A Father's Love

It wasn't long after sundown when Vlad flew back into the upper rooms of the school. He'd gone to check on Alex McCauley to see that he mind wipe was holding out and that she was acting normally. Of course, he knew there wouldn't be a problem with his mind wipe, but he knew that his going to check on the woman, made his father feel better - though he'd never admit it, naturally.

Vlad couldn't help but feel sorry for both his father and Miss. McCauley. He'd seen that his father really did care for the woman, but he had also seen the look on her face as he himself had been ravaged by the poison he'd removed from the Count.

After recovering almost instantly from said poison which had almost killed his father, Vlad had been more than a little shocked at just how powerful he was becoming, but in this instance, he didn't think his father cared. He knew the Count loved him, but he also knew that because he was 600 years old and used to being the one in power, that it was difficult for him to accept that soon he would have to give up his position to his son.

Vlad only wanted peace though. He wanted peace between vampires and slayers, and perhaps more importantly, he wanted peace within his family. But that was easier said than done; the Dracula family was the most dysfunctional one in the history of families and not very cooperative when peace was mentioned, under any circumstances.

The young vampire sighed and shook his head as he walked quickly down the long corridor, trying to banish his thoughts. A minute later, he came across his sister sitting on the stairs in the shadows, with a vacant expression on her pale face as she stared down at a piece of paper.

"Ingrid," Vlad spoke, expecting her to jump up and storm past him in a huff. He was surprised when she remained stock still and ignored him instead, "Ingrid?" Vlad furrowed his brow when his sister failed to respond, "Something wrong?"

"Nothing, go away," she snapped instantly, glaring up at her brother.

Vlad saw the paper she was attempting to hide and he used his super speed to come up behind her and snatch it from her hands. "What's this?" he asked staring at the paper, "Is that...is that meant to be dad?"

"...It's mine," Ingrid glowered menacingly.

"Yours...as in...you drew this? Well, I wouldn't get any grand ideas about becoming an artist," Vlad smiled, falling into their usual pattern of insulting each other.

"Well, what'd you expect from a five year old?!"

"...This is from when we were kids?"

"Of course, dung brain!" she yelled, "Now hand it over!" Ingrid growled. She flew past in rapid speed and snatched the paper from his hand only to hold it up to the light and stare at it again.

"I thought dad said he got rid of all your old stuff," Vlad remarked.

"So did I."

"...And...you're staring at it because..."

"None of your business!"

"If he kept it after all these years, shouldn't you be happy, then...he does care about you then, he's just..."

"Then why couldn't he have said so before?!" she cried in a rare moment of weakness.

"...Did you ask him?"

"Of course I didn't, he was dying when he gave it to me!"

"He waited until he was dying to show that he cared," Vlad sighed, "Typical dad...or...not so typical...I mean it's not the first time he's almost died. I hate to say this, but was he really..."

"You weren't there," Ingrid hissed, "He meant it."

"Okay..."

"You're just jealous now that dad's admitted that he lo..."

"...He...what...Ingrid?"

"He said...it doesn't matter what he said..." she sighed, folding up the drawing.

"...He said he loves you, didn't he?" Vlad asked and Ingrid stared over at him.

"If you tell anyone about this, I..."

"I won't," he shook his head, "I know how much this means to you."

"It doesn't mean anything..."

"Sure," he rolled his eyes, "You've only been trying to get dad to pay attention to you since we were kids."

Ingrid's eyes flashed angrily and Vlad held up his hands, "Sorry...sorry," he said genuinely, "...He shouldn't have treated you like that."

"No, he shouldn't," she sighed, "Not like I care," Ingrid quickly corrected herself, not convincing either herself or her brother.

"You do care," Vlad replied, "And it think it's time you admitted it."

"What d'you know about it?! You've always been his favourite, you've no idea what I've been through!"

"No, I don't," he frowned, "But maybe together we can get some answers for you."

"...What are you talking about?"

"Let's go find dad, and see what he has to say about this," Vlad clarified.

"No," Ingrid quickly protested," No, no, no, no, no, no, no!"

"Come on," he insisted, ignoring her protests as he gripped her arm and sped off through the corridors.

A minute later, they found their father sitting up in his coffin wearing his favourite long, red coat. The room was lit by only a handful of candles and the Count was reading on old book, too far gone in its pages to notice his children come into the room using their super speed.

"Dad..." Vlad began, making his father look up.

"Children," he breathed, lowering the book and raising a hand to his heart, "Have a care...if I had a beating heart it would've stopped," he laughed, "...What? Too soon?" the Count narrowed his eyes when neither of them showed signs of reciprocating his humour.

Vlad and Ingrid said nothing and their father stared at them for a second before waving a dismissive hand, "Alright, be like that," he turned back to his book.

"Why didn't you ever say anything before?" Vlad demanded.

"About what?" the Count asked without looking up.

"About this," Vlad replied, once more snatching the drawing from Ingrid's hand and holding it up for his father to see.

"Ah...yes, that..."

"Yeah, that," the young vampire rolled his eyes, "You were never kind to Ingrid..."

"I don't need you to 'defend' me," Ingrid scowled furiously

"I'm not trying to," her bother sighed, "I'm trying to help you, there's a difference."

"I've said all I intended to say on the subject," the Count replied stoically, waving a dismissive hand at them.

"But not all I wanted to hear," Ingrid said quickly, "Just tell me, am I supposed to pretend I didn't hear anything or what?"

"You know I don't approve of that lovey breather nonsense..."

"Sure you don't," she scoffed, "Just remind me...who was the one who got poisoned because they thought they were kissing a breather?"

"She's got you there, dad," Vlad smiled and the Count grimaced.

"Alright, alright, alright," he sighed, "What do you want?"

"Answers," Vlad replied, "I think Ingrid deserves it."

The Count turned away with a look of defeat, he knew as well as his children that he could deny Vlad nothing but he also knew that his son actually had a point. He knew he wasn't ever going to win any parent of the year awards but he'd done the best job he could have done, or so he'd thought at the time.

In 600 years, the Count had had many occupations; he'd been blood thirsty warrior and scourge of nations, he'd been lord of the manor and prince of darkness, and of course more recently, he'd been local eccentric and school governor. But none were quite so demanding as fatherhood. Neither he nor Magda had expected him to enjoy fatherhood as he had done.

He'd never admit it aloud, unless he had to, but the Count had enjoyed raising his children much more than she had. His children, when they had been children, had loved him unconditionally, they had thought him infallible, but now they knew better. He didn't want to be at odds with either of them, he despised the thought of Vlad hating him and he loathed to look back and think of how he'd treated his daughter as she'd grown. But he'd had his reasons, he didn't expect anyone to understand, and he knew, deep down, that those reasons were ludicrous, but the more time passed, the more cold hearted he'd become.

"Answers," the Count repeated slowly. He pushed himself up out of his coffin, once more feeling every one of his years and more, as he moved towards the sofa and sat himself, down. "Some things...are better left unsaid," he murmured.

"You should've thought of that before you opened this can of bats," Ingrid said spitefully.

"I was dying," her father replied, emphasising his last word.

"So you didn't mean any of it, I knew it," Ingrid sighed, "...Can't believe I fell for it," she said to herself, turning away and walking back to the door.

Just as she opened it, her father turned around, "Ingrid," the Count called out, "I never said I didn't mean it."

"You just wish you hadn't said it," she clarified sarcastically, "That's a whole lot better!"

"I have my reasons," he replied.

"What reasons could you possibly have for..." Vlad began.

"...Have I ever said...you look like your mother?" the older vampire said to Ingrid.

"What?" she scoffed, "What's mum got to do with this?"

"Everything...unfortunately," the Count breathed deeply, "...I see her in you every day..."

"You...what..." Vlad murmured, glancing over st his equally shocked sister.

"She left...she left me and she left you children...I hated her, and I loved her. She was the one woman, the first woman I'd truly...and you look so like her," he said, facing Ingrid. "You're so alike...the same intelligence, the same beauty, the same cruelty..."

"I'm cruel?" Ingrid blinked, "What about you?!"

"I know, I know," the Count sighed.

"Wait...hang on...did you just say I'm smart...and beautiful?" she said, taken aback.

"You're saying you ignored your daughter because she looks like your wife?" Vlad frowned when their father didn't answer Ingrid.

"When you put it that way it does sound childish, doesn't it," the Count said petulantly.

"That's because it is," his son said.

"Yes...well, I never said I was the best father..."

"Actually you have said that," Vlad raised an eyebrow.

"...Well..." the Count squirmed, "You're not children anymore. You know what love does. Slayers think that because we have no beating heart that we can't love, but you both know that's not true," he said looking at them both.

"How touching," Ingrid rolled her eyes, "The prince of darkness is getting sappy in his old age."

"Apparently so," the Count muttered back.

"...What?! You're not going to deny it?!" she demanded, unbelievingly.

"You wouldn't believe me if I did."

"No, but..." Ingrid furrowed her brow, "You can't be 'sappy'. You're the prince of darkness! You impaled your enemies on spikes for everyone to see! You butchered the Ottoman Turks! You frightened away an army by leaving thousands of rotting corpses on the banks of the Danube!" she said in quick succession.

"Yes, I did, didn't I?" the Count gave a nostalgic smile.

"Dad," Vlad sighed exasperatedly and their father winced at his son's tone.

"But you're missing the point, Ingrid," the old vampire said to her, "And I won't lie to you, Vlad," he said, "I don't regret any of it, not one single bloody deed."

"Ha," Ingrid gloated at her brother.

"But what I did, I did for my country, for my people."

"You're all heart," Vlad scoffed, folding his arms.

"I am of noble blood, I did my duty," the Count growled, his voice deepening as lighting crackled outside. "You are children, you've never seen a real war...there are no real wars anymore...you can't judge what we did then by today's 'modern' standards. Times have...changed," he grimaced.

"You're admitting that things are different now?" his son asked, surprised.

"Of course they are!" the Count bellowed, "Look around you; the old country as I knew it is gone! My armies are gone! I live in a school..."

"And you fall for breathers," Ingrid mumbled.

"And you..." he stopped, staring at Vlad and ignoring his daughter's last comment, "You'll be eighteen soon and I...will be redundant...There," he hissed, "I admit it. I, Count Dracula, the prince of darkness, scourge of my enemies over centuries, made redundant by his own son. And, how could I forget my daughter, traitor to me a thousand times over!"

"Yeah, aren't I cruel? It's not like you've never done anything to deserve a betrayal or two," Ingrid snapped back.

"Just calm down, the pair of you," Vlad sighed hopelessly.

"Maybe I'll retire to the old country when you come of age, Vladdie, I can live in the mountains, like a hermit," the Count hissed.

"Dad..." Vlad frowned, "Give it a rest, no one's making you redundant."

"Not yet," he scowled.

"Is it any wonder I betrayed you," Ingrid scoffed, "You're talking about hanging up your fangs! You can't even decide whether or not breathers are food or friends."

"That's simple; they're food."

"Then why'd you have me wipe Miss McCauley's memory?" Vlad asked smugly and Ingrid grinned.

"Oh that..."

"Yeah, that," Ingrid prompted.

"That was...that was simply to stop her from running outside screaming that we're vampires."

"Uh, huh, ignoring the fact that you couldn't do it yourself, you didn't even give her a chance to speak," Vlad said.

"She didn't have to, I saw her face," the Count pursed his lip, "We're vampires, we don't mix with breathers."

"You don't believe that, you're always mixing with breathers," Ingrid scoffed.

"She's right," Vlad agreed, "I mean, just in the last few years, there's been Mina Van Helsing, Elizabeth Branaugh and now Miss. McCauley."

"That's different," the Count replied, "They're...food."

"You didn't bite any of them," Ingrid remarked.

"I was working up to it."

"Yeah right, you had the perfect opportunity to bite that head teacher and what did you do? You couldn't stand her looking at you like you were a monster so you had your son wipe her memory," she smirked.

"...Women," the Count gave a rueful snort, "They'll be the death of me yet."

"Thing is..." Ingrid continued, "You seem to prefer breather women to vampire women," she grinned, "I wonder what the High Council would think about that."

"Another nail in my coffin," he shrugged, "Don't get any ideas, Ingrid, if the High Council could've gotten rid of me they would've staked me long ago."

"They've certainly tried," she said.

"And failed," the Count emphasised.

"I think we've gotten off topic," Vlad said, with an unsurprised expression.

The Count scowled, "I thought I was doing rather well," he grimaced.

"Dad," his son breathed.

"Oh, alright, alright," the older vampire glared at him.

"We've still got about another 99 years on our agreement to be nice to each other, remember," Vlad said.

"We're vampires, we don't do 'nice'. What's it going to take for you to realise that?" Ingrid asked him sarcastically.

"That can't be the excuse for everything," Vlad cried, "You were the one just moping over an old picture! I'm trying to help you here!"

Ingrid only scowled darkly at her brother and the Count's eyes flickered between the two of them. "Well," he clapped his hands suddenly, taking a deep breath and jumping to his feet, "As a caring and...'nice'...father...might I suggest we take a trip down the bat walks of the old country..."

"A what?" Vlad and Ingrid broke their glaring contest to exclaim simultaneously and turn to look at their father.

"We never go on 'trips'," Ingrid said.

"We do now," the Count said slowly.

"And how long's it going to take before you decide I'm not going, because if I do go I'm not going to be your personal pack mule," she said sternly and with some amount of disbelief.

"I suppose you won't want this then," the older vampire said innocently, speeding across the room to open a drawer and hold up a wad of bank notes between his fingers.

"...You never give me money," Ingrid said suspiciously.

"Well then, Vladimir, you'll just have to have this..."

"No, no!" she yelled, running over to him and snatching the money, "I want it."

Vlad was still watching his father in a mix of shock and confusion. He hadn't expected any kind of reaction - except anger, when he decided to confront their father with Ingrid. This was was surely too good to be true. There was no way it was genuine.

"Right, follow me then," the Count grinned before turning into a bat.

Ingrid glanced at her brother before turning into a bat herself while their father flapped about the room, impatient that Vlad was still standing there. He flew over to Vlad and perched himself on his son's shoulder and nudged his neck with his small, bat head while letting out a screech, baring his fangs.

"Okay, okay," Vlad sighed, "But you promise to behave?" he said.

The Count, still a small flying rodent, gave a nod and flew up off Vlad's shoulder, past the thick curtains and out of the hidden window with his two children following him.