Chapter Text
Phil can’t remember when was the last time he ever woke up peacefully, opening his eyes to the sun on his face, to the warmth of the day trickling through the window.
He can’t remember when was the last time he ever carelessly left a window open in general, honestly. Curtains always stay drawn within this house, and Phil’s gotten more accustomed to candlelight more than anything else, with how Tommy seems to have some personal vendetta against the concept of battery-powered shit.
It’s probably morning when Phil begins to stir, turning his head into a pillow, squinting out into the pitch black of the room around him. His internal clock makes some guess at it being near the afternoon, but his internal clock has never been the best, considering the living circumstances. There’s a heavy, cold weight pressing at the side of his hip, tucked underneath the space of his arm. There’s something else draped over his legs, pinning them down in a way that has him mourning for proper blood flow to his feet. He tries to shift away, just a small scoot to the side, and a hand grasps at the skin just underneath his elbow, frigid fingers curling close, holding tight, feeling like ice.
“Oh my fucking god.” Phil swears, twisting his arm up and away in an instant, and then slapping his palm in the vague direction of someone’s face. He gets a grumpy, half-snarled sound for his efforts, and knows he aimed well.
The hand comes reaching back at his arm, and it's still as cold as ice, as cold as a dead man lying within his grave, six feet under. Phil swats it away, refusing to let it near.
“Why is the fire out?” He demands, voice croaky from sleep. He clears his throat for a second, blinking uselessly into the dark. “Who put the fucking fire out?”
“‘s bright .” Techno mutters dejectedly from his side, which lets Phil know that it’s probably Wilbur or Tommy who’s curled over his ankles right now. Wil, more likely, judging by the weight. Tommy’s also not one to usually cuddle.
Techno’s making some half-hearted reach towards Phil again, and Phil bats it away, trying to kick up his legs, ignoring the warning grumbling noise he’s getting in reply.
“Then get the heating blankets, why do you not have the heating blankets?” He asks him, wondering where any of the blankets are, if not on him.
“Noisy.” Techno provides, as his brilliant explanation.
“You’re so full of shit.” Phil instantly replies. He does not care how many times they go on about the noise of electricity, it cannot possibly be that loud. It’s a poor excuse, and they do not get away with it, and Phil is going to bring a priest and make the house into blessed ground so that they’re unable to ever take a single step inside ever again.
That wouldn’t work out, though, the more he thinks about it. Wil and Techno would just mope and whine from the front doorway until Phil eventually steps out. And Tommy wouldn’t let holy ground stop him.
Wilbur hisses from where Phil is prying his legs away, dragging himself up into a sitting position. He fumbles around for his phone, ignoring the sharp glow of Techno’s eyes looking up at him, staring in a way that’s probably meant to be pleading. It’s more off-putting, than anything, to any normal person. It is vaguely endearing to Phil, but that’s not the point right now.
“Where is my phone?” Phil mutters, entirely uncaring to the others’ woes in being torn out from such a nice nap. “Who put the fire out?” He asks right after, because that’s a more pressing topic to him right now.
“Who’s to say it didn’t just burn out on its own?” Wilbur asks, with slow, drawling words, his eyes likely still closed, Phil not able to pick out the red of his gaze from where his voice is coming from. “I mean, you sleep so much…”
“It was you. You put the fire out.” Phil deadpans.
“I plead the fifth.” Wilbur hums.
“Not how that works.” Techno says. Wilbur makes a mocking noise at him, almost sounding as if he’s clicking his tongue.
“Where is my fucking phone ?” Phil moves further away from his spot, hands grabbing around the pillows, his fingers finally landing on the hard surface of his plastic case. He turns on the flashlight and points it out, and gets matching upset noises from both of the vampires in front of them, both Wil and Techno already having gravitated to Phil’s old spot, soaking up the residual warmth left there like two cats trying to catch the warmth of a sunray. Phil huffs, unfortunately fond, and he turns the light off, much to his coven’s relief.
He takes a moment to check the time, and finds mild surprise at the fact it’s near mid-day, the afternoon having well come and gone. No wonder these two came in to snooze alongside him. They always get a bit drowsy once the sun comes up, and with Phil being in the nest-- why wouldn’t they.
Well. No true harm at getting his sleep interrupted. For the most part, he’s well rested, and in no mood to lay back down, so he crawls his way out of the nest instead and ignores the disappointed sound calling out from behind him, a hand making a light swipe at his foot.
Finding the door is muscle memory through the dark, and the hallway, although still dim with only candles, is a welcome waking light to Phil’s tired eyes. He yawns wide as he slips through the door, shutting it quietly behind him, the vampires inside probably having accepted defeat and gone back to their slumber.
Phil moves through the house with his arms wrapped around him, not quite cold, but not really warm enough either. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised, with those two leeching his body warmth in the middle of his sleep. He swears-- every other night, it’s always a habit with them. He can never go one whole week with proper rest. It’s not even the matter of clashing sleep schedules, Phil’s never had an issue with that. Vampires can be rather quiet when need be. But nothing in the world can change the fact they’re dead in the heart, and cold to the touch, and absolutely fucking insufferable in sticking their freezing hands up his sleeves, as if he’s their personal hand-warmer.
One of these days, he’s just going to put a cross on the door and let them stay cold out on the hallway floor. Screw the sanctity of the nest. Phil’s peace is what’s most important here.
The kitchen is brighter than usual. There’s some clinking sound of plates being shifted around, a soft humming floating out, and as Phil goes to investigate, the smell of food becomes known. A smile pulls at his lips as he rubs his palms over his arms, walking slowly and seeing Tommy stirring something over the fire stove.
“Morning.” Phil warmly greets, Tommy being hardly surprised by his appearance, probably having heard his shuffling footsteps the second Phil even left the room.
“Great job.” Tommy spits out in response, red eyes looking almost judgemental in Phil’s direction. “Now they’re going to be all pissy later when they actually get up.”
It takes a half a second for Phil to realize he’s talking about Wil and Techno. He then snorts, hardly sympathetic. “That’s not my problem. They should’ve left the fire burning.” He insists, taking a seat by the counter, resting his arms on the cool marble. A slight shiver runs up his spine, and Tommy makes a knowing glance over his shoulder.
“There’s a blanket in the foyer.”
“I’m fine.” Phil waves the suggestion off, but Tommy’s look still lingers, glancing at Phil a couple more times, as if he’ll freeze solid if he’s not keeping an eye. Phil huffs hard through his nose. Worrywart. “Nice of you to cook.” He says, hoping to distract Tommy well enough so that he won’t end up walking out of the kitchen to retrieve the blanket himself.
It works like a charm, Tommy brightening up at the acknowledgement of his great efforts. He holds up the spoon in his hand and waves it lightly, cracking a sharp-toothed grin. “Eh, I’m getting pretty good at it, huh?” He asks, Phil making an appeasing hum. Tommy turns back to the pan. “Fine dining ‘n shit. I should open up a restaurant.”
“Dooon’t think you’re quite at that level.” Phil says, a slight laugh on the words. In his opinion, Tommy’s definitely improved from the first time he tried making Phil a meal, but the proper use of seasonings tends to be lost on him. Bland food is still food, Phil’s not picky, but he does kinda miss proper controlled flavor.
“Pfft, like the food quality is actually what matters.” Tommy scoffs. “Y’know when I was your age-” He begins, and he’s immediately cut off by Phil making a long, drawn-out, exasperated groan.
He turns and points a frown at Phil’s direction.
Phil frowns back at him, not at all apologetic.
“It’s too fucking early for this.” Phil insists, rubbing his palms over his face for a second, knowing full well that it’s literally five pm. “Coffee?” He requests, holding his hands out as if in surrender, and Tommy wrinkles his nose, as he always does at the mention of caffeine, but he complies, and goes about making a cup.
“Like I was saying ,” Tommy still continues, Phil rolling his eyes and practically face planting into the counter, putting his arms over his head. “I used to work in a bar, way back when- well, it wasn’t technically a bar, but it was the somewhat now-n-days equivalent of it-”
“Mhm.” Phil nods, debating now on if leaving the nest was the wise idea. What’s worse, clingy cold vampires, or Tommy’s unending rambles?
The cold vampires. This is the lesser evil- Phil is not going back to clingy cold vampires.
“We had mead, mostly, in these big ole carved mugs, and we might as well not even had a menu at all, that’s all the people ever fucking got, just mug after mug after mug-” Tommy waves the spoon up and around again, grabbing one of Phil’s favorite mugs from the cabinet. “They’d be drinking till dawn, which worked out in my favor because no one ever questioned as to why I was working the whole night, they needed someone to pour their damn cup-”
“Hm.”
“-and we were always busy every night! Every night! For the
mead
, though, never for the food. No one cared about the fucking food.” Tommy insists, spinning around to give a look towards Phil, and then completely ignoring the fact Phil is trying to meld his skull into the counter. He continues on, stirring at the pan again. “I always got an easy meal off the random drunkards in the street, and it was
fan-ta-stic
, smooth sailing, until someone sent word to the nobles about how bodies kept just
appearing
, apparently, no one could mind their fucking business even back then-”
“I feel like you’ve told this one before.” Phil suddenly says, feeling like he’s heard this specific detail already.
“Have I?” Tommy asks, brows furrowed together. Phil makes an uncommitted noise.
“Probably.” He shrugs, and then he rests his weight onto his elbows, lifting his head up properly. “Also, how can you expect for people to not get concerned over bodies appearing? That’s on you, you were being sloppy-”
“I did say I was your age, did I not? I was still figuring shit out!” Tommy argues, turning off the stove and scooping a hefty portion of cut potatoes onto a plate, sliding it across the counter to Phil’s hands.
“I’m thirty, not ten. I can hide a body.” Phil deadpans, but he knows this is a futile argument. “Did you season these?” He asks, the potatoes themselves looking perfectly crisp, and yet utterly plain.
“They’re potatoes. They don’t need seasoning.”
“Give me the pepper and salt.”
“Uhg.” Tommy sighs a useless breath, and then gives over the pepper and salt shakers with a fork. Phil’s coffee is given too, a minute later, with the perfect amount of sugar and creamer, details that Phil has bullied them all into memorizing.
“Mhm.” Phil takes a sip and picks up his plate and cup, and moves off his seat to head to the front of the house. “I’m eating outside.”
“It’s midday!” Tommy immediately yells after him, and Phil hardly falters in step, just lifting his cup up in response.
“I need sun!”
Tommy makes a random little noise of frustration, for what reason, Phil doesn’t know. He hasn’t seen proper sun in like a day and a half. It’s essential, probably, and he’s already pale enough to be passed off as one of them, he probably should make the effort to be outside for a bit.
He balances his cup on his plate and unlocks the door with minimal difficulty, moving out onto the front steps with a light sigh. The brightness of day nearly hurts to look at, but he adjusts soon enough, and he takes a seat on the steps with his body half in the sun, his coffee placed to the side, his plate in his lap.
Faintly, he can hear birds calling out from the forest surrounding the property. It’s like a constant song, one that only ever goes quiet when danger comes near, or when they go out hunting during the brighter nights. Phil off-handedly wonders if he should ask Techno to try catching a deer for him again. He did kinda like how Tommy cooked it for that week, and he’s craving stew now.
The door creaks a little in being pushed open again, and Phil has little surprise in seeing Tommy join him out on the porch, keeping to the wall with a certain bothered curl to his lip. The indirect sun won’t kill him, Phil knows that much, but it’s certainly not the best experience. He thinks Wilbur once compared it to a bug being squashed by a lamp. A blinding, disorienting, painful thing. Tommy says it’s not nearly that bad, but he’s old enough to where sun weakness is a fading thing on him, so.
Phil pauses in eating his food and leans forward to lift his face up towards the sunlight, soaking in the warmth of it, eyes falling shut. Tommy, in contrast, leans further back against the doorway, eyes squinted so tightly that he almost looks angry with it. Phil takes a second to glance back at him, and when he sees such an expression, he can’t help but snort.
“You can go back inside, mate.” Phil insists, although he’s got a feeling it's a wasted effort. He knows why Tommy’s followed him out.
“No.” Tommy says stubbornly, as expected. He stays squinting, clearly uncomfortable, but refusing to budge, insistent on lingering by Phil’s side.
“At least go get your sunglasses.” Phil suggests.
“I’m staying right here.” Tommy says firmly, and Phil nods in a settled agreement, taking a mouthful of potato again while listening to the birds. Tommy’s presence is a quiet thing behind him, but Phil can’t quite act like he’s not there. While Phil may be watching the forest, Tommy is watching him, and his gaze has always been a heavy one, when it gets focused like this. It’s like a constant weight over Phil’s shoulder, pressing to the side of his head, although, he supposes it’s more comforting than anything. Tommy isn’t here to hover for no reason. It just must be one of those days.
“Is the food alright?” Tommy asks after a few minutes, perfectly casual, as if he’s not fretting over if he’s accidentally given Phil food poisoning again.
“It’s good, Tommy.” Phil reassures. It’s no five-star dining, but with enough time, Tommy might actually get the hang of that. He’s always one for the more tedious sort of hobbies.
Tommy hums in something satisfied at Phil’s answer. He stays standing, keeping watch.
“Are Wil and Techno sleeping well?” Phil can’t help but ask, after a short while into the silence.
“They’re cold.” Tommy replies, sounding a little amused. Phil sputters out a scoff.
“We have a fucking heating blanket, I bought that blanket for a reason-”
“Wilbur hates the blanket. He says it smells weird.”
“Fucking hell.” Phil takes a few more large mouthfuls, finishes his plate, puts it to the side. He picks his coffee up, the drink having gone lukewarm by now, but it’s still good enough for him. “I’m not going back unless they start the fire back up.”
Tommy chuckles a little. He stays silent, and Phil can only imagine what thoughts they’re giving back and forth, in those skulls of theirs. Probably something like the fireplace is there for a fucking reason, maybe use it. They should be thinking that, because the fireplace is there for a reason. He’s half sure they originally had it for purely aesthetic purposes, but he needs it for staying-warm purposes.
Phil takes a long drink from his cup and then breathes in the air, leaning back on the steps, closing his eyes. He feels the warmth of the sunlight over his legs, the slight breeze on his face. He hears the creak of a small step coming closer behind him.
He opens his eyes to Tommy staring down at him.
“Are you done eating?” He asks, making an odd blink that Phil’s sure is done on purpose, so as to not look weird in staring. It’s kinda a missed effort. Vampires are always a little odd in their stares.
Phil’s lip twitches him into a smile. He should argue to stay out longer. He should probably let himself have a bit more sun. But he can tell by Tommy’s stare that today is a day for the coven to stay within the nest, and he’s not all opposed to it.
“Is the fire started up?” Phil asks.
“Mhm.”
“Alright.”
He gets up, taking his coffee and plate.
Tommy follows silently behind, clicking the door shut, and turning the lock.
---
For as much lenience Phil is given with access to the internet and all, his phone perfectly capable of taking a call and sending a message, he hardly ever gets a chance to do so.
Mostly because he never has a reason to do so. Any communication that ever comes to the coven comes in the form of paper written letters, literally delivered by bird, as if they’re still living in the medieval century or something. Tommy has his million reasons behind it, he’s gone on his rants, Phil’s heard it a hundred times, but still. He feels like this could be so much more efficient.
His light complaints won’t change an immortal’s habits, though, and the letters still come through ever so occasionally, left at the mailbox by the doorstep, picked up by their hands whenever they manage to notice it.
“Letter for us!” Wilbur sings out one late night, coming from the front door to join them in the living room.
Phil’s on the couch sketching doodles into one of his journals, Tommy across from him reading some old Latin book aloud to Techno, who stands up and meets Wilbur halfway at the announcement of a letter. Wil hands it into his open palm with no complaint, glad to satisfy his brother’s curiosity.
“I don’t recognize the seal.” Wil tells him, clinging to his arm as Techno makes his way towards the couch with the letter. “Do you?”
“S’not any other coven nearby… maybe an older acquaintance?” Techno guesses, frowning down at the letter, before then passing the paper into Tommy’s waiting hand.
“Goddamnit.” Tommy swears, the second he properly sees it. “I hate these fucking things.” He tears the letter open, uncaring of decorum, both Techno and Wilbur leaning over his shoulder. Phil puts down his pencil and journal into his lap, also intrigued.
“Oh, didn’t we just go out to a meeting?” Wilbur says, seeming to recognize the message quickly, lips twisting up into a frown as he stands straighter.
“That was half a century ago.” Techno points out.
“Practically yesterday.” Tommy mutters.
“We didn’t even have Phil yet.” Techno reminds.
“Huh.” Tommy looks up from the letter in thought. Wilbur leans back in to read closer over the words, and Phil sits up in his spot on the couch.
“What is it?” He asks, raising his brows in question, Tommy lowering the letter a little to turn his attention to him.
“Summonings.” Tommy says, a bit dryly. “Basically an ‘are you still alive’ party.”
“Should we…consider going?” Phil asks, slight worry pressing down on him at the idea of suddenly meeting a bunch of new vampires so soon. He’s gotten plenty used to his own, yes, that’s true, but he can’t say he’s eager to go meet the rest of them.
“No, it's not mandatory, but it's customary to at least give introductions for new fledglings.” Tommy explains, shrugging up a shoulder with a considerate look.
“Phil doesn’t count, though. He’s mortal.” Techno says, something defensive in his tone, some clear refusal in letting anyone meet Phil yet.
“Ha. Mortal.” Wilbur teases light-heartedly, unable to pass up the opportunity.
“Don't start shit.” Tommy warns.
“Oldass.” Phil immediately spits out, flipping off Wilbur from across the couch.
“Imagine being 30. Not even a century old.”
“Imagine being as old as fucking dust.”
“Baby. Literal baby-”
“You are a fucking fossil -”
“I literally just said don’t start shit.” Tommy cuts in, Wil holding back a laugh, Phil grinning with his hands held up.
“He started it, don’t look at me.”
“He always starts it.” Techno says, making a roll of his eyes.
“I do not.” Wil says petulantly, taking offense at the action. He jabs a finger into Techno’s shoulder. “Take that back.”
“Point made. Point effortlessly made-” Techno says, waving his hands to Wilbur’s entire existence.
“I’m killing him- Tommy, I’m killing him.” Wilbur says, gripping onto Techno’s arm with more than just a kind hold, claws digging in, and Phil watches as Techno immediately yanks at the front of Wil’s bangs as petty revenge.
“No. Stop. Wait.” Tommy says half-heartedly, not even glancing behind him as the two of them start a scuffle, snarling and trying to go for each other’s throats. They hit the floor with an audible thump. “Anyway.”
“Can I see?” Phil asks, holding his hand out so that he can see the paper for himself. Tommy gives it over, and Phil is immediately met with such fancy ass cursive lettering that it almost hurts to try and read. “Hm. Every day I judge you people for something.”
“Just because you can’t read proper penmanship-” Tommy starts.
“God, this could’ve been an text.” Phil interrupts, muttering the words. He looks up at Tommy, not giving note to how Wil is now screaming curses in Techno’s direction. “Are we going, though?”
“Hmm.” Tommy makes a face. Tilts his head back. “ Hmmmmmmm .”
“Is…Is that a yes, or-?”
“I do not want to.” Tommy grumbles, arms crossed tight over his chest. “But we probably should.”
“We should?”
“It would do well for the covens to actually meet you. I know Tubbo’s been insistent about it, his letters are getting creatively intense lately.” Tommy hums, scratching lightly over the edge of his chin. Something gets knocked over in the back, Techno laughing maniacally. “But then again, it’s a bit early for you to actually go to these things…”
“I mean, I’m up for it.” Phil shrugs. “If you’re willing to take me, I’ll go.”
“As if we’d leave you behind to be alone in the house.” Tommy scoffs.
“I’m not going to die from being left alone for a day, mate.”
“Oh, it’s a week long thing.”
Phil blinks in surprise. “A week?”
“That’s not taking into account the travel, though.” Tommy hums again. “I’d favor using train for the most of it, and then I guess we could settle for a car throughout what’s left- Technoblade, stop that.”
Wilbur lands back on the ground with a thump and a yelling frustration. “You fucking cheater-” He hisses, and then he’s right back on his feet, throwing himself over to Tommy and Phil’s direction. “I’m bleeding! I’m wounded!” He cries, showing his bleeding arm over the edge of the couch, the injury already sealing itself back up.
“Walk it off or die.” Tommy deadpans, but Wilbur’s still dragging himself over to Phil, seeking comfort and condolence. Techno follows behind him with utter pride, smug joy rolling off him.
“I’m dying.” Wilbur weeps, reaching out to Phil with grabby hands. “Our lady comes for me at least, my soul put to rest for eternity.”
“Woe is you.” Phil says, and he lets Wilbur rest his head into the crook of his neck, even if he’s a touch frigid. Wilbur pretends to give a terrible sob, and Phil laughs. “Oh my god. You’re fine .”
“So, are we going? To the meeting?” Techno asks, rubbing off the lingering blood by his lip.
“Yes. We are.” Tommy nods. “Fetch paper for me, would you? Gotta write a response.”
Techno makes a slight face, but nods, heading out of the room to do so. Phil looks back to the letter in hand, staring over the curved signature at the bottom. An introduction to vampire society at last, he thinks.
Joy.