Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Tommy ignores the looks thrown at him. 

Disgusted, fearful, baffled . He’s seen it all over the years.

The low humming of the vehicle is a welcome distraction to the shameless gazes trailing him without a care of how it makes his skin crawl. Tommy doesn’t even bother meeting their gazes, rathering to glance down, rubbing his fingernails over his thumbnails, finding the movement to be a comforting respite, albeit a small one.

In the back of the truck, there’s about five other hunters with him, all of them equipped in mandatory weaponry and attire, all of it tailored for this specific level of combat. He’s also fairly certain two are out front, in the driver and passenger seats respectively.

Some of them seem young, completely out of their level. He’d argue some of them are sixteen at best .

He knows the organisation has stretched to extremes at times, so Tommy can’t say he’s particularly surprised by it. After all, the desperate will do anything to make it in this world, and the organisation isn’t one to turn people away.

Not with the enemy they’re facing.

Tommy’s expression sours at the thought, a few of the recruits passing him wary glares at the sudden change in demeanour.

Vampires .

He’s familiar with the species- far too familiar. Even in the privacy of his own mind he can feel his stomach churn uncomfortably at the thought. It’s shameful to have any association with such wretched beasts.

But it’s not like Tommy can help it, after all.

Fate simply decided this all. And if he ever meets fate, he will be sure to snap its legs. Maybe even arms too for good fucking measure.

A screen lights up at the front of the truck, all heads swivelling in identical motions as they turn to face the blue light. Tommy holds back a snort, always finding it to be a bit humorous how, no matter the mission, the second that blue light flickers on every set of eyes meets the disturbance head on. Moving to face it like clockwork.

The familiar sight of Sam meets them, it always does. If Tommy’s on a mission, Sam is bound to be the instructor with little to no exception.

It’d only change if Sam were to die, after all.

Call it extreme, sure, but it is by definition an exception to that rule.

Static momentarily flashes over the screen as the truck not-so-subtly charges over a speed bump, jostling everyone inside the vehicle. A few startled yelps escape, but Tommy’s used to it. 

He has to be, this is his life.

His purpose.

Plus, the track record of drivers for the hunter organisation? Abysmal. Tommy’s fairly certain that they’re only here in order to escape being fucking arrested for their reckless driving.

And saying reckless sometimes feels like that’s putting it lightly.

The screen cuts out for a few seconds as they speed around a corner, the truck miraculously managing to not flip over with how sharp a turn it was.

Sam’s connection solidifies as the man begins to speak. He’s a large man, quite tall as well. Always wearing a strange, almost glossy black gas mask that covers his lower face, two gleaming yellow goggle lenses staring back at them. His hair is a bright green, and the armoured, padded attire he wears is almost entirely black, reflecting purple hues in the light.  There’s one other splash of colour coming from the badge the man wears.

A golden shield.

The highest attainable rank within the organisation.

“Reports indicate that this is a duo of strays,” Sam starts, glancing down at the paperwork on the desk just below the frame of the screen. “They seem to be close to entering a feeding frenzy, so proceed with caution. If you locate any casualties, get your group’s designated First Aider to tend to them once removed from the scene. The rest of you…”

A pause.

“ Go for the heart .”

A cacophony of responses are thrown out, Sam giving a curt nod.

“And Tommy,” Sam begins, the teen looking up to the screen casually. “Keep away from the casualties.”

Tommy rolls his eyes, head resting on the arm he’s propped up on his knee.

Those within the truck remained silent, Sam seeming to wait for a response. And when he didn’t get one, he continued.

“We don’t want three vampires in a frenzy.”

Tommy can only scoff lightly, giving a sharp and clear nod to the screen before the connection shuts off, Sam seemingly satisfied with the response.

Glancing down, all Tommy is met with is the feeling of five pairs of eyes unashamedly trailing his every movement, all expressions hidden behind their expressionless masks.

Tommy gives them a snarl, all of them flinching back from the sound.

“Quit your staring. Let’s just get this fucking over with.” Tommy hisses, a few turning away completely at the sight of his small though undoubtedly sharp fangs. He just wants to go back to bed as soon as possible. Sure, murdering vampires is fun, but only under certain conditions.

Conditions that are certainly not met on this type of mission.

The truck comes to a stop, and Tommy can’t help but feel a wave of relief overcome him. Almost all of the uncomfortable feelings that he hadn’t even noticed were there vanishing with the momentary silence, the engine shutting off. The back of the truck lowers down into a ramp, Tommy gulping down the cool refreshing air as he steps out into the night.

Now, if a civilian were to look upon the group, they’d for the most part understand what’s going on. A group of hunters have come as a response to a local report, donned in their normal attire, arriving in the same small trucks that they always do.

What they wouldn’t expect is for a teenage-looking boy dressed in a bright red cardigan and blue jeans to come out alongside the hunters dressed in dark armour.

Tommy can’t blame them for the confusion, but it’s still not fun to be openly gawked at like some sort of surreal spectacle.

It’s uncomfortable, and from the few lit-up apartment room windows, he can already sense more eyes trailing his form obnoxiously. Even meeting a few of the searching gazes, not one has the decency to even flinch at the harsh glares he unapologetically hurls at them. They simply continue to stare, baffled at the impossible sight before their eyes.

Whatever. In the list of things that Tommy is openly gawked at for, this isn’t even the most common on the list. No, that title goes to any new recruits he’s ever dispatched with.

After all, a hunter doesn’t often work with the species they’ve sworn to eradicate, do they?

“Tommy,” a smug voice calls from behind, the vampire in question mustering every tiny thread of self control to not snap at the commanding hunter. “Standard surprise operation. Stick to the plan.” They say quickly, voice quiet though confident as the words are laced with a dehumanising tone that the blonde is far too familiar with.

With a sharp nod, Tommy turns towards the alleyway.

It seems almost endless, lit up by few and far between lights that glow a deep orange, the colour no doubt tainted from layers of grime. There’s junk and rubbish built up on the edges of the walls, stuffed into crevices in a way that most citizens would find appalling.

Tommy knows better. It’s a clear indication of it being a frequent passageway for the desperate and damned, a shortcut that can provide refuge to a broken and weary traveller.

Shadows consume almost every inch of the place, hiding their secrets away in the imperfections of the pavement below.

In some ways, it could be considered a miniscule road, one only intended to fit a scooter or skateboard down. Judging by the small skid marks on the ground, it doesn’t seem to be that far fetched of an assumption.

Either that, or humans have gotten considerably more creative with abandoned shopping trolleys.

A small notification sound, one that would be near unidentifiable to those with standard hearing, plays out from the phone sitting innocently in the pocket of his jeans. It makes one noise, one that is different from what he’s set to standard messages.

That’s his cue, time to do what he does best.

Fucking ruin the lives of the beasts that ruined his own.

Winds stroll through the area with a chill to them, Tommy playing along with it as he begins to chatter his teeth as he shakes. Objectively, this temperature is nothing to him. Cold temperatures only start to impact him when they’ve reached under about ten degrees celsius, if even that. 

Though that’s only for Tommy to know, for the real trick of it all is to be convincing .

Forcing the closest sound to a keening noise that he can to escape the depths of his throat, Tommy continues down the seemingly endless towering corridor of buildings, putting on an act of hesitance.

A featherlight creaking is heard from above, coming from what Tommy can only assume is a fire escape balcony, the ones that zig zag down the side of these types of buildings. The sound is certainly of creaking metal, though he doubts any of the hunters hidden behind the large rubbish bins at the entrance to the alleyway could ever hope to hear it.

After all, humans are loud and clunky with their steps.

Vampires, especially when out on the prowl, on the hunt , are not.

They’re silent, precise. Only able to be heard by those of the same sensitive hearing.

Falling naturally into the familiar routine, Tommy takes this as his moment to let out a cry as he falls to the ground, being sure to lean into the calculated movement as he almost naturally rolls into what looks to outsiders like a sudden, painful fall.

Only thing left to do now is to sell the idea.

He cries out pitiful, broken noises, curling into himself with a firm grip around his stomach. Perfectly practised keens and growls escape as they rumble from his chest, ending with a long, winding whimper as he hears two light thump noises land behind him.

A comforting rumble fills Tommy’s ears, and the real challenge begins.

Doing these missions, training for them and preparing himself can do wonders up until a certain point. That point is now, as genuine, instinctual responses meet his own, something that spliced up audio created by the scientists can never dream of replicating so perfectly.

He just has to stay strong.

“Well well, just what do we have here?” a slightly deep male voice outright croons , some sort of sickeningly delighted chuckle slipping out of them as the source of the sound steps closer.

Tommy can feel the vibrations of their footsteps, the motion shaking him almost as much as he’s trembling from some sort of locked away instinct. A feeling that is strangely familiar but yet not at all.

“Seems to me like we’ve got a scorned, and a powerful one at that.” Another male voice responds, the tone just as mocking as the last. Both of these vampires are toying with him in a way, though he can’t fathom why.

Each time this happens, there’s two very odd stages of the process that just make no sense to be ordered beside one another, let alone fucking work .

There’s taunting, as if trying to make someone retaliate, and then…

Then there’s obsession .

Tommy goes entirely limp, a shiver running through his entire body as strong arms, gentle yet undeniably restrictive, pull him up from where he laid on the pavement. Claws trail through his hair, pausing as it hovers over the nape of his neck.

He’s exiting the shallow water now, time to dive into the deep end.

The vampire tucks Tommy’s head underneath their neck, the godawful scent overwhelming Tommy’s senses. It’s wrong , it’s so fucking wrong that Tommy barely keeps any semblance of consciousness as something inside him wants nothing more than to claw at the throat he’s pushed up against.

Even if he gave into those urges, which he feels he’s only one thread-snap away from fucking doing anyway, the thought intoxicating as his brain screams at the intrusion.

This is not his , this is not theirs .

He doesn’t know what causes him to think that any time, but instead of mulling over it he simply loses himself, snarling viciously as he squirms sporadically, trying to free his arms from where they’re pinned in the mockery of a hug the vampire holds him in.

They merely hum thoughtfully, unbothered by Tommy’s valiant attempts at escape.

“Hold his arms, will you? The more he struggles, the longer this will take.” the bastard holding him notes dully. “The quicker he accepts it, the quicker he’s ours .” Tommy lets out a furious hiss at that, a spray of venom slipping from his mouth and onto the fucker’s neck.

Two thundering growls make Tommy’s entire form seize up and freeze, the boy unable to snap back into reality before his arms are held in an iron grip behind Tommy’s back.

Glazing behind him, the taller of the two vampires gives an unimpressed look, traces of irritation barely concealed behind the ever-patient mask of apathy.

Startling with a growl as he’s tucked against the other vampire’s neck again, the scent causing Tommy to choke and gag with just how foul it is. Arms slip around his body as he’s held in the not-hug position once more, two identical growls shut him up real fast.

The grip around him tightens with a warning rumble, another set of hands cupping his face, Tommy finding the scent to be getting… tolerable.

Dangers-foul-not-nestmate- lurchers .

The fuzzy static of the voices echoing in his mind dull down as Tommy’s breathing evens out, his arms released as they flop down, limp against the younger vampire’s side.

Clawed hands gently cup his face, pulling him back from where he’s been hidden in the vampire’s embrace. His face is lifted, Tommy’s bright blue eyes meeting a swirling red, barely visible as their pupils dilate upon seeing him closer.

They’re both rumbling, Tommy finding himself doing the same, trying his best to replicate the noise that the duo of strays resonate out so effortlessly.

There’s chuckles, strange ones. So distant but yet, the speakers are right here, right next to Tommy.

A clawed hand ghosts over his neck, delicately pressing against the nape of Tommy’s neck, a strange sensation coming over the boy as he lets out questioning whimpers ever so quietly.

“There we go,” a voice positively croons , a dark satisfaction. “There you are, little scorned. Someone very powerful has been so careless with you.” they purr, something within Tommy recoiling at that, a garbled, pitiful noise slipping past Tommy’s lips before he can stop it.

The other vampire grunts, tutting as they squat down, Tommy mesmerised by the ruby eyes staring into his baby blue ones.

“But you’ll be sweet for us.” he chuckles, deep and dark in ways that should have Tommy terrified .

Yet an overwhelming amount of the melted goop of his brain senses no threat.

“Because you’re ours now, little one.”

The fog subsides a little, some ancient, instinctual force in his mind fighting against the forced instincts of his mind.

He is not theirs. He is another’s . 

Tommy’s still unable to understand the conflicting mess of his mind, crying out in pain. The vampires hold him close, rumbling so loud that it drowns out the calamity inside his mind.

Though not loud enough to cover up the sound of tearing flesh. 

Not loud enough to drown out the cry of sudden, flaring pain.

The second vampire, the one that had watched on as- as the other invaded Tommy’s mind and instincts-

Is crying out.

Tommy can see the cold iron of the blade protruding from their chest.

Straight through the heart .

The arms around him tighten.

A sickening tearing sound was his only warning before the grip around him tightened, the vampire holding Tommy to its chest snarling in a way that shakes the younger to his core.

The other vampire says nothing, the only sound barely detectable behind the inhuman, instinctual snarling is a squelching thud as something heavy falls to the ground.

Fear overcomes Tommy, whines and choked sobs escape him before he even realises, the vampire holding him being sent into a panic as they stumble back, Tommy held close. Loud, thundering steps surround them, Tommy beginning to squirm in the hold, because danger-danger-escape-run -

He’s hastily placed on the ground, the vampire stepping over him in order to snarl at the hunters surrounding them, a small part of Tommy’s brain barely managing to recall his allies and identify their forms in his hazy mind, the consuming shadows of the alleyway not doing much to help that fact.

The distinct sounds of a scuffle are heard before a mangled cry tears through it all, followed once again by the sloshing thuds.

Heavy footsteps approach him, Tommy whimpering as he slips back.

There’s muttering happening above him, Tommy covering his ears at the noise. These people… won’t hurt him. They’re not a threat. Something about them is familiar, even in the clouded veil of his instincts.

A popping sound is heard before a vial is held to Tommy’s face, a gloved thumb keeping the opaque grey liquid from slipping out.

The thumb lifts, and Tommy gags as a repulsive scent fills his nostrils, the thick blanket of instinct that had covered his mind vanishing in an instant as he sits up, jumping back and leaning against the brick wall, uncaring for the stains that would soon be in his cardigan.

“Fucking hell!” he cries out, dry heaving as the scent lingers despite the lid being returned to keep any more of the vile stuff from escaping.

A few hunters laugh at this, Tommy hissing as he’s once again humiliated on the mission. 

It happens every fucking time, it has to. The hunters can’t do shit for him when he’s in ‘baby brain’ and Tommy himself despises acknowledging just how scarily simple it is to fall into that mindset when the conditions are right.

It just sucks that he always manages to forget this part of the missions, his mind blocking out any thoughts past exiting the van the second he rests back in his nest back in the compound.

The hunters talk between one another as they clean up the bodies, the stupid creatures being annoying even in death. Works of fiction love to theorise that because no civilians ever see vampire corpses, they clearly wither away into a pile of ash when killed- hell, some think that’s what the fucking sun does to them.

If fucking only. It’d make these missions so much quicker. 

As much as Tommy loves eliminating the creatures he despises, missions like this, where he has to endanger himself to his instincts? Fucking miserable .

The best are always when he gets to fight . To battle against the beasts that destroyed him and countless others in nature’s most universal, instinctual problem-solver.

Combat.

But, overtime, the mission leaders have noticed just how much more effective the ‘Instinct Trap’ strategy is, meaning Tommy doesn’t even get to hold even the bluntest fucking butterknife when he goes to battle.

Fucking wonderful.

Whatever, at the end of the day- or, well, night- he’s doing the right thing. He knows better than anyone the bloody history of the red eyed monsters, what they do- what they’ve done .

After all, he’s lived far longer than the average human could ever dream of, so it’s considered a fair trade off for if he ever kicks the can during one of these missions.

The thought is both sobering and chilling, and Tommy doesn’t know which he’d rather it be. It implies that it's a freedom, a sacrifice that is necessary to bring an end to a war that has existed since the beginning of time. That Tommy will be made rightfully mortal in the only thing shared between the species.

Death is permanent.

Irreversible.

Vampirism is not death. Though it certainly isn’t life either. It serves as a balance, the perfect centre between those two certainties of the world. It’s a frozen state of being, unnatural in every way that its secrets are so monstrously desired.

Tommy’s caught wind through whispers and mutters about attempts to copy such an inhuman phenomenon. To understand and harvest the fruits of such intoxicating knowledge that a vile past paints certain branches of the hunter organisation. The branch now known as the Forensics Unit is the most guilty for the rotten, moulded history. 

Before the group became the cold case solving masterminds that they’re now known as today, hardly two centuries ago it was something much more… monstrous .

The Research Unit, a group fueled by the minds of scientists and analysts who had one collective goal:

To enable eternal life.

To mimic vampirism .

Glancing over to where the thin, dark puddle of red leaks into the cracks and crevices of the pavement, Tommy sighs with an uncomfortable feeling in his gut.

The fate these strays got, with quick, sharp deaths, is nothing but an honoured mercy compared to what would have happened a mere two centuries ago.

Hell, maybe if they were still alive, they’d be able to recall exactly what happened to those the organisation brought in.

After all, decades are but a fleeting moment in the eyes of vampires.

What those beasts were exposed to, what they were broken into. How they were nothing but experimental material in the eyes of the acclaimed noble scientists from decades past.

Tommy heard only rumours of what happened. How they became living experiments, that they were continuously exposed to different materials and substances. How throughout all this torment, throughout all this agony they miraculously stayed resolute.

They spoke nothing of the phenomenon the scientists had obsessively and mercilessly tortured them for.

The secret of the turning process.

The key to eternal life.

Something that, if their practices were accepted today, Tommy would be under the microscope of.

After all, vampires don’t have blue eyes.

Leaning against the wall as he focuses on his breathing, Tommy slowly shakes off the lingering lull of instinct from before, a bitter aftertaste stuck to his mouth, chewy and revolting as it refuses to let go. Tommy doesn’t need to breathe, hell, he doesn’t even need to sleep , but the concept of it all is comforting, still being a natural instinct within him to do so. He’s everything a vampire isn’t but yet he stands among their metaphorical ranks.

He hates this. Hates how weak he is.

He’s not a vampire. But that doesn’t make him human by any means.

After all, being physically and mentally seventeen isn’t normal for someone over a century old.

“Tommy, are you listening?” an irritated voice interrupts, Tommy turning to see the group leader looking at him, Tommy straightening as he stands properly, no longer slouched against the wall as he looks over at the captain with dull interest.

The captain takes his grunt as a signal to keep going, only giving an eye roll at the sound.

“We’re done for the night.” they state sharply, gaze never moving from the small glowing screen of their phone, likely paraphrasing whatever update messages they’d received during the mission. “Just the one tonight, since the Tracker Unit reported the other group we’ve been dispatched to terminate having vanished without a trace.”

Tommy raises an eyebrow at this, a temptation to comment and question lodging in his throat as the other hunters return, all wearing cocky grins. They lean on each other, some tucking others close by wrapping an arm around their shoulder, a show of comradeship.

The vampire brutally stomps down any jealous feelings that attempt to breach the surface.

He’s a vampire hunter, first and foremost. A part of the Hunting Unit. He’s not here to make friends.

Friends are temporary, anyway. Temporarily assigned groups lasting less time than it’d take for a handful of sand to slip between his fingers.

Neutrality is all he needs. No one wants to associate with a monster, and for that Tommy cannot blame them.

A part of him whispers of an inner ache, a desperate desire that Tommy refuses to ever dare acknowledge.

“Woo!” one of them yells out into the night. “Fuck yeah! We’ve aced it again lads, ain’t none of these fucks stands a chance against the Bad Batch branch of the org, lets fucking go!” Tommy can see which it is, they’ve even done him the favour of removing their helmet, making it even easier to identify where the obnoxious voice is coming from.

A few yells of agreement follow, the humans all high-fiving one another, the sound starting to give Tommy a headache.

One of them laughs as they heave themselves atop an ajar trash bin, the gigantic thing somehow overflowing onto the ground, the human’s weight unable to make the lid have contact with the rest of the container.

“We fuckin’ won boys!” he cheers out, reaching down to the side, an iron grip shackling around an empty bottle neck. “Those red eyed bastards better be ready, they’ve got nothing against the Bad Batch!” the bottle shatters against the opposing wall as the hunter chucks it against the surface, Tommy jumping back before any shards of it could hit him. The rest of the hunters are unphased by it. Hell, they’re celebrating it as they also cheer out, all protected by their armour from any possible damage.

They continue to hype themselves up, Tommy turning away, trying to smoothen his furrowed brows with his fingers.

Fuck, his head is aching.

Then he hears it.

Thud .

It’s light, certainly not able to be heard by human ears.

Tap, tap .

Like metal on brick, some sort of strange momentary scraping noise that knocks Tommy out of his stupor.

Step, step, step .

Stepping back, as if to charge-

Tommy cries out as he realises the sound is from the other side of the very wall he’s been leaning against. Turning to the hunters, who obliviously continue to relish in their relatively uneventful victory, the captain turns to Tommy, meeting his eyes momentarily.

“Shut the fuck up! The battle’s not over-! ”

Tommy’s startled back as the wall explodes, a great mass of red charging through with ease.

Everything slows down.

Tommy’s heart beats at such a rapid pace that it very well would be able to power the entire city with how rapidly it beats at such a harrowing sight.

The red of a great cape seems to burn in the night, the colour of the attire being an oh so impossible sight. But yet here it is, accompanied by the bone white boar mask the monster wears, the long pink hair flowing in a braid from the powered movement.

The Blood God.

The fucking Blood God .

Right hand to the Angel of Death, able to tear apart battlefields without ever breaking a sweat. A creature so heavily researched by humanity that it’s almost obsessive with how meticulously they desire to understand everything about how this being is able to pull off such a feat of effortless massacre. 

The very same Blood God that has erupted into the alley, deep and slow chuckles filling the air to a chilling degree.

Glowing red eyes meet Tommy’s frightened blue, the harrowing sight of the Blood God analysing every inch of the boy’s form.

Then, his attention turns to the hunters.

The hunters, who have all frozen, hearts beating a rapid and mangled chorus that Tommy can hear from where he sits a few metres behind the Blood God.

In one sharp movement, the Blood God draws his blade, the metal gleaming in the small sliver of moonlight that makes it into the alley.

Then the mayhem begins.

Tommy doesn’t stick around.

No one with any sense of self preservation would.

Without hesitation Tommy scrambles down the alleyway, jumping and dodging any excesses of trash that had unfortunately managed to roll out into the central regions of the pavement.

The breeze whips around and around, pushing against Tommy as he runs.

Fuck, shit .

If the Blood God is truly there, if that sight wasn’t a vile recreation of the very incarnate of fear itself-

Then Tommy will be effortlessly tracked. He’s upwind, meaning his scent is going to be fucking laughably easy to track, even for a low-rank vampire.

But no. No that’s the fucking Blood God .

Tommy scrambles around the corner, some stray cat startling with a hiss as it runs off. He doesn’t care. He can’t care. He can’t waste time caring when the most dangerous creature on the fucking planet- in the motherfucking universe is just around the goddamn corner.

Tommy can only blindly run forward. There is no other route. It’s forward or death. Vampires are territorial at the best of fucking times, and if this is god forbid the Angel’s territory, then Tommy is fucked .

The breeze stops. Everything stops as Tommy can only stare upwards in  sickening daze as he’s met with a wall. A dead end.

What kind of fucked up architecture is this .

The silence rings out, deafening in Tommy’s ears. There’s nothing to distract him from the sound.

The heavy steps, so impossible and yet so undeniably real .

He’s frozen like a deer in headlights, only around a hundred metres from the sharp corner he’d taken without thinking during his panicked escape.

He barely makes out the form of the mission leader bolting past, followed close by the Blood God, being taunted by the bloodsoaked beast.

To make some sort of twisted point, the abomination is holding the severed head of one of the hunters, armour still intact. As the distant and dulled stench of rust reaches Tommy’s heightened senses, and despite the darkness, Tommy can see the blood drip from the helmet.

Because the Blood God has the strength to slice even through the most fortified of armour.

And with mortifying ease as well.

The monstrous vampire doesn’t seem to be focused on Tommy- or at least not fucking yet he’s not.

Tommy snaps out of his frozen state as he ducks behind a bin, hoping, praying that he’s not being hunted.

He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. So quickly, so fucking quickly any semblance of safety had been forcibly torn out from under the squad’s feet. How in a matter of moments, every role had been revered faster than the speed of light. How the Blood God had almost casually charged through a fucking wall . How so effortlessly the ancient beast caused the hunters to, in a heartbeat , become nothing but panicked prey, all foolishly separating themselves from the herd.

A great, agonised scream echoes out into the night. 

Not even the leaky pipe across the alley from him dared break the oppressive silence.

Thump.

Oh gods.

Thump.

Tommy- Tommy can’t fucking do this.

Thump. Thump.

He’s going to be sick.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The heavy footsteps echo into the night, rattling every fucking thing it possibly could. Bins, pipes, vents-

Thump. Thump, thump.

Tommy’s breath hitches.

Thump, thump, thump .

Tommy moves as quietly and delicately as possible, turning to face the metal grate cover behind him.

Thump, thump .

He wriggles it as quietly as he can, trying not to let even a peep slip past him as his vision gains dark spots that dance with the throbbing of his mind.

Thump .

The vent grate comes off with the final step.

The Blood God stops. Tommy’s not dumb. He knows the beast is toying with him. If Tommy were to guess, the creature is a handful of metres from the other end of the gigantic rectangular bin the younger is hidden behind.

A silence. Tommy doesn’t dare move.

Is there a chance-?

A deep, low rumbling fills the area. The expertise of it far outclassing the meagre strays from earlier. The sound being such an effective balm to his stress levels that Tommy has to desperately claw at the memories of the fear, the horror of what lurks at the only obvious exit to the alleyway.

Tommy has to refrain from cursing under his breath as an impulsive chirp threatens to slip past him. Fuck instincts. Why the fuck do they decide to kick in at the worst fucking times .

The dim orange light of the dying street lamps flicker in and out slowly, the shadow of the fucking bastard climbing high up the wall, the further the Tommy looks up, the more he cranes his neck back, the more dread he feels.

The Blood God is fucking huge . A goliath of a monster. How the ever-loving fuck did he fit into that tiny ass building ?

“Come out, Theseus.” it drawls out slowly, as if dealing with a stray cat rather than a competent fighter. A fucking maddening force to those within the hunter organisation, their local scourge of the complex, able to drive the humans insane in a manner of seconds. 

Tommy bites down a retort, knowing well fucking better than to provoke the apex predator.

From what Tommy’s heard about the Blood God, the vampire is not known for mercy. Doesn’t even indulge in pleas for it unlike its supposed twin. The Blood God is merciless, always prepared for a fight, with or without his signature blade, a great sword of iron .

Something that makes all supernaturals, regardless of which kind, sick in some sort of way when in direct contact with.

And the Blood God just fucking casually carries that bitch around like its nothing .

Because he can.

He’s the Blood God. Good fucking luck saying no to this bastard.

Those of the Angel’s coven… they’re ancient . Or, at least the Coven Head is. The Angel of Death is rumoured to be one of the very first if not the first vampire. Over countless generations having influenced and moulded the world, sometimes for personal gain and others just for the sake of fucking with people .

Not like the Blood God would need to hide behind the Angel of Death anyways. Where the Angel prefers to play along until he’s bored, the Blood God terminates all irritations on fucking sight. There’s no mercy. 

Denying the Blood God is a fucking death wish and a half. Tripled. Then multiplied by ten and that still isn’t an accurate way to convey the sheer amount of power this creature has.

Obsessive historians have theorised over the years that the Blood God is a hunting animal, more so than the rest of the species. Possibly having manifested a strength-based power .

Now there’s something no one should have, not human nor vampire and certainly not one already as fucking overpowered as the Blood God.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” the monster says, all malice Tommy had anticipated for the voice of the walking incarnation of violence itself lacking, hell, there’s only traces of it .

“Bold fucking statement!” Tommy snaps back, mouth clamping shut faster than anything as his grave error dawns on him. Holy shit. No. No he did not just fucking give himself a death wish.

Actually, no, he did, he’s given himself so many fucking death wishes because he just swore at the Blood God .

Something metal clatters on the ground as Tommy lets out a whimper, curling up into the corner between the small bit of wall and the filthy surface of the rubbish bin.

The Blood God lets out a long sigh as Tommy goes practically rigid from the sound.

He sighed. The Blood God sighed. The fucking Blood God sighed.

Holy shit. What the fuck.

The Blood God is ancient and he doesn't breathe. He doesn’t need to. And he certainly doesn’t ever have any reason to sound so… dare Tommy say it…

Almost… exasperated .

Tommy wants to throw up for thinking and believing such a horrible thought. The Blood God doesn’t care. Tommy’s just hearing what his mind warps into sounds that he can cling hope of survival onto.

The Blood God kicks away something, and it once again makes a clattering sound, getting more and more dull.

“Best not to test your iron tolerance, if you even have one at this stage.” the being notes out quietly, more to himself than anyone else. But it only manages to make Tommy even more confused .

Tommy… doesn’t want to think about whatever the fuck that means. But from the sounds of it, the Blood God is, by some incomprehensible miracle, distracted .

And Tommy’s not wasting his fucking chance.

Ever so gently Tommy leans back into the cool metal of the ventilation shaft. Ever vigilantly he observes the corner with an unwavering focus. He will not be dying tonight, no fucking thank you.

Continuing to slowly clamber backwards in some sort of crab-like waddling formation, he manages to get almost entirely into the vent.

And then the metal flops down lightly from the pressure, a damningly loud whoomp echoing in and out of the shaft.

“What-?” Tommy fucking books it as he hears the Blood God speak out, stunned as the young vampire watches the ancient turn the corner. 

Tommy gives up on all semblances of stealth and crawls into the vent, watching as the confused and scarred face of the vampire peeks in as he glances down, confusion and irritation overcoming the vampire as he hits his head on the top of the entrance.

A snarl echoes through the vent, amplified as it rebounds on the metal.

Tommy screams. Agonised and terrified as he watches the Blood God lean down again, a flurry of emotions overcoming the other.

Long arms slash in and try to grab at the smaller vampire. Tommy narrowly able to avoid it as the clawed fingers manage to tear a small slit into his jeans. Scrambling back further, Tommy notices the deep gouges into the thin metal of the vent, the Blood God not even fucking fazed by the tearing metal.

The Blood God lets out a snarl as he backs away from the vent, words incomprehensible as Tommy’s mind reels from the adrenaline of fear, unable to hear anything but his own heart thrashing within his ribcage.

A few shots are heard distantly, then a tremendous, echoing roar is heard that rattles everything on the fucking planet , including the vent that Tommy now desperately scrambles back from, trying to keep his breathing and movements in check. 

Wasting no time as he shoves the back grate off with all his weight, Tommy scrambles to his feet. Inside the musty room, there’s dirt and debris from where the above roof has caved in at some point, the blonde jumping over them as best he can.

He hastily opens one of the doors, startling as far behind him, but not far enough , another wall is charged through so effortlessly.

“Theseus! Enough of the games.” The Blood God snarls out, Tommy trembling as he runs into an abandoned dining room, bracing an arm as he leaps over it, booking it through the next door as he nearly tears the old thing right off its hinges. With a few more sharp turns, leaping over debris and rot, Tommy desperately books it down a long hallway, finding it to have been some sort of dorm-room looking area. Each room having faded labels barely visible on them. He’s pulled from the thought as he notices the door at the end of the corridor, one no doubt leading outside.

Booking it down the corridor, one of the doors he runs past flies right off its hinges, landing completely vertical against the opposite wall, the Blood God bursting through with a snarl. Tommy narrowly avoids being grabbed by the beast as he desperately scrambles towards the exit, his pursuer regaining their balance after almost running through the opposite wall.

Tommy slips through the door faster than anything he’s ever done before, running out and into the garden, leaping over the fence-

Running right into a suit of dark coloured armour, the accents shimmering a purple hue.

Tommy looks up to be met with Sam, who is trying to-

He’s trying to talk to Tommy.

But the Blood God-

“Sam! The fucking Blood God is here-”

On cue, the door to the establishment is sent flying as the glass parts of it shatter against the fence like an explosion, the menacing form of the Blood God staring out, irritation flaring within the blazing red irises as he looks out to-

Hunters. And a fucking lot of them.

This might very well be everyone from this fucking branch- hell, it probably fucking is.

The Blood God seems relatively unbothered by the presence of the hunters, eyes quickly searching out Tommy’s form as the blonde quakes from where he hides behind Sam, his guardian’s arm for once blocking the harrowing eye contact.

There’s a deep snarl that could split the world in two echoing through the hunter-filled street, all the people clad in identical dark armour shaking slightly from the sound, staying resolute despite the terror.

After all, they know better than to take their eyes off the beast before them.

A loud, damning voice echoes throughout the clearing.

“To think this entire time, you filth were the ones to blame.” the Blood God’s booming voice calls out, a few of the others nearly dropping their weapons from the sheer anger laced behind every word, poisoning all who hear it. “You’ll learn exactly who you’ve provoked with this.”

Why the fuck aren’t they just shooting him? Surely with this many hunters, they’ll have enough silver bullets to take this bastard down?

“Count down your days, hunters .” the Blood God continues, uncaring for the damnation of his words upon the group before him. Hell, it’s the fucking point but every word speaks of the agony of a massacre.

“The Angel of Death will learn who has foolishly challenged him.”

The Blood God turns, sauntering away without a care in the world, a rage simmering off his body in a way that’s visible in the darkness of the night.

“Open fire!” Sam calls out, at least half of the attentive soldiers shooting at all points of the building, the sound painful as it rattles in Tommy’s ears, sickening with how it echoes with no end.

Strong arms wrap around his shoulders, Sam guiding Tommy along as the rest of the hunters knock out of their stupor, the sounds of gunfire seeming to increase tenfold in Tommy’s mind as a splitting headache overcomes him and for the fiftieth time tonight, he feels like he’s going to be sick.

Tommy’s unconscious before he can even register closing his eyes.

Tommy’s still not sure that last night was real.

When Sam came to collect him this morning, he fully intended the man to belittle him for such a show of cowardice before a vampire. How Tommy had run , leaving all but one of the drivers of last night’s team for dead. That he did nothing to stop the mountain of a vampire at all.

But Sam remained tellingly silent, not having spoken a word as they headed into the rainforest area outside the main facility. Tommy can hardly register the path ahead of him, let alone any of his surroundings at this second.

Sam had said something about training, and honestly, considering the millions of thoughts running through his mind, including but not fucking limited to the goddamn Blood God’s threat towards the hunters, training sounds pretty good. A nice distraction to think of anything but that .

He feels distant from himself. The entire situation has felt… wrong. Made up, more like something of a shitty nightmare that torments a person until they jolt awake from the terror.

Only there was no waking up.

Because somehow, that was not a morbid nightmare.

That was real.

Apparently something in Sam’s mind has finally changed, and the two currently wander down the shaded pathway just outside the rainforest area, avoiding the steep hill as they cut  across the bottom of it, heading towards the sports complex. Tommy’s known about the complex, though has not been allowed into it before, let alone near it.

Until today, apparently.

Because after a few minutes of walking, Tommy sees the frankly gigantic sports facility hidden behind the hill, a large grassy field outside, a few trainees running back and forth as an instructor blows a whistle.

The sports complex almost looks like the body of an undecorated cupcake. The top being entirely curved, the walls leaning inwards as the building keeps a semi-circular shape.

It’s a mixture of wood and metal, accompanied by a metric fuck-ton of concrete. There’s even an entrance foyer facing out to the fields, a few sets of benches there being occupied by the next group of trainees.

Tommy’s not even sure what to say, his jaw being moments from dropping at the sheer fuck-off size of this goliath.

Taxpayer money and government funding. How in the fucking world is a private goddamn sports complex real.

Tommy hadn’t realised he stopped until Sam turned to him with a glare. Looking down, Tommy meekly follows in the man’s confident strides. He does not want to piss Sam off today. He’s not going to the fucking pool, not after going through last night’s fiasco.

“After this, you’re going to go wait with Nook for a bit. You’ll have half an hour here.” Sam states, Tommy repressing a flinch at the loud voice.

It sounds too close to the voice that had echoed into the night-

“Yes, sir.” Tommy responds instinctually. Sam definitely seems off to put it lightly. Though Tommy can’t blame him, last night was a fucking catastrophe. But Tommy just prays to whatever higher powers there truly are that Sam isn’t going to be more of a dick than he usually is.

Tommy really doesn’t want to open any wounds after the mountain of trauma he had dumped on him last night.

They step up the two little stairs that lead to the shaded outdoor area outside the complex. The waiting trainees stare at Tommy, he just knows it. He can feel the obnoxiously curious gazes follow him, but Tommy doesn’t dare snap at them.

Again, he is not pissing Sam off today.

Sam walks up to the door, pulling out a set of keys as he takes a moment to open the door. The lock seems to want to deny the key, like a child refusing to eat broccoli with how stubbornly the lock refuses to budge for a few moments.

But Sam, as always, finds a way and manages to get the lock to accept the key, the door swinging open.

“Now.” Sam begins as the two wander in, Tommy finding it to be like a fucking theatre from the movies with how there’s a fancy staircase covered in a layer of a rich vermillion carpet that looks so incredibly soft to the tough. “You’re to use only the equipment that’s out. I’ll have to swap positions with Fundy when he arrives, so be sure to ensure the stubborn door actually locks . It’s a finicky thing that tricks most into leaving it unlocked. Be sure to triple check it. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Tommy responds automatically yet again, trying to repress the excitement at the thought of finally using their fancy newer model equipment to train with.

“Good. Let’s get this over with.”

“You know, it would work better if you weren’t on that flimsy desk.” Nook calls over to Tommy, causing the boy to jolt from the shock. Tommy takes a deep breath as he keeps a hold of the two cards in his hands, trying his best not to tumble the tower of cards he’s got.

“I’m fucking aware .” he mutters, throwing a glare at the man. Unlike his twin, Nook is easy to get along with. His more mentoral and supportive attitude is far nicer to be around than Sam’s cold orders of command. Where Sam dresses in dark colours, always showing up in the same attire with little to no exception, Nook is the type to have a pocket dimension for a wardrobe with how little one would ever see the same outfit twice. Today, that apparently means he’s going to wear the most obnoxiously red hawaiian shirt decorated with blinding white floral patterns across it. To make things even better, Nook is wearing the most baggy sweatpants, bright cyan in colour with a blue stripe down it, some sort of brand name written in black down on the sides.

Nook’s outfits are atrocious.

Tommy fucking loves them.

It’s impossible to guess what the man will walk in wearing. Tommy’s seen him wear the top half of a suit with swimming shorts before.

So yeah, this man doesn’t have any shame nor care for what others think. He’s just having a grand old time.

“If you’re so aware of it, why did you still choose to make a card pyramid on the most broken desk in the establishment?” the flamboyant bastard teases, Tommy rolling his eyes.

“To fucking spite you that’s why, prick.” Tommy snaps back, head held high as he turns back to his masterpiece. He’s on the second layer of four, meaning just three more successfully balanced stacks and he’s good.

Nook laughs. It’s an infectious thing, one that always seems to be able to encourage even the coldest of people to laugh along too.

Laughter is the best medicine, after all.

Tommy’s giggling before he knows it as he tries to shake his arms and snap himself out of it.

Everything stops as the card tower topples, Nook’s wheezing filling the room.

“You bastard !” Tommy shouts, opening his arms wide as he slides all the cards closer to him as he haphazardly picks them up, throwing handfuls of them towards the other, the small things hardly making it halfway across the room before falling onto the ground.

Nook just keeps wheezing, uncaring for absolute hell Tommy is going to put him through if he doesn’t admit defeat soon. The older just goes on about his innocence and that he quote-unquote ‘ did nothing wrong ’ between his wheezing fit as the door opens suddenly.

The two freeze as they go quiet, the fun police walking right through the door, clad, as per usual, in his black suit with the golden shield placed proudly on the upper left side of his jacket.

Well. Sam’s back earlier than anticipated.

Odd.

“Well to what do we owe the pleasure, dear brother?” Nook begins, voice lilting as he adjusts the sunglasses on his head before they have the chance of falling down.

Sam ignores his twin’s antics, eyes turning to Tommy directly, the emotionless gaze making the vampire deflate at the scenes.

“Tommy, it’s time to head to the compound.” he states, the order clear in his tone as Tommy nods, going to pick up the mess of cards.

“Don’t worry about those, Tommy.” Nook states, “I’ll clean them up. It seems you’ve got important things to do.”

“Quite the contrary.” Sam interrupts, two twin puzzled looks being thrown at the higher ranked. “Nook, you have a call to attend.”

For once, Tommy swears that he sees Nook deflate a little, his smile fading as he takes a deep breath.

Sam hands a phone over to Nook, who takes it, hesitantly looking down at the screen that reflects a blue light on his face.

“Tommy, it's time to go.” Sam orders as Tommy has to almost run in order to follow the man out the door before it closes, the two leaving Nook alone in his office.

As odd as that is, it’s not the first time it’s happened. The twins are… weird. On a lot of levels if their almost polar opposite personalities are anything to go by. Sometimes, Tommy wonders that Nook would even still hold a job if Sam wasn’t his brother, the commander seeming to always be on thin ice with his younger counterpart.

But, this certainly isn’t the first time one of Tommy’s meetings with Nook have been cut short. It’s always incredibly annoying, considering Nook is the only one Tommy gets to have any fun with in this facility. 

Tommy follows in Sam’s footsteps, the commander seemingly parting the way through the bustling corridor, everyone keeping as far away as they can manage from the confident strides the experienced hunter maintains.

The Hunter Organisation has a large area of land within the city to themselves. Like a small town inside a larger city, a gigantic campus for everything they could need. A gigantic sports complex, training grounds, office buildings, receptions- if it’s a type of building then this facility has it. There’s even a residential area, a dormitory of sorts, where licensed hunters are able to live on-site.

Passing the reception area, Tommy makes sure to run his hand over the rim of the gigantic pot plant that lives in the front room before the two step through the sliding glass doors and into the late evening.

For an Organisation known for its ability to kill, the entire grounds carry an aura of tranquillity that Tommy’s never been able to find replicated outside of it. Sure, he’s only been outside when on missions and the few and far between trips when government officials come and visit in order to monitor where part of their investments of taxpayer money goes to.

But the grounds are undoubtedly beautiful, always maintained by the groundskeepers and surprisingly enough kept clean by the residents.

Any rubbish is always deposited to the trash bins, no traces of littering visible on the premises, even in the gardens.

Following Sam further down the cement path as they head through a rainforest area, Tommy ducks under the leaves of a juvenile palm frond, smiling slightly as he breathes in the fresh air.

Wandering past the small pond outside the main facility, a proper smile forms on his face at the orange and white fish in the water, some adorning splotches of black as well. The koi fish all swim around peacefully in the water, lit up by the small streams of moonlight that seep in between the canopies.

Heading down the small flight of stairs, Tommy wipes his shoes on the floor mats outside the compound.  Another set of glass doors slide open with a muted woosh . The receptionists don’t even turn to look at them as they head in, Tommy noting the temperature drop from the neutral if a little warm outdoors against the freezing air conditioned compound.

The walls are painted a light grey, the main entrance area after passing the reception being a big library. There’s cases and bookshelves all to the side, a few private meeting rooms to the left, a flight of stairs at the end. On the right side, behind all the bookshelves and studying tables are computer setups lining the back wall, a few organisation members doing research at them. 

Sam turns to Tommy, gaze still maintaining that neverending apathy. Even here it’s abundantly clear to the vampire that Sam has no true care for him. No connection, nothing. Just a responsibility to keep him controlled.

Hence the term guardian being used for Sam. When, more accurately, he’s a guard more than anything.

Preventing others from harm.

Keeping them safe from Tommy.

Despite the countless times that Tommy’s proven himself, it all seems to be a futile and pointless uphill battle. He feels like Sisyphus, who was punished in the underworld to forever haul a boulder up a mountain, with every time he’s even remotely close the gigantic rock is sent rolling all the way back to the bottom. That for every step Tommy makes in the right direction, he takes another three back.

There’s a barrier between Tommy and most everyone else. Nook is about the only exception, but the man seems to be the living definition of what an exception is. Tommy’s kept far from anyone, only ever interacting with those qualified with a certain licenced rank, like the captain from the last mission-

The captain that had been hunted down by the Blood God, the head of one of his comrades held tauntingly as the demon approached the helpless individual.

On second thought, Tommy doesn’t want to think about that anymore.

“Head to your quarters. You’re dismissed for today.” Sam notes sharply as Tommy is unable to do anything but nod. There’s no room for disobedience in Sam’s tone, and Tommy doesn’t particularly feel like putting up with anyone at the current anyway. The thought of the other night plaguing him as any comfort he’d felt rotted with the sour thought as the blonde wants nothing more than to return to the privacy of his nest.

“Right. You got it bossman.” Tommy responds, walking off as he avoids the gaze that bores into him as he heads towards the flight of stairs. Groaning as he looks up at the first of many flights he’ll need to climb to get to the fifth floor, Tommy once again feels a bitter feeling snap inside him.

It’s too high up. His nest is supposed to be dark, but up there, up above ground, on the fifth level? It’s somehow still bright despite the lack of windows.

As he wanders up the stairs his brain supplies ideas of an underground nest. A set of chambers deep below the earth, where the air is always the right temperature and no sounds echo obnoxiously at all hours.

The peace and quiet of the perfect nest.

Shaking his head, Tommy continues his journey. The second floor is more of a meeting place. Those on the first floor are more for research groups than anything else, Tommy recalling the gigantic meeting room further along on this floor being something ripped straight out of a movie. It’s like a perfect set piece for a gathering of villains, all talking to one another in those obnoxious chairs on each side of the gigantic table.

Now he kind of wishes the table was round. He could call the the knights of the round table, all dressed in their armour as they discuss battle plans.

Or finances alongside human resource management. Less interesting than the first, but apparently something that happens a lot .

He passes a few more of the higher ups as he makes his way up another flight, turning to climb yet another to get to the third floor.

Fuck stairs. The stairs suck. So fucking much.

He ignores their gazes as he trudged up the next agonising flight, the third floor being filled with the offices that belong to the higher ranked members of the Hunter Organisation. Those entrusted with timetabling, mission allocating, recruit training- any type of job within the Hunter Organisation has one or more of its branch runners up here. It’s separate from those like Nook, who simply work a response job in taking calls from those reporting incidents of vampire attacks and sightings. Here, it’s the core machines that run and keep the lifeblood of the entire place running. 

Tommy doesn’t stick around longer than he needs to, zooming up the next floor much to the irritation of every muscle in his legs.

The fourth floor is a science laboratory. Where even some forensics is done in order to trace down things Tommy can’t even fathom. The state of the victim, any venoms the vampire may have used, whether or not the creature is a feral or controlled stray.

They can find out just about anything, the entire concept of it more than a little unnerving.

Tommy has spent countless nights unable to sleep, desperately using whatever videos he can play on his phone in order to not hear the scientific equipment used on the floor below his nest. How he’s been restless as all he can imagine are the machines picking him apart, writing down anything and everything about him as he’s torn apart in the name of science.

Speeding through the stairwell as he avoids the fourth floor like the plague with a newfound speed despite his exhaustion, Tommy finally makes it to the fifth floor.

The fifth floor’s stairwell exit leads into a room similar to the first floor, except with a door made of bulletproof, opaque glass preventing people from going into the restricted area. Tommy opens up his phone, flipping out the wallet case and pulling out his security card.

His card can do more than others in the fact that it’s able to open up two doors that only those with high clearance and or rank can open. Those being the door before him, the glass parting as Tommy is let in, the motion sensor closing it behind him once he steps through. The other, is a room far ahead, that only those assigned to be his guardian can ever open.

Tommy’s room.

His nest .

It’s at the far end of the corridor just off the side of the restricted library, filled more with binders overloaded with all past studies of vampires and anything of the sort. He’s gone through a few of them before, no one stops him. None even care as they pass Tommy flipping through pages of old studies.

After all, who’s he going to tell about this? Besides, he already knows all he needs to. Vampires are immortal dead corpses, nothing more, everything less.

Passing Sam’s office and scanning his clearance card again as the first of the three reinforced metal doors outside of his own room.

It needn’t be said why they’ve done it. But they’re not fucking subtle about it, that’s for sure.

After waiting the through the excruciatingly long process of entering his fucking nest, he breathes in the only welcoming scent he’s ever had.

The room is dark, as dark as they could possibly make it without limiting security measures on the room. It’s a decent size, around an average bedroom, if Tommy were to take a guess. It’s a little bigger than the offices, but that’s to be anticipated.

He’s not given a bed frame, the wooden or metal structure denied to him all in fears of him ever going feral. But it’s fine, he honestly enjoys it like this. He has to, after all. At least they were generous with the pillows and blankets, things he’d earned when completing missions or certain tests.

The tests were always odd. They, of course, take semi-frequent blood samples from Tommy. Always expecting something to change within him ever so suddenly. That he’d go feral and something within his blood would tell them that.

Well, actually, that doesn’t sound too far from feasible, considering technological innovations that the organisation has miraculously got access to, but regardless.

There were other odd tests. Endurance ones, getting him to do supposedly strenuous exercises.

The only difficult thing about them was having to learn how the gym equipment worked. No matter how challenging they insist it is, Tommy finds it all boringly simple.

All of them except one, at least. Tommy’s stomach drops at the thought of the sheen of the water, the slight ripples in the surface as it glows-

No . None of that.

Not now, not after last night.

Sometimes, when he gets training sessions, he wishes they would hurt more. There are some that certainly do, but he’s not allowed to use them in case the Organisation wants to ‘ risk losing their most valuable asset ’.

Whatever.

He flops down into his nest, curling into the blankets. 

On the small plastic table beside his nest, a familiar necklace is visible, Tommy reaching over and grabbing it. It’s something created for kids to bite on, rather than them tearing apart their shirts or something. Chewelry, the sensory chew necklaces. Sure, it is admittedly calming, but the best part is that the little blue crystal-shaped sensory toy helps soothe his fangs. It’s a process called teething, where young vampires keep their teeth healthy by biting things regularly, keeping them strong.

He puts it on, plopping the end of it into his mouth as he nibbles down on it, glancing down from where he sits cross-legged, swindled up in blankets, and scrolls through his phone.

Movies are something he’s earned over the years. A sort of motivator for him, which both makes Tommy want to tear something apart but also roll his eyes. The Hunter Organisation can’t decide whether they’re going to treat him like a child or a dangerous monster. And honestly, Tommy doesn’t know which he’d prefer. Both are shitty fucking options.

He likes the hunt. When the missions allow him to attack, to fight ? He doesn’t need a motivator.

Or, well. He doesn’t need a motivator for those missions at the very least.

Sure, he doesn’t particularly need one for the uncomfortable as fuck instinct trap missions, but at the same time, new movies to watch also isn’t a bad thing.

He groans as he’s once again given a new documentary for his efforts, really having been banking on them finally giving him the sequel to one of the interesting movies, but whatever. It’s something he can play in the background to distract from the fucking machinery downstairs.

Hitting play on the documentary about the arctic, he places the phone on the bedside table, laying down as he searches through his pillow wall for-

There.

He pulls out a stuffed cow from between the mess of pillows, holding the old thing close. Henry is the toy’s name, and it’s a beloved stuffed animal. It’s something that was given to him decades ago, so he’s well aware that Henry’s not in the best shape. He’s missing one of his eyes, the white splotches across his dark brown coat being more grey nowadays, no soaps ever able to get the colour back to its former vibrant glory.

Sleep calls to him, whispering ever so gently to rest, and Tommy obeys.

Though he dreams, the same as every night.

Or he assumes it’s a dream at least. He’s in an endless black void, freezing and uncomfortable.

And in the far distance, same as always, there are small, miniscule wisps of white.

He runs towards them. He always does.

Closer, closer, he has to get closer .

It always gets warmer as he approaches, the uncomfortable weight on his shoulders lifting a little with every step.

But he never makes it to the wisps of light.

He only wakes up once more, never able to reach the answers he seeks.

The distant muddle of smattering raindrops coaxes Tommy out from his restful slumber. There’s a feeling like an itch twitching in the back of his mind, incessant despite how dull it is.

Ugh, waking up is the worst.

The duvet gently curls tighter around him as Tommy shifts, sitting up as he leans against the wall of pillows he’s got against the corner wall. There’s a thick, parched feeling to his throat that is both dryer than a desert and incredibly sticky on his tongue. The room is still blessedly dark, soothing a part of him that preens at the lack of bustling and blinding lights. Any gross feelings get amplified as Tommy dully notes with a grimace that he’s still in the exact same clothes from yesterday.

Here, he feels nothing like the savage beast he’s supposedly become. There’s no unquenchable thirst for bloodshed within any part of his floppy mess of a body. No urges to tear apart the walls and floors in the hopes of finding prey.

There’s only a lingering exhaustion, and a slight grumble to his stomach.

His mind tugs at the limp appendages of his body, impatiently waiting for the boneless mess it resides in to get up and get moving.

Just the thought of it makes his limbs even heavier as he slouches further into the soft embrace of the nest.

There’s a sharper tug, Tommy letting out a muffled and slurred snarl from where he’s headfirst into one of the larger pillows.

Tommy begrudgingly gave into the snappy sensation in his mind, groggily getting up, stretching up high with a yawn as he did so. Now there’s something a vampire doesn’t do. Such a definitively human action, stretching is. Vampires hardly need to sleep after a certain age, and either something about Tommy’s vampire side is messed up, or sleep is still needed for the first few centuries.

Part of his mind has woken in a hyper-aware state, the small corner of his brain searching desperately for something, Tommy groaning.

Sure, he gets a little dizzy when he’s not eaten in a while, but it seems that overtime he’s developed a sort of alarm for when he’s hungry. Or at least that’s all he can think of as another instinctual tug is felt, Tommy growling as he snatches his phone from the bedside table, grumbling as he clumsily pulls out the clearance card, almost dropping it as another spiking tug pulls at him once more.

Calm the fuck down, he’s going to get food.

There was a sound of the reinforced doors sliding open, Tommy stepping through the first one before opening one tucked away to the side. There’s one other room behind the sealed doors, and that’s the kitchen. The bathroom is a door just to the side of the nest, somewhere that Tommy will visit soon after eating because the cooled sweat sticking to his clothes is disgusting .

But he knows full well he’s not going to shower with how much his hindbrain is tugging at his very being.

Scrolling absently through his phone, he notices a red dot on the side of the messenger app, letting out a sigh as he realises who has no doubt been spamming him all morning.

Jokes on Tubbo, Tommy has his phone on fucking silent until nine o’clock.

Funnily enough, just for situations like this.

There’s a few lines of names, but knowing the brunet would murder him if Tommy consciously ignored the boy for much longer, Tommy quickly clicked the call button.

“ Tommy! At last, the big bad wolf is awake! ” Tubbo calls loudly through the speaker, Tommy grimacing as his body seizes up at the noise, turning the volume down as quickly as possible.

“Vampire, not a wolf.” Tommy mutters as he puts the phone on speaker, placing it down on the bench as he wanders over to the fridge. The contents are kept stocked as much as possible, blood banks thankfully able to supply the grey plastic pouches, all labelled with the necessary details like dates and blood types.

Tubbo scoffs on the other end of the line, Tommy rolling his eyes. Tubbo is one of the few that have Tommy’s contact, and that’s only because the two train together, the boy somehow managing to have a licence to be able to interact with Tommy.

He doesn’t let his mind wander to the bitter implications of people having to be licenced to talk to him, but at least it prevents bastard rookies from coming up to him and pissing him right the fuck off.

“ I only say it because you’re all bark, no bite. ” and oh is there a temptation to snap back there. To battle the bastard on the other end of the line until someone comes in and shuts one of them up, because that is the only way those arguments ever end. When both are intent on winning, the battle very well could last generations if given the chance.

Tommy has to bite down a retort as all that escapes him is a heaping of air as a deep sigh escapes him.

“Whatever. I can only guess that well over three quarters of my messages this morning are all from you, so what’s up?” Tommy comments as he nabs one of the closer pouches, closing the fridge door as he inspects the contents of the bag. 

Still good, sweet.

He opens up the microwave, setting it for a short amount of time to warm up the device. It’s far from the most effective, often making it taste jarringly odd, but considering Tommy doesn’t know what fresh blood tastes like, this very well could be the intended taste.

“ Didn’t you hear? Missions are being cancelled left and right! ” Tommy paused as the microwave started to beep behind him.

“ What ? What fucking bet have you signed up to this time?” he blurts out, irritation flaring as the absurdity of the statement irks him. The organisation doesn’t cancel missions. It’s their duty to maintain the safety from the supernatural, from vampires .

There’s no stopping until the enemy is dead .

“ I’m not joking! Check your schedule, everything is being shut down! ” the microwave beeps louder, Tommy pressing down the stop button before turning and picking up the phone, opening another tab to find-

Oh.

“What the fuck ?” Tommy calls out as his weekly schedule is clear of missions. There’s still training sessions, research exercises and the lot, but not a single mission that Tommy knows full well was there the day before, remaining after the overnight purge.

“ I know right? Has anything like this ever happened in all your decades of being here? ” Tommy mulls over the question, trying to think of any traces of this sort of thing ever happening.

“No? The only time I've ever seen so many missions cancelled was due to that cyclone a few decades back.” Tommy answers drily. This is beyond abnormal, because if there was a sudden flash flooding or some shit preventing the missions, then some sort of fucking siren would be echoing throughout the facilities, throughout the entire city .

There’s a silence that follows, neither knowing how to respond to such an idea.

It’s unnerving. Never in the history of Tommy being here have missions vanished without a trace of reason. The only time it’s happened without a natural disaster occuring was when Tommy was called to instead do endurance tests with the scientists, which thank fuck he’s not going to have to do.

Because that’d mean he’d have a full schedule. Which he fucking doesn’t .

Tommy twitches as he hears the muffled sound of one of the reinforced doors sliding open, muttering a goodbye to Tubbo before the boy could respond. The nagging feeling is still in the back of his mind, but Tommy shakes it off, knowing that if anyone else knew of the strange instinct spikes, he’d be sent down to the scientists to make sure he’s not going feral or some bullshit like that.

As much as he ignores the urge to eat, he leaves the warmed blood pouch in the microwave. Hating the looks he gets from Sam whenever he’s eating.

Surprisingly enough, he’s not a fan of being a bloodsucker either.

The man in question enters the room, Tommy having left the kitchen door open as Sam steps in, looking over and analysing the vampire before speaking.

“I’ll take it that you've noticed the schedules?” Sam states, Tommy scoffing.

“It’s not every day every mission vanishes off the face of the earth, so yeah, I’ve noticed.” he bites out bitterly, uncaring for the glare Sam shoots at him for the snarky comment.

Sam grunts, rolling his eyes as the tension doesn’t leave his form.

“Watch your tone.” he snaps, Tommy not even phased at this point, only raising an eyebrow in question for Sam to continue. The commander glares daggers into Tommy’s form, but the vampire doesn’t care.

“Just fucking say that we’re going into lockdown or some shit, you’re not hiding it very well.” Tommy snarls, Sam’s hand hovering over the sheathed blade on his belt as Tommy lets out a hiss. “And stop acting like I’m seconds away from tearing your face off. If that was the case, I would’ve done so already.”

Sam’s gaze goes cold, but Tommy could care less of what the bastard thinks right now. He’ll likely get chewed out for the attitude, but fuck it! All he’s asking for is a straight goddamn answer.

How the fuck is it this hard to get one.

There’s a pause, and Tommy would have to be daft or blind not to see the tension churning in the air, thick and syrupy as it weighs everything down uncomfortably.

“Go to the lab. Now .” A vicious snarl slips past Tommy, an inhuman rage clawing at him as he sends his fist right into the marble countertop of the kitchen island. The surface of the island countertop cracking from the sheer force of the blow.

“I’m not going fucking feral!” Sam’s hand grips the unsheathed blade attached to his belt, watching Tommy’s every fucking movement.

No. No, no- just fucking no . This is fucking outrageous. All Tommy wants is an answer, something that seems more than goddamn reasonable in this situation but no . No, just because he’s fucking frustrated he’s being accused of being feral. Sam’s tiptoeing around a truth that Tommy doesn’t even deserve to hear as the fucking oldest member of the organisation. But no, showing any sort of disobedience labels him as fucking feral because all anyone ever sees in him is a fucking bloodsucker .

Tommy wants to scream. To shout out as he tears out his hair, scratch against the walls until he lets whatever ugly tendrils of rage within him are satisfied, are under control .

He knows he’s not feral.

Sam very well wouldn’t be in one piece if Tommy went fucking feral, went rogue .

Lost himself to instinct.

But he’s still here. Controlling the impulses of the festering rot within his mind because he’s still human . He’s the organisation’s most valuable asset, but is treated just like dirt.

He’s not allowed to fight, he’s not allowed to wander around without heavily armed guards, he’s not allowed around anyone unless they have a fucking license , a non-disclosure agreement.

He’s not allowed to ask a question that every hunter in this city is damn well asking.

That they’re more likely to get answers for than Tommy ever is.

Footsteps are Tommy’s only warning before a hand clamps down on his arm. And oh . Oh does it take every shred of willpower to not tear into Sam then and there. The thought of just how simple it’d be to claw onto Sam’s arm and tear is almost overwhelming. The sheer thought of it being euphoric , gratifying in a way that Tommy almost gets lost in the drunken sensation.

But he doesn’t do it.

He grits his teeth, fighting against his inhuman instinct as his hands are cuffed behind him, a muzzle being placed on his face.

Sam always carries those around. They’re in every first aid kit in the entire facility. Always in reach for when unwanted situations occur.

It’s not subtle. It never is. Then again, what else does he expect from a place known only as the ‘ Hunter Organisation ’. Subtlety isn’t something they’re known for let alone decent at.

No words are exchanged as the two exit through the reinforced doors. No one wandering by ever questions what is occurring, barely giving it a glance. Why would they? They’re all aware that this could happen. Can happen. Has happened. Hundreds of times before. Every guardian Tommy’s ever been assigned to, they all know the procedure, they’ve all taken the boy to the place he dreads most.

All because he spoke out of turn, and they antagonised him for it.

Feral.

Feral .

That’s the catch-all term.

Spoken out of turn? Feral. Snarling as a natural response? Feral. Asking a fucking question? Fucking. Feral.

The nagging feeling in his head mangles and churns as it claws out, his mind pounding tenfold as though he’d grown a second consciousness, one far more furious and agitated then even Tommy is in this moment.

The glass doors slid open as Sam presented a clearance card to the door, an awfully familiar room greeting the two.

It’s white. Everywhere, it’s covered in an uncomfortable off-white colour that feels like it's tinged a sickening green. There’s machinery, different rollable drawers of tools and items that make Tommy shudder. His internal rage takes a backseat as an uncomfortable dread pools in his stomach.

At the far end of the room, a thin mattress is held up by a rolling table, the four wheels currently locked into position, Tommy glaring at the chain connecting to the wall. The gleam of the metal is almost menacing in the glaring light of the thin rectangular ceiling lights. The sounds the light source makes are irritating as it constantly lets out this tiny, hardly noticeable humming sound.

Thank you vampire instincts, for giving him heightened fucking hearing .

Tommy sits on the edge of the tattered excuse of a bed, gaze downcast and hyperfocused on the sickly perfections of the floor as the chains are clasped around him, the handcuffs removed afterwards.

White tiles decorate the floor with a uniformed pattern, all parallel with one another and not a chip of damage on any of them. They all have a slight gleam to them, able to muddily reflect  a mirror image of the room off of it.

It’s disorienting to say the least.

Sam steps back, Tommy biting down the stubborn growl that wants to leap out of his throat and tear the man to shreds.

Cursing internally, Tommy tries to change his thoughts. Anything violence-orintented is only going to make the entire situation worse.

He closes his eyes, taking deep breaths, heart beating slowly inside his chest. Just another anomaly for the scientists to inspect. 

“Once this is complete, you’re to remain in the upper level. Stay in your room.” Sam orders, a snappy retort squirming inside of Tommy’s very being wanting to snap out, to lash out at his nest being dismissed in such a way.

He believes he was only moments from doing so when the doors slid open, the scientists walking in.

All fight leaves his body as Tommy goes entirely rigid with a pooling dread flooding his suddenly so very cold body.

Tommy flinches as Sam walks away, some disgusted part of him daring to seek the man for comfort, for escape .

Something he’s not going to get for the next hour at the absolute minimum.

He hardly notices the scientists approaching him, eyes desperately following Sam as the dark green-clad man exits.

A sound, so inhumanly familiar despite never having once heard or uttered it in his life, slips past Tommy’s throat. A cry, a desperate call that no member of his coven would ever ignore.

Tommy shouldn’t be surprised that Sam threw him a disgusted look.

Shouldn’t be surprised that he so apathetically leaves through the doors of freedom, leaving Tommy’s fate to the scientists.

Sam is not his coven.

No one is.

The scientists quickly had Tommy change. That should’ve been the first sign.

To the scientists, the sign that Tommy was still in control.

To Tommy, the sign that this was not going to be a short visit.

Far from it.

He now wears a swimsuit that covers most of his body, leaving only his head, arms and feet exposed. It’s tight, uncomfortably so but not to the point of bruising. It’s unclear whether that’s an intentional addition for their experiment, or that this is what this type of attire is supposed to feel like.

Trepidation churns deep and pooled in his stomach, the anxiety of it all causing a jolting instinct to throw up to rise with every second. Like acid on his tongue, the uncomfortable feeling of venom dripping from his fangs makes Tommy raise a hand to his mouth as he continues to walk.

The quicker it’s all over, the better.

Inside him, the vampire part of him prepares to defend himself, the lizard brain reeling with a defensive anger as it prepares venom in anticipation to bite into the arms hidden under densely padded suits-

The toxin pools a little in his mouth, mixing with his saliva as his jaw continues to twitch uncomfortably.

The door to the changing room opens just before Tommy could reach out and open it himself. A scientist in a borderline hazmat suit awaits him, the ugly side of his mind rearing and jolting, wanting his arm removed so it can spray venom, can tackle the torturer, to sink fangs into pathetically thin flesh-

God damn it he’s screwed .

Tommy doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The entire situation is dialled up to fuckin fifty, and he’s going to be borderline tortured just for everyone else to feel safe.

It’s stupid. It’s so clear that he’s not seen as human by anyone. He knows it, hates it.

But part of him, a small warmer, damper part of him that lingers despite the years understands and empathises with their treatment of him. The part of him that just accepts it, for struggling is futile. 

To struggle is to tighten the coils wrapped around him, to make things become worse, more constricting .

To struggle is to prove Sam is right.

To struggle is to give in.

The scientists will only see it as more evidence of Tommy going off the walls feral, going rogue on them.

He’d be lucky if they didn’t shoot him right then and there, really.

The hazmat-equipped scientist says nothing, expression impossible to identify through the layer of one-way plastic, dark and opaque on Tommy’s end. Slight movement of the cylindrical head is Tommy’s only identifier that they’re scanning him, scribbling down who knows what on the clipboard they carry. Could they be writing something damning? Is just a few scribbles on paper going to be what ends him? What sentences him to a fate he should have succumbed to decades ago, as he lives a life unbound by mortality?

Tommy doesn’t want to die.

No one wants to die.

Yet his life is not his own. His life is an object. An edge . An advantage that the organisation cannot lose, their own monstrous anomaly that sits as an equilibrium between man and monster.

One they can use to terminate the red-eyed monsters that pull the strings on the world they puppeteer from the shadows.

One that they dream to exploit to find immortality themselves.

Though would that not make them the very thing they swore to eradicate?

Any pondering thoughts were brought to a screeching halt as he follows the scientist into a side room.

No.

No, please no.

It’s obvious, really. Deep down, he knew what test they were going to do the second he saw the neatly folded polyester of the swimsuit.

But there’s a different realisation, when thought is brought to reality.

When the pool is before him.

A tank is a more accurate descriptor. It’s deep, a good five to seven metres at least. The blue glow of the water is threatening as it serves as the only source of light in the room. Blinding white lights are on each side of the thing, deep in the water as it lights up the swimming area for the scientists behind reinforced glass to have a perfect view of the proceedings. Because unlike the swimming pools all are used to, this one is different. In the tank, the water is at least a metre from the brim of the tank.

Making it impossible to get out without outside assistance.

His entire body seizes up, terrified eyes unable to move from the tank, the thing that chills him in every way possible.

Intelligence, they say. It’s a test to ensure the mind is still there, for a feral vampire has not a sense of self preservation left in their body, a conscious vampire does. Meaning that if Tommy were to swim, to be aware that he needs to swim to survive, to stay alive, then he’s not gone feral.

It’s overkill. It’s the only reason the tank exists. They made this thing for Tommy . There is no other who has ever been in the water.

It feels like, if Tommy were human, that it would be something that would violate all his rights as a human.

But he’s not human.

He wonders if he’s ever been human. This is all he’s ever known, so who’s to say he didn’t just manifest in this world as an abomination? That’d give even more context to the title of anomaly that the scientists love to call him.

Because he’s not human. Humans get names.

Vampires don’t get names. For they are not human. They are given labels. Monster, demon, hellspawn, bloodsucker and countless more. They are not human.

They are an anomaly.

One that will be eradicated.

Tommy hates them. Despises everything a vampire is.

Yet, he can’t kill the vampire that resides within his own skin. 

If he were to eradicate all vampires, he would eradicate himself in the process.

He can’t do that.

He doesn’t want to die.

A hand brutally shoves him into the pool, and the test that decides between life or death begins.

Tommy wakes slowly the next day.

Rain continues with a horrendous downpour, the light showers from yesterday nothing compared to the sheer force of the weather today.

No wonder the missions were cancelled. The week must be full of flooding warnings from the local radars.

The thumping patter of the water echoes through the facility, muffled by the reinforced walls. Though, it does bring a comfort to the ache Tommy feels across his entire body.

Curled deep in every duvet, sheet and blanket Tommy could possibly find from his nest, he takes a deep breath, allowing himself a moment of blissful respite. Breaths come out slow and heavy, the feeling of a freezing weight lingers like a phantom across his entire being. 

He releases a bone aching exhale, curled up in the corner of the room, the darkness a comforting embrace that Tommy pathetically finds his only respite in.

A weak, broken part of him cries. Cries to not be alone, preferring to think of the darkness as another person, as coven .

A dark room is the only thing in his coven.

Even Tommy has to admit, that’s not a good thing. He can’t be bothered to beat himself up for indulging in the fantasies of his vampire brain, even the concept of a release being so intoxicating that it’s impossible to think of anything else.

He remembers seeing the small nest in the apple tree on the site, over in the training fields. The plant was grown there in its first stages by the founders of the organisation. Something about the fruits of their labour, that their dedication will lead to something bright in their future. The trees themselves represent good health and future happiness, presumably. A small family, one lone bird left to raise three chicks, thriving in the tree. They didn’t have much, but they have each other .

He sniffles pathetically, uncaring for the mess he’s making of the blankets swaddled around him. How silly is that? Being jealous of birds, being jealous of how easily they can fly away , freeing themselves from danger as they take out to the skies.

Not grounded to the floor. Not limited in areas to explore. Not confined to a small cluster of rooms, only able to move between them at the orders of higher ups.

He’s broken. He damn well fucking knows he’s broken. He knows he projects all his anger, frustrations, sadnesses onto the monsters he kills.

But he too, by that, is a monster.

He’s killed hundreds- thousands . And will no doubt continue to do so.

Not all of them were vampires.

It’s not a pretty thought, thinking about it. It’s protocol, it’s mercy .

To kill a human turned by the unthinking strays, who had unknowingly forced the turning process onto their victims, conscious or not.

It was a mercy, it was a mercy .

The life of a bloodsucker is not a life at all.

Tommy doesn’t call this life.

He wants to live, he truly and sincerely does.

But that’s not his choice.

It’s never been his choice.

He blindly reaches down, hand over where his heart still beats in his chest, slower than would ever be safe for a human. But beating nonetheless. Something so impossible yet so very real, grounding in a way that feels almost euphoric in nature. That, regardless of how he’s seen, he’s not the monster they so quickly size him up to be. That he, unlike every other who lives on a diet of red that reeks of a sickening metallic, remains human . Linked to his humanity by the pulsing beat of a slowed heart.

The water experiment had done what it was intended to do, what it was made for. The scientists finally clocked that Tommy was indeed conscious, or at least brought back to that state. Saved , they said, saved by the miracle of humanity .

He doesn’t stop the scowl that morphs his face at the thought. How they praise themselves for saving him, despite being the very reason that he was thrown in cold water to begin with.

The scientists of old are the reason for his crazed saving. His impossible rescue from a fate that would have had him slaughtered without a moment’s hesitation all those decades ago.

He was too young to remember it. Being a vampire doesn’t give him extra mental storage, so the older a memory is, the foggier it becomes.

Though he knows what he was told.

He was found bleeding out in an alleyway, a vampire having initiated the turning when Tommy was a mere seventeen years old. The hunters had swiftly eliminated the vampire, having tested out a vial of the old scientist’s experimental cure on the dying boy, injecting it into his mangled turning wound.

Tommy had survived, though the cure never worked as intended.

Tommy asked once, to a guardian long ago, the first one he had even, about why others were not saved too.

The man turned to Tommy with a cold stare, saying it sharp and simple.

“ No others have survived .”

His wound from the turning had healed to the point of invisibility, Tommy baffled it even existed. Vampire regeneration is fucking bullshit, something that should be impossible with how effortlessly effective it is.

Somehow, somehow Tommy had managed to survive that night, a life debt to the organisation that had saved him from death.

They stopped using the experimental cures by the time Tommy’s third guardian was about to retire. Unethical, they had stated. The entire process having been terminated by the government who had learned of the dubious things their tax money had been poured into.

Of course, the organisation is still experimenting. Though they’re a lot more careful about it, only the higher ranks know about Tommy, about their attempts to mimic vampirism .

Tommy doesn’t want to think about the implications. About how they could test such a thing actually works .

Is he a monster for ignoring such a damning signal, he wonders. Is it wrong to turn a blind eye? Is that not a part of being human?

The influence vampires have in the upper crust of society is damning. Any long standing successful company, one of its stakeholders sits on their chair at the top of the food chain, swirling around a glass filled with a deep, rich red liquid. Decisions of government are discussed with representatives of the ancient covens, to keep the demons satisfied lest they want a war to finally break out.

The concept of war is impossible. With vampires, there is no war. For challenging a coven is writing a death sentence. It’s why the organisation only ever goes after strays and ferals, knowing full well that there is no coven on this earth that would go out hunting traditionally anymore, all of them preferring to keep their actions away from the snooping eye of the human public.

Tommy shudders as he can think of one exception to that rule. That they’ve found a coven vampire prowling its territory.

How the Blood God had spared them that night.

It’s blasphemous to even think about. The Blood God had spared the hunters during his rampage.

It feels wrong to use the term spared. Wrong to think that they were lucky.

That they’re free.

After all, the Blood God himself made it pretty fucking clear that the dreadful encounter all those weeks ago was not going to be the last they’ll see of the monster.

Something within Tommy finds himself to be the blame. Maybe it’s just the concept of a hunter vampire that drove the Blood God to try every fucking tactic to catch him. Has he doomed the organisation?

No.

No, because if he had, the entire campus would’ve been razed to the ground by now.

It had to have been an empty threat, because if not-

“Time to get up.” Tommy jolts at the sudden voice that cuts through the haze of his mind. Lifting the blankets off his head, Tommy sees-

“Fundy?” Tommy questioned, perplexed by the odd presence of the researcher. Fundy looks over to him, a grimace on his face, flinching ever so gently as the two make eye contact.

Fundy’s another with high level clearance, permitted to be one of Tommy’s handlers should Sam be occupied by prior engagements. The man works with researchers, specifically the group that have their sights stubbornly set on unlocking immortality.

The last time Tommy had talked to Fundy, the man had gone on and on about the possibility of the vampire venom unlocking some sort of stasis gene in the body, preventing them from ever ageing. Only, the venom contains other toxins that make the stasis into a turning, morphing the human into a vampire.

It’s as dumb as it sounds, with the entire group obsessively fixated on the idea, meticulously attempting to solve their impossible problem.

“Sam’s out. Come on, I want to get some samples while I have you.” the man gags after smelling the inside of the room with an overly obnoxious sniffing sound. “And take a shower, too.” Fundy states, sharp and precise, turning and heading into the kitchen area as Tommy grumbles. Forcing himself up despite the ache of exhaustion weighing him down, he does as ordered.

It’s not that Fundy being here is entirely out of the ordinary. On the few and far between times Sam has been caught up in a business meeting, Fundy is the one to check on him.

No, the uncomfortable sensation throughout his body is the implication of such a thing.

First the schedules, now this. It feels superstitious, but there’s an inking of worry trying to slip into his bloodstream.

Such strange events, all occurring within the same timeframe. What, have the planets lined up or some shit? What the fuck is happening to cause such an insane series of abnormalities?

Or is it the stress.

Something in Tommy’s mind deflates, as if having lost all its air at being acknowledged. The uncomfortable feeling lifts ever so slightly as Tommy takes a deep breath, trying to take his mind off it all.

The longer he mopes around here, the more he’ll be stuck with the most annoying thing in the world.

His fucking vampire brain .

It had always been a meek thing. Something that yearns and pleads at any moment spent alone, feeling sick at the concept of solitude. Even when alight with a festering rage there’s a desperation inside it, a presence that never seems to leave.

He’s never uttered a word of it to anyone but Tubbo, his only friend. The only one he trusts to not make him stare down the barrel of a gun for uttering such things under a panicked assumption, a reflex that assumes always the worst.

Whether it's from shame, fear or defence, Tommy doesn’t even know anymore.

Heaving the blankets off his form and leaning against the wall for support, Tommy hauls his dead weight off the mattress, wandering over to his pile of clothes.

He’s not allowed a cupboard or anything. Not even in the other rooms. Or, well, there are no doors to them. Everything is on full display for safety reasons, the handlers claim. That it’s for the best. If Tommy were to have anything wooden inside his room, then in a rampant state that would very well be turned into a weapon. It’s the same reason there’s no springs in the foam of the mattress, no frame to the bed and nothing but pillows, blankets and clothing in the room.

The bedside table is the only exception, but the damned thing is made out of some rubbery plastic that would be near impossible to get sharp enough to be used as a weapon, let alone an anywhere near effective one.

The nest is feral-proofed because that’s where they lock him in after tests. That’s where he’s been for hours now, locked in the room until Fundy has come in and unlocked it.

Grabbing a red hoodie and black sweatpants as well as everything else he needs, Tommy heads into the bathroom, the plastic sliding door making his jaw clamp shut from the godawful creaking sound.

Closing the door behind him and slipping the latch down, the thing being the flimsiest lock he’s ever come into contact with, able to be easily lifted and unlocked by slipping something small in the gap and lifting it right back up again. Tommy leans against the side wall, flicking the switch absently as he leans against the cool tile.

The godawful fluorescent light comes on after a few long, humming flickers, the entire room tinted a sickly yellow that borders on a green tone. Tommy’s only got a shower, toilet, sink and shelving in here. In the shelves, he’s put the spare towels in them rather than his clothes. There’s hardly any space in the small bathroom, the shower to the left, the toilet to the right and one stack of three decently sized little square shelves above the sink.

There’s even a small mirror, one that Tommy doesn’t even fit into the frame of, the image of himself cutting off just above his eyes, not showing anything below his chest.

The sink has no storage space below it par room for a few soaps that fit in front of the pipes of the contraption.

Placing his clothes on the small surface area around the oval-shaped sink, Tommy prepares himself for a shower.

It was quick, the water being a comforting distraction while it lasted, the sound of the water and sensation of the warmth that now lingers and clings to his body beneath the clothing helping drown out the machinations of his mind.

The towel is thrown casually over his shoulders, golden locks lying flat after getting a thorough, soothing wash getting flicked back by the movement.

A bit of water stubbornly clings to his body, dampening the fabrics slightly, but the comforting warmth and weight of the clothing being heavenly .

He stumbles out of the bathroom, avoiding slipping on the wet tile as he puts the dirty clothes down just inside the door. He’ll get them washed later, when Sam gets back he can unlock the room that the washing machine is in so that Tommy can clean his, frankly, godawful sweaty clothing.

Entering the kitchen, Tommy sees the small glass beaker among other items on the marble countertop, Fundy scrolling through his phone as he leans against the adjacent wall.

The man wears casual clothing- as casual as one assigned as a vampire handler can get. He wears a bright orange turtleneck, several shades lighter than the richer blaze that bordered red that whirls atop his head, neatly done up with a small ponytail out the back. The rest of his attire is a sleek black, the pants, socks and shoes all the same colour that for a moment, it looked like the man was wearing some sort of body suit underneath the outer layer of clothing.

But the padding of a thinner though undeniably durable armour is obvious in the grooves and divots between rectangular shapes beneath the outer layer of clothing.

Dark brown eyes look up to Tommy, and the phone is put face-down.

“We need to do another venom test, see if anything’s changed.” Fundy states, Tommy feeling a slight release inside his chest at how straightforward the answer is given, without even a question to prompt it.

It’s nice to just be informed. To know what is needed and expected. Sure, venom collection is rather simple and to the point, but the feeling still remains.

Walking over, he picks up the sterile beaker, a sealable lid just to the side of it. The beaker has a rubber band around the top in order to secure two layers of cling wrap to it, to make sure Tommy doesn’t accidentally shoot anything out of the glass.

Lifting it up to his face, he sinks his fangs effortlessly into the plastic wrap, letting the venom pool into a small puddle at the bottom. He’s never got much venom at a time, and within a few seconds he’s already run out, the jar having at most ten millilitres inside of the giant container. Though, the beaker has to be large enough for both fangs to fit into, so it checks out.

Removing the cling wrap and disposing it in the special waste bad Fundy carries, Tommy seals the normal lid atop the surface before running a wet cloth over the glass surface.

“Alright, just be sure to clean down the countertop just in case.” Fundy states, gloved hands collecting the beaker as he heads out. “Once that’s done, we’ll head down to the office. Apparently Nook wants you down by the training grounds.”

“Nook trains?” Tommy questions, finding the entire concept of that baffling.

“Funny, I thought the exact same thing.” the other comments before wandering out the door, the sound of the reinforced doors slipping open following soon after.

Grabbing some cloth, he coats the surface with what is likely a little bit too much liquid soap, but too much is better than too little.

Meticulously scrubbing every inch of the bench, even areas that are surely too far out of reach, Tommy’s mind wanders yet again.

He feels odd. The itching sensation that had nagged at him to an infuriating extreme yesterday had seemingly vanished overnight. Curb stomped into oblivion, like it had never existed to begin with. Part of him churns at the thought. His venom has been tracked consistently over the years to check his health, growth and whatnot. Was that sensation some sort of growing pain? Are they going to get him to do more exercises because his venom is saying he’s becoming more and more vampire?

Looking into the glossy surface of the damp countertop that smells of some sort of mixture between flowers and sugar, Tommy looks at the misshapen reflection of himself.

Blue eyes, still human. 

He’s still human.

God, he hates how he deflates at that. That he’s not only become so desperate to one of the two consistent links to his humanity-

But part of him yearns for it to disappear.

For the blue to taint purple as more and more red take over the mixture of colours until the rick crimson snuffs out any last remnant of life, of humanity within him.

He’s not a monster.

And he’ll never fucking become one either.

Twisting the cloth to wring it out over the sink, Tommy grabs a dry cloth to run over the rest of the bench with.

With so many thoughts in his head, all conflicting one another, there’s always a hopeless desire for an off-switch for his brain. To stop all the battling and bickering between the two sides of his mind and just… silence . Peace and quiet. No obnoxious instincts infecting him with sickening thoughts of dark actions, revenge and cowardice. No fear spikes that impale him right through at a moment’s notice.

Nothing, just peace and quiet as he finally gets a fucking break .

The now slightly damp cloth sucks up the last of the water lingering on the bench, Tommy throwing the dense fabric into the sink. He’ll clean it up later, it’s best to go see whatever it is Nook wants.

Just inside the kitchen to the left of the door, there’s a small clear acrylic tray sitting at chest-level with Tommy. Inside, his yellow-coloured clearance card sits innocently, the white rectangle in the lower half having the barcode and details on it whilst a decent strip across the top of it is coloured entirely black.

He picks it up and steps through the kitchen door, minding his step from the small area that juts out slightly from the floor at the bottom. Following natural motion, Tommy scans the card on the small screen, the colour of the surface turning from blue to green, opening the great doors after a moment of buffering.

Stepping through and repeating the process, Tommy notices just how silent everything is. It’s all still, some sort of strange feeling to the air. The torrential downpour had ceased at some point, an uncomfortable sort of humidity settling in its place.

Heading down the hall, Tommy quickly finds Fundy having sat down at one of the studying tables near the restricted library.

“Took you long enough.” Fundy teases lightly, Tommy rolling his eyes. The man stands up and straightens, the beaker from before being completely gone. And judging by the scent of the strange coats the scientists wear being incredibly potent in the air, it doesn’t take long for the dots to connect. “Come along now, let’s go see what Nook wants before it starts pouring down again.”

Tommy only nods, quickly falling into stride behind the man. He’s starting to regret not leaving his hoodie in his nest, the humidity making it feel sticky and gross as it clings uncomfortably to his skin.

Flight after flight they continue down the sets of stairs, others keeping far away from the two as they almost rush down to the ground floor.

Tommy looks over to the receptionist as they pass her, the woman looking away in disgust.

Rude .

Then the doors open.

And the sheer humidity hits like a tidal wave at the peak of a catastrophic storm. Tommy knows full well that he repulses back with a shudder, Fundy barely managing to maintain his composure at the onslaught of uncomfortable, sickly warmth.

They stay there a moment completely dumbfounded by the sheer discomfort as it wades into the room like a thick stream of tar, slow and tacky as it menacingly approaches inch by inch.

“Let’s get going.” Fundy states, voice clipped as he wades out into the humid atmosphere, Tommy struggling to keep up. As though the humidity itself is a dense wall of air, heavy and thick to push through.

The rainforest feels like more of a curse now, pathways of it being flooded or coated in mud and debris that had been torn up and washed across the roads during the storm, caked up in areas as it hides any remnant of the bricks and cement. It’s a horrific mess compared to the usual serenity of the area, the uncomfortable temperature doing nothing to dispel the unsettling atmosphere.

Water still trickles down over any hilled areas, gravity taking its toll on the muddied liquid.

Glancing down between trees to look at the small drain beside the far side of the facility, Tommy sees just the sheer amount of water that had fallen, dark and murky as it builds up. It no doubt carried debris down with twigs, leaves and palm fronds in order to block up the drain, making the water unable to escape and causing it to pool up to such an extreme.

At the top of the hill, Tommy looks out to the dark grey sky as the trees disperse with every step they take. It’s almost like it’s night time, the entire sky covered in the blackening veil of the dense clouds. 

They head into the shaded area outside of the lines of business rooms that responders are inside. All of those inside these offices are direct respondents to reports of incidents, sightings and attacks done by vampires. They collect all the necessary information and distribute them to the next ones in line, being the schedulers who assign and dispatch groups to locations.

Wandering past blank doors with simple numbers on them, Tommy once again finds himself outside of Nook’s office, Fundy knocking on the door.

He knocks a couple of times, perplexed at the lack of answer. 

“Didn’t he say he was going to the training grounds?” Tommy asks, and Fundy turns to face him.

“No, but knowing Nook he normally forgets something and comes rushing back here without warning.” Fundy responds, Tommy feeling inclined to agree.

Ever since Tommy first met Nook, the man has been the most forgetful person he’s ever met. One time specifically Tommy can recall Nook telling him that once, when he’d parked all the way on the far side of the campus next to the graduation building, he’d left his car keys in his office, having to shamefully walk back the entire way to pick them back up.

So Tommy agrees with Fundy’s logic here. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“I was hoping to catch him here, so we can go into an air conditioned office but no, we’re going out onto the field it seems.” Fundy comments quietly, rolling his eyes as he leads Tommy towards the field. 

Walking by groups of hunters, they all unashamedly stare at the boy, and whether that’s from his status as a supposed vampire or that he’s wearing hot fucking clothing, he’s for once not sure. It’s likely a mix if he’s being perfectly honest.

Tommy hovers a hand over the handrail, being sure not to actually touch it as they head down the hill once more, coming past the gigantic sports complex, the training field out before them.

Without a person in sight.

“What in the world?” Fundy grumbles. “If he’s setting up another fucking goose chase, I’ll kill him myself.”

“Not very kind of you, Fundy.” Tommy comments, snickering at the glare the man in question throws at the boy from over his shoulder.

They wander a little onto the field, the entire area being completely devoid of any life, entirely empty. Not a trace of even a small group coming out to train like there always is.

The door to the complex creaks in the wind, the two turning to find it entirely ajar, opened with all lights off inside.

Tommy shudders, feeling a sickening sort of dread pool inside of him.

Fundy seems unimpressed, raising an eyebrow as he looks back at Tommy.

“Don’t worry about it. The group we passed by before must have left it unlocked. Considering the reputation of the younger recruits, I wouldn’t be surprised if they forgot to lock up afterwards.” true, that’s very true. The lock on the door of the sports complex is finicky at best, downright broken at worst. He remembers a few days ago, battling with the damn thing because it refused to fucking lock .

He recalls it almost pretending to lock, Tommy almost leaving it unlocked if Sam had not checked before the two left that day.

Wandering over, Tommy can’t seem to shake the uncomfortable feeling. He can’t even entirely blame it on the humidity anymore, or even how dark it is. Something just feels off and he doesn’t know why.

Then a scent hits his nose, Tommy freezing on the small set of two tiny steps just outside the porch-like area of the complex.

Fundy’s a few steps ahead, turning around and giving him a look.

“Come on Tommy, Nook’s probably waiting inside.” he says, Tommy unable to put thought to word as a sickeningly familiar yet so very impossible stench lingers distantly in the air. He scrambles after Fundy, unable to even utter a word when Fundy stops a few steps into the building.

Tommy wants to gag from the scent. He cannot deny it.

Fundy screams, and Tommy sees it.

Sees him .

There, at the bottom of the stairs a few metres inside the complex, on the central group leading up towards the main training room, is Nook.

His stomach is torn apart as he bleeds out, motionless and still, the blood being an identical temperature to the humidity, not the natural warmth a human should have. His clothes torn and soaked with a deep red, body littered with purples and pinks from bruises and wounds.

Nook is dead.

A sudden laugh catches their attention, both Tommy and Fundy snapping their attention to the top of the stairs, a figure wandering in slow but strong strides as he turns the corner.

And Tommy wants to scream, but not a word comes out.

There, at the top of the stairs, is the Siren.

Youngest son of the Angel of Death.

Covered in a great dark brown trench coat, the Siren wears a warm yellow turtleneck underneath the darker fabric. His lower body is all black, from the long pants to shoes. He wears vivid red glasses that seem to almost glow in the darkness, lighting up the chocolate brown curls that have Tommy flinching in how similar it is to his own hairstyle.

The Siren wanders casually past the body of the dead man, unphased by the literal corpse laying beside him. He stops a little ways in front of the stairs, a good few metres left between the monster and them.

The demon smirks at them, large red-tinted glasses shining slightly as his eyes move from Fundy to Tommy, gaze visibly softening.

“There you are, Theseus,” he begins, voice bordering on some sickening indulgement as the bastard uses the exact same nickname that the Blood God- his fucking covenmate used. Tommy’s eyes move back to Nook’s body, drained of every bit of essence that made up the bright and inviting personality of the man, now deflated and cold as he lies motionless on the last few stairs.

A dark brown trench coat covers the sight, Tommy glancing up to meet the eyes of the Siren once more.

“No, none of that.” he states, Tommy seeing the way Fundy’s hand hovers over the holster on his belt. “You don’t need to see that, little brother.”

Tommy’s beating heart stills as he mulls over the words.

“What?” Fundy states, able to put the incomprehensible mayhem of Tommy’s thoughts into one simple word. “The hell are you on about.”

Siren’s gaze snaps back to Fundy, the vampire letting out a growl as the soft look melts into an unfathomable rage lurking underneath the surface of a now very cold expression.

Then the beast laughs. It’s a cruel thing, maddening and cold in nature, cutting Tommy’s heart to shreds as his mind screams at him to run.

Siren sighs, though it doesn’t do anything to dispel the tense atmosphere.

“You've got quite the nerve to interrupt me, hunter .” Siren speaks, voice sharp as the last word comes out as a sort of mockery, a taunt instead of anything remotely close to the threat that the word should impose on a vampire.

But this isn’t any normal vampire.

Fundy takes a cautious step back, swiftly pulling out the gun and pointing it directly at the vampire.

Siren only walks closer.

“Stay back!” Fundy shouts, Tommy unable to do anything but watch as the Siren towers over Fundy, the beast’s chest at the end of the gun.

A clawed hand tilts the weapon away, Fundy unable to do anything but stare at the demon that mockingly stares down at him, a clear threat in the angle.

Then the sirens across the campus ring out, loud and lulling in a draining echo.

Fundy startles back to life, engaging in battle as the Siren snarls .

Tommy feels a sickening sense of deja vu, unable to do anything but run as he books it out the door, the snarling echoing in his ears as a few shots are let off. He doesn’t dare turn around, only bolting as far as he can as quickly as possible.

They were never safe, not even in their own fucking facilities. The words of the Blood God echo ominously in his mind as he runs back up the hill, uncaring that he’s not on the footpath as he books it across the grass, light raindrops beginning to fall.

“Count down your days, hunters. The Angel of Death will learn who has foolishly challenged him.”

There was never any safety. The Siren is here, the Blood God had directly threatened them for fucks sake. If Siren is here, in a place infested and filled to the brim with every hunter, new and old, in the city? Then it’s a sickeningly natural assumption to say that the rest of the Coven is here too.

The Angel of Death’s Coven. The oldest vampire coven on record. A walking threat that has curb stomped humanity into obedience countless times whenever they’ve stepped out of line.

They’re here.

They’re here, in the only place Tommy could even remotely call safe.

They’re here, and they’re on the hunt .

Tommy bolts across the hillside, heart thundering in his chest as he runs. 

Dark clouds loom over the entire sky, blanketing everything in an unrelenting darkness. The humidity lingers even as the first little droplets of rain return. 

Throwing himself blindly through the intersection of pathways and roads, Tommy keeps to the cement, hoping that he’s less likely to slip on it compared to the grass. With every step taken, he can hear it.

Screaming .

Desperate cries echoing out underneath the tremendous sounds of gunfire, the entire situation feeling like it’s pulled straight out of a horror movie. 

Tommy doesn’t even know if the Siren is following him, and he doesn’t dare turn around and check. He only continues forward, desperation fueling his adrenaline as he passes the office buildings.

The sounds of gunfire get louder, Tommy skidding to a halt beside the building as a body falls down with a thud. Equipped in their dark armour, Tommy can feel the shocked and so very desperate gaze from behind the sleek mask.

They reach for him, another figure leaping at them and taking the hunter’s weapon and using it against them.

Tommy stands still in shock, the beast standing up and facing Tommy.

Red eyes stare at him, before darting to something from behind.

Tommy’s shoved aside as the vampire leaps at a hunter that was running up from behind.

He takes that as his cue to leave, bolting once again over the hillside, the rainforest area up ahead.

Tommy coughs as he lifts an arm up to his face, the fabric of his hoodie just barely blocking out the layers of smoke that are coating the air, trapped under the canopies.

There’s the snarling of a nearby battle, screams and cries carrying in the air almost as thick as the smoke that taints it all. He sees it all up ahead, two hunters desperately battling another nameless vampire that works for the dangerous coven. Instead of heading back, Tommy notices the water flowing past his feet as it streams down from higher up the hill, eyes trailing it as it leads a semi- flat path of torn up and mud-coated earth that leads to the side of the facility.

He doesn’t care that he’s going to get dirty, he just needs to get away from all of this. 

Leaping across the handrail, Tommy navigates down the muddy surface. Feet sinking into the thick earth as he trudges as quickly and carefully as possible down the hill.

Agonising screams and cries are heard, all swiftly dying off as a wet thud follows.

It’s just the rain. The paths are wet, they just fell over and there’s water.

They’re not dead. It’s fine everything is going to be fine -

Reaching the bottom of the muddied earth trail, he slips underneath the handrail and drops down the small fall into the concrete path that surrounds the exterior of the facility with a wet thud, barely detectable over the thunderous flow of the water. His shoes are entirely drowned, socks as well, and most of his pants are caked with mud.

The downpour begins, the rain striking down with a vengeance as thunder rolls across the sky, momentarily drowning out the constant thrumming of the sirens and alarms across the entire campus.

Tommy ducks against the small wall, a grimace morphing into his expression as his lower body gets dunked into the water as he kneels beside the bricks.

He waits there a few seconds, heart thundering in his chest as he shakes. He feels his vision blur with dark spots as the stress increases, Tommy doing everything in his power to keep his breathing even.

The sirens continue on, drowned out slightly by the rain as Tommy puts his hands over his ears, the tears falling as his brain attempts to split apart.

Everything hurts, his brain feeling as though it’s going to implode at any moment with the terror of the situation.

The vampires are here , the fucking Siren is here, and if one is here than the other two are undoubtedly here as well, tearing through the battlefield with chilling ease. The hunters have no chance, Tommy has no chance- if they’re fighting then the only option is to run. Run for the hills, praying that they give mercy or catch the others first.

He waits there a few seconds, keeping his breathing steady as the tears continue to fall, the gravity of the situation threatening to flatten him then and there.

He just needs to outlast them. They’d have to leave eventually- Tommy just needs to hide and hide right fucking now .

With all lingering remnants of strength, he hauls himself up, the water overflowing across the side of the small wall, Tommy latching onto the handrail as he carries himself along the path.

Aeons seem to pass in seconds as Tommy reaches the entry to the facility, almost falling through as the glass doors open to let him in.

It’s quieter here. The horrific sounds of the outside world dampening with every step he takes into the static room. 

There’s something threatening to the air, something that Tommy could practically taste as it chokes out anything else. Even the inescapable bite of smoke is minimal in the air, not daring to challenge this looming sensation.

All the lights are out, the power no doubt having died at some point. Regardless of whether it’s from outsider tampering or the downpour, it doesn’t matter.

Because the fifth floor runs on its own separate power.

He just needs to make it there.

Slipping through the foyer, Tommy sticks as close to the walls as he possibly can.

There’s an incomprehensible shouting, Tommy turning around as he looks to the gigantic glass wall-windows, a bloodied hand slamming against it as the armourless hunter cries out, one of the lackey vampires attacking them.

Tommy can’t help but stare as the hand falls, the person laying limp and lifeless on the ground, a handprint of a thick, jarring red being left behind.

Crimson eyes scan the building, Tommy slipping around the corner before their eyes can meet. 

He stood there a few seconds, heart pounding in his chest as he leaned against the wall, hoping, praying that he’s not been spotted. He feels every part of his body go ice-cold as the glass doors slide open, slow but strong footsteps entering the building.

He knows logically that he can’t just throw himself at the vampire. Tommy may be stronger than humans in hand to hand combat, but he’s hardly a spark to the blaze of a vampire’s true strength. Especially now, with his weakened, stressed, broken and exhausted state. He also can’t fucking outrun them either, even if he was at full energy, he’d be running a hopeless race.

So there’s one option, and he’s got no fucking clue as to how well it’s going to go.

He has to sneak upstairs.

Avoid all detection from the apex predator stalking the hall.

Which, hopefully, is going to be slightly easier with the mayhem of the storm and sirens, though that does little to genuinely assure him. Getting confident, getting cocky very much will cost him his life here.

He faces the shelves within the library, staring down the dark, looming walls of knowledge as the entire world goes still. Gently, ever so hesitantly, Tommy takes a few steps further down, away from the corridor.

The main staircase is out of the question. To get there, he’d be making himself a walking target, standing in the middle of the open ground. The vampire would notice him in seconds, if that. And Tommy’s in no state to be able to make a mad dash up the stairs.

But, there may be another option.

The fire escape. A set of tight, compact flights of stairs that serve as a quick exit during emergencies, automatically unlocked as soon as those sirens ring out.

And boy, those sirens are screaming out with a vengeance tonight.

This seems like a situation where it should be unlocked.

A murky shadow looms over the entrance, Tommy quickly and quietly slipping underneath a desk. He slips underneath the wooden circle, trying to keep his straining heartbeat under control. 

Distant and faded lightning lights up the figure of the vampire, and Tommy’s heart drops.

There, in the minimal light of the entranceway, is the Siren. 

He followed Tommy. Shit, he fucking tracked him . Why did he even think there was a chance of losing the fucking Siren ? The monster is known for taunting its prey, lulling them into a false sense of security before crumbling the platform of safety they thought would be their saving grace, when in reality it was nothing more than a deadly trap.

So not only is Tommy fucked, he’s royally fucked . Because the Siren is fucking tracking him and clearly has no intent of goddamn stopping .

His heart thunders louder than the storm, Tommy praying that the Siren doesn’t notice him.

But then, the bastard speaks .

“So this is where they kept you.” Siren states, seemingly talking out to the void as Tommy represses a jolting flinch from where he hides under the table. A few metres away from the chairs surrounding him, Tommy can make out the shoes and trench coat the bastard is wearing. “ Horrendous .” He snarls, all teasing gone from his tone as the word slips out with a venomous hiss.

Siren clears his throat, seemingly regaining his previous composure. Tommy doesn’t understand what in the world the vampire is trying to say, let alone imply . 

Tommy gasps, dots connecting in his mind. The Blood God. The Siren’s covenmate, nestmate . The Blood God had told Siren about Tommy. That is why he’s taunting Tommy so much.

Tommy’s hands cover his mouth as he realises his foolish mistake far too late.

Siren saunters around the table, almost slithering in a way as he circles it almost casually. But Tommy knows better, knows that this is a dangerous apex predator on the prowl. Knows that there is nothing casual about this monster .

One of the chairs slips back with a slight rattle of plastic, Tommy flinching as blue eyes meet red.

“There you are.” Siren coos, Tommy freezing up as the being effortlessly sits down on his haunches in a startlingly smooth motion. “Baby’s hiding under the table, hmm?” he asks almost indulgently, Tommy instinctually letting out a whimper as he shuffles back.

Tommy’s in a strange state. On one hand, he wants to do nothing more than to scream, to thrash around and bolt . But something within him rots with the silence. Sickening and restricting as it constricts around his mind effortlessly. His head pounds and pounds, but not a thought comes through.

It’s like a static is filling his ears, but the smooth voice of the Siren cuts through it with ease.

“None of that,” Siren states gently as he shushes Tommy, the vampire removing his obnoxious red glasses as he reaches under the desk slightly, clawed hands gently tugging on Tommy’s hoodie. The younger can do nothing as he’s gently brought forward, pulled from his dark sanctuary as his slightly sweaty forehead comes into contact with another, far cooler one as the vampire bumps their heads together in a gesture that has Tommy’s mind reeling. “You may not understand it now, but things are going to be changing for the better. You’ll be heading home soon, Theseus.”

Tears slip from Tommy’s eyes, he lets out a keening sound as his head splits itself in two, the shaking sensation finally returning to his body as he meets the red gaze of the vampire.

Something dark swirls in the warm red eyes of the demon before him, and Tommy can’t help but stare dumbfoundedly at the creature before him.

Tommy attempts to squirm against the hold, only for the grip to turn secure as he’s trapped close in a mockery of a hug. With a desperate whimper, Tommy lets out a cry as the Siren attempts to shush him and calm him down. 

All light dies in the vampire’s expression as a gunshot is heard, the vampire slipping back and straightening in a sickeningly smooth motion as he releases Tommy, freeing him into the dark sanctuary once more.

The dread, the terror all rushes back to him as one thought cuts through the wall of ice:

Run .

And Tommy does.

He pushes the chairs behind him as he scrambles up, bolting around the other desks and slipping around the far corner of the bookcases, trying to focus on anything but the sickening cries of the hunters behind him.

Bookcase after bookcase, Tommy bolts down the carpeted area between the library computers lining the wall and the columns of written records. 

Scrambling as he sharply turns, he pushes all weight down on the metal bar, shoving it open. He can hear the footsteps of Siren following him, gaining on him already. He slams the door shut behind him, sealing it down with the manual locks, ignoring the words of the vampire behind the door. Tommy can’t even hear what he’s saying anyway, quickly turning to face the stairwell.

The air is thick and still, the scent of rotten dust choking in the air as Tommy begins to climb up the concrete slabs. The corners appear a lot faster than they do on the main stairs, Tommy having to quickly turn every six or seven steps as it winds upwards.

The dizzying sensation makes him feel nauseous, but he continues on anyway, unsure of the sheer amount of stairs he’s scaled at this point, let alone what level he’s on.

There’s a door up ahead, Tommy pushing through as he gulps in the fresher air. No stairs lead to the fifth floor, shoot. It has to be somewhere else on this floor, then.

He’s met with the white tiles of the laboratory. 

The corridor of horrors.

The very same one he walks down every time he has to face the endurance tests- face the water .

He squirms at the thought, never having realised just how close they’d made their cowardly escape area from Tommy’s torture rooms. How maybe, just maybe, the fire escape was made with more than just fires in mind.

Scrambling down the corridor, instinct takes over as he navigates the corridors.

Fuck, being here of all fucking places is making everything worse. The rapid beating of his heart shakes his entire body, his chest feeling as though it’s being torn apart at the organ’s thrashing. Of all places on this earth, in his panicked state, he realises that this is the one he fears the most. Any other time, he can hide his fear behind a facade, a mask.

But here, the mask has fallen. The mask has shattered as Tommy is face to face with everything he fears most, the entire area dark and foreboding in a way that makes him want to throw up. 

One of the doors on the adjacent wall opens, and Tommy skids to a halt, falling onto the floor with a thud as he screams, arms coming up to cover his face.

Moments pass, and nothing happens.

Tommy’s beginning to think he imagined it all when-

“It’s the abnormality.” a voice states, dread pooling in Tommy’s gut as he lowers his arms, looking down the barrel of one of the organisation’s standard guns.

Ones loaded with deadly silver bullets, made of the poisonous cold iron.

Tommy looks up to be met with a group of scientists, all frazzled and on edge. There’s a panic to their posture, one that Tommy now fears.

Because paranoia leads to irrational thought.

To impulse reactions.

Something that isn’t good with the gun being centimetres from his face, right between his eyes.

A certain kill.

Keens and whines escape him as the tears continue to fall, the aching in his chest amplifying as his brain spikes with another wave of rotting stress.

“Shut up- Shut up! ” one of the others calls out, moving the gun away from Tommy, though that doesn’t stop his instinctual whimpering. “You’re the reason we’re in this situation you freak ! You have no right to be afraid, you’re not the one being hunted !”

Tommy can’t comprehend the words, too focused on just trying to fucking breathe , the action feeling so very futile as his throat keeps seizing up and his vision blurs with dark spots once more.

One of the scientists goes to say another jabbing statement when the lights flicker. In the far rooms, over near the main laboratory, they’ve barely managed to stay alight with the power outages.

Tough it’s not the flickering that gets them all quiet.

It’s the gigantic, hulking shadow that lingers in the doorway between the corridor of rooms and the laboratory.

Tommy glances up, unable to identify any of it, but the scientists know exactly what lurks at the far end of the corridor.

Everything about the hellspawn is sickeningly identifiable. Their great, red cape draped over their shoulders, the bone-white mask adding to his already intimidating figure.

And the glowing red eyes of the Blood God stare them down from the far end of the corridor.

Tommy realises who it is as the rotting subsides once again, bile threatening to rise in his throat.

Oh fuck, not again.

The Blood God just stands there, menacing form saying more than words ever could. There’s a rage, a physical sort of power, radiating off of the form of the beast.

The fire escape door slams open, the Siren sauntering out as the group has no exits from this nightmare.

Someone screams, and then mayhem follows, it always does.

Tommy scrambles up, narrowly avoiding being trampled by the hysterical scientists as they scramble into side-rooms. Tommy reaches out to the closest door, slamming it shut behind him as he momentarily leans against it, slumping onto the smooth metal surface.

Then the glow hits him, the temperature slipping into his skin just as he always does.

Fuck .

The pool.

Why did it have to be the pool.

It’s one thing walking the corridor of dread, and it’s another whole thing to be in the room of his nightmares.

It’s the same as it always is. Glowing, radiating out a low light as the effects of the water reflect on the roof, everything having an uncomfortable sheen to it. Every surrounding floor being made of the sort of rubber mat with holes in it, the same ones that Tommy swears stare into every bit of his being as he sleeps.

He doesn’t move, he can’t move. He doesn’t want to take any step closer as his body is coated in several layers of ice.

Until he does. As the ice melts within seconds.

The screaming. It’s always the screaming . It’s everywhere, rattling his brain and tearing every inch of him apart. Because he knows exactly what is happening, and knows there is damn well nothing he can do to stop it. He thinks the scientist blamed him… for what he doesn’t know, because it felt almost distant. Something that they’ve held from him, and are now lashing out at him for.

There’s nothing he could do. They’ve always said he could do nothing to help them.

He doesn’t know whether the tears are from the fear or the hysteria as a few laughs slip past.

Tommy’s breath hitches as he sees it.

A door, on the far side of the room, directly opposite from where he stands now.

A fire escape, bingo.

Tommy wastes no time in bolting around the side of the pool, ensuring he hugs the wall the entire way along. He feels sick just being here . The quicker he’s out, the better.

Scrambling as he pulls the door open, he doesn’t even bother closing it. He doesn’t dare look back to the aquamarine glow of his nightmares.

Another wave of nausea hits as he falls on the second flight of stairs. Everything spins and the shadows dance along to a song of static as they waltz without a care in the world. Back and forth, around and around. Movements that are so very sporadic being elegant in every way they are sickeningly disorienting as Tommy hauls himself up the stairs.

He makes it to the flat area unable to even see at this point, the shadows and dark spots of his vision making the entire stairwell seem like it’s coated in a thick paint of vantablack, melting down the walls and across every surface. 

Tommy’s not sure how much time passes before the crescendo of static subsides, becoming a refreshingly more manageable ringing in distant areas of his mind. The rotting pain follows it, having infected every crevice and groove as it deems its work enough, the sensation being nothing more than a dull, distant feeling.

He doesn’t know how long this fragile grace period will last, how long he has until it amplifies itself to another extreme. Mustering all his remaining might, Tommy once again hauls himself up, leaning against the wall for support. He cannot jostle himself too much if it can be helped, the idea of that hysterical madness rising again makes Tommy want to just flop over and crumble away at the thought.

Siren and the Blood God. Both are here.

It’s one thing thinking about it, it’s a whole other can of worms when physically seeing them both in the same room.

Both in the state of a savage hunt.

Siren said something earlier… to hell if Tommy could possibly remember whatever the fuck it was in his anxious state. Knowing the track record of the slimy being, he doesn’t doubt that the creature had attempted to sew the seeds of doubt into his mind.

Tommy just needs to get into his nest.

He has to.

There’s no way they’ll find him there. No way they’ll be able to break down such securely reinforced doors. Even if they did, ha! They can get fucked, because there are two more after the first, bitches!

For as much as he attempts to be confident, for once the false bravado only makes him feel worse . He’s likely too self aware for his own good here, but…

He’s banking everything on getting to his nest.

Part of him distantly wonders how long it’ll be until the ground is ripped out from under him.

No. No, he has to stay strong.

He has to.

He doesn’t know what else he could possibly do in this situation.

Turning another flight, a squeezing ache releases from his chest as he finally sees the door. 

The last few steps are almost cathartic despite the strain, Tommy’s flimsy arms wobbling as he presses his body weight down on the handle, using the wall as a support to prevent himself from topping face-first into the floor.

And oh, oh is seeing the fifth floor the greatest release. The carpet, the restricted library, everything . It’s such a seemingly impossible sight and yet here it is, in all of its untouched and mundane glory.

Tommy wants to cry, to sob as he finally releases the chains that have coiled themselves around him.

Not now , his mind thankfully supplies before he crumples onto the floor, to the nest, to the nest!

His gaze turns to the corridor, the impossibly familiar corridor that he’s hated all these years. In this moment, he takes back everything. It’s not the worst corridor, it never has been. It’s a lovely corridor, really, it’s beautiful despite the crackling eggshells of the paint in some of the areas along the walls. Even its relatively empty sight is pretty in its own way. Simplistic, such a unique design of nothingness that Tommy wants oh so badly to cry over because he’s here .

Slipping the clearance card from his pocket, he holds the little yellow and black card up to the first door, everything progressively releasing as it opens, Tommy stepping through, hastily closing it behind him.

It seals shut with a small and abrupt woosh of air.

Tears start falling again, the chains slipping loosely off his form.

The next door opens, same as the last. The keycard held up to it as the reinforced metal sides opened to let him in.

He never thought he’d ever appreciate the absurd doors. They’ve been nothing but overkill for years , a time-waiting nuisance that had driven Tommy insane . But here he is, thanking his lucky stars that the organisation was that fucking scared of him, that they made his quarters, his room- his nest the most secure location on the entire fucking campus. Fuck it, maybe even the most secure place on motherfucking planet Earth!

Stepping through the third and final door, everything comes to a screeching halt when Tommy sees it.

Sees him .

There, standing in Tommy’s nest, red eyes crinkling slightly as he smiles, is the Angel of Death himself.

Words cannot explain the sheer mayhem of feelings inside Tommy. The drowing, harrowing dread that overwhelms every fibre of his being as he stares down the being that is said to be the harbinger of death itself.

“They say it’s an activation of sorts, one that the human mind cannot ever replicate. ”

Tommy steps back, the creature taking a slow step closer. His lips are moving, pearly white fangs on full display the demon begins to speak, Tommy unable to decipher lat alone hear a single word.

“ What happens? How can something so incomprehensible be real? ”

He slams his arm hard into the emergency seal button on the side of the small airlock-like room between the great doors. The Angel of Death starts to head closer as a red light floods through everything, the doors clamping down on the demon.

“ From what we understand, it’s triggered by some sort of stress. That once having crossed a tremendous threshold, everything inside the vampire starts to break itself apart. ”

The Angel fights against the sheer force of the clamping doors, strained as the beast is at a stand-still with the pressuring force of the slamming doors. Tommy scrambles back flicking the clearance card against the wall, praying that it hits the scanner, unable to tear his eyes from the sight before him.

“ Is there a term for this? You said it yourself- they practically become nothing but killing machines at the end of this process. ”

Tommy falls into the next airlock, falling to the ground as his vision tints a painful red from the light, the dancing dark blurs from before taking over his sight. He wants to throw up, but there’s nothing he can release from his body. The great rotting sensation returns with a vengeance, piercingly hot as Tommy’s vision suddenly oes entirely white.

Everything subsides in that moment.

“ It’s a rather simple term, but it tells the listener everything they need to know. ”

The doors behind Tommy open, the boy twitching and snarling, though the host of the body simply floats, unaware of the inhuman sensation that is taking over causing his body to lash out so suddenly and violently.

“ We simply deem the vampire as ‘feral’. There is no returning from such a state. ”

Sam doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing anymore.

Twenty-four hours. It’s been twenty-four hours since he had found him.

Never is there a more harrowing sight than going to Nook’s office to find his excuse of a twin having vanished. To find another sitting in his place.

To enter the office with lightning flashing behind during the storm, lighting up the room with a blinding light as Sam met the eyes of the Angel of Death himself.

Sam reaches for his gun, the weight of the object being the only thing he can think about as red eyes stare into Sam’s entire form.

He pulls out the metal weapon, hardly able to get it in front of him before it’s effortlessly crushed underneath an iron grip.

Now, right before him, having moved faster than any creature in existence, the Angel of Death stands, opening his hand as the shattered pieces of the gun fall to the ground. Sam glances up to meet the demon’s eyes again as it smiles.

“None of that. We’re just here to talk. You don’t mind, do you mate?” the being says with a sharp smile, the barely concealed threat visible as the being looks down at him.

Sam knows it’s an order. Though not a word slips past him as his heart thunders in his chest, the being smirking as it no-doubt hears every beat.

“The nerve you have, for challenging me in such a volatile way. And yet, here you can do nothing but cower.” The Angel of Death steps back, Sam finally feeling like he can dare to breathe again as the distance grows slightly.

Then, everything gets flipped on its head as the air becomes thick with a choking fury, one that the ancient vampire had clearly been holding back.

Sam goes to plead to the beast, to attempt to convince it otherwise, that he was simply following orders-

The vampire shuts him up with a vicious snarl that shakes the entire room, turning around so quickly that Sam barely has time to react as the wind is knocked out of him. He’s being held up against the wall, the vampire’s claws shackled around his neck in a way that the demon could crush his windpipe at any moment.

“There is no mercy for you, hunter. If you’re as aware of how severe the consequences are, then tell me, why did you not return my son to me as soon as you stepped into power?” the ancient states, voice colder than the winds of antarctica as glowing red eyes bore into Sam as he squirms under the scrutiny. 

Sam is dropped to the floor, choking in breaths as he gently hovers his hands over his neck, terror turning his entire body rigid.

The Angel of Death stares down at him, face shadowed in the darkness that Sam truly believes that he’s looking up at the dark figure of a true demon, the red eyes being the only defining feature of the beast as the world spins around him.

“Countless days, weeks, months, years . That is what you’ve taken from my family, hunter .” The beast continues, uncaring for the way Sam trembles below. “We thought he’d been killed, and yet here you scum are, daring to keep him from us, from me .”

A pause.

“I’ll make you suffer the agony my sons and myself endured because of this little stunt.” The Angel states sharply, fully aware of the way it cuts Sam’s heart to ribbons.

“You’re going to kill me.” Sam states, voice blank as his entire body goes still. He’s not even sure what the hell he’s doing anymore as his body runs on an autopilot.

The ancient hums.

“In a way, yes.” Sam flops back onto the wall at the words, the ancient shrugging it off like it’s nothing as he turns over to Nook’s desk, walking over to it.

Clawed hands open one of the drawers, pulling out a small photo from between Nook’s incomprehensible mess of paperwork.

Sam goes rigid as he’s met with an image. A photo of the root of the problem.

A small photo of Tommy angrily throwing handfuls of cards from the flimsy plastic desk in the corner. One that Nook had taken without approval from Sam, no doubt. 

The ancient’s gaze softens slightly upon flipping the photo around, seeing the younger vampire likely for the first time in who knows how long.

Sam knows.

Sam knows how long Tommy’s been here.

And if the Angel is going to reflect the torment that his monstrous family supposedly went through onto him…

“As if you beasts care.” Sam states, uncaring of the way he damns himself with the words, looking into the sharpened gaze of the ancient being as it tucks the photo of its spawn into a pocket. The Angel of Death’s head tilts slightly to the side, so reminiscent of a bird that it’s almost startling. “Monsters have no room for emotion inside of them.”

A fist is sent through Nook’s desk, the wooden table snapping as a great tear appears on the surface from the force of the blow. Sam’s undoubtedly flailing around on the thin ice of the ancient’s patience, but he can hardly give a damn about it anymore.

Let the abyssal darkness of the waters take him then. If he’s to suffer, then he’s not going out like a coward. He’s going to stand resolute until the end.

Sam hardly recalls what happened between that comment and now. All he knows is that his body is screaming out in agony, his throat torn and dryer than even the hearts of deserts. His clothes reek of sweat and blood, bruises painting his skin purple between the accenting pinks of partially healing wounds.

Small, hysterical laughs slip past him, broken and cracking. Far out, everything burns with an incurable ache. His chest feels as though it’s going to collapse at any given moment from how shattered he feels.

It’s fucking worth it.

Euphoric in a way, to finally let it all out. With every blow the demons dared lay upon him, he returned it tenfold with taunts of what happened to the Angel’s precious spawn .

Tommy’s pitiful form appears in his mind, how the stubborn brat looks like a morphed younger reflection of the ancient terror. Sam should’ve killed the wretch years ago. Progress on the scientists’s end hadn’t progressed in decades, the entire purpose of keeping the thing around being nullified.

If Sam ever has to see that brat again, he’ll kill the hellspawn himself.

He attempts once more to struggle against the burning ropes that cut into his arms, but no such luck.

The door to his office opens, the Siren walking in with a cruel smile.

Sam throws a smile back at the creature, a satisfaction curling around inside of him as the demon’s rage flickers in its eyes. He knows the bad temper the Siren has, and oh is there nothing better than driving the being mad.

“What’s the matter? Did your precious little scorn not like his wretched coven?” Sam taunts, uncaring of the way his chest aches from a swift kick by the monster. Siren’s snarling fills the room, though Sam couldn’t give less of a damn about what the scum thinks of him.

“ Never use such a term on my baby brother again.” Siren hisses in Sam’s ear as it smoothly sits down on its haunches, clawed arm reaching down to Sam’s lower leg. Its clawed hands shackles around the limb, and Sam holds down the scream as the Siren twists it.

The flaring pain sears through Sam, and despite it he stubbornly keeps up his staring contest with the beast, revelling in the temper tantrum the creature throws as a result.

Another creature walks through, Sam looking up to see the gigantic form of the Blood God having to duck to enter the office.

“Siren. Off of him.” the Blood God states, tone unreadable.

Siren hisses towards the far older vampire.

“He insulted Theseus-”

“I’m aware. He will not be going unpunished for it, but you’re to stand down .” The Blood God states with a warning rumble, standing over Siren who’s still at Sam’s level. The gigantic beast puts a hand on Siren’s shoulder, who lets out a low and rolling growl, but ultimately steps back, standing as the Blood God puts its arms around the younger, holding it close.

Sam scoffs, Siren letting out another growl as the Blood God rumbles more, arms clasping around its fellow spawn as it steps back with the other trapped close.

Siren and Sam maintain eye contact, the action agitating the vampire tenfold before a red cape hides the line of vision. 

Minutes pass on, Sam feeling distantly bored as he watches the two on the other side of the room. The Blood God is sat on the ground, turned to face ninety degrees away from Sam, having taken its cloak off as it hides the smaller vampire within the fabric. Siren sits curled up and hidden in the lap of the Blood God, who holds it close.

“Prone to temper tantrums, is he?” Sam taunts, getting a furious hiss from the fabric mound that is the Siren. The Blood God turns to Sam, a rage simmering behind the surface.

Another pause.

The Blood God hums almost curiously in the silence as he scans the form of the commanding hunter, Sam scoffing as he rolls his eyes.

“What, you’re trying to tell me you have some sort of intelligence up there? Your model is outdated by a few thousand years, beast .” Sam smirks, though falters as the Blood God merely raises an unimpressed eyebrow, proving to be far more of a challenge than its supposed twin.

Silence drowns out, Sam feeling a distant hesitance swirl within him.

“Just how long will it take to break you.” The Blood God finishes, continuously rubbing smooth, slow circles into the back of the Siren beneath the cape.

“What?” Sam asks dumbfoundedly. The Blood God has killed thousands, hundreds of thousands . This monster knows full well how long it takes to kill someone.

“You seem to bank on the idea of frustrating us to slip past. We know what your kind is like. We’ve reigned in thousands like you.” The Blood God states, Sam feeling like he’s been doused with a bucket of ice, his heart rapidly beating in his chest once more. “What makes you think you’re any exception?”

The Blood God smirks, Sam being too stunned to speak. 

Before anything else can continue, the king of demons steps through the door, Sam sneering at both the monster and the cherished hellspawn that trashes in its arms. 

Tommy.

The crux of all his problems.

The anomaly trashes in the hold of its father, clawing and tearing at the ancient being, and it finally clicks.

“So, he finally went feral.” Sam states, heart still beating quickly in his chest. “And to think… you’re the cause of losing the very thing you came to save.”

The Angel stares down at Sam, the same thick tension lining the air. Sam doesn’t care.

Until he does.

He cares, when the feral vampire is released.

He cares when the blue eyes turn to face him, sniffing the air before the pupils dilate.

He cares when he’s torn apart, the small vampire tearing out his throat.

He doesn’t care when he’s lying lifeless on the ground.

The Angel scoops up the bloodsoaked form of his youngest, full and satiated, as the struggling changeling slows as the exhaustion kicks in, the squirming subsiding.

Philza presses a close-lipped kiss into golden curls, holding his youngest close.

Techno wanders over with Wilbur in tow, the younger’s eyes dilating as he sees Theseus.

Looking up to Techno, Philza nods, and his oldest brings out the small syringe, sticking it into Theseus’s arm. The changeling lets out a whimper, Philza shushing him as he rubs circles into his youngest’s back, Techno injecting the sleeping drugs into Theseus’s system. 

The little changeling’s eyes droop, and a tearing sound is heard.

“Techno, what are you doing?” Wilbur whispers, Philza watching as his oldest tears out part of the red fabric of his cloak, securing the scrap of it around Theseus’s eyes, blindfolding the little changeling.

“If he wakes early, he’ll no doubt get into a worse state than this.” Techno comments, Philza humming as he turns to the exit, gently rocking his youngest as the changeling’s breathing eases out as he slips into a peaceful slumber.

Lifting his son’s head and adjusting it so that it tucks underneath his neck, Philza whispers into the child’s golden locks, knowing the twins are clearing a path for him as they walk ahead.

“It’s finally time to go home, my little hunter.”