Chapter Text
There is a sickening, churning sensation in Wilbur’s stomach as he squints open his eyes. A blade of autumn sunlight was cutting between the blinds into the cool room and onto his face. He groans when pushing himself upright, resting back on to his elbows as the room spins around him. An unpleasant pummelling, hammering sensation had begun to emerge on the left side of his head.
Great.
His body ached all over, the type of dull pain that only became observable if you particularly focused on it. Even with the five or six hours of sleep he’d had, there was a tiredness that had settled into his bones. A tension was slowly rising in his chest that felt as though it would tear him apart.
Supporting himself with shaky arms, Wilbur pushes himself up off the mattress, dragging his feet on the way to the door of his room. He stops momentarily to snatch up a change of clothes from a vague pile of colours on the floor.
Wilbur presses his ear against the wood, listening for any movement in the hallway outside. When he was sure the coast was clear, he slinks out, slipping into the bathroom across the passage.
He was in front of the mirror again, his reflection looked equally displeased in seeing his return. Carefully, he unravelled the thick cloth protecting the wound, grimacing at the sight of the torn skin. It really wasn’t a pleasant sight to look at. He looks down, avoiding meeting his reflection’s eyes, he can’t stand to look at himself right now like this. In his hands, the bandages appeared to only have a small amount of blood on them. It doesn’t seem to have reopened in the night, which was a small win for today. Flipping open the medicine cabinet, he takes the supplies out and redresses the wound.
Mercifully, the mustard yellow turtleneck sweater he picked up on the way out of his bedroom provides a welcome obscuration of the offending bandages. At least the weather is on his side for this one, the rain was beginning to pelt onto the window with sharp stinging sounds without showing any signs of stopping soon.
Wilbur timidly opens the bathroom door, adjusting his collar in the hope that the bandages were completely concealed below. Downstairs in the kitchen, there is a cluttering of utensils and unintelligible shouts that were so distinctly Tommy. This was normal. Familiar. He could do this.
“Philll,” Tommy’s grating whine is doing no miracles for the pounding in Wilbur’s skull. “This is my dream! You can’t – you’re crushing the innocent dreams of a growing man! My destiny Phil! My destiny!”
In the centre of the kitchen Tommy is gesturing wildly at a very exasperated looking Phil, who was despondently clutching a cup of tea. Phil looks up at Wilbur hovering in the doorway with an expression that could only be described as one of anguish.
“Morning Wil.” Phil bats him over the head lightly as Wilbur ducks past him to the pantry. “Look what you’ve done, he’s probably going to hide in our bags if we try to leave without him one of these days. I hope you’re happy with yourself.” Phil gestures to Tommy’s mournful lamenting.
Wilbur chuckles and sits down across from Tommy at the table, pouring cereal and milk into a bowl in front of him.
Across the table, Tommy scrunches up his nose. “Your hair looks like shit.” Wilbur flicks a piece of cereal in his face, causing him to splutter in indignation.
Beside him, Techno drops into a seat without acknowledging anyone in his room, looking unusually engrossed in the wallpaper on his phone, pointedly ignoring Tommy’s intense stare that had locked onto him the moment he entered.
“Heyyy Techno. Tech. The Blade.” Tommy is undeterred by the noncommittal grunt in response. “Do you think I should be allowed to go on the next mission? Wilbur told me that Phil let you guys go along with him when you were my age.”
At this, Techno shoots Wilbur a dirty look, but only gets an innocent shrug in reply before Wilbur shoves a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. Techno very maturely kicks Wilbur under the table.
During this, Tommy seems to still be engaged in a one-sided staring competition with Techno. The man groans and tiredly presses his forefinger and thumb over the bridge of his nose, eyes shut as if he was experiencing physical pain from the conversation entirely.
With a sigh, Techno relents. “Tommy, I personally don’t see a real problem as long as the three of us are there—” Tommy lets out a victorious cheer and turns to Phil with a beam. “—BUT, Tommy, Phil is the final juror on this, and whatever he says goes.” He finishes dully. There is a long suffering sigh from Phil who buries his head in his hands.
As Phil and Tommy began to bicker back and forth with each other, Wilbur had tuned out of the conversation, focusing his gaze down at the remaining cereal in front of him. The pieces were soggy with milk, and unappetising in more than just appearance. The parts he’d already eaten were not doing any wonders for him, a queasy feeling starting to settle over him. He swirls the spoon gloomily in the mush, too miserable to want to finish the bowl.
“—you alright mate?” Wilbur blinks for a second, coming out of the daze to notice Phil’s concerned expression directed at him. Glancing over at the other occupants of the room, Tommy was still speaking animatedly to a very disinterested Techno.
Wilbur frowned in thought “Yeah sorry I just— thinking about a trip from last night I guess.” He stands up and takes his half-eaten leftovers to the sink.
He’s stopped by Phil, placing a hand on his arm. “Did something happen Wil?” The attention was on him now, his brothers are quiet and snooping from the table. Wilbur sucks in a nervous breath.
“Yes— no, sorry it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” Phil raises an eyebrow at him and Wilbur grimaces. There’s no way he can get away with avoiding talking about it now with Phil on his case. “I just was caught off guard is all, there was a vamp and I’m still a bit shaken I suppose.” He puts the bowl down and wrings his hands out in an attempt to calm himself.
“Wait, there was actually one at Ms Hawkins’ tip off this time?” Tommy exclaimed in surprise; attention fully rapt on the conversation now, not even pretending to not be listening in now.
“Yes, there was.” Wilbur’s mind supplies him with an unnecessary replay of the events from last night. He pauses for a second, replaying one moment in his head, brow furrowing in recollection. “Shit. Hold on, I'll be back.”
He glances at Phil before quickly dashing to the front door where his bag had been dropped off, Tommy excitedly tailing after him, wanting any excuse to be involved. Wilbur kneels down, digging through the pack.
Stakes. Silver bullets. Cross. First aid kit. Flashlight.
Crouching beside him, Tommy is squinting into the bag as if it would help him figure out what he was supposed to be seeing. “What you lookin’ for big man?” He fiddles with the pull tab of the zipper.
Blood bait bag. Crossbow. Silver prime bell. Crossbow bolts. That unsightly water gun of holy water.
Empty dagger sheath.
Wilbur resigns from his rummaging and stands up, defeated “I think I dropped my silver dagger when I was out last night.”
“Shit that’s expensive.”
“I know.” Wilbur grumbles, zipping the pockets back up and slinging it over his shoulder.
When he enters the kitchen, Phil and Techno stop their conversation, giving him twin confused looks, silently waiting for an elaboration.
“Silver dagger.” He says shortly. “Lost it on duty.”
Phil shakes his head but looks relieved something wasn’t wrong — Techno however seizes the opportunity to lecture Wilbur.
“Being aware of your surroundings is important, Wilbur. You should know this by now.”
“I do know that, Techno. You don’t need to remind me.” Wilbur snaps out between gritted teeth.
Ignoring him, Techno drily continues on. “Vigilance while on the job as a vampire hunter is critical if you want to survive. That’s like, basic trainee stuff.”
“I fucking know Techno, but I’m just human, I make mistakes. You don’t need to remind me of this shit.” He’s seething now, even though part of him knows the frustration is unjustified.
Techno shrugs and leans back in his chair. “I’m just sayin’ you should know better, relax.”
The swirling tight feeling from the morning returns in full force, making him feel ill on his feet. He lets out a breath to calm himself. “Sorry Techno, I’m just— not feeling all too well at the moment. I think I’m going to head back to bed.” The tension lessons, but the gripping in his stomach remains.
He catches a glimpse of Phil resting his hand on Techno’s shoulder and shaking his head slightly as Wilbur exits the room.
*****
While the idea of laying down in bed and going back to sleep sounds like a dream at the moment, the mission report file for last night rests empty on his desk, taunting him. Sleep could wait, he’d be fine, even with the churning in his stomach and the feverish heat now radiating from his skin.
He settles reluctantly into the desk chair, fixing his eyes onto the papers below him. Not only would he have to report that the tip was valid, but missing inventory.
Good going making more work on yourself Wilbur
He picks up the pen with an unsteady hand and begins to write.
It’s a slow process to fill out forms, boxes to tick, empty sections to write in, lined spaces to sign off on. While boring on a regular day, he isn’t opposed to the simple repetition of his actions right now, all things considered. His pen confidently glides across the page as he settles into the familiar patterns of writing. One of these days he might just get a large stamp that fills out the entire page at once to make it easier, he writes the same bullshit each time anyway. If only they allowed digital submissions, but the Valourcloaks were traditionalists to say the least.
Over time, the pages begin to flicker in Wilbur’s vision as dizzy spell after dizzy spell rocked through him, forcing him to close his eyes and rest his head on his hand to quell the spinning every so often.
Perhaps it hadn’t been the best of ideas to do this right now.
He tries to refocus his vision onto the page and resume from where he had left off. There were really only a couple of pages remaining to fill out and he had a good cadence going already. He might as well just get it over with now before he loses the flow and forgets to finish it later on.
But the pen in his hand is unsteady, and his brain seems to have slowed to a halt entirely. He feels as if a hundred miles away, staring down lethargically at an unfilled box. ‘If yes to sect.59A, list any details on the entity involved in the interaction.’
Another insurmountable wave of nausea crashes over him, making his head feel as if it were made of lead, and he begins drifting listlessly to the side. There was already an extraordinary amount of effort he’d put into keeping his eyes open, let alone remaining upright. In all honesty, if Wilbur didn’t lie down right now, he’d likely topple out of his chair and collapse onto the floor below.
I’ll finish it tomorrow. He thought defeatedly, finally giving in.
Stumbling uncoordinated out of his seat and onto his bed, it was as if his skin had been set alight judging by the heat that was now burning inside him uncomfortably, even with the cool autumn weather outside. The slow ache that had begun to creep onto his jaw could hold no candle to the now thundering sharp pains ricocheting in his head. This was a gradual agony. He felt drained of all the energy he’d mustered up during breakfast. Wilbur sluggishly dragged a blanket over his shoulders and wrapped it tightly over himself.
Just a cold. He’d repeat over and over. Must’ve picked up something from the weather.
The rain beating against the window lulled him into a fitful slumber.
*****
A soft rap at his door drew Wilbur out of the drowsy limbo between sleep and consciousness. He was bundled up in blankets, yet feeling as though he was being frozen, the autumn chill that was leaking in from outside through the thin glass was providing no aid. His room was dim, sunlight now disappeared over the horizon, leaving everything cast in shadow.
“Hey Wil.” It was Techno.
Wilbur made an affirmative noise and rolled over towards the door as it opened, warm air and light from the hallway rushing into the room. In the doorway Techno is facing him, but staring at the handle in his hand, not meeting his gaze.
“Are you okay? You didn’t come down for lunch and we’re just about to have dinner.” Wilbur is too tired and feverish to even attempt a reply or excuse. After a moment of tentative silence, Techno enters and sits on the edge of his bed.
He looked anxious, avoiding eye contact with Wilbur and fidgeting with his hands. “Phil said that you might be—“ He stops and takes in a breath, starting over “I’m sorry for what I said at breakfast, that was out of line of me when you were clearly upset. Uh— I’m a bit stupid about that stuff sometimes, you know.” Wilbur chuckles weakly at the comment.
Techno finally looks over at Wilbur, only then seeing the pallor of his skin and distant expression on his face. “Wil? You good?” Techno’s eyes creased with concern now, his previous anxiety dissipating.
“Fuckin’ peachy” Wilbur croaked, face pressed against his pillow. “Think ‘m a bit sick, cold or som’thin’.”
A hand reached over and rested on Wilbur’s forehead, the warmth of Techno’s hand a relief from the cold shackling him. “Do you need me to get Phil or something?”
Wilbur gives a small shake of his head, and the hand is removed to his misery. “No it’s fine, I’ll jus’ sleep it off, it’s not that bad.” He smiles and kicks Techno lightly through the covers when his expression remains troubled. “Stop mothering, go have dinner. I’m a big boy, I can take care of myself.”
Hesitantly Techno stands up and leaves the room, pausing before shutting the door. “If you need anything text me, okay?” Wilbur nods, curling into the covers as the door shuts, light disappearing only for the room to be reclaimed by the dark.
He lies there for a long time, still. Sounds of plates and playful shouts echo muffled from downstairs. Even as the house slowly quiets into silence and doors close, he still can’t fall back asleep. And while fatigue plagues him, the pain is too much to ignore now.
In all honesty, what he was experiencing was most definitely deserved – after all, what kind of vampire hunter ran from their mission. It was their own sworn duty to protect those around them, not cower at the sight of the enemy he was entrusted with removing. Sure, the vampire was most likely dead, but in his panic, he didn’t even stop to check, only turning tail and fleeing.
The tightness in his chest felt like it was about to shatter his ribs, but now Wilbur knew that wasn’t a symptom of an ailment now.
It was a symptom of shame.