Chapter Text
"The seeds have finally grown, right?" Tommy says, clambering down the ladder to Tubbo's underground greenhouse.
The place is abuzz with bees that are always waiting for just the right time to sting Tommy, a small part of the ceiling is enforced glass to let beams of sunlight shine through, and tools are haphazardly thrown all around. This is Tubbo's domain, a sanctuary Tommy is rarely allowed access to, there are only two reasons he's allowed down here. One, to admire the flowers (it's rare that he admits he likes the colourful corner Tubbo had made especially for Tommy and Ranboo, so he only goes down to visit the flowers when Ranboo's there… only to insult the lanky bastard of course). Two, when they are in desperate need of ammo.
He's down here for reason two.
"They don't grow from seeds, Tommy, cloves-"
"Cloves, seeds, same difference. Are any of them ready?" Tommy makes eager grabby hands.
Tubbo sighs but pulls out a bag filled with white vegetables.
"Usually, we'd have to wait another week, but these ones are rotting, and I could save them or…"
Tommy laughs, grinning alongside Tubbo. If someone was to peer in through the windows above, they'd be horrified by the matching manic grins, as it is only them, they get to share the sight and they both think their best friend is perfect the way they are.
"Operation get-that-stupid-vampire-off-our-lawn is ago!" Tommy whoops. "I can't wait to see his face fall when he realises, we're throwing rotten vegetables at him."
"I doubt he'd have the chance to notice, around the burning and all," Tubbo chuckles, leading them out of his den with his bag full of garlic. "Also, we really need to change the name of operation get-that-stupid-vampire-off-our-lawn, it's always such a mouthful. We need something that rolls off the tongue."
"How about operation boo?" Ranboo quietly comments from his place on the couch, having caught the end of their conversation. Ranboo nervously fiddles with the book in his lap. "It's like you're booing him off the stage, especially with him playing music every day."
"We're not naming it that! I see what you're doing! You're just trying to name the operation after yourself! We're sticking with operation get-that-stupid-vampire-off-our-lawn and that's final," Tommy huffs, trudging further upstairs, leaving Ranboo in the living room with his book.
"I think operation boo is a great name," Tubbo says from the staircase.
"Thanks," Ranboo smiles.
"You sure you don't want to join us in lobbing veg at the vampire?" Tubbo asks.
"Ah, no thank you. I always feel bad, he looks so sad every time you hit him," Ranboo explains.
"Suit yourself," Tubbo shrugs, continuing up the stairs. "Enjoy your book, Ranboo."
And he will enjoy his book, even with the screaming that's about to become background noise. The screaming has become a normal everyday occurrence since moving in with Tubbo and Tommy, to be fair. It's almost become comforting.
Upstairs there's a bathroom and two bedrooms, one is Tubbo's that the three of them share and the other belongs to Tubbo's dad, Schlatt, the man not caring that they've taken over his house as long as they leave his room alone. They head to Tubbo's bedroom. The window rests above a small rooftop that shields the front door from rain and overlooks the front garden. The front garden that a homeless looking man sits in with his guitar.
The man wears a baggy yellow sweater and a long brown coat, both are clearly aged; lovingly patched up where they've been torn. They look old and knowing the man is a vampire, Tommy is almost sure that they're decades, maybe even centuries, older than he is. His curly brown hair is pulled beneath a newish looking beanie and his fingerless gloves (gloves that look like they were whole before someone took a pair of scissors unevenly to them) pluck happily at his acoustic guitar. The windows are shut, but they can still hear the music like the vampire is right next to them. The music is unwelcome, the man is unwelcome, but whatever magic keeps the vampire from entering, sadly doesn't extend to the garden.
"Ammo," Tommy whispers, it's pointless to be quiet, they've tested the extent of the vampire's hearing and know he can hear them, but for some reason if they whisper the vampire humours them by pretending, they’re quiet enough to catch him off guard.
"Ammo," Tubbo agrees, voice just as soft, as he opens the bag and hands a garlic to Tommy, while gripping his own in his hand tightly.
The rotting garlic is gross. A weird white substance speckled all over the base of the vegetable, but that just makes it all the better for when it smashes against the vampire.
Tommy's grip on the vegetable tightens, almost crushing it, as he approaches the window. Tubbo beside him the entire time. Brothers in arms.
The window thankfully swings inwards. The house is like a physical barrier, but if Tommy steps even an inch over that barrier the vampire can grab him (the stupid homeless looking vampire had done that once. Tommy had tried using a mirror to reflect the sun directly onto the vampire, but other than annoying the vampire it hadn't done anything, sunlight seemingly having no effect on the creature of the night… but then Tommy had dropped the mirror and leaned too far out of the window trying to catch it and- the homeless looking vampire was there, carefully pushing Tommy back into Tubbo's room and handing him the mirror that didn't show his reflection back. Not forcing Tommy out from the protection of the house, nor taking away Tommy's entertainment of flashing bright beaming lights into the vampire's face. It was almost like Tommy was cared for, but he knew better than to trust any old vampire).
The one problem with the window in Tubbo's bedroom, is it's loud. So, even though the vampire outside will pretend to not hear their whispers, he won't pretend to mishear the annoying screech for anything but what it is. He looks up at them with a smile.
"Hey, Tommy," the vampire says, punctuating his greeting with a pleasant strum of his guitar. "You here to request a song or to grant me the privilege of coming inside?"
The vampire knows the answer is neither, he had heard their conversation, knew what they were planning, but he still played dumb. Letting them figure out ways to hurt him, letting them get their shots in even if it hurt the vampire.
"Neither. We're never letting you in and I'm not requesting music from such a shitty musician," the vampire splutters, offended. Tommy will always choose to insult the vampire's music (even though he was actually kind of fond of it. The vampire had, proudly, shared his online music channel with them only to receive insults and jeers. Behind closed doors they had questioned why the man didn't appear in mirrors but did appear on camera, didn't make much sense and Tubbo had eagerly gone off to investigate with Ranboo, Tommy… Tommy had waited until no one was around to listen to every video on the channel… It was good. Begrudgingly good (the man was ancient though, had to have some skills after all those millennia, right?)).
"What do I owe this pleasure then?" The vampire asked. Smile in place (fangs on show), even as he knows what's about to come, even though he could probably smell the rotten garlic from a mile away.
"War!" Tubbo screams out, a battle cry that has Tommy scrambling to catch up. Two garlics hurled at the vampire that just laughed as the vegetables split into pieces, just missing him.
"This feels rather one sided for a war," the vampire says, between his snickering.
"It's not one sided, we're just defending and you're hoping we'll run out of resources. It's a war of nutrition!" Tubbo calls, as Tommy grabs another rotten garlic.
"You hardly need to- ah!" The vampire is forced to sidestep at Tommy's next throw. It's a shame he side-stepped; it would have hit his chest.
"Stay still, you coward!" Tommy yells, leaning a little out of the window (not enough that he's grabbable though, he's not risking it even though the first time hadn't ended up badly).
"I thought it was war?" The vampire questions, smirking.
It's impossible to hit the vampire with their human reflexes. Vampires just move quicker, faster than the eye can perceive. It's like a game of whack a mole where the speed has been cranked way beyond the machine's capabilities. Still, although the vampire isn't human, he tends to make human mistakes all the time.
"Is that all you have?" He questions, after a few minutes of them throwing the vegetable. There's one garlic left between the two of them, the garden covered in their failures, frustration making them want to just lob it at the man. "I guess seeing as I've won, we'll just have to spend the rest of the evening playing mu-"
Tommy doesn't see what happens. The vampire had been standing still to his eye and then the next second he's tripping seemingly over nothing. They take their shot and-
"Fuck you, vampire!"
"It's Wilbur!"
----
When Wilbur retreats home, he's not greeted with pleasantries asking how his day has been, he's not greeted with concern or worry; he's greeted with a hose.
He doesn't even get to touch the door handle to his home, before the door is flung wide open, and a high-pressure hose is directed his way. As he tries to scramble away and hiss at his assailant, he can't help but be grateful it's not holy water. Techno had gone through the achingly slow process of transporting holy water into their house when he was angry at Wilbur a couple of decades ago. That had been the worst month of Wilbur's life, trying to make amends with his brother, while said brother was making it increasingly hard as he sprayed holy water at Wilbur whenever he got even slightly close.
The water back then had burned.
The water now was freezing.
"Stop it, Techno!" He manages around the attempt at drowning him while standing.
The hose does stop, for a second. But only for a singular second. Long enough for Techno to say one word.
"Strip," before the hose is trained on him again. Water spraying him at a speed that would probably be uncomfortable for a human (would be uncomfortable for Tommy).
Still… Wilbur gets why Techno is doing this, so… with great reluctance he strips down to his boxers in his front garden and allows his brother to spray him with water. It doesn't mean he doesn't complain or splutter throughout the whole process. They're making a scene with their neighbours (they're always making a scene with their neighbours; rumours were still running wild after that one evening Techno came home dripping with blood).
Thankfully causing a scene is never really a problem. Not in the long run. It's just embarrassing. It's even more embarrassing when Techno temporarily stops the hose so he can throw a bottle of body wash and a 2 in 1 bottle of shampoo and conditioner. He wonders what their neighbours think as they watch him pitifully scrubbing his body clean under the watchful gaze of his brother. He'll probably find out when the next lot of rumours circulate (he hopes they don't spin too out of control, Tommy will hopefully visit in the coming months, and he doesn't want the kid to think he's some drunk who refuses to wash or something).
The thought of whatever rumours might grow from this are quickly shoved out of his mind by water slamming into his front.
"Some warning!" He gasps.
"Pay attention," Techno huffs.
"I do pay attention!" Wilbur would glare if that didn't mean his eyes would be met with a waterfall.
"Oh? Is that why you've come home covered in garlic?" Techno challenges and…
Wilbur can't say anything to that (he was too busy paying attention to the garlic Tommy and his friend was hurling at him, not the garlic already on the ground, so he had tripped and fallen over. The burn from the garlic beneath him had been painful, but not as painful as the face full of it lovingly gifted to him via Tommy). He can't even complain about Techno's treatment, the water is a relief against his burnt flesh and if he trails garlic in the house, he, Techno and Phil would all suffer later (and where he'd love to share the suffering with the rest of his coven, he'll be the one to suffer the most; Techno would probably make him clean it all up and knowing the petty arsehole he wouldn't even give him gloves).
So, he slowly spins around, scrubbing away the soap suds and accepting his fate. Just minor grumblings that his coven can't fault him for, this wasn't exactly a comfortable experience.
Techno turns the hose off.
Wilbur looks at him. Imploringly.
"Am I-?"
The hose hits him directly in the face, forcing him to splutter around a mouthful of water. Again.
"You still reek," Techno informs him, "get scrubbing."
Wilbur has to thoroughly wash himself another three times and leave his favourite outfit outside to be cleaned by hand later, before Techno lets him into the house.
Phil's there to greet him with a towel (the large fluffy yellow one that makes anyone wrapped in it look like a baby chick) and a grin.
"Did you trip up and fall in the vegetable aisle?" He jokes.
"Oh, ha, ha," Wilbur rolls his eyes (but he doesn't even get the enjoyment of being sassy as his wet hair jabs him in the eye). "You and I both know I didn't go to the supermarket. Tommy gave me these scars."
"They'll heal after your next feeding," Techno snorts. "They'll probably heal before that, honestly you just look like you caught the sun a little."
"Well next time it might be irreparable," Wilbur hisses, all fang, and it might look intimidating if he didn't look like a drowned cat. "Tommy's craftier than you give him credit for, we should try another approach."
"You just need to get good-"
"Boys," Phil stops their argument with a laugh. "No need to fight, why don't we continue this conversation somewhere more comfortable?"
A chorus of 'fine's echo around them as Phil directs them towards the living room (a large room filled with a jarring assortment of couches, pillows and rugs, none of them match, most of them weren’t made in the same decade, but it's somehow comfortable and warm looking. If… a little odd).
Wilbur trails water the entire way there, leaving little puddles behind as he throws himself onto the wide leather couch in the far corner of the room. His towel protects the sofa from most of the water damage, so he purposefully kicks his wet feet onto it as he lounges across the entire surface of the leather. He's feeling pretty vindictive and spiteful, despite the fact that he's releasing that energy as water damage to his own property (it's not like he'll be the one to fix it, Phil's the one who goes out of his way to keep their antiques in mint condition).
With a weary sigh, Techno flops into the large red armchair on the opposite side of the room. It was a chair Techno had back when he was human, and it had somehow survived the centuries (Phil. Phil had fixed up any damage. The armchair felt and looked as though it was brand new. It looked the same as when Techno had originally got the chair, a chair he insisted was perfect for reading in).
Phil casually leans against the coffee table in the middle of the room, perfectly aimed between Techno and Wilbur. The coffee table is the newest thing in the room, and Phil has to carefully shift his weight on the mostly glass surface. The only reason it exists in this room is because Phil insisted, they stop drinking blood while sitting in their chairs, something about blood being annoying to get out of the fabric (as though blood would stop Phil from fixing their things back up to new. As though either of them were messy eaters; they hadn't been fledgelings for generations now.).
"I think," Phil starts once everyone's situated, once he's levelled them with his concern filled gaze. "Wil's right. We need to try a new approach."
"But it's funny watching Wilbur get booed off the stage," Techno's lucky he's on the other side of the room so Wilbur can't kick him (as it is, he still throws a pillow with a crow print on it at Techno. Techno isn't fazed even as he catches it with ease).
"Not as funny as watching you cry over the video with the raccoon and the candyfloss," Wilbur bites back (he's always been better with his words).
"I didn't cry. I was only rightfully sad that he couldn't enjoy the treat he worked so hard to get," Techno snorts (it's an unattractive sound, but it's meant to be. Techno's belittling Wilbur, but Wilbur will get the last word. He always does).
"He hardly worked hard. He was given-"
"Boys. Focus," Phil huffs, amused. "This is about Tommy, not your brotherly bonding."
"I mean, I don't see why we don't just wait him out. When he's comfortable and willing to talk we can explain what's going on. It's what you did with me, and I turned out fine," Techno shrugs.
"You did not turn out fine-"
"Times have changed," Phil puts emphasis on the words, so his voice was heard over Wilbur's, stopping another argument before it had begun. "With the internet at the tips of his fingers, Tommy can keep himself locked up for years before wanting to talk to us."
"I could've kept myself locked up for years," Techno scoffs.
"But you didn't because you felt the bond," Wilbur grins, the kind of grin he uses when he wants to make some teasing remark about being family.
Techno narrows his eyes. "I don't feel any bond towards you."
"But you do, and Tommy does too," Wilbur stretches on the couch, content like a cat that's successfully hunted a bird. "He interacts with me despite the risks, and he eagerly listens to my music when he doesn't think anyone notices. The both of you are attached. The both of you are stuck with me."
"Wilbur," Phil sighs. "Stop trying to start fights. We all know how the coven bond works, what we need to know is how to deal with it and I think we need to make a visit to a supermarket."
"Are… you planning to shove me in the vegetable aisle?" Wilbur questions.
"If you keep this up? Yes," Phil says with no remorse. Wilbur sighs.
"Spray me with the holy water. End up suffering peacefully at least."
"Well, if you insist," Techno moves to stand up, but stops when Phil just rubs at his brow, as though he can force his headache away (as though a vampire could actually suffer with a headache).
"Take this seriously," Phil practically whines, and it's so easy to forget he's one of the strongest sire's the world's ever seen when he's like this. To those that don't know him, he just looks like a tired dad (he is a tired dad at the heart of everything, centuries with Wilbur and Techno do that to a person).
"I mean you said we should go to a supermarket to get closer to Tommy," Wilbur laughs. "How were we meant to take that seriously?"
"I was trying to suggest we cook for him. Food is always a sure-fire way to win someone over. He'll come back for more," Phil explains.
"He's not a cat, old man," Techno rolls his eyes.
"Not to mention he gets food delivered to his house," Wilbur helpfully points out. "As you said he's got the internet in the palm of his hands. What good is bringing him food?"
"It's something. Do you have any better ideas?" As it turns out they don't. Operation feed-the-stray-animal (we are not calling it that, Wilbur!) is a go.
This was going to turn out wonderfully.