I have taken a claim for the LiveJournal hellsingdrops community, committing to explore one hundred themes with Dark Walter. I'll be posting each of my theme fics in this collection, which should tell a semi-cohesive story over time. However, each chapter should be taken as an individual ficlet rather than a traditional narrative.
Return uses the themes Hunger, Order, and Rebirth.
Hellsing and all of its characters belong to Kohta Hirano, Dark Horse, Geneon, and/or whatever other corporate entity has licensed the Hellsing portion of Hirano's soul. I make no claim to ownership of these characters nor any money from my fanfiction writing.
1.1 Return
I do not know how long I can hold out against that chap over there!
Return alive at all costs. Swear it.
As you command.
Return alive at all costs.
Return alive.
Return.
I swear it.
"Wake up, Butler."
Butler opened his eyes, squeezing the left one closed almost immediately. The faces were familiar, but from where? The language sounded wrong in his ears, but he understood it.
He was Butler. He knew that much.
Return.
He had to return… where? He didn't know, but he knew that he would do it. Following orders gave his existence shape.
He glanced around for the source of the echoing order, taking in the laboratory in a sweep of his eye across the room and its occupants. The man leaning over him looking nervous was who?
He took the gleaming disc with dangling chain that the nervous man handed him and turned it over in his hands. Almost of their own accord, his hands moved, settling it with practiced ease on his nose and attaching the clip to his ear. He opened his left eye and blinked until both eyes focused in sync.
"Good. Good." The nervous man seemed to be speaking for his own benefit and not Butler's. He made notes on a tablet computer and pushed his lank blond hair away from his face.
"Butler, sit up."
Something felt wrong when he complied; it was too easy. Shouldn't there have been some aches and pains? Some resistance from his body?
Why did he think that? Did it matter?
Whether it mattered or not was moot when the man who had spoken to him looked toward a door and snapped his fingers at the man in a grey-green uniform standing there. Butler stared at the uniform feeling anger rising for no reason he could identify.
He was just baring his teeth in an unconscious snarl when the door slid open and a young blonde woman stumbled through, looking confused and frightened. The snarl dropped away and he stared in hopeless fascination at her.
Return.
Was this the speaker?
As he watched her hug herself and heard her first sob of terror, he knew she was not the speaker. This person could not give an order that carried the power of the one echoing in his head.
But she had a power. It beat from her in a rapid, fluttering rhythm, and the rhythm drew him up off the table. It drew him to her as though she were a lodestone and he the iron.
"What are you doing? I'm not a soldier. Just let me go. I'll leave London. I'll leave England. You can have it all."
She looked up into Butler's grey-green eyes and shrank back from the sudden red flare there. "You're one of them."
No. He was not one of them. Whatever they were. He was Butler. Something else.
Something hungry.
The Doctor watched his creation feed, tearing open the woman's throat without compunction or hesitation. It was wonderful, but oh so dangerous. He chewed his finger and looked at the gloves sitting on the specimen tray next to the lab table where Butler had been born.
He would have to bring the toy out to play because the Major was done waiting. They had their shitlike war and he wasn't going to wait for Butler to be perfected.
Terror was so much fun. Even his own. The Doctor picked up the gloves and waited for his creation to finish his first meal.