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He doesn’t think before he drops to the ground. His hip lands right on a rock, but the pain doesn’t matter as he slides down the hill to the river, and neither does the mud that gets on his hands, or the water that laps at his shoes. Getting back up hurts, he’s so clumsy with it that he nearly falls again, but it’s still faster than if he had tried to walk, so he grits his teeth and sets out along the river, gripping his catch to his chest.
Moonlight glints off the silver blade clenched in his fist, making it the only thing he can still see clearly. The reflections in the river help some with navigating in the dark, but it’s really only his memory that he can rely on to not trip over the roots or crash into the cold water.
His ragged breathing sounds too loud in the silent forest, too telling, but he can’t quiet himself down any more no matter how hard he tries to keep his mouth shut. It’s all he can do to not cry out with every step, every sharp stab of pain pulsing from his ankle. He should have wrapped it, should have not gone any farther after he slipped on the rocks, should have not been on the rocks in the first place when he knew it rained last night.
But he needed to check the traps before someone else got to them. And after so much he’s already done wrong, there’s only one thing left that he can still do right - get back home.
Fuck, Ron will be worried sick. Tom can only hope he’s smart enough to not come out looking for him.
Something rustles in the bushes harshly, uncaring about being overheard, and he freezes, his heart pounding in his ears. It could be a harmless animal. It could be a deer that will spook with the next step he takes, or a rabbit that he could add to today’s catch. But it could also be something much worse.
He sets his feet apart and grips the knife tight, prepared. Hopefully. He’s never actually fought one. Hell, he’s never even really seen one, only from afar, through the window in the middle of the night, a figure creeping along the fence that he figured had to have been-
There’s a terrible shrill cry, and he has to bite his tongue to stay quiet. God, someone’s already-
Oh, God, what if it’s Ron?
Tom raises the blade and takes a determined step forward. It could be Ron. He has to-
He can only describe the next sound he hears as a squeal. It comes again, and again, turns into a continuous stream that makes his heart drop from his throat down to his stomach. It’s a child.
Even worse, it’s a fucking baby, that someone left in the middle of the forest after nightfall.
Tom swore to himself that he wouldn’t let go of it until he got home, but now he sheats the knife to free up one of his hands, and drops down to his knees to push through the bushes and find the poor thing.
He can’t see more than a couple steps in front of himself and it’s even worse this low to the ground, but he knows the second he gets to the baby. He can see the silhouette, the bright wide eyes, the clothes covered in dirt. The child makes a small, confused sound when they look at Tom and tiny fingers covered with mud reach out to touch his face.
“Hey, buddy,” Tom whispers clumsily as he reaches out with his free hand. He touches what must be a sweater, completely soaked through, and the baby thankfully doesn’t flinch away from him but stays perfectly still. “There we go,” Tom breathes out. “We’ve got this, right? You don’t need to cry. I’m gonna help you, yeah?”
He’s never really spent any time around kids and he feels painfully awkward, but the torso seems like the safest body part to grab, and he doesn’t have any time to second guess the decision. Though he almost does it anyway when he feels how heavy the baby is, how fragile they seem, tiny hands immediately clinging to his shirt.
Holding the toddler on his hip, Tom doesn’t swear only because he doesn’t want the young ears to hear it. “Okay,” he says instead, and it doesn’t feel even half as satisfying. But he’s got his knife, he’s got his meat, and the kid is looking up at him like they trust him, and he can’t let them down. He’ll get them both home. It’s not too far now.
By the time he stumbles out of the woods, he’s completely exhausted. His ankle hurts so much that it can barely carry his weight, and he’s given up on not letting the meat touch the kid because he needs both of his hands to not drop them, but at least the little thing seems to be comfortable, dozing off on his shoulder and snoring quietly.
When he reaches the fence, he nearly collapses from pure relief. He can see the faint light of a candle burning down behind a window, a clear sign that Ron is waiting for him inside, that he’s made it home, that he’s safe.
But not yet. He grits his teeth and sets out along the fence to cross the last couple yards to the gate. He still has to get them through the gate.
“Tom!” Ron’s voice seems to almost echo in the dead of the night, lingering in the air and making Tom’s knees nearly give out. Ron’s right there. Everything’s alright now.
He allows himself a single relieved exhale, nearly losing his grip on the kid as his shoulders drop with it, and grits his teeth on another painful step forward. “It’s me!” he manages to call back after the next one, only slightly more comfortable.
“Oh, thank God.” Ron’s voice is suddenly so much closer, and Tom’s body instinctively leans in his direction, towards the fence. He looks up, makes himself lift his head for the first time in a while, and realizes that - he’s there. He only has to take two more steps and then Ron’s hands are reaching out to help him through the gate.
Seeing his open arms, Tom shoves the kid at him instead. “Take ‘em,” he gasps. He can make it through on his own, but he’s not as confident that he won’t crush the baby in the process. “You gotta take ‘em-”
The moment he feels the weight disappear from his arms, his leg gives out. He stumbles forward, throws his hands out to at least protect his face, but the pain never comes. He does crash, falling hard against the arm Rom catches him with, both of them suddenly scrambling to keep balance as Tom latches on to his shoulder, the meat he’s somehow still holding no doubt staining Ron’s back.
“Fuck,” Ron grunts, muscles straining as he adjusts his grip. “C’mon, Tom, help me out here.”
Tom can’t possibly convince himself to stand on that ankle again, but he can use Ron for balance and shift his weight to his good leg. Like this, they’re at least able to turn around until Ron manages to get a better grip around his waist. “Fuck,” he voices again as Tom drags his free arm around his shoulders to hold on to him better. “What the fuck, Tom?”
The baby’s eyes blink open, sleepy but bright, one of Ron’s hands keeping them pressed to his side. It’s not- it’s probably not the best way to hold them, the best position to keep them in, it doesn’t look like it, but Tom can’t find the energy to care if it gets them home.
“Tom,” Ron urges him, still mostly dragging him forward no matter that Tom really is doing his best to walk with him.
“Can’t,” he tries to explain, tries to say that he’s not making this harder just because. “Fucked up my ankle.”
Ron doesn’t demand more from him until they finally collectively stumble over the threshold. Tom drops down on a chair, in what he hopes at least looks like a controlled fall, and Ron delivers the kid on the table with a grunt. Only then does he ask the question that Tom’s spent the last half an hour trying to come up with an acceptable answer for. “What the hell happened?”
But looking up at Ron’s concerned frown, he realizes there’s nothing more acceptable than the truth. Tom glances at the baby, heaves the meat up on the table, and rests his elbow next to it with a sigh. “Slipped on the rocks,” he mumbles.
“Why the hell were you-”
“I know,” he interrupts the scolding before it can start. He knows he deserves it, but he’s exhausted, it can wait until morning. “I know, Ron. But it wasn’t for nothing, there was a quail in that trap.”
“Great,” Ron deadpans, and Tom knows he’s not gonna get any appreciation from him. Not that he really expected any. “And which trap was the toddler in?”
Eyes slipping shut, Tom drags both of his palms over his face. God, he could fall asleep right here at the table. “No trap. In the bushes by the river. After dark. Someone- someone must’ve left ‘em there. Or lost ‘em, I don’t know.”
“Shit,” Ron summarizes, and Tom can barely nod.
“Yeah. I couldn’t- I had to take ‘em.”
With a deep sigh, Ron’s warm hand lands on his shoulder, gripping him tight, and Tom allows himself a single trembling exhale. He’s home. He’s safe. Both he and the kid are safe, he did it, everything’s alright now. But God, he could’ve- fuck, both of them could’ve been torn apart, he might’ve never seen Ron again-
“Easy, Tommy, easy.” He doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Ron’s arms are wrapping around his chest, until his head is falling into the crook of Ron’s neck, and he clings to him without thinking. “It’s alright,” Ron’s voice rumbles in his ear, lips brushing his skin. “It’s alright, you’re home now. You can rest, Tommy.”
“Shit, I didn’t-” Tom gasps, tries to voice it, chokes on it. “I wasn’t thinking about it, I couldn’t-”
“And you made it,” Ron reminds him. “You’re safe now, everything’s alright, just let it out.”
Tom doesn’t actually cry - maybe he’s too exhausted for it, or maybe there’s just nothing for him to actually cry about - but it still takes him a while to calm down again, to feel steady enough to pull away. Ron’s lips brush his own in a hint of a kiss, and then he’s leaning back in the chair and glancing to the side, at the toddler and the wide eyes watching him.
For the first time, in the light, Tom can see the blond hair and light skin, the chubby, dirty fingers and the clothes that are even worse off, and figures that it must be a boy. He doesn’t know much of anything about babies, he still has no idea how old the little guy actually is, but getting that one wrong would be just embarrassing.
“I’ll get you some water,” Ron says. “Get those rabbits in the freezer-”
“And the quail,” Tom reminds him.
“Get those rabbits and the quail in the freezer,” Ron corrects himself with a frankly unnecessary amount of snark for the moment. “And then I’ll take a look at that ankle. You wanna eat something?”
“I want to sleep.” Tom shakes his head. “The kid-”
“I’ll figure out what to do with the kid after,” Ron assures him. “He’s not crying yet, that’s a good sign, right?”
“Right.”
Neither of them knows much of anything about babies, really. They don’t even know about anyone who has one, because who the hell would want to bring a kid into a world like this? For a quick second, Tom even starts feeling sorry for the parents of this boy. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe they didn’t know what else to do.
But just like that, the feeling disappears faster than it came, because abandoning him like this is the cruelest solution they could’ve come up with.
A nudge to his shoulder makes him flinch, startling him from the slumber he’s fallen into in the silence. Or, no, it can’t have been silence, because there’s a flask lying on the table in front of him and the meat is gone. He just didn’t hear any of it happen.
“Drink.” Ron gives him another gentle nudge before turning a second chair away from the table. “Then I’ll let you sleep.” He guides Tom’s foot up on the other seat and makes him pull away from the table to lean back and stop his aching muscles from protesting the stretch.
Letting his heavy eyes close again, Tom grabs the flask blindly and takes a sip. “Thanks,” he manages quietly. He barely even has the energy to swallow, but the water is pleasant, so he lets it fill his mouth a second time, rolling it around for a moment while Ron gets his boot and sock off. He tilts his head back and sends it down his throat just in time to grit his teeth on the pain.
“That looks like shit, Tommy,” Ron tells him, fingers brushing the heated skin.
“Doesn’t feel any better,” he mumbles.
An amused huff, and Ron’s hand wraps around his shin. “Sleep, baby,” he says softly. “I’ll get you into bed when I’m done.”
It’s too tempting an offer not to accept it. Already feeling half asleep again, Tom manages a grateful smile, mumbling, “Thanks.”
The touches hurt, his ankle throbbing unpleasantly, but Ron’s hands are as soft as always, doing their best to soothe the hurt and lulling him to sleep as they work with the bandage carefully. Drifting off comfortably, he doesn’t know anything else, doesn’t hear anything else, doesn’t care about anything else.
Until suddenly, it stops.
“Shit.”
Tom can’t drag his eyes open nowhere near as quickly as he’d like to. “Wha’?” Bleary, he blinks at Ron still holding his leg with one hand and staring up at the table, frozen.
“Uhm- it’s-” Ron stutters. “Tom, it’s a vampire.”
It wakes Tom up like nothing else ever could. “Where?!” He startles forward, reaching for the knife at his waist and looking around to find the monster that somehow got inside their house, when Ron’s hands push him down into the chair, gentle but insistent.
Gesturing wildly, he jumps back up on his feet. “On our table!”
Tom’s head snaps to the side to find the- uhm, to see the toddler that’s been sitting there the whole time, but now he’s also smiling, baby teeth and two sharp fangs peeking out under his upper lip. The little creature looks at Tom and giggles.
“Shit,” he states, much like Ron did, his hand still hovering over the knife.
“There’s a vampire in our house,” Ron says it out loud again, like he doesn’t quite believe it yet.
“It’s a baby,” Tom reminds him just as unhelpfully. He’s well aware that-
“That doesn’t make it better!” Ron throws his hands up. “That means you kidnapped a vampire baby!”
“So this is my fault, then?”
“I didn’t fucking bring him, did I?”
“And what would you have done?” Tom’s palm hits the table. “Pitch dark, what the fuck would you have done, huh? Shoved your fucking fingers in his mouth? What-” He doesn’t realize he’s shouting before the toddler starts crying just as loudly. That’s what finally makes him shut up.
Dropping his shoulders with a sigh, he runs his palms over his face. “Sorry,” he mumbles into his hands. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” He doesn’t want to be yelling at Ron, he doesn’t want to be arguing with him at all, he doesn’t want to be doing any of this. He wants to sleep, damn it, but now he can’t, because there’s a vampire sitting on their table. And he’s just made him cry.
He can hear Ron fall down into the other chair heavily, but his hands are still careful when they pick up Tom’s foot and lift it into his lap. “No, I’m sorry,” he sighs. “You’re right too. I didn’t even know they could have kids.”
Tom can’t hear him all that well over the wailing, and they should probably do something about that, but right now, he’s much more focused on huffing and glancing at Ron with a raised eyebrow. “You think he’s biological?”
Ron matches his expression, his disbelief maybe even stronger. “You think he’s turned?”
Tom blinks at the hysterical subject of the question. Maybe he should hold him? Rock with him or something? Then again, it’s a vampire that might bite his hand off. But, well, it’s a baby, he could probably fight him off. Maybe.
“I’m not sure which one’s worse,” he decides, and Ron snorts.
“I’ll tell you which one sounds the worst,” he offers, not actually asking. “What do we do with him? Kill him? Or throw him out?”
Tom grimaces on reflex. Logically, he knows that’s what they should do. It’s a vampire. A dangerous, murderous, blood sucking vampire. But it’s also a toddler. A defenseless toddler who can’t even walk yet, and who might make himself stop crying just by running out of air. Slowly, Tom reaches out to smooth a hand down his tiny, fragile back and the boy hiccups, blinking up at him.
“Throwing him out is basically killing him,” he points out. Vampires burn in the sun. The kid would turn into a pile of ashes in the morning, so if that’s the route they’re choosing, they should at least have the mercy to make it fast.
Ron’s hand squeezes his foot, fretful fingers tucking in the bandage he didn’t finish wrapping before. “So there’s no difference if we decide now or in the morning,” he says. It sounds cruel, which is how Tom knows he doesn’t really mean it that way. His mind is already made up too, he’s just too tired to actually realize it.
“I can stay up, keep an eye on him,” Ron whispers. “But you should really go to sleep.”
Tom doesn’t have the energy of the willpower to argue about it.
There’s blood on the table. It’s dripping down on the chair and the ground, it’s all over the rag, and if it dries then they’re never gonna get it out and Tom’s gonna flip his lid.
But Ron already knows that, bringing more rags to clean with and dumping the ruined one into the sink filled with cold water, so Tom keeps his mouth shut and shifts his attention back to the vampire sitting in his lap. The toddler vampire. The toddler who’s currently sucking on his own thumb and staring at Tom with wide, dark eyes that look both brown and red at the same time.
He seems to be so much more pale in the daylight, even though Tom is sitting all the way in the darkest corner of the room with him, and he knows that’s normal for vampires but he still can’t help worrying. How pale is too pale? He needs to keep this kid alive, and as unharmed as possible, he can’t have him getting sick. Can vampires even get sick?
“That was a nice skin from that rabbit,” Ron says lightly, almost like he’s just thinking out loud, and Tom glances up to find him standing at the sink, wringing out the rags. The blood from the table is gone. Good. “Remind me to show it to Charlie next time she comes, she might know someone who’d trade it.”
Tom tilts his head to see him better. “Isn’t it too small? What would you even make out of it?”
“Not me, I said I’d give it to Charlie,” Ron huffs. “But I think it’s got potential. Gloves or socks or something like that, you know? It’s a good piece, you fucked up your ankle over it, I don’t wanna just throw it out.“
“I didn’t fuck up my ankle over a rabbit, that was the quail,” Tom reminds him, but he’s only saying it to make Ron roll his eyes.
He got bored last night, apparently, as if watching over a sleeping vampire baby wasn’t exciting enough for him, so he decided to clean one of the fresh kills Tom brought. It was a good idea though, because now they have food for the day, and because the kid woke up when he smelled the blood and wanted to lick it, so he’s hopefully taken care of too. Unharmed is a good thing to aim for, but happy is even better, because speaking of Tom’s fucked up ankle…
“You know it has to be me,” he says to Ron’s back and watches his shoulders stiffen, even though he must have already known it too. Tom still voices it for him. “I’m the one who found him, it’s my scent that’ll be there.” And he should probably head out soon if he wants to make it back for dinner today, but before he can add that, Ron sighs loudly.
His shoulders fall with the sound, hands gripping the edge of the counter. Quietly, he says, “I’ll make you a proper splint. And we’ll find you a walking stick. You’ll go no farther than the river.” He turns to glare at Tom, insistent. “You won’t cut before that and you won’t make it deeper than you have to, and you won’t waste time checking any traps.”
Tom swallows. Ron leaves him no room to argue but honestly, he wasn’t even planning on it. “I promise.” He nods firmly. “I’ll be back before dinner.”
They’ve made their decision. Tom had his mind set on it the moment he woke up and he prepared his arguments on the way to the kitchen, but before he could say so much as good morning, Ron looked up at him from the table, from the rabbit and the blood, and whispered that he couldn’t do it.
It’s a vampire, but it’s also a kid. It’s a kid that babbles and cries and laughs and sticks his thumb in his mouth to nibble on it and drools on his clothes. They can’t kill a kid. Which means they have to give him back.
Which means that Tom needs to make a blood trail to lead the kid’s parents to the edge of their property, the only line they’re safe behind, and they need to pray that it doesn’t attract anyone else.
As the sun finally disappears behind the horizon, Tom is just about ready to fall asleep and not wake up for at least the next ten hours. Or maybe ever, if that was an option.
But sadly, he knows it’s not. Ron’s just woken up from an after-dinner nap and it doesn’t seem like he was too successful at catching up on last night’s sleep, and Tom would love nothing more than for the both of them to lie back down, but they can’t. Someone could show up at any moment, and they need to be prepared.
They can’t look weak - or too weak, at least. That’s why Tom cut his forearm instead of his palm, so he could hide the wound and the bandages under a sleeve, and that’s why he’s wearing Ron’s pants over his own ankle high snow boots, to hide the splint and his limp as best as possible. They should be safe today, as long as they don’t accidentally say anything that could be interpreted as an invitation, but they never know what could happen in the future.
The kid is asleep right now, thankfully. At least they’re getting some rest from him. They’ve had to change his diaper and wrap him up in rags instead, and it’s been a messy and clumsy and disgusting process each time, not helped by the fact that they didn’t dare wash his clothes, knowing they wouldn’t dry in time this close to winter.
And as if they didn’t have their hands full with that already, the boy bit through his thumb just as Tom got back, and then started wailing and wouldn’t stop. The injury healed on its own surprisingly quickly, but Tom had to cut up the quail to feed him again, since the idea of giving him their own blood still didn’t sound at all appealing, and then he had to clean up everything while he sent Ron to finally get some rest. But at least the kid’s been sleeping since then, comfortable with a full stomach, and most importantly silent.
Until now, apparently.
The boy turns on his back where he’s lying on the rabbit skin, grabbing at the air as his eyes blink open. “Ma’?” he babbles and for a second, all Tom can do is stare at him. That sounded like mom.
Then he says it again, louder, more desperate, and sniffles. But before Tom can reach out to try and soothe him, there’s another noise. A faint hey, a whisper on the wind, and it’s still enough for Tom’s eyes to widen as Ron sucks in a sharp breath and heads for the door, shoving a knife behind his belt.
“Ma’!” the toddler shouts as if in response, and Tom puts away his own blade that he’s been fidgeting with to pick him up instead.
“They’re here,” Ron says what they’ve both already figured out. Tom limps to the door, slowly, carefully, and glances at him with a clenched jaw.
“Hey! Do you hear me?!” Ron opens the door just in time for the voice to come in loud and clear, male and obviously very angry. When they look out, there’s only one figure standing in front of their gate, where Tom’s left a bit of blood too, not entirely on purpose.
He’s a little surprised, to be honest. He was expecting the mother to come for her child. He was preparing for a lot more than just one person. But unless there are more of them hiding in the bushes, this seems to be all they’re getting.
He sets his shoulders, making sure he’s got a good enough grip on the kid to not drop him even if he starts squirming, and bites his tongue to stay silent when he puts weight on his hurting ankle to step through the door. Ron’s hand brushes his side and Tom knows he wants to help, so he tries to shake his head subtly. It’s fine, he can do this. He has to.
“If you’ve hurt him,” the man threatens when they come close enough to see the angry grimace on his face, his fangs glinting in the light of the moon, his fists clenched with rage. He doesn’t finish the threat, maybe because they all know he doesn’t need to. They all know what vampires are capable of.
“We haven’t,” Ron assures him, trying to sound just as firm.
The man is kind of short, Tom notes, hanging back with the boy and hoping it looks like they’re doing it just because they can. Not that height means anything, he seems to have enough muscle to make up for it - and even if he didn’t, they wouldn’t stand a chance against him. They’re only safe as long as the fence is in between them.
The kid leans forward and nearly falls out of Tom’s arms, and all their plans of keeping the vampire’s attention on Ron go right out the window. “Ma’!” the boy shouts again, making Tom’s eyes widen. Is the guy supposed to be his mom?
“Baby? I’m here, I’m right here. Everything’s gonna be alright, I promise,” he responds as if to confirm it, his voice going so much softer like the flip of a switch. But the tone doesn’t last when he looks up to glare at Tom and demands, “Give him to me.”
Carefully stepping forward, Tom holds the boy closer to his chest instead of giving him away before he really knows he wants to do it. “You left him,” he points out, and he knows he shouldn’t. He knows that provoking the vampire is the stupidest thing he could’ve decided to do. But human or not, this guy is still the shitty parent that left this child alone in a forest. “He could’ve gotten hurt.”
“You took him!” the vampire shouts, fists trembling with the intensity. “You took him, now give him back! He’s not yours!”
It takes Tom aback. The person he expected, human or vampire, he didn’t imagine that they would actually care this much - or at least sound like it, though with a hint of something else, something he can’t find a name for. Ron must be surprised too but he recovers faster, fingers brushing Tom’s elbow as he speaks up, “Alright, easy now, we just-”
“Please,” the man’s anger disappears and this part doesn’t shock Tom as much because - that’s it, that’s the other thing he heard. Desperation. “Please, give him back, he’s just a baby. Please, I don’t-” His voice breaks on something that sounds a lot like a sob, and he wipes at his face with the back of his hand. It’s still shaking, only more now.
Tom doesn’t really need the nudge from Ron to stumble forward. “Hey, it’s alright,” he blurts out, can’t help but try and comfort the man. “I’m giving him to you, I’m giving him back, he’s alright. Take him, he’s alright.”
The moment he holds the boy up over the fence, feet dangling in the air, the vampire grabs him lighting fast and presses him to his chest in one swift, blurry movement. When Tom can make them out again, his face is buried in the kid’s hair.
“Ma’!” the boy squeaks out happily, tiny hands grabbing at his shirt.
“Baby,” the man chokes out quietly. “It’s alright, baby, I’ve got you. I’ve got you now.”
Tom almost wants to walk away, to leave the pair alone and give them some privacy, but he can barely make it the two steps back to Ron’s side without making a sound. A third one might just be what breaks him.
Before he can decide if he wants to try anyway, the vampire looks up again, eyes shining tellingly. “Thank you,” he whispers, one hand cradling the boy’s head, petting through his hair. “I- you have no idea how much he means to me. I- I’ll pay you back, anything you want, name it.”
They both shake their heads without even checking with each other, but Ron gets there faster again. “We didn’t do it for that,” he says. “He’s just a kid.”
“You have to want something,” the man insists. “Everybody does.”
Those words are all that Tom needs to understand that it’s less about paying them back and more about not owing them. “We want to be left in peace,” he tries to offer. It sounds simple enough. “We didn’t hurt him. He might be hungry and dirty, but we didn’t hurt him. All we want in return is the same.”
Proving that it was the right decision, the vampire nods, looking a little calmer. “Alright. I- alright,” he agrees. “Thank you for taking care of him.” The only warning he gives are his arms wrapping tighter around the boy, and then he’s gone in a blur, leaving behind nothing but the wind.
It takes Tom a bit longer than that to stop staring at the place where he stood, to realize he’s not there anymore.
“Well,” Ron manages. “That was…”
“Weird?” Tom fills in. Of all the stories he’s heard about vampires, not one described them like that. Like… like creatures who cried. Who begged. Who cared. Tom’s never imagined them so… human, and he’s not entirely sure what to do with it.
Not that he has the energy to do much of anything at all. “C’mon,” he breathes out, relieved when he finally shifts his weight off his ankle and throws one arm over Ron’s shoulders. “Help me back before I drop.”
Tom spends most of the next day in bed. It’s his only option if he doesn’t want to have a bad leg for the rest of his life, he knows, but it’s so damn annoying. Ron cooks the rest of the rabbit and finishes cleaning the quail and washes the rags and their clothes, and all Tom can do is watch him and complain. Which he does a lot of.
It’s not all bad though. Tom’s view could be much worse than Ron’s arms and back while he works, his relaxed expression now that he’s gotten enough sleep and their little life is back to normal. No more crying vampire babies, or vampire adults.
Ron smirks a little every time their eyes meet, but it gets closer and closer to a simple soft smile as the day goes on. He helps Tom sit up for every meal and checks on his ankle, and when the night falls, he wraps his arm around him so they can enjoy another peaceful night.
Well, almost.
It’s Ron sharply hissing his name that wakes him up. “Tom!”
“Mhm, what?”
“He’s back.”
“Who?”
“The vampire.”
“What?” Tom would’ve fallen out of the bed if not for Ron’s arm around his waist. When he does manage to turn around and twist out of the blanket, he finds Ron high on his knees, looking out the window at the gate, where Tom can just barely make out the outline of a person sitting on the ground.
Before he can ask how Ron knows it’s their guy, the figure shifts just enough for him to notice a strange mass on their chest that they soon lift a couple inches above their head - a child.
“Shit,” he curses heavily. What the hell? They asked for one thing. The guy insisted.
“Alright, you stay here-”
“No,” he stops before Ron can even finish speaking. “You’re not going out there alone.” No way, that’s not an option.
“Tom…” Ron sighs, but all Tom really needs to do is look at him. He clenches his jaw too for good measure, and Ron huffs. He doesn’t like it, but he has to know that Tom won’t budge on this. He refuses to.
They both know it’s not the smartest decision, and maybe not the safest either. But Tom walks out with Ron’s arm around his waist and a silver knife in his hand anyway.
“What do you want?” Ron demands, loud and firm, and the vampire scrambles to stand up clumsily, holding the child to his chest.
“You’re hurt,” he says. Unnervingly, he doesn’t sound surprised.
Tom grips the knife harder, letting it catch in the moonlight as he repeats the question. “What do you want? We asked to be left alone.”
“Right.” The vampire swallows, stumbling a step back. “You did.” He nods. “But I- I wanted to thank you. You’re hurt. You can’t hunt.”
It’s then that Tom notices one more thing still lying on the ground - a big, dark mass, the faint stench of blood coming from it. Just as he’s about to start panicking, he manages to make out the shape of a small hoof in the shadows.
“We didn’t ask for that.” He shakes his head, willing his beating heart to calm down. It’s a deer, not a person. It’s not a person.
But the vampire insists. “Please. You have to-” He chokes on the words, and his hand comes up to cup the child’s head. It’s shaking. “He- I only have him. You saved him, you have to take it.”
Ron’s fingers clench in his jacket and tug on it, a question. A warning that he wants to do something potentially very stupid.
Lowering his head, not quite a nod yet, Tom sighs quietly. “What’s your name?”
“I- Pete. Peter. But- but my friends used to call me Maverick,” he adds almost as an afterthought, as if no one’s actually called him that in a very long time.
But the child reacts to the name, his squeaky voice mumbling quietly, “Ma’.” Maverick’s fingers run through his hair, gentle.
With Ron still holding on to him, Tom clenches his jaw and sighs again, heavier. “Well, Maverick, that’s kind of a big deer you’ve got there. You know how to clean it?”
He could swear he hears Maverick’s breath hitch. “I- I know how to get the blood out of it?”
That’s… good to know. It shouldn’t be enough, but Tom shrugs one shoulder so Ron can feel it and gets back another tug for it, and it is. He puts the knife away. “The latch is to your right. Close it after you two and bring that thing inside, would you?”
Maverick smiles so wide that even in the night, Tom can see his fangs clearly. It only makes him question his judgement a little bit more.
Maverick falls asleep at their table with deer blood covering his shirt. His kid, Bradley, waddles over to him right through the mess drying on the wood, sticks his bloody thumb in his mouth, and sways forward into Maverick’s shoulder.
Tom drags him back into his lap with a huff, so Ron can carry Maverick to their bed and throw the blanket over him. With the sun just peeking out behind the horizon, he covers the window too, keeping the whole room dark. On his way back to the table, he picks up another rag and quietly wonders, “You think we’re gonna regret this?”
Tom looks down at Bradley licking his own palm, his eyes slowly closing too. “I should,” he whispers. “But I don’t.”
Ron’s hands settle on his shoulders and he easily leans into the touch, tilting his head back for a kiss. “At least they’re cute?” Ron offers, and Tom sighs against his lips.
“But they make such a mess.“