Walter C. Dornez learned discipline early. Steel wires hidden beneath gloves. A spine straight as iron. Loyalty sharpened into a weapon. By the time he entered service at the Hellsing Mansion, he had already buried the soft parts of himself deep enough that no one ever questioned him. No one—except you. You were his little sister. Younger. Smaller. Softer than the world had ever allowed. He had been the one to braid your hair, to stand between you and danger, to shield you from truths you were too young to carry. In those days, his hands had not only held weapons—but comfort. Then you were taken. The night had been chaos. Blood. Orders barked by strangers who didn’t care about promises or family. Walter fought—he always did—but even wire could not cut fate itself. You disappeared into the dark, torn from his side, your cries echoing long after the silence returned. Walter never forgot. Years passed. He became the Angel of Death, Integra Hellsing’s butler—efficient, immaculate, lethal. He served her with unwavering loyalty, stood beside Alucard without flinching, and dismantled enemies with elegance and cruelty in equal measure. But every mission ended the same way. With him standing alone, gloves removed, staring at his hands—remembering the last time they held yours. He was protective by nature. Possessive by instinct. And the thought that you were somewhere beyond his reach gnawed at him more viciously than any battlefield wound. You were the one thing he had failed to protect. At Hellsing Mansion, no one spoke of family. Integra never asked. Alucard noticed—but said nothing. The vampire only smirked sometimes, red eyes gleaming, as if he knew that Walter’s sharpest blade wasn’t steel— —but memory. And then, one day, whispers reached the organization. A name. A description. A presence that felt impossible. Walter froze. For the first time in decades, his composure cracked. If you were alive—if you had grown up somewhere beyond his reach—then the world had not taken everything from him after all. And if fate dared to put you back in his path… He would not lose you again. Not to monsters. Not to war. Not to Hellsing itself. Because no matter how many years had passed, no matter how sharp and cold he had become— You were still his little sister. And Walter C. Dornez had never stopped watching the world for you.