Chapter Text
He killed me. That bastard killed me.
“Johnny, Johnny, Johnny. Usually, people have a lie-down first.”
Clawing at the flagstones, dragging his body upright, wheezing more out of habit than necessity, Jonathan propped his weak body against the parapet. He glared up at the count. The devil’s face was split into a jagged smile.
“This changes everything.” His eyes trailed over Jonathan as if he were seeing him for the first time. “You could be my finest bride.” This he seemed to say to himself as he advanced upon Jonathan.
“N-no.” He hauled himself to his feet, meeting Dracula’s eyes with his own defiantly.
The smile morphed into something almost fond. “Johnny, you’re like me.”
“No!” Jonathan blinked, surprised at how vehemently he had hissed the very word. Dracula’s smile never wavered. “I am not like you.”
He’s going to London. He’ll do this to countless others. Like hell if I’ll allow it while I can still stand on my own two feet.
“Oh, but you are,” breathed the count, stepping closer. “Stay. Stay with me, Johnny.” A clawed hand ran itself up Jonathan’s arm. He wrenched away from the touch as if burned but it was Dracula that screeched and recoiled violently at the movement. Looking down Jonathan took note of the crucifix that slipped out from his loose gown. He gasped, grasping the weighty cross tightly in his hand.
“Let me pass,” he demanded. Dracula frothed at the mouth, his eyes murderous.
“Take that off now!”
“Let me pass!”
Jonathan advanced towards the door with sure steps. Hissing and writhing like a snake the count reluctantly stepped aside. Casting a final look at the creature Jonathan turned and ran as fast as he was able.
Sinister laughter seemed to echo through the castle. Jonathan darted down a hallway and into one of the many secret passageways he had memorised. He kept running, seemingly in circles, for as long as he could then pushed himself further, using the wall as a support.
I’m so hungry. Damn the beast, but I’m hungry.
He was sure he could hear a faint scratching. Following the sound brought Jonathan to the door of the room containing the brides. Grasping the crucifix in one hand he cautiously opened the door. If one bride had sussed out their box what was to say another hadn't broken free also.
Her body was still pinned to the floor. He could smell her blood. It rankled in his nose and he turned away.
The inhabitant of one box was completely silent. Another occasionally darted a hand out into the glass attachment to swipe a rat. The third box was where the scratching sound was emanating and a wave of nausea roiled within Jonathan.
The baby. The thing that was once a baby, Jonathan corrected, was still there. Jonathan placed a shaking hand on the box. He had been too weak to save it, too drained, too slow. He wondered if it would be a kindness to kill the babe, to protect it from it’s fate.
He opened the lid of the box. Black eyes stared up at him. The babe made a hissing gurgle as it scrabbled at the wall of the box.
He can smell her.
Jonathan shuddered. Reaching a hand down into the box he saw the child’s eyes focus on the limb. Then it grabbed his hand and bit him. Although he had assumed that such a thing would happen Jonathan still yelped in surprise, yanking his hand back to himself. The baby hadn’t broken his skin as it had no teeth, yet the scratches from it’s wicked nails stung.
Taking a step back Jonathan took a closer look at the box from all sides, assessing if there was another point of ingress. Then, struck with inspiration, closely examined the glass flask-like extrusion. The bag which had once contained the babe lied therein. Very soon he found what he was looking for, an opening.
Taking the bag he swiftly reclosed the exit. He could see black eyes peering curiously at him from the shadow of the box proper. The bag contained an extremely torn and very bloody babe’s nightgown and a similarly destroyed blanket. Jonathan hadn’t the heart to bundle the babe into the bag once again. He took the blanket in hand and, before he could lose his nerve, climbed bodily into the box.
The babe made it’s strange gurgling as it crawled towards Jonathan yet the man was ready for it. Wrapping the babe proved to be difficult and Jonathan suffered many scratches to his arms for his efforts. The child screeched in fury and Jonathan’s heart broke. Cradling the now swaddled babe close to his chest Jonathan climbed out of the box. He felt hard gums gnawing at his collarbone and shifted the child so it rested more comfortably in his arms.
“Well, well, well. Fancy meeting you here Johnny,” drawled the count from where he was leaning against the doorframe.
Jonathan clutched the child close while his other hand worked to free the cross from where it was now pressed to his breastbone. Catching the movement Dracula swiftly strode into the room and grabbed Jonathan’s wrist in an iron grip.
“Ah, we’ll have no more of that now.”
“Let go of me!” he spat.
“What have you got here Johnny?” Despite how Jonathan twisted away from the probing hand, the count pulled back the blanket to reveal the child’s face which was screwed up in frustration. He laughed. “Oh Johnny,” he cooed, petting the babe’s cheek with a long finger, “and I thought I was the sentimental one.”
“Don’t touch him.”
The count’s eyebrows rose in amusement. “He looks a little hungry Johnny.”
“I said don’t touch him!” To his amazement Dracula released his hold on them and Jonathan staggered back. The count prowled around the two like a beast cornering it’s prey.
“Why?” The query seemed to be genuine but Jonathan felt more like an intriguing experiment rather than a man at this moment. “Why do you care Johnny?” he repeated, the nickname keeping the fires of Jonathan’s fury lit like a pilot light. “Wouldn’t it be more merciful to destroy it?”
The mirroring of his own thoughts made Jonathan’s heart turn to lead. He looked down at the child who was still latched onto his collarbone. Black eyes blinked up at him from a face so pale it was almost blue.
He doesn’t know any better. He’s angry and hungry and I couldn’t save him.
Jonathan could no more kill this child than he could kill any other being. The exception was staring intently at the pair waiting patiently for an answer.
“I’m responsible for him,” he said eventually.
And I won’t allow him to be turned into a monster like you. Or me.
Dracula stopped his pacing and stared, his face inscrutable.
“Alright. You’re responsible for him.” Jonathan looked up from the child’s face, surprised. Dracula shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m not completely unreasonable, but, Johnny, you must see the irony here.”
Jonathan frowned. “Irony?”
“Yes.” The count took a step closer, then leaned in so as to be but a breath away. Jonathan was like stone, holding the piercing gaze. “You are mine, Jonathan Harker.”
The child made a noise of protest. Jonathan loosened his grip and gritted his teeth. “No.”
“Yes!” bellowed the count. “Yes you are Johnny. It’s not just the child who is hungry, and who do you think will feed you? You’re weak, Jonathan, but I want to help you.”
“Help me?” Jonathan sputtered incredulously.
“Don’t play the fool, it’s most unbecoming. I will help you to unleash your full potential and I can sense that you, my dearest Johnny, are going to be full of surprises.”
They stared at one another for a long moment before Dracula moved away. “I shall see you both for dinner,” the count called over his shoulder before he vanished out of sight.