Disclaimer: I do not own Young Dracula...or it's characters...but I will admit to having Robin and Vlad chained in my Dungeon... I'm jus' sayin' if you want to borrow them... XD!
Strap yourselves in...This will BLOW. YOUR. MIND!
Chapter 10: Ready-made Ass-kicking...Just Add Water!
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He was mid-swing, about to plunge the dagger into the opposite arm of the unnatural creature before him, when something paused his wild thinking; a scream, a cry for help from outside, achingly familiar...Jonathan. Jonathan was in danger...he contemplated ignoring it and turned back to the pale, sweating boy bound before him and raised the knife again, when he heard the piercing cry for help come again, and then stop suddenly...
He sighed, could that boy do nothing right? He thought, irritably; angered at being drawn away from what could very well be his shining moment of glory in Slayer History...
Van Hellsing strode outside with the air of an aggrieved customer at a restaurant, "Jonathan? Jonno! Show yourself this instant! This isn't funny, you- whoa!" His body was immediately yanked from the doorway, sailing through the air and slammed into a nearby tree...arms grabbed his own from behind and pulled them about the trunk so that they might be bound tightly with...it felt like sharp metal...razor-wire?
"Only the best for someone who dares to steal one of my children and cause them harm," came a jovial voice, and the Count came smiling into the moonlight; cold, vice-like fingers grabbed his face, "Bear in mind your actions when you see what comes next, human...this would not be possible if we had not had such a willing assistant. See what you have brought upon yourself...Is that not right, Jonathan?" A silhouette of his son framed by moonlight, was suddenly casting a shadow over his body... "He's right, Dad, you deserve whatever you get...and through it all, I want you to remember one little thing, I. Hate. You. Got it?"
"Well-spoken, my lad, well-spoken, indeed!" clapped Count Dracula delightedly, swanning back into view, flanked by his daughter, Ingrid and...was that Will? He was sure he'd seen that boy in class at some point... "Now, if you wouldn't mind, we all happen to be a tad...Church-intolerant, if you catch my meaning..." Jonathan nodded and disappeared inside the large building, sawing sounds could be heard...a snap, followed by several others...hushed whispers, Vlad relaxed by a tree to his right. Ingrid paced forwards, fangs on show, "Mr Van Hellsing, sorry I missed your class so much but...well, there's only so many times I can stare at your ugly mortal face and not want to tear it off...not very subtle when you taught us to make 'garden' stakes just before Halloween. Tsk Tsk...silly Slayer!" she giggled and danced away again.
With the speed of lightning, Vlad was by the door and grabbing a sagging Robin from Jonathan's arms, they both sank to the ground...the young Dracula frantically pressing at the deep wound in the taller boy's arm. Jonathan pulled something from his pocket, the army-issue compression bandage he always made him carry...of course! The pair of them wrapped it about the bleeding wound with great efficiency...he was surprised that none of the Vampires present had reacted to the blood that filled the air...
The Count glared at him balefully, "If your son was bleeding chocolate, for a random example, would you stop to taste it or save his life? You do not drink from family, especially not the weakest, they must be protected..." He blinked, how had the Count known what he was thinking...? "Because, you deranged Slayer, ...you're speaking aloud, did you not know? It seems not...Ah well, you are more fun this way..." he paced about the other, Van Hellsing straining his neck to keep his eyes on the count as he disappeared about the wide tree-trunk, only to reappear on the other side...
"Are you ready, my boy?" Count Dracula called over his shoulder, Jonathan nodded bravely and stood, there was blood staining his hands, but the frantic rush to stop the bleeding had ceased at least...Ingrid moved closer, circling his son and gently tugging him out into open space. She kissed his cheek and whispered something he could not hear, but his heart began to race as Jonathan closed his eyes, tilting his head back. Will came up behind the teen, Ingrid before, holding carefully onto the clenched fists and seemingly giving instruction to the other...he looked away as Will's fangs flared and sank deep into the dark flesh of his son's throat. There was a gasp, but Ingrid -uncharacteristically- was making soft shushing noises and running her cold hands up and down Jonathan's forearms until the fists unclenched. She smiled in a way that would make nuns blush and moved closer; by now, he was shaking with rage against his bonds and straining as hard as possible to reach them, stop them...he must be hypnotised! Some rational explanation for the low moan that fell from his lips in a not-quite-groan-of-agony manner that made him want to block out the sight...the blasted child was enjoying this!
"And why not? Initially, there is a twinge, I've been told, but it's reported to be a rather pleasurable experience..." countered the Count, damn, speaking aloud again; the Count smirked. His heart pounded so hard he felt it was going to burst from his chest in fear as he saw Jonathan go limp and was carefully caught by Ingrid. The Vampiress lifted his body and half-handed him over to Will so they both had a free arm, before biting her own wrist deeply-as Will mirrored the action for his own, fangs sinking into the creamy, pale flesh- and pressing it to Jonathan's parted lips...letting dark liquid seep from the bleeding bite-marks marring the raised wrists and mingle together as it dripped slowly into the yielding mouth...
With one last evil grin in his direction, the Vampires and what had been his son, -for he could not think of such a betrayal as anything but relationship-ending-, flitted away into the night. The Count rounded on him and whispered cold words into his ear, "He's my son now..." and slammed a hand down on his temple...the world faded out of focus and fell to black.
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"Robin? Robin! Please...please just say something!" he whispered urgently, not even looking as Will tested out the best bit of his new abilities...and then his father was by his side, scooping up the human from his arms and making a 'We're going!' look in his direction...and they flitted together through the darkness...
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Shuddering from the strange cold that seemed to seep through the town, Mr Branaugh wrapped the long coat more firmly about himself and glanced at the sky; he had been looking for something...but could not rightly remember exactly what... He blinked as two nearly-identical voices shouted at one another in the general vicinity of his unguarded back and turned swiftly, the Twins paused mid yelling-match to stare at their father with a question in their eyes and blindingly yellow sheets of paper in their hands.
"Dad? We...what are you doing out here? I mean...what are we doing out here?" asked Paul, simply to fill the dumb-struck silence that had fallen between the Branaugh trio; Ian stared down at the paper and then straight back up at his father, thrusting it out at the older man, "Who is this? Wait...isn't it...isn't it that weird brat, Robin? Why are we looking for him?" Ian was clearly confused; as it seemed, was Paul...
As Mrs Branaugh and Chloe came bustling towards them from the other end of the street and he looked up, to the foreboding gray clouds circling like the chill wind that had descended so suddenly; should rain tonight, he mused to himself as he felt his mind trying frantically to work out an answer, if only to tell himself... The image of a happy, smiling toddler he knew so well playing with the Twins as young children flashed to mind, and dissolved like bubbles in a soapy tub...he rubbed his eyes, tired, and sighed. "I don't know boys...I just don't know..."
Had any of them thought to look back as they turned away and trudged towards the Branaugh abode, they might have caught the briefest flicker of several dark shapes flitting past in a great frenzy of motion...
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There was a sharp intake of breath; her cold heart constricted deep within dead flesh, eyes seeking out and sharing a meaningful look with Will, by her side as ever. Two sets of cold hands trailed down the suddenly writhing form, he had died long ago and was just now losing the last of the living warmth left to his body... "Shhh, it's alright, it's okay..." she hushed, stroking the short dark hair; likewise did Will firmly clutch the darker hand, already pale in death -or should he say, undeath?-, and her dead heart fluttered.
The concern on his beautiful face was a reflection of her own as she, Ingrid, had sat patiently and waited; watching with enough intensity to bore a hole through solid concrete, for the faintest signs of unlife in Will, only a day ago now... She knew how he felt now, there was fear, love and concern in the gaze he bestowed on the former Slayer...there was a strong bond between a Vampire and their progeny...natural or blood-bound, as it was in this instance. As Will was hers for eternity, Jonathan would always bear the same amount of affinity for him and she readily accepted this, he was equally bound to her...
Moaning low and long, the other sucked in air futility as red eyes snapped open, clearing quickly to their natural brown... "D-Did it work?" he rasped, throat dry and disbelief in his voice as he struggled upright; the pair worked silently to help him upright, Will flitted to the Kitchen and back in an instant, and passed over a cup that had sat warming on the stove for a short while since their return. The enticing scent wafted about the room like a tantalizing perfume, red steam seemed to rise from the blue-and-yellow striped mug with the epitaph, "Death Becomes Me!" and a smiley face bearing fangs on one side. She remembered giving that to her father when she was little, he had praised her for it...mainly as she had stolen it...a smile came to her lips at that memory as Will encouraged Jonathan to drink...
There was a soft sipping noise, his eyes flared red again and fangs descended; the teen gave a small exclamation of surprise and felt them for the first time, "Whoa...that was...intense... Does this happen every time?" he asked, looking to them for answers as stray trails of blood ran down his chin. Ingrid frowned and wiped them away on the corner of her robe, "Well, yes and no...it gets better than that, I can assure you, that was only your first taste." It seemed she would to say more, but there was a terrific bang as the front doors burst open and her father called for them all in a seeming panic...
Slipping from her coffin -for they had no other to place him in at the time...-, Jonathan flexed his fingers and marveled at the strength now coursing through him; though he stumbled as he tried to take an independent step and sagged into the supporting grip of Will. He blinked in surprise, but there was no more time for another round of Q & A...his...-was the word 'Sire'?- whatever Will was grabbed his firmly and the room blurred from recognition, Ingrid keeping pace beside them...
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Moonlight flecked the pale, bloodstained features as his father gently laid Robin down on the grand table -having already seen Vlad dash all the items lining it's top to the floor in a fell swoop of fear and rage- and he took great care to examine the injuries of the boy. Near beside himself with the conflicting emotions within, both his own and those of the half-aware yet delirious, Robin; Vlad found himself unable to do anything more than stare and hold back tears. This was his fault...if he's never gone to school, if he hadn't have spoken to the one person there who was glad to listen...if he hadn't fought so hard to be normal, this wouldn't have happened...
There was an overwhelming sensation of anger from Robin, his thoughts were shoved aside in an almost physical manner and, looking over, one pale hand twitched, from where it fell off the edge of the table, sweat breaking out on the brow as if from some strenuous task...the bleeding dagger mark stood out in stark contrast to his complexion... Somehow, instinctively, he knew Robin was aware of his thoughts and strove to make them more cheerful; though his eyes lingered on the bloody mess that was the other's arm and quaked a little...why had Van Hellsing done that? But then again, Jonathan had mentioned his father had lost his mind even more than usual, maybe this was just the manifestation? The pent-up madness and rage fueling this obsessive Vampire hunting all released upon one helpless individual he deemed, 'unnatural'...
He sighed and stamped his foot in frustration, pounding a wall just to watch the stones shiver under his strength; who cared why the man had done it...really? What mattered was that he did, and as much as he wished he could simply flit back there and tear the man's limbs off one by one, he knew it was a futile thought...what if something happened to Robin while he was not here? He could never live...uh, make that...he would rather stand in sunlight than continue on through eternity knowing this was his fault...
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Blood dribbled lazily down the boy's chin as he watched, and he blinked in surprise, intense gaze following the trail all the way back to the near-bloodless lips, and the half-formed question died on his own; ah...it seemed the boy had bitten deep into his own lip. He frowned and shook his head imaging the reasoning behind it as Ingrid, her new Bloodling, Will and their newest addition, came flitting into the room. "Sorry sir, would have come faster but..." Will gestured to Jonathan, who clung to his cape with wide eyes, never having experienced the sensation of flitting before. He made a mental note to give the boy Flitting Practice later on, hate to have to clean him off a wall somewhere...
"Quite alright..." he muttered, distractedly as his fingers probed between the crimson-sodden bandages to assess the damage without removing what could effectively be the only means of stopping the boy from bleeding to death... The wound was deep, a hiss could be heard through suddenly-clenched lips as the eyes flickered open to gaze right back... Count Dracula was most impressed with the fact the boy was determinedly clinging to consciousness; not a rational move, but better than to never wake again...
He probed again, the tear was jagged, like the blade had gone in straight but been torn out in a downward manner with great force, extending the injury for another few centimeters...a disgusting business, blood pooled everywhere and yet, he noted as he began unraveling the bandage, there was not the merest trace of hunger to his thoughts. Appetite completely subdued by a strange, sick sensation in the pit of his stomach; whatever for, he felt he should remember, but did not... Slick crimson liquid covered his hands, he frowned and saw Vlad turn away looking quite ill, the Count could hardly blame him in such an instance and saw the other three standing stock still with a grave solemnity to their watchful gazes.
Robin gasped under his hands; fingers pressing to the wound and squeezing it shut. It illicited a small groan from not only the boy, but also Vlad, who sank to his knees and clasped his arm. "D-Dad...stop, please!" he gasped and fell back to rest against the wall, eyes distant and vague, yet fixed on the Branaugh boy... He complied with the plea, releasing the area momentarily to watch the dark liquid pool over his hands again and the horrifying way the boy grew paler and paler by the instant...
Vlad seemed not to be able to hear or care for the manner in which his sister attempted to rouse him with methods both verbal and physical; just lolling as she shook him like a pale doll against the large stone wall...Robin also ceased to struggle against the prevailing unconsciousness and fell limp under his hands. It was then his heart surged for the first time in many centuries, instilled with a cold fear as he remembered the very words lifted from the small booklet he had been sent by the Council...
"Should empathy occur, as it is bound to do so, the Prophetae must be turned else you risk more than their life alone. To the one they remain bound, a death could mean their own..."
He sighed in anger at the ridiculous poetical nonsense they used to spell one very key, -though ridiculously told- fact...if Robin died...so would Vlad...and right now, neither seemed particularly inclined to dispel the heavy sense of dread settling on him like a lead weight.
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TBC...
Have I got you on the edge of your seats yet?
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Next Chapter: Chapter 11 - Down Comes Baby, Cradle & All...
See you soon!^^