Herbert look appalled, pressing a hand to his chest and tutting and shaking his head. "Oh no, that won't do. That won't do at all! No, you'll only have the best, in our home. Even if you have to tailor it a bit, you can have anything at all that you like from my wardrobe."
He strides forward and takes Alfred's hands in his, kissing his fingers fervently. "I adore you, Alfred. I never want you to think of yourself as less than. And I'll do whatever I can to make you feel wanted and appreciated."
"I am, I promise you I am," he nods, giving Alfred's hands a squeeze. He can feel the urge to sleep coming on as well, but he wants to spend as much time as he can with Alfred before they need to retire to the crypt.
"I will try to make it not so scary for you. There are parts that will be frightening, but I'll be by your side the whole time."
The difference from when he had first arrived such a short time ago is so stark - he's not shaking anymore, standing in front of the other vampire and just...smiling. It helps, knowing he won't be alone.
Now that the heat of the moment is more fully subsiding, though, he definitely feels...different. His smile flickers a little, just a little, before he coaxes it back, pushing forward a little to lean against Herbert.
"...Can we...go lie down, like you said? I'm feeling...I'm feeling sort of tired, now that I'm not so cold."
He has no idea what's starting to happen, or he would no doubt begin to panic anew - but Herbert will probably be able to hear his pulse, quickened by lust in the bath, now starting to beat slower, slower, by degrees.
Oh dear -- yes, they need to get Alfred into the crypt. Soon. He gives Alfred one of his dazzling smiles and rubs his hands over the boy's arms.
"Let's get you into some pyjamas." He hurries to his closet and swiftly pulls on his own night clothes, then gets some for Alfred as well. He pulls Alfred out of his robe and helps him into the pyjama top and bottoms, fussing with his still-damp hair a little.
"We ought to start moving downstairs. Now -- " He sighs and presses a kiss to Alfred's forehead. "This part might be a little -- well it's all new, isn't it? But I promise it's perfectly normal and I'll be right here with you the entire time."
There is a faintly dazed expression on the boy as he stands there, simply allowing Herbert to tend to him. He does not flinch as he is stripped and redressed, does little more than faintly purr when his hair is fussed with - something is happening, that much is becoming clear but he doesn't know what. Maybe it's just sunrise approaching.
It isn't until Herbert kisses his forehead, sighing, that a needle of fear pierces the fog.
"Might be a little what?" His voice is thin, he finds, when he tries to speak. His hand flutters to his throat as he tries to suck in a breath, finding that it sticks and rattles in his lungs.
"I know, I know my darling. I'm so sorry." He strokes Alfred's cheeks, his shoulders, trying to comfort him somehow. "It's always so hard, this first night. Your body is dying, my love. To complete the transformation. And it's going to feel frightening, maybe even a little painful. But I'm not going to leave your side, I swear it.
Come, let's make our way down to the crypt, so we can get you comfortable."
The word falls hard against his ears, and the haze yields now to full terror.
Dying.
The panic doesn't do much to make the labor of breathing easier - it feels like there is a hand inside his ribcage, slowly squeezing tighter each time he exhales.
A frail whimper is all he can manage, a high, piteous cry as he responds with a terrified nod, reaching out to clutch white-knuckled at Herbert's hand. His eyes are wide and full of tears.
"I know." Herbert feels awful for Alfred. The dear boy deserves better than this. So he scoops him up into his arms, cradling him against his chest. "I've got you, Alfred. I'm not going to let you go. I'll hold you the whole time, I swear it."
It's good that Herbert picks him up - the tightness is slowly turning to a burning, clenching pain, and he might have collapsed otherwise. Every inhalation is a feeble wheeze now, his lips slowly going blue with asphyxiation.
"Her...bert...."
He would close his eyes, but a part of him is scared they will never open again if he does...so instead he stares up at the other vampire, trying to ground himself somehow.
"I'm here, mon chéri." He leans down to kiss Alfred's forehead as he carries him downstairs, headed down towards the crypt.
Koukol is there, fluffing pillows and putting in the extra blankets that Herbert requested. Sarah and his father are already in their crypt, and so Hebert carefully lays Alfred down in the crypt, tucking his blankets around him to try and keep him warm. Then he climbs in after and pulls Alfred close as Koukol slides the top of the crypt over them, shutting them in.
"I know it's dark, and you hurt, and it's frightening. But I'm here, and I'm going to hold you and talk to you as long as I can stay awake. And then, when you awaken this evening, I'll be here still."
Alfred keeps his eyes on Herbert as he is carried down through the darkness - everything else is too far away, too dizzying, and his head is swimming all the same.
He's like a ragdoll as he is tucked in, all attempts at breathing crackling and shallow, his heart beating laboriously slow and heavy against his ribcage. The tight, dark confinement of the stone crypt frightens him, but not as much as the feeling of his organs shutting down inside of him.
It hurts. It hurts so much, and he buries himself against Herbert's chest, unable to even sob.
"Th-tha-a-nk y-you," he manages, but it sounds awful, a death rattle.
Then, in the pure darkness, Herbert would hear, very very quietly, but more clearly over the gasping:
He blinks a few times, unsure if he heard that out loud or not. But it doesn't matter right now. Right now, he is needed, and he will do what he can to calm Alfred. He rubs his hand over Alfred's back and hums an old lullaby his mother used to sing to him.
He can't help with the pain, can't help with Alfred's body transforming, but at least he can be a source of comfort.
The gentle touches, the humming rumbling through Herbert's chest against Alfred...they are something to cling to, something to focus on. He wants to cry, but there is...a heaviness settling over him.
The wheezes slow, then end in a choke. He tenses up in Herbert's embrace, his heartbeat wrenching once, twice more. His hand snakes up and over the vampire's side, desperately embracing him back.
He'll be back. Herbert knows that. Knows from seeing his father's coven grow over the past few centuries, knows from when he died the first time. But it doesn't make it any less heartbreaking. He squeezes his eyes shut and holds Alfred closer.
Too soon he feels the weight of sleep settling over him; sunrise is here and he must sleep. But he clutches Alfred tight to his chest and holds him as tight as he can as he falls asleep.
The moment he wakes up the next evening, he touches Alfred's cheek, his forehead, kissing his cold lips as Kroulock lifts the top off the crypt. "Alfred? Alfred my love, wake up. It's evening now, we can awaken again." He tries to keep the panic out of his voice, but it trembles faintly despite his best efforts. "Alfred? I'll go hunting for us Alfred, and get you something to eat. Anything you like I'll get it for you. But you have to wake up first."
Oh no, oh no. This can't happen to him. Not again. He whimpers and presses their foreheads together, his fingers brushing Alfred's cold cheek.
"Here, here, I can -- " He bites at his own wrist and presses it to Alfred's lips, making a pathetic noise when Alfred doesn't immediately latch on. "Oh please, please wake up for me, my love. We have so much to do together, still. So much to learn from each other. Oh please, Alfred. I promised to keep you safe."
The next thing Alfred knows, he's standing beside the casket, looking around bewildered into the darkness. Everything is fuzzy and cast in dark, velvety shades of blue...looking down at his own hands, he realizes he can't feel them.
He's dead. He's really dead.
A figure leans against the wall facing him - glittering blue eyes set in a lovely face, blonde hair tumbling in short, lush locks around a delicate jawline. They hold out their hand, invitingly, voice like the purr of a panther about to descend upon prey.
"Come, Mister Schreiber. Come dance with me."
Entranced, the young man begins to walk forward towards the stranger in the dark suit, passing pairs of pale-haired, winged beings as if he is a one-man procession. Come to think of it, this person sort of looks like....
Herbert. Alfred remembers now, through the fog.
He can hear the vampire behind him, begging, pleading in the casket. Pleading with him. Turning back, he walks back closer, looking down over...himself. Himself and the one clinging desperately to his body. Listening to him. Watching him.
The figure against the wall scoffs impatiently, the Angels stepping aside as they approach the boy.
"It's your time, Alfred. You need to come with me."
But Alfred can't look away from Herbert.
---
The blood dribbles uselessly down Alfred's lips, his head lolling about.
"No, please." There's blood on his sleeve and on Alfred's face and Herbert's cheeks as he cries uselessly. "Oh I wanted this so badly, it should have been me who turned you. I would have done it right. It would have kept and I wouldn't have -- you wouldn't have -- "
He clings to Alfred's lifeless body, his please quieting into little whimpers and whispers as he cries quietly against his neck.
Alfred reaches his spectral hand out towards Herbert, sorrow sinking deep through him. He moves to pet his head, but his hand goes right through, and he pulls back with a little yelp. The stranger claps an ice cold hand on his shoulder, whirling him around, pulling him against their broad chest and grabbing their wrists.
"...When your moment has come, your expression speaks for you," he hums, quietly, under his breath. The Reaper raises a brow. Alfred suddenly plants his feet, breaking from the grip. Taking the lead. He sings louder now, echoing through the crypt.
"And the person you like understands what you say - and even if you would be silent...."
He dips the Dark Prince, knitting his brows together, resolve in his face.
"...Your heart reveals there is love in you...that doesn't want to keep quiet."
It's then that he notices a dark red ribbon, tied about his throat, trailing into the casket, the other end tied to Herbert's wrist. Helping the Reaper back to their feet, Alfred smiles apologetically. "He needs me. Someone finally needs me."
He grabs the ribbon.
---
Unfortunately for Alfred, all of his impressive, romantic spiritual journey is not what Herbert gets to see. What Herbert gets to see is Alfred suddenly straightening like a bolt, breaking his rigor like the sound of kindling getting snapped, and immediately hitting his head against the side of the stone casket.
"Oh -- !" Herbert laughs in relief and a little bit in amusement, poor Alfred. But he wraps his arms around Alfred, all the same, pulling him close and peppering his face with kisses.
"You scared me half to death, you know. If my heart were beating, I would have had a heart attack, honestly. But I'm just glad you're here, and you're alive. More or less."
Reaching up to rub at his head, he leans into the kisses and hugs, bewildered and trying to pull his wits back around him. It takes him a couple of tries to speak, learning to make his voice work again. "...I'm - I'm sorry," he rasps, lisping on his fangs.
"I think I...."
He looks down to his throat, to Herbert's bleeding wrist. Absently, he licks his lips, realizing he's a bit of a mess now. The taste is...even better than it was last night, actually. He's really thirsty.
"I think I just met...Death? And I almost went with them, but...but I...heard...you. And there was a...some kind of string connecting us."
It's all a lot to think about - while Herbert kisses him, he struggles to process everything that had just happened. He's looking more like his normal self, at least, just...paler.
He is also, in spite of himself, trying to analyze the situation. At the comment about soulmates, he blushes a little, smiling timidly...before realizing something.
"...it was...around my neck, and...your wris-" A little gasp of excitement. "Wait - wait, Herbert, I think...I think it's because you...because you let me drink...?"
"Oh!" Hebert presses his hand to his mouth, looking thoughtful. He did it without thinking. Because Alfred needed it. Because his only thought was of helping Alfred, making sure he was safe and warm and comfortable. "Because I let you drink from me, we're connected? Rather than you and -- " He gestures vaguely, to refer to Sarah.
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He strides forward and takes Alfred's hands in his, kissing his fingers fervently. "I adore you, Alfred. I never want you to think of yourself as less than. And I'll do whatever I can to make you feel wanted and appreciated."
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He really does.
Slowly, his smile grows, exhausted but sincere. It must be approaching daylight by now, he thinks. He's starting to feel a little bit tired.
"...You're...you're really nice, Herbert. This is...much less scary than I thought it was going to be."
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"I will try to make it not so scary for you. There are parts that will be frightening, but I'll be by your side the whole time."
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Now that the heat of the moment is more fully subsiding, though, he definitely feels...different. His smile flickers a little, just a little, before he coaxes it back, pushing forward a little to lean against Herbert.
"...Can we...go lie down, like you said? I'm feeling...I'm feeling sort of tired, now that I'm not so cold."
He has no idea what's starting to happen, or he would no doubt begin to panic anew - but Herbert will probably be able to hear his pulse, quickened by lust in the bath, now starting to beat slower, slower, by degrees.
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"Let's get you into some pyjamas." He hurries to his closet and swiftly pulls on his own night clothes, then gets some for Alfred as well. He pulls Alfred out of his robe and helps him into the pyjama top and bottoms, fussing with his still-damp hair a little.
"We ought to start moving downstairs. Now -- " He sighs and presses a kiss to Alfred's forehead. "This part might be a little -- well it's all new, isn't it? But I promise it's perfectly normal and I'll be right here with you the entire time."
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It isn't until Herbert kisses his forehead, sighing, that a needle of fear pierces the fog.
"Might be a little what?" His voice is thin, he finds, when he tries to speak. His hand flutters to his throat as he tries to suck in a breath, finding that it sticks and rattles in his lungs.
"Herbert? I don't...my chest feels...tight...."
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Come, let's make our way down to the crypt, so we can get you comfortable."
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Dying.
The panic doesn't do much to make the labor of breathing easier - it feels like there is a hand inside his ribcage, slowly squeezing tighter each time he exhales.
A frail whimper is all he can manage, a high, piteous cry as he responds with a terrified nod, reaching out to clutch white-knuckled at Herbert's hand. His eyes are wide and full of tears.
Please don't let me go.
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"Her...bert...."
He would close his eyes, but a part of him is scared they will never open again if he does...so instead he stares up at the other vampire, trying to ground himself somehow.
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Koukol is there, fluffing pillows and putting in the extra blankets that Herbert requested. Sarah and his father are already in their crypt, and so Hebert carefully lays Alfred down in the crypt, tucking his blankets around him to try and keep him warm. Then he climbs in after and pulls Alfred close as Koukol slides the top of the crypt over them, shutting them in.
"I know it's dark, and you hurt, and it's frightening. But I'm here, and I'm going to hold you and talk to you as long as I can stay awake. And then, when you awaken this evening, I'll be here still."
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He's like a ragdoll as he is tucked in, all attempts at breathing crackling and shallow, his heart beating laboriously slow and heavy against his ribcage. The tight, dark confinement of the stone crypt frightens him, but not as much as the feeling of his organs shutting down inside of him.
It hurts. It hurts so much, and he buries himself against Herbert's chest, unable to even sob.
"Th-tha-a-nk y-you," he manages, but it sounds awful, a death rattle.
Then, in the pure darkness, Herbert would hear, very very quietly, but more clearly over the gasping:
Please. Please, don't leave me.
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He can't help with the pain, can't help with Alfred's body transforming, but at least he can be a source of comfort.
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The wheezes slow, then end in a choke. He tenses up in Herbert's embrace, his heartbeat wrenching once, twice more. His hand snakes up and over the vampire's side, desperately embracing him back.
And then he is still.
Alfred is dead.
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Too soon he feels the weight of sleep settling over him; sunrise is here and he must sleep. But he clutches Alfred tight to his chest and holds him as tight as he can as he falls asleep.
The moment he wakes up the next evening, he touches Alfred's cheek, his forehead, kissing his cold lips as Kroulock lifts the top off the crypt. "Alfred? Alfred my love, wake up. It's evening now, we can awaken again." He tries to keep the panic out of his voice, but it trembles faintly despite his best efforts. "Alfred? I'll go hunting for us Alfred, and get you something to eat. Anything you like I'll get it for you. But you have to wake up first."
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He had died with his eyes still a little open, from his position curled against Herbert...but they don't focus. He doesn't move.
His arm is still thrown, cold and heavy, over the larger vampire, rigor mortis in his fingers still clutching the back of his shirt.
No response.
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"Here, here, I can -- " He bites at his own wrist and presses it to Alfred's lips, making a pathetic noise when Alfred doesn't immediately latch on. "Oh please, please wake up for me, my love. We have so much to do together, still. So much to learn from each other. Oh please, Alfred. I promised to keep you safe."
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He's dead. He's really dead.
A figure leans against the wall facing him - glittering blue eyes set in a lovely face, blonde hair tumbling in short, lush locks around a delicate jawline. They hold out their hand, invitingly, voice like the purr of a panther about to descend upon prey.
"Come, Mister Schreiber. Come dance with me."
Entranced, the young man begins to walk forward towards the stranger in the dark suit, passing pairs of pale-haired, winged beings as if he is a one-man procession. Come to think of it, this person sort of looks like....
Herbert. Alfred remembers now, through the fog.
He can hear the vampire behind him, begging, pleading in the casket. Pleading with him. Turning back, he walks back closer, looking down over...himself. Himself and the one clinging desperately to his body. Listening to him. Watching him.
The figure against the wall scoffs impatiently, the Angels stepping aside as they approach the boy.
"It's your time, Alfred. You need to come with me."
But Alfred can't look away from Herbert.
---
The blood dribbles uselessly down Alfred's lips, his head lolling about.
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He clings to Alfred's lifeless body, his please quieting into little whimpers and whispers as he cries quietly against his neck.
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"...When your moment has come, your expression speaks for you," he hums, quietly, under his breath. The Reaper raises a brow. Alfred suddenly plants his feet, breaking from the grip. Taking the lead. He sings louder now, echoing through the crypt.
"And the person you like understands what you say - and even if you would be silent...."
He dips the Dark Prince, knitting his brows together, resolve in his face.
"...Your heart reveals there is love in you...that doesn't want to keep quiet."
It's then that he notices a dark red ribbon, tied about his throat, trailing into the casket, the other end tied to Herbert's wrist. Helping the Reaper back to their feet, Alfred smiles apologetically. "He needs me. Someone finally needs me."
He grabs the ribbon.
---
Unfortunately for Alfred, all of his impressive, romantic spiritual journey is not what Herbert gets to see. What Herbert gets to see is Alfred suddenly straightening like a bolt, breaking his rigor like the sound of kindling getting snapped, and immediately hitting his head against the side of the stone casket.
"SCHEIZE-"
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"You scared me half to death, you know. If my heart were beating, I would have had a heart attack, honestly. But I'm just glad you're here, and you're alive. More or less."
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"I think I...."
He looks down to his throat, to Herbert's bleeding wrist. Absently, he licks his lips, realizing he's a bit of a mess now. The taste is...even better than it was last night, actually. He's really thirsty.
"I think I just met...Death? And I almost went with them, but...but I...heard...you. And there was a...some kind of string connecting us."
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A string, you say? Perhaps we're soulmates."
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He is also, in spite of himself, trying to analyze the situation. At the comment about soulmates, he blushes a little, smiling timidly...before realizing something.
"...it was...around my neck, and...your wris-" A little gasp of excitement. "Wait - wait, Herbert, I think...I think it's because you...because you let me drink...?"
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