A/N: This one is a lot longer. I really like writing Casimiro for some reason. ALSO LOOK I'M ADDING PSUEDO-SEX TO THE WARNING, LOLOLOL.

Technically, this would be two parts, but the second part mainly focuses on them deciding to team up or whatever.

It was hard to fight back when his hands were cuffed together, but that didn't stop Casimiro from jerking his elbow back and into the officer's abdomen. "Let me go, you son of a bitch!" he screamed, kicking and flailing in an attempt to keep them away for long enough that he could make an escape. He lifted his arms to keep the nightstick blows from hitting his face, but one managed to connect with his back, and he fell to the ground, his knees meeting pavement for only a second before he was pulled back up and led towards the flashing lights of a police cruiser. "I didn't do anything!" He said, still struggling against the firm grip of the man leading him.
"Shut up," the cop muttered, grabbing a handful of two-toned hair and pushing the young man into the cruiser, slamming the door.

Knowing there was nothing he could do, Casimiro silenced, watching the buildings of Milan pass through the tinted windows. He'd been arrested before; public intoxication, assault, things like that. But he had no idea what he'd done this time, and when he tried to ask, he received no answer. And so he waited.
Even as he was tossed into a cell, there was no explanation as to why he was there. But all of the officers eyed him with even more disgust than usual; one even spat on his shoes as he passed, and he lunged at them in retaliation only to meet a knee to his stomach. He was pushed violently into his cell, coughing from the blow he'd received as the metallic sound of the bars sliding across the ground and locking echoed through the hall.
As soon as he caught his breath he took a seat on the cot, frowning at the neon orange prison garb he'd been forced to change into. "Who decided on bright orange?" he wondered out loud, shaking out the sleeves. "It really doesn't go well with anyone's complexion."

Oh, the inappropriate things he wondered about.

In truth, it was just something to keep him from having a panic attack. What if they'd confused him with some sort of mass murderer and he was going to die tomorrow? Taking a deep breath, he smacked the side of his head. "Get a hold of it, Cas," he scolded. "It's probably a mistake. They'll clear it up, kiss your ass, and let you on your merry fucking way."
The uneasy silence that usually followed talking to yourself was surprisingly short, interrupted by the quiet flapping of wings and squeaks. He looked up to see a bat flying around the ceiling, probably looking for a place to roost, as yells echoed from outside the barred windows. "Ah, hell. Just my luck." But as he stood up to shoo the bat back out the window, it took a dive, landed on the floor, and started shifting in to the figure of a man.
He could only watch as the newcomer brushed off the shoulders of his long, navy blue coat and looked over at the window, then to the cell's inhabitant. And they stared at each other for a good few minutes before Casimiro opened his mouth, to either cry out in horror or let loose a string of curses; but he never got the chance, because the larger man immediately crossed over and clamped his hand so hard against Casimiro's mouth that he almost choked. "Shh," he whispered, red eyes flicking over to the window. "They're looking for me. I have no qualm with you. Now, I'm going to let you go. Stay quiet."
Slowly, the large hand removed itself, and Casimiro jumped back, hissing quietly in heavily-accented English, "Well, you can't expect me to exactly be desensitized to a bat turning into a goddamn guy in the middle of my cell!"
The larger man nodded, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets. "Understandable. I'll be leaving quite soon, though. I'd appreciate you not mentioning... what are you staring at?" He paused, watching Casimiro's eyes fall to the left corner of his mouth and widen slightly, before reaching up to touch it, blinking. "Oh. Ignore that."
Muttering in Italian, Casimiro sat on his cot, turning his gaze to the floor with a sigh. "And now I've met a damn vampire."
Giving a dry, quiet laugh, the other man looked back to the window, tilting his head to listen. "I seem to be in the clear. You never saw me, correct?" Casimiro nodded blandly. "Good." And with that, the stranger shifted back into a bat and fluttered out the window.
As soon as he was gone, the young man flopped backwards on his bed and groaned loudly. Could this day get any more fucked up?

"We, the jury, find the defendant guilty of the rape and constructive manslaughter of Abelie Celentano."
Casimiro could practically hear his heart stop in his ears, numbness filling his chest as he was dragged up to his feet and back to his cell. He could practically feel the poison of his death sentence filling his veins already, and once the guards had jeered and left him alone, his mind practically collapsed in on itself. He had a whole week left to live.
The Celentanos were rivals to his family, all because of some weird thing that had happened God-knows how long ago, and were known for doing absolutely anything to defile the name of their enemies. No doubt that Abelie was relaxing by the pool, ready to come out and say, "Oh, I'm not dead!" just as soon as his body turned cold.
Burying his head in his hands, he took a breath. So, this was it. His life was officially over. Twenty-six years old and dead. "Merda," he whispered, tugging at the orange-red section of his hair.

Those next two days were horrible; no special treatment for the dead man. No one believed him when he said he was innocent, assuming they didn't tune him out. Eventually, he just stopped talking altogether, turning his thoughts inward until he absolutely believed in the fact that he had to escape. It took him nearly two more days to finally come up with an idea that he was sure was risky.
He got into a fight with a guard, stole a paper clip from is pocket, and carefully cut open his thumb after everyone else was asleep, drawing a sign on the inside ledge of his window. If that vampire he'd met earlier was still around, maybe he'd smell the sign and help out for a favor. Sure, it was a long shot, but he was pretty desperate.
Imagine his surprise when a bat landed just outside his window. "Uh." He stood up from his position on the floor to examine it; it wasn't the same one, to his disappointment. While the first man had been of a blue-grey color and slightly bulkier, this one was slender and colored a beautiful ivory.
"Is this your blood, dolce cuore?" it purred in a clearly feminine voice. Brown eyes blinked in response. "It smells decadent."
Casimiro scratched his neck, smiling a bit sheepishly. "Uh, yeah. Listen, signorina. I need help. If you could help me get out of here, I'm sure I could make it up to you."
She flapped her wings, contemplating. "What kind of favor?"
"Anything you could ask for."
He could practically see her grin, which was odd; he wasn't even sure bats could grin, but that wasn't the issue at that point. "I'll see what I can do~" And with that, she flew away.

Not even a few minutes later, he could hear screams and yells from the main office, and the sounds of bloodshed. He blanched slightly; he wasn't exactly thinking that murdering them all was the most discreet way of getting out, but any guilt disappeared when he saw her stroll to his cell, covered in blood and dressed in a pure white blouse and black slacks. Black hair fell in waves that ended just above her waist, and she twirled the keys around her bloodstained fingers. "You're even more handsome up close," she said with a smile as she started going through the keys to unlock his cell.
"You too, chica," he said, smiling when she giggled. She looked to be around his age, physically, standing with a certain elegance once the lock clicked with the right key and the door slid open. He slid out immediately, brushing up to her with a suave smile. "Thank you."
"Anything for a pretty boy." She drew her finger down his cheek and grabbed his hand, leading him down to the main office. "Might want to close your eyes."
"Wait, can I grab my clothes, first? I'm not gonna go out there in this." He picked at his fluorescent orange garb.
She stopped just before the blood-splattered doors. "Hm. I'm sure we could. After all, more fun for me if things get hectic."

They made it out of the station without incident, although he did have to watch as she tore the throat out of some poor officer. They ran, hand in hand, to the other side of town through alleys, avoiding the prying eyes of the late night stragglers, since it would probably be hard to explain what a blood-covered girl was doing with a guy whose was pictured in the papers as a literal lady-killer.
They took a break in the alley of a movie theater, where he gasped for breath and wiped sweat from his brow. "Damn! Jailbreak is a workout. I'll need to do it more often."
She chuckled, peeking out to the street from the corner of the building before making her way to him. "Glad I could help, dolce cuore. What's your name, anyway?"
He looked up, swallowing and giving a little salute. "Casimiro Mancini."
"Oh, Mancini! I believe our grandfathers knew each other." She crouched down before him, eyes flashing dangerously. "Nice to catch up on old times, right?"
"I wouldn't know, my grandfather was insane." He laughed, leaning forward with his arms propped up on his knees. "How about you? I need a name to go with this pretty face."
She smiled, her fangs clear over her dark lips. "Diamante Giordano."
"Ah, Giordano. I think I've heard that name tossed around. Are beautiful women trademark to the family?" he asked, reaching out to brush her inky hair from her face.
She purred in laughter.

The next thing he knew, he was pushed against the brick wall, his torso bare, with her straddling him, her lips playing against his neck. He pulled her closer, finding the ice cold feel of her body to be strangely intriguing rather than repelling. She arched her back and giggled, muttering, "Ready to return that favor?"
"Whatever you want, cucciola mia," he replied, feeling the hair on his arms raise at the chilling laugh she gave.
And that's when he felt her dig her fangs into the intersection of his shoulder and neck, squeezing her tightly with a surprised inhalation. Damn, that felt kind of good, with the massive amount of endorphins that were released, and his grip of her hair tightened.

After a few seconds, he realized something was wrong.

She wasn't letting go, applying more and more pressure until he could actually feel it through the cloudy haze in his head. He let out a throaty, nervous chuckle, receiving a yank of his hair in return. Oh, God, he'd walked right into this one. She was going to drain him. He'd broken out of death row just to die in a dirty alleyway.
Regardless, he started to fight, as futile as it was, kicking and trying to push her away until he felt her fangs dig deeper, seeing an explosion of white before his eyes.

And slowly, it all faded to black.