Three-year-old Emelline lifted her arms towards her father, expecting to be carried. That was when Connor Winston gulped. Until this point, he always made it a point to pick up his little girl.

Except, now his both arms were as stiff as wood. He could barely lift a mug of tea, let alone pick up a child. The No-Legged race really did a number on his body.

The little girl started to frown. She's growing impatient.

Oh no, if I don't try she's gonna cry!

So, the father tried regardless. He squatted to her level, tucked his hands under the girl's arms and…

…stayed there. His sore muscles doth protest the action.

"S-sorry," he said. "Daddy's arms hurt from yesterday's big race. Maybe tomorrow?"

The girl was not pleased.

"If you want cuddles, Daddy can sit with you by the sofa."

"Want play," said Emelline.

Quick! Think of a game that doesn't use arms!

Connor spotted a pile of building blocks at the corner of his eye. "Let's sit down and play blocks, okay?"

The girl shook her head. "Nooooooo!"

Yikes, this is getting difficult. There's no way Maggie could play with her either. She's due in a couple of days, and the baby is getting restless…

The doorbell rang. Connor's first thought was of an old show where the theme sang: 'saved by the bell'.

Distracted, the toddler ran off to answer the door instead. She always liked this 'game'. The delivery guy or the mailman would always humour her presence.

Except, this time… a tall skeleton with a red scarf stood at the entrance.

"WHY HELLO, ADORABLE LITTLE HUMAN!" he said, "IS YOUR FATHER HOME? THE GREAT PAPYRUS WOULD LIKE TO HAVE A WORD WITH HIM, NYEH HEH HEH!"

Connor dropped his jaw. It's the local famous blogger! Wouldn't have heard about Ebott's Wake beyond the news coverage without him.

Did he come to cover the participants of the No-Legged Race?

The daughter ran to her father's side, eager to drag him to Papyrus. She didn't need to do that. Connor was more than happy to answer.

Putting on the biggest smile, he said: "I'm here. Do you, uh, need anything?"

"WELL, NOT ME PER SAY. A NEW FRIEND OF MINE APPEARS TO KNOW YOUR FAMILY QUITE INTIMATELY. HE'S HERE TO GIVE YOU IMPORTANT TIPS TO SECURE YOUR FUTURE! IN THE MEANTIME, THE GREAT PAPYRUS WILL BE YOUR LITTLE GIRL'S PRIME BABYSITTER! NYEH HEH HEH!"

Not what Connor expected. "Uh. Sure?"

Papyrus stepped aside to reveal the guest in question. Connor couldn't believe his eyes.

Time seemed to slow down. His brain couldn't get a grip. After the image pingponged in his brain for a good three seconds, the only response he spat out was a shocked yell.

"GRANDPAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA?!"

Papyrus rubbed his chin. "GRANDPA? HOW PECULIAR! IS HIS NAME MEZIL THYME TOO?"

"M-Mezil… Thyme…? That's not his name."

Connor shook his head. Looking at a second time, he realised that this man had some notable differences.

First, the stranger was somewhat younger than the last photograph of his grandfather. The man before him had fuller hair, lacked liver spots, and had less wrinkles.

Second, the fashion choice. Two main thoughts crossed his mind: 'fancy 19th century tailcoat' and 'vampire'. Grandpa favoured practicality over style. T-shirts, jeans, and other norms of post-war onward. He would never show up in a cravat, let alone wear any piece of jewelry. Even his wedding ring was kept in a safe place: too many peers had lost theirs to the kitchen sink.

Third, it had to be the cane. Grandpa's sense of pride prevented him from getting the much-needed walking utensil later in life. It took a near-fall for him to finally admit his age. If Connor's father wasn't there to catch the incident, he might suffer a broken hip. Old people and fractures are NOT friends.

Magdaline must have heard the ruckus. She hobbled along with her large belly, asking: "What's wrong, dear? You shouted-"

She too gasped at the visitor. "He looks just like your grandfather!"

Connor was glad that he's not the only one. "Right?! Right?! But Papyrus said his name is 'Mezil Thyme'."

The stranger confirmed Papyrus' statement. "Indeed, that is my name. I would like to speak with you about certain matters. Would you let me in?"

Fast forward a few minutes later…

While Papyrus played with Emelline in the backyard, Connor and his wife had some tea with this 'Mezil Thyme' fellow.

It's disconcerting yet exciting: so many mysteries begging to be answered, so many speculations wishing to be confirmed.

Maggie asked: "Why do you want to speak with us?"

Mezil Thyme sipped his tea. Setting his cup down, he replied: "Since you're in Ebott's Wake, you're aware of parallel worlds and assorted dimensions. Correct?"

Connor replied, "Yeah. That's why we moved here in the first place."

"Then I'll tell you this: In a different world and time, I'm a future presence who knows your family well."

"Oh… so you're just a family friend in a different AU?"

"AU?" Mezil asked back

"Alternate Universe." Connor spelled it out.

"If that's the case, yes. You are correct."

The couple breathed a sigh of relief.

Mezil raised a brow at their behaviour. "Is there an issue?"

"W-well," Connor tried rubbing the back of his head. It failed due to his sore arms. "I thought you're really my grandpa."

Maggie focused on the stranger's clothes. "Just to confirm. You didn't come back from the dead as a vampire, did you?"

Mezil huffed. "What makes you think that I am one of the undead?"

"You asked for permission," she pointed out. "As a museum curator, I know my lore. Vampires require explicit permission to enter people's homes."

"That is correct," he replied, "However, I am just being polite. After all… vampires value etiquette."

"So are you a vampire or are you not a vampire?"

"Perhaps it's more accurate to call me a blood wizard."

Connor blurted out the worst response: "Are you a virgin?" As a result, his wife executed a backhanded slap on his shoulder.

"Ow!"

"Connor, this is not the time for stupid internet memes!"

Despite the commotion, the guest answered it in a most calm and straightforward manner. "I'm married. Therefore I'm not a virgin."

The sheer frankness of that reply made the couple blush deep red.

Then, the next close-to-heart question was: "Do you have children?"

"No. Our union is sterile despite our love. We've accepted this fact before we agreed to marry."

What a tragic turn. Connor felt bad about the wizard's statement. "Sorry to hear that."

"Nothing to apologize for," said Mezil. "Since you understand the concept of alternate universes, then I'll get straight to the point. I'm from the future. 2070, to be exact. I have seen where this family had gone and went."

Connor's heart quickened.

The… the future?

D-do I really want to know? Am I even still alive by 2070? M-maybe I'm an old prune.

Mezil then added: "I know what you're thinking. But, the knowledge of the future is too great a burden. I will not say anything about your eventual fates. I come here only to warn you about specific points. And, also to make sure that you have a safe delivery."

"That's it?" Connor asked.

The stranger from another world glanced to the side. "It would be nice to hear more about my lookalike. Call it curiosity. Your grandfather, is it?"

"Yup. Give me a moment. I have the perfect thing!"

Connor hurried to his bedroom. As a history nerd, he took it upon himself to preserve the Winston legacy.

He dusted off a photo album. It contained pictures of his grandfather, from his World War II days to his funeral. That should be enough to keep the visitor entertained. The medal show can wait for later.

So Connor returned with the album in hand. He opened it to a family picture where his grandfather was of roughly the same age as the stranger. "Here, Mister Thyme."

"Thank you," said Mezil. "Hmm. What was his name?"

"William Winston."

"I see. If you don't mind, I'm going to document these for my wife."

Mezil took out a folded piece of paper and handed it towards Connor. "In the meantime, please read this. Both of you. I'm open to questions once you're done."

So strict. Connor was reminded of a stern teacher. Never liked dealing with those. "Oh. Um. Okay…"

Connor and his wife huddled together to read the contents. The very first sentence already stabbed through his heart.

Start finding a new job. You won't be employed as museum curators forever. Four years is what I will give. Nine would be your maximum.

Stay away from anything related to the teaching profession. You're not cut out for that field and it will leave you miserable.

Expect one more child.

Magdalene, it's fine to be a housewife. Your children will appreciate it.

Connor, prepare a budget. You'll need a plan to weather through unemployment with a wife and three children.

Whatever you do, STAY AWAY FROM ALCOHOL. Fail to heed this, and you will die sooner than you are prepared for. Cirrhosis and renal failure are terrible ways to leave.

By the time they reached the bottom, the couple was struck with speechless dread.

Connor muttered, "I'm going to die before 2070? From liver or kidney disease? Wait, I thought you said you're not going to talk about our 'eventual fates'?"

Maggie freaked out over something else. "We are gonna LOSE our jobs?! And why would I want to be a housewife?"

In which the fancy guest responded: "Answer to question one: yes, you will. Being a museum curator is a niche field. You're also relatively new. When funding dries up, the oldest staff retire first. The next wave then targets the least experienced. Unfortunately, you didn't clear the requirement for retention."

"Answer to question two: is your worth as a person tied to your paycheck? What does your conscience say about leaving your young children in unknown hands?"

The wife keened with irritation at first. After simmering down, she admitted: "Being a housewife bores me out of my mind."

"You sent your daughter to a babysitter?"

"Yes."

In which the stranger said, "You had committed extra expenditures to a stranger who cared more about the money than your daughter. An unwise decision to make. Madam Magdalene, being a housewife doesn't mean that you have to spend all your time on childrearing. You can still maintain your passion."

"…Also, your future self regretted not seeing your children grow. They flew the nest before you were forced to retire as a teacher."

Maggie unconsciously caressed her belly, conflicted over the news. On one hand, she didn't want to believe. On the other hand, she feared for her future.

Connor leaned forward over the table. "Mister Thyme. About. The alcohol. Does it have anything to do with… um… the complications you listed?"

"Yes," so Mezil answered. Frank as ever. "Neither of you were happy being teachers in the public school system. Low pay, long hours, unreasonable demands, and uncooperative children: all these contributed to fatigue. With fatigue comes an unmanaged household, and with it more pressure to drown your sorrows. And drown them you did."

"Why didn't we quit?" Connor asked.

"You couldn't," he replied, "The bills had to be paid somehow. You end up getting trapped in debt. That is why I insist that you start budgeting right now."

Both husband and wife uttered a long, quiet 'errrrrrr'.

The grumpy stranger heard them loud and clear. Narrowing his gaze, he asked: "Do you even know how to budget at all?"

Maggie stammered. "W-we do set aside money for necessities."

"Do you know how much spare money you have every month?"

She couldn't answer. On that very instant, Mezil shot his focus at Connor. "How much does that hand-crank bike cost?"

Connor lowered his head, trying to hide the shame. "A-about… 1k…? I built it over a few months, soooooo…"

Mezil Thyme - the possible vampire - closed the photo album and pushed it aside. He ripped a blank page from his notebook in slow deliberation, seemingly trying his hardest to contain his increasing ire.

"Fortunately for you," he said, "I have experience in accountancy. Bring every bill, statement, and receipt in the house. We shall make a budget right here, right now."

"What about digital records?" asked Connor.

"Start logging into your accounts. Print if you have to. I will not leave until we have a feasible plan."

"But we don't keep every receipt."

"Doesn't matter. I'll work with existing records."

"But-"

"Do it."

Connor whimpered. "Yes, sir."

With the excuse to hunt for scattered records of money, both husband and wife escaped from the table. Not even the weight of Maggie's pregnancy kept her seated.

"I'm sure of it. T-that man is a real vampire!" Said Maggie, keeping her tone hushed. "He requested explicit permission, wears fancy clothing, and is an accountant. Vampires are BORN accountants. Money math is their lifeblood! I-I think we have fresh cloves of garlic in the pantry."

The husband tried to cheer her up. "Hey, that's not too bad. W-what better creature to solve our budget woes? I'm sure we can appease him with a blood sausage later."

Pouting, the wife warned: "Don't come crying to me when he discovers your beloved jalopy."

True terror descended upon Connor's heart.

"Oh no. Not that! Anything but THAT!"

Unfortunately, Mezil Thyme was as meticulous as his fashion. In the midst of his accounting work, he noted a 'mysterious' deficit. Following the trail led him to the garage. There… he discovered the jalopy in question: a rusty 1969 Firebird.

"…Connor Winston," so said the man. "Are you telling me that you spent your remaining migration budget on an ancient piece of junk?"

"T-that's not a piece of junk!" Connor doth protested. "It works! A-and I got it quite cheap for such a rare model-"

"That costs as much as a two-year second hand car in good condition."

"That's why I said it's cheap. It usually costs as much as a brand new car!"

"Have you maintained it?"

"Not yet. I hear this guy Hal is the best mechanic in town. I'm gonna take the car there, I promise!"

The man said: "What if this sorry piece of an untested ride breaks down in the middle of the road? What if the brakes fail? What if something happens in this zany town and you need to flee?"

In Connor's mental imagination, Mezil Thyme had morphed into a tall, angry monstrous shadow with glowing red eyes. Add a thunderclap or two in the background.

"Have you thought this through, Connor Winston?"

Maggie arrived with an invoice in her hand. "Hold it right there, Mister Vampire! I won't stand you bullying my husband like that. Read this first."

Mezil shifted his focus. The terrible image wooshed away, bringing Connor back to reality.

My dear wife, thank you for the distraction!

"A midwife service. You intend to give birth at home?" asked Mezil. "Isn't that dangerous?"

Maggie replied, "In 2019, mothers in American hospitals are twice as likely to die in childbirth compared to the previous generation. The quality of maternal care took a big nosedive! If I really need medical aid, I'd rather go to Ebott Wake's Rita Belle Thurman Memorial."

"Medical services are better there?"

"You bet!" Maggie nodded proudly. "They use healing magic to boot. Proven to help speed recovery."

"Hmm. I understand. I have my own shortlist of trusted medical centres as well. It's not too far, I hope."

"It's close enough for my husband to cycle there if he needs to."

With some skepticism, Mezil said, "…The one with the hand-crank."

"Yes. It's still a valid vehicle."

Connor could feel the cringe radiate in his arms. It's bad enough to race on his own weight, let alone hurry with an additional passenger… or two.

Maybe the vampire is right. …I didn't think this through.

So the long, gruelling budgeting work resumed…

At least the couple wasn't involved in the calculation itself. After they provided all the materials he needed, Mezil let them free to resume their life. Told them that they just needed to sit through the final explanation.

Meanwhile Papyrus had played with Emelline so much, she fell asleep. The skeleton's boundless energy outlasted a toddler. Indeed, he's a legend of his own.

This might be my chance-

Chance denied. The local celebrity was sent away by Mezil Thyme to deliver a letter.

Now he grew curious. Connor asked: "What did you write there?"

Mezil replied: "My wife should have records surrounding the birth of your second child. Considering the similarities with your alternate counterparts, I can use that as a rough prediction of how things might proceed. It's dangerous to take such as absolute canon, though. One may never know where a divergence begins and ends."

"Oh, I see."

The man resumed working at the table for another few hours. He's got tremendous patience for the task at hand. Other than stretches, water, and the occasional bathroom break, Mezil Thyme never left his workspace.

Once the toddler woke up from her nap, it was time to wash her up and watch TV. Connor had learned to tune out the repeating episodes by now.

A delivery man rang the doorbell. This time, his wife Maggie answered.

It's a food shipment of both meat and blood sausages. Just the thought of blood was enough to make his stomach twist.

"So…" said Connor, "That's dinner, huh?"

Maggie pouted. "The blood ones are for our guest. Did you know how lucky we are to get them at all?"

"Thank god. And yes I heard it's not an American fare." Here he thought that she was about to get adventurous. It happened quite often during her craving phase.

"If he rejects it…" she added. "Then we'll have to cover our embarrassment by making a mixed sausage platter."

So, so many bad luck rolls on this day.

Nudging with her shoulder, Maggie insisted: "Go and ask him how he likes his food made."

"Me?!" exclaimed Connor. "Why?"

Hugging her belly, Maggie rocked her hips in a coy manner. "You don't want our son to get too close to a mythical bloodsucking creature, right? Right?"

How could he argue against that? Though he's sure that the guest was not malicious, he understood her reservations.

Breathing a big sigh, Connor relented. "Sure, sure. No problem."

"That's my brave hubby~" Then she pecked a kiss on his cheek.

Well, his day just improved a little. So off he went to talk with the guest.

Wow. He looks pretty tired. But damn, he's so determined.

"Mister Thyme?"

Mezil paused his work to answer Connor. "Yes?"

"The missus is making dinner for you tonight. Are you okay with blood sausages?"

"Hmm." The man mused for a moment. "Yes, I'm fine with them. Thank you for the meal."

"How would you like them prepared?"

"Pan fried, accompanied with a condiment of minced raw garlic and fresh chillies in black malt vinegar."

Connor's mind went blank from the logic error.

A vampire? Asking for raw garlic? And fresh chillies?

And so the young human blurted: "Are you trying to kill yourself?"

Mezil blinked twice, puzzled by the statement. "I'm not asking for a quantity that's going to punish my bowels. Just enough to give me a kick for the last leg of your budget."

"You're fine with salt too, that means."

"Of course."

Ah. I see now. He must be a higher-class vampire, unaffected by puny spices. Indeed. Not even holy water can hurt him.

Connor oh Connor, how did you become family friends with such an epic powerful being?!

It's 11PM. Mezil Thyme had left to return to his temporary residence. Said he'll be back on the 7th to greet the baby.

He didn't give Connor his phone number.

The five-year budget plan ended up becoming a makeshift book. Duct tape bound the loose pieces of paper together. The plans were sorted by year, with explanations on how to maintain that budget.

Emergencies, rewards, alterations and variations… they're all noted down.

Man, talk about thorough. He really knows how to do his job.

Connor began sorting through the leftover paper pile with his stiff arms.

"Connie?" Maggie had finished doing the dishes, it seems. "What are you looking for?"

"Remember how Mezil ripped a page off his notebook?"

"Oh, that's right."

Connor smiled with a hint of nostalgia. While pushing the papers around, he said: "Grandpa used to do that too."

There it lay, half crumpled from all the numbers and text scrunched on it.

"Wow," he commented, "Reminds me of university days."

Maggie squinted at it. "The numbers or the crunched handwriting?"

"Both," answered Connor. "Guess that's why it didn't make the final cut. It's a waste to throw this away though…"

So he taped the draft on the last page of the book. That will serve as a nice reminder of this strange day.

Out of the blue, his wife snapped her fingers and yelled: "AHA! That's it!"

That startled him. "Shh, Emmy is sleeping. But, what's what?"

"What if Mezil Thyme, the vampire, just doesn't remember his past life as William Winston? Dying is one heck of a way to lose your memories!"

Husband and wife both went 'OOOOOOOH!' at the same time.

"That explains everything!"
"I'm so happy that he looked out for us post-memory wipe."
"That means his bond to your family is suuuuper strong."
"Why didn't he use his vampireness to look younger though?"
"Maybe he thinks that we won't take him seriously if he's too young?"

And so, the headcanons about Mezil Thyme continued throughout the night.