the like
Summary: In their world, the finest line between good and evil can be the only thing that’ll save your life. The hunters know that better than anyone; they are lowest on the food chain, yet convinced of their godhood. But Arthur Kirkland never put much faith into any God. This is a little something about vampires and the men who love hunt them. Here there be monsters.

--------------------------------------------------

A side-story in hellzabeth's Monster AU, featuring the Hetalia!Halloween cast. (Note: Human names used. More in the A/N.)

The next couple of days seemed to pass in a state of surrealism; easily forgettable of course, if one was to ignore that the bogeyman was residing in the room down the hall.

Francis was surprised by the level of quiet that seemed to spread throughout the house. During the daylight hours only the hunter’s small housecat would emerge from the room, somehow with the intelligence to unlock a bolted door at his disposal. For the most part he would ignore Francis, padding down the corridor and down the steps to fetch himself a meal or disappearing entirely for the afternoon. Sometimes he would return with Bess on his tail, looking positively hunted in his own right, and wouldn’t stop until he was back behind the safety of the door again. She on the other hand, seemed curiously indulgent of his behaviour, almost fond; it cancelled out his theories that Arthur’s cat turned her nose up at strange company. Perhaps it had something to do with Francis being dead, or Alfred being... well, Alfred.

Perhaps there was more to the odd pair than they were letting on.

Alfred, for his part, had put a large berth between himself and the hunter ever since the incident. At one point he had found the boy hunched over his breakfast, pencil balanced on his nose and paper scraps in hand. His beloved chainsaw, ruined in the struggle, had since been taken apart; the pieces now lay mournfully across the dining table like evidence in a morgue, each part lovingly polished until they glowed. The scraps of notepaper, receipts and the like were (unless Alfred had somehow broken into Arthur’s study) covered in messy, penned scrawl and when Francis’s curiosity finally got the better of him, he allowed himself a furtive glance over Alfred’s shoulder, stopping on his way to the kitchen.

“Disembowelment?” he read out incredulously, and scanned the page again. “Immolati - really, mon cher. You can’t be serious.”

Alfred made a show of pouting at that, and hoarded his notes closer to his person, as though he were afraid that Francis was going to sneak one of his ideas. “Hey man, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. I’m just keeping my options open that’s all!”

“Open...?” Francis repeated, and raised an eyebrow. Alfred suddenly looked shifty, and drew his plans closer to him still.

“Yeah, well... you know, just in case. I figure that guy’s got to have a weakness, that’s all. Everyone has a weakness.”

Francis pondered this; while perhaps that line of reasoning did work with creatures of the supernatural variety, he had yet to see it put into practice on humans, let alone hunters.

“Unless you’re planning to break into his room I don’t see how you’d get around to that,” he admitted, “not especially since Arthur has more or less forbidden anyone to go within ten feet of him.”

Alfred snorted. “So the guy is resilient, big deal,” he said. “Arthur’s just gone soft in his old age, or something. You’ll see. He will be dead before the weekend and he’ll be thanking me. There’s no way he’ll survive. It was just dumb luck.”

Or so you’re trying to convince yourself, Francis thought privately. No man was anymore ‘resilient’ to being assaulted by a chainsaw than any other. This had already been proven once before. There was something not quite right with that hunter, but Arthur seemed to be wholly unconcerned as to what that might be.

In fact he seemed so much so that he’d taken up hunting again. Although since Alfred’s chainsaw was temporarily out of commission and the boy himself was up in arms over it, there had been no other way. Not that Francis had the slightest idea of where Arthur went off to during the late night hours, for these days he seemed to vanish almost as soon as the sun had gone down. There had been a point, during the previous evening, where he had caught Arthur standing in front of the room where the hunter was being kept for an inordinate amount of time. He had been completely still, hand on the doorknob and expression passive, as though deep in thought. It wasn’t until Francis had made a point to emphasize his footsteps on the way to his own room that he seemed to jerk out of whatever spell had come over him, and stalk away without another word.

The key to the locked door remained in Arthur’s pocket, and for reasons that only made Francis want to know more about his past encounters with the hunter, seemed to guard it jealously with his life, or... lack thereof, really.

It was very curious indeed.

“Perhaps,” he said aloud, taking a seat and gaining Alfred’s full attention, “it would be for the best if we took Arthur for his word. It could be as he says, you know. Maybe that hunter really has cheated death.”

Alfred’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re kidding,” he said flatly, nose wrinkling a little. It might have been cute Francis thought, if he hadn’t been so genuinely disgusted by the fact that there was a possibility, and a slight one mind you, of a creature, a man that he couldn’t kill. “Seriously man, haven’t you ever read Harry Potter? Undead guys don’t look so... so...”

“Alive?” Francis supplied.

“Didn’t look so alive after I’d stuck it to him,” Alfred replied churlishly, and turned a piece of his chainsaw sadly over in his hands. “He’s lying. There’s got to be some trick to it. Something Arthur doesn’t want us to know.”

“Stories of a hunter named Gabriel have persisted amongst our kind for centuries,” Francis mused, wisely keeping his own hands away from Alfred’s mess by folding them together. “I hardly think it’s a coincidence.”

“He could’ve cloned himself,” Alfred mumbled, his brows now furrowed in thought, “Could just be a family name even.” He doodled something on the piece of paper in front of him.

“A sentimental idea, but traditions aren’t enough to make the dead walk I’m afraid,” the spirit sighed, looking away when Alfred shot him a baleful look. He likely didn’t appreciate his musings being shot down so quickly.

“Yeah but...” The boy pursed his lips together. He scratched his head with his pencil. “Isn’t...I don’t know, magic forbidden among these guys? I thought they were convinced it was all mystic, voodoo crap.” Francis shrugged.

“Believe it or not mon cher,” he said, “It is as Arthur says. Hunters rarely play by their own rules. If they had, we would be in a much safer place in this day and age, trust me.”

“Well that blows.” Alfred sighed. He chair leaned back on its back legs then, as he propped his feet up on the dining table, hands tucked behind his head. It was probably a very good thing that it was still bright out, and Arthur was in bed, Francis thought. He would have had a fit if he saw Alfred’s dirty sneakers scuffing his finely polished furniture.

There was a soft rustle then, and the calico cat emerged from behind a potted plant. Though it was outside the dining hall it paused to give them both a long, piercing look, ears flicking forward. Alfred and Francis stared back until, after a long moment, the cat stretched itself out and yawned, before carrying on its way. Alfred’s gaze followed it until it was out of sight.

“Couldn’t we just get the cat to spill the beans...?”

“The hunter’s pet?” Francis said in some surprise. “I don’t think that’s...”

“Well it talks doesn’t it?” Alfred demanded, and waved his hand expansively. “I bet it could give us all sorts of juicy info about its brother.”

“Its brother who happens to be a hunter,” Francis said monotonously. “A hunter who happens to be a human being. How on earth does that make them related...?”

Alfred held his hands up. “Hey now,” he replied defensively, “Don’t look at me. I’m just repeating what the cat said, that’s all. I told you all about Van Helsing didn’t I?” He grinned, and Francis tried not to think of that; it had been that conversation that had led to them taking the hunter with them back to Arthur’s house in the first place, and the vampire at least, seemed as though he would not tire of rubbing that bit of information in Francis’s face for a good long while. “Of course I did. And I figure it must be pretty lonely bumming around by yourself, fighting evil with only a cat for company. Probably makes you go all sorts of loopy.”

You’re one to judge, Francis thought sceptically and refrained from rolling his eyes. “What makes you think that that animal will talk to you? I haven’t heard it speak a word since.”

Alfred grinned and rubbed his nose, leaning his weight forward and making the chair rock back onto all fours with a loud snap. “Don’t you worry about that,” he said, and got to his feet, “I have a way with animals. Watch and learn.” He tucked his hands in his pockets and turned the corner out into the hall, whistling. Francis followed him only a moment after; curious to see this with his own eyes.

They found the calico cat pacing near the front door, scratching at it with its front paw almost contemplatively. At one point it reared up on its hind legs and just balanced there, pushing its inconsiderable weight against the frame, to no avail. There was a window opened a crack just down the hall, but it seemed almost determined to use the proper entrance. If he didn’t know any better he would have almost thought that the cat fancied itself human too.

“Hey there little guy,” Alfred put on an effected drawl, coming up behind their target. “What are you up to?”

The calico cat paused in its ministrations, going very still. It glanced over its shoulder at the boy, alert, and just as suddenly turned, putting its back to the door.

“Come on,” Alfred hunkered down in a squatting position, reaching out his hand with a smile, “Who’s a good kitty? You shouldn’t be wandering around all by yourself you know. A tiny thing like you could get hurt if you’re not careful.” The cat shrank back, ears flattening. Francis did not have to be in his position to know just how terrifying the smile on Alfred’s face must have been, regardless of his intentions. “Aww, come on. I promise I won’t bite.”

The cat shook itself out from under his hand and moved back further against the door, fur standing on end. It bared its teeth and hissed. Bess looked up from her chair in the living room at the sound, regarding the scene with calculating eyes. Alfred looked disappointed.

“Not much of a talker now, huh?” he sighed, and ran his hand back through his hair. “That’s cool...that’s cool. I’m sure we can work something out.” He shuffled closer. “I know things might seem scary right now but I promise,” He grinned, reaching out for the cat again, “I’ll be the best friend you’ve ever had if we have a little mano-a...er, mano-a-gato, yeah?”

The calico cat had its big green eyes fixated upon him as though he had lost his mind. He wouldn’t have been far off the mark either, Francis thought, for a cat.

“So what do you say?” Alfred insisted, getting down on his hands and knees proper and moving closer still. “You tell me that hunter’s weakness, and I swear, cross my heart, that you’ll never want for anything ever again.”

The cat tilted its head at him. For a long moment Francis began to believe that he had only imagined it talking beforehand, when it finally shook its head at Alfred and sighed.

“You shouldn’t make promises you don’t intend to keep, chico.”

And without a moment’s notice, it slipped away from Alfred’s grasp and darted between his legs, sidestepping Francis and bounding back towards the stairs.

The teenager twisted around. “Hey!” he exclaimed. “No fair! You’re not supposed to tell anyone!” He made a leap for the cat, hands outstretched. “You forfeit your life if you do!”

It surprised Francis to realize how quickly he had come to know the truth in Alfred’s words nowadays. He could only imagine what the boy would do to a defenceless animal after seeing the way he treated his fellow human beings. “I told you didn’t I?” he remarked. “Rules don’t mean anything to -”

“Don’t just stand there!” Alfred interrupted, alerting him as he made a sudden dive for Francis’s feet, as though he meant to tackle him to the ground. “He’s going to get away!”

He backed up a step, looking at Alfred incredulously, when something hit him from behind, causing him to nearly lose his balance and topple forward. Short claws sank into his shirt, and the calico cat scurried up his back to settle precariously on his shoulders. Francis could feel the tension in its small frame as it hissed once again at the boy across from him.

Alfred scrambled to his feet, his nose only a scant few inches from Francis’s face; his grin was wide as he regarded the angry cat taking swipes at him from its perch. “Oh you want to play games, eh?” he said, and cracked his knuckles. “Well in that case...”

“Alfred...” Francis warned, and moved involuntarily backwards to put some distance between them. “Mon cher, it is only a cat.”

“Hey, you said it yourself,” Alfred told him, matching Francis for every step he took. “He belongs to that hunter. Therefore it’s an enemy cat.” He reached out suddenly with his hand as though to snatch the cat right off his shoulders. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I know how to silence him. I said I was good with animals didn’t I?”

“Alfred!”

But the cat darted aside again, legs kicking as it clambered up the back of Francis’s head, claws entangling themselves in his hair and unravelling the ribbon he had been using to keep it all back. He let out what sounded like an undignified yelp even to his own ears and brought his hands up to grab it, but the cat, no doubt used to being used to such slippery situations, ducked out from under them and made a leap over Alfred’s head.

He would have made it too, had the boy not moved backwards at the last minute, raised his arms above his head and snatched him out of the air as though catching a football. “Gotcha!” he exclaimed triumphantly.

The calico cat squirmed, suddenly helpless, and yowled. Francis straightened his clothes, pushing his hair out of his face and grimacing. “Be quiet!” he hissed. “Do you want to wake Arthur?”

Clearly, the cat did, because it only made more of a racket. If it thrashed around any harder, Francis was sure it was going to hurt itself. Alfred on the other hand, laughed.

“Hoo boy,” he sighed, and held the cat up to his eye level. “You’re a real piece of work, aren’t you? We got enough on our plate to deal with around here without you acting up, you know.” The cat hissed, and tried to claw at his face, but the boy only leaned back out of the way and snickered. “Yeah yeah,” he drawled. “Fuck you too. You know...” he leaned conspiratorially close, “that hunter may have one or two things off about him but you,” he grinned, sudden and sharp, “I’m sure you’d die pretty easy if I bashed your little head against the doorframe one or two times, hm?”

Well, Francis thought uneasily, Arthur had only really warned them to keep their hands off the hunter, so he wondered how offended he would be if he found a dead cat at his front door when he woke up? But as he looked up to relay this to Alfred, he found the boy was already heading towards the living room, holding the calico cat by its scruff.

“Sorry kitty,” he drawled, “You just picked the wrong side, I guess. No hard feelings. I’ll find out how to do away with your hunter sooner or later, you’ll see. Now let’s see if we can’t find you a nice hard door to...”

However, just which of Arthur’s doors he was going to use for the deed Francis never found out, because at that very moment Bess, the fluffy ginger queen cat that was every bit as prissy as her owner, decided to take charge. She crawled up the back of her favourite chair and pounced right on Alfred’s face. She sank her claws into either side of his head and growled at him, and for one wild, comedic moment Francis could only stare at the chaos as it unfolded.

Alfred flailed, whatever curses he was shouting muffled by cat fur. He stumbled around as though drunk, knocking a table over here, a chair there, each tumbling to the floor with a crash that could have no doubt woken the dead. Fortunately for them the sun was still up, which meant that even if Arthur were awake, he would have to remain seething in his room until nightfall before he could investigate the source. Somewhere in the confusion the calico cat managed to wrench itself free from Alfred’s hand, and it made a dash for the little open window.

It was not until this happened that Bess herself released her grip on Alfred and leapt off. She darted through the mess and scrambled up the windowsill herself, where the calico cat was wiggling in vain, mewing in frustration as it tried to squeeze itself past the small gap between open window and ledge. Francis, still watching the proceeds in disbelief, could only stare as Arthur’s cat wiggled her own head under the frame and pushed it a little higher; at that point she moved away and headbutted the calico cat in the backside. It fell into the hedge below with a yelp, and with a final haughty look back at Francis, Bess turned her tail up and followed him through the window. There was a moment’s silence before the bushes rustled, and the two cats made a dash for freedom towards the woods.

Alfred, by that point already unbalanced, could only stumble backwards over one of the stands he had knocked over, landing half-sprawled in an overstuffed armchair. His mouth was gaping open, moving wordlessly, hair and glasses askew and his cheeks red from exertion. Francis came over to him.

“That...” the boy wheezed, looking wild-eyed, “That was a foul! Two-on-one isn’t fair! Does Arthur know his cat is a traitor?”

“Well,” Francis said at last, clearing his throat awkwardly and laying a hand on the back of the chair, “Whether he does or he doesn’t, I think killing that cat is out of the question now. You know he won’t be best pleased if his cat were to be hurt in the crossfire.”

He leaned on the arm of the chair and tried to get his hair back into order. “And besides,” he continued on, “I believe it’ll be our duty to inform Arthur that his beloved Bess is cheating on him with a rogue, don’t you?”

Alfred made a face.

It had been many years since Antonio had wandered through the forests that was the Kirkland residence’s backyard, but it, like so many things in this part of the woods, seemed to have changed very little, so as soon as he was sure that no one was following him he came to a stop and sighed, sinking down on the mossy ground.

“That was too close,” he muttered, curling his tail around him and glancing back over his shoulder. The old Kirkland house was still visible through the trees, although it was obscured by foliage. A ginger blur brushed past him and he almost jumped, but then she settled down next to him and began to lick her paws with a clearly triumphant expression.

“Oh it’s just you,” he said in relief, and settled back on his haunches awkwardly. “Um...thanks for that.” Bess purred and she butted him playfully with her head again; she seemed pleased with herself. Antonio shuffled away a little awkwardly, ears twitching; he didn’t know what it was exactly, but Arthur’s cat always seemed to have a bit of a thing for him. Though in this case, it actually seemed to have proved useful. “Right, er...I suppose I’ll see you back at the house then,” he said, and trotted off down the old, dirt path back towards the road that would lead back into the town. “Things to do in the big city you know?”

Bess tilted her head, her fluffy tail swishing. She regarded him with beady eyes. Antonio had been a cat long enough to read the body language of other animals, and it still surprised him how much he had grown used to it. “I know,” he told her, to the otherwise quiet of the forest, “I know, I’ll be careful; but you take care of yourself too, okay? That kid, he’s not...” He paused. “...well he’s not quite right in the head.”

Bess just gave him a long, hard look. Antonio huffed. “You’re right, my mistake. You’ve seen him around more than I have. I just think it would be best if you avoided him for awhile.” She didn’t seem to have anything else to say to that, so with a final nod towards her Antonio set off towards the road.

He noted however, that she didn’t move from her spot until all he could see of her was a tiny, orange dot in the distance.

The walk would be a long one he thought, given his small size, but from the looks of things the sun was still high in the sky, so it was fairly early in the day. There was enough time to get to town and deliver the message that his brother had entrusted him with and get back before dark. There were no signs of any other creatures either, supernatural or otherwise, so at least untimely delays were out of the question.

Well... there was nothing else for it. After what had happened, Gabriel was in no condition at all to head back into town. If only he had listened to Antonio in the first place and just stayed there in the first place, they wouldn’t have had to work things out this way, and he wouldn’t have got his tail nearly yanked off by a psychopathic teenager.

Not that life threatening situations were anything new in their line of work, Antonio mused to himself, sticking to the trees just next to the road as he carried down the path. You never knew when some crazy hooligan behind a wheel suddenly got it into their head that it would be fun to run over small animals.

It was just that this couldn’t have come at a worse time. With his brother out of commission there was no way for Antonio to simply waltz into a hunters’ meeting, or to call a gathering. His own ‘condition’ was unnervingly unpredictable like that; one minute you were a cat, the next minute you weren’t.

Oh he coped well enough, had done so for a near three hundred years, until that stuck up British vampire had decided to get inappropriately handsy with Gabriel and had offered him a deal. The exact conditions of that supposed deal had come and past many years ago now, and while he wasn’t always sure that it was worth it, if nothing else Antonio was glad that he had a voice again, because it enabled him to tell Arthur Kirkland just where he could shove it if he ever tried to get close to his brother again.
Stupid vampire, Antonio thought savagely, quickening his pace to a dash. Stupid social visits. They should have just -

“Veee, Alpha look! It’s a kitty!”

All of a sudden the ground was no longer under his feet, and Antonio found himself being lifted up and flipped over by a pair of strong hands. He made a noise of protest, heart hammering. Had he been that careless? The road had looked empty for miles around, and they certainly weren’t near any other houses, as far as he could recall. He squirmed, looking around wildly for an escape route. This wouldn’t end well if were to be caught and thrown into the local pound, less so if he were suddenly to...well.

He hoped that it wouldn’t come to that, or there was going to be a lot of paperwork involved.

“Aww, he’s so sweet.” His assailant tucked Antonio into the crook of his arm, cradling him and scratching under his chin. Against his better instincts, he purred. His voice was young and boyish when he rubbed Antonio’s ears and said, wistfully as you please, “Can we keep him?”

“Don’t be ridiculous Feliciano,” another voice replied; this one was stronger, firmer. “It’s hard enough keeping you fed without dragging a house pet along after us. That aside,” rough fingers gripped his face and turned it upwards, startling him, “he has a collar, so he obviously belongs to someone.”

Antonio’s eyes snapped open; he took in the blue eyes, the harsh features, the...curious dog-like appendages. What was already obvious to his animal instincts, all of which were screaming ‘Predator, Predator!’ at him, finally caught up with his human senses. It was this intelligence that supplied him with a name; though it was one that he dreaded encountering.

Werewolf.

He recoiled, curling himself up into as small a ball as possible. What on earth were werewolves doing so close to civilization, let alone anywhere near a vampire’s territory?

The one across from him was more likely than not the leader, he thought. What with the way he carried himself, not to mention his strong, stocky build... he could not have been anything else. The one holding him prisoner however, was small and slight; he was either still a pup, Antonio gathered, or just very low on the hierarchy.

And wherever there were one or two wolves, there was usually a pack. He felt his fur bristle on end at the very idea; he had to get out of here somehow. But first, he had to take in the situation.

There had been a full moon not even a few days ago, so they were similarly nude despite how cold it was this time of the year. However, Antonio noted that the Alpha seemed to have a burlap sack with him; it was likely weighed down with clothes and provisions. That would be useful... he kept it in mind. They must have been desperate to run so far, to have risked a run-in with vampires. Which could only mean one thing... there were hunters in the area.

Antonio felt his spirit immediately soar, but was jarred from his thoughts once again as the younger werewolf turned him around, lifting him up under his front legs. His brown eyes were wide in excitement, but Antonio found he could only stare.

“Do you think Arthur will let me keep him in the house if I ask nicely enough?”

He seemed very familiar... but that was impossible. Neither Antonio nor his brother had ever made a habit of getting personally acquainted with werewolves. This one especially seemed to bring to mind images of their home back in Rome, of great stone structures, marble angels and stained glass rosettes. Holy men clad in red, hunters in black, with a young seminarian that stood out among them in white, as many members of his family had done so in the generations before him.

He never brought up the little brother that he had lost so many years ago; and yet...

“He already has a cat of his own to look after,” the Alpha wolf said stiffly, clearly trying to put his foot down. “Not to mention that boy... I’d rather not have any more cause to be in his debt. You should just put it back where you found it.”

“Veee...” the smaller of the pair drooped a little, “but I like Alfred! He’s so much nicer than Arthur, and not nearly as scary.” Antonio looked at him sharply, ears flicking up. Could it be that these werewolves were also...

“Let’s not give him any reason to be either,” the Alpha replied darkly. He was giving Antonio a searching look. “Though it is odd that a cat would be wandering around by itself out here when there isn’t another house for miles...”

“Maybe he’s lost!” his companion said and patted Antonio on the head again. “Poor thing... do you think he might have an address written on his collar, Alpha?” He released his grip a little in order to grasp the tiny crucifix that was attached to Antonio’s collar, and while the motion alone gave him goose bumps, he saw the opportunity he had been waiting for.

He bit the werewolf promptly on the nose.

His brother would likely scold him for such a rash action if he ever found out, but the effect was instantaneous. The smaller werewolf yelped and clutched at his nose, and Antonio was dropped to the floor in a heap.

“Veee!” he bawled, tears in his eyes. “He bit me! Alpha he bit meeeee! I’m sorry I touched your collar! I’m sorry! Alpha, I don’t want to turn into a caaaaat!”

The other werewolf sighed in a long suffering manner. “Feliciano,” he began, sounding a little uncertain himself, “Feliciano, it doesn’t work like that. This is why I told you not to pick up everything you see - get a hold of yourself!”

He came forward, dropping the sack of their belongings. A pair of socks was rolled up into a ball, and it tumbled out of the opening into the grass. For one heart-stopping moment Antonio wanted to bat it between his paws, toss it down the path and give chase, but he shook his head and got over himself before the urge could overcome him. Then, taking advantage of the timing, he skittered between the Alpha wolf’s legs and into the sack itself.

“Hey!” the bigger werewolf turned around with a thunderous expression, “Get out of there!”

Antonio had no intention of becoming a dog’s dinner, and so he did just that, trouser legs and shirtsleeves trailing behind him like a patchwork kite. He bolted for the trees.

“You little thief!” He could hear the heavy sound of footprints behind him, the rhythm far stronger and more powerful than an average human’s, and he could feel the earth shudder beneath his feet. “When I get my hands on you...!”

Antonio looked around wildly, taking in the environment. A hunter had to be able to memorize a battlefield in a glance for they were always at a disadvantage. They had been drilled to remember that for as long as he could recall, and even now, it wasn’t any less true. There was no conceivable way that he could outrun a werewolf, and one in a temper at that, so he did the only thing he could.

He dived down a shallow tunnel at the base of an old tree. Its roots were thick, crevices small... there would be no way that anything bigger than a fox could follow him after -

A clawed hand punched through the dirt above his head, scattering rocks and ripping up the vegetation. Antonio made a sound of surprise and backpedalled deeper into his hiding place. He could see one of the werewolf’s blue eyes glaring at him from the opening as the hand reached in after him. “Come on cat,” he growled. “I don’t have all day, so you had better give me back my clothes or I’ll swear I’ll...”

There was a sudden brown blur then, and the werewolf disappeared from sight with only the sound of a bodily thump echoing in his wake.

“Noooo! Alpha, don’t hurt him!” came the wail, echoing all the way down into Antonio’s hiding place. “I know he bit me, but he didn’t mean it! He’s probably cold and hungry! We get to sleep by a warm fire tonight and you can’t even let him have one of your shirts...?”

Antonio couldn’t hear much of the reply; it sounded curiously muffled, as though the larger werewolf had been pinned face down in the dirt. All he could hear was the strained response, “...but those were my best trousers...”

“Veee, is that all it is?” The younger sounded sympathetic. “They’re only clothes, Alpha. It’s not like you really need them because you look so much better without them - oww!”

“Fine.” The Alpha sounded flustered now; Antonio could hear him getting to his feet. “I ...I suppose I can always get a new set some...some other time. If we were ever near the town.”

“That’s the spirit!”

“And at least we know where he’s hiding, if we’re ever short on provisions and feel like cat for dinner.”

The wailing started up again. “How could you say that, Alphaaaaa?!”

“Enough, Feliciano. Someone’s bound to hear you if you keep that up...let’s just get out of here, alright?” The footsteps started to shuffle away, leaf matter crackling underfoot. “Forget this ever happened.”

“Veee, okay. You’re the boss, Alpha.” A shadow temporarily descended over Antonio again and he braced himself for another chase, but the werewolf only said, “Ciao, kitty! Maybe we’ll run into each other again sometime!”

And with that they were gone. Antonio strained his ears for them, but the forest had grown silent again...all the same, he waited a good half an hour under that tree, curled up under the pile of clothes, until he was more than certain that there would be nothing waiting for him when he got back out.

At this rate he wouldn’t reach the town before sunset. This would go a lot faster if only Gabriel hadn’t been...

But it was too late to dwell on those things, for at that very moment a sudden crack like a gunshot hit his ears sharply.

Antonio blinked the smoke out of his eyes.

...Suddenly his perfect hiding place seemed a lot more cramped.

Over the years it had almost become tradition for groups of hunters gathering in the same area to meet up and compare notes in the seediest inns or pubs in town. This was usually pointless during the day, as many supernatural creatures turned out to be nocturnal, but was otherwise very useful in two cases; when one did not want to be watched, or when one wanted to be able to see and hear with both eyes open.

It was after all, a very rare occurrence indeed that a cursed individual remained a member of high society; the closer you kept your ear to the ground, the better the results. This had been the way of the Order for as long as many of its members could remember.

Tardiness however, was not one such practice.

This pub was particularly dark and smoky, even though weak sunlight shone like water through its old windows, murky and miserable. Given the hour it was empty, apart from a handful of gnarled old men who remained there from dawn till dusk, and who, when grouped together collectively,were probably as old as the establishment itself.

Today however, there was a sight that was even odder. A young foreign couple, whom anyone else might have thought had walked in by mistake, were seated in a corner near the old, misty window. Their heads are bent together as they converse in low voices, but their presence alone is ‘off’ enough that even the bartender leaves them alone.

The woman was wearing dark, designer sunglasses; ridiculous, if you consider just how dim it was in the pub that day, or the fact that the light outside was already so overcast by impending rainclouds that they were hardly necessary in the first place. All the same though, she doesn’t take them off, and concentrates instead on looping a ringlet of her dark, wavy hair around the fingers of her gloved hand.

“He’s late,” she said, in a flat voice that left no room for argument, “Again. Why am I not surprised?”

“Give him time ma chérie,” the man told her, “Cities are always changing. You know how it is the moment the council puts one bloody traffic light or street lamp out of place.” He grinned, looking down his long nose at her as he pulled his hoodie a little further up around his ears to better conceal his shock of red hair. “Gabriel will show, or give us a sign that he won’t.”

“Da, or he’s halfway to London by now and we won’t see him for another week,” she replied, scoffing. She was tapping her fingers rhythmically on the countertop. Her partner laughed.

“Oh Andreea,” he sighed, and propped his elbow up on the table as he gave her a wolfish grin, “Ma reine, you aren’t still mad at him are you?” This quickly became a wince when she kicked him swiftly under the table.

“I am not the least bit interested in flirting with the likes of you, Alain Callaghan,” she said sternly, pointing a threatening finger in his face. “The moment this business is over, I’m catching the next flight back to Rome.”

“You’re breaking my heart Dre,” he mumbled, and cocked his abused leg up to examine the damage. “I can’t believe they let you walk around in those stilettos when -”

The door to the pub creaked open slowly. Brown eyes darted to the side. “Shh!” Andreea hissed suddenly, putting a finger to her lips. She settled back in her seat carefully and smoothed out her hair, adopting a lofty expression.

“You reallyare still mad, aren’t - oww! For fuck’s sake, woman!”

She ignored him, crossing her arms over her chest. “Well,” she said, as the footsteps drew nearer to their table, “It’s about time, you...” She paused. Alain looked up at her with furrowed eyebrows.

“...You’re not Gabriel,” she said at last, glaring.

The young man in front of their table made a drawn-out, apologetic noise, green eyes moving uncertainly to the floor as he rubbed his hands together. However he had to push his sleeves back in order to do so, for the clothes he was wearing seemed to be a good two sizes too large on his frame, and his trousers were in danger of either tripping him up, or dropping down to his ankles. There was a streak of dirt on his cheek and his curly hair was sticking up in all directions. He grinned sheepishly and tugged at the golden crucifix around his neck.

“Er...” he began, somewhat flustered, “Sorry I’m late, you wouldn’t believe what I’ve been through, but my brother couldn’t make it so he sent me in his -”

“Antonio, is that you...?” Alain’s eyebrows rose even higher as he looked up and down and took a cursory sniff of the stuffy pub air. He recoiled almost immediately. “Why do you smell like wet dog?”

“And where is Gabriel?” Andreea demanded.

“That’s not important right now!” Antonio exclaimed, frowned, and rubbed at his head. “Well, actually...I guess it is sort of important... he just had a bad run in with a teenage psychopath -”

Alain’s mouth fell open. His companion rose to her feet, hand slamming down on the tabletop. She was a good deal shorter than Antonio, but he found himself moving back a step regardless. “He was what...?” she said darkly, “And you didn’t call for backup?”

“We were sort of...very far away with no reception...” Antonio trailed off to a barely there whisper, “But he’s fine, I swear. He’s...recovering.”

“You left an injured man in the field by himself?”

“No!” Antonio slammed his own fists down on the table, turning a few drunken heads from the bar in the process. He glared back. “Look, someone had to deliver this message alright? It’s complicated. And the longer you keep me here the longer it’s going to take to get back to him.”

Andreea was silent for a long moment. Alain cleared his throat, drawing both of their attentions. “Listen,” he told them in a low, urgent tone, “None of us really has the time to be pointing fingers right now so let’s just get what we came for, and be on our way before we attract any more attention. Ma reine,” he laid a hand over Andreea’s, “You can butt heads with Gabriel all you like later, alright?” He cast another significant look at Antonio, “Remember the code.”

Antonio was chewing the inside of his cheek, hands clenched into fists over his too long clothes. Finally though, he hung his head and wrapped his fingers tight around his crucifix. “...I am the instrument of God,” he said lowly, and slid into the seat by Alain.

Andreea was quiet for even longer still, but at last she too sat down again and slapped Alain’s hand off her person with a sour expression. “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.”

Alain let out a breath and relaxed. “Amen to that,” he muttered, and clasped his hands together on the table in front of him. “Very well then…” he glanced between them as a somber air hung over their heads, “Let us begin with news from the Continent.”

When Gabriel awoke in a cold sweat it was already dark out. He glanced at the corner bedside table, where Antonio had placed a small digital clock the previous day; it was not yet even close to sunset, and there was rain beating against the old, rattling windows. He sighed. What thoroughly miserable weather.

He sat up slowly; pushing himself up higher inch by tiny inch, until at last he could rest, heaving with the exertion, against the headboard. Antonio must have arrived in Bristol by now, providing that there had been no major hiccups along the journey... he had been very careful to hide the note with his instructions in a little hollowed out compartment in his brother’s collar. Hopefully the idiot hadn’t lost it.

He ran a hand tiredly over his face, feeling the lines across his skin, and the way the sweat made his clothes stick to his battered body. Three days, he thought dully, and only four to go. The end couldn’t have come soon enough. He glanced down at his weathered hands, and clenched the sheets in his fist. They were clean again. The only blood left anywhere in the room was on his own person, leaving dried brownish stains on the bandages that had been carefully wrapped around his torso. He drew his knees up shakily and pressed his fist to his side. It ached.

How quickly he wished that he could just take up one of his guns and press the barrel to his own forehead, so that the torture of waiting might end so much faster... but that would only add another wound to his list, and he’d be left with a terrible migraine besides.

There were no mirrors in the room, but he didn’t need one to know that he looked (and most likely smelled) terrible. He’d been lying in his own feverish filth for three days straight.

“What a mess...” he muttered into his shirtsleeves, and let his forehead drop against his knees.

There was a tug on his hair. Gabriel looked up and turned his head. “Arthur...?” he called out into the darkness, reaching a hand back to touch his head. “Antonio, is that you?” There was nothing there. He frowned.

The tugging crept down the back of his shirt like tiny feet. Gabriel arched in surprise, and immediately regretted it when his spine grated in protest. He hunched over and groaned. The tug came at his hair again, down his arm and chest and across his legs and he raised his hand back with an effort to swipe at the creepy crawly feeling when lightning flashed, casting the room momentarily in a bright white light.

The small flock of vampire bats fell over themselves, blinded, and tumbled down from their various perches into his lap, chirruping unhappily. Gabriel stared at them with raised eyebrows.

As the flash of light faded, the bats began to pick themselves up. They shook themselves off and started clawing their way back to their perches on Gabriel and the headboard behind him, chittering excitedly to each other. Though it was hard to see, he could just make out their glistening black eyes and snub noses, and gingerly held out his cupped hands as one of the smaller bats lost its footing on his shoulder to another one of its flockmates. It flailed around for a bit over his palms, tiny wings beating vigorously before it righted itself. It opened its mouth at him, showing sharp little teeth, and squeaked.

Gabriel shook his head. “Olá,” he said to the little bat, somewhat mystified. “It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?” He stroked its soft, furry back with his index finger and slouched against the headboard. “I’m sorry if you came in here looking for a meal though. I need more blood than I have within my own body at the moment, and hardly enough to give away.”

The little vampire bat tilted its head, and Gabriel obliged by scratching it gently behind the ears. This preferential treatment did not go unnoticed for long however, and he soon had a handful of tiny furry bodies and flapping leathery wings tumbling across his fingers and the spaces in between. It still hurt to laugh, but he managed a dry chuckle despite himself.

“I missed you too,” he said, and cracked an eye open at the dark ceiling above his head, “but you already knew that, seeing how I’ve said it once before.”

A pair of green, glowing lights suddenly blinked into being in the rafters. “I told them to leave you alone until you had recovered,” Arthur replied defensively, his voice disembodied in the gloom, “but stay here long enough and I’m sure you’ll come to realize that no one really cares to listen to my advice anymore.”

“Did they ever?” Gabriel quipped, eyes darting around blindly to see if he could catch a glimpse, “Hard to expect that when you hardly listen to your own.”

The vampire snorted, but he did not move from his hiding place for his eyes remained fixed upon the hunter, the supernatural glow of his eyes unblinking in their spot. “Very funny,” he remarked. “It’s nice to see being dead hasn’t ruined your sense of humour in the slightest.”

“Well you learn to laugh at these things, I suppose,” the hunter mused, setting the bats back in his lap and reaching up so he could disentangle one of the more adventurous ones, who obviously thought it was a great idea to use his hair as a rope to climb atop his head. “But should you really be in here while the sun is still up?”

“I haven’t seen the sun for the entire day,” Arthur replied, deliberately sidestepping the question, “Have you?”

Gabriel grinned a little. “Oh it’s not that,” he admitted, “Only that I thought that it was my job to do the stalking, is all.”

“I am the perfect host,” the vampire said, sounding puffed up and indignant even though Gabriel could not see him. “I do not go around stalking -”

“You’re very kind,” Gabriel told him, “And that’s what I love about you,” he stroked one of the bats under its chin with his fingertip, “but I don’t need to be protected.”

“I suppose I’ll just leave the door unlocked, shall I?” Arthur demanded, and moved before Gabriel could properly turn his head to track his movements. “Let Alfred come in whenever he likes then. Who knows, he might even bring an axe with him next time. I wonder how long it would take you to grow your head back?”

This time it was Gabriel’s turn to snort, and he slid his legs back down under the covers, depriving the bats of a climbing perch, so they made for the bedposts instead. “He’s only human.”

“He will try to kill you for the sake of it.”

“...sounds like he would fit in with the Order perfectly then,” Gabriel said wryly, and the room went silent, save for the rain and the wind rattling the windows. Even the bats had gone perfectly still, and gazed up at him with round eyes. The green glow above his head had also disappeared. He sighed. “Arthur, I didn’t mean...”

A pair of hands closed roughly around his neck, fingers under his jaw forcing his head up, and before the breath could properly catch in his throat it was swallowed up by a cold mouth closing over his own. The bats started chittering again, and he leaned in as the kiss deepened, a cool tongue sweeping broad over his own, Arthur’s nose pressed against his chin.

Just as suddenly as it had been initiated though, it was over, and Gabriel made a soft sound as the vampire pulled away again and looked him critically in the eye. Gabriel searched his face, the glowing green eyes that were so much closer now, and could only conclude that Arthur was hanging upside down on the wall above his head.

“Don’t,” Arthur told him in a surprisingly stern voice. He blinked, and his eye colour flickered. “And I’m not saying this purely for my sake. Please,” he added, and kissed him again, long and firm, “don’t turn him into one of your kind. If you did,” he sounded so serious that Gabriel was taken aback, “no one will be safe.”

He disappeared from view again before Gabriel could blink, but this time he felt the vampire’s weight settling down against his side, the bed dipping as he mimicked the hunter’s position and propped himself up against the headboard. He worked his jaw slowly. “...I didn’t know you cared so much,” he ventured.

“I care about you,” Arthur muttered, sounding disgruntled as though just realizing how forward he had been under the circumstances. Now that he was there some of the bats crawled over Gabriel towards him, and he held out his hands to draw them close to him. They made happy noises amongst themselves and settled across his shoulders and arms, as well as the gap between him and Gabriel. “...I only hope you don’t think that too insignificant to bother about.”

“I think the whole world of you,” Gabriel replied, and turned Arthur’s face back towards him with his fingertips, “but worrying doesn’t suit you. We’ll figure it out, you’ll see.” He grinned. “There’s no need for both of us to put on years over this predicament.”

Lightning flashed again, illuminating his face in its wake. Already his dark hair was streaked with grey, his face with lines. The hand that reached up to squeeze Arthur’s own was rough and dark-skinned, leathery from having spent long hours in the sun. But the eyes that looked into his still sparkled. It was one thing for traumatic experiences to add years to one’s life, but this ... having to watch Gabriel’s life force degenerate as it worked to repair itself, it was almost too much to bear.

He pressed his lips to Gabriel’s knuckles and squeezed his hand. “You look as young and handsome and stubborn as you did on the day I met you,” he said quietly.

Gabriel wrinkled his nose. “Really...?” He rested his cheek on top of Arthur’s head, “Because I feel old enough to be your father.”

The vampire gave him a hard look. “Let’s not make this relationship any more ridiculously scandalous than it already is, alright?”

Gabriel smiled. “Of course,” he said fondly, and turned his attention back towards the storm. “But I can’t promise you anything.”

As the meeting drew to a close, Antonio wondered if he should brave the trip back to Arthur’s house in this dark flood. The streetlamps would only do him any good until he reached the edge of town, and he had no urge to get completely soaked in the process. If only he had been human when he had left, he could have stolen the car in the driveway; no one would have missed it.

He glanced back down on the worn map they had placed on the table between them. It was only roughly the size of a placemat, and Alain had used everything from toothpicks to tiny sugar packets to mark out potential targets, and those that had been recently taken out. Now he placed his cigarette lighter over the borderline that separated Scotland from England.

“We’ve got a team in the north who has word that there have been werewolf sightings in the area recently,” he told them in a hushed voice, “not surprising, seeing how there was a full moon only a few days ago. Tell mon ange Gabriel to keep an eye out would you, Toni?” He smirked at Antonio from under his hood. “It’d be the worst luck if he got slapped around by a pack of wolves so soon after running into that mad axe murderer of yours.”

Antonio’s cheeks coloured immediately. He scowled. “Don’t make fun of my brother. He wouldn’t have asked me to come here at all if he didn’t think this was important.”

Alain shrugged and pretended to check his watch. “Well it’s not like we have anywhere to go until the witching hour,” he said amusedly. “Gabriel’s stories are usually nothing to sneeze at, so I’m all ears. Andreea?”

The female hunter looked up from examining her nails with narrowed eyes. Alain sat back and gestured to her. “Unless you had something more to add about Dracula?” he wanted to know.

“The vampires will have their Solstice gathering,” she replied darkly, “the same as every year. And when they do, I guarantee that we’ll be there, and we’ll be ready for him. We might not be able to get him this year...”

“Or any year,” Alain muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

She glared daggers at him. “... but if we can get our hands on even just one of his officials, of the vampires closest to him, then you can count me satisfied.”

“This has something to do with vampires,” Antonio spoke up, hoping to finally get her full attention. It seemed to work, because Andreea didn’t say anything more, but instead raised her eyebrows expectantly at him. Alain did the same.

“Really now,” he said, and leaned over the map they had set up, “Don’t tell me Gabriel’s attacker is a bloodsucking serial killer?”

“Well... yes and no,” Antonio replied, and crossed his arms over his chest thoughtfully. He glanced up at them warily. “I mean he seems to have made the old, abandoned Kirkland manor his base of operations, but the thing is though... he’s completely human.”

A dreaded silence hung heavily over the table. If there was anything that all hunters could agree on, no matter their religion or creed, it was that humans that interfered with The Cause were the worst of the worst.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve had a memo on one of those,” Andreea steepled her fingers together in front of her face; her eyes were hard and calculating. “How is his mental state?”

Antonio gave her an incredulous look. “Terrible,” he said, as though she were mad herself for asking such a thing. “He’s completely crazy; absolutely no moral compass to speak of. He was...” he swallowed hard. “He was going to kill my brother, whether he was a hunter or not.”

Alain suddenly went still. “He knew Gabriel was a hunter?” he demanded. Antonio shrugged a little helplessly.

“That’s the thing!” he said, rubbing his temples, “I don’t know how he knew he just...he just did. The whole time, he kept going on and on about how he was dressed like Van Helsing, but Senhor Stoker never dressed like that during the entire time we knew him, so I can’t -”

“Hmm,” Alain rubbed his chin thoughtfully, looking him over, “Well there’s no denying that Old Man Bram was a bit of a cloak-and-dagger kind of guy when it came to taking down vampires... but what about his weapon?”

“A chainsaw,” Antonio said bitterly. Andreea looked up sharply, lips pursed together.

“...You’re joking,” she said flatly, as Alain burst into peals of laughter.

“Oh mercy,” he wheezed, shaking his head. “A chainsaw...? Are you telling me the kid’s some kind of movie buff on top of everything else? Gabriel sure knows how to find the keepers.”

Andreea covered her eyes with her hand, as though she could no longer bear hearing anymore of this nonsense. “So we’ve got a Class-A psychopath on our hands,” she said monotonously. “That’s brilliant. And what does Gabriel want us to do about it, pray tell? That kind of person is not exactly in our repertoire.”

“We’re keeping tabs on him for now,” Antonio replied, laying the cards down on the table, “He’s crazy, but my brother thinks he can be influenced, if not persuaded...given the right motive.”

“And that motive would be...?” she prompted. Antonio made a face.

“Killing things,” he said darkly, turning his eyes downwards, “...just imagine what he could do given a papal dispensation.”

Alain shook his head, almost affectionately. “Trust Gabriel to jump the gun,” he murmured. “I mean, I expected him to think ahead, but are you seriously suggesting...”

“Si,” Antonio was firm on this point, “If we act fast, we might be able to get a ‘berserker’ status grant.”

“I can count the number of times they’ve let a berserker out onto the field on one hand,” Andreea pointed out, “and in every one of those instances the casualties were terrifying. There’s as much chance they’ll turn against us as they will against the monsters they’re supposed to fight.”

“Well when you pit a monster against a monster what do you expect?” Alain asked her. “They keep them locked up when they’re not in use, don’t they?”

“They are confined to mental wards in this modern age,” Andreea retorted with a roll of her eyes, “for both our safety and their own. And if we’re lucky the powers that be will leave them there. I’ve found handling wild dogs to be far safer.”

“But at least he won’t be killing innocent civilians and drawing attention to himself,” Antonio said.

Andreea sighed. “Oh very well,” she said haughtily. “I suppose if it keeps him off the street. Pass that on to Gabriel if you will then,” she crossed her long, shapely legs, “Tell him that we’ve considered his offer and that we’ll send word throughout the Order. It’s up to him to determine the time and place though.”

Antonio looked thrilled. “Thank you so much. I’ll let him know,” he said happily. Alain chuckled.

“It’s no problem,” he said, “We’re a team, aren’t we? Teams stick together. Besides” he went on, and slung an arm around Antonio’s shoulders, “we can’t let him steal all the glory either now can we?”

He ruffled Antonio’s hair and pulled him close enough to plant a sloppy kiss on his cheek, with a smirk on his face that was positively cheeky. “Don’t forget to give that to him too and tell him I said hi, okay?”

“Don’t be a pig,” Andreea told him with a scoff, as Antonio went bright red and wide-eyed. “You know very well what Gabriel thinks of your little schemes.”

Alain looked thoughtful. “Good point,” he mused, “I suppose we’ll just tell him that the kiss was from you then.”

She looked like she was an inch from climbing over the table and strangling him, when Antonio suddenly exclaimed, “Oh wait, I almost forgot!” and rummaged hastily in his pockets to produce a small scrap of paper. “Gabi wouldn’t have been pleased if I didn’t give you this...”

He pressed the piece of paper into Alain’s slack hand. “This is important, so don’t lose it okay?”

I had to fight off werewolves to keep it safe, he thinks, but does not dare mention it aloud.

Alain released his hold on him in order to take the piece of paper between both hands in order to unfold it. He raised his eyebrows. “What on earth is this supposed to be?”

“Names,” Antonio replied easily, “for you to take down to Ladbrookes and place bets on. There’s a big race on tomorrow, so he just said to take the money out of his account.”

The table descended into silence once again.

“I knew he had a gambling habit,” Andreea said after a while, nearly unheard over Alain’s renewed laughter, and her expression alone spoke volumes, “but this is just ridiculous, even for him.”

-
-
-

[ Part 2] - [Part 4]

A/N:

LONG CHAPTER IS LOOOONG, but there was a lot I wanted to fit in here, so I just kept going orz;;;

I can't really say much here, except you ought to read hellzabeth's "Monster Series" first, for this to make any sense.

England = vampire
France = ghost-in-possessed-body
America = teenage serial killer
Portugal = Hunter of supernatural creatures. Also VAN HELSING. As in the movie. His name was Gabriel too. Yay pop culture refs haha, oh America orz. Though Port's name is a longer mouthful admittedly. José Henrique Fernandes de Alcântara... became Gabriel dos Anjos after becoming a hunter. It's a long story, one I hope to explore no less.
Spain = THE CAT. Surprise! \o/ I mean... poor, cursed kitty orz. He has brief moments of humanity.
Bess = Arthur's pet cat. No surprises here; she actually IS a cat, but she seems to be fond of Antonio~

Introduced in this chapter:

Germany = werewolf; the Alpha male of his pack
Italy = werewolf; follows the Alpha everywhere... also curiously seems to have relations in the Vatican, according to Spain
Alain = idek, but he's something of a France/Ireland hybrid. He's also Gabriel's ex. They have matching facial scars after a run-in with the previous Alpha of Ludwig's pack.
Andreea = Romania. Female hunters are harder to come by, but the ones that DO exist are tough as nails. Andreea especially seems to have a rivalry of sorts going on with Gabriel. At least... that's what everyone seems to think. There's a lot of tsun and B||| there.
Arthur's bats = There are hundreds of them and he has named them all. They are very fond of guests, and tend to reflect the feelings of their master.
Bram Stoker = a famous vampire hunter in the Order, who much preferred going by his alias "Van Helsing"