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raaorqtpbpdy · 11 months

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I'd Do Anything for a Good Night's Sleep

Dick gets turned into a vampire as Nightwing, and everyone, especially Dick himself, is comically inconvenienced by the fact that he has every single weakness any vampire has in any vampire lore. OR In which the Batkids get to fulfill every child's dream of burying their sibling alive, because it turns out... being a vampire sucks.

This is my fic for the @dickgraysonbigbang 2023. I was partnered with the exceptional @jaynotwayne so go check out his art!

[Rated T | Warnings for fanon-leaning characterization, violence, blood (it's a vampire fic, so that's kind of a given), death threats, dark humor, and burying someone alive]

(You can also Read it on AO3)

At least it wasn't raining.

The night was pitch black, the ground still slick from earlier, the clouds hung low, street lamps flickered, and the actual fucking vampire Nightwing and Red Robin were fighting was basically kicking their asses, but at least it wasn't actively raining.

"Where is he?!" Nightwing shouted when their opponent seemingly vanished.

"Right here!" shouted the vampire, and there was barely enough time for the horror to dawn on Nightwing as he realized the creature was right behind him before a pair of fangs pierced right through his suit and into his shoulder. He screamed in agony as a horrible burning sensation bloomed from the wound, spreading through his bloodstream right under his skin.

If he'd been alone, that would have been it for him, but thankfully Red Robin was there with a wooden stake, and he plunged it into the vampire's heart from behind while he was distracted. The vampire let go of Dick, screeching and stumbling as he rapidly turned to ash and blew away in the frigid wind. Dick's legs felt like gelatin, and his vision swam. He could feel himself crumpling to the ground before a pair of arms wrapped around him, gripping him tightly.

"Nightwing!" Red Robin called out, catching his brother before he hit the concrete of the sidewalk. He didn't get a response. "Nightwing!" Still no response. Red Robin hit his comm to call for backup. "Batman! Nightwing and I need a pickup in the Batmobile. We're right across the canal from Slaughter Swamp. Nightwing is hurt, non-responsive. I can't tell how bad it is yet."

"On my way," Batman responded, and Red Robin refocused back on Nightwing who was bleeding sluggishly from the wound in his shoulder.

If only he hadn't been so slow from lack of sleep, Red Robin lamented, he could have stopped the vampire before this happened. If Nightwing pulled through, Red Robin silently swore to himself, he would get a full eight hours of sleep in a row some time in the next week. Nightwing flinched and recoiled when Red Robin tried to check his eyes with a pen-light, but even a negative response was better than none at all.

Minutes later Batman arrived in the Batmobile and helped Red Robin load Nightwing, groaning and convulsing slightly, into the back seat.

"Red Robin, report," he demanded, and Tim explained the situation, how they were fighting a vampire, how he'd bitten Nightwing, how that had given Tim the chance to defeat him. Now, something was wrong with Nightwing, something that didn't seem like just blood loss.

Dawn would break soon.

The sun rose over their drive to the cave, and as it did, Nightwing stopped twitching. His muscles slumped, as if he was falling asleep.

"No," Red Robin muttered, shaking him. "No no no. Come on, wake up! Don't fall asleep now." But no matter what he tried, his brother would not wake. "B, step on it! We need to get him to the cave as soon as possible!"

They picked up speed, all but flying back toward the Batcave. The instant they arrived, almost before the Batmobile had come to a complete stop, Tim dragged Nightwing to the med-bay, checked his vitals, his heart rate, his breathing. They were both slow. Dangerously slow. No matter what any of them tried to resuscitate Nightwing, it made no difference. He wouldn't wake up. His heartbeat became slower and slower, his breathing shallower and shallower.

"He'll be dead by nightfall," Bruce said finally. "There's nothing more we can do."

Bruce wearily retreated up into the manor, unable to face another dying son. Tim, to the internet, desperately searching for a solution, a cure for a condition he couldn't name. As morning turned to evening, and he heard the heart monitor in the med bay finally flatline, he searched instead for funeral homes.

One can only imagine their surprise when, as soon as the sun sank below the horizon, Dick pushed the white sheet off his face and sat up with a yawn, rubbing his chest. He climbed out of the bed in the med-bay and stepped blearily out into the main cave.

"Hey guys," he greeted the three people who were there.

Tim, who was sitting at a desk, working on his laptop jumped almost a foot off his chair. Steph was so distracted by his sudden arrival that she lost her footing mid punch and fell forward, slamming her face into the punching bag. Even Bat-Cow was shocked to see him, keening and clopping around nervously, and nearly trampling Damian in her haste to get away. Damian was rather more concerned with the milk bucket that went skittering across the cave floor, drenching his slacks with fresh milk when she ran deeper into the cave.

"Tt." He stood up from his stool and turned around to complain before the situation dawned on him. "Grayson... you're alive!"

"Yeah but... I'm so..." Dick was blinking rapidly, his muscles twitching, and as they looked him over more closely they could all see that his once blue eyes had turned very red. "I feel..." his eyes flashed, and when he opened his mouth next they saw a set of fangs lengthening and sharpening. "Thirsty!"

He lunged at Damian, who was closest, and sunk his teeth into Damian's neck before the kid even had time to struggle, only to pull away seconds later, yowling and screeching in agony.

"Damian!" the other two shouted at once.

"I'm fine!"

"Steph, secure Dick," Tim commanded. "I'm calling Bruce."

"Roger!" Steph responded. While Dick was still screeching like he'd been poisoned, she sprinted to the armory to grab a Batrope and when she got back, Dick had collapsed onto his knees, making him that much easier to tie up. "Dick secured," she said with a smirk once she'd tied him up nice and tight. "He won't be going anywhere."

"Bruce is on his way," Tim said. "Come on Damian, let's take a look at that bite."

"I told you I am fine," Damian said, turning up his nose and sticking out his chin as if his trans-Atlantic accent didn't make him appear snobbish enough. "I only wish I could say the same for my shirt."

"I know it's a lot to ask from you, but stop being a brat and cooperate for once," Tim snapped. "Dick is like this because he got bit just like that by a vampire yesterday. I have to make sure you're not exhibiting any of the same symptoms or that could be you tomorrow. Now, come on."

"Very well," Damian relented, scowling as he followed Tim to the med-bay for tests.

Whatever the cause for Dick's reaction to Damian's blood, it kept him weak long enough for Bruce to return.

"Bruce! Thank God you're here!" Tim greeted, then dragged Damian out of the med-bay and peeled back the gauze he'd taped down over Damian's neck wound. The skin was an angry red color where Dick had bitten him, and there appeared to be some burns around the mark as well. "Does this look infected to you?" He wouldn't normally ask, but after being awake for over seventy-two hours, he wasn't sure he could entirely trust his own eyes.

"It is not, correct?" Damian said. "I assure you, Drake is being overly cautious."

"He'll be fine," Bruce said. "The burning around the wound means the venom won't take. Where is Dick?"

"Steph's guarding him," Tim answered, pointing toward where they were keeping him. "What's that in your hand?" Bruce lifted it so they could see more clearly what had only been a slight plastic sheen under his cape before. "Blood? What's that for?"

"He was bitten by a vampire last night, and now 'he has red eyes and tried to eat Damian'," Bruce said. "The pieces weren't that difficult to put together."

"Well... yeah, I guess if you put it that way...." Tim said, trailing off and cringing as he realized Bruce had just repeated verbatim the information Tim had given him when he called for help.

"Tim... go get some sleep," Bruce ordered, and there was really no room for argument when Tim was obviously too tired to be of any use on cases if he couldn't even figure out his older brother had been turned into a vampire. He still pouted as he trudged upstairs to his room in the manor.

After their brief exchange, Bruce went to see Dick, still tied up in an alcove and under the watch of Stephanie, who was trying to play I-Spy with him.

"Is it a stalactite?" he heard Dick ask, sounding bored.

"Yeah, it's a stalactite," Stephanie said. "I probably could've picked a better game, given the location. How about truth or dare?"

"I dare you to untie me," Dick said flatly.

"Oh... yeah, I guess that game's not gonna work either."

"Am I interrupting something?" Bruce asked, stepping into view.

He could see the exact moment Dick laid eyes on the blood bag because he started to thrash and struggle, hissing inhumanly as he tried to get to it. The red in his eyes was even more pronounced, almost glowing, the closer Bruce got, until his gloved hand held the bag up to Dick's mouth and let him pierce it with his fangs, draining it in seconds and spitting the plastic bag onto the ground when it was empty.

"Are you ready to answer some questions now?" He did look calmer.

"He was actually pretty much fine until you showed up with that blood," Stephanie told him helpfully. "Well... he was meaner than usual, but I think he was probably just hangry. He was still, like, responsive and aware of everything and stuff."

Bruce grunted. "You can leave now, if you want," he told her.

"Really?" Dick scolded with a scowl. "Not even a thank you?"

"Er... thank you, Stephanie," Bruce added.

"No problem!" she said cheerfully, and started to walk out of the alcove.

"Honestly, B, if you don't start appreciating your people more, they're gonna end up resenting you," Dick said, then struggled pointedly against the ropes. "Now untie me so I can kill them all!"

"I won't be doing that," Bruce refused. "Why did you attack Damian?"

"Because I was thirsty!"

"Why did attacking him cause you harm?"

"His blood is toxic or something. I think it's because he's such a brat all the time. Makes him taste sour and burnt. Blech!"

Bruce continued to interrogate him for hours, trying to get any information he could about the vampire who attacked him, and vampires in general, although Dick didn't know much about either, much to the frustration of them both. Then, partway through telling Bruce once again that he didn't know how much longer the ropes would hold him with his increased strength, he fell suddenly unconscious.

After several attempts to wake him failed, Bruce decided to transfer Dick to somewhere he'd be more comfortable and tied him down on a cot in the cave before heading upstairs to get some sleep and then make arrangements to get a continued blood supply for Dick from a hospital until they discovered a suitable substitute.

After the second day, Dick was finally allowed to walk free under the condition that he not try to hurt or kill anyone, or drink their blood. Dick reluctantly agreed. And once he gave his word, no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't break it. He even tried a few times, but it was as if his body wouldn't let him. His body wouldn't let him do a lot of things these days.

Any time he left the manor, even just to wander the grounds, he couldn't come back in unless someone invited him, and even when they did, he always tripped over the threshold, no matter what he did to avoid it. He couldn't go near the kitchen if Alfred was cooking with garlic anymore. If he got anywhere within the vicinity of the door, his body urged him to get away from it. He got the same feeling when he was anywhere in the vicinity of any of the Manor's oaken furniture, or Alfred's rose garden, which was a shame because it was one of the most beautiful places on the grounds.

He'd tried eating with the family exactly once, only to find that any food other than blood might as well have been rotting garbage with the way it made him vomit after eating it. He started avoiding family meals after that, though that didn't stop any of them from inviting him nevertheless.

And speaking of avoiding, all of Damian's pets, as well as Ace, hated Dick with a passion now. Every single one of them freaked out when he was around, even Bat-Cow. The only one that didn't seem bothered by him was Alfred the Cat, whom Dick had become inexplicably afraid of. He knew, obviously, that it was ridiculous to be afraid of a cat. It was harmless. Damian even made sure to trim its claws regularly, but he couldn't help it. Anytime he noticed the cat was around it was like he'd been dosed with fear toxin, and he scrambled to get away from it.

Dick was loath to even think about the absolute nightmare that was using the bathroom. He'd begun instinctively avoiding mirrors, so he'd taken to putting a towel over the bathroom mirror in order to stand in front of the sink, even though he didn't have a reflection anymore. All that to say nothing of the frustration that was washing his hands. It seemed that running water paralyzed any part him it touched, meaning he had to plug up the sink, fill it with water, and wash his hands in the still water before draining it, otherwise he couldn't move his fingers. It was a real pain in the ass.

On the fourth night Dick woke as a vampire, he was informed that, as long as he maintained his promise not to harm anyone, and stayed within sight lines of another vigilante, he would be allowed back out on patrol. However, rather than his usual costume, Batman presented him with an abomination. A glaring, highly reflective yellow had been added to his blue and black color scheme. Stripes of it wrapped around the calves and forearms, and climbed the sides of the upper body, covered the palms of his gloves and soles of his boots.

"I'm not wearing that," Dick said flatly, eyebrow twitching at the sight of the practically glowing yellow bird insignia on the chest.

"You will if you want to get off the grounds and patrol," Batman responded, leaving no room for debate. "Our trust in you is tentative at best at the moment. You will only be allowed to work with us as long as we can see you. The changes to your suit should make it easier for all of us."

"Do you want me to grab the bright yellow cape from my Robin days, too?" he asked sardonically.

"Don't tempt me."

In the end, Batman wouldn't budge, and Dick was already getting cabin fever being stuck on the grounds, so he relented.

With each passing day, the world had been getting louder and brighter. His eyes hurt to look at anything brighter than a candle. He flinched when a plate broke on the opposite end of the massive manor. He could smell the mold in the attic from the Batcave. It was overwhelming at the best of times, but the first time he went out on patrol after being turned, he nearly collapsed from the sensory overload and Cass brought him back to the Batcave. Thankfully he grew accustomed to it fairly quickly and could patrol more easily after that, even though it was stressful.

Too often during patrol he'd say things that he thought were perfectly reasonable, things like, "You could let me bleed Black Mask dry," or, "What if we just killed Killer Moth? Then he wouldn't be a problem." And in response, someone would yell at him, or say something mean. Steph had taken to carrying a spritzer full of holy water to spray at him any time he suggested murder, which was totally uncalled for and it hurt!

He would often be sent back to the cave early, pouting petulantly.

Unfortunately, even in the Batcave he wasn't safe from the annoyances of being a vampire, because the bats in the cave loved him now. They had taken to swarming him whenever he entered, nesting in his hair and hanging off his clothes. He'd brought nearly twelve of them with him back into the manor by accident across five different occasions. Oh! And he was always counting things! For no reason!

Tim had spilled salt at the dinner table the one time Dick had joined them and he'd leapt across the table to count all ninety-seven grains of salt. Why would he do that?! Because he had to. He'd felt like if he didn't count those salt grains he would die or something; it was insane. But knowing that it was insane made no difference. He just had to accept that he wasn't entirely sane now, and that was okay. That would have to be okay.

Everyone noticed how differently he was acting, of course. How could they not? And Dick noticed just how remarkably well they were rolling with the punches.

After three days, every mirror in the manor had either been covered or removed. Damian made sure to keep his pets in another room or otherwise out of sight when Dick was around. Cass and Steph bought him ear-plugs and eight pairs of stylish sunglasses (on Bruce's dime of course), because they'd noticed him struggling with the sensory input. And Tim had spent hours researching vampire lore throughout the week just to understand him better. So there were some silver linings.

The worst part, though, the worst by far, was that despite sleeping every second the sun was in the sky, Dick had been growing increasingly more exhausted. It had gotten to the point where he was starting to see things that weren't there, his brain functions were slowed, his words were slurring. He was practically acting like Tim.

It was as if he hadn't slept in days, but he had! He'd slept all through the days!

On the eleventh day after Dick had been bitten by a vampire, Tim approached him in the Batcave, where they were talking about a case—the details of which, Dick could not retain for the death of him.

"I've figured out why you're so tired even though you've been sleeping every day," he said.

"Which one of you?" Dick asked, blinking at the brother he was seeing in triplicate due to his exhaustion. "What?"

"You know I've been wading through tons and tons of vampire lore, right?" Tim prefaced. "Well I discovered that according to several old sources, but primarily Bram Stoker's recounting of the story of the historical Count Dracula, Vampires have to sleep in the coffin in which they were buried, and over dirt from their grave, or else they won't become rested no matter how much they sleep."

Jason barked a laugh. "Glad it wasn't me then, cause my coffin's toast." His family didn't find it especially funny, and Dick scowled at him.

"Wha's that mean?" Dick asked Tim.

"It means you can't sleep because you don't have a grave."

"So what're we s'posed to do about it?"

"Well, we... we'd have to bury you."

That was met with silence as they all weighed the statement in their minds.

"If that's what must be done, then we'll do it," Bruce said finally.

"I volunteer to help Dickie pick out a coffin!" Jason piped up. "I have the most experience, after all." A chorus of groans followed Jason's tasteless joke.

"Whatever, just go," Barbara said. "You should pick one out before the sun comes up. Cass and Steph can cover your patrols. It's not like Dick's in any condition to go out tonight anyway."

"I resuscitate that remark!" Dick complained, but even he didn't know what he was saying by that point.

"Come on, Golden Boy," Jason gestured for him to follow and went to his motorcycle. "Let's go coffin shopping." Dick followed with a yawn and climbed on the back of Jason's motorcycle, leaning heavily on his little brother's back and almost taking a nap right there despite the roar of the engine as it peeled out of the cave and toward a funeral parlor in the city.

"Here we are!" Dick blinked and tried to regain alertness when the motorcycle pulled to a stop. He looked around, bleary-eyed.

"'S closed," he pointed out.

"Of course it's closed, it's almost eleven PM," Jason scoffed, dismounting his bike and taking off his helmet. "What did we spend all that time learning to pick locks for? Come on."

"Cameras?"

"Fakes," he responded. "They look real enough to deter most thugs, but look. no wires, no light to indicate they're recording, no movement, despite the visible hinge. They're not picking up jack shit to identify us. Hell, even if they were, you can't show up on camera anyway."

"Oh, yeah." Dick yawned again and leaned against one of the porch pillars while Jason picked the lock on the door. A few seconds later it swung open.

"And voila," he said, leading the way inside and finding the light switch. "Come on in! Let's pick you out a nice cozy coffin so you can go beddy bye."

"I mean, I'll be able to sleep in it no matter how comfortable it is," Dick pointed out. "As long as the sun is up, I sleep no matter what." He tripped over the threshold on his way in, and Jason barked a laugh when he almost face-planted on the carpet. Dick scowled at him. "Hey!"

"Sorry, sorry," Jason apologized insincerely. "Still, if you've gotta sleep in a coffin, it might as well be a comfortable one." Jason shrugged and led him into the showroom where the coffins were displayed, flicking on the lights and making Dick flinch before his eyes adjusted. He started opening up lids. "Hey look, this one's lined with silk. Pretty swanky, huh?"

Dick let Jason convince him to climb in and try it out. "'S lined with silk but's really hard," he said, shifting. "And there's a nail poking in my back. Kinda bad construction." He sat up and looked over to see Jason also lying in a coffin.

"This one's pretty comfy," he said. "And it's cushioned." Dick climbed out, and walked over to the one Jason was trying. He ran his fingers against the lining for a second before pulling them away with a grimace. Velvet was a nice texture before, but now that he could feel every individual fiber, not so much. "No?"

"No," Dick said, nodding. "Turns out, velvet is evil now."

"Understandable," Jason nodded and got out. "Let's try some others. I saw one over there with flames airbrushed on the lid which was pretty sick. And I think there's a Batman themed one, too. Maybe they have a Nightwing coffin."

"I think sleeping 'n a Nightwing coffin might be a li'l on the nose."

"Suit yourself," Jason shrugged. "I wonder if they have a Red Hood one."

They spent a long time trying out coffins and no, they didn't find any Red Hood ones, much to Jason's disappointment. Dick naturally avoided any made of oak or alder, unable to even touch them, let alone sleep in them. They found a few that Dick liked, one of which was absolutely hideous, downright garish, even by Dick and Jason's standards, which was why he liked it. In the end, Dick picked a simple, pale blue, solid walnut one with brass handles. The inside was cushioned and lined with navy blue satin.

Jason took a picture of the coffin and the price tag and sent it to Bruce so he'd know which one to buy the next day when the funeral parlor was actually open, and they returned to the Batcave safely before sunrise. There, Dick mostly moped around wishing he could sleep, and entertained Barbara with his sleep-deprived nonsense talk until morning when he passed out in his rolling chair, very nearly falling onto the floor of the cave.

He woke up the following night on the cot in the med-bay, bone tired, and dragged himself up to his feet. The scent of blood made his head pound and his vision turn red. He snatched up the coffee mug on the counter and gulped down the viscous red liquid in a frenzy. He felt a little better after drinking, but no less tired. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve he trudged out of the cave and up the stairs into the manor.

"Hey, look who decided to join the land of the living," Duke greeted when he entered the dining room. His stomach churned and he grimaced at the smell of regular food, but there didn't seem to be any garlic in it tonight, at least.

"Good evening, Dick," Bruce greeted. "I bought your coffin." Steph snorted.

"Sorry, sorry," she apologized, stifling giggles. "It's just Duke saying welcome to the land of the living followed immediately by 'I bought your coffin' is just—" she snorted again, and a few others joined her laughter, Dick included, if a little hysterical from his exhaustion.

"Anyway," Bruce said evenly, his voice cutting sternly through the giggles. "We're decreasing patrols tonight so some of us can help dig a grave for you in the family plot. We'll be taking turns patrolling and helping dig a grave to ensure that it will be done and ready for you well before dawn. I've already paid off the groundskeeper to look the other way. Duke and Cass have the first shift as soon as they're done with dinner." Dick just yawned and nodded in response.

A few minutes later found him and Duke headed to the nearby cemetery with shovels over their shoulders to dig him a grave, Cass promising to follow shortly, once she'd finished eating. The walk there passed with amicable small talk. It was the sort of casual, easygoing conversation you'd expect to hear between two young men who were planning to bury one of them alive.

"So where exactly is the family plot?" Duke asked when they got there.

"This way," Dick said, leading the way through the garden of headstones to where the Waynes were always buried. He pointed out a nice little plot next to a grave marker that read Here Lies Jason Todd. "You can bury me next to Jason's headstone of lies." Duke snorted a laugh.

"I don't know what you mean," Duke said, readying his shovel to start digging. "I'm sure Jason comes here all the time to lie." He speared his shovel into the damp soil. There had been a light rain earlier in the day that had left the earth soft and easy to dig in. "I'm pretty sure I've seen him out here yelling stuff like 'I'm secretly Wonder Woman,' and 'I've never killed anyone in my life,' and, I don't know, that his name is John Smith or he's in love with the Joker or something. Laugh already, man, this joke is falling apart on me."

That last bit actually did get a laugh out of Dick.

Their idle talk waned as Dick's responses grew more nonsensical from exhaustion, and he kept getting distracted and losing his train of thought. When Cass arrived, they greeted her cheerfully, and fell into a peaceful sort of silence as shovelful after shovelful of dirt was scooped out of the deepening hole.

Eventually, Duke decided to turn in and wished them goodnight. As the only one of them who worked in the day, he needed to be well-rested by morning. Dick had been seeing less and less of him since becoming a vampire for that same reason, and it had been nice spending time with his newest brother, even if that time was spent literally digging his own grave.

He and Cass continued to dig in silence until Cass flung dirt directly into his face and he spluttered and coughed at the unexpected intrusion. "Cass! What was that for?"

"Help you sleep," she said, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

"Gee thanks," he responded flatly, and she laughed at him before flinging another scoop of dirt at him. This time he returned the favor, but she jumped out of the way and laughed some more. "You little—"

It quickly devolved into a dirt fight after that, resulting in more dirt ending up back in the hole than was taken out of it, but it was fun. At least, it was fun until Steph arrived and decided she was on Cass' team—because of course she was; those two were always a team—and Dick ended up halfway buried before his grave had even been dug.

"Enough! I give!" he finally conceded. "Although if I was less exhausted I totally would have slaughtered you two." He hissed as Steph pulled out her spray bottle and spritzed him with holy water again.

"Bad Dick!" she said, spritzing him again as if he was a misbehaving dog. "No death threats!"

"Stop! Uncle! It was just a joke!" he insisted, throwing up his hands in surrender. He wiped the holy water off his burning skin with a muddy sleeve. "You know it's not fair for you guys to gang up on me." He pouted.

"Tough titties," Steph said, and Cass stuck her tongue out. "Now are we here to dig a grave or what?" In the aftermath of the dirt fight, they were basically starting all over again, but that was fine. They had all night, after all. As they dug, Steph happily chattered away while Dick and Cass only occasionally responded.

They were about halfway when Bruce and Kate came for their shift, bringing snacks and water bottles along with them. "Why didn't we think of that?!" Steph asked in exasperation as he snatched a water bottle and chugged down half of it in one go. Cass grabbed a package of trail-mix and a water, having just a little of each before she waved goodbye and she and Steph headed back to the manor to shower off the mud.

Dick wished he could take showers again. The one time he'd tried, Alfred found him frozen in the shower stall and had to reach in to turn off the water so Dick could move again. Stupid running water.

Bruce didn't have much to say as he took up a shovel and started digging in what was probably the tried-and-true most efficient way to dig a grave, because as Batman he had to know those sorts of things for some god-forsaken reason—probably in case one of his kids became a vampire and he had to dig a grave for them in the dead of night, as if that could ever happen. Kate had no problem filling the silence. "So how's being a vampire treating you?" she asked.

They hadn't interacted much since he'd been turned, since she'd been on a solo mission out of town for a while, and he hadn't expected to see her tonight. However, she wasn't about to pass up the opportunity to put her favorite nephew six feet under, apparently. Actually, Dick had no idea which of them was her favorite nephew, but he liked to think it was him.

"It sucks," he answered. "I literally can't do anything now. Vampires, turns out, totally wimpy. I can't be around garlic, or eat regular food, or be awake during the day, or take showers because of the dumb, stupid running water. I feel like every day so far I've discovered a new stupid, ridiculous weakness that vampires supposably have, and I'm like, literally how did I ever let that asshole bite me when vampires are this pathetic?"

"It's true," Bruce deadpanned. "He's totally wimpy now." That of course sent Kate into hysterics.

They continued to talk about how much being a vampire sucked until Damian showed up. "Father, sunrise is in one and half hours. Drake and Cassandra are already preparing to transport the casket."

"Right. I'm sure you two can finish up here," Bruce said, climbing out of the unfinished grave and handing his shovel to Damian. Dick was sitting on the grass, too tired to dig anymore, and too uncoordinated in his exhaustion to avoid hitting the others with his shovel.

"We'd probably already be done if we hadn't spent the whole time talking," Kate said lightly.

"Then perhaps it's time you stopped talking," Damian said, jumping into the hole, already a foot and a half deeper than he was tall. They probably should've given him one of the earlier shifts, although it was kind of funny to watch.

"Jason not gonna help out?" Dick asked.

"He said he should get a pass since he went coffin shopping with you," Kate said. "I think the whole 'burying someone' process is starting to get to him, so no one was gonna insist he climb into a grave and start digging."

"Oh... right." Jason had been pretty easygoing through the whole process so far, using the opportunity to crack even more jokes about being undead himself. Dick had all but forgotten about the traumatic memories this was probably bringing up for him. That reminder made the mood a little more somber.

They finished digging in silence.

"I believe it's done," Damian said at length, and no matter how many times he heard it, it was still funny to listen to a modern day kid speak with a transatlantic accent. "The bottom is even, it's certainly deep enough. Father ensured that it would be the correct proportions for the casket. We may return to inform them that everything is prepared."

"And I need to wash all this dirt off me," Dick said. "I don't know if a bath is gonna do it."

Thankfully, Alfred offered to help him shower, knowing the running water would paralyze him, but still water would be ineffectual when he was caked head to toe in slowly drying mud. It should've been painfully awkward. But Alfred was very professional about the whole thing, and Dick was honestly touched that the butler was willing to do that for him.

Once Dick was clean and dry, they all headed back to the graveyard with his coffin hoisted on their shoulders, and when they reached the open grave, they lowered it into the ground. Damian stabbed a sharpened stick into the dirt at the head of the grave as a marker, just in case. The sky was slowly beginning to lighten, but the sun hadn't yet peaked over the horizon.

"Are you ready for this, Master Dick?" Alfred asked, offering a hand to help lower Dick into the hole, into the open casket.

"I'm ready to rest," Dick said.

"Good, 'cause it's almost sunrise." Tim ushered him to move faster, to lay down and close the lid so they could make sure there was a layer of soil over him before the sun had the chance to slip through the cracks. "Sleep well!" he said as the lid fell closed with a heavy thunk. A few moments later, he heard Tim saying something about how someone should say a few words.

"Don't be ridiculous, Drake, he's not dead," Damian scoffed, and a few seconds later, there was a splattered thud of dirt landing on the lid of his casket, then another, then another. Not much later, Dick fell asleep to the sound and smell of shifting earth.

When Dick awoke, it was to darkness. He was in a cold, cramped space, no air, no room to move, and he panicked. Where was he? Why was he there? Had some villain trapped him in a box? Had he been buried alive? It sure fucking felt like he was in a coffin! Frantically, he banged on the lid, pushing uselessly against it.

Dick's breathing came in short, quick breaths, and he knew if he didn't pull himself together he'd run out of air and suffocate in very short order. He held his breath. He counted to ten. He exhaled as slowly as he could. Once he got his breathing under control, he could focus on his situation.

Now that he was calmer, he remembered what was going on, why he was in a coffin. Tim had said that no matter how much Dick slept, he could never feel rested unless he slept in the coffin he'd been buried in. And so, they'd all naturally concluded that they had to get Dick a coffin and bury him in it. It was the only thing to be done.

To Dick's mild frustration, it had actually worked. As much as he disliked the idea, and the practice, of being buried alive—or, not quite alive, but not fully dead, either—he did actually feel rested for the first time in weeks. So well-rested it was a little disorienting. Considering that all of his siblings could be total brats when they wanted to be, Dick was a little concerned that they would leave him in there for a few days. Those concerns were dashed when Dick heard soil already shifting above him as his family dug him out.

A long few minutes later, the lid opened up, and Bruce reached a hand down to help Dick out of his grave.

"We already set aside a few bags of dirt from your grave that you can use in the future," Duke told him while Bruce, Tim, and Steph tried to hoist the coffin itself out. "You know, if you have to stay at a hotel, or a safe house or something. Tim says he's not sure if the dirt by itself will do anything. I figure it's gotta be better than nothing."

"I would agree with you, but my experience so far seems to indicate that these vampire weaknesses are frustratingly specific," Dick responded sardonically. "I doubt it would be as easy as that to get around one."

"Sounds like last night worked, though," Tim pointed out with a grin. "You're sounding more coherent already."

"Oh, it's starting to give!" Steph remarked happily. Not long after that, the three of them had successfully pried the coffin out of the hole. "Victory!" she cheered.

Once the coffin had been successfully removed, they all carried it off in the dark of night toward the manor. When the front door swung wide open, Alfred greeted them with a smile and invited them all inside. Dick tripped over the threshold, as usual, to a chorus of laughter from his siblings. A few days before, he would have griped about it, but after the best sleep he'd had since he first became a vampire, he was in too good a mood.

"I'll fetch you your breakfast," Alfred said to Dick as they all carried the coffin awkwardly up the stairs. Dick couldn't tell who the stifled giggles were coming from, but he suspected it was several people.

Damian opened the door to Dick's old room. It was too dangerous for him to live on his own, so Bruce had all but forced him to move back into the manor where they could make sure he wasn't going to go on a murderous, blood-sucking rampage. Jason was already inside, dumping dirt on Dick's carpet. His bed had been removed sometime during the day.

"Hey, there you are!" Jason said. "I was starting to think you'd stood me up." He put his hands on his hips and whistled as they put the coffin down on top of the dirt he'd spread. "Wow, that thing is disgusting."

It was. The once very nice-looking blue coffin was now covered in dirt and grime. Dick smelled blood and rushed to take the mug away from Alfred, frantically slurping up the sweet red nectar. When the mug was empty, he licked his lips with a satisfied sigh. "I shall ensure that it is cleaned and polished while you're all on your nightly jaunt," Alfred promised.

Now, fed and well-rested, and surrounded by all the people who made those things happen, a stinging sensation hit Dick's eyes and his throat felt tight. Was there something in the blood Alfred had given him? No. He realized that for the first time since he'd been turned, he felt like he might cry.

His family had gone through such lengths, just to make sure Dick could get a good night's sleep, and he was touched beyond words. He sniffed and blinked back the tears. He was a big, scary vampire now, and scary vampires definitely shouldn't be caught crying.

"Something wrong?" Cass asked, because of course she'd noticed, even in the dim light of the candles that had illuminated Dick's room since he moved back to the manor, she saw everything.

"No," he said, his fangs flashing as he smiled at them. "Just... thank you all."

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