multiversallogs | i won't sympathize anymore

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i won't sympathize anymore

Who: Integra and Dean to start, open to all expat Hellsing operatives eventually.
What: Integra returns to hq and is interrupted by a familiar face.
Where: Outside the Helling Guild Hall.
When: A little while after Alucard's post.
Notes: Start new threads as you need to! Otherwise, party post after the initial one.
Warnings: Uh. Dean. And... Alucard.

In the weeks since Integra's arrival to Baedal, she has had only infrequent cause to observe the cohort network. She rarely fraternizes with anyone - new arrivals like herself or natural citizens - outside of work. Despite the name, she certainly doesn't feel particularly aligned with anyone else in the city, and hasn't ever had anything to say to anyone.

It's not unusual.

But the network gets used, if not by her, and so there's a girl on staff that checks for Integra, and alerts her to anything relevant to Hellsing. Said assistant, just moments ago, scurried up with eyes only slightly wide (to her credit), clutching her CiD, and in an almost-tremulously reported: "Mister Alucard has done something."

The things she puts up with. Honestly.

Hellsing's guild hall is a bit of a hike from any of the transport lines, but that doesn't mean it takes Integra very long to get back - and that's where she is now, stalking at a purposeful pace towards the main gate, coat fanned out behind her, expression of stop at your own peril clearly etched on her face.

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People yelling at Integra on the street is not, sadly, a totally unheard of experience in this city, but that particular tone of urgency is ... different. She turns, automatically defensive but unafraid, ready to address whatever this is and move on, when she catches sight of who's called to her, and—

"Dean?" Eyes wide, she does a bit of a mental stumble and corrects herself: "Mr. Winchester!"

It has to be the one she knows, doesn't it? Or else he wouldn't recognize her. She's shocked still for another heartbeat, and then has the very distinct thought of Oh, THIS is why Alucard is abusing the cohort network.

That moment after she turns seems to take forever to pass. It's her. It has to be her, right? Alucard said she was here. Dean has a flash of worry--what if it's not the same her, what if she doesn't know him? God knows in the last place he got pulled without his permission, the city was crawling with multiples of his family, himself too. Timelines, universes, whatever the hell it was, it meant some of them didn't know they people they should have.

But when she calls out his name he lets out the breath he hadn't even realized he was holding, and his strides grow more swift, closing the distance between them.

"Integra."

And before either of them have much of a chance to think, let alone say anything else, he takes her by the shoulders and pulls her into a hug. He just... holds on for a few long moments, relieved. Propriety and the very good chance of getting his ass kicked be damned right now, he was glad to see her and making no secret of it.

A less dignified woman might have made a noise akin to 'Oof', but Integra says nothing, at first stunned by the sudden movement, but not alarmed or angry. Hugs are not a currency Integra often trades in. After a moment, she raises her arms to embrace him in return, not clinging or even very affectionate, but supportive and steady. It's not terribly feminine at all, but then, not much about how she's been raised to move tends to be.

The idea that she'd ever see Dean - or any of them - was one she'd long since set aside. It occurred to her, of course, in those first weeks, but there'd only been Jack Benjamin, and then no one. Not even Seras. Marks on the walls of the roots of the city spoke of people who came and went, came and went, and she let it go.

It's a strange feeling, now. Integra has never had friends before. And she's only ever missed the dead.

"Did you-" not a stutter, just a pause. That's all. "Did you just get here?"

"Yeah." There's a pause and then Dean pulls back, letting his hands linger on her shoulders a few moments more. He clears his throat and his bearing goes a bit more professional and serious as his hands drop--but not entirely. There's a relaxed slump to his posture, the way a man holds himself when a burden's been lifted and he's still not used to the idea. And his smile isn't its usual self, less sharp cocky curve and more uncertain, more genuine.

"Yeah, I just got here. I was in Bete Noire for... I dunno, at least a month after you and Alucard left, Sir. I talked to him, by the way--he told me to find the guild hall."

He stands up a little straighter, pulling himself back together. "What do you need me to do?"

Integra drops her arms when Dean leans back, not awkward, but not one for lingering affection, either. She searches his face, looking at him for changes - a month in the so-called city of sin puts more mileage on a person than just anywhere, she knows - and notes with something akin to remorse that he doesn't speak of his brother.

The mention of Alucard, however, pulls her from her mildly stunned reverie. "Did he-" Integra hauls open the door to the Guild Hall lobby, looking slightly peeved once again. "Tell me how you are, of course, and possibly kick down a door."

There's a young woman behind a desk in the lobby who jumps up to attention when she sees Integra, eyes going to Dean slightly after, searching, but she's never given time to inquire, as the knight storms through to a hallway and stairwell. "We've been here for almost two months. I've not seen anyone from Bete Noire aside from Mr. Benjamin, though we don't speak much." Just politics, really, and while Integra doesn't find Jack offensive, she knows he doesn't like her very much, and thus doesn't bother. "The guild isn't quite so well funded, but our operation is larger, and we've got more freedom." Illustrated quite handily by the sheer size and scope of the hall itself, medieval with modern, magical, and scientific furnishings inside, and from the look of it, fully staffed.

"Sure did."

Dean tells himself he's just fine, just as strong and composed and tough as ever. And he's putting on a good show of it, too. But to someone who knows him well and knows what to look for, it's evident he's tired. Frayed around the edges. He's always been this way; that's how it goes for hunters. But this goes deeper. Too many losses, too much throwing himself into work to soothe himself.

But finding his friends and colleagues, finding Hellsing all over again, it helps. It's already helping; even he can feel that as he follows Integra inside. "Point me at a door you want kicked in and it's down, Sir," he says, giving the girl who hopped up from her seat a quick nod and an even quicker once-over--look, beaten down or not, Dean Winchester is still Dean Winchester.

Through the hallway and they start up the stairs, Dean falling into stride with Integra as they climb. "Sometimes, not having money is a good thing," he notes, thinking of the way his family lived on the road. "Makes you more resourceful. I'm glad there's more freedom here, and a bigger operation. I'm gonna guess there's plenty to keep you busy even now that Hellsing's gone economy-sized?"

That'd be a good thing. Being busy means more people helped and saved. And from a selfish point of view, more to keep him occupied and focused. More to keep him from dwelling on the fact that the group is reforming around him minus the person who got him into this in the first place. Sam would be pleased he's still here, Dean thinks.

Integra is as she always is, a monolith of seriousness and no-nonsense with a lurking violent streak and the occasional moment of dark humor. She seems the same, with no cracks in her mask. (Someday, life will wear her down. Nobody can live at this pace, dragged in between dimensions, and deal with all that suppression. But for today, she's just fine - if pissed off at Alucard, presently. Not unusual, that.) It's Dean that she notices, the way he's just slightly out of focus. It's forgivable for a hundred reasons, among them this being his first bloody hour in this place, and the apparent lack of his brother.

"Quite." English understatement. Gets the job done, at least. "The economy is functional, however, as is the government, however flawed. It can be difficult to get your feet under you, here, even with the help they give us so-called 'strangers'." She's quiet for a moment as they walk; her office is deep in the warded core of the building. "You of course have a place to stay, already."

"Thank you, Sir."

And still, another tiny suggestion that all is not as Dean would like everyone to believe about him--not what he believes himself. The words come out as they should, the cadence as professional and assured as his damn-near-a-swagger stride, but the tone is a bit more honest, genuine, than Dean would normally permit on the job. Usually he manages to hide how emotional a man he truly is. Right now, it's failing him a bit.

But he'll be fine, just fine. Better already knowing that at least on this screw-you-you-got-sent-to-some-crazy-other-universe trip, he's got friends. Work. Even a roof over his head. None of these things is his brother but he can manage that loss better now that he doesn't have quite so many losses as he had yesterday.

"From what I saw getting here, I'm gonna guess there's not a fleet of cars for me to take care of. I'll do whatever else you need around here."

"Cars are quite rare. You don't happen to know how to ride a horse, do you?"

A little flippant - she rides, of course, and has since childhood. Her one allotted hobby, permissive only due to career relevance. Suddenly, Integra comes to a stop, watching Dean with a slight frown on her face. To one side, through arched windows, there's a courtyard; the fountain in the center is old, moss-covered and cracked.

"I can ask you if you're all right."

Her heart's in it, but her heart doesn't ever get to make decisions. That nagging feeling - her senses dealing with this sort of thing already out of touch, strained and forced having to cope with Seras; she wants to be supportive of Dean. But her delicate emotional handling is a bit like a sledgehammer. It's not the nicest gesture to go shoving that on someone without warning, so - well. Perhaps it's the thought that counts.

"A horse? No, but I can learn."

For once, Dean is not being flippant. While he may be from Kansas, he's no farm boy, so there weren't horses around. But he is a fan of old Westerns. He's seen everything Clint Eastwood ever did and he can recite a good portion of those films from memory. Horse-riding seems like an awesome thing to learn.

His approving reverie is broken by her question; it catches him enough off-guard that he doesn't have time to come up with a suitable amount of cover.

"I've been better," he admits. "I lost a lot back there, in Bete Noire. Being here--" he means this building, this organization-- "that'll help a lot. I do better when I've got work to do. Never was much of one for laying around and dwelling on stuff. But I'll be fine. And you don't have to worry about me on the job."

The look she gives him is level - something almost compassionate, just hard-edged, like the rest of her. "I've never once considered worrying about you on the job."

It's the other things. His brother. His father. His human heart. Things she understands but can't articulate like a normal person - but perhaps they both understand that, pleasant childhoods considered. She has faith in him as a hunter because of it; work is life. There's no getting out - but then, for Integra, there's no wanting to either.

And then she nods, as if that moment sums it all up and makes it Fine.

Time to yank open the door to her office and scream at Alucard.

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i won't sympathize anymore

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