A/N: It's a little after one in the morning. I have ten hours and 13 minutes until my last sociology assessment of the year. Why is it now that an idea for a chapter hits me?

When Robin came to he found himself lying on a couch in what he could only describe as a ridiculously expensive looking apartment. He could hear the general roar of traffic outside, and the light from the streetlamps outside were bright enough to allow Robin to see around the place without putting any of the main lights on.

"The sleeping wonder awakes," Vlad commented. Robin looked up, finding his friend sitting on the couch opposite him. He groaned as he forced himself into a sitting position, swaying slightly as a feeling of nausea hit him, causing him to groan louder. Vlad rolled his eyes. "It's a side effect. Breathers don't have the stomach to travel the way vampires do," he explained. "You'll feel a low level nausea for a couple of hours, but it'll fade quickly."

"What is this place?" Robin asked, ignoring the sick feeling and focusing on Vlad's voice. "And, where are we? And just who owns this place?"

"It's mine," Vlad answered simply. Off Robin's look he laughed softly. "I've had it for a while now; we're right in the centre of London." Robin blinked, had they really travelled that far in such a short amount of time? "Robin, you do know you've slept through a whole day don't you?" That explained it.

"… I wasn't aware of that fact no," he responded. Vlad laughed softly, as Robin's stomach growled, betraying his own hunger. "You got any food in this place?"

"Nothing that you'd find particularly appetising," Vlad said with a small smirk. Robin glared at him, not appreciating the joke one bit. "… If you stick around and watch the brats I'll go get you one of those fattening chip shop meals you like so much."

"Deal," Robin agreed quickly. Truthfully it was easier to let Vlad go and get the food, he obviously knew his way around the city better; going by the fact that he had his own - pretty big - apartment there. By the 'brats' he was referring to his younger brothers, both of whom were sitting in front of the television screen, watching a DVD that Vlad had bunged on for them before going to get the food. Robin squinted at the screen, feeling somehow relived that it was just superhero cartoon playing.

"Hi Robin," Barry grinned up at him, as he moved to sit on the floor beside them. "Vlad said you'd woken up, but we were to be quiet anyways," he explained. Robin had been wondering why the two hybrids, who he'd been informed normally had to be separate by a cattle prod, had been quiet.

"He put on Justice League," Jack grinned toothily. Obviously this cartoon was a favourite of the two, which was probably a better explanation as to why they'd been content to be quite. Robin smiled at them. "What hero do you like best?" Jack enquired, looking up at Robin with wide eyes. Robin considered the question carefully, not wanting to offend either of them by just quickly throwing out an answer.

"Probably the Flash," he responded finally. This sparked a long conversation about the merits of heroes, and did start Robin wondering why the hell Vlad didn't grab some of the comics out of their hands. (It was his opinion that no one under ten should read Watchmen, but again, that was just his opinion.) This conversation went on for a while, and it wasn't until a few hours later that Robin began worrying about Vlad. Well, not worrying about Vlad, more worrying about what could be holding Vlad up, and what he might do to the object of irritation. Thinking it for the best, he put Jack and Barry to their respective beds - again, not surprised to see that they had their own rooms in this apartment - while ignoring their fairly weak protestations that Vlad never put them to bed, and that they weren't tired. Yes, the constant yawning and inability to keep their eyes open really backed up their statements.

A few hours later, a battered and bruised and bloodied Vlad came barrelling through the front door, collapsing on to the ground with a muttered curse. Robin jumped to his feet, running over to help pull Vlad back up into a standing position. His eyes were pretty much swollen, Robin guessed, and there would be the appearance of two very nice black eyes in the morning. That is, if vampires actually got black eyes.

"Man, what happened?"

"Melech and Strigoi."

This answer made no sense at first to Robin, but he didn't question it right away, instead helping Vlad to clean up some of his wounds. Vampire healing was well known to be something fast, but Vlad's position and powers as the Chosen One made it faster again, with shallow cuts closing almost instantaneously. At least, that was the theory of it Vlad admitted, he'd never really tested it and knew that there were some injuries that would scar, and some things that needed time to heal.

Eventually, he got the story from Vlad. Melech and Strigoi were the effective leaders of the large majority of vampires who would prefer not having Vlad as their Grand High Vampire. Despite their youth - the eldest of the two, Strigoi, had only reached his third century - the two were infamous in the vampire community for their cruelty and cunning; perfect leaders for the golden age that certain vampires wanted.

"So, you've got Slayers hunting you down, your own people hunting you down… Vlad I think this might be a little too big to take care of on your own," Robin said with worry. "I mean, you can't go back to the castle because the Slayers will expect it, you've got to look after your little brothers, and now you can't go get food without getting attacked? You need help man."

"Who would I be able to ask?" Vlad asked Robin. "Out of curiosity." Robin couldn't provide him with an answer. "Thought as much," Vlad scoffed lightly, leaning back on his seat. "I just … I gotta live with this Robin, this is my life now. My un-life. Not a lot I can do about it," he sat back up, thinking it through. "I don't think even getting slayed'll stop me."