He could hardly call his first family a "family."
If anything, it was more of an experience.
There was Vlad, his father, a vampire who tormented him endlessly for his lack of endurance.
There was his sister, Lydia, who held a constant grudge of animosity against him for whatever petty reason.
And there of course was himself, young Dracula, who at the time had been but a mere fangless four-year-old vampire.
He did not have the luxury to spend his days happy and carefree. No, his father would not permit it. And as such it was that the older vampire would take every opportunity to shape him into the image he desired, finding ways to punish him for any transgressions along the way.
The first of these came when Drac's fangs failed to appear before his fifth birthday. A frustrating week had preceded the events that led up to that evening, during which his father had spent much of his time engaging him in various ghoulish activities in hopes of producing the sharp canines. When this was met with failure, Vlad was forced to take more drastic measures. Dracula could never forget the traumatizing night that his beloved pet racoon - Lulu - was ripped away from him in a brutal display of violence and blood. The hideous shock of his own father consuming the poor animal before his very eyes caused the teeth to pop right out.
From then, the boy did all he could to avoid being subjected to such horrific experiences. But the effort was a fruitless one. Sure, Vlad would admit that he had improved on the skills needed to be a vampire of the Dracula bloodline, but true approval seemed to be just out of reach. In his eyes, Drac was forever to remain only a Prince of Darkness rather than a King. Lydia saw neither possibility, believing he was too soft in his ways. Her remarks were silenced by the end of that particular day when she was wielding a savage bite wound on the hand. Soft indeed.
He could never say he hated Vlad, because that was not true. In some aspects, he held a great respect for the formidable man he was, and wished he could find some way to please him. But as it turned out, the vampire was very difficult to please. Nothing he did hardly was able to elicit even an acknowledgement. Whenever Vlad spoke, his tone was often dry and sarcastic. When they talked, or interacted in any way at all, Dracula learned that it was best to keep their conversations short and curt. Sometimes, the pair would have it out, and the two would enter a furious bout of snarls and hisses. Vlad almost always was victor, ensuring that he kept his dominance asserted well much to his son's dismay. It was so that throughout the years, he and Vlad continued to keep this precarious relationship until one day, in a not-so-theatrical fashion, Dracula quietly left the imprisonment that was their home and went out into the world in his late adolescent years, not once looking back.
He was alone for a while, doing what Vlad had best shown him how to do - hating, killing, and stealing the souls of humans like a 'good boy.' Part of him found thrill - he was a being of great power, and humanity was not lost on this knowledge in the way they cowered before him. But, part of him also felt a great void. While this type of life may have been nothing short of satisfying for his father, Dracula quickly grew tired of roaming the landscape alone, morose and in search of more besides his rugged existence.
And so fate had it that he would come across his second family. Other monsters that, while they were not vampires, still kept him great company. Each one was unique in his own way - Frank was a creature born from the darkest depths of science, his creator an eccentric man named Dr. Victor Frankenstein. What became of him, Frank did not know, as the doctor had wanted nothing to do with him after bringing him to life. Murray was an Egyptian mummy who had once guarded a cursed tomb and wreaked havoc upon any daring archeologists who dared enter. Wayne was a werewolf, a ferocious beast in the moonlight whose eerie howl could send shivers up anyone's spine. And Griffin was an invisible man, feared because of his inability to be seen by others. Dracula was content to have them in his life, and the four were likewise content in their friendship with him. They were like brothers to him, and Drac was grateful for the close bond that was shared.
And then, by sheer chance, he met Martha. He was flying as a bat, too focused on obtaining on a meal and therefore not as vigilant as he should have been with his surroundings. It was because of this that he fell out of the sky after striking another winged body in the sky with some force. When he looked up from the ground, he felt a strange overpowering sensation overtake his senses. It was unlike any other feeling he'd experienced thus far in his life. This one was much more potent, the draw much stronger as he locked eyes with this woman who was before him. She had long dark hair that flowed down her back in soft waves. Her skin was pale and she wore a dark dress that fit her form snuggly. Dracula can feel the heat of a blush high in his cheeks as soft words of apologies and shy introductions were exchanged that night. From then, they remained practically inseparable. Yes, he loved his friends, but it was a sibling type of love, and the kind of love that he blossomed with Martha was entirely new territory.
The feelings that grew from their first meeting were like wildfire that spread throughout his entire being. The chemistry between them was undeniable, and as their friendship progressed, he realized that he couldn't live without her. She was so much more than just a best friend to him; she was his heart, soul, and everything. Martha showed him kindness and compassion. She helped him overcome his own issues and always believed in him when he needed it. Martha had been the one that explained to him that human blood was too fatty, introducing him to a substitute substance called 'Blood Beaters.' Yes, Martha actually cared for him, which was more than he could really say for Vlad or Lydia. And in all honesty, the Blood Beaters didn't taste so bad. He also enjoyed the other foods she introduced him to, like Monster Ball Soup and Worm Cakes. Martha had also wanted peace with the humans, and for him it meant to stop drinking human blood. He would comply if it meant happiness for them. Also, the hunt for humans had disturbed him as of late. They were living creatures with awareness and emotion, much like vampires, though this was a thought he could voice to Martha alone, and not ever to Vlad.
Through Martha, he also came to know another kind of love as well. This was the fatherly love that he immediately felt for their daughter, Mavis. With her silky black hair as dark as his and sparkling blue eyes that resembled her mother's, Dracula felt as though he was bound under a spell any time he was in her presence. He fondled over her to the point where it was necessary for Martha to drag him away. Still, he persisted with caresses to the cheek, a kiss on the forehead, and a stroke through her soft black locks. He could never act in the same way to Mavis that Vlad had with him. How could he not show his love for her? She was his own flesh and blood, as well as his love Martha's.
So long as he had them, he would devote himself entirely to their happiness. And, had fate not stepped in and turned the tables, it may have gone on this way for several centuries to come. Martha may have bore him another child, and Mavis may have grown up to marry another of her kind.
But things did not turn out this way, and it was with great tragedy that the happy threesome was reduced down to two. In an unexpected turn of events, Dracula suddenly found Martha being torn away from him in the course of a short hour. It pained him greatly to recall those night's events, how he hadn't had the proper time to mourn her sudden death at the violent hands of the humans. Anything that Martha had tried to convince him about how humans were not bad all dissipated before his eyes in an instant.
But a Dracula's word is one that is not to be broken at any time, so, swallowing down his grief, he set to work on what turned out to be his most significant project yet. It was a grand structure that was built in the middle of a haunted forest of which no humans would dare enter, that offered protection not only for his daughter, but to any monster persecuted by the human race.
He called this sanctuary Hotel Transylvania.
Time seemed to pass slowly during the years when it was just him and Mavis. Protected from the outside world of humans, Dracula was finally able to find peace in knowing that he was upholding the promise to keep his daughter safe. So he witnessed as his little girl grew up to be more beautiful and more mature with each passing day, stunned at how similar she resembled both him and Martha as one person. With her, he offered all the love a father could give, and she returned the sentiment wholeheartedly as only a daughter could.
Things drastically changed one fall nearing the end of Mavis's teenage years, because this was the year that Mavis finally turned 118. And, as though the floodgates of hell itself were opened, Dracula felt as if everything he'd ever known came crashing down in a massive avalanche. The change, admittedly, was a grueling one to get accustomed to. But, now, as he milled about in the lobby of the newly rebuilt Hotel Transylvania, he carefully observed them all.
He had Johnny, the human boy that had vastly transformed his life in a multitude of ways. He wasn't close-minded for one, and had always treated Drac and the monsters as equals. Yes, he could get a little out of hand, but it was never out of any sort of malicious intent. In fact, everyone liked him. His high-spirits and cheery personality gave folks good vibes. He was the molted soft center of the marshmallow that cracked open the rough exterior that Drac was. He was the living proof that not all humans were bad, and proof that humans could have peace with monsters.
He had Mavis, who was his precious daughter that he treasured dearly. She had been the epicenter of his world for nearly a century, and the knowledge was not lost on her. At first, he had questioned her interest in Johnny, but those worries were put to rest when he saw the intense love of the zing reflected in each of their eyes, and knew that they would love and protect each other. She was an excellent mother, and a wonderful progeny.
He had Dennis, his grandson who was identical in every aspect to his father, down to the wild red curls of hair and his vibrant energy. Of course, the boy had Mavis in him too. The brilliant blue eyes and her tranquil nature. And, of course, the boy had the spirit of a Dracula through and through. Drac was more than proud to see how skilled he had become at using his vampire abilities.
He had Ericka, the Van Helsing whom he loved as strongly as he did Martha. Like him, the manner in which she was raised was one-sided, strict, and full of hatred. And, like him, she was able to leave it behind and seek her own identity. She was the same, in how powerfully she loved him in return and how passionately she made that love known. She was also every bit different, down to her humanness, her brilliant platinum hair, and monster-hunting that had now become a thing of her past. The two were the best of opposites, but they fit perfectly together, and he would not change a thing.
He had Wayne, Frank, Murray, Griffin, who made up his beloved Drac Pack and were with him through thick and thin to support him. They knew his deepest secrets, and shared his greatest joys and fears. No matter what happened, they always stayed true to him, always there by his side like good pals should be to one another.
He also had Vlad, who had opened his heart and mind to be accepting to humans and to his son for who he was. Their relationship had since been replenished since Dennis's fifth birthday, it taking on a more father-son type of bond that Dracula had always attempted but failed to seek in his youth.
He felt a surge of pride go through him. This was his very own unique family. One that would only continue to grow bigger in size and shared love. The Count could not feel more happier or grateful than he did at that moment.
He sighed wistfully, and wasted no time in sauntering forward to join them.
