Chapter Text
Hernan’s eyes scan the dark alley. He’s more than sure it’s close. They are close. He can hear their heartbeat, hear their rasping breath. The quiet footsteps as they move around, trying to see him, perhaps – something Hernan would be able to do, if he tried. He descends, his feet touching the ground and he raises his head.
It’s a second before there’s a growl, a rat falling to the ground, followed like a quick movement and Hernan’s eyes narrow, before he turns around, grasping at the snarling animal and pushing them into the ground.
It’s a man – or perhaps not just a man. One of Hernan’s hands closes around the man’s neck, his grasp tightening more and more in warning until the man stops snarling and fighting against him. The guy is glaring up at him, his eyes red like blood and when Hernan lifts his other hand to peel back his top lip, he twists and jumps, his teeth closing mere inches away from Hernan’s fingers. It’s thanks to his reflexes and his inhuman speed that his hand’s still whole. But still - it was just a second, but Hernan saw it anyway. Those fangs.
So no, not
just
a man.
Something more. The guy twitches again and he must’ve gotten some of his bravery - or foolishness - back, because his hands clutch at Hernan’s arm, fingers digging into his skin. Hernan’s eyes narrow and he squeezes the hand on guy’s neck again, until the creature under him is gasping, the eyes roll back in its skull and the hands fall from Hernan’s sleeve. Only then does he allow his grip to loosen and he stands up, looking over the body that’s clothed in shredded, bloodied shirt.
Hernan wrinkles his nose.
The blood will have to go.
It’s not hard to find the guy in the missing cases. The name is Kirk Langstrom, a scientist, a genius… a Luthor’s boy.
Hernan’s eyes fly towards the unconscious body on the bed and he wonders for a moment if that’s some kind of a joke. If fate doesn’t have anything better to do than get in the way, pull at Hernan’s pigtails and hope that he’s not going to drag down a whole planet in his mad revenge. Or perhaps, it’s not fate. Perhaps Luthor knew, he did read the files on the Kryptonian ship, long before Hernan knew it belonged to him. Perhaps he managed to guess what Hernan had no idea about just yet.
Hernan’s eyes narrow and he can’t stop his hand from slipping into the now clean hair, tangling his fingers in possessively. Whatever Luthor thought he might’ve found, he was wrong. And if he touched this man, Kirk, before, there will be a hell to pay.
The first time he wakes up, the guy is still surrounded by the red madness, Hernan can see it in his eyes. There’s nothing but the beast behind, need, desperation and pain , something that makes Hernan’s stomach twist with something , even though he’d never admit to it.
The chains hold him still against the wall. Hernan ignores the snarling as he steps closer, reveals his wrist and lifts it up, offering it up.
There’s a flash of pain as the sharp teeth sink into his wrist but Hernan doesn’t flinch. Instead he watches Kirk’s moving throat as the vampire - were vampires real? Is that what Kirk is - is gulping down his blood.
When he pulls his hand back, the teeth tearing at his flesh, and turns to leave ignoring the whining from not quite human Kirk, he wonders if blood can be addictive.
He wishes that his was.
The second week is not much better. Neither is the third. Hernan’s always there, his wrist offered freely, watching the white teeth disappear, watching them get stained in red, before he pulls his arm back.
The moment the food – Hernan’s smart, he knows he’s little less to Kirk at the moment, but he’s not thinking too hard about that, there will be the time for it – is taken from him, Kirk snarls and pulls at the chains and usually Hernan leaves. Usually his heart feels like it’s getting squished by his own rib cage when he sees Kirk’s already bruised arms bruising even more, the chain cutting into the flesh, making his wrists bleed just as much as Hernan’s own were just seconds ago.
Usually, Hernan can’t watch that.
But so far that didn’t help, so far that didn’t change a thing, so the fourth (or was it fifth) week the feeding comes around, the fifth week Hernan offers his blood freely, he stays. He sits down, leaning his back against the opposite wall, pulling his sleeve over the already healing wound to help calm Kirk down.
Nothing changes. Kirk is still snarling, he’s still hurting himself. He’s still trying to get to Hernan, to suck his life out of his veins. Hernan watches. He pushes his own thoughts and feelings away and watches, breathing slowly and calmly.
It doesn’t help. But then, suddenly Kirk stops thrashing, he just stands there, his chest heaving as he glares at Hernan as if he was responsible for whatever goes through his mind – if there’s any coherent thought. Because Kirk’s still glaring, not looking away. He’s leaning forward a bit, hunched over as far as the chains allow him, dirty bangs falling into his eyes. He reminds Hernan of a savage animal, something big and wild.
Or perhaps, ironically, of that mix of a wolf and humans that people are so fond of. A vampire that appears to be a werewolf. Hernan snickers and Kirk snarls and, not for the first time, Hernan wonders if more of something about the stories were true. If vampires could read minds. Though he never heard about any other vampire, his search didn’t come up with anything either, so he’ll have to wait until Kirk heals and can answer his questions himself. Because Kirk is going to heal, he is going to be okay. Hernan’s sure of that, because there’s no other outcome.
Kirk doesn’t move for the entire time Hernan’s there, but the growling gets quieter with time.
Hernan can take the small victories.
Kirk knows exactly when Hernan’s coming. Hernan knows because he can hear him, hear the chains over his wrist jingle when Hernan’s getting closer to the door, can hear the sound – something between a growl and a whine – before he opens the door. Kirk’s waiting for him.
Hernan’s hand freezes on the handle as the thoughts really registers in his mind. Kirk’s waiting for him. He knows Hernan’s coming, and he’s waiting – not like a lover, not like a friend. He’s waiting like a dog that’s getting his dinner, but at least it’s something. And Hernan shouldn’t feel so happy about being someone’s dinner, perhaps, but he can’t help himself.
He opens the door and steps in, smiling brightly.
“Hello, Kirk. How are you today? Did you have a nice nap?”
The vampire bares his teeth at him, and it’s almost a silent command. It’s almost a get over here finally and Hernan’s unbelievably amused . He thinks about teasing Kirk a little, but he’s already a few days late. He got consumed in his search for Luthor and he feels bad about that, feels bad about leaving Kirk alone. So he doesn’t. He just walks forward, pulling his sleeve up and offering his wrist to the crazed man.
Hernan expects wild teeth. He expects nails digging into his skin, hands clutching at his wrist. He expects instant pain like all these weeks, all these feedings until now. He’s surprised when he feels warm breath ghosting over his skin instead, fingers slowly curling around his hands, before the bite comes and his eyes widen.
His heart’s beating faster in his chest, something that has nothing to do with the blood running freely into Kirk’s mouth. He wants to pull away and lift Kirk’s face, he wants to see – but leaving Kirk hungry wouldn’t accomplish anything. Hernan already waited this long anyway. He can wait for a moment longer.
When the teeth pull out – Kirk learnt just how much Hernan’s willing to give him, before the feeding gets painful for Kirk – Hernan’s moving faster than humans would be able to notice. He’s pulling Kirk’s head up, his fingers splaying wide on both sides of Kirk’s neck keeping him in place and Hernan’s holding his breath in expectation as his eyes widely search for something in Kirk’s.
A heartbeat – or maybe thirty – later Hernan can’t find anything. Kirk’s not even looking at him, he’s staring somewhere off into the space, licking at his lips lightly. Hernan gets a glimpse of the fangs that were buried in his wrist not too long ago and that’s all. Kirk’s hunger is sated, the animal calmed down.
Hernan sighs, running his thumb over Kirk’s cheek before letting go and pulling away, walking back to his place at the wall and sitting down, head hitting the wall behind him.
He’s not blaming Kirk. It’s not his fault. It’s Hernan’s for wanting too much, wanting too soon. For giving in some stupid emotion like hope.
As he sighs, he doesn’t notice the red eyes watching him almost curiously.
Luthor’s nowhere to be found. At least nowhere on Earth and Hernan’s search in Kryptonian knowledge doesn’t help at all. It’s frustrating, it’s annoying and Hernan wants to break something. He doesn’t, instead he goes for a walk. He can’t say he’s surprised when his ‘walk’ brings him to familiar door though.
It’s not feeding time. Hernan probably shouldn’t be there, shouldn’t annoy Kirk if he doesn’t have to. If he wants to check on the man, he can do it through the surveillance. Hernan should turn around and walk off. But he wants to see Kirk. He needs to see Kirk, not a cold picture on a computer screen, but the still cold, but alive version of him.
He frowns and doesn’t think as he opens the door and steps in. Kirk’s lying on the floor, his eyes firmly shut even though he must know that Hernan’s in the room. Kirk’s leaning his head to the side lightly – obviously listening for Hernan’s movements but he still doesn’t open his eyes.
Hernan realizes that the thing grasping at Hernan’s heart, the thing forcing him to move, to run forward must be fear, but he doesn’t stop to think about it. Instead he falls onto his knees in front of the man, fingers brushing under Kirk’s eyes. There’s no blood anywhere, there are not scratches there’s no reason to be afraid, Hernan logically knows, but his voice’s still trembling when he growls.
“Open your eyes. Open them!” Kirk flinches, and Hernan knows he doesn’t understand – he didn’t appear to understand any of Hernan’s words before, so why should he now – but he can’t stop the yelling. “Did you hear?! Open them right now!”
He shouldn’t shake Kirk, but he still does and that finally, finally makes him open his eyes. Still not fully, just the tiniest of cracks, and he’s frowning as if keeping them open is physically hurting him and Hernan’s own eyes widen. The sun. He never came here when the sun was still up, when the sun was this strong. He never considered that the thing that gives him power could hurt Kirk, especially not since he carried Kirk home during the day and he didn’t seem to be in pain then. Of course, Kirk wasn’t conscious so Hernan’s opinion might be mostly based on the point that Kirk’s skin didn’t smoke, didn’t burn off like so many vampire movies.
Hernan never considered the sun hurting Kirk’s eyes . He curses, glares at the big windows that were supposed to help warm Kirk up, not torture him and bring him pain, and moves his hand up, sliding it over Kirk’s eyes while his free arm slips around Kirk’s waist. Hernan pulls him closer, presses Kirk’s back against his chest, Hernan’s frame curling around him, hiding his face from the damned light as much as he can. It must be uncomfortable for them both. The chains get in the way, digging into Hernan’s calf and hip and they are pulling at one of Kirk’s arms.
Kirk hisses, his hand jumps up and his fingers dig firmly in the flesh of Hernan’s hand and Hernan sighs.
“Shhh…” he whispers, frowning. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” He’s muttering over and over again. He keeps talking even when his words slip and stop making sense. The words keep falling from his lips, his hand firmly pressed over Kirk’s eyes as Kirk stops clawing at his fingers. He’s still talking when Kirk’s body settles easier against his own. He’s talking the day away, waiting for the damn sun to disappear already.
Only when it does, does he pull his hand away, slowly as not to startle Kirk. When Kirk’s eyes are finally free, he opens them, blinks once or twice, before he pushes his head back, until it rests on Hernan’s shoulder and the red eyes can glance at Hernan’s face.
They are as passive as ever, dull like a wine. But even wine needs time to age, to get to its peak.
And Hernan’s this close to Kirk and he’s not attacking. Hernan’s more than willing to take that as success.
When the teeth slide into his neck the next moment, he wonders just how many mistakes can he make in one day.
Hernan hangs the big heavy curtains the very same night, making sure they are secure enough and there’s not the tiniest gap left. Once he’s content with his work he turns and leaves.
When he comes back hours later the sun’s already high up and Kirk’s watching him as Hernan slips into the room. He comes over to Kirk, kneels down and pulls out the red goggles from his pocket. It’s not easy to slip them over Kirk’s head, Kirk’s fighting him every bit of the way, but Hernan’s stronger than the man and soon, they are sitting securely over Kirk’s eyes.
Hernan turns towards the window, feels his own eyes heating up before the vision tears at the curtains, making a big portion fall to the ground and sunlight fills the room.
Kirk doesn’t flinch. He blinks then his hand flies up to touch the goggles and Hernan smiles.
“Those are a gift from Dr. Palmer.” Hernan says and Kirk leans his head to the side in an almost curious gesture.
Kirk doesn’t bite him that day again. He’s too busy staring outside, standing as close to the window as he’s allowed.
That is definitely progress, Hernan decides.
Waller finds out. There’s little to nothing that can escape the woman, which makes her a good ally and even greater enemy. Hernan still didn’t decide which one the woman was. Possibly both.
“That is not what you were asked to do.” She growls even before the call fully connects and Hernan smiles. It’s not the smile he’s reserving for Kirk though. This one’s cold and all business, one that shows that Hernan’s prepared to fight the battle that’s going to come.
“You asked me to get him off the streets of Gotham. I would say I did exactly what was asked of me, for once.”
Waller doesn’t seem as impressed with him as Hernan is, and it’s not like he expected anything else. He still smirks.
“So what? You’re keeping a vampire pet now, Superman ?” She asks, her eyes narrowing. “How long will you keep him until you realize you can’t control him? Month? Five? How long until he escapes? Runs away? What will happen then? We need to take the precautions and that’s what you were supposed to do.”
“He won’t run away.” The smirk slips from Hernan’s lips. He knows exactly what ‘precautions’ mean in Waller speak and he refuses to even entertain the thought. Kirk’s not going to end up like Brainiac. Hernan refused to let him die. Not for Amanda Waller, not for anyone.
The woman is glaring at him, and Hernan leans back against the table.
“Glaring at me won’t change my mind.” He points out and Waller grows.
“ When he escapes, we’re dealing with it.” She huffs, before the line goes dark. Hernan doesn’t need to ask what she means by that. He knows pretty well what Waller’s dealing ends up like. His hand curls up into a fist and he bares his teeth, almost like Kirk did some hours ago. Kirk won’t escape. And if he does, and anyone touches him, they’ll pay.
The whole world will pay. Hernan’s not afraid of that.
He tried to be what this world needed him to be, to be better, but he refuses to lose something important in his life again.