A/N Here you have the pilot chapter for one of my next books! I'm still figuring a lot out but this was fun to write!

Oliver raised his hand to the doorbell and gently pressed down on it.
"I-It's me!" He shouted.
"Oliver Advent!"

He knocked again when no answer came but his echo.
"Mister Scarlett?"

Nothing.

Rain dropped from the sky, as it had when the twelve year old had first arrived here. He brushed the droplets from his light brown hair.

Oliver sat down on a bench on the large porch.
Perhaps Alistair wasn't home. But how rude for the adopter to not be there on the agreed time for their new son to move in. That was very, very impolite to such an important guest.
Though, Oliver refused to peg the man as rude at only their second meeting.
(The first meeting was over the intercom however, so if it even counted Oliver was unsure.)

Suddenly -finally- the door opened gently and a young man with tied up brown hair and a surgical mask stepped out. He wore a thick black turtleneck and bronze cross around his neck.

Oliver smiled.
"Good afternoon!" He beamed, getting up from his seat to shake Alistair's hand.

Alistair nodded and gave an uninterested grunt, pulling away from the handshake rather quickly.

Even if it was short lived Oliver noticed there was a burn scar on the back of the man's hand.

Oliver continued smiling despite this and his adopted father gestured inside.
"Well? Are you coming inside or would you rather catch your death in this rain?"

Oliver stepped in through the open door.
"Thank you!"
The house was pretty scary from the outside. A big, gothic mansion that looked like it came from a stereotypical ghost movie. The inside maintained this strange atmosphere.
Oliver couldn't help but sneak a look around the foyer.

Alistair continued walking through the halls until he reached a winding staircase.
"Just up here, I'll take you to your room so you can unpack."

Oliver excitedly bounded up the creaky metal stairs after his new father.
There were lots of doors in the long hallway.
It was hard to see, considering there was only one lamp turned on, at the end of the hallway was a window put the drapes hid it well.

Alistair turned a blind eye to every door but the second last one.
"This is your room, remember it, because the others are off limits." He said.

Oliver turned the doorknob. But before he opened the door he asked
"Why are the others off limits?"

Alistair's face didn't show much emotion, and his medical mask only made him harder to read.
"They're messy. I had some people over and-"
He raised his voice
"They wouldn't clean up all their trash!"

The whole reason Alistair had agreed to adopt him was so that Oliver could help with his disease -which he hadn't explained to his new son yet. Maybe his ex-housemates had tried to help him recover too.

Oliver pushed open the door, satisfied with the man's answer. The walls were a simple ivory, and it seemed all the furniture was vintage and black. The room was way bigger than his last one but also way more...adult.

He supposed being orphaned meant...he did have to grow up.

Despite being younger than Oliver had expected Alistair seemed a man with elegant, classical tastes. Oliver played the piano, and loved history, so he liked this, he hoped Alistair would nerd out with him, since he clearly had an interest in the same victorian architecture and decoration.
"This room is really cool!" Oliver exclaimed.
"I love your house!"

Alistair didn't respond. He gave a short nod and turned, back out the door.
"I know I've already said it. But thank you so much." Oliver smiled.
"I think I'll really like it here."

Alistair was about to leave when he stepped back into the room.
"Oh, while you're here I should certainly establish some ground rules."

Oliver nodded. This place seemed decent, and even if Alistair came off as less than enthused at least he didn't seem mean. Oliver was very excited to explore this house, old mansions like this always had secrets in movies.

Alistair lifted his pointer finger into the air.
"First! If you wish to bring a friend to my household you must let me know at least one full day in advance."
Fair enough. Parents like to clean the house as if twelve year olds gossip about cleanliness.

Alistair raised a second finger.
"When I need you, be at my room within five minutes. But...knock before coming in."

Oliver nodded his head in understanding and respect.
"The third rule, the most important," Alistair began.
"Your room, the hallways, the living room, the dining room, the bathrooms, the front yard. These are where you are allowed to be. Never go in any spare rooms, my room -without knocking-, any closets, the backyard, the library, and..."

Alistair paused, his voice grew even sterner and even colder.
"I could make a whole other rule about how important it is you stay out of the kitchen."

Oliver- too curious for his own good asked
"Why? What's in the kitchen?"

Even though he couldn't see for sure Oliver was certain the man was scowling behind his mask.
"Nothing you'd be interested in."

Alistair stood up, headed for the door again.
"I'd like to keep it to three rules, don't make me add more."
Then he disappeared from the bedroom and Oliver began unpacking his things.

What rooms was he not allowed in? He couldn't recall...whatever -the important one was to not go in the kitchen. Oliver was going to explore this mansion no matter what the so called 'eccentric bachelor' had to say about it.

Oliver's suitcases were emptied pretty soon. He had put away his clothes in a dresser, his school things next to the vanity mirror, his books stacked on the side table and most importantly a collection of his parent's things spread out on his bed.

Oliver didn't want to disturb Alistair already. So like any outcast kid of his age he picked up a book and read it in silence.
Time flew by and before he knew it the old alarm clock next to his bed read six 'o clock PM.

The boy got up off his bed and walked back down the narrow hallway.
"Mr. Scarlett?" He called out.

Oliver continued, down the twisting wrought iron stairs.
"What time do you usually have dinner?"

The boy paused for an answer, the hall silent and eerie. A hand reached out from behind him, gripping his shoulder.
"Oliver!" Alistair exclaimed.
"My boy, I didn't see you there."

Oliver jumped quite suddenly, afraid.
"Alistair! I- me...me neither..."
Was it weird to call him Alistair? Disrespectful?

Alistair gave a shrug, leaning nonchalantly against the wall.
"Well kid, dinner for me has come and gone, you can have yours anytime, I doubt you'll...we'll be eating together much."

"Oh..." Oliver tried to mask his disappointment.
"That's...fine. What can I order? Do you like pizza?"

Alistair looked at him for a long time, his brown eyes studying the child. His voice was less refined than usual as he exclaimed.
"Ah, heck yeah! Go for it!"

Oliver gave him a strange, surprised look and the man adjusted.
"I mean uhh...not everything in life is free. The food in the kitchen is. You settle for that..."
He snapped his fingers, trying to remember Oliver's name before giving up.
"Kid."

Oliver kneaded his hands together nervously.
"Sir...the kitchen?"

"Yeah, to the foyer's right, you'll find it easy."

Oh. Well, apparently Alistair was a lot more flexible with these rules than Oliver had assumed.
It didn't take long for the boy to arrive upon the kitchen.

He took a deep breath before quickly pushing open the room's doors to discover-

It...was just a normal kitchen. It was in fact the normallest room Oliver had seen so far. He flicked on the lights and they worked just fine.

Oliver opened the fridge.
Now, he couldn't make a lot of dishes, but he should be able to make at least one with its contents.

He was excited to see what...oh...oh no...

Oliver's hand slipped from the fridge's handle to his side, his eyes widening in terror and his lip quivering.

The floor under his seemed to spin, the walls twisting however they saw fit.
Oliver's unstable body slammed into the fridge and the bags of scarlet red liquid flopped about until one hit the floor with an unpleasant smack.

Four shelves, a package of blood, then another, and another, and another, stacks and stacks and rows and rows of disgusting crimson blood in bags.

That was Oliver's worst fear since he was a child. Blood. Why would someone need all this blood in their fridge?!? What kind of freak- what kind of killer-

Oliver hit the floor and was out like a light.

Half an hour later Alistair folded his hands in his lap.
"Oliver."

Oliver didn't say anything, he just pulled his knees up to him and tried to forget the sight of all that blood.

Alistair met the boy's green eyes with his own light brown ones.
"You haven't even been here for one day." He growled, in a low, stoic tone.
"Yet somehow you've already broken my most important rule. I told you to never ever go in there and...am I going to have to kick you out?"

Tears budded in the corners of Oliver's eyes.
"I'm so so so sorry...I thought you told me..."
his breathing sped up as Alistair ran a hand through his bangs and leaned back, exhaling.
"Are you mad?" Oliver asked.
"Are you gonna kill me..?"

Alistair opened his eyes, clearly tired.
"You don't understand." He poured a bottle of thick red wine into a glass.
"It's best if you don't."

Oliver planted his feet on the floor, ready to make a run for it if he had to.
"You kill people, and keep the blood...is that what I'm for?!?"

Alistair rolled his eyes and pulled down his surgical mask, allowing himself to take a drink.
Oliver's parents didn't drink, they didn't have stupid rules, and they certainly didn't collect bags full of blood. He forced himself to look away lest the man notice his anger and fear.
"It's from the blood donation clinic."
Alistair stated.

Oliver's fingers shook.
He hoped that he could bring his legs to run when the time came.

"Kid, I promise it's true." Alistair finished his drink quickly and tugged his mask back up.
"It's for my illness."

"I'm a hemophobe." Oliver claimed.

"What?"

Oliver exhaled.
"I can't stand the sight of blood. I know you're telling the truth..." (well, hopefully)
"But...I can't..."
Oliver clutched the chair's arm for stability at the mere thought of all that blood.

"You were a bad choice for me." Alistair said.
"I let you in for one reason. To help me with my treatment. If you can't handle getting me that blood I need I'll have you back at the orphanage tomorrow."

No! Oliver felt selfish even thinking it but...it wasn't fair! He was so excited to have a dad and now-
"I don't want to go!! You told me to never go in the kitchen anyways! I'll stay out of it forever and ever! We can talk and read stories and play together and....don't you want to be my dad?!?"

Alistair didn't speak for a minute, then he finally answered.
"I don't. Never did. You said you'd help me and you lied. Even if you did, do you really think I'd care about you? Do you really think someone like me would even want a son?"
Alistair laughed bitterly.
"You want to go so why aren't you going? Are you scared?"

Oliver didn't realize he had nodded while it happened. Alistair stood up, striding towards him.
"You are scared. The boogeyman too big and bad for you? Your parents not here to help you? Or..."

Alistair undid his doctor's mask. Tossing it to the ground. He took another firm step forward and snapped
"Are you afraid of a freak like me?!"
Alistair clenched his teeth, two cat-like fangs noticeably larger than the rest.
Is that why he wore the-

"Go ahead and tell all your friends your ex-dad hasn't eaten food in a month! He just drinks blood, every single opportunity, tearing the life from people, harvesting their very essence! And I don't regret it...oh, it's delicious...Oliver would you like to know?"

Oliver did it, leaping over the couch he ran as fast as he could to the foyer, but miraculously Alistair was already at the door when he arrived. Well, not exactly. He was at the door if floating a few feet into the air, legs crossed counted.
"Ah, I was wondering when I'd be seeing you. My gosh it feels like decades-"

Oliver barrelled past him, pushing through the door and out into the yard, he ran and ran until Alistair couldn't see him anymore.

Alistair clenched his fists, turning to a man with gray-blonde hair and a black housecoat whom Oliver hadn't noticed in the shadows at all. Donovan. Alistair snapped
"Cold blood from the bottle is crap. Where's Ashes? I need her to heat it up or I'll have all your heads by noon tomorrow."

Donovan wagged a finger in front of Alistair's face.
"Temper, temper...don't forget who the real weakest link is."

Alistair scowled.
"What?"

"I'm joking!" His friend(?) assured.
"But really, would it kill you to get some fresh blood? I mean...something tells me you told Oliver already. Can't have such ridiculous rumours poisoning your family of one..."

There was a madness in his tired, pale eyes. In fact there was something off putting about Donovan as a whole, but nobody could put their finger on what it was. Maybe humans could sense when someone wasn't one of their own. If that was the case, consider Alistair's entire household screwed.