as always, completely unedited. i probably should proofread these before i send them off to the internet, but whatever.

i just wanted to put a little disclaimer here that the story is kind of choppy (in my opinion). it was originally purposeful, as i was trying to add some sort of mood or something, and then not purposeful when i realized i actually didn't know what i was doing and that i was just making the story worse. so, yeah. please don't let your judgments be too harsh. Forgive!

Vlad closed his eyes. Opened them. Closed them again.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

All around him lay emptiness, a dark room full of his smashed hopes of ever leaving such a wretched place. There was no light. There was no exit. They would come for him in their suits of armor that blocked their faces and with their weapons that left scars riddled across his back and ripped his only sweat-covered shirt. Faintly, he noticed that he was still bleeding a bit from yesterday's fight. That must be why he felt so out of it.

Vlad stared up at the dark ceiling with the dark walls and wished for his death. It'd been forever since he'd been captured. At least two years, probably more. A lot of the same. Eat, sleep, fight, stare. Eat, sleep, fight, stare. Think. Think about what Danny might be up to. Think about what terror Amity Park was facing, if any at all.

Think about Jack's face when he turned the spacecraft around and left him for dead, floating aimlessly through space on nothing more than an asteroid. A piece of long forgotten rock heading towards nothing. Nowhere. Dark space. Dark ceiling. Dark walls.

Vlad tried to shake that thought out of his head. He could sense himself going insane like a stray cat developing rabies. Maybe that's what his captors wanted. Maybe that'd put on a better show.

Vlad thought of death. Of what it might be like. If it was more of the same. Dark space. Dark ceiling. Dark walls.

The familiar sound of the wall sliding open with a mechanical whir hit Vlad's ears. The onslaught of light made his eyes burn. He closed them.

Two people were talking to each other in a language he didn't understand. He could feel one step over him, prod him, talk to the other in question.

Ha. They thought he was dead. Before, he might've taken an opportunity such as this to shift and fight, to disarm his attackers with a well placed ectoplasmic blast and be done with it. Maybe he would have even killed them just for the sake of doing so. Vlad was no stranger to death, both in the arena and out. He had killed many escorts before. It was why whoever was in charge decided to give him two escorts instead of the one that used to guide him blindfolded through a maze of tunnels.

Slowly, Vlad rolled onto his stomach and crawled onto his knees. Waited for the impact of a boot or the jab of an electric spear. When nothing but the blindfold came down upon him, Vlad let go a gentle breath of release and stood. He held his arms out away from his body for them to shackle. He let them push him forward and desperately tried to keep his feet under himself. Vlad had gone through this series of movements more times than he cared to count.

A left. A right. Straight for a while. Another right. A final left. A crowd of screaming, exhilarated, bloodthirsty people. A sudden change in atmosphere that indicated they were now outside. The mechanical whir of the door closing behind them. The shackles unlocked. The blindfold ripped off.

Vlad squinted to let his eyes adjust to the spotlight and noticed that there were a few more people here than before. He'd never been given the opportunity to see his viewer's faces; they were always shrouded in the darkness of night (or what Vlad assumed to be night) and covered up by the blinding lights that lit up the muddy, red dirt arena perfectly.

Vlad nearly collapsed when the guards let him go and blinked out of view. He used to wonder if his escorts disappeared through use of teleportation. He could not find himself caring any longer

His opponent, it seemed, was relatively new. He fought tooth and nail as his own escorts led him out but, as Vlad looked closer, he noted that every movement was controlled. Not as reckless as the others. Even from such a distance, he could tell that he'd be dealing with an experienced fighter (albeit smaller than the ones he was used to dealing with).

Vlad's eyes widened a fraction when he realized that he did not care. He had cared yesterday. And the day before that. He had cared just enough to fight his opponent and win to see another day. To see his dark cell again. To see another opponent barreling his way. To rinse and repeat despite no actual hope of ever getting out alive.

Vlad had contemplated death many times before. He'd edged closer and closer towards it, whether by sickness, by starvation, or by battle wounds. He had even wanted death during his times of isolation, when all he had was his own thoughts to keep him company. Usually when he stepped out into the arena his instincts would kick in and he would realize that he actually did not want to die.

They were not kicking in today.

Vlad rolled out his shoulders and shifted anyway. When he'd first arrived, they had stripped both him and his … ghostly self of clothing and swapped both out for a ragged purple shirt and standard gray pants. His had been too small when they had first given him the items but now they seemed almost too large width-wise; height-wise they were much too tattered to tell.

His opponent was finally let go of. He too was wearing the uniform, but it still fit him tightly. Another sign of recent capture.

The bell rung. The crowd roared.

The fight had officially begun.

Vlad was the first to move. He flew upwards, avoiding the buzz of the invisible electric dome that surrounded the arena. Opponents typically could not fly, so it opened his playing field and offered a noticeable advantage over the other. Typically it would cause the opponent to become antsy and jumpy, perhaps a bit more nervous than before.

Vlad couldn't find it within himself to be nervous. Win or lose, live or die. It did not matter, not on this planet and in this life. He recounted how meaningless his old life had been. Had he really been so silly as to fight a young boy for … for what? For his mother?

Vlad had read somewhere that visual memory wasn't easily retained. He could not even remember their faces.

Vlad huffed. He'd go through the motions anyway. His ability to never stop moving in the face of a totally immovable object was something that he used to pride himself on. He did not know if he could call moving on autopilot in the midst of a fight a strong personality trait.

Vlad looked down to where his opponent had been only to realize they had disappeared. He scanned the floor almost lazily, not allowing himself to grow surprised.

"Looking for something?" Came a voice from behind, and he twisted violently. Opponents did not talk. They only fought.

But … this voice had sounded familiar. If he slowed down to think, maybe he could place it.

WHAM!

Vlad found himself falling, falling, falling. He hit the ground so hard it made a crater in the soft earth around him. Before he could open his eyes he could feel the presence of his opponent standing above him, see the sudden absence of light through his eyelids that signified that he was in someone's shadow. They were probably winding up for the hit now, planning on how they would end his life with a well-placed fist to the temple.

"Vlad?"

He opened his eyes. Faintly, Vlad could hear the crowd booing at the lack of action and blood-spilling. He, however, was focused on the boy, no, the man standing before him. Blazing neon green eyes that had widened to the size of saucers, messy white hair that he'd never bothered to fix over the years, that faint white line down his cheek that Vlad had caused when he threw a kitchen knife at him while Maddie was in the other room.

There were differences, too. So, so many differences. His mouth had fallen open to reveal a set of fangs that were like his own except much smaller. His face had lost it's baby fat, revealing a much more pronounced jawline and cheekbone. He'd grown a foot and a half taller, making him a few inches over six feet. He was still lean, but he had a sort of bulk to him that made it evident that he'd gained muscle mass.

"Daniel?"

Vlad probably looked like a mess. Some scrawny, starved old man lying in a crater.

"Oh, oh God," Danny said, running a dirty hand through his hair. "I-I punched you! You're bleeding!"

"What?" Vlad reached up and his fingers met with wetness that was smeared across his forehead. "Oh."

"Oh? Oh?! That's all you have to say? What are you doing here?"

"I'm a prisoner," Vlad grunted, struggling to sit up. "What are you doing here?"

Danny shrugged loosely, still wearing the same befuddled expression as before. "I work with NASA."

Now it was Vlad's turn to be confused. "NASA?" Vlad's eyes widened. "How old are you?"

"26. I got in a little earlier because I-"

Danny stopped. Stared down at Vlad. Sighed heavily. "It's been ten years, Vlad."

Ten years. Ten years. Ten whole years of … of what? Of lying in a prison cell? Of fighting other prisoners two to three times a week?

Vlad shook his head. This was ridiculous. He could contemplate the whole ordeal later.

"So … NASA is here?" he asked.

Danny nodded. "Waiting for the OK signal from me. I'm supposed to map large points out so we can capture the criminals without completely destroying the planet."

"NASA is an interstellar police station now?"

Despite himself, Danny smiled a bit. "Pretty much. Now come on; we need to act like we're fighting so they don't kill us."

Vlad stood, shaky now that he knew his opponent wasn't a threat. "Why are you helping me?"

Danny tilted his head a bit like a dog. Vlad almost rolled his eyes.

"I was horrible to you. I almost destroyed the whole planet. And you're helping me. Why?"

Danny stuttered, stopped, and tried again. "I can't believe I'm saying this," he muttered almost conspiratorially. "Listen, Vlad, people make mistakes. And you pissed me off. Like, a lot. But when I found out that Dad had left you to die in space, I got mad about it because even though you're a terrible person, you're still a person. With … feelings. I think."

Vlad blinked. Danny took a breath.

"I just mean that … that it has been ten years. I forgive you for doing all that shitty stuff, so I think it's time for you to forgive yourself."

"So you're not going to kill me?" Vlad asked. "People are coming to save us?"

"I don't kill people, Vlad." Danny turned, stopped, and threw a smile over his shoulder. "And yeah. People are coming."

Vlad could not believe his ears. They were going home. They were going home and Vlad was going to be able see Earth and eat human food and see a few people that he had ended up missing dearly. And then there was the best thing of all.

Danny had forgiven him.