Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

These days were marked by brittle peace. Tensions always simmered but never ignited, hovering just over the horizon with the constant looming threat of all-out war.

Humans were terrified by nature, fearful of what they could control and even more fearful of what they couldn’t. It was the nature of mankind to want dominance, and to flex such superiority in widespread displays of power. When they could not, they instead huddled in groups and spoke in hushed whispers, acting, for even a moment, that they were powerful enough to change anything.

It was only when mankind became the lesser predator that things began to change.

A new species arose, quietly at first. There were very few of them, but their resilience was strong, and their wills stronger. Vampire, the humans called them. Animated corpses. Not yet dead, but not quite alive.

They were a fearful sort, these vampires, though not one individual could say with certainty what they were so afraid of. No one human had witnessed the power of a vampire and lived to pass it on.

Supposedly they were dangerous, with strength exceeding that of the strongest mortal man. Supposedly they couldn’t die unless stabbed with a wooden stake, though many considered such rumours to be exactly that – rumours. Supposedly these creatures relied on the blood of the living to sustain themselves, and they could go through entire villages without sating their ever-raging hunger for human destruction.

Tommy found such rumours to be absolute bullshit.

He had lived 11 years of his life and never seen a vampire, so of course they couldn’t exist. And besides, it was hardly his problem, anyway – Tommy had much bigger issues on his plate than the threat of some sort of new apex predator.

It was his mother. She was sick, and she was dying, and Tommy was at a loss of what to do.

His father had left days before in search of a doctor to cure his wounds, but he had never returned. Tommy waited anxiously by the door every morning, expecting to glimpse his father’s wide-brimmed hat over the crest of the hill by the cabin, but he never showed. Eventually, Tommy resigned himself to the truth that he would have to take care of his sickly mother alone.

Well – not quite.

“Tubbo, pass me the jar of chamomile, would you? No, dickhead, the other jar.”

Tubbo winced and passed over the correct jar. “Sorry, big man. All the jars look the same to me.”

“Don’t worry about it, Tubs.” Without sparing a glance at Tubbo, Tommy was already turning back to the steaming kettle.

Tommy had no idea how Tubbo had come to be at his household. The boy was an enigma, born from seemingly thin air. Tubbo didn’t remember much of his early childhood apart from rough splotches of colour and vague faces, and he didn’t seem too keen to pry into those memories.

Tommy didn’t care all that much. Tubbo had been living with them long enough that he could consider the boy his brother. All that mattered was that Tubbo was here now, and he was helping Tommy take care of his mother.

“Help me carry in her lunch, will you?” Tommy huffed as he hefted the tea set into his arms before carefully manoeuvring out of the kitchen and into the living space.

His mother laid prone on the bed, face gaunt and unresponsive. She’d been like that for two days now – even worse than she’d been before. Tommy winced and set down the tea set before reaching under the blanket to feel the bandages around her throat. They were soaked through again, leaking crimson onto the patch quilt.

Tommy swore and carefully pulled away the blanket before reaching under the bed for the bandages. With a precision far-too difficult for his small hands, he carefully undid the bandages and began wrapping new ones, careful not to put too much pressure onto the small puncture wounds on her skin.

A nasty animal wound, that was. The impressions of sharp teeth remained in the skin, as if the beast had attempted to tear her throat out before quickly deciding it wasn’t worth its time. Tommy suspected it was a mountain lion, or something of the sort, as his father warned him about encountering such beasts around their property.
Regardless, the wound was nasty, Tommy was 11, and his mother didn’t seem to be getting any better.

“Tommy, I don’t know about you, but I don’t think it’s good that her neck’s still bleeding like that,” Tubbo observed as he leant over his mother’s prone body. “Have you tied the bandages tightly enough?”

“I’m sure I have.” Tommy bit his lip as he finished off the knot, leaning back with a soft sigh. “I don’t know, big man. I wish dad was here.”

“He’s probably out getting the doctor.” Tubbo, ever the optimist. “I wouldn’t worry. He should be back soon.”

“Yes, but without the doctor, mother isn’t getting any better, and she isn’t even eating anymore!” Tommy’s patience was wearing thin, the result of many days of constant exhaustion and stress in the face of tragedy. “I don’t know how much more I can do for her before it’s too late.”

He reached down to lace his fingers between his mothers’. Her hand was unresponsive, cold but layered with a slight sheen of sweat. She was resilient, that was for sure, but it was only a matter of time before that resilience fell to the sweet embrace of a painless death. Tommy sighed and tucked the hand back beneath the blankets before stepping away.
“Grab yourself a mug, Tubs. We’re drinking the tea alone today.”

Tommy hated the feeling of helplessness that came with watching your parent slowly wither away beyond your control. Perhaps if he was older, he could have made a difference. Perhaps he could have made her a medicine which would help wake her from her coma or bring down the strange fever which left her ghastly cold instead of blazing hot.

Maybe, if he was older, he could have recognized the signs of a vampire, which indicated that his mother was already gone.

Instead, he sat with Tubbo around his mother’s bedside, drinking too-cold tea and eating the stale remains of the only bread his father had left for them. His mother wheezed softly beside them, each breath sounding more painful than the last, but she remained asleep.

Once the scant meal was finished, Tommy ruefully abandoned his mother’s bedside to tend to the garden. The plants were beginning to wilt, missing the blessed rain that would water their soils and the steady hands that would pick the weeds out of their tangled mess of roots. But Tommy’s father was gone – to where, he didn’t know – and it was up to Tommy to make sure they had food for the coming days.

The work was difficult and hardly as rewarding as he would have liked. He came back into the house sweaty and dishevelled, dirt up to his arms and an ache in his back. Tubbo met him happily with a wooden tub of cold creek water and a soft bar of lemongrass soap and the promises of a warm dinner later.

After a quick bath, Tommy and Tubbo retreated to the living room to sit around his mother’s bedside during dinner.

At first, everything was alright.

Tubbo had prepared stew from the leftover potatoes Tommy brought in the day before, mixed in with a slab of beef which had been stored by his father for a special occasion. Good meat was hard to come by, even in a hunting family, so the meal felt quite special. The two of them sat in relative silence with only the soft ambiance of the flickering fireplace and the ghastly sounds of his mother’s wheezing breaths to fill the quiet.

Suddenly, there was silence.

Tommy’s eyes raised slowly to his mother’s bedside. The sound of Tubbo’s fork ceased as he too leant in, eyes wide. She wasn’t breathing. Why wasn’t she breathing?

Tommy sprang into action, his hands flying to her shoulders. He shook her roughly, tears springing to his eyes as she fell limply into her pillow.

“Tubbo! What the fuck – Tubbo, help me!”

Tubbo was frozen where he stood, his hands clenched tightly around the delicate fork.

“To hell with you, Tubbo!” Tommy snapped and began to shake his mother’s shoulders again. “Mum, come on! Please!”

“Tommy…” The word was whispered as if every syllable took a great effort. Tubbo slowly inched his way over, jaw taut.

Tommy ignored him and roughly shoved his mother’s prone body back down into the mattress. The tears had long since spilled over, stinging his eyes and his cheeks, and blurring his vision, but he couldn’t stop because then his mother would die if he did.

“Tommy, she’s gone.” Tubbo choked on the words, a single tear staining his pale cheek. “Please stop.”

Tommy hesitated, his hands hovering above her shoulders. Her body was stiff, her mouth agape, and her eyes had never once opened. She truly looked like a corpse.

A choked sob forced its way out of his throat. Tommy shot away from the bed like the very fabric shocked him. He didn’t know what to do, where to put his hands, how to stand.

Tubbo finally unclenched his frozen muscles and yanked Tommy into a hug. His shoulders shuddered with the force of his hiccups as the two of them sank to the floor, overridden with grief. Things hadn’t been looking well since she was attacked, but they’d had hope. They had hope in Tommy’s father and the doctor he was sure to bring, they had hope in Tubbo’s dandelion tea and soupy porridge which he claimed would help her heal faster…

How did it all go wrong?

The two sat and sobbed together on the floor until it became clear that they needed a new course of action. The corpse of Tommy’s mother still laid on the bed amidst the crumped sheets and remainder of their meal and the sky was already beginning to lighten. At dawn, the two trekked out into the yard and began to dig a hole. By midday, it was two feet deep, and by nightfall, six. They gathered a small assortment of stones and placed them at the top of the messy grave before retreating into the house for the body.

Tommy shuddered as he carefully wrapped his mother in a sheet to drag outside. Her body was heavier than normal, her limbs much stiffer. She was beginning to smell like the earthy, muted scent of death.

Frankly, the entire situation was horrifying.

Tommy and Tubbo dragged her body out into the yard before laying her down in the dirt next to the grave. Tommy’s heart ached as a portion of the sheet fell away, revealing one of her closed eyes. She looked so peaceful like this – so free. The pain that seemed to constantly inhabit her features had melted away. Her skin no longer shined with fevered sweat and the horrifying wheezes had quieted into a comfortable silence.

Tommy crouched down into the dirt, cautiously peeling away more of the sheet.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t help you more,” Tommy whispered into his mother’s ear. Truthfully, he knew she couldn’t hear him, but it brought him comfort to have the words spoken out loud. “We tried. Dad tried too, I think, but I can’t be sure. He’ll come back with the doctor, and he’ll have to see your grave – I’m not looking forward to that.”

He sighed. This wasn’t the proper goodbye his mother needed.

“I’m sorry, Mum, I really am. Tubbo and I’ll be fine; there’s no need to worry about us, wherever you are. You can rest easy.” He sucked in a steadying breath, fighting tears. “I love you, Mum. I’m sorry I didn’t say it more. You deserved to hear me say it more.”

The confession left tears streaming down his cheeks. Tommy flung himself at his mother’s corpse one last time, wrapping his arms around the stiffness in a tight hug. There was no heartbeat under his ear or light fingertips tracing his arms. His mother was cold and dead. It was time to accept the truth and move on.

Tommy pulled away, swiping at his eyes with his hands. With bated, breath, he began to pull the sheet back over his mother’s body.

There was a gasp behind him. As she sheet reached his mother’s chin, Tommy paused, his heart sinking into the depths of his chest.

One of her eyes had slipped open.

It was unseeing, her eye, turned towards the sky but not perceiving anything it saw. The moonlight glinted off it oddly, and Tommy wondered if all eyes looked like this in death. His mother’s eyes had always been brown, but now, they seemed lighter, almost red.

Tommy had never seen a dead eye before.

Tubbo seemed frozen behind him. His face was pale, eyes wide with fright. His fingers twitched as if to reach towards Tommy, pull him back, but Tommy, too, was frozen.
Terror and confusion melded into one as Tommy stumbled back. Seeing his mother in this light was frightening. Something about her appearance was distinctly alien yet reassuring all at once. It was a blend of emotions he couldn’t describe and frankly had no want to, as the other eye abruptly slid open.

Everything happened all at once, then. Tubbo’s second gasp was sharper, and he finally broke out of his stupor as he tugged Tommy back. Tommy’s mouth formed around words that never surfaced. His feet carried him away from the open grave as quickly as they could, slipping in the late-night dew and stumbling over concealed twigs.

There was a shift in the wind behind him. Tommy’s rapid stumbling halted, something pulling him back. There was a breath against his neck. The smell of death permeated the air.

Another breath. Another second of sickening silence. His mind urged him to run, but the greater part of him was rooted to the ground.

Tubbo was already ten paces ahead of him when Tommy stopped. His gait slowed, and he turned, not sensing the imminent danger.

The boy froze, eyes rolling to the back of his head, and promptly collapsed into the dirt.

“Tubbo!” A new kind of fire jumped to Tommy’s veins as he shot forward.

Something clamped down on his wrist, dragging him back. Tommy screeched and clawed at the hand holding him down. The grip was unrelenting, fuelled by supernatural strength and the stiffness that came with death.

He found himself down in the dirt, face pressed into the mud. There was a weight on his back and impossibly strong arms forcing his neck to the side. Something sharp scraped the sensitive skin of his throat and he screamed again, thrashing against the hold.

His mother – or whatever beast had possessed her body – was unrelenting.

It hit him all at once. Tommy was going to die here, in the middle of the night in the mud of his back yard next to the open grave meant for the ghastly creature that was this thing. He was going to die all alone, with Tubbo unconscious and his mother dead and his father missing.

How had it all come to this? Just hours earlier, Tubbo and Tommy had been drinking tea by his mother’s bedside. She was sick – horribly feverish – but showing signs of a possible recovery. Perhaps this sickness was what fuelled her otherworldly rage. Perhaps she was never sick at all – instead turning. Turning into what, though?

His skin prickled. The sharpness against his throat dug in deeper, drawing blood. He felt the trickle of it down his throat, stinging as it went along and sinking into the wet dirt below. It was pain like no other, the bite.

But it was over just as quickly as it started.

There was the sound of a struggle and a distant crash. His mother was thrown off him quicker than lightning, and he could finally breath. He coughed weakly, tugging up the collar of his shirt to cover the bleeding wound, raising his blurry eyes from the floor.

There was a new person in their yard now. He stood taller than Tommy’s sickly mother, dressed in a white dress shirt with the most outrageous sleeves Tommy had ever seen. He had the strangest sort of pink hair, tied back in a loose braid, and a crimson sash around his waist. The two faced off in the moonlight. His mother was terrifying from this angle. Her face and dress were smeared with blood, her hair raggedy and tangled from the tumble. She was growling something fearsome. Her hands curved into claws.

The man was more composed. He stood quietly, examining Tommy’s mother with curiosity.

“This is interesting.” It was spoken under his breath, almost too quietly for Tommy to hear. There was no fear in the man’s tone as he tilted his head to the side. “One of his creations, no doubt.”

The man took a step forward. His mother stepped back.

Pleased, the man finally turned back towards Tommy. His face fell almost instantly. Tommy was becoming woozy with blood loss, his head feeling cotton-filled and jumbled. He slumped back down into the grass, consciousness becoming laborious.

Through blurry vision, Tommy watched the man spring forward. There was a loud crack like thunder and the sound of something falling to the ground, and all was silent.
His vision dipped to black. Somewhere, in the distance, someone was running.

Chapter Text

The markets are busy in the morning. With expert precision, Tommy fits himself into the moving stream of people before inconspicuously dipping into the nearby alleyway.

He pulls his hood up higher. There are eyes on him; he can feel it.

Today, busy doesn’t mean safety. When he was younger, Tommy would find solace in the masses of people congregating throughout the town square. The more people packed into a small street meant less eyes on his back, and as a young thief, such a disguise was immeasurable.

Society is different now. Petty thieves are the least of the crowd’s worries.

Everyone in small villages like these band against a common enemy. Humankind, while remaining the vast majority, are ever threatened by the rising power of the undead. Their numbers remain miniscule. There may only be ten major covens in all of Britain combined, but rogues wander the streets like regular humans, blending in with their supernatural abilities in search of their next meals.

Tommy never used to fear vampires. He can no longer say the same.

The eyes on the back of his neck become suffocating. Tommy ducks behind a stack of crates and waits with bated breath until the feeling dissipates. Whoever it was must have decided he wasn’t worth the effort.

With a sigh, he drifts out of the alley and back into the fray, ignoring the pointed looks he receives from passers-by. His face is a well-known one. In such a small town, word gets around quickly, and it didn’t take long for his reputation to build.

They call him a thief. They avoid him like the plague – him and his smaller, far more bearable, companion. Tommy doesn’t mind all that much. He used to, sure, but he’s older now. He’s lived far too long in fear – seen to many things no child ever wishes to see – and his energy has dimmed.

It’s a sad life he’s been forced into. He spends mornings like these in the markets, dipping and weaving between the crowds in search of easy targets to steal. Usually, he goes for the bigger stalls, the ones swarming with customers or ones left temporarily unmanned. His targets tend to be small; smaller slabs of meat, single loafs of bread, a handful of berries. He puts them all in his bag and slips off before he’s noticed, and once the mornings crowds dissipate, he returns to their home and presents Tubbo with his findings.

Tubbo tends to stay home during these excursions. He spends his days mending the clothes Tommy rips or sweeping the dirt off their floors. Occasionally, he’ll sort through their scant belongings and bring some to trade in the town, bringing home a handful of coins the two stash away for the day they can move onto something better.

It’s a distant dream the two share, one of moving onto greener pastures and finally finding a steady place to call home. The slums they occupy are nothing more than the crumbling remains of an abandoned family home the other townsfolk refuse to touch. They consider it cursed ground. Tommy and Tubbo consider it a sanctuary.

Tommy finally turns down the curved road leading to their cottage. It’s admittedly quite small, with a thatched roof that leaks in the rain and crumbling stone walls that lets the ants in. The floorboards creek and weeds grow in nooks and crannies and there’s admittedly some strange stains on the floors upstairs, but it’s home.

Tommy pushes open the front door. Tubbo’s there, sitting next to the stove with a pair of Tommy’s slacks in one hand and a spool of thread in the other.

“Big man, I have no idea how you managed to fuck these up so horribly.” He holds the gash in the pant leg up to the light of the stove and sighs. “I’m gonna have to patch this with one of your old shirts. I don’t have anything else that matches these.”

Tommy drops the heavy sack onto their table with a thud. “‘S alright, Tubs. I’ve got extras.”

Tubbo eyes Tommy with a fixed look. “You need to be more careful out there.”

It’s a lecture Tommy’s heard a million times over. He shrugs and sorts through the contents of his bag. “You know I’m always careful, Tubbo. That one was an accident.”

“An accident.” His voice is carefully flat.

Tommy bristles at the implication. “Of course, it was an accident. The shopkeeper saw me as I was leaving, so I had to hide in the lumberyard. The leg got caught on one of the pieces of plywood I was hiding behind.”

It’s only partially a lie. Tubbo doesn’t need to know that the shopkeeper was actually one of the undead stalking Tommy out through the crowd. It was a near miss, in retrospect. Tommy only scraped by when the vampire caught sight of a lumberyard worker and considered that meal far more appealing than the scrawny boy behind the wood pile, and Tommy was able to make a quick escape.

Tommy senses Tubbo doesn’t fully believe the bluff, but he doesn’t push it.

“Whatever. Get me one of those shirts, will you? I want to finish this before dark.”

Tommy relents and leaves to grab the shirt. When he returns, it’s as if the entire argument never happened. Tubbo silently accepts the fabric and returns to his job, and Tommy goes back to the table.

When Tommy was little, vampires were little more than a scary story his parents would use to make him go to bed early. The idea of bloodsucking, immortal monsters roaming the lands was ludicrous… until it wasn’t.

He can still recall the day his mother died. What he thought was an animal bite turned out to be something far worse – something far more dangerous. His life was saved by the mysterious man with the pink hair and the strange singer who found Tommy bleeding out in the grass.

Wilbur, the teen’s name was. By some miracle, he appeared on Tommy’s property after the whole scuffle had ended and took the two boys to the doctor – a trip which had taken his father a week to never complete. He had stayed by their bedside until they awoke, offering Tommy a pouch of coins and a warm smile.

Wilbur was the one to suggest Tommy and Tubbo moved from his house. The vampiric attack likely wasn’t a coincidence; if it had finished off both the boy’s parents, it was likely the beast also intended to finish off the children, as well. Tommy was all-too-willing to comply, and he allowed Wilbur to lead them to the cottage they found themselves in today.

Back then, the cottage was recently abandoned. The bloodstains on the floorboards were still fresh and the thatched roof was still whole. Wilbur had been living in the home since the original owners died, he claimed, but it was time he moved on from the town for his larger family home closer to London.

He left soon after, leaving the boys to fend for themselves.

It was strange at first, living alone. Tommy had his twelfth birthday in the cottage, and every birthday afterwards. There was no mother to make him a cake, so Tubbo offered him a handful of sugar peas instead.

Wilbur tried to visit the boys as often as he could, to check up on them and bring them gifts. His visits were always anticipated, as were his letters. Every morning, the day before he would visit, a piece of parchment marked with an emerald, green seal would appear at their doorstep. Then, like clockwork, the brunette would appear on their doorstep the next day, his arms bursting with gifts and delicacies all the way from London.

“There was a letter from Wilbur this morning.”

Tommy raises his eyes from his task. “He’s visiting? Isn’t it a little early for a visit?”

Tubbo shrugs and ties off the knot. He holds the pants up to the light once more before setting them down with a relieved sigh. “He says he wants to see you. Something about family back in London, I don’t know."

“He wants to see me? Specifically?” A rush of pleased warmth accompanies the thought.

Tubbo’s face falls from behind the curtain of his hair. Tommy hardly notices.

“You know you’re his favourite,” Tubbo murmurs. “You always have been.”

Tommy freezes at the sudden melancholy in his friend’s voice. “Tubbo, I- “

“No.” Tubbo sighs. “No, it’s alright. I’m not mad, or anything. It is what it is, you know?”

The happiness from before melts away; guilty coldness takes its place.

“I don’t get out much,” Tubbo continues lowly, “so I suppose I’m just not as interesting to be around. Besides, Wilbur and I don’t mesh the way you two do. I’m alright with that. I just wish…”
He hesitates, slumping over in his chair.

“I don’t know. I wish I had someone like that.” Tommy opens his mouth to intervene – of course Tubbo has someone like that! Tubbo has him!

Tubbo interrupts him before he gets the chance. “And don’t say I have you. I’ll always have you, and I’m grateful for that. I just… I don’t know…”

Heavy silence fills the room. Tommy’s hands freeze on the loaf of bread he was unloading, his mouth open as he searches for the words.

Had this really been bothering him so badly? How had Tommy not seen this before?

Tubbo turns around slowly. Their eyes meet.

He’s quick to apologise. “I’m sorry, Tommy. I didn’t mean- “

“No.” Tommy breathes, eyes wide. “No, I’m glad you said something. I’m sorry, Tubs, I didn’t notice.”

Tubbo cracks a sad grin. “You’ve always been shit at noticing things like that. It’s alright, big man. Besides, it’s not like you can do anything about it.”

“If you want to get out more, you can come with me to the market.” It’s a weak suggestion that Tommy is almost positive Tubbo will decline, but it’s a start, he hopes. “We can take trips down to London to visit Wilbur at his place if you want. There’s millions of people to meet on the way to London.”

“That’s a dangerous trip, even for us.” Tubbo hesitates, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “I wouldn’t be opposed to a morning at the market with you, though. I need some fresh air.”

“Day after tomorrow, when Wilbur leaves, we’re going to the market together,” Tommy decides.

Tubbo smiles, softer this time. “Is that a promise?”

“Of fucking course, it is!” The tension in the room eases away. “You know I care about you, Tubs. You’re stuck with me forever.”

Tubbo eases back in his chair. “That’s alright with me.”

Dinner that night is quiet, but not uncomfortable. The two eat on the front steps of the cottage under the fading sunlight and stay out long after to watch the stars.

Chapter Text

The next morning is a blur. Tubbo wakes Tommy before the sun rises to scrub the house top to bottom, save for the room upstairs with the strange stains on the floor. Tommy finds himself crouched in the dirt outside the house, pulling weeds from the dry soil with an excited fervour.

Once the house is as spotless as possible, Tubbo drags Tommy into the backyard to bathe under the sun. Tommy soaks in the sun-warmed bathwater as Tubbo begins to cook them breakfast. The sweet smells of summer watermelon and fried eggs waft outside as Tommy sinks further under the water, only to be harshly cut off as Tubbo drags him back inside for his turn to bathe.

The two eat their breakfast in the backyard. They dry themselves in the sun, letting the breeze rinse the last of the water out of their hair.

It’s a beautiful morning that Wilbur arrives.

The two hear him before they see him. He comes over the hill singing a song with the sweet voice of his, something about a nation long gone set to a tune Tommy is sure he's heard before.

Tommy is the first to the front yard, breakfast abandoned. He launches himself at Wilbur, nearly knocking the man to the ground.

“There’s the gremlin!” Wilbur drags Tommy into an affectionate hug, ruffling the hair at the top of his head. “How’s it been? How’s Tubbo?”

Tubbo emerges from behind the cottage. “Tubbo’s quite well, thanks.” Wilbur relinquishes Tommy to drag the other into a hug, laughing all the while.

“My, you two are growing so big.” He takes a step back, admiring the two with a brotherly grin. “God, Tommy, you’re getting tall.”

“Nearly as tall as you, ey Wilbur?” Tommy jabs, narrowly avoiding the playful swing Wilbur launches at his head.

“Not quite.” It’s a lie; Tommy’s nearly at eye level with the bastard.

Tommy rocks back on his heels. “So, Wil, what’s the occasion? You aren’t usually here ‘til August.”

“Yeah, do you want to sit down, Wilbur?” Tubbo asks, gesturing to the front stoop. “You’ve had a bit of a journey.”

Wilbur’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “I’d like that, Tubbo, thanks.”

Once they’re all situated, Wilbur seems to shrink a little bit. “I’ll admit, I’m not happy to bring the news up like this.”

Tommy’s heart sinks. “Is something wrong, Wil?”

“There’s nothing wrong, really. I’m here with some news from the city I believe you two might find interesting.”

The panic melts into confusion. “News? I’m confused.”

Wilbur pensively tilts his head. “I’ll cut to the chase. Two of my good friends wish to meet with Tommy to possibly offer him work in London. It would pay well, offer food and shelter for the duration of his stay... a positive steal in my eyes."

“Holy shit!” Tommy springs to his feet. “You hear that, Tubbo? This could be our big break!”

All at once, the reality of Wilbur’s words sinks in. He frowns. “Wilbur, what about Tubbo? You said I was offered an opportunity. What about him?”

“That’s the bad news.” Wilbur sighs deeply, massaging the space between his eyes. “I tried to bargain with them, but they only wish to meet with Tommy. The wage Tommy earns will be enough to help you move out eventually, Tubbo, but it will keep the two of you separate for a good while.”

Tubbo’s face has gone awfully pale. He clenches and unclenches the grass in his fist, at a loss for words.

“I can’t go to London without Tubbo,” Tommy argues. “We’ve been together for five whole years! Besides, it’s too dangerous to keep him alone here; England is basically crawling with vampires.”

“I may have a solution to that issue. There is another man I’m good friends with who would be willing to take Tubbo under his wing for as long as it takes you two to get on your feet again.” Wilbur hesitates. “He’s about the best protection you can get in a place like this.”

“But – but Tubbo…” Tommy’s eyes flit to his friend. “We can’t be separated like this! We promised to be together forever!”

Something flashes across Wilbur’s face so quickly Tommy almost misses it. Anger? Annoyance? Possessiveness? Whatever it is has Tommy flinching back, breath catching in his throat.

“Tommy, you and Tubbo are children. If you want to stick to your childish fantasies forever, then be it, but I’m offering you the chance to get out of this shithole and move on with your lives. You’re making a mistake if you think an opportunity like this is going to come again.”

Tommy moves to argue, blood boiling, but Tubbo cuts him off. “He’s right, Tommy.”

The corner of Wilbur’s lips seems to turn up. Tommy hardly notices.

“Tubbo, are you hearing yourself?” There’s a shrill note to Tommy’s voice. “I wouldn’t get to see you for however long this stupid job takes – are you not understanding that? I don’t know what the hell I’d do with myself alone out there!”

Tubbo huffs. “Tommy, you’re not thinking clearly. Obviously, this isn't optimal, but what other option do we have? We can't live off petty crime our whole lives. You know better than anyone the dangers that kind of shit causes.”

Tommy flinches back at the blatant uncaring in Tubbo’s tone. Sure, Tubbo was always the more level-headed one of the two, but his eagerness to throw away all the duo has worked for stings a little.

Tubbo’s eyes turn downcast. “I know I’m sounding harsh, Tommy, but it’s for the best. We’re nearly adults now; it’s time we started thinking ahead.”

“Listen to Tubbo,” advises Wilbur gleefully. “You’re a smart kid, Tommy. I know this is a lot to take in, but you’re not stupid.”

Tommy grumbles and falls back onto the grass, sucking in a steadying breath and closing his eyes. Of course, Wilbur’s right; Wilbur’s always right. The fact doesn’t make the reality any less horrifying, however.

“Can you give us any time to think?”

Wilbur ruefully shakes his head. “The carriages are already waiting in the square. It’s now or never, Toms.”

“Come on, Tommy.” Tubbo nudges his shoulder. “Let’s go pack our things.”

They go through their meagre belongings methodically. There isn’t all that much to sort through; a shirt or two, an old storybook, a small pouch of coins, some bread and cheese for the road. Tommy finds himself on the edge of his bed staring down at the near-empty bag with a hole in his chest.

“Is this really all we have?” He runs his hand over the spine of the book. “God, we really are poor as shit.”

“That’s all gonna change, though, won’t it?” Tubbo’s voice is hopeful as he lays a heavy hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “This is all for the best, big man. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel like my world was ending right now, but it’ll all be worth it in the end, yeah?”

“I don’t want anything to change, though.” Tommy hates how childish he sounds. “I don’t even know these guys Wilbur is sending me to work with, and you sure as hell don’t know this ‘friend’ he’s carting you off to. I don’t want you to be lonely.”

Tubbo smiles fondly. “We can still write, Tommy. I know you know how to do that.”

“It’s not the same,” Tommy responds stubbornly. Tubbo chuckles and closes his bag.

Despite the attitude, Tubbo’s heart is set, and if Tubbo trusts Wilbur enough to take care of them, so can Tommy.

They meet Wilbur outside minutes later. Tommy takes one final, forlorn look at the house as they pass. It really is a shitty little cottage, with its crumbling roof and weed-ridden lawn even Tommy’s hours of weeding couldn’t fix.

He sets his jaw and turns away. Now is not the time for sentimentality.

As promised, two carriages await them in the town square. Villagers mill about them curiously, not daring to step too close to the evident signs of wealth not often seen in their small town. A man stands next to the darker carriage with deep-set brown eyes and a chin fuzzy with facial hair.

He steps forward as they approach. “Wilbur,” the man greets with a dip of his head.

Wilbur nods pleasantly in response before turning towards Tubbo. “This is the friend I was telling you about. He’ll keep you safe.”

The man’s face lightens as Tubbo steps forward. “Hey, kid! Name’s Schlatt. Nice to meet you!” He holds out a hand to shake, which Tubbo accepts tentatively. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

Tubbo hesitates, risking a final glance at Tommy. “Last chance to back out, Tommy.”

Tommy shakes his head resolutely. “I’m not backing out, Tubs. I trust your judgement.” He turns towards the man by the carriage. “You’d better keep Tubbo safe while I’m away, or I’ll fucking kill you.”

The man’s grin only widens. “Don’t worry, kid. Tubbo’s safe with me.”

The promise offers Tommy minimal peace of mind, but he doesn’t push it. He pulls Tubbo into one final hug. Wilbur was right; Tommy really had grown taller. Tubbo’s head hardly reaches his shoulders! Where had the time gone?

“Be safe out there, yeah?” Tubbo’s voice has suddenly gone all shaky. “London’s a scary place.”

“I’m always safe, Tubs, don’t worry. It’s you I’m worried about.”

Tubbo pulls away with a fond smile. “No need to worry. I can take care of myself, thank you very much.”

No other words are spoken. Tommy fears if the two of them stretch on the goodbyes they would never be able to leave.

Tubbo offers him one last shaky smile as he clambers into the carriage, all false confidence and barely concealed panic. He watches Tubbo until the boy’s carriage disappears; there’s a strange hole in his chest all the while. In all the years they’d lived together in that cottage, there was never a single day they were apart.

“You trust far too easily,” Wilbur notes as they board their own carriage.

Tommy huffs and leans back into the plush seat. “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“You haven’t asked me a single question about the job I’m offering you or the man who’s got your best friend in his carriage. You don’t even know who you’ve been hired by.”

“It’s you, Wilbur. Why the hell wouldn’t I trust you?”

Wilbur grins darkly. “I suppose.”

Tommy’s never considered his trust to be a horrible thing. In retrospect, he’s never had all that many people to cling to. Tubbo’s been with him all his life, so it’s only natural the two are bound at the hip, and Wilbur’s been the only constant adult in their lives since the untimely loss of their parents.

Tommy’s mood sullens at the thought. Wilbur likely views his deep attachments as some lingering childish naivety, or an innate instinct to cling to all those willing to offer support. Despite the trio remaining on equal grounds, it’s obvious how Wilbur views the two of them.

He sees them as they are – children.

Tubbo, not so much. Wilbur has always considered Tubbo to be the more mature one. He’s got nearly a year on Tommy age-wise, and since childhood, he’s always possessed a far more level head. Despite all that, he’s always been the quieter one, the one less willing to take risks, the one who would stay quiet and take a beating all for the sake of another.

Tommy is the opposite. Bold, brash, and more than willing to voice his opinions, Tommy could easily rub people the wrong way. It’s nothing short of a miracle that Wilbur’s been willing to come back and visit him all these years.

“What brought all that up back there?” he asks after a period of silence.

Wilbur’s eyes trail back to Tommy. “I’m afraid I’m not following.”

“That whole spiel about trust.” He waves his arms around, searching for the words. “I don’t know, man. You were all cryptic, and shit. It was strange.”

Wilbur sighs. “Tommy, you know I see you as my little brother. I’m just trying to look out for you, is all. I don’t want you putting trust in people that don’t deserve it.”

“Do you think you don’t deserve it? My trust, I mean.”

Wilbur’s eyebrows furrow. “I’d like to think I deserve it more than most.”

Tommy snorts at the answer. “Even more than Tubbo?”

“You could say that, yes.” Tommy’s laughter dies down at the seriousness in Wilbur’s tone. “It’s not that it matters much, now. Tubbo’s on a carriage taking him to the opposite end of the country while you return to London with me. You’re not going to need to worry about Tubbo for a while.”

“Not worry- What?”

Tommy’s never felt explicit anger at Wilbur before. The two have had their scuffles, sure, but it’s all for the sake of brotherly affection. This time, though, the scathing words sound genuine.

“You’re making it sound like our separation is a good thing.” He laughs again, far more sullenly this time. “God, Wilbur, it almost sounds like you’re trying to kidnap me, or something.”
Wilbur grins, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. “I’m not kidnapping you, gremlin. I’m taking you to be with me in London where you’ll be safe. Don’t forget the vampire that’s been stalking you and Tubbo all these years. It isn’t safe for the two of you to live alone anymore.”

Tommy grimaces. How could he forget? Vampires are a strange breed of creatures; each of them as vengeful as they are possessive. After labelling his parents as a target, it’s only fair that the vampire would go after the children to finish the job. Tommy can only assume the vampire wished for his mother to do the dirty work for them.

“I’ll hardly be safer in London than I was here,” Tommy argues. Wilbur’s eager discredit to all he and Tubbo have worked for stings somewhat. “You’d think a larger city would make it easier for the guy to scope me out.”

“Tommy, with me, no harm will come to you.” It’s a solemn promise spoken in a tone Wilbur rarely uses, and it sends shivers up Tommy’s spine. “These friends of mine know how important you are to me. They’ll make sure you’re safe.”

Tommy laughs quite loudly again, if for nothing more than to lighten the tension. Wilbur leans back into his seat and goes silent, and Tommy takes this as the end of the strange conversation.

The journey takes a dozen hours in tense silence before the outskirts of London appear on the horizon.

Chapter Text

Tommy has never seen London up close. He’s heard stories of the big city, of its grandeur, and its bustling community. He’s heard stories of its ancient beauty and tightly knit storefronts topped with lavish apartment buildings, and of its vast manors all circling around the centre of town.

At the same time, he’s heard rumours of its danger. He’s heard rumours of the vampire covens who have laid claim to the London area, and of the dangerous humans who prowl the streets looking to take the lives of their own kind for the sake of a spare pound.

While towns like Tommy’s are made up primarily of England’s poorest, London is not. There is a stark difference between the rich and the poor in the city, obvious in the lavish clothing and horse-drawn carriages only available to those of nobility and the distinct lack of within the poor communities.

For the first time, Tommy begins to really hate his unkempt appearance.

He’s never had particularly lavish clothing. He grew up in a hunting cabin with his mother and father and Tubbo, and most of his clothes were handmade by his mother’s deft hands. The rest were later brought to him by Wilbur, only to be worn down and repurposed over time.

Even now, sitting in this carriage with Wilbur, he feels a sense of shame in his appearance. He’s sure he must look raggedy in comparison. His pants are freshly mended with red patches up and down the legs, and his tunic is lined with uneven stitches and strange cuts even Tubbo couldn’t mend. Wilbur, on the other hand, wears clothing fit for nobility. The way he holds himself demands respect, as if he was born to be worshipped by the masses.

He hasn’t always been this way; Tommy has noticed the change recently. Whatever Wilbur was doing in London had given him vast riches – and fast.

Tommy only hopes the same fortunes fall upon him and Tubbo, so that this strange situation can resolve itself as quickly as it started. Already, as he gazes upon the bustling streets of London, he feels a pang of longing for the cabin. Shitty as it was, the cabin was home – just as Tubbo was home.

Now, Tommy is in a strange city without the only home he’s known all his life. Admittedly, it’s not a pleasant feeling.

“I can sense your worry,” Wilbur pipes up dejectedly. “I know this is all strange, Tommy. I hoped things wouldn’t come to this.”

Tommy sighs lowly. “It’s alright, Wilbur. I trust your judgement.”

“You know I’ll always take care of you, right?” Wilbur fixes Tommy with a serious look. “I feel like your older brother – or about as close to one as I could get, I suppose. I want to make sure you’re safe.”

There’s that feeling again; the longing for familial kinship. Tommy’s chest floods with warmth. “You don’t have to ask me that, Wilbur. You’ve been a massive help to Tubbo and me, despite being a massive dickhead. I know you’re trying your hardest.”

Wilbur leans back in his seat with a contented sigh. “That’s good... Yeah, that’s good. You’re a good kid, Tommy.”

“Good?” Tommy scoffs, tossing his head back. “I’d damn-well hope I’m the best kid, Wilbur. You don’t give me enough credit!”

“Whatever you say, Tommy.”

The playful response fires off another round of equally playful insults, and the two quickly return to their easy banter. The last traces of the lingering silence dispel somewhat, and Tommy finds himself relaxing into the normalcy of it all. Sure, he doesn’t have Tubbo’s unwavering emotional support out here in London, but he does have Wilbur’s easy-going attitude and quick-witted joking personality that matches Tommy’s own.

That should be enough.

They make their way through the bustling town square and into a quieter part of town. The tightly packed buildings make way for quieter lanes topped with gated manors and thick trees, which quickly descends into forest the further out the carriage goes.

The sun slowly sinks beneath the trees, and the carriage falls into darkness. Wilbur pulls a match out of his pocket and lights the hanging lantern at the top of the ceiling, bathing the small compartment in flickering orange light.

It’s nicer out here, Tommy supposes. Their cottage in the village was always surrounded by noise no matter the time as people worked day and night to make ends meet. Here, though, there is nothing but the quiet sounds of the woods and the rattling of the carriage wheels.

“Oddly secluded place we’re headed, yeah?” Tommy points this out innocently, not expecting the odd look Wilbur gives in return.

“Would you prefer London’s interior?” Wilbur quips with practised ease, the uneasy expression sliding off his face in an instant. “I sure as hell wouldn’t.”

Tommy shrugs nonchalantly. “Me neither, I suppose.” He pauses for a moment, thinking. “What sort of job have your friends hired me for, Wilbur? Will I be staying with them?”

“We can discuss all that when we arrive.”

Tommy’s eyes narrow. “You won’t even tell me what I’m meant to be doing here?”

“It’s unimportant.” Tommy opens his mouth, determined to press further, but Wilbur cuts him off. “Tommy, please. I’m tired. Can this wait?”

It’s a lie. Wilbur’s jaw tightens.

Tommy slumps down in his seat. “Fine. Whatever.”

He knows not to press when Wilbur gets like this. Hours of weary travel has left them both on edge, and Wilbur’s always been a snippy one when he’s tired.

Still, something about the entire situation isn’t striking him right. Tommy rubs his eyes tiredly. Every second they spend in the carriage feels like a death sentence.

“Tired, Toms?” Tommy nods in response, stifling a yawn. “That’s alright. We’re just about here.
”
The exhaustion melts away immediately. Tommy springs to the window, blurry eyes peering through the darkness as the first signs of life materialise. Through the trees, he can vaguely make out flickering orange light and the sharp tip of what appears to be a wrought iron fence.

All at once, the trees fall away, and the manor explodes into view. It’s a surprisingly large building, made of red brick with a tall, sloping roof. The walls are thick with ivy, but soft candlelight flickers through the exposed windows.

Tommy’s breath catches in his throat. “Is this…” He swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. “Is this where you’ve been living all this time?”

Wilbur grins slyly but doesn’t respond.

The carriage slows to a halt, and the driver springs down to open the door. Tommy steps out on shaky legs.

“Come on, Tommy, no time to dawdle.” Wilbur rests a heavy hand on Tommy’s shoulder, guiding him to the entrance. “Lots to do tonight.”

“Lots to do?” Tommy chuckles disbelievingly. “Wilbur, it’s ass-o’clock in the morning. Can’t this wait?”

Wilbur’s grip tightens. “Afraid not. My friends wish to get down to business before you get too comfortable – formalities, and all that.”

Another partial lie. Tommy’s known Wilbur long enough to sense that the man isn’t telling the full truth. He frowns but remains silent, suddenly feeling quite trapped under Wilbur’s grip.

Wilbur guides him up the front steps and into the grand hall of the manor. For the second time, Tommy finds himself speechless.

The entryway is massive, sporting twin staircases and a massive crystal chandelier between them. Paintings line the walls of people in cloaks and fancy evening wear, sporting the same sullen expressions and empty gazes.

It’s all incredibly posh, incredibly clean at a first glance, seemingly devoid of life but evidently lived-in at the same time. There are faded muddy footprints on the floor and melted candles in the windows, and somewhere down one of the halls flits out the gentle notes of a piano.

Tommy’s never felt so distinctly out of place before.

“Hold up- there’s no way.” He narrows his eyes and takes a step closer to one of the faded paintings. “Wilbur, is that you?”

Wilbur’s painting sits between two others. His face is carefully emotionless, curly hair pushed to the side. He wears the regal clothes of a nobleman with a heavy emerald necklace draped across his throat.

Tommy’s never seen something so stupid.

At Wilbur’s displeased expression, Tommy barks out a laugh. “My God, Wil, you look so stupid! Look at those clothes – Prime, and your face. You look like a bloody corpse, man!”

“Alright, that’s enough.” The heavy hand returns to his shoulder, guiding him away from the wall of paintings. “You can bully me later. We have work to do.”

Tommy forces down his mirth. “Right. Lead the way, big man.”

They travel down the hallway towards the sound of the piano. It’s a soft song, played slowly and with great precision. It echoes throughout the empty crevices of the massive building, distorting, and echoing, but sounding no less sweet.

The melody dies down as they reach the entrance to the room. The door is propped open, yellow light spilling out.

Wilbur’s grip tightens as he guides Tommy inside.

Tommy is instantly flooded with confusion.

Two figures catch his attention; one sits at the piano bench, hands still lightly resting on the keys, and the other stands just beyond, leaning against the wall. They’re strangely familiar. He’s seen them before, he’s sure of it, but where?

The one at the piano is dressed all in green. The tails of his waistcoat trail over the bench, lined with gold and looking distinctly expensive. His ears are similarly lined with gold, one of which sports an emerald earring.

The other man is dressed far more casually than the first. He wears brown slacks and a white poet’s shirt, a matching emerald earring dangling from his ear. Most distinct about this man is his hair; long, pink, and braided to one side, Tommy’s never seen anything similar.

Tommy’s vision catches on the man’s face. He fixes the boy with a smooth, cold expression, eyes unblinking.

Red eyes unblinking.

Tommy scrambles back, falling into Wilbur’s chest with a thump. “Wilbur, what the hell is this?”

“Tommy, calm.” Wilbur’s arms clamp over his shoulders, holding him steady.

The first ounces of panic seep into Tommy’s bloodstream. Vampire. The man is a vampire. What the hell is Wilbur doing bringing him to a manor with one of the bastards? He understands the target Tommy has on his back; he must know how dangerous this is.

The icy hot sting of betrayal feels like a stab to the heart.

“Tommy, I need you to calm down,” the man at the piano commands smoothly. Tommy freezes in his tracks. The voice is distinctly familiar and his mind whirrs as he attempts to place where the hell he’s heard it before.

“Calm down? Calm down?” A hysteric laugh bubbles to the surface. “Wilbur, this is fucked. Have you lot manipulated him? Is he under a spell, or some shit?” He tugs Wilbur’s arms away, stumbling away from the three tense figures.

Wilbur raises his hands placatingly. “Tommy please, you don’t understand. Just calm down for a moment.”

“What is there to explain?” His throat feels hoarse, panicked tears crawling to his eyes. He hasn’t felt this trapped since the day his mother was turned. “You lied to me, Wilbur. I don’t… This is…”

He stumbles, lightheaded. Before he can fall, Wilbur is already there, easing him gently onto one of the plush couches.

Tommy’s hands shakily rise to his head. “What the fuck?”

“I’m sorry I had to do that.” Wilbur gently manoeuvres Tommy so his head rests on his shoulder. “But please, calm down.”

Tommy shakes his head sluggishly. “What the hell did you do to me?”

“Don’t worry about it, Tommy. You’re alright. You’re safe here.”

A hot tear streaks down Tommy’s cheek before he can stop it. This immense panic is a horrific turnaround from the easy atmosphere from before. Whatever Wilbur’s done to him has his brain feeling all fuzzy and his limbs feeling like a million pounds. It’s a kind of helplessness he’s never felt before and frankly hopes he’ll never feel again.

He weakly pushes himself off Wilbur’s shoulder, head swimming. “Make it stop, Wilbur. Please…”

Wilbur sucks in a sharp breath. “Tommy, I need you to stop overreacting. I need you to listen.”

“Listen?” Another tear falls as Wilbur rights his swaying form once more. “You’re a lying bastard. You brought me here to fucking die, didn’t you?”

Wilbur’s eyes darken. “Tommy, I thought you had more trust in me than that. Remember our conversation in the carriage?”

Tommy remembers the conversation clearly, and he hates himself for it. Of course, he had to put his trust in the wrong fucking person. Of course, Wilbur’s impeccable timing after the attack was too good to be true.

Because as Tommy’s vision finally gains some clarity, he recognises where he’s seen the pink-haired man before.

Chapter Text

The realisation hurts far more than Tommy cares to admit. Pieces fall into place all at once; Wilbur’s strange habits, his abundance of wealth that never seems to run dry, these strange friends who all the sudden have interest in Tommy and his abilities…

Wilbur was never truly Tommy’s friend, was he?

Tommy’s sobbing openly, now, vision blurring with tears. He never thought this is where he would die. Miles away from Tubbo in a manor full of the beings who had ruined his life from the start, it’s almost bitterly ironic.

Tommy has always been the stronger one of the two. Horrible situations don’t tend to faze him, and he can deal with high stress with a level head.

But something about this time is different. The illusion of safety Wilbur offered has been shattered, and now it’s just him – Tommy against the world without his best friend at his side.

There is a soft sigh from across the room.

“Wilbur, release your magic,” the man at the piano instructs quietly.

Wilbur stiffens at his side. “Are you sure, Phil?”

The man, Phil, must have nodded because Tommy very slowly feels the fog lift from his body. He instantly pushes against Wilbur's slackening arms, catapulting himself away from the couch. He finds himself in the corner of the grand room, back pressed against the wall with his head in between his knees.

There is still lingering exhaustion that drags him down, likely the result of Wilbur’s strange ability. Tommy grits his teeth.

The floorboards creak in front of him. Tommy pushes further against the wall, shaking in earnest. He hates what these beings have reduced him to.

“Hey, mate.” The voice is soft, comforting, coming from a being crouching far too close, but Tommy refuses to look up. “You don’t have to fear us. We aren’t going to kill you; we just want to talk."

Tommy clenches his jaw.

“Wilbur’s told us a lot about you,” Phil continues, seemingly oblivious to Tommy’s anguish. “I can see why he likes you. He’s wanted to bring you to us for a long time, but we made him wait.”

“If you won’t kill me, then what the hell do you want with me?” He’s sure the words are muffled and shaky, punctuated with gasping hiccups. All pleasant conversation is only delaying the inevitable, despite the vampires’ firm insistence that they don’t intend to kill him.

“Quite frankly, we mean to make you a part of our family."

The meaning behind his words is not lost to Tommy. His head snaps up, eyes wide.

“No, please.” He scrabbles to stand up, finding little purchase. The elder vampire has him cornered, though, and the other two have shifted subtly closer to the door.

He’s once again reminded of his mother, who had lost herself completely to the turning just before she was killed. There was no recognition in her eyes, even as she stared at the two boys she’d raised for eleven years. She was everything vampires were rumoured to be: inhuman, strong, dangerous.

Tommy doesn’t understand how Wilbur’s kept this side of him a secret for so long. Perhaps it comes with years of practice. Perhaps it was all an act, and the bonds they’d formed were nothing more than a lie. God, Tommy doesn’t even know if vampires feel empathy.

Tommy can’t let the same thing happen to him, no matter the cost.

“You must be thinking of your mother now, aren’t you?” The pink-haired one pipes up from the door, voice just as cold and bland as his expression. “Her turning was unfortunate. Her Sire left her too early. She lost herself to it all.”

Tommy’s nose scrunches angrily. How dare this man speak so casually about his mother’s death?

He shrugs far too casually for the weight of the conversation at hand. “When I killed her, she was not herself, though I’m sure you were aware of that. Rest assured; you will not share the same fate."

Tommy’s entire body feels frozen. There are no exits, no escapes, no lumberyards to hide in or people to take his place. Death itself would be better than the future promised by the bloodsuckers, but even that is no longer an option. How the hell did he get to this point?

“Tommy, hey.” Phil brushes a stray tear off Tommy’s cheek before tugging the prone teen back towards the couch. Tommy hardly has the strength to fight off his hold. “It’s alright, mate. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

He weakly tugs at Phil's hand. “Please…” He whispers, the words dying in his throat. “I don’t…"

“We will care for you the whole time,” Phil promises. “It will hurt at first, but we will make you better. No rogue will threaten you again once you’re officiated into the coven.”

Phil’s grip on his shoulder burns like hot coals. Tommy sobs as he attempts to wrench free from the hold, only to sob harder as he is easily restrained.

At some point during the altercation, Wilbur materialises at his side. He restrains Tommy’s hands, all the while cooing soft encouragements under his breath. His hands are like vices on Tommy’s wrists, iron-hard and impossible to wriggle free from.

There is a third presence from behind, and the pink-haired man gently tugs Tommy’s head to the side. Tommy sobs out broken pleas as Phil’s breath fans across his throat. His pulse thrums in his ears.

His pitiful efforts to throw the vampires off him are crushed immediately. He thrashes around in their hold, grunting between sobs as their hands only tighten.

Phil’s arms shift, wrapping him in a semblance of a hug. “Tommy, it will hurt far less if you don’t struggle.”

“It’s alright, Theseus.” Tommy narrows his eyes at the strange nickname as the pink-haired man tugs his head back further, forcing him to still. “Make this easy on yourself.”

Tommy’s chest heaves with laboured breaths as Phil leans down once more.

And then he is screaming.

The pain is indescribable. Red hot at the site of the bite, it spreads icy heat up and down his body in an instant. There’s a deep ache that follows, and then a numbness, and Tommy rapidly loses the strength to fight back.

His screams abruptly fade into soft sniffles and light panting. The scorching pain numbs into an icy chill, starting at his fingertips and toes and gradually overtaking his body. With the cold comes the exhaustion. Tommy’s vision flickers between vague, blurry shapes and darkness before his eyes finally fall shut.

Tommy fights to regain lucidity. He can still feel Wilbur’s steady hands holding him upright, and his entire body seems to shudder as Phil finally pulls away, but everything else begins to fade into the background. Even Wilbur’s soft whispers meld into unidentifiable noise before finally silencing.

He claws at the growing fog in his mind. His fingers twitch, a last sign of resistance before the fall. Someone’s hands meet his own; they’re warm, much larger than his, massaging away the aching numbness.

A voice breaks through the fog. “Go to sleep, Tommy. You’re safe now.”

A small part of him fights against the voice despite the rest of him screaming to succumb to the darkness. He whimpers pitifully, jaw still clenched shut from the pain.

There is a soft sigh to his right, and then he’s moving. They handle him carefully as if any rough movement could break him, and gently press him into another chest. Another set of arms wraps around him, guiding his head just underneath a steady chin. Tommy lets out a soft sigh of relief; this chest is warm, unlike Wilbur’s, offering inexplicable safety and comfort from the agony of before.

Tommy slumps against Phil and is asleep within moments.

Chapter Text

It is a restless sleep he falls into, plagued with vaguely fevered dreams of events and people he can’t place. It could have lasted hours, days, even weeks, Tommy can’t tell. Dreams blend into each other, and any moments of brief lucidity end as quickly as they begin.

After what feels like an eternity in this strange state, Tommy begins to feel the fog lift. It’s very gradual; the dreams become less frequent, and every so often, he hears snippets of quiet conversations just beyond his reach.

And then all at once, it’s over.

His eyes flutter open, only to snap shut at the bright light that hits them. A headache rages behind his eyes, and his muscles feel as if he’s run laps around London without rest.

He sucks in a breath and goes to bury his head beneath his pillow – a pillow on a bed he’s sure he wasn’t on before. The room is bathed in a soft orange glow from the fireplace, but something about the light is different, overwhelming, even. Even the soft crackles of the flames sound like firecrackers, the noise far too loud for his sensitive ears.

The room is furnished with lavish amenities he’s never imagined himself sleeping in. The four-poster bed feels like it’s draped in satin, curtained with deep maroon fabric. Through the slit in the curtains, he can just barely make out the edge of a fireplace and the corner of a gilded dresser topped with a crystal mirror.

Everything about this room screams wealth.

Tommy supposes this isn’t all that surprising, considering how few covens preside in the London area and how much power a coven must possess to take over such a bustling city. Luxury is inherently part of the gig.

How the hell has he managed to get himself roped into something like this? Lord, Tommy praises himself for being a superior breed of human, but he never would have expected anyone other than Tubbo to share the same sentiment.

There is a soft knock at the door. Tommy flinches back, head thwacking the headboard at an odd angle. With a soft hiss, he rights himself, pulling the blankets to his chin.

The door creaks open, and Phil sticks his head in. Tommy’s entire body turns into a whirlwind of conflict; half of him wants to punch the bastard in the face while the other half lights up at the man’s presence. Hell, where had that thought even come from? Tommy shudders at the implications.

“Hey, mate.” The vampire tilts his head curiously. “Can I come in?”

Tommy scowls, mutely turning away from the door.

Phil tuts, quietly shutting the door behind him. “There’s no need for the attitude, son.”

“I think there’s a damn good reason for my attitude, actually,” Tommy snarks. “I don’t understand how you thought this was a good idea. Kidnapping a kid and attacking him all in the same night? Poor manners, I have to say.”

Phil smiles fondly, a soft sort of grin that pleases some primal part of Tommy’s mind. “Wilbur told us about that attitude of yours.”

Tommy scoffs. “Oh, did he now? What else did the bastard tell you?”

He didn’t ask the question anticipating an answer, but Phil indulges him regardless. “Lots, actually. Said you were smart; resourceful; unendingly loyal, almost to a dangerous level.” He tilts his head once more; a dreadfully endearing habit Tommy can’t help but notice. “He’s always talked quite fondly of you, believe it or not.”

“That’s reassuring, thanks.” Tommy deadpans, itching to escape whatever the hell awkward conversation Phil is trying to initiate.

Phil sighs deeply. It seems he, too, senses the subtle tension, as he finally lets up and takes a small step away from the bed. Tommy shoves down the part of him that mourns the distance.

“I’m not going to pretend to be sorry for what I did.” Phil’s eyes are piercing, despite the dim lighting of the room. “We’ve been watching you for years, from the background, and I have to agree with Wilbur. For a human child, you are… interesting. I understand why he’d want someone like you as a brother.”

Again, the thinly veiled compliment feels like a punch to the face. Tommy wants to throw up. The implications that all this time, he and Tubbo had been essentially surrounded by vampires is not exactly a pleasant thought, despite what Phil may think.

“Come on, Tommy.” Phil talks carefully as if disciplining a misbehaving child. “You’re almost one of us now. Pouting and cowering isn’t going to change that.”

A jolt goes through Tommy’s body. Almost?

He must have said this out loud, as Phil nods slowly. “It’s a much more complicated process than humans think, Tommy. The process is different for our bloodline – shorter. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t complicated.”

There is a glistening ray of hope which follows the statement. Already, Tommy can feel something inside of him has shifted, but how major is said shift? It’s impossible he’s a vampire already – he’d know if something so apparent had changed.

Could he still reverse the process? Is there still time?

Phil’s expression morphs into one of displeasure. “I know what you’re thinking Tommy. Don’t even consider it. You are already part of this family; little can change that now.”

Tommy scoffs and rolls his eyes. “You’re fucking delusional, old man, if you think I’ll ever consider the likes of you family after the shit you did to me last night.”

“Last night?” Phil laughs loudly, a deeply unsettling sound that sets Tommy’s hair on edge. “Tommy, mate, you’ve been asleep for a month.”

Tommy blanches. “You’re fucking lying. This is a joke.”

“Regretfully, it’s not. I do have to say, you woke up later than I expected, but I’m not surprised. The turning tends to be more difficult on the young.”

“You’re actually fucking with me right now.” Tommy’s mind whirs, trying to pin a time to the seeming eternity that was the darkness that had encased him for an entire month. “A month? How is that even possible?”

“The venom needs time to go through your system,” Phil speaks confidently as if this is a spiel he’s given a million times before. “For Techno it took two weeks, and for Wilbur three. Only once the venom has run its course can the turning progress.”

“What the hell else are you gonna do to me?”

Tommy’s mind burns with possibilities. Visions of blood and gore and hours more of Tommy’s suffering flit by all in a moment. He shudders at the thought.

Phil smiles, a wide grin revealing too many sharp teeth.

“It’s about time for your first feeding, mate.”

Tommy shoots back as if he’s been burned. “No. No, please. Don’t make me do that.”

Phil doesn’t listen and instead takes a step closer to Tommy’s bed. From beyond the curtain emerges a gilded wine glass filled to the brim with a muted red liquid. Phil brings the cup expectantly to Tommy’s lips.

“Please. I can’t drink that. Don’t make me drink that.”

The desperation from before has returned in full force, shattering Tommy’s brave façade in an instant. Phil’s face falls as he scoots onto the bed, carefully setting down the wine glass.

Like their previous encounter, Phil gently (or as gently as one can in such an instance) guides Tommy to lean on his chest. He cradles the shaking boy with one arm and reaches for the glass with the other.

Tommy can’t bring himself to pull away from the affection. Some part of him – however big that part may be – craves the attention, while the other, smaller part, despises himself for giving in so easily. Is this some sort of vampire voodoo shit? It must be because rational Tommy would never have accepted such things from the man before.

It’s a strange mix of confusing emotions so potent Tommy almost can’t handle it.

“This is a strange period you’re in right now,” Phil soothes in a gentle voice. “It will all be better once you drink, Tommy. Your body needs time and energy to adjust to these abrupt changes, but most importantly, it needs blood. You’re only hurting yourself by resisting.”

The words wash over him like a blanket. He shudders and digs his face into the rich fabric of Phil’s coat, tears pricking at his eyes. Through the honey of Phil’s words is truth; Tommy can recognise that much.

“It’s alright to be scared, Tommy,” Phil continues in the same soft tone. “It’s a scary thing, this change, but it will make you better. It will give you a family.”

Tommy laughs sadly, a pitiful noise. “I haven’t had one of those in years. I don’t want one anymore.”

Phil sighs. “You may not want one, but you need one. You’re just a kid, Tommy, put into a shitty situation by a shitty guy. You don’t need to act so tough around us. We can take care of you.”

The tears finally spillover. Tommy clenches fistfuls of Phil’s shirt in a desperate attempt to ground himself. God, if Phil isn’t describing all Tommy’s wished for years. It’s a miserable life he and Tubbo had been living, admittedly, and no number of visits from Wilbur could change that.

But what Phil wants Tommy to do is treason to all he’s worked for all these years. Shitty as their life was, it was their own, and they were free to do whatever they wanted. Family had never been an issue in Tommy’s eyes, the memory of a family something distant and disconnected. He can’t betray Tubbo for some bloodsuckers – not after all they’ve gone through to get to this point.

“Come on, Tommy,” Phil urges, once again pressing the glass to Tommy’s lips. “You’re already past the point of no return. Just let it happen.”

Tommy purses his lips and turns away, gasping in surprise as a hand swiftly clamps down on his jaw, holding him in place. That one slip up is enough for Phil to force the edge of the cup between his lips, all but forcing Tommy to gulp down a swig of the repulsive liquid.

He coughs and splutters quite indignantly, but Phil’s hand deftly covers his mouth, forbidding him from spitting any of it out. The taste of it is positively repulsive, tasting somewhere between rusted metal and absolute fucking death.

“Just a little more, Tommy.” Phil’s gone back to his incessant cooing, raising the glass once more. “Just a little more and you can go back to sleep.”

Tommy goes to argue that, no, he’s not tired, thank you very much, but he catches himself. He can’t allow Phil to force the glass between his teeth again. Instead, he grumbles quietly and tilts his head away, narrowing his eyes as Phil’s hand forces his head back.

“Tommy.” There’s a hard edge to Phil’s voice that wasn’t there before. Tommy instinctively shrinks back, hating the tone. “I’m trying to be patient, but you’re making this very difficult. If you don’t cooperate, I’m calling Wilbur in.”

Tommy’s heart rate skyrockets. He remembers the absolute wool that had filled his brain at Wilbur’s suggestion and the seemingly impossible weights which had tugged his body to the floor. If Wilbur could reduce him to such a state with just a word, there’s no telling what else he could do with that sick ability of his.

“Please don’t,” he whispers, sucking in a sharp breath as Phil chases his words with the glass.

“Then drink.”

And Tommy drinks.

He gulps down sip after sip of the gore, stomach roiling at the taste. Phil’s gone back to the part of the supportive parent, offering Tommy quiet words of encouragement as he pets his hair like a fucking dog. There are tears spilling down Tommy’s cheeks, he’s sure, spawned from a mixture of absolute anguish at the reality of his actions and pure embarrassment at how quickly he relented to Phil’s demands.

He finishes the glass quickly, and his head spins. Tommy lets out a sleepy sound of surprise as his entire world tilts on its axis, sending him sprawling onto Phil’s chest.

“I said you’d be tired, mate.” Phil shakes his head fondly as he leans back, repositioning them into a more comfortable position. “It’s alright. You can go to sleep.”

Once again, Tommy claws at the rapidly approaching darkness. His eyes flutter, vision blurring. His limbs feel like they weigh a million pounds, and his eyelids feel no lighter. With one last inconvenienced grumble, he succumbs to sleep, still curled into Phil’s rumbling chest.

. . . . . . . . . . .

Once the teen is asleep, Wilbur and Technoblade filter into the room. Both eye the youngest addition to the family with gentle curiosity.

“He’s much more tolerable when he’s asleep,” Techno notes dryly, though his words are tainted with fondness.

“Don’t bully your brother.” Phil chuckles as Tommy shifts sleepily, one of his hands coming up to knot in the fabric of Phil’s shirt. “He’s always been stubborn, and this is a hell of a lot to spring on a kid. Give him time to adjust.”

“I don’t know, Phil.” Wilbur runs a hand through Tommy’s tangled curls, coming to a stop on his shoulder. “He seems pretty adamant about his hatred. Was this the right thing to do?”

Phil hums and buries his chin in Tommy’s mop of hair. “No, I think he’ll come around. They always do.”

Chapter Text

The dreams this time are less frequent, more sporadic. Tommy doesn’t find himself in the abyss, but instead in a strange in-between. His body feels heavy, immobile, trapping him in his mind.

Unlike the first limbo, Tommy begins to feel things quite quickly. Muted words slip into his dreams of conversations just outside his reach, his head tingles comfortably as someone brushes through his curls, there’s a shift underneath him as he’s passed onto another rumbling chest.

Though he can’t see or hear them, he knows his coven is with him all the while. There’s a strange part of him that feels when they’re there and mourns when they leave. This part of him purrs contentedly at the constant contact, keeping him rooted to whoever watches over him.

It’s a type of safety he’s not sure he’s ever felt before. There is something innately comforting about having beings that would kill for him in a heartbeat at his side. Though he’s not sure how exactly all this vampire shit works, he’s sure they feel the same.

It’s something more than familial – something primal.

Along with the primal urge for protection by the older coven members comes another primal urge – a thirst incomparable to any thirst he's felt before. He feels it even in his dreams, burning his throat and leaving every breath dry.

When he finally wakes, the thirst has reached an unbearable amount. He pulls himself out of the abyss slowly. Everything is too much. The thirst, the light, the noise… He groans and curls in on himself, hardly noticing as the arms around him tighten somewhat.

“You awake, Toms?”

It’s a familiar voice. Tommy refuses to open his eyes.

A cold hand brushes his hair away from his eyes. Wilbur hums softly as he shifts Tommy into a sitting position, running blissfully cool hands across his scalp in comforting motions.

“How are you feeling?”

Tommy grimaces. He would die before admitting Wilbur’s gentle treatment helps lessen the overwhelming environment, helping to take the edge off the pain.

“I feel like shit, thanks.” He coughs pathetically. Every word feels like sandpaper against his parched throat. “I don’t…” He coughs again, tears springing to his eyes. “Fuck, my throat.”

“It’s alright. Phil’s already on the way with something for you to drink.”

Visions of a gilded wine glass fill his mind. Tommy’s heart rate spikes. “I don’t want it. Tell him I don’t want it.”

Dehydration be damned. Tommy would rather die than drink that putrid liquid again. The thought that he’d already been forced to drink fucking blood sends shivers up his spine.

Wilbur sighs deeply, pausing his petting. “Tommy don’t be difficult. Your body knows what it needs.”

“I don’t…” Tommy is cut off by a round of dry coughs. “I don’t fucking want it. Please…”

Desperation floods Tommy’s senses as there is a slight knock at the door. Phil pokes his head in, a smile lighting up his features as his eyes land on his children.

“Morning, Tommy.” He gently shuts the door with his foot, padding across the carpet with an easy grin. He's dressed much less formally than before, though Tommy is sure Phil's shirt alone would cost more than an entire month's worth of food at the market.

Tommy’s eyes narrow in confusion, anger gone as quickly as it came. “I thought you said he had something for me to drink?”

The smile takes a darker note as Phil hops on the bed, cuffing one of his sleeves at the elbow. There is a brief pause before Tommy finally understands.

He shrinks back in Wilbur’s hold. “Fuck that. You can’t make me.”

The effort at speaking sends him into another coughing fit. As he hacks his lungs out, Wilbur resumes his petting, humming a quiet song under his breath. Phil’s gone deathly still; expression pained.

“Tommy, please. You’re hurting yourself by resisting.” He holds out his wrist. “I would give you the glass again, but you need to learn how to feed properly. I can help you. I can show you where to bite. The rest comes naturally.”

Tommy clamps his jaw shut, eyes stinging. Phil’s right, somehow. Though he can’t explain it, something inside of him pulls him to the man’s side, urging him to take the final leap and take the bite.

The rest of him – the rational part – is positively repulsed by the thought.

“Tommy,” Wilbur warns, voice verging on displeased, “I know this is strange for you, but you’re past the point of no return. Resisting at this point is death, and you must know we won’t allow that to happen. Either you take your Sire’s blood willingly, or we will force you to.”

There’s that word again. Tommy’s heard the pink-haired man mention it, once, but it’s just as confusing now as it was then.

“I don’t even know what the fuck that means.” Tommy whines. That little traitorous part of him cries out at Wilbur’s displeasure, wanting to bend over fucking backwards to make him happy again. He resists.

“It means you and I are bound, Tommy.” Phil’s smiling again; it’s the same proud, fatherly smile as before, a mixture of something as undeniably loving as it is obsessive. “You’re part of our coven eternally, irrevocably, and I am your father. That bond was solidified when you drank my blood for the first time.”

Tommy blanches, torn between mortification and primal satisfaction. Once again, that small part of his brain preens at the thought of being part of this family, protected and loved, for all time, while the other part of him cries out at the reality that his precious freedom has been permanently snatched away. Regardless, that traitorous part of him grows so overwhelming in the presence of the two vampires that he almost can’t handle it. It’s almost impossible to keep himself anchored down to the bed and away from the vein his heightened eyes can see so clearly in Phil’s wrist.

It’s just one bite. One small bite and the horrible thirst will end. One small bite, and he’ll be offered an eternity of luxury and safety.

Phil, as if sensing his internal conflict, raises his wrist to Tommy’s lips. Shaking hands pull him closer. It’s as if Tommy’s body moves on its own, muscle memory, eyes firmly locked on the vein he knows will offer him relief.

“It’s alright, mate.” Phil coaxes, forcing his arm closer. “See? You’ve always known how to do this. It’s as easy as breathing.”

Phil’s right. It’s almost too easy for Tommy to clamp his mouth around Phil’s wrist, unnaturally sharp canines piercing the skin without a hitch. Almost immediately, blood flows from the wound.

Tommy flinches back, expecting the taste of rust to follow, but it never does. He scrunches his eyes shut, confused as he sucks down mouthful after mouthful of the sweetest liquid he’s ever tasted. It’s pure euphoria, this blood, equivalent to something like strawberries and summer watermelon, chocolate chip cookies, roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and every other food Tommy’s ever enjoyed in his lifetime while tasting nothing like any of them at the same time. He can hardly describe the pure heaven he feels in this moment, mind too clouded with hungered contentment as the pain begins to lessen.

He lets out a soft breath through his nose, shifting out of Wilbur’s lap to get closer to Phil. The man’s eyeing him with a pleased expression, his free hand coming up to pet Tommy’s hair.

After a moment, the hand gently guides Tommy’s mouth off his wrist. Tommy licks the spilt blood off his lips, mind hazy and content.

“See, mate? Not all that hard.” Phil’s grinning as he rolls his sleeve back down to his wrist, clutching the sleeve to the wound without a care of the expensive fabric.

All at once, Tommy fades back into reality, the hungry haze gone as quickly as it came. There’s blood on his hands, on his chin, the taste lingering in his mouth. He can feel it clinging to his too-sharp teeth, to his baby fangs.

He sucks in a sharp breath, suddenly all-too-aware. “What the hell? Why did I…”

Wilbur brings his arms back around Tommy’s shoulders, shushing him as he would a crying child. “It’s alright, Tommy, calm down.”

It’s not fucking alright, Tommy wishes to say. He scrambles to escape Wilbur’s grasp, shooting off the bed when his arms lighten. The carpet scratches his feet uncomfortably. Standing up makes him terribly dizzy. There’s a ringing in his ears, and the flickering colours of the fireplace are too much, and he can hear things he damn well knows he shouldn’t be able to hear, and…

Another pair of arms gently lift him from the floor, carrying him back to the bed. Tommy pushes down the happiness at the contact, scratching and clawing at Phil’s shirt to break his iron grip.

“You can’t be throwing yourself all over the place yet, mate.” Phil reprimands him gently. He’s got Tommy cocooned between his arms, the thick fabric of his shirt blocking out his overstimulated senses. “You’re still a baby – a Changeling. You’re still healing.”

Phil’s right. His body isn’t nearly at full strength yet. Just the little show of defiance was enough to exhaust him, his limbs screaming with overexertion.

“You don’t know shit,” Tommy grumbles, exasperation evident in his tone.

“Tommy…” Phil’s voice is fond as he raises Tommy into a sitting position. “In the eyes of an immortal, you are a child. I have lived for thousands of years, seen the rise and fall of humanity, fought in wars, and watched men thrice your age die. You are only 16. Trust that I know what I’m talking about.”

It’s strange hearing it put out so freely. Vampires are immortal in most senses of the word, impervious to ageing and stronger than any mortal man could hope to be. That doesn’t make them impervious to death, however, but it takes such a superb show of strength to fell an undead that they might as well be.

What does that make Tommy? An immortal trapped in the body of a teenager? Is this how he’ll be for the rest of eternity?

Phil shrugs, suddenly pensive. “Besides, children aren’t meant to know all, anyways. You will be introduced to this world gradually. Wilbur, Techno and I will always be there to guide you.”

Tommy snorts out a surprised laugh. “Techno? What the hell kind of name is that?”

There is a brief pause as the doorknob turns. “That would be me.”

Tommy’s eyes shoot to the doorway. The pink-haired man is back, holding a small washbasin and towel. He eyes Tommy with muted curiosity, mouth pulled into a tight line as he moves to set the basin on the nightstand.

Tommy flinches away from his gaze. It’s cold, almost startlingly so.

Despite the gruff exterior, Techno’s movements are soft as he wipes the blood off Tommy’s hands and chin. This is one of the most confusing creatures he’s ever seen in his life. Tommy sits in stunned silence for once, allowing the elder vampire to clean the spillage.

Techno then offers Phil the rag, helping to clean up the lingering blood on his wrist. Tommy pointedly turns away, once again burying his face in the rich fabric of Phil’s shirt.

It’s surprisingly comfortable like this curled up in the arms of his Sire. Phil doesn’t breathe, nor does his heart beat, but his body exudes a comforting warmth and such a feeling of security that it’s nearly overwhelming.

Tommy frowns regardless. It’s brutal trying to shove away these feelings. The need for familial comfort feels woven into his fucking DNA in a way he’s never felt before. Frankly, he thinks these fuckers have messed with his mind somehow. There is no way any of this is normal.

“You’re all wrongens for this,” he grumbles. “I fucking hate you.”

Phil only chuckles.

It’s infuriating how passive the vampires are about this. They sit around Tommy in a loose circle, the atmosphere easy in a way that almost makes it seem like nothing’s out of the ordinary.

Phil cuts into the easy silence. “Well, I think that’s enough excitement for one morning.” He swings Tommy around, gently resting the teen’s head on a plush pillow. “Time for bed.”

“What the fuck?” Tommy snaps, batting away the blanket Phil attempts to tuck over his legs. “I’m not tired. Back off.”

For once, it isn’t a lie. Tommy feels the most awake he’s been in a while.

“You’re not ready to go tramping around the manor yet, Toms. You need to rest.” Phil sets down the blanket with a soft sigh. “If you don’t want to sleep, that’s fine, but you’re confined to your room for the near future until you’re fully healed.”

Tommy opens his mouth to argue back, but Phil raises a hand. “Don’t try that with me, mate. You won’t win.”

Tommy scowls. “You’re not the boss of me, bitch. I don’t have to take your shit.”

Phil raises a single eyebrow. The corner of his lips turns down.

“Fine.” He slides off the bed, beckoning for Tommy to follow. “If you’re so eager to leave, do it. Go on. The door’s open.”

Tommy gapes. That was surprisingly easy. Phil stands silently, arms crossed over his chest - the perfect image of a displeased father, he thinks belatedly.

With an annoyed grunt, Tommy shoves off the bed. “If you insist.”

The following ‘bitch’ is murmured near-silently under his breath, but he’s sure Phil’s freaky vampiric hearing catches it.

He stalks past the trio and out the door, ignoring the surprised quirk in Phil’s brow, legs still aching from earlier. The hallway outside his room is long and entirely unfamiliar. Tommy sucks in a breath and chooses a direction at random, taking off down the corridor.

He makes it about ten steps before his side begins to cramp terribly. Ten more steps and his breath comes quicker, lungs struggling to keep up with the rest of his body. Ten more and he must pause, leaning against the wall for support.

Fuck. Phil wasn’t lying.

“Enjoying yourself?” A voice calls, echoing up and down the empty hall.

Tommy grimaces and continues on, hoping to put distance between himself and the smug bastard. “Fuck off.”

Wilbur materialises behind him with a sly grin. “Phil warned you.”

He offers the vampire a tight-lipped smile. “I’m aware, thanks.”

His legs scream for him to stop. His entire body aches with the force of keeping him upright, but he keeps moving – if anything, to spite Wilbur, who he’s sure finds great enjoyment in his torment.

That is until his legs give out from underneath them.

He gasps in surprise, arms flailing for a handhold, only to find nothing but smooth wood siding and ancient wallpaper. His body hits the floor heavily, already aching muscles screaming in protest.

Wilbur chuckles lightly and moves to help Tommy to his feet before swooping him into his arms. Tommy pants pathetically, hardly fighting off the hold as he struggles to even out his breathing.

Phil is standing in the same place as before when they return. Tommy gives him a scathing look at Wilbur deposits him in the bed.

“You see, Tommy, I’m not doing this to be mean. You won’t regain your full strength for days – weeks, even. Hell, this might even set you back more.” The vampire pinches the bridge of his nose, exasperation evident in his tone. “I wasn’t expecting you to actually walk out the door, but I suppose that was on me for underestimating you. It won’t happen again.”

He turns to Techno. “You’re on babysitting duty today. Make sure he doesn’t pull something like that again.”

“Hey, what the hell, man?” Tommy shrieks. “I don’t need a goddamn babysitter! I’m not a child!”

Phil pointedly ignores him.

Techno seems equally as inconvenienced by the arrangement, but he wisely keeps his mouth shut and settles into the chair nearest the door.

Phil gives Tommy one final, wary once-over before exiting the room, Wilbur hot on his heels. The man takes one last glance back at Tommy, mouth pulled into a frown, before disappearing.

The door slams shut behind them.

Chapter Text

Tubbo’s been living with Schlatt for upwards of a month now. The man’s been nice. For the first time in a long time, Tubbo can finally say he’s been eating a full three meals a day. His bed is softer than anything he’s felt before and Schlatt’s provided him with such a wide array of books to read he’s sure he could never finish them in his lifetime.

Still, something is off about the whole arrangement.

Tommy hasn’t written once. Tubbo recognises that the teen may be busy with his work, but Tommy had promised to write. Surely, he could find some free time to send Tubbo an update and quell his nervousness.

Schlatt has been equally odd about Tubbo sending Tommy letters himself. He’s thrown out a variety of reasons as to why Tubbo can’t mail out letters to his friend, each excuse getting less and less believable the longer he tries to push the lie.

Frankly, Tubbo is over it.

Schlatt’s residence is on the outskirts of a bustling city. Schlatt’s never specified which city, but Tubbo supposes they’re far enough from Tommy’s work that it would be impossible for him to attempt escape – yet another suspicious part of the decision Tubbo is now coming to regret.

He can’t say he regrets living in luxury. Comfort during this past month has been such a wonderful thing to experience, and he can only hope Tommy is feeling the same. Still, he would give it all up in a moment if it meant seeing his brother again.

“You alright there, kiddo?”

Tubbo shoots back into the present. Schlatt’s eyes are narrowed across the table as he stares sharply at Tubbo’s steaming bowl of soup. The teen hasn’t touched it once.

“Sorry,” Tubbo murmurs, finally picking up his spoon.

The soup is nice. It tastes vaguely like something Tubbo’s had before, but he supposes that’s impossible considering he could never once afford something so lavish on his own.

Still, his stomach roils with unease. He hardly has an appetite with how worried he’s been recently, and Schlatt’s dismissive nature has made it difficult to get answers.

“You never answered my question.” Tubbo winces despite Schlatt’s words holding no malice.

“I’m fine, Schlatt.” He lies easily, jaw taut. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

Tubbo sighs inwardly. “I’m just thinking about Tommy. I miss him, and you won’t let me write him.”

Schlatt’s expression darkens. He roughly sets down his wine glass, a drop of the red liquid spilling over the lip and sinking into the tablecloth. “Tommy’s fine. Wilbur’s family will take good care of him.”

Tubbo flinches back, startled by Schlatt’s sudden aggression. What the hell happened? Did he say something wrong? The man’s eyes soften at the soft gasp that leaves his lips, raising his hands placatingly.

“Tommy’s just…” Schlatt hesitates before letting out a tired breath. “Tommy’s got a lot going on right now. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more, Tubs. It’ll all make sense soon, alright?”

Tubbo grits his teeth but nods. This isn’t his fight right now. Schlatt clearly doesn’t care to tell him more, so he won’t push it.

That doesn’t mean Tubbo’s given up, however.

That evening, Tubbo retreats to his room with a sour attitude and the promise of a warm breakfast in the morning.

“I’ll be in my office this evening,” Schlatt told him before disappearing down the hallway. “Important business. Don’t come knocking.”

Tubbo is all too willing to listen.

Tonight is the night the mail carriage comes to deliver Schlatt’s letters. The man tends to let them sit for the night, preferring to read his mail over his morning… coffee? Tubbo admits the red concoction the man drinks every morning looks suspiciously like the wine he indulges in during every other meal of the day, but hey, who is he to judge?

Schlatt will leave the mail at his end of the dining room table next to his empty plate out of convenience. With him holed up in his office all night, it should be all too easy for Tubbo to sneak in and read his letters on the off chance that Tommy’s written him. If anything, the expedition would give him a better insight as to who Schlatt really is as a person and what his intentions are with Tubbo.

He gives himself an hour before sneaking back out into the hallway. The manor is dark, pale beams of moonlight shining through the cracks in the curtains as Tubbo makes his way back towards the dining room. He breathes slowly, evenly, keeping his footfalls as silent as possible as to avoid Schlatt’s suspicion.

There is a small beam of orange light at the end of the hallway. Schlatt’s office. Fuck, Tubbo forgot that was en route to the dining room.

Tubbo freezes for a moment, hearing a variety of muted voices slipping through the crack of the slightly ajar office door.

He takes a step closer, not daring to breathe. Schlatt’s in there talking rather aggressively to another man, though their words are so quiet Tubbo can hardly make them out. He takes another soft step closer, and then another until he’s right outside the office door. He presses his back up against the wall, flattening himself to avoid being seen through the small sliver of light.

“You’re fucking stupid for coming here, man,” the unfamiliar voice drawls. “There’s something really weird happening here. Leave it to the Angel of Death’s coven and come back home.”

“He’s not ready yet. I can’t leave,” Schlatt argues back.

The man laughs sharply, and the sound of a hand hitting the desks echoes out into the hallway. “You haven’t turned him yet, have you? You’re getting weak, man. Just turn the kid and go. There’s more opportunities for you back in the States than out here.”

Schlatt sighs deeply. His ancient leather armchair creaks. “I know. You’re right.”

Tubbo feels like he’s been curb-stomped and left on the road to die. He prays to any god out there that Schlatt isn’t saying what he thinks he’s saying.

Turn him? Turn Tubbo? Who the hell is this man?

He takes a panicked step back, not minding his footing carefully enough. The floorboard creaks under his weight and Tubbo sucks in a sharp breath.

The voices stop immediately.

He back peddles away from the office as quickly as possible and makes a beeline back to his bedroom. The office door creaks open a moment too slowly as Tubbo slams his door shut and collapses into his bed.

All is silent for a brief, sickening moment. God, Tubbo feels like he could throw up. He never should have left his room. He should have just listened to Schlatt and gone to bed like he was supposed to and woken up to a warm breakfast in the morning.

Wouldn’t that be easier? He supposes it would, but it would only delay the inevitable. Even if he misinterpreted Schlatt’s words, it’s clear the man has something planned for him. Fuck, Tubbo’s gotten himself into some deep shit.

Schlatt knocks softly on his door. “Hey, bud. Can you let me in?”

Tubbo’s breath catches in his throat. Fuck – he forgot to lock the door.

Schlatt gently twists the handle and the door creaks open. He takes a timid step into the room, a soft smile on his face. It doesn’t meet his eyes.

If Tubbo’s heart hadn’t stopped already, it does at this moment, because oh God, Schlatt’s eyes are red. How the fuck? When the fuck? His body is frozen to crimson sheets, fingers clutching the duvet in a death grip. His knuckle are white with strain.

Had Wilbur really entrusted his life and safety to a goddamn bloodsucker?

“Hey, pal, it’s okay.” Schlatt attempts to be reassuring, but Tubbo’s past the point of consolation. “That other guy’s gone already. I made him leave.”

“You’re a fucking vampire!” Tubbo shrieks. He’s stating the obvious, he knows, but not a single other thought comes to the forefront of his mind amidst his panic. “Get the fuck away from me!”

Schlatt takes another small step towards the bed. Tubbo’s heart launches into his throat. He’s immobile. He’s never been good at confrontation, and his fight or flight response doesn’t exist – if anything, it’s more of a fight or freeze. Fuck, this is why Tommy always does the dirty work.

Clearly, his body has a death wish, forcing him into complete stillness as he faces one of humanity’s greatest predators. What he wouldn’t give to fight back in his final moments. At least that way he wouldn’t go out a coward.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t find out this way.” Another step. The vampire’s mouth twists down sullenly. “I suppose it was inevitable. I waited too long. That’s on me.”

Tubbo clenches his jaw. He knows the vampire’s intentions, though he despises the build-up. Is Schlatt really such a fucking psychopath he has to play with his food before he eats it?

“If you’re gonna eat me, I’d just get on with it,” he spits. “I’m afraid I’m not going to make this as interesting as you would like.”

Schlatt’s eyes soften, if just a little bit. He closes the distance between himself and the bed in a moment, a pale hand coming to rest on Tubbo’s jaw. If the boy wasn’t a statue, he would surely bite the man’s fingers off, but he instead sits silently, controlling his panic-induced rage for now.

“Tubbo, I would never do that. I thought you had more faith in me, kid. Do you think I’d adopt you into my home, feed and clothe you and take care of you for a month, only to suck you dry once I was tired of you? What kind of fucking monster do you take me for?”

Tubbo shakes his head desperately. Of course, a monster wouldn’t find their own actions vile. Schlatt would never understand the torment his kind has put humanity through.

“Then what?” Tubbo doesn’t trust Schlatt’s word for a second, but if he can delay the inevitable, there’s a chance he can escape this unscathed. He has to approach this very carefully if he’s to survive. “What do you want with me? Regale me with your master plan, boss man. I’m all ears.”

He doesn’t know where he’s pulled the snark from, but it seems to ease the tension lining Schlatt’s shoulders.

“Tubbo, I came to England for one purpose – to start a family, if you will. I needed to find a child for myself to take home with me, to share my wealth and accompany me on my ventures.”

He smiles wistfully and combs gentle fingers through Tubbo’s hair. Tubbo shudders. “When Wilbur told me about Tommy, he talked about you a lot. I came down to your little village and watched the two of you for a while. I had my doubts, but Wilbur convinced me it would work out.”

Tubbo’s heart stutters. The world around him seems to fade into slow motion. Pieces fall into place one by one, each realisation more horrifying than the last.

“No…” The word seems to break him out of his stupor, and he tries to shove out of the bed. Firm hands push him back down.

Tears spring to his eyes as Schlatt easily restrains him. Tubbo shouts explicates and kicks and punches, but Schlatt pulls him firmly to his chest without so much as breaking a sweat.

“Please. Please don’t.”

Tubbo resorts to begging, a small part of him wilting at his apparent weakness. He’s never been like Tommy; fearless in the face of danger, even to the last. Though it hurts him to beg this man for his life, he’d be willing to do anything it takes to get himself out of this mess, even if it means shattering his ego in the process.

“Hey, kid, it’s alright.” Schlatt runs another comforting hand through Tubbo’s hair. “It’ll only be painful at the start. You have to trust that I’m doing this to make you better.”

Tears leak out of Tubbo’s eyes as Schlatt pushes his hair out of the way before gently tilting his head to the side. His movements are slow, concise, meant to give Tubbo time to adjust before he’s shifting again.

Tubbo’s pulse quickens, body tensing as the man’s breath fans over his skin.

And then the burning, oh God, the burning. He’s immobile again in seconds, body locked up in response to the agonising pain spreading up and down his figure.

It’s strange in all the worst ways. He’s not sure he’s ever felt this shitty before, his mind so clouded with trying not to pass out that he hardly notices when Schlatt pulls away. The man raises an arm to wipe the excess blood on his sleeve, uncaring if it stains, before gingerly tugging Tubbo back down to the bed.

The teen hardly has the strength to fight it. His body is still wracked with paralysing pain, but there’s an overwhelming exhaustion now that makes his entire head feel heavy. He sucks in a tearful breath and buries his head underneath one of the cool silk pillows, allowing the darkness to take him.

He can only hope Tommy doesn’t share the same fate.

Chapter Text

The next few days are frankly a blur. The vampires handle Tommy like he’s made of glass, staying by his side at all possible moments and curling him onto their chests like he’s something precious. Even the stoic Technoblade, whose unfortunate name had come to Tommy’s attention days ago, has had his fair share of Changeling cuddles.

Tommy despises every moment of it.

It’s strange being treated like he’s wanted after years of living on his own. The only solace he’d known was with Tubbo in their little shitty cottage, though moments at home were always short and sweet. The constant codding and attention, though soothing to some primal part of his being he isn’t sure was there before all this mayhem is almost stifling in its comparison.

Besides, he hates the way his very brain feels compromised by the turning. It’s something no human has ever been warned about; something he never could have expected. He’s torn between wanting to rip out the throat of his kidnappers and wishing for them to hold him tightly in the familial way he’s been deprived of since early childhood. Before, he’s sure the latter thought would never have crossed his mind willingly. Now, though, he can’t tell whether this is some freaky vampire voodoo or his mind’s own attempt to come to terms with the situation.

Regardless, the overall consensus between the three vampires is that Tommy is inherently incapable of fending for himself, and as such, must be tended to constantly.

At the current moment, Wilbur lies curled around Tommy’s side with his head resting on his ribcage. Phil lounges somewhere to his left with a well-worn book on his lap, and Technoblade stands at attention next to Tommy’s bedroom door. The room is silent, but it’s not a heavy silence. The vampires seem more than comfortable wasting their days away at Tommy’s bedside until the moment he recovers enough strength to leave the wretched room.

Wilbur’s talked with excitement about that moment. Only hours earlier, he’d regaled Tommy stories about his favourite spots on the property, from Phil’s vast Victorian-era library to the small lily pond out in the fields behind the manor. He wants to show Tommy all of it, though the teen isn’t too willing to indulge him just yet.

He feels entrapped in the vampires’ embrace. His limbs itch for movement despite Phil’s firm insistence he isn’t ready to leave the bed yet, and he’s so awfully bored he thinks his head will fall off his shoulders.

His entire body buzzes with energy foreign to him. It’s painful to admit, but the consistent diet of his Sire’s blood is returning his body to full health that his previous diet of glorified table scraps could never hope to maintain. If anything, Phil’s insistence on keeping him healthy and well-fed will only be a detriment to him in the end when Tommy uses his newfound strength to escape from this hell.

Later though, he thinks. Not now.

Now, he has to play the part of a glorified lapdog for Wilbur to nap with while he bides his time.

Phil flips the page on his book. Wilbur shifts sleepily and curls ever so slightly tighter against Tommy’s side. Tommy sighs.

His displeasure doesn’t go unnoticed. All three vampires shoot to attention at once, the sleepy atmosphere falling away like melting wax.

Phil sets down his book gently. “What’s wrong, son?”

Tommy scowls at the endearment and shies away from the hand Phil attempts to place in his hair. The man’s face turns down for a moment before a careful mask slides into place.

“Tommy,” he repeats, a hard edge to his voice this time, sounding every bit like the exasperated father he tries so hard to portray himself as. “We can’t help you if you won’t tell us what’s wrong. If you’re bored, just tell us. We can do something else if you like.”

The teen scowls and bats away the second wandering hand. “Fuck off. I don’t want your help.”

This time, Phil frowns genuinely. Tommy isn’t sure he likes the response as much as he thought he would.

The tense silence that follows is nearly suffocating compared to the easiness from before. Tommy almost doesn’t want to be the one to break it.

Techno does it for him.

“We did what we did to make you better, Theseus,” Techno pipes up from the doorway, an alluring tilt to his voice. “You may not see it now, but you will in time - regardless of how many years it takes. At the present, however, you have two choices; you can either sulk in bed like the petulant child you are, or you can embrace your new status and enjoy the beginnings of your long, and hopefully prosperous, eternity.”

He shrugs, blatantly ignoring the bewildered look Tommy shoots towards him.

“Your choice, Theseus,” he echoes and falls silent.

Tommy’s heart sinks. Technoblade is right, in a strange way. Tommy’s been granted the curse of immortality, and it’s likely the ease in which he exists now won’t persist long into the future. One day, he’s bound to be as old and stuffy as the other vampires. Why not spend a little time enjoying his youth while it lasts?

He shoves the thought away quickly. It isn’t right to agree with Techno on things like this. With any luck, Tommy won’t be living with these ancient fucks for much longer. The future can wait.

Phil sighs deeply and shoves off the bed in a fluid motion, the sheets rustling to a stop behind him. “Techno’s right. There’s no point wasting away in your room for an eternity. Come on, boys, we're moving.”

Wilbur’s out of bed before Tommy can even blink. “Scenery change? Dear God, dad, I thought you’d never suggest it. Come on, Tommy, grab my hand.”

Tommy makes sure to offer Wilbur a theatric wince before allowing the man to heave him out of bed despite the way his heart sings at the prospect of something different than the stifling boredom.

The elder vampire helps Tommy to his feet, supporting the Changeling’s weight as he hobbles out the bedroom door and down the hallway from before. It’s lighter this time, filled with bright sunlight and open windows and fresh breezes Tommy hasn’t smelt in days. Out the windows, all he can see are trees and winding fields, and in the distance, a river twists through the hills and disappears.

If he were in any other situation, such a grand view would feel like a luxury. Now, it only feels like a cage.

Once again, the little baby vampire part of his brain goes haywire at the gentle treatment from his coven mates. Wilbur is a steady presence on his left, allowing Tommy to rest all his weight on his side without ever showing a sign of inconvenience. Phil is just as careful, just as steady, keeping his pace slow and whistling a tune all the while.

Technoblade’s affection is far less overwhelming but no less present.

He brings up the rear, ever the silent presence in the back of Tommy’s vision. Tommy’s almost positive the man’s got a sizeable arsenal of weapons on his person at the current moment, but for some reason, he feels no fear.

It’s strange staring up at this beast of a man and knowing deep down that he’ll never lay a finger on him. Tommy’s heart flutters at the light comfort the thought provides.

Frankly, Tommy couldn’t recall the path back to the entrance if he tried. The route is deceptively twisting, taking them through rooms dancing with sunspots and small hallways and miniature staircases that look like they haven’t been used in years. It’s a path meant to confuse, to keep him from finding the way out too easily.

Still, somehow, they find themselves out in the backyard of the estate.

Tommy’s heart catches in his throat. It’s a sprawling field behind their house, lined with sporadic trees and a winding river littered with small footbridges. There is a small, fenced-off garden towards the southern edge of the field, growing what looks like flourishing potato plants.

There is a small dusty patch in the middle of the field. The ground around it is littered with scorch marks and fallen arrows and small glimmers of metal. Tommy’s eyebrows furrow.

What the fuck?

“That’s where we train.” Phil gestures a lazy hand to the patch. “Not many humans can contest Technoblade’s raw strength, so he fights me instead. ‘S how it’s been for decades.”

“I can’t imagine Technoblade training,” Tommy responds breathily.

It’s the truth. He can hardly imagine a time where the absolute monster of a man wasn’t the proud warrior he is today. The thought that Technoblade was once just like him is honestly frightening.

“He’s been given a special gift, that Technoblade.” Phil rests a heavy hand on his son’s shoulder, a proud smile gracing his features. “Not many vampires possess the strength he does. It’s strange, the nature of a vampire’s power, but I’m not surprised by his gift – not at all.”

Techno huffs and seems to fold into himself, shoulders slumping shyly. Tommy barks out a surprised laugh. Technoblade? Shy? What fucking universe are they living in?

Ever since he was introduced to the man, Technoblade’s seemed different than other vampires Tommy’s had the displeasure of dealing with. Wilbur’s told him stories of his fighting prowess, about the rumours and the ghost stories which have labelled the man “The Blood God”. Technoblade’s always been quiet, sure, and pensive, his posture uncomfortably rigid and his form never resting. Tommy is admittedly torn between being intimidated and impressed.

Or, at least, he used to be.

The tips of Techno’s ears have long since turned pink as Phil leads them closer to the training pit. The man’s halfway through another passionate retelling of an old war story when Wilbur finally steps in.

“Phil, Dadza, please. You’re embarrassing him.”

He pauses his story and glances back to Techno. The vampire’s face is buried in the fur lining his cloak, posture slumped – embarrassed. Tommy bites his lip to suppress another surprised laugh.

Phil finally expresses an ounce of regret and moves to offer Technoblade another comforting shoulder pat.

“Sorry, mate.”

Techno only shakes his head.

It’s so easy, their dynamic, Tommy notes with surprise. There’s a sense of mutual respect between the vampires, and such a deep love and understanding that it feels like they’re a genuine family.

What the fuck? This contradicts everything Tommy thought he knew about vampires.

“Hey, Techno.” Wilbur gently sets Tommy down in the grass and saunters over to his sulking brother. “You should show Tommy some of your moves. I’m sure Phil would be willing to help demonstrate.”

“Back off, Wil! I thought you were on my side!” Techno pouts, crossing his arms.

“No, he’s right,” Phil chimes in. “Tommy’s likely never seen such good swordsmanship before. I think he’d like it.”

God, Tommy knows it’s bait; he’s not stupid enough to fall into their comfortable banter so easily. They’re just trying to butter him up, break his resolve and catch him lacking.

Still, would it be too bad to indulge in the vampires just this once?

“No, I agree.” Tommy flourishes his arms and settles more comfortably on the ground. “By all means, show me your moves, Blade.”

This is just to get on their good side, he reminds himself belatedly as Phil drags Techno towards the dirt. He just has to get these vampires to trust him. Then he can make his escape and find Tubbo – wherever the hell Wilbur sent him off to.

He just has to keep himself grounded.

Chapter Text

The grass is warm under Tommy’s hands. He pulls and tears at the blades as he sits at the edge of the training field, watching Phil and Techno slowly work their way into a mock battle.

Phil carefully stretches out his muscles as he sheds his outer robes and ties his hair into a loose ponytail. Once he deems himself ready, he reaches for a sword previously hidden underneath the inner folds of his robe and levels it at Techno’s chest. With a grin, Techno unsheathes his own weapon, casually rolling the cape off his shoulders into a messy heap on the grass.

Wilbur scoffs as he settles down next to Tommy. “Show off.”

With ease only possible after years of practice, the two begin to circle each other. Techno’s face is impassive, a blank slate, all of his thoughts unpredictable. Phil is the opposite. He wears a light smile as he analyses his son, catching the subtle changes he’s picked up on over time and simply enjoying the thrill of the training.

It’s light lightning when Techno strikes – sudden and fast.

Tommy hardly has time to keep up. It’s a brilliant dance they perform. Phil ducks and weaves around Techno’s strikes, keeping his body low to the ground, his attacks always swift and fleeting.

Still, despite his evident experience, Phil is no match for Techno’s raw power.

The man spins around Phil so quickly he seems like a blur. He swings his sword in wide arcs followed by short jabs and parries, his moves unpredictable and well-placed. It’s an impressive mesh of a million different fighting techniques, all mastered and used to his advantage despite the haphazard look of it.

The awed breath catches in Tommy’s throat as Phil suddenly appears on the ground. He’s grinning again, even as Techno pins his sword at his neck.

“That was a good manoeuvre, mate,” Phil praises as Techno helps him to his feet. “You don’t use that often – caught me by surprise.”

“I’m always full of surprises, Phil,” Techno responds dryly. “Besides, you’re getting rusty. I can tell you haven’t practised in a while.”

Phil’s grin grows ever wider. “Is that an insult, Tech?”

Techno’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Perhaps.” He turns back to Tommy with a look of nonchalance. “So, was my involuntary demonstration adequate for your tastes, Theseus?”

Tommy’s heart soars. It was more than adequate. It was impressive, impossible… there are no words to describe the absolute mastery Techno holds over the blade.

He shakes his head, dazed for a moment. “I…” The words don’t rise to his tongue.

“Somebody’s speechless,” Phil teases, resting a heavy arm on Tommy’s shoulder.

The teen pushes him away, a smile tugging at his lips. “Fuck off. I’m not speechless. That was impressive, Blade, I won’t lie.”

Wilbur spits out a taunting laugh. “Impressive? The fight was over in two minutes!”

Techno’s brows furrow, a frown tugging at his lips.

“Besides,” Wil continues, oblivious, “it’s all just his ability, anyways. He could never do anything like that if he didn’t have his powers.”

Even Phil’s face falls at the scathing remark, but Tommy remains blissfully oblivious. His eyes widen, surprise dancing across his features. “You’ve got a power, Techno?”

Techno’s shoulders slump with relief. Tommy’s incessant curiosity is enough to dispel the worst of the tension – at least for a moment.

“Most vampires within powerful bloodlines do, Toms.” Phil rests his chin in Tommy’s mop of hair with a soft hum. Tommy is so muddled with excitement he almost forgets to push the vampire off.

After a moment, Phil chuckles softly, the vibrations tickling Tommy’s scalp. “Don’t get too excited now, Tommy. Powers don’t tend to show until much later in a vampire’s maturation, and it’s never guaranteed that a vampire will get a power at all regardless of how powerful their bloodline is.”

“That’s bullshit.” Tommy huffs, dejectedly slumping into Phil’s hold.

“That’s life,” Techno shoots back with a slight grin.

“Techno.” Phil scolds, wrapping his arms even tighter around Tommy’s shoulders. “Don’t listen to Techno, mate. He’s just trying to scare you.”

Tommy finally pulls away, clawing back the rising panic the separation causes. He levels Technoblade with a fiery grin and shoves a finger into the vampire’s chest.

Technoblade doesn’t even give him the dignity of a flinch.

“He’s not scaring me at all, Phil. I think he’s just scared I’ll get a cooler power than him.” Techno’s mouth hangs open in surprise, a frankly pitiful expression on his otherwise blank face.

“He got you there, mate.” Techno turns his pained eyes upon his father with an offending noise. Phil tilts his head placatingly. “Chin up, Techno. He just admitted your power is cool. Nothing to get pissy about.”

Tommy splutters indignantly and turns to remedy his mistake, but Technoblade is quicker. He barks out a heavy laugh and bats away Tommy’s hand from where it hovered moments prior, all offence gone as quickly as it came.

The banter is so easy, so thoughtless. It’s how Tommy used to be with Wilbur before…

God, it’s impossible to explain his conflict. He’s meant to hate these beings who ruined his life, and yet he falls so easily into this comfortable environment that it’s difficult to remember the pain they’d caused him.

He knows they can sense it too, the bastards. There’s a light in Phil’s eyes that wasn’t there before as he watches Tommy laugh with Technoblade. Even the latter’s posture relaxed for once, a massive smile cutting into his cheeks.

Tommy can’t even find it in himself to find terror in the sharpened canines now on full display.

There’s only one missing part to the equation that Tommy’s hindbrain can pinpoint all too easily. Wilbur hovers towards the edge of their little circle, mouth downturned with displeasure. It takes everyone a moment to notice him lingering, sulking despite the bright atmosphere.

“Stop sulking, Wil.” Phil elbows Wilbur playfully, but Wilbur shies away from the contact. “The hell, mate? What’s wrong?”

Wilbur grits his teeth and moves to adjust the glasses which have slipped down his nose. “Nothing.”

He turns away and stalks back towards the house before Phil can respond.

The trio stands in shocked silence for a moment before Phil finally turns away from Wilbur’s retreating form. That was unexpected and slightly out of character, Tommy muses. He says such out loud, and Phil nods in response, eyes blown wide.

“I don’t…” He turns to Technoblade, face pensive. “That was kind of a mood killer.”

Techno shakes his head slowly. He sighs. “I guess that’s today’s adventure. Back to the nest with you, Tommy.”

The Changeling sputters and bats away the guiding hand. “Fuck off! That was only thirty minutes!”

The thought of going back to the nest, despite how inviting it sounds, fills him with dread. He can’t imagine being forced back into the darkness after experiencing the outside world again. He’s never tasted air as fresh as out here, seen such expansive fields, or rivers as clean.

It’s all new and curious to him. He’s seen nature before, sure, but he’s spent the latter half of his life in the slums. Sustaining him and Tubbo used to be a full-time job with little time for vacations into the rural areas of England.

Besides the rarity of such a gorgeous view, his perception of the world seems heightened, if that’s possible. The turning has gifted him with better sight and hearing, and even the softest breath of air sets off a million nerves in his body.

There are a million textures in the blades of grass he weaves through his fingers. He can feel every individual fibre of his sleep shirt and every ray of sun that touches his skin. It’s the most glorious and yet uncanny combination of feelings he almost can’t take it.

Phil’s sudden hand on his shoulder is heavy, grounding. It’s a kind of warmth that’s unnerving – simply based on the fact that, by all means, Phil is a corpse. It’s beyond Tommy how a glorified dead man can appear so alive, but he supposes he’s had to come to terms with a lot of strange things in the last month or so.

“Come on, Tommy.” Phil coaxes, squeezing his arm gently. “Aren’t you tired?”

“No.” Tommy lies easily.

He elects to ignore the prevailing ache spreading throughout his body. It’s like growing pains in all of the worst ways; his limbs feel too tight, his bones heavy and his veins dry. The only times he feels remote relief is with Phil in the nest, greedily sucking the blood out of his Sire’s wrist.

It’s a strange system that Phil’s gotten him accustomed to. The elder is keen on having him feed straight from the source – something about it being better for the growth of his fangs.

He can’t say he minds it as much as he used to. Vampires regenerate horrifyingly fast, and a vampire’s biology has specifically evolved to allow Changelings to feed on their Sires without any complications. After a feeding, Phil leaves Tommy’s room to wipe the spilt blood off his skin and drink his own meal, and by the time the next meal rolls around, he’s as good as new.

This happens daily, three times a day, and Tommy hates himself more each time.

He despises how easily he falls into a comfortable routine with the bloodsuckers. He tries his hardest to push them away, but they always come back, offering comfort and help whenever he needs it. They’ve kept him well-fed and clothed and comfortable. They’ve laughed with him and told him stories and laid with him when the aches got to be too much.

Hell, they’re a confusing bunch.

“The nest would be far more comfortable than the hard earth, mate.” Phil squeezes his shoulder again, urging him to his feet. Tommy sways dizzily, but the vampire’s hold steadies him.

He scowls and tugs the hand away once he’s standing. It’s exhausting constantly pushing the vampires away, but it’s necessary if he wants to keep himself distant. He can’t let himself get attached.

Tommy doesn’t know if he’d be strong enough to leave if he did.

“Fuck off,” he eloquently responds and takes a staggering step away from the manor.

“Wrong away, kid.” Techno spins him around and forces him back towards the manor. “Adventuring can wait ‘til later.”

“What the hell, man? I’ve been cooped up in your stupid house for weeks now! Let me enjoy the outside for one afternoon!”

Technoblade’s face remains impassive. Tommy sulks.

They make it about halfway to the manor before Phil cracks. “Okay, Tommy, I’ll cut you a deal. Eat your dinner without a fuss tonight and we can come out here later and watch the stars together. How does that sound?”

Horrid, honestly. Tommy doesn’t want to spend any more time than he has to with the vampires after seeing nothing but their ugly mugs for Prime knows how long.

Still, it’s the best he’s got for now. He sighs and nods. “Whatever.”

The house feels horribly stuffy after finally getting to see the outside world, but Tommy sucks it up for the promise of another night outside. The nights are bound to be cool and comfortable without the odd feeling of the sun on his heightened senses.

His bedroom is dark. The curtains are drawn, the fire in the fireplace little more than embers. He sighs and allows Phil to help him into bed, swaddling himself in the cool sheets.

Phil was right. The nest does make him feel better.

He sighs and allows the elder vampires to readjust the blankets around him. Techno goes around and dims the candles, stomping down the remaining embers in the fire. The room is bathed in blissful darkness.

The dark is strange to Tommy now. Unlike before, he can make out vague shapes of furniture, track Techno’s movements as he returns to the bed. It’s blurry and frankly quite strange, but it’s another addition to the slew of abilities he’s gained since the turning.

“We’ll leave you to sleep for a bit, and then we’ll be back for dinner.” Phil pats his knee and stands up to leave.

“What if I don’t want to sleep?” Tommy asks through a yawn.

He can just barely make out Phil’s gentle smile through the darkness. “Sleep well, mate.”

He doesn’t notice when he falls asleep. That’s been the routine for days now. His family wakes him up for meals, sits with him for a while, and leaves him to nap again. He’s been dreadfully tired ever since he first woke up, unable to stay awake for more than a couple of hours at a time.

He doesn’t find it odd when hands shake him awake. He rolls to the side with a grimace. It’s just Phil with his meal. He doesn’t want to eat.

“Tommy.” Wilbur’s voice is sharp. Tommy’s eyes shoot open.

Wilbur’s already tearing the sheets away from him. “Wil? What do you want?”

“Come on.” Wilbur yanks Tommy out of bed and towards his open window. When did that get opened? “We’re going out.”

Tommy’s heart stutters. What the fuck? He’s wished for nothing more than to leave the manor since he’s got here, but the thought of leaving suddenly fills him with a panic unlike any other.

“I don’t-“ He chokes out a surprised yelp as Wilbur hefts him into his arms. “Wilbur, let’s think about this.”

His entire body freezes as Wilbur all but throws them out the window. They land heavily on the ground below, Wilbur taking the brunt of the impact with a soft grunt. He rises to his feet again with ease and takes off down the lawn at a speed so quick the world blurs around them.

Tommy’s pleas and confusion go unheeded. Wilbur is determined, his mouth set in a hard line as he takes Tommy back down the road he came from – back towards the bustling streets of London.

Phil’s warned him about this, in passing. The urges, the cravings… Tommy feels them tenfold as he finally reaches the first signs of human life through the darkness.

He bites his lip and buries his nose in Wilbur’s shirt. It does little to block out the scent of passing humans, though Tommy’s determined not to crack. Wilbur’s finally slowed down to a pace one would consider normal, though his gait is no less determined. Tommy’s seen Wilbur when he’s like this before. When the man is determined to do something, there’s no stopping him.

He slouches into Wilbur’s hold and lets the elder vampire work his way further and further into the city.

Wilbur finally slows towards the edge of the bustling city in what looks to be a thriving industrial district. Smoke rises through the sky from factories just barely hidden behind chain link fencing, and the sky is still slightly light, the last rays of the sunset fading into navy darkness. He gently sets Tommy down in the gravel at the end of a massive industrial property and crouches down behind a tree.

“Wilbur, please.” It’s the millionth time he’s begged for a response, but it’s the first time Wilbur finally turns to look at him. “What the hell is up with you, man? Phil’s gonna be pissed that you stole me.”

“He should have known what he was doing showing off Techno’s power like that.” Wilbur scoffs and turns away. “He’s always been so proud of Techno and his strength.”

Tommy frowns. “If you’re jealous, just say that, Wilbur. I don’t know what the big deal is.”

“I’m just as good as Technoblade is.” Wilbur snaps back. “I’ve known you longer than he has. I brought you to the family. His powers – what can they really do? Win him battles? Bring him glory? He’s a fucking brute, that Technoblade, yet Phil’s still so proud of him.”

Tommy inches away from the fuming vampire. Prime, he’s never seen Wilbur so upset. It’s a different kind of anger than he’s used to Wilbur exuding. The man is usually quiet seething and subtle revenge. Something earlier must have really set him off for him to explode like this.

Wilbur twirls around, eyes blazing. “I’m just as good as Technoblade is, Tommy! You’ll see.”

His mouth twists into some imitation of a smile. His ears perk up. Tommy crouches even lower into the underbrush.

A person is walking down the gravel path to the factory. They swing a lunch pail around one finger as they whistle a familiar tune, oblivious to the killer crouching just meters away.

Wilbur raises two fingers to his eyes before gesturing to the man. ‘Watch me’ he mouths and slinks out of the woods.

“Evening!” The man nods to Wilbur with an easy smile. “Heading home from work?”

Wilbur tilts his head curiously. “Not quite. I was wondering if you could be of assistance to me.”

His voice has taken on a lilting edge that Tommy doesn’t quite like.

The man hesitates for a second, his shoes scuffing the gravel. “I suppose.”

Wilbur takes another confident step out of the shadows. The man gasps in terror, finally taking notice of his blood-red eyes. He drops the lunch pail in his scramble to escape, a choking gasp ripping through his throat.

“Freeze.”

Tommy’s entire body goes cold as the man freezes in place. He can still see the man’s eyes rolling around in his head, terrified at his sudden inability to move. Tommy climbs to his knees, wishing to help – to offer the man anyway to escape, but he’s rooted to the spot out of terror.

“On your knees.”

The man sinks to the ground. Tears are streaming out of his eyes now, but his body is otherwise compliant. Tommy’s heart races. He knows how the man feels. He’s felt his limbs weighed down by a million weights, his head filled with the horrible cotton that makes it impossible to control his own body.

“See, Tommy?” Wilbur’s eyes are crazed as he gestures wildly to the man on the ground. “I don’t even need to fight! They just do what I say! God, humans, and their weak minds. It’s almost too easy to just…” He runs a finger down the man’s neck, digging sharp nails into delicate flesh.

Crimson pours from the wound, staining the man’s collar and dripping onto the stones. Tommy’s transfixed on it, breath heaving as he forces himself to stay rooted to the ground. He forces his horror at Wilbur’s actions to overcome his infatuation with the liquid.

“I don’t even have to do the dirty work myself!” Wilbur giggles and steps away. “Go on. Slit your wrist with the knife in your pocket. I know it’s there.”

The man lets out a choked whine of terror as his hands unwillingly pull the knife from his pocket. He flicks it open with shaking hands before deftly slicing open the skin of his wrist. It’s a clean cut, and the blood flow is immediate.

Wilbur pulls the man’s arm to his mouth, latching onto the wound. His teeth tear and pull at the flesh, scattering blood across the ground and sending chunks of flesh through the air in his frenzy. Once he’s satisfied with the state of the arm, he whispers another muted command to the man.

The man is sobbing openly now as he raises the knife again. Tommy’s own eyes are overflowing with tears as the knife passes his other wrist, rising to his throat.

“Wilbur, please.” Tommy gasps through panicked sobs. “Stop hurting him! You sick fuck, stop doing this!”

Wilbur ignores him. There’s blood on his chin and his hands and on the collar of his shirt. His eyes are far away as the knife finally sends itself through the man’s throat. There’s a sick gurgling as he attempts to breathe, his lungs filling with blood and gore.

Unable to support himself, the man falls to the ground. Wilbur falls with him, pulling and tearing at the man’s neck. He removes the knife and jabs it into the dirt, feeding greedily at the steady flow of blood from the wound.

The man’s struggles slow and finally stop. The gurgling silences, as do the sobs.

Tommy’s inconsolable. He shakes like a leaf as he watches Wilbur finish the messy job, body still aching to get a taste of the blood staining the earth. He’ s never seen a man killed before, and never in his life did he think he would see it happen with such brutality.

He’s never considered Wilbur to be a killer. Even after discovering his vampiric nature, he’s forced himself away from the truth, but seeing Wilbur here, drenched in crimson, eyes wild and hair mussed from the struggle, he finally understands.

He attempts to stumble into the woods. His limbs don’t respond how he wants them to. He’s shaking and crying, and he’s still exhausted from his escapade earlier and Phil never got around to giving him dinner. Even with his heightened senses, he can hardly make his way through the underbrush, scraping up his legs and hands in an attempt to escape the monster behind him.

There is a crashing in the trees behind him. He wails, panic overtaking his already erratic movements. A solid hand clamps around his shoulder, sending him across a still chest. He screams and kicks and punches and sobs, attempting to claw Wilbur’s grip away.

Wilbur’s cooing quietly as he runs blood-stained fingers through golden hair as if he hadn’t just committed unspeakable acts in front of Tommy moments prior. Tommy’s body involuntarily begins to calm in the presence of the older coven mate despite the paralysing terror Tommy feels in his presence.

“It’s alright, Tommy. Just breathe.” Wilbur’s voice is comforting, but it’s guilty. He’s sure Wilbur doesn’t need to breathe, but his chest begins to shake as he pulls Tommy closer. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

“Get the fuck away from me.” Tommy cries, nails tearing into Wilbur’s hands. “Don’t touch me.”

Wilbur opens his mouth to offer more false comfort when a branch snaps in the distance. He hesitates.

“Wilbur, let him go.”

Wilbur’s entire body freezes like a statue, fingers rigid on Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy raises teary eyes. Phil’s standing only meters away, Technoblade hot on his heels.

Tommy despises the man. He hates every ounce of his being, but at this moment, he tears free from Wilbur’s grip and throws himself into Phil’s arms.

He’s sobbing again, both out of relief and terror. He’s never seen a vampire feed before, but hell if it isn’t the most horrifying thing he’s seen in his life.

“Please.” He gasps and buries his face in Phil’s coat. “Help. Please.”

“It’s okay, Tommy.” Phil swaddles his youngest in his black peacoat, effectively blocking his view from Wilbur with the fabric. “No one’s going to hurt you. You’re safe.”

Phil begins to lead him away from the woods. Technoblade and Wilbur are talking in the background. Wilbur’s muttering apologies like a chant, but Technoblade refuses to respond.

Tommy stumbles over the uneven ground. Phil lets them rest when they’re far enough away to hear Technoblade and Wilbur no longer.

“Need me to carry you, Toms?”

Tommy doesn’t even have the strength to respond. He holds his arms up and lets Phil gently lift him against his chest, strong arms supporting his legs as he continues on.

The tears dry thickly on his face. His eyes burn with salt and his skin feels puffy. Still, the rocking motion of Phil walking is comforting, and he finds himself nodding off.

His stomach growls, and he sniffles again.

Chapter Text

It’s a strange week which follows.

The moment they return to the manor, Tommy locks himself away in his bedroom with a harsh snarl for Phil to leave him the fuck alone. He can’t stand to be around any of the fucks after what he’s seen, and they’re all too willing to give him his space.

That doesn’t mean they don’t try to get close.

Every so often, there are soft sounds of muted feet on the floor just outside his door followed by the tell-tale sound of a glass being set against the wall. Phil has allowed him to revert to drinking the blood from a glass instead of the source in some convoluted effort to distract Tommy from the horrifying reality they’ve placed him in.

He refuses to even look at the stuff.

His stomach growls. It grows more obvious with each day he starves himself, growing from something vaguely uncomfortable to a pain unlike any other he’s felt. He feels pathetic curled under the plush blankets of a bed that should never have belonged to him, forcing himself away from a liquid that humans should never drink.

It’s sick, in a way, thinking of all he’s given up to get to this point.

Time passes without meaning. He’s lost in an abyss of hunger and pain and numbness all wrapped up in an overwhelming ball of nothing and everything at the same time. Every time he tries to close his eyes, he sees the man dying, the blood pooling at his feet and in his throat, his eyes bulging in an attempt to breathe in air he chokes on with each devastating second.

And he sees Wilbur. He sees the man who’s kept him fed and clothed for all these years, who sat and drank tea in the sun with him and Tubbo on warm summer evenings, who kept the fire stoked during cold winter months. He sees that same man with crimson eyes and blood staining his jacket and his lips. He sees Wilbur kill a man. He watches with sickening clarity as Wilbur rips out the throat of the man after compelling him to make the first cut.

He sees a monster.

There is a knock at the door. He buries his head under the blankets, ignoring the way his stomach lurches at the sudden movement.

The person knocks again.

He grits his teeth and shoves the blanket over his head. This week of isolation has made his senses go haywire – his body’s last-ditch effort to push him back from the ledge of total starvation. He can smell Phil behind the door as clearly as he could smell the wilting flowers at his bedside, hear his soft sigh of dejection as clearly as he can hear the doorknob turning –

He sucks in a sharp breath and holds it. Phil sticks his head in the room with a soft rustle of fabric. Tommy’s eyes are squeezed shut but he can picture the man so vividly it hurts.

Fuck, it hurts.

“Mate?” His voice is like chimes in the breeze; it satisfies a broken part of Tommy he never knew was broken. His nails dig into his palms of his hands so hard he draws blood. Phil is surely drawn to the scent.

“Oh, Tommy, mate.” There is a flurry of soft footfalls. The blankets are eased off his head.

The light is nearly blinding.

Tommy whines. It comes out broken, his voice scratchy from thirst and misuse. He cuts it off with a harsh breath that hurts just as badly.

“I’m sorry to do this, mate, but you have to eat.”

Phil sharply digs a nail into the weak flesh around his wrist. Blood springs from the wound, and hell if it isn’t all Tommy’s weak vampire brain can focus on.

The hunger fades into an unpleasant hum in the back of his subconscious. He’s latching onto Phil’s wrist before his body registers that he moved at all, and when he drinks, it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.

Phil refrains from petting Tommy’s hair like he usually would during a feeding like this. Despite Tommy having the man’s full wrist in his mouth, he keeps his distance.

The pain in the back of Tommy’s head lessens as he drinks. For the first time in days, he can feel the warmth of fresh blood finally filling his veins, his stomach so full it’s nearly unpleasant. With the blood comes satisfied contentment and a sleepiness he’s been desperately staving off for fear of nightmares.

He pulls off Phil’s wrist with a desperate sob. One part of him urges him to succumb to sleep, to enjoy the fullness that his body has been craving while the other part sends him skittering back to the pillows, suddenly all-too aware of the man sitting at the edge of his bed.

Phil’s face falls as he covers up the wound with the hem of his sleeve. There’s blood on the sheets now, and on his face, and dripping off the fangs he can feel growing by the day. It’s terrifyingly similar to the first time he’d ever been forced to drink Phil’s blood.

If he was to look in a mirror, what would he see? Would his eyes be red like Wilbur’s? Would he look the part of the monster he’s been trying too hard to pretend he hasn’t turned into?

There are fat tears rolling down his cheeks as he desperately scrubs the blood off his face. He feels dirty. Sick. Unclean. Sharpened nails tear at his skin all-too delicate skin, his own blood welling up and spilling over as his sheets grow thick with maroon.

Steady hands clamp over his own. Tommy screams and kicks as Phil cradles his arms protectively, guiding the flailing fledgling under the folds of his cloak.

He’s like a baby bird caught under a parent’s protective wing. His overwhelmed senses quiet for a moment – just long enough for him to suck in a steadying breath and choke back another wave of tears.

It’s warm under Phil’s cloak. It blocks out the harsh fire, bathing him in comforting silence and the heady smell of his sire. He closes his eyes and allows himself to relax for a single second, his eyes fluttering shut on their own accord.

He hardly has the strength to open them again. One meal isn’t enough to compensate for a week’s worth of starvation. His limbs shake with exertion he hasn’t dared attempt since he’s locked himself away, and not sleeping for nights on end was bound to catch up with him eventually.

Fuck.

Phil eases Tommy into his arms and off the bed. The fledgling lets out a whine of discomfort as the vampire cradles him against his chest. They’re moving. He sways with each step despite how carefully Phil attempts to steady him.

He has half a mind to ask where the hell Phil is taking him to, but when he tries to open his mouth, the smell of blood on his skin becomes overwhelming, and he closes it again. When that plan fails, he tries to map out the twists and turns he vaguely feels Phil take, but his head is spinning, and that plan goes about as well as the first.

He resolves himself to curling pathetically against Phil’s chest.

They travel for an indiscernible amount of time. Tommy begins to nod off, strange dreams flitting across his vision before he abruptly forces them back.

“Almost there, mate.” Phil whispers against the cloak, resting his chin on Tommy’s covered forehead.

After an eternity, the swaying stops, and Phil nudges open a door with his foot. Even through the thickness of the cloak, Tommy can make out the faint scents of lemongrass and lavender and the soft sound of running water.

Phil lets Tommy down onto the tile of floor and gently pulls away the cloak. Tommy blinks the sleep out of his eyes and sits up slowly.

He’s in the poshest bathroom he’s ever set his eyes upon. He sits upon a floor of gilded tile blanketed with moss green carpet. There’s a frankly gigantic bathtub in the centre of it all with steam rising from the stagnant water.

Tommy meets Phil’s eyes with a confused gaze.

“You’re a pretty messy eater, mate.” Phil smiles, but it looks forced; doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I thought you’d appreciate some time to clean up.”

A question bubbles to the surface. How the hell did Phil manage to fill a perfectly steaming bath in the two seconds it took Tommy to fall from his cloak? What the hell kind of vampire wizardry?

“It was Technoblade, if that’s what you’re thinking. He’s worried about you.”

Tommy scoffs but takes a small shuffle towards the inviting bath. “Right. He’s worried. Sure.”

There’s something about his attitude that Phil dislikes; he can feel it from across the room like a physical entity. Tommy clamps his mouth back shut. Now that he’s seen the full power of the vampires, he’s not sure he wants that malice to be turned towards him.

Phil lets out a long breath and holds it. He doesn’t argue. It almost hurts more, his silence, than a flurry of hurried denials.

“I’ll leave you to it.” Phil’s voice has gone all soft in a way Tommy doesn’t like. “Shout if you need me. I’ll be close.”

He takes a hesitant step back and allows the door to swing shut behind him.

Tommy’s alone again.

He pushes himself to his feet. The shakiness has faded away, he notes grimly, and his body no longer screams with every step he takes. He hates to think why exactly that is the case as he pads his way over to the tub.

There’s an array of soaps of all kinds on the ledge at the end of the bath: a jar of sandalwood scented shampoo for Techno, a pad of lemongrass soap for Wil, and a hefty bottle of conditioner that smells a mix between almond and vanilla for Phil. He inhales deeply. These are the scents of his coven, and his body relaxes involuntarily with the sudden comfort that realisation brings.

He dips a finger in the water and draws it out quickly before pausing. It isn’t as hot as he assumed it would be. He plunges his hand underneath and lets it hang, watching the way his fingers seem to shimmer and contort under the surface. He hasn’t had a comfortable bath like this since…

He hops in without a second thought, stripping out of his bloodied clothes. He doesn’t know whose they were before he positively ruined them, but he has half a mind to throw them into the fireplace that burns happily away in the corner of the room. He refrains – for now, at least.

The water is a balm for his tense muscles. He relaxes against the wall of the tub, closing his eyes with a relieved sigh. This is much better than cowering in that shitty bed of his. He’s content to lay there in the warmth for a while without a care in the world.

Phil’s left him, as he promised. Tommy doesn’t understand how he knows, but there’s something deep within him that feels the rest of his coven in a way that goes beyond the physical sense. They’re giving him his space. How different of an environment this is from the first time he was brought to the manor, he thinks wryly.

He cracks open an eye to stare at the array of soaps again. Most of them have gone untouched; this is clearly not a bathroom that is frequented often. When he cracks open Technoblade’s shampoo, it is nearly full.

He pours out a generous amount and begins to lather up his hair. It’s such a beautifully unthinking task, one that he’s done a million times before. There’s something so much less daunting about something like this - something he’s done all his life. Not everything in this manor is new and frightening, it seems.

He makes quick work of it. The soaps are significantly higher quality than he is used to. It doesn’t take minutes of infuriating scrubbing to produce suds from Wilbur’s bar soap, nor do the other two bottles clog up and come out all funny. Living a life of luxury isn’t something Tommy ever expected himself to experience, and the surprise of his new situation, regardless of how demented it is, hasn’t seemed to worn off.

He sighs and lays back in the sudsy water, allowing the warmth to consume him up to his nose. He could really fall asleep here if he tried enough.

He won’t, obviously. He’s not fully dead yet – drowning would just fucking drown him.

Still. His eyes flutter shut. Letting his eyes rest for one second won’t hurt.

He’s jolted by a pair of hands rapidly shaking him awake.

He chokes. There’s soap in his eyes and in his nose. He coughs up a mouthful of water and keels over onto the tiles of the floor. He’s out of the bath with a towel loosely wrapped around his waist. How the fuck?

Phil gently pats his back as he retches up water. Once he’s finished, he lays an exhausted head down on the floor. His throat burns. His eyes burn more. There’s soap in all every part of his face that soap isn’t meant to be in, and it hurts like a bitch.

“You alright there, mate?” Even Phil was startled. His voice shakes like a fucking leaf.

Tommy represses the urge to smile smugly. Good on him for making the old bastard panic.

“I’m-“ He coughs. Ok, he takes it back. His throat hurts far worse than his eyes, painful scented soap be damned. “Fuck. I’m fine.”

Every word feels like sandpaper, but he supposes it’s better than the alternative. How the hell did that happen? He swore he wouldn’t fall asleep…

Phil’s frown deepens. “You look exhausted, Tommy. Have you not been sleeping at all?”

Of course, he hasn’t been. Every second he closes his eyes he can see the dead man. The one time he fell asleep accidentally, the nightmare had been so horrific it sent him flying off his bed and onto the hardwood floor in a heap. No one came to help him even as he laid there, crying pathetically and nursing the arm he landed heavily on in the process.

“That’s it. Put your clothes on. We’re going to do something about this.”

Tommy growls – actually fucking growls – as Phil hands him a new sleep shirt and pants. This pair isn’t horrifically oversized like the last ones, leading him to believe Phil had gotten a set made for him. Why the fuck is the bastard still pretending to care?

“I’m not going anywhere with you, bitch.” He scampers away from Phil’s waiting hand, back hitting the porcelain tub. He winces but holds his ground.

“You seemed content coming with me to the bathroom earlier?” Phil tilts his head curiously.

Oh, so he’s delusional and stupid.

Tommy doesn’t honour that asswipe with a response. Who the fuck does he think he is?

Phil sighs resolutely and places the clothes on the ground. “Tommy, I hate to be the bad guy here, but you’re malnourished as fuck and sleep deprived to the point where I don’t even understand how you’re still functioning right now. I’d be a horrible sire if I were to let my fledgling live in these conditions.”

He pauses, eyes far away. “I know you’re grieving. I know Wilbur fucked up, and he scared you, and I’m sorry, but what you saw was the truth. We are predators. We did what we had to make you better, but that doesn’t come without its consequences. It’s time you stopped considering this a punishment and started seeing it for the gift it’s truly meant to be.”

“Gift?” Tommy’s voice cracks. He clenches the towel with as much force as his weak muscles allow. “You think this is a gift?”

“You think this isn’t? Tommy, you’ve been offered a life of luxury. You will want for nothing, you will live in a way no human could ever dream of, and you will never die. These luxuries will never fade if our family remains. How is this not a gift?”

Tommy’s brought back to a smiling brunette boy sitting outside of a ramshackle cottage. He sips his shitty iced tea as he watches the bees work their way through the flowers he’d just planted in a bed by the stairs. They’re scraggly little fuckers with weak stems and dirt so dry he’s sure they’ll fall over and never recover, but they’re his, and the bees buzz around them with as much fervour as they would any other flowers.

He's brought back to quiet nights under the stars, or the sounds of rain, or the sound of wagon wheels clambering up the dirt roads into the main village. He’s brought back to gentle laughter and easy companionship and homecooked meals by the fire.

He’s reminded of his humanity – the humanity these fuckers have taken away from him so very quickly.

He didn’t appreciate what he had until it was gone, and now it’s too late.

“You took Tubbo away.” He’s sure he sounds petulant, mopey, childish, but he’s in pain. The least Phil can do is recognise that.

The vampire’s eyes soften. He sinks to his knees, a weary look on his face.

“Tubbo’s not dead, Tommy. Wilbur promised you his friend would look after him, and I assure you, Wilbur always keeps his promises. He will live just as comfortably as the four of us, and no rogue vampires will dare to harm him under Schlatt’s protection.”

“But he’ll get old.” Tommy sniffs, batting away the tears. “He’ll die, and I’ll be stuck in a world without him. I can’t do that, Phil, I can’t.”

Phil tilts his head, a curious little smile playing on his lips. “Tommy, you really think I sent Tubbo to live with a human? I do not trust my human associates nearly enough to care for the best friend of my son, and what kind of a monster would I be to damn my own to an eternity without his best friend?”

Tommy blinks owlishly, his tears slowing. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Phil places a comforting hand on Tommy’s shoulder. He doesn’t even bother to bat it away this time.

“Tommy, Tubbo’s been turned. He’s Schlatt’s changeling now, and once he finishes his turn, the both of you will have all the time in the world to be with each other again.”

Chapter Text

Tubbo sits out in the garden, his nose buried in some old, crumbing book he stole from Schlatt’s personal library. It doesn’t have a title, but it looks well-loved, even if it is covered in a fine layer of dust. None of the novels on his shelves have been touched in hundreds of years; the remnants of some old collection from his glory days in the fifteen hundreds.

There’d been a plague, then. It wasn’t unusual for family members to go missing or die without a trace. It was a flourishing environment for a then-young vampire and the coven he’d been adopted into.

Until it wasn’t.

Tubbo frowns and flips the page. This was around the time the first vampires were discovered in England. They first appeared to be legends, superstitions, bedtime stories and ghouls that no one could prove walked the streets of England in reality. But following the plague, the number of vampires went up, and soon, it became difficult to go unnoticed.

Schlatt’s coven was massive. Their sire was a vampire from somewhere in Russia who had built up a substantial following in the rigid wilderness back home. He wasn’t a pureblood vampire. He was turned in his sixties and had greying hair and big ears. Tubbo grins and thumbs at the artful illustration on one of the greying pages before flipping away from the sombre portrait.

As a half vampire, he hardly had the strength to control his coven once it got to the size it did after the plague. In secrecy, he had some of the younger fledglings killed off. Others were “lost” on hunts or wound-up dead at the hands of the rising clergy-turned-demon-hunters.

Schlatt was meant to be “lost”. For a while, he was.

He was discarded on a journey to the American colonies in the early sixteenth century. It was meant to be a diplomatic meeting between the newly flourishing American covens and the ancient, powerful covens of England. There was meant to be a treaty made. Schlatt isn’t sure it ever followed through.

He travelled up and down the east coast for a while, watching the young country develop. He learned to hunt on his own, survive on his own, and finally settled down in New York. It was surprisingly easy in that age for a vampire to accumulate wealth. He remained a faceless menace, using his influence to tackle corporations and silently threaten the business powers in opposition.

Tubbo flips the page again and finds a beautiful, detailed map of then-New York. He tilts his head curiously. This map is almost identical to another Schlatt has framed in his office, he’s sure.

He stands up. His afternoon is free, as always. Might as well check it out.

Schlatt is sitting with his legs propped up on his desk, reading some story out of the newspaper. He lowers the paper just enough to see Tubbo come in, only the top of his glimmering crimson eyes visible.

“Morning, kiddo.” Schlatt greets with a slight bob of his head. The newspaper crinkles with the movement.

“Morning.” Tubbo makes his way over to the fireplace and raises the book in the air. Perfect match. He grins triumphantly.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Schlatt sets the paper down, peering intently at the book Tubbo holds next to the map above the mantle.

“Thought I recognised the drawing.” He muses, setting the book down at Schlatt’s desk. The man glances at the book and back up at the map. He frowns.

“I clearly lacked creativity back in the sixteen hundreds, huh?” He snorts and closes the book gently. “That was one of my old journals way back.”

Tubbo shrugs and takes the journal back. “I could tell. You’ve told me the story before.”

Schlatt hums. There’s a sort of soft glimmer in his eyes at Tubbo’s admission. The man likes to talk about his past, and he’s even more proud that Tubbo remembered. A lot of storytelling happened at Tubbo’s bedside as he was too weak to do anything but sit and listen, and it’s a pleasant surprise to find out Tubbo remembers some of it.

“How are you feeling today?”

Tubbo sighs. It’s a near daily question from his sire. Of course, Tubbo’s okay. He’s more than okay, actually; physically, at least. He’s the strongest he’s ever been, the most well-fed, well-rested… He’s clothed in fine silks and spends his days reading ancient literature and walking throughout Schlatt’s grand estate. It’s the life he and Tommy used to dream of, but there’s something missing.

Of course, there’s something missing. Tommy’s halfway across the damned country living out his significantly less painful life with Wilbur and his family. Schlatt tries to keep him from thinking of the brother he’d abandoned without a second thought, but it’s a difficult thing to forget.

“I’m fine.” He’s not good. He’s not bad. He simply is.

Schlatt’s mouth hardens into a line. He knows of Tubbo’s confliction. For all the kid knows, his best friend is still little human Tommy working his ass off to save up enough money for the two of them to leave for greener fields. If all’s gone to plan, Tommy’s already on his way to becoming a full-fledged vampire, having at least a week’s head start on Tubbo.

He’s almost tempted to tell Tubbo the truth, to discuss in depth - the way he discusses all his pastimes - about the meetings he and Phil had over the course of the past year or so. He wishes he could say something – anything, to put his fledgling’s mind at rest, but he can’t yet. Tubbo’s a smart kid. If he reveals too much, there’s a chance he’ll flee, and it’ll be incredibly difficult to get him back.

They’ve already made significant progress. Tubbo doesn’t cower every time Schlatt enters his room like he used to. He still regards the vampire with wary indifference, as if he can’t raise the energy to despise his sire as he once did, but the whisper of his past hatred remains.

Schlatt understands. He felt the way for his own sire, once, back when he had his own coven. His frown deepens. It’s been so lonely, these years, moving from place to place without a coven of his own. Vampires are possessive creatures. They don’t take well to solitude despite what legend may claim.

Wilbur was right, though. He needed a kid like Tubbo in his life. Maybe, one day, they’ll be able to move past the present tenseness and truly connect in a way Schlatt could only dream of.

Schlatt sighs as Tubbo quietly takes his leave and picks back up the newspaper. One day.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Tommy doesn’t stop screaming until Phil finally leaves the room again. Tubbo’s been turned. Tubbo’s been forced to go through the same excruciating pain Tommy has, and he fucking agreed to it!

He can accept living for the rest of eternity alone. He can cope knowing his best friend is safe and cared for and will die an old man comfortable in his wealth. He would go through the turn again – hundreds of times, if he must, to put Tubbo in a better situation than he was in before all this mess. But now that is ruined, and Tubbo is stuck in the same shit as him.

Tubbo always called him a self-sacrificial fuck. Now, Tommy can sort of see where he’s coming from.

All Tommy knows now is that Tubbo is being housed with an old-as-dirt vampire named Schlatt. He’d briefly seen the man the day the two were separated, dressed in his fine silks with his wealthy carriage and well-groomed horses. He’d go after the fucker himself if only he knew where the hell he lives.

Amidst his pained sobbing, Phil promised him the two would reunite. Maybe not today, or even this year, but soon. It’s all up to Tommy and how well he adjusts. It’s up to how well Tommy submits.

He’s being blackmailed.

He sobs into his sheets. A growing wet spot stains his pillow, but the tears won’t stop. He almost wishes Phil would come back so he could get an outlet for his pain, but it’s just him in the bedroom he’s coming to hate.

There’s a curt knock at the door.

He lifts his head up. His cheeks feel tight and puffy all at the same time, and he rapidly wipes away the evidence of his crying.

“Can I come in?” His brows furrow. It isn’t Phil’s voice.

It’s Technoblade.

When he doesn’t respond, there’s an impatient sigh from beyond the door. “I won’t come in unless you allow me. If you don’t want me here, just say so.”

The bluntness surprises him. When Phil wants to get into his room, he’ll just come in. It’s not often Tommy’s gifted the gift of genuine privacy.

Tommy coughs. “Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”

The doorknob turns, and a head of pink hair pokes into the room. The vampire’s face is aloof, as always, but his brows furrow at the sorry sight of the kid in the bed. He closes the door softly behind him and settles into the chair furthest from the bed.

It’s a small gesture, but Tommy appreciates it, nonetheless.

“You look rough.”

Tommy snorts, caught off guard once again. “No shit.”

Techno sighs and awkwardly messes with the hem of his sleeve. “Listen… Wilbur wanted me to let you know he’s sorry.”

Tommy bristles. “Oh, so you’re some fucking messenger owl, huh? Tell him ‘I hope he fucking dies.’ I don’t want anything to do with the bastard.”

“He was jealous.” He lets out a small huff of a laugh. “He didn’t like that you were ogling my abilities. Wanted you to find him cool, too, in his weird, twisted, Wilbur way.”

That’s it? That’s Wilbur’s excuse? He was jealous?

He chuckles, more so out of surprise than humour. “You’re all psychopaths.”

“Predators. Not psychopaths.” Technoblade corrects gently. “Once you get to be old like us, you start to forget why you ever cared for humanity in the first place.”

“I’m not like you.” Tommy argues, but it’s in vain. Technoblade rolls his eyes.

“We’re all one and the same, Theseus. You won’t think the same in a decade or two. Humankind is meant to burn brightly, but only for a short while, unlike us. We’re not confined to societal norms or minuscule lifespans. We aren’t the same as them.”

“You’re acting like I’m no longer human.” Tommy glances down at his hands, feels for the pulse thrumming in his wrist. “It’s impossible.”

Technoblade shakes his head. “Not impossible.”

Tommy leans back against the headboard with a huff. His eyes are feeling watery again. It’s a kind of patheticness he’s gotten too used to feeling lately. He can’t stand it.

“So, this is it, then.” It’s not a question. It’s giving up. “I’m dying.”

Technoblade tilts his head curiously. “Not dying. Being reborn. If Phil has it his way, you will never die. Not until the last star burns out and all that is left in the universe is emptiness. He meant what he said. Our family is eternal.”

“I never asked for this.”

“Neither did I.” Tommy’s head whips up. That’s not what he expected to hear. All his anger feels derailed in a heartbeat. “What did you expect? One doesn’t come about this life easily.”

His head whirls with the possibilities. He imagines a human Techno with a human family. Technoblade eating food at a table. Technoblade training.

Technoblade dying.

“How?” His voice has gone all funny. Technoblade dying is not something he ever imagined possible. It’s off-putting in a way he can’t describe.

“I was a warrior. I came from Argos, from a time of war.” He smiles wistfully. “Phil was taking a day trip to Sparta. Decided to join the army. He never said why – was probably bored, or something.”

Phil, joining a war out of boredom. Tommy gapes.

“The oracle foretold of our defeat. I was one of the best warriors of our army, and I was so damn determined to prove her vision wrong. Then I fought Phil.”

“Wait, wait, wait. When the fuck was this war?” Tommy cuts in, struggling to place a time to the event. “How fucking old are you?”

Techno grins sharply. “I could never say for sure. Historians would say around 490 BC, but that’s a rough estimate. The years tend to blur together.”

490 BC. Tommy never went to a traditional school before he was abruptly forced onto the streets, but he knew enough about ancient Greece to recognise how fucking long ago that was. That would make Techno…

“You’ve gotta be over 2000 years old, then.” The words don’t sound right coming out of his mouth.

Techno shrugs. “Something like that. Sure.”

“Oh my God.” Tommy shakes his head. “No, just keep going. I don’t even want to think about that right now.”

“Well, I lost, obviously.” Here, the great warrior begins to frown. “First battle I ever lost. Phil carried my broken body out of the fray and sat with me next to this little pond for a while. I thought he was gloating, but he was just weighing his options. Asked me if I wanted to live beyond this battle to fight a hundred more with a strength that could rival the gods.”

“The gods? As in the Greek gods? You believed in that?”

Technoblade rolls his eyes for the second time that night. “I lived in Greece during the Archaic period, Tommy. You can put two and two together.”

He raises his hands in surrender. “Alright, whatever. Keep going.”

“Initially, I refused. I assumed he was a god come down to earth to tempt me and punish me for striving to be more powerful than him. He must have seen something in me, because when I refused him, he turned me anyway. Argos lost the battle that day, but I suppose I won something far greater.”

Tommy scoffs. “Poetic.”

Technoblade huffs miserably. “You’re a horrible audience.”

“You’re a horrible storyteller.” He shoots back.

Techno levels him with a look. “Tommy, this happened thousands of years ago. Forgive me if the details are a little blurry. Besides, I’m just glad you’re talking again. Haven’t heard from you in days.”

Tommy clamps his mouth shut. Damn Technoblade for distracting him like that. How did he forget himself so quickly?

“Tommy…” There’s an edge to Techno’s voice that wasn’t there before. Tommy flinches away. “You don’t have to fight us so hard. It’s only making things more difficult for you.”

“Fuck off.” He turns away with a pout. “You’re all trying so hard to make me something I’m not. What’s your fucking deal?”

Technoblade sighs. He shifts around in his seat to pull a small velvet box out of some pocket hidden under those massive sleeves of his.

“Phil wanted to give this to you earlier, but he’s been holding off.” He thumbs at the box before tentatively opening it and presenting the contents to Tommy. “He wants – we want… Hell, Tommy, we just want you to join the family.”

Inside of the box is a delicate silver chain, and attached to it, a glimmering emerald pendant. He glances back up to Technoblade. There’s a similar emerald dangling from his left ear. Tommy frowns. Phil has a matching earring, and Wilbur has a ring that looks suspiciously similar…

“We don’t mean to make you something you aren’t.” He chuckles lightly and passes the box to Tommy’s shaking hands. “You’re too stubborn for that, anyways. We just want you to be safe, and happy, to live a life that’s worth something. You had no future in that peasant’s village, especially with that rogue after you and Tubbo.”

“We would have figured something out.” Tommy whispers, eyes haunted. “We had plans. We were going to go North, find work, maybe. We would have thrown the vampire off our trail and figured fucking something out, I don’t know.”

Techno shakes his head and settles back into the chair. “You wouldn’t have, though. Vampires aren’t so easily shaken. They would have found you when you were far enough away to be out of our protection. They would have killed you.”

“But… The one that killed my mother… aren’t they dead? Didn’t you take care of them?”

The vampire frowns lightly. “It was the most curious thing. The rogue wasn’t alone. They had partners, all masked, all unfamiliar. Phil was sure we would kill them easily, but all the sudden, two others came from the woods and overwhelmed him. They escaped unscathed – well, mostly, at least.”

Tommy sits puzzled for a moment. “The rogue wasn’t alone. Does that mean they had a coven? I don’t understand how this bloodsucker shit works.”

“Not coven. We would have known if a coven attempted to move into our territory.” He sighs deeply. “The rogue must have paid the other two or put them into a contract or something of that nature. When we tried to track them, their paths all split. It was impossible for us to track down all three with the two of you vulnerable, so we let them escape.”

He blanches, fingers tightening around the box. “You let them escape? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Your safety was more important than their capture.” He fixes Tommy with a hard look. “You have to understand that we genuinely care about you, kid. Phil has spent nearly every waking hour since trying to track them down, but it’s been unsuccessful. The second safest option behind putting their heads on spikes would be having you become one of us.”

Tommy’s entire body goes cold. That’s a significantly less fucked up explanation for his turning than he expected to hear. For all he knows, Technoblade could be lying, and this is all a massive plan to get on Tommy’s good side – a manipulation tactic, or some shit.

But some part of him recognises the truth in Techno’s words. He hasn’t interacted with the man much, personally, but he gives off this vibe… Tommy doesn’t know. He wants to trust him.

Techno isn’t like the others. He’s the strongest physically – at least by looks, but Tommy recognises that he doesn’t share a lot of the same sentiments as the other two. He’s the quietest one out of the three, at least until today, and all their conversations have been short and to the point. He’s a little awkward too, despite how eloquent of a speaker he can be, and his affection is clearly shown in unconventional ways.

He’s the only one who hasn’t forced himself into Tommy’s life. He’s the only one who asks permission to see Tommy as opposed to barging in uninvited, and he’s the only one who tried to rectify the Wilbur situation without avoiding the topic entirely or trying to explain it away as some bullshit.

He’s tried so hard to keep himself steady. He knows he can’t bend to the manipulations of the vampires if he ever wants to run off and live the life he’s dreamed, but there’s something so awkwardly endearing about Techno that he can almost forget about the harsh guidelines he’s set himself.

Besides, if he’s going to survive in a manor with three vampires, he must make some allies. It’s about time he started taking care of his own destiny.

Chapter Text

“There is to be a ball soon.”

Tommy perks up from where he’s been blankly staring at the ceiling. He has been doing a lot of that recently, dozing in and out of consciousness to the lulling sounds of turning pages. Somehow, the nightmares have lessened with Techno’s presence. He can almost say the man’s presence is comforting, in an odd way.

“What the fuck does that mean?” He shoots back, grateful for the break in silence. He’s been itching for some good banter, but Technoblade isn’t exactly the type for witty conversation – or any conversation, for that matter.

“Schlatt’s coven is holding a ball in a fortnight as a sort of last hurrah before they head back to America with their new fledgling. It’s meant to be a pretty big deal.”

Tommy frowns. “Tubbo?”

“I did say they were leaving with their new fledgling, no?” Technoblade looks down sullenly, placing a strip of leather between the pages of his book. “I can’t say I’m thrilled about any of this, but Phil wanted me to pass on the message.”

He scowls. “I’m not going anywhere with the bastard.”

Techno’s deep sigh in response proves Tommy’s defiance won’t be met with much success.

“You’re going with Phil whether you like it or not, I’m afraid. Besides, it might be your last opportunity to meet your friend before the move. Schlatt’s been itching to go back home for a while.”

“What the hell brought him here, anyways?” Tommy sulks, mood dampened.

“That’s his business, not ours.”

Tommy lets out a puff of irritated air. “Right. Not like I cared anyway.”

The hint of a smile plays on the edge of Techno’s lips. He turns away before Tommy can comment on it.

“How am I meant to visit Tubbo when he’s all the way in America?” He continues with a whine. “Phil said we’d be able to meet if I was good, but he’s going to be so far away!”

Techno appraises him warily. “Have you been good, though? You haven’t even spoken to Phil in days.”

“Serves him right, the bastard.” Tommy decides. “All of this is his fault, you know. I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“Tommy…”

His face falls. It’s a conversation they’ve had a million times over the past couple of days. It leaves them running in circles and Tommy feeling far more confused than when the argument began.

“Right. Sorry.”

“Why don’t you try talking to Phil? Or even Wilbur? He’s been missing you.”

His scowl deepens. “I don’t want to.”

“Why?”

Tommy goes to spit out something harsh, but he pauses. The simple question wasn’t meant to goad him. It’s comfortably neutral, in the same way all of Techno’s questions are, and it leaves him reeling.

“Why?” He sputters, trying to put words to his whirlwind of emotions. “Wilbur is a fucking psychopath who kills people for sport and Phil forcefully turned me into some fucking creature without my consent. He’s been keeping things from me, and he let Schlatt turn Tubbo. I can’t forgive that.”

Techno tilts his head curiously. “You do realise how one-sided this sounds, right?”

Tommy blanches. “You’re literally delusional.”

He raises his hands in mock surrender. “One conversation. That’s all I ask. All you’ve done these past few days is jump to conclusions. At least hear Phil out. That’s it.”

“What will I get out of this? It just sounds like you’re trying to fuck me over right now, Technoblade.”

“If anything, it’ll give you peace of mind. You can’t pass judgement on a person without first understanding the reasoning behind their actions. Besides, I don’t want there to be any bad blood when we go to the ball. That won’t be a good look for the coven.”

Like all his other words, his reasoning holds no malice, yet Tommy flinches back all the same. “Is that all you care about? The coven’s image? Is that why you’ve been with me all this time?”

Techno stiffens, the first signs of genuine surprise eating away at the careful coolness of his face. “Theseus, I-“

He laughs, but it holds no humour. “Alright. Don’t explain yourself; I already know what you’re going to say.” He rolls over so that the traitorous dickhead is no longer in his view. “You’re such a bastard, Technoblade. And here I thought you actually cared enough to talk to me after putting me through hell. You’re just like the other two fucks.”

“There you go, jumping to conclusions again.” Technoblade sighs. The floorboards creak, and suddenly the bed next to him dips down.

Tommy stiffens, his breath catching in his throat, but Technoblade only huffs out another annoyed breath.

“I don’t understand why you keep fighting. You’re such a stubborn child.”

“Not a child,” he interjects sullenly.

Technoblade goes silent for a moment. “I have never understood humanity. It has been thousands of years since I was mortal, and I have no memories of it. I cannot comprehend what is holding you back. Why do you continue to fight when we have presented you with all you could ever wish for?”

Tommy goes to open his mouth, to spit out something angry and uncouth with very little thought behind it, but the warning growl from Technoblade dispels that thought before it comes out.

“I want you to think about this. Seriously.” He cannot see Technoblade, but he can almost imagine the look on his face. “Whenever I ask you this question, you insult me or Wilbur or Phil, but I have never gotten a true answer. What could possibly be holding you back?”

Hundreds of things, he thinks. These vampires essentially snatched him from the streets, separated him from his best friend, and put him through the most painful experience of his life – and for what? He isn’t even a full vampire yet, and according to Technoblade, he won’t be for a while. He won’t even be able to see Tubbo after he moves to America.

He tells Technoblade this, but the man only sighs – something Tommy’s found he does quiet often.

“You act like we stole you off the street.” The man shakes his head, and the bed shifts with him. “You offered yourself up to us, remember? Wilbur asked you if you would take a job with his friends in London and if you would like to live with them in their estate. You said yes, did you not?”

Tommy finally sits up, sputtering indignantly. “Yes, but you lied to me. You said I would be working a job with some of his affiliates, and that Tubbo would be safely housed with a close friend of his. Clearly neither of those are true.”

“Tubbo is safe, I promise you that. Wilbur recognises his importance to you, so he put him in the situation which would offer him the greatest chances of a life outside this place. How is this a bad thing?”

“But he… you… Tubbo was turned!”

Technoblade chuckles. The sharp edges of his tusk-like fangs poke out of his lips for a split second, and Tommy shudders.

“Theseus, you already know our stance on the turning. This is not an argument you will win against me.”

He pouts. As much as he hates to admit it, Technoblade is correct. They’ve had this argument a million times, and it always ends with Tommy running in circles.

Technoblade tilts his head. “Anything else?”

“You bet, bitch.” He pauses, mouth moving around words that don’t seem to come to mind. Technoblade’s shit-eating grin only widens at his prolonged silence.

“Shut the hell up, Blade.” Tommy grumbles, his face heating.

Techno raises a perfect eyebrow. “I didn’t say anything?”

He scoffs. “Doesn’t matter. You were thinking it.”

“Alright, alright, whatever. Does this mean you’ll talk to Phil?”

Tommy’s grin falls, but he nods anyway. He can accept defeat just this once if it means he doesn’t have to argue with that bitch any longer.

Techno nods, relieved. “I’ll call him in, then.”

Tommy rolls back over when the weight rises from the bed, a spike of anxiety shivering through his bloodstream. It’s been days since he’s even had to look at Phil, and he isn’t keen on talking with him for an extended period. God, what the hell did he get himself into?

The door opens, and soft footsteps pad into the room. He winces, keeping his head tucked into his arm.

“Toms?”

He shivers. God, that voice satisfies something deep within his subconscious. His racing heart begins to slow beyond his control, his tense muscles soothed by the presence of the elder vampire. The reaction is both completely out of his control yet calming all the same; he hates to imagine what that means for him.

“Hey, mate. It’s been a while since we last saw you.”

He huffs but doesn’t respond. No matter how much joy Phil’s voice brings to his traitorous baby vampire hindbrain, the greater part of him is still an unhealthy mixture of terrified and positively fuming at him.

“You look like you’re doing better. You have been eating, yes?”

He breathes. In and out.

“From Techno.”

Phil hums, pleased. “That’s good. Definitely not enough, especially for a baby like you, but it’s better.”

His heart is hammering so hard against his ribcage he doesn’t even bother to correct him.

“I’m sure Techno told you about the ball. It’s already been arranged with Schlatt. You and your friend will have ample time to reconnect, I promise.”

He doesn’t respond.

The footsteps pad over to the edge of the bed. He bites his tongue to keep from screaming as a tentative hand rests itself on his shoulder.

“Techno told me you were ready to talk. Will you at least look at me?”

No, he thinks. He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to look into the eyes of the man who ruined his life. But, slowly, and against his better judgement, he rolls onto his back. When their eyes meet, Phil’s are brimming with so much love and adoration it nearly makes him sick.

“Oh, Tommy.” Phil cups his cheeks with blissfully cool, tender hands. “I shouldn’t have left you alone for so long. I can tell you’re hurting.”

“Whose fucking fault is that?” He spits, roughly tugging his face out of Phil’s grasp.

The vampire doesn’t even have the audacity to look hurt by the action. Instead, he begins to roll up his sleeve, cuffing it at the elbow.

“What the fuck?” Tommy scrambles off the bed and into the corner of the room. It’s drafty here, cold steams of air fluttering the curtains and chilling his bare feet.

Phil holds his wrist like a white flag in Tommy’s direction. “Techno’s blood can only sustain you for so long. Your body needs more to help itself through the transition.”

“Fuck you! Don’t come near me!”

Phil tilts his head curiously. “Aren’t you starving?”

Tommy snarls at the man, pointedly ignoring the question. Techno’s blood never leaves him satisfied like Phil’s does, but it leaves his head clear. He would rather die than be forced into the sleepy contentedness Phil’s blood brings.

“Tommy, we need to talk, but I won’t do anything until you eat.”

“Fuck you.”

Phil’s eyebrows crease. “Don’t make me force you, Tommy, because I will. I will not live to see my son suffer, especially for something so easily preventable.”

Once again, Phil has backed him into a corner, both literally and figuratively. The man is clearly determined to get Tommy used to drinking blood straight from the tap, but this isn’t an action Tommy wants to get used to. Quite honestly, he’s more willing to let himself wither away from starvation than indulge himself in Phil’s sickly-sweet blood, no matter how much his body screams for him to accept what his Sire is offering.

Still, Technoblade promised him answers. If he refuses Phil now, this may be the last time he’s in the man’s good graces, and it’s debatable how willing Phil will be to give him answers once he’s crossed the line. This is no longer about morality; it’s about self-sacrifice. He can’t let this opportunity go to waste, even if it means giving some of himself up in the process.

“I hate you.” He speaks it as venomously as he can, but Phil’s gentle smile only grows larger, if that’s even possible.

“You ruined my fucking life,” he continues as he stalks back to his bed. “I fucking hate you.”

He hesitates the moment Phil’s wrist is in his grasp. At such a close vicinity, he can all but feel the blood pumping through the veins hovering just under his Sire’s skin. His brief flare of bravado from before leaves him as quickly as it came. Was he just about to willingly give himself up to Phil? What the hell is wrong with him?

“Almost there, Tommy.” Phil levels his wrist with Tommy’s mouth. “You’re doing so well.”

“Don’t patronise me, bitch.” He scowls, gripping Phil’s wrist far tighter than necessary. “I don’t need your coddling.”

Phil holds his other hand up in surrender. “Alright, then. Do what you need to. I won’t even look.”

He makes a show of dramatically turning his head and covering his eyes. There is still a coy smile on his lips as he does so, and Tommy’s scowl deepens; the bastard is clearly mocking him.

Still, it’s nice to have the eyes off him for once. He digs his growing fangs into his bottom lip as he mulls over his options. It’s just one feeding, he attempts to convince himself. Drink his fill and Phil will leave him be.

Fuck it, he thinks, and latches his mouth on Phil’s wrist.

It’s no different than any other time he’s fed from the man. The blood is thick and warm in his mouth. It tastes like every food he’s ever loved while tasting nothing like them all the same. It’s different to Technoblade’s in a way that is obvious to him after only drinking his brother’s blood for so many days, though he can’t say the difference is unbearable – just different.

His eyes flutter shut. His strength returns to him in waves, his body feeling warm in a way it hasn’t in a while. At the same time, his mind begins to grow fuzzy. He first tries to fight the way his head fills with cotton, struggling to pull away from the flow of the intoxicating liquid.

It proves futile. He drinks his fill and pulls away from Phil hazily. His Sire looks down at him reverently as he pulls his sleeve down over the wound, brushing his clean hand through the tangled mess of Tommy’s curls.

“That feel better, mate?”

He hums some minute sound of agreement before his body suddenly finds itself too heavy to sit up. He collapses into Phil’s lap with a light laugh, burying his face into the thick wool of his Sire’s sweater.

Something prods at the back of his mind. He was supposed to ask Phil something. They were supposed to be having a conversation.

A conversation about what? He sucks in a deep breath, trying to clear his head. His thoughts are jumbled, moving like sludge, and he can’t quite bring up the memory of his conversation with Technoblade earlier.

“Talk,” he slurs, digging his fist into Phil’s overcoat. “S’posed to talk.”

“Give it a second, Tommy.” Phil’s hand returns to his curls, causing Tommy’s chest to rumble in the strange affectionate way Phil’s does in his attempts to comfort the fledgling. “You’re a little out of it, mate.”

The understatement of the century, Tommy thinks, but he finds that he doesn’t mind all that much. It’s safe in his Sire’s arms. He floats in the feeling for a while, his eyes growing heavy.

Phil shakes his shoulder lightly. “Don’t sleep now, mate. We have to talk about some things when you’re more with it.”

“I’m fuck’n with it.” His voice comes out a little stronger than before. He clears his throat and tries again. “Bitch.”

Phil’s gentle laugh clears some of the fog out from behind his eyes. He shakes his head, pawing at his eyes, finally feeling the first ounce of clarity shine through the darkness.

“What the fuck is all that about?”

“What, mate?”

He pushes himself away from Phil. He sways unsteadily but refuses to fall over again. “I’m all out of it, and shit. Why the fuck does that happen?”

“Your body is just adjusting to the blood, mate. It’ll stop feeling like that eventually, but you’re trying to get used to getting sustenance out of something your body has never had to digest before. There’s an adjustment period while your body settles into it.”

He frowns. “How long?”

“For Wilbur, it took about a month or so,” Phil muses, tilting his head thoughtfully. “For Techno, it took longer. Half a year, maybe, though his situation was a different one, and I was much less experienced with raising a fledgling.”

His mouth falls open. Six months? He won’t survive if he goes fucking comatose every time he drinks from Phil for six whole months.

“That’s bullshit.”

Phil grins toothily. “Sure is, mate.”

They sit in heavy silence for a moment. Eventually, one of Phil’s hands sneaks across the bed to cover his own. Tommy suppresses the urge to rip his hand away.

“What did you want to talk about, Toms?”

Tommy scrubs his face with his hand, wincing as a droplet of leftover blood smears across his cheek. “I don’t fucking know. Everything, I guess.”

Phil nods gravely. “Everything. Alright, we can do that. Start wherever you want – I’ll answer anything.”

Anything. Tommy breathes slowly. There are a million ‘whys’ he could ask right now, a million ‘what-ifs’…

“Why?” He settles upon, voice small.

“Why what, mate?”

Tommy scowls. He supposes the question was vague. “Why did you do it? Why do you keep me here?”

Phil’s eyes grow dark. “Tommy, you know what my answer to that will be.”

He scoffs. “That’s a bullshit answer. You didn’t even know me before you turned me. You’re a bitch if you keep using love as an excuse.”

“It doesn’t matter that we didn’t know you before the turn,” Phil argues, voice rising with passion. We’ve heard the way Wilbur’s talked about you, watched you from afar, offered you gifts in your times of struggle… We’ve been in the background, and while you may not have known us, we have known you.”

“That’s a bit stalkerish, innit? Creepy fucks.”

Phil’s smile grows warmer, the coldness melting from his eyes. “If you say so, Tommy.”

The fledgling grumbles dejectedly. Of course, Phil would take an obvious insult as playful banter. The man reaches for any affection he can get from Tommy, and hell if it isn’t the most infuriating thing he’s ever experienced. Phil blatantly believes that Tommy should be enamoured with him, but it’s quite the opposite; his love – if such a thing is real – has blinded him beyond the point of recognising the problem for what it is.

If Phil knew anything about Tommy as a person, he would recognise his struggle. He wouldn’t placate the teen with lies and deception meant to calm and wouldn’t pretend that he hadn’t just ruined the teen’s life for good.

“You don’t know me,” he mumbles. He sounds like a petulant child, but some part of him lightens at the admission. “You just pretend like you know me. You don’t know shit.”

“And you’re right.” He startles. What the fuck?

Phil continues, offering his hand a gentle squeeze. “We don’t know shit about you. Techno and I haven’t had the pleasure of watching over you since childhood. We weren’t there for you in your times of need, and we should have been. However, that could change. We would like to learn about you and watch you grow under our care, if you would allow us.”

Tommy laughs wryly. “You’re lying to me. You’re all a bunch of heartless fucks. I don’t think you’re even capable of loving a person.”

Phil looks positively crestfallen. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and suddenly he looks so much older than his appearance presumes, as if every millennium of his existence crashes down on him all at once.

“Why would you think that?”

Tommy falters at his tone. “I-Wilbur… the man? I watched him kill a man in cold blood. You’re going to make me do the same, one day, when I no longer need your blood. Do you know how terrifying that is? Do you know how scared I’ve been?”

“Tommy, I-“

He finally summons the strength to rip his hand away. “Shut the fuck up! I don’t want any more of your excuses! You haven’t listened to a single word I’ve said since I fucking got here! You don’t care that I’m scared, that I’m hurting, and you refuse to apologise for all the shit you’ve put me through. Do you think I wanted this? I’ve hated myself every single day since you’ve turned me, and you couldn’t care less about it!”

He pushes away from the bed, antsy in his anger, and begins to pace. When he chuckles, it holds no humour. “I remember a time when vampires were just urban legends to me. Hell, at least some of the fairy tales got you right! You’re all cold, heartless monsters who care of nothing but the kill, and you take fucking pleasure in it! Humanity fears your kind – especially Tubbo and I after what happened to our parents! Have you thought of that? Who the fuck are you to believe that I would accept you turning me into one of those creatures without even an ounce of consent?”

He stops his pacing in front of the fireplace. Phil is still on the bed, frozen, his skin paler than Tommy’s ever seen it before. His mouth moves but produces no sound.

“What?” He yells, and almost flinches back at the volume. When had he started yelling? “Scared to hear the truth? Thought I was going to be docile, huh?”

“Never,” Phil whispers, and it’s enough to calm Tommy’s tirade for a moment.

His throat closes up, hoarse from the yelling. “Then why don’t you fucking listen to me?”

There are tears in his eyes. He furiously bats them away with the hem of his sleeve, swallowing roughly to ward away the rising sobs. This is near the angriest he’s ever been in his life. His face feels hot, and the world tilts dangerously.

He falls roughly to his knees, choking out a small, pained sound. The tears dampen his sleeve, and suddenly he can’t hold back the sobs. He cries pitifully on the floor while Phil remains still on the bed, and for once, he wishes the man would fucking do something.

“I’m all alone here!” He sobs, punching the floor angrily. “You kidnapped me and now I’m fucking alone!”

“No! No, no, you’re not alone, love.” Phil repeats this like a prayer as he finally returns to himself. He falls to the floor at Tommy’s side and envelops the fledgling in his coat, damn near squishing the life out of him with the force of the hug. “You’re never alone. You’ll never be alone again.”

“Don’t you fucking touch me!” Tommy screams and sobs, clawing at Phil’s coat and shoving the man’s chest. “I fucking hate you! Get the fuck away from me!”

Phil only holds him tighter, his arms like a vice around the flailing teen. Tommy screams and fights until he physically can’t, his arms and throat burning as tears sting his cheeks. He fights until his arms give out and his voice goes hoarse, and slumps into the embrace with a defeated wail.

He can hardly cry real tears anymore. It’s more so wet sniffles and cry coughing and shaking like a leaf as Phil gently sways them on the floor. The man is crying, too, he realises belatedly. The hair at the crown of his head is damp, and when Phil inhales – something he doesn’t do often – it is shaky and wet.

“I’m sorry, Tommy.” Phil’s voice cracks pathetically as he runs a quivering hand through Tommy’s hair. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“This is all your fault,” he chokes out, voice rough. “I fucking hate you.”

“I know, Tommy, I know.”

Chapter Text

Phil gives him some space after the argument, and Technoblade almost immediately resumes his position in the armchair as if nothing ever happened, dutifully ignoring the daggers Tommy shoots in his direction for the rest of the evening.

The young vampire is inconsolable, the tears a constant stream even as the hours wear on. Whatever upper hand he had on the vampires has vanished into thin air. He saw the way Phil looked at him as he was leaving; if anything, Tommy’s breakdown – his show of weakness – has only solidified Phil’s resolve to absorb him into their little family dynamic. It’s as terrifying as it is comforting to that little traitorous part of himself, and he fears for what the future holds.

Still, it is just the tiniest bit relieving to have it all laid bare.

He’s spent weeks – months, even – trapped inside his own head with only Technoblade’s occasional company as an outlet, and while he’s never been the most vocal person about his emotions, it still feels like a heavy weight’s been taken off his chest. God, how weak he’s become, finding so much comfort in the comradery of the enemy. The sting of failure is a painful reminder of how far he’s fallen.

The Tommy of before would take that resentment, that fear, that hatred, and build himself up stronger. He’s always been stubborn. He takes his failures with good stride, never allowing himself to succumb to his losses. It’s what’s kept him alive all these years, through all his close scrapes and times of great need. It’s what’s kept food on their table and kindling in their fireplace and a snug roof over their heads.

His stubborn nature is a second skin he is all too happy to don, but it seems this isn’t the kind of environment where such a persona would thrive. He no longer must fight to survive the day. Never again will he slip away from another close encounter with a vampire in some shady district of the city, nor will he ever go hungry, if Phil has anything to say about it. All that’s kept him alive over the years no longer has an outlet, and like a fire without a spark, that part of him will die if he doesn’t tend to it carefully.

Fuck. He has to get out of here.

He doesn’t want to see himself turned, transformed, morphed into something even he can’t recognise, and he can only wonder… what the hell were Wilbur and Technoblade like before all this? The former is hundreds of years old, the latter thousands. They seem normal enough on the outside. Technoblade likes his reading, Wilbur likes his music, both parties holding classical literature and poetry to high esteem (not surprising, considering their age).

Were they any different before they were turned? Has vampirism sucked all the humanity out of them like Tommy assumed it would? Have they lost all their empathy, their morality, and if so, when? It’s been weeks and Tommy still feels normal, albeit plagued with conflicting instincts. When will he snap?

Will he snap?

He’s spent all this time so focused on the what ifs, mapping out his future through the lens of one who’s only been a vampire for a few months at most, that he hasn’t viewed the bigger picture. He’s constructed a terrifying future of corruption, of murder, of forgetting all that makes him human, and yeah - it’s a terrifying prospect, but what truth is it based in?

What is more terrifying to him now is the possibility that he’s got it all wrong.

What if, past the murder and his terrifying ability to bend people to his will with nothing but a word, Wilbur is still the person Tommy’s looked up to for all these years? What if the moments they shared were genuine, the gentle smiles weren’t a ploy, and his promises of a better future weren’t manipulation?

What if, past his gruff exterior and terrifying strength, Technoblade is just a misplaced warrior, a poet, and a socially awkward man who’s lived through war and famine and death and still remains to tell the tale? Hell, even Tommy would be changed if he had to experience thousands of years of humanity. The prospect of trying to adjust as society changes around you while you stay forever the same… he shudders thinking about it.

And what if, despite the terrifying, excruciating pain Phil put him through, he still has Tommy’s best interests at heart? What if Phil truly, genuinely believes this is the right path for him, and that the best way to keep Tommy safe is by keeping him close, regardless of how much the boy protests? Phil has lived longer than Tommy could ever fathom. Millenia of experience, of seeing all the world has to offer, and still choosing this life for Tommy despite the sacrifices he must make to do so…

Despite it all, Tommy is just a teenager.

He laughs wryly to himself and scrubs the tears from his cheeks. His face feels tight, dry from the salt of his crying, but his breaths come easier now. It’s a tough realisation to stomach, understanding how insignificant his time on this planet is compared to the vampires who have taken him in, but there is still relief in the thought all the same.

Technoblade’s eyes peer over the lip of his book. Tommy levels his stare.

“The fuck are you looking at, bitch?”

He grins at the baffled look Technoblade shoots him. “Theseus, you went from crying to laughing in the span of, like, five minutes. Forgive me for being concerned.”

“I’m alright.” Tommy lets out a slow breath, his eyes locking onto the small black box resting unassumingly on the table next to Techno’s chair.

It’s a split-second decision, but something tells him it’s the right one. He points to it. “That. Give me that.”

Bafflement fades to bewilderment. Techno picks up the jewellery box, looking far more unsteady than Tommy’s ever seen him. “This?”

He doesn’t answer, instead gesturing more frantically to the box. Techno sets down his book shakily before passing it to him, wariness evident in all of his calculated movements.

The emerald gleams dully at him when he opens it up and takes out the necklace. There are smaller gems interwoven into the chain that he didn’t see before, and for a necklace carrying the weight of so many precious gems, it isn’t as heavy as he expected it to be. He cautiously undoes the clasp in the back, feeling the heavy gaze of Technoblade on him as he attempts to latch it behind his head.

The struggle proves futile. Techno is quick to help him, deft fingers securing the necklace around his neck. It’s a strange weight, but not uncomfortable; he toys with the metal around the emerald, letting it cool his palm, memorising the texture and the indentations. There is something so undeniably right about the presence of the jewellery in a way he can’t really describe, but from the way Techno’s pupils have expanded so much that they nearly block out the red of his irises, he’s sure the feeling is mutual.

The man’s mouth seems to stumble around the words for a moment before he finally tears his eyes away from the green gem, meeting Tommy’s gaze in an almost frantic way. “Theseus… why?”

Tommy shrugs nonchalantly. It would be impossible to put words to the feeling behind his actions even if he tried. A part of him wants to say this is all part of the act, another way to trick the trust out of the vampires, but for once, this logical part is quenched by an overwhelming surge of something he can’t explain. It isn’t pure, baby vampire induced instincts… no, it’s something else – a mixture of himself and the parasitical vampire part of himself he’s tried so hard to separate from. He’s never felt the two halves coincide in such a harmonious way before now, and it’s surprisingly… pleasant.

But then there’s something else. It begins as a whisper he can barely hear, like a voice carried on the wind. He strains to hear more, brows furrowing as he scans the room for the source of the mysterious noise, but it’s as empty as ever – apart from him and the Blade, that is.

The room is silent for a moment, and Tommy’s almost disappointed that the strange sound has vanished, before it begins again, louder this time. The whispers begin to form words – unintelligible, but with a form and rhyme he knows he should be familiar with yet can’t understand. He eyes Techno warily, expecting a prank, but the man hasn’t yet moved, still frozen in some state of shock.

And then, uttered so quietly he can hardly make it out, “Theseus?”

Tommy hardly has the time to gasp in shock before the floodgates open.

It’s a million sounds, a million voices, a million emotions that aren’t his, all taking up space in the mind that used to be just his own. He clenches his eyes shut against the barrage, whimpering in fear as he is assaulted with a string of Theseus, love, love, fledgling, pride, love. The presences are familiar and unfamiliar at the same time, and while he can recognise that these are the voices of his coven and not some random entities, it terrifies him all the same.

He clamps hands over his ears, and somewhere through the mayhem, he can hear himself screaming for it to stop. A heavy weight drapes over his shoulders, and somewhere through the haze Technoblade wraps his massive arms around him. The man gingerly peels Tommy’s hands away from his ears and tucks them to his chest, rocking him gently in a way he feels should be comforting. It’s oddly grounding, and after what feels like hours of constant overstimulation, the sound of Techno’s voice overpowers the whispers in his mind, and he relaxes against the hold.

The voices are still present, but they’ve quieted from excited whispers to vague impressions of feelings, as if his coven mates are holding back. It’s no less off-putting, however, and his entire body shakes with the exertion of holding back the panic that threatens to consume him again.

“You’re alright, Theseus.” Technoblade murmurs into his hair, shifting the teen into a more comfortable position on his lap. “It’s just Phil and Wilbur. They’re trying to pull back, but it’s not often they’re forced to shield themselves like this.”

“What the fuck was that?” Tommy chokes out, his throat still raw from screaming.

“That was our coven bond, for lack of a better word.” The elder vampire chuckles without humour, carding a clawed hand through Tommy’s hair. “It took you an awfully long time to develop it – Phil was starting to get worried.”

Tommy strains against the hold, fighting the urge to positively claw his ears off. “How the fuck do I make it stop? How do I make it quiet again?”

Technoblade hums, his chest vibrating in an oddly comforting way. “It will take time, but you’ll learn to block them. For now, we’ll try to keep the bond as quiet as possible.”

Techno stays true to his word. Within moments, the hum quiets to near-silence, and Tommy can breathe again.

He blinks a few times, trying to adjust to the sudden silence. “Why did that just happen? Why now? Why so late?”

“Truly, I couldn’t tell you. Normally, the bond is solidified in the first days following the changing, but you were a… special case, as always.” Tommy can’t see his expression, but he senses the man’s lips turning up. “It’s good to know you finally trust me, Theseus.”

Tommy splutters and shoves out of the embrace, ignoring the way his mind immediately rebels against the action.

“I don’t trust anyone, bitch,” he hisses, “least of all, any of you fucks. You’re full of shit, Technoblade.”

“Says the one wearing my necklace,” Techno quips back. “I’ve been meaning to make you something different, by the way. Phil was really fond of the silver, but I’m more of a gold guy, myself. I think you’d do nicely with a gold earring – my treat.”

Tommy sucks in a shallow breath. “You want to pierce my ears?”

Techno’s grin sharpens, a clawed finger moving to rest over his ear lobe. “Been plannin’ on it since the moment I saw you. Don’t worry; I’ll be gentle.”

Before Tommy can send himself into another panic attack, Techno removes the hand from his ear.

“Don’t worry, Theseus.” He resumes his petting, his chest vibrating in the weird way it does when he’s content. “That won’t be for a little while. I need to make the earrings first, which is fairly hard to do when I spend half my time here with you.”

Tommy puffs out his lip, crossing his arms as well as he can pressed against Techno’s chest so tightly. “I’m not going to let you pierce my ears.” He means to sound threatening, but Techno’s anything-but-threatened chuckle proves he’s fallen short.

“That’s not a decision for you to make, young one. The necklace was meant to be temporary. A piercing, however, is more permanent, and I think you know how fond our family is of permanence.”

“I’ll rip it out,” he threatens. “I don’t care if it rips my ears. I’ll rip it out and I’ll throw it in the fireplace, and then I’ll burn your stupid fucking necklace.”

The mood shift is so sudden and severe it leaves Tommy reeling. Technoblade holds him at arm’s length, his eyes molten and enraged in the flickering firelight, and suddenly, Tommy is reminded why he was terrified of the man in the first place.

“Self-harm is not going to be tolerated anymore,” Techno warns, his voice gravelly. “That means no drowning yourself, no burning yourself, no ripping out your earrings, and especially, no starving yourself. Phil’s been incredibly lenient with you so far, but even he has his limits. We will not see our baby brother suffer for such petulant reasons, especially not for things so easily preventable. Do you understand?”

He nods frantically, forcing down tears. It’s both humiliating and terrifying being berated by a coven mate, especially Technoblade, who’s been nothing but civil with him these past weeks. This is the last man he’d expected to be weirdly possessive, but it’s clear Techno is privy to the same instincts as the other two.

When Techno moves to hug him again, Tommy remains stiff, his insides ice cold. This coven bond has just thrown another wrench in his escape plans, this one far more terrifying and confusing than the rest. Much to Tommy’s absolute horror, this bond feels permanent. How long would it take his coven to know if he’d escaped?

Considering how much privacy he now possesses in his own head, not long.

He burrows his face into Techno’s poet shirt, desperately trying to stave off the tears. His hope for escape seems bleaker and bleaker by the day. He’s going to need a miracle to get out of this mess, and quickly.

Chapter Text

Preparations for the ball take far more work than Tubbo ever could have imagined.

Schlatt hasn’t sat down for a moment since the invitations went out, spending most of his days barking at the servants as they dress up the manor for the event. Already, the vast property is bathed in all sorts of extravagance, from the red silk tapestries decorating the ballroom to the thousand golden candelabras lining the walls of the entryway. Even the front gardens have been pruned to perfection, and the delicate scent of sweet summer flowers wafts through the halls day and night.

Every morning, a different human servant is sent up to Tubbo’s room to dress him for the occasion. From patternmakers to tailers to cobblers, it seems like every textile worker in the city has put their input into Tubbo’s outfit. He can admit, it all feels a little overboard, but Schlatt’s pleased grin at seeing his ward dressed up so lavishly makes the boring afternoons worthwhile.

“This ball is for you, kid,” Schlatt reminds him after a particularly long session in the fitting room. The elder vampire rests his chin on Tubbo’s head and sucks in a long, slow breath. “It’s going to be a lot, but I’m going to make sure you have a good time.”

Tubbo grins sadly. “Tommy’s going to be here. How could I have a bad time?”

Schlatt sighs and pulls away. This is an argument they’ve repeated near-daily since he announced the move. “I know you’re bummed about moving away from the kid, but Phil and I made a promise that you two wouldn’t be permanently separated. You’re going to see him again.”

“But it may take years! By the time I see him next, I’ll have started sounding like an American!” The thought gives him pause, a peculiar chill settling in the cavity where his heart used to beat. “I hate that almost more than I hate leaving him behind, I think.”

Schlatt snorts. “Chin up, kid – you're acting like that’s a bad thing! There’s lots to love about being an American, you’ll see.”

Tubbo shakes his head slowly, but it’s light-hearted. The thought of sounding American is stranger than it is distressing. He supposes he doesn’t hate Schlatt’s accent; it’s slightly nasally and rough around the edges with a very distinct lilt that his Sire claims comes from his New York ancestry, but there’s something very warm about the way Americans speak that Tubbo sort of likes. God, Tommy will bully the shit out of him if he comes home sounding like a Yank.

He shudders. Tubbo simply won’t allow that to happen.

. . . . . . . . . . .

Tommy wants to claw his eyes out.

Phil’s spent the last day and a half meticulously fussing over his outfit for the ball, adjusting and readjusting the emerald green waistcoat and hemming his matching trousers. He’s like a mother bird, with the way he frets over every last detail of this event.

Evidently, the other two have gotten the same treatment. More than once, Techno’s come into his room with a pleading look on his face and some half-finished garment draped over his figure before Phil drags him back into his bedroom to finish the modifications. Seeing the desperation on Technoblade’s face is quite honestly one of the funniest things Tommy’s ever seen in his life, and he has a half a mind to follow the sounds of fervent complaining to watch the whole ordeal play out in real time, but Phil is adamant that he stays in his own room and let him work his magic.

Being alone is a strange feeling, one that he can’t say he likes. There’s a strange vulnerability to being without one of his coven mates in the room with him. The silence is deafening, lacking even the sounds of his heart beating or the soft breaths that are becoming more and more optional by the day.

The coven bond is no more than a hum in the back of his head. He almost wishes he had the soft voices of his coven to dispel the quiet, but he has no idea how to ask. The bond is new, unfiltered, and entirely uncontrolled. He worries that trying to tap into the new power would unleash a storm of something he would have no idea to fix, and the idea of being overwhelmed by the initial surge of voices is terrifying.

Soft footsteps echo in the hall outside his door, and Tommy has to bite back his grin. Finally, some company!

“Phil still bothering you, Techno?” He quips, leaning back into the sheets of the bed as he awaits Techno’s frazzled visage peering around the doorframe.

No response. He sits up uneasily as the footsteps grow closer. “Techno?”

It isn’t Technoblade who materialises out of the darkness. His body grows cold.

“Wilbur?”

The man stands awkwardly in the doorframe, fiddling with the frilly hem of a ridiculous waistcoat Phil must have forced him into. He attempts a half smile, but it falls flat.

Tommy watches him numbly, for once stunned into silence.

“Hey, Toms.” Wilbur moves to step into the room but pauses at Tommy’s immediate flinch. The silence goes from deafening to uncomfortably heavy as he stiffly shuffles back.

“I- can I come in?”

The words hardly register, but Tommy nods curtly regardless, ignoring the way his entire body freezes up as Wilbur crosses the threshold. This is a conversation that had to happen, he reminds himself. It is either now or in the carriage on the way to Schlatt’s. There is no avoiding Wilbur forever, even if he desperately wishes to.

Wilbur hovers around Techno’s chair, eyeing the discarded book laying on the cushion. His lips quirk up. “The Iliad. Typical.”

“What the fuck do you want, Wilbur?” He grits out.

His pseudo-brother has the audacity to look ashamed as he gently closes the door behind him.

“We should talk, Tommy.”

Tommy clenches his jaw. “I don’t have anything to say to you, Wilbur.”

Wilbur lets out a sharp breath through his nose. “Okay, let me rephrase. I have some things I wanted to tell you. Listen or don’t – I don’t care. I just wanted to get this off my chest.”

Tommy regards him coldly as Wilbur settles into Techno’s chair. Admittedly, the man looks worse for wear. If a vampire could ever be described as exhausted looking, despite their lack of a need to sleep, Wilbur would fit the bill perfectly.

“You look fucking awful,” he comments offhandedly.

Wilbur’s eyes brighten minutely, and Tommy scowls, regretting the words as soon as they come out of his mouth. If their situation was any different, it would almost sound like their playful banter from before. He refuses to let Wilbur have even a single smidgeon of hope that their relationship can be repaired – not after what Wilbur did to him.

“I regret what I did, Tommy,” Wilbur begins lowly, “but you have to understand my reasoning. Your life was in considerable danger. If we saw any other way to keep you alive, we would have tried our damndest to pursue that option first.”

Tommy rolls his eyes. “So, to keep me alive, you decided to kill me? I’m a walking fucking corpse, Wilbur.”

“You already know my opinion on the changing, Tommy. I didn’t understand it at first, either, but I’ve accepted that it was a necessity.”

Through the vague impression of the coven bond at the back of his mind, Tommy senses an air of truth to Wilbur’s ramblings. He sees an image – grainy and sort of blurry, as if Wilbur is struggling to recall it completely – flit across his subconscious.

“Is that… you?” He closes his eyes, struggling to see the image clearer.

“It was,” Wilbur confirms disdainfully. “I was young – maybe 19 or 20 when Phil found me. My family came from wealth, but my father was a greedy man. He left my mother for a woman in Spain and took with him all that we owned.”

He sighs and shakes his head slowly. “We were homeless for a while. I worked odd jobs to feed us, but the winter came quickly, and my brothers were very young. They got sick one day and never woke up.”

Tommy’s mouth falls open. He sees through Wilbur’s eyes two young boys, ash-grey and huddled together under a threadbare blanket. Snow dusts their eyelashes and noses and freezes on their lips. No breath melts the ice that forms on their cheeks.

“I would have followed them soon after if it wasn’t for Phil. He found me on a corner begging for food, for money, for work… I suppose he took pity on me, saw my potential, because he swooped me up and changed me that very night.”

When Wilbur smiles, his fangs catch the light of the fireplace. Tommy feels no regret or sadness from him, even as he recalls the traumas of his brief human life.

“I’m not like you,” Tommy decides. “You might not have had a life ahead of you, but I did. Tubbo and I did.”

Wilbur shrugs. “Perhaps. But you would have been on the run, and we wouldn’t have been able to protect you. Tubbo would have died, or you would have died, and then what? Is a life in fear really a life at all?”

Tommy huffs petulantly. Wilbur is a master of manipulation, he reminds himself. All of his words are meant to sound velvety and enticing. Even if he makes a fair point, Tommy can’t allow himself to agree with the monster.

He levels Wilbur with a cold glare. “Are you done?”

Wilbur bites his lip, the pointed fangs leaving behind two glistening indents. “No, not exactly. I… I wanted to apologise for that night.”

A chill runs through his body at the memory. As in his nightmares, he sees Wilbur, in all his terrible glory, standing over the body of the dying man with blood on his lips and chin. He can still picture the knife dug into the man’s jugular, can still feel the horror at the realization of just how powerful Wilbur’s ability really is.

Wilbur’s frown deepens. His presence pokes at Tommy’s mind, glossing over the memories, feeling every second of his pain, his desperation… and then his presence withdraws completely.

Wilbur looks stricken. “I could never feel that before. If I had known…”

The two of them sit in silence for a moment. Tommy breathes lightly, the impression of a racing heart setting his nerves alight.

Eventually, Wilbur shifts forward in his chair. The creaking makes Tommy nearly jump out of his skin in surprise.

“When you’ve lived as long as we have, you start to forget. First you forget your childhood, as most adults do. You forget what your parents were like, what schools you attended, your first job.” He pauses, eyes downcast. “Your first love.”

Tommy’s brows furrow, a question on the tip of his tongue, but Wilbur continues before he can cut in.

“Centuries pass. The town you grew up in disappears, as do the graves of the loved ones you swore you’d never forget but lost anyways. You have to relearn English because you speak like you’re from another time, and people begin to get suspicious. You can never settle down in one place for too long or rumours begin to spread.

“The guilt, you lose quite quickly. Once you live long enough, you begin to feel yourself drifting away from humanity. Their values, their beliefs, their morals… none of that matters to an immortal.”

“I’ll never be like that,” Tommy argues.

“Oh, yes you will.” Wilbur’s eyes glint dangerously. “I told myself I would never kill a living being; unlike most of my early turning, I remember this distinctly. But I grew up in a time of war and famine, and I saw corruption take many forms. Humans, unlike our kind, lack loyalty. They lack respect. They are selfish and greedy and uncaring.”

Tommy shoots a finger at Wilbur’s chest. “Not all of them! You can’t generalize an entire species like that!”

Wilbur tilts his head curiously. “Do they not do the same to us? In New York, a special unit of the police is dedicated to the extermination of our kind. In Istanbul, citizens must be tested for ‘vampirism’ before they can begin work, or get a passport, or hold public office.”

“Because you kill people!” Tommy shrieks. “Vampires are a biological enemy to humans. Of course, they’re scared of you!”

“We could live in harmony, if only they’d allow us. Humans donate to each other plasma and vital organs – so why not blood?”

“It’s not…” Tommy fumbles for the words. “It’s not the same, okay?”

Wilbur sucks in another unnecessary, steadying breath. “Regardless, what I did was wrong. I won’t lie, I only did it out of jealousy of Technoblade.”

Tommy laughs out loud despite himself. “You fucking what?”

Wilbur grumbles abashedly. “I sensed you were angry with me because of the turning, because of what I had to do to get you to come here. I lied to you and to Tubbo, and I’m sorry for that. But you were so enamoured with Technoblade and his abilities… I was worried I was going to lose you, which,” he sighs dramatically, “I suppose I did.”

“That was your own fault,” Tommy spits back.

“I know that now. I never wanted you to be afraid of me, Tommy.”

“Well, you did a damn good job of that, didn’t you?”

Wilbur’s jaw clicks shut. “Tommy, I’m trying to extend an olive branch here. Is there anything I can do to make this up to you – to make you trust me again?”

Tommy considers it for a moment. Almost subconsciously, he opens himself back up to the coven bond, feeling waves of unadulterated remorse wafting from Wilbur like a physical presence. He thinks back to the many years of knowing Wilbur: to the quiet days sitting on the front porch with a warm summer’s breeze ruffling their hair, the meals shared on cold winter’s nights, the gifts exchanged every time Wilbur came to town…

He considers Tubbo, and his friend’s undying trust in Wilbur’s good intentions. Is Tubbo having the same reservations with his own Sire? What would Tubbo say if he could see him now?

“I’ll consider it,” he finally decides, “but only after I talk to Tubbo.”

The relief that pours over the bond is overwhelming.

“Thank you, Tommy,” Wilbur says with an elated grin. “I promise, I’ll make this all up to you somehow.”

As he turns for the door, he offers Tommy one last, grateful smile, before slipping out into the darkening hallway.