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By the time the moon comes out, a milky white against a darkening sky, the teenage hybrid vampire still hasn’t caught anything.
Not a single bunny, squirrel, or heck, even a mouse. But Tim keeps moving through the night, keeping his steps as light and as quick as possible. His muscles ache from the exertion without rest and his hands and knees sting from falling over loose tree roots and into sharp brambles twice now, but he keeps moving. If he stops, he’ll lose the scent.
And that scent — sweet and thick with iron — is pretty much his last chance at dinner tonight, or he’ll go to bed hungry. Again.
When Tim sniffs the air, catching onto the trail, it makes his stomach pang. Over the past few days, ever since the blood pouches ran out at the Drake Manor, his stomach’s been growling so much that it’s turned into one big ache. He tried setting small traps in the woods for rodents for a quick catch-drink-release, but this evening he realized none of the traps worked.
Frustration builds in Tim at the thought of his failed traps as he pushes past a thick pine tree. If he was a better hunter, he would know the best spots to catch wild game. Instead, he’s out hunting on little energy and even less blood in his stomach.
If he was older, he’d be stronger, too. Almost as strong as a pureblood vampire, even. But the part in him that’s human — even if it’s just a little bit from somewhere in his ancestry — is the reason why he has no instinctual skill for hunting yet. Supposedly the instinct comes in later, when a hybrid becomes an adult.
Which, in vampire years, Tim is ages away from.
But in Tim’s opinion, the whole thing with hybrid vampires is evolutionarily dumb, because if a vampire needs to drink blood, a vampire needs to know how to obtain said blood, hybrid or not.
So long story short, Tim can’t hunt. Which is a bummer, because Tim thinks he’s pretty good at learning new things. Too bad there’s no subject called How to Be A Good Vampire in school.
But it’s not the end of the world. If Tim’s not a good hunter yet, he can just feed a little off another vampire’s leftovers to survive.
That’s what he’s doing now.
Tim follows the scent, glad that it’s finally getting stronger. That means the animal it’s coming from is probably still out of it. If the vampire who just fed off it is gone by now, Tim can drink a little more. Not enough to kill the animal, but just enough so that Tim doesn’t go to bed hungry. Because if he goes to bed hungry tonight, he’s not sure he’ll have the energy to move at all tomorrow.
The trees thin out as Tim draws closer to the source of the smell. There’s a clearing of some kind — A road, Tim identifies as he sees the double yellow line by moonlight, separating the two way street. There’s another thicket of trees on the other side. For a moment, Tim considers crossing the empty road and continuing his search, but then he realizes the scent is coming from further up the asphalt.
Whatever animal was hunted, it doesn’t smell like roadkill, at least. The blood smells fresh. Delicious. Tim quietly walks up the road, keeping to the edge on the soft grass and hidden by trees. The smell grows stronger.
And then Tim sees the source of the blood.
On the side of the road, a black-caped figure kneels over the animal. Keeping himself shielded by a tree, all Tim can see is the back of the vampire as he drinks. Ahead of them is a car with a deeply dented hood, as if something jumped down on it. Something weird registers in Tim’s head about that picture. Most vampires don’t drive around to hunt.
Finally the vampire rises. He is tall, Tim realizes in awe. Really tall. But with his cape not in the way, Tim can see the shape of the animal. He peers at it curiously, his stomach throbbing painfully now — it certainly doesn’t smell like any animal Tim’s familiar with. He squints for a better look — and when the clouds pass by the moon, allowing for more light, his insides go completely cold.
It is not an animal.
Tim numbly takes a backwards step at the sight of what’s lying on the road.
It’s a human.
In the next second, a memory from school jolts through Tim. It’s one from a few weeks ago when his classmates were passing around rumors during one of the free periods, trying to spook each other. Then someone brought up Gotham’s latest creepy urban legend.
There’s a vampire out there. Wears a mask and a cape, so no one knows his true name. A pureblood, who feeds on bad people in Gotham. Even other vampires, if they’ve got blood, the classmate told them, and then in a low voice growled, The Batman. There was laughter at the ridiculous name. But one of the girls in the next desk over shook her head, vouching for the story. It’s true. I overheard a private conversation between my parents and their friends. There is a Batman. There’s a couple more, too — the Nightwing who feeds on Bludhaven, and the Batgirl who feeds on Burnside. And they all kill their victims DEAD.
Tim didn’t think much of it back then. Now Tim watches in horror as the Batman stands there, looming above the person limp on the road. Tim can only stare. Is the person — dead? Like his classmate said?
There’s a shallow rise to the person’s chest. It sends a rush of relief through Tim, surprising a small breath out of him.
The Batman’s head snaps to the side at the noise.
The world seems to go deathly still.
A terror like Tim’s never felt encompasses his very being as the Batman slowly turns his body towards Tim’s hiding spot, like a predator searching for prey. He’s seen him. Even though Tim can’t see the Batman’s eyes through the white slits of his mask, he somehow knows for certain that the pureblood vampire has seen him.
Within the a beat of a bat wing, Tim’s tries to think of everything he can possibly do — like this is just a game of chess and his king is cornered — and he realizes he’s not going to survive.
His instincts kick in, however, and finally tell him something useful.
Run.
~~~
Sharp pine needles slice through his pant legs as Tim runs. He narrowly ducks under a fallen tree. He peers ahead, trying to find a way out. His hybrid genes should allow him, if not the strength and speed of a good hunter, at least some ability to navigate, but then Tim’s vision sort of goes fuzzy and he smacks into a tree. He lands on his back and his head spins.
Oh, right. Tim hasn’t had any blood for a few days now.
He can’t see in the dark much better than any human.
Tim wonders if this is the end for him. But then miraculously, at the sound of twigs cracking behind him, adrenaline and horror push him back up to his feet and he’s moving again. He looks back over his shoulder.
It is a mistake.
The Batman darts over a bush in his direction.
The Batman is chasing him.
The Batman doesn’t even have to run — in true vampire fashion, the shadowy figure makes effortless, powerful leaps across the flora that makes it appear as if he’s flying.
One of Tim’s shoelaces gets caught in a bush, ripping off his sneaker. Half running, half tripping, Tim cuts through the trees, desperate to somehow get back to the Drake Manor even though it’s miles away. His ankle twists when he darts over uneven ground, and that’s what does it —
There’s a vampire out there — who feeds on even other vampires, if they’ve got blood — kills them DEAD —
Tim’s scream cracks as he’s pinned to the ground with a slam. His voice leaves his throat in a way that’s never happened before, and he struggles to swallow air — which is difficult to do as the weight of a fully grown pureblood vampire presses him down as if he’s a monster.
“Don’t think you can escape,” the voice above him growls.
Tim turns his head out of the ground, panting, and as he catches a glimpse of the terrifying Batman looming over him, he feels his life flash before his eyes.
“Please don’t hurt me, please — please,” squeaks out Tim, flinching away from the vampire. “Please don’t — I’m sorry I was here — I —”
The Batman seems to halt as Tim speaks, the pressure on his back going suddenly still instead of pushing.
“I can’t — I don’t bleed,” Tim adds in a weak, shaky voice, trying to dissuade the vampire from hurting him. He doesn’t even sound halfway impressive to his own ears but he keeps going. “You won’t get anything from me if you try to feed on me. I’m not one of those hybrids who have blood, I can’t — I won’t be any good, so —”
The pressure lifts completely. Tim gasps in as much air as he can, his body screaming in soreness and aches. Run, he tells himself, He’s not holding you down anymore. But Tim’s head’s too heavy to move, much less his entire body. He can’t even cower at the sight of the Batman over him, but he does notice the white slits of the vampire’s mask widening ever so slightly.
“You.” The Batman’s growl is much quieter, a flicker of surprise. “You are a child.”
He’s sixteen, but sure, whatever — this vampire could be two hundred for all Tim knows. Why the Batman would bother pointing that out, he has no clue.
“You are a child,” the Batman says again, but this time sounds angry. Kneeling down towards Tim, he asks, “Did that man force you to be his accomplice?”
Accomplice? What? Tim blinks up at him, then flinches back at the frightening mask of the Batman up close. The Batman doesn’t move.
“Answer the question.”
“Huh?” Tim can’t stop trembling. Is the Batman not going to kill him? “No, I — I don’t know that man. I just — I was just following the scent.”
“The scent.” The Batman repeats.
Tim’s stomach chooses that moment to growl loudly. “Uh-huh. I followed the scent. I can’t — I can’t hunt very good.” Admitting it out loud feels humiliating. “I thought that — if you were feeding on an animal, and I thought I could maybe have — um, the leftovers.”
The Batman just stares at him.
There is nothing but silence for several seconds, as if a vampire without a natural hunting instinct is so ridiculous a notion that even Gotham’s scariest urban legend doesn’t know what to make of it. Tim can only blink heavily, trembling there on the forest floor as pain and fatigue catch up to him.
Slowly, The Batman gets out of Tim’s face. He sits on the ground, staring at Tim like he’s never seen a creature like him before.
“You’re a child,” The Batman says for like the millionth time. “You’re a pup. What is a pup hunting for?”
Tim doesn’t know if it’s better that the vampire is prolonging his death by asking him questions, or if it’s worse that he’s not just ending it right away.
“I — um.” Tim brings a quivering hand up to wipe at his wet nose and forces himself to take even breaths, even though his chest aches sharply with each swell. “There were, um, no more blood pouches at home. I — I ran out last week.”
“No more blood pouches.” The Batman doesn’t sound threatening. He sounds… bewildered. A frown deepens on his face. “Where are your parents?”
Tim’s eyes widen in horror as he lies there on the ground. This is it. He’ll tell the Batman his parents are away, and then the Batman will kill him because no one will come looking for him for at least a month.
“Please don’t kill me,” he rushes out. “Please.”
The Batman’s lips turn down further.
“I don’t kill.”
That makes Tim struggle to sit up, his arms trembling under his weight. “What? But — but you — ”
Actually, that makes sense. He didn’t kill that man out on the road, did he? The Batman follows Tim’s gaze out through the trees.
“That man is a thief and a murderer,” the Batman says. “I fed on him enough so he won’t get up for approximately another hour. That will be enough time to deliver him to the GCPD so he is put behind bars for his heinous crime.”
Now Tim thinks about the rumors that his classmates were passing around with more clarity.
“So… it’s true,” Tim whispers, fear slowly ebbing. “You only feed on bad people.”
The Batman rises to his feet, unaffected by the sudden reverence in Tim’s voice.
“Go home,” he says. “I’m sorry I hurt you, pup.”
And then he walks away, slipping through the foliage of the woods and disappearing from Tim’s sight, leaving him with a sense of wonder, albeit unintentionally.
Huh. The Batman’s… cool.
Batman’s cool.
Relief pours through Tim like a waterfall as he realizes he’s not dead. He’s so thoroughly doused in the emotion that he almost forgets that he’s starving. He stands up in a scramble, but dizziness sweeps over him and he steadies himself by grabbing a tree. Going home like this is going to be… a little complicated.
He needs what he left home for first.
~~~
By the time Tim gets to the road, breathing shallowly, Batman is already picking the man up by the ankles, readying to take off towards the police station.
“Wait!” Tim cries out.
Batman waits, looking over his shoulder. “Pup. I told you to return home.”
“I’m — I can’t,” Tim says. “Can I first — I really need —”
Words fail him as his brain turns velvety. His eyes find the unconscious man’s bloody neck where Batman’s fangs have pierced, and his tongue disintegrates in his mouth. Batman’s white slits narrow impatiently. Tim shakes his head, trying to refocus. He opens his mouth again, to explain that he was being serious about the leftovers thing, but then his head feels floaty and his knees decide then and there to buckle. He lands on his butt so hard he sees stars dancing in front of his eyes.
“Pup.”
There’s a thump — the unconscious human has been dropped on the road again — and then someone is kneeling right in front of Tim, gloved hands hesitating first, but then slipping under his arms to grab him when he sways backwards.
It’s almost nauseating now, how hungry Tim is. The scent of blood is right there, so close, but at the same time he’s aware that something weird is happening with his body, like even it can’t handle how weak it is. He can’t stop the tears from pricking his eyes and a lump from settling in his throat. He’s just hungry. Why is it so hard to eat?
“What’s wrong, pup? What’s — ” Batman cuts off abruptly as Tim’s stomach gurgles loudly, and maybe some drool escapes his lips. The arms around Tim tighten. And then someone curses, and one of Batman’s hands goes to his utility belt. Tim’s vision is going fuzzy at the sides, but he can see what the vampire pulls out.
A clear plastic cup. A — no, not a cup, a bottle.
Then Batman sets Tim down against a nearby tree, then disappears. Tim must black out for a moment, because the next time he blinks his eyes open, Batman is back, capping the bottle — filled to the brim with red — with its lid, bringing the spout to Tim’s lips.
Tim doesn’t need an invitation.
His hands latch on, and he sucks in the drink, and tastes the sweet blood of the murderer. He sucks, letting his hunger take over. The honey-like sweetness melts in his mouth, making him go limp into a solid broad chest, but he keeps his grip tight on the bottle, afraid he’ll drop it. He sucks and sucks — the blood is refreshing.
A hand stops his desperate swallows, gently but firmly pushing the bottle away from his lips.
“Breathe,” Batman murmurs.
So Tim sucks in air, indignant, and is rewarded with the nourishment again. His vision is starting to strengthen. His muscles stop trembling. Even though he’s starting to feel sleepy, the blood is practically an elixir after being starved for it for so long. And at the thought of not waking up tomorrow with a painful hunger pang in his stomach, a happy sigh hitches up his chest. Blood dribbles down Tim’s chin, and Batman pulls the bottle down again, reaching out with his gloved hand to wipe at his mouth.
“Where are your parents?” Batman inquires for the second time that night, his voice soft. “Why aren’t they hunting for you? No pup should go bloodthirsty.”
Distantly, Tim can tell there’s something pressing in Batman’s voice, but he’s too warm and drowsy on blood and too comfortable sitting in the pureblood vampire’s lap to think deeply on it.
“Mumbai,” he mumbles, trying to tug the bottle back. “Archeology conference.”
The words have an effect on Batman, who considers him as if for the first time. “You’re Timothy Drake.”
Tim stops tugging on the blood bottle as alarm pulses through the sweet haze of the blood he desperately needs. He blinks rapidly, wondering why the vampire could know his name. Before he can thoroughly freak out, Batman pulls his cowl off, and the vampire underneath shows his face. Tim balks.
It’s Bruce Wayne.
One of the richest and oldest pureblood vampire families in Gotham. And Tim’s neighbor, essentially — if you disregard their copious amounts of land between them.
Tim burps without meaning to, taking in this news.
“Is Dick Grayson Nightwing?” he blurts, thinking about the other rumors. He thinks about the eldest Wayne son’s best friend, and straightens. “Is Barbara Gordon Batgirl?”
Both of Bruce’s eyebrows flicker up. “Yes.”
“Cool.” Tim brings the blood bottle back and sips, his eyelids getting heavy. “That’s so cool.”
“Tim, pup,” Bruce says, his voice rumbling and lulling Tim into closing his eyes, his head nestled on his shoulder. “Why aren’t you with your parents?”
Tim doesn’t understand that question. His parents usually leave him here when they go on their trips. He mumbles as much, but he doesn’t understand why there’s an angry huff of air, or why the arm around him tightens ever so imperceptibly.
He takes another sleepy sip. He’ll just take a nap right here and then when he wakes, he’ll have enough strength to go back to the empty Drake Manor. He’ll have to properly thank Bruce, too, when he’s awake.
Tim feels a cape drape around him like a blanket. His heart, even though it doesn’t pump like a human’s, feels warm and full for reasons other than the blood. He opens his eyes just a crack, letting himself bask in the sight before him — Batman with his cowl up once more, framed by the tender moon above — before a cozy sleep pulls him under.