Robin x Vlad Oneshots (Young Dracula)

Never believe what's on't elly

Unconnected Short Stories
falsteloj
Ao3
937 words

It had taken months of hinting, and wheedling, and outright begging but, finally, Miss McCauley had agreed it was a good idea, and suddenly the Count couldn't wait to send Renfield to the shops to stagger back with a 42 inch TV set.

Ingrid sniffed haughtily, but wasn't smart enough to hide the packaging from the shopping channel, and Bertrand eyed it up suspiciously, but watched the news diligently, and Vlad once caught him reminiscing with his dad about refreshments during war time newsreels.

Wolfie seemed happy enough with the cartoons, and Renfield's dress collection started improving, with endless viewings of programmes about skin care and how to make the most of your waistline.

His dad had little interest, though felt he had to be constantly in possession of the remote control, and Erin used it as an excuse to not have to actually talk to him, because they both knew that without a distraction they would have to face facts, and that their romance would be over.

Vlad was often uncertain as to whether it had ever actually begun, or if it had all been a figment of his imagination. One night they sat and watched some grey drama, about a couple who decided it would be better if they just stayed friends, and both of them squirmed uncomfortably, because it was all a little too close for comfort.

The final nail in the proverbial coffin came when he was least expecting it. His dad was lording it over the remote, refusing to allow anyone near it though it was BBC3, and the timetabled programming was trashy and awful.

"You don't even know what this is," Ingrid protested, tone laced with frustration, and the Count gestured at it, too grandly, and said,

"Of course I do, it's –" and then in an undertone, "Wolfie, pass me that televisual guide, there's a good dog."

"Whatever it is, I don't think it's overly suitable –" Bertrand started, but was cut off by Vlad surprising himself, though he didn't have time to wonder about his outburst of 'Quiet!', instead snatching the remote and sitting in front of the screen, breath baited.

He was proved right, though he had already been certain of it. He'd recognise that accent anywhere.

"Growing up in the shadow of Stokely Castle," the voiceover said, "Chantal has always wanted her own fairytale wedding."

A girl Vlad vaguely recognized from Stokely Grammar appeared, all fake tan, fake nails and faker hair. She flicked through a gossip magazine as she told the camera,

"Like, I already told him if he messes my dress up then I won't even marry him."

"Across town, the would be groom is more concerned with the stag night arrangements."

The screen was suddenly full of Robin's face and, though ten minutes he would never have credited it, it felt like someone had just ripped his heart out. It was so obvious, as if he had always known, and he might have said something, he wasn't sure, but everyone was staring at him like he was growing an extra head when the world tilted the right way up again, and the guy delivering the voiceover said,

"Paul chose both brothers to be best man," and Ian's voice followed it with,

"I get to do all the good stuff, and Robin can make sure we all get to the church in the morning."

"I see Branagh is still as repulsive as ever," Ingrid said, like she felt it was expected of her, and Vlad didn't waste any time arguing, mumbling instead about how he had just remembered he had to be somewhere.

Erin caught him just before he had chance to flit, and he realised with a sudden wave of guilt exactly what she must think of his behaviour.

"That was your friend, wasn't it? The one you told me about."

Vlad nodded, cautious, and tried to determine whether there had been any significant stress on the word 'friend' or not. She swallowed, bit at her lip and then looked him in the face.

"We both know that it's all wrong." And then, with a forced smile, "Good luck, Vlad."

He had never loved her more than he did in that moment.

The fact that it was all more than a little bit mad really hit home when he found himself stood on the Branaghs' doorstep, about to, well, who knew. Confess his undying love to someone who might not even remember him.

Except Robin stared at him with wide eyed shock when he pulled the door open, and said, "Vlad, what are you doing here?," followed swiftly by, "if you've gone evil and are going to bite everyone you can't come in. But you can still do me if you want though."

It was so unexpected he started laughing, just on the verge of hysterical, and when he managed to regain control it was gone as swiftly as it had come, everything feeling entirely serious all over again.

"I've missed you," he said, cataloguing all the ways in which Robin looked different, and all the ways in which he looked exactly as Vlad remembered.

"Yeah?" Robin asked, sounding half hopeful and half smug, as if he had always known that he would come back, one day.

"Yeah," he nodded, certain it must all be obvious from the way his gaze lingered, and the way he had just turned up in the first place. Robin grinned, cheeks dimpling in the exact same way Vlad remembered, and said in a tone that told him all he needed to know,

"You'd better come in then, hadn't you?"