Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tommy has always been told that where he is would be better than where he could be. He disagreed. They say his parents couldn’t have kept him, which is why he was here, and that it was ‘for the best’.

Even if his birth parents turned out to be abusive, piece of shit assholes, at least they’d be his real parents abusing or ignoring him instead of a selection of interchanging strangers every couple of months. At least they’d be… like him.

Non-human. A werewolf.

Or, wolf-shifter, was the modern term. A lot of people got pissed at being called ‘werewolves’ after that whole Non-human Protection Act, given the reputation with the name, or something.

It was all legal stuff that Tommy couldn’t bother paying attention to, because no human around him ever did. It was only dumb stuff anyways, made a little before he was born - one mandatory blood donation for the vampires (if you were over 18) and optional donations as well, laws to protect certain wolf-shifter’s territories from deforestation, making certain magic practices for witches legal, protecting oceans so selkies and mers could live pollution free, all sorts of stuff.

They covered everything and honestly, solving that one problem ended with a whole waterfall of successes in the eco-friendly department, given that people could actually talk with the creatures being fucked over by climate change and deforestation and pollution. Of course even humans would enjoy the benefits - the air was clearer, nature more prominent and cities were less frequent and overrun with new life, as well as new villages, with less dense populations and more cottage industries.

Except for the fact that most humans (at least the ones Tommy’s met) don’t really care to uphold those laws or even polite social convention. Which is why in his file he’s got a big red warning, stating ‘werewolf’ (with the ’feral’ implied) instead of ‘wolf-shifter’. It’s why he comes with a neat amount of complementary wolfsbane for people to use.

Which, he won’t mention, is another broken law. Wolf-shifter kids are supposed to go to a wolf pack. They don’t need to be fostered or adopted by anyone in particular, because if they’re accepted, the whole pack will take care of them like their own. Most never need to move.

Obviously, there are a few cases where this isn’t possible or ‘convenient’. Some kids need to be shipped across the country to different nature preserves if the wolf packs in their own area don’t accept them, or if there are no wolf packs nearby. Some still get sent to other families - other non-human families, near a forest or a national park.

They’re not just dumped with a human family, who all have silver chains and wolfsbane at the ready.

(At least those homes were better than his last placement.

At least they might be better than his next.)

“Stop sulking back there, you always complained about not going to a non-human placement. Now you finally get your wish and you’re pouting?” his social worker - who he could never remember the name of, but he swore it started with an… A? - complained.

She was in the driver’s seat of the car; Tommy was thrown in the back after a good amount of wolfsbane was practically shoved down his throat - to ‘make sure he didn’t panic on the long car ride’.

What’s new?

Tommy wanted to talk, to tell her that being placed with a family of vampires - thank god not a full-sized coven - was not the same as a goddamn werewolf pack. And maybe if she wanted him to ‘sulk’ less, she should stop being so annoying - Tommy’s hearing was better than a human’s, for obvious reasons, so he could hear every scratch in her already grating voice.

But he couldn’t. Not because he was muzzled - no, not this time, although they’d considered it - but because he was, quite frankly, drugged and very lethargic. He couldn’t muster the energy to be angry, he couldn’t be bothered to fight. He was more worried about sitting through the pain than anything.

He hadn’t shifted in a while. He’d been determined to never, never shift into a wolf at his last placement. All the way until he was slowly, painfully forced into it on the full moon. (If wolfsbane in human form was bad, it was downright torture as a wolf. Especially since his last house liked to overuse it, making him have at least a small amount in his dinner every day instead of just before the full moon, to keep him weak and sick all the time.) Even then, he’d regretted it to his core. If he was a little better, a little more human, less feral, he could have resisted the shift. Saved himself the pain. But he couldn’t. And he didn’t.

And now he was moving to an all-new house, the next town over, that might be worse. Way worse - because they were all vampires. Tommy would like to say he wasn’t one to often fall for stereotypes, judging people on character rather than what supernatural they were, but vampires kind of had a hard reputation to shrug off.

They were the first to riot, all that time ago when protests were going on for the Non-human Protection Act. It may have swayed the kingdom’s decision to fast-track the process, setting up vampire blood-banks before all else, but that’s not to say them going full mob with pitchforks on the government did their ‘I will hunt and kill you and suck your blood - maybe not in that order’ reputation any favours.

“Almost there,” Ms. A-something announced.

Way to kick the panic into overdrive. Thanks lady, this helped. Not freaking out at all.

Not like she’d ever be able to tell. The most he could really do was shake in place - he wouldn’t even partially shift, wouldn't risk it after the last house and not in front of the lady who once pulled his tail to get him to hurry up. So it’s not like he could curl his tail up or press his ears to his head in a physical, easy to understand show of how terrifying this really was (or maybe just to give himself some comfort).

Tommy was pretty sure they wouldn’t suck his blood, but who knows what vampires did nowadays? Maybe he’d offend them somehow and they’d stake him in some sick revenge. Not like Tommy had ever hunted a vampire, but, well.

Or maybe they’d just use him for free labour. A slave, like some of the other placements.

(Anything but like the last one, please don't be like the last one, they can take his blood, hurt him instead. Anything.)

Not like his social worker would really care about this, anyway. She tended to be on the crueller side of things - she looked like she’d laugh if he tried to ask for help, which is why he never did.

“And we’re here!” She sounded so happy about that. Must be a great relief to get the drugged, feral wolf with a grudge out of your car.

After getting out, she went around to his side of the car to open his door, since she’d child-locked it. To make sure he didn’t try and jump out the second the car stopped for a quick getaway. He’d only succeeded in that once, though. He didn't expect to again, even if the door was unlocked.

He made sure to grab his duffle bag from the car floor. It was inconvenient to sit with, but he didn’t trust the social worker not to go through it and ‘confiscate’ something to fuck with him. And he sure as hell couldn’t trust that this house might actually give him clothes to use, even if they were hand-me-downs. (He might end up stealing some anyway, though. Just things they didn’t seem to have used for a while, that’s all. That’s how he got the jacket he was wearing.)

“You know the rules. Try not to shift, take wolfsbane before every full moon, we don’t want any incidents. Make sure to be locked up at least 2-3 hours before the full moon and try not to cause problems. We don’t want to have to find another home for you after you only lasted two weeks in the last one,” the lady reminded, forcing him to patiently trail behind her as she strolled up to the door. He was bleary, slow in comparison to her almost-jogging pace.

Yeah, two weeks of politely ignored hell. If this place is anything similar, I’ll be out in a day, he swore.

She finally reached the door - a mahogany red in colour. It had a cute bell next to it, with sculpted stone birds sitting on the bar it was hanging from. Crow chicks from what Tommy could tell, but that’s because they were small and black. Tommy’s no bird expert, sorry to fool you.

The house itself seemed nice. There was a forest directly behind it that Tommy was almost sad to expect not to have access to. The foster family probably wouldn’t want a rabid canine running around their peaceful woods, especially if they did… vampire things? In there?

Turns out he’s no vampire expert either. Who knew?

The roof was a dull grey, but the walls were sky blue. This place was pretty isolated, with the nearby town being an hour’s walk in human form and about a half-hour car drive (not to mention the extra time that drive took, coming from the next town over and through morning traffic). It would be bad if these people wanted him to do the shopping for them, but at least nobody was nearby to judge their interesting choices in house design.

There were far too many wildflowers, and their front lawn was all clovers that blended into the grass that surrounded it. Nice and nature-y, something Tommy might enjoy, if there weren't so many potato bags lined up on the side of the house and two garden boxes only filled with growing carrots. What in the hell did these vampires eat?

The one perk of living with vampires was that they’d eat a lot of red meat. Vampires drank a full pouch of blood at least three times a week and ate meat with few veggies all the other times - Tommy read that once. What if they were - oh god - vegetarians?

(Well, as much as possible for bloodsucking vampires.)

Tommy would starve!

“Oh, one more thing,” the social worker looked back at him, over her shoulder, with a sneer that Tommy could only describe as full, unabridged hatred, “be quiet about your lycanthropy. Since all of your little complaints last time, we decided to strip your werewolf status from your file.”

What.

The door opened inwards with a swing, the man behind looking haphazardly put together and smiling nervously. There were two more people behind him, both obscenely tall and lanky, with one looking like he could bench press a jungle tree (true of all vampires at night, but this one looked like he could do it in broad daylight, too. Great) while the other had more of a bean-pole stature. They were waiting with their hands folded in front of them and matching polite smiles like they were posing for a school photo, stuck in the same pose while they waited for the camera.

They all looked plenty weird, to be honest.

“Ah, you must be Ms. Sullivan,” the man behind the door chuckled, holding his hand out for a readily accepted handshake.

So no problems with murderous bloodsuckers, only me, huh?

This guy had straw blonde hair, eyes a shade paler than Tommy’s own vibrant blue. He tied his hair up in a small ponytail that just brushed the back of his neck. Tommy could spot a distinct white and green striped hat on the hooks by the door, which he could easily picture this man wearing, despite the stupidity. Along with a trench coat, for some reason (probably suspicious, drug-dealing, child-napping, murder reasons. Tommy’s seen the movies). He had a loose dark green hoodie and grey pants on.

Everyone inside was in casual dress except the buff guy, who looked ready to attend a ball dance, or a funeral. He wore about as much gold jewellery as a guy who would throw a ball dance, despite living in a rather quaint, two-story home in the middle of nowhere.

Tommy had to rate the guy next to him’s outfit the best though. If he could, he would steal that sweater. Probably to wear, or if he had the chance, to nap on in wolf-form. He never did much else, as a wolf, but at least he could suffer in comfort, instead of on the hard-wood floors these people had.

“Ana will do,” Ms. Social-worker replied.

Oh that’s her name. Guess I’m purging that from my memory.

“Alright, Ana. Would you like to come inside, and we could discuss Thomas’ stay here?” the man gestured past himself, probably to a kitchen or dining room. They looked like they had a dining room. At least a big-ass dining table.

Thomas isn’t even my legal name; did they seriously write that on my file? Idiots.

“No need Mr. Craft. This will be an indefinite placement; you have my number. Just call me when- if you want us to take him back. Until then, he’ll be solely in your care. I really must be hurrying back now, the drive will take twice as long if traffic picks up,” Ms. A finished, looking ready to jog back to the car and leave.

It won’t. You drove me here at fucking 4 in the morning. It’s 8, lady. We were already in rush hour.

“...of course,” Mr. Craft seemed to be restraining himself, in some way. Tommy could pick up the faint rise in heartbeat, the way the wooden door seemed just a bit distressed where he was gripping it. The strain in his well-mannered smile.

This house is gonna be bad, isn’t it? And they think I’m human, too. Maybe they will drink my blood.

(At least he won’t get to confirm whether or not vampires and werewolves really hate each other. He’s pretty sure it’s a myth, since the last vampire v. werewolf war was several centuries ago and ended in a peace treaty, but you never know. Maybe there’s a grudge.)

“Have a good day,” the social worker politely nodded goodbye, and she was off. The car had pulled out before Tommy could even comprehend her walking away, but maybe that was just the wolfsbane.

“D’you want to come inside mate?” Mr. Craft invited.

Weird man.

Tommy walked in instead of responding.

The two guys behind Mr. Craft looked younger than him, although all three carried that same vampiric, infinitely old and infinitely young air. Even so, these two kept looking up behind Tommy, checking in with the straw blonde man with eye-contact - for whatever reason - and Tommy could tell, just from that, that these two were younger. His sons, probably. Brothers.

His new foster brothers. Never a good sign. These two were adults, but who knew if they were immune from the same ‘he’s my dad, you don’t belong here’ energy? Or even just the ‘you look like a twig, so I’m gonna punch you now’ energy. That was always fun (not).

“Wilbur can show you where you can leave your things and give you a tour of the house,” Mr. Craft gestured to the lankier of his sons - the honey-eyed one, with the same level of fluff in his brown hair as in Tommy’s (currently dirty) golden blonde. He was the one with the soft, stealable, yellow sweater.

Dumb name, Tommy almost snorted. Is being weird and having bad names a vampire thing or a Craft thing?

“Yep, just follow me. I’ll show you your room first,” Wilbur smiled. No racing heart, no furrowed eyebrows or anything of the sort, just smiled.

Or maybe there’ll be one nice foster sibling. That royal-looking guy still looks like he’s seeing into my soul, for some reason. Can vampires do that?

Wilbur didn’t seem to expect a response and he didn’t get one, but Tommy followed after him sluggishly, bag in tow, when he began moving. Wilbur checked behind him halfway up the stairs and slowed down when he saw how far behind Tommy was.

One nice foster sibling.

Tommy caught up fairly easily and they walked in silence down the singular hallway upstairs.

“The door at the very end is the bathroom, there’s another one downstairs, but that one doesn’t have a shower. Phil’s room is closest to it, Techno’s - he’s my brother - is opposite it and mine is next to his,” they reached the first door in the hall, “your room is this one, opposite mine.”

Tommy gently creaked the door open. Behind it was a fairly standard room. One queen-sized bed in a corner decorated in at least two patchwork quilts with red and blue themes respectively, a bedside table next to it and a dresser with a mirror hanging above it on the opposite wall. The rest was plain off-white walls and hardwood flooring. One white rose in a delicate vase on top of the chest of drawers - flowers are a thing Tommy can recognise.

“Do you want a tour of the rest of the house now, or later?” Wilbur asked politely - he was talking in clipped words, right to the point while his tone was more musical, it was an odd pattern. Tommy thinks he’s hiding something - with-holding information or actively filtering his words.

He doesn’t want to believe that it’s for a bad reason though, he’s already attached himself emotionally to the idea of someone not hating him, even for a little bit or just because he’s being polite. He wants one nice foster sibling, minimum. Even if he knows he’ll have to find some place to chain himself up over the full moon, away from someone he knows he shouldn’t get attached to, if only to save himself the hurt. He can imagine, can’t he? It’s not impossible, is it?

(He can kind of already feel it - Wilbur calmly petting him, while he’s stuck, paralysed like he usually is with the wolfsbane. Making sure he’s okay and not letting the silver chains hurt too much, even if he didn’t need to. He’d do it without complaint and Tommy would feel okay for once. He wouldn’t have to steal something soft or a sweater to curl up with, Wilbur would be there, and he’d let him rest his head on what he imagines to be the softest thing ever with active joy, without having to steal it. There’d be no debt to pay, and Tommy would be fed in the morning, after he inevitably gets hungry with the energy the painful full moon-shift takes.

He imagines it feels something like love, because it’s never been done before. But that’s a fantasy. He’ll be alone on the full moon.

The chains in his bag weigh heavier than they did before.)

“Thomas?” Tommy’s eyes zone back in, and he realises that at some point they zoned out.

Usually, he’d be awoken with an abrupt slap or clicking in his face if he were lucky, but Wilbur still wasn’t near him. Tommy was standing in the middle of the room - his room, he supposed - and Wilbur was still by the door. He’d spoken gently and Tommy didn’t feel that nauseous not-quite-sickness that he usually felt crawling up his throat when he was abruptly and/or violently pulled from his thoughts.

“You there?” Wilbur still looked calm, his movements were measured, and he hadn’t tried to step closer, or move a hand in his direction.

If I get one nice, even if it’s fake, sibling, I’m glad it’s this one.

Tommy nodded. He still didn’t want to talk - because then they might expect him to, or push him to. Or maybe they’ll just use his words to hurt him, no matter how few.

“Do you want a tour now or later?” Wilbur repeated.

Tommy doesn’t know when later will be, and he might forget and Wilbur might forget and then he’ll just have to stumble around, not knowing where anything is. So he nods again.

“Great,” Wilbur smiled, like Tommy wasn’t making him do things for him, “follow me.”

Wilbur stepped away from the door and started walking back to the stairs. He doesn’t start as fast this time and was as slow as Tommy was getting up here. Tommy leaves his bag underneath the bed quickly before closing the door behind him and hastily following.

Wilbur creeps out of the staircase and Tommy follows unsteadily, still unbalanced as he was getting out of his social worker’s car. They go through a cosy living room, where Techno is reading, undisturbed and into a kitchen-dining room. There’s a rectangular, wooden dining table with four chairs, each with different coloured cushions on the seat. The dining table is close to the island counter, which is where the sink is. And a fruit bowl that’s mostly filled with oranges.

“You can mostly take whatever you want from the kitchen but usually there’s some stuff saved for dinners and lunches in the fridge, it’s all labelled though. The pantry is mostly free range and the oranges come from a tree ’round back so it’s always full this season. You can come get food anytime, just try not to fill up before any actual mealtimes,” Wilbur explained.

Tommy nodded along between sentences but felt a bit lost. Internally he just decided to only take an orange if he was hungry, since there’s apparently going to be a surplus for the next few months and to not eat other than what they give him. He doesn’t want to offend whoever’s cooking; he doesn’t know what the punishment will be. Even if just three meals a day aren’t technically enough for a healthy werewolf, he’s never really been too healthy. He’s used to less (assuming they really will be feeding him at mealtimes - Tommy imagines Wilbur might save him something even if he doesn’t get to eat).

They go through a multitude of places next. Wilbur shows him the ‘sitting room’ which is different from the living room because there’s no T.V, but three bookshelves, one of which has a whole organised section on Greek myths. Those are Techno’s, apparently.

They visit the garden with the carrots and potatoes bags where Wilbur explains that Techno and Phil bonded over gardening a while ago, but Techno only likes potatoes and Phil only planted carrots to get some variety. To Tommy’s great relief, he says they mostly have meat like steak and chicken (and occasionally rabbit or deer, when Techno hunts - which immediately makes Tommy think ‘I could do that better’ and ‘could I go with him?’).

Imagine how unlucky it would have been to be stuck with the only vegetarian vampires out there?

There’s a back door to the house, a side door and a front door. The garden is right outside the side door, but Wilbur leads him back through the house to the back door where he shows Tommy the border between their clover lawn and the grassy plain. He brings him to the edge of the forest, where he explains Techno and him like to go on the occasional long walks and even shares a fun fact about which animals are in season to hunt.

(It’s early spring and the rabbits will be busy digging warrens for their new kits and deer will be fighting over a nice place to begin their mating season, too. But Tommy already knew that. In the back of his mind, he’s made aware that he can hear a lot of the animals in there and he already knows what they’re doing.)

Apparently, Techno is very conscientious about which animals to hunt and when, even if Wilbur complains they sometimes don’t get any meat, which Tommy can appreciate - because Wilbur’s nice, but he looks like he complains a lot. And Tommy, on an instinctual level, knows how to keep up the balance in the woods and when he should be hunting (if he ever had the chance to actually hunt).

Wilbur shows him everywhere else too - the first-floor bathroom, fun places to hang out, the attic where he keeps bean bags and games and even a rather well-kept basement area which is apparently a nest room? Wilbur bashfully explains that it’s a vampire thing and Tommy doesn’t have to go anywhere near it, but they hang out there on special days or if they just feel like it.

(Tommy doesn’t mention how the mix of everyone’s scents in a cosy underground room, filled with soft pillows and blankets all in a comfy pile reminds him far too sharply of a den and how much his own scent, his presence, doesn’t deserve to spend a moment in there. He’s not a part of this family - this pack - and he won’t be sticking around long either way. Someone will find an issue with him, and he’ll be gone before he can spend a moment in this room.)

He leaves quicker than he could walk and Wilbur, almost embarrassedly, changes the topic quickly too. Tommy hoped wildly that he didn't think Tommy wanted to leave because it was a clearly vampiric room in origin. And Wilbur thinks he’s human.

In the end, the tour dissolves into Wilbur teaching Tommy how to play solitaire on the living room floor, right next to Techno, who could not be paying less attention. Tommy notices how Techno’s presence didn’t feel particularly threatening or looming, a quick check says he still smells pretty calm too, free of whatever chemical reaction caused the stress and anger Tommy was used to. He relaxes. Just a bit. He wins his first game of solitaire, too.

“Boys! Lunch time!” Mr. Craft called loudly from the kitchen.

Tommy heard him moving around in there, a pan sizzling. He hopes dearly for steak, the perfect cure to his post-wolfsbane starvation.

Wilbur clambers up in the most ungraceful move Tommy’s seen from him yet and doesn’t waste a second to rush to the kitchen, expecting Tommy to follow. He’s still not up to speed, but he’s less unbalanced now and follows quicker than he did before. He hears Techno sigh before bookmarking his page, resting his nerd book on a side table and following the two of them.

Mr. Craft is setting the table when they arrive. Wilbur ducks around the table to sit on the yellow-cushioned chair and Tommy sits opposite him on the red-cushioned one. Pink is to the left of him and green to the right, both at the ends of the table. If the colour-matching theme continues, he can guess who’s sitting where.

Mr. Craft has already sat on the green chair by the time Techno comes in and sits on the pink one. Tommy feels the need to snort. He resisted with great effort, truly a valiant battle. Nobody has better self-control, that’s a fact.

“Wilbur, Tommy, was the tour fun?” Mr. Craft’s pale blue eyes are directed at him before quickly moving to Wilbur. He’s thankful, and a little concerned that the man might have read him that easily. Could all vampires do that? That would be bad - they could use that against him, they could-

“It was great,” Wilbur already answered. He’d looked at Tommy too, sensing he still wouldn’t talk but checking anyway.

The golden blonde wanted to silently stew in his panic, - Wilbur could read him too - but why would he bother? He tried to take deep breaths and pay attention to whichever story Wilbur was telling.

Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

“-we went all around the house, I even brought him outside to check out the forest’s edge, but I figured we shouldn't go in any deeper with all the animals up and about this time of day,” Wilbur explained.

“Ah, so you do pay attention,” Techno smugly stated, an upturned tilt to his deadpan.

“Of course I do,” Wilbur turned his nose up. Mr. Craft was looking on in fond exasperation, and Tommy figures this sort of thing repeats, “I’m an excellent listener. Even Tommy knows and he’s only been around me for a day-”

“And all you did was talk,” Tommy responds, his voice quiet and numbly but still there.

It was an impulse. He felt like being his usual, snarky self, his guard was lowered. This wasn’t like in those homes where the second he stepped in it was loud yells and orders, where no matter how hard he fought or didn’t he’d still be punished, where he could do whatever he wanted, really. But this place was different, they’re nice for now and honestly, there’s nowhere to run to if he messes up and that stops.

Tommy looks just as surprised as the rest of the table. His voice was croaky from disuse. They found it annoying and wanted him to stop. Or he was too new to say something like that and they were offended. They hate him now.

Wilbur looks shocked, Techno has just the hint of white above his irises, he’s surprised, even if otherwise his face is blank, and Mr. Craft doesn’t look as shocked as the others. He hasn’t been around Tommy’s silence all that much, but he looks to his sons and realises this is new.

It’s Tommy’s first day here. He usually held out for longer.

“Gremlin,” Wilbur muttered. He probably didn’t think Tommy could hear - the other people at the table probably couldn’t, vampires were strong, but enhanced senses mainly came from the night, as far as Tommy knew. “Can’t believe the first thing you say is an insult to me.”

Wilbur’s voice is still calm. He’s testing the waters, being careful, Tommy can tell. He didn’t offend them, it wasn’t bad, his croaky voice wasn’t an annoyance, and everyone’s faces are going back to normal. This is normal.

“Deserved,” Tommy stated.

Snark is okay, right? They’re reacting like it’s okay, just don’t do too much Tommy or you’ll mess this up for yourself. Don’t be feral.

“Oh my- did Wilbur just get owned by a child?” Techno barked out a quick laugh, almost in a disbelieving tone, but mostly humorous.

Wilbur squawked in response.

“‘Child’!? I’m 15!?” Tommy, outraged, cried. (Quieter, do you want them to hit you?)

“Yeah, and to us that’s like a little, itty-bitty baby!” Wilbur, claiming his retribution, teased.

Tommy saw no other option.

“Mr. Craft, are you going to let your sons slander me?” Tommy turned to the last person at the table.

Everyone was silent for a moment.

“Pffft- ‘Mr. Craft’-” Wilbur snorted.

“Oh shit, I forgot to introduce myself,” said man laughed.

Did Tommy mess up?

“Name’s Phil, mate. Nice to officially meet you,” Phil corrected gently.

No, he didn’t mess up.

It’s fine, stop beating so hard, heart. It’s not like he would hit me right now over the dinner table. Techno and Wilbur look fine, he’d probably do it in private, save his actual kids. Tommy’s been a scapegoat before, it happens.

“I’m Tommy, nice to meet you too,” Tommy tried to keep his scratchy voice from sounding too annoying. He drank a bit from the glass of water left in front of him.

“Tommy? You prefer Tommy?” Wilbur asked. Tommy nodded in response, hoping they didn’t expect him to always give a verbal answer now. His prayers are answered when Wilbur nods back.

“But anyway, I have actually got some important stuff to bring up. Boys, you can stop teasing Tommy,” Phil spoke.

“I hadn’t even started; I was thinking up so many one liners!” (Surprisingly) Techno complained.

“Same here!” Wilbur whined in tandem.

Phil looked fond, but shushed them anyway with a small, “this is serious.”

Both of them quietened down compliantly, listening with rapt attention.

“Tommy, I know you seem okay with it, but… you know all three of us are vampires,” Phil declared carefully.

Oh no. Wilbur looked away slightly, seemingly a bit awkward - probably from the whole fiasco earlier, visiting ‘the nest’.

“I know,” Tommy replied.

Sure, maybe he nearly had a mental breakdown when he found out he’d be staying with vampires in the middle of nowhere indefinitely, but then he did drugs (kind of) and as much as he hated wolfsbane to his very core, he could appreciate how much less it made him think.

He liked not having to think or experience anything for a while and he might’ve forgotten when they were introduced and he can only vaguely recall the places he visited before the wolfsbane wore off (a shitty memory was the consequences of drugs, kids. Don’t do ’em) but it made him think less about how these were vampires, and they might kill him.

Although he can confidently say now that at least one of them won’t kill him. Which probably means he’ll live to be moved to the next house.

“I want you to know that none of us will ever hurt you here. We already get plenty of blood from the blood bank in town and, of course you’ll probably still be getting more iron than the average human through the food. We could always change that, if you want. I didn’t agree to fostering a human for any malicious reason, I agreed to fostering a human child because, well, you looked promising. Like you’d do well in our family. I wanted to meet you, so did Wilbur and Techno,” Phil looked to his sons fondly. “The both of them are adopted too - of course, this was back before adopting was really a thing, parents had only started to develop the idea of an orphanage during the time and an ‘orphanage’ was more just a building where the kids would grow up and someone would come in twice a day to feed them, nothing more, but, well, you get the point. I’d love to provide a home for you here.”

“Phil’s started to ramble and reminisce in his old age, don’t mind him. He’s an old vampire,” Tommy gets the feeling Wilbur might be carrying more in those words than Tommy knows. Probably some weird vampire tradition. “We love that you’re here, though. You’ll fit right in; I can tell.”

Tommy nodded again. He didn’t think anything he could say, could speak of how grateful (and how suspicious) that made him. He didn’t really believe Phil, but that was the most effort he’s got from a welcome speech in a while. It’s only lunch time, too.

(He’d like to believe him. He really would. But they don’t know he’s a wolf-shifter, a werewolf. He didn’t choose to lie, but it’s not like he can’t. They’ll throw him out when they realise how feral he is. Even if they’re slightly nice vampires - perhaps especially nice vampires. A kind small town family doesn't want a dog for a son or a little brother.)

Most of the conversation finishes, with everyone now digging into their meal in full. Everyone has the same food on their plate, but only the vampires are drinking from opaque mugs. He appreciates the subtlety - they’re trying not to spook him before he can get used to them. (Even though the tactic is wasted with his sense of smell.)

The steak is good too. It’s mouth-watering, actually. Tommy ate the whole thing, even the carrots and potatoes, because he wanted to be polite, and he wasn’t about to waste food. (Plus, they might be a little suspicious if they see their new ‘human’ son eat a whole steak with his mouth foaming like he’d never seen food before.)

A few small conversations start up between the members of the table, starting and stopping casually while Tommy mainly focuses on restraining himself while he ate.

He got so little food from his last house, until they deemed it acceptable to give him kibble. Officially the worst thing Tommy has ever eaten to date, and he lived and ate from a dumpster (once, when he was young and hopeful, with enough energy and no wolfsbane to make him think twice before running from a bad home).

Suffice to say, Tommy was starving. He had to focus on not shovelling the food down his throat. He had to savour it, act normal. It would be weird to ask for seconds, what human asks for a second whole steak? It’s not even the full moon, he doesn’t need energy to prepare for anything, why must he be so hungry?

“-Tommy?”

It’s like his body hates him or something, purposefully focusing on the food so it makes it even worse when he can’t eat it all at once or have more.

“Tommy?”

Was that his name?

“Tommy?”

Yeah, it definitely was.

Tommy looked up from his meal, everyone was staring. It made his skin crawl, just a bit. He felt cornered and his steak was only three quarters done. What if they made him leave? If he had to dig in the trash for this-

“Tommy, you with me?” That was Wilbur, for sure.

Tommy looked up again, noticing his shifting gaze. Maybe he was tired. That was it. It’s been a long day, he was crashing from the energy he got after the wolfsbane wore off and now, after eating, no matter how little, he was back to the drowsy, sluggish self he’d grown used to.

“Did you hear what I said?” Wilbur asked, not meanly or overly polite. It was normal and Tommy liked it.

Tommy shook his head no, making sure to keep eating in case it was to leave, but trying to stay focused. If Wilbur had to repeat himself again again, Tommy would definitely have to leave.

“I was asking if you would be alright in your new room. Phil just said he knows it can be stressful and if you don’t like anything you can tell one of us, no matter how small, okay?” Wilbur smiled in that crooked, endearing way and Tommy decided quietly that if he had any issues, he was going to Wilbur.

(Maybe it was bad. Tommy was latching on to the only person he assumed wouldn’t hurt him, it could’ve been any one of the three - Techno because he looks and probably is strong, a good protector, or Phil who clearly cooks and maintains the house and is a provider for the family (pack) - but Tommy decided Wilbur. Because he looked nice, understanding and quite frankly, a little less scary. But maybe it was a lie. And Tommy would be abandoned. Maybe Tommy was overstepping or the second he asked for something, Wilbur would realise how dumb and needy he is, they all would.

It’d hurt if that was true. Don’t make it true. If he wanted anyone to be pack with, it’d be the guy who made sweet conversation, sharing little stories of everything that happened in this house before - where that scuff on the wall came from, why they had that painting, who took care of what - and the guy who gently pulled him from his thoughts with a patient aura that just screamed comfort. Tommy needed that. He could let himself need it, before he has to go.)

Tommy didn’t voice any of this. If he even could. It certainly wasn’t polite dinner talk, on your first day in a new family. Instead, he gave a jerky nod and finished off the last of his steak.

Before he can deal with the plate, Techno is picking his and everyone else’s up and heading off to the kitchen.

“It’s his day on dishwashing duty,” Wilbur catches his slightly off expression. “We rotate it around the table, it’ll be my day next and then Phil’s and yours, if that’s okay.”

Tommy nodded. He wanted to be useful. They’ll make him anyway, at least this way it’ll be seen as him being good instead of stubborn.

Tommy gave a big yawn, his eyes almost gluing together as he did it. He notices that Wilbur notices and is slightly embarrassed, he could already feel his face gaining colour, as if it wasn’t bad enough.

“You tired?” Wilbur asked.

Techno made something clatter in the kitchen. Wilbur didn’t react, so Tommy tries not to, but Phil is in there the next second to grab something and notices - there’s more noise and it’s suddenly too much, with how little Tommy actually gets to use his full senses. Maybe he’s a little reliant on wolfsbane now. Great.

Everything feels like too much, so Tommy tries not to move and doesn’t nod or even give a thumbs up, but Wilbur seems to understand his tired, done look anyway. Tommy wondered why Wilbur asked.

Wilbur stood up, walking around to his side of the table. He resisted from touching Tommy in any way - Tommy wondered if it’s because Wilbur thinks he’s human or because he doesn’t know if it’s okay, but Tommy can’t exactly tell him how much his wolf-side would jump with joy at being touched kindly after so long, so he settled for a disgruntled look. A look that Wilbur read the wrong way. He stepped back.

“I can help you back to your room,” Wilbur offered, in that same clipped, with-holding tone.

Tommy didn’t need to agree, he was already stumbling to his feet as if he were a new fawn and Wilbur walked slowly by him without complaint. Tommy had to force himself to raise his feet higher so he wouldn’t trop on the stairs before they made it to his room.

He fell onto his new bed, letting Wilbur pull the sheets and blankets up around him. It made his head fuzzy.

Tommy’s shoes rested on the floor, to the side of the bed where he’d left them after he’d taken them off earlier in the day, once he and Wilbur stopped exploring outside. Tommy was suddenly grateful for that, and for the comfy clothes he’d worn on the long drive.

“Goodnight Tommy,” Wilbur left the room, tiptoeing.

Tommy was alone again. (He’d never get to feel what it’s like, to have a pack to keep warm with in the night, someone to watch over him so he doesn’t have to be so alert, so easy to wake up and never sleep again.) He was too tired to feel too bad about it.

The Craft family was as weird as one would expect.

When Tommy woke up the next day, he was given eggs on toast for breakfast and asked what he’d like to do for the day. He didn’t have an answer, so he didn’t give one, only following Wilbur around like he was some lost pup again.

Although the man didn’t seem to mind, readily sharing tales about anything and everything. They went on a walk around the house, close to the forest (not close enough) and Wilbur told him all about the different careers he’s had - mostly focusing on music - and where he’s lived. He’s old - Tommy told him as much - so he’s been everywhere. He’s lived in mansions and cottages and in suburbs and cities, but apparently, he and his family settle down here when they felt like it, every couple hundred years.

Tommy thought it would be nice to travel the world, always with a home waiting for you. Peaceful, quiet, free of people.

Werewolves live until someone kills them, or for as long as the moon lives, which will probably be forever. There’s a whole book of werewolf lore - Tommy used to have one, because it was important he learn about his own heritage and the times when werewolves used to turn humans after they started dying off and how all the ceremonies were supposed to go and proper full moon etiquette, but one of his early families thought it was horrid. They didn’t want him reading that, he’d be even more wolf-ish than before, so they took his book.

It was hardcover and perfectly worn in all the places that it’s past owners had handled it gently - Tommy’s parents, as much as they sucked, would have held it there with reverence. They threw it in with the rubbish and set the bin on fire, leaving the ashes in a dump.

Tommy didn’t remember much from it anyway.

Tommy kept getting regular meals and he spent most of the third day in the living room, watching T.V while Techno read in the corner. Once, Tommy asked what was going on in his book. Techno said that he was re-reading the moment when Lycomedes, the king of Skyros, pushed Theseus from the cliff. Tommy didn’t understand any of it, even when Techno tried to explain, but he nodded anyway.

(He asked Techno something else later. He asked why he stuck around reading all day. Techno said he wanted to be near him, because he didn’t want Tommy to be alone, or think he was intimidating or avoiding him. It made his heart hurt. He could already feel the betrayal when they sent him away.)

Lunch was filled with ambient chatter. Wilbur spent the time on his own in his room working on music and Phil was apparently doing paperwork.

Things continued. Dinner was the same.

The third day marked the first few hours Tommy would hang out with Phil. He helped him use a weird, noisy machine to blow oxygen on some coals and start a fire, which seemed unnecessary when you could just use a stick and your breath - Tommy already knew how to do that, he tested it at an old home and they got mad, but it was still epic - but it was still nice to sit out there with the fire while Phil organised everything else. Tommy helped season the meat he was making and put them on the fire they’d set up. Dinner was especially nice.

The fourth day marked the first day Tommy had to wash the dishes. He didn’t try to act like he was mad. He wanted to be useful, and Wilbur came to hang out with him while he did it anyway. He talked more than before.

But it had been even more days since then. Tommy expected to stay here for at least one or two months, if he could avoid being a nuisance. If he could be just a little quieter, now that he was talking, because nobody said anything, but Tommy was the loudest person there (whenever he did actually talk) and he knew they must be annoyed.

They didn't seem annoyed.

The full moon was coming up. Tommy was mostly unpacked now, it’d been over a week, maybe two, so all of his clothes were in the dresser, he’d laid the one blanket he kept over his bed to keep it close, there was one or two trinkets he’d managed to keep on his dresser. But the chains remained in his bag and Tommy still snuck little bits of wolfsbane in his water, occasionally.

Only when everything felt too much. Only when he got too desperate for a pack, when he couldn’t swallow all the helpless whines and sad noises that he knew his foster family would hear at night because Tommy noticed they never slept like he did - they only hung out in their rooms when they wanted space, but Techno didn’t even bother putting a bed in his.

They all just napped in the nest occasionally during the week, sometimes all going down there for a day to actually get some sleep - they apologised when they left him alone for that one, but that was a wolfsbane day and Tommy was too spaced out to notice anyway.

But the full moon was coming up. And Tommy would be alone again, which hurt so much worse now that he knew there were nice people such a short distance away. Nice people that he sometimes wished he wasn’t so quiet around, so he could hear their thoughts more or share his own that were piling up. Maybe even get a hug, anything.

It wouldn’t matter, anyway.

He brought those chains for a reason. No matter how much he hated it, it was better to use them then not. He knew if he were to actually show anyone his wolf form, he’d attack them. He’d go crazy and hurt them. He’d be sent away sooner. He didn’t want that.

Muzzles were actually good for dogs. Tommy learned that a while ago, from when he was left with a relatively kind family for a couple months.

They also fostered a couple dogs and worked really hard on training. Sometimes Tommy caught them doing the same tactics with him, so he knew they only fostered the were-child because they thought it’d be the same as owning a dog, but at least they still treated him sort of person-like, not like the other house, much later.

They said they always taught the dogs how to wear a muzzle, because it was always good if the dog got stressed at the vet’s or at a grooming appointment and they needed them not to bite people. But mostly it was to keep the dogs calm. Apparently, they liked it. And it was law for the dogs to wear the muzzles when they went for walks in the nature park nearby, because there was fox bait everywhere and nobody wanted to deal with a dog that took an interest in fox bait.

Tommy also had a muzzle. But, even when he was a wolf, much more prone to diving into his wolf side rather than listen to the person side, he still didn’t like wearing a muzzle.

Wolves were supposed to be wild, not bound by the silver that seemed to burn so much. Silver that left harsh lines on his wolf form - lines that still stretched onto his human skin, so he had to hide them however he could. That’s why his muzzle was made of leather. He’d never be able to hide it if he got marks from a silver muzzle.

He always laced it with wolfsbane, so he wouldn’t try to thrash out of it so much, because he knew he would. The cuffs were bad enough, he didn’t need those lined with wolfsbane too.

The first full moon, almost two weeks from arriving at the Craft house, was painful. Tommy knew they’d all be sleeping that day, in the nest room, so he locked himself in the second-floor bathroom with all of his chains and the muzzle. He had to put them all on himself, on his human form which hurt more than he’d admit, because he needed them really tight. The muzzle just hung around his neck. He knew the transformation would make him grow into it and he let the wolfsbane that lingered around him clog his senses.

The transformation was just as painful as usual. Tommy’s wolf’s fur was the same colour as his human hair, if a bit darker, and his blue irises bled into the white of his eyes, his pupils like black holes in the middle of a clear sky.

The next day, Wilbur told Tommy he could smell his scent in the upstairs bathroom and commented jokingly that Tommy must’ve finally taken a shower. He cleared the bathroom out as best he could after that.

Tommy went out into the garden, still in the early hours of the morning. He could hear Phil still preparing breakfast, probably something with bacon, from the sizzling oil and the smell he could still faintly trace from outside.

“Tommy?” Techno looked up to meet his eyes. He’d be out there a while already, hands caked with dirt and muck even getting into the crevices of one particular ring he didn't take off.

Tommy didn’t really come here to help with whatever Techno was doing - which looked to be removing potatoes from the potato bags. The carrots, which looked perfectly ripe, were untouched.

“Why did you keep that ring on?” Tommy pointed to the one he meant, which was the only ring Techno kept wearing. He saw the rest on the side table, next to the side door.

Techno looked down to his hand, as if to check he really had a ring there, “ah, my daywalker ring.”

“Daywalker ring?” Tommy questioned. He decided to sit down next to Techno, in the half-grass, half dirt path area between the planter boxes and the gardening tool pile.

“It’s a vampire thing,” Techno went back to busying his hands with pulling out potatoes, stuffing them all in a basket next to him, “a couple centuries ago, when me and Wilbur were still relatively new vampires, Phil commissioned a witch to make them for us. He already had one. It lets us ‘walk in the day’.”

“Oh, ‘day’ ‘walker’,” Tommy realised.

“Yeah,” Techno gave a huffing breath that sort of sounded like a chuckle. “All of us have one and Phil got us each an emerald engraved, to match. See?”

Techno paused his work to hold up the hand with the ring and Tommy didn’t mind the dirt as he grabbed Techno’s hand to bring it closer. There were no immediate protests, so Tommy decided this hand was his and Techno might get it back, but that was because Tommy let him. He was… loaning it out. Yeah. Techno would have to pay rent for the rest of his life, if he wanted to use that hand. The rest of his limb privileges he could keep, probably.

Tommy didn’t take the ring off, because apparently Techno would shrivel up and die in the morning sun without it. That didn’t prevent him from fiddling. He felt over the small emerald, around the gold band and everything else. Apparently, Techno didn’t mind, just going back to picking through his bag of dirt, in search of any potatoes he missed. Which was ridiculous, because he already had so many in his basket.

“Let's head inside,” Techno finally stated, three potato bags later. He really drew the whole thing out, which Tommy didn’t mind since he got to sit there in the cosily warm sunlight and mess with Techno’s - sorry, Tommy’s - hand. He noticed that the pink-haired vampire had black nail polish on - he kind of wanted to try it.

Techno got up and so did Tommy, leaving Techno’s hand to go back to his side.

Breakfast was bacon and eggs, and Tommy will never stop liking it.

“Are there any extra chores I can do?” Tommy asked Phil.

He’d stepped past his ‘office’, which was really just a desk in the sitting room where he parked himself four days a week for a couple hours and noticed Phil wasn’t actually doing any work, but solving a crossword, because he was old. That was the only reason.

Tommy hadn’t really approached Phil when he was working before. Mostly because he was usually actually working and Tommy didn't want to disturb him and partly because he was worried the second Phil was alone with him, he’d start spontaneously hitting him for some weird, intricate, vampire custom he broke somehow and didn’t know about. But Wilbur and Techno always say he’s nice and Tommy can say he might trust them.

“Extra chores?” Phil looked up, noticing him in the doorway, “god if only Wilbur or Techno had asked that when they were your age.”

“Do they ask it now?” Phil remained tactfully silent.

“Sure, I can give you some extra chores. Nothing too big, just wiping the windows and mirrors or sweeping the house-”

“I can do both,” Tommy stated confidently.

“Really?” Phil sounded impressed. He looked impressed; he was smiling. That was good. “You sure mate?”

“Yep! I’ve done a lot more. I could do more, if you want,” Tommy suddenly realised he sounded shyer than was intended. Which is ridiculous, because he in no way ever is or was shy.

“What do you mean, Tommy?” Phil asked, his brow crinkled in the way that said he was concerned or figuring something out.

“Like, I’ve done more,” Tommy repeated. What was there to figure out?

“Done more how?” Phil clarified.

“Sometimes my foster families make me do chores,” Tommy shrugged, not thinking about the fact that the only exception was this foster family, “they don’t have time, so I do them. Sometimes all of them but sometimes I also get foster siblings who do them. They might just make me do them anyway too, though.”

Phil looked distinctly unnerved. Like he’d seen something hidden, “your other foster families weren’t particularly nice, were they?”

“They were fine,” Tommy muttered. Because they were. That was just the standard, when you were a werewolf.

Phil thinks I’m human. He doesn’t get it, Tommy mentally slapped himself. Shit. If he made it sound too bad, Phil might think they were doing the wrong thing. He appreciated the nice treatment Phil gave him, but that wasn’t what he was supposed to get, he was lying. Phil did that because he thought Tommy was normal, like a human.

“I mean, I wasn’t treated badly or anything,” Tommy quickly corrected, nervously laughing to cover the way his brain drifted to every scar - from the chains, around his wrist and ankles, the cuts that never quite healed along the back of his head from ‘falling’, the marks on his back - and every moment he spent in those cold houses, all alone, making his own food and doing everything he could to not exist before his foster family came back. “I just didn’t stick around with most of those families because I didn’t really fit. Just wasn’t the place for me, y’know?”

Phil looked, at least temporarily, convinced. But the look in his eye said he was suddenly seeing something, still working out the details in his head. He hummed noncommittally and Tommy left to go pick up the cleaning stuff he knew was in a cabinet somewhere in the kitchen - he had to keep up with his new chores, after all.

“You have been up far too long, gremlin,” Wilbur called, still making his way up the ladder.

Tommy may have been hiding out in the attic so he could prolong his bedtime after dinner, since these people seem so convinced that ‘humans need a full eight hours of sleep’ which was not really true of wolf-shifters, they did get their energy from the moon, but Tommy viewed his bedtime as more of a… necessary nap - and if he woke up at 4:00 to spend time in bed with his imagination, he could do it.

“No,” he grunted more than spoke. (He tended to forget that the nap was necessary for a reason.)

“Yes,” Wilbur poked his head up into the attic.

Tommy’d been shown here on the tour the first day, but he only came up here perhaps a week into his stay. He didn’t remember climbing the ladder, only realising where he was when Wilbur gently sat him down on one of the beanbags, in front of a small couch he kept up here and gave him a soft blanket.

He liked spending time up here. Usually just with Wilbur, though. Attics on his own were just… cramped.

“I have three more chapters,” he gestured to the book on his lap. It was one Techno picked out for him, but it wasn’t a myth. It was about dragons and had quite a bit of fighting, so Tommy found it too cool to put down.

“You’ve been reading non-stop, all day. The book will still be there if you get some shut eye,” Wilbur reminded.

He was fully in the attic now, slightly leaning down because the space was shorter than him. He sat down on the couch, on the opposite side of where Tommy was currently sitting because the bean bag didn’t want to cooperate and just move how he wanted it to. Tommy had kicked it before finding his place on the slightly worn, old couch.

Tommy realised at this moment that he’d like a hug. Why not? His wolf brain certainly wanted it. It’s not like he hadn’t spent the most time with Wilbur. They’re brothers, right? Technically? Brothers can hug each other. Then again, what would Tommy know about that?

Or maybe it's just his wolf-brain and its dumb cravings and the real course of action is to throw himself out the window and run as far away as he can. (Okay, maybe that’s not that realistic.)

Maybe he’s overthinking this, or maybe brothers never hug each other! Techno and Wilbur don’t really hug a lot, but Techno just seems like he doesn’t prefer hugs. Maybe Wilbur doesn’t like hugs? Never mind, too much thinking, his wolf brain can shut up and-

And Wilbur hugged him.

Tommy vaguely felt himself freeze, making a questioning noise.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t ask, just-” Wilbur stammered, starting to pull away. His brown eyes - which looked more red than anything, with the lack of proper lighting other than a lamp and the rising moon through the circle window - screamed apologetic, but Tommy didn’t want an apology, he didn’t want this to just stop.

Tommy latched on. Wilbur hugged him first, so it had to be okay, even if he didn’t ask either. He wrapped his arms around him - the sweater, a different one than the pale yellow - was just as soft as Tommy expected it to be. His insides felt warmer, his brain fuzzy in a happy way. He almost wanted to shift. Just a little, enough to get his real ears and tail out, to stop that constant chant of trapped-trapped-trapped, so Wilbur could scratch behind his ears and he could wag his tail to show how happy he was.

Maybe, if Tommy was a full wolf, he’d run a hand through his fur. Like he pictured. Like he craved every full moon - which, so far, was only two - locked in whichever small room he picked.

Wilbur settled for bringing a hand up to his head and settling it on his fluffy - and they were definitely fluffy now, with how many different hair products Techno kept, compared to whatever 3 for 1 thing Tommy got at his old homes - curls and lightly tugging through them.

Tommy suppressed any sort of purr or other distinctly wolf-like noise that might signify his happiness, swallowing them down harshly and in a way Wilbur might’ve even felt, with how Tommy was tucked under his chin, with his face in his sweater. Wilbur would definitely hear all of it, given the time. His vampire senses would be increased to the max with the moon - in Her third quarter - right behind them.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” Wilbur sighed.

Tommy made a questioning noise, not finding it in himself to muster up any words.

“I just didn’t know how to ask. I’ve always been more of a physical touch kinda guy, but Techno really prefers quality time and gifts. Phil just likes to cook and mother hen. I just assumed you were like Techno,” with one particularly good run through his hair, easily loosening a knot that’d been bothering him for quite a bit, Tommy melted. He was boneless. “But I think you’re more like me.”

Tommy wholeheartedly agreed. Continue. Please.

Tommy ended up resting his head down, no longer finding the need or strength to support it, leaving it right where it was on Wilbur’s chest. The rest of him followed, curled up in a way that reminded him of his wolf form - especially with how naturally comfy it came to him - and right next to Wilbur, somehow on the other side of the couch and sprawled out, lying down so Tommy was in between him and the back of the plush, maroon seat.

“...I was worried you’d hate it, if I touched you. I know you said you were okay, but I wasn’t sure if… If you actually were okay with us being… being…”

Tommy did know that word. Even though the sleep he was missing began to weigh down on him.

“V’mp’res…?” he mumbled. He was only half-coherent, but Wilbur understood, like every other time.

“Yeah. I know you got nervous, in the nest room, I thought it was because it was a vampire thing. And how you always avoided the freezer, because that’s where we keep the blood…” Wilbur listed.

Well, Tommy wasn’t avoiding the freezer as much as he was avoiding the whole fridge. Too stressful.

“...why did you avoid it?”

Tommy would’ve answered - not likely - but he was already asleep.

Things changed. Not in a bad way, not in a good way.

Phil tried asking him more questions about his past, leading into it by asking where he got things or where he learned so much about flowers, random stuff. But then he’d ask big things. Tommy would say ‘I once spent a whole day reading a book on flower symbolism, there was this one page with the hydrangeas-’ and Phil would try not to interrupt, Tommy could see, but he’d say anyway, ‘where were your foster parents, when you did that? Did you have any breaks?’ and Tommy would flounder for the answer, because no, he didn’t and he didn’t want to lie, but Phil thought he was human. So instead, after a silent moment, he’d say ‘of course the foster parents made me take breaks. What kind of parents would they be if they didn't?’

Techno mostly remained unchanged, but whenever Tommy asked to check out his jewellery, he’d let him fiddle with the shiny pieces of metal and gemstones without a word. Mostly he’d take it off and hand it to him, but sometimes Tommy would just grab his hand and Techno would let him.

Sometimes Tommy purposefully cornered him in the garden, during the early morning, to ask if he could mess with Techno’s daywalker ring, since all of his other jewellery was off. That way Tommy could be content, messing with the gold and emerald ring with Techno’s hand in his while he gardened. Tommy maybe even helped a bit, since he technically stole Techno’s other arm.

Maybe Techno wouldn’t say no, if Tommy just asked him inside. But there was something special in the way the sun washed over them in the garden.

And Wilbur. He was all over him, and Tommy could never - would never - deny how nice it was (at least internally). If they were sitting on the couch, Wilbur had an arm wrapped around him, hugs were a common greeting and Wilbur let them last a second longer than social convention deemed normal. During afternoon walks he’d rest an arm over Tommy’s shoulders and sometimes when Tommy waits up too long, they’ll both relax on the couch in the attic. Maybe the only part Tommy would complain about is the forehead kisses, because he likes them, but it always makes him have to readjust before he can go to sleep. Wilbur always chuckles fondly (and Tommy knows he stays awake, still running his hands through his hair or reading, if he brings a book. He doesn’t - can’t - mention how nice it is, to have someone watching over him while he slept. It felt like peace. It felt like safety. Like a proper, calm, full night of rest.)

But all of these things were pretty good. And although not by much, something had changed in a bad way.

Tommy’s resolve.

Usually, everyone already knew he was a wolf-shifter. They practically gave him a neon sign to carry around saying ‘I’m feral, hurt me!’ with a smiley face.

But here, no one knew. No one could tell. Usually word spread fast if you adopted the werewolf child. The whole neighbourhood would know. But not here.

Here, on the first and only time Tommy had visited the town so far, when the Crafts needed to pick up some blood from the vampire blood bank - vampire because it fed vampires, not because the blood was vampire’s, that’d be weird - nobody knew. The anonymity was like a drug, it was beautiful. Nobody batted him an eye and when he sat on a bench outside the blood bank, nobody stopped to jeer or gave him pitying looks as they passed - ‘oh how sad it must be, to be born the way you were’ - nobody gave him any looks.

Tommy didn’t want that to change. The Crafts might be nice. The town might be nice - Tommy saw a lot more non-humans walking around than anywhere else he’s been and there was no graffiti or mean words on the blood bank - but that didn’t mean they liked werewolves or wolf-shifters. Or wolf-shifter teens who’d really prefer not to give up the sweet hugs he got, or the jewellery, or the food. They wouldn’t care, much less listen.

It would be better if he were human. If he never shifted, no matter how painful repressing it felt. If he just aged out of the system, leaving the town when he turned eighteen because after a while people, especially the Crafts, would notice his lack of dying.

But he didn’t want that, did he?

He’s been giving in to more and more wants as time passed. Snacking more, talking more, focusing less on being useful to stay and more being useful because he wanted to help. To be good for the people he could no longer deny he’d claimed as a pack.

Tommy wanted to tell them. But there was no way to do it. Not without losing everything.

It was the morning after what had become near daily cuddle sessions in the attic. Wilbur wanted to stay up there with Tommy, keep him in his arms like he had been, but he couldn't.

Wilbur hoped Tommy wouldn’t be disappointed, waking up in his own room, but Wilbur tried to make the walk there as comfortable as could be and to jostle him as little as physically possible when he used the ladder. He laid him down on the bed with Phil’s quilts and a new blanket there, tucking him in and giving one final kiss on the forehead - which in sleep still made his nose scrunch up.

Wilbur couldn’t help but smile and admire the way the room had transformed, little pieces of Tommy spread around what used to be empty space. A yellow rose where it used to be white. Before, this was technically a guest room, but they never got guests. Now, Wilbur could say it was Tommy’s room - his little brother’s room.

He made his way down the stairs, meeting Techno and Phil, who were already dressed. There was a note left on the door, right in front of the staircase where Tommy would see it. They all told him repeatedly throughout the day that they’d be leaving at night to see a friend, but Tommy tended to forget things. They didn’t want him to worry.

They couldn’t just leave in the day either, given they had a driveway but no car and a vampire was always faster at night. They’d go the opposite way of town, clearing through the small patch of woods that extended in that direction and hopping to the next town over in no time. Only a 20-minute run compared to three or four hours of driving in the day.

“Ready to go?” Phil asked.

“Yeah, let’s head off,” Wilbur walked through the door, already moving to the direction they were headed but holding off from running until they joined him. It was always inconvenient if he started running early and they just shouted after him, waking every piece of breathing wildlife up.

“Let’s hope the old man will still be able to keep up,” Techno smiled smugly.

“You little- you know vampires get stronger as they grow older, right? Or were you not paying attention when I told you this?” Phil’s eyes held only fond exasperation and anyone could see he was holding back a smile.

“We get it, Phil’s a Primal vampire with nothing but muscle,” Techno amended, hands raised placatingly. He quietly leaned over to Wilbur, “and yet he’s the slowest man to ever live.”

“I can hear you,” Phil sighed.

“Wow, really? Could’ve sworn your hearing would’ve gone by now,” Wilbur smiled like he was comforting Phil, trying to hide the smirk in his eyes. Phil only deadpanned.

“Enough teasing the poor old man, we should probably be heading off,” Techno finished.

Phil huffed, “alright. Let’s go.”

“Already ahead of you!” Wilbur blinked and Techno was already breaking the tree line.

“So he gets to run ahead and I don’t!?” he whined.

Phil started sprinting to catch up immediately and Wilbur followed. Much slower, but still gaining ground. He didn’t want to waste all his energy in one burst and he certainly didn’t feel the need to fret over his centuries old family whenever they stepped foot out of the house like Phil did.

The run was mostly quiet after that, mostly consisting of Wilbur trying to annoy Techno and Techno annoying him back before Phil got sick of it and asked them to stop. The 20-minute run lasted 30 minutes, due to these horrendous and destructive detours. Phil would truly never be the same.

The house they needed to reach was on the very edge of the town, right next to the forest on the opposite side. Almost all small towns in this region were founded near forests. Some towns cut down trees to build and simply made a home where it was convenient, right next to the source, but some did this intentionally back when humans and fae still had that rivalry.

Where Puffy lived was one such place.

Puffy a friend of Phil’s, as she was of all of the Crafts - except Tommy, but that’s because Phil didn’t want to stress him out introducing him to the family friends and, of course, Tommy had no way to get here since he was human. He’d never be able to keep up with vampires. Maybe if Wilbur carried him-

“Ah! Phil!” Puffy exclaimed. The other members of her coven were behind her, all crowding around the door of their obscenely large home. Where Phil and his two sons settled for a nice house near the woods, away from town, Puffy was closer to her town, just a 5-minute walk away, and lived in what could be considered an old Victorian mansion.

Perhaps ‘coven’ was a bad term - Wilbur couldn’t help it, with how much he felt close to these people who he’d known for hundreds of years - since Puffy and her family weren’t vampires. They were wolf-shifters. They were a pack. Not a very large one, which is why they chose to live close to town, instead of hiding out in the forest.

(Also because Puffy was almost as old as Phil - one of the few remaining in her generation of wolves. Wilbur can recall all the stories she’d told about the fights between wolf-shifters and humans, when humans finally figured out how to kill wolves and wolves took humans from their homes, turning one for every wolf taken.

She still held the tendencies from that time - the need to remain close to human civilization, where she can pretend to be human, to avoid the pain of being killed for her abilities. She’s stronger now, everyone in town knows her strength and the protective rage she holds for her pups - even as they grew to adults - and they know not to mess with her. They wouldn’t think of hurting or killing her, not like she gave them reason.

Wilbur can still catch her remembering, sometimes. In a way that said she didn’t want to.)

“Captain,” Phil greeted affectionately. Puffy might as well be Wilbur’s aunt, at this point.

“Ah, the kids are still going strong I see,” Puffy chuckled.

Wilbur saw her deep brown eyes shift focus, looking at him and his brother. Wilbur always loved those eyes, but Techno preferred her hair - she was an expert at dying it, she’d even dyed Techno’s hair before he and Wilbur got the hang of doing it. Right now, she’d kept the poof that it’d grown into over the years, dying the inside the full rainbow of colour but keeping a layer of white, so it looked relatively normal from the back. As normal as one can look when it looks like you glued a sheep to your head and tried to cover it with a pirate hat - Puffy’s hair was as stubborn and untameable as she’d proven to be.

“What is…” Puffy took a step closer, “no… Wilbur, have you been spending time with other wolves?”

Phil looked just as confused as he felt, but Wilbur tried not to show it. This was a joke. A weird one, for sure. But it was a joke.

“No? I haven’t really hung out with anyone new lately,” Wilbur replied.

“But… no, there’s definitely a scent on you,” Puffy stepped closer, nodding to herself.

‘A scent’. A common explanation for all things wolf-shifter. They somehow know your mood?
It was a scent. They can recall in perfect detail how your morning went? A scent. They know exactly where you’ve been, roughly who you’ve been with and how long you were with them? A scent, obviously.

Even vampire senses couldn’t catch things the way a wolf-shifter could - the way constant control over a sense of smell 100 times better than anyone else’s would improve their ability to know those smells miles ahead of what even Phil had accomplished so far.

The teen wolves behind Puffy, still decades off of full adulthood, even though they were well into ‘hunting age’ would still have better smell than Wilbur. And the actual adult wolves might just be able to track down a rabbit across a mountain range.

Puffy stepped over to Techno next, then Phil.

“Yeah, it’s there. It’s… new. A young wolf, still adolescent,” Puffy confirmed. “I couldn’t sense it before, but it’s definitely the same as Wilbur - you’ve all been around them.”

But when had Wilbur, when had any of them talked to a wolf?

“A kid!? Could we meet them!?” Tubbo jumped up as if to draw attention I’ve the other wolves around, but there was no need, given the volume of his voice.

He had his ears out, flopping lazily as he jumped up high and fell down again. The boy next to him, Ranboo, Wilbur remembered, looked both concerned and exasperated with this behaviour at the same time.

“We haven’t been talking to any young wolves, Puffy,” Phil reassured, but his smile was strained. He wasn’t sure - Puffy was usually never wrong about these things. Why would she be wrong now, given this probably wasn’t a joke?

“Talk to anyone new recently?” Puffy spoke back quickly, in a rushed manner. Her deep eyes were narrowed.

“Not really. I… I came here to tell you about my new…” Phil’s eyes widened.

What? What is Wilbur not getting?

Techno’s mouth hung open, like he’d also come to a grand realisation.

Phil’s new what? Did he mean Tommy? But Tommy wasn’t… he wasn’t a wolf-shifter. He was human. Human.

“It might be possible, for whoever you’re thinking of. They spent most of their time around Wilbur, if that helps” Puffy recounted.

Tommy spent most of his time around him. It would make sense if ‘the scent’ got more attached to him - he’d been touching Tommy more, hugging him, grabbing him by the arm, ruffling his hair. He loved doing it - loved the pleased hum of the little monster in his chest.

The one that demanded he stick close - to his family, his friends, his things. The one that made sure he knew they were okay, at all times. Even if he avoided mother henning, like Phil so often didn’t.

Wilbur always loved the feeling of someone close to him. It was heaven - it still is - getting to curl up on that attic couch with his little brother. Even if sometimes he felt his mind drift to the nest, where everything would be much softer and maybe Techno or Phil of the both of them could come join them too. But that was a ‘vampire thing’ and Wilbur knew, even if Tommy didn’t care they were vampires, he avoided that room.

“Do,” Wilbur turned to his father, “do you think Tommy…?”

Phil nodded in silent contemplation.

“I’ve been asking Tommy more questions recently,” Phil explained, “something he said concerned me, about the way his old placements treated him. He always denied anything was wrong, but I could just tell he was lying. He seemed adamant to say they were good people, but if he was with humans all this time and they found out he was a shifter…” Phil let the sentence trail off, let their minds fill with the horrible images that came unbidden.

Ranboo stepped closer to the group, “it was the same with me,” he stated.

Phil looked up at the kid again, who had to be at least two heads taller than him, now that they were next to each other.

“What do you mean?” Phil asked.

“I was always placed with human families. It was torture,” Wilbur couldn’t help the flinch that came with that word. Tommy was being tortured and he was silent about it. “They always gave these silver chains to the families. And a muzzle… but that was made of leather since it’d be harder to hide burns on your face.”

Wilbur knew the turmoil he was feeling was shared. He could feel it in the same way he always did. A sensation clawing at the back of his head told him how outraged Techno was, sitting in silent anger for the unpunished crimes and Phil, heart achingly sad and so, so furious.

“And… and the wolfsbane,” Ranboo muttered. Every wolf-shifter close gave a mix of bad reactions. Disgusted faces, panicked eyes and sudden paleness.

“Wolfsbane?” Techno inquired.

Wolfsbane wasn’t something the Crafts were completely unaware of, but it was a newer development and one Puffy had mostly been avoiding. They didn’t know the effects, only that a high enough dosage was lethal to wolf-shifters and wolf-shifters only.

“It’s a drug,” Ranboo clarified, “in a small dosage it just makes you tired, woozy. It slows you down and even though it makes you tired, you can barely sleep.”

Wilbur thought back to every day Tommy had woken up like that. He’d stumble to the table, barely managing to eat something before he was moving to the living room. Wilbur never wanted to bother him when he was like that. Those were the days when Tommy wouldn’t talk, he’d barely move. Just sit there.

Techno usually stayed with him, to make sure he knows there’s always someone there if he needs it. Sometimes Wilbur would join them, more now that he knows Tommy enjoyed the touch as much as he did - he could merely sit and exist with them, no conflicts or issues.

“In a bigger dosage,” Ranboo continued, “It can paralyse you. Sometimes it’ll activate your fight or flight and all you can do is freeze, stuck. I used to pass out a lot from it. And, in too big of a dosage, it kills you but, unfortunately… there’s a sort of resistance you build up, if it’s used almost every week like it was with me. They start giving you more and more, because the effects aren’t as good, but your body still has to handle that amount of poison. It mostly just… piles up until the full moon.”

“Full moons on wolfsbane are… horrid,” Puffy confirmed, giving the group a serious look, “the transformation is already painful if you avoid shifting, which I don’t doubt your new friend is doing. If he’s wearing chains, a muzzle, never shifts or even partially shifts between full moons and is drugged with wolfsbane, full moons would be…”

Puffy let them fill in themselves how awful that would feel. Wilbur learned a lot about wolf-shifters from Puffy, their history and traditions, but mostly the feeling. The freedom of being a wolf, being able to shift whenever they want and the calming call of the moon, the peace of being part of nature’s perfect balance, instead of existing outside of it.

But to Tommy, that was torture. It was used against him like a punishment and everyone, everyone let it happen. Wilbur never once heard Tommy talk nicely or even talk at all about his old homes - but he tried to lie to Phil about ‘how good they were’.

Why? Did he think… did he think he deserved it?

“What- what can we do?” Phil turned his anxious eyes to Puffy. He’d been mostly staring at the ground, face a mix of horror and the protective rage Wilbur was so familiar with - he was thinking.

“Well… from the sounds of it, your kid’s been pretending to be human because he thinks you’ll do the same thing everyone else has done,” Puffy explained carefully.

Wilbur knew why, from the way he felt his blood boil, his face contorting into one of infuriation. For anyone who made Tommy think that way, because that was his little brother. And he thinks they - the same people who spent time with him, showed their fast-growing affection in any way possible, who hugged him and read with him and loved him - will hurt him. Would abuse him like that.

(There was no short amount of despair in that thought - that truth.)

“You need to be cautious about how you go about this,” Puffy considered, “I know it will be hard, but maybe wait until the full moon.”

“What, why?” Wilbur yelled - how could he let his little brother keep thinking they didn’t love him, didn’t adore him as they did?

“He might run away if you confront him during the week, but during the full moon, he’ll probably have locked himself up somewhere, expecting you not to find him,” Wilbur was reminded of the two full moons that passed with Tommy in their care. They didn’t find him then, either. “Maybe… say you’re going out, but don’t. You'll have to get the chains and muzzle off of him as soon as possible but there really won’t be any way to deal with the wolfsbane. Just make sure you stay with him for the night and be as gentle as possible. He will sorely need it and you need to prove you’re there for him and don’t hate him for being a wolf-shifter. It might be awful, but in any other circumstance, he’ll probably just bolt the second you see him to avoid being hurt.”

It made sense. But Wilbur could tell he’d hate it. He couldn’t make himself say anything.

“Alright,” Phil spoke instead, “we can do that.”

And Wilbur will just have to try and prove as much as he can that he loves Tommy until that day comes.

“So, any other tips for raising a wolf child?” Techno questioned.

The morning after, Tommy woke up in his bed. He could feel through his sleep that he no longer had anyone watching him, but he didn’t mind. Waking up early, with no one in the house, meant he could just… get up. He didn’t have to wait in bed, he could just make himself breakfast.

Luckily, this was one of his more energetic days. Or Phil would probably scold him for not eating before they came back. Hopefully it wouldn’t be long - Techno explained that the walk back would be a bit longer, so they might arrive at about 6 or 7. That was fine. Tommy could manage without his pack for that long.

Stop, brain. He reminded himself. Stupid thoughts making me think I can stay.

There was a note on the front door, when Tommy came down the stairs. ‘Be back soon, there’s leftovers in the fridge :) - Phil.’

Ah yes, spaghetti. Phil made extra last night.

Tommy had already microwaved it and nearly finished eating by the time the door creaked open. Three sets of footsteps, some loud and heavy, some quiet, trod through the house.

“We’re home! Tommy, you awake?” called Phil.

“I’m in the kitchen,” he called back.

Wilbur was the first to cross the doorway, speeding over to the seat next to Tommy’s. He just sat there.

Tommy hurriedly swallowed, “uh… whatcha doing there big man?”

Wilbur was still staring, wide-eyed. But then Techno came through the doorway as well and Wilbur hurriedly went back to looking normal. They both shared a meaningful glance before Techno went to the living room and took his usual spot on the couch.

“Wilbur?”

Wilbur didn’t say anything back, just reaching up a hand to ruffle Tommy’s hair before he walked off as well.

What?

“Walk time!” Wilbur announced.

Tommy was laying on the couch, trying to pretend he didn’t exist, which Wilbur was apparently having none of. He strolled over, fake casually, before deciding to just haul Tommy up by the armpits instead of waiting.

“Hey! What the-” Tommy was standing before he knew it, although unsteadily. Wilbur let Tommy lean on him.

Techno snorted somewhere in the background and Tommy blinked before finding himself already walking through the back door, hand in Wilbur’s clutch. He led them to the forest’s edge, closer than they’d been before, when they turned to walk along it.

It was nearly night, the moon in waxing gibbous behind them. The full moon would be tomorrow, so Tommy was trying to conserve energy. But apparently that plan would be ruined by a surprise walk.

“I always love the woods at night,” Wilbur sighed. “Even despite the fact that I’m a vampire, the energy still gives me shivers. Like something is waiting in the trees for me.”

Tommy knew for a fact there was nothing waiting. He never felt scared in a forest of ambient sounds, nature working in harmony with all things living and not. There was nothing scary about it.

“So you’re an adrenaline junkie,” Tommy smiled some-what mockingly, hoping Wilbur could tell it wasn’t serious, “is this a confession walk?”

“Perhaps,” Wilbur agreed, “but I just wanted to show you what the woods looked like at night.”

Tommy could sense the peaceful quiet. There were stars in the sky, little flecks of colour like the universe flicked it’s paintbrush at the sky. The moon was the centre focus, perfectly cool tones to outshine the void and everything in it. There’d never been such a pretty view - not to Tommy.

“We don’t have any wolves in this forest, but there are some a couple towns over, in the forest closer to the border” Wilbur commented, “sometimes, if I focus enough, I can hear them howling.”

Tommy tried not to freeze, pretending that the small stumble he took was because of a stray root.

“And that’s… is that good?”

Wilbur looked down to him again and smiled, “yeah. It’s a lovely sound.”

Tommy nodded. He couldn’t focus enough to try and smile the way Wilbur did.

Can I trust him? Tommy wondered.

The moonlight was especially strong as they walked, showing the way along their short path with precision and beauty, as She always did. Tommy could almost sense Her, like a warm hand on his shoulder.

‘You can,’ She said.

“I have… Wilbur I have something to tell you,” Tommy blurted, before he could regret it. Wilbur looked down instantly, his eyes were shocked, but he fixed his face into something calm and non-judgmental, for Tommy’s sake.

I’m a werewolf. I’m feral. I lied to you. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.

“This is…” Tommy decided, “this is the first nice family I’ve ever had. I wanted to thank you.”

“... Thank me?”

“For being there and putting up with all the weird things I do and the hugs and everything else. You’re just - you’re easy to trust, you know? And it’s nice. To trust someone,” Tommy murmured. He knew Wilbur would hear him. “So thank you.”

Wilbur was silent and contemplative for a moment. Tommy didn’t want to look up and meet his eyes, even if they were kind ones.

“I don’t put up with anything you do,” Wilbur uttered. He continued before Tommy could check to see if his heart stopped, “I don’t need to. You’re lovely to have around Tommy, whether you’re energetic and bouncing off the walls or quiet and not doing anything. I love spending time with you, no matter what we’re doing.”

That sounded distinctly like an ‘I love you’. That sounded far too close to ‘I love you’.

“God, I just-” Wilbur looked away for a moment, “it always used to be me, you know? I was the one people put up with, the ‘annoying’ one.”

Tommy didn’t believe that for one second. Not with the way he could hang on to every word, the way they so effortlessly talked and Wilbur could catch on to his train of thought and follow it where anyone else would lose sight. How could he ever be annoying?

“I was alone before I met Techno. And then we met Phil, we became vampires and it was like finally being whole, finally coming home and having people waiting for you there. I wasn’t weird to them, but sometimes I still feel like I can’t get close to people. Our coven has a reputation, we’re not known for being ‘friendly’, so I don’t expect people to like me, but you… it’s different. I want you to like me. Like a brother would, like I do.”

Far too close to an ‘I love you’.

Tommy didn’t say anything else. There were no more words left, only the feelings hanging in the air before Tommy realised, he had to tell Wilbur somehow. It’s not like he could read Tommy’s mind and suddenly know every time he felt that exact same way, wishing for a moment like this. To return the feeling.

Tommy walked a little closer, his hand was still in Wilbur’s, and rested his head on the older man’s shoulder. Everything else went unsaid and they turned around a little bit later, to walk back home. They both fell asleep in the attic, more content than usual.

“Mate, you need more than that. Here, have some of this,” Phil gathered another portion of steak and put it on Tommy’s plate. They weren’t having anything fancy for dinner, but Tommy helped make this steak and he even helped season the asparagus, so it was magical.

Phil kept trying to give him more food though. Not like he was complaining. This was rather convenient mother henning, given the full moon. Tonight.

A big dinner was important before any full moon, but Tommy didn’t want to draw attention to himself by eating more before every full moon. No harm in only eating what Phil gave him, though. Even if there would be no leftovers to steal later.

“Phil, you’re smothering him,” Techno sighed.

“No I’m not,” Phil squawked back. A distinctly bird-like noise of offence that made Tommy and Wilbur snicker.

“Yes you are, old man. You’ve got to be more subtle about it,” Wilbur confidently stated.

To be fair, the other members of the table probably didn’t notice when he kept sneaking Tommy more, but it was extra hilarious when he did it in that moment, while the other two were focused on him. Wilbur smirked at him quietly and Tommy smiled back.

“I’m always subtle,” Phil denied, turning his nose up.

Everyone at the table made varying noises of disagreement.

“You little-”

“You literally announced it to the whole table! ‘Boys, don’t take as much steak, Tommy’s only a teen, he needs more’” Techno quoted. “Literally favouritism.”

“But it’s true! He’s growing-”

“But I don’t need to grow Phil, I’m already at peak condition,” Tommy excitedly claimed. He was still shovelling the food into his mouth though. He needed to finish quick to lock himself in his room before the moon was at the top of the sky.

“‘Peak condition’? You’re a child!” Wilbur cried indignantly.

“Just because you’ve never been able to comprehend true manliness, doesn’t mean you need to take it out on me, Wibles Scoot.”

“What?”

“Yeah Wibles, leave the extremely manly child alone,” Techno drawled sarcastically.

“Yeah!” Tommy exclaimed, “wait…”

The whole table laughed, and before it even really felt like it began, dinner was over. Phil would be cleaning up, but then Tommy would be left alone in the house, as they were heading out again to go back to that family friend they mentioned.

It would be for the better, given the full moon, but Tommy felt inexplicably sadder that they’d be leaving on this day. Wilbur gave him an exceptionally long hug before they left, but he still felt a bit empty. There was something about being able to hear them, existing around him, that helped with the transformation.

He’d live. Not like he hadn’t before.

It was sickening to have to leave. Wilbur felt sick.

“One more minute, just one more,” Phil muttered. He was pacing, only some 10 metres from the house.

They all figured five minutes was all the time Tommy would need after the moon hit its peak to transform. (It was all the time they could allow, without going berserk.)

“Time!” Phil called.

It took less than a second to be in front of the door again and Wilbur was the first to speed up the staircase, going two at a time and skidding to a stop before Tommy’s door. It was dead silent, but Wilbur knew any wolf or human would have heard them speed through the house. He wasn’t particularly concerned about Tommy knowing, though, given they were there to see him anyway.

Wilbur rattled the doorknob, but it was locked. It was a coin lock - not that effective against a humanoid who could just use a fingernail to turn it, but effective against a wolf with no opposable thumbs. The door opened easily, and Techno and Phil were already by Wilbur’s side when he swung it open.

It was shocking, to finally see him.

A young wolf, its paws and ears still too big for the rest of its body and fur a dull gold, similar to brass but with the same sheen as polished metal. Wilbur internally winced at the way he could almost see Tommy’s ribs, though they were definitely more filled out then they would have been, before coming here.

And the scars. The silver chains lined up with criss-crossing marked lines, looping around what would be human Tommy’s wrists and ankles.

Wilbur knew for days that the reason Tommy wore long sleeves, the reason he caught him stealing one of his sweaters whenever he had washing on, was because of those scars. It was different to seeing them, to knowing they’re there because of people Tommy should have been able to and might’ve even trusted. Because of Tommy himself.

There was a muzzle on Tommy, his nose twitching wildly behind it. He wasn’t facing towards them, he was huddled near the back wall, using the only sense he could to tell they were there. His eyes were fully diluted, almost pure black in what was clearly a haze.

Wilbur smelt something. That oddly specific, concentrated smell that he now belatedly realised was wolfsbane. Tommy was drugged - he was delirious, twitching nervously nearly every second.

He didn’t realise it was them.

Wilbur took a step forward into the room. Techno and Phil followed behind after a second, when Tommy didn’t react.

Another step. Tommy looked twitchier.

One more step, Wilbur was halfway across the room to him. So close.

One more. He was within reaching distance, but Wilbur knew suddenly grabbing him would do no one any favours. Tommy barked warningly, as if he sensed the thought.

Wilbur crouched down and Techno and Phil settled on the opposite wall, sensing the need for space. They remained quiet and stoic, there if Wilbur or Tommy needed them and ready to assist with anything.

“Tommy,” Wilbur began quietly. But he didn’t really know where to go. “Can you hear me?”

Those pure black eyes focused on Wilbur. Tommy’s head tilted ever so slightly; his mouth firmly shut.

“I’m going to get those chains off of you, okay?” Wilbur spoke calmly. (Even if it felt like his heart would cave in.)

Tommy wasn’t moving. He gave no reaction besides a short, high-pitched exhale, somewhere close to a whine.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he whispered.

Tommy remained still as he got up, reaching for a key he could spot, left on top of the dresser. He returned as quickly as he could allow himself, trying not to rush over so he didn’t spook Tommy into moving and making the chains hurt more.

It was fairly easy to unlock the pair of manacles that went around Tommy’s front legs. He carefully manoeuvred them away, only touching Tommy’s paws to lift them up and out of the cuffs - Tommy gave a half-hearted warning growl for that and Wilbur tried to show his apology through his almost frantic, attempted comforting mumbles. His back legs were the same issue, but Tommy growled less when he touched his hind legs.

Wilbur hoped he recognised him, now.

The muzzle was the last issue. A faint smell of wolfsbane lingered around it - it was laced with the stuff. As if Tommy eating it wasn’t bad enough. Wilbur wasn’t sure if Tommy would react, if he tried to reach behind him and unstrap the muzzle.

Tommy’s nose twitched like it was checking him, so Wilbur put a hand open, palm up in front of him. Tommy edged forward, the first movement in a while, using his newly freed limbs to push his face into Wilbur’s hand. It would’ve been hard to support a full wolf head in one hand, but Wilbur had unnatural vampiric strength, and this was easy. He let Tommy rest there, his nose pressed up against Wilbur's wrist and still twitching, breathing in quick, anxious breaths.

Wilbur slowly reached around to the clip in the back, where the muzzle was attached and easily undid it. He slowly lifted Tommy's head and slid the muzzle away, chucking it to another corner of the room like he'd done with the chains.

Tommy looked, dare Wilbur say, adorably miffed at being disturbed and slowly pushed himself closer until Wilbur was rearranged, sitting against the wall, opposite his father and brother - who looked on in quiet adoration - and Tommy had flopped onto his lap. He pressed his head into Wilbur’s sweater, his paws laying over him and his back legs curled up in a way that reminded Wilbur of exactly how they’d rested in the attic just the night before. It was sickeningly cute.

Wilbur reached down and carefully scratched behind Tommy’s ears, he got a small tail wag and a pleased sounding hum in return. Wilbur brushed his hands through Tommy’s fur, coarse in areas but almost resembling the fluff of his human hair.

Techno and Phil felt it was an appropriate time to move over. Phil sat down next to Wilbur and scritched behind Tommy’s ears. Techno moved in front and after a moment started going through the fur where he could reach on Tommy’s chest and belly. His tail wouldn’t stop wagging, almost hitting the wall with every sway back and forth.

They stayed there well into the night, passed when Tommy let himself succumb to sleep, somewhere at three or four in the morning. They wouldn’t rather be anywhere else.

Tommy’s eyes fluttered open unsteadily. The morning after the full moon.

He knew he was on the floor, that was normal. He was not in his chains, there was no muzzle hanging around his neck. That was not normal. And after a second, Tommy smelt that familiar scent, the one he’d grown so accustomed to over the months he’s spent here, in this home. Wilbur.

He felt a calloused hand brush through his curls and scratch behind his ears - still disturbingly wolfish, with a tail to match.

“Toms? Are you up now?” Wilbur whispered.

He was quiet, his voice was still croaking from the night and Tommy could hear it in such clear detail it made him squirmish. He didn’t take as much wolfsbane as usual. His muzzle was off - it was on the other side of the room, but Wilbur noticed when he looked at it.

“Don’t worry,” Wilbur murmured, his hand still in Tommy’s hair, not changing how it was calmly brushing through it. “You won’t ever have to deal with those again. Phil’s gonna get rid of ’em in a bit.”

“What?” Tommy spoke back hoarsely, just as quiet, “why would he get rid of them? How- how are you here? What are we doing?”

“You-” Wilbur’s hand stilled for a moment, but went back to what it was doing soon enough. It was unnaturally calming. Tommy could almost feel himself slipping into sleep again, “you probably wouldn’t remember. You were pretty out of it.”

“Did I hurt someone?” Tommy asked. Not panicked, resigned. Wilbur was still pretending like he cared, or maybe comforting Tommy before he’d get sent away again. He’d let his heart break later, if only so this didn’t end so soon.

“No, no of course not,” Wilbur rushed. He sounded more awake now, but he continued brushing through Tommy’s hair like nothing changed.

No?

“But I was… I…” Tommy floundered. He wanted to look up at Wilbur, see his face, know what he was feeling beyond the pace of his heartbeat, but he also didn’t. He didn’t want to risk it.

“Tommy, I know you’d never try to hurt us. You know that,” Wilbur reassured.

“‘Us’?”

“You’re focusing on the wrong bit, Toms,” Wilbur sighed. “Phil and Techno were here too; you didn’t hurt them. Or me.”

“You’re not lying?” Tommy mumbled.

“Of course not. We can go and check, if you want,” Wilbur proposed. But he didn’t make a move to get up.

“If I… If I want,” Tommy parroted.

Tommy didn’t see Wilbur nod, but he heard the rustle of fabric and the slight jostle behind him.

“Are you going to send me away if I go down there?” Tommy asked quietly, his face pressed into the fabric of Wilbur’s pants to muffle the noise - he was hiding. He didn’t want the truth; it would hurt too much.

“No!” Wilbur raised the volume an inch too high, his hand tensed where it rested near Tommy’s neck, and he winced. “No, Toms of course not. Nobody wants to send you away. Not ever.”

There was a long pause of silence where Tommy felt his eyes begin to sting. He tried not to cry, to be a nuisance, but of course Wilbur had to notice anyway. Tommy was rearranged quickly, pulled up to sitting and tucked under Wilbur’s arm, his head under his chin.

“I wouldn't let them,” Wilbur swore, “never. You’re my little brother Tommy, my family, part of my coven like I… well, like I hope I’m part of your pack. I’d never let anyone take you.”

Pack. God, how long has Tommy wished he could hear that word? From anyone? From Wilbur?

“’Course you’re part of my pack,” Tommy mumbled. He tried to avoid thinking about the blood rushing to his face with that statement.

Tommy didn’t need to see it; he felt the way Wilbur smiled.

“I know I’ve said this before, but I didn’t think you’d want me to be. Given my vampirism,” Wilbur chuckled wetly.

“Not like any time I see you drinking blood I like… spit in your cup or some shit. You’re fine,” Tommy grumbled. “I just thought you wouldn’t want me around. Or Techno or Phil wouldn’t want me around, because I’m a werewolf.”

“Why would any of us ever judge you for being a wolf? Why would we ever make you use those wretched things, or poison you or hurt you like that?” Wilbur’s voice was that same quiet, but it was demanding.

“Because I’m dangerous,” Tommy didn’t cry these words. It wasn’t sad, it was fact. “Because I’m feral and whenever I transform, I hurt someone. I got moved here because I nearly killed my last foster father.”

“Was he nice to you?” Wilbur asked delicately. And the question stumped Tommy. Because no, he wasn’t. He was the worst one yet. But-

“It doesn’t matter,” Tommy mumbled.

“It does, Toms. What did he do?”

What did he do? Nobody ever asked. Tommy didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to talk about it. It made the phantom and real pains ache and he didn’t want to think about it.

Tommy found the words spilling out of his mouth a second too late after they started. He couldn’t stop them, no matter how much he wished he could. Why now of all times did he have the courage to speak?

“He… he treated me like a dog.” Wilbur was tactfully silent - Tommy didn’t know what he’d say if he wasn’t. “He wouldn’t feed me real food; he’d give me way more wolfsbane than anyone else and make me shift and it was… it was humiliating. Degrading, and I didn’t do anything, but on the first full moon there, when I shifted, I just tore into him, it was… it was…”

Wilbur didn’t need to let him finish. He let the hand around Tommy’s shoulders run through his hair again and brought his other hand to cup his cheek. He didn’t complain when tears started leaking from Tommy’s eyes, just shushed him gently and tried to pull him in closer, rocking so minutely anyone else might not have noticed.

“Nobody should’ve had to deal with that Toms, you definitely shouldn't have,” the soft words nearly made another set of tears roll down his cheeks, Wilbur’s thumb gently ran over where one still lingered under his eye. “I’m not mad you did that. To be honest, I’m kind of happy.”

Really? Can I trust you? Do you mean it?

“He deserved it. All of it and more,” Wilbur spoke reassuringly, but Tommy could tell that behind it there was a threat. And he trusted it wasn’t for him. “It’s not like we’re perfect saints either. We’ve done far worse.”

“What d’you mean?” Tommy left the apprehension out of his voice. It was hard to be scared of the man in the soft sweater, letting him curl into his side to hide away from the world, running his hands through his hair.

“Do you remember when I said my coven had ‘a reputation’?” Wilbur waited for Tommy to nod before he continued, “it’s not really a good reputation.”

“Well I got that much,” Tommy muttered, “I in-tui-ted it.”

Wilbur chuckled, “yeah, it’s not that hard to figure out, I ’spose. But we’ve been around for a long time, back before people knew vampires were real and existed and way before any Non-human Protection Act. There weren’t always blood banks around and I know it’s the ‘natural food chain’ so I shouldn’t feel guilty to begin with, but I don’t think I ever did feel remorse from the hunts we did.

“Our coven’s done everything, but crime was always an easy way to get places. Organised crime, electoral fraud, all sorts to influence things in our favour. That seems way worse than attacking your abuser, not even killing him.”

“He is still in the hospital, though,” Tommy chirped, “I… don’t think he ever won’t be.”

Wilbur openly laughed at that, a loud laugh that slipped over itself. Tommy couldn’t help but smile along.

Wilbur was still catching his breath when Tommy continued, “I think I can hear Techno and Phil now.”

Wilbur smiled down at him, “great. Pretty sure Phil’s gonna be instantly adopting you now, by the way. He was going to wait until your birthday but…”

Tommy couldn’t find the time to analyse that. To register the warmth in his heart, the fullness. He was so complete, he didn’t know what to do with the new pieces, the ones that fit just right where there used to be open space. It was cluttered and perfect now. What was Tommy supposed to do?

“Finally I’ll be Theseus Kraken Danger Careful Trusty Craft,” he joked.

“Wait…” Wilbur gasped, “your name is Theseus!? You’ve got a geeky nerd name!”

“Aye! Not like I picked it, you dumb-”

“No, no, you’re definitely a nerd now. I need to go tell Techno,” Wilbur declared, dragging Tommy - who although wanting to see his apparent family (his pack, his official, accepting pack), did not want to walk - along with him.

Wilbur practically threw himself down the stairs, Tommy half stumbling to keep up while Wilbur half-heartedly tried to help him and run to Techno at the same time. They ended up with an unsynchronized, half-tripping walk and a cacophony of giggling that Tommy would deny, because we could never and has never giggled.

Ever.

Techno was sitting at his chair at the dining table, talking to Phil in the kitchen about something indistinguishable. Wilbur didn’t even wait for them to finish or notice them before blurting: “Tommy has a nerd name!”

Techno whipped his head back to stare at them, merely looking on in complete confusion for a second before physically shaking it off.

“What?”

“You know all that Greek shit you read? What’s your favourite story, the one that’s about family and betrayal and-” Wilbur listed.

“Theseus and the Minotaur. You mean Theseus and the Minotaur. Very easy name to remember,” Techno drawled.

“Well be prepared to remember it even more, turns out ‘Thomas’ isn’t Tommy’s real name!”

“Wha- it’s not?” Phil turned around to face them as well, not bothered by what was cooking in the background anymore.

Wilbur nudged his elbow into Tommy’s side, giving very obvious glances and raising his eyebrows to the other two. Tommy sighed; full exasperation clear with the deep exhale - now he could truly sympathise with Phil. He gets it now.

“Alright, big announcement. My real name is-”

“Theseus,” Techno finished - though by Techno standards it was practically a gasp. Wilbur giggled excitedly, like he wasn’t a centuries old, immortal, killer vampire.

“Just about to say that!” Tommy groaned.

“Well, you can talk more about it during breakfast, come sit down Tommy,” Phil brought over a big plate of eggs and bacon, pancakes on the side, and Tommy knew he made all of it for him. For his pack.

Something fond settled in his chest. Something trusting. He sat down on his side of the table, but Wilbur dragged his chair over so he was sitting right next to him instead of opposite and Tommy believed that it was real. Everything around him. Every little detail, every story Wilbur told him and every story he can’t think up yet. Every look of fondness, like a not-so-hidden ‘I love you’. And he doesn’t think he’ll have to go without it anymore.