Backpack

A/N: Hey, just so you know, this is set when Dennis is four, so the main events of the second film haven't occurred yet. Just so you know.

Now that that's out of the way - lol what is in-character lol who cares. This is so pathetic it actually hurts me but I am 100 miles beyond caring. And it shits all over canon but I don't care. Who does.

Normal people, Johnny thought, would have asked him how the trip was; would have offered him a smile and extended a hand to assist him with the luggage; ordinary people would have firstly invited him inside and showed him to his room, given him at least a minute to catch his breath before springing the question on him, but to be perfectly honest, Count Dracula had never been very high on anyone's list of ordinary people, and as such, he did not trouble himself to do anything of the above.

No, when an overexcited four-year-old boy with various leaves and twigs tangled in his messy red curls stumbled out of the car and flew straight at him, jumping happily around his legs and calling impatiently for the other to look at him, the first thing the ancient vampire thought to do was turn a burning blue gaze upon his son-in-law. Placing a pale, long-fingered hand on the child's head in the hopes of calming him, Dracula practically spat the words in Johnny's direction. "What is my grandson wearing?"

"We can talk about this later." Johnny turned to grab his backpack off the imitation leather seat, wishing desperately to forestall the inevitable. Catching the expression of displeasure upon the famed monster's face, he added softly, "C'mon. Please, Drac. I got off a plane and spent an hour in the car with the kid." He jerked his head in Dennis' direction, slamming the driver's side door shut as he spoke. "I'm tired. I just need a minute."

Johnny strongly suspected this would not have discouraged the other from posing further inquiries, but Mavis exited the car then, successfully distracting Dracula – pushing past the human and shooting his daughter a fanged grin, the monster swept the girl up into a tight hug. "Welcome back, my little blood-orange! How was your trip?"

"It was wonderful, Daddy," the girl beamed, responding instinctively to the embrace. "It went great—London is beautiful—I missed you, too, Daddy, everyone missed you so much—of course we took pictures, we always take pictures—we got them printed—they're somewhere in my bag—I'll show you when we get inside, c'mon…"

When moments like this occurred, it was Johnny's first instinct to walk away, edge out of the scene, avert his eyes – and to this day, he still wasn't sure whether it was simply to give his wife time with her beloved father, or to distance himself from the overwhelming outpouring of affection. Hard as he'd tried to suppress it, sorrow still rose up, somewhere within him, every time he spotted the two vampires laughing together. He could recall, vividly so, his own childhood, and the few times his father had appeared within it. Even the nights he saw it fit to return home had never been pleasant, and no matter how much Johnny had struggled, how hard he tried, his father had never spared him more than a glance.

Shaking off these thoughts, the human followed his wife into the hotel, slipping his backpack over his shoulder as he walked; upon reaching their bedroom and shedding bags and jackets, Mavis pushed back a troublesome strand of glossy black hair and groaned, "I really need a shower."

"Go on, my little voodoo doll," Dracula seated himself upon the edge of the bed, scooping Dennis up into his arms as he spoke. "Jonathon and I can keep an eye on Denisovich."

"His name's Dennis, Dad," the girl reminded her father for surely the umpteenth time, bending down to unzip her plain duffel bag, retrieving some sleepwear. Redoing the zipper and straightening, the vampire headed for the bathroom. "I'll be out in ten," she called over her shoulder. "Don't do anything stupid."

Johnny could never be certain if she was speaking to him, Dracula, or Dennis, but he hoped it was one of the other two.

"C'mon, little buddy," the human extended a hand, and his son obediently latched onto his fingers, toddling out of his grandfather's arms and over to the dresser with his father; Johnny took up a comb and knelt down to his son's height, staring into his boy's eyes – the child may have inherited his hair, heaven help them both, but those eyes were his mother's, bright and brilliant and impossibly blue. "C'mon, buddy, let's get these tangles out."

Dennis wrinkled his nose. "I don't wanna."

It would have been easy, Johnny reflected longingly, to put the comb back upon the dresser and let the boy have his way – but he couldn't justify leaving this tangle for his wife to face after her shower, so he shook his head and drew the child closer. "But you gotta. We gotta get it done before your bath."

"I don't wanna bath."

"Yeah, baths stink," Johnny confirmed with a little nod. "But once you've taken yours and you're clean, you can sit up with Grandpa and I for a few minutes, 'kay?"

"How long is a few minutes?" Dennis demanded skeptically – the child was old enough now to know when an adult was attempting to pull the wool over his eyes. "Is it like two minutes or six minutes or twelve minutes?"

"It'll be fifteen minutes," Johnny declared, viciously attacking a chunk of hair with the comb. "But before that, you gotta take your bath and brush your teeth."

"How long is fifteen minutes?"

"Long enough, little buddy, longer than twelve minutes. How's that sound?"

"Will you tell the story of how you met Grandpa and found the hotel again?" Dennis offered his father a gap-toothed smile.

Johnny placed the comb back upon the dresser with a grin, leaning down to ruffle his child's now-mostly-untangled hair. "You know it. Now, just sit tight 'til your mother gets out, okay? C'mon, then you can stay up, you don't have to sleep, you know that…you want to color?"

His son brightened at the mention of this activity – for a four-year-old, he was remarkably easy to interest in crayons – and Johnny, relieved that his child had settled on something quiet, hastily found a coloring book in the boy's pack and handed it to him. Dennis grabbed an orange crayon, turned to the book, and began to color the character's hair – the only crayons he'd use on hair were orange and black. He refused to acknowledge that other hair colors existed.

"I have given you a minute," Dracula rose suddenly from the bed, blue eyes narrowing; sweeping over to the dresser to face Johnny, the vampire began the questioning. "What is my grandson wearing?"

"Believe it or not, it wasn't my idea," the human sighed, bringing the comb up to his own thick curls, raking it through briefly before surrendering – some things were better left undone. "The little guy wanted it – the second he saw it on the aisle, he just started begging, and we figured it'd kill two birds with one stone."

"And you expect me to believe that?" Dracula hissed. "You expect me to believe my grandson – with Dracula blood running through his veins, no less – went to the store and chose the biggest, ugliest backpack for himself? Because he wanted it?"

"Believe me, Mavis has already been over this," Johnny said wearily. "I didn't see any reason to get worked up about it. Kid's got my genes. Maybe he just got my good taste, too."

Dracula appeared to be readying himself to deliver a scathing remark about Johnny's good taste, or the lack thereof, but the child distracted the both of them then – holding up the coloring book proudly and pointing to the page he had just completed, the little boy exclaimed, "Look, Daddy! He has our hair!"

"Oh, he does!" Johnny abandoned the conversation with Dracula in favor of his child, kneeling down to be eye-level with the boy and taking a moment to examine the book. "It looks just like us, little buddy, great job!"

Dennis smiled, immediately dropping his blue eyes back to his book and flipping the page, seeking another picture.

"…Hey, little buddy?" Johnny eyed the pack still slung around his son's small shoulder; if Dracula didn't believe him, maybe hearing it from the kid's mouth would convince him.

"Mm?" The kid took a minute to lift his head, obviously engrossed in his picture.

"Why…why did you want that backpack so badly?"

"You have a backpack," Dennis replied simply, and without hesitation.

Dracula sent the human a knowing look; Johnny dropped his gaze back to his boy as if scalded.

"And…and that's all?" Johnny prodded quietly.

"Yep!" The boy bobbed his head proudly, sending his orange curls bouncing. "You have a backpack, so now I have a backpack! We're just alike, Daddy!"

Dear Lord, the kid should not sound so excited about this.

"And I'm gonna do everything you do when you grow up!"

Oh, dear God, no…

"I'm gonna go all over the place, like you do, I'm gonna go everywhere!" Dennis went on enthusiastically, but Johnny found he couldn't move or speak; he sat silent and frozen, staring unseeingly at the dusty wooden floor, dread building in his stomach. His son should not want to be like him. His son should never want to be like him. There was nothing in him that warranted the look Dennis was giving him now – the huge, beaming grin on his face.

The bathroom door opened then and Mavis reentered amid a thick cloud of steam, shaking out her damp hair and extending a hand for her son's. "Dennis?"

"Daddy?" The little boy had finally realized his father hadn't moved or spoken; sitting up on his knees, the child tugged at the loose-fitting sleeve in the hopes of receiving attention.

"Jonathon?" Mavis appeared to have picked up on her husband's distress, because she placed her free hand over his, a question in her eyes.

"Dennis needs his bath." Dennis needed to be away from him. Johnny didn't think he could handle another moment with the child.

His wife looked at him for another long second, and she knew something was wrong, the human could tell she knew, but she did not press him, did not voice any of the questions in her gaze, and Johnny could not find the words to express his gratitude to her. She drew Dennis into her arms and headed for the bathroom once more. "C'mon, Dennis, it's time for your bath…"

Distantly, Johnny heard the door closing, the bathwater starting, his wife and child talking behind the whitewashed door, but he couldn't make himself open his lips, couldn't find the words or make them fall from his tongue. Dennis shouldn't want to be like him.

"Johnny…" Dracula's voice was gentler than the other had ever heard it, but he couldn't look at the vampire; he remained where he was, kneeling on the floor.

"D-Dennis," he choked at last, and the word sounded strangled and strange, and it tasted wrong on his tongue. "D-Dennis…oh, God…" He dropped his head into his hands, fingers clenching momentarily around disobedient orange frizz. "D-Dennis…wants…Drac, what do I do?"

A cool hand found his, gently forcing it back into his lap, away from his hair; when he glanced up, he met Dracula's blue eyes as the vampire settled himself upon his knees in front of him. "Johnny, children sometimes tend to emulate—

"I know," the human choked, and he couldn't keep looking at the vampire – he glanced down at his lap. "I know, I just…what if I'm hurting him?"

"You are not—

"It's not normal. Normal kids don't talk about going everywhere, do they? What if I'm…I'm messing him up or something? What if I'm making him…weird?"

"Johnny, I do not say this lightly – but I believe, considering the circumstances, you are the most normal relative he has. He has Dracula for a grandpa, for crying out loud." The vampire chuckled quietly, but there was no humor in the sound. "I don't believe you have any cause to worry about turning your child 'weird'."

"But what about other kids? What if…what if I have other kids and I screw them up or something, I hurt them – inside? What if I make them weird, or they need years of therapy or something to get over what I do? What if I just…fail them?"

"You're thinking worst-case scenario. If you're concerned about the possibility of future children, you need only look at Dennis – he has lived four years now under your guidance, and he is no worse for the wear. Wanting to be like you isn't a sign of damage."

"He's only alright because of Mavis," Johnny reminded the vampire, raking a hand through his hair in distress. "He's only alright because of her, I have…I have no idea what to do, half the time I'm just stumbling around, I'm just going with it, but I can't anymore; Drac, I…" The human looked away before voicing the words. "I never had…a…a dad to show me…how to take care of a kid. How a guy's supposed to take care of his kids. What if I don't do it right?"

"Okay." Dracula drew in a deep breath, as if he required all the strength in his thin body for the task ahead. He placed a hand upon Jonathon's shoulder before speaking. "I don't believe you are going to fail. Even if you didn't have Mavey, even if it was just you, I don't believe you'd fail Dennis. Dennis' actions suggest only that he admires you, and I certainly don't know why, but children are sometimes unpredictable. The best thing you can do at this moment in time, instead of discouraging him from thinking of you in that way is to work at being an example for him. He's chosen you as his role model for the time being and the best thing you can do is be a good role model. All you have to do, Johnny, is be you."

At the human's wide-eyed look, the vampire smiled slightly. "You are…a good father, Jonathon." He looked away from the other as he spoke, seemingly uncomfortable in voicing the compliment. "And you are a…a better example for Dennis than…than others might be."

It took Johnny a moment to realize that perhaps the vampire had had other ideas concerning Dennis' role model; by the time he made the connection, Dracula had left the room.