For the past four weeks, Phil had been living in his own personal hell.

A nightmare that some part of him believed was of his own making. He should have stopped the boys from going out. He should have left the town when things started going bad. He should have never allowed Wilbur or Techno anywhere near danger.

He was their father. It was Phil's job to protect them.

And at that, he had failed.

They were gone. They were - no, Phil would refuse to believe that they were dead. Early in the morning, horrified screams had awoken him. Phil shot out of bed and barely had the time to register that Techno and Wilbur weren't in their room. They had left a note on the table, Wilbur's familiar chicken scratch telling Phil that they'd gone off with Tommy for the day again. Fear had already seized his heart as if some subconscious thread of Phil's brain figured this would be how it happened. Had been waiting for it, almost.

(Why hadn't he left? People were getting sick and dying, Phil had no attachment to this town. They were travelers and never stayed anywhere long. Why in his right fucking mind hadn't he packed up his shit and took his sons out of this hellhole at the first sign of trouble?

Phil wished he knew.

Phil wished he didn't feel the heavy gaze of red eyes in his dreams, nailing him to the ground. Like a weight that held him down and refused him the opportunity to move.)

The scene outside at the town square was one Phil could not have described in a million years. It was worse than so many horror novels he had read. And some stray thought went out to Tommy, how Phil would like to spare somebody so young this horrific image that would surely burn itself into Phil's retina forever. One man was standing leaning against the nearest building, retching onto their own shoes. Phil had never smelled an air so heavily tinged with the scents of iron and bodily fluids.

It was impossible to know how big the crowd was that had died.

Flesh and gore had been spread so thinly, bones crushed to gravel, that piecing together the resulting smear into anything resembling human shapes was not a realistic endeavor. They couldn't know how many victims there were, let alone give names to them.

So anybody who had gone missing around the time this happened was potentially-

Phil was still searching. Four weeks had passed and Phil refused to give up. The town had banished him and more than once, he had come closer than he would have liked to ending up on the gallows. They believed his sons were gone because they were the murderers, fleeing repercussions for their crimes. Some stories said Tommy was an accomplice, others swore that Tommy was yet another stain that would never clear fully from the cobblestone. Either thought would make Phil sick to his very core.

He knew his boys didn't do that.

Yet he also did not accept the idea that they had died.

They just, they couldn't have. They couldn't.

Wilbur was clever and charismatic and would smile at Phil early in the morning as if the sun itself had given him that warmth. Techno was brave and funny and would throw himself on a sword to keep his family safe. They were Phil's entire world, his everything.

They couldn't be gone.

So Phil searched, day and night. He had combed through the woods around the village over and over again. With a cloak to conceal him, he went into town. Every flash of curly brown hair made Phil's heart soar. A shade of pink could bring him to despair. He was met with the crushing weight of disappointment every time.

But his sons had not inherited their stubbornness from a stranger.

Through relentless searching, he had even found the place that Wilbur had mentioned, the secret spot Tommy would take them near the river. Phil had no proof it was the right place, but it made sense. It was tucked away, out of sight from the villagers who Tommy never quite seemed to fit in with. The ground was flattened in a way Phil knew would be caused by sword practice. One of Wilbur's guitar strings was left discarded under a tree. He must have replaced it when it broke while playing.

They were there. They spend time there. Maybe they would come back?

Phil checked twice daily - in the morning and in the evening - then he spent the rest of his time lingering on the outskirts of the town. Two weeks ago, he'd gone into the nearby capital and some other villages within walking distance. He checked their medical halls for injured people who had been brought in without anything to identify them by. It was a slim chance, especially as he hoped the three of them would have managed to stick together somehow. But Phil was approaching a point where finding even one of them alive would have him on his knees thanking the gods.

He refused to move on from the village.

If they weren't around now, they would be soon. They'd come back. Phil had to believe that as long as his sons had a heartbeat, they would return to him. And if he left, how would they be able to find him again?

(There was a memory on the edges of Phil's perception lately, so long ago he'd almost forgotten it ever happened. When the boys were a lot younger and the city they visited was a lot bigger. Phil had warned them that if they got lost, he would wait for them at the last spot they had seen each other.

And sure enough, two little kids easily got swept up in the crowd on that packed market square. Phil did panic, more than he would admit to in hindsight. As promised, he went back to the last stand he was at with Wilbur's hand still firmly in his.

He only needed to wait ten minutes and there they were. Wilbur clutched his side so hard it took Phil's breath away and Techno was resolutely trying not to have Phil see how his bottom lip was trembling.

Phil embraced them both.)

The rain was a constant, in the past few days. Autumn was coming on. Phil adjusted the tarp on his little shelter, built between the meager cover of two trees. Restarting his campfire would be a pain, so he ignored the smoldered-out heap of ash and charcoal from the night before. He had no food either. It didn't matter.

Phil doubted he could feel the gnawing emptiness of hunger over the much more powerful void left in his ribcage by his grief.

Tomorrow, he should go check the farmlands again. The people who lived there were less hostile to him, less susceptible to the paranoia of the townspeople. Maybe they had heard anything, seen anything? Maybe they had heard news from further along the countryside.

"Phil?"

Oh, he was straight up losing his mind now, was he? Phil didn't know if he should be surprised. He couldn't stop the stupid disbelieving chuckle from bubbling up his throat.

Except then the noise came again, closer. Less tentative. "Phil!"

Tommy was looking at Phil as if he was the one seeing a ghost.

And if he started to cry on the spot, that would probably still be less embarrassing than the clumsy way in which his feet stumbled as he got up and tried to cross the suddenly unbearable distance between them.

"Tommy?" The name fell awkwardly from Phil's lips numb with cold. "Fuck, you're alive. You're-"

Phil did sink onto his knees then, only because his legs gave out. Maybe he had forgone food for a little longer than was wise. In his defense, he had other things on his mind. Tommy reached out to hold his shoulders. The touch could burn him.

"Oh, Phil, what happened to you?"

There was a hand on his cheek, Tommy scowling at the stubble. Phil hadn't paid any mind to stuff like shaving or using a washbasin regularly. His hair hung loose and dirty around his face.

Phil didn't care. How could he care? His boys were gone. And now-

He was drawing Tommy in for a hug before he could help himself.

"I'm so fucking glad to see you," Phil said. His nails dug into the back of Tommy's shirt, that unruly blond hair. "You have no fucking idea."

Tommy was grinning into the side of his throat, voice higher when he answered. "No, I do know. I do."

Phil pulled back enough to look into his eyes. "Tommy, what happened? Do you know where Wilbur and Techno are? I can't-" He hadn't noticed his breathing picking up into hysterics until Tommy shook him a little.

"Phil, calm down. They're fine. They're the reason I couldn't come earlier, they needed somebody to take care of them."

Confused, Phil could only hold on to Tommy tighter. He felt like he was still half-asleep. "What- Did they get hurt? What happened?"

"They're fine, they're fine," Tommy said quickly. "Come on, I'll bring you to them."

Phil didn't know if he could walk. It was as if worry and adrenaline had fueled him for weeks and the simple assurance that his sons were alive had drained that from him completely. But he wanted to - needed to - see them. He was relieved beyond words that Tommy was okay, of course he was.

They were his boys, though. His children.

"Have you been sleeping in that fucking thing?" Tommy asked. He was looking at Phil's little tarp shelter.

"I couldn't stay in the inn," Phil said distractedly. "The villagers… they weren't keen on having me around anymore." Tommy was bearing most of his weight, leading him forward. Phil wasn't sure where they were going.

"Assholes," Tommy muttered. "I'll deal with them later."

"Tommy, where have you been?" Phil asked again. "It's been a fucking month."

"I know," Tommy said. "I'm sorry." His hand squeezed Phil's own. There was a building that loomed above them, one of the larger townhouses on the edge of the village. Phil might have been there once or twice while searching. He was this close to finding his sons?

Tommy opened the door with a key. The fleeting thought that Phil had no idea up until then where Tommy lived in the village was wiped away as quickly as it could pop up.

The room he was led into was dark.

Phil's eyes didn't adjust right away, and when they did, he could only make out the strange decor. The windows were latched and had heavy curtains drawn to keep the slightest sliver of sunlight out. All furniture was shoved against the walls aside from the bed in the middle, or more like several beds pushed together to make one larger surface covered in blankets and pillows. There were two lumps on it, though Phil couldn't make out what they were.

Behind him, the door creaked as it was closed again. And Tommy turned the key in the lock.

"Tommy?" Phil's voice wavered.

"What are you waiting for?" Tommy asked, sounding close to manic. Phil's lightheadedness seemed to have rubbed off on him somehow. As if Tommy was the one experiencing an incredible kick out of what was happening. He grabbed Phil's wrist to drag him forward. "Look, they're right here. I told you I took good care of them."

As he was forced closer to the bed, Phil's heart filled with dread at a horrible realization.

"Techno still sleeps a lot. I think he actually died from the stab wound before the poison could set in so it's taking longer for his body to adjust than I thought it would?" Tommy pulled the blanket back a tad. "Wil is doing great though. Like, really fucking impressive."

Phil looked at his sons and thought they were dead.

He had never seen them this pale, this fragile. Curled up and motionless, not breathing. They weren't breathing. Phil wanted to scream.

Then Wilbur's eyes opened, unrecognizable with their bright red hue. They looked up at Phil and were filled with such wonder it broke his heart.

What the fuck.

"Dad?" Wilbur asked. There was something there, between the confusion and happiness. A lingering trace of horror.

Tommy chased it away by putting his hand on Wilbur's head. Wilbur leaned into that touch eagerly.

"So turns out you can't really leave them alone for the first month. Like, they physically were in pain if I tried to go and fetch you." Tommy sat on the bed beside Wilbur. He used his other hand to gently weave his fingers through the sleeping Techno's hair.

Phil shook his head, refusing to comprehend what was happening. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Fledgelings, Phil," Tommy said - exasperated he wasn't quicker on the uptake. "They're pretty dependant on their sire. They also only drink my blood for the time being."

"You're a vampire," Phil said numbly.

"Took you long enough to figure that one out."

A lot of things made sense yet at the same time nothing did. Phil had never before felt like such a fucking idiot. There were too many thoughts, too many feelings that coursed through him.

So it was easy to pull from the one emotion that stood out among the others. Anger. A lot of it.

"You turned my sons?!"

"Duh!" Tommy rolled his eyes. "Wonderful, right? They're both kind of docile for now, the poison messed with their brains. But that'll wear off and they'll go back to being who they were. Just… better."

Phil balled his hands into fists when Tommy grinned at him.

"And mine," Tommy added.

"They're not-" Phil stopped, biting his tongue. "You killed them!"

"I saved their lives," Tommy shot back. "Techno's, at least. He would have died if it weren't for me. And I couldn't let poor Wilbur lose his precious brother." Tommy tilted his head, red eyes blazing with fondness. "You saw the square, yeah? I did that for them too." Phil recognized no trace of the boy he once knew in Tommy's face. "I did all of it for you three."

"That's insane?!"

"What's insane is the way you were living," Tommy said. "Just wandering from town to town, nowhere to belong. Nobody who knew that you deserved so much better." He turned to Wilbur then. "But I knew."

And to Phil's palpable disgust, Wilbur just smiled and nodded. His eyes were so vacant it scared Phil.

Tommy did say that was temporary, a side effect of the turning process. But who was to say that wasn't a lie?

Who was to say Tommy wasn't going to keep his sons in his grasp forever?

"You're scared of losing them, aren't you?" Tommy asked. Phil didn't want to think he could read minds too, perhaps his face told Tommy all he needed to know.

When the vampire got up, Phil couldn't even flinch back.

"Don't be. You won't lose them if you don't want to. Because you can just become mine too."

Phil couldn't move, he couldn't run. He watched as Wilbur lay down again in Tommy's absence, not sparing his father a second glance. Vaguely, Phil noticed Wilbur was humming a song for Techno the way they used to do when they were kids.

"Age is a terrible thing, Phil. I've watched it take too many things." Tommy was right in front of him. Phil pulled his eyes away from his sons and watched the boy - the monster - who waited for an answer. "Don't let it take you from them."

Once, Phil had failed to protect his sons.

He would not do so a second time.

"Fine."

The house was bigger than their last one, the backyard had ample space for Phil to garden. There were also four rooms, one for each of them. And an extra study that Techno could convert into a library if he wanted to.

Phil loathed to admit it, but Tommy had chosen well.

"I'm sure you'll grow to love it here." That had been their sire's exact words. It might be his favorite turn of phrase in general.

Tommy thought that with time, everything could grow into love.

Phil wished he could deny the truth in that.

The bond between a fledgling and a sire, when forged willingly, made it impossible to foster hate. A century or two ago, Phil had wanted to hate Tommy and found he couldn't. His stupid, projecting fledgling brain wouldn't allow it. He was angry at Tommy and he was angry at himself. He was consumed by a lot of other things - grief, helplessness, guilt.

But never hate.

And a grudge was hard to hold onto for longer than most human lifespans if it wasn't allowed to be felt.

Phil had watched Wilbur give in, maybe too easy. He had watched Techno be worn down by it and learn to forgive. Both of them had grown to love Tommy.

One day soon it would be his turn.

One day Phil knew he would wake up and not only find himself unable to hate Tommy, but also find himself not wanting to anymore.

When that day came, he could wonder if it had been worth it.

The doorbell made a terrible buzzing noise since it wasn't properly installed yet. Phil winced. They really should get that fixed, considering their hearing was more sensitive than most. He walked to the door, opening it just a crack. Past experiences hadn't made Phil very fond of strangers. There was a reason they moved so much.

He looked at the two boys on their doorstep. One was taller and lanky, wearing a mask that covered the lower half of his face. Whether for health reasons or because of some new fashion trend of the 21st century that Phil had completely missed, who the fuck could say. The other kid was shorter and had messy, brown hair. He smiled broadly.

"Oh, hey!" The smaller of the two boys elbowed his friend. "I told you somebody moved in!" He looked at Phil. "Ranboo said he didn't see anybody move in, but I saw the truck yesterday."

"I didn't tell you to ring the doorbell to prove it," the one named Ranboo said nervously. Then, a little louder so Phil could hear. "I really didn't ask him to."

Phil laughed. "That's fine, mate. We're new to town, yeah."

"Who is at the door?" Tommy squeezed through the tiny gap between the wall and Phil's elbow, somehow. "Hello?"

"Uh, this is my son, Tommy," Phil said quickly. The cover story was one they maintained in every place they traveled to.

He vehemently disliked how it made Tommy's grin stretch impossibly wider.

The slight edge of something else that lay beneath it was what Phil would deny a little longer. When Tommy was done he closed the door and looked at Phil with that burning in his eyes again.

"They seem pretty cool," Tommy said. Phil knew where this was going.

"Tommy…"

"I'm just saying, it's been just us four for a long while." At Phil's disapproving stare, he shrugged. "We'll see what happens, it might grow into something."

His expression told Phil the seed had already been planted.