Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Phil really does mourn the days where he still had the freedom to be picky with his feedings. 

It feels like just yesterday, humans were a dime a dozen. Everywhere that the eye could see, there’d be bustling crowds, scattered conversation, traffic in all the roads. It used to be easy , laughably simple; when feeding in the worse parts of the city, where crime ran rampant, no one would bat an eye at a person going missing here or there. No one would ever care at all, because there was always so much happening at once that the general public could only spend so much time on a single murder before moving on. 

Phil thrived in the luxury of such choice, back then. He liked making the effort to find meals that were deserving of being ripped to pieces. He has his rules to his feedings-- he likes to think any half-decent vampire does-- and he has his preferences. 

Children are off-limits, always. He has a heart, unbeating as it may be, and he recognizes there’s something just particularly cruel in feeding on something so young and defenseless. And for the more practical aspect, kids just don’t really have that much blood to offer until they drop dead. It’s a bad choice all around. 

Women are technically on the table, but Phil tends to avoid them, partly a lingering habit of being a gentleman who would never raise a hand to a lady, and partly because no matter the face, they always remind him of a love lost, and the meal will always end up tasting bitter in his teeth. 

Men are usually the target, but not any man. No, that’s where his preferences come in. Phil likes finding the cruel sort, the angry, the sinful, the nasty, remorseless monsters that could rival even his own wicked existence on a bad day. He likes finding the abusive husbands with harsh voices, the reckless criminals who wave their weapons with no care to the casualties, and he likes giving them exactly what they’ve given to everyone else. 

He enjoys putting the fear of god into them, doling out justice as he sees fit. It’s terribly satisfying, if a bit ironic with Phil being a creature that’s worse than all of them combined. He’s no angel. Just a fellow with a taste for comeuppance. He likes the terror that flows through their bloodstream when he rips their necks open, and he revels in the fact that their pale, blood-splattered bodies will be lost to obscurity, doomed to be forgotten within time. They will become just another poor soul eaten up by the poorest part of the bustling city, and Phil will stay happily fed, content in his revenge on humanity’s worst, and satisfied in his meal.

Oh, but how it has now changed! Now, the comfort of abundance has been torn away, now, humans entirely have grown worryingly scarce, and Phil, for the first time in a long time, has relearnt the feeling of hunger. In the face of a sudden apocalypse crashing down on the world around him, there’s no longer choices, there’s no longer ease. It’s just survival of the fittest and dead bodies stumbling around like idiots. 

In all honesty, he didn't expect it to get this bad. He's been through plagues before, and they did give a significant drop to the population, but the humans prevailed! They got over it! Why not this one? 

Ah. But, then again. He supposes there’s a difference between a deadly illness leaving one bed-ridden, and a contagious sickness that makes a dead man stand up and begin attacking anything that breathes. He himself got surprised by it on the first days of the outbreak, and he tore off the head of the zombie that had lunged too close at the time. There was a touch of worry about the reaction of that, his reflexes having seemingly blown his cover, but to his luck, no one really cared for the sudden violence like they would have before, because people were dying in the street and the city was suddenly on fire. 

And in that burning chaos, Phil lost his home, to where he then lost his nest and his belongings, and then more or less lost his feeding grounds, as well, because any and every person in that area had either turned into a rotting, walking bag of flesh, or they were just plain dead.

Needless to say, he was a bit peeved about it all. 

But a few weeks passed, and then a few more, and Phil tried to adapt with the new world, as he’d always done when things got interesting. Humans had indeed become scarcer in the rush of it all, but not in the new “towns.” The shelters that popped up, the government-made bases, the fortified buildings-- humans were not all gone, Phil had found. They just got a little harder to get to, hiding away in their little fortresses.

He had thought at the time that he could figure out a way to take advantage of those little pockets of community. He could linger around them, surely. Be careful with his feedings, take out a few here and there whenever they went out for supplies, let them all assume a zombie got to the poor soul. While it was certainly less than what Phil was used to having, it worked, for a bit.

Until that particular settlement crumbled in on itself, with person turning against person and zombies finding their way in, and all of Phil’s possible meals being turned rotten before the moon was even up. It was a shame, but a little expected with the new stressful atmosphere around them, making the usual person self-destruct if they didn’t have the mental fortitude to keep fighting. 

So, Phil moved on to the next one. Found another little makeshift town, and this time, he made his own gracious efforts to keep it stable. He made quiet deals with the town’s leaders, assured that as long as they gave him one person to feast on every now and then, he’d bring them as many supplies as they needed, and there wouldn’t have to be a danger of opening up their doors to the world outside. 

That also worked, for a time. However, while Phil could certainly keep a secret under wraps for years and years without falter, the humans…could apparently not. They lasted a single month. Word broke out of the ‘sacrifices’ the leaders were making in exchange for safety, and of course, in response, there was disagreement, general rebellion, raging fires, again, for some goddamn reason, and then the town was gone and the survivors were scattered to the wind and Phil was left to be both hungrier than usual and a bit annoyed. 

But, motivated by his need for a meal, he tried again. Several times. With several other groups of survivors of varying numbers. He found another settlement, holed up within an apartment building, and he sat to the side with intentions of only feeding occasionally and staying strictly in the shadows. 

Two weeks later, one of them turned from a zombie bite they got after sneaking out, and ended up infecting the entirety of the building. 

He trailed the heels of a traveling group wandering around the remains of the city, looking to snatch one or two, but the paranoia from having eyes constantly follow them in the shadows made their downfall, and in their effort to escape Phil’s watchful gaze, they ended up getting trapped in a cramped tunnel with a hoard of zombies and being torn to bits. An entire waste, that.

He made another direct deal with another small group, telling them honestly of his predicament, and this time, he even added how he wouldn’t even need to kill the person, he’d just take his share of their blood and they could recover soon after. It would be a bit tedious for him, having to string out such tiny feedings like that, but he was willing to try, for the sake of his food source actually staying alive for once. Despite that effort, though, they all still turned on each other over the concept of someone being given to the ‘monster’, and things wound up being set on fire. Again. For some reason. 

He ended up just devouring whoever was left after that shitshow. It was a decent meal. 

In the face of such repeating failure, Phil had to take the time to reevaluate his strategies. So, he can’t directly feed from the humans with a mutual deal, they’ll stress over his existence and fight over the concept of it until it all goes up in flames. He can’t do it in secret with no intervention, either, because if he leaves a group to their own devices, they’ll also go up in flames, apparently. 

A reasonable concept would be for him to keep a more careful eye on whichever settlement he chooses to feed off of, make sure no zombies find their way in, make sure they stay civil, but Phil is just one vampire. Settlements often vastly outnumber him, and honestly, he doesn’t have the energy to babysit so many humans just for the sake of being able to eat. 

He does need to eat, though. The adjustment of having so many humans to pick from to having hardly any humans at all is a harsh thing for his body, and while he can survive a good while without a proper feeding, he can feel himself growing weaker than before, the sun beginning to irritate his skin and eyes, the need for constant rest crawling upon his back like a lingering weight. Before this apocalypse, he used to be an unstoppable, terrifying force, a demon of sorts, not even the sun making him falter. Now, he’s more like… a creature of the night, still rather deadly, but not as deadly as he could be. 

It’s an adjustment, he supposes. He lived through the era of abundance, he thrived in it, and now they’re all in the dark ages and he’s got to suffer along with the dear humans. Doesn’t mean he won’t be a little bitter whilst reminiscing, though. 

For the time being, with all the disasters of settlements and burning towns and communities making up their own little wars, Phil switches tactics. He lines out a neat territory within an empty section of the broken-down city, and makes his nest at the very center. He collects supplies with ease, piles them up into a jackpot that any survivor would jump at, and he lies in wait like a spider within its web. 

Despite his location within the city, and despite the threat of the occasional horde that likes to linger in the roads, people come by. They come with hopes of finding plentiful resources within the old buildings, they come with the mission of feeding a town from a week’s journey away. They approach, their weapons in hand, their attention firmly caught on the treasure trove of Phil’s supply of food and water to last for months, and then they die.  

Even with Phil’s meager meals being so strung out these days, he’s far faster and stronger than any human could ever hope to be. Their bullets won’t kill him, neither will their knives, their axes, their spears. It takes a great deal to overpower a vampire, and by the time they even realize Phil isn’t human, by the time they see his eyes and his fangs and realize this is worse than the stumbling corpses in the streets- they’re already a goner, and Phil’s catching up on his everstinging hunger. 

For the most part, this strategy works. Phil doesn’t care for it, finds the waiting and the hunger to be incredibly annoying and boring, but food always comes. There are always survivors, searching for a way to continue going on. It’s a bit unsustainable, to be honest, though, Phil does worry about what will happen when all the humans in the area die out and stop coming, but he supposes that when that happens, he can just pick himself up and follow wherever they go. Humans are a stubborn sort. They won’t all die out, even if everything in the world is against them. He’s always admired them for that. 

It’s right on the edge of sundown when Phil’s next victim comes wandering in, the skies blood red with a single, tired-looking person walking down the empty road. 

Phil watches them from the roof of a building, slightly disappointed about the fact it’s just one, but his focus kept on them all the same. A meal is a meal. He waits and stares as they come in and out through broken doors, shattered windows, torn walls, looking for something to sustain them for the coming weeks, and then, when they finally make a path towards where Phil’s supply is, Phil goes down to meet them.

His movement is nothing but a slight shuffle of fabric as he leaves the broken roof, his feet landing so quietly on the ground that it’s like his weight is that of a feather. He beelines directly to his supply, the cans of food and bottles of water purposefully placed a bit deep into the building, with the single exit being the way one came. He hears the rustle of things being moved as he comes closer, the rush of a survivor desperately taking what goods they can, and as his hunger makes itself present at the thought of a meal; he hears the beating sound of a heart. 

A strong, fast-paced heartbeat. A person in shock at their blessed luck, their hands shaky, their breath quick as they place can after can into the pathetic little bag they brought on their back. 

Their lungs hitch when they notice a presence in the corner of their eye, standing at the doorway, and their heartbeat speeds up into a whirlwind of fear and surprise. Phil sees the glimpse of a gun at their side, hears half of a threat trying to be made by their lips, and then it’s all drowned by the piercing, gurgling scream of a throat being torn through with teeth. 

Drops of blood fall onto the floor by Phil’s feet, by his shoes that he’s kept so meticulously clean just for the sake of it, and while the waste of it is annoying, Phil can’t let himself stay upset. He just gets too eager, these days, when he finally does get his chance to eat, finally being able to relieve the hunger plaguing him so insistently. He drinks his fill as much as he’s able, ignoring the thrashing limbs trying to push him off and instead listening to the heartbeat underneath slowly fade away into silence. He feels the weight in his hands grow heavy as the body becomes limp, and here, he finds his satisfaction, finds even a bit of joy, and then he finds- 

confusion. 

Because there is still a heartbeat in his ear, even as the human in his teeth passes away. 

No, heartbeats. Plural. Three fast-pacing, panic filled heartbeats, somehow having slipped his attention, sounding- tiny, somehow. Fainter than what he’s used to. He grows curious at the noise of it, lifts his head with his mouth open wide, and he turns his head to find-

Three little faces. By the doorway. Children?

“Oh.” Phil says, for lack of words, because it’s been a bit of a while since he’s seen kids, and he does have his rule about them being off limits. What is he to do with them? Hm.

Three pairs of wide eyes stare back at Phil, no thoughtful consideration in their expressions, only terror given at the bloody display before them, the fangs of his teeth bared, the red splattered over his lips, the still-warm, limp body held in his claws. 

“What the fuck.” One of them chokes out, voice weak and wavering, one of his hands clinging to the tallest beside him, the other hand hiding the youngest child behind him in an effort to preserve what little innocence was still there. 

“Oh, hello.” Phil grins, now suddenly so intrigued. Children! What fun, those little humans, always running around with such naive joy to their faces, such curiosity in their hearts. He wonders if they were with the man he just currently killed. Maybe not. Maybe they were on their own, and now Phil can take the time to meet them and figure out what exactly to do with them. 

It’s then that the smallest one opens his mouth and screams, high-pitched and shrill. That’s not ideal. 

“Go-” The tallest one- the oldest, maybe- says, and he pulls a gun and fires before Phil even has a chance to drop the body. What a quick shot! Phil is quietly impressed, if only because he’s seen his fair share of grown men fumble uselessly with their weapons in the face of danger. “Wilbur, go, go!” Even with the bullet tearing through Phil, he pushes Wil to run, and that’s a smart move in the presence of a monster like Phil, isn’t it? To still hold caution until you’re sure he’s dead. 

The other boy with dirty, tangled brown hair- Wilbur, was it? -he takes their youngest in his arms and dashes for the exit, not even daring to look back as Phil is pelted with bullet after bullet after having not fallen to the first one. Phil lets the body in his hands drop heavy to the ground, not even flinching at the wounds in his chest, his smile growing wider when he hears the click of a round going empty. They didn’t have much ammo to spare.

Phil takes in the flicker of horror on the kid’s face, the dawning, terrible realization that the gun didn’t do any significant damage. He then looks down at the holes in his shirt in a sort of acknowledgement of the effort, a bit dejected over the ruin of the fabric. 

“Well.” Phil says gently, and the kid flinches back, mouth opening and closing like he wants to say something. “I’m not sure how I’ll ever mend those.” 

In place of a response, the empty gun gets chucked into the direction of Phil’s face, and while Phil surely has the reflexes to avoid it, surely has the speed to dodge to the side, he’s just- not really expecting it, so it lands directly against his nose, clattering to the ground as he stumbles back in surprise. 

He holds a hand up to the bridge of his nose, more thrown off than really injured, and the tapping sound of footsteps running away are all the goodbye Phil gets, that racing heartbeat getting farther from his range. Phil’s hands twitch at the mere concept of a chase, and he’s moving fast with an arm raised out before he can even quite process it, his hand twisting in the back of a hoodie and then yanking the owner of it back. 

“Techno!” Wilbur screams from outside, seeing his brother get pulled back into the dark, and Techno shrieks out in return, twisting and thrashing around in Phil’s hold, immediately trying to shed his hoodie to get away. 

“Run!” He calls out to Wil, voice trembling, the pitch of it rising high and cracking when Phil takes hold of his arm with a firm, unmoving grip. “Run, go, Wil!” 

“Honestly, between you and me, they won’t really get far.” Phil whispers, leaning down to where Techno is trying to drag his weight to the floor in an effort to loosen Phil’s grip. At Phil’s words, Techno raises his head up with a striking glare, then tries to bite down at his wrist. 

 “Oh, that’s- Hm.” Phil barely holds back a laugh, pressing his lips tightly shut. The kid is clearly fighting for his life here, it would be a bit mean to laugh, wouldn’t it? “Ow.” He says, to give some sort of validation. 

The edge of dull teeth scrape over the side of Phil’s hand as a frustrated, angry cry leaves through Techno’s mouth, and Phil reaches down further to scoop the poor thing up, wanting to get over with the initial stage of fighting as quickly as possible. Limbs are swinging every which way, and the kid is a squirming, stubborn mess, but Phil manages to more-or-less press him against his chest, his arms pinned between the two of them, his legs held in the crook of one of Phil’s arms. 

“Okay. Alright. Enough of that, I know, you’re very angry and threatening. Let’s go get those other two out there before they get themselves into trouble, yes?” Phil asks, and Techno struggles against him with a frantic shake of his head. “Yes, I think so.” 

Techno doubles his efforts in trying to be let go, all the way up until they’ve walked outside, Phil standing out in the open road with a fighting child held in his arms. The sun has since disappeared, and the last lingering bits of light on the horizon make the dim road look more dreadful than usual. A part of Phil automatically keeps an ear out for any undead groans, but to his relief, there aren’t any in the area. That allows him to not worry about the human children running face first into getting eaten alive. 

“Let’s see now...Wilbur?” Phil calls out, voice echoing across the empty street. “Where are you?” He asks, but it’s not as if he’s truly lost track of him. He’s latched onto the sound of their little heartbeats now, and he knows that there’s two children hiding in the rubble far off to his right. He stays looking oblivious for the sake of having them come out on their own terms, because dragging them out will just take a lot of unneeded effort, and Phil doesn’t need to go crawling through rubble to pull out uncooperative human youth. 

“Come out, come out, wherever you are.” Phil sings out, lifting Techno a little higher like he’s a prize he’s won. “I’ve got your friend right here!” 

“Go!” Techno yells out, voice ringing harshly across the road, and he grunts as his feet kick uselessly against the air, legs held firm by Phil’s arm. “Wilbur, take Tommy and go ! Don’t come any closer!” 

“Tommy.” Phil repeats, a murmur under his breath. That’s probably the youngest. “Techno, Wilbur, and Tommy. Aren’t those nice names?” He says quietly, more to himself than Techno, but Techno goes still at the words anyway, seemingly unnerved at hearing his own name from Phil’s lips. 

With the sudden lack of movement, Phil takes the chance to readjust his hold, grabbing at Techno’s dirty hair and pulling his head to the side in one swift movement so he can bare his teeth and lean towards the kid’s neck. He’s not meaning to actually take a bite out of him, he really only rests his chin onto Techno’s pulse, but from the view of Wilbur and Tommy, it must look as if their brother is about to be a vampire’s next meal. 

“NO!” 

“Tommy, no, no, come back-!”

And of course, that’s exactly the reaction that Phil wants. Whilst one can always count on humanity being cruel, they can also be awfully attached to each other. 

Out from the rubble comes the youngest of the three, dirty as any survivor, wrapped up in a blue coat that’s too big to fit him. He runs in Phil’s direction with the energy of a bullet, but comes to an abrupt stop just a few paces away, shaking in every limb from fear, tears welling up in his eyes. Despite the clear distress, there’s a very stubborn sort of fight in his expression that Phil can’t help but stare at in a sort of appreciation. 

“Hello there.” Phil greets, smiling wide with teeth, and Tommy takes half a step back. 

“Tommy.” Techno croaks out, his voice seemingly torn away at the prospect of having Phil seconds away from killing him in a bloody, brutal manner. For all he knows, he was just a breath away from death a moment earlier. Phil wonders if he should tell them all that he’s not planning on killing them. Would that lift the mood?

Glancing past Tommy, Phil notices Wilbur still by the rubble, left on his hands and knees with his arms trembling underneath his weight. He’s looking at Tommy and Phil as if it’s a horrible disaster in slow motion, and he’s too frozen to stop it. With a jerky movement, Wil manages to lift his arms up, trying to call his baby brother back to him. 

“Come back, come back here, Tommy-” 

“Please-” Tommy ignores Wilbur, instead faltering on his words, feet shifting like he just can’t choose between returning back to Wilbur’s arms and running forward to try and save Techno. God, he’s so very tiny. Phil wishes he knew human ages right now, because this one can’t be more than a decade old, surely not. “Please don’t eat him. Please don’t.” 

“Tommy.” Wilbur hisses out, and he looks as if he’s gathering his courage now, with a hint of anger that Phil worries about shifting into violence. He keeps his smile cheerful and lets his words flow smoothly, not a threat to be seen. 

“Oh, don’t worry.” Phil says to Tommy, leaning down just a bit as he rocks Techno back and forth in his arms, the kid still frozen in terror. “I’m afraid he’s far too small to count as a meal. I won’t eat him.” 

Phil would have to wait a good while until he could even consider using him even for a small feeding, really, he’s so scrawny and young that any sort of blood loss to him would more than likely be very risky to his life. Maybe if he grew up before the apocalypse, fed well, kept fit…

An brilliant idea suddenly dawns on Phil as he’s reminded of the before, and of his ever present issue of humans having gone scarce. There is indeed a way to manage the sudden appearance of children, all it takes is a great deal of patience, and a bit of hard work. Maybe if…

“Technoblade-” Wilbur’s steps are suddenly coming close and coming fast, and both Tommy and Phil turn their heads just as Wilbur throws a chunk of cement in the direction of Phil’s face. “-lower your head!” 

Phil makes a quick side-step as Techno lowers himself upon Wilbur’s command, and the rock goes sailing past Phil’s ear with a startling sort of speed. That would’ve broken his nose, if it hit. The kid has a good arm. 

Something runs right into Phil’s knees, then, tiny arms trying to wrap over his legs to keep him still, and Phil looks down to find Tommy clinging on, trying to help in any way he can. 

“You can’t move!” He cries, his grip terribly weak, but ever so determined, fingers digging into the fabric of his pants. “Not until you give me my brother back!”

“Oh, dear. I’m effectively trapped.” Phil responds, sounding more slightly inconvenienced than the distressed tone he was going for. Surely the little one will believe it anyway. “I wouldn’t throw another rock, Wilbur, not with Tommy right here!” Phil sings, thinking Wil’s concern for his little brother’s well-being will keep him hesitant. 

“Fuck you!” Wilbur replies, clearly just fueled by pre-teen rage. Phil raises his eyebrows from the sudden viciousness of the insult, a bit amused, then a rock nails him right in the forehead. It’s not as large as the chunk of concrete Wil threw before, but it’s enough to make Phil scrunch his nose at the annoying sting of it scraping on skin. 

It falls to the floor, Phil leaning his head back with a harsh huff at the feeling of blood dripping past his face. The wound itself heals within seconds, it’s really no harm, but the blood is still there, and if there’s one thing Phil has become particular about in the last few weeks, it is the task of keeping himself neat and proper even with everyone else living in grime and dirt. He’s going to need to wash up after this whole ordeal. 

None of the boys seem to care about his efforts in hygiene, though, Techno particularly now, because in the single moment Phil takes to compose himself, trying to stay still with Tommy on his legs, Wilbur probably looking for another rock to throw-- the boy manages to pull a knife from who knows where, and he drives it into the spot right above Phil’s collarbone. 

“You little shit-” Phil hisses at the attack, deciding to go ahead and listen to their wishes at last, dropping Techno without care, letting the boy slam into the ground with Tommy immediately trying to help him up. He takes a step back to grab at the shank in his throat, pulling it away with a frown when he sees how crudely made it is. He can’t get sick from normal disease, but good god, this knife has to have a ridiculous amount of germs on it, judging by the old stains of blood before. How many zombies have fallen victim to this blade? Phil feels vaguely offended at having the same tiny weapon be used on him. He’s also just a bit impressed by their sheer persistence at fighting back. 

“Hurry up!” One of them yell, and Phil directs his attention back onto them to find Techno returned to his feet, Wilbur supporting him with an arm, Tommy holding him up by the side. They rush past Phil with fast, limping steps, still too slow to ever escape him, but Phil lets them be. He stays standing in place, the stab wound in his neck sealing back up, and he watches as they go further down the dark street, turning their backs onto him. 

Only Wilbur is the one to look over his shoulder as they move farther away, the vampire’s standing figure in the dark giving a terrible chill up his spine. He swears those eyes are glowing at him. Glowing. They don’t turn away, even when they move out of view. 

“He’s not following.” He whispers out to Techno, who with each couple steps, regains his energy again, until he’s the one taking his brothers by the hands and dragging them along into a full-paced run, sprinting down the road with loud steps. “He’s not following us!”

“He probably got scared!” Tommy says, a touch of confidence in him for being able to overcome such a monster with his brother’s help. 

“Or thought we were too much trouble.” Technoblade reckons, but he isn’t entirely focused on why they were able to get away. He just retraces the path they took to get into the area, wanting to be as far as possible. He can still feel the phantom prick of teeth in his neck. “This way, come on!” 

He turns Wil and Tommy past a crossroad, ignoring the ringing panic in his head at the realization that he no longer has his gun tucked in his shirt, nor his knife in his pocket. He’s unarmed and defenseless, and they’re back at square one in needing to find a decent place for the night. They can’t settle anywhere within the area-- they’ll have to keep moving until they can’t any longer, because they can’t risk that- that- thing, coming upon them in their sleep. 

They travel across road after road, Techno making as many turns as he can, Wilbur continuing to look back over his shoulder. Eventually, the adrenaline and fear fades, and as their steam runs out. Tommy’s feet begin to drag, his hand pulling at Techno’s with the need to take a pause. 

“Stop!” Tommy insists, in between heaving breaths, almost stumbling over his worn-out shoes. “Techno- stop, stop, I can’t-” He pants. “I wanna stop!” He whines, the complaint nearly echoing in comparison to the silent night around them. 

Techno listens, coming to such an abrupt halt that Wilbur almost goes falling to the ground, only saved by the fact he’s still holding onto Techno’s hand. Techno breathes hard as he looks straight ahead, and Wilbur takes the moment to lean over at the hip, trying to take in the cold air and ease his fried nerves. 

It’s night. It’s fully night, the sun is gone over the horizon, and they don’t have any weapons. They don’t have any supplies. They don’t have anything. Techno had been hoping- praying, really, that trailing the guy from before would lead them to something decent, but all he’s led them to is something far worse than any zombie out here. 

Oh, god, the zombies. 

“We gotta hide.” Technoblade hisses out, making a step backwards, and Wil lifts his head back up to see a slow moving figure in the road up ahead. It shambles along in a way he knows too well, and his fear snaps right back at the ever faint noise of an undead groan. “This is- it’s too out in the open to stay here, we have to hide-” Techno begins to look around, Wilbur not daring to take his eyes off of the zombie, even if it’s still far. 

“We’re going in a building?” Tommy asks quietly, as Techno quickly scans the sidewalk for any open entrances around them. 

“Yes, a building. We can find a room, barricade the door.” Wilbur answers Tommy, just as quietly, and he sticks close to Techno’s side as they go across the street, to an office building that has the glass doors at the entrance entirely shattered. 

They step carefully through the broken door with the crunch of glass underneath their shoes, and to their great dismay, the dark in here is suffocating compared to out on the street, where at least the light of the moon allowed them to be marginally aware of their surroundings. In here, it’s like a black hole, nothing but the void, and the sight of it is both a comfort and a scare. If they could hide in here, they’d never be found. But who knows what is already hiding within the dark?

Techno whistles out to the shadows like he’s calling a dog, and the noise of it echoes back at them from the walls, the place sounding horribly empty. It’s probably been ransacked, judging by the glass. 

Tommy’s small hand grasps onto the bottom of Techno’s hoodie. 

“I don’t like this spot.” He says, his words feeble and shaky, and Technoblade tries to not let himself sound too nervous in response. He forces a false, easy confidence into his voice.  

“It’s just for one night, Toms. Tomorrow, we’ll find somewhere better.” Tomorrow, they’ll need to keep moving, farther and farther until Techno’s absolutely sure they’re out of range and not being followed. And along the way, he can only pray they’ll find some supplies as well to keep them going. He won’t dare think of approaching the collection of food that- man was by earlier. That’s just a trap, clear as day. 

With no groaning response of a zombie to Techno’s whistle and Tommy’s hushed words, it’s deemed safe enough for now, and they creep along into the dark, Tommy holding onto Techno’s shirt, Wilbur keeping a hand on Techno’s shoulder. Techno keeps both his arms out, his steps small as he feels for any obstacle in the way. He bumps into a chair, then what could be an overturned plant pot, judging by the feeling of dirt under his feet, and eventually, he finds his hands touching at the smooth wood of a reception desk. Good enough. 

“Okay, here.” Techno declares, and he maneuvers his brothers around the desk, hearing the crinkle of fallen papers underneath them, his leg bumping against another chair. He pushes it away and feels around for the bottom of the counter, then guides Tommy first to sit underneath within the corner of it. 

“We’re staying here for the night?” Wilbur whispers, seeming apprehensive. 

“I know it’s not good, but I don’t want to be in the open. He- I lost my gun. And my knife.” 

“...Fuck.” Wil huffs, frustrated for a second on Techno’s behalf. “Okay. Okay, alright. Just until the sunrise, then?”

Techno nods, even if Wil can’t see it. He fumbles to grab at his brother’s hand and squeezes tight. “Just until the sunrise. It’ll be safer when it’s day.” 

“Yeah.” Wil agrees, and with that, he joins Tommy underneath the desk, curling up on the ground with his back to the wood. He keeps his hands where Tommy can grab on them, letting him be constantly reassured in the heavy weight of the dark. Techno goes to join them, to find his own spot next to Wil, but as he’s starting to crouch down with care as to where the edge of the counter is, there’s the soft sound of a rumbling groan by the front door. 

The sensation of ice-cold fear runs down Techno’s spine. 

A scared whine leaves Tommy’s throat, and Techno immediately lands to his knees, reaching out to try and cover his little brother’s mouth. His fingers touch over Wilbur’s to find that Wil’s already done that, frantic in keeping him quiet. 

“Techno.” Wilbur breathes out, hardly even a whisper, and Technoblade squeezes his grip over the back of Wil’s hand, trying to signal for him to just shut up. It’s only a wandering zombie. It won’t come in. It didn’t hear them. It’ll leave. It’ll leave. There’s been plenty of times they’ve had their close calls, zombies coming too close for comfort, but they’ve always just moved along, and this time will be no different. It’ll go. It’ll-

The crunching sound of glass underneath stumbling feet proves him wrong. The noise of it is deafening in Techno’s ears. His breath hitches in his throat, then holds, and his heart pounds against his ribs once, twice, three times, each louder than the last. 

He wonders if the zombie can hear their hearts racing at the mere proximity of it. He wonders if it’s coming over to grab them in the dark, and he’ll be none the wiser until it’s too late and his flesh is already getting torn apart. He wonders if this is it, if this is how they’ll go. He wonders and wonders and spirals, and he can’t make himself move, because he was an idiot, and he hid himself and his brothers in the dark in hopes of not having the monsters follow them inside. Now they’re doomed. Now they’re dead , and all they can do is wait and listen to-

There’s a sickening crunch that fills up his ears. Something cracks and splits apart, then there’s a splatter of something wet upon the floor. Techno’s eyes go wide against the dark. The zombie has gone quiet. 

What?

Techno turns himself around as Tommy whimpers behind Wil’s hand at the fear of the unknown, a soft shuffling of proper footsteps coming near, then- light. There’s a click of a flashlight, and all three of them flinch at the sudden return of being able to properly see. Techno stares at an old stain in the gray, flat carpet floor underneath him, his breath still stuck in his throat, and only when the sight of polished black shoes comes around in front of him, does he suck in a gasp. 

There’s drops of blood on the shoes. Technoblade knows who it is before he kneels down to look underneath the counter. 

“Of all places,” Phil sighs as he crouches with the flashlight pointed to the ground. “Why underneath the desk counter?” 

He speaks so casually in the cool glow of the flashlight, but even with his tone and the all-encompassing darkness now chased away, he looks horrifying. The blood from earlier is still streaked down his face, a matching bright red with his eyes, which gleam in a way that’s just unsettling. He grins at them all, the fangs from before in full view, and Techno knows he was never bitten, the monster never got the chance, but his neck stings from just the close call. A frail noise dies somewhere behind his tongue. 

“I guess I can’t blame you for just wanting to get out of sight. The hoard does tend to spread out during the night for some reason. I never get why. There’s probably some explanation behind it… ” He trails off, looking thoughtful, then he shakes his head and turns his attention back to them. “Nevermind. Come out, now.” He moves closer, reaching a hand up as if to pull them into the open. 

“I-” Techno leans back, not sure what to do, mind blank with panic, and it’s in his moment of indecision that Wilbur lunges forward with a scream, slamming into the vampire and sending him falling back-first onto the ground. The flashlight rolls across the floor as Tommy shrieks out in surprise, and Technoblade gapes at the sudden action, not having expected it at all. 

“Wilbur!” 

“Leave us alone!” Wil cries, climbing on top of Phil to swing his fists down at his face with all the strength he can muster. “You stay away from-!”

In a flash, Wilbur is suddenly pulled off from Phil, and he’s thrown into the ground on his side,  Phil hovering over him with a sharp, rattling hiss through his teeth. Wil looks up with wide eyes, cowering instantly under the noise, breathing fast and trying to shrink into the floor as Phil leans close with a snarl so vicious that Technoblade is convinced he’s about to watch his brother get eaten alive, torn to bite-sized bits. 

But nothing happens. The snarl dies down, the air around them lapsing back into a tense silence, and they all stay in place, Wilbur curled up on the floor, Tommy gripping for dear life onto Techno’s arm. They wait, the seconds slowly slipping by, then Phil’s voice breaks the calm. 

“I don’t kill children.” 

Wilbur stares up at him with no visible reaction to the words, eyes glassy with tears, his body shaking like a leaf. Phil leans up a bit to glance over his shoulder at Techno and Tommy, and they’re very much the same. Phil squints at them for a second in consideration, then clicks his tongue as he realizes maybe he should’ve just tried talking sooner, even if they were in the middle of trying to give him a concussion. 

“I don’t hurt children.” Phil repeats, an emphasis on the hurt, and he turns back to Wil to brush part of his matted-looking hair out of his face. Wil flinches at the gesture, eyes stuck to the claws on Phil’s hands. “It’s a rule of mine. So why don’t you stop trying to kill me?” Phil asks, and Wil’s eyes flick back up towards his face, tears silent running past his cheeks. 

Phil sighs quietly at the sight, feeling tired even with the feeding he had so recently. Maybe it’s just from the short chase. It’s been honestly such a long while since the last time he actually chased his victims. It’s such an effort. 

“Come here.” Phil says gently, and he takes Wilbur from the ground, the kid not even resisting as Phil gathers him up in his arms, sitting up so they’re both upright again. He looks back at Wilbur’s terror-filled eyes, and makes a hum. “Hello. Are we calmed down now? Can we have proper introductions? I have your names, I think you all should have mine. That’s only fair.” 

“Please go away.” Techno chokes out from behind him, and Phil turns his head to see Tommy held tight in Technoblade’s arms, practically hidden from how much his older brother is curled over him in an effort for protection. 

Phil tilts his head with a light huff. “I don’t think I will, Technoblade.” The boy jerks back at the use of his name, and Phil stands to his feet, Wilbur looking away from Phil to make a panicked glance towards his brothers as he stays held to Phil’s chest. “Now. We can begin the fighting all over again, with you throwing rocks and trying to stab me, eventually running off with me finding you over and over until you become too tired to run any longer…or you can head over there,” he nods over to an old seating area within the office place, the chairs still mostly together. “And sit down, so we can have a simple chat.” 

“I don’t-” Technoblade tries immediately to refuse, but he considers Phil’s words. Yes, they can fight again. Wilbur could try stabbing his eyes out with his bare hands, he’ll probably do so if Techno just gives some sort of signal, but what then? Will it just be like the last time? They’ll be let go, the man letting them leave, and they’ll run, but they’ll be scared off into hiding from the zombies, and they’ll be found again. They can’t get all that far in the open, not without any weapons, not at night. 

At least this monster has some restraint about killing them. The zombies outside won’t give any hesitation on sinking their teeth into their skin. Techno chooses the lesser of the two evils. 

He forces himself up on shaky legs, Tommy held close with his hand in his, and they move away from the counter, stepping past Phil. Techno walks over to the chairs with a strained breathing in his lungs, and his eyes naturally fall upon the body on the floor, the zombie from earlier dead at their feet. 

With the head torn off. 

Tommy presses himself further into Techno’s side, not making a noise, but the shock radiating from him all the same. Technoblade stays looking at the zombie for a minute too long, and Phil ends up nudging them with the flashlight, having picked it up in their moment of distraction. 

They don’t sit on the chairs if so much as fall into them, Tommy climbing onto Techno’s lap, wanting to be as close to him as possible. Technoblade holds him with strong arms, then looks up at Phil with his stomach twisting at the red eyes looking back. 

“Can Wilbur sit with us?” Technoblade croaks out, and Phil looks down at Wilbur in his arms as if to check if the kid wants that too. Wil makes a frantic nod, and Phil relents, letting him down on the chair beside Techno. Both him and Techno immediately clasp their hands together. 

“Alright. Now that we’re all settled…” Phil crouches down again with the flashlight to the floor, the boys now looking down at him as he smiles with a barely contained anticipation. “I’m going to put this simply.” 

All three of them shrink away in preparation for some sort of threat, an unveiled anger, something terrible with that snarling, inhuman noise from before, but Phil’s tone stays calm. Very matter of fact, very still. Perfectly content. 

“My name is Phil. I’m a vampire. And you three are going to be very important to me.”

Chapter Text

The children don’t react very well to Phil’s explanation of his plan. For what reason, he doesn’t know. 

There’s plenty of benefits for them to consider. They’ll be fed, and they’ll be watered, and they’ll be able to stay away from the dreadful walking corpses shambling around outside. What else could they need? All they would have to give in return for that generosity on his part is a little bit of blood later on down the line. It’s a decent deal, in his opinion. 

But despite the pros outweighing the cons, and Phil giving his points rather clearly, easy to understand-- the children seem very hesitant to listen. There’s a stubbornness in Techno’s eyes that promises trouble in the near future, and a wary distrust in Wilbur’s that makes Phil feel slightly dejected. Their combined frowns and tense shoulders offer no compromise, no hint of agreement. 

He supposes it’s reasonable, on their part. All the fighting of earlier has given the impression Phil is something dangerous, and while he surely is a threat, he doesn’t mean to point any danger at them. They are important, as he’s told them. They must stay alive and well, for they will be his way of adapting. 

Honestly, this is just like his idea of before, that passing thought about babysitting an entire settlement, with the only snag of that plan being that he was just one vampire. He should’ve just thought of downsizing earlier, gathering only a few humans from the beyond. It would’ve been simpler and quicker than having to raise children. 

But what’s done is done, and Phil stands without regret, only curious anticipation for what this plan will bring him. If all else fails, it’ll at least be something entertaining for a while. Waiting for prey to stumble in is a mind-numbing activity, after waiting long enough, and he’s had quite enough of doing needless repairs and cleaning around his nest. (He knows it’s the apocalypse and all, but why- pray tell, why did the humans think the first best thing to do was start destroying their own towns beyond recognition?) 

Now he can focus on new projects, new rooms, new reactions from company that he hasn’t had in a long, long time. 

“Do you have any questions?” Phil asks his new three little humans, their sharp gazes not wavering one bit against his soft tone. For a second, they glance at each other in some sort of silent, telepathic communication, and Phil is half-convinced they’re going to begin a silent treatment out of some sort of stubborn protest. 

“So- we’re cattle.” Techno then says bluntly, Wilbur shrinking in further into himself, hands gripping tightly on Tommy’s coat. Their youngest, still terrified, just turns his head away, eyes squeezed shut. 

“Well.” Phil raises a hand to his face, absentmindedly trying to rub off the blood left on his skin. Yes, more or less, but that seems harsh to admit to their faces. “I wouldn’t word it like that.” 

“But that’s what you're offering.” Technoblade hisses through his teeth, jaw clenched tight. 

Such quiet anger. A hidden threat within the words, as if any of them could ever do anything to Phil. Taking a small, polite step back, Phil makes a humming nod, adjusting the flashlight in his hands. 

“I won’t be cruel about it. This is a necessary thing. I am trying to survive, just as you are. This is more of a…business deal. A mutually beneficial agreement.” He bargains, trying to be mature about this whole thing. 

“You want to eat us.” Wilbur rephrases, and Phil vaguely remembers that he’s dealing with human children here. “You-” He hesitates, staring at Phil’s teeth, Phil’s bloodied face, with a grimacing fear. 

“It would only be a small amount of blood.” Phil reassures, none of the kids looking any more relieved by that. He leans down with a small grin, eyes glinting in the shine of the flashlight. “It’s not as if I’m going to swallow you whole.” 

Tommy burrows himself into Techno’s stomach, a small, muffled crying noise leaving him. Wilbur presses his face into Techno’s shoulder, as if trying to hide, one eye wide and staring at Phil. Technoblade looks away, holding onto his brothers with a deadly tight grip. 

Hm. Phil takes another small step back. He thinks he might’ve missed the mark there. He was joking. Perhaps he could take the time to explain proper criteria of a good feeding, emphasizing the fact that he isn’t one for human flesh. Just the blood. Would they find comfort in the logic of that? In the surety of Phil having his limits? Maybe if he just kept reminding them of it, over time…

“How long?” Techno suddenly says, snapping Phil out of his concern on how many weeks it would take to have human children grow desensitized to him. 

“Hm?”

“How long until-” He hesitates, eyes still refusing to look up. “Until you have to eat?”

Phil stares for a good few seconds, then huffs gently, a thin smile pulling at his lips. “Well, you’re too small right now. Not to mention underfed, probably. And dirty.” Wil’s eyes squint as if somewhat insulted. Phil won’t apologize, it’s true. He can see the grime and filth on their skin from here. “It'll probably be a few years from now before I ever first feed on you.”

All three immediately untense, just a little. Surprise ripples over Techno’s face as Wilbur draws back, seeming considerate, now. 

“Okay.” Wil says for them, quick and convinced. Techno hugs Tommy a little closer. “That sounds fine.” 

Phil smiles wide with all teeth, openly amused. He knows exactly what they must be thinking. A few years! That’s forever from now! Surely, we can escape in a mere week. Let’s build trust and then backstab when the moment shines true…

Ah, he’ll let them plot. Let them try a few escape attempts. They can’t exactly outrun him, and they can’t hurt him. This has become a waiting game, now, with the intention of seeing how quickly he can whittle down their urge to scatter to the wind. 

Hmm, and how to go about that? He could scare the urge out of them, yes, that would be the simple route, using fear and punishment. But what fun is in that? He scares his meals all the time, feasts on their terror, their racing heartbeat in his jaws. These children have done nothing to deserve such a particular scare like that. There’s no joy to be brought in that sort of needless cruelty, tearing them down into nothing. What would even be left? Nothing worthwhile, that’s for sure. 

Phil must put his efforts into this. He needs to go about it with an unwavering persistence, and eventually, surely, he will taste the feeling of satisfying reward, to one day having the door be left wide open, and be secure in the knowledge that they won’t even wander out from the boundaries of the street. They’ll come right back, if he does this right. There is more to gain in staying than braving the deadly world outside. Phil can make sure they understand that. 

And with that, he’ll ensure he’ll have enough to eat for the next several decades. 

He resists the impulse to smile wide with fangs on full display. He’ll need to be mindful for the next few days for how he carries himself, just until they grow used to him. Until they realize they’re a different sort of meal. Not something he’ll chase and tear to bits, but rather- What was it that Techno compared it to? Cattle? 

Yes. It’s just like raising sheep. A wolf taking in a few lambs to have a bigger meal later on.

“Let’s go on our way, then.” Phil says, reaching out to their precious baby lamb, Tommy still pressing himself into Techno’s arms. “Here, why don’t you give this little one to me?” 

“No.” Techno immediately refuses, swatting a hand out and pushing Phil’s wrist away. “I- I can take him.” There’s a waver in his voice, fear making him slow for a second as he tries to form a plan to keep Phil at a distance. Phil takes advantage of the mental panic, moving fast. 

“Oh, I’m sure.” Phil says, and he drops the flashlight into Wilbur’s lap, taking Tommy by the armpits, pulling him up and away too quickly for Techno to be able to yank him back. Tommy squirms in realizing he’s being lifted, then falters and goes still in seeing that he’s being carried by the vampire. He stares up at Phil with wide, terrified eyes, wet streaks of tears on his cheeks, then he glances to Wilbur and Techno in a look of silent, panicked pleading, his breaths coming quick. 

“I can take him-!” Techno insists, standing to his feet with Wilbur at his back, the two of them at Phil’s heels as he takes a swift step away, their hands practically clawing at his coat as he readjusts Tommy against his chest, the child frozen in fear. “I can- You don’t have to-!”

“Shh.” Phil interrupts, holding a finger to his lips, and Techno goes quiet, Wilbur’s hands squeezing the flashlight as he gets a glimpse of the zombies still wandering outside. “I’ll give him back once we’re out of the open.” 

“I can carry him.” Techno still argues, holding his arms out, desperate in the way he whispers the words. “Please.”

“For the entire way?” Phil raises a brow, and Techno is stubborn enough to nod. “No. You cannot falter. We’re going to go back with no stops, no slowing down. You will stay with me, and you will not run off.” He bounces Tommy in his arms for a moment, as if to make his point. “You will get him back when we’re back inside.” 

“At your base?” Wilbur asks, Phil smiling slightly at the wording. Base, hideout, settlement- the naming for human’s homes have changed so much. Phil’s will always be the same. He will always be a vampire seeking refuge in his carefully made nest. 

“Yes.” Phil nods. “At my base. Now, both of you, come close, and stay close.” 

The two of them flank Phil with little hesitation, with such a motivation in his arms. Wilbur shines the light out in front of them to the broken doorway and the barren road. Techno holds onto Tommy’s hanging ankle, fingers squeezing in quiet reassurance. Tommy makes a small noise in reply, hunching down to be even smaller in Phil’s arms as he strides out the door.

They move at a steady pace, Phil leading them on, making them briskly walk out into the open of the road, around the zombies that slowly take in their presence, and then slowly begin to follow. For the most part, it’s honestly quite easy to avoid the scattered corpses. Move fast enough, and you’re out of their range of vision before they even decide to try coming after you. The only problem is when there’s too many, when they corner one in. 

As they pass by the end of the street, one such zombie comes a touch too close, Phil not quite able to avoid it. Wilbur slips around him in an effort to move away, a sound of panic coming up his throat, and Phil has no choice but to raise a leg and kick it back, sending it sprawling out on the road. 

Tommy gives a gasp of shock at the action, Techno’s breath hitching at the way the head goes rolling, not all that securely attached. Phil is just glad he kicked it lightly enough to not make it go entirely flying. That would’ve been a bit much, guts and gore in the air. 

“Stay near.” Phil reminds, not wanting what’s his to be stolen by dirty, rotten hands. Wilbur clings to Techno, who clings to Tommy to Phil’s arms. They continue like that the entire way back, Phil occasionally fending a few more zombies off, the children seeming to linger all the more closer at the image of decaying bodies being left in collapse on the street. 

They’re practically walking in his footsteps by the time they return to his humble abode, the building shrouded in shadow, the rubble gathered just so that the only clear path is within one dark open doorway. Phil walks the path that so many other doomed humans have taken, and finds some sense of amusement in the way he’s corralling humans in this time around, rather than just watching them stumble on forward. 

“Here we are.” Phil announces as they approach the entrance, his voice forming into an echo down the hall, the area looking downright dreadful with the dirt and darkness sticking to the walls. 

Both Techno and Wil hesitate by the doorway, footsteps faltering in place, Wilbur raising out the flashlight further with an uneasy grimace. They act as if there’s any threat inside. The only threat to find would be Phil himself. 

“In, in, in, let’s go.” Phil ushers them on, pushing them forward, their little feet stumbling over each other as they walk on in front of him now. They only make it a good three steps before Techno stops in place, turning on his heel with hands curled into small fists at his side. Phil looks down at him with an unblinking gaze, curious as to why he’s rooted himself to this spot. Then Technoblade holds out his arms. 

“We’re inside.” He declares, his words ever so slightly shaky, hands reaching up close to Phil’s arms, uncaring of whatever danger that could pose. “You said- Once we’re inside, you said you’d-”

“I’d give him back.” Phil finishes the sentence for him, eyes slipping shut for a moment as Wilbur turns the flashlight towards him, the blinding light of it directly in his face. “Yes, yes. Of course.” He makes a narrowed glance at the boy, who quickly turns the light away. 

“So give him back!” Techno insists, taking a step forward, arms raised high. Tommy lifts his head ever so minutely, a careful, tear-filled glance made in his brother’s direction. 

“Goodness, no need to be so impatient.” Phil scolds, but he listens without any more fuss. He hands Tommy over to Techno’s awaiting hands, and watches as the boy backs away as soon as he’s gotten his prize, Wilbur coming close as if to complete their protective little circle, his flashlight pointed low. Tommy gives a tiny hiccup of a sob in their close embrace, the noise muffled into Techno’s shoulder. 

Honestly. What dramatics. Phil didn’t even do anything. In fact, he oh-so-graciously carried him the whole way here! Why must they act like he’s brutally torn a limb from them with little mercy?

A purposeful sigh leaves Phil’s lips, watchful eyes landing back onto him. He goes to take the light from Wil’s hand, the boy nearly dropping it when he reaches close. Phil hums at the scare. Such skittish creatures. He really does hope they get used to him soon, otherwise this is going to get a bit annoying. 

“Come along, then.” He insists, stepping forward and pushing them on. 

Wil and Techno quickly walk down the hall, Tommy’s head peeking over Techno’s shoulder and looking back at Phil in the meanwhile. Those glassy blue eyes are wary and afraid above all, but there’s now a sense of relief to be had, in now being in his brother’s grip. Phil makes a mental note to keep the three of them attached at the hip from now on, for minimal emotional trauma. Keep together, do not separate. Reasonable enough. 

They head down the hallway and come across the room with the bait of food, the body from earlier still laying on the ground, the blood having gone mostly dry underneath it. Wilbur grimaces at the sight, Techno keeps a hand to the back of Tommy’s head, assuring that he won’t turn to look at it. Phil reaches an arm out to stop them from going inside.

“No, no. Not here. Further down the hall.” He guides, and the boys give frowning looks to the path lit up by the flashlight in Phil’s hand. From here, it looks like a dead-end, a single blocked doorway at the end of a grimy hallway, but Phil has it like that for a reason. He has it like that so any humans that come by will go for the easier route of the open room first, and there they will see the food, and there, Phil will have his own. 

Wilbur takes the lead in going to the door, keeping a hand held to Techno’s arm as he reaches up to the piece of debris leaning across it, trying to push it to the side. Phil sincerely doubts he would be able to move it, but he lets the child try anyhow, because watching him try is a decent way to get a measure of his strength, and also because it’s a little funny. 

“Let me.” Phil says after a moment of struggle, Wilbur not getting far in freeing up the doorknob. He puts one hand underneath the beam, then picks it up and puts it to the side with ease, the weight of the thing leaving a noticeable mark across the floor and a dent in the wall. Wilbur looks up at him with widened eyes, and Phil smiles down at him whilst also tilting the light to turn directly into the kid’s face, because he is as petty as he is old.

The other side of the door shows a pitch black set of stairs, the children going instantly hesitant at the sight. They actively back away, Techno making a passing glance to the entrance door as if considering making another run, Wilbur holding a hand to the wall as if to prevent them from getting pushed down the steps. Phil makes a chuckle in the back of his throat, all three kids jolting at the sound, their heads whipping towards him. 

“They’re just stairs.” He says rather bluntly, and he goes down first to show as such. “Granted, it is quite dark down here, I’ve never seen the point for lights…” His voice echoes, his own vision perfectly clear against the blur of darkness at the bottom. 

“What’s- what’s down there?” Wilbur calls out after him, Phil turning his head to look at them. He thinks for a second before answering. 

“My base.” He says, using that oh-so-human word. 

“You live in a basement?” Techno questions, Tommy twisting in his arms with furrowed brows. 

“Well, it is a base.” Phil reasons, thinking of the wording. Base-ment. “And it’s convenient. There’s no way for anything to get in. It’s secure and clean.” 

“It’s a basement.” Wilbur repeats, rather distrustful. 

“It’s a base!” Phil sings back insistently, heading down the rest of the way, taking the precious light with him. The children hover at the top for a few seconds as he opens the door at the bottom, and before long, he hears them make their way down, slowly but surely, little scuffling steps against the stone. 

“I don’t like this.” Phil hears Tommy murmur, so softly that a normal ear wouldn’t be able to catch it. “He’s scary.” 

“Yeah.” Techno gives his own mumbling reply. “But he’s not gonna do anything. We won’t let him.” 

Phil resists the urge to roll his eyes. The most they could do to falter him is go for his eyes, and even then, that would just piss him off over anything. He could click the light off right now, and he’d be at an advantage, here within his own territory. They could run, but he’d be faster. He’s stronger. He’s-

“What the fuck.” Wilbur blurts out, catching Phil off guard. The kid leans to look past him at the hallway before them, dim against the shine of a flashlight, but very clearly a contrast to the hallway they just walked down from. There’s no peeling paint, no crumbling ceiling, no scattered dirt across the floor. There’s no sign of wear or tear, no signal that the street outside has been reduced to rubble and the world beyond to a wasteland. 

It looks like a hallway to some rich-person house, with polished tile and a dark red rug over it and gold framed paintings hung on the wall. There’s more doors further on, beveled and adorned in a way that reminds Technoblade of the old historical houses he used to read about when school still existed, so long ago. 

“You know,” Phil says, as they take in the sight of his humble abode. “I would tell you three to take off your shoes, but I have a feeling there’s as much dirt on your socks as there is on the bottom of said shoes.”

“Why does your base look like this?” Techno questions, Phil turning to him with a notable frown. 

“What's wrong with my base?” 

“It looks like- like a house. This-” He looks behind them at the stairs, as if to confirm. “We’re in the basement. Why does it look like a house?”

“An old person’s house.” Wilbur adds on. Tommy cranes his head to look at the paintings, interested in the sights of abstract color. 

“There’s no rules against being comfortable.” Phil defends, huffing a little. “I have the time to fix it up. Why not make it look nice?” Time is always on his side, as an immortal being, and with all the resources across an abandoned city, Phil was free to make his home exactly to his desire. 

“It looks weird.” Wilbur comments again, looking back up the stairs as his brother did. Phil levels him with a long stare, and Techno elbows Wil in the side. “It- It’s cool, though. It’s fine.” 

“It’s home.” Phil corrects, more intrigued than truly offended over the words. He wonders if his taste in decor is a bit odd. No one has ever been around to judge him for it. He’s never seen a reason to care. “Mine and yours.” He goes on, whatever light mood had lifted into the air now plummeting back down into a dreadful silence. 

The boys follow him down the hall as he takes them to one of the doors, opening it up to show his little personal library on the other side, lined wall to wall with books, a fireplace placed to the side. It’s not the most ideal spot for children, but it’ll do, at least until Phil can figure which one of his rooms he’ll sacrifice so as to have somewhere to put them in. 

“You three, stay here for now. Don’t break anything.” Phil warns, giving the flashlight to Techno. The boy takes it in his hand without much fuss, but then looks up at Phil with an expression of concern.

“Wait, what about-” Techno goes to ask, but Phil’s already shutting the door behind him with a soft click. “Wait!” 

Wilbur rushes past him to try the doorknob, hands tugging and twisting and getting nothing out of it. He hits his hands on the wood in a moment of frustration when it doesn’t budge, and then turns to Techno with a deep huff. “He locked us in.” 

Techno lets a slow sigh leave his lips. “Yeah. Should’ve expected that.” 

He turns to take in the room around him, pointing the flashlight to wherever his attention wanders. The shelves of books make it clear that it’s a library of sorts, a small one, with how tiny the room is, but still, a library. There’s texts upon texts all lined up neatly around them, along with a single plush-looking chair in the corner, beside an unlit, brick-lined fireplace. 

“Maybe there’s some way out.” Wilbur suggests, noticing the fireplace as well. He walks up to it and kneels down to check for wood, and finds the thing to be utterly empty and spotless. Does he not use this? What is it even for, then? Decoration? 

Tommy kicks his feet from where Techno’s holding him, and Technoblade lets him down, Tommy running over to Wil to go investigate with him. Techno takes the moment to look over the books again, his eyes passing over all the shelves with a wonder as to how Phil even got all of these. Surely, with how the city is crawling with zombies, it wouldn’t be all that easy to…

But then again. Techno remembers now how the zombies are hardly a threat to him. He had taken care of the ones they passed with all the air of someone taking care of a few annoying flies. With that danger not even being present, and the city being free to take-

“Techno.” Wilbur calls, Techno pointing the flashlight back to his brothers. “Do you think we could climb up through here?” He sits twisted over the edge of the fireplace, head looking up at where the smoke would usually float though. Tommy leans in with him to look too, making an unconvinced noise. 

“I honestly doubt it.” Technoblade frowns, joining them on the ground and pulling his brother away from the chimney. “How far do you think you’d have to even climb to get up out of here?”

“I don’t know.” Wilbur replies sharply back. Anger flashes past his face for a second before simmering down, his shoulders falling low as he sits back on his knees. “I just- Are we really just gonna wait for him to come back?” He asks worriedly, looking at Techno over his shoulder. 

“There’s not much else we can do.” Techno argues, cursing his lack of a weapon. He considers their circumstance for a moment. “I mean- I don’t…think he’s going to do anything bad.” He reasons, thinking of their earlier conversation, of how he tossed the zombies out from their path, of how he had given Tommy back. 

They’re important to him, he said. His way of adapting. 

If he really wanted them dead, their bodies probably would’ve gone cold by now. Techno feels sure of that, at least. 

“Still.” Wilbur pulls his legs forward, resting his elbows over the top of his knees. His brows furrow in fearful concern against the dimness of the flashlight, and Techno feels his lungs go a bit tight in the realization that he can’t truly do anything to help it. He looks to the door again. “I’m not trusting him.”

“I don’t like him.” Tommy announces, pulling the flashlight from Techno’s hand so he can roll it across the floor. “He has teeth.” 

“You have teeth.” Wilbur points out, leaning forward to watch Tommy fiddle with the flashlight. 

“He has more teeth.” Tommy says back, Wil’s stress lightening up for a second as he makes a fond sigh. 

“He’s a vampire.” Techno says bluntly, looking back at the door, as if Phil will come bursting through any moment now. A vampire, with glowing red eyes, sharp fangs, and a strength unlike any other. A monster from any child’s worst nightmare. 

“I thought vampires didn’t exist.” Wilbur mutters, placing his cheek into his palm, eyes kept to Tommy, who’s taken the flashlight to hug to his chest. “And here’s one living underneath the city, I guess.” 

“All stories have an origin.” Techno shrugs, Tommy crawling over to him to lean against his side. Techno puts an arm around him, taking the flashlight back so it can actually keep their vision, rather than stay pressed to Tommy’s shirt. 

“If he’s a vampire, shouldn’t he burn under the sun?” Wilbur questions, looking up to the ceiling in thought. He scoots closer to Techno, their knees knocking together. “What are vampire weaknesses again? Garlic? 

“We’re not finding garlic anytime soon.” Techno says realistically. Wilbur shakes his head.

“Then- what else was it?” He tries to think. Vampires were never a story he cared too much about. “Mirrors, or something?” 

“They can’t see themselves in mirrors.” Technoblade corrects. Tommy’s face scrunches up in thought. 

“He can’t see mirrors?” Tommy asks, ever confused. A ghost of a smile passes by Wil’s face. 

“No, he-” Technoblade falters. Thinks for a second. “Crosses.” 

“They can’t come near crosses?” Wilbur questions, eyebrows raising up. 

“I think that was it. And holy water, but- we can’t exactly get our hands on that either…” 

“Then, we can make a cross or something, to ward him off.” Wilbur suggests, waving his hands up as if to shoo the vampire away. He tilts his head side to side with something unsatisfied. “That wouldn’t exactly kill him, though.”

“We’re gonna kill him?” Tommy asks, eyes wide. 

“Let’s- consider that a last resort, for now.” Techno denies, squeezing Tommy closer to him for a moment. “I don’t think we could , even if we tried. I shot him with all our bullets earlier. He didn’t even flinch.”

“Oh.” Wilbur breathes out. “Okay.” There’s a haunted look in his expression, and he leans back where he sits with something newly defeated, a strong sense of doom sinking into his shoulders. “Well- We still- there’s still time to figure something else out. He said years. Years.” 

“And that’s plenty of time.” Techno confirms. “We can take advantage of this. I mean- he has food. He probably has all kinds of supplies, with how he’s living.”

“He’s a vampire, though.” Wilbur points out. “Do vampires even need water like us?”

“He could get it.” Techno waves off the concern. “We’re like-” He hates to compare it as such, but it’s true. “We’re cattle. He needs us alive, and well. So he’ll give us what we need. And in the meantime, we figure out how to leave.” 

“It can’t be so difficult. The front door was right there.” Wilbur says reassuringly, more for Tommy’s sake than anything else, so as to keep their youngest comforted. “Even vampires have to sleep sometime, yeah?” He reaches forward to poke Tommy in the stomach, Tommy giggling a little and squirming away. 

“Yeah.” Techno confirms. “It’s only gonna be a little while. We’ll be okay.” He speaks to both Wilbur and Tommy with the promise, but he turns his head down towards Tommy for a few more words. “No monster gonna get you.” 

“Except me.” Wilbur grins, poking at Tommy again, Tommy giggling a little more as he tries to crawl around Techno. “Can’t get away from me!” Wilbur says, Tommy laughing outright as Wilbur moves after him, pulling him away from where he’s trying to hide behind Techno’s back. He makes silly noises as he pretends to eat Tommy’s hair, and Tommy squeals at the action, kicking his legs with a whole laugh bubbling out from his lips, the worst of today passing over. 

Techno smiles at the antics, seeing his brothers play, and then he turns towards the door again, the image unchanging, but ever threatening. There is a monster on the other side, there. 

He is not going to let it win.

Chapter Text

Phil feels torn between the choices at hand. 

Does he make the children go through a much-needed bath, or does he provide some sort of substance to their starved, grubby little hands? 

If he wants to wash off the filthy grime from their plenty-warm skin, then he has to go about getting them proper clothing, as well, because it’d be a personal insult to his own eyes to clean them up and then put them back in the very rags they arrived in. But if he puts them through the ordeal of cleaning up before having a meal, then they could become grumpy, or snappish, with teeth biting at hands and short fuses at every turn. Phil knows he gets his own sort of mood when he’s gone a few too-long months without even a drop of blood to his stomach. 

So from there, grabbing the children a meal would be the first course of action, right? But then there’s also the question as to what children should eat, after being out there in the throes of the abandoned city for so long. 

Phil knows he has to work them up into something well-fed, with all the proper nutrients and such, but how does one begin on the portions? They’re no doubt a bit starved, so he shouldn’t give them too much to eat, right? Or else they’ll go eating far too much far too quickly, until they’re sick with it. 

Children. No sense of self-control! Thus it lands to Phil to wield the control, but the choices, the choices of it all, there’s plenty to consider. If he is to feed the children a sensible portion of food, before putting them through the ordeal of making them seem less like dirty little creatures from the street, then another smart decision would be to ensure that the bath comes directly after the meal, because then they’ll be fed and sated, yes? So he should have clothes and towels and such ready before he gives the food, because once they begin eating, they likely won’t be so inclined to stop, and a good mood can only last so long once they finish. But then what clothes does he decide on? Do they truly even need shoes? He doesn’t intend on letting them wander outside for some time, but- oh, then again, isn’t there some need for humans to be in the sunlight, for general health and happiness? 

Phil’s never understood it, frankly, he thought that was just something meant for plants specifically, but the more he considers, back in his years, when he did see humans locked away from the sun, banished to old dungeons for some terrible crime, they always seemed rather…unwell, due to being down there for such time, despite being given their food and water. 

So, sunlight. That’s a thing he should give the children sometimes. 

Then they will need shoes, along with their socks, (because they are not running around barefoot on his floors) along with everything else that could complete a sensible wardrobe for someone of their age. And then, with the matter of appearances, Phil also remembers about the awful disaster that was their hair , so matted and dirty that may as well be cut off, considered a lost cause. 

He has a moment of relief, for a split second, in knowing that the children will surely see the logic in being rid of such terribly maintained hair, and so will give no complaint to him putting scissors to their heads, but then he remembers in how the children have acted in the short few hours he has known them, and he decides that he should maybe be prepared to wrangle with the thousand screaming refusals of kids not wanting their hair to be chopped off. 

Great, good, yes. So, he needs to prepare them a dinner, but before that, prepare them a bath, but before that, prepare them a set of clothes, but before that , he also needs to think about their room, where to put them to rest when this entire ordeal is said and done. Which one of his rooms could he possibly give up? Not the library, surely. His nest is entirely out of the question. The room for his gallery has far too many precious things inside for him to consider moving it all around. His study is a bit too small for three whole human children. The washing room is likely going to be more essential in the following weeks. Maybe one of his old storage rooms will do. Although, it will be tedious to clean one of them out, sort his things into the other rooms, gather proper furniture to replace the clutter-

Phil blinks out of his thoughts and realizes then that in standing here within the darkness of the hallway, he’s gotten none of this done. 

How long has he been here? He isn’t carrying his watch, he doesn’t usually take it when he goes out to wait for prey, on the risk of bullets rendering it damaged- and on that note, Phil looks down at himself and remembers that he also needs to find a change of clothes, and wash this blood off, and scrub his shoes, and maybe, just maybe- try to see if he can save this shirt. 

Techno had shot him three times before throwing the gun in his face, and- ah, that’s right. It had completely slipped Phil’s mind- the bullets are still there, nestled in the space of his flesh. 

It’s not terribly painful. More a dull ache, if anything, but goodness, is he distracted if he forgot they were there to begin with. He’ll need to pry those out to let his skin properly heal, which will be a quick thing, with having a feeding earlier today. He’s feeling as good as he can be, in these new unprecedented times, so he’ll use the energy up accordingly. 

Alright. Very well. First, he’ll have himself sorted out. Then, he’ll get everything ready for the children. Priorities must be drawn. And he’s mostly got his objectives in order. 

He turns and heads further into his home, into the depths of his nest, where most of his clothes stay neatly stored away alongside the other valuable jewelry and such. He sheds his old outfit-- that terribly blood-stained thing-- and pries out the bullets from his skin, setting those elsewhere, with a vague idea to use them as a sort of sentimental keepsake, later on down the line. Wouldn’t that be amusing to be given as a gift? The very bullets used for murderous intent, now useless and just a past event to laugh over. Maybe Techno would like that. Phil thinks it’s at least a bit funny. 

After redressing in a dark red button-up shirt, with black dress pants and spotless black shoes, Phil wipes his face clean and reties his hair back, taking care to fix any strands falling out of place. He puts his watch upon his wrist and takes note of the time. 

Now finished, now proper-looking, Phil sets out to tackle the closest of his storage rooms, reasoning that having the children in closer range to his nest would make it easier to get to them. He might have to set firm rules on any ideas of wandering into his nest later on, but he has little worries on such things happening now, with them being so skittish. He also has little intention of taking them out of their room for the first month, not until he’s settled on how to really navigate around them, adjusted into keeping a watchful eye. 

It’s a mix of both tedious annoyance and pleasant surprise to go through his storage room here, to find little souvenirs that he’s collected from around the city, as well as simple trophies from when stupid humans thought he was something they were actually capable of killing. The skulls that sit in his palms are cold to the touch, and he tosses one up into the air with a wonder as to how much smaller the children’s skulls would be in comparison. That then leads him down the thought of gathering animal skulls once more, like he did at his last nest, before the apocalypse came along and scattered all of his shit. He used to have such a collection . All lined up, neat in a row, organized from the biggest elk to the smallest rodent. 

Now the most he has to show off is a couple human skulls, and the only reason he picked them up at all is because the partial destruction of them are such stories to tell. That one, with a spear through the head. This one, with an axe to the chin. Such primitive ways to go, such telling ways of how humanity has fallen. 

Besides the skulls, the knick knacks, bits of technology from before everything went in flames and all that, Phil notes disappointedly that he has a lot less than he first thought. He had assumed it’d be a whole ordeal to clear this room out, to render it empty with nothing more than a bit of dust, but he finishes rather quickly, with his items sorted along to his other rooms with little fuss. 

He supposes it's a good thing. Overall, it just continuously reminds him how much of his stuff he lost when the apocalypse came slamming down upon the earth. He used to hold artifacts from the ages! Stunning pieces of art, beautifully crafted things of furniture. Now all that he is left to have is whatever this torn-apart city manages to offer. 

No matter. He has his free room. He ventures on up to the surface to retrieve the needed supplies for his next course of action. He gathers only the basics for the children’s room, the bedframe, a dresser, a handful of toys, along with some other things that catch his eye as he’s wandering about the roads. 

He sorts through the clothes from the shopping centers of the past, and throughout it all, silently judges the tastes of humanity on how they dress their youth. Then he remembers Wil’s comment about his own taste, and has a quiet moment wondering who exactly could be considered ‘right’ in terms of taste. Probably him, since he’s the superior, surviving race right now, living with ease unlike the panicking, screaming human camps some fiftyish miles away. 

He sets up the room as well as he can, with neatly folded edges for the blankets and every speck of dust wiped off from the corners. He puts most of the gathered clothes into the drawers of the new dresser, each level according to the child. Lowest, Tommy, middle, Wilbur, and the highest, Techno. He takes an outfit for each and carries it over to the bath, where he goes about filling it with water, as well as putting candles out so that there’s no need to cling to a single blinding flashlight. He puts out the soap, puts out the scissors and hair brushes and the towels, and then as he checks the time, he realizes that in doing all of this, several hours have passed. 

Seven entire hours, to be exact. 

“Hm.” Phil gives as a reaction to that. “Hmm.” He further hums, eyes creeping towards the direction of his little library, now curious as to what can result from leaving the children alone for so long. They can last that long without sustenance, yes? They can’t have died so quickly. Not after all these starting efforts, Phil getting right into the motion of it! 

They’re fine, surely. Everything is mostly set up for them. All Phil needs to do is gather their dinner, and then gather them so that they can eat that dinner. He goes down his hallway with all intention of doing that, but finds his feet faltering by the doorway of the library. His eyes linger on the front of the door, his hands itch to click open the lock. It’s only a few more minutes, he reasons. They’re not dead, they’ll just be in there for a few more minutes, while he goes and gets them some food. 

Despite such reasoning, he does not move towards the stairs. He goes to the door, with slow, silent steps, one clawed hand reaching out and unlocking the door with such careful precision that the very sound of it is a hard thing to catch. Past the wood, Phil can indeed hear the children’s beating hearts, their gentle breaths, but they’ve all fallen calm and slow, as if in sleep. 

They are asleep.

Phil stands at the open door, and sees the kids curled up by the fireplace, books scattered out around them, a few open to the first pages, like they were skimming through to see what was worth their time. The flashlight is still on, the shine of it mostly covered by the arms of their youngest, who cradles their precious light to his chest like he needs it to survive. His older brothers cradle him to their chests much in the same way, and they all lay utterly still in a gentle, serene rest. It’s rather interesting to see. It’s a bit cute, in a way. Phil tilts his head with soft noise in the back of his throat, and in an instant, at such a small noise, Techno stirs. 

The child, even as sleepy as he may be, lifts his head up and looks over his shoulder with squinting eyes, freezing up into a tense pose the second he realizes Phil is at the door. Phil raises his brows at the immediate quick pace of his heartbeat, wondering if the panic is pouring in like ice in his veins. He hopes he seems a little less intimidating now, all cleaned up and standing so politely by the door. Phil is entirely oblivious to how his glowing eyes may look against the utter darkness of the hall behind him, his silhouette ever barely perceptible against the flashlight’s glow. 

“What do-” Phil begins to whisper, wanting to keep this calm mood for as long as he’s able. 

Techno immediately sits up, reaching for a book, flinging it into his direction. Phil automatically dodges the object, then looks behind him in dismay as it lands page-down on the floor, the papers messed up under the weight of itself. 

“Excuse me!” He exclaims, looking back to Techno, then having a book smack him in the side of his arm. “Wha-” He holds up his hands, catching the next one spinning towards him, taking a step forward in sudden offense. “Stop it! Techno, do not- put that book down. Don’t- No. No .”

Techno falters in where he’s sitting up on his knees, book lifted in midair with his arm half winded-back. Wilbur and Tommy have woken up in the commotion, and they blink blearily for a second as they process the situation at hand. Wil is faster to realize, and he yanks the flashlight out from Tommy’s hands, shining it directly into Phil’s face. 

“You- okay.” Phil says, holding up his free hand to the light with a sigh. “Look at that. You’ve woken up your brothers.” Techno tenses like he means to begin throwing again. Phil holds up a warning finger.  “No- put the book down! Put it down.” Phil insists, Techno scrunching his nose with a distrustful frown, anger simmering behind his eyes. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Techno huffs, but drops the book. It lands pitifully beside him, the thump of it making Tommy flinch from where he’s pressed himself up against Wilbur’s side. 

“Where did you go?” Techno then demands, shifting along the floor to be further in front of his brothers, the light hitting the edge of his shoulder. “You were gone for hours .” 

“I was getting some things set up.” Phil responds breezily, waving a hand behind him with little worry. Techno scoffs, fingers pressed upon the edge of another book in front of him. “I wasn’t exactly prepared for company, you know.” 

“You locked us in a room. For hours.” Techno repeats, the anger in his gaze forming into a deadly, quiet fury. Phil looks at it the same way you’d look at a hissing, spitting kitten. His lips split into a grinning smile. 

“I was just on my way back.” Phil reassures, a touch teasing in his tone. 

“How were we supposed to know that?!” Technoblade questions, hand closing around another book, but not quite making the motion to throw it. He just seems terribly tempted to. Frustrated, and in need of an outlet. 

Phil’s grin falls into a thin line, his expression wiped clean as he takes a few, long strides closer into the room. The children all scoot away at his approach, Wilbur turning his body to cuddle Tommy closer to him, Techno dropping the book so that he may put both his arms behind him to cover his younger siblings. Phil stops just a few feet away, the light now pressed up against Techno’s back, giving only a dim view to Phil’s face looking down at them. 

“Do you really think I would just leave you here to starve?” Phil asks, trying to clearly press the implied meaning that he would never do such a thing, not purposefully, at the very least. It’d be a waste, not to mention a hassle, having to drag bodies out from here, having to undo all this effort he just began. 

Techno’s eyes stare up at for the longest out of the three, Tommy refusing to take his face out from Wil’s shirt, Wil needing to turn his head away after a short second. Phil continues to look upon them, taking in Techno’s stubborn glare, and he watches as how with the following silence dragging on, the intensity of the boy’s anger begins to give out underneath fear, his bravado faltering with his lip starting to shake from where it sits deep in a frown. 

Phil makes a light chuckle at the back of his throat. Techno’s brows furrow together with his jaw set tight. 

“Well!” Phil claps his hands together, all three children jumping at the sudden noise, and at the unexpected shift of mood. “I’m actually here to see what the three of you wanted for dinner.” 

“Dinner?” Wilbur repeats, as if the word is foreign and strange coming from Phil’s mouth.

“There’s plenty of supplies and such upstairs. I’ve never really kept track of what exactly there is, but it’s all your sort of food. What do you want, hm? Some sort of meat? Soup? There’s fruit, I think, in some of those cans. I can’t promise it’s all fresh, though.”

Techno’s breath flows out from his lungs in a surprised sort of relief, eyes put wide in the growing realization of what Phil is truly saying, and offering. “I- Soup?” He says, a bit murmured. Then, “Water. Do you- You have water, right?”

“Plenty.” Phil confirms. There’s cases upon cases of it in those little plastic bottles upstairs, but he’s also got his own running water down here, courtesy of him having messed with the pipes during his first month of settling in. 

“Okay.” Techno pushes himself up on unsteady feet, taking an actual step towards Phil, still ever wary, but desperate. “Okay, can- can we-?” He glances to the door, Phil turning his head with a small consideration. He was intending on bringing the food down here, for less hassle of getting them right into the bath immediately after, but since he must go up there to get the food regardless, and the children don’t seem keen on being left in a room again, it looks like they’re all heading up the stairs. Field trip!

“Come along.” Phil nods, going slowly towards the hallway, giving Wilbur and Tommy a moment to climb up from the ground. Once they’re all on their feet, minds alert, Phil walks on towards the stairs, hearing their shuffling footsteps keeping a small, careful distance behind him. 

The sun hasn’t quite risen yet as they head outside, the darkness of the night still the same as it was before. The flashlight sits unsteady in Wil’s hand as they go down the same broken, dirtied hallway, and just as they turn the corner into the next room, Phil stops in place with the sudden reminder that there’s still a body sitting on his floor. 

“Ah.” Phil clicks his tongue, before moving forward to reach down and grab the corpse by the arm, lifting it up into the air with a sense of disappointment. It’s gone entirely cold by now, the blood stale in its veins, half of it dried out on the floor. Phil doesn’t care to have his meals like this, but it’d be a foolish waste to completely discard what’s left in the flesh, with how humans truly come so sparingly these days…

“Close your eyes, close your eyes. Don’t look.” He hears Techno murmur quickly behind him, ever so quiet, and yet ever so loud to Phil’s type of hearing. 

He looks over his shoulder to see both Techno moving his hand over Tommy’s face, Wilbur turning the flashlight away with a wide-eyed, terrified stare at the body in Phil’s grasp. Tommy makes a slight complaining noise at the action, not knowing why they’re pushing him back, but he doesn’t protest any further, simply clinging on closer to Wilbur’s back, fingers holding onto the fabric of his shirt. 

“It’s only a body.” Phil swings the thing in their vague direction, and Wilbur grimaces away, lip curled and arm reaching back to keep Tommy firmly behind him. Techno’s gaze narrows with a poorly hidden disgust written across his face. Phil raises his brows in something unimpressed. “You’ve seen a fair share of dead bodies, I’m sure.” He reasons, for there’s no way they haven’t, being out there in the city as they were. 

“That doesn’t mean we want to see you eat it.” Technoblade answers back, turning his head slightly away, as if wanting to not look, but refusing to let Phil out of his sight. 

“I’m not going to eat it.” Phil replies, although he was very much considering doing so. He got his decent fill from when he first killed the man, but there is still some blood left to salvage here.  Although, there is also the matter of keeping a decent first impression for the children before him, so maybe feeding right in front of their wary little eyes again isn’t the best choice to make. “I was just- moving it aside.”

“Then move it.” Wilbur says, nearly challenging in the way he spits the words out, like he doesn’t believe Phil’s words at all. Phil makes a courteous nod, and then, in a rise of spite, tosses the body to the side, uncaring of the crashing noise it makes as it slams into a pile of sorted supplies, the boys jumping and screaming at the unexpected noise. 

Phil rolls his eyes at the dramatics. 

He turns back to the shelves of bait he keeps stocked up, and kneels down so that he may drag out a pack of waters from the very bottom, the case itself dragging heavy across the bloody floor, catching the boys’ tense, panicked stares. 

“Here we are.” He says as he stands and moves to the side, presenting the water with an outstretched hand. Wil shines the light onto the logo of the plastic wrapping with a squint, and Techno’s face lights up with hope as he recognizes it for what it is.

“Water!” Tommy cries in joy, recognizing it as well, knowing very well that finding such a thing is a good sign, being taught that it should always be something he should look out for when they’re out on the road. 

The three of them move into the room with little care for Phil's proximity now, Phil stepping back as Techno rushes near to drag the waters out further, tearing out a bottle from the casing with both hands clawing through the plastic. He cracks open the seal of the lid with a tight pull of his hand, and then, much to Phil’s surprise, doesn’t immediately go to take a sip, despite the desperate, frantic energy in his actions, in the racing pace of his heart. 

Instead, he turns on his knee and holds the plastic bottle out to Tommy, who reaches out with small, greedy hands to pull it to his lips, trying to drink with such fervent need that it ends up being a bit counterproductive, the most of the water missing his mouth. Wilbur leans over his shoulders to help steady the bottle, trying to ensure the child doesn’t spill half of it out in the haste to relieve their thirst. 

“Don’t chug it so fast, Tommy.” He warns, keeping the bottle level in Tommy’s grip, pulling it away from him when he sees how much is dripping right onto his shirt. Tommy whines and angrily tries to yank it back, uncaring for the wasted drops. 

“But there’s a lot!” He protests, pointing out to the case as Techno reaches back for another bottle, pulling the lid off as he did before. Again, much to Phil’s intrigue, he doesn’t take his much-needed sip. He holds it up to Wilbur.

“You’re gonna get sick if you drink it so fast.” Wilbur still insists, ignoring the offered bottle in favor of making sure their youngest doesn’t somehow accidentally drown himself in his fumbling rush to relieve his thirst.

“But I’m dying .” Tommy whines, Phil’s lip twitching up at such a silly, overreacting complaint. He’s utterly naive to the fact that Tommy’s been severely dehydrated for the past several weeks, while surviving with his brothers within the depths of the city. 

“I know, I know.” Wilbur murmurs, at the same time as Techno says, “Listen to Wil. If you don’t stop chugging it like that, you’ll choke, and then you’ll really be dying.”

Tommy huffs with a pouting look, but forces himself to slow, heeding his oldest brother’s advice, for he knows better. Techno offers a small smile for the effort, then pushes the second bottle of water onto Wil, seeming to relax slightly when he sees him accept it at last and take a few long sips.

With his brothers now taken care of-- Tommy wiping at his face with a satisfied look, Wilbur nudging him to close the lid so that he can save the rest-- Techno takes his third bottle from the case and finally twists it open for himself, drinking with a shaky grip around the plastic. Phil expects him to indulge and drink his entire fill, drink until the bottle’s gone empty, but the boy only really takes a few swigs before standing to his feet, leaving the open bottle on the ground as he looks to the rest of the shelves with a wandering, interested focus. 

There’s so much sitting here before them. Techno takes the flashlight from Wil’s hand to shine light across it all, and what he sees is cans stacked on cans, boxes upon boxes, more food than he’s seen in weeks, if not months. There’s soup and beans and rice and preserved fruit, and- and things he doesn’t even really recognize, the packaging seeming so unfamiliar after so many years. He reaches blindly on one of the higher shelves, and grabs a small bottle that’s shaped odd to his eyes, made as a smiling, plastic bear. It’s got some sort of liquid inside. Or, he thinks it’s liquid. It’s kinda yellow-looking. 

“What’s that?” Tommy asks, craning his head up, reaching to Techno’s hand so he can look at it himself. Techno turns it over in his palm while also lowering it to Tommy’s level, and he can see the label-- worn out, dusty, but still there-- marking it as honey. 

“Honey.” Techno says aloud, brows furrowing together as Wilbur blinks down at it with surprise. Techno lifts his head to look at the vampire lurking in the corner, Phil raising his head in attention. “Why do you have honey ?”

Phil makes a noncommittal shrug, brushing dirt off the top of one of the storage boxes before sitting his weight down upon it. “It was in the aisles.” He says plainly, crossing his leg over the other, leaning forward and resting his elbow upon his knee. He waves a hand to the collection of supplies, uncaring of what’s there. “All of this is from whatever I found nearby, whatever was left after the initial looting of the city.” 

Whatever scraps the stores had to offer. Add it all up across several blocks, Phil finding no difficulty in gathering such things up, and it’ll collect. It’ll become this, a well-stocked, irresistible room of bait .

“But why did you grab it?” Wil questions, looking at the supplies stocked up all around them, noting how it’s practically lining the walls, all the shelves filled to the brim. It’s unnecessarily abundant for one person, for one vampire.

Phil pauses for a moment, unsure if he should be blunt for the fact that it’s meant to be a lure. He stares at the boys with an unblinking, glowing red gaze, and Techno stares right back at him as Tommy pries the honey bottle from his fingers, ever interested in something he’s never seen. 

“You don’t- You don’t eat any of this.” Wilbur goes on, the pieces clicking together at the same time as Techno, the flashlight moving around towards the floor. “You said you eat-” 

He stops, spotting the discarded bag of the survivor they had first seen being killed by Phil’s fangs. It lies there a few feet away, thrown from panicking, flailing hands, one of the cans from the shelves rolled out from the opening, dented on the side from the landing. 

“Oh.” Wil’s face goes pale. The realization has settled in, and Techno turns his head down at their feet, lips pressed tight at the dark red tint sticking to the floor.  

“It’s a bear.” Tommy lifts the honey bottle up to Wilbur, unaware of how the blood stain they currently stand on is hardly the first blood spilled in this room, unaware of how they’re currently standing in the center of an obvious trap. “Look, Wil. Wilbur. It’s a bear .”

“Yes.” Wilbur replies quietly, leaning down to Tommy with a shakily made smile, trying to push the sick fear down in his stomach so that it doesn’t dampen the boy’s bright-eyed mood. “That’s- That is a bear, you’re right.” 

Techno looks back at the food with a meaningful frown, his appetite a touch dissuaded from the implication that they’re the only ones who have ever gotten the chance to actually survive long enough to have it. He turns to Tommy as the kid pulls at his shirt to show him the bottle too, and gives an acknowledging nod, an effort of a smile. 

“What does a bear say?” Wil whispers, pressing his fingers over Tommy’s elbow and back, catching his attention and keeping his attention away from the evidence of death around them, from the bringer of that death sitting beside them. “Do you remember?”

“Rarrr.” Tommy answers, face scrunching up into a fearsome little look. 

“That’s right, you’re so smart. Rarrr.” Wil mimics the expression, and Tommy beams under the praise, giggles at the noise, and looks down at the honey bottle with a triumphant grin. Techno’s smile over his head wavers, despite the fond feeling in his chest, and his eyes drift back to the vampire in the corner. 

The bastard hasn’t moved an inch. He is the equivalent of a horrid statue, unbreathing, unblinking, unmoving. He looks upon them with such vivid, unbroken focus-- Techno’s tempted to take the bottle by his foot and toss water to his face to disrupt it. It’d be a poor idea, but it’s still tempting. He doesn’t like how he’s looking at them. How he’s looking at his brothers, how he takes in the small, genuine interaction of Tommy being himself, with such an oddly curious intrigue. 

“Do you have a knife?” Techno asks out loud, pulling a can off from the shelf, Phil tilting his head with his attention now distracted to the can in Techno’s hand, held out in the air. “We need to open these to eat.” Technoblade stresses, glancing over the top of it to check that- yes, there’s no way to pull the top off. The metal must be cut, somehow. “Do you have a knife to open them?” 

Phil raises his brows with an unimpressed look, a silent response of ‘yeah, no shit you have to open them to eat’ in the way he curls his lip in a frown. He holds out his hand in a slow movement, as if asking for the can of food to be given over, and Techno hesitates at the request. He brings the can to his chest, automatic habit telling him to not dare let someone steal it away from him and his brothers. 

Phil’s frown lightens into that watchful stare once more, then he smiles. He lifts his hand up higher for a second, asking wordlessly for the can again. Techno’s fingers squeeze tight around the labeling over the metal, but the worry of Tommy and Wilbur starving for a minute more than needed squeezes tighter, around his heart. He hesitates, but makes his way towards Phil, keeping as much distance as he can while putting the food into the vampire’s palm. 

Wilbur watches intently as Phil turns the can over in his hands, his nails poking on the top of it, as if testing the strength. Then, in an instant, he’s tearing through the edges like nothing, his claws prying the top up to reveal the contents sitting inside. The scratching noise of the metal gives goosebumps to Wil’s skin, and he reaches out a hand to keep Tommy close, the child pushing against it as confusion wins out over his fear, his head trying to lean out so that he may try and see what exactly Phil’s doing past Techno’s standing figure. 

The food within the little can is entirely unappetizing, in Phil’s opinion. It’s some disgusting mixture of beans and meat, with the meat itself smelling more dead than Phil. He feels a passing pity in handing it back to Techno’s waiting reach, but Technoblade doesn’t appear to share such sentiment. Instead, he pauses in place for a few short seconds, staring at the open can like he’s being given pure gold.

“Tommy.” He calls, turning his back to the threat, uncaring of how Phil’s claws brushed so close to his own fingers in taking the can back, uncaring on if those same claws could find themselves dug into his spine. He’s so much more preoccupied at giving this prize towards their youngest, Tommy first, always Tommy first. “Here, look. Look, it’s food.” He says as he crouches down, Tommy’s mouth opening in sudden surprise.

Phil leans up in where he sits and watches as Wilbur takes the honey bottle and the water from Tommy’s hands, so that the child can be given the entirety of their first can. When Tommy puts the food up to his face to smell it, to see what sort of meal he’s been given, Phil half-expects him to refuse it, to demand they go searching the shelves for something actually decent. 

Instead, it takes hardly two seconds before he’s digging into it with his bare fingers, scooping a handful into his mouth, utterly uncaring of the taste, and also absolutely no regard for manners or cleanliness throughout. He chews with stubborn-faced determination, smears part of the sauce at the side of his cheek in his fumbling coordination and desperate hunger, and Phil watches it all unfold in a slight rising horror, not seeing how hypocritical he might be with how his own feedings tend to go. 

It’s just a mess, is all. It’s- It seems like a waste to let their very first can of food go to the one with the least amount of self-control. With the way he’s scarfing it down- oh, there’s bits falling to his feet, landing onto his shirt . His brothers are doing nothing about it. Why are they just doing nothing about it? They’re just letting him consume it all, not even making their own efforts to slow him down. 

“Remember to chew.” Techno reminds as he goes taking a second can from the shelf, and Phil feels like that’s a useless pair of words. The child is very clearly chewing. Very loudly, at that. He’s devouring it as if someone’s going to yank it from his hands any second now, and only when he begins to raise the can up to his face does Wil speak up to stop him. 

“Careful with the edges.” He says, pushing at Tommy’s hand to prevent him from having the jagged metal near his lips. He presses his fingers against the lid to push it back further, and Tommy pulls the can away, batting Wil’s hand off. 

“I am careful!” He protests insistently, in the same tone as before with the water. He looks at the bottles kept in Wilbur’s hands, and holds his own grimy hand up with a hopeful expression. “Gimme my bear.” 

“Eat first. It’s right here, I’ll give it when you’re done.” Wilbur promises, just as Techno steps away towards Phil again, holding out their second can with a little less fear and a bit more of a waiting eagerness. He almost smiles when Phil takes it and opens it up as he did before, tearing through the metal with his claws. 

Upon handing it back, Phil watches the can of food be passed from Techno’s hands to Wil’s, and when Wil has to put Tommy’s bottles of honey and water to the floor so that he can eat, Tommy takes that chance to sit on the floor and drag his plastic bear close, keeping it stubbornly in grip even as he goes to continue eating what’s left in his own can. 

Wil moves to sit with him, only scoffing fondly at the greedy action. Tommy eases slightly at the smile pointed his way, and puts the bear down by his knee, close enough to reach and to look at as he takes another handful of food into his mouth. In chewing, he watches as Wilbur starts to eat his own food, and takes in the open lid of his can, staring at the way it's pried back. He  looks at Phil, expecting to see a knife of some sort to explain how the can was opened, but there’s nothing in his hands. He had opened it in a second. He had to have used something, surely?

“How’d you do that?” He asks out of the blue, both Wil and Techno lifting their heads in surprise for the sudden question. 

“Do what?” Phil asks, seeing Tommy looking directly to him, the question meant for his ears. Tommy gestures to his half-eaten can of food, finger poking upon the bent lid. 

“How’d you open it?” 

Phil waits a moment, as if kept in thought. He stares at Tommy with his gaze flickering off towards Techno for a second, then he raises his hand out, palm forward, and curls his fingers to show his claws in all their sharpened glory. T ommy stares wide at the sight of them, the unnatural points looking threatening towards his direction, but then he blinks like a realization has hit him, and he looks down at the bottle of honey.

He picks it up. Holds it out towards Phil, presenting it much like how Phil is holding his own hand out. 

“You’re like a bear.” He states, ever confident and sure in it. 

Phil freezes, and then his arm falls as he sputters out a half-made laugh, spine straightening up in surprise. “I'm- what?”

“Can you open this one?” Techno interrupts, Phil turning his head and finding shock at the fact he missed when Techno had stepped up to him. He takes the can getting lifted up in his face, and turns to look at the label. “Open it.” Techno insists, a hint of impatience in his voice.

“You have the other two.” Phil gestures towards Wil and Tommy with the can, remembering his past considerations on not letting the children have too much. Portion sizes, nutrients, all that fun stuff-

“You have a million cans. We can’t each have one for ourselves?” Wilbur interrupts Phil's thoughts, annoyance clear across his face. Phil squints at him with a frown. So much for having a good mood after being fed.  He opens the can for Techno and gives it over, and finds little surprise for the way Techno doesn’t go to sit with his brothers, instead eating while he looks for yet another can upon the shelves. 

“I’m not opening another.” Phil warns, Techno looking at him with a sense of offense on his expression. “No need to search.”

“Well, what about breakfast?” Techno asks back, holding his can up as if to emphasize his point.

“Isn’t this breakfast?” Wilbur wonders, digging into his food with his mouth half-full. 

“It’s night.” Tommy argues. He waves a finger up to the ceiling, where part of the night sky peeks through the broken sections. “Look, it’s dark!”

“It’s technically morning.” Phil reasons, looking at his watch as all three kids look at him. “The sun just isn’t up.”

“Good morning, Wilbur.” Tommy says accordingly, like it's a well ingrained habit. He pushes himself onto his knees, twisting around to turn towards Technoblade behind him. “Good morning, Techno.”

“Good morning.” They both echo back at him, Tommy smiling down at his can of food and his bear of honey. 

Then he looks at Phil, just as Phil looks up to him. 

“Good morning.” Tommy says, and Phil raises a brow with slight wonder. The boy has been raised well enough to greet someone politely before even the start of dawn, but he doesn’t even seem to think about the existence of a fork. Phil supposes that’s just how mortal youth has been raised, with the world falling apart and all. 

Techno and Wilbur turn to him, giving a very clear expectant look as silence drags on for a second. Tommy furrows his brows together in a forming pout. Phil feels some weird, passing sensation within his chest. Like the urge to make a screaming cry only audible to dogs, an urge to take Tommy’s face in his hands and squeeze. It’s a positive type of an urge, he thinks? It does not make it any less confusing. 

“...Good morning, child.” He says at last, leaning forward as Tommy appears to suddenly be very satisfied at getting his response. Joy ripples over his face with a small smile. “Are you nearly done eating?”

“No.” Tommy insists, and then he digs farther into his can, hand covered in sauce.

Phil huffs at the mess. And they consider him a monster. Look at their youngest. Covered up in the food like he was fighting with it instead of eating it. It’s endearing, in a way. Phil can admire a ferocious spirit towards hunting, but this isn’t really a hunt. He’s given them their food right to their hands. Still, Tommy eats as if there’s a chance it might come alive and escape. Wilbur eats similarly, although a bit less chaotically. His face is at least better than Tommy. Techno has the most self-control of the three of them, but maybe it’s a bit too much self-control. He’s actually put his can down instead of finishing it, pulling out a fourth can from the shelf, looking to Phil with a hopeful light in his eyes. 

“Put that down.” Phil tells him. Techno holds it up instead, a pleading frown on his face. “I already opened three for you.”

“I’m still hungry.” Tommy announces, holding up his mostly-empty corpse of a can. Phil wonders how much of it he actually ate, with how much sauce is sticking to his hands and lips. 

“He’s still hungry.” Techno repeats, walking up and holding the can out expectantly. Phil takes it, and then puts it aside. Tommy makes a disappointed noise. Wilbur huffs, mood turning even more sour. 

“Finish what I’ve given you.” Phil orders, Techno scrunching his nose at him like he’s smelled something foul, and then going to the shelves to swipe another can and shove it into the depths of his shirt. Phil pretends he didn’t see it. Maybe if he goes along with it, they’ll be lenient with the next task at hand. “I’ve set up a bath and a change of clothes for you three downstairs. Seeing how he’s looking, I suppose I’ll wash him up first…” He trails off as he looks to Tommy, the kid staring at Phil with flecks of sauce beside his forehead. Honestly, how could he have missed his mouth that badly?

“We can bathe ourselves.” Technoblade says, taking his opened can from the shelves, moving to join his brothers by the middle of the floor. 

“For some reason, I just don’t quite believe that.” Phil says, keeping his focus onto Tommy. “And besides, I did want to deal with that hair of yours, while we were here.”

“You’re not cutting my hair.” Tommy slaps his palms to his head, as if needing to protect it from Phil’s evil grasp. 

“It’s a mess, child.”

“It’s my mess.”

Phil's lip twitches in a smile. “Well, let’s compromise, then. You get in the bath, and I’ll salvage what I can from your little head. How does that sound?”

“ You get in the bath.” Tommy spits back. Neither of his brothers seem to particularly be bothered by this display of stubborness. In fact, Wilbur’s looking rather smug. 

Phil gives a stern look, eyes narrowing together. “Don’t insist on making this difficult.”

Tommy purses his lips together as if those are challenging words. He clings to Techno’s legs with all the surety that his brothers will fend off the danger of being put into a bathtub against his will. Techno tenses like he’s slipped back into that wary, protective boy he was when they first met. Wilbur scoots forward with his hand reaching across Tommy’s legs. 

Phil sighs, standing up with his hands rising to rest on his hips, words being murmured mostly to himself.

“I don’t know why I thought this would be simple.”

By all accounts, from all his past experiences with humans and how infuriatingly frustrating they were- this was honestly to be expected. He should not be feeling surprise at the fact his mental plan is going off track. He should've taken into account all the variables. Maybe there's a lesson to learn, somewhere. Maybe, if he just- persists, and readjusts accordingly-

Wilbur takes that moment to then throw Tommy’s empty can at Phil’s face. Phil, upon instinct, dodges it, and then rushes forward before Techno gets the idea to throw the full can he has tucked away in his shirt.

Tommy, just like the moment they met, opens his mouth and screams. 

Children. Phil hopes this will all pay off, in the end.