Note: Warnings for: Mild swearing, blood.

He was so not steel.

Nate could practically hear Gideon saying, "I told you so," already. Did robots say I told you so? Probably, yeah. He thought. She had said worse, but to be fair, that was one time, and Mick started it. Mick almost always started it.

The crowd jeered around him, erupting in riotous applause as his opponent (freaking Dracula, fuck, he still wasn't over it) moved forward, cocky, vicious smile pasted on his (pasty) face and sword at the ready.

Nate hazarded a glance down at his own weapon, gripping it tighter in his hands. Now, studying gladiator fights in history was one thing… being a superhero was another… but actually sword fighting? Like, for real, honest to God (Gods?) sword fighting… that was a whole other story, and not a pleasant one.

Vlad, (Dracula?) Vlad Dracula…stepped closer, almost tentatively as if testing the waters before diving in. He spoke quietly, only loud enough for Nate and himself to hear over the crowd. "Do you know," he said, pacing slowly, "that I dip my bread in my victim's blood to eat?"

Nate wanted to nod, his throat constricting, because of course he knew, he was the biggest history nerd out there, but he didn't think the man, (could he even call him a man? He was a legend… in the non time bros sense of the word), would appreciate his knowledge.

"I'm going to enjoy your blood." Vlad swung his sword in one hand, testing the blade with the other and taking a fighting stance. "I can smell it already." He grinned, bulging eyes glinting wickedly in the sun, and charged, about to live up to the "Impaler" part of his namesake before Nate could even bat an eye.

In an instant, he ducked, swerving out of the path of the weapon, rolling on the ground. Clouts of dirt kicked up in his midst, distracting Vlad only for a moment before he charged again. The gritted sand pressed against Nate's skin, his own sword falling by his side. God, he was going to die quicker than he thought. Maybe that should be a comfort, but you know, dying seemed pretty uncomfortable at the moment.

Enjoying the attention of the roaring coliseum, Vlad took his time standing over him, taunting the finishing blow. He leaned down, brushing the blade of his sword against Nate's cheek, a quick, small and clean slice, but enough. "Before I kill you," he whispered, "we're supposed to give them a show." He nudged Nate's weapon closer to him, taking a stride back as if daring him to reclaim it.

Now was his chance...

"You want a show?" Nate ground his teeth together, wrapping his hand around the hilt. "I'll give you a show." He swept to his feet, scooping the sword up in one swift motion, and launched himself forward.

Vlad stood unfazed, feet firmly planted in their position, making no move to get out of his way or counter the attack.

That should have been the first warning.

Nate plunged his sword into his opponent's chest, blood spurting out onto his armour, breathing heavily. Vlad's mouth opened wide, but not in pain, yellowed canines slowly growing into gleaming fangs.

That should have been the second warning.

Nate backed away, barely stumbling out of reach. "You know I think you should," he waved his finger over his own teeth, "get those checked out." Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. His mind was racing. Simple anachronism his ass. "A little filing, some caps, you know one trip to the dentist can do wonders," he kept going, rambling in his panic because what else could he do? His legs seemed to have stopped working, as if walking through molasses, and freaking Dracula turned out to be, well, freaking Dracula.

Vlad grinned again, glaring down at the sword through his chest like it was nothing more than a mere inconvenience. His eyes glowed a siren red and Nate found he couldn't look away.

"Silly boy," Vlad shook his head, ripping out the blade to the raucous cheers of his fans, "don't you know the only way to kill a vampire is to cut off his head?"

"Right, Thanos, I'll remember that for next time." Nate struggled to break free from the invisible hold Vlad bore over him. Freaking vampires, man. Instead, he found himself drawing closer, closer, closer, until they were at arm's length of each other… and Vlad thrust Nate's own sword through his stomach in one final move.

Author's Note: Ok, this was a very short chapter, but I promise the next one will not take as long to post as this one, and if it does, please call me out! Please comment, please bang some pots and pans together! The next one will be where the real Nate angst comes in, (I know, finally!) considering he just got stabbed. I'm sorry I could not focus on anything for a while because the show has recently been on so many drugs that I was just caught up in the insanity and couldn't handle normal mission angst when the writers gave us Ikea purgatory and Gary's cursed Hell nipple? Why, Phil, why?