Chapter Text
The living space was full of light.
Trevor had originally led his mother to a room out of the ordinary bustle of the castle. But in the quiet and darkness, the constriction he felt grew heavier with each step, and his direction changed until they’d reached a room he’d never really hung around in. But he’d remembered its floor-to-ceiling windows, its openness.
He looked at the view of fields now, and could almost feel the long grass at his back, the weight of Adrian beneath him, the sunlight in his hair.
How quickly it’d all changed.
After a moment, he turned his attention to his mother. They sat across from each other, and Trevor wished he had a bottle of ale or a plate of bread to fiddle with, but for now, he simply clasped his fingers, placing them over his lap.
They’d walked in silence. Trevor had felt her gaze on his back, and he’d never been more shamed.
His mouth was dry as he stared at her, tracing the similarities of their appearance.
“Trevor—“
“I'm sorry,” he croaked. “I didn’t know you were there. I didn’t—“ mean it like that, he wanted to say. But that's not the truth, and after everything they’d been through, didn’t his mother deserve at least that?
He rubbed a hand over his face, wishing it had not come to this. “I’m sorry,” he uselessly repeated.
But his mother's voice was soft when she spoke. “Don’t be.” And he peeked out between his fingers to see not a hint of anger on her face, only sadness.
In a way, that was worse. Trevor had always resorted to spite and anger as a reflex. a shield. He understood it. Dealt with it. When he fell into melancholy here at the castle, it was always Adrian pulling him out. He didn’t know that part of him yet.
But she continued before he could, or needed, to examine it.
“You spoke only the truth.” He sucked in a breath at her words. “I was not… a good mother.”
“No! You- you were sick and then—“
“Trevor,” his mother was firm. “I won’t let us hide from this any longer. Please. Speak the truth. I know I’ve… avoided this topic, but I need you to say it now.”
And all of a sudden, it’s not her in front of him, but a strange, distant woman who shut the door on his face and left him to cry. It’s not her he’s facing but himself, tracing his fingers over his face and wondering that, when this woman smiled, if she smiled, would she have a grin like his?
He feels his father's large hands engulf his as he leads him away to train, to eat, to forget, but when he looks up at him, all Trevor is reminded of is who he is not.
He felt tears prick at his eyes and he rubbed his fist against them, feeling just like the child he used to be.
“You,” his voice wobbled, “wouldn’t even look at me.”
She flinched, hands clenched into the fabric of her dress.
“Everyone always told me I resembled you. Is that why you never looked at me?”
Her eyes closed briefly, “That was part of it.”
He nodded stiffly. At least he had confirmation. At least he knew why.
“...I used to think it was unfair. Why did Ann get your attention? Why did Zach get your doting? What was so wrong with me that you didn’t do the same?”
“There was nothing wrong with you.” Her face was tortured as she squeezed the fabric of her dress. “It was me. Only me.”
Something twisted inside him. “Mother… What happened? Father only ever said you were sick, but how- how did it begin?”
And he knows his mother said they’d finally speak about it but for a moment, he doesn’t think she’ll answer. Because this is something that’s eluded him for years, something he’s been scared to try and find out regardless.
He almost startled when she did speak.
“When I was with child with you… Everything was normal at first. It really was.” She looked at him as if begging him to believe her, and Trevor crossed over to sit beside her, holding her hands in his. She exhaled and reversed their hands, squeezing them tightly.
“But then months passed, and I began to feel so tired. At first, we thought the pregnancy was simply taking more toll than before, so I was limited to bed rest.” She stared out the window. The sun had been covered with clouds, and the grass was dull.
“It didn’t help. Soon, I wasn’t just tired, I was blank.”
“Mother…”
“I felt you. Your kicks and endless energy against my ribs. Your father used to laugh… he said you would be strong, a Belmont. That’s what we all were. Belmonts. But I… had never felt less like one during that time.”
He said nothing, trying to remember everything he could, everything anyone had ever said about his mother. But no one had ever brought up her pregnancy with him.
Now he knew why.
He swallows, head bent. It’s a shameful thing, but he’s reminded of every time he’d not felt like a Belmont himself, running from in-laws and hiding under stars. That link between them pulses, and he hates it.
Why can’t it be anything else?
“And after the birth I… I ached. I felt so empty yet full of pain. How could I attend to you? I, who was so full of apathy. How could I taint you with my touch? This… was no monster I could kill. It destroyed me from the inside. I could not even look at you. You looked so much like me, and it made me disgusted.” He froze, eyes wide and speechless. He feels entirely like the child he used to be.
It’s the entirety of his childhood stripped and laid bare, exposed to the ugly truths.
“How could you look like me? Something so small, so pure. It must have been a mistake, a curse. How could I have birthed you?”
He’d asked for the truth. He’d wanted to hear it for years. But he almost wanted her to take it back now, to pretend it had nothing to do with him. His mouth was heavy, dry, and he could heave again.
Something curled up in him. It’s not his fault, it’s not, but it is.
Unbidden, his hand lay flat against his stomach. He tries to imagine it, something growing there, something that feels foreign and leeching.
It’s enough to keep him in his thoughts forever, but the hitch of tears rips him from it, and he feels silly.
It was less about him, he thought, watching the tears slip from his mother’s eyes, and entirely about her.
It was as clear as the glass around them, the image of her, younger and gaunt, holding him to her chest with detachment. His same features inspecting him before the sickness spoke and pushed him away.
She inspected him now, fingers tight around his. Her swallow was loud. “I had no idea what was wrong with me—“
“Nothing was wrong with you.” He spoke fiercely, the words true, and she startled, eyes wide. “Mother, that wasn’t you. I don’t know what happens when a woman is with child but you,” he shook his head. “Mother, you were obviously sick.”
But she suddenly wrenched her hands from him. “I know!” Trevor watched with wide eyes as she abruptly stood and began to pace. “They all said it. Sick. I hate the word. But I left you.” She whirled to face him, chest heaving, but it was his own outburst on the tower he saw instead.
“Don’t you hate me?” The words were a blow to his chest. “Aren’t you glad to be here with Doctor Tepes to show you what it was supposed to be like?”
Trevor froze. He’d said that second part. He couldn’t take it back. And it was true, partially.
Trevor’s throat was rough as he swallowed.
“I never hated you,” he said softly. “I wanted you to speak to me. Father always kept me busy. Henry distracted me. But it wasn’t them I wanted to put me to bed. It wasn’t them I wanted to embrace.” He struggled to put it into words. “I can’t hate you, mother. I never did. I just wanted you to be there.”
She said nothing, staring at him as if seeing him for the first time. Her temple thudded against the glass as she leaned against it, eyes lowered against the glare of the sun.
“You’re kind.” She whispered. “Like him.” Her smile was sad. “There’s little of me in you, isn’t there?”
“We look alike,” he whispered.
“You know that’s not what I mean.” Slowly, she pushed away from the glass and stood before him. Trevor looked up at her, watching her eyes scan his face. “But I’m glad. That you didn’t get my rot.”
“Stop it.” He stood so abruptly that she stepped back. “Stop talking about yourself like that.” When her expression scrunched, Trevor spoke over her. “If not for yourself, then for me. You say I’m like father, but I’m not as strong.” He didn’t realise he’d begun to shake. “I can’t do this, mother. You,” his voice cracked under the pressure of his sob, “have no idea what it’s been like for me. Not your sickness, but everything else. My entire life. And you know it,” his voice was getting louder, his mother's eyes wider.
“You know I’m not like the rest of them.”
“Trevor—“
“All the armour in the Hold can’t contain my cracks.” He huffed. “Maybe it’s for the best I was the fucking sacrifice to come here. Because he helped me. He pried me open when I shut, and mended my chinks when I broke under pressure.”
“Trevor—“
“But you can’t do it again.” He swore. “I cannot.”
The pain of her expression was enough to bring him to his knees, but Trevor would not, could not, buckle. Everything was coming to a head, just as he’d thought it when he’d held Ann in his rooms.
The room was warming, the emotion making him sweat. It mixed with the wetness on his cheeks, and Trevor thought this was the only thing that he would feel forever if she didn’t speak.
But she did.
“I won’t,” she wiped her wet cheeks, and Trevor had the delayed thought that he should probably do the same, but his fingers did not move. “I won’t,” she repeated forcefully when their eyes met.
He exhaled, all the energy leaving, deflating him like a popped pus as he sank back onto the chaise. When he felt it shift under her weight beside him, he spoke.
“Tell me more.”
“It’s more of the same. I simply felt empty. Like I was watching my life go by in another’s body. There was no cure that I drank, no spell that was performed. I simply began to take more and more steps out of the room, and one day, I felt like I could breathe.” Her lips quirked. “You should’ve seen your father then. He’d leave trails of my favourite treats, trying to lure me further and further each day like a cat.”
Trevor blinked, the realisation clicking. “I tripped over one of those plates once! I thought it was Henry who left it there.”
She grinned. Trevor stared at her, taking in the expression in. Father… He really transformed her, didn’t he?
He loathed to ask the question now, but he needed to know it all.
“How did he react during it? Father,” he clarified.
“Your father did his best to understand.” She smiled sadly. “But there are some things only a woman will truly know. But he took care of you. Every day he’d tell me about you, what you learnt or did, even if I wasn’t listening. He loved you.” His mother clutched at her face, expression tight with grief, eyes red and wet. “He loved us so much.”
“Yeah,” he exhaled, briefly closing his eyes and seeing his face behind them. “He did. I miss him.”
“As do I. Every hour.”
He swallowed, voice cracking. “I’m sorry. That I couldn’t save him.”
“Trevor.” She sounded horrified.
“I know,” he spoke over her. “It wasn’t my fault. I did all I could. I shouldn’t blame myself.” His knuckles were white and the words poured from his mouth unbidden, secrets he’d kept to his chest for months.
“But he still died. You still had to grieve him. After everything you went through, you still had to. And that’s my fault again.”
He met her wide eyes. The tears blurred his vision, distorting the view of himself on her face. “Why am I the only thing that causes your pain?”
A sob ripped out of her, and Trevor couldn’t hear her denials over the sound of his breathing. His father's screams. His own.
When the broken, burning beam fell on him, Trevor screamed. His father’s screams had increased then.
He had died thinking Trevor had.
The stars weren’t out, Orion wasn’t watching over him. His father was not here.
A cool touch ripped him from everything, and he was being turned and twisted. He could not care. Could not kick. He was everything a Belmont was not.
His head hit a soft, padded surface, and when it shifted under him, Trevor opened his eyes. His mother had laid him across her lap.
He began to shake, mouth full. She’d never held him like this as a child.
“Mother—“
“Breathe,” she said softly. “Breathe.”
Fingers ran through his hair, and he suddenly remembered the same action before his wedding ceremony.
“Focus on my voice. Do not think.” She reached over and held his limp hand. It must have been her left because their rings clinked.
“Listen only to me. The rest of this,” her voice wretched, “discord will be here for as long as we live. This grief will shelter within us if we do not let it go.”
Adrian had said the same thing before. They’d lain side by side after, and Trevor had breathed him in, that animal scent and lemongrass. He’d woken up breathing the warm sunlight and a tuft of fur.
“Your father wouldn’t like you speaking like this. He wouldn’t want you to be agonising over something that cannot be changed.” Her tone grew slightly angry. “And you are not to blame for this, do you understand?”
He said nothing.
“Your father was kinder than our station allowed.” She smoothed his hair back. “He’d want you to be happy. With yourself.” A pause. “And with your husband.”
Trevor’s breath stuttered.
“No,” he said, voice muffled as he pressed his face into her lap. “He’d be ashamed. Disgusted.”
“You underestimate his love.” Her tone was thoughtful. “Do not tell your siblings, but I always thought he doted on you the most.”
He snorted.
“If anything, I think he’d be more angry that your marriage took you away from him than anything else.”
His lips twitched, and Trevor shifted his face for air. He stared at the sitting room. Remembered where they were.
But he didn’t get up.
“I think we can argue on this all day.” He sighed. “He hated vampires. He wouldn’t like Adrian.”
“Don’t we all hate vampires? But I do not hate Adrian.”
He stilled under her fingers. “You don't?"
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I can see that he loves you.” Trevor’s chest squeezed. “And I would never take that away from you.”
And that led into a new path of discussion, of depth, that Trevor was not able to reveal.
When he stayed silent, his mother simply continued to run her fingers through his hair. He enjoyed the feeling, the silence. He thought of his father.
He doted on you the most…
And when his mother finally spoke again, the words sank into him as easily and simply as it was to breathe. He finally believes her, completely, as he never did before.
“I don’t know why I was sick for so long. After I recovered, I was horrified. I left you. But,” starting blue eyes met his own. “I have never been so proud to be anything but your mother. I have never been more proud that you are my son. My boy.”
There’s more Trevor could have asked, demanded, begged for, more information or tears to coax to truly understand what happened.
But he reached for her hand, and sunlight spilt past the window panes. The sound of their whispered words flattened and Trevor wondered if he could keep it like this forever.
— —
It’s later, when he’s rested in her lap for hours, and she’s recounted different memories, big and small, bright and dark, that the topic shifts.
It’s when she spoke about her marriage to father, the ceremony where she accidentally almost unleashed a ghoul, when Trevor snorted and made a remark about his own.
The topic shifts, and this time, Adrian is at the forefront. It’s not like it was before. His mother isn't trying to coax him from despair, and there’s no need to tread lightly.
Their moment of intimacy in front of their families comes on the turnaround, and now, Trevor readied himself.
“I can hear you thinking.” He said, heaving himself up with a sigh. He settled beside her, waiting.
There’s no judgment on her expression, only deep thought.
She paused, long fingers placed over his. “Understand, I do not bring this up to make you feel ill, but if you choose to be with him, it will come up. And I believe it’s better if it comes from me than Henry or another.”
He shifted. “What is it?”
A frown marred her features, hesitant. “Have you considered that you give up your chance of a family with him?”
He stilled. “Family?”
“Children.” The word was so direct but it seemed as though cotton had been stuffed in his ears.
The word was heavy on his tongue as he repeated it. Tested it. “Why…” he licked his lips, “would this be relevant?”
“You know why.”
He leaned away from her, eyes narrowed. He didn’t want to feel cross, not with her, not with what they’d just discussed, but the word sent his heart into a frenzy. “No. Explain.”
She sighed. “Trevor, this… marriage was never meant to be permanent. Our family always expected you’d be back and—“
“And marry a woman.” He said flatly.
She looked pained. Her hands sought his and though Trevor didn’t move them away, he didn't move them closer either.
He inhaled sharply. “What does this matter? Loving a man.” The words caught in his throat. “Since when do we give a shit about anything but monsters? Even when we followed the Church, we never cared—“
She cupped his face. “It doesn’t to me. Truly.” And she looked so besmirching, and Trevor couldn’t avoid her stare. “And you’re right, our family has never concerned itself with the Church’s view on sodomy but that doesn’t mean the same for everyone in our clan.” Her words were level. “Bloodline’s matter to them. Continuing it is a priority they will judge you for. Especially with all the members we’ve recently lost. Strengthening our numbers is… considered vital.”
His voice was dull. “No one’s ever told me this.”
“You’re young, and when the alliance happened, no one wanted to burden you more. Besides, the pressure is more on Henry than you, but you are his brother. You are married to a Damphir. Eyes will always be on you.”
But the words didn’t register completely. “Henry? Because he’s the clan head?”
She nodded.
“Is that why,” he swallowed. “Is that why you kept having children after me? After everything?”
Her expression crumbled and Trevor shook his head.
“But why— How could father put you through that?”
He was going to vomit.
“No.” His mother's voice was fierce. “No, Trevor, look at me.”
She wiped the wetness from his cheeks.
“Your father never forced me into anything. Never. I knew my expectations. I heard the whispers. But I also… I wanted more children.” She seemed guilty at the notion considering their discussion but Trevor didn’t press. “At first, I considered it a do-over. Something I could fix when I lost my time with you. And then I held Ann in my arms, and I realised I didn’t care about that. I wanted us whole.”
Her smile wobbled.
“And I’m sorry I never told you that. That I never explained it to you.”
“You have now.” He smiled, ignoring the tightness of his chest. A do-over… He shook himself out of the thought. “That’s what matters.”
The dawning hope on her face when Trevor reached for her hands made it so.
His ring flashed under the light. Trevor considered it. He could almost feel Adrian’s cool fingers placing it on him.
How long had it been since then?
He smiled at his ring. “I can’t blame you, I know you want the best for me. But children… It’s secondary compared to him. I seem selfish, I know, but it’s true.”
He looked up at her, honest. “He’s different, mother. More than we could’ve thought. And I…I rely on him,” he admitted.
“For what?”
Trevor huffed. “I don’t know.” He considered the wall. “He has this way of looking at me. It makes me feel like I’m the only man alive.”
His mother said nothing, and he couldn’t blame her. It was completely out of the blue.
“But I think… I need that.” He admitted after a moment. Everything Adrian made him feel whirled in his chest, spreading along his body and filling him with heat.
“After my whole life, I… need someone who thinks of me first.”
“Oh, Trevor.”
His words were final. “I want Adrian. I could not trade him for anything.”
His mother's eyes were wide. “I see that.”
He huffed. “And I don’t believe in the same bloodline muck as the rest of our family. We could adopt, if that was a desire. I wouldn’t see them as anything less than my own blood.”
“As it should be.” Her eyes glistened. “I wish your father could see you now. I wish…”
“I know.” He stared at his ring, passed down and in one piece after centuries. He suddenly felt Ann’s smaller form pressed against him. “We have to be brave for him. For Zach.”
His mother sucked in a breath. “Yes, for Zach.”
She looked away from him, at the darkening fields and clouding sky. He couldn’t see her expression when she spoke, voice promising.
“I won’t lose any of you ever again.”
— — —
The room was dark and dusty. Everything smelled like blood.
Zach huddled into himself, trying to ignore the sharp pain from his wrists and the hard collar around his neck. He was so cold. He wanted to light a fire, but he had no magic.
He felt… empty.
Sypha had told him to focus on the energy inside him, to use it as power. But that was gone. Everything was.
His eyes burned, and Zach knew he was going to cry again. He felt so angry at himself. He was a Belmont, and Belmonts were strong. They did not cry.
But I am, he thought sadly, and the taste of salt touched his lips.
His head hurt from where they hit him. He was not sure if the ringing was from his injury or if his mind had imagined it. It was very quiet here.
He didn’t like it. Home was never quiet. He wanted his mother. He wanted his father…
Zach sobbed, curling as tightly as he could.
I am a Belmont, he told himself again. I am a Belmont. I am a Belmont. I am a Belmont.
They were coming for him, he knew it. His family would.
In the darkness, Zach could see their faces. Trevor was the brightest, smiling widely, and Zach reached for him, crying when his hand touched nothing.
Trevor was coming too, he knew it. He would always save him.
He had not seen him in so long… Zach wished they had let him visit. He wondered how he was living with the vampires.
I must be brave like Trevor, he thought, and wiped his tears away.