This Van Helsing story is slash fan fiction. It contains adult concepts and sensuality between men.
If you're underage or offended by such things, you have been warned not to read the fiction.

Yes, this is one of my Van Helsing April Fool's Day stories.  I have no excuse.

Carl's Mistake

Cousin Shelley


Carl emerged from the bedroom in search of something to drink. The sun had just began filtering through the trees into the small room he’d shared with Van Helsing last night, and though it was still dim enough that most people could easily sleep, Carl was accustomed to rising before the sun rose, so he already felt like he’d overslept. He’d been spooned against the hunter’s back, and had kissed his muscled shoulder and unwound himself from around the man, rising without waking him, as the hunter was most definitely not a morning person.

And he was bound to be tired this morning, Carl thought with a smile.

Van Helsing had always been a. . . thorough lover. Passionate. Primal. But never more so than last night. He’d never let himself go as completely before. And as Carl touched his almost tender lips, he realized that Van Helsing had never allowed the wolf they both knew was still inside him to emerge quite so forcefully. He’d been almost. . . animal at times. Growling and nipping. And Carl found he liked that. Very much.

Until he walked into Van Helsing, who was standing in the hallway, fully dressed, even to his coat. Looking at Carl, eyebrows raised.

“And just where were you last night, Carl?” He crossed his arms across his chest.

“Uh—I—uh—bu—“ was all Carl could manage. He watched Van Helsing’s gaze travel up and over his shoulder, and his face absolutely fell. Carl turned to see what he was glaring at, and found himself looking right at Van Helsing.

Only not.

“Bu—ah—I—who—oh my God.” Carl held tight to the sheet he was wrapped in and looked back at the real Van Helsing. “But I didn’t know, he was. . . “ Carl crooked the fingers of one hand into claws and growled. “He was all grrr and rarrr and. . . " Carl made snorting sounds, ". . . wolf. . . and his body, his face. . . it was dark you know, and even the sounds he made while—“

“That’s all right, Carl. Just. . . “ Van Helsing sighed and rubbed his forehead.

Carl looked at the doppelganger again. Exactly like Van Helsing, except his manner of dress, of course. And the hair. It was much shorter and stuck up in points on each side of his head. Carl giggled at how silly the man’s hair looked, then reached up and fingered Van Helsing’s wavy locks.

“Don’t worry, Gabriel, yours is much better.” He turned back, still full of hilarity. “I think you have bed hair, Mr. . . .?”

Logan looked past Carl at Van Helsing, and used his hands to make swooping motions on each side of his face in an approximate mimicry of Carl’s hairdo. “Is he serious?”

Van Helsing shrugged.

Logan smirked and lit his cigar. “He is kind of cute, after all.”

“He’s mine,” Van Helsing said.

Claws popped and tojos spun, and Carl put both hands out to keep the men apart. Which left nothing to hold up the sheet.

“There’s no need to fight for him.”

“We are very similar. Like the same person. Almost.”

Claws were sheathed and the tojos were tossed as both men advanced, and Carl looked straight up at the ceiling, smiled and mouthed a silent, “thank you for the blessings you are about to bestow.”

“I’m Logan. Just don’t call me by his name,” Logan growled.

“Oh no, don’t worry Logan,” Carl said, between panting breaths. “The sun’s up now, I can clearly tell you apart--he has much better hair.”

Carl yelped.