Chapter Text
As he watches the minutes tick by on his Batman-themed analog clock, Timothy Drake starves.
It's a starvation that he's grown used to in recent months, both physical and mental, slowly draining him of his strength and fortitude. A starvation so deep he fears he may carry it with him for the rest of his (likely short) life.
This starvation is not loneliness, for Tim Drake is no stranger to that particular brand of need. That creeping, freezing sensation is familiar to him in a way that few things are. He's always cold, an unfortunate side effect of his condition and general lifestyle, but the coldness of being alone is different in its intensity. His rechargeable heating pad broke a few weeks ago from overuse, and he's working too hard on saving his meager allowance to waste anything on a new one.
No, this starvation is purely physical. Tim Drake is hungry for food that he no longer has access to.
See- Tim's parents died roughly three months ago. He's mostly over it at this point- they were hardly around while alive, and when they were home, they were so consumed with each other that they hardly spent longer than a cursory few minutes with Tim- but it's times like this that he truly misses them.
He misses his parents and their blood-warm hands, their comfortable conversation acting as background noise, their rare and valuable lessons on Tim's species- the only thing keeping him alive at this point. He misses his parents more than he knew he could.
He'd tried, in the beginning, to tell himself that they were just on another trip. A bag of blood would make its' way to the doorstep of the manor soon, and Tim would be able to have a full meal and think clearly for the first time since he'd last ate. But it never worked for long, and he had eventually been forced to contend with the fact that his parents would not be coming home.
His parents, though absent, hadn't been bad parents. They taught Tim everything he needed to know about surviving as a sort-of undead creature, and they had always provided everything he'd needed when they were away from home.
His mother, Janet, was born a vampire. Though she'd never told Tim how old she was (That's a very rude question to ask a lady, Timothy, she'd said), Tim knew that she had been around for a long time.
Tim's father, on the other hand, was much younger. He had met Janet while preparing to settle in the brand new America. She had Turned him after a few months of dating- from what Tim had gathered, it was a mix of not wanting Jack to age too much and Jack wanting to be Tied to Janet as soon as possible- and they had traveled for a few hundred years before Janet became pregnant. This led to them settling down in Gotham, the land without sun, while they waited for Janet to give birth.
Tim knows that his parents had hoped he'd be human. There's always a chance, something about the Turn not affecting the offspring of a once-human being. But when a newborn Tim rejected formula time and time again, his parents had largely given up the ghost. From then on, Tim had been raised to act as human as possible while out in public to avoid anybody growing suspicious of the never-aging Drake family.
That always made for interesting conversations at galas. While Tim is still growing (he will until he reaches maturity sometime in his mid-twenties), his parents have looked perpetually 20 since they first arrived in Gotham. Tim is certain that other high society members must think that his parents have a fantastic plastic surgeon, but they've always been too polite (or afraid) to say anything untoward.
At home was a different story. When Tim is feeling particularly lonely, he will often indulge in the fond memories of his parents cuddling with him on the only comfortable couch in the manor, telling him stories of their time abroad. Tim knew that his birth had slowed their efforts in exploring the world, which is why he wasn't surprised when, shortly after his ninth birthday, his parents had informed him that they would be spending the next few months in France.
This didn't stop them from continuing his lessons in acting human, they simply outsourced it. When his parents were in town, they would teach Tim about how to blend in with the humans that surrounded them. The lessons were often small things like how to keep human food down until you can safely throw up, timing blinks and breaths so as not to be too unsettling, and how to fight off the hunger that comes with being (as Tim likes to put it) an ethical vampire.
Some of the lessons, however, were more intense. Tim remembers the day that his parents taught him how to sniff out silver, both of them showing off their scars that they had collected over the years. One of Tim's favorite memories was when his parents spent a week teaching him to shift to his bat form seamlessly. They had spent hours soaring through the night sky once Tim got the hang of it. He can't remember ever being so happy.
When they were gone, however, Tim was stuck watching. Without his parents around to teach him, Tim had been assigned the task of observing the humans around him in order to better emulate their behavior.
This is when he had first seen the Batman.
He had been aware of the vigilante for a while before he first began Bat Watching. Up until he began his nightly adventures, he'd mostly heard about Batman through rare media sightings and scary stories told by his peers. For a few months, Tim had believed Batman to be a sort of boogeyman, a tool used by parents to scare their children into going to bed on time.
After seeing the man in person however, Tim knew he was wrong.
He had then thought that the Batman was another like him. His nocturnal schedule and overall vibe naturally leading Tim to believe that the Batman's name was more than just a silly title.
Through his stalking, however, Tim had learned that Batman (eventually determined to be none other than Tim's neighbor, Bruce Wayne) was predictably Human. His sidekick, Robin (a.k.a Dick Grayson, a.k.a Jason Todd), was also Human as far as Tim could tell. Observing the family both in and out of costume has given Tim almost undeniable evidence of the group being entirely Human, but there is enough doubt to keep his meager hopes from flickering out. Tim has always wanted to meet other vampires. To learn how to better protect himself and others.
If the Batman truly was a Vampire, Tim could maybe convince himself to ask for help. To tell the hero everything; the hunters, the murder, the hunger.
But, as it stands, Tim is alone. So, he makes do.
He's continued to live normally as best he can. He avoids dipping into his parents bank accounts in fear of their financial advisor discovering anything to be amiss. Tim makes do with his allowance, relying on his parents auto-deposits to take care of this as well as any potential bills that may arise.
Tim's gotten access to his parents emails (the perks of having parents so old is that they hadn't quite gotten around to understanding the importance of a solid email password), and he uses them regularly to keep Mrs. Mac and Tim's teachers firmly believing that Tim has absent, but loving parents.
As for eating… well, Tim is handling it as best he can. He mostly relies on his late night adventures to give him access to food. After following the Bats around for a bit, he'll stow his camera someplace safe before transforming into his bat form- a task that's grown harder as time has gone on- and feasting on the rats that plague the streets of Gotham.
Tim tries his hardest not to think of food too much. If he can push the need to the back of his mind, he can try to avoid the worst of the feelings that come along with it.
He remembers it like it was yesterday, the package arriving. Tim had thought nothing of it as he carried it inside, it was a little early for his monthly delivery, but there's always a chance that his parents send rations early if they plan on staying away longer. Tim thinks it was their way of bribing him.
Sure, we'll be gone another month. But you have all this lovely food, don't you? Yummy blood to keep you going while we gallivant off in somewhere-or-another.
When he'd opened the box, there was blood, but not in the way that Tim had grown so used to. It was sticky and congealed, half digested from where it had leaked from his parents chopped necks.
Their faces were contorted into false smiles, and if it wasn't such an unusual expression for them, Tim would have likely looked away sooner. As it was, though, he had remained frozen over his parents heads until the dusk he had first collected the box in turned to the dark, cool Gotham night.
Tim didn't eat that night, or the night after. At the time, he had thought it was solely because he didn't have any food in the house. But he realizes now, three months later, that he simply couldn't stand the sight of blood anymore.
How ironic, Tim scolds himself, a vampire afraid of blood, but it's weak in his half-starved state.
The box now sits in the freezer his parents kept for food- in the wine cooler, where no staff is allowed- while Tim determines what he should do with them. He can't exactly bury them, Mrs. Mac would notice if the flower beds where disturbed, and the rest of the ground is too frozen this far into Autumn for Tim to feasibly dig a hole deep enough to house what's left of his parents.
If he was at full strength, it would be no issue, but as it stands, Tim is much too weak now to hope to accomplish such a task. Subsiding only on rats and the occasional bird have not done much to keep Tim in peak condition.
Tim is lucky that his vampiric nature has granted him immunity to most human illnesses; he's sure the toxins that are sure to be in all of Gotham's bottom feeders would have rendered him useless long ago. But as it stands, he's as healthy as he can be, given that he's been consuming less than half of what he should be of non-ethical, non-filling, non-human blood.
He's fully aware that the people (hunters) who killed his parents are likely after him now, but he's doing the best he can with what he's got. And what he's got is dead parents, a bank account with a small allowance deposited every week, no access to his usual form of meal-prep, and four new email accounts to run to ensure that no one finds anything out.
Before; he was sent meals monthly while his parents were away. Tim had been taught very young how to properly care for his food: how to avoid over-consuming, making sure he is in a safe place before feeding, and how to deal with the all-consuming hunger that comes in the days before his next feeding.
Now; Tim is living through the world's worst crash course on not drinking the nearest person dry every chance he gets. He's taken to stuffing torn-up cotton balls as far up his nose as he can before going to school- and yes, he's still going to school, no point in getting a nosy teacher involved now- and making sure to move his chest in and out in an approximation of breathing to avoid potentially smelling his classmates. There's no telling what would happen if Tim were to snap and feed in front of a classroom of humans.
He's changed in the past three months. Become weaker, smaller, and thinner. The lack of blood in his body has caused his skin to tighten around his bones, adding to his already diminutive stature. Tim has always been small, something that's bothered him since he was old enough to understand the differences between himself and those around him, but it's more obvious now that he's lost access to his only real form of nutrition.
Tim is paler, now, too. He's able to get away with it, living in Gotham has its perks, but he can tell that his teachers are starting to get worried. Since he's been moved up two grades, it's hard enough for Tim to fly under the radar without his people noticing his declining health. Now that he's so obviously declining, it's taken some fancy maneuvering for him to escape the worst of their worry.
As far as Tim's teachers know, he's just gotten over a non-contagious, long-lasting, nameless illness that has mostly wrecked his body. It's not ideal, but Tim will take pitying looks over prying ones any day.
One of the perks of being moved up to high school early is that Tim won't be required to take a physical education course until his junior year, later if he plays his cards right. And with the way that Tim's life seems to be headed, he's not particularly worried about being around for that. For now, he can avoid most intense physical activity during the day, allowing him to stay out longer at night.
He's still not able to stay out for long, though, since he tires out so much easier now. It seems to come sooner and sooner each night, the point where he has to sluggishly turn around to fly back home.
This is usually when he stops to eat; he'll fly close to the ground in hopes that his enhanced hearing will help him pick up the skittering of Gotham's more hated creatures.
It's not always easy, his bat form limits his eyesight more than Tim would like, and his parents never got around to teaching him how to echolocate, so his hunts usually end with another night alone with an empty stomach.
It's getting to be that time, though, and if Tim wants a chance at eating (and seeing his heroes), he'll need to head out soon.
He staggers his way to his bedroom window, one that luckily faces away from Wayne Manor, and pushes the window up. Even this small task is becoming more difficult, leading to Tim leaving the window slightly open most nights.
He doesn't want to think about what might happen if someone breaks in, but his hunger and the fact that he's on the third floor significantly lessen his worries.
He sets himself on the window ledge and focuses on his transformation; arms transforming into wings, ears growing longer, legs growing shorter, new tufts of hair bursting from his skin. It doesn't hurt much anymore, but he still takes a breath before leaping into the night sky once he's ready.
Being Robin is better than Jason could have ever imagined. Even now, four years into the gig (three and a half, if you count his… recovery, but Jason likes to think that he was Robin, even then), it hasn't lost its charm. He loves helping the people of Gotham, the ones that usually get thrown to the side in favor of other, richer, citizens.
He doesn't love getting the shit beat out of him every patrol, but most good things have some sort of trade-off.
Right now, he and Batman are staking out an abandoned apartment building, looking to see if the current residents are drug-makers, or just drug-users. They'll intervene either way, but the vigilante's methods will change drastically based on what they discover here.
Jason's musings are interrupted by Batman pointing at something on the ground, roughly thirty feet below the fire escape that they are currently perched upon. Jason narrows his eyes (tightens his fists, of course the World's Fucking Greatest Detective would notice something that Jason missed) and follows his father's finger to a small clump on the ground in the alleyway.
A few weeks ago, Jason would've needed some clarification, but the past couple of patrols has drawn both of their attentions' to an odd new problem in the Gotham underground.
Dead rats.
Scratch that, Drained rats. This is the eighth patrol in a row that Batman and Robin have stumbled across some sort of rodent completely drained of its blood. Most of the time it's rats, but they've seen some pigeons and, on one gruesome night, a whole cat. Jason shudders at the memory.
They've kept track of all the animals, but any investigation has been moved to Batman's back burner while he searches for more evidence. Jason's been looking into it on his own, his dumb brain leaping at the chance to prove his worth to his pseudo-father.
So far, he doesn't have much. Jason's great at figuring out puzzles, but the lack of information and Bruce's inability to leave Jason alone while on patrol has made it difficult to do any of his own detective work. As it stands, Jason's convinced it's either someone going through a very specific and irregular crisis, or something otherworldly.
And, yeah, Jason knows it's a stretch, but if aliens exist, then so could vampires, okay? He hasn't shown Bruce his evidence for this theory, knowing he'll just be shaken off with a soft maybe, chum, that will do nothing but piss Jason off more than he usually is.
He's shaken out of his musings by Batman moving to a standing position. Jason is swift to follow, taking his usual place slightly behind his mentor. He pauses for a moment, gathering himself, before speaking.
"What is it, B?" He asks, making a point to keep his voice low in case someone is nearby.
Batman grunts, "There's nothing going on here tonight, we've wasted our time."
Jason can hardly sigh before Batman shoots his grapple, forcing Robin into action. That's the problem with stakeouts. Sometimes, nothing happens.
They move along, Jason making sure to note the street where the rat was found (he's keeping his own track, he doesn't want B-man knowing that he's looking into this on his own, the man's protective enough as it is), falling into their usual routine of follow-the-leader-to-maybe-find-some-crime.
The rest of the night continues without anything out of the ordinary. They stop a few muggings, turn in a couple of wanteds to the cops, and look into some of Batman's current cases before calling it a night.
The drive back to the cave is silent as the vigilante's come down from the constant adrenaline rush that is night-time crime fighting. Jason is content to sit with the silence, and Bruce is almost non-verbal after most patrols, so he settles into his seat to stare out the window.
His eyes are drooping, the gentle rocking of the car pushing him towards the exhaustion he's been fighting back all night. But before he can fall asleep, as is usual for nights such as these, his eyes catch something on the side of the road.
It's a rat, squirming on its side, with a small, dark shape above it. Holding it down.
It only stays within Jason's line of sight for a moment, but it's enough to wake him up fully.
It was a small bat, it's teeth deep in the rodent's neck, eyes closed as the rat grew thinner and thinner.
Holy shit.
If there's one thing Jason's learned in his time as a vigilante, it's that there's really nothing more important than a good night of sleep.
Even on nights that Jason is barred from patrol, he tries to go to bed at a relatively normal time, even if it's just because he has to wake up at an ungodly time for school (that's his least favorite part of being a high-schooler so far, he has to wake up an hour earlier than he had last year just to be functional by the 7:45 start bell).
Regardless of whatever sleep habits Jason has, it's done nothing to get him to bed ever since he saw that… thing outside the Batmobile's window.
It's currently well past midnight, and Jason should have been asleep hours ago. He had planned on going to bed at a normal time, he's got a math test tomorrow and he's more of an English guy, but he's kept awake by the questions that have plaguing him ever since that patrol last week.
He sighs and rolls over, grabbing his phone from his bedside table. The brightness is still high, so after a few seconds of cursing and blindly trying to lower it, Jason opens his messages app.
Hey, Dickface.
I know you're awake.
what do you want jason
Damn, that's rude.
How do you know I don't have some super-secret info for you?
sorry jaybird
What can I do for you, my liege?
That's more like it.
I have a question, but you can't tell B about it.
hell yeah, stick it to bruce
whats up?
Do you believe in vampires?
…
are you alright jaybird?
im just now realizing how late it is
Never mind, it doesn't matter.
Jason huffs and turns his phone off, ignoring the buzzing as he places it back on the table.
Fucking asshole, Dickface. Jason sits up, I'll show him just how alright I am.
He stands from his bed, quickly putting his socks back on before walking out of his room in the direction of the kitchen.
Jason makes quick work of the walk, but it's not enough time to calm him down, because when he hears Bruce's voice cut through the silence of the kitchen, he can't help but pause his reach for his favorite cup.
"Are you alright Jason, it's awfully late." Bruce sounds concerned, or as concerned as a guy like Bruce can sound, but it irks Jason all the same. He can't tell if it's his conversation with Dick, or his general exhaustion, but he already knows that this conversation won't go well.
He grabs his cup and walks towards the fridge, pointedly ignoring the tingling in his fingers. "'M fine, get off my ass."
He hears a sigh and it takes everything in him not to immediately throw his cup at the wall. It's his favorite one- probably the only reason it stays in his hands- it's one of those dumb bat-mite toy cups, it's got a poorly rendered Wonder Woman on it and when you twist it just right, her lasso and cuffs become slightly more yellow- but he can tell that he's quickly reaching the point of no return, so he places the cup down before turning to face Bruce.
"What?" He leans back against the counter and crosses his arms, "A guy can't get a drink of water in his own house?" It's a stretch, and Jason is sure that Bruce knows that, but he cocks his brow all the same.
Bruce sighs out a deep breath- probably a dumb technique Dr. Thompkins showed hum- and turns his body to fully face Jason. "That's not what I meant, Jason. I'm simply worried about you." Another pause, Jason can almost see Bruce switch into detective mode, "You're usually in bed by now, is everything alright?"
Jesus Christ, could he get any more obvious? "I'm fine, B." Jason drops his arms roughly, turning back for his cup, "I just got thirsty, alright? Nothing to it." Cup in hand, Jason turns to the door, "We good? Or did you want to question me some more?"
It's a low blow but, judging by the drooping of Bruce's shoulders, it works.
"Of course, Jason." Another sigh. "Sleep well, son."
Jason lets out a short hum as he hightails it out of the kitchen and to his bedroom. His hands are shaking so bad he can hardly keep the cup from spilling, and he's quick to set it down next to his phone.
The trip to his punching bag- installed after his psychologist had informed Bruce that Jason's outbursts of aggressionweren't going to stop just because Jason was taking deep breaths- is familiar in his stomping. Jason's no longer a stranger to these episodes, and he knows that he won't be able to sleep without burning off some of this energy.
He can't help but think about the cause for his ire as he physically works it out of his body.
A few months ago, after an admittedly bad call on Jason's part, the Joker had captured Robin and held him in a warehouse in Ethiopia. It was the worst two days of Jason's life, and that's saying something, because he hardly remembers anything past the first few hours.
Batman had arrived eventually, which is one part that Jason doesn't think he'll ever forget. He's a little fuzzy on the details, but he remembers the bomb, and Batman arriving just in time to pull Jason from the building.
The following months had Jason slowly building back his strength, both physically and mentally.
He had been… affected by his kidnapping, his usual short temper had shrunk, and his control over his aggression had all but vanished. Jason will be the first to admit that Bruce had done an admirable job of putting up with Jason's more violent outbursts, but after a fight ending with a broken nose and bruised knuckles, the whole family had agreed to get Jason into therapy.
Now, months later, Jason's got a shiny new diagnosis, Intermittent Explosive Disorder (Jason's not quite ready to make IED jokes just yet), and some new coping mechanisms.
He's trying to use them now, breathing in and out sharply as he pummels the punching bag. Bruce and Dick aren't trying to be assholes, Jason knows that, but it's hard not to be offended when they treat him like he's a little kid.
Jason's from the goddamn streets, and he's Robin, for fucks sake! He's capable of taking care of himself. And he's more than able to figure out if fucking vampires are taking over Gotham.
Guess I'll have to figure this one out myself, Jason thinks as he walks back towards his bed, it's not like anyone else is paying enough attention to care.
Jason is exhausted well into school the next day. He thinks he did a good enough job hiding his yawns from Alfred on the way to school, but his teachers have certainly noticed how his eyes keep drooping as the day winds on.
By seventh period, he's resigned himself to taking a nap after school. He's already fallen asleep in most of his classes so far, and his eyes are once again starting to grow to heavy to keep open.
He shakes his head as he enters his last class of the day. It's his favorite, English, and he wants to make sure he stays awake. They're starting a new project today, one that his teacher has been hyping up for the past week. It's supposed to take up the rest of this semester- about three weeks- and Jason wants to make sure he ends up with a good partner.
The desk creaks as Jason falls into it, and the kid sitting next to him flinches. Jason spares him a glance; the kid is scrawny, he's clearly young, but he's thin, too. He makes eye contact with Jason for a second before quickly looking away.
His eyes are… odd. They're bluer than Dick's, but for a moment they seemed almost tinged with red. It's weird, and Jason can barely pull his eyes to the front of the room when Mrs. LeBlanc, his teacher, starts talking.
"Alright!" She claps, silencing the few students that are talking. Out of the corner of his eye, Jason sees his neighbor flinch once again. "We're starting our last project of this semester. It'll take up the next three weeks, and the final presentation will count for your final grade, so make sure you start off strong."
There are a few groans and eye rolls from Jason's peers, but the class stays silent as Mrs. LeBlanc turns to face the whiteboard.
"Today will be focused on getting situated with your partners. There will be fifteen groups, and each one will have a different book, so you won't be able to rely on your other friends to get your information." She's writing down different titles on the board, and Jason is quickly distracted by trying to see if he recognizes any of them.
He's mostly tuned out Mrs. LeBlanc when he sees it, Freak the Mighty, fuck yeah! That's one of Jason's favorites, Bruce had read it to him once when Jason was sick, and they had bonded over their shared tears at the end of the story.
They don't ever talk about it, both too embarrassed to bring it up, but Jason would be lying if he said he didn't look back on that time fondly.
He's definitely picking that book, his partner's opinion be damned.
Jason tunes back in, it would be just his luck to miss an important part of the project. He's definitely one of Mrs. LeBlanc's favorites, but he knows better than to push it.
"Alright, people in these two rows," she uses her arms to motion to the inner two rows, where Jason is sitting patiently in his seat, "look to the outer row next to yours. That person will be your partner." There's some groaning, mostly from students who wanted to be paired with their friends, but Jason is too busy sizing up his partner to hear Mrs. LeBlanc's response to the complaints.
It's the twitchy kid from earlier, he's looking at Jason like he's some kind of predator; which, sure, Jason's been in his fair share of fights, but he's not that scary.
The kids eyes are wide and frightened, and he's tense enough that Jason can see a slight shake in his hands.
Before Jason can really think about it, his Robin training kicks in. "Hey, kid, guess we're partners, huh?" He tries for an easy smile, but it does nothing to calm the kid down. If anything, the kid grows more frightened.
Twitchy nods his head sharply, "Y-Yeah uh- I guess so- guess we are." He lowers his eyes to his lap and takes a small breath, "Which- which book did you want to do? I'm not picky, so uh- I don't really mind either way."
Jason smirks, "Hell yeah, I actually have a book in mind. I'll go sign us up for it before someone else takes it, then we can get started, alright?" He waits for a nod before leaving his seat.
It's easy enough to write his name next to Freak the Mighty, so Jason can't help but let his thoughts wander. The kid's gotta be smart to be here, he's obviously young, and even Gotham Academy wouldn't let people pay to move their kid up.
But, he's so odd. Jason does his best to suppress a shiver as he remembers how red the boys eyes looked. There's a thorough sense of wrongness that's seeped into Jason throughout their short interaction.
Jason spares a moment to look at Twitchy, trying to gather any information that he can. The kid's clearly trying to make himself look smaller, an easy task given that he's about half the size of his classmates.
He looks… hungry. Jason learned a lot from his time before Bruce, and one lesson that's stuck is how to tell when someone's gone awhile without eating. This kid is clearly not being fed enough, but why? Jason would know if he was a scholarship kid- it's always the talk of the grade level when someone's poor.
Before he can think too much on it, he's sitting back down.
"Alright, I got us Freak the Mighty, it's a great book, have you read it?"
The kid startles again and looks to Jason. He blinks slowly for a moment before shaking himself and smiling uncomfortably wide, "Uh- yeah. Yes, I mean, sorry."
Weirdo. "Cool, cool." Jason pauses, he should probably introduce himself. "I'm Jason, by the way. What was your name again?"
The kid blinks again, seeming to put some force into it, his eyes still holding that creepy red tinge. "Tim- Timothy. Uh- Drake. But you can call me Tim."
They talk for the rest of the class about the project; they've both read the book, but Jason won't let them use that as an excuse to slack off on such an important grade.
It's not until the bell rings and Tim rushes out the door that Jason takes a look around the kids space.
There's an indent of Tim's fingers in the desk. The new, wooden desks that were specifically bought to survive being treated like shit by high schoolers.
This tiny little kid did that?
Oh.
Oh, shit.
Small, pale kid with red tinged eyes? Clearly hungry and off-putting?
Jesus Christ.
Timothy Drake is a fucking Vampire.