#gehrmanxreader

[zutraeumen]

Hollowed

This is a part of my one-shot book called: Even the Doll, should it please you... You can find the whole book on these platforms: FanFiction, AO3, Wattpad or Quotev. Bloodborne belongs to its respectful owner.

Hollowed

―︎

"Just go out and kill a few beasts. It's for your own good. You know, it's just what hunters do! You'll get used to it..."

―︎

The following days, the days after Gilbert's death, were enormously difficult. Over the course of your long life, you accepted death as that part of life that was inevitable. Some deaths were easier to deal with, certain others, on the other hand, severely challenged your beliefs at times. But never to such an extent that you wouldn't come to terms with it at the end of the day.

But Gilbert's passing was nothing like the usual, and so your brain couldn't cope with it like it was used to at this point. Yharnam was a place that didn't adhere to the laws of nature, the Great Ones made sure of that. With the defeat of Rom the Vacuous Spider, it was as if a veil had been lifted off your eyes and for the first time, you saw this cursed city for what it truly was: a world without hope.

With the city of Yharnam being ravaged by the plague borne of ancient blood found in the catacombs below the city and distributed by its most powerful institution, the Healing Church, the people cowered in their homes while beasts who were once their neighbours roamed the streets. The Hunters who were in charge of slaying these beasts would inevitably give in to beasthood themselves, to be consumed by bloodlust. All the while great incomprehensible beings surrounded us, but could barely even be bothered to notice we were there, and those who ruled over this city were all either dead, dying, driven completely mad, or had become something else entirely.

An old (sadly deceased) friend of yours would tell you this in that rough voice of his: This place was going to hell! And were you back in your home, far away from Yharnam, you would have shared a good laugh about it but now... now...

It felt useless, YOU felt useless. Ever since waking up in that blasted clinic, you've tried your best to help others survive throughout. You jumped on the wave of Yharnam, acclimatized to its customs in record time while also trying to never stray far from your true self, but to what end?

Where was the end? When would it end? Was there even an end to the Hunt?

How many others would leave you alone in this hellhole?

At this point, it seemed impossible that anyone could be left alive and unaltered. We were all entangled within a web we couldn't even perceive. This place was not just horrible, it was horror, stitched into the very fabric of reality. A reality governed by its own distinctive laws where no matter what you did it would all accomplish nothing.

Despair began to take over your heart, and there was nothing that could help you get rid of it.

It had gotten so bad that even Gehrman forwent disappearing from the Dream for more extended periods of time in hopes his presence would soothe whatever that was bothering you. It was the Doll that came to him for help as she found herself at wit's end for once.

He was there, keeping you company in the back garden amongst white flowers that would never wilt.

Consumed by your thoughts, you didn't even feel the weight of his eyes and it concerned him greatly because he began to recognize himself in you. The way you would become a slave to your thoughts was something the old hunter knew very well. And only he knew the dangers of tumbling down that rabbit hole before it was too late, before you would make a habit of it.

An exchange of words would be the simplest remedy, but the mere thought of speaking to you turned his tongue into a lead and shooed away any sentences he could have conjured. His brows furrowed, and his lips set a downside line expressing his growing disappointment.

How could he struggle to ask you one question? Gehrman didn't remember being that shy around a lady! But you felt like a whole other deal, and after a lifetime of excruciating isolation where he at some point even forgot his OWN NAME, the simplest interactions felt daunting. Maybe furthermore because he didn't want to sound completely moronic. At his age, the hunter shouldn't be tumbling over his words like a newborn fawn like he so feared he would the moment his mouth opened.

With a sigh your keen ears surely picked out, the syllables steadily rolled off his trembling tongue, "What has your mind so unsettled Good Hunter?"

How to better start a conversation than with a question? The years spent in the Dream certainly did nothing to wear down Byrgenwerth off him. Several moments of silence followed. The type of silence that was as if he had disturbed a fragile peace. And now he kicked himself even more because who was he to think YOU would wish to divulge your worries to someone like HIM? Decrepit and crippled, and to top it all off, utterly pathetic. He shouldn't have-

"-I guess everything."

It took him a while to realize you have actually answered his question but he caught on eventually, too late to ask you to elaborate before you dove into a tale he would very much loathe interrupting.

About the distrustful citizens, about fellow Hunters who had lost their way, about the few survivors left in your care, about the slaying of mighty and frightening beasts alike. Even when you mentioned Byrgenwerth, he reigned in his curiosity so you could get it all out.

"... my friend Gilbert, he was also an outsider. He- he was struck by an illness, coughing more and more as time passed. I've brought him as much antidote as I could find, but it didn't help. The last time I came to visit him, he was delirious and couldn't even recognize my voice! So I went into the Forbidden Woods in search of answers. Imagine how much I've found? Nothing but new perversions to haunt my sleep! Yharnam changed upon my hasty return and I worried for my wards. But nothing could have prepared me when I moved to check up on my friend at Central Yharnam. He- he..."

You choked up, sobs wracking through your throat and never had the desire to hold you have been greater in him than now. He didn't go through with his impulsive thought, coward that he was, but relinquished one arm to rest it on your hunched shoulder. You tensed, then relaxed immediately after, welcoming the touch and something in Gerhman's stomach churned. He didn't know what it meant, but found himself wanting more nonetheless.

He gave you the time and space to collect yourself, it sounded hypocritical of himself but it was imperative that your emotions would flow through you freely. They were never meant to be cast aside or repressed, he had paid dearly for that lesson.

"He turned into a beast and I had to put him down! My best friend!"

The dam broke, and you buried your face into the palms of your hands. Gehrman regarded you with a sullen but empathetic gaze, somewhere finding it within his memory to remember what it was like to lose someone dear. He may not be able to put a name to the faces but it was enough. It was always the most compassionate hearts that suffered the most.

Considering your circumstance, words of hope and encouragement evaded him.

Should he offer his sympathy? Should he give you advice? Should he say nothing? Should he... should he... should he...

It was not the first time that he was convinced that a person such as you had no place in the Dream. In Yharnam. Being a Hunter.

Even though he was better off with you by his side. It would be incredibly selfish of him to keep you in an environment where nothing would ever thrive. Of infertile soil where all flowers would wither before they could blossom.

He should motivate you to search for your true purpose for being in this Dream, so he could, as he had done many times before, free you from it. With his Burial Blade.

The mere thought of hurting you brought him unimaginable pain. The mere thought of severing you from the Dream, never to see you again, felt soul-crushing. But he would do it, if only to spare you this.

It was the best he could offer at this moment.

"Oh, dear hunter, didn't I warn you not to think too hard about this? The moon is close. It will be a long hunt tonight. If the beasts loom large, and threaten to crush your spirits, seek the Holy Chalice. As every hunter before you has. A Holy Chalice will reveal the tomb of the god... where hunters partake in communion."

Your inquisitive eyes, so magnificently grey under the right ray of light they could be silver, turned to him, filled with such sadness and despair it pushed a stake through his stale heart. It was difficult to continue when you held him transfixed but he had somehow found his voice.

"Most of the Holy Chalices lie deep within the tomb of the gods. And the few that found their way to the surface... Were lost again in the hands of men. But if the old hunter tales remain true... ...one of the Holy Chalices is worshipped in the valley hamlet. Yet the town is in disarray... It was burned and abandoned, for fear of the scourge, home now only to beasts. The perfect place for a hunter, wouldn't you say?"

He worried immensely when you said nothing, continuing to stare into the grey fog beyond the gravestones where enormous pillars rose from endless nothingness. Time seemed to stretch on, and he resisted the urge to fidget with his cane. It was only until you rose and left for the lamp without a word that his fingers relaxed.

But in the exact moment, with a cry of a wounded animal, he struck the lumen flowers as hard as he could. Again, he had said the wrong thing, and those dearest to him always paid for it. Just as the Moon remained a permanent presence in the Hunter's Dream, he remained a fool.

―︎

You knew that Gehrman didn't imagine this when he gave you the tip.

But it was what you thought he meant.

Death and decay latched onto the very air. The Blood-Starved Beast lay rotting in a corner of the church, all gangly looking with its skin for a cape. Needles prickled your skin just remembering how its long claws tore your limbs apart more than Gascoigne ever could. Had you not discovered the Blood Cocktail's special properties by being thrown into a pillar, it was most likely you would never end up besting it. Throwing a torch at it also helped.

Accelerating, you did your best to sprint through the rest of the way to evade the lurking beasts. Much for their sake as for yours. Their beastly visages reminded you too much of Gilbert, the hurt of his passing prevailed still, yet you were sure that this was the right place to be.

It was the hunter atop the great tower that interested you, for he struck you as an odd fellow, in a good way. He hadn't introduced himself the first time you stumbled past the heavy gates and into Old Yharnam, but with a warning shot that had landed terrifying close to your boot, he made sure you remembered his words acutely:

"You there, Hunter! Didn't you see the warning? Turn back at once, Old Yharnam, burned and abandoned by men, is now home only to beasts. They are of no harm to those above. Turn back, or the hunter will face the hunt."

You narrowly side-stepped being pounced on by a werewolf. What convinced you again that this was a good idea?

Grief... it was grief.

At this point, you had to figure out the way to the top on your own because you never stepped foot near that place. Passing it by in favour of getting to prey that had to be slain. It was impossibly dark within the gothic structures, haunted by the mingling and moaning of a great number of beasts. Your heart beat louder than ever, you feared you would be discovered.

A scraping noise tore a gasp out of your open mouth, drawing in the residual soot, you swallowed down a cough and held your breath while tip-toeing into another room as gracefully as you could. You weren't allowed to fight so you decided to hide, but for fear of your own well-being, you kept your trusty Saw Cleaver at the ready.

After a moment of anxious silence, instead of the frantic patter of monsters, your ears picked up measured footsteps. Human footsteps. Oh shite-

In your haste, you absolutely forgot that the person you sought after wasn't the only one guarding the turned inhabitants of this old district. He had a companion chasing after you when you attempted to traverse through the streets with no direction in mind.

The very same companion whose footsteps now closed in on you, just around the corner. You hoped he would walk past but he was a skilled hunter, unlike you, and like a dog, once he caught a whiff of your scent, it was as good as over.

You closed your eyes once his dark silhouette came into vision, and resigned yourself to your fate. Any sort of aggression on your behalf, even in the act of defence, would undoubtedly put you out of favour of the hunter you sought. So what was left for you to do than offer yourself like a sheep for slaughter?

The only small hope you have left was that he would be merciful and make it swift. Decapitation, preferably. There was a short whirring of parts, a mechanism that would only find a home to ears that heard the sound before.

Clutching your Saw Cleaver in a death grip, the prospect flew right out the window the moment you heard that particular sound because it reminded you of another dreadful thing: there was no sharp edge for a clean cut with a saw, was there?

You began praying, even more when he came so close that you could hear his ragged breath. Stumbling backwards, you suppressed a shudder. You were a Hunter of beasts, not people. And by no means other Hunters. That was probably one of the biggest reasons you greatly respected that old crow.

It left you wondering where she disappeared to when the Blood Moon descended.

You imagined it took a vastly different level of skill to battle other hunters, with infinitely more years on their hands than your measly months. That was one of the reasons you feared antagonizing the woman whenever you talked, choosing to nod along instead of voicing your opinions.

Everything happened so fast and sort of slowly at the same time, how he approached you in quick strides. How his sudden speed scared you to death so much that you tripped in your haste to avoid it. Your surroundings were so dark that you couldn't even tell when you ended up down for the count.

Consciousness returned to you slowly, vision swimming. Groaning from the pain at the back of your head, you rolled to your side, finding the ground pleasantly soft - a cot?

"I am alive?" you said to yourself quietly, unprepared to have survived the chase.

"Be thankful for my companion," a roguish voice told you over the sounds of your elderly moaning, "I would have thrown you to the beasts were it up to me."

He followed up with something, but it was difficult for your old ears to hear. You shuffled a bit from side to side, as if it would shake your delirium. You must have looked like a drunken fool on the ground. Your head certainly felt like it.

"Do you hear me Hunter?! I will not repeat myself, what brings you to Old Yharnam?"

His booming voice rang like a bell inside your pounding head, echoing against the walls of your skull. The pain was grand, grand enough for you to abandon good sense and become angry.

"For God's sake will you tone it down a bit?!" you answered snappishly, fingers pawing at the short ends of your hair. Perhaps he will take offence and put you down for good, he would do you a favour now.

He snorted, but otherwise made no attempt to come forward to your request. Boots clung against the hard stone, away from you, and a held-in breath released itself from your asphyxiating lungs.

You worked yourself onto your feet once your vision cleared, bringing a hand up to help your eyes adjust, was the sky always so bright? A gentle breeze passed over your scalp, your hand followed inquisitively, now, where did you lose your hat?

"Aren't you a strange fellow?" he noted unkindly.

Patting down your clothes, you looked up from under your miraculously intact spectacles to meet his gaze, "[Y/N][L/N], worst Hunter you've ever met, pleased to make your acquaintance."

It at least drew a smirk from him, but not more. Not until you've answered his inquiry.

"Oh, fine!" you groaned dramatically, "I came for you."

He tensed immediately, like a deer in headlights, you should have worded that better.

"No! Not like that. I- ugh -I wanted to meet the man atop the tower. I take it that's you?"

Relaxing somewhat, he tipped his tricorn hat, left eye narrowing onto you suspiciously, "I've no interest in matters further up, neither do the beasts here in Old Yharnam. They do not venture above, and mean no harm to anyone."

"I mean no harm to them or you, I swear on my mother's grave."

"We noticed."

The man turned his back on you, whether it was because he believed you or didn't see you as a serious threat, well, realistically, it could be both. You were positive he could put you down like a pig for slaughter if he wanted, and it seemed he knew it too.

Admittedly, it would bruise your ego if you still were a young lad, but on your ancient bones, you were glad he chose to spare you. You were hoping to get to him, in fact, it was your only goal since you started your excursion. For he may have displayed a certain air of nonchalance, but you just knew he was attentive to your every movement, waiting for you to step out of line.

"Well? What are you waiting for, an open invitation? Come, join me."

You did as he told, stepping up to his rooftop perch. Some part of you thrummed with anxiety, did he spare his blade only to chuck you off the tower? It didn't help at all that the Gatling gun stood there ominously, striking even more fear into your heart without being aimed at you. This deadly machinery was jarring much like your pistol had been at the beginning. Imagine that, a hunter being scared of his own weapons!

As a simple woman of the common folk, coming from a village in the countryside far from any greater cities or fancy castles. Life had been hard, but fulfilling. Living in a house that had supposedly belonged to a witch once. It certainly didn't gain you any favours with the townsfolk, but as long as it promised a roof over your head you saw no harm in it, superstition be damned.

The people didn't like it, but you being the poor church mouse that you had been, could care less about the approval of others. Getting through the day was your main priority, and you never understood why people would look down upon you.

Didn't you have any right to fight for your life, insignificant as it was?

You did, you would, you have...

That was why you stuck around for so long, outliving even those who made life exceptionally difficult for you. You were never welcomed, that had always been an unfortunate reality for you, but you've earned the people's respect enough to be tolerated. Until... well...

"I've never seen anything quite like it."

He turned to you slowly, watching you looking at his massive gun with fearful respect, "Aye, isn't she beautiful? Crafted her myself."

You hummed, in awe of his obvious craftsmanship, but also in partial relief that he had decided to indulge you despite his suspicions, "It reminds me of Gehrman."

The man seemed to spring into life in a matter of seconds, "Blast me! YOU are the Hunter of the Dream?!"

"Ahem," offended, a scowl so foul rested on your face that it made you look like a true hag. It had less effect on him than it used to have on children. Quite possibly because he was also an older gentleman, "I've killed my fair share of beasts, thank you very much!"

He laughed. A positive sign. It eased your fear, but only at the expense of your pride, "Yes, certainly, with the blonde lad in tow for sure?"

...

Fine, maybe you had help most of the time, but that was hardly something anyone could hold against you! Much less this grandpa who had his own little helper down the ladder.

"That still counts!" you remarked, crossing your hands, but it didn't fool him.

Your humility earned you a hearty slap to the back, and while his impertinence to ridicule you aggravated you to no end. Alas, you dared not retaliate for the fear he would take it as an act of aggression. At least the tense atmosphere receded a bit, it was a good thing that you just so happen to have a great sense of humour!

"I no longer dream, but I was once a hunter too."

Your eyebrows rose as your voice took on a lighter tone, "You were?"

The seconds ticked by, his lips formed into a straight line and there appeared to be a swirl of memories behind his one healthy eye, "Forgive me, you don't have to tell me."

Your head tipped and anxiety reared its way back. The man stood like a statue and continued to stare at a point beyond your head. Almost as if your arm had a head of its own, it reached out, against your better judgement, and settled on his shoulder.

Fast as lightning, he trapped your hand with his own. Painfully, at first, until he realized you meant no harm and lessened his grip. Taking the leap, you rubbed it gently in hopes it would ground him to whatever distant place you have sent him to. You really wanted to be thrown off the tower, didn't you?

Fortunately, you seemed to have caught him so exemplary off guard that he did neither. Much to your disbelief, all tension faded from his cautious person so far he even put down his Stake Driver.

"There's nothing more horrible than a hunt. In case you fail to realize, the things you hunt - they're not beasts, they're people. One day you will see."

His manly hand, covered by thick gloves that didn't diminish their roughness, pushed something small into yours. A badge. You looked up at him, dumbfounded. Why would he give you that? Wait, why was he saying his goodbyes?

"Thank you...?" you said slowly, sincerely confused.

"The name's Djura, retired hunter."

The man has a name!

"Thank you, Djura," you tested out his name, "but why are you giving me this?"

"I have no use for it anyway."

You stubbornly wanted to stay, surely he understood that. Dismissive as he tried to be, you wouldn't budge on getting the reason out of him. At this point, for some weird reason, you trusted he had no intention of getting rid of you.

Djura didn't, however, have any further reason to indulge your company as of now.

"What is it? Surely I need not repeat myself. Go I say. You have the whole night to dream, make the best of it."

Taking the loss, you did as he asked, and begrudgingly made your way down the ladder, one foot at a time. You were so wrapped up in your head that you hadn't even noticed that somebody was following you until the person actually made himself known by pulling at your dirty coat. Turning rapidly, your first thought was to lash out in fear of danger, but a strong arm pushed something into your clothed chest.

Getting ahold of yourself, you realized you had been moments away from harming Djura's helper. Your blood pressure skyrocketed after the horrifying thought. After a tense moment and a slow look down, you realised why he had chased after you. He just wanted to give you back your lost Top Hat.

You swallowed thickly, "Thank you."

He nodded, and you expected nothing more than that until...

"You're not so bad."

You must have heard wrong, but by the time you turned around, he was already gone. Like a ghost. You shrugged, it didn't matter anyways, but the same couldn't be said about the pleasant feeling that settled in your stomach. It was curious, the many ways the human mind worked. By the time you were at the nearest lamp, you had not once thought about your friend's death at all.

Perhaps there were still some good things left in Yharnam after all.

[zutraeumen]

Unshackle Me

This is a part of my one-shot book about Gehrman called: Even the doll, should it please you… You can find the whole book on these platforms: FanFiction, AO3, Wattpad or Quotev.

Bloodborne belongs to its respectful owner.

Unshackle Me

―︎

"You're sure to be in a fine haze about now, but don't think too hard about all of this."

―︎

Clueless as you were in your role as the Hunter of the Dream, you felt like you were on the right track for once, and the feeling only grew as you traversed further into the macabre Forbidden Woods; in search of Byrgenwerth.

Beyond the many lurking dangers of the tangled woods, past the massive graves and its three shadowy figures, stood Byrgenwerth College. A research building of older times, it overlooked a lake, the building itself standing serenely as if gazing at the reflection of the moon.

You had just about enough of the Moon, thank you very much.

Several scattered scripts led you to this place. Yet in the end, it had been Alfred's words that convinced you to take a closer look into it - sounded promising - and thus raised your overall expectations. It was supposed to be a place of higher learning, of teachings most obscure that delved into the mysterious secrets of the Chalice Labyrinths, the Arcane knowledge of the Cosmos, and the Great Ones that inhabit it.

In this sense, you connected the dots that everything sacred in Yharnam could be traced back to the college, and therefore, saw it as a potential treasure horde of answers definitely worth dying a few times.

The Byrgenwerth spider hides all manner of rituals, and keeps our lost master from us. A terrible shame. It makes my head shudder uncontrollably.

The lost master mentioned in this note that you had found in a library on your way to Oedon Chapel was Master Willem, the very same Master Willem you had only gotten a glimpse of through the vision granted by touching that enormous beast skull at the altar of the Grand Cathedral. Hearing about him, he seemed significant to you, but meeting him in person was underwhelming, for there was little left of his mind.

The spider hides all manner of rituals, certain to reveal nothing, for true enlightenment need not be shared.

The 'spider' must have him trapped here, for there appeared to be some pale fungus growing on the back of his head. His eyes were covered, and you joked that he might have it there to hide pairs of bulbous yellow-tinted eyes alike the insectoid foes you had dispatched of all across the college's grounds.

You could still hear the rustling of many legs just under the terrace where you now stood. That THING you had not enough creativity to name, as well as deemed too pointless to trifle with.

"Our eyes are yet to open."

You remembered hearing the old man say to Laurence. You were not entirely sure you understood the full scope of his words, nor prevailed in you any true desire to discover his thoughts about how to achieve eldritch enlightenment. You would not let curiosity kill the cat.

Perhaps he was still waiting for that to happen to him in this creaking rocking chair of his, with a mind-robbed hunter donning robes of the Choir guarding the entrance to the terrace. The smell from the Rosmarinus still clung to your attire and you loathed it as much as you did the blood of the beast you killed on a daily basis.

The Provost breathed almost imperceptively. He WAS alive, you saw the small rise of his chest despite the thick layers of robes. Yet, there still came nought a sound from the old bugger (look who's talking, old hag), and his silence unnerved you because there was no way forward from this point; your trail came to a halt here.

Small traces of anger began to bubble up in you. Standing here in silence, in spite of the magnificent view, albeit without answers bothered you all the same. Age should have taught you by now that patience was a virtue, but you didn't come all this way for a knitting lesson with this coffin dodger!

Your feet carried you closer to him, and thoughts of knocking off his headwear to get him to wake up crossed your mind. Distantly reminding you of the way unruly children would disturb that lanky, old - what was his name? - farmer back in your small village by knocking off his straw hat whilst he dozed off in his chair. Once discovered, they would skip away in equal fright and laughter, a spring to their steps that only youth could give them.

Holy shit, you actually remembered something! Before you could indulge in a short episode of self-celebration, the unexpected happened.

Provost Willem spoke. Correction, he released a couple of unintelligible sounds that sounded as if his jaw and tongue had gone lax, but that was not all from him. You watched him raise the sceptre you failed to mention, and stepped out of the way as he slowly swung it towards the edge of the terrace.

What was he pointing at?

Captivated by this new development, you inched closer to the edge to see if there was anything suspicious. Surprise, surprise! There wasn't.

"I swear if this is supposed to be some sort of joke-"

Whack!

No sooner than you registered the scorching pain upon your back, did you realize that you were sent flying towards the moon-side lake. Expecting to be met with freezing water, you curl into a protective ball only to be met with hard ground, and not even cloth would have muffled the scream that tore from you.

Fucking hell, that fall must have positively shattered the entirety of your backbone (Oops, clumsy you!). Possibly worse. Despite your reservation about the consumption of healing blood, you didn't hesitate to inject a vial into your right thigh.

The pain ebbed away with the administrated dosage, but it still took you a while to pick yourself up. Old age and such. Rolling on your side, you tried to stay calm at the fact that you were standing on literal water, surrounded by a thick fog that stifled your senses.

As far as you knew, there was nothing around, until you turned around. Blinking away the mist in your gaze, you recognized a shape decisively not human. Was that the spider that was mentioned in the leftover notes?

Picking up your trusty Saw Cleaver, left discarded on the watery floor from the fall, you mentally prepared for a fight. Scrutinizing your enemy with each step you took.

If you didn't know any better, you would have never associated it with arachnids. More like a gigantic pillbug with numerous tiny legs holstering its weight. At its end, it had a silverfish-like tail and a bulbous body on which there appeared to be a garden of Coldblood flowers. Its face, on the other hand, resembled a chunk of pumice covered in multiple eyes, which might (or might not) suggest its connection to the Great Ones.

Overall, it seemed like easy prey, considering your previous encounters with such monsters. A bigger body to hit. Strangely enough, the alarm bells remained dormant, as if your instincts didn't recognize an immediate threat, even when you were a foot away from the 'Spider'.

Still nothing, it remained harmless like a butterfly.

Some part of your brain decided that it was a good idea to try and touch it, and stupidly enough, you did end up laying a tentative hand upon the creature's body. Patting as if it was a mere cat, you thought about your next course of action.

This situation was so different from what you were used to by that point that you had no clue how to proceed. Up until this confusing encounter; hostility from everywhere, from everything, from everyone was a given. For a monster to be this docile, well, that wasn't in the Hunter manual.

You had a feeling no other Hunter would vacillate as much as you did right now. As your cool kinswoman Eileen would say to you: Enough trembling in your boots. A hunter must hunt.

Some hunter you were! Slaying beasts was part of your job! Your contract! (signed against your will, mind you) Looking at yourself right now, in an inner debate to spare a monster, she would regard you with much disappointment. As would the rest of them. Alive or dead.

Lifting your weapon over your head, not much left to do to complete a swing other than let gravity do the rest, you willed yourself to initiate the fight - to do what hunters do.

Yet... you couldn't. It was against your nature, even despite them being everything that humans so feared. Cautionary tales parents told their children during bedtime.

Ah, you truly weren't cut out for this.

―︎

Gehrman POV

The old Hunter startled awake after yet another uneasy dream.

No, he didn't dream, he RELIVED.

The fiendish sins he had committed against the people of the Fishing Hamlet, albeit done at the behest of his Master Willem, were continuing to haunt him with avid precision. To a point where he could sooner recall them rather than his own name!

And Maria, oh the beautiful Maria that had never been his to begin with. He should have forwarded another to come with him, but the Provost personally requested both of them - Master and his best student - to assist his Byrgenwerth scholars to investigate the village.

Having been under the Master's servitude for a while now, trusted and respected, he was the one who armed the Tomb Prospectors with his crafty weaponry or tinkered with their attire. And was sometimes even asked to accompany them into the deep labyrinth under Yharnam, where he had gotten quite the experience fighting misbegotten creatures. After each kill, they would cleave them up and put the smaller pieces into containers to be brought back for research.

He realized that he had thought about the transformed people of the Fishing Hamlet the same way, and ushered cruel death upon them with his Burial Blade like one would a measly insect ready for dissection. Without sympathy for human life, hanging their mutilated corpses, they violently clawed their eyes out in search of a connection to the supposed Great Ones - until they carved a path towards one the villagers revered as Mother Kos.

It was there that their greatest blasphemy was committed...

At the end of a long, sodden tunnel was a beach, and ashore, a dead Great One. But that was not all they had found lingering there, for, during the act of desecrating even this corpse, they had found the greatest discovery yet - an unborn child.

They were foolish, blinded by the flame of greed. By separating the fetus from its mother, they murdered an infant in their search for advancing humanity and invoked the wrath of Kos. A curse that not even Flora could lift from him.

The old Hunter wouldn't have known at the time, but he had become the very same monster he had so prided himself on killing. Many who would hear his punishment would say it was a deserved one, and he thought so too, from the moment it drove his beloved Maria away from him. From being a Hunter altogether.

Together with Laurence, when the Scourge of Beasts was becoming too much to handle even for Ludwig and his Holy Blades, they beckoned another Great One through the umbilical cord of the very child he had cut from the belly of its mother.

Life without Maria held no meaning for him. He wasn't even strong enough to protect the citizens of Yharnam against the beast that multiplied like rats. It wasn't difficult to consent to Laurence's idea.

The times when he would indulge his hobby of making adjustments to his everyday clothing and tools seemed so very distant to him now. So far, indeed, that after Lady Maria's death and his subsequential confinement to the Hunter's Dream, he would not ever craft something of brutish nature ever again.

Guilt, loss, and uselessness paved the way for the depravity of thought, morals, and reason. Concepts of purity like love would deteriorate into an obsessive mania, as proof that he couldn't move on from Lady Maria's passing.

So, in the image of the only person he thought he ever loved, he made the Plain Doll.

Designed to perfection, down to the most minuscule detail, no facet was left different from its role model. And then Flora brought the Doll to life, and Gehrman, misguided as he had been, indulged himself in his carnal desires despite knowing that the porcelain doll could never live up to the real thing no matter how he wished it.

Bitterness and anger came first, where he would grow distant and indifferent towards the Doll as if he wasn't the one who created her with tender affection. Her mere existence was perceived as an affront towards his genuine - even if unbecoming - feelings for Lady Maria.

Then followed days upon days of loneliness with no one else to keep him company other than his own voice. With his future sealed, the present a repeating cycle, he was left with no choice but to seek refuge in the past.

Hours of self-reflection brought great shame to overcome him, he felt disgusted with himself, his actions, and even cried at the mere notion that he had defiled something so pure and innocent as the Doll. What would Maria think of him, he dared not to imagine, but he doubted it would be any different from what he already thought of himself.

A monster, that was what he was. One that absolutely deserved to be trapped in this gilded cage.

He knew not what to expect of the Great One when they had struck an accord with it. How it would uphold its end of the bargain, but that changed when the first hunter came into the Workshop.

Most of them came young, and knew little of the skillset necessary for the hunting of beasts, and it was then that the old hunter realized his purpose in this new plane of existence - this Hunter's Dream - a guide for new hunters.

The mantle of mentorship hadn't been new to him. The nostalgia of his days before the Scourge of Beasts had hit him hard, and for a sweet moment, he had forgotten his pain until this too, became part of his monotone existence.

For the Hunters of the Dream quickly began to grow disinterested in him and eventually, he of them as well.

But never the soft-spoken Doll, who jumped to serve their every need just like he once done himself. He couldn't care less, she meant nothing to him at this point, any superficial affections he might have held because she was the spitting image of his love interest disappeared long ago.

They were all of a piece until the time came when they had outgrown their use, and Flora brought them to his tree, and he would give them a choice. A choice he would never get to have - to be freed of this Dream and walk in the waking world once more. Even when they resisted, far too lost in their drunkness for blood, he would grant them mercy.

Any other outcome wasn't allowed.

He would not have it any other way. Gehrman would never let another take his place, to condemn someone to this nightmare he had brought upon himself. His burden was never one to be shared or given away.

And so new gravestones sprouted from the earth, with each freed Hunter...

... until you came.

You were inherently different than any other soul that had bound itself to the Dream, there was that air about you told him on itself.

For starters, you were old, possibly the oldest Hunter of the Dream yet, however, you carried your age well and he suspected you must have been a fair maiden back in your days.

But for now, you matched his mouse-grey hair, but he thought they suited you much better than him. The cropped strands barely peeked out of your Top Hat, it was strange to see a woman wear one, but the round, silverly spectacles complimented your striking grey eyes the most. They gave you an academic aura that reminded him of his time working for Byrgenwerth and often not, would transfix him in their lingering wisdom.

For a woman your age, you were quite tall as well. Or perhaps it only appeared so because he sat in his wheelchair, who knows? The Doll seemed to favour you the most. Although she held past Hunters in high regard and treated them with deep respect, out of all of them, you openly engaged her during every given opportunity.

To you, she would never be just a tool.

Conversing with her as if the knowledge that the Plain Doll was a mere inanimate object eluded you. Without a will of her own, Gehrman disregarded the Doll long ago because of that same aspect, but you, on the other end, he watched you take your time to listen like a grandmother would to their grandchild.

The Doll loved you for it.

Some distant part of him (one he would never admit out loud) adored you for it as well, that the two of you shared anything, no matter how small, in common. It made him feel connected to you, it made him feel happy.

From your words alone, he had gathered that you were a kind soul. Far too kind to exercise such an unsavoury job. Back in the day, many would have misjudged you for your lack of necessary violence (Valtr, for sure). Being the most experienced of them all, he wouldn't do you wrong by underestimating you.

He hadn't done so when recruiting young Maria from the Knights of Cainhurst during times when the Healing Church resided in its infancy. She didn't count among the last to be recruited to his Workshop, but her potential was the one Gehrman had wanted to realize the most.

And in the end, Maria had proven herself in the eyes of every doubter, how deadly of a hunter she had become. With her delicate expertise of the Rakuyo, which required great dexterity to wield, and the mastering of his Quickening.

If he strained his memory long enough, he could recall how proud he had been. Of the way she had blossomed into a stunning lady until one day, while fighting every day, side by side, he came upon the realization that his feelings had changed.

There was no chance of him to pinpoint the exact moment Maria became more to him than his most accomplished apprentice. But it happened so seamlessly that Gehrman easily convinced himself that he never felt anything else for her from the very beginning.

Despite that, he had never found the courage to confess his feelings towards Maria. He had read books, of course, detailing the ways of wooing and courtship, but... Inexperience led to illusion, and there hadn't been a more heartbreaking day than the day he realized that the enchanting beauty would never reciprocate his feelings. That they would never exceed anything other than admiration for her mentor. Just like it always should have been.

By the Gods, he had known for a long time. From the way they had interacted, from the way she looked at him, from the way she talked about him to others.

It was he who was in the wrong, he who had hoped for more, he who had lied to himself.

Never his Maria. Never his Lumenflower.

Then, he had lost her. And so his last chance to tell her the full extent of his amorous feelings.

But you... you... you...

You were nothing like her. There was no potential to draw out from you. His keen eyes spied not a drop of talent in you. Might he have been younger, he would perhaps have found ways to fletch you into a somewhat acceptable hunter still, the toll of his existence made itself known in many ways.

There was very little he could offer you, yet you still came to him.

You actively searched him out of your own volition, even bypassing the Doll in some instances.

Unbelievably enough, even his moments of weakness never deterred you. You probably thought he wouldn't catch onto this, but he sometimes awoke to your touch, soft and harmless, that made him slowly forget what he dreamt about within the next seconds.

Your presence calmed him, he might even say it brought him some measure of peace he had not experienced for far too long. It did not stop the nightmares, but you would be there to soothe him should he awake from them. Your tenderness drew warmth into his being once again, syphoned feelings into his heart, and inspired thoughts back into his decaying brain.

Life.

Just as Flora had done to his Plain Doll, you had planted a seed of life into him, one he was unsure if he had the strength left to nurture. Gehrman was confounded, you have been part of the Dream for some time now, even if his perception of time was somewhat unreliable, they had formed a bond of sorts.

And as much as he wouldn't like to acknowledge it to himself, he had come to rely on you and anticipate your return with fondness.

―︎

In the end, you found out there was no other way, no matter how far you walked, the mist churned endlessly around. No Hunter Marks to make use of.

Left with no other choice, you engaged the Spider with a heavy weight in your stomach.

Following your victory, you approached the ever-wailing Queen Yharnam when suddenly, a red Moon began descending. You had never been more sure of your impending doom, so much that you have not even attempted to run away, but in turn, found yourself transported to a forgotten church; a nook of the Upper Cathedral Ward you have had yet to discover.

And it was then that you witnessed TRUE HORROR; in the form of an alien beast outside the designs of nature you had no name of. With seven arms and a lean, almost branch-like body with an opening in the chest. Intrusive thoughts imagined how its six clawed fingers would strike with frightening speed like a mantis, or crush your feeble form in one of its massive palms.

If the sight alone didn't inspire enough fear for your legs to move, then it must have been the prickling sensation in your head. Something was attempting to reach you - your thoughts. You didn't give in, even as you hightailed past its many enemies and towards the safety of the Oedon Chapel.

Gone was the blue of the sky, and the Moon appeared larger than you remembered it. Everything was bathed in sickly orange light and there was an unending cry of a newborn babe resonating in the air, with no clear source to be determined. A new, stifling atmosphere had taken over Yharnam and you feared for the survivors at the Chapel.

Your thoughts were racing at impossible speed - falling into a perpetual cycle of why's and how's. You should have never searched for answers you weren't ready for because there was one thing that had become blatantly clear, killing the Spider set off a change that put dread into your very soul because you hadn't meant it. You were as unprepared for what awaited you as the day you have gotten into this mess.

Regardless, you raced as quickly as your tired feet could carry you, taking every possible shortcut there was at your disposal to get there.

You made it past the giant, imposing gate and down the long set of stairs that would lead you to the corner Eileen would occupy. You only needed to round the wooden carriage and-

"Miss Hunter!"

You tensed in surprise before a small body came barreling into you. It took you a second too long to realize who it was, then didn't hesitate to scoop her up by her armpits. Frantically, your eyes searched for anything that might indicate bodily harm and a stone dropped from your heart when you found none. Gascoigne's daughter was okay, your head shot up when you heard another pair of smaller boots; both were okay.

With a wail of relief equal to that of a worried mother, you shoved the girl into your embrace, small fingers clutching into the lapels of your coat. Sobs wracked through the child in your arms, and you barely gulped down the tremble in your voice when you tried to shush her with soothing words.

The kid brought you immense comfort, but still, there were numerous eyes continuing to watch you and it unnerved you. With clammy hands, you shifted one daughter into the cleft of one arm while reaching out for the smaller hand of the other. You didn't expect her to actually take it, but she did and so you steered them back into the safety of Oedon Chapel.

Your body relaxed from its hypertonic state when the familiar waft of incense made it to your nostrils, "Is everyone safe?"

Your voice resonated within the gothic structure, loud and clear, which seem to startle the old lady on her chair, but surprisingly, she didn't begin her usual judgmental ravings but remained oddly quiet, muttering unintelligibly to herself. The man, distrustful as he was, continued to at his corner, seemingly fine and completely unbothered to give any sort of response. Adella seemed to be faring well too, at first glance.

Gascoigne's younger daughter calmed down by the time you reassured yourself of the wellbeing of the group, and began tugging at your hand incessantly, "Lady Arianna, Miss Hunter, she is not feeling well. She is groaning and clutching at her tummy as if she had a tummy ache. I used to have those when I ate too fast..."

Arriving at the lamp, it was as the small girl said, your friend was hunched over in obvious pain and you waste no time approaching her chair with great concern. You said her name and watched as she closed her eyes shut in response.

"Oh, hello there. Forgive me, I'm a bit out of sorts. So, no blood today, okay?"

Shaking your head while taking down your hat, you gave it to the older sister to hold while you tried your best to inspect the hurting woman before you. You were no doctor, but you were a fellow woman, if you could elevate your friend of any semblance of pain, it would ease your heart considerably.

"Wouldn't dream of it, talk to me Arianna, what's wrong?"

Another groan, deeper than the rest, escaped the woman of pleasure, as if it required considerable effort to form a reply. The girls stayed quiet behind you.

"I don't know deary, my stomach hurts so terribly."

You reached for her hand, finding it shaking and clammy, "Is it your moon cycle?"

"Impossible, I am not bleeding."

Your sense of smell agreed with her. There was no blood on her person that you could sniff out.

"Would a blood vial help?" you asked, fishing out one out of your many pockets. Your right thigh tingled in anticipation, as if it waited for you to inject yourself in a reflexive response to a fatal injury.

You, with practised precision, jabbed the needle into the next best place that wasn't covered by her gown. You held onto her as she experienced the familiar rush of ecstasy. Invigoration at its finest, there was no wonder the residents of Yharnam preferred it over alcohol.

"Ahhh... I am afraid it didn't work darling. Oh...there's something wrong with me..."

Helpless, you scrambled in your brain for alternatives. Despite it being some time after your last moon cycle, you remembered distinctly what you used to do, one simply couldn't sever himself this easily from an experience that went on for the better half of life.

"What is wrong with Lady Arianna, Miss Hunter?" The girl with a white ribbon asked, her childly voice carrying innocent confusion that would never fail to grow in your heart. She was too innocent for this world.

In lack of a suitable white lie, you shifted your attention towards the Dweller, whose spindly arms were lighting another pot of incense. You knew he'd help the only woman - second to you - who would speak to him from time to time. A kind soul through and through.

"Yes, kind hunter? How can I be of service to you?" There was an adorable tilt of joy in his frail voice, excitement at the prospect of being useful.

There was nothing but softness as you addressed him, "We need to get Arianna from this chair to a more comfortable place. Do you have a few pillows for her, a blanket preferably as well?"

"Certainly, Miss Hunter, but I'm afraid I am out of blankets." His head dropped and his expression fell rapidly.

That was when the Gascoigne's older daughter cut in, "I can give her mine. My sister's big enough for us two."

You smiled and nodded in satisfaction, it felt wonderful to have the support of others for a change. With that settled, you worked together to create a soft corner for Arianna to lie down and rest. You also inquired if he would be so kind as to make a kettle of tea and serve it to the pained woman in hopes the warmth might make her feel better.

You turned and knelt in front of the kids, taking each small hand into your own with care, "Listen kids, let Lady Arianna rest and listen to the Dweller while I am away, can you do that for me dearies?"

"Of course, Miss Hunter. We'll be good, but where are you going?"

Your thoughts steered towards Gilbert and his decaying health, "To visit a friend and see if he's alright."

"Okay..." she went in for a hug, "we love you, Miss Hunter, and we will miss you!"

You kissed the top of her head and squeezed her sister's hand, although you weren't as close to her as to her younger counterpart, you came to care for her too. You would be back before they knew it.

Or so you thought, until you arrived at Gilbert's window.

The light that usually shone behind the barred window was extinguished. The iron bars you used to speak through to your friend were bent open, as if something was trying to get in...false - get out.

Your ears picked up irregular steps, heavy breathing and menacing growling. A beast lurked about, just around this corn-

It jumped you with the ferocity of any other beast in Central Yharnam, only this didn't resemble any of the usual prey in this area. With a werewolf-like, thin and elongated body that was covered in bandages and ripped cloth, exposing its fur. Sharp nails sought to pierce, cut, sink into paper-thin skin, but found no other than the sharpened metal of your Saw Cleaver.

With the strength of many blood souls, this enemy which you first encountered in Old Yharnam, was no serious threat to you. And it fell to one precise strike with a yowl, laying dead about your feet.

Your breath calmed, your heart slowed, your mind cleared... and realization followed.

"By the Gods, GILBERT!"

The beast you have just slain was your outsider friend, who at the precipice of his affliction, turned into the very same beast you hunted. His mind fully succumbed to the hunt for the blood of humans.

"No, no, no, this isn't real, no, no, no..."

This was not your Gilbert that you connected with at the beginning of your Hunt. This was not the Gilbert that gave you useful information whenever you failed at navigating the monotone streets of Yharnam. This was not the Gilbert you'd share a cup of tea over words.

This was not the Gilbert you knew, yet why did it hurt as if he were?

"Why... me... why? Dear gods, what have I done? Save me."

Tears flooded your eyes as the full brunt of emotions crashed into you like a tsunami. The strength in your legs left you, you didn't even register the painful way your knees crashed against the hard, wet concrete.

Your heart felt as if wanted to squeeze the life out of you, while your throat tried to suffocate you. You felt immense pain at the loss of your friend. He had considered himself lucky to be unharmed by the plague of beasts. He felt happy at the prospect of keeping his humanity at death's doorstep.

But his sickness robbed that from him, and you grieved for him, and blamed yourself for not ending his life before he could turn. You should have been here for him, to the end, what have you done instead? You went gallivanting into the woods because of some stupid sense of curiosity.

Glancing at the corpse, you couldn't stomach the sight and its implications any longer and reached for the lamp. You NEEDED to get away, IMMEDIATELY.

And so as if to answer your wishes, the Messengers whisked you away into the Dream.

―︎

Gehrman POV

It was all the same.

The same air. The same smell. The same sights. The same dreams.

All tied into a repetitive loop. A ring with no end nor beginning.

Then he opened his eyes and saw you.

And all was well again.

The air changed. The smell changed. The sight changed. The dreams ended.

And he was alive again.

The old hunter lifted his head, tipping his hat to properly look at you. He had never braved to open his eyes at your caress, fearful he would be caught by your silver orbs. But now that you were fast asleep, his bravery shone through and he dared to dip his toes into the waters of uncertainty.

He watched as you leaned against the side of his chair, your posture slumped. It looked uncomfortable as the position had you bent your spine strangely, limbs hanging loosely. Gehrman took the liberty of gazing at your face, from this angle, getting a full picture was impossible without leaving his chair, but it was enough for him.

Worry etched his aged face as he spied the puffy redness around your eyes, and nose. Paths of dried tears slowly faded away, and there was no doubt in his mind that you had been crying recently. The world out there was cruel and unforgiving, that was never in question, but to see it have an impact on you - on such a beautiful soul - upset him.

You appeared vulnerable, and he couldn't imagine why you would go to him in such a delicate state. Surely the Doll would have gladly accepted you into her arms? He could ponder over your illusive reason all he wanted but in the end, Gehrman felt privileged, honoured even.

But the real issue was here, how would he go on about comforting you?

He wasn't short on ideas, but of confidence to execute them. Offering someone emotional support didn't count among his strong suits, but he felt something about you, so it made it easier. You were past being strangers the moment you sought him out in the back garden. The moment you first connected through touch.

"Just follow your heart you old fool, before she wakes up," he thought and conceded. His movements were deliberate, led by what his hopeful heart perceived as best, the old hunter's hand left his cane and moved over to where you were.

That wretched muscle behind his breastbone thumped as never before as his hand hovered over your head. Doubts over his actions forced him to hesitate once more, but he wouldn't be deterred, and after a slow, dry swallow of his own saliva, the first finger skimmed over the short blades of your mouse-grey hair.

His breath involuntarily hitched. It was soft, barely perceptible and he wondered how long it has been since he had touched something of that texture. Too long, apparently, for he chased more of this sensation with the rest of his hand and it wasn't long until his whole hand rested on your angled head.

He could hear the beat of his own heart in his ears. Touching you was thrilling in ways that resembled a hunt of a beast in the late nights in Yharnam. Gehrman couldn't remember an instance where he had been that close to a woman before that wasn't his mother. What did she look like?

Gehrman felt invigorated like never before! Vitality seemed to exude from him in spades!

Until he felt you twitch, then he went really quiet, as if the beast he hunted caught his scent. His petting ceased to a mere touch without pressure. Fearing that he might have inadvertently woken you up with his newfound enthusiasm, his hand was about to recoil when you slumped even further against his wheelchair, head pressing into his palm.

And only after moments of pause, to reassure that you have fallen back into the lands of dreams, resumed his tender, affectionate, mitigative caress. It gave him something to resist the iron pull of his depressive thoughts.

With you by his side, he could escape the cruel reality of his existence and find refuge in your measured breathing.

And once again, hidden from the only set of eyes in this dream, stood the Doll. Hands intertwined in front of her, with a kind smile on her vestal face, rejoicing in the slow entanglement of two lost souls.

[zutraeumen]

Reprieve

This is a part of my one-shot book about Gehrman called: Even the doll, should it please you... You can find the whole book on these platforms: FanFiction, AO3, Wattpad or Quotev. Bloodborne belongs to its respectful owner.

Reprieve

―︎

"Ah-hah, you must be the new hunter. Welcome to the Hunter's Dream. This will be your home, for now."

―︎

You sought refuge after another venture through the dark streets of the Cathedral Ward. Blood and grime fell off every corner of your dark coat. Some of it yours, most of it from the men-beasts you have slayed on the way. Their souls echoed within your undying six-foot frame, whispering their desire to become your strength.

With a sigh, you righted your messy attire and tousled the grey, cropped hair on your head- You were too old for this.

With your failing memory, even that was a challenge. You couldn't even tell why you stepped foot into Yharnam, though you suspected, after a bit of speculating over a cup of tea with Gilbert (may God watch over him), that you must have been ridden with an illness just as he was. You couldn't imagine any other reason why someone would set foot into this cursed city.

Little did you know that your search for a cure became your ticket to an existence of unending horror.

The Night of the Hunt.

It would be wise to visit the soft-spoken Doll first, but it was always Gehrman you sought out first.

Ever since you stumbled into the Hunter's Dream, freshly dismembered by the Scourge of Beasts at the Clinic you had awakened in, the mansion hardly offered any comfort. The Messengers though, remained adorable with their ghastly appearance nevertheless.

They were, after all, the very first inhabitants you have met in the Dream, the very first friendly spirits offering you guidance instead of a gruesome death.

With languid strides, you stepped up the pavement and passed the Doll with a curt nod serving as a hello. You remembered how the Doll had laid unmovingly at the corner she now stood in, awaiting your return, with the front doors of the Workshop tightly shut. There had been no way other than the way back, through the only messenger-inhabited gravestone.

The scent of dry wood wafted through the homely-looking Workshop that should have calmed those aching joints in your decaying bones, but alas, it was not so, and now, having discovered its real-life replica, you had a sound reason to.

It wasn't real.

As much as it tried to convince you of the opposite with its misleading sense of safety. It was a dreamscape in its truest sense - a Hunter's Dream. And judging by the myriad of gravestones littered across its plane, it was dreadfully apparent that at many points in time, there were other Hunters of the Dream.

It had to be Gehrman's, or the Doll's?

Then again, how come you shared a dream with somebody? It didn't make any sense. That you were still alive after countless deaths made no sense. NOTHING. MADE. SENSE!

The more you investigated the mystery behind your continuing existence and invested time into finding a way to end the hunt, the more answers seemed to elude you. It felt as if with every layer discovered, another lay in waiting.

Seek the Paleblood to ascend the hunt.

To escape this dreadful Hunter's Dream, halt the source of the spreading scourge of beasts, lest the night carry on forever.

Ascend to Oedon Chapel.

The Byrgenwerth spider hides all manner of rituals, and keeps our lost master from us. A terrible shame. It makes my head shudder uncontrollably.

"Whatever happens, you may think it all a bad dream."

By now, you WISHED it would have been just that - a bad dream; a nightmare. You discovered it was way worse.

It had been on your second return, after making acquaintances with such as Iosefka and Gilbert, that you had met the man you now came to know as Gehrman. You had regarded him cautiously back then, as your last encounter with a man in a wheelchair had been less than ideal.

But the elder posed no visible threat to you. How could he? Feeble and frail (look who's talking), with a stump for a leg. If you had learnt a singular thing about being a Hunter, then it was that not all things were all they seemed to be - and Gehrman was one of them.

"He was a hunter long, long ago, but now serves only to advise them. He is obscure, unseen in the dreaming world. Still, he stays here, in this dream… such is his purpose."

Those were the words Doll has spoken about Gehrman, and despite your stoked curiosity, you questioned her no further about it. Remembering yourself, your nose scrunched from the stench on your clothes, all bile and intestines from rotten dogs and overgrown crows and unsavoury things you would not put a name on.

Setting down your Saw Cleaver and Hunter Pistol on the work station right next to the altar, you were ginger in your movement to rid you of the besmudged coat and hat, leaving you only in a grey sleeveless tunic, long faded in colour and stretched too thin by years of consecutive usage.

There was a bucket of water freshly prepared nearby with a clean rag peeking from its rim. Courtesy of the Doll, you'd have to express your gratitude for her once your break was over, perhaps by gifting her a small hair ornament you had found in the Old Workshop. Its colour would stand out most brilliantly against her head of greyish hair.

Snatching and wetting the rag in the container, you let it glide off the blotches of blood against pale, thinning skin, proceeding to clean yourself of the filth of Yharnam. It was an activity that brought some measure of tranquillity to your chaotic life - if it could longer be called like that - where there was no hurry to reach a finish line.

That was until your hearing picked up a most unusual sound you ever heard in the Dream, one you wouldn't have heard without the empowerment of the innumerable blood echoes you have imbibed as of far. Straining your ears, you halted your actions in favour of figuring out what exactly you were hearing.

It sounded distressing and subsequently, an image of Gascoigne's daughter flashed through your mind. The muscle beating behind your rib cage skipped a beat, you had found her just in time to save her from being trampled by a pig in the sewers. Oh, how terrified you had been for her.

The sheer panic it arose within you was enough to force your legs to act on their own accord and investigate the source.

They swiftly led you outside the Workshop, past the lonely gravestone where the Doll sometimes prayed on with ever-increasing haste, the mere sound of crying, no matter the age, has always seemed to be the thing to move your grandmotherly heart the most.

It didn't sit well with you to hear others in pain, which was why being a Hunter felt so incredibly difficult for you, as you were inflicting it at every turn nowadays. It was violent and against your nature, and weren't it for the Dream patching you up, you imagined you'd have gone mad by now.

But not at this moment, there was someone who needed your help, and your feelings were menial in comparison. Your search ended in a nook of the Dream you had never visited before and where you certainly never suspected to find Gehrman. You had not seen him in the Dream for a long time.

"Gehrman?"

No response was offered to you other than a whimper that picked at your already straining heartstrings. The soft blades of higher grass parted as you silently approached the sleeping man in his wheelchair, leaning with both hands upon his ornate cane.

Despite residing in a literal dream, the one whose dream you supposed this was, remained discontented.

Tormented.

He sounded nothing short of tormented. A subject of torture for his own mind or conventionally, by its frightening imagination that served to let him suffer within its confines.

Another louder sob tore you from your fruitless speculations and his sullen face drew your concerned gaze. You knelt in front of him. His face expressed his mounting age as it contracted into a pain-depicting grimace. The crow's feet served as channels for the flow of tears embarking on their journey downwards. Bunny lines littered the top of his celestial nose, speaking of the over-usage of this particular muscle.

It was for the first time that you had been given the opportunity to take a closer inspection of the opaque man not much older than you. Head hung low, shoulders hunched and spine bent forward, he had his hands situated on top of the other as he clutched the head of his cane until his knuckles turned white.

Without much thinking, you gently placed your palm onto his, almost jumping back from how cold his translucent skin felt to the touch. Not unlike a corpse would feel but you didn't let it get to you. Gehrman needed condoling, or at least to be lent a compassionate hand much like you wanted to offer it to him.

Gehrman did very little in response to your warmth, at first. As if he had forgotten what it felt like, and you felt another bout of pity for him. Although you were feeling quite touch-starved yourself as you sensed how the many short muscles in his hand relaxed.

After a while, the sobs grew sporadic at best, but the occasional whimper or two escaped him once in a while. When his hands grew lax, you made sure to transfer them both into yours to console him better through your touch, it seemed to be working.

The tender wind, artificial but no less perceivable, caressed your exposed skin and forced a shudder throughout your body. You grew alarmed as your shaking seemed to rouse him a wee bit, but thankfully, not enough to bring him back to awareness.

This could have turned awkward real quick - not that you minded. You were too old to care for embarrassment.

Gehrman suddenly, however, began muttering to himself and cursing your curiosity, you shuffled closer, almost touching his knees as you brought your conjoined hands closer to your mouth, further warming them up with every breath that left you.

"Oh, Laurence… what's taking you so long… I've grown too old for this, of little use now, I'm afraid."

Don't say that, you wanted to tell him even though he wouldn't have heard it. Yet, the utter defeat in his voice was oppressive and you subconsciously tightened your grip on him, those slender fingers of yours intertwining with his bony ones. It felt right.

You weren't giving it much hope as you saw how the nightmare had him trapped, but your efforts weren't proving to be in vain at all as his yowls of agony slowly dimmed and slowly turned into peaceful snoring.

You smiled to yourself, thinking you had somehow managed to calm the torrent inside his mind without waking him up. So much so that you also benefited from the skin-to-skin contact and found yourself switching positions so that you could also rest with him in a more comfortable position. One that didn't strain your knees and hurt your back.

Taking his cane, you sat down in front of him, your back resting against his shins. Letting go of him, in the meantime, was not an option as you manoeuvred his hands to rest on your shoulders. Since becoming the Hunter of the Dream, the desire to fulfil your basic human needs down spiraled until there wasn't a need for them at all.

But this felt… nice. Nostalgic. A bit sorely missed.

Like discovering something you once knew intimately, and dozing off never felt easier than with him. A little nap wouldn't hurt now, would it? The worry that Gehrman would wake up gradually fell away with your consciousness and before you knew it, your gentle snores joined his, creating a cacophony of sounds that would surely annoy anyone else - but not the Doll - who secretly stood at the far end by the graves, and watched on with the gentlest of smiles as her creator found temporary peace in the arms of their Good Hunter.