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Alexander Anderson…
He is a name, a list of titles, and a collection of stories.
He is a "monster." Untamable, unkillable, shameless, violent, loud, and incapable of compromise. Like all things that belong in a horror story, he is Hellsing's responsibility.
He is a "hero." The unshakable shield to hide behind when scared and the vengeful blade to call upon when mad. He's what keeps shadows in their place while bandaging the smallest of wounds, and can only be defeated by the weak. As a collector of broken things and other strays, he is Ferdinant Lukes' guardian.
He is series of names, a list of conflicting titles, and an eternally incomplete story.
Because everything else; his age, ethnicity, education, ext. Is all unknown. Everything about him is lost, as if he never existed before the regenerator program.
Hellsing's detectives found nothing. The Vatican's records are protected, but mostly blank. Even Alucard doesn't know the details…. But he still knows more than most.
Because when they're alone, Anderson doesn't hide from him.
He lays his scars bare. His desperation is as blunt as the nails that dig into Alucard's back, and Alucard returns the embrace. He presses his cold, dead hands to Anderson's overheated skin and lays him down before the priest can fall from how badly he's shaking.
Anderson tries to bury himself between Alucard's ribs.
He's hardly conscious of how he moves, or of the sob that's hissed into Alucard's neck. Like this, he is no monster and he is no hero. He is something far more than both those things combined.
He is human.
And a nightmare woke him.
When he jolted upright, he had tried to calm himself. Shaking, panting, and clawing at his sweat soaked shirt as his heart raced and his lungs couldn't breathe deep enough. He tried focusing on the room around him, but he couldn't make it stop. Panic invoked by imagination or memory, Alucard does not know.
Because Anderson doesn't share the contents of his dreams.
But when Alucard sat up, Anderson's attention snapped onto him with a look of fear. He doesn't like being observed. Not when he's like this. He must stand strong for his kids! He must terrify his foes! But the moment his frantic brain processed who he was with, he crumbled.
He threw himself into Alucard's arms.
As Alucard holds him through it, he wonders how many others have seen Anderson like this. Very few, he presumes. And certainly nobody for a very, very, long time.
Having an equal isn't something Anderson is used to. Having someone he can lean on and cry with, without it changing how he's seen, is rarer. So he clings to Alucard like a drowning man, and Alucard kisses the top of his head.
His heart pounds so fiercely…
Of course it'd be painful.
It's hard to say how much time passes before sobs turn to sniffles. Till fingers are pulled out of Alucard's back and settle in a way the resembles an embrace. Anderson doesn't let go and he doesn't try to pull away, so Alucard doesn't loosen his grip.
He keeps him held tight, so Anderson can slowly relax and melt against him without fear of falling prey to the terrors of a past fought alone.
He doesn't fall asleep again. Neither of them do. Instead they lay there until the sun rises. Then Anderson eats in silence; on the bed, with his back propped against Alucard's chest.
Neither of them speak, for it is a moment not meant for words. They don't need to know the details to understand each other.
Much of their relationship is unspoken.