A Bat Dream
By Ostensibly Lucidina
Un-Beta'd
Chapter One: Alucard
Bruce's eyes had been drawn from the moment he had made his appearance. He had been wary, instincts on alert, screaming something was wrong. He seemed to glide into the expanse of the glimmering ballroom, a tall shadow screaming aristocracy. The formal suit had obviously been tailored for the man's figure, shadow-stained pants and jacket matching the sheen of his hair, encasing the muscular physique, emphasizing the trim waist with a deep burgundy waist-coat. The old-fashioned cape was oddly fitting, high-collared and deep crimson, completing the ensemble with a dramatic flair. He must have been foreign, Bruce had thought to himself. He knew that Alfred had preferred such a traditionally formal style, even when it was just the two of them. He had always brushed it off as an old man/British thing. Obviously there was more to it than that.
But when he had introduced himself, Bruce had felt a niggling in his mind. Alucard. Purred out in a smooth, low tone, his very voice dripping with seduction. His accent was Romanian, the harsh 'R's rolling off his silver tongue without difficulty, though the differences between 'F', 'W' and 'V' seemed to be a struggle. Bruce noted that the man knew English quite well, despite the thickness of the accent. His movements were graceful, to a degree that seemed effortless. As if he moved through a different means than musculature power, though there was no denying that the man was well-muscled, like Bruce himself, though Bruce was the shorter of the two.
But the things that had captured his attention the most were those eyes. Pale blue, and almost liquid, they swirled like molten lava, burning trails where those orbs glanced. Dangerous eyes... They raked over Vicky appreciatively, and Bruce felt a mild twinge of envy spark. But then they fell on him, and he felt stripped bare under those eyes, all of himself laid at Alucard's feet, everything the other might have wished to know. Even about the Batman. The soft music and laughter faded away slowly, and he felt almost lost. Bruce felt a shiver race down his spine, though he suppressed it visually. Unconsciously, he wet his lips, and those eyes traced his every movement with a predatory hunger.
A quick breath cleared his mind enough to calm him a little, the air swirling with the scents of thousands of expensive perfumes and delicious foods, and he turned to Vicky with a charming smile, handing her the drink he had been carrying in his hand the entire time, which she took with a returning smile and a small sip. He put on all of the charm his persona possessed as he spoke with her and Alucard genially. It was then that he realized how fake he had been as Bruce Wayne towards her. Bruce Wayne had become his alter ego, almost. His nights were consumed as the Batman, his life focused on the people of Gotham, protecting them as the Dark Knight. Bruce Wayne was his cover now, the person he pretended to be for the sole purpose of avoiding the scrutiny of the identity of the Batman as him.
He felt a little guilt. Bruce Wayne was a playboy with a harsh past, more than happy to hide himself behind a carefree attitude, and copious amount of rich-people fun after having traveled the world for a few years after college. He had even fooled himself into believing that there was a special something he had felt for Vicky. A beautiful woman, to be sure. Her bright red hair, slender limbs, big blue eyes, cupid's bow lips. Everything about her spoke of softness. And it was right then and there that he realized how wrong for him she was. She wouldn't be able to handle the truth about the Batman, nor would she ever let the matter rest, with her relentless pursuit of knowledge. She was a reporter, after all.
Without the ability to protect herself, he knew, she would be targeted should any of the Arkham escapees ever find out the Batman's identity, not that she was not already a target from her line of work alone. And she would not be able to rescue herself. As much as he was the silent protector as the Batman, he did not want to have to play hero as Bruce Wayne drawing attention to himself in ways he didn't want, or even having to pretend that he was unable to save her and give halfhearted apologies because of it. No. He needed someone capable of handling not only the fact that he was the Batman, but able to defend themselves against any villain that eventually came knocking.
He would have to tell about being the Batman to explain his frequent, and, more often than not, long disappearances. He did not want to have to lie in a relationship. He sighed inwardly. He would have to tell her as soon as possible so as not to lead her on. He kept his gaze towards Alucard, and was vaguely unsettled to notice that those eyes had not left his form since they had taken their leave of Vicky. The conversation drifted back to him slowly with that realization. Alucard was a foreign anthropologist. His interest in the Batman was a little unsettling, but Bruce always felt heavy scrutiny whenever someone not in the loop mentioned the Batman to him. It was almost like a guilty secret, though he was not ashamed. Whenever someone spoke of it, he always had an unsettling lurch in the pit of his stomach that he concealed carefully. They know! his mind would scream at him. He knew they didn't, but the fear was always there.
Not wanting to seem suspicious, nor remain silent too long, as they were telling, he put on his usual Bruce Wayne charm, and led them both over to the machine, explaining it as, essentially, bottled sunlight for the purpose of energy efficiency in a "green" manner. Alucard looked interested, and commented with a slightly disgusted tone, "It is about time that humanity found a use for the sun." Bruce puzzled over that tone and the statement for a moment, wondering at the wording. But then he brushed it aside for later. It was probably something about the field of anthropology, anyway. They generally tended to separate themselves from humanity as they studied the nature of it. Vicky just looked awed, and then wandered closer to Bruce, asking about the mechanics of it. Her hand rested on his arm, and Bruce gave her his vacant-of-actual-feeling laugh, moving to gently disengage the limb with a natural movement, and told her that, while the invention was under his name, he had no clue how it worked. He explained that the tech people had yet to explain it to him. Alucard still watched him, a contemplative look on his chiseled features.
In truth, Bruce knew exactly how it worked, having designed most of it himself, Wayne Tech's ideas and advances usually came out of a necessity for something for the Batman. But Bruce Wayne was a figurehead, a vapid person with little on his mind. Why would he know of such things? Vicky's disappointment was minimal, and she quickly moved on to other things, mingling with the guests, soaking up information like the reporter she was. Bruce was glad that he had realized sooner how wrong for him she was. It would have been disastrous, having her hound him for information day and night.
That left him alone with Alucard. The man's drink had remained untouched. Bruce rose a brow at the man with a slight smile. "Champagne not to your liking?" he asked with a mildly joking tone. Alucard smirked, perfectly white, even teeth gleaming in the golden light of the chandeliers.
"I cannot bring myself to drink it. I never drink wine of any sort, but this one has a light smell to it that I can bear to have around me." He said, setting it down on the nearest table where it was whisked away by one of the good waiters Alfred had hired for the night. Bruce shrugged, and took a sip of his own previously untouched glass.
"So where in Europe are you from?" He asked with a vague interest. He had never been to much of Europe, having searched for Eastern fighting techniques and methods to effectively recycle his pain into something more useful.
"Romania." He answered, eyes flitting toward the spacious windows, glancing out at the moon, which hung very nearly full. Bruce glanced there as well, out of habit, and found no Bat Signal. With an almost relieved smile, he looked back at Alucard, taking in the relaxed stance the man had taken.
"Can you tell me about it? I've heard much about the stories. You know, Dracula, and stuff like that. But I've never actually heard about the people, or what the land looks like." He asked, genuinely interested. Alucard turned toward him, surprised.
"Why the sudden interest in my homeland, Mr. Wayne?" He asked, glowing ice eyes piercing. Bruce shrugged.
"Please, call me Bruce. I used to travel for a while, but I did not see much of Western Europe." He replied easily, and led them over to a table. Alucard waited for him to sit before doing so himself, as though out of custom and habit. Bruce wondered what kind of tradition that was. Where it had originated from. He would have to research it later, he thought to himself. Alucard smiled genially and nodded his assent.
"Then, Bruce, I will tell you." He said, drawing out Bruce's name with an unidentifiable emotion behind it, and a predatory gleam in his eyes. He leaned back in his chair, and paused a moment to consider it. "It is a beautiful country, as a whole, though depressingly rainy most days. There are mountains everywhere, and old castles crumbling along the countryside, like broken bone splitting the skin of the earth, vacant of all life." Bruce could easily imagine such a land, picturesque in its dark state. A goth kid's dream.
"At night, when the moon is gone, the wolves run through the forests howling as if they know it unsettled the people living beyond the edges of their lands. They cry for war amongst the humans, and against themselves, howling for blood. Their battles are fierce, even when they fight each other. It is a savage land, and one can hear the other animals of the night clearly within the valleys. Their calls echo across the mountainside, like dying screams. And the roads! The roads are old, and paved in cobblestone, and the sounds of carriages and carts wheeling over them is like a great cacophony during the day. Even though the turn of the century had demanded a different mode of transportation, you can still see horses and carriages in the villages and along the less populated areas. It is as though they are in their own time, another world, as it were.
"And the people are wary, cold, like the mountains the live beneath. Their folklore is dark, their stories told back for more generations than they can count. They are hard people, and they work hard for the land they live on, tending to their meager farms with as much effort as they can to make it prosper. Winters are harsh and bitter, as the cold sweeps through the valleys from the mountains. The summers are languid, warmer than most would think, which is good for the farms, I suppose. I lived in the mountains, in an old family home. It was large and drafty, and almost unbearable in the winters. But I know the people of village below me lived in smaller homes, made to better withstand the cold." He said, eyes distant.
He could picture the land, having been almost transported by Alucard's poetic words alone. Rolling hills and mountains dusted with dying evergreens, the sky painted a deep gray. He could envision the old roads, great black horses pulling carriages during the night, speeding past the forests as wolves prowled beyond their boarders, eyes and teeth gleaming in the flickering light of an oil lamp. He could even imagine a small village at the feet of a great, spiraling road leading up the mountain, and an old, beautiful castle sprawled out at its peak, the cold stone floors covered in thick carpets, the walls covered in oil paintings of generations passed and tapestries of their deeds. Though, Bruce could not imagine Alucard, dignified and regal as he seemed to be, living in anything but a castle, lounging on an old and crumbling stone throne, looking every inch the nobleman at rest, despite the age of the place he lived. He could picture an old, fur-lined blanket tossed carelessly over the throne for warmth, obscuring the long legs and hips from view. He tilted his head. "What about your family?" He asked, wanting to know more. He wasn't sure what bout this man had him so captivated.
Alucard's eyes looked at him, a question in their depths that Bruce could not decipher. "I lost my wife long ago in an accident. My parents died when I was very young of fever." Immediately, Bruce stiffened a little, his own cyan eyes widening in sympathy and opened his mouth to apologize, knowing how it felt to have someone bring up decidedly painful memories. But Alucard waved it aside with a gracefully careless gesture. "They died before I could begin to remember them. I was raised by my aunt, and she vanished when I was twelve with a man she would fallen in love with. I have lived on my own since my wife died." He said and looked at Bruce. "And what of you?" He asked, icy eyes burning into Bruce's own.
Bruce blinked. It was a little refreshing, being asked, instead of having everyone presume they knew everything about his childhood. "My parents were murdered when we were walking to the train station after an opera when I was ten." Alucard's face remained mostly impassive, but he saw the sympathy. Not pity, not apology. Just sympathy. Relieved, he continued. "I was raised by Alfred, my butler, after that. I traveled after college for a while. Korea, China, India, Africa, Japan. And then I came back here to reclaim my family's company and try to help Gotham out as much as I can." He finished. Alucard nodded, and smiled. Their eyes connected intensely, and Bruce found himself standing suddenly. "Would you care to join me on the terrace? I think I could use some fresh air." He said, and Alucard stood and followed.
The moonlight shone down, painting the world in silver. The light shown over the beatific gardens that Alfred and the others tended to, rose bushes, carefully trimmed hedges, primrose, morning glories climbing over marble statues and around gurgling fountains. The light made Alucard seem much paler, and his eyes seemed to glow all the brighter. It was a cool night, though not very cold, and the sky was lit with glittering stars. Bruce felt himself shiver a little from the cold, and Alucard moved closer. The man was not terribly warm, but Bruce did not mind. There was almost a kinship between the two of them. The silence was not stained in the least. He looked at Alucard more closely now, noting the refined features, the straight posture, the impressive height. Alucard rose a brow at him and Bruce realized he was staring. He turned away, but not before catching the tiniest smirk on the man's face.
Unsure of why, he felt heat rush to his face. Not enough to color, but enough to note the difference in temperature. Bruce looked at Alucard again, only to find those eyes staring at him intensely, and he felt himself slip ever-so slightly into a gentle lull. What followed next was something he was not sure he remembered correctly. Strong arms were wrapped around him, a slightly cool body pressed against his own, and drug-like kisses, heady and intoxicating, that trailed from his lips to his jaw, down his neck, and a light nip at his throat. Bruce heard a groan slipping past his lips, panting, clutching at Alucard's obviously male body as tightly as possible, needing it closer. The heat emanating from him was almost searing, he pressed closer, feeling that mouth suckling at his throat, drawing sounds from him he had never even thought of, let alone heard.
And then he was back to standing next to Alucard, who was watching him as though nothing had changed. In an instant, Bruce was blushing. What the hell was that all about? He wondered. A fantasy? About a man! Another smirk, wicked and almost smug stretched over Alucard's lips. And Bruce looked away, not wanting to see that mouth, and think about it once more on his lips, or at his throat, or worse, traveling lower. No. He willed himself to calm, and led the way back inside, realizing it was more cold now than he had originally thought, if his shivering was anything to go by. He shut the glass doors behind him, and glanced at the clock. It was nearly midnight. The party would end soon. Some of the other guests had already left, and the crowd dancing around had thinned. Alucard trailed behind him as he sought out Vicky.
She was happily chatting with an older couple, gleaning information about their businesses, their ties to Wayne Enterprises. Bruce smiled charmingly at them all, and asked if Vicky would not mind speaking to him for a few moments. She was perceptive enough to know it would not be a happy chat, he supposed, as she frowned and nodded, oceanic eyes worried. Alucard excused himself tactfully, and went in search of something else to drink. That left Bruce alone with Vicky. He walked her to the double-doors leading out to the entry hall, and she got her coat as he led her to her car. Other guests were already trickling out as well. "I just wanted to say, Vicky, that it was nice having you here." He began, almost awkwardly. She seemed to catch on rather quickly.
"But this thing we have... it won't be continuing, will it?" She asked her face full of disappointment. Bruce blinked in surprise, and nodded. She sighed, and got her keys from her purse. "That's okay, Bruce. Thank you for having me." She said forlornly, and got into her car. She left quickly after that, and Bruce let her go. He quickly went back inside, and found Alucard waiting for him. The man smiled charmingly at him, and took his hand, icy eyes boring into his own. Bruce felt light-headed. What in the world was going on? He wondered to himself. What was it about this man that made him so... A flash of recognition flooded him. Was he falling in love? Attraction was certainly there...
"I'm afraid it is rather late, and I must be going as well." He said simply, and with a firm handshake, hands lingering longer than was strictly necessary, he parted, too. The other guests had gone by now, and Alfred came running towards him as a crash came from the direction he had been in. It sounded like a window had shattered.
"Master Bruce! He had no reflection!" He said, his shock clearly written on his face. Bruce frowned. About to ask who, Alfred continued. "One of the waiters! He came up from the cellar without a tray, and I scolded him, but he had no reflection when I glanced in the mirror!" Bruce frowned, thinking fast as he strode toward the direction of the last of the party-goers. They were gone, thankfully, but there was still the problem of whatever manner of creature the waiter had turned into. He went to the area Alfred had indicated, and looked carefully around for clues. There was a few drops of blood on the floor. He sent Alfred for Q-tips and Tetramethylbenzidine to confirm, as well as some tubes for later testing. Upon bringing the requested items, Bruce confirmed it was blood, and stood, capping the testing tubes.
Upon asking Alfred for a more calm and detailed account of what happened, Bruce frowned. That was not good. Their theory of vampires was now confirmed. A flash of the news flitted through his brain, and he began thinking at lightning speed, worthy of the World's Greatest Detective. All of those missing people... That meant the Lost Ones were Thralls now. Or worse. Immediately, he fled toward the study, pressed one of the cleverly concealed buttons, and descended with Alfred into the Bat Cave. Donning the armored costume with the speed and ease of practice, he went quickly over to the computer, and began formulating a plan silently, trying to piece together what could have happened.
He researched vampires, and for a while, came up with nothing. There was some junk about them sparkling in the sunlight, other bits about being a subset of rabies... And then finally, a rather promising book was cited. He pulled up his book database, and was happy to know he had it, despite its fictitious nature. According to the text, there had been a newly created Thrall at the party. Thralls were created instantly with three successive bites on their person. Turning a person into a vampire consisted of a blood exchange. Thralls were implicitly obedient to the vampire that created them, while vampires themselves had emotional bonds to their Sire, or maker, but were not necessarily loyal as Thralls were. Thralls had the ability to go out into the daytime and bring things to their nocturnally-bound masters, such as sustenance, money, or anything else their masters requested or needed.
He skimmed through the bits about wolves and gravity defiance, that were listed as their powers, as well as transforming into mist or other shapes, and finally came across a Dracula reference. The Batman felt his blood run cold at the old painted image of the man within the illuminated black and white page. Alucard... There was no mistaking the face, nor the physique, despite the artist's rendition. It was him. He felt something in his chest give a painful little twinge. Then he blinked, remembering that niggling when the man had introduced himself, and wrote down Alucard's name.
ALUCARD. And then he reversed it. DRACULA. He closed his eyes, and sighed. Of course. He would be falling for the head vampire of all evil. The irony was not lost on him. But he pushed aside Bruce Wayne's emotions for now, falling quickly back into the mindset of Batman. He would need to research a cure for the Lost Ones, the Thralls. To do that, he thought to himself, he would need to capture one alive, and he would need to find Dracula's lair. Quickly, he got into the Batmobile, and roared out of the cave, leaving a slightly bewildered and still shocked Alfred to puzzle out what had just occurred.