Do I Need It? (Am I Under Control?)

Technicalities

Wilbur is very dramatic in this chapter, and we love him for it.

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“So, I think we’ve all heard what Tommy said, right?” Phil asked for confirmation.

“No- I, uh… I was out for a run. I do like the forest out here.” Wilbur said, and Phil sighed, his centuries somehow becoming visible on his face.

“Okay mate, Techno?” Phil gestured to his oldest son, an expectant look on his pale face.

“I… Tommy… Tommy didn’t take my lack of venom well, right?” Wilbur nodded as Techno continued his explanation of the events he’d missed, “And uh… He said a lot of stuff about me manipulatin’ him. I think he got flashbacks, you know how we were goin’ to get him a therapist but he refused?” Techno asked, and Wilbur’s eyes widened in panic and anger.

“Techno, you- And you just left the room? No help or anything? Holy shit, Techno. You’re a fucking asshole! You’ve totally fucked up our relationship with Tommy! I can’t fucking stand the sight of your ugly fucking f-“

Phil’s hand slammed into Wilbur’s face as he tried to stand up.

“No. We are a family and I will not be having any badmouthing! Look at you, arguing! Arguing whilst our youngest is scared out of his prime-damned mind! We’re a coven, could we not get along for just five minutes? Looks like nobody’s going to be taking any hunting trips for the next year. Maybe three months if you all behave. Sit down, Wilbur, or do I have to make you?”

Wilbur sat down, consternation thrumming through his cold, deceased body. His horror was further amplified by his father’s eyes not leaving his face, though, with a blush, he realised Phil intended for him to answer.

“N-No, Dad.” Wilbur stuttered, an unusual occurrence for him, though, it was not every day his father lost his temper in such a way so directed at him specifically. Wilbur turned his head down, pulling on the sleaves of his jumper as he forced down his mutters of scared-sire-scared deep into his mind and away from the pull of his coven bond.

Phil sighed, seeming simultaneously disappointed and relieved, as though itching for a fight yet not wanting to harm or be forced to harm his son badly, despite threats to do being common in a household such as theirs, where their bond for each other was as strong as their instincts, for better or worse
“So, Techno must have triggered a flashback from a traumatic event. I think we all understand that. And as a result, Tommy most likely sees you as similar to those fuckers who hurt him..”

“The trafficking ring? He thinks I’m like them? The people that defiled him? Those monsters?”

“No, he probably thinks all of us are like that. Now, we need a plan. We need to decide how we’re going to help Tommy, since he’s clearly not in the right headspace and we need to decide quickly before Tommy does anything… Drastic… while we’re here.” Phil explained, alerting the coven to the true urgency of the situation.

“Maybe we could move back to L’manberg?” Wilbur suggested, eyes full of city dreams. Phil shook his head, eyes pained.

“If we did, Tommy still wouldn’t trust us in a remote environment. It would be more of a crutch than a bandage over time, Techno?”

“I’mma be honest, Phil. I got nothing.”

Phil held his head in his hands, attempting to think of something before he was dragged into the pits of despair that called out his name in desire. There had to be a solution. A home-remedy if you will. A way to fix everything. A way everything could go back to normal.

Go back to normal…

“I’ve got it!” Phil cried out, a blush forming on his face upon realising how pathetic the cry made him sound considering his age, “I’ve got it!”

“What?” Wilbur and Techno responded, Wilbur’s shocked excitement seeming rather high-pitched next to his brother’s monotone questioning.

“How about we just act normal? Eventually, Tommy has to forget! He’s only human after all. They have rubbish memories. After a few decades, it’ll be like nothing ever happened!” Phil exclaimed, eyes wild as though he’d just seen his sons after decades apart.

“Dad...?” Wilbur questioned, horror in his red eyes, “Isn’t that gaslighting? Won’t that just prove Tommy right?”

Phil stopped for a moment, as though the thought had never occurred to him. He thought for a while longer, the silence deafening in comparison to their usual noisy city life. Living in the country was so idyllic, it was great they could do so again.

“We aren’t evil, are we Wilbur?” he asked. Wilbur shook his head.

“No…?”

“Then it isn’t bad. Only gaslighting meant to hurt people is bad, like a lie! Lying to someone about how nice their coat is isn’t bad is it?”

“…I guess?” Wilbur decided, the words falling out of his mouth as though gravity was pulling them down and out into the world, feeling like poison on his dry lips.

“I agree with Phil. It’ll help Tommy in the long run, so it’s all good.”

Wilbur’s mouth felt sown shut as he allowed his brother and father to continue on their ideas rampage, the idea of speaking as exhausting as existing felt. He let his eyes drift out of focus, his mind to blank and his body to escape his control. He didn’t really think Phil’s solution was all too great but what could he do? Go against his sire?

That was fucking suicide.

“And we could tell him it would never happened?”

“No, It’ll work...”

“Isn’t that illegal?”

“As if police protect humans…”

Techno snapped his fingers in Wilbur’s face. Phil stood up, eyes wide in concern, to his right.

“You there?” Techno asked, a monotone, unconcerned expression revealing his true feelings. None. Wilbur shook himself in an attempt to feel more awake, though it didn’t appear to work.

“Yeah, yeah, of course. It’s just…” Wilbur began, though his words died after half had left. His mouth-sown feeling came back more than ever, so he didn’t finish what he began. His unfinished symphony.

“What?” His brother questioned, looking at with more emotions in his eyes. Though it didn’t seem to be artifice.

“I- Nothing…” Wilbur stated, putting a rock down he refused to remove in front of his cave of thoughts. “Can we leave?” He asked, turning to his father for approval. Phil nodded and they made the journey back home, this time their duo a trio. Wilbur wished it could be four…
When they returned home, Tommy was in a deep sleep so they stayed downstairs: Phil in his office doing whatever an ancient vampire did in his office, Techno reading that stupid book he always read (‘The Art of War’? Pompous arse.) and he with his hands strumming his old wooden guitar, old memories brought forward by every note.

Wilbur could no longer remember everything he’d done, everywhere he’d been, everyone he’d loved, though he tried. Wilbur’s vice was his music, where he attempted (and failed) to contain those who’d mattered once in silky notes and pretty lies, ballads of love and pain, creation and destruction all contained in his lyrics and released by the strum of his guitar and the wail of his voice.

Wilbur sat, who he had once been playing his guitar: his muscle memory taking over whilst he faded once more into the quiet, as though that would solve anything. He shut his eyes, memories of Vienna bouncing around, now hollow. There was not his Vienna anymore. His Boris Johnson had died years ago. No matter how hard he tried to preserve everything, it never worked.

Nothing ever worked out for him.

If only Tommy could help him out of this one…