As usual, nothing belongs to me. And yes, this was a weird idea (I frequently have them) but I hope you enjoy it.

Once upon a time, there was a boy. Not just any boy; a vampire boy, and moreover the one who would lead the vampires into a new age. But there was a prophecy; the Chosen One could not rule alone, and until he found someone who could help, protect and temper him, he would not take power.

The boy grew into a teenager, and then into almost a man, while his father tried desperately to find a woman who could stand by his side as he took his place as Grand High Vampire. But nowhere could he find a suitor to tempt the boy.

And so, as it was prophesised, on the day of his eighteenth birthday, Vladimir Dracula the Fourth sank into a deep sleep and did not wake for a very long time.

Bertrand had been sired barely a year before the Chosen One was whisked away into hiding for his own safety. Rumours leaked out that the Dracula family had been planning for the moment he'd fall into a coma for the best part of a decade, and that the moment his eyes fluttered closed he would be taken to some refuge where only his father and sister could find him.

Something about the story, when it finally reached his ears almost three years after Vladimir's sleep began, caught Bertrand's interest in a way nothing in his hometown could. He took off to see the world – not looking for anything in particular, of course, and certainly not joining the ranks of the hundreds of curious vampire tourists who trekked the globe in search of the Chosen One's refuge. No, that had nothing to do with it. Even if they did find the right crypt, it wasn't as if anyone would be able to wake him. What was he going to do, hunt him down and stare at him?

...Well, yes, maybe he considered it once or twice as he passed through the birthplaces of his ancestors in Italy and braved the bitter winds of Russia. It would be hard not to consider the story, given the dreams he kept having. Bertrand had been twenty-two when he'd been bitten, and ever since then he couldn't shake off these recurring dreams. Well, they weren't recurring exactly – they just always featured the same young man. A vampire, not much younger than him, who'd grown less animated as the years went by but never stayed out of his head for long.

The first time he'd dreamt of him, there'd been a fight.
"Dad, stop it. I'm not interested in her, and you can't make me like her! You know what the prophecy says."
"Yes, which is why I'm trying to help you!"
"You've been trying to set me up with Ingrid's friends since I was seven. I have to be with whoever this person is for all eternity, and I'm not going to just get stuck with whoever you manage to drag in off the street."
"Good idea – we'll find a breather you fancy and snatch them off the stre-"
"DAD!"

Bertrand had woken confused, disorientated. What a bizarre dream. But similar scenes had persisted, the older vampire becoming more and more urgent in his demands to his son, and then as Bertrand prepared to celebrate the first anniversary of his vampirism – he was determined to mark the night, even if every other vampire in the world mocked him for it – he had an altogether different dream.

"Well, this is it. We're going to have to assume that I won't be around after next week. I need you two to keep order."
"Now, are you sure there's nobody to tempt you?" The teenager shook his head.
"Nobody. I've had dreams about – but no. Let's face it; they're not out there, and they may never be out there. Once I'm eighteen, there's not much chance of 'true love's kiss' bringing me back – and are we sure it was a vampire who said that, because it sounds really un- that's beside the point, anyway. I'm going to be effectively dead. You two hold the fort, I'd appreciate some kind of security measures around me, and try to move on with your lives."

Not more than a fortnight after that dream, the one that had troubled him for days afterwards, he closed his eyes and saw the same vampire again. For a brief second, Bertrand was relieved that he wasn't dead, but then he remembered he didn't exist in the first place.

"If all I'm going to do is dream about you, this is going to be a long eternity. If you'd just existed, I wouldn't be in this mess. Great. Thanks a bunch."

Bertrand couldn't see who the boy was talking to, but he seemed to be lying in a coffin as he did so, peacefully sleeping. As years passed and the dreams became more frequent, and more consistent –

"Fine, if my brain's going to fixate on you, and throw you into all kinds of crazy situations, why don't we practice my geography? I'll tell you if you're hotter or colder – that is, nearer or farther away - than last time I saw you. I'll pick a random point of reference to find, oh, let's say... me."

- it seemed likely that the vampire in his dreams was talking directly to him, and it was harder and harder to ignore the idea that maybe, just maybe, he was dreaming of the sleeping Chosen One. Perhaps it was because he had heard the story fairly early in his vampire days, and it had become as much a part of him as his own fangs. For whatever reason, Bertrand found himself bouncing around the globe just to see what his dream vampire would say.

"Colder."

"Warmer."

"Colder."

"Where is that? Is that Russia? Warmer."

"Freezing. And how was I supposed to know what Bermuda looks like, I've been dreaming about you for ages trying to work out where you were."

For a while, after that, Bertrand made sure to avoid identifying features in the countries he visited. It was somehow cheering to imagine that the vampire in his dreams was watching him. He knew he didn't exist, but still, the thought was nice.

It took him the best part of a century to realise that actually, his subconscious was being pretty consistent in its 'warmer' or 'colder' answers. It seemed that his mind had chosen a place, and was sticking to it. So he began to follow the Chosen One Quest Tours in the vague direction of where he thought 'warmer' might be, much to the disgust of his subconscious.

"What is going on? There are tour parties looking for the Chosen One? Don't they know the legends? Oh, I really hope I'm making this up, I knew I shouldn't have eaten that cheese before I fell asleep... Is that a Chosen One Quest backpack? Now I've seen everything. And you're getting colder. Pay attention."

Bertrand did pay attention, but he also took every possible Quest holiday he could, determined to learn all he could about the legend. It was another century before he realised he'd exhausted all their information, and his dreams were getting increasingly confusing.

"You're warm, but I don't know if you're warmer than before... my local geography's not that good, it was easier when I was just trying to get you to the right side of the continent... and then you decided Florida was a good place to look and I had to get you back... but all these little villages, they all look and sound the same... OK, how's this? Make your way to a city, a big city, one I'll know, and then I'll start giving you directions. Not that you exist."

That seemed like a good plan, somehow, even though his subconscious seemed just as convinced that he didn't exist as he was that the boy in his dreams didn't. So he made his way to the biggest, most impressive city he could think of – Rome. The vampire in his dreams didn't seem too impressed with that.

"Rome? That's miles away, what did you do that for? Well, yes, everyone knows where Rome is, but... just go north, will you?"
For the first time in the 250 years he'd been dreaming of the boy, Bertrand actually responded.
"If you're going to shout at me, you could at least tell me who's shouting."
The boy looked startled. "You can actually hear me? I thought... Well, I suppose it makes sense, I had to dream you up a voice eventually. I'm Vlad."
"Of course you are. Bertrand."

He headed north, but he soon convinced himself that he'd just spent too long on the Quest tours. Nobody was called Vlad these days – even the Chosen One had never been called anything but Vladimir as far as he knew – and Bertrand had clearly just dreamt the name up in some bizarre attempt to convince himself his journey had a purpose.

"Still North, Bertrand. So, why are you listening to me anyway? I suppose because you have to."
Bertrand didn't respond to that; he didn't know how to. "Well, that's boring. Tell me about yourself. Let's see how good my imagination is."

They chatted every time the dream happened, after that, and it was becoming more and more frequent. Somehow they ended up discussing old music from Bertrand's human years, and his life before he'd been sired. Bertrand realised his imagination was running wild as Vlad began to talk about his sister, and his little half-brother, the one who'd been kept secret from the world because he was half-werewolf and when he'd fallen asleep, nobody had been quite sure what would happen to the boy.

"Wolfie, we called him. Ingrid – well, I've never seen Ingrid be so nice to someone."
"Your sister, of course."
"Well, yeah. How did y- oh, the Chosen One Tour. Fabulous. What did they tell you?"
"She disappeared not long after you did, presumed dead, leaving Count Dracula to run things alone in your stead. I can't believe you're telling me you're actually the Chosen One."
"I can't believe you hadn't worked it out."
"Oh, very good, subconscious."
"What are you talking about? I have the weirdest dreams. East, by the way."

It was a slow journey – Bertrand didn't trust these new forms of transport, and walking was even slower when you could only move at night – but he didn't dare fly in case he disorientated his dream guide, crazy though he knew that was. He made his way through Slovenia, then Hungary, and continued due East into Romania. He should have realised that his path would eventually bring him here, to Transylvania. Vlad, the figment of his imagination, seemed more confused the further into the country he got.

"East."

"North a bit."

"West."

"Further west."

"North again."

"East."
Bertrand had had enough. "Vlad! Are you steering me in circles on purpose?" It was a rhetorical question; the last thing he had expected was for the vampire in his vision to look guilty.
"...Yes. I am."
"I see. Why? Because it's funny for you to watch me wandering around Romania being given odd looks by peasants?"
"If I say yes, will you believe me? Fine. I... don't want to bring you here and then you not arrive."
"If I reach my destination, surely my dreams have served their purpose. Why would you not want to send me there?"
"Because I've convinced myself you're real, and you're the one I've been dreaming about since I was a child, since you were human. When you made yourself a beret and your grandfather was furious because it didn't matter that you'd been born in France, you were still Italian by blood. If you don't come-"
"I never told you that, did I? My subconscious has forgotten what I've told you."
"No, you never told me, I dreamt it when I was about four and you looked seven or eight, I'm sure it was you, you look like you did when you were a teenager-"
"You dreamt about me?"
"Well... yes. That's what I'm doing now. And I've convinced myself you're going to wake me up, and I can't bring you here and disappoint myself."
"I'd disappoint you?"

He woke up before Vlad could reply, and began heading south on a whim. That day when he closed his eyes, it was to a determined-looking Vlad – as determined as one could get while lying perfectly still in a coffin, anyway.

"You not existing would disappoint me. You not being able to wake me up would surprise me. Just... head south, and when you see a castle... that's where I am."

With such clear instructions, Bertrand finally dared to risk flight, wings carrying him faster than even his vampire running speed could. It was just before dawn that he found the castle Vlad had spoken of, and banged hard on the door.

A vampire who looked like he'd lived a few too many years as a breather opened the door.
"Who are you? What do you want?"
Bertrand grimaced. "My name is Bertrand du Fortunesa, and this is going to sound mad, but... I'm looking for someone called Vlad."
The figure's countenance brightened and he stepped aside, beckoning him in. "Come in, I'll find the Mistress."

Ingrid Dracula appeared at the top of the grand staircase before Bertrand could really finish taking in the gothic splendour of the place.
"How did you find us? It's been four centuries and nobody has come here."
He stumbled over his words in his haste to reassure her – she looked murderous and he had no desire to be slain when he was so close to finding out if he'd really lost his mind.
"I'm looking for Vlad. He told me I could find him here. You must be Ingrid."
She hissed. "Nobody called him that but me and my father. Renfield, am I the only one protecting my brother? You can't just let anyone in."

The other vampire bowed and scraped. "I'm sorry, Mistress Ingrid, but I thought he might be the one."
As Ingrid rounded on her servant, Bertrand spotted a young man lurking in the shadows, but he pulled back as he realised he'd been seen. The weary traveller saw an opportunity to prove his claim – or be proved mad himself. Still, it seemed he was in the right place, so perhaps...
"Wolfie, is it?"

Ingrid and Renfield turned, comical expressions of shock on their faces.
"That's a family name. And nobody outside of the family knows-"
"-that he exists, because he's part werewolf. Vlad told me in my dreams."
The female vampire gave him an appraising look that took in his entire appearance.
"You know, you almost look like the boy Vlad used to talk to Zoltan about when he forgot what good hearing I had. The boy in his dreams, if he'd grown up. I heard he died."
Bertrand shrugged. "If it was me, I did."
"Indeed," she seemed thoughtful. "Fine, then, follow me. You can wake my brother, or be slain for discovering us."

She walked away and, before he could even begin to worry about the impossibility of what she was asking of him, he found himself right behind her as she led him to the highest room of the tallest tower.
"He got the tower room this time, too, then?"
She shot him a suspicious look at that, and opened the door.

Bertrand gasped, a completely unnecessary breath filling his futile lungs as he took in his surroundings.
"I've seen this room; it's where Vlad was..." Only Ingrid's outstretched arm kept him from running towards the coffin in the centre of the room to confirm his sudden joyful suspicions.
"First, Renfield's going to check you for weapons. Then I'll open the coffin."

After such a long journey, submitting to a quick pat-down from Renfield seemed like no hardship at all, and the servant soon pronounced him weapon-free. Ingrid slid open the lid and there he was; Vlad, as Bertrand remembered him from countless days' imaginings.

"Vlad?"
Ingrid rolled her eyes. "It's Vladimir Dracula the Fourth to you, and don't you think we've tried calling his name to wake him up?"
He stared at her helplessly. "Well, he can't just stay there. He told me he couldn't cope if I didn't wake him up..."
Renfield sniggered behind his hand. "I don't think he knows the prophecy, Mistress Ingrid."

She glared at them both equally, even turning an icy look on her sleeping brother for a moment before returning her gaze to Bertrand.
"He can only be woken by true love's kiss. Which means he never will be, because vampires don't love, and they certainly don't fall in love while they're in comas."

Bertrand hesitated, torn. He couldn't exactly claim that he didn't want to kiss him - he was certainly attractive enough – but Ingrid had a point; they didn't know each other, not really, and he couldn't take advantage of a sleeping vampire. That said... he would be dust in the wind if he couldn't wake him, and if it had been the real Vlad guiding his way, he would be so disappointed... He stepped forward and stooped over the coffin.

"I'm really sorry about this." And he pressed his lips, very gently, against Vlad's.

Nothing happened.

Then, suddenly, lots of things happened in very quick succession; Renfield and Ingrid grabbed an arm each and began hauling him bodily away from the sleeping vampire, Ingrid reached into a cupboard to find a stake, and Vladimir Dracula the Fourth, Chosen One and Grand High Vampire, sat bolt upright.
"Bertrand!"

Renfield was so startled he let go of his captive, and even Ingrid froze. Bertrand just stared at the figure in the centre of the room, the one now climbing out of his coffin and heading straight for him.
"I thought you'd never find me."
Then he wrapped his arms around his tall, curly-haired saviour and kissed him right back.

"Hello? Sister here, still in the room? Put him down, Vlad, you don't know where he's been."
Vlad drew back looking faintly abashed, and glanced around him.
"I know exactly where he's been. It's good to see you, Ingrid. Never thought I'd say that. And Renfield, Dad turned you after all?"
The manservant shrugged. "He needed someone to look after you, Master Vlad."
"And Wolfie? Did he survive the transformation?"
Ingrid nodded. "He's a vampire most of the time, and a dog at full moon. I don't know why he's not a wolf, but it does make him much easier to take for walks."

Then the Chosen One's focus fell on Bertrand again. "And you... I'm sorry, I shouldn't have kissed you, you don't even know me-"
"I'm not objecting. Besides, I kissed you first, your Grandness. And it woke you, which I'm told is significant in some way." Bertrand bowed and Vlad laughed awkwardly.
"Oh, don't do that. Really. But... have dinner with me. We've got a lot to catch up on."
"We spoke last night."

Vlad grinned. "But now I'm awake." And then he kissed him again.