Chapter Text
Tommy didn’t look back as he walked to his house.
He didn’t neee to look back. He was exhausted, mentally and physically. Maybe even socially, too.
The idea of dealing with Ranboo and that smug bitch with the sharp tongue made him want to hurl himself into ongoing traffic. So no, he wasn’t looking back. Everyone else could fuck off for all he cared.
He walked the cracked pavement back towards their temporary home, eyes flickering to everything that moved in his line of sight.
The sun had started its slow decent, the sky bleeding into an orange hue. It felt too quiet for Tommy, it bothered him.
It was an eerie type of quiet, like the one when they had first found the house.
Tommy simply shoved his hands into his pockets and picked up his pace, hoping the quietness wouldn’t follow him.
He decided to change his path, in need of a couple fights— maybe even training for the hunters organization.
The alley reeked of the metallic scent of blood and rain mixed together into one, but Wilbur couldn’t help but like it that way. It reminded him of home, for some odd reason.
The streetlight flickered, casting his shadow long and thin behind him, his coat swaying like it has a mind of its own.
Technoblade was crouched against someone far smaller than him, two fingers gently pressed to their neck.
“They’re alive,” Techno muttered, looking up at Wilbur, his red eyes bright against the dark of the night. “Although barely.”
Wilbur huffed, rolling his eyes at his brother. “You were supposed to be subtle, Techno.”
“I didn’t bite them!”
“I fear crushing their windpipe is chasing the line to being worse, or better, who knows?”
Technoblade stood up, brushing off his clothes like the blood had tainted them, even though they’ve been stained with red multiple times before. “They were a hunter.”
“You can’t go around almost killing everyone, especially not kids, Techno. Hunter or not.”
“If they’re trying to kill us, why is it not fair we cannot do the same to them?”
A pause. The air was thick with death, anger, and another emotion Wilbur could not place all at once.
Wilbur turned towards the skyline, watching the faint glow of street lights and candles. “They’re recruiting more and more children, barely trained at that. This one was lucky it crossed our paths while we were in a good mood, Prime forbid if it got in the way of someone else’s.”
Techno shrugged, looking as casual as one can be. “If they keep sending kids out, maybe they’ll run out. Maybe they’ll learn their lesson, and somebody will finally take them down.”
Wilbur hummed, stepping over the fallen hunter. His boots slid across concrete, making a sound with each step he took. A beat later, Technoblade followed his older brother, their footsteps melting into the city noise.
Nobody noticed the teenager watching them from the shadows, who had only gotten a blurry view. He was wide eyed, shocked from the scene he’d just saw.
Tommy leaned on the wall for support as he felt the nausea coming up his throat, heartbeat thundering in his chest.
Even if Tommy had applied and gotten accepted into the hunters organization, the realization that vampire’s were real and most definitely a threat without training never dawned on him. He’d been wandering the streets alone almost everyday since the orphanage burnt down, and in those days he could’ve been eaten, nobody would ever know.
Tommy needed that training more than ever right now, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to get it. He’d protect Tubbo, hell, even Ranboo.
The training compound for the hunting organization was a re-purposed subway station, gutted and reinforced with steel and sweat, with mats everywhere. It was cold, echoing, and full of secrets behind everyone who crossed it, including Tommy.
Tommy had only been a trainee for a week or so, but already the place was slightly terrifying to him. Not that he’d admit that, of course!
Tommy stood on one of the mats, panting, bruised and bloody.
Opposite him was Eryn, his trainer and a 18 year old who had already passed initiation, a full fledged hunter.
“You’re hesitating.” Eryn said, continuing to knock Tommy down despite already doing that five times in the past hour. “You’ll get yourself killed if you don’t fix that.”
Tommy spat blood on the ground beside him, and swung again. “I’m not fucking hesitating , I’m thinking! ”
“Well, then stop. It gets you killed faster.”
When Tommy was about to retaliate, a blow connected, a solid punch to Tommy’s ribs. Prime… it hurt like hell! He reeled, his breath knocked out of him.
His instructor, Hannah, blew her whistle. “Enough!” She strode between them, boots clacking in silence. “Tommy, you’re fast, sure, but if you can’t land a hit, it won’t matter.”
Tommy grit his teeth. “I can land a hit!”
“Then prove it.” She said, before tossing him a wooden stake. “Next exercise: precision.”
Tommy and Eryn moved to the other chamber, where there were rows of pale painted mannequins, with hearts marked by faded red circles.
Tommy lined up his shot, arm burning all the while, and threw. The stake fucking missed! The word was just against him, because he totally would’ve made that under any other circumstance.
“Again, Tommy.”
By his 5th try, the stake had (finally) lodged into the mannequins heart, a small clatter of applause sounded from behind him, from a hallway above.
A familiar voice range out. “Good form, for a baby like you!”
Tommy turned around as fast as he could to see the bitch who had just called him a baby. Of fucking course it was the bitch he had stolen the wallet from! He stood there watching him, an unreadable expression plastered on his face.
“You again? Fuck off me, bitch.” Tommy scowled at the other.
The man only smiled at the insult. “You’re improving, bravo.”
Tommy picked up the nearest stake, holding it up in the man’s direction. “Keep talking like that, and that mannequin won’t be the only thing with its heart plunged out.”
“You wouldn’t be the first to try.”
Schlatt’s house was… not what Tubbo was expecting, to say the least.
It wasn’t a mansion, despite what the man’s wallet implied, although he probably wouldn’t be shocked to find out this is just one of his many houses.
It was tucked into a quiet cul-de-sac, shaded with trees, and even looked cozy. It looked weirdly normal, in Tubbo’s humble opinion.
Tubbo knocked twice, and Schlatt opened the door with a beer in hand and a cat rubbing his ankles. “Took you long enough.”
“I didn’t wanna be rude.” Tubbo said, stepping inside and immediately inside and being hit with the smell of cigars and old wood. “It’s more normal than I imagined, very nice!”
“People always expect a dungeon of some sort. Vampires don’t live in castles anymore, kid.”
Tubbo paused, “…What?”
Schlatt froze in the middle of sipping his drink. “What?”
“You said vampires…”
“That’s crazy. I said, uh, scampires*. Scammers. Like bankers, same thing.”
Tubbo did not look like he believed him one bit, and he narrowed his eyes. “Right.”
“Don’t question it, Tubbo. You’ll live longer.” Schlatt led him into the living room, showing him around a bit. “I got snacks if you want some, but don’t eat them all.”
Tubbo settled onto the couch, noticing all of the odd assortment of taxidermy and antique clocks that adorned the walls. “You’re weird. Odd, even.”
“I’m cultured*. There’s a difference.”
They fell into a smooth lull of conversations, the slip up long forgotten. Eventually, Tubbo had fallen asleep somewhere along the way. Schlatt hadn’t made a move to stop him, just letting the boy rest on him.
Tommy crossed the street and ducked into a narrow alley behind a couple of shops, until he found the metal door and knocked three times in the pattern they taught him, and stepped into the cool, dim light of the Hunter headquarters.
“Back late, Tommy.” Hannah called out from across the room, flipping a dagger in her hand.
“I was chasing someone. Didn’t get caught, cause im built different like that.” He said, grinning.
“You smell like sweat and a bruised ego.”
“Compliment noted. Thank you, madam.”
It had been a week since his training session with Eryn, and he’d improved. In no time, he’d be a fully fledged hunter!
He was snapped out of his thoughts when Hannah rolled her eyes and tossed him a practice stake. “Warm up, then spar with Beck. I want to see if you’ve improved on your sloppy foot work.”
Tommy groaned as he prepared for her to criticize him, but moved to the mat anyways.
Training was what mattered now, not anything else. Not weird strangers. Not Tubbo spending time with some older guy who had way too much money. Not—
His thoughts dropped after he took a stance. Everything else melted away, except for the adrenaline he got from training.
Tommy’s muscles ached, bruises blossomed down his arms like violets, and his signature T-shirt was damp with sweat and old blood. He’d have to get that clean one day, cuz that’s fucking gross.
As he ducked under Beck’s swing and swung back with a sharp jab to the ribs, the thrill of the movement made him feel alive in a way that sleeping on the ground and stealing wallets never had. It removed all worries from him.
Beck stumbled back, clutching the side where Tommy had hit him. “You’re improving,” he huffed before continuing, possibly catching his breath. “Still an asshole, though.”
Tommy grinned with all of his teeth, “Yeah. Can’t have everything.” He said as he winced from his busted lip.
Hannah had signaled the end of the match with a single clap. “Better, Tommy! You’re still sloppy, but you’re not dying in under 10 seconds anymore, and an improvement is still an improvement.”
Tommy bent over, hands on his knees. He took a deep breath, happy that it didn’t hurt like it did before. The knowledge he wasn’t completely useless anymore sent a wave of satisfaction over him.
The thought of Tubbo dying to a blood sucker made his blood boil. No one was going to harm Tubbo, he’d protect the boy. He’d make sure he didn’t end up like Tommy or anyone else who was bound for death.
Tubbo woke up curled under a heavy throw blanket, half draped over Schlatt’s couch. He blinked his eyes groggily, still half asleep.
The man had left himself at one point, and the house was eerily quiet except for the faint sound of clicking clocks.
He sat up, stretched, and looked around. A note was on the kitchen table, in a handwriting he could only assume was Schlatt’s.
“Hi Tub. Went out, food’s in fridge. Don’t touch the antique daggers unless you want tetanus.
— J.S”
Tubbo blinked, and then grinned. He wandered into the kitchen, opening the fridge. He was half-surprised when he found it actually packed with food, for some reason expecting blood after the “vampires-don’t-live-in-castles” slip.
He’d try not to think about it too hard. Schlatt could be weird, yes, but he wasn’t dangerous. Tubbo believes if he wanted him dead, he’d have plenty of opportunities already. And he was still alive and kicking, no?
As he was grabbing a soda (sprite was the best flavor), something shiny caught his eye. On the edge of the counter sat a framed photo, old and yellowed. Schlatt, looking exactly the same as he did now, stood next to someone with black hair and a blue beanie on. The edges were frayed, like it had been handled too many times. Tubbo reached out but didn’t touch it.
Then he noticed something else. Behind the fridge, slightly ajar, was a basement door.
Tubbo hesitated. Every part of his brain was telling him not to open it, but he was curious. What could a boy do?
The stairs creaked as he stepped down, one slow foot at a time. The air shifted colder, thick with the scent of iron and age. The basement wasn’t what he expected—there were no coffins or chains. But there were books. Dozens. Hundreds. All about Prime knows what.
Tubbo swallowed hard.
Then he heard a voice behind him. “You know, if you wanted a tour, you could’ve asked.”
Tubbo jumped, spinning on his heel. Schlatt was standing at the top of the stairs, leaning on the railing with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
Tubbo forced a laugh. “Just… got curious.”
“Curiosity killed the cat, kid.”
“But satisfaction brought it back, right?”
Schlatt didn’t answer, only descended the stairs one slow step at a time. His smile had faded into something unreadable, and Tubbo found himself clutching the soda can a little tighter.
For a long moment, they just stood there, surrounded by dust and quiet. Then, Schlatt broke the silence.
“You ever think about what it’d be like to never be afraid again?” He asked suddenly.
Tubbo blinked. “What?”
“Never sleeping on the cold, wet floor. Never feeling the pit of hunger growing in your stomach. Never having to worry if your best friend’s gonna be there tomorrow. Just… power. Forever.”
Tubbo felt his throat tighten. He didn’t know what the man was talking about, but he was nervous. “Are you saying you’re—“
“I’m saying,” Schlatt interrupted softly, “that I’ve been alone for a long time. And I think I’m tired of it.”
The tension in the air crackled like static. Tubbo didn’t know what to say. The words wouldn’t come. And then, Schlatt just patted his shoulder and turned to leave.
“Come upstairs when you’re ready. Dinner’s still hot.”
Tubbo stood there for a moment longer, heart hammering in his chest. He wasn’t ready.
But part of him wondered if he ever would be.