Chapter Text
☼
Now, Tommy didn’t mean to destroy his living room. It just happened.
Really, it was Tubbo’s fault. He was the one who dared Ranboo to light up a firework inside his house. Then the food fight occurred naturally and the smashed vase was an accident. It wasn’t the type of late hangout Tommy expected to have with his dad out for work. And judging by the anger on Phil’s face when he came back home to the mess, he didn’t expect it either.
He seemed more tired than angry though. Maybe because Phil had driven from an eight-hour shift in the hospital. Hours he desperately needed to keep the house and family afloat. Hours now disrupted.
“Tommy, please, I just...” Phil trailed off, voice breaking into exhaustion. Tommy sat on the sofa, arms crossed. “I just need to trust that you’ll be safe when I have night shifts.”
“I am safe!”
“This isn’t safe!” Phil yelled back. His eyebrows scrunched up with such concern that guilt dropped in Tommy’s stomach. “Do you know how worried I was when the neighbours called? And then you weren’t answering your phone. I thought- I thought you were in danger.”
He bit on his cheek. His eyes dipped to the floor, he couldn’t handle looking at Phil right now. Because then he’d feel even worse. He stressed Phil enough, with existing and everything—being a single father of a trouble-born child wasn’t easy. Now there was this. Taking him away from work, making him think that he was hurt.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, hoping for the pricking itch in his eyes to leave.
“Sorry isn’t going to cut it this time, Tommy,” Phil sighed.
He rubbed his eyes harshly, then gazed up at his father. He didn’t mean to do this, to be such a problem. But no matter how hard he tried, he always did something to fuck up.
“I don’t trust you being alone in this house when I’m gone for the night.”
“Dad—”
“Tommy,” he said shortly. Silence hit them both. “I’ll figure something out, maybe get you a babysitter.”
“But—”
“That’s enough,” Phil stated, stunning Tommy back into his silence. “You’re a kid, okay, you’ll do stupid things, I’m not mad at you for that, but this is serious. I need to know you’re okay when I’m not here.”
He knew it came from a place of concern, love and wanting his son to be safe. But a babysitter. He wanted to show his dad he was responsible, that he could even pick up a job to help cut a couple of hours off Phil’s shifts. Yet now that entire idea just went down the drain. All because he was a stupid kid.
Phil made a face at him, fatigue in the creases. Then he walked closer and put his hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “It’s more for my peace of mind, Toms.”
He glared up at him, light-hearted this time because his father knew what that nickname did to him.
“Fine,” he grumbled, making Phil’s face ease up and smile a little. His gaze parted to look at the current mess of the living room. “Can you help me clean this up though?”
“You little shit—”
Phil still helped him. It was tense between them up until Tommy slipped over some of the food leftovers on the floor, his dad laughing at him rather than helping him up. Then another food fight happened. More mess to clean up but Tommy would do it on his own; at least this mess made his father laugh.
“I’m getting your desserts today,” Tommy said, taking them off Tubbo and Ranboo’s plates.
“Hey!” they both exclaimed but Tommy brought his lunch tray closer to his chest.
“You two are the reason I have a babysitter tonight at fourteen years old. I deserve more biscuits.”
“I’m just saying Ranboo lit up the fireworks I brought round,” Tubbo said and Tommy ignored him as the two had another argument over who was actually responsible for the damage in the living room.
He knew who really was responsible, anyway. It was himself. It was his house, his hangout. His impulsive decision to encourage them because it seemed fun. And he hadn’t had that in a while. Not since Phil started working more hours, no longer being there for their family dinners or late nights on the sofa watching their favourite shows.
“Who’s babysitting you?” Ranboo asked after he had finished his argument with Tubbo by kicking him under the table until he shut up.
“Someone called Techno.”
Tubbo spat out his rice. “Technoblade? As in, reigning champion of the wrestling team Techno? Like the guy who once threw someone in the bins? And then made a year seven cry?”
Tommy frowned. The Techno Tubbo described sat a few tables away from them with his friend, William or something.
“I doubt it’s the same Techno.”
Ranboo blinked at him. “Who else do you know is called Techno?”
“Well, maybe someone wanted to name their son after a music genre.”
“Do you hear yourself?” Tubbo interrupted then pointed at the pair of sixth formers. “That is your babysitter.”
“If he’s my babysitter, I think I’ll end up in some Medieval torture device by the end of the night.”
“That or have a really cool hairstyle,” Ranboo said. “Maybe he’ll dye it pink for you.”
“Literally shut up,” he grumbled as he stuffed the two biscuits into his mouth.
For the rest of the day, Tommy noticed Techno and his friend everywhere. In the canteen as he walked from class to class, underneath the stairs, and in the courtyard when he looked outside his maths room window. The William friend—or was it Wilbur?—had sunglasses on despite it being late September and cloudy outside. A cigarette laid in between his two fingers as another sixth former spoke to him. Schlatt. The guy who had resat his last year like twenty times. Enough times to have full facial hair and probably a wife and kids at home.
The three were talking. Well, it was more Wilbur and Schlatt shouting at each other whilst Techno scrolled on his phone. Tommy watched their dispute, how Wilbur pushed Schlatt away before tugging Techno along. Then a face turned to him. Schlatt stared up from the courtyard and he swore those eyes flashed red for a second.
He snapped his gaze back to his incomplete equations sheet, heartbeat racing. That racing feeling, adrenaline on a loose thread, stayed with him until the evening. Tommy sat on his desk chair in his room, waiting for the doorbell to ring. He could hear Phil pacing downstairs, something about how Techno was late.
As Tommy closed another tab, noises came from outside. It sounded like two cats fighting, with hissing and yelps. Then a thud occurred right below his window. Followed by the doorbell being rung insistently.
He walked downstairs to see someone other than Technoblade at the door. It was his friend, Wilbur. No sunglasses this time. Though, he had leaves in his hair and mud on his clothes.
“Hi, sorry, Techno couldn’t make it so he sent me instead. I’m Wilbur,” he stayed outside on the patio for some reason.
“Oh, thank you for replacing him, come in,” Phil said, gesturing him inside. Wilbur grimly smiled and stepped over the doorsill.
Tommy leaned against the bannister, aimlessly glaring at Wilbur as his dad explained the rules and everything of the house. How Tommy wasn’t allowed sugar past a certain hour, or access to any open flames, or the silverware draw or—you get the point. Wilbur nodded along to it all yet his mind seemed somewhere else.
“You’re bleeding,” Phil suddenly said, cutting off his rant about how Tommy wasn’t allowed to watch anything X-rated either no matter how much he whined about it.
Wilbur had an open gash on his arm but there was no blood coming out of it or even dried blood on his skin.
“It’s fine!” Wilbur exclaimed, eyes wide. He pulled down his sleeve. “It’s all fine, I tripped on the way here.”
“If you say so, there’s plasters upstairs if you need one.” Phil then continued with his rules rant. “Anyway, I best be off,” he patted Tommy on the shoulder, despite the scowl thrown his way for getting him a babysitter, and left.
Once the door shut, Wilbur turned to face him.
“You’re like a whole ass teenager, why am I here?”
“I’m a safety hazard.”
“To whom?”
“Myself.”
Wilbur’s eyes scaled up and down him, then he nodded. “I see it, fair enough.”
“What the fuck does that mean—”
“Is there any way you can just chill here by yourself until the last hour so I can check up on my friend? Techno normally doesn’t bail on stuff like this. And he doesn’t text in lowercase either, which is strange.”
Tommy scowled at him. This weirdo who wore sunglasses inside and out during September, smoked like six packs of cigarettes a day in non-smoking areas, and came to school in the same pair of trousers every day.
“No,” he said with crossed arms. “My dad is paying you to look after me so you’ll stay here.”
“My friend could be dying right now and—”
“And unless I come with you, you’re not leaving.”
Wilbur sighed loudly. “Nevermind then, do you have a bathroom?”
Tommy pointed at it and Wilbur sped off. Like literally. He moved a little too fast for someone just wanting to go to the bathroom. He took his time in there, like more than ten minutes, which Tommy understood maybe he’d need the time if he was taking a shit, but the guy was talking to himself.
Frowning, he pushed open the door. Wilbur immediately screamed.
“Dude, what the fuck?” he yelped as he dropped his phone. As Wilbur reached down to grab it, as he stood up straight, Tommy gaped at him.
He didn’t have a reflection in the bathroom mirror.
There was no back of Wilbur’s head reflected. It kept flickering, fading in between transparency.
“Um, sorry!” Tommy slammed the door shut. The racing feeling was back, adrenaline no longer on a loose thread but a whole rope.
Without another thought, Tommy hurried into the kitchen and grabbed the scissors from the knife rack. Yet, in his haste, he cut the side of his index finger on the open blade.
The bathroom door opened and Wilbur pocketed his phone. He looked normal, normal for someone who didn't have a fucking reflection. But then his gaze hounded on Tommy, his nostrils flaring.
“Are you bleeding?” Wilbur asked, voice strained. His eyes were weird. Darker than usual. Wider too.
Tommy kept his hands behind his back. “No, nope, I totally didn’t slice my finger on a pair of scissors—”
“I’m going to go outside for a smoke.” Wilbur rushed out, holding his hand over his mouth as he did.
Tommy stood clutching his bleeding hand, confused. First, his babysitter didn’t show up in the mirror and now he was indulging his nicotine addiction because of a tiny cut. After he ran his finger under the cold water tap for a bit, Tommy followed Wilbur. His eyebrows furrowed at the emptiness outside, he’d assumed Wilbur would smoke with his back rested against the house.
He continued to walk around until he stopped at the alleyway leading uphill. There was a figure at the end, hidden in between two cardboard boxes. Their back hunched, kneeling over on the floor. Tommy crept closer and felt his face drain of blood.
It was Wilbur.
But not just Wilbur. It was Wilbur currently fangs-deep into a dead rat. Yes, fangs.
Tommy screeched and ran off, hoping he made no noise as he raced back inside. He struggled to breathe as his back rested against the wall. Gasping for air. Because that couldn’t be real.
He grabbed his phone, hands shaking as he typed.
A Trio That Will Last [REAL]
Tommy: help hel help help me help me oh my fucking god code red. Im gonna fuckng die
Ranboo: What?
Tommy: my babysitter is a fucking vampire
Tubbo: ok? Lol
Tommy: FUCKING HEKLP ME??? COME OVER?????
Ranboo: here WikiHow.com
Tommy whimpered and closed his phone. Of course no one would take him seriously. Vampires didn’t exist. People reflected in mirrors, people didn’t have massive fangs and eat rodents. He was going to die in his own home and wouldn’t be able to even say goodbye to his dad. He would die at fourteen. Ripped apart in a kitchen he spent hours making dinners in with his father.
Panicked, Tommy looked all over his kitchen for anything to help him.
Vampires didn’t like silver. Or iron. Or metal something. He grabbed a knife from his dad’s silverware collection and clutched it behind his back.
The backdoor opened. Tommy jumped away from it. Wilbur walked in.
“You know, don’t you?” he said, voice raspy.
Tommy took a step back, holding the hidden knife tighter.
“I know?”
Wilbur rolled his eyes. “You saw me, you’re not subtle and neither is your racing heartbeat.”
He shoved the knife in front of him, gaining distance from Wilbur. “If you try to eat me, I’ll stab you.”
His chest burned as Wilbur walked toward him.
“I’m not gonna eat you.”
“Okay, if you bite me, I’ll—”
“I’m not gonna do that either.”
“Then stop fucking walking closer!” he held the knife up, hand trembling around the silver.
He needed Wilbur to stay away because this was too much. He couldn’t breathe, everything in his skin telling him to run yet his feet stayed stuck to the floor. Petrified that his heart was beating too fast, that it’d explode and kill him.
Wilbur’s eyes tracked down to the blade and then to Tommy’s face. It didn’t change. Nothing in his dead expression changed. His eyes were back to that light brown colour, face not as pale but still too lifeless to be healthy. In fact, he seemed amused. But darkly amused.
The vampire stopped right in front of him so his chest prodded against the knife.
He leaned forward, lips twisted into a malicious grin. “Do it,” Wilbur whispered.
Tommy faltered, edging the knife away. Yet a cold hand struck him to stay in place, holding Tommy’s grip. Wilbur pressed the knife forward, digging into his clothed chest.
“Do it,” he repeated, more haste and desperate. Fangs sat on his bottom lip.
“I thought vampires were supposed to be the ones to kill people,” Tommy said, voice wavering because he was right there. His fangs could be seconds away from biting straight into his throat, tearing it out, leaving him to bleed out on the floor. A mess of red.
Wilbur scoffed, tugging that blade just a bit closer. “Maybe I don’t want to be like that.”
It was surprisingly human. That disdain and desperation. Self-hatred clouded his face as he eyed the blade as if it were a ticket to salvation. And in a way, it was. A silver dagger to the heart, the gasp a fanged lip would let out, then the veins draining their face, body dropping to the floor as their soul found a home in limbo. Salvation for a vampire who despised its own nature.
“You want this,” Tommy whispered, losing strength in his hands. An immortal being craved death.
“I thought I made that obvious,” Wilbur scowled.
He dropped the dagger. “I’m not killing you.”
Wilbur sighed. “Well, it was worth a shot.”
He was so casual. So normal despite having literally eaten a rat moments prior and almost forced Tommy’s hand to end his life. It was erratic.
There was a knock on the door.
“You didn’t call the police right?” Wilbur asked. “Because this would be awkward if you did.”
“I didn’t- I didn’t call anyone,” he stuttered out, eyes still trained on the guy’s fangs. There was blood stained on the white, from the rat or something else.
“I said I wasn’t going to kill you, Tommy,” Wilbur drawled out as he went to open the door.
It was someone dressed up in a pizza delivery outfit.
“My dad must’ve called them earlier, you can come in—”
As soon as Tommy permitted him inside, the person tackled Wilbur to the ground. Tommy yelped back into the wall. It wasn’t a person, it was another vampire. Fangs and hissing. It clawed at Wilbur, digging his nails into Wilbur’s throat. Marking him and yet no blood flowed.
“Let me guess, Schlatt sent you,” Wilbur snarled, wincing and bearing his fangs. Yet, it didn’t deter the other vampire.
“I’m supposed to bring you back but you’re far too much trouble to deal with,” the other wretched out, hands clasped around Wilbur’s neck, squeezing. And squeezing.
Wilbur thrashed against the floor.
“I don’t share the potential he sees in you, Soot,” the vampire cursed. His other hand lowered and clawed at Wilbur’s chest, at his heart. Sharpened talons so close to breaking skin and digging.
Tommy picked up the silver knife and tossed it at Wilbur. He caught it and drove it straight into the vampire’s heart. Blood spat on his face. But not the vampire’s own blood, no that was impossible. Blood from a recent feed splattered across his nose. The man sunk to the floor, collapsing on top of Wilbur, face fading to a grey.
Silence filled the house. Tommy’s mouth gaping open and Wilbur’s harsh breaths.
“You killed him,” he whispered, lips still parted.
Wilbur didn’t answer. He stayed still. Lying on the floor as if preparing himself for a grave. Then, frantically, his hand wiped the blood off his face. Rubbing and rubbing, irritating his dead flesh.
Then, he kicked the body off him. “And you assisted me.”
“You could’ve died right there, you could have gotten him to kill you,” Tommy kept gushing, ears pounding the same beat as his heart. “You- you wanted to die but—”
“If I let him kill me, you’d be next,” Wilbur said, shrugging as if it were simple.
But it wasn’t simple.
“Why do you care?”
Wilbur hesitated. Staggered on his newfound feet at the question. His face twisted into a lost expression. There was still a smudge of red underneath his nose. So close to his top lip.
“I’m clinging to what empathy used to feel like,” he muttered at last.
Tommy stilled, stepping forward. “You don’t feel empathy anymore?”
“I don’t feel fucking anything,” he snapped, yet with heat directed at himself. “At least not until now. It’s back for some reason.”
Wilbur looked up, eyeing Tommy. His eyes flashed lighter, different from the darkness that came with his hunger earlier. This was a brightness that came with life.
“I’m a fledgling,” Wilbur continued, voice less fused. “I haven’t fully transitioned yet, so emotions aren’t really here. But for some reason, I didn’t want him to hurt you. I’d feel... bad.”
“Oh,” Tommy exhaled, breathless. “So you don’t want to kill me?”
“For the last time, no, Tommy I don’t want you dead.”
He nodded. Still breathless but accepting.
Tommy didn’t know exactly what to do. He should pick up that silver knife and finish off the job—get rid of the other vampire in his house. He should kill Wilbur. But even staring down at the silver knife made him feel sick.
“If you’re a fledgling, you’re not a real vampire then?” Tommy asked, hoping that the clarification would ease whatever fear he felt.
“I’m not a full vampire, haven’t drunk human blood. I can still move faster than you, I’m stronger. My skin irritates in the sun, but I’m not one of them. I don’t want to be one of them,” he said the last bit quieter to himself. That self-hatred seeping into his voice once more. Wilbur cleared his throat. “A fledgling has twenty-eight days until their mortal body dies, so I have a bit to... think over the decision.”
Not even a month. To decide whether this life of immortality was fit for you.
“And you don’t want to become a full vampire.” Wilbur nodded at him, letting Tommy fill in the blanks. The lack of self-preservation of having a silver knife pressed against his chest, even leaning further into it. Urging Tommy to do it, to kill him, to finish him off.
Oh.
“I won’t tell anyone,” he whispered, a sickness riddling in his stomach for a different reason this time. “About you, or whatever shit this has with Schlatt—”
Wilbur’s eyes flashed and he sprung forward. “Don’t talk about him,” he demanded. Fear. There was fear in him. In a supernatural and undead being. Wilbur was scared. “Don’t even look in his direction or speak to him because he will fucking ruin your life.”
Tommy stayed silent. Wilbur reached forward and grabbed his arm.
Yet, as soon as Wilbur’s cold skin made contact with his arm, everything faded. It fogged over. Tossed him around despite his feet staying stuck on the floor. His head spun, clouded. Vision flickered from his living room to a field. It was a dark field. A graveyard. He was in a graveyard and digging, he was digging and scraping at the dirt. Hurling everything into his push under the soil because he needed to get it, needed what was under.
And it broke.
The soil broke and it was there. A jar. A clay jar, carvings detailing up its widths. It was here. In his hands, finally and—
“Tommy!”
He gasped, letting go of Wilbur.
“What the fuck was that?” he snapped, backing into the wall. “No, no, what was that? You- you just made me- there was—”
“Hey, hey, calm down.”
But he couldn’t.
Tommy shook his head, heartbeat throbbing from his chest. His head clouded, but not like what he saw. The vision, or whatever it was. It was cold in there. Ice. Colder than Wilbur’s hand and the silver knife.
Everything was wrong. This entire night was wrong.
He swallowed down the bile creeping up his throat.
“Vampires exist. And I just saw something that wasn’t there when you touched me,” he kept repeating it to himself, hoping that with each repeat, it would make more sense. It wouldn’t sound insane. Yet to no avail.
“I’m involved in this now,” Tommy realised. “That vampire knew to come to my house. Schlatt sent him here.” Wilbur’s face dropped.
It was guilt. Guilt on a fledgling’s face.
“He’ll leave you alone, I’ll make sure of it.”
Tommy shook his head. “I’m fucked.”
“You’re not.” Wilbur reached forward again, to grab him for something, but stopped. Not wanting their skin to touch. “I’ll protect you.”
“Great, protection from someone wishing to die. Nice.”
Eyes narrowed at him. But there was no protest.
More knocking came from the door. Both froze.
“If that’s another—” Wilbur hushed him. Tommy frowned as Wilbur shut his eyes, eyebrows furrowing, he seemed concentrated.
“There’s heartbeats, we’re fine.”
Tubbo and Ranboo came rushing in. A Bible in one hand and a house decoration crucifix in the other. But then they stopped as they realised Wilbur had opened the door.
“This is the vampire?” Tubbo squawked out, frowning.
Wilbur gave Tommy a foul look.
“Um. This will be hard to explain.”
Ranboo gaped down at the vampire on the floor. “Holy shit you weren’t lying.”
At least cleaning up a dead body was easier with four people.
☾
Wilbur pulled up his hood as he walked in the open to the entrance of his sixth form building. He didn’t care about his first-period music class or the unfinished assignments because Techno wasn’t at his house last night.
After Tommy had convinced his friends to stop blessing tap water and throwing it all over Wilbur, everyone accepted the vampire-fledgling business pretty quickly. As soon as they’d cleaned up and Phil came home from work, Wilbur went to look for Techno. He scouted out his house, his favourite spot in the fields, every open library, everywhere his scent had been. All to no avail. He couldn’t find his friend.
But there he sat in the common area, scrolling on his phone. Like nothing had happened.
He stopped at the door because this was different. Techno was the only one in the room yet it didn’t smell like he was there. Wilbur had gotten slightly acquainted with the heightened senses that came with dying and becoming a fledgling—how he couldn’t wear certain clothes because they felt too tight on his skin or how that cologne he used to love was now too strong to even bare. Then there were people’s scents. Techno smelled of his fabric softener, roses and daisies; the artificial smell of his pink hair dye and coffee.
Yet now, it was weird. The roses and daises were faint as something else overpowered it all. A familiarity, closeness in the form of a smell, something that tugged Wilbur closer, prying his feet forward from the floor. It was a bonding scent. Family. Like what he had with Schlatt, but this he accepted, this he willingly walked forward to rather than resisted. It was nice.
“Techno?” he called as he let his legs move him towards the other. He sat on the chair to his left, closer than he normally would.
His friend looked up from his phone. “Care to explain why your smoking buddy kidnapped me last night and made me have these?” Techno pointed to his mouth. To his teeth. But they were sharper and wider. Fangs.
Wilbur blanched and flinched back.
“You’re—”
“A vampire? Yeah and apparently you’re the baby version of one or whatever.”
His fangs were sharper than Wilbur’s more elongated too. “You drank human blood?”
“It’s what happens when Schlatt cuts open someone and forces their arm into your face, yes,” Techno deadpanned.
Wilbur froze. This was because of him.
“Techno...” his throat blocked off, not even letting him say it.
Techno’s eyes flashed red. “Stop that. It’s all weird. I can feel the guilt coming off you, stop.”
“But it is my fault!” he shouted, a heat running through him despite how that shouldn’t be possible. “If you weren’t involved with me, then Schlatt wouldn’t have—”
“Self-blame doesn’t look nice on you, Wilbur,” Techno scoffed. “Schlatt was the one who did this. He did it to you too, he took away both our choices.”
He shook his head, guilt eating him up inside. “You fully transitioned.” He didn’t even get a choice of death.
“Yes, I did,” Techno shrugged. He sighed as he noticed his friend’s distress. “Y’know this could be a good thing. Do you think immortality will get me kicked out of the future Olympics for cheating? Because steroids are banned but they didn’t say anything against vampirism.”
Wilbur blinked at him, not sharing the humour. Because how could he? His friend wouldn’t age past the age of eighteen, he’d never reach twenty-one like he wanted because then he could buy alcohol in America and never drink it out of spite. Techno wasn’t human anymore because of him.
“How can you find the positives in this? How are you not fucking breaking down right now?” he asked, face twisted. Wilbur remembered not leaving his bed for an entire weak, just letting the hunger pains ruin him because he deserved it. He wanted the pain. The reminder of what it meant to be human because he’d never feel it again.
“Oh, I cried earlier,” Techno said nonchalantly. “Ugly sobbing, it was horrible. But now I think I’m good.”
Wilbur swallowed down the urge to scream at him. To shout at how unfair this was, Techno was eventually fine with it whilst Wilbur had levels upon levels of depreciation and hatred looming at him. He couldn’t see himself in his mirror, he couldn’t take pictures of himself and friends on his Polaroid anymore. Wilbur never could sit in the sun and enjoy it again.
Nothing was okay.
“Are you good, though?” Techno asked.
That simple question, following all of this, was all it took to shatter into pieces. For Wilbur to fall.
“Tech, I have nineteen days until I die,” he whispered, not even wanting to hear the words himself.
He had nineteen days to feed before his mortal body desiccated. His soul would join that limbo of others who probably had lived for centuries, who had lived in general. Took upon lovers, had families of choice for as long as time let them, learnt all they could with the eternal years blessed upon them. Then, death. Yet, Wilbur was only eighteen. And he’d stay that age one way or another.
“The fledgling thing,” Techno supplied, his eyebrows furrowed. His scent changed again, sourer and closed off.
“And I don’t... I don’t want to—”
Techno stopped him with his hands. A grip laid on his arms, pulling him close.
“I know I wasn’t good at comforting you when I was human, but maybe I can be good at this,” Techno said, compassion new to his tongue. “I can help you with this vampire thing as I figure it out. We can do this together.”
It wasn’t his words that pacified Wilbur. It was his grip. It was an aura propelling off him, telling him to calm, to slow down and that it would be okay. He listened to it and found himself nodding.
“How did the babysitting go as I literally died?” Techno asked, thankfully changing the subject.
“The kid is some psychic and his friends also know I’m a vampire. Schlatt sent someone to retrieve me but the fucker tried to kill me instead.”
“Well, at least we both faced death last night, in a way,”
“You’re sick,” he said, shaking his head.
“You’re now stuck with me for eternity if you go ahead with your transition,” Techno grinned at him. “Besties for life.”
“Never say that again.”
Techno kept repeating it in various different ways because he knew Wilbur wasn’t strong enough to stop him.
And for a moment, he felt peace.
As Wilbur walked from the music rooms to the English block, the corridor suffocated him. It did before all this vampire shit, but now, with senses that wouldn’t shut up, it was a lot worse. Arms of blazers brushed past them, all these people with their beating hearts, hearts that bumped something red. The red that ached him to just take it.
“Wilbur!” cold hands stopped him in place. It pushed his back against the wall. The scent had returned, the longing that made his nose upturn and snivel because it was wrong. It was a pull he never wanted to indulge in.
It was Schlatt.
He tried to step away but he couldn’t. Both due to Schlatt’s strength and the bond. This was his sire, the one who turned him. Even as a fledgling, it wasn’t something he could ignore.
“Nice to see you grinning after trying to kill me last night,” Wilbur spat out, glaring at him. He could control those parts of him, thankfully, the parts that hated every inch of the man.
Schlatt’s facade dropped. His grin, those sharp teeth on show, and the pull, it all departed.
A single, “What?” left Schlatt. Tone no longer drenched in that mocking taunt of his. He genuinely sounded confused, caught off guard.
Wilbur scoffed, “How many times are you going to trick me into thinking I have a choice? First, you turn me against my will, and now you’re doing everything into making me the killer you think I am.”
“Look, Wilbur,” Schlatt weighted down on his hold, stepping closer, “Jared wasn’t supposed to hurt you last night, I told him to lead you to me.”
“Well, he tried to lead me into an earlier grave.”
“Earlier,” Schlatt repeated, eyes flashing a deep red. “You still on the animal diet?”
His jaw clenched.
Then the pull was back. The tugging, the rush of believe me, trust me. I stand in the reflection you cannot have. All in Schlatt’s voice.
“I’m not that bad, Wilbur,” Schlatt muttered, pulling. “I don’t want you to die, that’s the entire point of this. Why kill off your potential? I see you and know what could come from it. I see someone empty with a thirst they cannot wait to indulge in. Someone alone who needs another to understand them, faults and all. And God, are we full of them.”
The air bittered.
“You are family to me,” Schlatt finished, that grin back. “A mini-me.”
Wilbur pushed Schlatt’s hand off him. “I’m nothing like you,” he hissed, staring at red eyes he never wanted to house himself. “I’m not your fucking family.”
That seemed to be the wrong thing to say. Schlatt's shoulders rolled back, his empty hands dangled beside him. Empty hands reached outwards, but not at Wilbur this time, but at the unfortunate student so happening to walk past them in the corridor.
One with blond hair and blue eyes.
Tommy.
Schlatt hauled him under his arm, forging the appearance of an older student taking another under their wing. Literally.
Wilbur’s chest spiked. A rush flowed through that empty vessel of his, now running with heat. Because those clawed hands were on him. On Tommy.
“This kid smells like you, Wilbur,” Schlatt chuckled to himself, sharp fingernails trailing over Tommy’s exposed jugular. Taunting, pressing.
Tommy winced, eyes wide with confusion. He recognised Schlatt almost immediately and the world around Wilbur died for a second time. Because he looked so distressed. Eyebrows furrowed with such alarm, shaking almost immediately, a futile attempt to rip himself from Schlatt’s hold.
He promised to protect Tommy. To keep him out of harm’s way and this was the exact opposite of that.
“Schlatt—”
Something burning silenced him. A pulse. A punch in that bond he could feel in the air. Silencing from his head and the future words fleeted from his tongue. His throat blocked as he fought to say something, to comfort Tommy, to plead to get him out of this, that he wasn’t involved and should stay that way.
Yet, instead, he gaped at the sight with no words leaving him.
Schlatt cackled, quietly yet it was loud to Wilbur’s blaring ears. It echoed in the prickles of his skin. His sire peered at him, eyes darkening in a deeper red. Then, it all collapsed. His talons cut into Tommy’s arm, blood spilling from him.
Tommy whimpered but kept his mouth shut.
The red poured.
It was right there. The answer to everything. There for the taking. And Wilbur wanted to take. It bit at him, to bite back, to drain him dry despite the fighting feeling to save the boy.
His mouth watered, his gums breaking.
“Come on, Wil, you know it calls to you,” a sickeningly sweet voice, luring him. “That instinct, it’s there. Think with it, let it consume you. Take what is yours to take and you’ll never regret this day.”
It ripped at him, clawed and thorned. It called and screamed, the blood needing an answer only his fangs could respond with. It would all be over after this. No more fighting, no more pains in his stomach and migraines. The thoughts would go away. He would be free.
But he couldn’t. Not when those blue, wet eyes, pricked with tears, pleaded up at him. The trembling of Tommy’s bottom lip, the trembling of everything. His legs, hands, head.
That feeling, an emotion he shouldn’t have this strong, surpassed it. Concern, the empathy in the form of rays of sunshine, overcame him.
Wilbur tore Tommy from Schlatt’s grip, shoving him behind himself.
He bathed in the new tint in the air. No bitterness as relief seemed to fall all over him. The warmth coming from behind.
“I’d rather not drink from a pre-teen, thank you Schlatt.”
“I’m fourteen, the fuck?” Wilbur squeezed Tommy warningly. “Okay, I’ll shut up.”
“You took one choice away from me already, I won’t let you take this too,” he seethed, channelling everything because for once, it was there. A burning anger left dormant with his death, now awakened and alive. Ready to wreck and fall. All deriving from the heat in his hands, hands pulled around Tommy to keep him safe.
Schlatt stepped back. One might think it was a step and admittance of defeat. Yet, Wilbur knew that grin plastered on his lips too well.
“Suit yourself,” Schlatt shrugged, his normalcy bubbling that anger in the pit of Wilbur’s stomach. “Time will tell, Wilbur.”
And he walked off.
He walked off.
Leaving him. An abandoned fledgling and a bleeding human.
His teeth gritted, his hold on Tommy tightening because he needed more of that warmth before he did something he’d regret. The bloodlust was still there, laying waiting. Yet whatever Tommy emitted was enough to stop it.
Wilbur took a sharp breath, welcoming the shine in the air, and pulled Tommy along with him.
“You’re not about to lead me behind the bins to drink my blood, right?” Tommy asked, still shaking. “Because please don’t.”
He sighed, loosening his grip despite how much he wanted to clutch it closer. “I’m taking you to the nurse’s office for your scratch.”
“Oh.”
As they reached another corridor, Tommy had stopped shaking. No longer did a wetness prick at his eyes, they weren’t glassy anymore. Wilbur looked down at him; the unease was still there.
“You were scared of me back then,” he uttered under his breath.
Tommy gulped. “You’re a fledgling who needs to drink human blood to transition. I am a human with said blood currently spilling out of me. It’s not weak of me to be scared.”
He frowned. “I wasn’t saying you were weak—” he cut himself off. It wasn’t the argument he wanted to get into. And frankly, the kid was far from weak. He held himself together in the presence of an elder vampire, who injured him, used him as feeding leverage.
Tommy was strong. Wilbur was far from that.
“Are you still scared of me?” he hesitated to ask as they stood outside of the nurse’s office.
Blue eyes stared up at him. Such light that Wilbur would never replicate, have the chance to anyway. It was a strong stare, unwavering.
“You killed that vampire last night without a moment of hesitation,” Tommy said, gaze unblinking. “But it saved me. You saved me. And you saved me again today.”
How was a mortal child unafraid of him when he was scared of himself?
“You can scare me,” Tommy added, blinking finally. “But right now, you don’t.”
The relief was back. The sunbeams in the air. Light. It was easy to breathe, less hard to fake. In fact, he needed to breathe for once.
He let Tommy’s words settle because he didn’t know what to say back.
“Thank you,” Tommy said, breaking the silence. “For stopping Schlatt.”
An unsaid, for stopping yourself.
His chest tightened. Someone was proud of him. And he couldn’t even bring himself to be proud of himself.
“Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow, my fledgling babysitter, I have maths!” and with that, he left.
He watched Tommy leave. And soon enough, as he continued his journey to the English block, the bright gleam in the air left too.