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Vladimir Dracula isn't who he is anymore. Vladimir is supposed to be behind him, long forgotten and forever lost. He's no longer the Chosen One, the son of Dracula, the heir of Dracula. There are no more expectations, no new or old problem they can force him to fix. He's just Dennis now. Dennis Whitaker, newly graduated med student working at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center who's Nebraska born with totally human parents and 3 brothers.
When the second peace treaty fell through and he was summoned back from his travels, he'd thought he would never be free of the Chosen One title. It seemed like neither the Slayers nor the Vampires were willing to let go of their traditions to create a new era of peace, so he let it go. He lost all hope and fell into a more traditional Vampire role, like his father had always wanted. It made Ingrid endlessly angry—though she'd already gone off with her human hacker boyfriend by that point. But then a Vampiric sickness swept through the world and took out Vampires of all types without prejudice. There was no cure it seemed and no blood of any purity was left unaffected, despite the effort of the purebloods to keep it away from them.
When the first council member died of the mysterious sickness, a meeting of the high council was called. Vampires were being taken out by both Slayers and the sickness and their numbers were diminishing at a pace too rapid for comfort. There had been no hope and no other Vampire had any clue as to where to start patching problems. The council fought for weeks before the sickness took one of them out and they looked outside of their circle for solutions. Most notably, the Vampires turned to Vlad for help. He'd been able to fix their problems before so why not now? Having grown bored of his rebellious phase, Vlad readily agreed to helping find a solution. Being evil and apathetic just wasn't for him.
In the end, he'd come to decide that another peace treaty couldn't hurt, and this time he worked closely with both the council and the slayers guild to come to the best agreements they could. While the treaty was in the works, he'd also talked to Renfield about trying to create a cure for the sickness, who was more than willing if he could seek the help of a few other well-recognized Vampire alchemists. Both we're successful, but not quick enough to keep the Vampire population stable. There was a cultural shift and it gave Vlad the out he so desperately wanted.
He'd moved out to America, studied the culture, and created a new identity for himself. The first couple of years were spent doing the few odd jobs that offered nights and practically living in libraries during the mornings. He worked hard to educate himself over all the things he'd missed through the years, and eventually applied for a small local community college where he was residing in Nebraska. It didn't take him long at all to decide that med school was the only right fit for him.
Having worked hard to fit-in, to leave Vladimir Dracula behind and become Dennis Whitaker, it's easy to forget there used to be a life before the lies. Which is why it comes at such a surprise when Robin Branagh is rushed into the emergency department unconscious and covered in blood. It's bad enough that Dr. Robby immediately takes over primary care, even worse that Dennis can only just barely stand being in the same room as Robin's body. Car crash, someone dead on site, drunk driver, unknown patient in critical condition—though not so unknown to Dennis.
Robin is a past so far gone that Dennis hardly ever thinks of him anymore, but once he'd been Dennis' first friend. No one has ever come as close as Robin was to being his best friend—though Trinity is starting to close that gap—and it comes as a physical blow to think that Robin might not make it. He feels transported back to Stokely, back to when his only concern was being allowed to go to school. He feels like a child again—something he hasn't felt since he put that damned crown on—, the overbearing fear of losing his best friend to a death as simple as a car crash and not blood-sucking vampires has all the air rushing out of his lungs. He'd tried so hard to keep Robin alive.
"Whitaker," someone snaps at him and his mind jumps back into his body. They've already started working on stabilizing Robin's leg, already have him hooked up to too many monitors for Dennis' comfort. "We need all the hands we can get," he notices Robby's voice now. But there's nothing he can do, nothing to stop the gaping hole in his chest from expanding, from consuming.
"I'm sorry," he breathes out. "I'm so sorry. I can't. I," he stutters, "I can't. It's," he raises his hands in some sort of defeat, maybe pleading, while backing out of the room. He's shaking. "Conflict of interest. I'm sorry," he whispers finally, fleeing from the room. He's scared, trembling to the very marrow of his bones, terrified that he won't be able to save Robin this time around. A mind wipe can't fix the broken bones, the ruptured organs, the swelling brain. He vaguely remembers overhearing that there was a body dead on site and he can only hope to every god that it isn't another Branagh.
But the thing about working the emergency department is that logic often tends to override fear, especially in more dire circumstances. They'd never be able to get anything done if they held onto the fear of a death instead of thinking about how to prevent it. So, while unable to help keep Robin alive, he does have information that could help, that will help. He knows it's not enough, could never be enough, but at the very least Robin's family might be able to be with him before he dies.
"Dana," he calls as loudly as his shaky voice can while heading towards where she's charting at the nurses' station.
"Hey Sweetheart, what's up?" She looks up from what she's typing into the computer. "You okay?" She turns to face him directly now, getting a good look at him. "You look paler than usual," she states, and he supposes it might look like that, though there is no physical way it could be possible. The worried eyes and stressed face must be enough for her to assume the deep-rooted fear usually associated with a pale face. He's not known to be reactive, especially in situations that have no room for emotions. He's good at handling critical cases, cases with children, grieving families. Dennis Whitaker is good at staying together under pressure. So, looking at him all shaky and desperate must be a sight.
"Trauma 2," he states, doesn't know what to say, how to find the words. "Contact info?" How does one go about explaining the complex past he has with their critical patient, how does he explain why he knows Robin's name, his family, his history, when he knows Robin won't have a clue who he is when he wakes up?
"Nothin' yet. We're working on it, but the car was such a wreck and he doesn't seem to have had any identification on him." She looks at him again, with meaning, tilts her head. "You know him," she asks. He nods and she gives him a sad look. He doesn't want pity, doesn't want sympathy, doesn't want them to know he knows Robin, but it can't be helped.
"Robin Branagh," he tells her, spells the last name for good measure. "Born Stokely, Wales. Father is Graham Branagh, mother is Elizabeth Branagh, younger sister Chloe, two older brothers Ian and Paul, twins." There's still so much he knows about Robin, so much he's been unwilling to let go as the years pass, as Robin's forgotten him longer than they were ever friends.
"Why don't you go sit down, Kid," Dana suggests, finishing writing down all the information he was willing to give. "Eat something, drink something, take a couple breaths. Come back with a clearer head," she smiles at him kindly.
"Okay," he tells her, not willing to fight when his head is already so clouded. "Thank you, Dana." She smiles at him as he walks away, towards the break room.
So wrapped up in his own head he doesn't see the body coming towards him, but he sure does feel the collision. "Shit," he hears the distinct whisper of Trinity's voice. With anyone else she probably would have yelled, given them a biting remark, a scathing review of their inability to pay attention in a busy hospital, but she notices it's him before she gets anything out. She's always been a bit softer towards him, kinder to him than she is to everyone else. He thinks that maybe she sees a reflection of herself in him in a way, which is ironic since he doesn't even have a reflection anymore.
"Sorry," he offers weakly from where he's fallen to the ground, head in his hands.
"Den, buddy, you okay? Need a hand?" And he knows he needs to get up off the ground, but if she sees his face she'll know something's wrong and if she knows something's wrong then she'll ask and push until he breaks and he really can't break, not here, not now. He's already trying so hard to regain his composure, to stabilize himself enough to be able to return to work, and it's barely working.
"Gimme a second," he mumbles from behind his hands. He takes a deep breath even though he knows it doesn't calm his body like it does humans, the smell of hospital is a good enough reboot to his brain, telling him he can't afford to waste time agonizing over this. If he breaks, then it opens the whole can of worms that is his fake life, and if that gets out he'll be chased from the country with pitchforks and torches. Again.
He sits up, slowly removes his hands from his face, and then takes the hand Trinity offers to him. "Thanks," he tells her after she hauls him to his feet. He dusts off his scrubs just to do something with his hands and tries very hard not to look at Trinity, or any of the other eyes watching them if he's being honest.
"Dude seriously," she puts a hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?"
"Fine," he offers, shakes off her hand, and then scurries away and towards the break room. He really hopes she won't follow because that was suspicious as hell, and she doesn't, at first. The thing is, he knows word will get around about his breakdown, about his knowledge of the most recent trauma patient, he knows. He just had hope that Dana or Robby or literally anyone else who had witnessed would've kept their mouth shut until closer to shift end so they could have this conversation at home.
"Okay," Trinity comes into the break room and closes the door behind her. "Obviously you aren't okay, what with the space headed-ness and general lack of awareness, but Dana says you know the Trauma 2 patient?" She sits down at across from him at the table he's apparently unconsciously decided to sit at. "Den," she starts slowly. "If he doesn't make it…"
"He's going to make it," he interrupts. He has to believe Robin will make it. He doesn't know what he'll do, who he'll become if Robin doesn't make it, if he can't save Robin. Again.
Losing Robin the first time around had been hard enough, but at least he'd known that Robin and his family were safe and happy, if not left with a few fuzzy memories. They'd been left to live a normal life. And now Robin is in the same room as Dennis for the first time in years, and he's severely injured, close enough to death that Trinity is worrying. He would never be able to live with himself if Robin died, he wasn't even able to let Erin die like she wanted and she'd asked him to kill her.
"He's going to make it," he tells himself again for good measure. Like saying it out loud will make it real, tangible.
"They're all trying as hard as they can," Trinity reaffirms him. "You know they are, but Den, if he doesn't make it, Robby's gonna pull you off shift and Dana says you're going to have to talk to Caleb."
"I know protocol, Trin," he sighs.
"I'm not done." She leans forward on the table. "Dana hasn't been able to get in contact with the family." She takes a deep breath before continuing. "The hospital legally has to do everything they can to save his life, but once he's stable we go into the grey area of life-saving decisions. Point is," she purses her lips, eyebrows wrinkled, then lets out a breath. "Point is, Dana's talking about having you make decisions for him if the family never picks up."
Has he been staked? Because it feels like he has. He can't make these decisions, he doesn't even know Robin anymore. "Trin," he starts, putting his head in his hands, "I can't. I barely know him anymore." He chokes down a sob. "I don't know what kind of treatment he'd be okay with. I don't even know his allergies."
"We're hopeful the family will get back to us sometime," she tells him. "You said he's British right?"
"Welsh."
"Right. Close enough." He rolls his eyes where she can't see. "But they're like 4 or 5 hours ahead, so there's a chance they've just gone to bed for the night and will get back to us in the morning." She leans back into her chair. "It's all hypotheticals right now, Den. I just wanted you to know everything so Robby doesn't spring it on you."
"Thank you," he tries for grateful, but ultimately comes across as tired. "I mean it, Trin. You're a good friend. I'd let you make decisions for me if I was unconscious and dying," he jokes.
"Yeah me too." She smiles then asks, "you ready to get back out there? Dana wants to ask a couple more questions if you can handle it." He nods and they both stand.
He's never going to be ready to handle this, or anything remotely close to this, but it's either he does it now or he sits and wallows. Wallowing's going to get him nowhere, it's sure as hell not going to keep Robin alive.
As they walk up to Dana, he catches the tail-end of whatever conversation she'd been having with the cop who stuck around to monitor Robin's condition. "…if he pulls through, we're going to have to question him." The officer sighs, looking exhausted, desolate. "We still haven't identified the body, but she definitely came from his vehicle."
"Any description," Dana asks quietly. "We've got the boy's identity. Chance it might've been family." And Dennis really does not want to hear this, but they're already almost to Dana now and no matter how fast he ran, he'd still hear what the officer says.
He'd never be able to miss the distinct, "blonde. Young too. Younger than him." He'll never be able to remember what was said after that because he breaks.
Young. Blonde. Likely family. It's on loop in his head like a bad record. He thinks maybe he makes a sound because heads turn to look at him, but he can't hear anything but the words reverberating around his brain. Chloe could've been with him. Maybe it was a trip to celebrate a graduation, a marriage or an engagement, maybe they were just on a fun trip as sibling bonding. Dennis wouldn't know because he doesn't know them, and they don't know him either. They don't know Dennis and neither does anyone else because Dennis isn't real.
Young. Family. Blonde. Everything he knows Chloe to be. Everything he remembers of Chloe, the only things he still remembers of Chloe. She'd had hair so bright it was like she glowed in the sun. She'd been younger than Robin, but no less a friend to him. She'd been loyal and fierce and everything he loves about Trinity. And now she's gone, and Robin might be too if they can't fix all the damage.
With Robin it would be like losing apart of himself, like losing the part of himself that keeps him human. Vlad had been as human as he could possibly get before meeting Robin, but as the years passed, Robin kept him human. But if Robin was his soul, then Chloe was his brain. She kept him safe and sane, kept him from making bad decisions. She was so smart, so quick, so moral. She'd saved their lives more times than he can count.
"Den you gotta breathe," he hears a vague voice slither through the fog. And, no, he doesn't. He hasn't needed to breathe for a decade, but the voice sounds desperate, frantic, so he plays human and takes a deep breath. "There you go," he hears the voice more clearly now.
He doesn't want to be here. Doesn't want to know what he knows. Doesn't want to live with the guilt of never being able to save the Branaghs no matter how hard he tried. He wants to run away, far, farther than he's ever been before. He wants to hide away in a cave for a century and emerge to a world where none of this exists, where reality's been shaped into something less heartbreaking, soul-shattering. He wants to have been able to save Chloe like he had Erin, even if it meant she would've hated him the rest of her immortal life.
"I need to see him," he wheezes out. He uncurls from where he's apparently fallen to the ground, looks up to Trinity and pleads. "Please, Trin. I need to see him."
"Who," she asks confused. "Dennis, what's happening?"
"Robin," he croaks. "I need to see Robin. I need to save him."
"The kid in Trauma 2?" She looks up to where he assumes Dana is for confirmation. "Robby's still working on him, Den. There's nothing you can do."
He shakes his head hard. They'd probably be able to hear the rattle of his brain if it shrunk to the size of a peanut. "No. No." he looks back at Trinity with pure desperation written across his face. "You don't get it. I can save him. I have to." He has to. He couldn't save Chloe, so he has to save Robin. There is no Vlad without Chloe, but there's no Dennis without Robin. He's already lost Vlad, he cannot lose Dennis. Dennis is Adam and Adam is all he is, all he can be anymore.
"There's nothing you can do," she repeats. "You can't save him-" and he's sure she had more to say, something less hopeless and aggressive, but he snaps and responds before she can finish.
"Yes I can," he growls at her, can feel his fangs drop, his eyes shift. He can feel the return of the side of him he's pushed down for so long. He can hear the gasp Trinity lets out, can see the fear in her face as she realizes who, or what, he is.
He hides his face in his hands, mortified of what he's done. "Shit," he whispers, curling into himself more than he already is. "Shit," he says louder. He's breathing heavily, taking in every minuscule change in her scent. The fear and confusion. Next comes the revulsion, the distaste. And then the fear resurfaces, the adrenal system finally reacting to the threat in front of it.
"Dennis," she says his name sharply. There will be a day he stops underestimating Trinity, of her ability to handle the weird, the unknown, but today has not been that day. "You are going to get up, walk outside with me, and explain," she seethes.
Knowing Trinity, knowing her ability to get what she wants and her unending stubbornness, he does everything he can to stand. Hands away from his face first, letting his eyes focus before trying to wake up his legs. In reality, it takes nothing for him to move, he could have been sat for hours and still been able to get up and run a marathon in milliseconds. It's more the emotional strength he takes time for. The time to calibrate, to think of how he's going to explain himself out of this. The planning where to go next when she pushes him away, forces him out of the hospital because he's a risk to the patients and the staff.
Up on his feet, he follows behind Trinity again as she plows a path through the business of the ED. They aren't far from the ambulance bay, the nurses' station being positioned as close as it can get. Ahmad gives them a look while they pass, something in his eyes shining, searching for something he can get people to bet on—or maybe there's something they've already bet on. They take a right away from the immediate vicinity of the ambulance bay and stop close enough that Trinity could still yell for help, but not so close that Ahmad could listen in if he really does have a bet going.
"Talk," she demands, crossing her arms and shifting her weight to her left leg.
"It's," he starts, but comes up short. "I don't know."
"You do," her voice hardens. "You know exactly what that was, and you're going to tell me."
"Well what did it look like, Trinity," he almost shouts, throwing his hands in the air. "It was pretty fucking obvious." And something about the slight surprise on her face and scent tells him his accent might've slipped. It does tend to often when he's angry, which is part of the reason why he tries to keep a cool head—the other reason being why he's out here having this conversation with Trinity.
"Figured I'd give you the chance to tell me yourself," she snarks because she knows he's right. She knows what he is, just like he said, but she's giving him a chance to be honest with her, and that's more than he expected.
"My name's Vladimir Dracula," he tells her as a start. It's not the most straightforward of answers, but it's enough that she can read between the lines. He still doesn't do well with actually admitting to what he is out loud.
Trinity lets out a quiet, "oh," a shocked look on her face. She doesn't say anything else, just letting them stew in the silence of his confession.
"That's what got you," he asks incredulously. "Threatened with fangs and you're all fights, but I admit I'm a Dracula and you're quiet." He lets out a puff of air. "You are the weirdest human I've ever met."
"Apologies for processing." She shakes her head slightly, like she's confounded. "Jesus." Her eyebrows pinch together tightly. "How old are you, man? Have I just been housing like the oldest person ever? And what happened to your supposed wealth that you were living out of the hospital? Don't you have a castle or something?"
"Oh my God," he groans, raising his face to the night sky. "Trin, I'm a Dracula, not the Dracula. I'm only 26."
"I have so many questions," she says looking at her watch, "but we've been out here for long enough, so I'll take the cliff notes for now." He looks at her stunned, impressed with how well she's taking everything, but, then again, maybe he shouldn't be so confused. Her and Robin are more alike than he'd ever admit, and Robin took everything Vlad had to give with a smile on his face. "Any time now."
He shakes himself out of his stupor. "26 with 10 years of immortality, burned by the sun, had a castle, left it behind to be Dennis Whitaker, Father holds most of the wealth and my sister is yet to kill him so I am broke." He raises an eyebrow at her. "Sufficient for now?"
"Mostly," she confirms nodding. "You're going to save Robin?"
The question brings him back to reality. A fist come crashing down from the sky just to punch him in the gut and lay him flat on his back. "I have to," he tells her, the desperation creeping back in. He's always been selfish about the people he wants to save, and he's not going to stop being selfish now. He needs Robin, he won't let go again, he can't.
"You wanna check if he's actually gonna pull through first?"
"Trin…"
"I know the chances are low, but you made it sound like he's a fighter. Maybe he pulls through after all."
She's right. Robin's always fought for what he's wanted, and he sure as hell wants to live. "You'll stay with me?" he asks because he's not sure he can do this alone.
"Yeah, Huckleberry. I'll stay with you as long as you need." And then because she's not so good with stewing in emotions, she turns around and leads him back through the ED and towards Trauma 2.
Dana catches them before they can get too far, phone to her ear. "I got the family on the phone," she tells him, holding the end of the phone away from her mouth so it doesn't quite pick-up on the other side. "Mother's going to come down with her daughter as soon as they can get a flight." She gives him a thumbs up and a wink before turning her attention back to the phone where Elizabeth is probably panic-asking any question she can.
Then it registers. 'Mother's going to come down with her daughter'. Chloe. It wasn't Chloe in the car, Chloe isn't dead. He gasps and leans forward, trying to catch a breath that never will. "Oh thank God," he whispers into the air.
"You okay there, Den?" he hears Trinity ask.
"You keep asking that," he tells her, still bent over from relief.
"Yeah well I keep not knowing the answer."
He stands back up to answer. "I won't be okay until Robin's awake and healthy, but I'm better." She raises her eyebrow at him. "I'd thought that the victim might've been Robin's sister, Chloe. She fit the description. That was the whole…," he points to where he'd been collapsed just away from the nurses' station.
"Right." She nods wearily. "Well…positives I guess," she offers and then angles her head towards Trauma 2 for him to follow.
"Thank you, Dana," he projects as Trinity leads him forward, despite the fact Dana might not even hear him. She's just offered him the brightest light in his tunnel of despair and he will not let that go unthanked.
"Dr. Robby," Trinity calls into the room from the door, unwilling to intrude while they work around Robin. "How's he doing?"
"Better," Robby states, walking towards them and taking his gloves off so he can cross his arms. "Stable," he adds when he spots Dennis, looking at him in his eyes and nodding, like that makes any of this better, more reassuring.
It's not reassuring, it doesn't make him feel better or hopeful. Everyone in that room knows he can go from stable to critical in seconds. That he can go from breathing to dead without warning. Robin's not up in surgery yet which means either they can't find the problem or there are too many current problems for him to go anywhere. There are no positives when his first real friend is dying in a hospital miles away from family.
"Ummmm," Robby stalls, herding both him and Trinity out of the doorway. "So," he looks around before continuing, "as Robin's friend."
"Dana got in contact with his family," Dennis interrupts before Robby can finish. "They'll be here before noon tomorrow if they can get a flight."
"Oh good," Robby sighs. "You and Santos are off for the rest of shift then. Go home, eat dinner, sleep," he emphasizes on 'sleep'.
"But," Dennis tries to argue, but Robby's the one to interrupt this time.
"No buts." He shakes his head. "I've already called Ellis in early to cover both of your patients. It hasn't been a hard day. We are more than covered to let the two of you go for the last hour. Go," he shoos them away with his hand and then turns around to go back into Trauma 2 so they—or well Dennis—can't argue.
"C'mon Huckleberry," Trinity throws an arm over his shoulders and drags him off towards the lockers. "I have so many questions.
---
When they're both showered and settled on the couch with their takeout, Trinity starts her questioning. He'd hoped that she'd lay off for at least the night, or maybe even until after they'd finished dinner, but apparently her patience only lasts so long.
"Alright, so," she hesitates for a second, turning bodily to face him, "a Dracula, but not the Dracula? Explain that."
"Not much to explain," he tells her. "My dad's a Dracula, so I'm a Dracula. It's just the family line. Like how you're a Santos." He's not quite sure how far back the line goes to the Dracula, but he's definitely not alive.
"Dude I didn't even know vampires could have kids, let alone that there were family lines." She takes a bite of her rice, managing to drop some on the couch in the process. "Twilight has left me woefully unprepared."
"Oh Jesus," he mutters to himself. "If Twilight," he says the name with disdain, "is where you're getting your vampire lore from then maybe I should start from the beginning."
"That, yes." She points her fork at him. "Start from the beginning."
"Put that fork back in your food before you stain our couch more," he hisses. "That cushion already had to be flipped over, we can't do that again."
"Beginning, Huckleberry," she raises her voice, food in her mouth making it come out a bit muffled. "And it's my couch," she emphasizes. "I'll ruin all the cushions I want." Though she does keep her fork close to her the rest of the night.
He thinks for a second, deciding where he wants to start. It's not a long story, but it's…complicated to say the least, and it's all tangled up in his lies. Guess he just has to pick a knot and start untangling.
"Yeah alright," he sighs and leans back against the couch. He puts his food in his lap, unlikely to get eaten before it goes cold. "Most of my background if fake. I've never even been to Broken Bow, Nebraska."
Trinity snorts. "Yeah I assumed as much, Vladimir."
"Right. So, yeah, no Broken Bow, my parents don't own a farm, none of the sad religious shit I know you guys have been gossiping about." He takes a deep breath, unburies everything he's tried to keep hidden. "I grew up in Transylvania." Trinity snorts and he shoots her a glare. "We got chased out when I was 12 by humans who'd found out about our vampiric nature and moved to a small town called Stokely in Wales. That's where I met Robin. He found out almost immediately that we were vampires. He'd been obsessed with vampires, convinced he himself was one." He smiles at the memories. "We went through a lot of shit together, but he stuck by my side until the end."
"And the end was…" Trinity prompts. His small smile quickly vanishes.
"The rest of the Branaghs ended up finding out about us being vampires. It was," he sighs. "It was a whole thing, but essentially I had to mind wipe all of them and they moved away." He ponders for a second, then turns to his side to face Trinity. "That's where things get more complicated and it really wouldn't make much sense unless I explained all of vampire culture to you. Just…eventually I decided human life was something I wanted, so I moved here."
She nods, not pushing. "Can I ask questions?"
"Mmm," he hums in affirmation, picking his dinner back up and no taking a bite. It's cold.
"You've mentioned brothers before, but you also said something about a sister earlier. How many siblings do you actually have?"
"That I know of," he starts bitterly, "3 brothers and 1 sister."
"So you weren't lying about the brothers."
"No," he answers, then pauses. "Well…mostly." She raises an eyebrow at him and he sighs. "Only one of them is older than me, to start, and he's not even technically my brother. We were told for a while he was, but turns out he's a cousin or something. Doesn't matter, he spent long enough as my brother to stay my brother. Then there's my other non-related brother who's half werewolf, but again I thought we were biologically related for long enough that he counts. And then last I have a half-brother who's completely human. Names George, Malik, and Wolfie. I'm sure you can guess which one's which," he rolls his eyes.
"Wait," Trinity puts a hand up and looks all serious. "Ignoring that werewolves are real, how do you have a half-sibling who's human?"
"Oh yeah," he makes a weird face. "Right so, half human," he points to himself. "My mother's human, though I didn't know that until I was like 17. I was actually born an Adam, so you can add that to your list of my names."
"Dude your family's so fucked up," she says in disbelief. "And that's coming from me."
"It's not too bad," he concedes. "But I guess maybe vampire culture might be a little more lax in what they deem fucked up."
She gives him a look that says 'you think?'. "What about your sister," she asks.
"Ingrid," he hums. "Homicidal. Now she's what I'd consider the fucked up part of our family. Father disregarded her completely because she was a girl and therefore couldn't be heir, despite being the eldest. Can't blame her for wanting to kill him." He tilts his head in consideration. "Could've done without my attempted murder though."
"Fucked up," she points her fork at him again, though this time it doesn't leave the space above her bowl.
He shrugs. His family is what it is. You either love them or you don't. Most don't. He does, in a roundabout kind of way. He's left and he's better for it, but that doesn't mean he doesn't miss his family, doesn't miss the attention of his father, the chaos of his sister, and the general randomness of Renfield. He also kind of hates them for all he was put through, but he's moved past it.
"And you're sure you don't have a castle," Trinity's question cuts into his reminiscing.
"Oh I'm sure. The humans burnt down the first one, Ingrid burnt down the second. We did have a school for a while, but dad sold that before he left for Australia."
"Den, babe, what the fuck is your dad doing in Australia? You said you burn in the sun."
He huffs a laugh. "Dad's been run out of most countries," he tells her. "Australia's pretty much the safest place for him despite the weather."
"Right well," she says, heaving herself up off the couch, "to each their own. I'm going to bed now because we have a shift tomorrow morning and while I'm only kinda sure you don't need sleep, I definitely do." She throws the empty container into their garbage and places the fork in the dishwasher. "We can talk about werewolves tomorrow." She rounds the corner to her bedroom, but sticks her head out before she closes the door. "And don't think I forgot about that little accent of yours. You're going to win me so many bets."
He hears the click of her bedroom door shutting and leans back hard against the couch, letting out a sigh of relief. Some part of him had been wound up, waiting for her to freak out, to shout and scream and kick him out. He'd been waiting for horror or revulsion, still stuck with the memories of being run out of Transylvania and then of how the Branaghs reacted.
But Trinity's different. She's kind and understanding, she's patient when it's needed and stern when she needs to be. She's everything he's ever yearned for in a friend, everything he's been searching for since he lost Robin. She wants to know him regardless of who he might be, and that's an exciting revelation. There's something so special about being seen.