Batfic, playing

[icarus_chained]

Me playing with a brief AU, of the Transylvanian kind.

Title:  Castle Wayne
Rating:  PG-13
Characters/Pairings:  Bruce/Clark, Dick/Babs (mentioned), Alfred, Cassandra, Tim, Jason, Lois (mentioned), Jim (mentioned).
Summary:  In which Bruce is Count Wayne, vampire lord, Dick a love-drunk bat circling the tower, Babs a flame-haired temptress, Alfred, Tim and Jason werewolves, Cass a sinuous werepanther, Jim the village Inspector trying to accept his daughter's apparent interspecies relationship, and Clark a very, very confused holidaying reporter with sun-magic.
Wordcount:  2833 
Notes:  More Addams Family than Dracula, and more soppy than spooky. Also Bruce, Clark, Cass and Alfred are focus, and I may have gone overboard singing Alfred's praises. *looks sheepish* Again, I was just playing. Getting back in the swing, as it were.

Castle Wayne

It was a dark and stormy night.

Actually, it was a warm and hazy Wednesday evening, but this was Transylvania. Even warm, hazy evenings went around pretending to be dark stormy nights, just to keep the ambiance right. The tourist board was very clear on this fact, and employed a small battalion of weather-mages for the purpose. Unfortunately, they all had the flu that particular Wednesday, so the young man staring with cheerful awe at the black, looming mass of Wayne Castle did so amidst a glorious sunset, instead of the appropriate pathetic fallacy. Although, looking at this particular young man closely, one suspected that it really wouldn't have made much of a difference either way.

The massive knocker echoed emptily through the vast keep like the toll of judgement day. As it had been specifically designed to do. And the man who opened that massive black oaken door with barely a fingertip was indeed Victorian and silver-haired and everything one would expect a Transylvanian servant to be (provided one drew ones expectations from British horror dramas). He was calm and inscrutable and polite to a fault, perfectly attired, and projected an air of serenity that could calm the worst Carpathian storms. And, in fact, had.

"May I help you, sir?" he asked gently, bowing with perfect grace and unassailable dignity. The young man blinked, and offered his hand for a shake, which resulted in a moment's confusion, before the butler took it gently between his own and pressed a gentle kiss to the knuckles. The young man flushed heavily, and cleared his throat.

"Ah, my name's Clark Kent," he offered. "My car ... Well, it's broken down, you see, and I wondered ..."

"You wondered if perhaps you might stay the night?" the butler interjected smoothly, and smiled while the boy spluttered. "I am Alfred Pennyworth, butler to Lord Wayne. Would you like to come inside?"

Clark blinked. "Um. Yes?" He blushed once more at the beaming, kindly smile the older man bestowed on him, and allowed himself to be drawn into the house without a word.

"Come then!" Alfred declared. "Tea, and a meal, perhaps? Lord Wayne is busy for the moment, but he should be down within the hour, and ..." He continued quietly, warmth and welcome in his wake, but the young man had stopped really hearing him as soon as he stepped into the foyer, and gazed up at the great spiralled staircase, the oaken panelling, the gracious chandelier, and the myriad facets of wealth and grandeur that the room showcased in tasteful baroque fashion. He paused, unable to help himself, turning in the center of the marble floor, watching gaslight and fading sunlight shimmer and wink over crystal, and listening to delicate silver chimes and the elegant tick of the grandfather clock. It was a vision of wealth, of an older and more refined world. It was beautiful.

"The chandelier is 17th century, made by the Venetian artisans of Murano. I was there at it's purchase, and remember counting it well worth the price." The voice was cool, but not chilling, wry and aloof and filled with humour. Clark turned to the stairs, looking up to the midway landing, and the dark figure that instantly claimed all his attention. Lord Wayne smiled down at him, the gleam of one lengthened incisor quiet and oddly subdued, immaterial to the mystique of the man. Lord Wayne was a vampire, but more than that, he was an aristocrat. Fangs and bloodlust had absolutely nothing to do with his power, though age may have been a factor. And looks.

"Ah, Lord Wayne." Alfred stepped up beside Clark, his warm presence a serene counterpart to the exotic aura of his Lord. "I thought you and the young master would be busy for a while yet, or I would have introduced you formally."

The Lord waved one elegant hand impatiently. "I would have been, but I'm afraid he has once more fallen beneath the spell of that flame-haired temptress."

"Ah," Alfred noted, repressively, but there was a twinkle in his eye. "Miss Gordon, from the village, yes? Inspector Gordon's daughter."

"None other," the vampire commented sourly. "I expect he is flying in love-drunk circles around her tower even now, singing ultrasonic paens to her beauty." Clark hurriedly repressed a snort. "If only she would say yay or nay, but no. She must determine the truth of his affections before she bequeaths her heart unto him! Hah! Any idiot who decides singing to her as a bat is a good idea is obviously stupidly in love."

"Now, sir," Alfred cautioned, gently, but his lips were twitching. "She is a fine young lady."

"Oh, indeed," Wayne returned shortly. "Fine, honourable, powerful, of good breeding. Her father is a fine man. I just wish they would get this courtship thing over with, already, before his sighs drive me to permanent distraction!" The dignified vampire sat on the stairs in a sudden puddle of velvet cloak, graceful hands resting on his knees in despondent, grumpy frustration. "Why must young love be so noisy?" he finished, plaintively, and Alfred chuckled, moving gracefully to his master's side and patting his shoulder gently, while Clark hung back at the foot of the stairs.

"It is the right of the young to be boisterous, sir. You have but to look at the pups at play. Can you honestly expect love to be any different?"

Lord Wayne sighed heavily, staring out into the distance. "I suppose not." And his servant smiled, gently, out of his master's sight, and even Clark felt warmed by the deep, genuine affection in the expression.

"Well then," Alfred agreed, softly, and then stood in a swift and fluid motion that had Clark blinking at him. "Come, my Lord. Since you are free, you must greet you guest!" The vampire blinked up at him in surprise, then his gaze drifted to Clark, and he flushed a sudden, delicate pink, a rose-bloom in alabaster cheeks, and suddenly Clark could feel heat rising in his own features.

"Ah, yes," Wayne apologised, standing hurriedly and floating down to offer Clark his hand. "Bruce Wayne." Clark, knowing for certain that he would surely have stumbled had he attempted that maneuver, debated being jealous, but forgot it against the cool touch of that elegant hand. His eyes shuttered briefly, and his smile when he caught the vampire's eyes was vibrant and joyous. Lord Wayne almost dropped his hand in surprise.

"Clark Kent," he murmured softly, letting the sunlight in his soul loose for a tiny moment to shine over the vampire's face, restrained and tamed by his regard. Wayne stared at him, entranced and wondering, and it was many minutes before either man realised that they had not yet disengaged their hold, nor paid any attention to the third man in the room. A man who was apparently making every effort to remain unobtrusive, and beaming happily at them. Seeing that, Wayne withdrew his hand, again blushing that faint, vampire pink, but his eyes did not leave Clark's face, and Clark was perfectly happy with that.

"The young gentleman says his car has broken down," Alfred supplied, helpfully, innocently, once they deigned to look at him. "I believe he was wondering if perhaps he might stay the night?"

Clark blinked, and cleared his throat hurriedly, ready to disclaim any such wish, to avoid putting this Lord out in any way, but Bruce spoke up rapidly and decisively. "Of course!" he answered, instantly, and then blushed, turning once more to Clark. "If that is indeed what you wish?"

Clark paused for a moment, considering, but really, it was no contest at all. "I wish nothing more this night, my Lord," he murmured gently, and smiled as the pink deepened to a rich cherry red. Who knew vampires were so easily affected? But no. Not vampires. This man, only, for Clark.

"Bruce," the vampire offered, hoarsely, and smiled tentatively back. "You may call me Bruce, if you wish."

Clark beamed, taking his hand gently once more. "I would be honoured, Bruce."

"Like boys," a new voice murmured, suddenly, soft and laughing, and they broke apart with a start. Clark turned hurriedly towards the sound, to see a young woman by Alfred's side, smiling mischievously at them from beneath his benevolent regard. Young, dark, like a Romany in looks, but by far more refined, more dignified, more elegant. "Like boys they are, at first love."

Alfred tutted, laying a censoring hand on her shoulder, though his eyes were twinkling madly. "Cassandra, my dear, hush," he chastened. "You must not say such things. You embarrass them."

She looked them over again, her dark eyes sly and warm and assessing, reading everything there was to know about either of them in an instant. And then she smiled, wryly, a soft curve, and shook her head. "I do not need to," was all she said, and then, before anyone could gainsay her, she vanished. Or rather, she changed. With a shimmer of shadows and a whisper like silk, the beautiful young woman became a beautiful young panther, a huge, sleek, deadly feline, with mischief in golden eyes and sinuous grace in every movement.

Clark stared.

"Ah," Alfred murmured, ruefully, as he noticed the stunned look. "Perhaps I should explain certain ... facts of this household, Mr Kent, before you agree to stay. You have yet time." Clark blinked at him, mind rather blank for the moment, and the older man shook his head. "Yes, I see I should." He glanced at the grandfather clock, and frowned. "Or rather, Bruce should. I must collect the pups for the night's run. If you would, sir?" He barely even waited for Bruce's hasty nod before turning with quiet dignity and ... prowling deeper into the house, the she-panther like a smooth shadow at his heels.

"Um," Clark managed, because vampires he had expected, but that instant, unremarked transformation had shook him rather. "Yes?"

The vampire shook his head slightly, looking torn between bemusement and annoyance, and a kind of sympathy. "Forgive us, Clark," he murmured. "We do not receive many visitors who have not know this family for years. I believe we had forgotten what a shock we must be, to outsiders." Clark thought about objecting, but really, there was little point in denying his surprise.

"I'm sorry," he offered. "I was ... taken by surprise. I did not expect her to ..." Bruce nodded sympathetically.

"Cassandra is often that way," he explained. "She was not raised among humans, and the demands of society are often ... difficult for her." Then he smiled ruefully. "Of course, sometimes she does what she does with deliberate intent to unsettle, rather than a lack of understanding of the rules. It is often very difficult to tell which case is which."

Clark smiled, at that. "She reminds me of a friend, in that case," he commented. "Lois is prone to doing such things, too, although almost always with intent. It's just that she plays innocent so well ..."

"No-one can call her on it," Bruce finished, nodding, and his smile was bright and laughing, a burst of shared connection. Clark smiled. "Yes. That is how it is with Cass. She is often more comfortable in her other skin, and know others are more uncomfortable with it. It is a valuable weapon to her."

"Her ... other skin?" Clark asked, hesitantly. Bruce nodded.

"Yes," he explained. "Cassandra is what you would call a werepanther. Quite rare, her kind. Quite ... special." Oh yes. Clark nodded instantly, emphatically. That young woman was indeed special, a beauty and a wonder. There was no doubt there. Bruce smiled at his agreement. "In fact, she perhaps the most uncommon of us. Myself and my ward, we are mere vampires, and Alfred and the boys, they ordinary werewolves."

Clark nodded automatically, idly wondering if there was such a thing as an 'ordinary' werewolf, when his brain caught up with something in that sentance. "Wait," he gasped. "Alfred is a werewolf? Alfred?"

Bruce did not smile at that. He out and out smirked. "Oh, indeed," he drawled, his lips curved wickedly. "Alfred is the undisputed alpha for the entire Carpathian range, though he would never dream of announcing it. He is a lycan noble of the first order, a champion fighter in his youth. It was he and his pack who defended this castle from the rioting in the twenties, and destroyed the black coven in the forties. Alfred is an old campaigner, never believe different."

Clark blinked. "But ... he's so ..."

"I know," Bruce nodded. "Quiet, dignified. Unobtrusive. Gentle." Clark nodded dumbly. "He is all that. But never doubt him. When his family, his pack, is threatened, there is no force, supernatural or mundane, that can hope to stand in his way. He will protect them - us - to the death. All here know it. He is respected in every corner of these lands, far more so than I, or any of my line. Vampires come and go, driven by whim and fortune. The Wolf King is eternal."

Clark watched him, as he spoke, seeing the respect, the love and honour that this Lord accorded this friend of his, the loyalty riding in those words, and shook his head gently. Whatever the whims of other vampires, he knew this one, at least, would no more abandon his family than Alfred, nor be any less stalwart in their defense. And for some reason, though he had only met him, though he was not yet even a friend, let alone family ... somehow, the thought gave him comfort.

Bruce tilted his head, of a sudden, watching him curiously, and Clark realised with a start that he had been staring, silently. Blushing, he offered up a silent apology, shrugging uncertainly. Bruce looked at him for a minute longer, deep blue eyes meeting and assessing his own, then the vampire smiled, and shook his head. And then, as if seized by a sudden and demanding excitement, almost childlike in appearance, he took hold of Clark's wrist, and tugged him impatiently towards the stairs. Clark stumbled for a second, confused, and Bruce caught him, smiling. "Come on!"

"Come where?" Clark asked, breathlessly, as they raced up the stairs for no apparent reason. Bruce only grinned, shaking his head, his enthusiasm infectious, even had Clark not already been inclined for anything.

And then, they had skidded along corridors, wrapped around the front of the castle, and were out in the open air, standing on the battlements as the sun slipped finally beneath the horizon, and the distant moon shone uninterrupted at last. Clark gasped, turning in awe at the valley beneath them, and the towering Carpathian mountains around them, black and looming magnificent in the silver-bronze evening. Bruce let him look, smiling at his awe, and then took his arm gently and steered him towards the wall. Clark followed him confidently, and looked down when he pointed at something on the road in front of the castle, directly beneath them.

Three people stood in silence, a man and two boys, silvered and shadowy in the moonlight. They were so still, so expectant, that for a moment Clark thought they must be statues, enchanted by the night. It was only when a black shadow detached itself from the wall and prowled protectively around the man's feet that Clark recognised him.

"Alfred?" he gasped, turning to look at Bruce questioningly. The vampire nodded, smiling, eyes bright and rich and happy in the moonlight.

"And Jason and Tim with him," he nodded. "Our pups. Orphans, both, much as Cass, and Dick, and myself. All of us. It's their first hunt, this night, as part of the pack. Alfred will guide them forward."

Clark looked at him, at the love that shone deep and clear in his eyes, and then down, to the road and the silent trio, watching as they shifted, shadows and moonlight, watching as two dark, boisterous wolflings and a noble, dignified silver champion appeared in place of their human counterparts, watching as Alfred raised his great head to the sky and howled for the moon, his powerful voice echoed by the pups at his side, and then out, from slope to slope, valley to valley, across the vast cathedral of Carpathia and out to the sea, a hundred hundred wolf voices raised in greeting of the night, and one panther, roaring into the deep. Watching, knowing too that somewhere beneath them, a love-sick bat and a flame-haired temptress, and everyone else in this strange land, listened to that call and answered, silently, in their minds.

He watched them, this strange and whirling family, and smiled. Turning once more to face the man at his side, the sunlight rising inside him until he was as a star himself, caught on the battlements, he smiled at Bruce, the vampire Lord, and nodded. He would stay. The night. Beyond. His holiday had found its destination. Seeing that, the determination and acceptance in his eyes, Bruce reached out, catching his hands and pulling him close, smiling, his lips curved in wicked and joyous welcome.

"Welcome, Clark," the vampire murmured. "Welcome, to Transylvania."