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Tommy knew how to kill vampires. He had been gifted with this knowledge when he was very young, his mentor had presented him with a silver dagger and taught him his purpose. His purpose, to rid the world of the filthy undead that lived in the night, hiding within the shadows.
Tommy knew how to kill vampires, and he knew how to do it well.
That silver dagger had stayed with him throughout his training, the familiar weight of it in his palm or cloak helped him remember who he was, what he was destined to do. Dream had trained him perfectly so each stride he took a perfect copy of his mentor's own, each blow as damaging as the same one Dream performed, they were a mirror image of each other.
Dream had told him of his destiny when he was young, the same day that he had gifted Tommy his prized dagger. Dream had sat him down, he presented a small box with a ribbon on the front and told the story of their ancestors, how they had strived to accomplish their one mission: to rid the world of all vampires, to bring peace to all nations.
Tommy’s role in this fateful plan was a simple one, he just had to kill a single coven, one that had been harassing their clan for centuries. The Sleepy Coven, or the SBI for short, were a small group of vampires, stemming from the Minecraft family. Tommy would slaughter each one, preventing the coven from growing without their Sires.
It was a difficult fate to land on Tommy’s shoulders, Dream had told him, but it was accomplishable with his training. Dream had been proud, delivering the news to Tommy, promising him that he was the key part of their grand plan.
Tommy listened, he was eager to please Dream, the man who raised him, so he listened and took in every whisper of prophecy that the man had spewed.
Now, Tommy stood at the gates, Dream's cloak drawing his shoulders, as his mentor shook him down for the final time before they met up again in a few weeks. Tommy’s dagger sat heavy in his pocket, the handle peeking out from under the layers of green, glinting in the moonlight. Dream heaved a sigh, and pressed his mask into Tommy's waiting hand, he turned around with a wave, a final acknowledgement.
Tommy didn't get goodbyes, he only got promises of meeting in a fortnight, when the Sleepy coven was dead, reduced to ash.
Tommy breathed in the cool night air, and stepped into the waiting carriage.
-
The Sleepy coven territory stretched for miles across Brighton and Portsmouth, each winding street marked down with their presence. Tommy's targets were the leaders, to prevent the coven from growing, Tommy would need to stop them at the roots.
Philza Minecraft, also known as The Angel of Death, sire to Wilbur Soot and Technoblades partner. The Angel is one of the oldest vampires to date, his lifespan meaning his strength is unmatched.
Wilbur Soot, sired to Philza, young, but not to be underestimated.
And finally, Technoblade, also known as the Blood God, partner of Philza. His origins are unknown, but it was found that he has no Sire, and only joined the Sleepy coven a few centuries ago.
This data had been carefully collected by hundreds of other hunters, those who dedicated their lives to the ultimate cause.
Tommy wasn't about to lie, he was terrified, not only of the danger he was about to face but the crippling fear of failure if he didn't manage to complete the mission. This was his only shot, the vampires would know he was here if he didn't manage to kill them all at once, then they would take him out when he was vulnerable.
In short, Tommy needed to walk out of the town with blood on his hands, and ash on his clothes, otherwise he wouldn't be walking out at all.
-
The hotel was small, there was no other way to describe it. It was small and shitty, run-down with grease staining the walls, but Tommy didn’t mind. He picked this location for a reason, one, as it was in the Sleepy territory, and two, it was inconspicuous enough to not stand out.
That is why it was a surprise to see red eyes staring at him through the shadows.
Wilbur Soot, in all his undead glory, stood swallowed in darkness at the foot of his bed, his red eyes glaring slits at Tommy.
Tommy heaved out a sigh and held his silver dagger in his palm.
“You’re new.” A silent question, like poking a bear.
“Felt like exploring the city.” Sarcasm dripped from his tone.
“A hunter? Exploring my city? It’s a shame you won’t get the proper experience, then.” he stepped out from the shadows, opening his mouth to reveal a sharp set of glistening fangs, his tongue running over them in a silent threat.
Tommy kicked himself into action, grabbing the dagger in a white-knuckled grip and thrusting it into Wilbur’s direction. Wilbur was quicker, though, and he dodged out of the way, leaving Tommy to stick his dagger in the crumbling drywall.
A pale hand gripped his shoulder in a sudden vice, hauling him up and shoving him towards the window. Tommy gasped as the glass shattered on impact, feeling his skin rip open under the shards.
The sensation of falling hit him, and his breath escaped him in a short gasp, pulling his limbs into a ball in the frigid air.
As he fell, Wilbur’s figure jumped out of the window, his cold hand fisted in Tommy’s shirt as he pulled him towards his body. Then, with supernatural strength, Wilbur launched Tommy up into the air, landing him on the roof of the hotel.
Tommy landed on his back with a crack, he felt his ribs snap under the pressure of his won body, his lungs heaved for air and he shut his eyes, letting them slip closed as Wilburs steps sounded closer.
Blood leaked out from between his lips, dripping round the side of his face and onto the concrete, landing with small splashes, like morbid raindrops. Tommy’s eyes fluttered open when a hand slid under his nape, then under his back, supporting him as he was lifted off the ground.
Wilburs nimble fingers pressed Tommy close to his chest, an arm wrapping around his torso to cage him in, another pressing behind his hair, searching for the clasp of Dream’s mask.
“I always like to see their faces, it’s a lovely sight, the last dregs of hope draining away from someone eyes, as they beg, as they plead. I’m your last hope, hunter, anything you’d like to request?” Wilbur's voice cut through his mind, sharp but smooth in his ear.
Tommy coughed, spit ridden blood leaking out from his mouth, the taste of copper heavy on his tongue.
The hand fisted in his hair, his throat forced to bend to accommodate the painful grip, and Tommy realized that this was how he was going to die.
At the mercy of a vampire, whose fangs were at his throat, unclipping his mask with terrifying, gentle fingers, pinpricks of blood bubbling to the surface ready for him -it- to gulp down-
Wilbur hummed a soft sound, the soft click of the mask muffled under his victim’s pained gasp. His fangs sunk into the hunter’s throat, the taste of sweet blood filling his mouth.
Sweet.
Like a child.
Wilbur paused in his greed, taking a moment to dislodge his fangs from the hunter’s throat, looking up at his face.
Wide blue eyes met his own, an unmistakable shiver ran through the boy's body, rippling with intense fear as Wilbur loomed over him.
A beat passed, neither moved as Wilbur took in the pale features of the boy. With a sharp jawline, the boy couldn’t be older than eighteen, although he looked half-starved, so maybe younger; striking blue eyes, so filled with pure terror that Wilbur physically recoiled.
The hunter, who wore his mentor's mask, was but a child.
Wilbur’s fingers trembled, he was sure his heart would be hammering if was still beating, and he picked up his phone, Phil’s emergency contact bright on the screen.
-
When Phil got to the scene, he was expecting something a little more..severe.
Not that a child being forced to wear hunter clothes wasn't severe, no, but he was expecting an injury, maybe on Wilbur, or some kind of risky situation, not a small child being curled into Wilbur’s arms.
Upon closer inspection, he could see why Wilbur panicked.
Two deep gouges lay in the child's neck, right on top of the external jugular. Phil knew, then, what had happened
He sighed and made his way over to the boy lying in his son's arms. His presence must have ignited some remaining fire in the child, as he started to thrash violently and let out little sounds.
As he got closer to them, Phil realized that the child was whimpering unconsciously, scrambling for purchase like a trapped animal against Wilbur’s grip. The boy looked over to him, his eyes widening for a fraction of a second before he slumped into a heap in Wilburs arms.
Phil made a sympathetic noise, moving down to his knees before the pair. He scooped up the boy into his arms, carefully positioning his head on his shoulder, and motioned for Wilbur to follow.
“What should we do now? I could've killed him, dad, I would have if I didn't notice- Oh god, how did I miss? I was in his room, for fucks sake!” Wilbur gestured wildly.
“Were gonna take him home, Wil. He’ll come out of it soon, and we’ll do it the old way but it’s gonna be a while, he's probably under a lot of stress.”
“He looked starved, dad! Looked like he was gonna collapse any second! And he's so young, oh Gods-”
“Panicking won't fix things,” Phil said firmly, and he lept of the side of the building.
-
‘The old way’ included putting on a Disney movie, and cuddling up on the huge sofa. Phil had grown accustomed to this, sharing space on the sofa with a princess singing in the background, as he brought one of his family members back from a state.
First, it had been Technoblade, with vivid memories of the night of his turning, flashbacks of his Sire leaving him to rot in the sun. Phil had clasped Techno’s hands gently into his and had waited for him to come back with Ariel swimming on the television in front of them.
Now, it was a boy, whose name they did not know, curled up to Wilburs side as Tangled played on the screen, each moving picture sending a little more light into those dull eyes.
Eventually, the end of the movie neared closer, and the finale bloomed onto the screen: Rapunzel laying in chains as her mother screamed about betrayal. A soft noise rose from the boy before he murmured a short phrase that sent hot rage into Wilbur’s spine.
“Dream did that to me a couple of years ago, too.”
Wilbur closed his eyes, trying not to let the anger show on his skin. He looked down at the boy, stuck a hand out and offered his name.
“I’m Tommy.”
Wilbur grasped the boy's hand in a gentle grip, pulling him close to his chest. He felt a surge of pride for Tommy, for sticking through whatever he had been through, for remaining impassive in the face of sure death, only to come out on top.
“I’m Wilbur, sunshine, but I'm sure you already knew that.”
Tommy hummed, and Wilbur felt the rattle of it through his long-dead bones, the warm body snuggling closer to him. Wilbur pressed a kiss on top of Tommy’s head, and vowed to protect him, for as long as his life may be.
(And maybe, for as long as his death would be, for Wilbur knew, then, that he would not let go of this boy, even when his heart grew cold.)