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The day had started like any other.
Vlad woke up to a gentle rapping of knuckles against the lid of his coffin—Robby rousing him in time to shower and eat before work.
Once he’d been able to drag himself downstairs, he sipped a tall glass of soy blood substitute while Robby drank one of his protein-fiber-vitamin smoothie concoctions, the sight of which always made Vlad stop missing the taste of human food for a bit.
The sleepy smile—and the warm kiss that Robby stole as he leaned across the table—made up for it, though.
They chatted quietly about work, pulling little smiles and snorts from one another with inside jokes or quips about their coworkers. It was nice. Comfortable.
If you had told Vlad a decade ago that he would have this—a cozy townhome with a man he loves and a steady job helping breathers—he would have laughed in your face.
But now? These easy mornings are routine. It’s these quiet moments at home that make the overwhelm of the emergency department of PMTC bearable for the rest of the day.
He and Robby walked the short distance to work with the easy familiarity they’d cultivated over the last few months, and when they parted at work to start the shift, it was with a tender smile and one of those quick winks from Robby that never fail to make Vlad’s undead heart flutter.
It was shaping up to be a normal day—or at least as normal as it could ever be in the Pitt.
Until he hears it.
Vlad almost thinks he’s dreaming it when a startlingly familiar voice carries over the ER bustle, clear as fucking crystal.
“Oh, Vladimir!”
He turns slowly where he stands by the central nurses’ station, his eyes carefully scanning the room until he finds him: his dad.
Count Dracula.
A thousand questions run through Vlad’s mind in the next second.
What the hell is Dad doing here? How did he know I was here in the first place? He does know he’s not allowed to sample any of the patients, doesn’t he?
There’s not much time to truly process anything, though, because The Count is already crossing the tiled floor in long strides, his cloak billowing behind him with all of the grace one would expect from an immortal being of darkness.
It’s like every head is suddenly on a swivel, all eyes on this tall, handsome freak.
Oh god.
“Dad!” Vlad hisses, hurrying to meet his father halfway before he can actually make it to the nurses’ station and be seen by…fuck, anybody, really. “What— how did you get here? What’s going on?”
“Does something have to be ‘going on’ for me to visit my favorite child? Perhaps I finally had the time to update myself on your endeavors,” The Count replies too casually.
He looks around the ER and makes a face as he adds, “However distasteful they may be.”
Vlad drags a hand down his face.
“Dad, I’m working right now, I don’t really have time to catch up with you. How did you even know where to find me?”
“Oh, the American branch of the High Council can’t stop bragging about how the Chosen One has decided to live under their jurisdiction instead,” The Count answers with a deep roll of his eyes. “Truly, I can’t imagine how you put up with these pompous attitudes.”
A real mystery, that one, Vlad thinks, trying and failing to keep the irritation from his expression.
“Okay, look, just—“
“Why on Earth are you talking like that, Vladimir? This American accent is very unbecoming of you.”
“Dad, please! Listen, I need you to go sit down somewhere else and just—just wait until I have time to come talk to you, alright?” Vlad says, exasperated. He drops his voice to add, “And for the love of everything evil, do not bite anyone. This is a hospital, not an all-you-can-drink buffet.”
He doesn’t wait for his father to reply, turning to stop a nurse who doesn’t look like she’s drowning in work for the moment, “Perlah, can you take my dad to the staff lounge, please?”
She looks up, helpful as always, and hovers a hand near The Count’s back as she answers, “Yeah, of course.”
The Count improves the situation immensely by piping up, “How delightful that you’re able to bring your servants to your workplace, Vladdy.”
“His what?” Perlah immediately responds, looking between both of them like she isn’t sure which one to throat-punch first.
“Ignore him,” Vlad says quickly, his hands flapping uselessly in front of him for a moment. “He’s—it’s a language barrier. He’s from Transylvania, you know? He thinks you’re my boss.”
Absolute silence, Vlad snips telepathically to The Count, who looks unamused.
Perlah looks between them again for a moment before shrugging and herding The Count towards the break room as she says, “He’s not wrong. Come on, sir.”
Vlad releases an unnecessary breath as he watches them leave, his tense shoulders lowering just a fraction. He hurries back to order the labs he needs, fully aware that he doesn’t have much time before his dad starts wandering the halls looking for an easy sip.
He does his best to make quick work of his professional duties and get back to the staff lounge. He keeps throwing glances towards the hallway, making sure his dad hasn’t made a break for it yet. He’s hoping he can satisfy whatever curiosity brought The Count here in the first place and send him home before anyone else can see him—or worse, talk to him.
He doesn’t notice it when Santos tosses a pair of bloodied gloves into the bio bin on her way to the break room for a cup of bad coffee.
—
Once he has a spare second, Vlad sets off to find Robby. He’s not entirely sure what his breather boyfriend could do for him in this situation, but as the only person aware of his vampirism in the first place, Vlad figures his presence at least might be enough to steady him.
Then again, maybe that’s just Robby.
“Dr. Robby,” Vlad speaks up when he sees the attending exit one of the patient rooms, still in the middle of putting his stethoscope back in its place around his neck. Robby looks back at him at the sound of his name. “Do you have a sec?”
“For you, Whitaker, I have two.”
Ugh, charming bastard.
They converge at the nurses’ station, and Robby immediately clocks the way Vlad’s posture is tighter than normal—tense. Concern colors the older man’s expression.
“What’s up?” Robby asks.
Vlad opens his mouth to answer, but falters. He tries again. “Actually, we probably shouldn’t talk about this out here.”
Robby nods, looking over Vlad’s head for a moment until he spots what he’s looking for.
“Come on,” he says, putting a big hand on Vlad’s shoulder to steer him that way, “there’s a free room right here.”
—
Trinity stops dead in her tracks when she steps into the staff lounge and finds…whatever this is.
The Count, in his boredom, has taken the liberty of emptying one of the cabinets of its contents—mostly old granola bars and expired Halloween candy—and is picking through them on the counter with the expression one might have if they were digging through a pile of maggots or elephant dung.
He looks up at the sound of the door opening, his brows raising slightly in mild surprise at the breather entering the room.
“Holy shit,” Santos snorts, looking The Count up and down. “Halloween came early.”
The Count scoffs and gives a dramatic roll of his eyes. “Are all of the servants here this…chatty?”
Trinity’s eyebrows nearly disappear into her hairline.
She blinks at The Count, looks over one shoulder, then the other, then back to him.
“I know you’re not talking about me,” she says with a disbelieving scoff. “Servant? Try doctor, jackass, and that’s Dr. Santos to you.”
The Count recoils.
“You are a healer?” he hisses, horrified. “The standards here are truly abysmal.”
Trinity crosses her arms over her chest, tilting her head slightly as she looks him over again. “Yeah, I can drive a car, too. Times are really changing.”
The Count realizes with cold dread that this feels exactly like a conversation with Ingrid—yet another horrible girl daring to question his authority.
Except it’s worse coming from a breather.
She snickers at his disgusted expression and steps forward, snatching the granola bar still gripped in his hand and tearing it open.
“Thanks for the snack,” she sneers at him as she unwraps it, taking a big bite before turning for the door.
The Count snarls at her back, and for a moment he considers sinking his fangs into the flesh of her neck and drinking his fill…
But then Vlad would surely be upset with him. He shouldn’t sour their reunion.
With a huff, The Count sits at one of the small tables, frustrated by his own apparent lack of cruelty.
—
Vlad sighs heavily as he steps into the empty patient room behind Robby, the tightness in his chest unraveling just a little when the door closes behind them.
On a different day, they might have stepped in here to kiss each other breathless away from prying eyes. The slightly expectant look on Robby’s face when he turns around lets Vlad know that those moments are fresh in the older man’s mind, too.
But when Robby moves to hold his waist, Vlad blurts out, “My dad is here.”
Robby blinks in surprise. His hands hover for a moment before he closes the distance, his hands on Vlad’s hips to comfort instead of pull him closer.
“You mean, as in…your biological father, or?” Robby asks.
“Yeah. I mean, that’s the only one I’ve got,” Vlad replies with a tired exhale.
“So there are…two vampires in my ER right now?”
Vlad’s expression shifts to something slightly wounded and Robby rushes to clarify, “I know you wouldn’t let anything bad happen. I just need to stay on top of it too, okay?”
Vlad looks away and nods, and Robby risks leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek.
“Tell me about your dad,” Robby coaxes.
Vlad groans.
“He’s…Transylvanian,” he mutters. How else could he possibly describe this man? “And kind of old-school, I guess.”
Robby chuckles, his eyes crinkling when he says, “What, you think he won’t like me?”
Vlad’s head snaps up, his eyes wide. “No.”
Now it’s Robby’s turn to look wounded.
“He would never approve of me being with a bre—er, a human,” the younger man explains. “It’s nothing to do with you, I promise. If he were anything close to normal, he’d love you.”
That makes Robby’s expression relax again, his eyes softening. “Is he really that bad?”
“Unfortunately,” Vlad sighs.
“I just mean, you make it sound like he’s a real monster,” the older man chuckles. “Like Dracula or something.”
Vlad stares back at him.
Robby’s eyebrows raise. “Like… the fictional character, Count Dracula?”
“Not so fictional,” Vlad admits in a mumble.
Robby stares at him for a long second.
“Okay,” he breathes out finally. “Great. Very…good. Where is he right now?”
“The break room.”
“Okay, let’s try to—“
It’s then that Vlad looks over Robby’s shoulder and sees Trinity leaving the staff lounge.
Fuck.
“Santos saw him,” he says as he hurries to catch up to her.
As he leaves the patient room he hears Robby say behind him, as if to echo his mind, “Fuck.”
—
Vlad intercepts Dr. Santos as she crosses by the nurses’ station.
“Santos,” he calls after her, making her turn around.
“Hey, Huckleberry,” she greets him, casual as ever. “Where’s the fire?”
“I—you were in the break room just now, right?”
Now she grins. “Yeah, you see the knockoff Ozzy Osbourne in there?”
Vlad hates how accurate that is. Unfortunately, that means she has absolutely seen his father.
“That’s, uh, my dad.”
Now why the hell did he say that?
“Your dad?” Santos repeats. She glances over his shoulder, back towards the break room. “He’s a real freak, Huckleberry. What, apple doesn’t fall far from the tree?”
“He’s Transylvanian,” Vlad says for what feels like the tenth time that day.
Now Trinity looks confused. “I thought you were from Nebraska.”
Goddammit.
“I am,” Vlad corrects quickly. “My dad, he moved there before I was born. From—yeah. Transylvania.”
She stares at him.
“That sounds like bullshit,” she says flatly.
Why does she have to actually pay attention?
Vlad closes his eyes, partly in frustration, and partly so that when he opens them again, they’ve gone a strange, vivid gold color.
“Trinity,” he says, making direct eye contact, “it’s not bullshit. There is absolutely nothing interesting about my father. He’s just a weird guy who moved from Transylvania to Nebraska, and there’s nothing strange about that.”
Santos’s eyes glaze over as he speaks, and he knows every word is burrowing into her brain and becoming truth—or at least the illusion of it. He knows he’ll feel bad about it later, but what choice does he have?
Vlad blinks again, and his eyes shift back. Trinity blinks out of the hypnosis.
“Well, whatever his deal is, you should probably try to get him out of here before the next wave of bodies hits.”
As she continues down the hallway, she calls over her shoulder, “Have fun with your boring dad, Whitaker.”
—
Vlad gets to the break room as quickly as he can without becoming a blur.
The Count is flipping through a magazine now, some old tabloid, and he’s drawing little devil horns and mustaches on a pair of fashion models when Vlad walks in.
“Vladdy!” he greets him, half relieved and half exasperated as he stands from his seat, “Were you planning to keep me waiting all afternoon?”
“I was busy, dad,” Vlad replies, dropping the American accent this time so his father won’t mention it. “It’s an emergency department. In Pittsburgh. We’re kind of always busy.”
“Well, it’s important to make time for the things that actually matter.”
“This does actually matter.”
“That’s sweet, Vladimir, but you truly must outgrow this fascination with breathers.”
“It’s not a fascination, Dad, it’s—,” Vlad cuts himself off, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration and squeezing his eyes shut. “Why did you come here now? What could possibly be so important?”
His father bristles at being treated like a nuisance.
“Is it a crime that I’ve missed my son? Is that so horrible?” The Count snaps back. “Did you consider that I might feel better if I saw for myself that you were undead and well?”
It’s too honest and it shuts them both up.
Even though Vlad is a grown man now, The Count can’t shake that paternal instinct to make sure that his boy is alright. It’s a startlingly sweet sentiment that reminds Vlad for the first time in a while that his father has changed. Maybe he still is.
The Count gives an irritated growl as he looks away, while Vlad’s expression softens into slight embarrassment. Silence hangs heavy between them for a few seconds.
It’s Vlad who breaks the silence.
“I’m sorry, Dad. I missed you too. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
It’s true. As much as Vlad had tried to assimilate to this human life, he’s missed his father and sister. Even Renfield, when he’s feeling particularly sentimental.
The Count looks at Vlad again, perhaps a bit surprised but mostly relieved not to be ridiculed. Ingrid would have called him soft and laughed him back into the grave.
“Of course you missed me,” The Count says in an attempt to seem unaffected. “Who knows you better than your dear old Dad?”
The corner of Vlad’s mouth lifts slightly, a spot of warmth building in his chest at his father’s familiar voice and cadence. He really did miss this: his dad fretting over him, pushing him to be the most powerful vampire he can be, and yet still performing the delicate tightrope walk of trying not to push him away.
“I heard you were here, and I had to see it for myself…it is a little outlandish, isn’t it?” The Count continues, looking around the break room like he’s worried the very air might dirty him. “I mean, healing breathers—quite a thing to choose over your fate as the Chosen One.”
“Dad, I haven’t abandoned my path as the Chosen One,” Vlad tells him. “Being a doctor has taught me more about humans than I ever knew before, and I think doing this, having a foot in both worlds…it’s what will make it possible for me to be the Chosen One. To be the one to bring peace between vampires and humans.”
The Count opens his mouth as if to argue, then stops. Closes his mouth again. When he does speak, he gives a soft sigh before he asks, “That is the world you want, Vladimir? To live side by side with humans?”
Vlad nods. “More than anything.”
The Count exhales slowly through his nose, just looking at his son for a moment before stepping closer.
“Well, I suppose if there were anyone who could do something so impossible,” he says, reaching to put a hand on Vlad’s shoulder, “it would be my son and heir.”
That makes Vlad smile in earnest this time, and before he can stop himself, he leans forward and hugs his dad, his arms wrapping around The Count’s shoulders.
The Count startles for just a moment before he returns the embrace, hugging Vlad and giving him a comforting rub between his shoulder blades that makes him feel like a child again.
“Thanks, Dad,” Vlad murmurs, muffled against his father’s coat, and The Count replies with a hum of acknowledgment.
“Am I interrupting?”
The sound of Robby’s voice makes both of them jump. They hadn’t even heard the door open, which was a surprise.
When they both look back at the door, Robby is halfway in, wearing that calm half-smile he usually gives to patients who are freaked out by an ultimately benign situation.
Fuck. Fuck. This was not part of the plan. Dad can’t find out I’m dating a breather, he’ll try to drag me back, or he might decide Robby is a liability—
Robby is talking again, stepping into the room before Vlad’s brain can catch all the way up.
“So, you’re Vlad’s dad?” the older man continues as he walks over to them, casual as ever. “Good to meet you, I’m Michael Robinavitch, but everyone calls me Robby.”
No Doctor this time. Just a guy meeting his boyfriend’s dad.
Robby extends a hand to The Count to shake, and if Vlad had a beating heart, it would have stopped in its tracks.
The Count glances at the proffered hand, then at Vlad, arching an eyebrow and clearly expecting some kind of explanation.
“Dad, this is…”
Shit. He’s already introduced himself. And Vlad can’t possibly come up with some lame lie without seeing that look of hurt and disappointment on Robby’s face again.
“…my boyfriend,” Vlad finally finishes. “Robby. Er—he said that. But we’ve been together for almost a year now, and—yeah. He’s my boyfriend.”
Robby doesn’t lower his hand, but he does look at Vlad with warmth and unmistakable pride.
The Count stays silent.
He looks at Robby, directly at his face this time, then Vlad again.
At last, he says, “A breather, and…a man.”
Vlad nods.
The Count stares at Robby again before he finally continues, “Unexpected. Do you treat my son well?”
“When he lets me,” Robby replies wryly.
“Ha,” The Count barks, amused. “Yes, Vladimir can be very stubborn. He gets it from his mother.”
Excuse me?
The Count finally reaches forward and shakes Robby’s hand once, firm.
“Glad you could meet each other,” Vlad manages to get out, though he sounds a little dazed.
After he lets go of Robby’s hand, The Count claps Vlad’s shoulder again. “I believe I’ve found the answers I was looking for.”
Surprisingly, it seems true—like the worry The Count has been wrestling with has finally ebbed away just enough to let him relax again.
“Though it wouldn’t turn you to dust to write me every now and then,” The Count adds before he pivots towards the door.
“Loud and clear,” Vlad responds with a breath of laughter.
“Don’t forget about me, Vladimir.”
Vlad’s throat tightens with an unexpected swell of emotion. “I won’t. Bye, Dad.”
The Count gives the ghost of a smile, a nod, and then he’s gone. Someone down the hall screeches, “Is that a fucking bat?!” but there’s no racket after that.
Vlad finally looks up at Robby and it’s like all of the tension falls out of his body at once. Robby wordlessly pulls the smaller man against his chest, holding him tight and kissing his hair.
“See? He just missed you,” Robby tells him softly. “Not the end of the world.”
Vlad closes his eyes and nuzzles his face against Robby’s strong chest.
“Right,” he murmurs. “I just really hope he calls first next time.”