A/N Guess what I found on my computer. This has been sitting, mostly finished on my laptop for about a year now, apparently, so I finished it up, polished it, and here it is.

"Kill the monster!" the words echoed in his mind as he darted forward, breathing heavily. He stopped, hands on his knees, doubled over. "There he is!"

The voices were nearby, and he straightened, swiftly turning his head to the left, then right, looking for him. A large weight forced against his spine, and he tumbled to the ground. He felt blood trickle from the top of his head, but he only turned and kicked out, hitting nothing. His attacker evaded his sight.

"Vladimir!"

The man stiffened, stood, and then trotted down the rocky steep, stopping to stand at an older man's side.

"Did you find him, boy?"

"No, father, I did not. He has escaped me," Vladimir looked down, but lifted his eyes when he felt a withered hand grip his shoulder.

The priest's eyes were kind, "You have done finely son, he has evaded even the best of men. I am still proud of you."

Numbly, the holy man's son nodded; he still felt inadequate, and the grumbles of the men around him, though he knew they, too, did not fault him, only worsened his shame. Another man, strong and burly, approached from behind and patted the thinner, younger one on his back, hard enough to nearly knock Vladimir over.

"You will destroy the demon next time, young Vlad," the soldier offered a large, toothy grin, "I am sure of it."

Vladimir only nodded. The army men headed off toward the village, protected only by the full moon, with the monster still at large.

When they reached the edge of town, the men all split ways, heading to their individual homes. Vladimir meekly followed his father to their shared home, helping creak the door open for the older man, even despite the priest's protests.

"I am not so helpless, my son," the man reminded, but smiled despite himself, "Though I thank you, child."

Vladimir nodded, smiling also. Then he, too, walked into the lighted room, where an older woman was tending a fire. She straightened and turned, followed by a young girl and little boy.

"Tata!" the littlest child ran to the religious leader, hugging the man around his legs.

"Do I not deserve a hug, Aurel?" Vladimir laughed.

The small child looked at the teenager, then teasingly shook his head with a big grin, "No."

"Aurel," the older woman in the house scolded gently, "That is not kind."

Aurel turned and pouted at his mother, mumbling, "Sorry, Mama," then jumped up at Vlad, who caught his brother in his arms.

"Now that I have you," Vladimir said ominously, "I will not let you go," he then began to tickle the little boy, who laughed and struggled to free himself.

"Careful, careful, Vladimir," their father warned, "I do not want your brother to hurt himself."

"Yes, father, of course. My apologies," though the mischievous grin upon the boy's lips did not appear apologetic.

The girl placed herself back on the couch, watching her mother stir the stew they were preparing for supper, then turned back to her older brother, "Mama bought bread at the market today, so we may have that with supper."

"Yes!" Vladimir shouted in joy, and ran over to his mother, hugging her.

"Careful, my son," she laughed, "I do not want to drop the ladle."

"Yes, mother, but my thanks are plentiful."

The woman laughed, and her husband joined in.

"Sit, everybody. Supper will be ready soon," their mother promised, and Vladimir eagerly obeyed, followed by his siblings.

He turned in his chair, one leg on either side of the back, though he knew it was improper, and raised a curious eyebrow. "Mother, where is Demetra?"

Florina was the one who spoke up, in place of her mother, "She was going to wander the town with her friends. Perhaps they stayed at Flavia's house?"

"Hmm," Vladimir turned back around and smiled sheepishly at the disapproving look his father cast him.

His mother rushed over with two bowls, placing one in front of her husband, and one in front of her oldest son; usually the youngests of the family would be served, then the head, and then herself, but when her "boys" went out hunting, she would always serve them first. When in front of Vladimir, she paused, and leaned closer to her eldest.

"My son, what has happened to your face?" she pressed a hand into his cheek, drawing him closer, then turned scolding toward her two other present children, before finally resting her fierce gaze upon her wed, "Why have none of you informed me of his injury?"

"It is not unusual, Mama," Florina mumbled, glancing away, "When he and father are hunting."

"She is right, Mother," Vladimir started, but swallowed when she turned back to him.

His mother looked as though she would lecture him until he dropped dead from shame, but she simply sucked her bottom lip and sternly wagged a finger once as she hissed, "After supper I am tending to that wound, and you best tell me next time you are hurt." She returned to the stew to serve her other children and herself as she muttered. Her pitch would lower as she spoke to herself and then suddenly raise, being sure her son and husband heard. It was a habit she had fallen into when she was too busy to properly scold her children, or did not want to seem nagging.

Vladimir smiled fondly, but hid his lips behind his spoon. Being a young man now, he knew he would be leaving her soon, finding a suitable wife of his own and bearing children. He would miss this life. The idea of a woman who loved him and doting children to raise was appealing, certainly, but he enjoyed what his life was at the moment and was in no hurry to fully grow up. That was out of his hands, though.

He slurped the hot broth off his spoon. Most households waited until everyone was served to thank God for their meal and begin to eat, but his family was a little unconventional. He had said a quick, silent prayer, and had begun eating immediately. His father did the same. Sometimes, Vladimir wondered if the other church members worked in a similar way, or if they were somehow doing this wrong; was it possible to eat wrong?

His mother sat down across from her husband and took the hands of her youngest children, lowering her head and mumbling a soft praise. Aurel squirmed and whined softly, as Florina used to, but he was getting better. He settled down as soon as his mother began speaking, but he did cast envious glances at his brother, then eyed his own bowl. When his mother released his hand, the child immediately snatched his spoon and dunked it into his supper. Vladimir bit his lip to avoid chuckling at the little boy.

After supper had finished and the children had helped wash the dishes (Vladimir had been adamant to help out, but his mother and sister had been just as adamant that the two men relax), it was time for the littlest member of the family to sleep. Florina gently grasped Aurel's hand and led him to their shared bedroom, but the child wiggled out of her grip.

He clumsily ran over to his brother and hugged his legs tightly, pouting at Florina as he loudly announced, "I want Vlad to come with me!"

Vladimir looked down, then back up at his sister. She looked surprised, but not upset, shrugging slightly. "If it is his wish."

The young man smiled and nodded slightly to her, then looked down at his brother, taking his small hand. His sister loved the little boy, but she had seemed almost relieved at the new request. Vladimir knew why.

It felt like half the night had gone by when the child had finally fully drifted off. He was allotted one story a night so as not to keep him awake, but he demanded his storyteller stay with him until he fell asleep, otherwise he would cry and scream about being frightened until somebody came. Florina was the only one who did not think this behavior was attention seeking and manipulation, but no one had the heart to deal with it. It was unjust to punish a child for being scared. However, Aurel always took the opportunity to talk to his sister (and tonight, his brother) about everything under the Sun and then some. It always took at least half an hour to get the boy to sleep, but Vladimir had known this before he had agreed. It did not matter. He loved his brother, and he knew why the little boy was suddenly so keen on spending so much time with him.

He was getting older. It would not have been unusual for him to already be out of the house, and once he left, he would settle down with a lovely wife and hopefully children of his own. Who knew how often the brothers would get to see each other once that happened. Florina loved spending time with her siblings, and doted on little Aurel, but she also understood this logic. She also knew that as much as her younger brother adored her, he idolized Vladimir. In some ways, all three of the siblings did.

She smiled playfully as Vladimir finally returned to the living area with a tired grin on his face. He looked so victorious and Florina had to fight back the laughter building inside of her. Vlad might very well throw her out of the house if she awoke the child. Overacting, as per usual, the young man practically collapsed next to his sister.

/

His back hit the ground and he stared wide eyed at the harvest moon above him. Its yellow glow was sickly. The young man recovered quickly and pushed himself up, ignoring the pain in his hand as a jagged rock pierced his palm, the wet trickle of blood running down toward his wrist. That is when he heard the hiss, fierce and chilling, and felt the grasp on his arm.

With a sharp inhale of pain and shock, Vladimir turned to his right and saw the creature lapping at the blood. Its red eyes looked up at him, predatorily glinting in the scarce light of nighttime.

"Get away, monster!" Vladimir shouted, puling back and trying to reach his weapon, but the other man, who was not quite a man, also pulled, and soon the human felt himself cradled in the strength of the demon.

The vampire smiled down at young Vladimir, and whilst restraining the thrashing human, knotted its his fingers in the hair of the priest's son, pulling back forcefully, but not painfully. He stroked Vladimir's arm, and purred as he buried his face in the living's crook, drawing in the smell of the young man.

"Leave me be," Vladimir cried, still squirming, but the monster's strength was inhuman, and he did not stand a chance.

The creature drew back slightly, smiled cruelly at Vladimir, and then plunged his yellowed, stained teeth into the human's neck. The blood was warm and streamed generously. Gratefully, the vampire slurped the lifeforce.

Vladimir could feel himself dying. His breath was shallow and painful, and his weakness was growing. A sense of peace washed over him. He could feel the embrace of Heaven, and despite the sacrilege of his demise, he felt joy. He would, at last, be with the angels and his Lord, and could leave this mortal existence. His life had not been a bad one, in fact, he had rather enjoyed it, but no human life was perfect, and he was ready to relinquish this world, for one devoid of pain, sorrow, mistakes, anger and guilt.

And then it all went wrong.

Vladimir felt his lifeforce snap back into him with renewed vigor. He was weak, but he was there. His consciousness was muddled and foggy, but when he turned he could see figures fighting and hear a terrifyingly animalistic fury mixed together with the weary yelling of a man Vladimir felt like he must know. The human stabbed something into the creature, pinning its head under his boot as he plunged it deep. A sick, wet squelching could be heard and then the man turned. He approached slowly, and Vladimir wanted to smile, wanted to say something to his savior but…found he could not. He felt weak and tired. Apparently it wasn't his time to leave this mortal coil, and he found that he was happy about that. Vladimir turned and pulled himself up to his knees, turning to the paralyzed human. He inhaled deep and then paused. His lips, of their own volition, crept upward, baring his teeth. His head turned sharply, fast enough to snap his neck had he been

Had he been

…human.

This new movement broke the spell cast upon the young man who sprinted back toward the group shouting frantically. Vladimir stood and watched, then followed. He could hear voices. His father's voice. His mind still had not quite connected the idea of his change. He knew he was different now, but his heart had yet to accept that things would not be like they had been. That he needed t be destroyed before he ruined anything. These thoughts began to feel more tangible as he heard what the voices were saying. The shouted hushed. Everyone stared at him. His eyes were wide and curious, displaying an innocence he did not feel. One of the closer men rushed him and threw him to the ground before he could do or say anything, but just as suddenly, the man was pulled off of him. Vladimir found himself staring up into the disbelieving eyes of his father. He stood quickly, still guarded.

"No," the holy man shouted firmly, fury blazing in his eyes, "My son could never be a creature of Satan, you are mistaken, my men."

The man's rage settled as he turned to his child, and opened his arms for the boy as he approached. His son did not come forth, but he shook with fear as he saw the old man near. Mihai smiled sadly, and wrapped his arms around the shivering younger man, drawing him as close as he could. Vladimir cried, and gripped onto his father; the priest did not know what he had gone through, or what he would continue to, and he was afraid of himself, but here in his father's arms, he felt like a child, safe and comforted.

But the smell. Vladimir stiffened. He could smell the lifeforce of his parent, hear it pulse through the man's veins. The skin of his neck was pulled taut with age, and the veins nearly popped out. Vladimir's breath shallowed, and he gripped onto his father more forcefully. The priest was whispering something, but the vampire could not hear. He opened his mouth wide and released his fangs.

"Father Mihai!" one of the men whom Vladimir once knew shouted in alarm, reaching a hand out, but he knew he would never get there in time to put a stop to this.

Mihai attempted to pull away, but the monster was stronger, and he adjusted his position to better access the jugular, and then Vladimir was staring up in a daze at the painted ceiling. And he heard the shouts of his father. The image of what he had almost just done filled his now clear mind, and Vladimir cried. It was not the inhuman screech of a vampire meeting its death, or the anguished shout of a man, but the long wail of a child: a child Vladimir had not been in some time, but when one nearly murders their father, who has been nothing but kind to them their whole life, one returns to that state of childhood in which problems are amplified and solutions seem unreachable.

"No! Do not hurt him!" the priest demanded, "He is my son!"

"He is not your son, Father Mihai," one man shouted, a voice Vladimir did not recognize.

"Yes, he is, even now when the demon has corrupted him! Look how he cries for forgiveness," Mihai pleaded, tears streaming down his own creviced face. He rushed forward toward the infected man, but Vladimir gasped and scurried back.

"Do not come near me, father," he cried, "I will hurt you. I will hurt others. You must kill me, please!"

"See," someone who had known Vladimir since he was a young boy, nearly the same age as the priest, growled at Mihai, "I care about the boy too, but he admits it, Mihai, he must die. Allow the Heavenly Father to sort it out, but keeping him on this earth is irresponsible. Do not be a fool!"

"I am not. But he is my son, and I will not allow him to be killed. It is not his fault."

"It was not the others' faults either, but we ended them. What makes him different?"

Mihai turned to the man and shouted, "He is my son!"

Vladimir's eyes focused on man arguing with his father; he smiled in recognition at Stefan. He crawled forward in a manner that was certainly not humanlike, but not quite beastly. Stefan inhaled and leapt back, grabbing ahold of Mihai's forearm in an attempt to drag him to safety, but the stubborn old man resisted and pulled away from his friend, eyes blazing with fury and unshed tears.

Still crouched low, Vladimir's raspy, pained voice assured, "It's okay. You can destroy my form. It is bes-"

"No!" his father tried to rush forward again to rebuke his son for speaking such nonsense, but all the young man could see and feel was his thirst.

The pounding of fresh, warm blood pulsing through the old man's veins, the feeling of the sticky wetness dripping down Vladimir's pursed lips. Draining his prey into an empty, pale husk. Stefan's eyes widened and he shouted something about leaving now, but the newborn creature couldn't give a damn about what was being spouted. He needed to feed. The other one lurched forward with an ornate crucifix clutched tightly in both hands. He mumbled words, but the vampire found himself to be stronger. Fighting back a wince against the prayer, he lunged and knocked the cross out of the man's hands, grinning as he smashed it against stone. He assessed which food source was more accessible and stalked toward the one that was not fighting back. An easy dinner.

With all his might, Stefan grasped the prey with both arms and pulled him away, shaking the old man slightly and shoving him backward. Mihai stumbled and fell to the ground, but was upon his feet again in nearly an instant.

An instant was too late. Stefan gave a shout as he was pummeled to the ground, struggling with the powerful creature atop his body. The young vampire thrashed and screeched, snarling like a rabid dog, baring fangs twice as sharp. His eyes were blazing with nothing of humanity. Just the animalistic desire to survive with no thought of empathy or kindness. This was what Stefan had wanted to avoid…he couldn't bear to see the sweet young boy he had once known turned into this unholy abomination of Hell. Wiggling and writhing, Stefan managed to hold the creature away from his neck, but he put his wrist in a vulnerable position, which did not go unnoticed by the monster. Licking dry lips, the creature lunged, thick saliva dripping onto Stefan's chin and down his neck. He winced, feeling the scrape of sharp teeth before they pierced hot, living flesh.

And then nothing. A heavy weight toppled onto Stefan's chest and veiled with darkness, framed by the night's stars, stood a comrade. Darius, with his tears in his eyes, pulled his weapon out of the chest cavity of what was once a dear friend. With trembling lips, he gave a weak smile, heaved the dead weight off of Stefan, and offered a hand to the older man. He took it with gratitude. The group rejoined, all gathering around the lifeless, soulless body of a fallen man. Mihai wanted to scream, to cry, to beg for God to bring his boy back but…the only movement he was able to make was to crumple to the ground, silent and still. His eyes would not leave those of his son. Empty. How would he explain this to his wife…to the children? His body felt cold. He felt as dead as his son was.

/

Romania flicked his tongue easily across his sharp canines. He often found himself like this: staring at the horizon as the morning glow began to brighten, the sky bursting with color. It was calm. He was such a wild spirit most of the time, fun-loving and free, but sometimes, the quiet warmed his soul. Unconsciously, he would feel his fangs. Sometimes, in quiet moments like these, he felt like he was missing something, like this wasn't supposed to be his life.

But that was a silly thought.

A/N This went way longer than I intended, but it was so much fun. I almost want to write an entire story about Vladimir as a human, even though I'm not usually much for AUs. I normally put Romania as being in his early twenties, but it sort of worked better if he was around 17-19. Florina is probably 12-14, Demetra is 15 or 16, and it doesn't matter as much but Aurel is probably about 4 or 5, but he could be older.

I feel like this was a sort of obvious one, but sometimes something being obvious means it's the one that makes the most sense. I hope it works and was fun to read.