Chapter Text
It may run in the Family…
Damian Wayne is not losing this fight.
The Gotham forests are wild, and unruly, but Damian has been hunting them since he was nine. No creature could have the upper hand in the haunting mist or gnarled, root-covered forest floor. So, he is not pinned between twin trunks, and he is not injured beyond safe movement, despite what may appear to be the truth.
He simply… wants this vampire to think he’s defeated. The white creature that has revealed itself is a good fighter, but only to a reciprocal level. It is not better than Damian, and it seems aloof enough to believe a farce, despite being an adequate opponent. Damian hardly thinks it worth a mention though. Vampire talents are an artificial strength, one that requires no discipline or skill to wield. He watches closely as it slings its body around like an unbound spinning top, a blur of undead white and claws so sharp he can hear them whistling.
He parries, and the clash of metal and claw makes him flinch backwards, his foot stepping out of place. As punishment for such a transgression, he stumbles.
In the gloom of the forest he can’t tell if it's a stone or a root or a divot in the dirt, but it hardly matters. He breathes out hard as he steadies himself, but the vampire strikes again , and he can’t defend fast enough.
It’s like being hit by a smooth, cold stone, the shape of its fist reminiscent of a doorknob. It hurts , and Damian feels it’s a testament to his discipline that he only makes a small pained sound. He folds, hitting the floor thighs first as he twists to break his fall. His katana clatters somewhere beside him, and realises his muscles have locked.
It’s cold tonight. A wet kind of cold that clings to skin and swells bones and chills muscles at the most inconvenient of times.
He waits for the following strikes as he spies the ghost-white vampire approaching him. Maybe he will live to be ashamed and to be lectured by father. Maybe he will meet his mother’s fate, forced to choose sides with options that are not in any way lesser evils of each other. Maybe she will just kill him. As its form sways closer Damian forces himself not to scramble or run, because things that run are often chased and he no longer has the strength to dream of outrunning a vampire.
“...Hey man,” its voice floats between the mist, “you okay?”
Damn. He wishes it hadn’t spoken.
Killing things that are definable is far more taxing. The vampire is a now a girl . Damian resists the instinct to search for her face.
It’s one thing to be forced into a thrall, but to go looking for a vampire's eyes is stupidity of the highest order– and Damian is no fool. He grits his teeth against responding too. Her strike and his fall appears to have bruised his ribs and anything beyond breathing is sure to be more pain than he cares for. He knows she’s close, hovering just in front of a safe threshold. Though cursed with near-silent agility, vampires cannot help that their forms have mass, and that mass is displacing the fog around her. He feels her crouch down, and listens with a tight gut as his katana is lifted from the ground.
Death by his own weapon. Disgustingly pathetic.
“Oh wow, were you really fighting me with a sword? Dude, that’s so medieval. Don’t you guys have like, crossbows and stuff? Guns?”
“It is a katana, ” Damian hisses out, “and both crossbows and guns date medieval.”
This is worse. He does not want to be talked to death. With Grayson as his brother, he has a level of immunity that would make any attempts far more painful and extended than necessary.
“So you are still awake. Cool. Totally thought I had knocked you unconscious, but I was also like, ‘no way a kid who can fight this good can't break his own fall,’ right?”
Slowly, Damian dares to push himself upwards. He does not wince or break his breathing, and once he’s settled into a crouch, he revises his certainty of death. He watches the mirage outline of her form as she swings his katana around with skill but little care.
“Anyways, my point about the sword thing is like, it's kind of telling? I mean, I bet if I looked hard enough… yeah! A fucking crest dude. You’re one of those fancy, bloodline kinda supernatural hunters right? I mean, who else goes after a vamp in a forest with a sword. ”
She sounds genuinely amused, and Damian can feel his eye twitching. She hasn’t allowed her form to be seen yet, and Damian feels like he’s watching old film on falling sand. The gleam of his katana is close to her face when she gasps. Her head movement makes him assume she’s looking at him, so he lowers his gaze. Thrall is still possible through mirage.
“Hey cool, I know this crest! You’re a part of that big hunter family, right? The uhhh, Wankers?”
“ Waynes ,” Damian spits much to his surprise and against his own will. It’s not exactly a surprise that this vampire knows his lineage or his crest. They’re not exactly the most subtle hunting family, and between the official eight of them, there are enough living covens of vampires with first hand knowledge for gossip to spread. Still, she now has knowledge on Damian that he does not for her. They’re on uneven territory. Tt, this is why he does not converse with these foul creatures; it’s endless mindgames.
Then shockingly, the vampire girl laughs at him, and the sound is so deceptively beautiful that Damian raises his guard higher. It’s less of a chime than it is a stone breaking the thin icy surface of a still-rushing river. He can hear pebbles clacking against each other and winter grass bow with morning frost. Her laugh is formidable and charming and Damian shakes his head sharply before his thoughts can spiral any further. Fuck . The gloom is muddling his senses and the cold is a perverse weight on his skin. He bites the inside of his cheek and wrestles with his focus. Vampires are foul creatures of deception and Damian will not —
“You know, you’re much cuter than the rest of your brothers.”
He exhales sharply and stares at the ground. Do not look.
“Do not mock me,” he demands, “my family would have slaughtered you, had you had the chance to see them that clearly.”
“Oh yeah! Totally dude. No like, I haven’t met them or anything, not in person. But your family is super famous, and glory-be the digital age! Am I right?”
She laughs again, sounding strained, and if Damian didn’t know any better, he would assume the vampire was embarrassed. But he does know better. Acting is the vampire’s way, and he will not be deceived.
Allowing himself a quick glance upwards to gauge the distance, Damian throws three knives in quick succession. One at the hand holding his blade, which hits perfectly. The vampire drops his katana with a hiss as the other two knives hit just above her collar bones. She shouts in pain and stumbles backwards. Damian launches himself at his katana and twists upwards, leveling his blade with the vampire’s throat, effectively pinning her to a gnarled dark-wood tree.
“ Gah , dude! Not fucking cool what the Hell! ”
The vampire has already removed both of his daggers and he allows himself a grin as her palms sizzle on the handles.
“Fuck– fucking silver handles? You bloodline hunters always use the most stupid fancy shit, you know that? I thought we were cool! Who throws knives in the middle of a convo?”
“You are a vampire . ”
“Ten points to the kid with the pointy stick!”
“I am a hunter. ”
“Oh man, we just stating obviouses now? Uhh, sky is blue, grass is green, you’re still pretty cute for an asshole hunter— ghck!”
“Be quiet ,” Damian snaps, pressing the point of his katana further into the hollow of her throat. “No amount of false flattery will save you from this encounter. I am here to kill you. ”
She swallows, a decisively human trait that leads Damian to suspect she is a very very new vampire. “You really know how to sweet-talk a girl, you know that Wayne? Moonless night, forest chase, and now murder. I’m swooning, seriously.”
Damian tilts his head.
Part of his training, and a requirement of being out on a solo hunt, is judgement. He knows logically that this is a vampire, and she actively harms humans in order to continue existing. However, there is the matter of… victimhood . Father taught him very early on that not every vampire is an evil sadistic mastermind, hell-bent on slaughtering and enslaving humanity. At the time, the examples he gave were miss Ivy and miss Quinzell, who, although undoubtedly crazy, are not unregulated murderers. Looking at this vampire now, Damian realises she has likely been a girl longer than a vampire. He makes a choice.
“Remove your mirage and answer my questions honestly, and I will allow you to live.”
The girl laughs again and throws up her hands in a symbol of surrender. “Sure dude, I’ll take it. Just, gimme a sec to…”
It is perhaps a morbid fascination, but witnessing a vampire's form come into definition is a spectacular privilege Damian usually only gets when a vampire is dead. This girl is not a corpse at his feet though, and he watches as his assailant reveals herself.
She’s beautiful .
Damian snarls internally at the thought but it is objectively true. The vampire has hair whiter than snow and skin wax as mist. Her clothes are modern and gothic in nature, a very alternative style. She is unarmed, but her belt buckle is made of a metal Damian suspects is silver. A ridiculous sacrifice in the name of fashion. Her coat is torn where his daggers have pierced her skin and the blood running down her chest is staining the top of her shirt. She looks like a teenager. She behaves like a teenager, and Damian knows for certain his judgement is correct.
“When were you turned.”
“Turned? Oh like, bitten you mean? Uh, well it's all kinda hazy– you know how dying is– but my best estimate so far has been three years? Give or take?”
“Who killed you.”
“Gee, a kinda personal detail for 20 Q’s, don’t you think?”
Damian holds his ground. “Answer,” he presses.
The vampire hisses. Her fangs are a bleached-bone white against the black of her lips. Damian isn’t sure if they’re a facet of her vampirism, or if it’s simply a part of her cosmetics.
“Fuck dude! I don’t know, okay? I just died one day! Imagine my fucking surprise when I woke up again! Listen, I’m gonna answer your questions, I promise, but could you lay off the sword? It’s stressing me out.”
“That is the point .”
“Yeah I get your point , it’s shoved into my neck .”
“Do you know what vampire turned you?”
She rolls her eyes– a startlingly electric pink– and runs her tongue behind her teeth. “Ugh, yeah I guess. But listen, the dude’s a moron, and he didn’t turn me to have like, a servant or anything.”
“Tell me.”
“It’s that stupid asshole that calls himself ‘ Death Man’. He said he found my body and was bored– can you fucking believe that? Bored– so he turned me, then severed our like, sireship or whatever. I’m a free woman.”
Damian narrowed his eyes. She’s not lying, he can tell, and the cartoonish nature of the circumstance fits something Death Man would do. But she also has not told him everything. He could press her further, force details and dates from her, but…
He lowers his katana. The vampire sags a little, shaking her limbs as though they could get stiff anymore.
“ Thanks ,” she scowls. “How’d I do detective? Satisfied with my story? Gonna grill any more witnesses?”
“What are you doing in Gotham?” He asks, sheathing his katana and picking up his knives. He should return home, tell father of his encounter and that Death Man is now siring teenagers due to boredom.
“Oh, um. I’m… travelling. Kinda.”
Damian raises an eyebrow. The vampire looks down, again feigning embarrassment.
“Ok, so more like I’m on the run. Not for anything bad! I just, you know, human family… vampire kid… not really like, a mix for the ages, right?”
Damian hums. It makes sense that a human family would be unwilling to house a vampire, and they were wise to make that decision. “ Tt . So long as you do not linger, you may survive your temporary stay in Gotham.”
“Aw, but I was looking forward to meeting your family!”
The sound of metal unsheathing had barely finished before Damian has his katana at her throat again.
“I have spared you because you are new. Fledglings who are sane deserve a chance. Do not test that mercy, vampire.”
The vampire's eyes are wide, and she has the gaul to look genuinely shocked. Damian cannot help but scoff. Creatures hold such an innate sense of supposed superiority around mortals that to be challenged by one is apparently unthinkable.
“Y-yeah,” she says uneasily, “yeah totally dude. I’ll get the fuck outta dodge quick as I can, promise. Sorry for like, stressing you out.”
Even as she speaks, Damian allows her form to begin melting away. A hasty retreat is wise, and Damian can only assume she will take his warnings seriously. Like morning mist she disappears, melting into the shadows and gloom of the near-dawn.
Damian swallows thickly.