Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was a promise Tommy had made when he first started working for Sam: I will never, under any circumstance, go into the forest by L’manberg.

And he never had.

(Except for once , when Tommy had lost a bet, and Tubbo had dared him to step in the forest. He’d bolted as soon as he heard hissing.)

Standing inside the forest, meters deep, after dark ? Perhaps the stupidest thing Tommy had done. Sure, there was a good reason for him scouring the dangerous woods, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still anxious .

Ranboo was always suspiciously dismissive of the whole “dangerous woods” thing, but they were already a strange fucking guy, so Tommy wouldn’t be suprised if he turned out to be one of those bloodsuckers. 

Tommy had never met a vampire in real life, Tubbo had sworn he’d seen one in the distance once, and Sam refused to tell Tommy about his encounter. Either way, Tommy knew there had to be a reason Sam had that gash across his eye.. 

However, it doesn’t concern him right now, what he cared about was finding The only dog to ever exist. That, and staying alive if he comes across any vampires.

With all the commotion he’s making, Tommy’s fairly surprised that no woodland creatures have come to pick a fight with him. He’s making his voice horse with how much he’s screaming Sam’s dog — Fran, the best dog ever — name.

Additionally, Tommy forgot his flashlight. In fact, he forgot fucking everything. 

Any normal person in this situation would've turned around. Any normal person, that is. And Tommy was not any normal person. No, he was above the normal person, he was way better. Tommy didn’t need a flimsy flashlight . The woods were no match for someone as great as Tommy Innes!

Tommy should've started heading back way ages ago, but just as he was considering it he'd heard a whimper. ..Or something like that?

It was a very dog sound, he’s pretty sure, and Tommy was convinced it was Fran. That, was his first mistake.

The teenager walked leisurely, having learned his lesson about running in near pitch black. At the entrance of the woods — there was a root that caught his foot, okay? He placed a hand on the trunks of trees as he passed, nothing accompanying him other than the sounds of crunching leaves and footsteps.

A branch snaps and Tommy whips his head in the direction the sound came in. "Hello?" He calls out. "Fran?"

There's no response, no noise, and it's freaky as fuck.

Maybe he'd imagined that..

Paranoid, Tommy watches the settling dark closely. He watches for movement, no longer watching his steps as his head darts around. The forest became eerily quiet, but he listened for any barks or scurrying paws.

"Fran!" Tommy calls again. "Fran! Where are you, girl?" He shouts.

No barks.

The moon and stars were starting to make their appearance, and Tommy's eyes were slowly becoming accustomed to the dark.

"Fra–" Tommy screams as he falls from the high ledge he hadn’t been able to make out. He falls on face, groaning. " Fuck . Shit– Fucking hell."

A stick dangles from where it’s stuck in his hair, he picks it out and throws it to the floor. Tommy pushes himself to sit up, leaning on a tree and ruffles his hair full of leaves and dirt. He pats his clothes, wiping the dirt off of them before using the trunk of the tree to stand up.

There’s another rustle, one he’s sure wasn’t a dog. “Fuck.” Tommy mutters.

In a panicked state, Tommy dashes in a random direction.

Tommy couldn’t give less of a fuck if whatever that was was just some squirrel or a vampire, he wasn’t going to stick around to find out. His breath becomes labored pretty quick, and he lacks the momentum that he had at first — the adrenaline of the scare was running out. His mind was a mantra of, keep running , but his gasps for air begged to differ.

Footsteps that aren’t fucking his boom in the otherwise quiet woodlands as Tommy’s leaning on a looming tree. His heart rate spikes, he can hear it in his ears, and sweat was starting to cover his skin that wasn’t just a result of running for a solid minute. Tommy swallowed thickly, an intense urge, his entire instinctive shit kicking into high gear begging him to move for survival — fight-or-flight, he knows, but Tommy’s not all that concerned about the names of things when he’s pretty fucking sure he’s going to soon be a juice box to some bloodsucking leech of a monster.

Tommy keeps his feet planted, running would only make him look more like a prey. And didn’t predators only chase their food to tire them out anyways?

“Well, what’s a kid like you doing out here all alone?” Said the fucking creep .

“You really sounded like a fucking nonce when you said that–” Tommy blurts out before he can stop himself. He takes it in stride, “Bitch.”

The vampire (probably) laughs, “I beg your pardon?” Tommy decides to run. Fuck that. “Oh, you really are a runner.” They shout, smugness in their voice that sends chills down Tommy’s spine.

Tommy whimpers, the ache in his legs hadn’t quite gone away when the fucker approached him and now he was running again — and he was far from athletic, Tubbo reminded him just every day. These woods were gonna be the death of him, and that wasn’t even figurative anymore.

“Run all you want, mate! I could go for eons!” They shout.

A shaky breath leaves him. Tommy would make a comeback if he could, however, survival sometimes overcomes humor. A simple, “Fuck off!” works however.

That gets a cackle out of his chaser, and if Tommy was still just a kid running away from shop owners he stole from, he’d find it funny.

Somehow, the forest just keeps going. There’s nothing that changes about this hell, not even any rivers or hills come in their way. It’s just a race of who can run faster for longer — and it sure as hell wasn’t Tommy.

Tommy doesn’t have to keep running however, because the universe finds his suffering funny and he topples to the floor. Tommy tripped, he’d tripped . Like some fucking cheasy chase scene in a horror movie, and he scrambles to stand up. Tommy doesn’t bother staying on the floor any longer, but this cat and mouse game seemed to bore his hunter.

“Alright, mate, I’m done.” They say, lifting Tommy by his shirt like he was just a misbehaving cat. “I’m not even trying to do anything.”

“You– you’re trying to kill me, what the fuck do you mean?!” Tommy screamed.

The guys shakes his head. Tommy can’t see him well in the dark of night, but he can make out the hat on his head and the shoulder-length long hair. He definitely looks pale as well. Scariest thing however? His eyes were red. Blood red, no doubt about it. “I’m not trying to kill you, I swear. I was trying to help you actually.” He says, oddly making it seem like a lecture.

“How is chasing me, helpin'?” Tommy scoffs.

The guy — Tommy didn’t know his name, and he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to know — chastises him, “You ran first, to be fair.”

“You scared me, bitch.”

He chuckles. “Sorry,” They chirp.

“Can you put me down?” He proposes. Hanging in the air was starting to get irritating to Tommy, he just wanted his feet to stay on the ground. “I’m not a cat.” He adds.

“Don’t act like one then.” His kidnapper — does this count as kidnapping? — remarks. “Will you run away if I do?” He asks.

“...No.”

“Alright, no then. I’m Phil, by the way.” Phil introduces, still holding Tommy in the air. Tommy attempts to kick the vampire. He fails.

“Watch it, mate.” They scold. “I’m trying to help.”

“Let me go home.” Tommy demands.

Phil deadpans, “You’re hurt.”

Tommy hadn’t noticed, but the ache he originally chalked up to the burn you get while running.. hadn't gone away. He quite quickly becomes aware that there is blood dripping down his leg, staining his socks. “Oh.”

“What do you mean oh? ”

“I didn’t notice, okay!?” Tommy squawks defensively.

“Oh my god..”

“Aren’t you meant to be like– eating me?”

“Ehhh,” Phil does a weird little motion with his hand while stepping over a tree root like it was easy. “Let's just say I’m vegan,” He cackles.

Tommy glares at him. This guy was weird , even for a vampire. Vegan? Vampires could be vegan? Jesus, next they were going to be kind and helpful, what has the world come to!

“You’re fucking weird,” He tells him.

“Thanks,” Phil replies with a dryly. “We’re here.” He informs him in his next breath.

“Huh–” Oh, they are.

The cabin doesn’t seem like anything special. It would seem cozy, even homely, if it wasn’t in the middle of the forest inhabited by vampires. The inside looks even nicer, pictures are hung on the wall and soft, patterned throw pillows decorate the velvet couch. Somehow, the couch was softer than it looked. Phil made no fuss about leaving him there unattended, even giving him a pastry as he disappeared further into the house.

This looked like a home, one living people lived in. There were no traces of blood or bodies — nothing you'd assume vampires have, nothing would even suggest so. By the time Phil returned with the first aid kit, Tommy was questioning everything he knew about them.

“This is weird,” Tommy stated plainly, his leg propped up on the coffee table. Phil laughs, the quite extensive medkit displayed on the table. “Why are you even helping me?”

“I was watching you all night, and I took my eyes off you for one second, and you get hurt.” Phil answers. A wet cloth is dragged delicately over the scrap he must’ve gotten, and Tommy hissed quietly. A few whispered apologies spilled under Phil's breath.

“It’s not that bad," Tommy argued. Phil only tsked, humored, immediately shutting Tommy up as he lightly applied the antibiotic ointment to his wound. “Asshole,” said Tommy through clenched teeth.

“All bark no bite, huh?” Phil snickered, there’s a hint of fondness in his eyes and Tommy’s not quite sure what to do to take away from that. Phil's hair was pinned up now, he realized. It was a blonde just a shade lighter than his own, and the eyes that previously appeared red looked only as blue as the water of rushing rivers now. They’re squinted because of his smile, wide and Tommy can see the sharp fangs that are characteristic for vampires. It’s notably the only vampire-ish trait of Phil, his skin isn’t even deathly pale. “You remind me of my boys.” Phil says, somehow even more doting.

Tommy didn’t know his parents very long, so the notion of it was distant and unfamiliar to him, yet the comparison made a warm feeling in his heart emerge. “ Sap ,” Tommy teases. He poses a question before Phil can really respond, “You have sons?”

As Phil wraps the gauze, he nods, “Yup! They’re not here right now, so don’t worry.”

Tommy hums, looking around — at the framed pictures again, not taking note of them this time. Most of the pictures were of them as young children. They looked frighteningly similar, so he assumed they were twins. There’s one picture of the pink-haired twin as a teen, none of the other, and the implications are.. apparent. Additionally, there was also none of Phil. 

“You don’t show up in photos?” Tommy asks, and Phil nods. “Can you eat garlic?”

“Oh my god, I love garlic!” Phil exclaims. “Garlic bread, god . Kristen makes some fucking amazing garlic bread.”

He blinks, Tommy doesn’t know who Kristen is. “Does this happen often?” He moves on.

Phil cocks his head, “What does, mate?”

“I don’t know– this ?” Tommy stresses, surely Phil doesn’t bring back every kid that wanders into the forest. Phil said he was vegan — which he’s assuming means he.. doesn’t eat people — but that doesn’t mean he’s opposed to murdering people.

Phil has sons, he said himself. He also apparently has this “Kristen” person, and as far as Tommy knows, they have the means to kill and reason to do so. Historically, vampires were territorial. Either way, it was understandable.

In fact, Tommy didn’t blame them. If he had people to fight for, he would too.

“A lot of people come into the forest,” Phil hums, “Usually adults.”

“Why?” Tommy furrowed his brows; virtually every adult in his life warned him of the dangers of coming into the forest. Some even frowned upon it, Sam included.

Nonchalantly, Phil shrugs, “They’re hunting us.” 

“Oh.” That.. made sense. Typical human behavior, killing what they didn’t understand. Mutely, Tommy wondered how long Phil had been alive — how long he’d dealt with humans and vampire hunters. “Are you always this nice to humans?” Tommy questions.

“Nah.” Tommy bursts out laughing at his bluntness, entirely missing the smile that grows on Phil’s face. Once Tommy composes himself, Phil asks, with a raised brow, “Are you always this nice to vampires?”

Now, it’s already been established Tommy’s never met another vampire. However, Phil does not know this. “I guess.” Because, technically, that’s not a lie. “All the vampire ladies flock to me, Phil.” He grins.

“Alright, sure.” Phil chuckles. “You should get home, mate. I know you probably have people worrying about you, can you stand on your leg yet?”

Tommy nods, taking Phil’s hand anyways as he gets up off the couch. “All good, king.”

“I’ll walk you out. Come back soon, yeah?” Phil says with a laugh. The door of the cabin opens, letting in the cold air. Suddenly, Tommy does not want to leave.

Suddenly, Tommy wouldn’t mind living in the little cabin hidden in the woods.

“Sure,” Tommy replies with a smile, less than jokingly. “See you later, Phil!”

The human waves, the vampire waves.

They go back to their normal lives, as normal as their lives get.

Chapter Text

Fran was found the night after Tommy got back.

Part of him wished she was found sooner, to save him all the trouble in the woods. Part of him is grateful.

Something felt off about that night, something Tommy hadn’t been able to place in the moment. Consequently, he'd come to find out that the night Phil — the vampire — was a full moon. What a coincidence, huh?

Nevertheless, he trusted Phil. Phil said he was a “vegan” which Tommy admittedly still didn’t quite get, but hey, he would take his word for it. Plus, Tommy had spent about an hour after he got back inspecting his neck. Tommy even looked up the symptom-like stuff that happened after a vampire bite, or vampire-turning some called it. Tommy had none of them, luckily.

“Tubbo, Jesus.” Tommy groaned. Tubbo came back from work with another fucking sunburn. Again! Like, he knew Tubbo was white, but he didn’t know he was this white. “It’s not even fucking summer!”

Tubbo — oh, deathly pale, sickly Victorian child Tubbo — just covered his face with his hands, embarrassed. “Leave me alone, man.”

“You’re starting to look like Ranboo.” Tommy commented offhandedly.

Somehow, Tubbo paled. Fortunately, Tommy was not facing his best friend when he said that, missing the look of terror on his face. “Yeah..” He replied awkwardly. “I’m going to my room."

Tommy waved him off, "Have fun sulking!"

"Fuck off, I'm not sulking!" Tubbo shouted behind him, the bedroom door closing signaled the end of their interaction. "Good luck at work!" The boy had shouted before it closed.

Right.. Well, they had to pay the bills somehow. It wasn't common that the two boys would be in the apartment at the same time, Tommy took the late shifts at his work at Sam's, while Tubbo worked in the mornings at his job. Evenings were usually the time they saw each other, when Tubbo was getting off work and Tommy was heading to his.

All for the grind, as they say.

"Bye, Tubbo!" Tommy echoed, closing the front door of their apartment before rushing down the stairs and out of the apartment building.

Yet another day of coffee grounds and white dog fur sticking to his black pants to endure. Nothing could go wrong!

Everything was going wrong.

The coffee machine had fucking exploded on him! The aprons of their work uniform were white , and today was Tommy's turn on laundry and clean-up! 

Tommy groaned, ignoring the snickers of one of the regulars who watched him as he fruitlessly wiped at the drying coffee stains again. "This is a fucking joke." He proclaims. Another customer strolls into the café, causing the bell on the door to jingle. "One second–! Shit. Fuck, okay."

"Woah, what happened here?" The customer jabs, a playful hint that Tommy couldn't turn away from.

Tommy turns around, throwing the damp towel that did nothing to reverse the brown stains on the counter and leaning on the counter. Without hesitation, he tells the customer, "Go kill yourself." 

"Well, aren't you intrepid?" The customer replied, with wide eyes, amused nonetheless. His brown eyes squinted as a smug smile appeared on his face.

Tommy did not know what intrepid means, and, frankly, he doesn't want to. He expresses that to the man, "What the fuck is an intrepid, you prick?" He scorned, glaring.

"Ask your mother, kid." He says with a grin. There's a tempting voice in his head that almost makes Tommy reply with I don't have a mom or something along those words, but he spares the man the distress and allows him to order without the trauma dumping. "May I get a coffee? Decaf."

"Sure," Tommy says, noting it down on the cup with his messy handwriting. "Name?"

"Wilbur."

"And will that be all?" He recites, like a record player on repeat.

Wilbur pauses. "Hm.. Yeah, actually, can I get one of those?" He asked, pointing to the cupcake in the display case.

"Yup," Tommy says, crouching to slide the display door open and reaching a hand before looking up at the customer with a questioning gaze.

"Oh, whichever is fine!" The customer answers. "So," He continues — he's a particularly chatty customer, which Tommy doesn't mind all that much. Tommy hands him the dessert and turns around to start making his drink. " Tommy , how'd you spend the full moon?"

There's a moment of slight panic before Tommy remembers he's just wearing a name tag.

“Weird question, Wilbur .” Tommy says with the same inflection. Before handing him the coffee cup — which he’d made quite quickly considering this wasn't anything special — he scribbled the name out, it’s not legible in the slightest. Did he do it on purpose? Well.. that’s for Tommy to know. “I didn’t do anything.. why?”

He whispered a thank you. “Same here, but I know this town is superstitious, worryful about all that vampire stuff.” Which wasn’t wrong , yesterday there were barely any people on the street. “Do you believe in that kind of stuff?”

Tommy eyed him suspiciously. Perhaps he was just being paranoid. Either way, Wilbur’s eyes didn’t color red like Phil’s, just brown. Like coffee. “I guess,” He answers. “Do you?”

Wilbur nods, swirls of brown hair jumping with him, “I’d say so, they’re like ghosts to me.”

There had only ever been one other solid vampire-believer in his life: Sam. Tubbo had always believed but in a “when I see it with my own two eyes.” Ranboo completely discarded the idea of it, going as far as even changing the topic or refusing to say the word vampires. 

Now, a random, chatty ass customer strolls up to Tommy during his shift the night after Tommy meets a kind stranger, one who happened to be an actual vampire, and asks him what he did last night, if he believed in vampires. Sure, it could just be a coincidence. Sure, Tommy has loads of strange regulars.. but this left a bad feeling in Tommy’s stomach.

What if this man, Wilbur, knows ? What if he saw him that night, and that’s why he asked? What if he was one of those hunters Phil mentioned?

Tommy didn’t know Phil all that well, that man could probably kill him without any remorse or breaking a sweat, but Tommy was nothing if not someone who swore to always pay people back.

Wilbur seemed nice, despite having only met, he spoke with a soft voice and he used words Tommy didn’t understand. He bantered with Tommy and picked up an easy conversation with him. He smiled and laughed, and his brown eyes — brown, not red — were oddly calming and, just, nice. He was also taller than Tommy, probably taller than Ranboo too. Not many people were taller than Ranboo, so it was a bit jarring. Likewise, he dressed fucking weird. It was spring and the man wore a trench coat over one of those fancy, collared poets’ shirts, it was like Wilbur was asking to be made fun of. He looked like a professor who thought they were going to be in a Shakespeare play.

However, Tommy can’t find himself not replying to the man, and with the way Wilbur’s eyes light up, he can’t say doesn’t make him feel warm inside.

Tommy swears to Phil he will protect him. If Wilbur truly is a vampire hunter, Tommy won’t let him step even a foot into the forest, much less the cabin. Phil has sons, a wife. He has people that can’t lose him, and Tommy will not make two sons fatherless and a woman widowed, no matter how many centuries old they are and how bodies they’ve drained blood from.

Vampires did not always deserve the fate humans faced.

Tubbo didn’t have breakfasts with Tommy anymore. Or lunch, for the record. And now that Tommy’s come to think of it, Tubbo hasn’t eaten dinner with him either now. That’s concerning, sure, but that wasn’t exactly why he’d noticed it. Call him jealous all you like, but all these days .. Tubbo’s been with Ranboo. 

Tommy, because he was a concerned friend and not clingy whatsoever, asked, “Tubbo, man, you aren't going to stay for lunch?” He’s frowning over his plate of chicken salad sandwich — and the one plated across him, that one for Tubbo.

Tubbo winced, “Oh god, Tommy– I’m so sorry, but I made– yeah, I’m eating with Boo, sorry.” He shrugged sheepishly and smiled at Tommy. He sighed but let Tubbo go. “See you later, Tommy!” Tubbo shouted before the door closed, and footsteps faded into the hallway.

One plate remained untouched, even as the next lunch came around and Tommy was unaccompanied by his best friend.

The pattern didn’t end.

Neither did the visits from Wilbur, it seemed he was becoming a regular. He’d usually come an hour into Tommy’s shift and not leave until Tommy closed up. He’d usually lean on the counter, or on the rare occasion sit in one of the booths closest to the register. It kept him company, even if he was still slightly alert to not let anything slip about Phil. It was easy to let his feelings of confusion and envy wash away when he was with Wilbur.

“I just don’t get it! First, he’s all sunburnt but he won’t go to the doctor’s, then he’s just not hungry?! Ever!” Tommy complains, ending it with a groan. He’s slumped over the counter, glaring at Wilbur when he laughs fondly.

Wilbur reaches a hand to ruffle Tommy’s hair. “This Tubbo friend of yours is.. eccentric.” He comments.

“I don’t know what that means!” Tommy shouts, slightly muffled. “You’re saying all these words on purpose, Wilbur, to humiliate me.”

Wilbur laughs, “Maybe I am, king.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “I read the dictionary every night, just so I can say words like deferential and odoriferous . One of which you lack, by the way.” He says with a smile.

If Tommy hadn’t already given Wilbur his drink already, he’d consider pouring it on the man. “Shut up.” He retorts, “Your hands are as cold as Tubbo’s, bitch.”

His head is buried in his arms so he doesn’t quite gauge Wilbur’s reaction, but a cool hand is placed lightly onto his cheek — and no , Tommy does not lean into it, never — and Wilbur hums, “Maybe you’re just a living furnace. Most of my friends have cold hands.”

People start leaving with the sun, reminding Tommy he actually has a job and he almost has to kick Wilbur out to close up. “You do not have friends, Wilbur Soot.” He taunts him instead.

“I do! I have plenty,” Wilbur argues, but he’s wearing a bright yellow sweater with an ugly ass beanie, so Tommy begs to differ. “Are you gonna kick me out now, by the way?”

“Yup,” Tommy says, raising a hand to highlight the way out. “Unless you want to mop the floors for me.” He gives it a shot, but Wilbur doesn’t even falter.

“Sure!” He replies.

That’s how Tommy gets his work done with no effort, closing the cafe quicker than any other shift. Wilbur works quickly, moving almost superhumanly. Once he’s done, he waits for him by the door as Tommy clocks out and hangs his apron.

“Alright, I’m done,” Tommy announces. “Do you want to..”

Wilbur’s staring out the large windows of his workplace, staring up at the night sky like Tommy might’ve on a particularly pretty sunset or sunrise, entranced. Like a moth to a flame, he’s watching it — the moon, Tommy deduced — with a fixated gaze, something in his eyes that’s more than just appreciation. 

“The moon is beautiful tonight. Last quarter, tonight.” He marveled. “I can understand why vampires are so drawn to her,” Wilbur says with a breath, finally facing Tommy but stealing glancing back at the half-full moon.

“Yeah,” Tommy says, Phil in the front of his mind. If it's at third quarter now, that means he last saw the vampire eight days ago. “It’s always bright like this here.” He delineated. “The full moon was like this last week, too.”

Wilbur looks at him silently, and he professes, “You look radiant in the moon, Tommy.” out of the blue.

“You look like you’re going to keel over and die.” Tommy responds without missing a beat. Although, he smiles as the older man doubled over in laughter. “WHAT?” He shouts with a laugh. “You just look gray! ”

Wilbur sighs deeply, “Oh my god, Tommy.”

“Whatever! Let’s go, dickhead.” Tommy grumbles.

They leave the shop, locking it so he doesn’t lose his job. They chat as they walk, taking the scenic route through the park. It’s nice until the chill of the night settles and Tommy finds himself shivering slightly, now more jealous of Wilbur’s weird outfit choices than judgemental of them.

Wilbur takes notice, pausing his tangent, “Are you cold, Tommy?”

“What, no!” Tommy scoffs. “I’m just–”

Wilbur tsks, pulling off his sweater already. “Just take the sweater, child,” He insists. Feigning annoyance, Tommy accepts. He pulls the sweater on begrudgingly, only slightly guilty about taking Wilbur’s only source of warmth, but he clarified, “I don’t get cold, really.”

“Okay, weirdo,” Tommy muttered, despite the smile on his face.

Wilbur smiled, “Okay, dumbass.”

However cold Wilbur might be, Tommy’s never been warmer; even beyond the yellow sweater.

Despite all the shit Tommy says about Ranboo, he does enjoy their company. They just get on well, like they've known each other for their entire lives instead of the couple they did in reality.

There was an inkling of resentment that Tommy held towards them because of the current climate of Tommy's and Tubbo's friendship, but he discards his feelings of jealousy for now. There was bigger fish to fry.

Like the salmon, Ranboo was teaching Tommy how to prepare and cook.

"I think my mate, Wilbur, said he hated salmon or something," Tommy commented, watching Ranboo sprinkle some seasoning on the fish.

Tubbo, from the room over, in tune with the clacks of a keyboard, questioned, "Who the fuck is Wilbur?"

Tommy exhaled, "Tubbo, I just said. He's my friend."

"Since when!"

"Since ages ago!" Tommy shouted back.

Ranboo interrupted, "How come you've ever brought him up before?"

"I just didn't feel the need to announce to you both that I have a new friend, okay?"

"Oh." They said. "Fair." The conversation mellows out into instructions and half-baked jokes as they prepare the fish. With reluctance, Ranboo hands Tommy the knife. "Careful, please." He warns.

Tommy scoffs, with a prideful grin, "Pft, I don't need to be careful. I'll be fine!"

Wearily, Ranboo turns around to do something else as Tommy's left with his assignment. His knife skills, to say the least, would make him the most useless murderer in the entire world — that, or the most cynical. He's rather slow, methodical with each cut, but Tubbo decides now is the perfect time to sneak up on him. With a yelp, Tommy forces the knife down, and it drags across the palm holding the celery down.

"Oh, fuck!" Tubbo shouts, "Shit, oh my god–!"

Ranboo turns around at lightning speed, dropping whatever he was doing to examine the scene. Tommy brings his hand up to inspect it, a small line of red dripping down his wrist.

"Aw, man," Tommy grumbles. "It's fine. I'll just get a plaster." He reassures them.

However, Ranboo's not looking at Tommy. His eyes, wide, trained on Tubbo, whose gaze is far-off, glued to the blood on Tommy's palm.

Tubbo.

Tubbo, who has blood-red eyes.

Just like Phil.

Who is a vampire.

Tommy's jaw drops.