Chapter Text
Hacking away at the sternum of a dead corpse on Tubbo’s kitchen floor is not how Tommy imagined spending breakfast. Worse yet, Tubbo hadn’t even done him the courtesy of fully draining the body. No, bitch boy is currently sitting on top of the kitchen counter, drinking the unfortunate bastard’s blood from Tommy’s favorite travel mug.
Uncurling from his kneeled position above the body—after another unsuccessful stab—Tommy looks up at Tubbo and graces him with his opinion on this whole affair.
“Fuck you.”
It doesn’t quite have the right level of irritation, more an exhausted sigh than anything else. Attempting to break a bone by repeatedly stabbing it with a flimsy knife will drain you of the will to live faster than any vampire.
Tubbo doesn’t respond. Instead, he looks Tommy dead in the eyes and takes a pointed slurp of blood from Tommy’s mug.
The noise echoes throughout the kitchen, whispering of lies, deception, and ruses.
It’s the sound of betrayal.
Tommy’s wounded. His heart falters, not because he’s half-dead, but because of this most heinous of crimes Tubbo’s committed against him.
“Tubbo, remind me again why I’m here?” he grunts after yet another unsuccessful stab.
Bitch boy startles. Good.
Tommy might only have a puny pocket knife, but he’s not afraid to stab a bitch.
But when Tubbo looks over at Tommy—covered in blood splatter, gore, and a knife in hand—the fledgling vampire has no fear.
He levels him with deadpan expression before exasperatedly exclaiming, “You know why you’re here! You owe Papá for saving you after the cow you resurrected smashed through the city, or don’t you remember?”
Tommy gasps in shock and outrage.
Bringing up the cow is a low blow. Moreover, it’s a distraction! Meant to throw Tommy off the scent, but he will not be deterred.
“Tubbo,” he tries again, flourishing his knife to intimidate the fledgling, “What am I doing here?”
Up on the counter, Tubbo looks unrepentant, unimpressed, and unfazed by his threats. He gives Tommy a light smile and says, “Well, y’know, there’s the whole undead cow thing, and your debt to Papá.” He shrugs, taking yet another sip of blood from Tommy’s mug.
The audacity.
Tommy is speechless for a moment.
His debt to Big Q may be why he’s doing this awful, literal dead-end job; but it doesn’t explain why he’s doing it at ten in the fucking morning when most preternaturals should be asleep.
No, this situation had come about from the treachery and duplicity of one of his dearest and bestest friends.
He splutters, trying to find the words necessary to convey the sheer depth of the betrayal he’s suffered.
“No, no, no, no!” he exclaims, desperate to set the record straight. “Tubbo. Tubbso. Tubs,” he pleads. “Breakfast, remember? You called me offering breakfast. Food! Nourishment! The sustenance of life! And instead, you gave me a dead body.”
Tubbo quirks a brow, continuing to sip away.
Tommy gapes. He wants—no, he needs— to hear Tubbo admit his crimes, to acknowledge the suffering he’s inflicted on him.
He shakes his head, shaming the fledgling. “Messing with a man’s food, Tubbo? You’re a right wrong’un for that.”
“Well,” Tubbo says, slightly (finally!) abashed. “My intentions were to offer breakfast, at first! But then Papá came and asked me about the favor, and well, y’know how he is. And he asked so nicely— Honestly, I didn’t know about the body until right before you got here, otherwise I’d have warned you!”
Tommy keeps a straight face throughout Tubbo’s rambling, entirely unforgiving of his treachery and betrayal, so the fledgling continues his placations with a renewed intensity.
“To be fair, I do actually have breakfast for you!”
There’s a brief pause.
“The fuck?!” Tommy bursts, throwing out his arms. “You’ve had breakfast this entire time and you’re just telling me now?! Tubbo! I’m starving. I’m withering away. I can see the light! You were just gonna use me as slave labor and then leave me to die?! ”
Unfortunately, he runs out of air before he can spout more bullshit, so instead he grasps his chest, just over his heart, showing Tubbo his pain.
Once he catches his breath, he solemnly proclaims, “This is the worst betrayal anyone has suffered in the history of ever.”
Tubbo rolls his eyes. “That was an abysmal attempt at getting me to feel sorry for you,” he says, taking another sip of blood. “First off, you owe Papá a favor, so it’s not slave labor, it’s more— indentured servitude! Secondly, the only reason you can see white light is because you were looking out the window. And lastly, this isn’t a betrayal! You. Owe. Big. Q. You’ve been doing jobs for him for weeks! You knew the risks when you came over.”
The fledgling crosses his arms and stares him down, completely unsympathetic to his plight.
Tommy sighs, long and drawn out, wordlessly reiterating his trials and tribulations.
“Yeah. Fine. Okay. Yes, Big Q and the favor, I get it. But we should’ve had breakfast before I started this— Well, whatever is going on with this guy.”
He pauses to give Tubbo his best kicked puppy look. “I’m hungry, Tubbo. I need fooood!” He whines for good measure.
“Well, Boss Man, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’ve been enjoying breakfast for quite some time.” Tubbo has an impish smile that he hides behind Tommy’s mug as he speaks.
Tommy’s jaw drops. Tubbo might as well be the one holding the knife ‘cause he’s really twisting it into his heart.
“Y’know, I had noticed that, Big T,” he says sarcastically. “I also noticed that you're a dirty, rotten thief. That’s my goddamn travel mug! Depriving a man of food, and then stealing his stuff? You say this isn’t betrayal, huh? But look at what you’ve done to me, Tubbo! How will I ever recover from this trauma?!”
Tubbo’s got him ranting again.
Damn him.
“Would two travel mugs of sire blood be enough to aid you in your recovery?” Tubbo asks with that same impish smile.
Tommy does a double-take.
“Two fucking travel mugs of sire blood?! What the fuck? Tubbo, how the hell did you get that much? What did you do? Bleed Schlatt dry?”
He’s in shock. Two travel mugs? That’s, like, two and half pints of blood. Sire blood. He’ll be feasting like a king for weeks!
“Wait, wait, wait, wait!” he yells, throwing out his hands. “It isn’t all Schlatt’s blood, right? Your horns are poggers, but I don’t want them growing out of my head.”
Tubbo raises a brow at him. “It’s not all Dad’s blood, and I definitely didn’t bleed him dry. It’s your weird mix of sire blood. And as for how I got it…” Tubbo looks away from him, wringing his hands.
After a moment, he glances at Tommy nervously before setting down the stolen travel mug and fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt. “Well, y’know how vampires are always asking Dad for favors, right?”
Tommy nods slowly. Schlatt—or the Mad Goat, as he’s known to the rest of the city—is the head of one of the most powerful covens in L’Manberg and a member of the Dark Council. Vampires are always seeking him out for favors, but most of them are sketchy as hell. Tommy shuts his eyes for a second. He does not like where Tubbo’s going with this.
The fledgling nervously swings his legs from his spot on the counter before continuing.
“So, after he deals with them, I just add on another condition, y’know? I mean, what are they gonna do? Tell me no? Tell Dad? I just give them the facts,” he says, hitting his palm with the side of his hand. “If they want a deal with my Dad, then one of the conditions is a little bit of blood. It’s a great way to seal the deal! And if they don’t want to— then there’s no deal! And if they tell Dad— Well, I can cry pretty good on command now! Papá’s been teaching me! They all know what’ll happen if Dad sees me upset, y’know?”
Tubbo rushes through his explanation so fast that it takes Tommy a moment to process the words.
He repeats the main points, making sure he’s understood correctly. “You’re— you’re blackmailing Schlatt’s business clients? You’re threatening to wreck their deals? You’re threatening to tell Schlatt they upset you, just so you can get sire blood?”
Tubbo gives a very small nod in assent, and Tommy’s eyes widen in horror.
“Tubbo, what the fuck?!” he yells, alarmed. “That’s blackmail! You’re blackmailing vampires for sire blood?!”
Tubbo goes from sheepish to miffed.
“I don’t like the word blackmail,” he says imperiously. “I prefer extortion. And I’m not wrecking Dad’s deals, I’m— I’m hijacking them! Dad and Papá are always telling me to seize opportunities, exploit weaknesses, and that’s exactly what I’m doing! And if I may, I’m doing this for your benefit.”
“Tubbo, I’m more concerned with the fact that you’re blackmai— sorry, extorting vampires on my behalf. Schlatt doesn’t deal with the nicest vampires.” Gentling his tone, he says, “I don’t want you getting mixed up with those assholes for me, Big T. I can get sire blood just fine on my own.”
Tommy knows he’s damn lucky to have Tubbo as a friend, but he’d never want the fledgling taking such risks for him.
Tubbo sets aside the travel mug and crosses his arms. “How are you going to get sire blood? By illegally using your necromancy again? Trust me, Boss Man, there are more risks associated with that than there are with my extortion.” He juts his chin at the door, “If something goes wrong, I’ve got Dad and Papá to protect me. You don’t have that. If I can help you by acquiring sire blood for you, then I will. Besides—” he says, taking another sip of blood, “—it’s good practice for my negotiation skills! It’ll help me become a better businessman and politician!”
Tommy stares at the fledgling with raised brows. “It doesn’t sound like there’s much actual negotiating happening, Big T. It sounds more like you’re just demanding blood from these guys. I’m not sure that’s the foundation of good business or politics.”
Tubbo shrugs. “Well, maybe you’re right about the negotiations, but entitled demands dressed up in fancy words is the language of business and politics, so I figure I’m doing pretty good!”
Tommy snorts.
“You’d know more about it than me, Big T. But, uh, let’s think for a moment about what happens if Schlatt and Big Q find out about this—”
He pauses as Tubbo winces.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “Honestly, Tubbo, it won’t matter how much they approve of your ‘negotiation’ practice, they’ll tear us to pieces. Well, probably not you, but that’ll definitely be it for me. Big Man Tommy Innit KO’d by the world’s most overprotective sire, not pog.”
His tone is light and joking, but the words are absolutely true. While Quackity and Schlatt both adore their son, the Mad Goat is the definition of an overprotective helicopter parent.
And Tommy is—for many reasons beyond resurrecting mad cows—not the kind of person Schlatt or Q would usually allow around Tubbo, but when faced with their fledgling’s big doe eyes, they both melt into sappy puddles of goo. Plus, they owe him, for— well, stuff. So, his presence around the mansion is begrudgingly tolerated.
But if they ever think he’s put Tubbo in real danger, he knows no one would ever find his body.
An obnoxiously loud slurp snaps his attention back to Tubbo.
“Y’know horns aren’t the only thing I get from Dad, right? I’m blessed with good luck too! The vampires I negotiate with aren’t a threat because they don’t even have enough power to challenge me, a fledgling.” He flicks his wrist dismissively, “It’s not like the blood, or the amount I’m asking for is weird. Vampires exchange blood to seal deals all the time, you know that.”
Tubbo does have a point. A little blood between vampires, especially regarding contracts, is nothing. Hell, he’s even done it before, but he can’t help feeling protective of Tubbo; the fledgling is one of his best—and only—friends.
Tommy sighs, deciding to table the conversation for now. Tubbo’s jaw is set with stubbornness, and while he may not like what he’s doing, the fledgling isn’t going back down.
“So, you have sire blood for me? Where? I’m still starving over here, Big T! How am I ever going to finish—” He motions at the horror show on the floor, “—whatever this is on an empty stomach?”
“It’s in the fridge!” Tubbo chirps, before biting his lip. “But I thought you could take it home? Save it for later?”
Tommy groans in displeasure. Breakfast, he wants—no he needs—some.
Tubbo’s expression shifts, becoming sympathetic. “If you’re hungry, there’s some of Dad’s blood in there that I could mix with theirs,” Tubbo says, pointing to the body on the floor. “It’s not really all that bad!” he says, lifting his mug with said dead man’s blood inside.
“Yeah, that’s because you’re an actual fledgling, Tubbo! Human blood?” He makes a sound of disgust. “You know I can’t process that shit very well.”
“That’s why I said I’d mix it with Dad’s blood, Boss Man! I’ll go do that now, you sound half-dead—” Tubbo stops short, realizing his mistake. “Don’t—” he begins, before Tommy interrupts him.
“I am half-dead, Tubbo. Thank you for noticing. Is there anything else glaringly obvious you’d like to point out?”
Tubbo raises an eyebrow at his tone. “Ok, drama queen. I’m getting you your breakfast, calm down,” he says, hopping off the kitchen counter and making his way toward the fridge.
“I’m not a drama queen! I’m Tommy ‘Wife-Haver’ Innit! Actually, I might be Tommy ‘Starving’ Innit if I don’t get food!”
Tubbo ignores him, opening the fridge and rummaging through its contents. Tommy drops the knife onto the floor and rubs his temples, uncaring of the blood on his hands. He wasn’t joking when he’d told Tubbo he was hungry.
It’s been a while since he last ate, and he’s really beginning to feel the effects of dehydration. Even though he’s not a normal fledgling, he still needs sire blood to survive. He shouldn’t have gone so long without—but it’s not like his sire is waiting around to offer him a vein.
After a few moments, Tubbo sets a freshly prepared mug of blood on the kitchen island. Tommy snatches it, gulping several big mouthfuls.
He closes his eyes, letting the blood flow through him. A small sigh of relief escapes his lips as his headache lessens, and his exhaustion fades.
After another moment of quiet, Tubbo speaks, “Feeling better?”
“Yeah. Thanks, I really needed that.”
A sour expression comes over the other fledgling’s face. “You shouldn’t have waited so long. You could’ve asked me for some earlier this week.”
Tommy looks down at his cup before setting it down. “I already owe way too many favors, Tubs. I don’t need to get into any more debt.”
“This—” Tubbo gestures between them, “—isn’t a favor. This is friendship, Tommy. I’ll always do whatever I can to help you; you’re one of my closest friends. No questions asked, no payment required, y’know?”
Tommy opens his mouth to respond, but no words come out, caught around a lump in his throat.
He looks away, slightly overwhelmed. Of the two of them, Tubbo might be the one blessed with good fortune, but really Tommy knows that he’s the lucky one.
He glances up, meeting Tubbo’s easy smile with a tentative one of his own. He can’t say anything, but Tubbo understands—he always has.
The fledgling puts his hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “Drink up, Boss Man. You’ve got work to do after this.”
“Tubbo, what the hell is going on with this body?” Tommy asks. He hadn’t been paying attention when Big Q told him what to do earlier, still agonizing over the whole breakfast ruse.
“Papá wants you to use your necromancy to get the man’s heart beating again,” Tubbo says while swinging his legs from his spot on the countertop.
“Aye?” he questions, looking at Tubbo with confusion. “What’s he going to do with a beating heart? This isn’t some fucking weird romantic shit for Schlatt, is it? They’re already engaged, they don’t need any more lovey-dovey shit. And I’ll be honest with you Tubbo, a disembodied beating heart isn’t really romantic. It’s not the right vibe. I have tons of wives, so I’d know.”
Tubbo blinks rapidly. “They’re not engaged.”
Tommy whips his head around to stare at Tubbo. “They’re not? But didn’t they throw an engagement party?”
“Well yeah, they did, but then I kinda got kidnapped before Dad could actually propose, soooo,” Tubbo trails off.
Tommy winces at the reminder of how they met.
“Right.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay,” Tommy says, getting back to business. “If it’s not for Schlatt, then what does Big Q need it for?”
“Well, there’s some really important hospital admin coming to Las Nevadas tonight, and I’ve got a feeling Papá wants to sell him the heart.” At Tommy’s perplexed look, the fledgling clarifies, “Organ donations are low, y’know? Papá says it’s like you’re making up for the cow by providing a service to the city!”
“This— this isn’t a service to the city, Big T. One might say this is Quackity profiting off a need in the city.” He blinks, trying to make sense of Q’s latest money-making scheme.
Tubbo doesn’t bother defending Quackity; he just shrugs. “I mean, that's why he was really eager for you to come over. He’s been talking about getting into the organ donation market for the past week, but he hadn’t seen you and we didn’t have a body. I reckon he must have divined something because honestly everything just came together with breakfast and Dad’s business partner.”
Tommy huffs at the mention of Quackity’s magic. The witch specializes in divination which, when you’re a casino owner, is a fucking fantastic power to have; why count cards when you can divine the future and know all the odds? It’s a stacked deck.
He just doesn’t like it when Quackity uses his magic to stack the deck against him.
His thoughts are abruptly broken as the full meaning of Tubbo’s words washes over him.
“Schlatt’s business partner?" The question begs for more information, but even as Tommy asks, he’s not sure he wants to know the answer.
“Yeah,” Tubbo sighs. “He’s not really a business partner—an ex-partner now, I guess. Dad didn’t tell me much, but he grumbled something about embezzlement. They had a meeting and clearly it didn’t go well.”
“He killed him?”
“Yup. Well, not directly. Laws and stuff, y’know?” Tubbo waves his hand at the body before continuing, “He was jumped shortly after leaving Dad’s downtown office by some local street gang. He didn’t have any family or anything, so he entrusted everything to Dad; now Dad is using his body to benefit the community.”
Tommy blinks at the coached, absolutely bullshit explanation of the human’s death and presence in the kitchen. He shakes his head in awe and disbelief. Murder may be wrong—in most cases—but he still can’t help but admire Schlatt and Quackity’s ability to get away with anything.
They’re pog-fucking-champ. A vampire with eternal good fortune, and a witch specializing in divination; literally a power couple schmoozing, wining, and divining their way to the top, so powerful that they can bend, break, and shape whatever laws they want.
Tommy can only aspire to such greatness.
Tubbo clears his throat, shattering his daydreams of glory, and nods his head at the body.
“Okay,” Tommy breathes, refocusing on the task at hand. “If I’m gonna do this, then I’m going to need some help, Tubbo. I need to break open this guy’s chest to get to his heart. Stabbing at it hasn’t worked, so I’m going to need you to do—” he pauses, not quite sure what he needs, “—something. I don’t really know. This is fucking gory, Big T. You got any other tools or shit? Also, why didn’t you fully drain this bastard? Would’ve made this thing a lot easier.”
“Fledgling,” Tubbo reminds him. “I can’t actually drain a human yet. Dad always takes care of that, or has someone else do it.” He bites his lip as he gazes at the corpse. “Honestly, Boss Man, I’ve no idea if we’ve got anything that would help you.”
They sit, stumped and silent, staring at the body as if it’ll get up and offer them its heart. Unfortunately, while he’s a good necromancer, he’s not that good, at least not yet.
“Wait!” Tubbo yells, reaching for his phone. “I’ll Google it! Yeah, here’s a Wikihow on chest cracking!”
“The fact that a Wikihow on this shit exists does not bode well for society, Tubbo.”
“Maybe not for society, but it does bode well for us! Okay, here’s what you need to do,” he says, carefully reciting the instructions. “Make an incision, and then press down really hard on the connecting bit of the bone.”
“Uh, Tubbo? Tubs? Big T?” Tommy calls, trying to get the other’s attention. He motions toward the corpse’s brutalized chest—a gory mess from repeated stabbings. “There’s not really a place to make an incision anymore.”
“Well, I guess you just press down on the bone then? Really hard. Use both hands. You should be able to do it now.”
“Ugh,” Tommy groans. “This is really fucking nasty. I hope I don’t catch any diseases or shit from this.”
“Aren’t you a necromancer? Isn’t this what you do? Oh look, there you go—” Tubbo is cut off by a sickening crack as the sternum gives way.
Tommy makes a sound of disgust as he opens up the body. “Big T, I do necromancy. This is butchery. Big difference.” He pauses, queasy, and grimaces as he looks down at the chest. “Q just wants the heart, right? Hand me my knife and I’ll get it,” he says reluctantly.
He deals with zombies a lot, and they’re not winning any beauty contests, but this shit might take first prize in a contest of savagery he really doesn’t want to be part of.
Tubbo hands him the knife. “Do you think you could save some of the aortic valve? That’s important! It’ll probably raise the market price too!”
Tommy turns toward Tubbo, blood and gore dripping from his hands. “Do I look like a goddamn biology textbook?” he asks incredulously. “No! I’m getting this thing out, and Big Q will get what he gets!” But, even as he speaks, he looks for the best place to cut around the valve-thingy.
Debts to pay and all.
“Ok. I’ve got it! I’ve got it! I’ve got it! Where—?” Before Tommy can begin to even ask the question, Tubbo slides a plate under his hand.
“What the hell, Tubbo?! Does this have gold along the rim? Don’t you people have paper plates or some shit? You’re going to have to replace the whole fucking set now!”
“No paper plates, Boss Man! The plate will be fine—probably. I don’t know, maybe Dad will replace it,” Tubbo shrugs.
They both quieten, taking in the sight before them.
The once pristine, glittering kitchen is now streaked with red—like one of those fancy abstract paintings at the art gallery—while a mangled body lies on the floor, and topping off the whole scene is the disembodied heart served on a delicately gilded plate.
Tubbo takes the words right out of his mouth.
“This is fucked.”
“Yup.”
“Soooo, necromancy?”
“Yeah, I’ll get on it.”
Tommy shakes his head and turns away.
He closes his eyes as he reaches for his magic. It spreads out from his chest, tingling as it makes its way down his arms, sparking as it reaches his fingers.
He turns again and approaches the heart, matching his breaths to his strides, grounding himself just as he was taught.
Everything else falls away until it’s just him and the heart. He raises his palm and makes slow squeezing motions before releasing and extending his fingers out. He matches the movements to his breaths. Squeezing on the inhale, releasing on the exhale.
The heart quivers. Tommy is almost in a trance, all his energy and focus directed at the heart.
Inhale. Pump.
Exhale. Release.
Repeat.
The heart beats.
It’s faltering and unsteady at first, but after a moment it beats in time with his movements. As he severs his metaphysical connection with the heart, his necromancy ensures it continues beating.
“Well kid, that—” Quackity drawls, jerking his thumb at the heart, “—is damn impressive. It’s going to make me a lot of money tonight,” the witch says as he leans against the doorframe of the kitchen.
Tubbo and Tommy jump, not having heard his arrival.
Tommy recovers first. “Ayup, Big Q. Got your heart working again.”
“Agreed,” Quackity says, sauntering into the kitchen. “Look at this,” he says with a smug smile, inspecting the heart. “I just knew that the dividends from a bet on you would pay off. Well done, kid.” Q looks down at his luxury Rolex, “I think it’s time to wrap things up now, fellas.”
The witch turns to address Tubbo, “Your Dad is wondering where you are, kiddo. It’s late, you should head up to the nest.”
“Okay! Let me just get Tommy his food!” Tubbo says before rushing off to the fridge.
“What about all this?” Tommy asks, gesturing vaguely to the entire mess that is the Mad Goat’s family kitchen.
Quackity lets out a short laugh. “Don’t sweat it kid, we have people for that.”
Of course they do. Rich bitches. Tommy would say that out loud, but he doesn’t want to risk annoying Big Q and getting into more debt.
“Here you go, Boss Man!” Tubbo says, holding out two travel mugs.
Quackity doesn’t question the blood. Thank the gods. He probably assumes it's Schlatt’s; it wouldn’t be the first time Tubbo’s gifted him some of his sire’s blood.
“What about my travel mug? Y’know, the one I came here with? The one you stole and drank this guy’s blood with?” Tommy presses; he’s not forgotten Tubbo’s thievery.
He’s clearly said something wrong though because Tubbo gives him a look that would put him fully six-feet under.
He finds out why a second later when Q sharply asks, “You drank human blood, Tubbo?”
Oh shit.
Yeah, he fucked up.
While fledglings do develop the instinct to drink human blood and shit, sire blood is necessary for survival for the first ten years after a turning; probably even more so for Tubbo.
When he’d been kidnapped by—
Well, when he’d been kidnapped, he’d been forced on the same diet as Tommy—blood from multiple sire-aged vampires. It’s a highly unorthodox way to feed fledglings; before Tommy, no one in the preternatural community had known that it was even possible to keep a fledgling alive that way.
For Tubbo, the sudden shift to mixed sire blood had damaged, or at least lessened, his bond with Schlatt, and his coven at large.
Schlatt had completely lost his shit when he found out and has been obsessed with Tubbo’s diet ever since. Any blood-other-than-his, human or otherwise, will be taken as a threat to their bond, and trigger the Mad Goat’s overprotective mother-henning mode. Which is exactly why Quackity looks so concerned, and why Tubbo looks like he’s about to kill him.
“Tubbo?” Quackity asks expectantly.
Tubbo looks nervous. “I’m gonna be honest and tell you that I did. But, to be fair, I’m a vampire! Drinking human blood is what I do!” Turning to Tommy, he says, “Y’know, Boss Man, I quite like this travel mug. I think it’s mine now.”
Fair. It’s adequate revenge.
“Kiddo, you’re not a vampire yet, you’re a fledgling. Drinking Schlatt’s blood is what you should be doing. Why don’t you head up to the nest and get something to eat?” Quackity’s voice is soft. It always is when he talks to Tubbo, but despite the softness, his words are a directive, not a suggestion.
Tommy gives a brief smile and says, “I’ll see you later, Big T. Thanks for the food.”
“You’ll see him tonight, Tubbo,” Quackity assures before he turns to address Tommy. “I want you to come to Las Nevadas tonight. I suspect the hospital administrator will have some questions, and I need you there to answer them. Part of your favor. Come around, say, midnight.”
With that clear dismissal, Quackity sweeps out of the room, Tubbo in tow. They manage a quick goodbye wave before the door shuts and Tommy is ushered out the door by another coven member.
Tommy pulls his hoodie up as he leaves, protecting himself from the sun. As he walks back to his shitty apartment with two canisters of sire blood in his ratty backpack, he thinks of Tubbo’s words, “This is friendship,” and realizes that he doesn’t feel so alone anymore.