This was inspired by my love of this programme, Bring Me To Life by Evanescence and Welcome To The Family by Avenged Sevenfold.

I don't own Young Dracula.

The morning was cold, the air biting into his cheeks, bringing up a pink flush that wasn't likely to make another appearance. He looked out over the small town with a sort of desperate longing tempered by a doomed acceptance, savouring each and every thing his eyes touched upon. The sun was blinding, however no warmth was reaching through the intense rush of wind that whipped through the country. He looked down for a brief moment, and indulged in the instinctive fear that came with being so high up without protection. It was pleasant, feeling something so pointless, something he was also unlikely to feel ever again, due to the simply fact that by the end of the day, such a fall would be lucky to hurt him, never mind kill him. His right hand appeared in front of his face, and he twisted it around slowly, then back, marvelling in the sight of the glowing light against his faintly coloured skin. At the complete lack of pain he would feel with a sharp certainty tomorrow.

He was in no hurry today, as he was determined to enjoy the sensations he would never be able to feel again. There was no school; it was a Saturday, and even if it had been a weekday, he would still have been absent. His father would have demanded it, and as much as he would have wished to argue, he understood. As much as he wished for an ordinary, normal life, school was not something he wished to do on his last day of freedom before he was chained by the very essence of his being.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, feeling the slight tingle of the sunlight, and the chill with a sensitivity that would be diminished and destroyed by tonight. Unconsciously, his left hand came up and held his right. The index and middle fingers pressed into the wrist, and he experienced an almost delirious pleasure at the watery pumps his pulse made, the rushing of the warm blood under his skin, deep inside his veins and arteries. The hoarse gasp his breathing gave as the necessary oxygen came flowing in and the waste air went whooshing out. All of these essential functions that were the definition of humanity, the unappreciated processes that kept the living alive. The processes he had treasured and measured and studied in the last sixteen years of his short life, the processes that were deemed essential – processes he would need no longer.

Abruptly, his hands flew to his side and his back straightened. He pushed the unwanted thoughts deep into the darkest recesses of his mind he would acknowledge and turned his back to the sun. He walked towards the cosy bed he had left not ten minutes ago, and within seconds, his entire body was drenched in shadow.

As it would be forever more.

A rough, Russian voice pulled him out of his dark musing and he looked up, a happier expression dawning on his face. His eyes landed on the unfortunate hellhound that he had relied on since he was born.

"Yes Zoltan?"

"I said, are you ready, Master Vlad?"

Vlad's eyebrow rose, and Zoltan inclined his head. "Point taken. Your father wants you downstairs, and Mistress Ingrid seems particularly eager to see you."

Brown eyes vanished upwards then reappeared, and an unwanted sigh let itself out of his chest. He ran a hand through his hair as he spun in a slow semi-circle.

"She probably wants to gloat." He looked over his shoulder. "Robin's not here, is he?"

The wolf's head shook. "No. I think his sister convinced him it was best to heed your warning."

Vlad let out a silent breath, and felt a small amount of relief settle on his chest. It hadn't been an easy decision to prevent Robin and Chloe from being there during the transformation, but he knew it was the best option. If there wasn't any danger, he would have been happy to have them there as moral support, however he had no idea how he would be… well… feeling when he had completely changed. Horror stories of his father's own transformation had spurred him into action, as well as the idle comment that the males in their family were always extremely thirsty afterwards. For some reason, as strange and absolutely nuts Boris had been, he had skipped over the sheer bloodlust that Ivan, the Count and his paternal grandfather had experienced on the change. Vlad was under no illusions that he would be so lucky, and he would hate himself if he did anything to his friends, let alone bite them.

"Good."

He went closer to the window, and with a flick of his hand, the shutters slammed closed. Then he picked up the cloak his father insisted on his bringing that was lying draped over the chest and swung it on. It sat perfectly on his shoulders, and a glance in the mirror, something else he would miss; his reflection, revealed an imposing figure. He wasn't a vain person despite being sixteen, but he couldn't help judging himself on his appearance one last time. His short, rather curly hair had darkened considerably since he had turned fifteen, and it was almost as black as his mother's, father's and Ingrid's. Eyebrows were set not very high above his brown eyes, and he almost – almost – smiled at the facial structure his father was so proud of that stood out prominently, especially in his cheekbones and his nose. However, the figure in front of him wasn't smiling, nor did it seem as if he ever had in his life. The high collar of his cloak came just up to his eye line, and left his face in shade. He seemed to look even taller than usual, probably due to the black, gothic clothing he had been ordered to wear.

Perfect for a vampire, he thought wryly. The ensemble looked immaculate; just the sort of thing a typical vampire was likely to wear. Only the Dracula crest that the broach boasted proudly made him stand out from the darkness that shrouded both him and his future. And honestly, all it did was emphasise it.

"Vladimir!" A voice thundered throughout the castle, and pushed Vlad out of his inspection. It was his father, and he knew better than to keep the man waiting on such a day as this. Yesterday, he had been beside himself in excitement – Vlad could only imagine what it would be like to endure now. Naturally, Ingrid hadn't been happy at the constant reminders of the precious heir's coming of age, considering the fact the Count hadn't even believed it when she had turned sixteen herself. But Ingrid had been rather… nice – Vlad dared say it – lately despite it all, and he had a sneaking suspicion that it had to do with Will. The half-fang hadn't really been liked in the Dracula residence to begin with, but now, the Count ignored him and Vlad tolerated him for his sister's sake. Ingrid really seemed to love him, and no matter how much Ingrid hated him, he loved his sister, and if Will made her happy, then he was welcome.

"Wish me luck, Zoltan. I hope I like you afterwards."

"As do I, Master Vlad. Good luck."

He stopped for a moment at the top of the two steps out of his room, looked around once more with eyes that would be different next time, and shut the door behind him.

"Vladdy, my boy!" The Count's arms rose into the air, and Vlad couldn't help but be slightly wary at the joyful expression the feared vampire was sporting. It was a sharp contrast to the scowl Ingrid wore, and the indifferent look Will was giving the whole affair.

"Such a wonderful day, is it not? My boy, about to be a proper vampire!"

In a true show of just how unpredictable his fluctuating senses were, he heard the murmur.

"More like wimpire." Will snickered in response, and Vlad painfully swallowed the retort he was about to shoot at her. Normally, he would have simply ignored the rather generic insult, this coming from Ingrid, but at this precise time, his temper was sort of… frayed.

"Yeah dad," he ignored the lump in his throat, "a proper vampire."

A laugh echoed around the room, and everyone looked at the source. Ingrid.

"What's the matter breather boy? Finally realised what a mistake you're making?" She snorted, and Vlad honestly believed she was getting amusement out of this, as apposed to simply being malicious. It would suit her personality.

He sat down at the empty seat, and looked over the four wrapped presents that lay on the table. One was suddenly pushed into his hands, and his father nodded eagerly.

"Go on. Open it!"

Vlad paused for a moment, before slipped one finger under the paper and ripped it off without bothering to read the label. It was a book on the myths and legends of vampires, the kind breathers relied on. That one was clearly from Robin.

He slid it to the side without a word, and pulled over the next one without any prompting from his dad.

A time later, and he looked over all of his presents with a vaguely thankful expression only seen by the empty room. Chloe had put more thought into her gift than Robin had, and had gotten him, while another book, this time on inner peace and the control of one's emotions. That would probably come in useful in the future. His father had gotten him a high quality new cloak, and had promised him a new coffin to be put the crypt. His mother had sent a notice saying she wished him a happy birthday, but that they couldn't make it. They would be visiting ('they' meaning Patrick and her son, who Vlad still didn't know the name of. Maybe she named him Barry?) soon, bringing a gift with them. Vlad wasn't really expecting much. He had given up any hope of a loving relationship with his mum a long time ago.

But, the present that had really surprised him was the one signed Will and Ingrid. It was a mobile phone. Not an expensive or technologically advanced one, but a mobile nonetheless. All Ingrid had muttered was that it was so he could keep in touch with all his breather friends, but it was the only gift he could genuinely say he was grateful for. Turned out his sister knew him better than he had thought.

He looked up warily at the grandfather clock, and registered the time as quarter past eleven. The Count had been surprised when the bells of the castle hadn't started chiming to summon him to the mirror right in that moment, and after half an hour of waiting, they had all but given up. Ingrid had left with a parting quip, Will tailing behind her. The Count had gone off to have a snooze in his coffin, leaving Vlad to stew over everything that was happening.

His anger and frustration at being unable to avoid the change had extinguished several months ago, when he had just given in and accepted the inevitable. Chloe had demanded he keep fighting, but he knew better. Ingrid's experience in running away from her reflection had shown him that was not the way to go, and every other possible route had been exhausted. He was out of options. He was going to inherit his birthright, whether he liked it or not.

Suddenly, a wave of panic washed through him, and the images of what was to come flashed through his head. Fangs. Speed. Bats. Coffins. Burning. Cloaks. Power. Blood.

And he wasn't ready. He wasn't ready to let go of the light.

The sound that broke him out of his deadly grip on the table was the overpowering and vibrating toll of the bells.

"Make me proud, Vladdy." His dad's voice repeated itself in his mind as he nodded, and took another steadying breath. He turned to Will, and gave him an acknowledging nod that was returned. Then he turned to his sister.

"Ingrid…"

"Don't bother Vlad." She paused a moment, before looking him in the eye with a solemn air. "Good luck."

His eyes widened slightly at the small piece of warmth that came with the phrase, before deciding not to question it.

"Thanks."

He turned on his heel, and looked with careful ease into the room, seeming only gargoyles, stone walls and cobwebs from where he was standing. The wooden door stood open, and the statues on either side frozen.

He took one step, then another, and then another, until he no longer felt the gazes of his family in his back, and the sound of the door shutting and locking was heard. The last time he had been in here was when Ingrid had disappeared after her transformation, and nothing seemed to have changed. The walls were as grey and bleak as always, and the cobwebs still hung from every little nook and cranny possible. He looked left, and the dreaded blood mirror stood there in all its glory. The reflection of the room was slightly tinted crimson, and he couldn't yet see himself in it.

Then, it hit him. There was no way out. This was end of the line.

But… did it have to be? Did this have to be the end of all normal life? Did this have to be the end of his breather ways? His uncle Ivan had shown it was possible to live without blood, and he could learn self-control enough to cope. He would manage, and with a few adjustments, he would remain unchanged.

His lips tightened, and a small stubborn spark appeared in his eyes.

However, Vladimir Dracula had made one miscalculation in his admirable determination to not be a vampire while being a vampire.

His reflection and his rebellious blood.

He went forward confidently, and stood in front of the enchanted glass, secure in his knowledge. He scanned over his ordinary copy with some confusion, before looking all over the glass for anything out of the norm. Ingrid hadn't really described what happens at this part, neither had his father, and all he knew was that he had to fight his mirror image for control over his body, as his sister had.

Nothing could be seen, and he scanned around the room thoroughly, looking for any clue as to what happened next. All that could be heard were his now unsteady breaths and not even the flaming torches flickered. He wandered two steps away from the mirror. A second later, his nerves abruptly went taut, and he could feel his heart pumping faster as the atmosphere in the room became full and oppressive, as if waiting. A small sound filled the empty air, like a suction being slowly released. Something deep inside caused him to freeze on the spot, and he couldn't force himself to turn around, even as his senses were yelling at him to face the threat.

Then, it dawned on him. There was definitely something behind him. Something alive. Something sentient. His chest felt so heavy in fear, and his convictions left him in the drama. How foolish he had been. How utterly foolish he had been to fight this.

Then, the pressure gave way and the band snapped. A hand clamped down on his shoulder, and he wrenched himself away from it in an instinctive move. He whirled around, and came face to face with his destiny. An involuntary gasp left his throat, and his eyes were as far open as they could go as he took in the figure in front of him.

If he believed in God, he would be praying.

He moved away quickly, putting some distance between himself and the vampire that stood there with a vicious smirk and coal black eyes. The fangs were extended proudly, and he could clearly picture them sinking into warm, succulent flesh, releasing the deliciously rich liquid that would give him so much sustenance and enjoyment.

He grimaced at his sudden bloody thoughts and revulsion showed at how much he had entertained them.

A deep, oh-so-familiar voice filled his ears, and his brown orbs locked on the shining pitch black ones that weren't diluted by any white.

"Do I have your attention?" The reflection mocked. "I know the way you've been living, and I don't have the patience to go through the whole charade our sister went through. It's time!"

A wicked, almost cackle ripped through his horror, and he watched with more panic as the monster pressed forward with considerable speed, his hands held out.

An unwanted hiss came from Vlad's mouth, and he ran back further, away from the threatening other him, away from his violent future.

"Oh, would you look at that aggression! Oh well, looks like my work is going to be easier than I thought!" The vampire then suddenly stopped, and his head moved towards Vlad, creating a rather foreboding image. The smirk remained in place as the unnatural eyes judged his stance, his appearance, and his very soul. Vlad was shocked stiff.

After a moment of combative silence, the vampire went straight once more, and adopted an almost casual stance. But, the danger alert only increased, and Vlad felt as if he was being… hunted.

"You have to know you can't win this fight! You will become me, and I will become you. We will join, and the breathers won't know what hit them," the voice gained a darker quality as he continued; "the roads and rivers will run red with blood. We'll sate ourselves on the thick, heated lifeblood that will be so easy to acquire."

As the other Vlad continued to spout off the very things he would do when he was free, Vlad was trying to sift through the dizzying emotions that had hit him. This was him. That, thing, was him. What he would become. It was darker, more violent, and eviller than he had ever anticipated. The absolute malevolence, hatred and hostility were higher than he was prepared to cope with. That small touch on his shoulder had seemed to meld some of these into him, and he was torn between running away and cleaving the shadow's head off with his very hands. The rage at everything he had ever believed in was messing with his most sacred beliefs.

He liked breathers, didn't he? He had wanted to be one. So why did he want to rip their throats out and dance in their remains? Why did he want to gorge himself on their essence, and slowly tear them to pieces at the same time?

He loved the heat and light of the sun, didn't he? The warmth against his face, the light showing him the world. Why did he want to pull the orb out of the sky and smash it to pieces? To avoid its dangerous rays?

He loved his father, his sister, and his friends. But he wanted to leave the house, be away from his controlling father, his spiteful sister. He wanted to kill his best friends.

He let out an unwilling whine, and his hands clapped over his ears, not wanting to hear anymore. No, no, no! The pain, like someone driving a wooden stake straight into his head, increased, and he tightened his hands. Unknown to him, whimpers and moans kept leaving his throat, and his reflection had stopped speaking a long time ago. The vampire kept watching the presently breather-like vampire with a smugly pleased expression.

Vlad's knees then gave out, and he sunk onto them pitifully. The inner turmoil was boiling through his veins, and unfortunately, his awareness of the outside world dimmed – too much as he struggled with his own mind.

The vampire saw the opportunity, and stepped forward slowly, his posture relaxed and in no hurry. He stopped just in front of the transforming one. If he had been a breather, he would probably have seen this as a blow below the belt, as the opponent was unable to fight back. But he wasn't a breather; he was a vampire. He utilised every opening he could, whether it would be seen as dishonourable or not.

He paused for a moment as his hands reached out, savouring the moment. This would be it. He smiled with a glint in his eyes that promised something. Then, his hands clapped around the wrists that were like vices around the head bowed in front of him.

Vlad screamed.

Not half an hour later, the wooden doors clicked, and swung open with a barely audible creak. The statues retracted their swords, and moved back into the position they had used for most of their existence. The three people who had stood up as soon as the bolts loosened stopped in expectancy for anything that would symbolise the presence of their altered family member.

The Count halted for a moment at the door with concealed apprehension, before going through with his initial thought and entered the room with his normal grace. Ingrid was practically right behind him, and Will followed after four or more seconds.

Ingrid barely stopped herself from running into her father's still form and dodged around him just in time. She was about to spit an insult that would once again put his wisdom into question, when she spotted what it was that had made him stop.

She couldn't stop the surprise and unacknowledged worry that she felt, and prevented herself from moving closer. He was on his knees, his hands around his head, his face hidden. Not a movement came from him, and when she concentrated her hearing, there was nothing to hear.

So it was confirmed. No breathing. No heartbeat. Her little brother was now a vampire.

A small piece of regret ran through her before she banished it, and it never made another appearance in her lifetime.

Then, her father moved closer.

"Vladimir?"

The crouched teenager's body seemed to unfurl, almost like a swan's neck, with uncanny grace and suppressed power. The cloak only enhanced the fluidity and his black clothes made him blend into the background while still being the centre of attention. His skin was much paler, looking a ghostly paper white in the gloom, and his dark hair only made the effect better. His lips were no longer the cherry red they had looked on his younger self; they were now a pasty cream that merged with his colouring seamlessly.

His mouth opened slightly, and two perfectly moulded fangs emerged with ease, the possibility of danger shown within. His eyes opened lazily, and the black faded from them immediately leaving behind his deep brown irises. They focussed in on his father, but his face showed no indication of what he was thinking. They all waited anxiously for his reply.

His lips pressed together, and the whites of his eyes showed for an instant, before going back to normal. A slow smile bloomed, one which showed no happiness and the fangs retreated into his teeth.

"Dad."

The rest is up to you. I have my own ending in my head of how exactly this turns out, rather depressing and violent, but I'd like to leave you all to draw your own conclusions. Vlad's transformation has always been a hotspot for debate, it seems, and here's my take. Hope you enjoyed this; I enjoyed writing it. Any reviews you submit will be highly appreciated.

Lynn

*Note* Due to popular demand, I have began plotting out an end to this story, but my life can be rather hectic, and inspiration MUST hit before I can write - so don't wait for a miracle, even if I can assure you there will be a sequel/continuation of this story in the future!

Thanks again for all the reviews!