Hey Everyone! This is whumptober prompt 19: Blood Trail. This is a vampire AU, I couldn't help myself. Blood trail was just too perfect for it. I don't think there is anything that needs to be clarified but do let me know! Let me know any prompts that you're excited for! Lots of Love - Lorna:)

Tim was typing away furiously at his computer, desperate to still be helpful even while being stuck in Titan's tower. He was writing reports on one screen, managing Wayne Enterprise emails on another, while his phone was playing whatever background YouTube video was giving him some sort of background noise. The sheer amount of stimulation would probably be nauseating for someone else, but Tim worked best in his own little organized chaos.

Even with all of this to try to draw his attention away, all Tim could think about was Gotham. Bruce and Dick were still there dealing with a new vampiric crime lord that seemed to have a personal vendetta against the bats and no care for the damage he caused. Red Hood. Tim shivered at the name.

Bruce and Dick had sent him away the moment the name surfaced, backed by credible evidence. The last time a Robin and the Joker had walked into a room, only one of them walked out. Bruce was terrified of history repeating itself, of losing another bird. That's why Tim was here—stuck in Titan's Tower, on lockdown to keep him safe.

A faint noise snapped him out of his thoughts. Movement in the corner of his eye.

"Access Granted."

Tim was suppose to be the only one in the building.

Sh*t.

Adrenaline spiked as Tim shoved his chair back, knocking over a coffee mug in the process. He grabbed for his silver bo-staff just as something slammed into him, knocking him to the ground. His breath left him in a rush, but his instincts kicked in. Swinging blindly, he connected with something solid.

The figure stumbled back but moved again, unnaturally fast. Vampire.

Tim's heart thundered as the pieces clicked together.

"You're far from your nest, little birdie," rasped a voice, low and guttural. It sounded hollow and desperate—a chilling combination. A starving vampire was the most dangerous kind.

Tim scrambled to his feet, taking in the figure looming over him. Red helmet.

A clown and a robin. He didn't like the setup for this joke.

"I didn't know the circus was coming to town," Tim quipped, hoping to buy time. "Especially not the freak show."

The mask tilted, and a low growl echoed from beneath it. Then it lunged.

Tim ducked, narrowly avoiding razor-sharp claws. He retaliated, snapping his bo-staff out with precision. It struck the vampire square in the chest with a sickening crack. A combination of silver and sheer force—enough to incapacitate any vampire.

The figure didn't flinch.

Tim bolted for the door, his mind racing. He needed to reach the control room and trigger the tower's alarm system. But the vampire was relentless, closing the gap in seconds. A hand snatched at his shoulder, yanking him backward with terrifying strength.

They tumbled together, crashing down the staircase in a chaotic blur of limbs and pain. Tim hissed as the hard edges of the steps slammed into his ribs.

He twisted, striking out with his bo-staff. A glancing blow gave him enough space to maneuver. Tim reached for the silver shackles at his belt, snapping them around the vampire's wrists with a satisfying click.

For a moment, it worked. The vampire recoiled, hissing like a wild animal, the silver searing his flesh. Tim breathed heavily, rolling to his feet.

It should have ended the fight.

To Tim's dismay, it didn't.

The silver, meant to incapacitate any vampire, seemed to have little effect on the one before him. Instead, the vampire let out a guttural snarl, the sound reverberating through the room, primal and feral. His body trembled violently, muscles seizing, but sheer stubborn desperation pushed him past the silver's effects. With an earsplitting crack, the shackles shattered as the vampire surged forward.

Tim barely had time to react before the full weight of the figure slammed into him, knocking him to the ground. The force drove the air from his lungs, leaving him gasping as the vampire's icy body pinned him in place.

He thrashed wildly, his mind racing with panic. A cold vampire was a hungry vampire. He'd been warned—Bruce had told him, Dick had emphasized it—but nothing could have prepared him for the sheer force of it.

Fingers, trembling and nearly skeletal, yanked off his helmet in one violent motion. For a split second, Tim froze as the face beneath was revealed.

"Jason…" The word was barely a whisper, shock stealing his breath.

It couldn't be. Jason Todd was dead. He had died years ago, buried beneath blood and betrayal. Yet here he was—gaunt, pale, his once full face now hollowed by hunger and starvation. His glowing green eyes flickered with a feral light, and sharp fangs glinted in the dim room. There was a glazed look in his eyes, almost no comprehension. Rabid.

Tim barely had time to process the impossible before Jason lunged, fangs sinking into the soft flesh of his left arm.

Pain exploded through him, sharp and unrelenting. Unlike the stories he'd heard from Dick or Bruce, there was no soothing venom to numb the initial bite. This was raw and unfiltered, Jason too far gone to even think about dulling the agony. Tim's vision blurred, the room spinning violently as Jason drank deep.

He tried to fight, to push Jason off, but his limbs were leaden, his strength draining with every pull of blood. Panic surged through his mind, but it felt distant, like it belonged to someone else. He was barely aware of the sensation now—just a dull, burning ache in the background of his fading consciousness.

Darkness closed in around the edges of his vision, and he couldn't stop it. He was falling into the void, and he didn't know if he'd find his way back out.

Jason was starving.

The blood flowing into him was warm, and for the first time in what felt like eternity, his thoughts began to solidify. The constant haze of hunger lifted slightly, just enough for him to realize something was wrong. He blinked, the green glow in his eyes dimming as his mind began to focus.

Still hungry. Still so hungry.

But his gaze drifted upward, following the source of the blood. He needed to see—needed to make sure Bruce or Dick, or whoever was helping him, could afford to give him more.

What he saw froze him in place.

The arm in his grasp wasn't Bruce's. It wasn't Dick's. It was smaller, too pale, the skin bloodless and cold.

Tim.

Jason detached immediately, the sharp movement making his fangs scrape against Tim's skin as he pulled away. Blood welled at the angry red puncture marks, trickling down Tim's limp arm.

Jason's breath hitched as panic overtook him. His instincts screamed at him to lean back in, to drink, to feed—but he shoved those urges down violently.

He'd been draining a kid.

Carefully, his hands trembling, Jason reached for his tattered cape. He wrapped it tightly around Tim's arm, pressing down on the bite to staunch the bleeding. His movements were clumsy, frantic, but he couldn't afford to let the kid lose any more blood.

His stomach roared in protest, the scent of fresh blood clawing at his resolve, but Jason forced himself to focus on the boy.

"Tim…" His voice was hoarse, broken, barely above a whisper. "I—God, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Tim didn't respond, his head lolling to the side. His face was pale, his breathing shallow.

Jason's chest tightened. He'd taken too much. The kid needed a transfusion. Now.

But there was no one else here. No Bruce. No Dick. Just the two of them in this cold, empty space.

Jason stared at Tim's face, so still and fragile, and his mind spiraled. He'd hurt him. Hurt Tim. And even now, his hunger clawed at him, screaming for more. He was a monster. He didn't deserve to be near any of them.

And yet, even as he sat there, frozen and trembling, Tim's fingers twitched weakly. Barely perceptible, but enough for Jason to notice.

"Jay…" The word was slurred, almost inaudible, but it was there. Tim's eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused, but still fixed on him.

Jason choked on a sob, guilt and relief warring within him. "Tim, don't—don't try to talk. I'll— I'll fix this. I swear, I'll fix this."

Tim's lips curved into the faintest, smallest smile. "S'okay… It's you…"

Jason's heart shattered. Even now, even after everything, Tim wasn't afraid of him.

He didn't deserve it. Didn't deserve the trust, the care, the forgiveness in those words. But he'd fight to make sure Tim made it through this.

Because he was Jason's little brother, even if Jason was the worst brother in history.

Jason moved as quickly as his trembling body would allow, cradling Tim's unconscious form like fragile glass. His instincts screamed at him to drink more, to finish what he'd started, but he shoved the thoughts aside with a growl. He was a monster, but he wasn't that kind of monster.

The infirmary door slid open with a hiss, and Jason staggered inside. The bright, sterile light made Tim's ashen complexion look even worse. His breathing was shallow, his pulse faint and erratic. Jason's stomach twisted at the sight of the bite mark, still sluggishly leaking blood. The smell was intoxicating, but Jason forced himself to focus.

"Stay with me, Robin," he whispered, setting Tim down on the examination table as gently as possible. The words felt foreign, his voice rough from disuse. "Please don't make history repeat itself. I'm sorry, so so so sorry."

Jason's hands shook as he rummaged through the medical cabinets, searching for what he needed. Blood bags. Tubing. A needle. His mind raced, trying to recall everything Alfred had drilled into him years ago.

"Come on," he hissed at himself, yanking open another drawer. The scent of blood was everywhere now, clinging to his skin, filling the room. His throat burned, fangs aching with the need to bite, to feed, but he clenched his jaw.

He found the supplies, his fingers fumbling as he set up the transfusion. His motions were jerky, but he managed to get the tubing connected and the needle into Tim's arm. He attached the blood bag and hung it, watching anxiously as the crimson fluid began to flow.

"Come on, kid," Jason whispered, crouching next to the table. He kept his eyes locked on Tim's face, searching for any sign of improvement. The silence was deafening, broken only by the faint hum of the equipment.

Jason's hands curled into fists as the minutes stretched on. His hunger gnawed at him, the ache in his chest threatening to pull him under. He'd almost killed Tim. The thought made him sick, though he wasn't sure if it was guilt or the hunger twisting his stomach. Maybe both.

He got up to retrieved another blood bag, someone's extra supply. He felt bad for taking it, but he wasn't going to be able to stave off his hunger much longer. Blood, artificially preserved and cold seeped into his body as Jason sipped it in the moments when hunger overwhelmed his senses.

He just had to wait until Dick and Bruce got here. He had already sent off Tim's distress beacon.

They'd come for Tim.

He clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms. The urge to leave—to run—screamed at him, but he couldn't. Not now. Not after what he'd done.

The communicator on Tim's belt crackled, drawing Jason's attention. It was faint, distorted, but he caught a snippet of Dick's voice.

"Tim? Are you—" A pause, static breaking the words. "We're en route. Hold on, kiddo."

Jason exhaled shakily. He hadn't even realized he'd sent the beacon until it was too late. Panic had overridden his usual caution. But now, knowing they were coming, a knot of dread coiled in his stomach. Jason leaned heavily against the counter, staring down at his trembling hands. They still felt sticky with Tim's blood, even though he'd scrubbed them raw.

"I'm sorry," he muttered to the still room. His voice cracked. "I didn't mean to—"

A groan interrupted his spiral. Jason's head snapped up as Tim stirred, his face twitching with the faintest flicker of consciousness.

"Tim?" Jason moved to his side, his movements careful but urgent. "Hey, Robin. Stay with me, alright? You're gonna be okay."

Tim's eyes fluttered open, unfocused and glassy. He mumbled something Jason couldn't make out, but his hand weakly reached for the tubing in his arm.

"Don't," Jason said softly, gently pinning Tim's hand down. "You need this, okay? Just rest."

Tim's brow furrowed faintly, his lips parting as if to speak. His voice was barely a whisper. "...Jay?"

Jason froze. The sound of his name from Tim's lips cut deeper than any reprimand ever could.

"Yeah," Jason croaked. "It's me. I'm—" He choked on the words. "I'm so sorry."

Tim's head lolled to the side, his breathing shallow but steady as he slipped back into unconsciousness. Jason sat beside him, feeling more helpless than he had in years.

The sound of the elevator jolted him upright. Heavy, purposeful steps echoed down the hallway. Jason tensed, his fangs aching as his instincts screamed at him to defend, to fight. But he stayed where he was, forcing his claws to retract.

The infirmary door slid open, revealing Dick, escrima sticks out, capped with silver. Obviously Dick had caught onto the blood trail and realized it must have been a vampire.

Dick's eyes immediately locked onto Tim, relief and worry flashing across his face. "Tim!" He rushed to his side, one hand checking the transfusion while the other brushed gently through Tim's sweat-matted hair. His lips pressed into a thin line at the sight, anger simmering just beneath the surface. Tim was too pale, too still. It was too close for comfort and it was all Jason's fault.

Jason staggered backward, the wave of guilt hitting him like a punch to the gut. The thick, nauseating taste of blood rose in his throat, and before he could stop himself, he turned and retched violently. The vomit hit the floor, thick and dark, curdled blood that hadn't yet been absorbed into his system.

The sound made Dick spin around, escrima sticks in hand before Jason could fully process the movement. "Come out now," Dick demanded, his voice low and commanding, his eyes hard beneath the domino mask.

Jason hesitated, every instinct screaming at him to flee. But he forced himself to step forward, his legs shaking under him. Dick's eyes widened as the recognition set in, the tension in his frame unraveling into shock.

"Jason?"

Jason's breath hitched at the way Dick said his name, so soft, so full of disbelief and hope. He didn't deserve that. He didn't deserve any of this. "I'm— I'm so sorry, Dick," he choked out, his voice trembling. The words were dragged from him, raw and unpolished, as if they fought to stay buried. "I didn't— I swear I didn't know. I didn't mean— I'm sorry."

The sobs tore through him, clawing up his throat and spilling out uncontrollably. He hated himself for it.

Dick's escrima sticks fell from his hands with a clatter, his face breaking open with emotion. "Jason. You're alive."

Jason nodded, his jaw clenched tightly as though trying to keep himself from falling apart further.

Tears slipped down Dick's face as he pulled off his domino mask, tossing it aside carelessly. "Little Wing." His voice cracked. "I'm so glad to see you.

Jason flinched, stepping back when Dick moved toward him. "No—don't!" he hissed, panic flashing in his eyes. His back hit the infirmary wall as his hands shot up in defense. "I can't—I'm still…"

He couldn't bring himself to finish. The word hung unspoken between them.

Dick stopped, his gaze softening as understanding dawned. He extended his arm slowly, palm up. "Are you still hungry, Little Wing?"

Jason's eyes widened, horror flickering across his face. He shook his head violently. "No. I can't. I won't. What if I—" His voice cracked, and he looked away, ashamed. "What if I hurt you? I almost couldn't stop with Tim, Dick. I could've killed him."

Dick closed the gap between them with steady, deliberate steps, his hand still outstretched. "Jay, you're freezing," he murmured, his tone gentle but firm. The concern in his voice was almost unbearable. "I'm offering. I can stop you if I have to. But I can't stand to see you like this."

Jason's hands trembled as he reached out, taking Dick's wrist as though it might shatter in his grip. "I don't deserve this," he whispered hoarsely, his throat tight.

Dick guided him to the couch, sitting beside him as Jason hovered uncertainly. "I can't stand to see you starving, Jaybird," he said softly. "I trust you."

Jason's breath hitched as he leaned forward, pressing his lips to the faint scars on Dick's wrist—the scars left behind from smaller teeth, a long-forgotten relic of a much younger vampire. With a soft, hesitant bite, Jason's fangs sank into the skin.

Dick sucked in a sharp breath but stayed perfectly still, Jason using his venom to numb the area. His free hand rose to Jason's hair, fingers weaving through it in a soothing motion. "It's okay," Dick whispered. "You're okay."

Jason's body shook as he fed, warmth seeping back into his limbs as Dick's blood filled the gnawing void inside him. He made a quiet, almost involuntary sound of relief and rested against Dick's arm, his weight gradually pressing closer.

Dick smiled faintly through the growing haze, his thumb absently tracing small circles on Jason's temple. "That's it, Little Wing. I've got you."

When the edges of his vision started to blur, Dick nudged Jason gently. "Jay. That's enough."

Jason whined softly but pulled back, licking the wound to seal it before tightly wrapping Dick's wrist. He looked at his hands, the guilt crawling back as reality set in.

"Are you still hungry, Little Wing?" Dick's voice was gentle, but the concern in his eyes was palpable. Even while starved and rabid, Jason had fed off Tim, Dick, and several blood bags. By all accounts, he should have been full—at least sated.

Jason pulled away sharply, the question cracking his fragile composure. His shoulders shook as he wrapped his arms around himself, his voice barely a whisper. "I—no. I'm fine." But the way his hands trembled, fingers twitching against his sleeves, said otherwise.

Dick's brow furrowed, and without hesitation, he reached for Jason again, pulling him close. "Hey, no. Little Wing, it's okay. Everything's going to be okay. You're alive, Jay. We can figure everything else out."

Jason resisted for a moment, his body tense and rigid, but then Dick made a soft coo in the back of his throat—a low, soothing hum. It wasn't quite a vampiric call, but it mimicked one closely enough to resonate with Jason's instincts. Something in him uncoiled at the sound, and he leaned in, nestling into the crook of Dick's shoulder.

He tilted his head, baring his neck in a gesture that was almost unconscious. Dick's arms wrapped around him protectively, his fingers brushing over the back of Jason's neck before pinching the skin lightly. It wasn't a vampire's bite, but it carried the same intention—a reminder of their bond as blood brothers. A symbol of protection and family and safety.

Jason sagged into the embrace, his face pressed against Dick's shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Dickie. I didn't—I don't even know how I got here." His voice was raw, his words fractured and broken.

Dick's hand continued to run through Jason's hair, his touch steady and grounding. "Shh, Jaybird. It's alright. We're going to figure it out. Tim's going to be fine."

Jason wanted to believe him, but he couldn't. The memory of Tim pale and unconscious beneath him, his blood staining Jason's hands, was burned into his mind. Rabid vampires didn't get second chances. They went to Arkham—or worse. And he'd hurt Tim, a kid from his own coven. He deserved Arkham. He deserved worse.

But right now, he let himself stay in Dick's arms, clinging to the fragile comfort for as long as he could.

The sound of hurried footsteps broke the fragile stillness, and Jason flinched, instinctively trying to pull away from Dick. The door to the infirmary swung open, and Bruce entered, his presence commanding as ever.

For a moment, Jason froze, his breath hitching as Bruce's eyes landed on him. Bruce's face was unreadable, but there was a softness in his gaze—a crack in his usually impenetrable armor.

"Jason…" Bruce's voice wavered on the second syllable, something raw slipping through. He crossed the room in long, purposeful strides and dropped to one knee in front of Jason before the younger man could react.

Jason shrank back, trembling. "B-Bruce."

Bruce stilled immediately, his hands hovering in the space between them. Jason's breathing was shallow, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he stared at Bruce with wide, panicked eyes.

"I—I know you have to take me to Arkham," Jason stammered, his voice trembling. Slowly, he extended his arms, wrists held out in surrender.

"What?" Bruce's expression twisted into something close to pain. His eyes darted to Dick, who was watching with the same incredulous look Bruce felt on his own face.

"I hurt Tim," Jason whispered, his arms still outstretched even as his body pressed closer to Dick. "I almost killed him. I—I deserve it. I'm sorry."

"No." The word was firm, final. Bruce leaned closer, careful to keep his movements deliberate. "I'm not sending you to Arkham, Jason. Not now, not ever."

Jason's lip quivered, his voice breaking. "But I—"

"Jason," Bruce interrupted, his voice soft but resolute. He placed a hand on Jason's shoulder, grounding him with a steady touch. "You were starving. Starving and scared. You weren't yourself. This wasn't your fault."

Jason shook his head violently, tears streaming down his face. "But what if—what if I lose control again? I'm faster. Stronger. I—I could hurt you."

Bruce's hand tightened slightly on Jason's shoulder, a silent reassurance. "Jason, listen to me." His voice was thick with emotion. "You have more control than anyone I know. Do you understand that? You stopped, Jason. You stopped before it was too late. I've never heard of a rabid vampire doing that. Ever."

Jason's breath hitched, his resolve crumbling.

Bruce's voice softened further, his thumb brushing lightly over Jason's shoulder. "We're going to get through this together. You're part of this family, Jason, and nothing—nothing—is going to change that."

Jason broke under Bruce's words, the weight of his guilt and fear crashing down all at once. He let out a broken sob, his body folding in on itself as he buried his face in Bruce's chest.

Bruce didn't hesitate, wrapping his arms around Jason and holding him close. "I've got you, son. I've got you."

Dick watched from his spot by Tim's bedside, his lips curling into a faint smile as he rested his head on the edge of the bed. He exhaled slowly, relief washing over him.

Tim stirred, a soft moan escaping his lips as his eyes fluttered open. Dick reached out, brushing a hand over Tim's forehead. "Welcome back, kid."

Tim's eyes blinked blearily at the scene before him—Jason curled against Bruce, and Bruce holding him as if the world could shatter around them and it wouldn't matter.

For the first time in what felt like forever, everything was going to be okay.