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The Wayne Family had been the summit of the vampire hierarchy since Bruce Wayne’s great- great- great- great- grandfather arrived in America shortly after British troops took over the Dutch colony and established the border in the late-1600s. Tradition was the beginning and the end of vampire culture, even in America. Damian Wayne was well aware of his father’s susceptible proclivities towards adopting newly-turned fledglings, ignorant of those reprobates who turned them. He was suspicious of the pomp and circumstance of vampirism, and this had a cumulative effect, affecting said fledglings to the point of his so-called ‘brother’s mocking the sacred heritage which made up Damian’s legacy. There was a semi-regular movie night dedicated to watching and critiquing popular vampire films in the manor, a practice made all the more ridiculous by the effect drawn by the comparison between the fearsome, awe-inspiring creatures of the films, and the pitiful, weak creatures that stalked around Gotham blood banks, searching for opportunities for their next meal.
One of the few vampire traditions that the Wayne Family continued in the modern age was their maintenance of their territory, taking up symbolic mantles of bats to send a message to the peasants, lest they become too complacent. Protecting the human assets within the territory was also a necessary tool to their reign, promoting the rule of law so that, when they had all come to their senses, they had a sustainable food source. For all his father’s lectures on morality and public responsibility, it did not escape Damian that all the many posters urging Gotham residents to ‘Donate Blood’ all contained representations of the Wayne Corp logo on the bottom-left corner. Offerings of cash, blood-type keychains, colourful bandages and even stuffed animal bats had conditioned the populace towards blood donations on a regular basis for the benefit of all vampires in Gotham. The plastic decay of blood bags caused Damian significant sickness and consternation when he first came into his father’s care, and even now he was unable to consume artificial blood on a regular basis, all-but starving to stay in this dreadful smog.
His brothers, if that was what he must call them, were also a significant disappointment. For all the Gothic accoutrement of his family and their environment, they lack the necessary focus to engage in proper hunting. Drake alone had an impressive inability to maintain appropriate self-maintenance practices, refusing to sleep during the burning scope of daylight to keep their cover. On a daily basis, Drake forfeits his rightful reputation as Red Robin, a questionably-fearsome vampire that caught the vaunted attention of Ra’s al-Ghul by his crafty measures in maintaining the social order, to become Timothy Drake, a foolish white-collar pencil pusher. All he had to give up to keep both these pretences was sleep. These were the sacrifices that kept the Wayne family running but it also made them weak. Laser-sharp focus, superhuman abilities like animal transformation and hypnotism, the things that defined vampires even in the social consciousness were abilities that his family had to give up with their fake blood, their sleeplessness. They even tried to force Damian to go to school, a public school, harping on about the use of enhanced sunscreen and keeping within the two hours that the sunscreen could afford before he had to reapply like being considered an educational peer of human children was not the worst insult they could heap upon him. Assuming that he wanted to assimilate into the culture of Gotham was a leap of logic so wide that it was incredible. Damian merely channelled his frustration into his newest presentation on ‘Being a Vampire 4 Dummies’ based on a strange trend of books for Americans, who seem to avoid informing themselves whenever possible.
Despite his father’s reluctance to return to these traditional practices, Damian knew that his father would, sooner or later, turn back to his roots. Mother and Grandfather had taken pains to assure him of the value of his father, how his strength and Wayne genetics had made him a giant, a man that Damian should look up to, needed to look up to to become better. And now he met him and it had been…..an effort. An effort to look like this wasn’t some bizarre, unnatural turn of events, to hide his skills, honed through years of sustained effort. Everything he knew and everything he had turned rancid in the dreary Gothic landscape of the Gotham streets. It wasn’t even something he could share with the others, couldn’t miss a step, or risk giving up his family in Nanda Parbat. There was a look that everyone here got when he shared his history, impressing upon them the value and breadth of his education that made him feel like needles are pressing into his spine. Their voices took on a softer edge when they spoke to him. And their voices would stay that way until he became less of a charity case and more of an inconvenience. Earlier pity turned to resentment and then rage at time and emotions wasted on the ungrateful.
But they needed him. When they realised the error of their ways, they would need a guide - father and all of these orphans would be grateful, would sing his praises like the prince he was and then, finally, Mother would let him come home.
Sipping at his blood bags was making him weak. He knew it. That was why Drake kept beating him when they sparred. He could feel his abilities slipping through his fingers like sand. He had fought for those abilities, sometimes literally. Mastering every aspect of his vampiric body to seemingly no avail. Peering at the crowded streets below, he strategised his options. His home of birth would not consider it a waste were he to take only one from the millions in the city. After all, his abilities to protect the city surpassed any harm he would be creating by taking ten or even twenty such sacrifices. His mother country had a selection of sacrifices, proud to protect their borders by giving themselves over to him. Of course, Father would not approve. The Bat considered his first priority to be the citizens of Gotham, even those criminals who would terrorise others but taking a single civilian, one who would not be missed, would give him powers above and beyond those that the Gotham vampires could call upon. His Father’s foolish sentimentality even extended to the point where Damian was expected to scrape and bow at the feet of his father’s human ‘friend’ and their son tonight under the ancient rules of vampiric hospitality. When Damian was rightly instated as the most powerful in the Manor, they would be forced to accept the legitimacy of his suggestions and take back their mantles as the rightful rulers over humans.
It was with this plan in mind that Damian set off, prowling the streets for the perfect victim. It was a more difficult task than one might think, especially in Gotham. Nutritional factors must be considered. And without accompanying bloodwork, he had to rely upon more primitive determinants - height, age, skin - all valuable in assessing the worth of a potential blood source.
There - a flash of bright colour, of youth, vitality - caught Damian’s eye instantly. Across dark landscapes of grey, this shone like the burning stars in the sky on a clear night. A face, too bright and cheerful in contrast for these streets. It was frankly a miracle it hadn’t been robbed yet, strolling in and out of the streets in a Superman hoodie…..in Gotham. Wonder of all wonders it was unharmed. It wasn’t so much the stupidity that drew Damian to his future lunch, as much as the red flush running across it’s face and the easy skip in it’s gait. He swept closer to the target, thanking vampire instincts for his silence. Dark hair that fell into soft curls were all he could see, stalking from behind. But the blood, he could smell it, so delicious, so strong that he honestly wondered how he could ever smell anything again. Pulling the human boy into the nearest dark alley at lightning speed, he used the last reserves of hypnotism he could muster, leaning in the boy’s ear. “Follow me”. It wouldn’t do to have Father, or god forbid one of the broken birds with delusions of grandeur that freely-roamed the Manor to find him. They couldn’t be allowed to have that over him.
“Okay!” Bright beaming smile to match everything else about him, the living blood bag - as willingly as if he’d chosen it himself - followed. It was a disappointment when, a short while later, it felt the need to open it’s mouth again. Perhaps his hypnotism had not come out of this Gotham lifestyle completely unscathed.
“Where are we going?”
“We are going home.”
“This isn’t the way to my home.”
“No, this is the way to my home.” This seemed to do the trick and the glaze-eyed stare of the victim was all there was left of its consciousness. The streets, as they carefully wove their way between them, were unnaturally quiet. A Joker attack earlier that week had cleared them of the few brave tourists still willing to risk Gotham, and regular inhabitants knew better than to be out after dark. Large gates that spun into elegant patterns at the arch loomed ahead, opening at their approach, as he knew they would.
Heady waves of the human’s scent were overpowering. Each shadowy alcove of the mansion leant itself to Damian, whispering about when and where would be the best place to do it, like sweet whispers in his ear. But it didn’t matter too much. He already knew where he was going.
Jon had heard the warnings. What people said about Gotham and those who lived there. It was common knowledge that everyone there was a little bit loopy. However, this didn’t change the facts - Gotham was very cool! Maybe not the coolest, that title went to Metropolis or maybe Smallville. Anywhere with Superman, basically. Ever since dad had started letting Jon go out as Superboy, he had been on Cloud 9, constantly asking about his dad’s friends and acquaintances, and did he know Batman? The Batman? And Nightwing? Could he meet them? And again and again his dad had told him to wait until he was older, until it was safe.
And every time he did, Jon would pout, and when he had done his Superboy work, that of rescuing puppies from trees or lifting tractors from the mud, and his homework was (mostly) done, he would fly to see the first Superboy. Conner had a million stories from Young Justice and he was actually willing to let Jon meet them, so there.
This course of events had continued until one week ago, when Jon had been set down by his parents and reminded, repeatedly, that he was under no obligation to go, and he would have to be very well behaved and stay with Conner the entire time, but he had been invited to meet Bruce’s newest, youngest son Damian. Jon was thrilled to know that Batman had a son his age. Damian was apparently a bit of a weirdo - dad said he was maladjusted before mum shushed him - but he was still Robin. They could be the newest iterations of the oldest superhero dynamic he knew of - Superman and Batman, alien and vampire. No one could take that destiny from him. When Conner talked about Tim, his personal vampire, a light came to life in his eyes and Jon desperately wanted to take it for himself. The belonging that his brother had was something he had always wanted, the surety that came from knowing who he was. Awkwardness and confusion seemed to skip him entirely and Jon craved it more than a starved man would crave a double Batburger with fries. It was a small price to pay for the moodiness his dad mentioned or the bloodlust that Conner hinted at when he thought Jon wouldn’t understand him.
Jon had spent sleepless nights bouncing off the walls until the date of the trip arrived, had followed Conner obediently right up until the point they stopped for lunch and Kon ditched him to flirt with the waitress. At that point, after the 4pm meeting they were due for at Wayne Manor had come and gone, and Jon was still waiting for his brother to finish his mostly-unsuccessful attempt at chatting up this poor girl, just trying to do her job, he decided to go it alone. After all, if he was going to be the newest version of the most powerful superhero duo ever, he had to be capable of walking ten minutes on his own. He could see the manor from the diner and his patience was already on a thin thread as it was. Kon would probably meet him there. The streets were bright with Wayne logos on every lamppost and his superhearing would let him know if anyone was coming anyway.
These powers meant that he knew the second someone started following him. Careful glances into shop windows revealed an all-black outfit, not out-of-place in Gotham and a gorgeous face outlined by harsh LED streetlights. When he darted forward and spoke, it was a relief to cut off that anticipation. “Follow me”. This was a tad direct for a stranger but the rules of politeness had to be observed and he beamed out a smile and agreement, trailing happily along for a moment before remembering where he was. He wasn’t in his Superboy suit, helping random strangers with whatever they needed. If there was an issue, he couldn’t exactly defend himself as a random eighteen year-old from Kansas. Being able to protect this stranger would be nice though, and he entertained a brief vision of himself holding the prickly (he hadn’t stopped glaring since they were introduced) stranger in a bridal hold, getting adoring stares and feeling that brief rush of adrenaline, a burst of happiness, those same strange collection of emotions he got whenever he helped someone. It would be better to check where they were going, probably.
“Where are we going?”
“We are going home.” That was a very vague statement. And besides, this wasn’t the way to Jon’s home, even if the stranger was trying to do a good deed for what must have obviously looked like a lost, naive tourist. Maybe he had mistaken him for someone else?
“This isn’t the way to my home.”
“No, this is the way to my home.” Recognition crashed into him. Damian Wayne. Of course he had come to grab him and Kon when they didn’t arrive on time. Vampires didn’t appreciate breaches of their hospitality, after all. A closer examination of his face revealed He was better-looking than Jon expected. Spending all day and night in a place that never saw light had given him bright tanned skin despite all rumours about vampires. At this realisation, Jon suppressed every instinct he had to ask questions, remembering every story he had heard about the Wayne habit of exclusively speaking in grunts and telepathy. Superman had told him that Bats always had a plan, that vampire paranoia had a way of seeing ways through things that no one else could fathom. Kon even told him that there were always rewards for obedience, with a wink. He was more and more determined to see what those rewards were.
Reaching Wayne Manor confirmed his identity and he was stealthily snuck away. This wasn’t altogether unexpected. They wanted to get along without their parents getting in the way. Becoming partners was something they had to do on their own. Besides, it was just cool to be able to finally meet a vampire. Pushed into a room, Jon made himself at home sitting on the bed. Cross-legged, he waited for Damian to say something, resolving to take this at his pace. From what he could tell, Damian didn’t have many other friends and it was his job to make sure they were comfortable. That they could make some kind of relationship from this. Whatever happened, Jon was going to play it cool. If he could get from Damian what Kon got from Tim, he was willing to overlook more than Midwestern manners would require.
A flash of fangs pulled forth from perfect lips and Damian drew closer. Light rumblings of thunder sounded outside and lightning illuminated the room, flashing in shades of black and white. And then, red. Bursting in rivulets from his neck. The first time he had lost blood. It was nauseating. It was fascinating, exhilarating. Jon knew this meeting would be different, full of firsts but someone being able to pierce his skin, without Kryptonite wasn’t possible, was it? This thought process was put to an end by lips closing over the wound and then pleasure, filling every atom of his body full to bursting. Then he stopped thinking at all.
This was taking a while. Usually, when you went to drain someone, it didn’t take longer than a few minutes. Ten minutes was extreme. The bright burst of colour beneath it’s skin didn’t even seem to dim. If anything, it had gotten brighter. The boy had fallen back almost instantly after Damian had attacked, boneless and barely lucid. Strange mutterings erupted at regular intervals as the thing was being bled not-quite-dry. Unlatching from the sacrifice’s neck, he hovered over the thing on all fours, leaning closer to take a thorough examination of the situation. Now that he thought about it, the boy had tough, ridiculously-tough skin. He had thought to use Timothy’s fang guard cream because it had been months since he had taken a sacrifice and he knew he had gotten soft in other areas. Why Timothy even had a bite guard was a great question, but not one he could think on right now. He scanned the other boy’s face as he lapsed into sleep, having the idle thought that it was pretty for a human. With it’s hair scrunched up and faint beads of sweat forming across its brow to compliment that picturesque blush, it could be worth keeping around for a little longer. If he could keep it from his family, that is.
A knock sounded at the door. “Master Damian. Your Father is calling for you.” It must be about those humans his father wanted him to befriend. He knew that it would be far easier to keep a familiar living in the house rather than expecting his family to not find a body placed in the streets of Gotham. This one looked to be a child too - Todd could not abide violence against the young, thinking their youth made them innocent of the evils of their human nature, the cruelty they were involved in towards animals, towards themselves. The inferiority of them in every way could not be diminished by their age, when the potential they had was always wasted. But this way, this one would have a purpose. He would serve Damian, the future Bat, the Man who was destined to reinvent the world and remake it in a better image. He would be by his side for all of this, kneeling like the treasured pet he would be. Damian might even dress him in chains of gold and jewels as a presentation of his power, of the riches he would bring with his rule. The human pet would smile, his satisfaction and pleasure representing the just nature of his rule.
Long eyelashes fluttered open, sleepy and contented. Damian resolved to hide him as long as he could, taking him gently (so gently) by the arm to account for his human weakness. He would be placed in one of the many spare rooms, and Damian would go to great pains to hide him from the others, until they were either ready to listen, or Damian was ready to usurp them. Until then, he would be safe and cared for to an extent most humans couldn’t even dream of in secret. Feeling the strength rush through his veins and looking at the creature splayed out on his bed, loose-limbed and still languid, Damian knew it would be worth the risk.