Van Helsing Drabbles

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Prompt: Colorless, October 2005

  He'd asked Igor once, to describe his brides. Pinks, greens, golds, rosy lips, cream-colored skin, flaming hair and brown--Vladislaus had grabbed his servant by the throat for his tone of voice and the way he'd licked his malformed lips, and told him never to speak of them again.

He remembered one color, red, always in his mouth. But he hadn't known that his brides' painted lips and blushed nipples would taste only gray under his tongue. That all their enticing shades of pink would feel the same gray under his hands. Their hearts, eternally, the same gray. He hadn't known.


Prompt: Too much, April 2006


Carl talked about guilt, how Anna was happy now, how she was home. Van Helsing told him to let it go.

Concerned, Carl didn't.

Van Helsing shook him and snarled. "Shut up, Carl!" He saw the wolf in himself then, the pain in Carl's eyes reflected it back to him.

Later, the wind took his hat and Carl wordlessly caught it and handed it to him. The simple gesture broke Van Helsing, and when Carl put his arms around him and patted his back, he loved Carl then, for giving him more than God would ever grant--forgiveness not asked for.


Prompt: Winter, April 2006


Carl grunted at the hardness of the ground beneath them and the thinness of the blankets above them. Despite the fire, the blankets, his robes and the warmth of the man he held, Carl shivered.

"Take your clothes off, Carl."

"No, I'll freeze!" Despite his protests, he groaned when a surprisingly warm hand slid down his stomach. Carl felt something pressing against his hip. "How can you do that when it's this cold?"

"I don't do it." Van Helsing rubbed against him as he pulled at his clothing. "You do."

Carl thought his smile looked almost wicked in the firelight.

But Scrollwork Improves the Aim

Prompt: Battleaxe, Outsides, April 2006


Carl eyed the scuffed blade and the splintered handle. "You don't need it."

"It'll come in handy. It helped me kill the troll I took it from."

"It's awful. Besides, in which pocket will you carry it?"

"Same one as the crossbow?"

"Yes, well, that's a specific tool for a specific job. And who carried it, most of the time, as I recall? That's too unwieldy. And ugly."

"Since when do looks matter?" Too late, Van Helsing realized his slip. He started to apologize but Carl's lips were pressed into a thin line. The friar stomped away, gesturing and mumbling.

Sweet Talk

Prompt: Carl/Van Helsing, Fixed, April 2006


A week after arguing about whether Van Helsing needed a battleaxe, Carl dragged him to the lab. "I hollowed the handle, weighted it properly, thinned the blade. But I still think it's too big. . . "

"It's beautiful." As were all of Carl's creations, Van Helsing knew. He didn't miss the tiny inscription, requiescat en pace, in a circle on the flat of the blade. "Like you."

Carl smiled, and wished they weren't in the lab, but his room. "Flattery will get you everywhere." He walked away and shouted over his shoulder. "But don't expect me to carry that."