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Published:
2022-03-28
Completed:
2022-10-26
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25/25
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A Step By Step Guide To Mortality

Summary:

Tommy shakes his head, looking at anywhere else in the room other than Phil. His head flicks around as though he’s already planning an escape as he speaks.

“I can’t tell you who it is but I need you to tutor me, so I can tutor them.” Tommy meets Phil’s eyes for a second before they nervously dart away and stay firmly connected to the whiteboard behind Phil.

Tommy swallows hard. “Please, Mr Watson?”

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that there is no friend.

———

OR
An unconventional foster fic where Phil is an immortal history teacher and he accidentally becomes the dad to three trouble makers with varying degrees of trauma

hurt/comfort ensues.

Notes:

Quick note! this story is written to be really light and enjoyable but have darker undertones. What you see in the tags will be referenced at some point in the story so please be mindful. It's easy to find yourself laughing along to the ridiculousness of their situations only to be thrown into one of Tommy's panic attacks or something.

ALSO!!! if you want to invade a discord server and ramble, there's a channel for doing exactly that if you click these words and accept the invite SO GO FOR IT!
(and a big old thank you eris, or soulfirephoenix for setting it up for me, you legend. i encourage everyone to read their fics they're so good)

Chapter 1: Step 1: Become a History Teacher

Chapter Text

Becoming a teacher was more of an impulse than anything else.

Phil’s very long life had started to get more and more dependent on his impulses. When you can’t die, what do you have to lose?

 

He’s never been very interested in kids. 

Sure, they have their moments. Phil sometimes feels his heart warmed by a baby he passes in the grocery store, smiling and making grabby hands towards him. 

Sometimes his face lights up when a child runs up to him and mistakenly shouts, “Dad!” but they’re not something he’d ever consider. 

 

Being a parent would hurt him too much, seeing his kids age without him. Phil's heart had lived through a lot but that might be the one thing to finally break it.

So, he’s kept his distance until just recently. He barely remembers being a child, what good would he be at raising one? 

 

But that thought is still there and an idea wormed its way into his mind:

Teaching.

 

The impulse was more than enough to get him started.

How hard could teaching even be? Nothing too challenging for an immortal such as himself.

 

History. Yes, that’s what he’d teach.

Who better to teach history than someone who was there for most of it?

 

Brilliant.

 

 

“Ran-boo?” Philza squints at the students name, “Is it Ranbo? Or Ranboo?” he glances over the classroom, waiting for an eye to catch his. 

 

A taller student with split dyed hair by the front of the class raises his hand, ”It’s Ranboo, sir.”

 

Phil gives him a warm smile and nods, “Thanks mate.”

He continues going down the list, brows furrowing together at the unfamiliar names that adorn them.

 

“You guys have some weird names. Is there a Theseus?” Phil calls out and the boy sitting next to Ranboo immediately jumps to attention.

 

“I don’t go by Theseus, Mr Watson!” The young boy announces loudly.

The even shorter boy sighs by his side. 

 

The heights go from tallest to shortest in order of Ranboo, Theseus, and the boy, Tubbo, speaking now.

 

 “Nobody’s called him Theseus since we were 5.” Tubbo sits his head against his palm tiredly.

 

“What would you prefer?” Phil looks at the boy before him, a shock of blond hair, loud expressions and swinging legs amongst a tide of tired faces and sluggish bodies.

 

“Tommy.” He announces proudly and Phil gives him a reassuring nod.

 

“Tommy.” Phil states. 

The name soon grows familiar on his tongue.

 

As the weeks pass, he discovers two things.

One, there is a major gap in maturity between his senior class and his junior class.

 

And two, Tommy is an absolute, undeniable, menace. 

He’s the loudest in class debates, challenging opinions whilst not understanding his own. He says things Phil would never have thought to be relevant to history ever before.

 

 There is no student in his junior class that can compete with the ferocity of which Tommy participates with.

What makes Tommy even more interesting to Phil is how he changes depending on the people.

 God is the kid adaptable.

 In the same moment he is screaming about The Queen, he changes to quiet, lightning fast.

 

Phil’s not sure what to make of it but he enjoys the noise, despite needing to reel Tommy back in more than once during the day.

 

 

“I think if you die in a volcano you’re just trash.” Tommy states boldly while Tubbo and Ranboo both explode with laughter. The Pompeii unit they just started was not going well.

 

“Tommy! You can’t say that!” Ranboo splutters, trying to grasp some kind of reason.

 

“It’s literally hot rocks! You’re telling me you’re gonna die to a hot rock? That’s called being bad , Ranboo!” Tommy shouts and waves angrily to the slide show being projected up front. 

 

One picture in particular shows a casting of a body that had fallen down the stairs during the eruption.

Phil fought the urge to laugh, biting his lip in a desperate attempt to keep his cool.

 

Oh my god, he’s going to get fired if this continues.

 

Jack, another student in the class, adds to the conversation. “Didn’t, like, 2000 people die in Pompeii?”

 

“And every single one of them: weak.” Tommy shrugs.

 

“Shut up, Manifold.” Tubbo dismisses. “ I bet you’d die in a volcano.” He makes an explosion hand gesture towards the boy seated behind him.

 

Ranboo nods solemnly. “Jack, I hate to say it but he’s right. You’d die to a volcano.”

 

Jack slaps the table and slouches into his seat, defeated. “What the hell?!”

 

 

After a long day of teaching both his senior and junior classes, the bell rings and he dismisses his juniors, watching a flurry of faces race by. 

Many students say thank you and good afternoon but most just skitter away, eager to get home and not do the assigned homework Phil just gave them. 

Phil picks up a stack of papers he needs to mark and gently lowers them into his bag.

 

Tommy clears his throat impatiently. Phils head shoots back up.

 

“Mr Watson?” Tommy bites the inside of his cheek nervously. “Can we talk?”

 

“You’ll have to make it quick, this is the detention class for the foreseeable future.”

 

Tommy forces a smile. “Don’t worry about that, I’m in the right place then.”

 

Phil raises his eyebrows, although really, it’s not that surprising. 

 

“Can I ask you something, Mr Watson?”

 

Concern lacing his facial expression, Phil nods and sits down.

“Of course, what is it mate?” 

 

Phil gives Tommy his full attention and the boy grows more nervous, jittery almost. 

Tommy looks like he’s about to confess to a crime he’s committed—  which honestly, would be pretty on brand. But it’s just— weird. Seeing Tommy so fluttery. Anxiously rocking on his feet, cheek being chewed away. 

 

“It’s about my, uh no, it’s about my friends' grades.” Tommy nods swiftly to himself. “My friend.”

 

Phil draws his eyebrows together, confusion evident in his voice. “Your friends' grades?”

 

Tommy agrees and gives a soft, “Mhm!” before continuing. “They’re failing your class, you see. Really badly. Like, really bad. So I agreed to uh, to tutor them.”

 

Now Phil is really confused. Nobody is failing his class ‘really badly’ or at all for that matter. There’s a couple kids who are lagging behind the majority, but nothing to be worried about.

There’s something he must be missing.

 

“Someone is failing my class?” Phil says it quietly because Tommy looks like a piece of paper on the verge of tearing or being blown away.

 

“Incredibly unfortunate, I know! And if their mid-year report isn’t perfect he will be in deep shit.”

 

 Phil makes a mental note of the “he” and continues listening to Tommy.

 

“And who may that be?”

 

Tommy shakes his head, looking at anywhere else in the room other than Phil. His head flicks around as though he’s already planning an escape as he speaks.

 

“I can’t tell you who it is but I need you to tutor me, so I can tutor them.” Tommy meets Phil’s eyes for a second before they nervously dart away and stay firmly connected to the whiteboard behind Phil.

 

Phil purses his lips.

“Well, offering to tutor someone is extremely kind, Tommy. But do you have the time to attend your classes, get tutored by me, and then tutor your friend? Wouldn’t it be more logical for me to tutor your mate?”

 

Tommy swallows, hard. “Please, Mr Watson?”

 

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that there is no friend.

Phil thinks it over in his head, trying to figure out why Tommy would need tutoring. It was pretty easy to work out that there was no friend who needed tutoring, but why would Tommy lie? 

Did he think Phil would be upset at him if he asked for help?

 

“Of course, mate.” Phil settles for an answer. “I’m covering detentions so I can’t do it during those times but we’ll meet once a week after school in this classroom. Does that work for you?”

 

Tommy’s eyes light up as though Phil has gifted him the world. He looks almost tempted to hug Phil. If he tried, Phil would be happy to oblige however Tommy restrains himself.

Instead his face splits into a grin as he practically bounces up and down.

 

“Thank you Mr Watson! Thank you so much, I promise I’ll show up to every session! For my friend of course! he’ll be so happy to hear this.”

 

Tommy rushes outside with one final thank you.

 

“Later Big Man!”

 

“Hey! You still have detention!”

 

“Shit!”

 

 

The first tutoring session, Phil had forgotten about. 

He wipes down the whiteboard in front of him. Preparing it for whoever is teaching in the classroom the next morning. 

 

Behind him, he hears the scraping of a chair being pulled up and a dull thud from a bag being placed on the ground. Phil whips around. Lo and behold, Tommy takes a seat on the chair, leaning against Phil’s teacher desk.

 

“Ready to get started, Mr Watson?” Tommy asks, bouncing a leg up and down.

 

Masking his initial confusion, Phil places the whiteboard cleaner down and swaps it out for a pen. 

“Of course Toms.”

 

It went extraordinarily well. Tommy asked questions when he was confused and told Phil when he needed help. Phil simplified the complicated parts and went into detail for the bits that came easy. 

 

Really, he enjoyed it more than he thought he would.

So much so, that the next time they met up, they went on for two hours after school. The only reason they stopped was Tommy’s stomach growling.

Tommy’s face flushes red.

 

“Shit, I’m sorry!” Tommy’s stomach grumbles again and he presses a hand against it in an attempt to silence it. Even Tommy’s ears turn a light shade red.

 

“What’s the time?” Phil checks his watch and sure enough, it’s nearly 5pm. A bit early for Phil to be hungry yet but definitely too long for a tutor session. 

 

“Wow,” Phi laughs. “I didn't mean to keep you this long. Sorry Tommy.”

 

“No it’s okay! Really, I don’t mind going for this long. Next time I’ll just eat something before we start.”

 

Phil frowns. “You did eat today, right?”

 

The silence was loud. Phil places the pen in his hand down and Tommy copies, putting down his pencil. Phil stares at him expectantly and Tommy stares into his lap.

 

Phil sighs, opening the door to the classroom. “Mate. Come on then.”

 

Tommy looks terrified, like a twig on a branch that just heard a loud cracking noise. 

Phil felt like maybe, in some way, he was the wind contributing to the crack.

 

Tommy trails behind Phil quietly as he leads them down the halls. Phil pauses at the teachers lounge, fumbling with the key and pushing the door open with a careful click. 

Tommy waits anxiously by the door and when Phil returns, he’s carrying two sandwiches in ziplock bags.

 

He holds out one to Tommy who stares at it with wide eyes and takes it cautiously, like he’s worried it‘s some kind of shitty prank.

 

“Mr Watson?” Tommy eyes the ziplock bag hungrily.

 

“There you are. Something to munch on for the journey home.”

Tommy blanches for a moment, “Are you sure?” he asks with more excitement than what should be in the voice of a teenager who was given a sandwich.

 

Phil takes no notice. After all, he’s never been very good with kids or reading between the lines.

 

“I’ll see you next week Tommy. And I’ll remember to bring some sandwiches next time, although hopefully our next session will only be an hour. Like they’re supposed to be.”



And that was how it began. Tommy, a first year in high school, weaning his way into Phil’s life through history. 

 

Teaching, he laughs in disbelief, running a hand through his blond hair. Who would have thought?

 

 

A routine build up. Tommy comes to the classroom twice after school where they go over some things that his so-called ‘friend’ missed, or needed to catch up on. 

Tommy drags a chair up to Phil's desk and they work from there.

 

Phil stays in his usual spot but gets to keep a close eye on Tommy.

And afterwards, or during the session if Tommy confesses to not eating anything, Phil gives Tommy a sandwich to eat.

 

He does worry about the days where Phil doesn’t tutor Tommy. How many afternoons has the boy gone home hungry? God, he just hopes his parents feed him enough.

 

But that becomes part of Phil’s week. And it’s great for him too because Phil gets to spend less time in an empty house.

He’s never liked the quiet and it seems to swarm in droves at his home.

There’s always been the buzz of the radio or TV, the windows open early in the morning to listen to all the birds. Anything to chase the silence away.



 

Tommy groans loudly, rubbing his hands up and down his face in annoyance. “I don’t understand this timeline!” He lets his head thunk loudly against the desk and Phil huffs.

 

“Don’t bang your head on the desk. You need those brain cells.”

 

Tommy whines and throws his head back instead. “What brain cells?”

He uses that same irritated tone of voice that starts to come along once the frustration has really set in. 

That tight sensation in your throat that eats away at your patience.

 

“What part are you struggling with?” Phil leans around to look at his work.

 

“All of it.” Tommy mumbles into his hand.  “This is like Tubbo trying to explain coding or— or Ranboo talking about the fucking Titanic. It’s— It’s boring and my head hurts and I just wanna lie down and cry.” He muffles another groan dramatically.

 

Tommy’s fluff of blond hair pillows around his head, buried in his hands and Phil reaches out to pat Tommy on the shoulder consolingly. 

Surprised by the action, Tommy flinches for a moment but leans into the touch barely a second later. He mutters something incoherent under his breath but ice has already struck Phil's heart.

 

A sinking feeling sows its way into Phil’s stomach but he's hoping desperately it was a one time thing. It's best to just move on, right?

It’s just a flinch. 

Everyone gets nervous sometimes. And besides, Phil is a teacher. He’s not at school to parent Tommy, he’s there to teach.

Although he wants to comfort him, maybe it’s best that he keeps his distance. Phil pulls away, despite Tommy seeming to go with his hand for a moment before he settles back down.

 

“Here, let's sort out this timeline, shall we, mate?” Phil swaps the subject.

 



The flinch is all he can think about.

 

He sits down at his desk the next day, allowing his senior students to work on their devices creating slideshows for a random event in history of their choosing. A part of him says he needs to be going around, checking everyone’s staying on task, but the other part is stuck inside this cyclone of his own creation.

 

It’s silly, he knows.

But it’s like this cold sheen of ice is constantly resting against his skin, goosebumps crawling their way along his neck. 

This constant reminder of Tommy jerking away on pure instinct at Phil’s mere touch.

That was a boundary he would easily remember.

 

“Mr Watson?” Niki, a student in his senior class, lags behind.

The bell must have run a few minutes ago.

 

He pulls himself out of his thoughts, shaking his head clear as though to swat away what clouds it like an unwanted fog. “Yes Niki?”

 

Niki was a delight to teach, more talented in other classes like baking, art, and water sports than history. But Phil would never judge her academic ability in History as it’s not where her skill sets lie.

He understands.

 

“I’m worried about a student in class.” Niki states, looking over towards a seat at the back. 

“He’s opened up to me a little bit. But, I think it’s mostly his grades that need help unless he wants to repeat the year.”

 

Phil can’t name one kid who would need to repeat the year from his classes. He sighs, worried he’s having another Tommy situation. 

Is there a reason kids don’t find him safe enough to tell the truth?

Maybe he should search up some safe feeling things and buy them when he's home. 

 

“Niki, do you need tutoring?” Phil asks abruptly.

 

Niki barks out a surprised laugh, vigorously shaking her head. “No! I’m talking about Wilbur!”

 

And Phil pauses for a moment, checking his roll a bit shamefully. 

Sure enough, there’s a Wilbur Soot.

“Wilbur?” He says the name, unfamiliar on his tongue. 

He can barely scrape together the image of a quiet boy at the back of his class, head constantly down hidden with a mop of brown hair. “I’ll check his grades and talk to him.”

 

Niki lets out a relieved breath and doesn’t hesitate to give Phil a hug. “Thank you Mr Watson! Wilbur’s smart, I know it. I just think he doesn’t try or doesn’t want to.”

Phil gently pats Niki’s back, letting her choose when to let go.

 

“Of course, Niki. I’ll keep an eye out.”

 

She gives Phil a grateful smile before exiting happily.