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.
Alfred nods enthusiastically, momentarily forgetting that he just hit his head pretty hard and regretting the swift motion a little bit afterward. "The ribbon was what I had to grab onto, it's how I came back. I think...."
He pauses, realizing all at once that Herbert's cheeks are also messy with blood. Reaching towards him, he tries to rub some away with his thumbs in gentle little motions - must have been from when he was trying to feed Alfred. (He would learn otherwise later on, after all.)
"I think, if you hadn't done that...I don't think I would have come back." Terror flares in him at the thought, and he shudders, nearly whispering:
"Then -- " Something, a heat, blooms in his chest and he presses his hands over Alfred's against his cheek. He's trying not to start crying again, because poor Alfred doesn't need to know about vampires crying blood just yet. So he swallows hard and nudges his nose against Alfred's with a soft smile.
"Then I'm very glad I did. I would have hated to have lost you."
"I couldn't have left." He blurts this out without thinking about it, nose to nose with Herbert still, his own hands still cradling his face. It's funny...he doesn't seem so cold anymore, now that Alfred has turned. The reality of it all hasn't quite had time to set in, perhaps, but...for now? For now it's okay.
"I couldn't. You were crying for me, I saw you. And I don't...I don't think I have anyone else in my life who would have done that."
It's a depressing thought, but it's the truth, isn't it? His mother has been dead for a few years, his Father distant and clinical - the Professor would likely have said a word or two, but may well have already replaced him.
He smiles, and it's...bittersweet. His fangs have settled properly now, the same pearly white as the rest of his well-maintained teeth. "So I...told Death no. That you needed me."
"I was, oh I was so worried you might have been gone forever. But you told Death no. You told Death no, for me. And you were right, I do need you. My sweet Alfred, you mean the world to me. I do need you so desperately. You have no idea."
Finally, someone to take away my boredom, he'd said. But truly, he'd been so lonely. Preferring short term lovers who he could leave before they left him. But Alfred, oh. He wanted Alfred to stay.
Herbert flings his arms around Alfred in a passionate embrace. One full of longing, full of need and loneliness. "They stay with me. You do, my love, you do. You belong here with me. And I will dote on you endlessly."
He can't imagine what might be making Alfred cry, only that -- perhaps it's the same thing that had him crying, earlier. The wretched loneliness they both suffer, that has now at last come to an end.
For a minute or two, he doesn't reply - he clings tightly, weeping openly against Herbert, the sobs shaking his cold body. He just almost died. He just almost DIED. He TALKED TO DEATH and he STOOD UP TO DEATH. For the man holding him.
It's so new. It's all so new.
"...I want...." It's quiet, muffled, shaky. "...I want...to do the same...for you...."
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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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He pauses, realizing all at once that Herbert's cheeks are also messy with blood. Reaching towards him, he tries to rub some away with his thumbs in gentle little motions - must have been from when he was trying to feed Alfred. (He would learn otherwise later on, after all.)
"I think, if you hadn't done that...I don't think I would have come back." Terror flares in him at the thought, and he shudders, nearly whispering:
"I think you saved me, Herbert."
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"Then I'm very glad I did. I would have hated to have lost you."
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"I couldn't. You were crying for me, I saw you. And I don't...I don't think I have anyone else in my life who would have done that."
It's a depressing thought, but it's the truth, isn't it? His mother has been dead for a few years, his Father distant and clinical - the Professor would likely have said a word or two, but may well have already replaced him.
He smiles, and it's...bittersweet. His fangs have settled properly now, the same pearly white as the rest of his well-maintained teeth. "So I...told Death no. That you needed me."
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Finally, someone to take away my boredom, he'd said. But truly, he'd been so lonely. Preferring short term lovers who he could leave before they left him. But Alfred, oh. He wanted Alfred to stay.
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Almost immediately, Alfred tears up, starting to cry.
"...No one. No one has ever said that to me before...never...."
And he had never quite realized how much that had hurt him. But here's someone, crying for him, holding him, feeding him his BLOOD -
"...I want to stay here, Herbert," he sobs, suddenly overwhelmed by everything happening. "I feel like...I belong...."
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He can't imagine what might be making Alfred cry, only that -- perhaps it's the same thing that had him crying, earlier. The wretched loneliness they both suffer, that has now at last come to an end.
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It's so new. It's all so new.
"...I want...." It's quiet, muffled, shaky. "...I want...to do the same...for you...."