Archive of Our Own

“Hey, you! You’re a vampire, aren’t you? Disgusting.”

A figure cloaked in white approached Johann in the dark of the alley, heavy footsteps of armoured boots echoing in the cold night air. He was a Chasseur. He regarded Johann with disdain and scorn, his features scrunching into a disgusted scowl as if the man who stood before him was nothing more than vermin, a hideous insect like a spider that needed to be crushed, burned, stamped out of existence. He kicked him down to the ground, forcing Johann onto his knees. Letting out a frustrated grunt as he did so, feeling a release of cathartic satisfaction through his violence. It satisifed him, sating a kind of need- a thirst for violence and control. There. That’s better. That felt right. A measly vampire should be on the floor, being looked down upon. Such was the sentiment of the church. 

He grabbed Johann by his soft silver hair and forcefully yanked him upwards so that he was looking him in the eyes. After spitting in his face, the chasseur spoke again:

“Tch- You vampires are all the same; disgusting, unholy, unwanted. It sickens me just having to breathe the same air as you bloodsuckers. Bastards.”

At this point, Johann had stayed quite uncharacteristically silent throughout the frankly undeserved beating he was recieving. Knowing better than to reveal his mixed heritage, especially during a time like this. After all, it could mean the difference between life and death if he isn’t careful. Vampires were hated, sure. That was certain. With the church hunting them down as so-called abominations to God, demons and heretics. But for dhams… If vampires were hated, then dhampirs were despised. Detested. Not just in the corrupted eyes of the church. Even vampires hated them. Humans, vampires, chassuers- the one thing that united them it seemed was shared disdain for the poor half-blooded creatures that belonged to neither side, neither human nor vampire. They lived in exile simply for the great sin of being born of the clandestine union of mortal and immortal. 

With the palm of his free hand, the chasseur struck Johann across the face, leaving a large scarlet-red mark imprinted on his porcelain face. His glasses fell to the ground. If it weren’t for the vampiric blood in his veins, the impact from the strike would have almost certainly fractured part of his skull. He would have been coughing up blood and shattered teeth. No human should ever find themselves on the receiving end of a super powered chasseur slap. If they did- then God, have mercy. That was bound to leave a nasty bruise.

“Lucky for you, vampire, my orders are only to capture you. You should be thanking me, you’ll get to live- for now. In any other circumstance, you’d already be dead…

…But I didn’t hear nothing about bringing you back in one piece!”

Johann was slammed into the wall with a heavy and unforgiving brutal force. He had tried to endure it all. Alone. He thought of Dante and Riche. In a way he was grateful that neither of them were around to see him like this. The Johann they knew wouldn’t sit back quietly and take such a beating from one of the chasseurs, or anyone for that matter. That Johann would fight back or at least have some kind of witty comeback. 

But there was nothing. No sort of teasing or a cheeky, snide remark or joke. There was only the tears that threatened to fall and a quiet, seething rage.

Johann was seething with anger. Not at the fact he was getting hurt, not at his pain. He didn’t care that it was his pain, he would rather it be him. It was the injustice. The sickening injustice of living as a dhampir, of knowing that had it been one of his brethren in his place, be it Dante or Riche, they would not be spared this torment. What if it had been Dante in his place? Or worse, what about Riche? The things a man with power would do when left alone with a young girl in her position is enough to make anyone shudder. This is what it meant to be a dhampir, to be hated. He knew being mistaken for a vampire was just a scapegoat. A thinly veiled, pathetic excuse to draw out their holy weapons. Perhaps in the eyes of some, vampires and dhams truly were the same. Vampires are evil. Dhampirs come from evil. It would be easy for a vampire hunter to dispose of one. For one of those trained soldiers, those weapons of the church trained like attack dogs in the killing of vampires; enhanced human physiology and access to the world formula with ability to manipulate it at will- an ability which dhampirs lack. Dhampirs could be killed just as easily as vampires, if not easier. It made him question why the chasseur hadn’t just killed him already.

Suddenly, something on Johann made the chasseur release him from the vice-like grip he had over him. Dropping him on the floor like he was littering and Johann was nothing more than rubbish that he had now somehow found himself disgusted, repulsed by. Like an apathetic child dropping a toy he no longer wanted to play with. 

Johann looked up. He was confused about why he was let go of so suddenly, clearly being slammed into a wall head first was not doing him any favours. In the dark of the alley, two golden lights glowed and betrayed Johann’s identity.

“So… You’re a half-breed, eh? Should have known there was something rotten about you. I thought it was odd that I’ve never known a vampire to be so pathetic before. Didn’t even put up a fight? You halflings must be much weaker than they say you are. You’re all the same. You’re all impure. Every last one of you.”

The Chasseur looked down at the creature before him- Johann, the dhampir, with a strange mix of disgust and irritation on his face. He realised that he had been wasting his time. He was instructed to capture vampires, not dhams. 

He stomped Johann to the ground. He had no patience left for a being like him, wanting nothing more to do with what he deemed to be a worthless, vile and impure creature. His precious time had been wasted in trying to kidnap this dham so now he was taking his anger out on Johann. He stomped him again, and again, and again. Johann couldn’t help but let out a pained yell as he felt and heard the cracking of bones under the chasseur’s boot. The chasseur kicked Johann in the ribs for good measure before leaving him there in that alley. 

“Normally, I would kill you but I’d be dammed if I have to spend so much as a second washing your disgusting, impure, dirty blood out of my uniform. You aren’t even worth killing.”

He watched the fuzzy silhouette of the chasseur leave through tear filled eyes. Listening to each footstep, the sound of boots hitting against concrete a cold metronome like the beating of a heart, sombre and hollow until it faded away. All was silent now, no more torment, no more cracking bones, no more of the sound of boots crashing into flesh or of being hit or grabbed or punched or choked. It was silent now. Everything faded. He was numb, feeling all the pain in the world yet also feeling nothing. He began to cry. He thought about Dante and Riche again. He doesn’t want them to see him like this but, oh, he wants them. He wants them, needs them more than anything. He needs to hold them and be held by them. 

He didn’t notice just how cold it was until now. If only life wasn’t so cruel.

Hours passed, though it seemed like an eternity. He looked up at the night sky in a half-dazed state. It was cold and his body was still aching. His blurry, unfocused vision managed to identify two small bats flying overhead, followed by the sound of frantic footsteps.

It was all hazy but Johann was certain that he heard someone call out his name. Two people. The sounds of their voices blended together. As they drew closer, fear and uncertainty became increasingly palpable in their voices and mannerisms.

“Johann… What have they done to you?”

Riche was the first to say anything. Her voice broken and trembled as she looked over at the injured Johann. She let out a shaky breath and reached out to touch him. She took hold of his hand, the one on the arm that wasn’t broken. She looked like she was about to cry.

Meanwhile, Dante had driven his fist into the wall in an act of frustration. “Dammit! Who did this to you! I’ll make them pay for this!”

“Dante, please calm down! If you get angry like this…you’ll only make things worse!”

“How the hell am I supposed to stay calm when one of our own is beaten within an inch of his life and left for dead?! Calm!”

“I-I know… But-”

“Heh… You’re as serious as ever… Dante…”

“Johann!”

The two dhampirs both called out his name at the same time and rushed over to be by his side. It no longer mattered who did this, vengeance, retribution, punishment, it didn’t matter. All their anger and bitter resentment faded in this moment. It didn’t matter. None of it did. Johann was hurt and that’s what mattered. He needed them to be there for him, not chasing some kind of noble, heroic idea of revenge. They saw the pained, anguished look on his tear-stained, bruised face. He needed them to be here. By his side.

Johann’s voice was weak. It was painfully obvious that he was attempting to ease the others’ worries by speaking in that playful tone. That’s what it was- painful. Like it hurt to say anything.

Johann swallowed the blood in his mouth. 

He awoke some time later to find himself home. In their shoddy little shared apartment. Sure it was a little cramped for three people but that’s all they could ever really afford and despite everything it was their home. Everything they had was within the four damp, peeling walls and tonight the bedsheets felt softer and warmer than they ever had before. Yes, he was home. 

Dante was sat beside him. He was bandaging Johann’s wounds so softly and gently with so much care. He planted a soft kiss on Johann’s arm and whispered to him.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you. They’ll never hurt you again.”

“I-I’m sorry… I-”

“No, don’t say that. You don’t need to apologise, ever. You’re safe now. You’re safe and I love you and I won’t let anyone harm you ever again, I swear it. I swear, if I find whoever did this to you, I’ll kill them.”

At Johann’s half-formed apology, Dante pulled him into to a tight embrace. Although he was careful to not put any pressure on the wounds that were still healing and avoid hurting him. Part of Johann was already healed from being in Dante’s arms. He was safe now. 

“Can we… stay like this, please? Just for a little while.”

“Yeah.”

Dante pressed another kiss on Johann’s temple. Softly. The warmth of his body enveloping him, forming a barrier protecting him from the pain of the outside world. As long as he was here, he was safe. 

Meanwhile, Riche was standing there in the doorframe, holding a tray with a cup of warm tea with honey and some bread- homemade and fresh, with help from Dante of course. She had a solemn and nervous expression on her face as she looked down at the tray and then up at the two. Trying her best not to let her hands tremble so much. 

“Are you just going to keep standing there, Riche? Staring at us?”

“Well, I didn’t want to interrupt you or anything.”

“You aren’t interrupting, Riche. You’re not in the way of anything. You’re our partner too.”Dante said, reassuring the nervous girl. Riche sat down on the bed beside her partners, the tray sat on her lap. She spoke to Johann, who had now sat up.

“I made you some tea. Dante helped make the bread. I hope that you like it, Johann.” 

“And you didn’t make any for me? Cruel witch.”

“Baldy!”

“Oh, please don’t tell me that stupid nickname is catching on. It’s so stupid anyway. I am clearly not bald. That damn quack, he makes me lose my hair. Maybe that’s why he calls me ‘Baldy’.”

Johann was smiling. He watched the two’s shenanigans with an amusing, almost carefree smile. There was something of a familial closeness present in their bickering and bantering. It was something he wanted to protect. The small little world he had in which dhams could live peacefully, a place where they could laugh, they could be free, safe, warm, where they could eat homemade bread and drink tea with honey. 

He would do anything to keep them safe.

Johann held the mug tightly in both hands. The radiating heat from the liquid inside warming his cold hands. He held it like this before drinking it. He thought about the past. The three of them against the world, they had nothing but each other. They were so small back then. Not much has changed since then. For better or for worse. They had made it this far. He took small sips of his tea, savouring the sweetness of the honey.

“You seem weirdly happy, Johann.”

Johann placed his empty mug back on the tray that was now resting on the bedside table.

“I am. Somehow. Even if the world hates us, we will still have each other, won’t we? That’s all we need, just us.”

“Just the three of us then?”Dante questioned, wrapping his arms around Johann gently and lying down next to him. Johann chuckled softly.

“Do we need any more?”He retorted, smiling. He leaned in closer to Dante and Riche nestled inbetween them. The three of them all snuggled together under one warm blanket, just like they did as children. Only this time, it wasn’t out of necessity to avoid freezing to death in the cold Parisian streets but a mutal craving for affection and closeness. Comfort is what it was. To be held in one’s arms, gently cradled, cherished, protected and loved. Love. Unconditional love. To be loved as you are, loved for what you are in a world that seeks to shun you for not belonging, treat you like you don’t exist and deny you the right to exist as who you are. Even in such a world, knowing that there is love, that you can be loved by ones who walk the same path.

This is what is means to be a dhampir.