Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Even those who loved their jobs sometimes wanted to strangle something at times. Or, perhaps even bash their head repeatedly against the wall. For all of the love and all of the passion flung into work, there definitely was an awful amount of vexation and exhaustion mixed in as well. And when it came to running a hotel? Not to mention one as famed as Hotel Transylvania?

On a normal week, the tasks and challenges that came with such a responsibility were larger than Big Foot.

Suffice to say, this week had not been normal.

There'd been another problem with the plumbing, there seemed to be some sort of poltergeist now creating chaos in bingo room, a cauldron had exploded in the lobby of all places, one of the suits of armor wanted to challenge everyone who walked past to a duel, a fire had started in one of the corridors -- don't even ask how that started -- all in the course of 24 hours. Not to mention Denisovich had needed looking after. The boy had had nightmares all through the night and this was the first time in months that Mavis had trusted her father enough to leave him alone with the boy again. Furthermore, all of this week for him has been in fact its own kind of nightmare. Everything that could have gone went wrong, and he had hardly witnessed such a draining time since --

Now, now, thinking about that is only going to make this all worse.

All in all, let's just say that Drac was nearing the end of his patience for the day. Or, rather, he was near the end of his stamina. His patience had already flown the coop about two days ago. It just wasn't quite the same after centuries of management.

Personally, you'd think the skills and habits necessary to maintain the job would have been cemented by this point.

Apparently, that wasn't going to be the case.

But, anyway, speaking of habits, why wasn't his training kicking in by now?

After all, he was kind of plummeting to the ground having started from a few thousand feet above. Shouldn't his ingrained abilities -- with the help of adrenaline -- be kicking into his wings by now, giving him just enough strength to make it back to the hotel?

… Once again, that apparently wasn't going to be the case. It seems even vampires have a limit for what they can do, and Count Dracula had finally found his.

Now, why was the Count even in this predicament in the first place? Why was he currently falling through the sky, shrieking as much as a worn-out bat could?

It had all been in the name of finally giving himself a break for once.

Go figure that's the moment everything decided to really fall apart.

See, Drac had could admit to himself that he was in need of a break. That he probably needed just a few minutes of fresh air instead of the wonderful stench that always seemed to trail after his beloved customers. One moment led to another and in only a few minutes the vampire had been able to sneak out into the dark and cloudy sky. It always was breathtaking slipping out into such a night, allowing the wind to guide him through the air, feeling a hint of moisture from the impending storms and knowing that he could face anything in the skies.

Unfortunately, that's when when the wind turned against him, when it started to howl and slap his maneuverability away. That's when he slipped out of control -- now past the point of desperately flapping his wings for any hint of relief. And that's when he found himself unable to do anything other than let the wind control him.

Ah, yes, "Count Control-Freak" was now forced to let the wind boss him around. Had the situation not been as serious, he would have glowered at anyone who dared to make that joke. As it happened, he could only wearily sigh before even that was stolen by the sharp and stinging breeze.

The worst part was, he couldn't even transform let alone properly shout for help. The last forty-eight hours had taken that kind of energy out of him. And if it hadn't, the wind would've by this point.

Furthermore, as far as he knew no one knew that he had left. He had quite literally snuck out of the hotel, intent on getting a breather for only just a few minutes.

It was just his luck that his plan didn't quite come to life quite in the fashion he had imagined. But, after all, he was Dracula -- not Dr. Frankenstein.

And, therefore, this failed plan wasn't really his fault.

Now, on the other hand, falling to his death?

That would most definitely be his fault.

By this point, his eyes were shut by the wind and he could only blindly hold on to nothing. He could clutch at wisps of the moisture, or even the thin air itself. But there was to be no help in his graceless fall from the sky.

SMACK!

His mind tried to supply some form of an answer as to what he had slammed into, but no to avail: everything suddenly felt both excruciating and numbing. It was just as well: he had finally collided with something hard enough to send him careening towards a form of safety commonly referred to as the ground.

And as the vampire finally began to accept his fate -- hopefully it would only be unconsciousness and nothing too permanent -- the world tauntingly began to fade away. Exhaustion sashayed around the bat and laughingly pinned him to the ground. Weariness drained him of his resolve to move.

But, not before one last thought jolted to mind:

Wait, the count groaned to himself as the world started to spin, throbbing aches blending into searing droplets. Who is taking care of Denisovich?

He shakily tried to get off from the soothing cold ground.

He could only collapse into a very undignified slump.

__.__

It was surprising how little the world seemed to think Dennis -- or Denisovich, as his dear Papa Drac affectionately called him  -- observed.

True, he was just a six year old. And six year old boys were said to normally only pay attention to roughhousing, exploring everything and anything in their path, and getting into delightful mischief of all kinds. It was also normally said that, when it came to things that involved adults, that sort of stuff tended to escape a six year old boy's attention.

But, six year old boys could also pay close attention when one of their favorite monsters sneezed seven times in an hour. Six year boys could also pick up on the fact that someone was unnaturally paler than even normal. They could notice when that someone looked a bit under the weather.

And, finally, six year old boys could be left to their own devices and still catch a peculiar, horrifying sight of a beloved bat plummeting helplessly through a stormy, merciless sky…

Chapter Text

“Papa?” 

Why does Mavis sound so young?

The room wasn't quite spinning, but it really wasn't all that still.

“Are you awake, Papa Drac?”

It was always quite a trial coming back to the land of the not-quite-living.

Oh, wait, I know that voice! ... I think.

It was also always a hassle to become fully cognizant of the facts after exhaustion had taken hold of you.

“Are you okay, Papa Drac?”

But just because it would be a hassle doesn't mean it was impossible.

That’s not Mavis.

And, that wasn't even really his proper name: he should be “Vamp-pa” if anything.

But Drac had never had any qualm with being called "Papa" by--

“Denisovich!” He weakly cried out, finally cracking open his eyes. The little boy, the sweet child, was hovering over the bed. A frown marred the child’s face even though a smile was already hesitantly threatening to burst forth at the sight of his grandvamp-pa waking up.

“Papa Drac!” Dennis called out in glee. “You’re alive! You’re alive!”

“Of course, I’m alive,” It was more of a raspy croak than a reassuring murmur, but Dracula was hardly paying attention. “Well, being alive for me is debatable.” He quipped, chuckling a bit at the fact.

But quips and sarcasm were lost on children at this age.

Especially when they've been recently scared out of their wits.

“You’re okay!” Seemed like Denisovich was also having an abnormally short-attention span. But, the whole thing reminded Dracula of a similar moment of fear, of a steep tower and secret flying lessons.

“I told you,” The gravel that had overtaken his voice gave way to serenity and nostalgia. “Papa is always here for you.” 

The reward for making it through such a night –– that is to say seeing Denisovich’s brilliant beaming face after everything –– was more than worth the inevitable collisions and resulting pain. But, even as he started to properly wake, a cough began to wrack his body. Already, the exhaustion he’d been getting accustomed to was creeping back in, slipping once more into his body.

“Papa Drac?”

“I’m okay, Denisovich, I’m okay.” Reassure wanted to cradle and comfort the boy once more, but his eyelids were fighting to stay open. And, soon enough, he couldn’t help but sink back into the dreamless existence that had accompanied him for centuries.

"Papa?"

_._

Six year old children don't normally stay still for all that long.

Six year old children also don't normally take care of their grandvamp-pas because their parents were out taking a well-deserved weekend break -- ironically, out of the hotel.

A phone buzzed next to Drac’s bed, a request from Mavis to video-call with her beloved father.

The vampire didn’t even stir as the ringtone blasted next to his ear. Luckily, Dennis knew how to work the phone -- he was six years old, after all.

“Mommy!”

“Hi, baby! Can you put Papa Drac on the line?”

Uh-oh.

While six year old children don't normally stay still, they do usually have a problem with just getting straight to the point.

Especially if getting to the point meant possibly getting in trouble.

“Uhh, he’s asleep!”

“Dennis?”

And there's that pause, the type of silence that nobody –– let alone six year old children –– normally tends to like.

“... Baby, what do you mean he’s asleep?”  

Chapter Text

Families of any kind -- monster, human, unicorn, whatever -- always stick together when it's necessary. They may not always be around but they have one another's backs when it matters most. They may sometimes be of extremely different backgrounds, they may sometimes be more obstinate than imaginable, but they easily set all of that aside when it truly matters.

And, when it comes to the endearingly stubborn individuals who sometimes come off as just plain irritating, families know when to team up and how to help those headstrong creatures accept a little love.

More often than not, such a love can be accepted tenderly.

Sometimes, though, they just end up having to match the mulish attitude and push some of their own stubborn love into the situation.

Take this particular familial moment, for instance....

_._

For the first time in a long time, Dracula felt well-rested. Content, even. As though his body had finally recovered from the stress of the last week. As though he had never fallen in the first place.

The vampire stirred, catching the sounds of excited whispering. A whiff of something familiar was soon caught as well, something that normally didn't hang about these days.

"Drac?" What's Frank doing here?

"Papa Drac?" Denisovich?

"Dad?" Oh, my darling--

"Mavis?" He finally called out through some form of a croak. Sore throat aside, he really was too curious to keep his mouth shut. But, judging from how the atmosphere seemed to have changed with only a word, Drac was beginning to regret his response.

Oh, who was he kidding? Curiosity may have killed the bat, but satisfaction always brought it back.

Though, in this case, he found himself more shocked than curious. So shocked was he at the sight of all of his closest friends and family, a yelp escaped him. Unfortunately, it was followed by an entirely minor cough session.

"Minor" meaning, in this instance, he only had to hack for a good ten seconds instead of the usual twenty he'd been suffering through for the last week.

"Dad, take it easy! Everyone, give him space!" Everyone, excluding Dennis and Mavis, immediately stepped back as the coughing faded. A small vial of blood was given to sooth the throat, and soon Dracula's phelgm-y cacophony subsided.

"But, what are you all doing here?" At this, he received several glares. Well, what did they expect? Dracula tended to be occasionally clueless, especially when it came to social interaction. This cluelessness was only amplified in cases of illness. And, so, he barreled on, "Wayne, didn't you have a Bark Mitzvah to go to? And, Mavis, Johnny, this was supposed to be your vacat--"

"Dude," Johnny brazenly interrupted his father-in-law, a sure-sign that the last week had been abnormal. "When we had found out you'd fallen, we couldn't just leave you here."

Dracula paused, searching his memories for what exactly Johnny was talking about –– blanking on what the human was talking about. 

The fact that he had to do so only added fuel to the fire.

The benefit (and drawback) of being incredibly run down is that you tended to miss those sorts of things. You were usually unaware of everyone else's reactions. You got off scot-free when it came to remembering unpleasant memories brought on by stress –– not that was what you always wanted. Still, it meant that you were blissfully unaware of the concern you brought about.

But, it also meant that you couldn't assuage any of said concern.

"Oh, that?" It took him a little longer than he'd have liked, but that particular incident was now coming to mind. "That was hardly anything! Just a little stumble through the clouds." And while vampires couldn't really blush, they could pull off the incredibly mortified look quite well. "Hardly worthy of mentioning! Really, if that's all that brought you back--"

"Dennis saw everything, Drac." Frank said, his tone unusually sharp. "And, you and I both know that vampires don't just fall."

A weak chuckle escaped the vampire at this, who was now sheepishly casting his gaze onto the floor.

That is, his gaze remained there until the statement was fully absorbed.

"Denisovich, is this true?" It was at this point that Dracula noticed the little boy was unusually quiet. That he was currently tearing up and frowning at something. "Denisovich, my little blood-drop, what's wrong?"

Whatever Dracula had been expecting as response, it definitely wasn't being bowled over by a sobbing child who couldn't help but tightly hug him through the tears.

"Please don't scare me like that again, Papa Drac! Please, please, please!" Shaking arms wrapped themselves around the vampire, who in turn immediately scooped up the little boy.

"Shh, my little devil-dog, everything's all right. Papa is already back to okay." At this he received another glare from everyone other than Dennis.

"What?"

"While everything is getting better, you're certainly not 'okay', Dad." Dracula sent a glare of his own at this while Dennis continued to cry -- ignorant to the harsh exchange of looks coming from his favorite people. The count was not only irritated with everyone's supposedly unnecessary concern, he was already daring to formulate a response.

That response was put to a stop when the half-vampire in his arms curled further into the familial embrace.

"Please let them take care of you." Was Wayne really giving his grandson lessons in the art of puppy-dog eyes? Or was the little boy just at that age where his eyes were always going to be that irresistibly adorable?

"Please, Papa Drac."

The vampire in question glanced up at the crowd of loved ones that still surrounded the pair. He then fixed his gaze on Dennis, a smile beginning to emerge ever so softly. Feelings of frustration and stubbornness clawed at him for attention, but every time he focused on his sweet grandson he couldn't help but give in.

"All right." The room paused, knowing that he wasn't finished. But, unbeknownst to him, Drac was caught up in a moment of similar sentiment -- a moment where he was the calming force that took over. Where his feelings took precedence over the situation and where he just so happened to save his sweet grandson from falling to his death.

Where the similarities between the scenarios laid exactly, Dracula could not be fully sure.

But...

The feelings run through a similar vein.

That, even I can see.

And, so, "For you, my little Denisovich."

The boy's face returned to its normal exuberance as everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Dracula finally allowed himself to lean into the pillows he'd been propped on, focusing on enjoying the child's presence and on letting go of the tension that had incessantly clutched of him these last few weeks.

"For you."