Chapter Text
At first glance, Dr. Seward was a thin, nervous boy that reminded Dracula of one single person, and it made him shudder: Jonathan Harker. His eyes were glued to the smaller man as he timidly entered the room, bright blue eyes glancing around the room until he came to set his bag down ever so gently on the table. Everything about him spoke docile and nervous.
He was faintly aware of Zoe struggling to sit down on the other side of the table. Rather, he tried to restrain himself, fruitlessly, as he took long steps towards the boy. In the rush, John – well, they even shared the same name – stumbled back. Masked fear overcame his features, and once they were a fourth of a foot apart, he only looked at Dracula’s lips. Something he found enticing and delicious.
He smelled, firstly, outrageously and almost painfully clean. Like bleach or chlorine. Everything about him was so put together except for the fact that his breath smelled very, very faintly of alcohol and his eyes were as wide as oceans. Just as deep and curious as Jonathon’s.
There was nothing particularly special about him. He was attractive, sure, and Dracula could taste how smart he was, and he looked just like Jonathan Harker… but his blood, his fear masked with courage… Well, there was nothing special about that. In fact, he was quite the opposite of his dear Lucy whom he enjoyed so much.
They had had a moment, hadn’t they? Maybe this was just a delusion on his part, then. His fascination with Lucy was latching onto anything associated with her.
He took in a deep breath. “How kind of you,” he mused to Zoe, eyes not even briefly leaving the doctor. He was beautiful. And he was only looking at Dracula’s lips. Not his eyes. He couldn’t see those ‘Johnny Blue-Eyes’. “Bringing a bottle to the party.”
The other wouldn’t look at his eyes. No matter how intensely Dracula looked at him.
Zoe said nothing, and neither did Dr. Seward, which prompted him to just get the other to look him in the eyes. To see his Johnny Blue Eyes. He clenched his jaw, restraining himself from just gripping the other’s face until he stared him in the eyes.
Gentle, he told himself. These humans are fragile.
Taking in a shaky breath, he traced his fingers down Dr. Seward’s neck until he could practically feel the blood. It was bad. Not quite as tasty, not quite as interesting, but it was just the same as Jonathan Harker’s. It would be delicious. It would have all the knowledge of the world now, it would have all of John’s experiences, and Dracula would have a new bride. The best one.
Despite the touch, Dr. Seward wouldn’t so much as glance at him. So he threw precaution to the wind and grabbed the other’s cheeks in one hand, prying his gaze from the floor and to his own.
There were his blue eyes. His Johnny Blue Eyes. It had to be him. Someone like him, at least, because if Agatha had had a predecessor so similar in shape and style, then certainly Johnny could have too, despite how dead he’d been after Dracula took his skin.
What if Mina… well, that was for a later thought.
“Very inferior vintage,” he said through gritted teeth, practically shouting to Zoe. But there wasn’t a second wasted with the doctor’s eye contact. “But the gesture is appreciated.”
Zoe wasn’t fazed. In fact, she met John’s trusting glance with a strong, undeterred one, and Dracula wanted to seethe as he looked away. He didn’t speak, though. “Put him down,” she mumbled. As if she didn’t care whether he did or not, because she had something much more important to care about.
“Why?” he spat, testing her. Did he really care about this boy? What was their connection? What did she know about him?
“This is England,” she told him. Giving nothing away. “Conversation precedes dinner.”
She did care about him. That had been some sick sort of joke. John was an offering, but not in the way the boy thought. He thought he was here to give blood or protect Zoe, but that wasn’t the case.
Dracula couldn’t look away from the doctor. Zoe knew this would happen. She had this whole situation planned but Johnny Blue-Eyes was the one that wasn’t in the know, and that’s why Dracula fell into her trap.
It wasn’t a bad one.
“Quite right, Dr. Helsing,” he spat.
He threw the doctor away, and he landed against the table, leg lifting to balance himself. Everything about him was gentle and delicate – even the way he held himself against the table until he was ready to stand by himself. Even the way he still wouldn’t look at Dracula, and kept his head stooped so low that it was only possible to look at his knees, not even the ground.
And then he spoke. “You’re expecting company?” John Seward croaked.
The blue eyes were cast to the set up on the table. Not on Dracula. Where he wanted them – needed them. He just wanted to see them again. Those seconds of bliss where John had to look at him had been… beautiful. Delicious. Better than a full-body meal.
“Yes,” Dracula mumbled off-handedly.
“Lucy Westenra,” Zoe offered. She raised an eyebrow.
How clever she thought she was. But she was dying. There was nothing clever about death. Nothing clever about contracting some idiot disease you couldn’t even get out of your system. No, Zoe Van Helsing was not a clever woman because she was dying.
John, on the other hand…
“Oh, you know her?” Dracula inquired, settling for humor to mask his irritation.
Zoe was useless now. She was going to be gone too soon and there was nothing any of them could do about it. She was a wasted meal – a wasted youth. There was nothing special about her because she was going to be gone soon.
His interest in her was fading too fast.
That’s why she’d brought John. She was clever.
“Well, this is Dr. Seward,” Zoe motioned to Johnny Blue-Eyes. Her tone gave away the fact that she knew this information had already been known. “It was his phone you stole.”
Dracula knew that. Lucy had said that. They’d talked about him a bit – not too much, just enough to where he knew that Lucy didn’t pay too much mind to him. John – or, Jack, as she called him, because she knew him intimately – had an infatuation with her. Something he’d promptly cut off once she got engaged to the irrelevant Quincey, who had been John’s competition. Because he wasn’t one for an unbeatable challenge, was he? Not against some dumb Texan like Quincey.
No, John was too smart to understand the point of pursuing an unreachable solution.
Dracula grinned as John spoke again. “You might say I introduced you,” he whispered.
A quick glance of John’s eyes and Dracula was once again thinking about them. He bit his lip, forcing himself to brush it off with more humor that the humans didn’t like. “Ah,” Dracula mused, “and now she’s dead.”
It wasn’t humor. It was a blatant stab. Anything to see more than masked fear in the doctor’s posture. Anger, perhaps, or a challenge. Anything to make him tense and glare at Dracula.
But nothing. John kept his eyes on the floor, fists clenched.
Well, it was something.
Zoe spoke to fill the gap of silence. “If you’re expecting Lucy to rise from the grave this evening, Count Dracula, you might be interested to know that she was cremated.”
Zoe Van Helsing thought she was clever, he seethed to himself.
But he was excited now. He was ready to throw John to the wall, ready to shove him until he looked at him. It was an opportunity, the Count decided, to get Johnny Blue-Eyes to look at him.
“Cremated?” he began. And really, he was a bit angry that they’d allowed this. But it was more-so that Lucy had allowed it. That she had been so dumb as to not heed his advice – to not heed the king of vampire’s advice about how to deal with your corpse. It was beyond him that she hadn’t at least considered it and here she was… well, here she was going to be. “But I told her. I warned her. And still, she let them put her in the fire?”
“Apparently,” Zoe shrugged. She was seated, completely uncaring as Dracula approached John once more.
He got in his face this time. Closer. So that he could inspect every aspect of the boy’s face, the boy’s eyes, now looking at him with something more than what Johnathan Harker had. This was something more lively, more kind, more innocent. It was beautiful. So much more than Dracula knew he could ever be.
“No,” he continued, feeding the moment. Just to keep John’s eyes on him. Just to soak in this moment. “No, you don’t understand. She would’ve been conscious the whole time. Her flesh melting, her cells carbonizing, every particle of her being incinerated.”
It was enough, he figured, as the other boy looked at him with a type of courage that gave away a sort of past abuse. He was used to being yelled at like this. Used to being hurt. It didn’t matter to him anymore, the Count felt. His pulse was raised, though, and he was at least a little scared, because now it was the Count addressing him.
He took in a breath, shrugging as he stepped back. “Stings a bit, I believe,” he finished.
As if on cue, the doorbell buzzed. Dracula knew it was her. Even from the other side of the room, through a door and a wall, he could smell her. It, more like. Because she would be in such a condition that there was nothing more of a lady left. Just bones, ash, burned flesh.
Well, it would be disgusting, and he didn’t quite want her to come inside because he just wanted learn everything there was to know about John and figure out why exactly Zoe brought him here, but he couldn’t. He just had to wait through this.
“Ah,” he said. “There, you see? You have underestimated the resilience of a vampire.”
Oh, he really didn’t want her to come inside. But he put on a front – a very grinning, eager, exciting front – as he rounded the table to reach the door. The doorbell continued buzzing quickly and impatiently.
“Ah!” he sang. “I always liked a lively one.”
And then he paused.
John was a fragile boy. More fragile than the brides Dracula had had before his 123 years in the sea, more fragile than the women hidden behind pounds of smelly make-up, more fragile than the hungry women locked in boxes, terrified of what they were.
No, John was more fragile because he was so broken that now all he knew was a courageous front that meant nothing to her. John didn’t know courage. He feigned it. It was why he only looked the Count in the eyes when he had to, or why he kept his eyes on the ground otherwise.
He’d been hurt.
He was a fragile little thing.
But until this boiled over, Dracula would act like he didn’t care or notice. “Um,” he thought, leaning over the chair at the head of the table to peer at John. The bright blue eyes lifted to his. “Dr. Seward, she was your friend, was she?”
The boy’s courageous mask didn’t falter as he looked at Dracula through hooded eyes. “Yes,” he whispered.
Dracula clicked his tongue. “Now might be a good time to reflect that beauty is only skin-deep,” he suggested. It was off-handed, it sounded like a joke, but it wasn’t. He wanted John to be ready. Just based on what Dracula could smell, Lucy would look like a walking bonfire… minus the fire.
“Pray for her, Jack,” said Zoe. Dracula turned to glance at her curiously. There was no way that thick, Dutch accent was the English Zoe Van Helsing. “Remember, it is the soul, not the aspect, that one loves.”
Dracula was, indeed, intrigued. Not because he cared for Zoe any longer, but because she was dying and yet still managed to carry the conscious of Agatha Van Helsing. It was interesting. Impressive, even. But not enough for him to care anymore for her. His patience for her death was dwindling and, frankly, he wouldn’t care if she keeled over and died just then.
Well, not before telling him just what she wanted him to do with John.
“Dr. Helsing,” he asked, “you don’t sound quite like yourself. Are you alright?”
“Perfectly,” she only said.
And then he swung the door open.
Lucy was just as bad as Dracula had assumed. After all, there were only so many ways a girl can look after being thrown in the fire, locked in a box. He smiled at her, subconsciously considering the fact that he was mocking Dr. Seward’s obvious repulsion at the sight of her. He could hear the subtle swallow of shock.
“Hello, you,” Lucy sang. She had a painful-looking smile on her crisp face, except she couldn’t feel it.
He didn’t want to describe her, but it felt mandatory to understand what had really happened when she’d been cremated. So, he just assessed her.
Her skin was burned. And not just burned, but it was as if she was a marshmallow who’d been left in the fire for a second too long and the fire had enveloped the entire thing and made it puffy and black and tasteless. Her hair had been burned – he was a little impressed that she still had any, as he knew that hair burned quicker than anything, but perhaps the thickness postponed the entire, unnatural demise of its entirety.
Black spit dribbled off her chin and the idea that he’d kissed her at any point made him shift just a little.
“Did you have any trouble finding the place?” he asked, stepping to the side to let her in.
She grinned. Something cracked in her face. “I can always sniff you out, babe.”
Oh, shut up, he thought.
She and John met eyes and for a second, Dracula could hear John’s breath hitch. Not out of fear – no, this was more of an entranced breath. One that told Dracula the boy could never not like Lucy, even like this. But he was confused and slowly the fear began to seep into his eyes, tears brimming against the bright blue.
“Jack,” Lucy greeted. Because they were close – she got to call him Jack. “Oh, Jack, what are you doing here?”
The girl’s brown slightly burnt eyes skimmed the room until her gaze landed on Zoe. A smile once again greeted her lips and ashy flesh flicked off of her skin, landing delicately on the floor. She didn’t notice. “Oh! And who’s this? Finally, you bring someone… Bit pale, though, if you don’t mind me saying.”
The Count glanced over to John, who didn’t move an inch. He stayed painfully still, hardly even breathing, as his eyes remained trained directly on Lucy. Oh, to have that sort of eye contact…
Lucy took in a breath, raising an eyebrow to Zoe. “Did you start without me?”
“I’m not on the menu. I’m an old friend,” Zoe replied calmly. Her eyes slid over to the Count, Dutch accent thick as she spoke again, more to him now. “We go way back.”
It was Agatha. This must’ve been Agatha’s plan.
Lucy, unbothered, turned to John. The boy hardly flinched, licking his lips as he stared at her still. She raised an eyebrow, tilting her head. A delighted chuckle escaped her. “Why are you just standing there, Jack?” She sighed. “Kiss me. Kiss me, Jack.”
Burned feet slid across the floor as she approached him. He didn’t move still, staring at her with adoration, a tear slipping down his cheek. The Count almost wanted to lurch forward and yank her away from the doctor’s presence – hurl her out a window, maybe, but he didn’t want to break it.
Also, John was fragile. So, so fragile. This was hard… It would be harder to watch the love of his life get thrown from a window.
Or, maybe that would be easier.
“Kiss me,” she insisted, going to touch him, and only then did John flinch back.
“Lucy, no,” he whispered. His voice broke. She was so important to him, the Count could feel, that he didn’t want to hurt her. Didn’t know how to hurt her.
In fact, the Count could guess that Doctor John Seward didn’t know how to hurt anyone.
“Come on, Jack,” Lucy continued, undeterred by the look of sorrow in John’s eyes. She couldn’t notice. “Kiss me like you used to. Kiss me.”
Did she love him? Is that why she was doing this? Or could she feel the Count’s infatuation with him and wanted to rub it in?
The Count straightened his shoulders. He wanted this to be over. “Kiss the girl, Dr. Seward,” he growled. “Journeys end in lovers meeting in.” The word came like acid off his tongue, but he spat it out anyway and watched John tilt his head in denial.
This irritated Lucy. She didn’t know what was wrong – she thought she was beautiful, as that’s all she saw in her reflections – but she could feel that something might have been. It was delicious watching her bristle at the idea of someone not liking her.
“What’s wrong, Jack?” Lucy seethed. “You can’t look at me now? The boy who looks at me all day, every day, can’t you look now? What’s the matter, Jack?”
Dracula was becoming unsettled. He still had the urge to make Lucy leave – to throw her anywhere but in John’s vicinity. To put his hands on John and make him talk and look and be a fragile person. He wanted Zoe gone, too, and he wanted to know why she’d brought him here.
But he had to be patient.
“Lucy,” John whispered, as he always did, “can’t you see yourself?”
No, silly, Dracula wanted to tell him, she most certainly can’t. Just as I can’t see myself.
“Of course I can see myself,” Lucy giggled. She looked down to the shiny table, stroking a hand down her cheek. So obsessed with herself, she smiled brightly. “Bloofer lady… bloofer lady. Everyone – everyone smiles when you’re beautiful.”
Teary eyes batted in John’s direction. “Why aren’t you smiling, Jack?”
Say that name again, Dracula wanted to say, and I will tear your lips off.
The doctor didn’t know what to say. His nervous blue eyes glanced to Zoe, begging silently for help, and she got up quickly – or, as quickly as a person plagued with cancer could – and came to his assistance.
“If you’re so beautiful, Lucy,” Zoe began, rounding the table, “why don’t you take a selfie?” She took her phone out and set it on the table beside Lucy’s finger with a nervous pace, making sure to not be too close to her.
Lucy only narrowed her eyes at her. “You smell funny.”
Dracula wanted this to go along faster. “She’s dying,” he grumbled. Just get it done with, he wanted to say.
This didn’t do anything for anyone, as Zoe only continued, “We wear the bitter bouquet, Lucy. The blood of the dying is death to a vampire.”
To which Lucy, completely uninterested in someone she couldn’t eat, mumbled, “You smell of death.”
“It’s not just me,” Zoe hummed.
And then Lucy raised the camera. And she took a selfie.
And she screamed.
There was no hesitation from John as he began to get to his knees, but Dracula felt bitter at the idea of them sharing yet another bonding moment, and he rushed forward to get John away. “My patient, Dr. Seward,” he scowled over Lucy’s wailing. “My patient.”
Reluctantly, the boy stepped back, but watched. His eyes were burning into them as Dracula tried coaxing Lucy to silence. He put his hands on either side of her head, smiling bitterly. What a child. A dumb, yet adventurous, child. One that hadn’t heeded his very specific, very intelligent warning. This was her fault.
“Lucy, my love,” he whispered to her. She continued to cry. “It’s a shock. It’s a shock. But you’ve done so well.”
It was a lie. He continued. “You’ve done so well.”
“Look at me!” Lucy cried.
“I see you, bloofer lady,” Dracula whispered, smiling gently. He ran a hand down her cheek, only basking in the knowledge that Dr. Seward was watching them. He was crying, too, but not nearly as loudly. Everything about him was silent, even in the way that he didn’t even move.
“Will I always look like this?” she moaned.
Dracula could see her as some sort of huntress, a wandering witch who killed people for their hearts. Or something of the like.
“Yes,” he hummed. “Promise. Always.”
“But I was beautiful,” she whined. Again, with the pitiful groans.
He didn’t care – he simply did not care. She was dead and there was nothing he or anyone else could do about it. Really, he might as well stake her then and there, or have John do it, better yet. It would all be a test… just to see how fragile the little doctor was.
“Beauty’s never more than a disguise, Lucy,” he cooed, wondering why he was still doing this. But the look in her eyes – infant-like, terrified – made him continue. “You’ve outgrown it.”
“I don’t want to! I don’t want to!” she sobbed more, falling into his arms and pressing the ashes of her skin into his suit.
“Lucy, listen,” he whispered, trying his best to stay level. But there was very little he could do in regard to his patience when something like this was on his floor, wiping its grim on him. She was pitiful, and not in a cute way. “Shh… Listen to me. Listen. Listen to me.”
Everything he said was cast to the wind, and so he shouted, “Listen!” She continued crying, now quietly, and he spoke over her. “You’re my finest bride yet. In 500 years, you were the only one who willingly opened up her veins… You knew what was happening.”
“No,” Lucy cried.
“You embraced it. You accepted it. Now you can live forever,” he offered, watching her face twist into even deeper horror.
“Oh, yeah?” she seethed. “Like this? Look at me!”
Through gritted teeth, he mumbled, “I don’t mind.”
“Oh, don’t you?” Lucy howled.
“No-“
“Oh, well, I do mind!” she cried. She fell further down.
A pitiful thing that Dracula could no longer tolerate. He sat back, sitting against the wall, watching her soak herself in tears. Nothing would change for her, though. Nothing would bring back her beauty. And now, then, there was no use for her here. Surely, she was interesting and he had enjoyed his time with her, but now it was over.
“Lucy,” whispered John’s soft voice. He held out a hand to her. In his other, behind his back, was a stake.
A courageous boy. Strikingly similar to Johnathon – his Johnny Blue-Eyes.
“Kiss me.”
Dracula wanted to scream.
“No, no, no,” Lucy whimpered. “You don’t- You don’t want to kiss me like this.”
The Count got up with a huff, stepping away from the situation but keeping a close eye on John. His every movement was intriguing. The way his body twitched with uncertainty, the way his piercing blue eyes remained on the decaying girl unwavering, the way he gripped the stake with white knuckles.
Nothing in Dr. Seward wanted to do this, but he was going to. Dracula could feel it.
“Lucy Westerna,” Dr. Seward murmured to her, “there has never been a day I didn’t want to kiss you. And there never will be.”
“Oh, Jack,” she said. Using his name again. The one that Dracula wanted to be the only one to use. “Oh, Jack.”
She pulled herself to her feet, hand pressed firmly in his, and they kissed.
It was a passionate kiss. One that made it almost impossible for Dracula to restrain himself – even more so as he watched the girl trail her hand behind John… or Jack, as he should start referring to him as. The hand fell on his that held the stake.
The kiss broke. She looked into his eyes like there was nothing left in the world.
“Do it,” she breathed. “Jack, do it. For me. Do it for me.”
Dracula could have done it in a second. But the way Jack looked at her – the way he held her gaze until finally, he reared back and shoved the stake into her chest… oh, he was a strong one. Even the way he held himself, waiting, as he watched the dust fall to the ground.
Lucy Westerna was gone, finally, and Jack Seward most certainly could be Dracula’s.
Oh, but one last jab.
“She was my most promising experiment,” Dracula mumbled to Jack, who looked at him. “Took me 500 years to make a bride this good. Now look what you’ve done.”
Dracula knew this was his fault. But he was testing the waters. Seeing just how fragile and strong Jack was.
And again, he surprised him.
“She was never yours,” Jack told him, and Dracula turned to yet again face him. The boy wiped his eyes, straightening his back. He sniffed. “Or mine. O-Or anyone’s.”
How lovely, Dracula thought bitterly. He really does love her.
“Well, I suppose she died well,” he growled. “That’s a rare quality – you can take it from me.”
“Quality or flavor?” Zoe put in.
Dracula vaguely became aware of her dwindling existence on the other side of the room, but he smiled at her, noting her thought.
“Ah. Flavor. Very particular. In my experience, unique. She almost seemed… in love with death."