A note before we get started:

I began writing this for the Gobblepot Halloween 2017 event on tumblr. It's not finished yet, but I am working on chapter 3 right now.

Beta'd by butterfliesandresistance (tumblr username)/thekeyholder (AO3 username)

I borrow a lot of vampire lore from LJ Smith's Night World series because they were may faves growing up, but there's other stuff slipping in there too. Werewolves, when they appear, will borrow heavily from MTV's Teen Wolf series. Faeries and other supernatural creatures may appear from different cultures and folklore too.

Getting shot hurt. Jim was already aware of this, but lying in a wet alleyway one October night, he was hyper aware of it.

At least, until he lost too much blood, and things started getting fuzzy and dark. It happened faster than he thought.

Or maybe he was losing time. He heard that happened when you were dying.

A pale face appeared in his vision.

"Jim!"

Oswald. He never apologised. He should do that, before the end. Make sure Oswald knew he was sorry.

"Apologise later," Oswald said, voice thick with emotion.

But that didn't make sense. There wasn't going to be a later.

And anyway, Oswald hated him.

"Don't be stupid. I… well, maybe I'm not happy with you sometimes, but I don't hate you. We're two sides of the same coin, you and I."

Oswald pulled Jim upright, into a sitting position.

"That's why I can't let you go. I'm sorry there isn't more time for explanations," Oswald said.

Jim rested limply against him, and dimly realised that Oswald was bleeding from a small wound on his neck.

"Yes, Jim. Drink. Please." Oswald pressed Jim's head forward.

Too far gone to do otherwise, Jim drank until Oswald pulled him back and the world went dark.

—

Jim dreamt of Gotham, of dark streets and moonlight. There was no one around, but his footsteps echoed as though someone was just a step behind him.

He blinked his eyes open and found himself in a dimly lit bedroom, far fancier than anywhere he had ever lived.

Was he alive?

"Don't try to speak. Drink," a soft, familiar voice urged.

A straw was placed in front of his lips, and whatever was in the cup smelled incredible. Greedily, he sucked the liquid into his mouth. What was that? He'd never had anything like it.

He tried to ask, when he was finished, but a cool hand pressed him down into the bedsheets.

"Sleep. You need your rest, James."

"But — "

"It can wait."

Jim was helpless to resist the pull of sleep any longer.

He awoke a few more times after that, unsure how much time was passing, but each time, he became more and more aware. He knew Oswald was looking after him, that he must be at the Van Dahl mansion, Oswald's home, but he still didn't know how he had got there, or what Oswald was feeding him.

Then he awoke to shouting.

It was so loud, he thought it must have been happening right outside the door. It took him a moment to realise that what he could hear was Harvey shouting at Oswald.

"I know you've got him here! What I don't know is why!"

"I assure you, Detective, that Jim is perfectly fine in my care," Oswald replied, all cold fury. "Now get out of my home."

"Not until I see him, and understand why you didn't take him to a hospital, or left him to die. You think he's going to be so grateful for your tender, loving care that he's going to roll over and do whatever you say?"

"Of course not," Oswald said. "I have met him, after all. But… ah… he is unwell, and I am uniquely capable of dealing with his affliction."

Jim stumbled out of bed. Maybe if Harvey could see him, he would stop shouting so loudly.

The hallway outside the bedroom was empty.

"More like you're poisoning him!"

"I would never!"

Jim followed the voices. Was Oswald poisoning him? He did feel strange.

He reached the stairs, and was overcome with dizziness. Oswald and Harvey hadn't noticed him yet, too busy glaring at each other.

"Then why is no one allowed to see him? How do I even know he's alive?" Harvey asked.

"Harvey…" Jim croaked.

Both of them spun sharply to see him leaning heavily against the banister at the top of the stairs.

"Jim! You shouldn't be out of bed!" Oswald rushed up the stairs to him.

Harvey gaped. "Geez, you look like death, Jim."

"I feel weird," Jim mumbled. "Hungry." He frowned. "Thirsty?"

"I'll bring your tonic in a moment, Jim. Go back to bed," Oswald said, quietly but firmly.

"No," Jim said. "I'm fine. I just need to…"

He trailed off. What did he need to do?

Harvey started to come up the stairs, and found a creaky step that Oswald had managed to avoid. The sound was so loud it was painful, cutting through Jim like nails on a chalkboard. He gasped, cringing away from the noise, instinctively curling into Oswald.

He could hear Oswald's heartbeat, he realised.

And Harvey's, though Harvey was still some paces away.

What was going on?

"As you can see, he's very unwell," Oswald said. "He's very sensitive to sounds, as well as light, so it's imperative that he remains here with me, away from the noise of the main city until he's well enough to return. And he will return."

"And what else is wrong with him?" Harvey asked, suspiciously. "How do I know you're not drugging him or something?"

"Detective Bullock, I know Jim and I have our differences, but I'm not out to kill him, or otherwise harm him."

A wave of agony swept through Jim, turning his vision black. When he finally regained enough control, it was to find that he was clinging to Oswald, gasping harshly.

"- no shape to go anywhere," Oswald was saying irritably.

"Fine, fine, but I'll be back to check on him," Harvey replied.

"Of course. I'll let you know when he's able to have visitors," Oswald said,calming again now that Harvey had backed down. "I'll take him back to bed. I trust you can see yourself out."

"Yeah, sure. I'll come back soon, Jim."

Jim nodded, but didn't say anything. Everything still hurt, and he didn't trust himself not to cry out in pain.

After a moment, Harvey left and Oswald helped Jim up off the floor.

"Back to bed," Oswald said. "You shouldn't have got up at all. Stubborn fool."

Jim tried to respond, but then Oswald was lowering him down onto the soft mattress.

"I'll be back in a moment, with something for you to drink. Stay here."

Jim wasn't sure he could have protested if he wanted to. He watched Oswald leave the room, and then it seemed he had only blinked and Oswald was back with a cup and a straw.

Jim drank without being prompted, feeling better almost as soon as the liquid hit his tongue.

"What is that?" he asked, relaxing back into the pillows.

"Later. Go back to sleep. You need more rest," Oswald replied.

Jim was helpless to resist. He closed his eyes, suddenly exhausted, and fell asleep.

Once again, he was in the eerily quiet streets of Gotham. He recognised his surroundings now, standing in front of the precinct. This time though, he knew he was not alone.

"Better to walk with a friend in the dark."

The footsteps behind him were a comfort in the dark city.

—

The next time Jim awoke, he felt much better, but still subtly off somehow.

He took in his surroundings properly; the ornate furniture, panelled walls, heavy drapes pulled closed across the windows, yet somehow still not keeping out much daylight.

He sat up, but didn't have the chance to get up before Oswald appeared.

"You look better," he greeted, oddly nervous.

"I feel better, I guess. Still strange, though, and… I don't remember how I got here." Jim frowned, trying to think back to his last memories before waking up with Oswald hovering over him.

Oswald hurried up to him. "I… there is a lot to tell you. I don't know how to begin." He sank into an armchair by Jim's bedside.

"I was shot," Jim remembered. "A guy I was chasing, he'd murdered his girlfriend. He shot me, lucky hit…" He pressed a hand to his stomach, remembering the pain. "I was sure I was dying."

"You were," Oswald said quietly. "I saved you."

Jim pushed the blankets back, pulling up the pajama top he was wearing (he didn't recognise it. Was it Oswald's? But it couldn't have fit Oswald, surely. Did he buy it for Jim?), to see unblemished skin. "There should be a mark. A scar. How long have I — "

"A week," Oswald said. "You've been here for a week."

Jim looked up sharply.

"You feel a bit strange, right? Like something's off, but not in a bad way," Oswald said.

Jim nodded.

"I remember how it felt. You'll get used to it soon. You won't want to go back to how you were before."

"What do you mean? What are you talking about?" Jim asked, suspicion warring with fear in his gut.

Oswald gave him a look of such profound regret that Jim began to wonder if he was dying after all.

"If I had had any other choice," Oswald began. "I would have explained this to you beforehand, let you make the decision… but I cannot lose you, James. I couldn't let you die like that."

"What are you talking about?" Jim asked.

Oswald said nothing, but stood up and crossed the room to the window. He threw open the curtains to let the daylight into the room.

Except it wasn't daylight, Jim realised. It was bright enough, but what he saw through the window was not the sun at all, but a full moon.

As if it in a trance, Jim rose from the bed to look out of the window. He looked up at the moon, noticing details he had only picked up on when looking at enlarged photos. He viewed the garden with a similar level of attention to detail, picking out moths fluttering around the flowers, a fox in the shadows on the far side of the gardens hunting a rabbit he was sure he would never have been able to spot otherwise.

"Your sight is enhanced," Oswald said. "Your other senses too. You'll perceive everything beyond normal human capabilities. You're stronger, faster, immune to all human diseases and you'll heal faster from most injuries."

"I don't understand. What are you talking about?" Jim asked, growing frustrated.

"You're a vampire, Jim. Like me."

"Oswald!"

"I'm telling the truth, Jim," Oswald said. "Look!"

He opened his mouth, pulling his lips back to reveal sharp fangs.

Jim stumbled backwards, unable to believe his eyes. "What? How? I don't understand."

It was wrong, unnatural. There was no way Oswald was a vampire. Vampires didn't exist. They were just stories.

Oswald closed his mouth, turning away with a hurt expression. "It's true. I'm a vampire, and so are you."

"But I can't be. How. Why."

"You were dying, Jim. What else was I supposed to do?" Oswald asked. "You and I — we're tied together."

"You're lying. This is a trick or — or a dream or Scarecrow's toxin or — or something." Jim hit the wall. "It's not real. It's not. There's no such thing as vampires."

"You'll get used to it," Oswald replied. "And in time, maybe you'll see it for the blessing it is." He turned away, heading for the door. "I'll bring you something to drink soon. In the meantime, think over what I've told you."

"Don't you mean 'someone'?" Jim snarled harshly.

Oswald shrugged. "You're not up to hunting yet."

The door shut behind him, leaving Jim alone in the moonlight.

—

It was a little while before Oswald returned. Jim half considered looking for him, but he didn't want to run into anyone else.

He couldn't be a vampire. A tentative exploration of his mouth with tongue and fingers proved he didn't have fangs.

But then, he could have sworn that Oswald didn't either, and yet…

No. It was a trick.

Oswald had given him wide smiles before and he'd definitely not had fangs then. Jim would have noticed.

But there were things he couldn't explain. The detail he could pick out across the wide expanse of Oswald's garden, the sounds he could hear — the uneven footsteps of Oswald downstairs somewhere, the sounds of an old house settling that seemed so much louder than they should.

He didn't have fangs. He didn't drink blood. He wasn't a vampire.

He heard Oswald coming before he saw the handle turn. He had a cup with him, and a straw.

"Your change is pretty much complete," Oswald said. "And I still have much to explain. Drink, and then we can talk more."

Oswald held the cup out. Jim could smell the contents, the same delicious elixir he had been drinking since Oswald brought him here, but now he was aware enough to look at it.

Blood looks black in moonlight.

Jim gasped and this time, he felt his canines elongate. He touched one gently, alarmed.

"What — ?"

"Drink," Oswald said. "It will help. You can't go too long without it, especially not when the change is so recent."

Jim took the cup and sipped tentatively through the straw. Perhaps he could pretend he was drinking juice or something.

But there was no juice like this. It had a metallic tang, but it was pleasant, and an underlying sweetness. He'd tasted blood before, and it hadn't been like this.

Before he knew it, Jim had drained the cup.

"I've had to supplement it with my blood, while your body changed, but soon you won't need that," Oswald said.

"I'm not a vampire," Jim said. "I can't be."

"You are," Oswald said. "Not that it has to change much right now. You'll have to stay here until you're up to going back to the city. It's quite harsh on the senses, until you get used to it, but out here, it's better."

Jim sank down on the bed. "I still don't accept this. I can't. Vampires aren't real."

"Well, too bad. The reality is that we are real. We exist, and now you're one of us!" Oswald snapped. Jim saw a flash of his fangs in the moonlight.

"Okay, okay. Say I accept that this is real, not some elaborate prank… What happens now?" Jim asked.

"Now, I teach you all I know about being a vampire," Oswald said. "Tonight, we talk and if you're up to it tomorrow, we'll take a walk around the grounds."

Jim nodded. "Okay. So, talk."

"I told you about your enhanced senses, yes?"

Jim nodded.

"You'll notice that more in the city, maybe even find it overwhelming. The stench, the sounds, the bright lights — it can all get a bit much. Food as well. It's best to stick to bland things until you can handle all the different flavours."

Jim sat forward. "Wait, food? What about blood?"

Oswald rolled his eyes impatiently. "I was getting to that. Blood is necessary for our survival, but we can eat human food in order to fit in. It just doesn't do much for us. It's like…" He waved a hand as he tried to think of an analogy. "Pandas," he said at last.

Jim stared. "Pandas."

"Pandas. They're bears, built for a carnivorous diet, but they spend all day eating bamboo for some reason. They get their protein from insects or something. So human food to us is the equivalent of a panda's daily supply of bamboo. We can eat it, but we would need to eat a lot of it for it to have any effect. What we need to survive is blood. Human blood is best, but we can survive on animals if necessary. I don't recommend it, because it usually tastes foul."

"So we're bloodsucking pandas," Jim said. "Okay."

"You still don't believe me, do you?" Oswald asked. "What do I have to do to convince you?"

"I don't know. How did you react when you found out about this?" Jim asked.

Oswald shrugged. "She showed me her fangs, told me about it all and offered to turn me. I wasn't so stubborn as to continue to deny the evidence in front of me as you're being."

"She?"

"Her name was Lillian. She did things for Fish sometimes, which was how we met." Oswald looked away. "She's gone now, I think. I haven't seen her since before I met you. I don't know if she left town or was killed by hunters or if she simply grew too busy to meet me."

"You've been a vampire the whole time I've known you?" Jim asked, stunned.

Oswald nodded, quirking his lips in an approximation of a sheepish smile. "Yes, that's true. I've been a vampire all along. Haven't you ever wondered why I'm so hard to kill?" he asked.

"I thought you were just part cockroach," Jim deadpanned.

Oswald scowled. "I'll let that go because this is a difficult time for you," he said. "But don't think I'll be so lenient in future."

Jim smirked briefly. "Alright, fine. So you've been a vampire for a while, and vampires can eat like pandas and I can see in the dark and… what else?"

"You're stronger and faster than humans. I'll let you test that another night, though," Oswald replied.

"Right." Jim wasn't sure this conversation was making anything clearer.

"You're still finding this all overwhelming," Oswald said. "I apologise. I know it's a lot to take in. Lillian explained everything more clearly to me, but she was more used to this. I wasn't the first human she turned, so she knew how best to go about this. Unfortunately, it's been long enough that I've forgotten most of her introductory speech."

"How many have you turned?" Jim asked.

"You can't tell by the mess I'm making of this?" Oswald gestured between them. "You're my first."

For some reason the wording made Jim blush. "Oh."

"I must admit, this wasn't how I imagined turning you would go," Oswald said.

Jim raised his eyebrows. "You imagined turning me into a vampire?"

Oswald turned away, but Jim could still see the blush staining his cheeks. "I… yes. When I… When we first met. When we were. When I thought we could be friends."

There was a moment of silence, while Oswald refused to look at Jim in his humiliation, and Jim regretted ever asking the question.

"So...uh…" Jim began awkwardly. "I thought… you and Nygma were close, weren't you? Why didn't you turn him?"

That seemed to snap Oswald out of his embarrassed mood. He jerked his head around to glare at Jim. "Never mention his name to me again," he snapped. "Yes, I thought about it, but after…. Certain events, I'm very glad I never confessed my vampirism to him at all, let alone turned him into one of us."

"Certain events?"

"He tried to kill me," Oswald replied.

Jim strongly suspected there was a lot more to the story than that, but Oswald clearly didn't want to talk about it, and Jim didn't think it was wise to push the issue right then. Not while he was trying to make sense of the vampire thing, anyway. He was still mostly convinced that it was some elaborate prank, although he couldn't figure out why Oswald would do something like that.

"Perhaps we should talk about something else," Jim suggested.

Oswald stood. "I think we've done enough talking tonight," he said. "Get some rest. Think about what I've said. I advise against leaving your rooms, for tonight at least, but tomorrow I'll show you around."

Jim watched him go, more confused than ever. He still didn't quite believe him about the vampirism, but…

Oswald had left the cup behind, with a residue of drying blood coating the bottom.

Experimentally, Jim ran his finger around the side of the cup. It still smelled wonderful. He wondered about that, because he'd never been so affected by blood before.

Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he licked the blood off his finger.

This time, he definitely felt fangs.

Jim was so surprised, he dropped the cup. He barely had a split second to react, certain that the cup would shatter on the floor and Oswald would be displeased, yet somehow he caught it, an inch from the floor.

Oswald had said he would be faster.

Deciding that it would be better if he didn't put Oswald's fine china at work, Jim put it on the bedside table.

There was a hand mirror on the nightstand as well. Jim picked it up, half afraid to look at his reflection, but he had to know. He'd felt them, but seeing the delicately pointed canines was something else.

He ran his tongue over his teeth, feeling the fangs recede. That was… interesting. Even when they were retracted, they were still pointier, sharper than they had been before.

He wondered if they extended automatically, or if he had to concentrate on it — and saw them extend.

Oh god.

It was real.

He put the mirror down hurriedly and sat down on the bed.

He was a vampire.

An actual, honest to god, blood drinking vampire.

He drew in a shaky breath. What was he going to do? Was he going to have to feed on people? Kill them to survive? How could he justify that? Jim had never told anyone, but there had been times when he hadn't wanted to live anymore, hadn't thought his life was worth living after seeing all the damage he had done to other people, and now the very act of continuing his life would hurt others, and it would do forever.

Jim curled up on the bed, closing his eyes tightly as if that could make everything go away.

Somehow, despite the thoughts troubling him, Jim managed to fall asleep. He awoke later to blinding sunlight streaming in the window. He hadn't closed the curtains before falling asleep. It was so bright it hurt, and he couldn't keep his eyes open.

Groaning, he pulled the covers over his head. It was like having a hangover, but without the alcohol.

Even under the blankets, it felt too bright and he longed to get up and shut the curtains. He tried to get up, lifting the blankets just a little, but even then it felt like too much.

Finally, Jim decided to just close his eyes and dash to the window. If he remembered correctly, there wasn't anything between the bed and the window for him to walk into or trip on. If he was quick enough, he could get the curtains shut and block out the light that hurt so much.

It was a good plan, in theory, and could have worked if his foot hadn't tangled in the blanket. He crashed to the floor with a loud curse.

"What are you doing?" Oswald asked.

Jim hadn't heard him coming, and the light caused him too much pain for him to feel embarrassed. "Too bright," he hissed.

He heard the drapes being pulled across and the light dimmed significantly. The headache remained, though. Jim picked himself up and crawled back into bed.

"Why didn't you shut the curtains before you slept?" Oswald asked. "I warned you about the light sensitivity, didn't I?"

Jim glared at him, the bedcovers drawn up to his chin. "Sorry, I was too busy freaking out about the fact that I'm a fucking vampire to think about it."

Oswald gave him a pleased smile. "You believe me now?"

"I have fangs," Jim snapped.

"Yes, that is the main indicator of vampirism," Oswald said. "Sit up, let me have a look at your eyes."

Jim frowned, but sat up. "It still hurts."

"The retinas may be burned. Do you see clearly?" Oswald asked. He gently tilted Jim's head to examine his eyes, guiding him closer for a better look.

"There are spots," Jim admitted.

"They'll fade away. You should be fully healed by tonight," Oswald said.

His fingers brushed Jim's cheek delicately. Jim didn't move, could hardly breathe at the intimacy of the situation. Then Oswald drew back and the spell was broken.

"I have to go out today," Oswald said. "I'll be back this evening. If your eyes are better, we may walk the grounds at sunset, but I advise against leaving your room today."

"How come you're not affected by the sunlight?" Jim asked.

"I've had time to become accustomed to it. I still feel weakened by it, but it no longer blinds me or incapacitates me," Oswald replied. "You'll reach the same tolerance level soon, and you could even return to work for a while if you wish."

Jim had wondered about that. "I could?"

"For a while, until people start noticing that you don't age," Oswald replied. "It will happen sooner or later, and we'll have to move on."

"Move on?"

"We'll talk later, about that and more," Oswald said. "If you like, I can provide paper and pens, so you can write down any questions you have and we can go through them tonight."

Jim nodded. "Yes, that's a good idea."

Oswald nodded. "Okay."

He left to find a notepad and pen, returning shortly with both before bidding Jim farewell and repeating his instructions not to leave the room.

A final note: Thanks for reading! Find me on AO3 as Sabulana or Tumblr as Emmageddon.