Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

To say that he’s a mess of thoughts and emotions is a fucking understatement.

Tommy’s deposited on the couch a minute later, a blanket thrown over him in passing as he can do nothing but stare. At the walls, the floor, and maybe even the coffee table. He just stares, feeling beyond absent yet so irrefutably present.

The sensation is familiar, yet the context couldn’t be more different. The last time he can recall being like this was after a particularly unfortunate training session with the scientists, all of them being so sickeningly fascinated with the injuries they were inflicting on him, marvelling at how they were healing. Nowhere near the speed of a normal vampire, but the white coats know all too well that there is nothing normal about Tommy.

He had felt so out of control, unable to do anything as he kneeled on the floor, handler beside him with some sort of taser at the ready. But Tommy didn’t care, he was far too focused on the blur of white beyond the glass, his vision muddling everything up as all he could see was a horrifying white mass staring back at him.

The scientists were far too content to watch their bug squirm around in its hopeless maze.

It had ended, thank fuck it had ended, but Tommy can recall how every moment worked in slow motion, every second, every moment an agonising and uncomfortable experience.

They stopped that testing when Tommy lashed out at a handler in a frenzied state, almost biting straight through the reinforced leather glove they were wearing.

Or so they said.

Because, not even a week later, they were testing the waters with their new experiment.

The testing pool had never been a welcome addition to his schedule.

He can hear Wilbur talking quietly in the distance, once again on his phone as Tommy flops down onto the couch, curling the blanket around him as he frees his numbing leg.

It doesn’t matter if Tommy is able to hear what he’s saying or not, the vampire’s words from before drown out all his senses.

Up.

To go anywhere, they’d have to go up.

His entire brain is running on overdrive as though someone had repeatedly flicked so many switches in his brain in an attempt to blow a fuse.

So Tommy tries to turn his attention elsewhere, opening his eyes as depriving himself of one of his senses only drastically heightened the others.

Tommy can’t quite remember if he’d seen it or even taken note of it before, but a large television stares back at him from where he lies on the couch. Staring absently back at him, Tommy sees the faintest dark reflection of what he can only assume is himself curled up like a hopeless bundle on the couch. What a fucking joke, that the biggest threat and headache the Hunters Organization had ever had to deal with is nothing more than a boneless mess wrapped up in a fucking blanket burrito in the heart of the Angel of Death’s Coven. Sounds more like the opening to some shitty cold open joke than anything else.

Focusing once more on the screen, his attention is caught by the shockingly modern design of the television. Sure, it was probably a normal sight, but Tommy had only seen something of this standard in the primary meeting room on the first floor– a place kept to an unhealthily clean standard as half the monthly budget is poured into it for bi-monthly government meetings. Makes the Organization look more put together than it actually is. Like they don’t have a fucking vampire just chilling four floors above that they do almost daily experiments and tests on.

Fuck, sometimes he really wishes there was an off-switch for his brain.

Drawing his attention back to the screen once again, Tommy’s face flushed red as for a private moment, he thought the damn thing was levitating. It's a sleek screen, held up by an arm mechanism tightly securing it to the wall from behind in the nook it hides in. Around it, there are collections of all sorts of things lining the small boxes of shelves secured behind little cupboard doors of wood and glass. A few books adorned with varying bookmarks, DVDs and items as ancient as VHS tapes, shockingly enough.

Though, considering what owns them, calling a VHS tape ancient is just a little bit of a stretch.

But the fact that vampires had them, no, the fact that this fucking coven has all of these normal items? That is what is weird here. Tommy was expecting, like, torture weapons or something. A collection of knives or wine or something, whatever the fuck the vampire meta is.

He hopes it is knives. Gives him a weapon he could easily find in a pinch.

With a sigh, Tommy heaves himself over as he flips to face the back of the couch, shoving his face into a surprisingly soft pillow. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to do. All his confidence, all his big talk about never fearing anything…

It’s not particularly true, shockingly enough.

Back at the Hunters’ Facility, he knew everything. He knew when he was allowed to train and when he wasn’t. He knew when meetings were scheduled and who would be his assigned handler each and every single day. Hell, he even knew when that one maintenance worker would come and tend to the gardens outside the main building, humming an assortment of songs ranging from the eighties to now, as if on clockwork. It was an easy way to feel in control, to know when and how time was passing.

Contrast that with this nightmare.

He hardly even knows what fucking time it is, let alone what day of the week.

The thought leaves a bitter aftertaste, sitting heavy in his gut like a stone.

Nine months.

Right, he’d almost forgotten.

It’s been nine months since Tommy last breathed fresh air, nine months since his capture.

Nine months without information.

Nine months, an uncomfortable amount of time to spend in the clutches of the enemy.

And a lot of time for serious damage to have occurred.

With what Tommy understands about this damned species, they live underground. He knows both due to rare reports of uncovering hideouts of small covens across the decades, as well as his own fucking lizard brain reeling at the thought of being safe below the surface.

One of the accounts almost described it to be like one of those random videos Tommy got to watch, where someone absolutely whacked a spider, only for the brood to fucking multiply and manifest on the death of its mother.

Yeah. Yeah, that sounds like vampires.

Just lift off the lid to their underground nests, and you’ve got the scene from that one rat chef movie, but in complete reverse.

The mental image is funny at least.

Below the surface.

He’s somewhere deep underground, has to be for something this quiet.

The only problem? This is the Angel of Death’s Coven.

Well, that is actually the root of a lot of fucking problems Tommy has been having recently– can he even call it recently anymore?– thanks in no due part to the fact that not a soul has ever found where this deadly foe resides.

Or, in more basic terms, Tommy has no fucking clue where he is, his only guess being hundreds of kilometres underground or something. Maybe even the Earth’s core, because fuck it why the hell not! Hopefully the Earth’s core melts them or some shit. Problem fucking solved.

Tommy tries not to feel too childishly miserable when he notes the cool and controlled temperature of the room.

He closes his eyes.

“You look comfortable.” Tommy jolts to awareness as he dazedly glances at where the voice came from, tensing as he sees Wilbur looking down at him from over the back of the couch.

The being wears a grin that has Tommy’s hopes plummeting.

“Come on, their meeting should just about be over.” Wilbur notes quietly, reaching down a hand to run through golden curls. “Let’s head up before you fall asleep.”

Something far too close to a whine threatens to spill from his throat. He curls up slightly, face turned into the back of the couch as weak excuses fly around his brain. If it were anyone else, he’d beat himself up over the pathetic sight of himself like this. If it were anyone else, he’d begrudgingly oblige, as he is under orders.

But this is meeting the Angel of Death himself.

And Tommy is not under orders.

“Please let me sleep? I’d much rather sleep.” He mumbles, grasping the edges of the pillow and curling it around his head.

Wilbur only laughs. It’s a sound that rings out death to most who hear it, something spoken to be dripping with gleeful malice from the stories of the rare survivor of Siren’s attacks.

Tommy hates that he feels nothing but embarrassed, the warm laughter a disgusting alteration to everything he has ever known.

“It’ll be alright, you can rest all you’d like afterwards.” Wilbur chimes in, either completely unaware or uncaring of the sickly storm within Tommy that threatens to tear him apart. “Besides, you’ve just woken up.” Tommy shoves his face further into the pillow, even daring to embrace the couch's dark crevices.

“And I’m not a morning person, fuck you.”

Its a weak argument, Tommy is frankly more than aware of that. All he wants to do is curl up and pointedly ignore anything and everything around him.

Fuck, he’s too stubborn for this.

“It’s like, half past ten.” Wilbur chimes back, an exasperated sigh escaping the older. Prick.

With a grumble, Tommy tries to make himself sound as irritated as he can with as he licks his dry lips. “Still too early.” Tommy groans out, tucking his legs closer to himself in a childish fit as the couch dips beside him.

It’s quiet for a moment as Wilbur’s hand gently presses against the nape of Tommy’s neck. It’s a strange sensation, his body in an internal battle between shivering, slapping the hand away, and melting into the hold.

Wilbur chuckles.

Fuck it, he wants to smack the arm away now. He’s already sick of Wilbur’s bullshit, even as part of him cringes at his current state of being a miserable lump.

“Ten thirty at night?” Wilbur questions, laughing lightly like he’s some endearing little brat throwing a fit. “I thought that was the prime time for night enjoyers.”

“It’s not.” Tommy mutters as he sighs, adjusting his position to face the ceiling and have the pillow lay flat beneath his head.

Tommy can see the vampire roll his eyes at the edge of his vision.

“Prime time is three thirty-three, get it right, dumbass.”

Sitting up, Tommy can see Wilbur leaning back against the couch, lips quirked in an amused smile as one hand rests atop the back of the soft furniture.

“My apologies, I should’ve been more considerate.” The being chortles as he adjusts to lean back against the large couch cushions, a soft-looking blanket having been draped over the furniture as Wilbur lays back against it.

“Yeah, well. Can’t expect much from you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you’ve proven my point with that weak-ass response,” Wilbur is only staring at him with an incredulous expression, buffering as he clearly tries to pick apart Tommy’s incredible argument. “You simply just have a sort of–” Tommy gestures with his hands questioningly before pointing to Wilbur “–natural stupidity.”

The being chokes on a startled laugh, Tommy keeping from grinning at the stupid expression on this deadly creature.

It almost makes him look harmless.

Almost.

“And what would that make you?” A response chides back, the vampire standing up as he places his hands in the pockets of a pair of dark pants.

Tommy thinks for a moment.

“Artificial intelligence.” Wilbur only scoffs, rolling his eyes as Tommy stretches, a big yawn escaping him as his bones crackle with the movements.

“Right, sure. Well then, wise little one, you surely must be aware that we have to get going.” Ah, fuck. Tommy can feel his heartbeat rise once more, more than aware that the vampire can hear it.

He clears his throat.

“Wisdom waits for no one.”

Wilbur sighs, walking around to the back of the couch and out of sight, likely towards the fancy kitchen or some shit. Tommy can’t care, too focused on trying to keep from panicking.

He’s going to have to meet his nightmares, whether he feels ready or not. Wilbur’s confirmed that, but surely he can delay it?

“That does not answer anything at all.” Wilbur comments from somewhere else in the room, Tommy sitting up as he fidgets with the corners of the pillow, able to feel the folds and stitches of the fabric.

“Wisdom does whatever the fuck it wants. But does everything way smarter. Like, so smart that the rest of the world is nothing but an atom in comparison to the sheer genius of it.” He slowly lifts himself off of the comfortable embrace of the couch, wincing as he initiates a momentary head rush as his blood drains through his body.

“Well then, wisdom better go get changed before he walks out in pyjamas.”

“Fuck you. I don’t even have any clothes, you ass.”

Tommy throws an unamused look at the far too pleased vampire, being sure to send a pained grimace in the being’s direction before turning away, pointedly ignoring how the mischievous grin doubles in size.

Wilbur sighs, a thoughtful hum causing Tommy to groan. If Wilbur’s going to fucking bother him like this, then damn it he will have to fucking put up with all of it.

And most consider Tommy the whole damn package. Endless irritation, fucking infuriating and doesn’t give a shit about anyone else. Yup, that’s him. Professional crime boy, reporting for duty.

Wilbur has about five minutes before Tommy starts wrecking shit. He just needs a quick power nap that hopefully he never fucking wakes up from. Like that stupid nine month nap, but make it for the rest of eternity.

He doesn’t want to meet the literal Angel of Death, sue him.

“You can borrow some of mine.” Tommy scrunches his nose in distaste, but Wilbur continues before he can make a snappy remark. “Phil wanted you to choose your own wardrobe when you woke up, so you’ll have to borrow from some of ours.”

Tommy pauses. Is– does he mean the Angel? Or everything forbid the fucking Blood God. Who has a name like Phil?

With all respect to the good Phils of the world, neither of them seem like the ‘Phil’ type.

Their reputation for being the most bloodthirsty and controlling vampires in history would do that to them.

Whichever one of them it is, they’re dragging down the rest of the Phils by having that stupid name.

Again, no disrespect to all other Phils. They’re cool.

Tommy shakes his head, slipping back into the conversation. Or the not-conversation, since Wilbur is just giving him an amused look.

Part of Tommy wants to sock him right in the nose.

The other part wants to comment on how stupid it would be to borrow this bastard’s clothes.

“Dude you’re a fucking giant, I’m going to drown in fabric.”

The other part of him won, apparently.

“Plus, I don’t want to wear your ridiculous clothes. You wear tacky trench coats.” Tommy quietens with a grimace as the last words slip from his mouth. That was supposed to be a Tommy-only thought. He dares to glance at Wilbur, a sharp look clear on the vampire’s features that Tommy can only think of the malicious predator that had hunted him down across the Hunter Organization’s Campus. With sickening ease, his brain unhelpfully supplies.

The sharpness melts away like butter in a frying pan, Wilbur’s soft smile returning, if now fostering a dark edge that Tommy doesn’t like nor trust in the slightest.

“It’ll at least keep you warm.” Wilbur comments, shrugging off the previous accusation with a smirk, one that makes Tommy feel like he’s poked a sleeping dragon. “It can get cold, so feel free to choose whatever you want. Just be careful of Techno’s cape, he does a lot to maintain it.” The older vampire helps him up, despite Tommy attempting to whack his arm away with the hiss of a pissed-off cat.

Wilbur leads him back down through the curtained corridor that leads to the nest room. Tommy feels something within him settle upon entering the familiar location, but he stomps that thought down like a bug. This room is nothing to him. It’s not his, and never fucking has been.

He’ll be happy when he’s left it all in the dust.

Though, to Tommy’s surprise, Wilbur leads him through a door he, fucking shocker, hadn’t noticed. Like everything else in this forsaken vintage supervillain base.

Supervillain mansion. Because it’s a fucking mansion. Just somewhere miles below ground. Buried mansion. Fucking terrific.

As Wilbur sifts through the walk-in-closet that they had and Tommy either instantly forgot or just didn’t goddamn notice, for some reason, he lets his mind wander.

He’d said Techno’s cape.

The Angel doesn’t wear a cape, does he?

Fuck, Wilbur said whichever of them owns it maintains it. A fucking cape. Some shitty blanket wrapped around the neck for cool dramatic effect or whatever.

Flashes of an alley scatter through his mind, the menacing form of the Blood God turning a corner, decapitated Hunter head in hand as the apex predator continues his prowl.

“Come out, Hunter.”

The growled words of the Blood God rattle through Tommy’s head as he tucks his hands close to his body, remembering the malice, the threat in the monster’s eyes.

He’d been wearing a cape.

Techno.

The Blood God’s name is fucking Techno.

And that makes the Angel of Death Phil.

Fuck, he might throw up.

He carefully files away those thoughts, recomposing himself as Wilbur exits the closet, carrying– nothing.

He really just went in there and what, was window-shopping his own fucking clothes?

“Now anything sitting out is free to borrow. Only take from the opened shelves, we all have clothes that we’d rather not share. I know I’d kill Techno if I saw him take my Los Campensinos shirt. Not like he would, but you get the idea.” Tommy nods with a slight frown, feeling as though Wilbur is dancing around something. As if they’re hiding bombs in their singlet draws or some shit.

“Right,” Tommy mutters, more for the sake of it than anything else. It’s not like he’s against the idea of changing out from these fucking embarrassing pig-faced and star pyjamas, no. He’s against the idea of wearing clothes belonging to any of the three.

He steps into the closet, hearing Wilbur go back and tidy up the nest, a part of Tommy prickling as he can hear the duvet being ripped off of the mattress.

Ignoring the traitorous part of his brain, Tommy sifts through the racks of clothing. Honestly, he’s not sure what belongs to who. Even by scent, he only really knows Wilbur’s scent, and it clings to everything. So it’s truly going to be a game of roulette trying not to pick up anything that doesn’t belong to Wilbur. Because out of all of them, he’d rather Wilbur’s clothes. It’s not a flex to say you’ve stolen and worn the clothes of the Angel of Death or the Blood God. It’s fucking weird. There’s nothing cool about it and they might take that as an act of disrespectful spite.

Tommy doesn’t want to be on their bad side, he’s not that desperate to die.

Maybe.

And besides, Wilbur doesn’t particularly seem like the type to be annoyed that Tommy’s borrowing his clothes. He’d probably treat it like some cute puppy in a costume, which sounds like a horrendous blow to what remains of his pride, but it’s better than waltzing around with a fucking death wish.

But not by much.

Not by fucking much.

Before he knows it, his hand is hovering over the closed sliding cupboard door, ghosting above the handle to roll it back.

He glances towards the door.

He’s pretty sure Wilbur’s distracted on his phone.

An idea forms in his head.

“I’m going to try some stuff on. I’m closing the door.” He states, praying the wavering quality of his thoughts isn’t reflected through his words.

Wilbur buys it.

“Take your time. Find something comfortable. If you need help, just shout.”

Yeah, no thanks. He’s not taking fashion advice from a prick who lives in trenchcoats.

Besides the point.

Tommy shuts the door, relieved to find that it locks. He slides the latch across, finding it shockingly refreshing for there to be an actual lock. Sure, locks are normal. Every door he’s ever touched has had a lock but…

He just. Didn’t expect it. This lock is for privacy reasons.

He’s pretty sure their bathroom has a lock.

His one in the Hunters facility didn’t.

With a humph, he switches his attention back to the closed door.

It slides open without a sound, as Tommy gasps.

Unease drops like a stone in his gut, blocking off all functions.

It’s their outfits.

Wilbur’s Siren outfit, the dark brown trench coat in all its glory. The dark pants hang inside the coat, over the lower section of the coathanger. The boots tucked into a separate shoe-rack beneath the cupboard.

Beside it, a dark coat again, yet, this one is different. It’s more of a kimono, almost. Thinner yet expensive fabric flowing down in a pitch-black, strange diamond patterns decorating the bottom. Despite never having seen it worn, he knows this has to belong to the Angel of Death.

He doesn’t even bother much more than a glance at the vibrant red of the Blood God’s cape, closing the door as he can only stand back, stunned.

He’s unlocking the door before he knows it.

“Shout,” he mutters, knowing full well the vampire hears it as he only laughs, pearly and startled, full of an amused delight. Tommy lets that anchor him, as he tries to get a hold of himself again.

“I guess that works,” Wilbur comments, Tommy realising he hadn’t actually tried anything on. He sifts through a few clothes, pausing as a jarring contrast of strong colours draws his attention.

“Why the fuck is this one stained blue?” He calls over as Wilbur enters, lifting the mustard-yellow sweater off of the rack by its clothes hanger, staring confused down at the gigantic path of vibrant blue ink stained into the middle of it.

Wilbur makes an incredulous sound.

“Oh fucking– They keep putting that one back no matter how many times I’ve tried to get rid of it,” Wilbur grumbles as he snatches it from Tommy, clearly embarassed in a way that has Tommy’s lip curl upwards, an amused warmth flooding through him.  Wilbur continues his muttering of excuses, unaware of how Tommy is paying full attention, ready to tear down the older vampire’s pride if given even a sliver to bite onto. “It’s clearly ruined, but no,” he drawls out, elongating the ‘o’ sound. “Just because it looks similar to some of my other ones, Phil and Techno keep it there to fuck with me.”

“Damn. Respect the commitment.” Tommy mutters as Wilbur pauses in his rambling. Hook, line and sinker, he’s caught the older like a fish out of water.

Wilbur splutters on his words before recomposing his revered silver-tongue.

“Oh have mercy, you can be better than them.” He complains, hiding his face in the back of the supposedly ruined shirt. Little does Wilbur understand that such actions only spur Tommy into further action.

“Know thy enemy to know thyself or whatever the fuck.” Tommy continues, before sifting through the rack of clothing once more. So these must be Wilbur’s, that narrows it down thankfully.

A pained sound escapes Wilbur as Tommy turns back to him, finding him completely slumped against the doorframe, head hidden in his arms as he groans.

“Good grief, S please don’t turn into a tiny Techno.” Tommy rolls his eyes, ignoring the prickling unease that rouses under his skin at the words.

“Did you find anything to wear?” Seems like Wilbur is just as intent on changing the topic as Tommy is, though for a vastly different reason. But a topic change is a topic change, and Tommy’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He picks up a random green sweater alongside a white shirt, trying to look at least a little interested, to give the other something to latch onto that doesn’t end with Tommy spiralling into a churning pot of anxiety.

Wilbur takes the bait.

And Tommy has to keep from slumping in relief.

“Those might be a little loose, but I’ll be honest everything would be.” Wilbur chuckles, sifting through a collection of warm-looking pants. He pulls out a pair of black track-suit pants, ones that look far too long for him to wear. “There, that should be a good collection to keep you warm. You try them on, I’ll wait outside.”

The door closes behind the exiting vampire, the tune he hums muffling through the door.

Tommy turns down to the layers of clothes draped over his folded arms.

This will be interesting.

He turns, noticing a small booth-like seat in the corner of the room, a few hooks he has to look up to reach planted into the wall.

Placing the hooks of the shirt and jumper up there, Tommy goes about swapping the pairs of pants. He throws the star-patterned pyjamas down on the seat before stretching a little in the different pair. As expected, they’re far too big for him. But it wouldn’t be too annoying if he put a pair of shoes on. Hopefully.

He swaps out the pig-patched pyjama shirt for the nice, smooth white shirt and comfortable green jumper. Both are, again, oversized for someone with Tommy’s frame, but he can’t find himself hating that. It’s nice, to not feel like he’s being choked in his own clothing, even if these ones have his skin crawling for different reasons.

Fuck, he just wants his own clothes.

They’ve probably brought them down into the lab or something, scraped off any skin cells they could, those damn white-coats. But, they could be maybe making some sort of tracker, one that follows his DNA.

Tommy groans.

What a fucking joke.

He’s better than this. He’s not a child, he’s just tired. Tired and annoyed and would literally rather be anywhere but here.

Yeah. That’s it. That’s all it is.

Gingerly, he picks up the worn pyjamas, folding them over one arm as he uses the other to reach for the door.

Wilbur quickly greets him as he steps out.

“Aww, look at you!” He coos, Tommy feeling his face go red at just how accurate his earlier statement was. Fuck, Wilbur’s predictable. “You really do look like a tiny Phil.”

Tommy’s face goes even redder with embarrassment as his heart rate picks up.

“Fuck off man!” He squeaks out, rampantly waving his free arm around as he attempts to either block Wilbur’s vision, or whack him in the stomach.

Either would suffice.

“Awe, Tommy. It’s alright, Phil and Techno will probably be happy that you stole some of their clothes.” Tommy’s heart stops. “Their instincts will probably go wild.” Wilbur mutters, Tommy trying to keep the blood from draining his face in horror as he notices the slight dilation to Wilbur’s irises.

“Wait, I–” Tommy tries to keep himself calm, managing to shake the awful sensation threatening to crawl up his spine as he takes a deep breath.

He’s made his bed, so now he’s got to lay in it. Plus, if it makes him feel any better, it seems like Wilbur’s being honest? Maybe they’ll be in the weird instincts enough to ignore the possible blasphemous action of Tommy wearing their clothes.

“Wilbur, whose are these?” He squeaks out in a pathetically small voice, looking down at his attire. It’s really comfortable, making the fabrics incredibly difficult to hate as he’s never worn anything this soft.

Wilbur hums as he takes the worn pyjamas from Tommy’s grip, throwing them into a laundry bag. 

“Well the jumper is Phil’s, the pants are mine and I’m fairly certain I saw you grab one of Techno’s shirts.”

“You’re all fucking gigantic.” Tommy mutters, brain lagging behind as it short-circuits from the information.

“Maybe you’re just small.” Wilbur mocks with a coo, Tommy throwing him a half-hearted attempt at a glare.

“Yeah, well, maybe you’re a bastard.” It’s not his most spectacular of responses, but he can taste the traces of his iconic gasoline in the edges of the words, a prominent reminder of the fire inside, ready to burst.

Wilbur smiles. “You’re a spitfire for sure. An adorable one, but a spitfire nonetheless.”

“I am not adorable.”

“Yes, says the one in clothes far too big for him as his face turns red.”

Tommy makes a startled ummph noise at the reminder.

“Fuck you. Let’s just go.”

As Wilbur gently cradles his wrist, lightly tugging the smaller along, Tommy pales at his own words.

Fuck, did he really just say that?

The vampire guides him back out the corridor he’s seen far too many times today, back through the curtain and down the opposite hallway. One that leads to what Tommy can only guess is an exit.

He’s not sure what to expect, but part of him sincerely hopes it’s not stairs.

He doesn’t have the energy for stairs. 

It’d be nice if it led into just another room, but Wilbur had said up.

Damn the stairs, his forever nemesis.

Wilbur startles him from his thoughts. “Have you ever been in an elevator before?”

Tommy lets out a confused laugh. Ah, of course. He’s totally been in an elevator before. He’s totally not had to take the stairs everywhere because quote-unquote ‘none of us are stupid enough to be locked in a small space with deadly vermin’.

So yeah, he’s so been in an elevator.

“Uh, of course, I have. All the time man, I’m a bit of a pro at the el-e-va-tor.”

Every syllable drips with liquid lies as Tommy tries to hide his estranged curiosity for the elevator, to continue his illusion.

Wilbur looks thoroughly convinced, slight frown not at all chipping Tommy’s crumbling armour. 

“Right,” Wilbur draws out the word as Tommy’s confidence melts with every extended letter. “Well. Then you’re aware that there are handles should you feel like you’re going to fall over.”

Tommy scoffs. He, uh, he totally knew that.

“Well duh, what do you take me for, an idiot?”

He turns to Wilbur, but the vampire only gives him a concerned, light frown. “Not exactly.”

Tommy squawks at the accusation. “Unless you’ve fucking forgotten, I’m one of, if not the strongest hunter there is. Show a little respect.”

Wilbur pauses at the words as he presses the control button, a small glowing number above the door changing its red writing every few seconds. If Tommy wasn’t so focused on maintaining his powerful composure, he’d almost note that Wilbur looked pained. “Thes– Tommy. I’m saying this because I’m not aware of your limits. I’m just trying to keep you safe.”

Tommy hates the implication behind every single word. “Yeah. Call it whatever the fuck you want. I don’t need a pity party.”

A small ding resonates from the machine, the two vampires locked into a staring contest. Strong blue meeting a concerned, almost furious red.

The anger isn’t directed at Tommy.

Part of him wishes it was, just to have some twisted sense of vindication justified within his very being.

Wilbur’s the first to look away as the doors open, Tommy following behind, grimacing at the hard look he was giving in the mirror built into the back wall. Wilbur presses a few buttons, and the door closes.

Ever the vigilant observer, Tommy can feel the eyes burning into the back of his head as he not-so-subtly maintains a white-knuckled grip on the support bar.

He turns, meeting the distant gaze head-on, ignoring the way his body shakes from the strange, alien sensation of the elevator.

Wilbur has no problem with it, who would have guessed, as he casually leans back against the opposite wall, eyes never leaving Tommy’s form like he’s made of spun glass, about to shatter at any second.

Tommy manages to force himself to stand up tall, leaning back against the bar behind him, hands securely holding onto the metal surface as he meets Wilbur’s gaze with a challenging look.

The elevator dings, and this time, Tommy’s the first to look away.

The doors open, and Tommy’s gut clenches at the normal-looking office building outside.

“We’re here.” Wilbur says, voice oddly distant. “Keep close, it’s not a far walk.”

Tommy doesn’t argue, far too interested in the strange room. It’s an oddly vintage looking room. It’s still got grey carpets, and the walls are a dull white in colour, decorated with bookshelves and filing cabinets. It’s got a large table in the centre, two couches on either side, black leather with dark wood furnishings. There’s a small kitchen on the side, only really having the notable additions of a coffee machine and a sink, a few cups sitting upside-down on a drying rack.

It’s almost like a waiting room, but fancy.

He’s added the ‘but fancy’ descriptor to a lot of things recently.

Wilbur takes him down a normal enough looking office corridor, ducking into a side-room, one that is yet another waiting room, though notably smaller, lacking the extra accessories this time. They both sit down on one of the couches, this one being a light grey, touches of blue clear in it, as no wooden parts stick out aside the six little legs keeping it hovering mere centimetres off of the floor.

“Now that’s strange.” Wilbur comments, catching Tommy’s attention. “I thought the meeting would’ve been over by now. Let’s just wait out here.”

A morbid mixture of dread and curiosity overcomes him, with a powerful shot of fear in there to spice it all up. He’d almost forgotten why they were up here.

But… that begs the question.

“What are they talking about?” Tommy reluctantly leans into Wilbur’s side, the vampire taking a moment to move his arm from where it was resting on his lap and drape it over Tommy’s shoulders, keeping the younger close. Hopefully the all cute act will work.

“Curious, huh?” Bingo. “Well, I’m pretty sure it’s the monthly updates meeting.” Wilbur states with a slight groan. Tommy’s more than inclined to agree.

“Oh.” He responds, voice flat. “We had those.”

“Well, then you’re aware of how boring they are.” Tommy nods into his side, able to feel the vampire chuckle as the arm draped over him hugs him tighter for a moment.

“I guessed as much.” Tommy muttered, Wilbur raising an eyebrow at him, a silent question, a request to continue. Desperate to think about anything, he entertains the vampire. “They sound boring, from what I heard. Though the general meeting was every week, ranging from one hour to fucking seven or some shit.”

“Yeah, it’s a bit like that. But, we don’t really have to go to them.” He says, like that is what Tommy’s worrying about. “Or, well, you don’t. I got out of it today thanks to babysitting duty.” The bastard whispers the last part into golden curls.

Tommy doesn’t even react to the clear attempt to coerce him into giving one of his trademark snappy responses.

“If I had a dollar for every time I heard that I’d be fucking rich.” Wilbur clearly hadn’t expected that response, pushing Tommy back, red eyes looking into blue, searching for something.

“Wait- what does that mean?” Wilbur questions gently, a tinge of confusion showing in the vampire’s expression.

Tommy sighs. “Use your head, idiot. It means exactly what it says.”

Wilbur doesn’t seem to get it, and Tommy can only groan, feeling uncomfortable in his own skin as he realises he’s probably said too much, fuck.

“Whatever. Not my fault if you can’t infer shit.”

Wilbur’s response is feather-light, hesitant with something that Tommy never wants to acknowledge. “I can, just–”

Both are taken from whatever that was when the doors to an adjacent room open, Tommy’s hindbrain prickling at the sight of many, clearly powerful, vampires filing out of the room.

Those that notice and acknowledge them, acknowledge Tommy, throw a look of confusion back at him. A few, clearly older, vampires don’t dare look past the two’s knees.

Wilbur lets out a warning growl, and the younger, bolder fucks scuttle away with their tails between their legs.

The older vampire keeps him tucked close, shoved right into his side. Tommy tried to pull away, but paused at the warning rumble he received, the arm tightening around him.

At least ten of the fucks were in the room, all having filed out, Wilbur throwing daggers at them as he trails them like a fucking bloodhound.

Then Wilbur’s moving, and Tommy’s anxieties return like a tidal wave, intent on drowning him until every molecule of air has escaped his lungs.

Tommy begins to panic, unable to do much as he’s pulled along by the wrist. 

“Are you sure this is–”

“Yeah. You’ll be okay, Tommy. Come on.” Wilbur whispers, finally letting go of Tommy’s hand to open the door, hands curling around the golden handles of the double-doors.

“I– Wilbur I–”

The doors open as Tommy’s anxiety peaks, the younger unable to see inside as he ducks to the side, out of sight and hopefully out of mind.

“–ah, there you are, mate.” Tommy stiffens at the sound of an unknown, yet distantly familiar voice as alarm bells ring throughout his skull. He can hardly hear the bells over the heating of his own heart, hand clutching his shirt as the air turns suffocating.

Only, that’s not the tip of the iceberg, as another, far more damning voice speaks up.

“Where’s Theseus?” Tommy’s entire body freezes as the world holds its breath. His breathing picks up again, chest aching from the pressure as his windpipe threatens to seal itself up.

With blurry vision, he can see a strange figure across the room, one that seems to be observing him with burning eyes from the door he and Wilbur had entered a few minutes before.

Tommy doesn’t know who that vampire is or what he would possibly want.

He’s not given time to think as his thoughts turn to static at a thundering growl, a familiar, lean frame blocking eye contact with red eyes alight with dubious curiosity. A more horrifying, gigantic beast of a figure is at the corner of Tommy’s vision, the stranger backing off, all thoughts of the man drifting as a strange, sickly sensation curls around his heart. It’s like oily tendrils, rooting itself into his organs and nerves like a familiar parasite, pumping just as quickly as his heart rate.

And like that, Tommy’s body begins to move without him.

It’s hot in Tommy’s room.

Gross, in a way he’s never felt it be before.

It’s strange, for Tommy’s room to be so warm. Dad had always made sure the temperature never changed too much, but it’s the wrong sort of warmth. It clings to him like an infection, the entire room feeling sticky from the disgusting heat.

His nose scrunches, and he chirps out, hoping someone will turn the air conditioner back on, he doesn’t want to be awake right now. He can’t even reach the remote from where it is on the wall, Techno always teasing him about it whilst he grabs it with ease. But Techno is big, he can grab it easily. Tommy can barely touch the bottom whilst jumping and he just doesn’t want to get out of bed right now, even if it feels a lot weirder than usual.

Tommy turns slightly, blindly reaching out to try and grab his blanket, since sometimes it stays cold in areas he hasn’t quite touched yet.

But there’s no blanket, and the mattress feels weird.

He’s probably knocked the blankets off the bed again, or at least to the edges where he can’t reach. Dad and Wilbur always laughed a bit before they threw the comforting layer of warmth back over him, but he doesn’t want warmth. It’s too gross for warm. He needs cold, then he can snuggle up in the right warm.

But it’s not right.

Something is off.

Tommy sleeps in the middle of the nest, the direct heart of it to make anyone wanting to spend time with him have to come lay down with him, maybe even pick him up too.

So when he reaches a little further and touches a strange pole, an unease hits him.

Has he been taken to Dad’s study? No, that’s not right. It’s always cold in Dad’s room, and even colder in Techno’s. Sure, Wilbur can tolerate the heat a bit better, but not this.

It’s never humid like this down in their chambers, the entire place having natural cooling.

So when Tommy shuffles over the flat, solid surface he’s laying on, grasping the pole, only to discover another not too far from it…

He whimpers, letting out a distressed chirp, his little heart starting to beat faster in his chest as he slowly peels his dry eyes open.

He’d slept awfully, coughing up thick and heavy air that tasted chalky and sharp, as the temperature had gone from freezing to boiling and fluctuated ever since. Tommy’s sleeping mask did nothing to dispel the strange new bright and harsh lights that had glowed in the home. He was really tired, so he couldn’t do much. He’d spent the entire day chasing Techno and Wilbur down in the training area, scaring them away as he tried to catch them both. It was really loud, but it was quiet now, and Tommy managed to get some sleep, even if it was the worst he’d ever had by a long shot.

Speaking of, he’s still wearing his sleeping mask. It feels a little itchy, but nothing feels normal at this point. He lifts it up and is met with the familiar sensation of darkness, but the location is completely alien. Hissing quietly under his breath, Tommy lets go of the strange metal pole, pulling his arm back close to himself as he stumbles backward, tripping as he collides with more strange poles, a strange draping of dusty fabric behind it.

It’s not right, this isn’t right.

Tommy quickly realises that this is not his home. Where are his brothers? Where is his Dad? They said they’d only be out for a few hours, returning home before Tommy woke up, having their weird meetings or whatever.

Is it still nighttime? Have they come home, realising he’s not there? They’ll come and find him, he just knows it! He just… needs to wait a little longer. Yeah, that’s it. He can just wait, and then they’ll find him. Just like the game of Hide and Seek, he’s hiding in some strange, grossly hot room, and they’ll find him. They know he prefers the cold! They’ll come to find him, they have to.

They have to.

They always find him, no matter how well he hides. Even when he managed to get away with hiding down in the big cupboard in the kitchen, walking in and ducking down behind his cereal box. They found him, even in an incredible spot that took them a good while to find. It was a little hot in there too, but this was so much worse.

They’ll just find him quicker, they’re very good at finding him.

But… he doesn’t know where he is.

He sniffs at the air, finding traces of something grossly artificial like it is mimicking some strange, unnatural scent. It clings to the air like a mist, not even trying to conceal the pungent odour of sweat and grime.

There’s also a strange scent, one he’s smelt traces of, but it’s never smelt like this.

Human. The strange scent the species carries, reeks beneath the mess of other scents, moulded into any and every surface, it seems.

He’s certainly not in his Coven’s chambers. No human is welcome there, even those in the Divine’s favour. They’re to stay in their chambers, they’re not allowed in his family’s chambers, certainly not Tommy’s room.

So, this isn’t his room or the chambers near it.

Thrilling, like he didn’t need more fear spiking through his stomach.

Tommy’s not sure how long he spends lying there, curled into the corner of the cage, having tried to pry off the cloth so he can actually see the room around him, but it’s tucked beneath the floor of his cage.

He’s in a cage, in a strange room, in an unknown place, starting to feel dizzy from the heat as his stomach grumbles.

He’s in a cage, in a strange room, lying on the metal floor of the cage, trying to soak up the last remnants of the metal’s once-cool temperature as nausea threatens to overtake him.

He’s in a cage in a strange room when the cloth dimly lights up with a sickly yellow fluorescent light, footsteps approaching.

The voice is strange, certainly not one Tommy’s ever heard before. Deep, but not comforting like Techno’s. It’s a sharp sort of whisper, a little bit raspy, lined with traces of an undeniable rage.

“What the fuck has he been doing.” Tommy’s not been doing anything, but the intruder isn’t talking to Tommy. So he stays quiet, the man pacing around.

Tommy’s strong, he can bite down his whimpers and chirps. If his family hasn’t found him yet, then this man doesn’t stand a chance! Tommy is too well hidden here. Wherever ‘here’ is.

“Building plans…? For one of those property houses? What the fuck would he need these for–”

“You could just ask me, third-rank.” A smooth voice responds out of nowhere, one that has Tommy flinching with the dubious sort of power it holds. Every word oozes out strange selfishness, the speaker likely having their chin inclined up in a show of disrespect. As they metaphorically spit down at the other.

Or, he assumes it is metaphorically. His head is pounding and killing him from these lights, smells and sounds. Can these weirdos just leave already?

“Fuck! Do you sneak up on everyone as a hobby?”

“Do you intrude on others as a hobby?”

“What are you doing with these maps? Are you tracking some sort of property town attack?” Maps? What maps, Tommy doesn’t see any maps. Or, well, he doesn’t see anything. But there are apparently maps outside this cage, somewhere.

There’s silence, sharp and feeling like a knife being gently pressed into the throat as the air is charged with a strange sort of tension. As if a shoe waiting to drop.

The second man speaks up, words dripping with the same acid as Tommy scrunches up his nose in disgust. “Ah, that. In a way, you could say that, yes.”

“Helpful answer.” The first man responds, mirroring Tommy’s thoughts. This second person has a strange way of speaking, almost like Wilbur’s words of honey. Yet, every word this man slides out drips with the deception of acidic rain, smooth and familiar-looking yet deadly to the touch.

Tommy stills as dust starts to tickle his nose.

No, no please not now.

“So, what’s with the maps? Taking up stalking as a hobby–”

A small, mangled and pitiful sneeze escapes him.

The room holds its breath, as the acid-tongued man grumbles.

“What was that?”

Acid-man sighs.

“That was an oversight on my behalf. Should’ve known the little rat would draw attention.”

Before the first man could even respond, the fabric shifts and Tommy mewls out pained chirps, fluorescent lights burning into his eyes, into his skull.

“Meet the solution to all our problems. Plucked straight from the manor you see on that very map.” Acid-man chuckles, Tommy unable to distinguish much of the strange, stinky man’s form. He’s thin, sickly-looking and looks like he’s built of clay and grime. Yet, Tommy would be foolish to deny the muscle hidden beneath the facade.

“It’s not like the Angel will know about his dear little child’s fate.”

Through the burning lights, Tommy can see the first man, a bigger, bulkier unit. Similar to Techno, yet clearly lacking the healthy lifestyle as he has clear bags beneath his eyes.

Both of these humans are so gross– and they’re so loud!

Tears begin to fall before he can stop them.

“What the fuck are we supposed to do with this? Are you lot insane? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” The first man seems anguished, horrified. Good. He should be. Tommy’s Dad will find him and save him, beat them both up for caging him!

Acid-man laughs. It borders on deranged. “We’ve followed orders. And you’d be best to follow the duties of your rank. You’re already prying into things far beyond what you could ever understand.”

The first man refuses to back down. Tommy wishes he would– they’re too loud, he’s starting to feel nauseous from all of this harrowing stimulation. “Oh, I understand John. I very much understand the damage you’re all doing to cause. I can see the kid with my own eyes, just as much as you can.”

Acid-man chuckles. Tommy doesn’t like that sound.

“This one is different, it is what we need to win.” Win? Win what? They’re not playing Hide and Seek, Tommy’s not even meant to be playing! He’s meant to be a good boy and sleeping to grow big and strong!

“Vampires are bloodthirsty in every way, especially over their young.” The first man sounds like he’s almost in pain, speaking strangely about Tommy’s kind. Sure, blood makes them thirsty, but clearly this man thinks that they drink from children. That’s gross! No one has taken from Tommy, he gets his food in his little containers and cups. He’s only ever spilt it two times! “Even if this one is some kidnapped child they took, don’t you realise how damning it is to steal it from–”

“This child was not kidnapped.” Acid-man states, cool and cunning.

The air shifts. 

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me clearly, low-rank.”

The first man lets out a strange growl, one that lacks clarity and intent.

Clearly not a vampire growl, but that was obvious. These two reek of sweaty human.

“Quiet your superior bullshit– what the fuck are you trying to imply here?”

“I’m not implying anything. Look at the little hellspawn, surely you can see it too, no?”

“What–”

“It’s one of them.”

“This is no child, you fool. It’s one of them, wretch.” Acid-man laughs, and Tommy realises they’re talking about him. They’re being mean to him whilst he’s suffering from the lights, scents and sounds. This is painful. “A disgrace upon the Earth in every drop of its tainted blood. It’s an anomaly.”

“That– It’s impossible. Vampires can’t be this young, they’re created. Do you hear me damn it, it’s impossible!”

“And yet, so is everything about the vermin.” The first man is losing an uphill battle to Acid-man. Tommy wishes he’d win, just to get the scarier of the two away from him. “They taint the pure to create their own, they live on the very life that pumps through our veins and lives without the beat of a heart. Tell me, what about any of this seems possible? Seems natural?”

The other man is quiet, as Acid-man chuckles with malicious glee, going in for the kill.

“You can’t. Because these demons are something else entirely. And this little specimen will give me everything I need and more.”

“You’re insane, the Angel–”

“The Angel is none the wiser.” Angel, what Angel? Are… are they talking about his Dad? Wil? Techno? “For one that slaughters without mercy, it’s about time he had something of his own taken.” Whoever Acid-man is talking about, Tommy just wished his family would hurry up and find him. He’s so scared, his heart beating out of his chest– he wants to go home! Acid-man peeks between the bars again, offering a gross respite from the lights, leaving Tommy to look at his ugly mug. “Oh, the agony the creature must feel. To have its child, possibly born one of them, killed in their eyes through the blaze of fire. To have its adored whelp gone before it can even begin.”

From what Tommy can barely distinguish the blurry form of, looking away from the haunting grin of the Acid-man staring down into him, he sees the figure of the first man.

He looks almost constipated.

“We’ll be killed. The Angel will find out, it will hunt us all down, we will be eliminated–”

“Oh, believe me, word will not spread of this little specimen.”

A choked, pained laugh escapes the first man. “You’re far too sure of yourself for someone on a fool’s suicide mission.”

“I am merely doing my duty to this world.” Acid-man sneers, voice dripping with a self-assured reverence that has Tommy trying to push further back against the cage, to get away, even as the slimy man turns away. “So you must understand, there are no hard feelings for what is to come”

“What–”

A cut-off scream echoes in the room and Tommy covers his ears, sobs escaping him as the sound pierces through his ears like spikes.

The scent of blood fills the room, but it’s not the blood Tommy’s used to. Mixed with the horrendous cacophony of sight and sound, not even the semi-familiar scent of blood can drown out the madness.

The scent of the blood fuses with the grime and sweat, making Tommy want to throw up, if he even could.

“But you must understand.” Acid-man coos, crouching down beside a twitching form. “I can’t have yappy little upstarts ruin my chance because of their sense of bloated righteousness.”

A loud bang echoes as Tommy closes his eyes.

The next time he opens them, he sees the toxic green eyes of his captor looking at him with malicious excitement.

“Now aren’t you just perfect, little monster.”

Tommy hisses, trying to show an intimidating display in his scared, groggy state.

It earns him a kick against the cage, the sound scraping into his eardrums as he screams.

“You are the key to the new, glorious world, and I am here to unlock it.”

Tommy’s body is moving without him, clawing against– against someone. Straining in a strange hold, as a more minty scent fills his nostrils. 

Inky tendrils cause him to growl, triggering nerves as Tommy can only watch, a distant, absent observer in his own body.

He claws his way out of the hold, leaving momentary red slits against the arms previously holding him.

The figure drops down in front of him as Tommy lunges–

He stops himself, letting out strange, mangled sounds.

He starts to hear something– hear a voice, yes.

Hands cup his face as inhuman sounds escape him, a strange wetness to his eyes as his heart thunders, constricted by the sickly tendrils spiking into every part of him.

The figure presses a gentle kiss into his forehead, wrapping his distant body in what he distantly believes could be a hug, words whispered clear into his ear.

“Easy, Theseus. Breathe with me, no, none of that, look at me, darling.”

That– that voice…

Tommy can twitch his fingers, the sensation of control slowly returning to his body as the tendrils pry themselves out of his organs, fleeing his bloodstream.

Laying dormant in the back of his mind.

His ragged, harsh breathing begins to slow.

“Yes, keep going. You’re doing so well, just like that.”

Dad. A distant inkling of memory whispers, and Tommy whimpers, unable to understand, unable to comprehend what is going on.

Tommy is pulled into an embrace, limbs like jelly, unyielding and soft as the strange, minty-scented figure picks him up and rearranges him, tucked close to their chest.

A hesitant voice speaks up. “Is he–”

“He’ll be alright.” A heavy, relieved sigh escapes the chest he’s tucked up against. A hand, cool and calloused, pushes away Tommy’s curls, gently pressing against his burning forehead. “I warned you both that this would be challenging, so we have to be patient with him.”

“Fuck, I should have realised–”

“It’ll be alright, Wil. It seems he hides it, keeping it down until the stress bursts. We just have to be aware, and careful of it. Theseus is still afraid of us, we have to show that we’re not threats.”

“He seemed pretty calm before…” They sound sad, hurt, almost. Whoever is talking is sad. Tommy’s sad too.

He’s… sad?

“Then he’s distracting himself. Focusing on anything but the fear that threatens to shatter him from the inside out.”

“Why didn’t he tell me?” That voice– Wilbur– he knows it’s Wilbur who’s talking. Devastated and hurt. Tommy lets out a small whine, and whoever is holding him rubs gentle circles on his back.

“You were afraid of us at first too, Wilbur. But unlike you, Theseus has been raised like an animal. Forced to believe that we’ll kill him the second he steps out of line. He probably woke up surprised to be alive.”

There’s a hurt, broken gasp.

“Yes, it’s horrible.” A confident voice responds, the person holding Tommy rumbles as the younger melts into putty in their arms. “But we’re here to help him now. You just have to be patient, and that goes for both of you.”

There’s a silence. It’s a sad, mournful thing.

A deep voice cuts through the haze of Tommy’s brain, leaving him with a small, miniscule opening. “He’s waking up.”

He… he can see the room around him. It’s dark. No, no there’s a table in front of him, almost pressing against his side with how close it is. It’s large, and there are many chairs against it. It’s furnished… like uh. Like the couches, yeah. It’s the same dark wood colour as the couches.

There’s no couches in this room. Just many many chairs.

The person holding him is sitting in one.

Tommy can see a strong arm tucked beneath his legs, a blurry hand holding onto them, keeping it secure.

There’s a hand on his shoulder.

It’s clawed, with sharp deadly talons.

Tommy shivers. Those could– those could hurt him.

They could cut through him like butter.

He doesn’t like that thought, or the fancy golden rings that decorate the hand. Even if the gleam of the deep green emerald is fascinating, he–

Wait– wait where is he.

“It’s alright, just try and keep calm.” A voice, far too close, practically on top of him, states calmly. Like there’s nothing wrong with what is going on here.

The rumbling sound picks up again. That’s right, he heard it before. It’s… nice. “There we go, just like that mate.” Tommy turns, looking up to meet warm red eyes that begin to pull him out of whatever trance he is in. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Theseus.”

That’s–

This man– this monster.

He– he was in Tommy’s room.

Oh, oh fuck.

“You’re safe here.” A deep voice rumbles from somewhere else in the room, the red eyes breaking contact as they turn to whoever is speaking. It doesn’t matter, Tommy can practically still see them, not even registering that the being had glanced away. 

Tommy turns and meets the gaze of the Blood God. His breath hitches. “Regardless of how you feel. Have you seen any of us pull a weapon on you?” Tommy paused as the words finally caught up with his brain, chipping through the wall of terrified horror. They… Wilbur hasn’t. “If we wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be here”

The words process in his mind.

They–

They haven’t hurt him.

“Techno,” the one holding him scolds. Tommy hardly notes any of it, the cogs turning back and forth in his brain as he tastes the words, digesting them.

“It’s the only way he’ll understand at this point.” Techno grunts. “If he can find some sort of middle ground, then we can start to build from there.”

Tommy’s still looking at him.

The Blood God– fucking Techno or whatever is.

Isn’t wrong.

A stone drops in his gut.

The arm that was under his knees slips out, the hand reaching over and gently cupping his chin.

“Can you look up at me, mate?” The hand guides his gaze up, and Tommy can feel the tears welling up in his eyes.

A few begin to fall as he realises he’s looking up into the warm, deceptively loving gaze of the Angel of Death.

The Angel’s gaze softens even more, a sad smile as his hand wipes away a stray tear. “There you are, little one. You have such beautiful eyes.”

Tommy–

Tommy can’t do this.

His breath hitches, heart beginning to pound like a beating drum once again.

The Angel, damn him, notices in an instant, the rumbling coming from the chest he’s leaning up against once more.

It’s at this moment when Tommy realises he’s curled up like a pathetic whelp in the lap of the Angel of Death.

“Take it easy, it’s only natural.” The monster soothes, like they aren’t sworn enemies, Hunter and vampire. Like Tommy isn’t just some random anomaly, some freak halfway between the living and the dead. “Your body just isn’t used to this just yet.”

Tommy’s body works on autopilot.

“What do you want from me.” His voice is cracked, dry and aching. As if he’d been screaming.

The Angel tucks him closer, resting his chin atop Tommy’s head. “To bring you home.” He says it with such sincerity that Tommy sobs.

“I don’t want your home.” He whispers, voice wavering as much as his argument.

“Well, there isn’t any other option, Theseus. Other Covens would kill you on sight at best, and you’re well aware of what the Hunters have done.”

Tommy’s breath hitches at the damning truth within the statement.

“The Hunters treated me just fine.” He argues. It’s weak at best, the argument crumbling beneath him at worst.

The grip around him tightens, betraying something within the ancient terror.

“Your scars indicate otherwise.” The Angel’s voice is hard, a distant anger beneath the words. They– they’ve seen his scars–

“I–”

The doors fly open as Tommy’s heart skips several beats, the Angel’s hold around him tightening with a growl, Wilbur and the Blood God straightening as they too stare down the intruder.

A shorter vampire with dark hair and a blue beanie enters the room, wearing a suit that screams luxury.

Red eyes glimmer with amusement as they lock with Tommy’s.

“I sure hope I’m not interrupting anything, Angel.”

The room trembles with the growls that respond, Tommy curling up closer into the hold, instinct taking over as he too shakes with the room.

The Angel lets out a furious hiss like a deadly snake, Tommy feeling the tremors throughout his body. “How dare you–”

With a laugh, the intruder rolls his eyes, as if he wants to agitate the Coven. “Come now, no need to get all hostile. We all know what happened last time, don’t we?”

The three quieten, an unspoken agreement flowing between them. Although the growling has clearly subsided, to deny the hostility radiating from all three of them would be foolish.

Something this vampire clearly isn’t fazed by.

He smirks, stepping closer to the table with an almost nonchalant expression. But Tommy can see the glimmer of hunger, of anger behind the mask of neutrality.

“That’s what I thought. Now, it just so happens all of the Divine I wanted to talk to are here, so let’s settle this quickly.”

The vampire slams his hands against the table and Tommy flinches. “Your little stunt has cost us greatly over these last few months, even more so in the last handful of weeks.” The intruder growls, Tommy able to feel the grip tighten around him. And if looks could kill, then the one the Angel is throwing at this unwelcome vampire would have them far more than six feet under. “They’ve gotten cocky, intent on ripping out every Coven in the area. They’re festering, multiplying as they call in reinforcements. So, you’d better hope what you did was worth it. You’re close to having Covens turn on you, Angel.”

A chuckle, dark and malicious, has Tommy freezing in the hold as he turns and dares to peek at the Angel’s expression.

The Coven Head is beyond furious, anger festering as a layer of ice, hiding the abyssal lake underneath as the vampire keeps himself composed despite the challenge.

His voice is sharp, cruel in a way that does a complete one hundred and eighty degree turn from how he had spoken in soft awe to Tommy just a minute ago. “Afraid of a few little Hunters, are we Gamble?”

Gamble tenses, cracks showing in his act.

The other three clearly see it too, all smirking as the Angel goes in for the kill.

“You’ve come here, intruded on territory that is not your own, and decided to come in and bark out orders to those who outrank you.” The Angel lists off as though he were perusing a shopping list. “You’ve come here to complain about a little pest problem, and threatened me and my sons.” There’s a venom in every word, one that could kill with just a single drop. “So, I’ll ask again. Are you afraid of a few Hunters?”

The lack of title only amplifies the malice, the power, the control radiating off of the vampire that holds him close. Grip secure and protective.

Gamble’s composure changes. 

He’s lost.

“Of course not, Angel.”

“That’s what I thought.” The Angel responds coldly. “Now get out of my sight.”

Gamble startles slightly, stepping back from the seething Coven.

“Techno will escort you and your Covenmates out, ensuring you all find your way out quickly. After all, you have a pest problem to deal with.” The Angel grins, sharp and dangerous, that has Tommy withering in the hold, and he’s not even the subject of the scrutiny.

Gamble nods, exiting with the Blood God following closely behind, sharing one last glance with the three before shutting the door behind him.

That.

That was horrifying.

“Damn.” Wilbur mutters, claws having gouged small canyons into the wood of the table. “To think that a few Hunters are giving him such a hard time.”

The Angel hums, adjusting his hold on Tommy as he begins to rub soothing circles into Tommy’s back, easing the tenseness from them.

“Yes, such a fuss over a few bold little usurpers.” He laughs, a short, momentary thing. As though it were an inside joke, as if it held weights far heavier than Tommy could ever hope to understand. “Well, no point in hanging around here. This room is already stuffy as it is.”

Tommy’s blood turns to ice as the Angel stands, careful and secure with his hold around Tommy.

“I keep telling you we can always change the room around.” Wilbur comments, opening the door for the two to head through.

The Angel huffs, exasperated yet fond. “You know we have to send a message.”

Wilbur scoffs.

“Yes, yes. You and your freaky little crow statues in a dark room ripped straight out of a gothic novel. I completely understand.”

“You helped design it.”

“Oh yes, shame on me for putting a stop to Techno’s godawful attempts at interior design.” Wilbur speaks with such disdain that it makes Tommy focus on their conversation again, having drifted off, frozen in shock.

The Angel chuckles, warm and fond. As if he hadn’t just threatened some other powerful-looking vampire. “Sure, mate.”

“Put me down,” Tommy mutters, causing the other two to pay attention to him once more. “I can walk just fine.”

The Angel considers it for a moment, before squeezing him in one last hug, gently putting him down, hand on his back as though he needs the support.

He wobbles at first, leaning back into the Angel.

Shaking it off, he steps away, the area that the hand had touched feeling like a brand against his skin.

He shivers.

“Alright. But stay close.” The Angel mutters, throwing Tommy a concerned look, just like Wilbur.

He takes a few steps, walking beside the two, but pointedly keeping at the edge of their reach. He– he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing.

“What–” Tommy chokes out, unable to keep the wavering quality out of his voice. “Was that.”

The Angel rumbles again, like a balm against his stress levels as it consoles him. Fucking weird. “Nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

Tommy can’t help but feel offended by the answer.

“You mentioned the Hunters–”

“Theseus.” The Angel’s voice is hard, not cold, but firm.

Not yet.

“It’s Tommy.” He mutters out, most of his anxieties draining out of him.

The Angel stares back at him, eyes critically scanning his form, before lighting with a distant rage as the vampire realises what’s going on.

“That’s my name. Use it.”

But the Angel only continues to stare at him, head tilting mechanically to the side like a bird, subtle yet distantly harrowing with how precise the movement is.

This is an ancient being.

He dwarfs Tommy effortlessly.

But Tommy continues to talk, despite his better judgement.

“The fuck are you looking at me like that for? Spit it out.” He hisses, ignoring the warning growl coming from Wilbur, focused on the Angel’s suddenly so very cold eyes.

Cold like the deep Antarctic waters, able to extinguish and choke out any flame that dares stand in its path.

“They changed your name.” The Angel says, like it’s a direct act of spite.

Tommy growls.

“I didn’t have one.” He mutters, voice apathetic as the words spill from his mouth like water from a broken glass. “They gifted me it, to restore my humanity.”

The air around them changes, thick and suffocating. “You aren’t human, Theseus.”

Tommy wants to scream.

“No thanks to you lot,” He snarls, stepping closer to the Angel, who remains in that damning state of neutrality, never to betray his inner thoughts. Sarcasm drips like poison from Tommy’s mouth. “Much appreciated, by the way.”

Silence reigns, the world holding its breath in the face of the apocalyptic anger simmering behind the surface of the ancient.

The gravity of the situation slaps Tommy like a fish, and his stance wavers, he steps back, tucking his somehow outspread arms back into himself. A pathetic attempt to make himself look smaller, just so that anger flickers to somewhere else.

“This is a conversation for another day.” 

The world lets out its breath, the same as Tommy.

Annoyance floods him again, but it wavers, same as his words. “I’m not some dog who follows orders. Fucking tell me, damn you. The lot of you have ruined my life, and you won’t even give me an explanation? Not even a fucking excuse?”

“Mate–” The Angel doesn’t sound pleased, but Tommy has never and will never care what this ancient monstrosity thinks.

“No. I’m tired of being afraid. I deserve an answer.” 

The Angel stares at him, as though he was a child throwing a rebellious tantrum.

A spark ignites in Tommy’s brain.

It’s clear the Angel notices it too.

“If you answer, I’ll play along.” Tommy slides out, getting momentary looks of surprise from the Angel and Wilbur. Tommy continues, plan forming in his mind as his words speak with more and more confidence, the tendrils that had threatened to consume him whole even backing off at the fire igniting within him. “If you answer, I’ll try and cooperate with you. If you’re keeping me here, then you’ll be honest with me.”

The Angel smiles, it’s a cunning yet proud thing.

“You truly are my son, aren’t you, Theseus?” Tommy’s resolve solidifies with a fiery blaze, burning through every vein in his body like a chain reaction.

He grins.

“If I’m yours, then you’ll have to put up with the whole damn package, you bastard.”

The Angel isn’t dettered, amused by this entire act, yet calculating something behind the scenes. It doesn’t matter, this monster will not extinguish Tommy’s flame. The Hunters tried, they’ve tried for decades.

And all he walked out with is a few scars, his fire reborn into a glorious inferno.

The Angel has no idea what he’s signing up for.

“Stubborn, but we can come to a compromise.” There’s a similar ignition within the Angel, his red eyes glowing in the dim light of the room. “I’m ready to do anything for you, so long as you try and cooperate with me. Very well, Theseus. We’ll have it your way.”

“And you’ll use my name.” Tommy comments.

“You use mine, and I’ll use yours.” The Angel compromises.

It’s annoying, but Tommy nods. Using a different name will do nothing to deter him, even once he’s off this blazing high of confidence.

The Angel grins, the three stepping into the elevator Wilbur called. It’s only now that Tommy notices the concerned look Wilbur wears out for the world, nervousness silently washing across the other’s form.

Tommy’s attention returns to the Angel, who smiles back at him, pulling him close, tucking the younger under his arm.

The elevator begins to move, a much shorter journey than the one he and Wilbur had gone on before. With yet another staring contest ending with the ding of an elevator, Tommy’s gaze drifts to the arm the Angel is moving, gesturing towards the opening doors.

“Well then, Tommy. Ask away.”

Tommy’s brain comes to a halt the second he exits the door, properly taking in the impossible sight before him.

He steps forward, across the fluffy rug and past the coffee table of the strange lounge room, gaze focused on the window before him.

Tommy’s never felt so small in his entire life, as he does in this very moment.

Because from where he stands, hand pressed against the glass of a tall, monolithic building…

He looks out to the city skyline, one lit by cool artificial light that mimics the look of the night.

Tommy looks out, stumped with horror at an entire city, hidden deep underground.

They’ve theorized forever how the larger Covens survive, how they get the blood they need to survive.

It all makes sense now.

Because they live underground.

They live in cities, filled with people going about their lives without a care that vampires control their very existence, likely fully content with the notion.

They have gigantic cities in the depths of the Earth.

“What–” Tommy can only manage to splutter, tripping over his words, a hand settling on his shoulder as he turns to face Wilbur, who gives him a hesitant smile.

Tommy turns to the Angel.

“What the fuck is this.”

“You promised to answer.”

The Angel, Phil, sits back against a dark couch, one leg thrown over the other as he observes the two before him.

Phil grins, smile indulgent as Tommy’s entire perception of the world of vampires crumbles in his hands.

“Welcome home, Tommy.”