Archive of Our Own ^beta

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.

Chapter Text

The next time he sees Tommy is after school in detention.

If there’s one thing Phil has noticed, it’s that Tommy comes to detention an awful lot. Most of the time, he is quiet and sits at the front doing his unfinished work. Although sometimes, more often than not, he’s talkative.

It’s difficult for Phil to remember that this is supposed to be a punishment for Tommy, not a chat session.

The following detention, Tommy arrives late and walks in after school, throwing his bag through the door and flopping down on a seat he pulls up to Phil’s desk. He sits down on the seat backwards, leaning over the back of the chair to look at Phil.

“Oh my— okay. Hi Tommy. I didn’t think anybody had after school detention today.” Phil pulls up his calendar checking the list of students. Sure enough, there’s a ping from 10 minutes ago listing Tommy Innit. 

Phil squints at his screen and whispers. “How did you manage to get in trouble in the last few minutes of class?”

“Can we do a tutoring session?” Tommy asks.

Without waiting for an answer, Tommy unzips his school bag, pulling out a pile of loose paper which Phil assumes is his refill somehow having fallen apart in his bag. 

“I-”

Tommy sighs loudly. “I don’t feel like doing a detention today.”

Phil bites his lip. “I suppose since there isn’t anybody else coming to detention.”

He takes a seat back down at his desk and grabs a pen, reopening his laptop to prepare.

Tommy slaps down his workbook loudly.

“Phillip, this school is full of dickheads.” Tommy huffs, blowing a strand of hair out of his face.

“My name definitely isn't Phillip.” Phil states blankly with a blink. “And who’s being mean to you?”

“Why? Also it’s nothing, just some senior pricks.”

Phil laughs. “What do you mean why?! My name is just Phil. Phil Minecraft Watson.”

Tommy scrunches his eyebrows together. “Is your name just Phil? Because that’s a pussy name.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s a less pussy name?”

Tommy gapes for a moment in shock when Phil swears but contains himself.

“You swore.”

“Gonna tell on me?” Phil quirks his head and laughs when Tommy’s jaw drops open even more.

Tommy clears his head by shaking it.

“Philza. That’s so much cooler than Phil and wayyy less pussy.” Tommy exclaims. 

Tommy waves his hands like he’s imagining the name in lights. “Philza Minecraft.”

“You got rid of my last name!”

“Watson is lame, man!”

Phil rolls his eyes fondly.

“C’mon, tell me that’s not cool.” Tommy mouths the words Philza Minecraft and uses his hand theatrically.

Phil chuckles at the nickname but shakes his head. “You really should call me Mr Watson.”

“Nah. Adding a 'z' into anyone's name makes it immediately more pog.” Tommy finishes, leaving no room for argument and Phil really can’t be bothered arguing with Tommy. 

“Philza Minecraft is a fucking sick name and you should thank me for creating it.”

He returns to his house just before dinner. 

Phil closes the door behind him gently, kicking his shoes off at the door and throwing his coat onto the couch, making a beeline towards his computer.

The first thing he does is brainstorm something he can purchase to make him feel safer.

Candles? No, fire hazard.

Blankets? No, what is he thinking? They’re at school!

An oil diffuser? 

He hesitates for a moment but crosses it off the list. Allergies.

He decides to print some school related memes to pin to his classroom wall. Yeah, that’ll make him more relatable.

A salt lamp appears in his buying recommendations.

“Ah, what the hell.” Phil quietly says to himself and purchases one for his classroom.

What else? A scarf? Scarves are pretty safe, he thinks.

He searches up listings for different clothes, particularly scarves.

Instead, he finds something he likes much more. A green and white striped bucket hat.

Bucket hats are safe! He’s never met anyone threatening wearing a bucket hat.

He purchases the bucket hat and one dark green scarf for good measure.

Then, he gets started on what he told Niki he’d do. He searches for the name: Wilbur Soot .

Sure enough, he’s in Phil’s senior class. 

To much of Phil’s surprise, the boy is on the verge of failing.

How on earth did Phil not notice? This student, beginning to slip through the cracks that Phil had worked hard to repair. Phil felt awful for letting him go by unbeknownst to him.

The strange thing is how much of Wilbur’s work is unassessed.

 There’s chunks of academic learning, completely missing from the boys record. He scrolls through the school's file on Wilbur. It’s like nobody takes notice of him.

Wilbur’s file is a short read; kept slim by a lack of information and participation coming from his side. 

There’s one teacher's note coming from Puffy who taught him last year. 

It reads, “ quiet worker with undeniable potential” .

He checks the class Puffy taught him in, Science, and finds it’s Wilbur’s only class he did average in. 

The beginning of an idea forms in his mind.

Phil begins to bring up a short video for him and Tommy to watch together about history but he hesitates before starting it.

“Tommy?” Phil taps his finger on the keyboard.

“What’s up Big Man?” Tommy shoots.

“What do you think about the idea of someone else joining us for tutoring?”

“Depends on who it is I ‘spose. Why?”

Phil rubs the back of his neck, “A student in my senior class needs tutoring. Since you’re already exceptional at History and he’s behind, it makes you both about the same level.” he finishes with a nervous toothy grin which Tommy sends back with more energy.

“I’d love that, bossman.”

So it was settled.

The following day he enters his morning senior class. And this time, he looks towards the back where a thin, tall boy with bushy brown hair sits alone. Wilbur wears darker colours, a brown jacket. 

He sticks out like a sore thumb against the light blue walls of the classroom and the bright morning sun that streams through the window.

He’s sitting the furthest back that you can sit in the class, which isn’t usually a good sign for students but he doesn’t base his opinion on seats.

As nonchalantly as he can, Phil walks around the room, carefully glancing over the occasional paper and asking if anyone needs help. This time, he moves deliberately to view Wilbur.

The boy doesn’t tense, Phil can’t even tell if Wilbur saw him approach. 

His body language is relaxed— maybe from boredom and his head is completely down, buried in a mess of hair and leaning against his arm.

The pencil in his hand gently begins to fall out of his grip which slackens, 

and slackens 

and slackens.

Phil bends down, trying to look at the paper Wilbur was writing out. 

His head dips closer, and quietly, oh-so softly, there is the sound of a snore. 

He debates waking him up. Should he really let a kid who’s failing his class sleep through it?

If it was any other student he probably would. 

But he’s never spoken to Wilbur. 

He barely recognised his name.

A voice tells him not to, instead let the kid sleep because he needs it. 

Phil doesn’t know why something inside him says that, but Wilbur needs the sleep. 

He walks back up to the front of his classroom and takes a seat, eyes constantly flicking back onto Wilbur’s mess of brown hair.

The class bell rings and he thinks this is his chance, he closes his laptop, shutting off the essays he was reading and goes to look for Wilbur.

Phil skims over the crowd, waiting to spot the boy before calling out to him. Oddly enough, he’s gone. 

Did he leave early? Phil doesn’t recall seeing the boy get up.

He passes by his students as they exit through the door, barely squeezing through. 

He squints down the hall and sure enough, Wilbur is leading the charge.

Wilbur walks quickly, waiting for nobody with his head down and a guitar strapped to his back that previously went unnoticed.

It’s tempting to shout out to him but Wilbur walks with a purpose, eager to get somewhere and quick. So Phil, instead, opts for his next class.

Tomorrow, the same thing happens. 

Wilbur sleeps during his morning class, Phil goes to call on him just as the bell rings and sure enough, he’s speeding down the hall at an inhumane walking pace.

Phil rushes outside into the hall, this time he calls out Wilbur’s name but he’s already disappeared out the doors and gone.

Tommy bites into a sandwich during their mid-session break. “I thought someone was joining us this time.”

He’s gotten comfortable around Phil. 

During the first few sandwich breaks, he’d place his sandwich into his bag and eat it afterwards. Thanks to Phil’s insistence, he chows down with a personal agenda against sandwiches.

Tommy wolfs down the sandwiches, only pausing in between bites to talk or breath.

“I haven’t actually gotten the chance to ask him if he wants to tutor.” Phil admits.

Tommy chokes on a bite of sandwich, slamming a fist against his chest and then continuing to laugh. “Phil, don't be a pussy! Just ask him. I asked you and that went great.”

Phil scrutinised him for a moment. “Tommy, you looked like you were on the verge of fainting when you asked me to tutor you.”

Tommy points a finger towards Phil. “For my friend. Tutor me, for my friend.”

Phil scoffs. “Right, for your friend who needs tutoring. But it’s not like that, I haven’t asked him because we haven’t had the opportunity to talk yet.”

Tommy sighs and swallows a big chunk of sandwich meat. “Listen, you just gotta corner him. Give them no choice but to listen.” Tommy waves his sandwich around as he speaks. 

“That’s what me and Ranboo do when Tubbo tries to convince us to help him steal his dad's fireworks.” Tommy shrugs leaving Phil in contemplation. Phil hums in acknowledgement.

“Wait, you stole fireworks?”

“No..?”

On the third day he decided to give it a rest. It’s his afternoon senior class. 

He knows Wilbur is in this class, half asleep in the back, but he’s teaching detention after school so he makes no effort to approach him.

Some of Phil's seniors finish their work with a few minutes to spare and so he lets them leave early.

Ah, the joys of the last class of the day. Pack up, then get out.

The bell rings a while later, leaving Phil and Wilbur.

Phil frowns and checks his calendar. He views the list of detention students.

A few names he doesn’t recognise, Tommy Innit as suspected, and right at the bottom, Wilbur Soot.

Wilbur makes no effort to move, tapping his pen against the table rhythmically. His school stuff isn’t packed away and he makes no move to change that. 

It is only now Phil gets a proper glance at his face.

Wilbur looks really fucking tired. And he says that nicely.

His face looks pale, the dark bags under his eyes doing him no favours. The kid looks like he’s running on pure spite and a shot of espresso. 

He decides now is better than never.

Phil doesn’t stare, instead he quietly goes up to Wilbur and raps his knuckle on the desk to get his attention.

Wilbur sighs, almost seeming annoyed by the attention, and looks up at Phil.

“Yeah?” Wilbur says, a breathy way of speaking about him. 

Phil assumes it’s the tiredness.

“Do you have a moment?”

Wilbur shrugs with a half hearted laugh. “Sure man. I can’t go anywhere for the next hour anyway.”

Phil feels a nervousness bubble in his stomach at the interaction. He always wants his students to like him, and this is no exception.

“Is it important? thought we were on good terms, Mr Watson.” Wilbur sighs, the pen increasing in speed as he taps it.

“Well, I believe we should continue to be after this. Mr Soot.” Phil pulls up a chair on the opposite side of Wilbur’s desk at the back. 

Wilbur eyes him curiously and straightens his posture minutely. “What do you want?”

“Your grades.” Phil deadpans and watches for any changes in Wilbur’s expression.

Wilbur’s face immediately falls into a scowl, “What about them?”

“Wilbur, if your grades don’t pick up by the mid-term report they might place you into a specialist class. Or ask for a repeat year.”

Wilbur shrugs, his eyebrow twitching despite attempting to keep his face flat. “Doesn’t bother me.”

Phil clicks his tongue. “Your parents might.”

The statement makes Wilbur laugh and he nods. “Oh, you’re so right Mr Watson. My parents will be distraught.”

That takes him back for a second. Is that not a concern for most kids? He knows it’s something a lot of his students worry about.

Phil isn’t— well, he’s not sure what to make of Wilbur’s relationship with his parents. That is something to be questioned later.

Not willing to press for answers just yet, he goes back to what he was saying.

“Wilbur, I think you should come to an after school tutoring session.”

“You want me to have private lessons with you?” Wilbur crosses his arms.

“Not necessarily private, there’s one other kid there. But if you’re willing, the offer is there.”

“Free?” Wilbur inquires looking pointedly at Phil.

“Free. And we have sandwiches.” Phil grins, feeling a wave of confidence wash over him at his bargaining points.

Wilbur thinks it over in his mind, sitting there in thought before tilting his head to the side and sighing. “Sure. I’ll see you then Mr Watson.”

Wilbur gathers his things into his arms and slings the guitar over his back. He gives a polite nod then walks out the room, undeterred by the conversation.

That didn’t go… badly? Right?

“Wait, you’ve still got detention!” Phil calls after a moment.

“Shit!”

Phil sets up the tutoring work with Tommy. A video about the Berlin wall.

Not a second late, Wilbur arrives, guitar slung over his shoulder and a heavy looking bag hanging on by one strap.

Wilbur enters, his eyes scanning the room cautiously before flicking over Phil, and then his face turning into a deep scowl when he notices Tommy.

Tommy immediately turns to Phil with a ‘is-this-a-fucking-joke’ look on his face. “OF ALL THE KIDS TO TUTOR, YOU ASKED WILBUR?”

“Oh, piss off.” Wilbur barks back, the first time Phil has heard him yell.

“You two know each other?”  Phil starts off the conversation calmly. What the—”

Wilbur stabs a finger towards Tommy. “He stole my lunch last week!”

Tommy stands up from his chair and roars back. “YOU KEPT LOOKING AT ME FUNNY!”

 “YOU STOLE IT BECAUSE YOU THOUGHT I WAS SLEEPING!”

“That’s a valid excuse!” Tommy justifies. “You were asleep! Finders keepers!”

“WHO DOES THAT?” Wilbur gestures wildly.

“BIG MEN!”

“YOU’RE A CHILD!”

“Oh, well! Look at me! I’m Wilbur,” Tommy mocks, hands on his hips. “I like poverty and starving people! Is that really what you stand for? You were going to let a hungry man such as myself perish to FAMINE? Wow, Wilb—”

Phil launches a sandwich, trapped in a small plastic bag towards Tommy’s face, cutting him off instantly. 

Tommy narrowly dodges, like he’s well practised in avoiding thrown objects at him and Wilbur promptly bursts into laughter pointing at Tommy. Wilbur practically doubles over before a sandwich also smacks him firmly in the face. 

Tommy freezes for a moment, staring down at the sandwich by his foot and then taking a shaky breath. He leans down to pick it up, holding the sandwich in two hands, betrayal and childlike innocence in his eyes. Wilbur has a similar look, more laced with confusion.

“Now” Phil smiles, leaning back in his chair. “You both have sandwiches. Problem: resolved.”

Phil leans his head back against his arms in his chair proudly as the two boys sit down in disbelief.

Wilbur waves the sandwich as he approaches. “Did you just hit me with a fucking sandwich—?” 

Although it’s clear they haven’t fully resolved the issue, it’s enough to get both boys to take a seat and actually talk.

That’s all he needs.

Wilbur carefully begins to open the sandwich, thankful for the meal but still bugged by the mere presence of Tommy. 

“I still don’t forgive you.” Wilbur sighs, biting into the sandwich. “But this sandwich is so fucking good.” Wilbur looks to be in pure bliss.

Tommy eyes Wilbur with concern and looks back at his own sandwich. Unlike usual, where he eats it as soon as it’s handed to him he’s hesitant.

“Are you not hungry today?” Phil raises an eyebrow pointing towards Tommy’s food. He looks at it with an uneasy expression and shrugs.

Wilbur looks between Tommy and the sandwich in front of him and rolls his eyes. “You’re allowed to eat it, idiot. A teacher isn’t gonna make you ask for permission.”

Tommy scoffs at Wilbur and very slowly, opens up the bag to begin eating.

“What? Why would you need permission to eat?” Phil asks, incredibly puzzled by whatever the fuck Wilbur just picked up on. 

Why would Tommy ask for permission? Especially after all this time? Is something different because he threw it?

This time, Wilbur and Tommy both ignore him, some kind of mutual agreement to keep Phil out of the loop.

The next week is the same thing, however the two have warmed up to each other at lightning speed.

Phil assumes they must talk outside of tutoring too for how quickly they adjusted to one another. They act so much like brothers- even if it is accidental.

Phil closes his laptop with a sigh, the time having gone shockingly fast in the presence of the two boys.

There’s light chuckling coming from Wilbur as Tommy splits off into a conversation about what superpower he’d want.

“—and I asked Tubbo and he said ‘ the ability to change statistics ’ which is so dumb.” Tommy mocks Tubbo’s voice.

Wilbur hums. “Oh, that would be pretty cool.”

“That’s so LAME, man! Only Tubbo would want to change the percentage of shit.” Tommy scrunches his nose up. 

“Speed is fucking awesome! I’d love to go around like the Flash and fucking—” 

Tommy swings his arms as though he’s running, making running mouth noises.

“FSH FSH, FSHHT!”

“Speed is a shit power. It’s a knockoff of time control.” Wilbur snorts.

“Shut up, dude!” Tommy whines. “Speed is way cooler than manipulating time or percentages. I bet you’d pick something lame like controlling water.”

Wilbur snorts. “I’d pick teleportation, man. I’d teleport around to all the different countries and stay there. Whenever it rains, I’d teleport to somewhere sunny.”

Tommy sticks his tongue out. “Boring. I like the rain.”

Wilbur scrunches his nose up. “The rain sucks. It’s cold and everything gets wet and everything is so much more miserable.”

“Yeah but then you get to go inside where it’s warm and cozy and dry off.” Tommy argues and Wilbur shrugs dismissively.

Phil clears his voice awkwardly. “Guys, the tutoring session is over. About 10 minutes ago.”

Tommy groans loudly in dismay. “No it’s not.” He complains gruffly.

“Can we go overtime?” Wilbur inquires, his pen tapping against the paper eagerly.

And for a moment Phil considers it. It’s not often that he gets students genuinely in the mood to learn. He pauses for a moment, a silent debate, before shaking his head.

“Not today, sorry mate.”

Wilbur blows a tuft of hair out of his face and leans back into the chair. “Fine. I guess you don’t care then! Huh?”

Tommy and Phil burst out laughing at the sudden sass.

“Yeah Phil! What the hell, you don’t care about us or something?” Tommy agrees.

Phil ruffles Wilbur's hair. “Stop encouraging your brother.”

Wilbur’s mouth drops open as Tommy turns on him, an evil grin.

“Absolutely not—” Wilbur shakes his head, “I would never consider this gremlin to be my brother.”

Tommy roars in laughter. “Oh Wilbur! My big brother!”

Wilbur grabs his bag and intentionally lets it smack into Tommy before he slings it over his shoulder. Tommy continues laughing and Wilbur makes a beeline, heading straight for the door as Phil keels over with amusement at the sight. His stomach hurts from laughing.

“Aha! I knew that would get you out.” Phil chortles. “I’ll see you both next week.”

“Wait! Wilbur, no will you wait for me please. Can you walk me home?” Tommy scrambles to grab his things, haphazardly throwing all his supplies into the bag and scrunching a piece of paper into its depths.

Wilbur stops at the door and nods solemnly.

“Thank you Mr Watson!” Tommy calls, racing out the door.

Wilbur lets Tommy run past and then looks over his shoulder towards Phil with a smile.

“Thank you, Mr Watson.” Wilbur says goodbye.

Phil feels a warmth in his heart that doesn’t seem to want to go away.

As the door drifts shut, Phil gets an email from Sam detailing a new student.

A 16 year old boy called Technoblade who’s most likely going to stay temporarily. 

Sam mentions in the email he assumes the stay is temporary due to Techno’s long history with fights and his placement in the foster system.

He also states that Techno will be in the senior history class and they should expect him in a week's time. 

Phil could probably ask Wilbur to give him the tour.

He hopes that maybe, Wilbur isn’t too far gone. Phil peeks out into the hallway, just in time to see Wilbur throw a pile of papers into the bin and continue off. Tommy already stands at the very end, swinging off the door and waiting for Wilbur to hurry up.

“Wilbur!” Phil shouts and Wilbur freezes, turning around immediately with a concerned look. His eyes land on Phil and a small smile finds its way onto Wilburs face.

“Yeah Mr Watson?” Wilbur calls, backtracking a little and walking over.

“Would you be alright giving a new history student a tour in the near future? I think you’d be good for the job. Otherwise I can just ask Dream or something.”

At the mention of Dream, Wilbur shakes his head and laughs. “Oh absolutely not. I’ll give them the best damn tour ever.”

Phil thanks him and they both laugh a little. Wilbur sprints back down the hall, waving goodbye and rushing outside.

Once Phil is sure he’s out of sight, he feels a pressing urge to see what Wilbur threw out. It looked like too much paper to just be scraps. 

A little shamefully, Phil walks over to the bins, filled with a large chunk of paper. 

It’s not like Phil to snoop but sometimes curiosity bests him.

Gingerly, he peers over the side and sees what looks like an entire day's worth of work. It’s all filled out, with Wilbur’s name at the top. 

Phil grabs a heap of paper and reads through the questions. The strangest thing is that everything is correct. 

These aren’t the grades or answers he’d expect from Wilbur who has failing marks and a file so slim you could assume he was just starting off at school. This is a different Wilbur which is almost completely hidden.

A Wilbur who gets no recognition, who answers everything correctly and throws it out.

But why? Everything Phil learns about kids seems to confuse him more.

Chapter Text

Wilbur throwing out his work has only bugged Phil more as time continues.

He decides to test something.

“Hey, Wilbur? I have a test I want you to fill out. It’s just a true or false quiz. Hand it back to me at the end of the session.” Phil quietly passes Wilbur a different sheet to the rest of the students.

“Sounds good.” Wilbur responds and immediately begins to work.

At the end of the lesson, Wilbur walks up to Phil’s desk when it’s just the two of them and hands the paper back.

“Thanks Wilbur.” Phil takes the paper graciously and Wilbur says his thanks and goodbyes before leaving.

“Oh, and Mr Watson? Can you email me some of the new students' details?”

“Yep.” Phil pops the P. 

“That’s not a problem. Have a good afternoon!” he remarks, grabbing the list of questions from Wilbur. Wilbur gives him a bright smile and a courteous wave before leaving.

It’s strange how different Wilbur acts around him and Tommy compared to the tired, quiet boy who sits at the back of his class when he’s alone.

Phil grabs the list of questions and carefully compares it to his marking sheet. He holds it up to the ceiling light.

The marking sheet shows the correct answers with a coloured dot. When he looks at Wilbur’s sheet, every option misses the mark.

Every question is a 50/50 chance to get something correct. And what he can’t believe is Wilbur had the misfortune of getting every single one wrong. Statistically speaking, Wilbur should have gotten around half the questions right considering there are only two options.

As far as Phil can figure it out, either Wilbur truly is incredibly unlucky, genuinely got 0%, and those papers he saw in the bin were a weird one time thing.

Or Wilbur got 100% on the test.

And he’s pretending to need tutoring.

Tommy yanks open his umbrella, holding it high into the air to shield both him and Wilbur on the walk home. Tommy’s umbrella swings back and smacks Wilbur in the face, dinking against his circular glasses.

“Okay,” Wilbur begins, clearing his throat and reading off his phone. “I have a bed but never sleep, what am I?” 

Wilbur grabs the umbrella from Tommy, holding it for the both of them and Tommy gives him a grateful grin, walking in time with the older.

Tommy purses his lips while thinking, then confidently states. “Tree.”

Wilbur laughs as he talks, “Care to explain your thought process there?” He looks down at Tommy fondly, the boy smiling as he walks.

“No.”

“Tommy, that’s not the right answer.”

They both laugh loudly as they continue down the street. Wilbur kept this knowledge to himself, but he knew that walking Tommy home would become a much more regular thing.

As much as Phil’s trying not to, his attention is on Wilbur during tutoring.

At first, he thought it was great how collaborative the two boys were. Wilbur would help Tommy at stages and Tommy would gregariously shout the answer, a blazing grin on his face. 

But now that he thinks about it, Wilbur’s answers barely differ from Tommy’s in skill.

Phil hates that he thinks this but it’s like Wilbur looks over to Tommy to ensure they’re at the same level, not help him.

It just doesn’t make sense to him why Wilbur would willingly hold himself back. 

He notices it more with each passing week, each tutoring session.

After Wilbur joined their dynamic, tutoring is a lot more chaotic.

 Wilbur and Tommy acted like brothers. Fighting constantly but at the end of the day, they were there for eachother.

“Ghandi was not American, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Wilbur laughs as Tommy points to a map.

“Piss off Wilbur.” Tommy frowns and stares intently at the map. 

He looks over at the map and begrudgingly slides his finger along the map. His finger comes to a stop and he raises his sights to Wilbur for approval.

“Nope, that’s Ukraine.” Wilbur leans on his hand.

Tommy draws his eyebrows. “No it’s not. That’s France.”

“No, you’re wrong. That’s Ukraine.”

“Wilbur, I think I know where France is.” Tommy scoffs, running a hand through his messy blond hair.

“That’s not France.” Wilbur denies.

“Yes it is.”

Wilbur looks defeated, a slightly crazed look in his eye. “This was supposed to be about Gandhi!”

Phil looks in awe. “Oh my god, I’m so glad I teach you history and not geography.”

“Fuck you!”

They all laugh and then Wilbur fixes his gaze on the map, eyebrows tightly together. It’s a look that Phil has learnt to recognise which means Wilbur has got something on his mind that he wants to say.

“Phil, have you travelled a lot?” Wilbur asks.

Phil clicks his tongue. “Yeah, I’ve been pretty much everywhere.” He laughs, staring at the map.

Although he doesn’t say it, his inner voice says that travelling is a lot more fun when you’re not immortal and haven’t seen everything already .

“Really?” Wilbur’s eyes light up. “Where have you never gone?”

Phil chuckles and looks back down at the map in thought. If he really tries to think about it, where hasn’t he gone?

“I’ve uh, I’ve never gone to Greece.” He settles in a country. It’s a lie, although he supposes it’s been a good couple hundred years. He’d barely recognise it.

Wilbur and Tommy take turns pointing to the map and asking Phil if he’s been to certain places. Although Phil does lie for a good lot of them, Wilbur and Tommy seem content with his answers.

“Jesus, how come you’ve travelled so much?” Wilbur looks up at Phil with an amazed curiosity.

“It’s because he’s old.” Tommy shakes his head solemnly. “So damn old.”

Phil bursts out laughing. “You little shit.” he cackles.

Wilbur gapes. “You swore!”

God, these two really were alike.

Phil meets before school at the office, waiting eagerly for the new student. Wilbur should be arriving at the first bell.

Sam enters a moment later, his hand resting on the shoulder of a boy Wilbur’s age. 

“Mr Watson.” Sam greets cheerily. “This is the newest student, Technoblade.”

“It’s Techno.” The boy deadpans, readjusting the glasses on his nose. 

Sam nods then turns to Phil. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Hi mate, I’m Mr Watson. I’ll be teaching you about history.” Phil gives a soft smile which the boy doesn’t reciprocate.

“Are you showing me around? Or do I need to wait for some other old white guy?”

Phil laughs loudly. “Nah, one of my students is gonna show you around. You’re about the same age. I thought it would be a good mix.”

Technoblade smirks a bit but quickly pushes it back down. 

After about 10 minutes of quiet conversation, Phil thinks Technoblade is really cool. He wears his hair in a low ponytail and has a tidy set of glasses. Really, his appearance is nothing like what Phil expected a foster kid with a bad history of getting expelled would look like.

Techno seems like a good kid with unfortunate circumstances that’s generally just enjoyable to talk to. With a dark sense of humour.

Phil struggles to see the kid with a record of violence and bad grades.

Wilbur arrives at the bell, looking around awkwardly with that same bag and guitar on his person and then spots Phil and Techno. Wil splits off into a wide smile and waves.

“Hullooo.” Techno drones, in a better mood after him and Phil had a conversation.

Wilbur holds out a hand and introduces himself. “Hey. I’m Wilbur Soot. I have to give you a tour of this hellhole.”

Phil chooses to ignore Wilbur’s wording of the school and his calling it a hellhole. Instead he watches as Techno stares at Wilbur’s hand skeptically before eventually grabbing it.

Phil lets Techno and Wilbur go off on the tour, heading to his first period class instead.

It is during the morning break that Phil receives a buzz from the office.

“Hello?” Phil picks the phone up, a confused tone in his voice.

“Hey Phil!” Ponk’s voice rings through the phone. “There’s some kids here who are asking for you?” there’s a shout on the other side which he recognises, clear as day, as the voice of Tommy Innit.

Phil feels a spike of anxiety take root in his heart. “Is everything alright? What happened?”

There's chatter on the other side of the call before Ponk returns. 

“There was a fight.” Ponk answers. “I don’t know why they’re asking for you but Sam said you might want to come in.”

Almost immediately, Phil says thank you and rushes off to the office.

What the hell did they do this time?

 His footsteps echo down the empty halls, all students except for the ones that matter to him the most, safely inside their classes.

Phil thrusts the door open, his eyes searching and immediately landing on three boys. 

He wasn’t expecting to see Wilbur and Technoblade there but immediately his stomach starts doing flips. And he’s pretty sure that his lungs decide to stop functioning when he sees Tommy.

Wilbur cradles an ice pack to the side of his face while Techno sports a bandaged hand.

Initially, it’s easy for Phil to assume that Techno was the one to hurt Wilbur. In fact, Phils first thought was that it was Technoblade to do the damage to Tommy and to leave that mark across Wilbur’s face he’s now icing. 

But something about the way Wilbur leans against Techno as though he’s about to fall asleep for exhaustion and pain stops him.

You don’t just lean against someone who’s sucker punched you across the jaw.

Techno looks pretty unbothered for someone who just got into a fight. He barely even looks at Phil, instead keeping his eyes focused on something else. The bandages across his knuckles leak a little bit with blood.

Phil follows Techno’s line of sight to Tommy. Tommy looks the worst.

 He’s shaking badly, partially zoned out while dried blood has a remaining mark on where his nose bled from earlier. There’s a dark ring around one of his eyes and he holds his arms protectively against his own chest.

“Boys?” Phil says, approaching and he’s relieved to see all three of them are responsive.

Wilbur groans and sits up properly, gently taking the ice away from his swelling jaw.

“Phil! It wasn’t our fault!” Tommy turns his wide eyes to Phil. “Please, Phil, you have to believe us.” Tommy pleads and it makes Phil’s heart want to burst, seeing his students hurt.

“What happened?” Phil asks, looking over the three of them.

“My tour of the school went amazingly.” Techno commented, sarcasm lacing his voice.

Wilbur moaned in discontent. “I was showing Techno around and I was telling him about Tommy—”

Techno cuts in. “And then I said to Wilbur, ‘Hey, that kid looks an awful lot like that Tommy guy ’ as we walked past this group of seniors pushing him around.” Techno looks pointedly at Tommy who looks moments away from cracking.

Tommy bit his lip. “They were just joking around.”

“Tommy!” Wilbur shouts and regrets it the moment he sees Tommy flinch. “That wasn’t joking around.” Wilbur finishes a bit softer.

“Fucking— they found out that Phil was tutoring me and asked for me to steal the answer keys to their tests.” Tommy’s leg bounced as he recalled the events. 

“I said no and this one prick pushed my head into the lockers so I fucking kicked them and it just—” Tommy’s voice broke and he waved a defeated hand.

“Oh, Tommy, mate.” Phil slowly grabbed Tommy’s hand into his own, making it clear what he was doing to avoid frightening him. 

“I would never steal from you. Or help them cheat.” Tommy muttered, eyes filling with tears that he refused to let fall.

“I know.” Phil took a deep breath and turned to the other two boys. “And I’m guessing you two saw it happening and interfered?”

Techno and Wilbur both nodded before Techno spoke.

“It was my fault. Don’t blame Wilbur or Tommy for getting hurt, I threw the first punch.” Techno admits.

And despite it all, he can’t find he blames Techno. If not, he’s a little appreciative. What kind of state would Tommy be in if Techno didn’t help? If Wilbur never walked around to give the tour?

“I don’t blame any of you.” Phil said honestly. “I think you all did good. Although you need to be more careful.”

“I shouldn’t have fought back.” Tommy whispers and Phil gives his hand a light squeeze.

“You did nothing wrong.”

The three boys come to a mutual agreement, Techno not really saying much but joining in mostly to be a part of the majority.

Phil stands, checking he’s got another 10 minutes before he needs to get to class and makes the decision to stick by them and chat.

Techno’s foster parents arrive first, a worried angry look on their face. Phil can’t help but be worried. They must have known about Techno’s record. By the looks on both of their faces, he feels his heart twang a bit for Techno. He can’t see a couple like that sticking with him long before he’s thrown back into the system.

“Thanks for the tour, Wil. I’ll see you around.” Techno waves goodbye, chuckling to himself as he leaves.

Wilbur and Tommy say their goodbyes and Phil can’t help but feel like maybe he’ll be seeing and hearing of Techno a lot more.

Tommy’s mother arrives shortly afterwards, her face in a flat line devoid of emotion. Tommy stands quickly, without a word. He walks over like a soldier in uniform. 

There’s no friendly goodbyes, just one glance back to Wilbur and Phil with a worried look on his face.

She turns to Ponk, sitting quietly at the reception desk. 

“I am appalled by what has happened today. You must keep your students orderly.” She spits like every word has personally offended her. 

She turns her wrath towards Tommy, who continues to look blankly, trying to keep his face clear of emotion. Nothing like the emotion driven Tommy that they know.

She gives Tommy a pointed look, gripping his forearm tightly as they walk off. 

“This behaviour disgusts me.” His mother barks before turning on her heel. “Come, Theseus.” She orders, like one would command a dog.

Wilbur whispers once they’re gone. “I fucking hate her.”

Phil pinches his eyebrows together. “Is she always like that? I hope Tommy explains to her what happened. She must think Tommy was the problem.”

Wilbur flops back into his chair. “That’s the first time I met her. But she seemed like a bitch.”

Phil nods at the poor first impression. “She’s probably nicer when she’s calmed down.”

Wilbur scowls. “I’m glad my parents aren't like that.”

“Shouldn’t they be here by now?”

Wilbur hesitates, “I don’t think they’ll come to pick me up.” He picks at the skin by his fingernails.

“Do they work a lot?” Phil questions and Wilbur snorts.

“Yeah, something like that.”

The following week they don’t do any tutoring. The three of them have detentions for two weeks of which Phil gets to sit in on.

“You know, Mr Watson, I think when you threw that sandwich at me the first time we had tutoring… I think that was assault.” Wilbur hums, leaning against his desk.

Techno places his book down and looks pointedly.

“Aren’t teachers like— definitely banned from assaulting students.” Techno smiles from his seat in the back. 

“Phil, we should get you fired.” Tommy nods very seriously and bangs a fist on the table as a declaration.

“O-kay.” Phil laughs, lowering the screen of his laptop. “Absolutely not. The sandwich thing…ehhh, who even remembers that?”

Wilbur breaks into a shit eating grin. “Let us leave detention or we’ll fire you.”

Phil doubles down, squinting. “Bullshit.”

“Oh Phil.” Tommy clicks his tongue, shaking a mop of blond hair. “Phil, Phil, Phil.”

Techno pauses, “Did our teacher just swear?” Nobody answers him.

“When did you two get so damn chaotic together? You have to stay in detention.”

Wilbur raises his eyebrows. “Says who? Once you’re fired, we’ll be teacherless and thereforth detention-less.”

Techno shrugs. “I’m convinced. Get ‘em out.”

Phil shakes his head. “No. Nuh-uh. This isn’t working on me.”

Tommy groans loudly in exasperation. “Fuck! Wilbur, you bitch, I told you this wouldn’t work on Phil.”

Wilbur bites his lip, slumping in on himself. “How about a compromise?”

Phil tilts his head, crossing his arm. The chair creaks beneath his weight. “I’m listening.”

“You let us watch a movie and in exchange you keep your job.” Wilbur stands up, chair scraping back and crosses the distance. Phil watches the hand extended.

“You should get into politics.” Phil sighs, taking Wilbur’s hand and turning to his computer. He opens a new tab. “What movie?”

Wilbur smiles smugly. “Hamilton.”

Tommy whoops loudly and Techno roll his eyes despite smiling.

The next few detentions were dedicated to the movie Hamilton, of which Wilbur and Tommy sang nearly every lyric.

There were stages where Techno was also called to the stage however he only joined in for the well known parts that he knew.

Phil had to put a stop to it when Wilbur started galavanting around the room, getting a little too in character and walking  around doing actions to go along with his speech.

Aside from detention, things went back to normal. The fight was pretty much null and void.

Wilbur and Technoblade healed pretty quickly. As for Tommy, he’s still a little roughed up. But everything effectively fell back into routine.

Wilbur continues to talk to Technoblade and Wilbur still walks Tommy home after detention.

Wilbur trails behind Tommy on a particular walk home. Tommy leaps between shadows, doing his best to stay out of the heat of the day. 

“Are you not hot?” Wilbur asks, watching Tommy dash between each patch of shade. Tommy hasn’t stopped sporting a long sleeve shirt and trousers all week.

“You know me Wilbur, I’m always hot.” Tommy giggles mischievously, pulling the sleeves of his shirt further down into little sleeve paws.

“Gremlin.” Wilbur grunts as beads of sweat begin to form on his face. He doesn’t know how Tommy isn’t melting

They cross the road and head down a quiet street. Wilbur looks around anxiously while Tommy bubbles with cool energy. Wilburs never walked Tommy this close to his house before. Hell, he’s barely ever gone to this part of town.

“I really like Phil.” Tommy comments, pulling his bag up. 

“Me too.” Wilbur agrees, distracting himself from his nerves. 

And it’s true, there’s not a lot of teachers who’ve given him a second glance. Not many adults bother with him in his life.

 “Should I start calling him Phil? Or is it too early?” Wilbur looks down at the springy 14 year old, kicking rocks and shrugging.

“Whenever you feel like.” Tommy hums, a relaxed energy passing between the two. “Hey, Wil? We are a bit like family, aren’t we? I think Phil’s right. We’re brothers.”

“Don’t say that, I will cry.” A small shadow of a smile passes across Wilbur’s face while Tommy picks up another one of his random conversation topics.

This walk is longer than usual and Tommy pauses outside a quiet looking one story house. Tommy takes a deep breath in.

“Well this is it. Thanks Wilbur.” Tommy gives Wilbur a shaky smile and walks up to his house.

“See ya Gremlin!” Wilbur calls, watching as Tommy disappears behind the white front doors of his house.

Admittedly, he was expecting something worse. Wilbur’s not ashamed to say he’s made some assumptions about Tommy’s home life.

 The boy is always hungry, eager to stay out for as long as possible, and deadly terrified of not following his parents' rules. Not to mention, his mother seemed like a controlling bitch. 

Maybe Wilbur just has a contorted view of what controlling is.

But the house looks normal, at least from what Wilbur can tell on the outside. So when Tommy disappears behind the white doors with chipping paint, Wilbur turns to leave.

Phil doesn’t care too much for punishing them in detention. He lets them talk all they want if it’s just Him, Techno, Wilbur and Tommy.

Phil thinks it’s stupid they have detention when it’s clear that whoever hurt Tommy should be in trouble.

But the three of them have come to some sort of agreement not to tell anyone who was harming Tommy.

Phil feels a little excluded, admittedly. And if he’s being honest, he’s not sure why they’re protecting whoever hurt Tommy. But that’s the way it is.

It is a little weird because that must be one of the only things the three of them ever seem to agree on. From what he’s noticed, Tommy and Wilbur fight a lot and Techno just enjoys winding them both up. Techno plays whatever is the winning side but Tommy and Wilbur don’t realise it.

Phil thinks it’s strange watching the two of them fight. 

Tommy usually instigates the fighting matches with Wilbur, roaring with a surprising dose of anger. But, Tommy is usually the one who asks for it to stop first.

There’s this unusual trait Tommy has; of fighting until he’s gone down. 

It’s almost like he is staying on a sinking ship believing it will start floating again.

Although Tommy himself is shouting, when Wilbur shouts back he starts shaking. Despite trying to cover it, there’s miniscule flinching everytime Wilbur shouts a swear at him. 

Infact, he’s started to notice some habits about Tommy as time continues to pass. 

On those days he switches between loud and brash to silent and twitchy, his focus during tutoring is gone.

Phil observes as Tommy’s foot bounces up and dow.Phil stands patiently, waiting for the moment Tommy zones back in and realises Phil’s stopped talking.

They don’t necessarily need to be doing work, it’s detention, but Tommy looks completely lost in thought. Phil thinks it’s a little funny.

Wilbur stares down at his paper, unmoving. “Tommy, do you know the answer to question 3?”

No response, just Tommy’s vacant stare as he looks into a different world. 

“Tommy?” Phil says in a sing-song voice.

Phil gently taps the desk, noticing the bags under Tommy’s eyes looking more pronounced than they did previously.

Okay, less funny than initially thought.

Techno chuckles quietly in the background, swinging on a chair and refusing to do anywork during detention. Techno clamps a hand over his mouth and makes a fake hissing noise like a speaker.

“Earth to Mr Simons? This is your captain speaking. We require your presence here at Essempee High school. The higher ups are asking for you.” 

Wilbur turns to look at Tommy with a frown.

The smile on Phil’s face slowly drips away as he continues to look at Tommy, the slight tremor in his hand while his pencil is frozen in place. “Tommy?”

Tommys eyes begin to blink rapidly, catching up on all the time they spent open.

Tommy takes a shaky breath. “Sorry.” He whispers. “I can’t— I’m not. . .”

“It’s alright.” Wilbur reassures.

Wilbur puts his pencil down and places a hand on Tommy’s forearm. Before Phil gets the chance to react, Tommy winces violently, tucking his face in and pulling his arm away.

There’s a look of immediate regret on both of their parts and Tommy’s arm moves forward as though he wants to put it back and pretend the flinch never happened. 

An air of uncertainty floats through the room, resting like a heavy blanket against their chests.

“Shit, sorry Toms. I didn’t…. Yeah, I’m sorry.” Wilbur keeps both his hands up like he’s being arrested for a crime.

Tommy shakes his head, pushing away whatever was clouding him. The initial regret being placed with an embarrassed anger. 

“Fuck off Wilbur. It’s fine. I just remembered that— My uh, my dad…..” he trails off, his thoughts swarming his mind once again. 

“He wanted me home an hour ago.” Tommy looks up with wide eyes, almost jarred by whatever just happened before he scribbles down whatever was left for him to finish. 

“He’s gonna be upset.”

The words make Phil feel sick for a reason he can’t quite place. It’s not like he’s met Tommy’s Dad. In fact, the only thing he really knows for sure is that they want him to have good grades. 

But something like doubt finds its way into his head.

 Phil’s not too sure he likes it.

“Oh, that’s alright mate. Don’t worry about it. We can pick this up next week. And honestly, the detention thing is kinda ridiculous any—” Phil stands and takes the paper from Tommy who’s already halfway out the door.

“Hey, how about—”

He turns around to the sound of the door slamming shut as his student rushes down the hall.

“No running in the hall!” Phil calls, a half-hearted attempt at saying a goodbye.

He turns back to Wilbur and offers a weak smile.

“Did you get a bad feeling from that too or just me?” Techno stares at the door Tommy just left through.

“Absolutely.” Wilbur nods breathlessly, still focused on the door Tommy just fled out of.

Phil scratches his head awkwardly as he takes a seat. “It’s not my place.”

“Man, who knew it was that easy to get out of detention?” Techno stops swinging on his chair and leans forward from where his desk is positioned. “Sir, can I please leave? My parents need me home as well.”

“Techno you don’t have parents.” Wilbur comments, slapping a hand over his mouth as soon as the words leave his mouth. Techno bursts into laughter, it’s the first time Phil has heard him laugh so hard.

“Man, Wilbur, that's messed up.” Techno snorts.

Phil scrunches his nose up in distaste. 

He finishes detention pretty quickly after that. Something doesn’t sit right. 

Everything about the interaction with Tommy makes him feel uneasy. Even an hour later, once Phil has finished sorting tomorrow's lesson and is driving down to the groceries store, he feels sick.

It’s all that’s on his mind as he goes around purchasing some necessities. It’s an uneventful trip.

As Phil rounds the corner to where his car is packed he notices a familiar figure on the bench. A guitar, leaning up against him and tangled onto his arm in case someone tries to move it. The boy is clearly asleep, using his brown coat like a blanket.

It makes Phil lose complete focus. 

He feels a wave of confusion hit. Then disbelief as he approaches. The day just feels completely upside down.

Cautiously, still not sure it’s who he thinks it is, he approaches.

“Wilbur?” Phil whispers as he nears closer. Immediately, Wil’s eyes shoot open and he rockets up, clinging to his guitar for dear life.

Sure enough it’s him. Dripping with water that’s collected like glitter in his hair.

Wilbur looks even more tired at this time. Hell, it’s nearly 7pm and the boy looks like he’s dead on his feet, cold and pale.

“Mr Watson?” Wilburs eyes dart around nervously and he adjusts properly into a sitting position. “What are you— why are you here at this time?”

Phil squints. “Wilbur? Why were you sleeping on the bench? At first I thought you were a homeless person!”

Wilbur bites the inside of his cheek and shrugs. Phil thinks it’s weird how small Wilbur looks. He’s never looked small before. But outside, against the growing dark and blowing wind. The slow fall of rain and biting cold, Wilbur looks small.

And for all the times Wilbur has so much to say, always more to add to an argument or debate, today he seems completely and utterly wordless. 

A pink tint of shame on his cheeks. In a wordless description, Wilbur stands and walks over to a rubbish bin. He waits by it for a moment, as though working up the courage and Phil walks over, peering just past Wilbur’s shoulder.

Wilbur reaches in, much to Phils disgust, and pulls out his bag.

Wil crouches down on the floor and Phil sets his groceries down as well, both men on their haunches.
Wilbur sits the bag on the ground, unzipping it. Inside is— well, the bare essentials. 

A toothbrush, a hairbrush, some canned food, a frightening lack of school supplies, blankets, a torch. It’s only what he sees on the surface. And although he’s only seeing what’s on the surface of the bag, he feels like he’s discovered a whole new layer to Wilbur.

The reason why Wilbur throws his work out makes more sense, given the lack of space in the bag, although it’s still not entirely explained why he’d intentionally fail.

Phil looks across at Wilbur’s guilty face from where he’s crouched, his groceries squished together in the bag by his side and he makes a decision. He says the exact same thing he said to Tommy before their relationship really started.

“C’mon then mate.” Phil gestures for Wilbur over to the car.

“What?” Wilbur scoffs and stands up, throwing the bag over his back.

“Get in the car.” Phil points using his head towards his car, arms full with groceries. “I’m taking you home.”

Phil spins around and marches off towards his car, hearing Wilbur whispering an agreement behind him and shuffling closely behind. 

Phil opens the back door, instructing Wilbur to place his guitar there. Wilbur clutches his guitar close to his chest, silent in thought before nodding and gently placing it down. 

Phil swings the door open and takes a seat in the driver's position. 

Across from him, Wilbur takes a seat, placing his bag on the floor.

“Seatbelt.” Phil reminds, hearing his own go click. 

“You don’t have to.” Wilbur stares at his lap and Phil gives him a stern look.

“Shut it.”

The engine rumbles to life softly, the radio flickering on which Phil turns down just a pinch. 

There’s a light layer of rain on his windshield which he wipes away once before pulling out of the car park.

The radio blends into the background as Phil drives.

“How. . . Wilbur, how long have you been—”

“3 months.” Wilbur stares down at his lap as Phil inhales sharply.

“What?!” Phil says in his usual fashion, “You’ve been homeless for 3 fucking months?” The harsh language slips out of Phil’s mouth. A misdirected anger to Wilbur’s parents which makes Wil squeeze his eyes shut.

“Where the hell are your parents?”

Wilbur closes his eyes tightly and Phil can barely see as he swaps from looking at the road to Wilbur that there’s something like tears in his eyes, easily mistakable for the rainwater outside.

“They don’t care about me.” Wilbur begins quietly. “I basically raised myself because they’ve always been too busy with their own lives.”

Wilbur speaks like it’s his greatest shame. And Phil can tell he never planned on dragging his friends or anybody else into his grievances with his parents.

“Sorry.” Wilbur chokes out, rubbing the nape of his neck. “You don’t need this. Just uh— yeah.”

“Continue.” Phil whispers. Phil clears his throat, “Continue.” He insists. 

Wilbur wrings his hands but nods. “They left for a month at the start of this year and I did just fine.” Wilbur’s voice gets louder, his fist clenching in something that has festered inside him for too long. “I might have been living in their house but I wasn’t living. I stayed in their home, I ate their food, I did what they asked when they asked, but that’s all I did.”

Wilbur glances at Phil and Phil gives a reassuring nod. “They’re well off and don’t need to work as much as they do but they just fucking ignore me. All they do, Phil, all they do is work constantly.”

“It’s like I didn’t exist.” Wilbur states absently.

Phil focuses on the road, the darkness of night slowly rolling around. The wet concrete slides past as they drive. When Phil glances at Wilbur’s face, he can see the steady burning of heat beginning to rise. 

“I started acting out. I got in with a bad crowd, tried some bad things, nothing worked. I dramatically ditched all of my good friends. Who needs them?” Wilbur laughs sourly. Wilbur’s eyes begin to water and he fights it back.

“I thought if I ran away they’d take notice of how much I was struggling. But of course they never did and then when they came back I started sabotaging my school work. I started to stay out late, fuck Phil, I stopped going home.”

Wilbur starts choking up and he throws his head back in frustration. “I thought the only way I could get their attention is to start failing all my classes and to stop coming home and it’s been three months. Three fucking months of radio silence! I haven’t been home in three months and I haven’t gotten so much as a text or call! I just wanted someone to notice.” 

Phil slows the car down, pulling over for a moment down a random street.

Wilbur’s voice raises with a burning frustration, tears dripping down his face.  “They don’t care! They don’t give two shits and they never fucking will!” Wilbur bangs a fist down against the side of the car, burying his face in shame.

Phil parks the car, turning to face Wilbur. 

“They don’t care about me.” Wilbur sobs, wiping his eyes on his sleeve and Phil leans over, pulling him into a hug which Wilbur leans into.

“Why don’t they care?” Wilbur cries, a tenderness in his voice that Phil’s never seen before. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Phil. This whole thing is so fucking stupid.” Wilbur all but cries into Phil’s arms while he shushes and whispers to him.

“It’s alright. It’s okay, you’re with me now. I’ve got you.” He holds Wilburs head in his hand, brushing through his brown hair.

There’s anger, building in Phil’s chest towards Wilbur’s parents. The anger feels so suffocating, he’s not sure how Wilbur is breathing. 

Phil feels angry for Wilbur. At his parents for never showing up. Never checking on him. Never making sure he’s okay. The test that Wilbur got wrong on purpose starts making a lot more sense now.

He wanted someone to care.

Once Wilbur’s calmed down, he pulls away, sniffling.

“I uh, I called the police station last week. Just, out of curiosity. They never even reported me missing.”

There’s a silence, thick like fog, stopping him from speaking.

Eventually, he breaks the spell. He makes the decision that determines his future. The car starts back up and they drive.

“Phil, please don’t take me back.” Wilbur stares out the window as the car picks up and Phil shakes his head.

“We’re not going to your house. Don’t worry mate.” He smiles a little sadly. “Like I said, you’re with me now. I’ve got you.”

Chapter Text

What he’s doing isn’t exactly legal. 

Phil knows that much. But if Wilbur didn’t want to go home, he sure as hell wasn’t making him. 

Being immortal means you get to do a lot of illegal things at least once in your life. This was one of those times.

And Phil would rather someone kicked his shins out than see Wilbur sleep another night on the streets.

The door to Phil’s house creaks open and he flicks the light, watching as it buzzes to life. He drops the keys on his table, turning to smile at Wilbur.

“Welcome home.” Phil laughs and ushers Wilbur to follow him upstairs. Wilbur follows, school bag and guitar in hand and Phil takes him into one of the spare rooms. 

One of the things that comes with being immortal? You’ve got plenty of time to earn money. Phil considers himself pretty well off and he has no problem spending said money on an extra big house. Phil doesn’t even need to work if he chose to retire.

“Sorry it’s not much. Wasn’t really expecting to need it.” Phil stands at the doorway to the room. It’s quite empty; a big wooden dresser, a well made bed with a fluffy blue blanket, a bookshelf and desk. It’s not much, but if this becomes more permanent, Phil expects more character to be added to the room. 

Wilbur looks around the empty room and gives a happy nod, indicating that the room will suffice.

Wilbur plops his bag onto the ground and gently lowers the guitar before sprawling on his back onto the bed.

Wilbur flops onto the bed and groans in relief. “Oh, this easily beats sleeping on a bench.” 

Wilbur laughs, staring up at the ceiling. It warms Phil’s heart. 

Wilburs face goes from joy to focus and he turns to Phil.  

“Is this okay? How much is rent? You don’t need to drive me anywhere, I’ll walk.”

Phil chuckles. “Piss off. There’s no rent and if you need to be driven anywhere I don’t mind.”

Wilbur frowns and raises an eyebrow. “I can get a job and do schooling if that’s what you're worried about.”

Phil begins the descent downstairs and Wilbur follows him. 

“Nope! I’m not making my student pay me. This is what teachers do, we help.”

Wilbur chases him down the stairs while Phil minds his own business.

“I’m pretty sure most teachers don’t let students stay at their house because their parents are crap.” Wilbur argues.

Phil ignores Wilbur, instead going about what he’d usually be doing if he didn’t have a new roommate. Wilbur watches as Phil scoops up the groceries bags from earlier and moves them into the kitchen. “You’re kinda kidnapping me.” 

Phil sputters out a laugh. “You came willingly!”

Wilbur shrugs. “Doesn’t mean it’s legal.”

Phil hoists the bag of groceries onto the dining table and pauses. He turns to Wilbur. “Do you have a problem with that?”

Wilbur thinks for a moment before smiling. “No, I don’t think I do.”

It takes some adjusting to.

Phil still panics every time he enters a room that’s occupied. It’s odd, forgetting he isn’t home alone anymore.

It’s nice though.

Phil quickly found out that Wilbur had a real talent for the guitar, strumming it while sitting crosslegged on the couch. He also found out that Wilbur loved tea, just like him. 

And had an inspiring take on why coffee is the devil's drink.

Seriously, he’s never asking that question again.

But aside from getting adjusted to one another's presence over the weekend in between school, everything felt normal.

It was when they arrived back at school that Phil remembered everything with Tommy.

Wilbur tapped his pen against the paper inside the classroom, an impatient frown during tutoring that he usually didn’t have.

“Wil? Everything alright?” Phil questions. Wilbur frowns, lost in the stream of thoughts his mind floods him with.

“Tommy’s not here.” Wilbur stares down the door, switching his line of sight between that and the clock. “Last time he left in a rush because he forgot something.”

"Something about hisdad." Phil bites the corner of his cheek and nods. “Now that you mention it, this is the first tutoring session he’s missed.”

Phil can see as Wilbur's mind is flooded once more. Wilbur has this look on his face that tells Phil he could drown in those thoughts.

Wilbur clears his throat and taps the desk anxiously. “Techno and I were looking for him at lunch. He usually hangs out with Ranboo and Tubbo but he wasn’t there.”

Phil raises an eyebrow, “You and Techno?” He smiles. “I didn’t know you guys were friends outside of detention.”

Wilbur shrugs, a faint smile on his lips before going back to his work. "I guess we are."

Tommy didn’t arrive the next day.

Or the next.

On the fourth day, Phil’s sick to his stomach with worry.

As the end of his freshman class rolled near, everyone beginning to pack up, he decided to ask someone about Tommy.

“Do any of you know why Tommy’s been away?” Phil calls over the chatter of students.

Ranboo and Tubbo both tense, exchanging a glance before turning to Phil.

“He’s been sick.” Tubbo begins.

“Very sick.” Ranboo adds.

“He’s vomiting….”

“Intrusively vomiting, in fact.” Ranboo nods.

Tubbo continues his list. “His throat is sore.”

“He sounds like a smoker.” Ranboo shakes his head in sympathy.

Tubbo pulls out his phone, reading off a paragraph of symptoms. “Probably sneezing…”

“I stood outside his house and could feel the gust of wind caused by his nasal cavities.” Ranboo admits.

“and shitting. . .” Tubbo shrugs.

“Oh, yeah definitely. Probably crying too.”

“Crying from the shitting!” Tubbo adds thoughtfully and Ranboo hums in agreement.

“Coughing…”

“Mhm, like an Ipad kid. . .”

“Pissing probably and his eyes are all dry and crusty.” Tubbo lists everything off on his fingers as he speaks.

“Like one of those white dogs.” Ranboo whispers, pretending to have a voice crack out of sadness. Both boys sit with a hand over their heart.

“Didn’t he break his arm?” Purpled asks, bringing all eyes onto him. He smiles a little awkwardly as they all turn to stare. “He lives around the block from me.” 

Tubbo and Ranboo both turn on him with a fire in their eyes.

“No idea.” Ranboo grits out, laughing nervously, a hand on Tubbo’s shoulder as the younger one steams and looks as though he’s about to launch out of his chair.

Tubbo walks right up to Purpled and yells, but via whisper. In a way that suggests nobody else is supposed to hear but he needs to shout to set things right.

“Purpled, I am going to end your entire bloodline, do you hear me? Tommy said he didn't want anyone to know until he came back. What the fuck, man!?”

That unsettled feeling in Phils stomach grew stronger.

Despite living with Phil, Wilbur still likes to walk home. He used to do it to his parents house, now he does it with Phil's.

It’s become routine for him.

Even… even though the past few times have been without Tommy.

Wilbur’s been asking Technoblade if he wants to join him on the walk and Techno’s always been more than happy to come along.

It’s not like a replacement, it's mainly because he wants to spend more time with Techno. 

It’s a lot less chaotic when it’s just him and Techno, peaceful talking for the most part with sparks of randomness thrown amongst the lot.

“What’s something you’re afraid of Technoblade?” Wilbur eyes him curiously, shaking the conversation up a little bit.

Technoblade hums in thought. The sunlight scatters between the leaves that hang from the tree branches overhead. Some days, Wilbur was so grateful that Phil lived on a shaded street.

“I don’t know.” Techno answers honestly and Wilbur gives him a disbelieving stare. “Everything I might have been afraid of I got over.” Techno shrugs and Wilbur groans.

“You’re totally bullshitting right now. There’s nothing?”

“Nothing.” Technoblade’s eyebrows draw as he thinks, not finding any suitable answer.

“Wilbur rolls his eyes. “I'm afraid of being alone.” he stops for a beat before continuing. “And judgement.”

There’s a pause. A silence disturbed only by the sound of their footsteps and the rustling of leaves.

“Those are good fears.” Techno agrees and his eyebrows pop up as an idea grows in his head. “Does being self conscious count?”

“As a fear?” Wilbur tilts his head, “I suppose so. Is that what you’re afraid of? You’re self conscious?”

Techno blows a strand of his long hair out of his face. “I guess. At a couple of my old schools I was made fun of for my long hair. They stopped pretty quickly after I punched them though.”

Wilbur shoves his shoulder against Techno’s. “I like your long hair. Are you still self conscious about it?”

“Not enough to cut it. I guess it’s my only “fear” if you call it that.”

Wilbur kicks a pebble against the ground, letting it skid across into a bush of pink flowers.

“You should dye it.”

“No.” Technoblade responds.

“Dye it pink.” Wilbur answers.

“No.” Techno disputes, a final answer to Wilbur’s statement.

“Are you afraid?”

There’s a long silence of contemplation before Techno finally sighs, muttering below his breath.

And that was how an hour later, Techno found himself being led upstairs, a cheap box hair dye in his hand that they purchased 10 minutes earlier.

As Wilbur passes the computer he freezes for a minute, noticing how Phil left some tabs about fostering up on his computer.

He shakes himself free of what that could mean. He’d think about it later. Surely that’s not. . . No, let’s not even begin to go there.

Instead, they make their way to the upstairs bathroom and Wilbur begins.

It takes about 10 minutes for Wilbur to ensure he isn’t going to cause Techno to go bald accidentally.

Haha, Technobald.

But after some screwing around, they fall into a pattern. Wilbur, meticulously grabbing undyed strands of Techno’s hair with a soft touch, pulling them back and rubbing pink colour into it.

Wilbur gently rubs the dye into Technoblades hair, one glove being stained and his exposed hand being sprinkled with pink marks.

“I regret my decisions.” Technoblade complained, staring into the mirror as Wilbur went to work behind him.

“Shut up, Techno. It’ll look cool as hell.” Wilbur  squirted more dye onto Techno’s head.

“It’ll look pink.”

“Pink is masculine.” Wilbur declares.

“Why did we go pink?” Techno groans, staring at his reflection.

Wilbur chuckles, “Because you’re afraid.” he stares at Techno’s reflection, locking eyes in the mirror.

“I’m terrified.” Techno nods.

“That’s a good thing. It means it’s working.” Wilbur smiles, dragging his fingers through Technoblades hair.

“Wilbur. I think I am having a moment of weakness”

“You’re strong, Technoblade. Ignore the voices in your head telling you this was a mistake. What would Sun Tzu say?”

Sun Tzu wrote a book that Techno loved, but Wilbur had never read. The Art of War; Techno had referenced it a few too many times for it to just be a latest read. The man had it memorised.

Wilbur didn’t know what Sun Tzu would say, but Technoblade sure did because he sighed and fell back into silence as Wilbur went to work. 

Wilbur played music quietly from his phone as he finished up the dye work.

Downstairs, the door rattled open, the sound of keys being placed on a table echoed upstairs into the bathroom.

“Wilbur?” Phil calls, “Are you upstairs?”

Techno turns to Wilbur. “Bruh, your dad is Mr Watson?”

“No he’s not. I didn’t— shit, I didn’t think he’d get home so early.” Wilbur curses, ripping a glove and turning the music from his phone off. Dye smears across his hand. 

Wilbur yells out to Phil. “Yeah! I’m busy at the moment.” 

Phil’s footsteps bang against the floor and Wilbur panics, rushing to the bathroom door and shutting it with a slam.

“Wilbur?” The footsteps freeze. “Everything okay?”

Wilburs heart pounds in his chest, he really didn’t want to get kicked out yet. 

Just yesterday, he was researching if he could get emancipated.

“Don’t come in,” Wilbur yells through the door and Technoblade looks even more confused by the second. Wilbur panics and finishes his sentence with a nervous. "Dad."

"WHAT?" Phil exclaims and Wilbur feels his heart drop. They can't let Techno know that Phil isn't his dad. Wilbur has kept his life personal for a long while, too long for Techno to know anything other.

“Wil? What’s going on?” Phil’s concerned muffled voice echoes through.

“I’m... getting changed???” Wilbur tries, eyes squeezed shut in anticipation.

“What is that smell?” Phil calls and Wilbur’s eyes dart to the dye smeared over his gloved hands and Techno’s hair. Techno doesn’t seem to share his concern, looking more amused than worried.

“Promise not to be mad?” Wilbur murmurs. He’s not even sure Phil heard it at first. Wilbur feels his stomach churn. Has he really already fucked up his chances at living in an actual house away from his parents?

There’s silence on both sides of the door, just the unsteady breathing of Wilbur.

“Of course.” Phil whispers back and Wilbur nearly faints from relief.

Wilbur opens the door, dyeing the door knob. He sees Phil’s face, laced with worry, checking him up and down before his eyes land on the gloves. And then Phil’s eyes drift over to Techno.

“Hulloooo.” Techno waves awkwardly and Wilbur gives a nervous laugh.

“I have a friend over. I hope that’s okay,” Wilbur smiles and awkwardly, with a noticeable lack of ease, finishes with “Dad.”

Phil stares in confusion for a split second before masking it with a nod.

 A voice rings at the back of Wilbur’s mind.

 What if this is asking for too much? Too much of Phil’s time? Too much effort?

Phil deflates with relief. “Oh thank god. Mate, why didn’t you just say?”

“You’re not upset?” 

“Of course not. I thought someone was dying.” Phil clutches his chest and laughs. “Techno, are you staying for dinner?”

Techno shrugs. “Sure.”

The hair turns out amazingly. The dye gives Techno’s hair a slight fluff, but in Wilbur’s opinion it suits him. Even if it’ll no doubt go away with some more treatment and care.

Techno can’t help but smile a little bit when he sees it in the mirror.

“You know, I actually think I prefer it to my old hair.” Techno practices putting it into different styles, his hands currently drawing it back into a high ponytail.

“Thanks, Wil.”

“No problem, Tech.”

Forks cling and clang loudly against the plate as the three of them eat.

“So uh, Mr Watson, I didn’t realise you were Wilbur’s dad.” Techno stabs a fork into a piece of carrot and places it into his mouth. 

Phil chokes on his water and Wilbur coughs awkwardly, turning it into a laugh.

“That’s cool though. I guess it makes sense if I think about it.” Techno nods to himself, not noticing their reactions and continues to eat. His newly coloured hair drapes over his shoulder, the top half being pinned back out of his face.

Wilbur and Phil lock eyes, uncertain of what the fuck kind of excuse they should make. Do they really want to commit to pretending to be family? Especially when it’ll probably be easier to come clean. Wilbur had lied for a reason, but what if Phil wasn't happy with that kind of arrangement?

They speak at the same time.

“Yeah he’s my son.”

“Yeah, he’s my Dad.”

Techno smiles, scooping up a fork filled with mashed potato. “Awesome. Hey, Wilbur, can you pass the gravy? These mashed potatoes are really good. I’ll have to keep coming over for more.”

Wilbur chuckles nervously and passes the gravy boat.

Welp, he’s really committed now.

The next day, Phil walks into his morning class to see a familiar face.

Tommy Innit.

He sits in his usual place, sandwiched between Tubbo and Ranboo. The first thing Phil spots is the sling that Tommy’s left arm is in. He also makes a mental note that Tommy looks a lot worse for wear. Considering the days he took off were for recovery, he looks worse than when Phil saw him last.

“Tommy!” Phil waves and Tommy looks up—

He’s not sure what’s worse, the bruises or bags beneath his eyes.

“Hey Phil!” Tommy smiles, completely unaware of Phil’s horror.

“What happened to the arm and all?”

The smile on Tommy’s face is strained but he manages to keep it in place. “Fell down the stairs bossman, my fault for leaving my things everywhere.”

Phil feels a little unsettled but nods. “Alright then. Good to have you back.”

“Oh, uh, Phil? I can’t do tutoring this week. Next week, I should be fine though.” Tommy adds and Phil grins.

“Sounds great, Toms.”

Detention.

There’s usually a lot of people in detention on a Monday. Today, it’s just Technoblade.

“Hey Mr Watson?”

Phil looks up from his laptop, over to where Techno is seated, swinging on his seat per usual. This time, there’s a book in his hand.

“Yeah, Techno?”

“Do my fosters get told if I’m in detention?”

Phile bites the inside of his cheek. “Depends.”

“Do they get told why I’m in detention?” Techno bites his lip, tilting his head hopefully.

“They only get told if the why is bad enough.” 

“And what may that include?”

Phil shuts his laptop, looking at Techno in suspicion. Techno fails at hiding his curiosity. 

“Why?” Phil fixes a stare onto Techno who dodges eye contact.

Techno shrugs. “Punched a liar in the mouth after he said something stupid.”

“What did he say?”

“Does that change what my parents are told?” Techno shoots back.

Phil huffs. “If the what was bad enough, then yeah.”

Techno stops swinging on his chair. “Someone was making fun of Wilbur for his grades in History class. They said he’d fail. So I punched them in the mouth so they’d stop lying.”

The room grows quiet for a second while Phil thinks.

“Wilbur won’t fail.” Phil finally answers.

“I know that.” Techno snorts, “That’s why I punched him.”

Phil fights a laugh but smiles in acknowledgement. “Then I suppose your foster parents must understand, he was a liar.”

Techno grunts in agreement and goes back to reading.

 “Are your foster parents… alright?”

Techno shrugs. “Better than most. They’re not abusive or anything. Just another family who wanted to be able to say they saved someone with issues.”

“You don’t have issues.” Phil’s voice is soft with sympathy. “The system is just rubbish.”

“Sounds like an issue to me, sir.” Techno pulls his book back open. “They’re gonna get rid of me pretty soon anyway. I can feel it.”

Phil shuts his laptop. “Will you get moved away?”

“Only if I keep punching people in the mouth.” Techno grins shamelessly. “So yeah, probably.”

“Techno, if you ever needed somewhere to stay…” Phil trails off and Techno meets Phil’s eyes.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Mr Watson.” Techno draws his eyebrows together. “I never said I enjoyed punching liars in the mouth.”

Tutoring is a little odd, knowing that Tommy is back but not attending puts a spanner in the works.

The reason they began tutoring is because Tommy asked.

Wilbur taps his pencil against the paper he’s working on, a sheet about British history and the Monarchy.

Wilbur pauses in his work, looking up at Phil. “Do you know when Tommy is coming back?”

“He told me next week.” Phil continues grading a student's paper, stacking it to the side once he’s finished and grabbing another sheet.

Wilbur’s jaw drops. “He told you?”

Phil raises an eyebrow. “He’s back at school.”

“Bullshit.” Wilbur exclaims, flopping back in his chair. “That little shit hasn’t come to talk to me once since he got back!”

“Don’t worry mate, I’m sure he just forgot.” Phil hums but Wilbur looks discontent.

“Un—fucking—believable. I haven’t seen him since he… since uh, he left tutoring early in a panic.” Wilbur shakes his head and continues working, although not for long. “Why isn’t he tutoring?”

Phil draws a blank. “I uh… dunno mate. He just said he won’t be back until next week.”

Wilbur rolls his eyes. “Is he alright?”

Phil clicks the pen in his hand. “Define; alright.”

“Breathing?” Wilbur squints at Phil.

“Check.” Phil laughs.

“Bleeding?”

“Big nope. Or at least I hope not.”

“Concussed?”

“No..?”

“Sick?”

“Nah, mate.” 

“Bruised?” Wilbur asks and Phil hesitates.

He was bruised. Across the face, that much was visible. And no doubt, probably along his arms. He imagines there’s bruises on his legs. Falling down the stairs would give you a fairly even spread.

“Check. He had a lot of bruises.” Phil nods slowly. “He broke his arm. Wasn’t very specific about it though.”

Wilbur’s jaw hits the ground. “He broke his arm?”

Phil rubs the nape of his neck. “Yeah, he’ll be alright though.”

Wilbur fixes his gazes on his paper. He looks a little zoned out although his brows are furrowed in thought.

“Do you think…” Wilbur trails off and clears his throat. He shakes his head in a dismissive manner, “Never mind.”

Phil has noticed that detention with Technoblade has become a lot more frequent. There are times where there’s other people in class, but once again it's just him and Techno.

“Hey Mr Watson.” Techno greets, taking his usual seat and immediately kicking his feet up and pulling out a book.

“Welcome back Techno.” Phil rests against the palm of his hand. “Punched someone?”

“Nah.” Techno opens up his book and rests it in his lap. “Some nerd pulled my hair so I threw them.”

“Them?? You threw someone? Not, like, something at them?”

“Nope.” Techno pops the P. “They were pretty light, all things considered.”

“Oh.” Phil decides to go along with it. “Alright then.”

Techno murmurs his agreement and begins reading so Phil leans back in his seat.

It’s barely five minutes of silence before one of them speaks again.

“Mr Watson?” Techno looks up suddenly, gazing across the classroom as an idea strikes him.

“Yeah?” Phil crosses his arms and leans against his desk.

“You teach Wilbur tutoring, right?”

Phil smacks his lips. “Yep. And Tommy.”

Technoblade hums. “Can you tutor me? I’m smart, don’t get me wrong, but I move around a lot and it’s difficult to keep up.”

Phil’s smile widens. “Of course. I’d be more than happy to tutor you.”

Techno nods appreciatively. “That’s good. I kind of don’t hate this school, if it’s just between you and me.”

Phil laughs. “I’m glad, Techno. I think Tommy and Wilbur, specifically Wilbur, like having you here too.”

The smile on Techno’s face slowly slips away. “I think Wilbur would kill me if he knew I was being moved.”

Phil puts his pen down to look at Technoblade, really truly look. Techno stares back, appearing a little bit squeamish before his gaze drifts over to the open window of the classroom.

“Surprise.” Techno drawls, raising one hand and waving it half heartedly.

“When are you leaving?”

Techno shrugs, fiddling with the pages of his book. “As soon as they find a new home for me.”

“Why don’t you get emancipated?” Phil tilts his head but Techno just shakes his head.

“I’m better off if I try to age out of the system.”

The statement feels like a punch to the gut. Phil doesn’t even want to think about how Wilbur will react knowing Techno is moving. He knows that Wilbur was already spending lots of time with Techno because his staying was never confirmed. 

But now that it’s set in stone…

“We’ll figure something out, mate.” Phil promises. 

Techno laughs quietly and mutters “Sure.” before going back to reading.

The next day, when Phil arrives home, it’s to the noise of shouting and the repeated beep of an alarm.

Immediately, his hands start shaking as he goes to unlock the door.

“Wilbur?” Phil yells through the wood. 

It’s a fire alarm. There is smoke filling the house. He can see it through the small glass of the door.

“Techno!” Wilbur’s screams, running past. “Help me open these fucking windows!”

“I’ll get the door.” Techno’s muffled voice calls from inside the smoke. Phil can barely make out a figure, strolling over and swinging the door open.

Immediately, the stench of smoke forces its way into Phil’s nose, stinging his eyes.

Some pours out the door, slowly drifting away to reveal Technoblade, standing with a white apron.

“Oh hey Mr Watson.” Techno greets with much too little energy for someone dealing with a fire. “Sorry, we kind of blew up your toaster.”

Before Phil even has time to respond, Techno turns back over his shoulder. “Wilbur! Your dad is here!”

“MY DAD?” Wilbur shouts, running to the door. Phil watches as another figure appears, wearing an apron.

Wilbur’s face melts into that of relief when he sees Phil.

“Oh Ph— er, Dad. Can you please help with the smoke?” Wilbur gives a nervous toothy smile.

Phil feels like he’s about to faint.

Chapter Text

After a lot of shouting and miscommunication, opening windows and turning on fans, even Technoblade waving a little tea towel around to get the smoke out, the house was finally breathable again.

Wilbur and Techno sit down at Phil’s wooden table. 

Phil places a plate of a completely blackened lump down. It hits the table with a sharp thud and they both recoil a little at the sight and smell.

“What, dare I ask, is this?” Phil points to the coal-like object on the table. It leaves marks of ash and soot everywhere it touches.

Wilbur sucks in a breath. “We tried to cook you dinner.”

“Went well, did it?” Phil asks, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

“It’s a potato slice.” Techno sighs.

There’s an angry silence. Phil stares at the potato, nearly unrecognisable.

Phil clears his throat. “Why did you try to cook me a potato slice for dinner?”

The two boys exchange a nervous look.

Wilbur sucks in his lip. “Well I noticed you don’t eat a lot. And I mentioned to Techno it would be nice if we cooked you something since you’re always cooking for me.”

“Right.” Phil squints at the two boys.

Phil understands what Wilbur is talking about immediately.

 Phil doesn’t eat a lot, it’s true. But that’s because he’s immortal . He doesn’t need to eat a lot. Phil can still feel hunger, but he can’t die from it. So yeah, Phil will enjoy a meal or two to avoid feeling hungry, but he doesn’t need to if he wants to survive. 

Phil doesn’t need to do anything to survive.

Techno shrugs. “An old foster family of mine lived on a potato farm. I figured how hard could cooking one be?”

Phil takes a deep breath, collecting his thoughts. “You blew up the toaster trying to… trying to toast potato slices for our dinner?”

Techno and Wilbur glance at each other and then nod in unison.

“Hey man, I don’t have parents. I’ve never learnt how to cook. I don’t know what Wilbur’s excuse is, but that’s mine.” Techno shrugs. 

Wilbur has a look in his eyes that tells Phil his parents never taught him how to cook either.

Phil clenches his jaw, looking at the ‘potato slice’ on the table. He pinches the bridge of his nose in quiet debate but nods.

“Alright, I’ll teach you both to cook. But never, ever ,” Phil waves a finger between the two of them and they both nod very seriously. “-are you allowed to use the toaster without my permission from now on until I am certain you are capable.” 

Phil sighs, looking back over into the kitchen where his toaster is supposed to be. The area around the outlet is blackened where it was plugged in. Although now that he’s looking, where’s his toaster?

“Thanks Mr Watson, I’ll see you friday!” Techno calls, grabbing his coat and heading out the door.

Wilbur drums his fingers and goes to stand but—

“Wilbur, where is my toaster?” Phil pinches the bridge of his nose.

 Wilbur sits back down nervously.

“It’s outside in a bucket.” Wilbur answers honestly, .

“Why is it outside in a bucket?”

“It exploded in flames so I grabbed a bucket and filled it with water.” Wilbur leans his weight against the table, sitting down in a slouch.

“And you put the toaster in the water bucket?”

“Techno put the toaster in the water bucket and carried it outside.” Wilbur suddenly becomes very interested in his nails, refusing to look anywhere else.

Phil takes a deep breath. “Okay, you’re not in trouble.”

“I feel like I’m in trouble.” Wilbur admits.

“You’re in a little trouble.” Phil nods, sucking in a sharp breath. 

“Okay that’s fair.” Wilbur whispers, running his fingernail along the wooden grain of the table.

“You nearly burnt the house down, Wilbur.”

 Wilbur laughs quietly in a hiccup and when Phil meets his eyes, he realises Wilbur is on the verge of tears. “I’m really sorry.”

“Im sorry, I’m trying. I swear I’m trying! But I just— I’m not good at being good.” Wilbur bangs his head against the table, covering his head with his hands. “I keep fucking things up.”

Wilbur picks at the skin on his fingers anxiously.

The anger melts away from Phil. 

Phil walks over and takes his hands, preventing him from picking at the skin around his nails. Wilbur raises his head and meets eyes with Phil.

“You tried to make dinner for me, right? You and Techno?”

Wilbur chuckles wetly. “Yeah but I managed to mess that up too.”

“Being good is about intention, not outcome.” Phil stares the boy in the face and realises just how young he is. Wilbur’s a kid, at the end of the day. 

‘I’m sorry, Phil. I swear on my life I’m doing my best to be good.”

“You are good. You’re so good, Wil. You’re you .” Phil smiles, showing his sincerity. “You’re you and that’s everything you need to be. You don’t need to change, or force yourself to be better. You are everything and more.” Phil squeezes Wilbur’s hand.

Phil sighs. “Mate, you need a break. You’re stressed about fixing your grades now that you’re trying, you're stressed about Techno getting in trouble with his fosters.” Phil and Wilbur’s eyes meet. “And you’re worried about Tommy.”

“Techno’s so fucking careless, his fosters aren’t gonna put up with it. I can feel it.” Wilbur tries to force a smile despite the way his eyebrows are drawn in a frown and tears stain his cheeks. “ I don’t want Techno to leave, Phil.”

Phil cups his cheek gently. 

It’s beyond difficult to keep Techno’s secret. Seeing Wilbur worrying about Techno getting moved, knowing it’s inevitable isn’t something Phil is prepared for.

It breaks Phil’s heart that he can’t tell Wilbur that Technoblade is already halfway gone. But that’s not his news to tell, so Phil bites his tongue.

 Phil continues. “And Tommy not being at school? You’re anxious about that, especially since the last time you saw each other he flinched like you’d hit him.”

Wilbur bites his lip and nods. It’s the only form of communication Phil needs to know that Wilbur is listening, so he keeps talking. If Phil can keep talking long enough, Wilbur will hopefully calm down. And Phil can put a stop to this entire mess.

Really, how can he be mad at Wilbur for trying to do something nice for him?

“And you’re stressed because you think I’m gonna be like every other adult in your life. You’re worried that the moment I start caring about you, I’ll stop.”

Wilbur covers his face with his hands with a small groan. 

Phil rubs a hand up and down on Wilburs back consolingly. Wilbur hides his face as though it can hide the truth a little bit longer.

“You’re so old.” Wilbur complains, hiding his face. “You’re such a wiseass, let me wallow for once.”

Phil laughs at Wilbur’s response and Wilbur brings his arms down.

“Wilbur, you are allowed to stay here for as long as you like. I see you in my classroom, afterschool, and at home. I might as well adopt you at this point.” Phil jokes.

Wilbur laughs, a little more genuinely this time. “You know what the scary thing is, Phil? You’ve been more of a parent to me than my actual parents ever were.”

Now it was Phils turn to try not to cry. He doesn’t know how Wilbur managed to fight back the tears, just thinking about Wilbur crying is enough to make Phil’s throat go tight.

God, mortal children are going to be the death of him.

Techno thought about it for a while, and now he’s committed to it.

There’s no simple way of describing why Techno’s at where he’s at now. It started from a series of dirty looks. Disapproving scowls across the hallway. And even once, in the name of Tommy, a minor punch up on Techno’s first day of school.

It’s like a betrayal, even speaking to Dream.

He stares down at the address handed to him.

Techno isn’t proud he’s getting it from Dream, in fact that should be the first red flag.

If Techno wants to get out of the foster system and have something reliable backing him one day, he’ll need cash.  

Who cares if it’s a little illegal? Techno is the best fighter he knows.

Besides, maybe it’ll result in kicking Dreams ass. Techno’s biggest concern is keeping it a secret. 

Sure, it’s easy to hide things from foster parents and teachers, but not from friends.

It’s just another thing he needs to hide from Wilbur. Techno doesn’t want to hurt his friends.

Is this really the best way?

Cooking 101.

When Phil comes home, it’s with the intention to teach Techno and Wilbur how to cook pasta. A few days has passed since what he refers to as the potato slice incident.

Techno tends to spend a lot of time at the house, and Phil’s gotten quite used to it. The company is nice. He’s glad Wilbur has a friend.

Although the whole Dad thing is starting to become a little bit too easy to lean into. It’s becoming less and less of a joke. He even caught Wilbur calling him dad once at school during his history class.

 The word rolls off Wilbur’s tongue a lot easier than it used to. Even Phil finds himself responding to it with a more practised ease.

Phil carries two heavy bags of groceries in his arms, pressing the doorbell with his elbow.

“Wilbur! Open the door, my hands are full!” Phil calls, patiently waiting for a response. One of the perks of having people stay in your home; they’re able to do things for you.

A voice shouts. “Sure! Make the cripple get the door, why don’t you—”

The doorknob wriggles and then is yanked open by a different yet still familiar face.

When Tommy’s eyes finally meet Phils face his jaw drops.

“YOUR Wilbur’s dad?” Tommy exclaims and then turns away, walking back into Phil’s house and over to his couch. “Wilbur! What the fuck man, you never told me your dad was Philza Minecraft.”

“Who?” Wilbur throws an arm over the couch, twisting around to face Phil. “Philza Minecraft?”

Techno laughs from his place in the armchair, eyes trained on a video game that flashes on the TV. “That’s a new one.”

Phil rolls his eyes fondly and walks inside, shutting the door with his foot behind him. “It’s a nickname. Not a preferred one either.”

“Philza minecraft is a fucking sick name.” Tommy walks backover to Phil where he places the bags of groceries down. Tommy peers into the bags curiously, eyes flicking over the contents.

Wilbur calls out, from where he sits on the couch. “I invited Tommy over for dinner, I hope that’s okay.”

Phil understands the concentration of Wilbur playing a videogame but also finds his heart warmed by the obvious comfortableness that Wilbur has with staying at his house. He takes it as a good sign.

Wilbur’s eyes still dance between the screen and Phil nervously as though waiting expectantly for some kind of push back but Phil just shrugs. 

“That’s fine, Wil. I need to give you a way of contacting me so you can tell me beforehand though.” 

Techno raises an eyebrow. “You don’t have your Dad’s number? Isn’t that like, a normal thing to have?”

Tommy shrugs, not knowing himself, and Wilbur’s eyes flick over to Phil. “It’s a new phone.”

“I was going to ask but I haven’t seen the gremlin in forever so once I saw him I just grabbed him and didn’t let go.” Wilbur jokes and Tommy laughs.

“It’s true, I’m actually here forcefully. I tried to leave and Wilbur threatened my entire family.” Tommy says with a very mischievous look on his face which he pretends is serious.

Phil cackles at the chaos and begins unloading the ingredients onto the table. 

Techno pauses the video game, turning to face Phil and get involved with the action. 

On the side of Techno’s face is a purple bruise, right on the cheekbone. It looks like someone planted a punch along his face which Phil decides not to comment on. 

After all, a bruise is all too common when you go around punching people the way Techno does. Still, he finds it odd that the bruise is the first time he’s seen Techno genuinely injured from something. Phil thinks about asking but chooses to leave it for another day.

One by one, they take everything out. Tommy decides to help out too, doing the best he can with one hand.

And then, may the cooking begin.

“Fucking move over!” Tommy screeches,  gripping the side of a bowl with his unbroken arm. He presses it against his body, dodging past the other three in the kitchen.

“Tommy!” Wilbur shoves him, “You made me spill the flour!” he clutches the bag possessively.

Tommy looks over at Wilbur, a massive cloud of white falling and resting on his apron. Tommy bursts out into laughter.

“Wait, I think I did this wrong.” Techno stares at the lump of dough in front of him. It looks oddly wet compared to Phil’s. Techno uses a rolling pin to flatten the dough, focusing intently and looking to see what Phil is doing.

“Dad!” Wilbur shouts. “Tommy’s being a little shit!”

Wilbur grabs a fist full of flour and launches it at Tommy who shrieks in terror.

“No no. You’re alright, you just need some more dry ingredients.” Phil comments to Technoblade who oohs in agreement. A moment later, a chunk of flour is spread across the table.

“Thanks Wil!” Techno calls, working back into the dough.

“PHIL!” Tommy shouts as Wilbur smears his hand across Tommy’s face, rubbing flour into his hair. The powder even clings to his eyelashes.

Wilbur bursts out in laughter and Tommy throws an egg at him.

For the two of them, time pauses. Wilbur’s face flickers in shock and betrayal.

Phil slowly turns around at the sudden silence. “Boys…”

The spell is broken by Wilbur sprinting at Tommy who screams and runs out of the kitchen. 

Phil clicks his tongue, shaking his head knowing full well there’s going to be flour all around the house.

He watches as Tommy jumps on top of the couch, running across it and then promptly falling off the edge with a loud thud.

Techno laughs from his spot in the kitchen, even Wilbur chuckles, walking over to help Tommy up.

Tommy whines loudly, rolling onto his back. “Fuck, that hurt.”

“Did you land on your bad arm?” Wilbur asks, crouching down.

Tommy touches a finger to his nose, pulling away and seeing his hand wet with blood. “Oh, shit.”

Tommy sits up, using a hand to catch the blood dripping from his face. “Phil, I’m sorry.”

Phil spins around, seeing a slightly bloody Tommy. “Oh fuck, c’mere mate.” Phil ushers him over.

Tommy wobbles to his feet with the help of Wilbur and walks over. Phil wets a cloth beneath the sink and hands it to Tommy who presses it against his nose.

He blinks owlishly at Phil's assistance.

“Phil, I bled on your carpets.” Tommy says, looking back at the small red drips on the floor.

“I know you did.” Phil sighs.

“You don’t seem mad.” Tommy raises a confused eyebrow and Phil smiles.

“Wasn’t your fault.”

Tommy scrunches his nose up and Phil watches as the cogs in his brain turn. Eventually, Tommy can’t find fault in the statement and gives Phil a curious stare. 

Phil barely even notices, too focused on ensuring Tommy’s alright.

Techno holds up his pasta dough proudly, showing it off to the three of them. It stretches out of his hand in a consistency that— you know what, that actually looks like dough.

All of them shout praise at Technoblade simultaneously in a word vomit of approval.

Cooking, whilst somewhat chaotic, passes fairly well.

The four of them have pasta for dinner.

The first tutoring session with all three of them is a mess. It is a jumble of yelling out answers and swearing that the other is an idiot.

It goes mostly well, bar for Tommy being a little more jumpy than usual.

“Who even lives in Costa Rica?” Tommy scrunches his nose up.

“Uhhh.” Techno squints, eyes lost in thought before a light bulb switches on. “Juan Santamaría? They named a whole day after him to celebrate his death.” Techno answers, looking between the slideshow Phil is presenting and taking notes in his book. 

Tommy waves angrily at the screen. “I said who lives in Costa Rica, not who died there, idiot. I don’t know any Costa Ricans.” 

Phil stands by the projection, mouth slightly agape as he listens to the boys argue.

“I’m not sure Costa Rica is even real.” Wilbur adds with a grin.

“Who?” Tommy smiles. “I don’t know, never meet her.”

“That’s not how that joke works.” Techno runs a hand down his face.

“Name one Costa Rican person.” Tommy holds up one finger expectantly and Techno waves a hand in exasperation.

Techno slaps the table in front of him once he figures out an answer. Tommy flinches back at the noise, using his good arm to cover the top half of his face before immediately forcing himself back to normal.

“Franklin Chang-Díaz. He’s probably still alive, right?”

“Who?” 

“He's an astronaut.” Techno recalls, bouncing his knee.

“I could do that.” Tommy scoffs.

“You could be a Costa Rican astronaut?”

“Yeah, if I tried.” Tommy twists the long sleeves of his shirt, moving them for some breathability.

Wilbur cuts in, pushing Tommy in the shoulder. “You’re so full of shit, man.”

“Shut up.” Tommy bites back a retort.

The night is starting to set in, a cold dark blanket which drapes over the city. Techno is nowhere near home.

Techno leans against a brick wall. His head pounds from having it slammed around and he’s pretty sure he cracked a rib during one of those fights.

 His hoodie is pulled up over his head. As though lurking in an alleyway doesn’t look suspicious enough.

Dream smirks. “It’s good cash, right?”

Techno shrugs, counting the wad of cash in his hand.

Dream’s right. It’s amazing cash.

In his hand is more money than Techno ever thought he’d hold.

“You never mentioned I’d be fighting several people at once. I wasn’t prepared for that.”

Dream scrunches his nose up. “So what? It’s not like it was too much for you. You won every fight.”

Techno holds in a breath. Dream is right, the fights were somewhat easy. He took about 5 people down in the span of a few hours. 

It was…rewarding? Exhilarating? Wrong? He’s not sure he knows the answer.

“I reckon if we fought we could bring in 10 times that amount.” Dream crosses his arms, staring at Techno up and down. “You and me.”

“Yeah, problem is I’d kick your ass too fast.” Techno retorts, bundling the cash together and tucking it into the pocket of his hoodie.

Dream snorts. “Yeah? Don’t forget who introduced you to this place. I could easily kick your ass down there.”

“Ehh, I’ve seen you fight, Dream. It seems you can barely do any damage unless they’re half your size.” Techno jeers and then walks past Dream. Their shoulders collide as he passes and Techno keeps walking.

“I’ll see you around Techno.” Dream remarks. “Welcome to The Pit.”

Techno does his best to ignore him.

“Philza Minecraft.” Tommy shouts from the hall. Phil groans internally at his teachers desk and turns to the door, waiting for it to be shoved open by a far too energetic boy. It’s 10am in the morning, can a teacher not get a break?

“Phil!” Tommy yells, slamming open the door and bursting into class.

“Tommy.” Phil smiles tiredly. “What do you need, big man?”

“Do you know how to do maths? This is urgent.” Tommy throws his bag down and pulls out a workbook on the verge of breaking. 

“I’m a history teacher.” Phil deadpans as loose papers spill out onto the floor, flying everywhere. Phil stares with dismay at the mess. Tommy, however, is undeterred.

“Do you know maths?” Tommy unscrunches the book, flattening it out and smoothening down the page he opens it to. The book cover is slightly ripped, bent out of shape

“I.. I know of it?” Phil chuckles, peering over at the scratchy handwriting that is Tommy’s workbook.

“It’s mid year in a few weeks and I’m about to fucking fail this math test.” Tommy complains loudly.

“Mate, what kind of maths is it?”

Tommy shouts. “It’s piss. It’s rubbish. It’s stupid and dumb and—”

“I’m still not hearing an answer.” Phil interrupts but Tommy pays him no mind.

“—I hate it. I hate maths so much. There’s fucking LETTERS.”

Phil laughs through his nose and nods, pulling out a pen and paper from a drawer beneath his desk.

“Alright, I’ll show you the basics.”

“Philza Minecraft you are a literal fucking lifesaver.” Tommy deflates in relief and Phil smiles. 

Tommy might also need an English teacher so he can learn what the word ‘literal’ means.

A lesson for another day.

Techno doesn’t usually enjoy school. At least, not until he came to this one.

He stands across from Wilbur who’s seated backwards at the picnic table, facing him. 

Even Tommy is there, sitting down and running a nail down the grooves of the table whilst talking. It’s the first time in weeks all three of them have been together at school. 

There was of course, going over to Wilbur’s house a few days ago but that wasn’t at school. They played video games and cooked and watched a movie. It was nice.

But Techno knows those moments are limited.

He has to tell him. Techno has to tell Wilbur he’s only got two weeks left until he’s gone.

Wilbur strums the strings of his guitar gently, focusing intently. The sun beats down on them, a crisp afternoon lunch spent outside, waiting for the bell to ring for their next class. A tree shades one half of the table. Techno’s started to notice Tommy’s favour towards long sleeves, refusing to wear anything less even in unfavourable weather.

Tommy rants on and on about what happened to his arm. “—and then Ranboo dared me to climb a tree, and I’m not a pussy—”

Wilbur snorts.

“So I went up and got stuck. I asked Tubbo to help me but he just laughed at me—”

Techno smiles and shakes his head at the story.

“— so I fucking jump down and land on my arm.” Tommy raises his broken arm as though to prove it. “And this bitch snaps!”

“So you broke your arm… falling out of a tree?” Wilbur stops playing the guitar and looks at Tommy with a fond disbelief.

Tommy nods solemnly. “Trees fucking hate me. I’m gonna start setting shit on fire.”

Wilbur gives him a stern “No.” and they continue with talking about a variety of things.

Techno takes a deep shaky breath. “I need to tell you guys something.”

Wilbur raises a curious eyebrow and Tommy tilts his head

“You’re pregnant?” Tommy tries. “You’re getting married?”

Techno shuts Tommy down immediately, ignoring the boy's laughs. 

“No, I’m uh… “ Techno pauses for a moment.

Being direct is probably the best option.

“I’m being moved.” Techno admits. As though on cue, the lunchtime bell rings in their ear, signalling they need to get this over and done with so they can get to class. Tommy’s laughter fizzles out awkwardly.

Perfect. Short and sweet. They’ll have to wrap this up quickly now that they need to head to class.

Wilbur puts his guitar to the side and stares blankly. “You’re joking?”

Techno rocks back and forth on his feet, hands tucked into his pockets. “Nope.”

“How long are you staying for?” Tommy queries, his eyebrows drawn tightly together. 

Tommy stands up and wraps Techno in a hug, made a little awkward by the fact Tommy’s arm is broken.

Techno reciprocates it, still worried about Wilbur’s lack of reaction.

“I uh, I’m pretty sure I’ve got two weeks left.”

Wilbur eventually stands. Techno meets his eyes. They stay like that, a thousand questions with only a few answers being passed back and forth.

And just when Techno thinks Wilbur is about to pull him into a hug too tight to breathe, he feels a fist connect with his jaw.

The phone at Phil’s desk begins rattling and he slowly picks it up, dreading who it might be. He’s not teaching a class this period, so the sudden noise surprises him.

“Mr Watson speaking, who is it?” He answers tiredly, opening his laptop to prepare for whatever he might need to do.

“Hey Phil, It’s Ponk.”

Phil feels his heart drop. “Nurses office?”

He can hear a sigh on the end of the phone. “Yeah, your boys are here again.”

“The three of them?”

“Yep.” Ponk pops the P of his yep.

Phil tries to ignore the way he smiles when he hears ‘your boys’ and continues on professionally. 

“Alright, I’m on my—”

“PHIL!” He hears a voice shout through the phone. It sounds a bit like Tommy, although the voice is more scratchy from shouting than it usually is.

He can hear Ponk move, an audible shove, something fall, and then Tommy’s voice again.

“PHIL!”

Phil yanks the phone away from his ear and cringes at the boy's volume. Although, he’s ultimately glad to be hearing from Tommy. Especially so loudly as his usual self. “Yeah..? I’m on my way.”

“WILBUR AND TECHNO HAD A FIGHT!” Tommy’s voice rings through the phone. It reminds Phil of someone who is snitching on their older siblings.

“What? I’m walking over now.” Phil answers, hanging up the phone and practically launching himself out of the classroom.

As he walks through the hall, his head buzzes with hundreds of questions. Why would Techno and Wilbur fight?

Wilbur stares down at the blood on his knuckles. His hands hurt so much he’s not sure if it’s his or Techno’s. 

When Wilbur glances at Techno through the corner of his eye, he thinks the only evidence Techno was struck at all was the little specks of dried blood around his nose.

The first punch was intentional.

Techno has this stupid motto that he will always “Punch liars in the mouth.” and Wilbur always thought it was fucking stupid.

After trying it, he understands the thrill.

The problem is, Techno didn’t correct himself. It wasn’t a lie. Techno is moving. They have two weeks before Techno is taken off to the next foster home.

Principal Sam drones in the background. Talking about school policy and rules. The consequences and his general disappointment.

Wilbur zones out staring at the massive bookcase behind him. Filled with ancient textbooks that haven’t been open in a lifetime and odd trinkets, including several trophies.

None of  Principal Sam's speech reaches Wilbur’s ears. He sits there, thinking about Techno. Thinking about losing him.

He hates to admit that Techno is one of his closest friends considering how little time they spent together. And now, it seems like that’s all for nothing.

“Truly, I’m disappointed in you boys.” Principal Sam sighs. “You don’t even look like you’re listening.”

“Oh no, I love authority.” Techno says sarcastically. “I absolutely acknowledge it.”

“Is that so?” Sam hums.

“Yep. I was actually just uh, evaluating my actions.”

Sam drums his fingers against the large dark oak desk separating them. 

“I want both of you to write an apology to each other. Doesn’t matter when or where you do it, but you need to.”

Wilbur clenches his jaw and nods but Techno just laughs. It makes Wilbur see red.

“That won’t be necessary.” Techno turns to Wilbur and holds out his hand. It reminds Wilbur of the first time they met.

“I’m sorry Wilbur.” Techno extends his hand. “I’m so sorry.”

Wilbur feels his throat constrict. 

“Do you forgive me?” Techno holds his hand out and Wilbur can feel the emotion rising to the surface.

Wilbur got used to being on his own. His parents raised him that way. 

And suddenly, he feels like the past couple months have his walls crumbling down around him. Phil and Tommy stepped right over his walls and Techno took a hammer, shattering the wall to pieces.

He stares at the hand extended to him.

“How can you sit here like everything is fine?” Wilbur whispers with a certain emptiness in his voice that doesn’t at all resemble the whirlwind of emotion inside of him. Techno’s expression drops for a second but he tries to mask it.

Techno bites his cheek with a shrug. “I don’t think anything is ever really fine.”

Techno continues to hold his hand out, a certain sorrow in his eyes that Wilbur’s never noticed before.

“I need a moment.” Wilbur chokes out, standing up and rushing to get out of the door. 

“We’re not exactly done, Wilbur. Can you just wait—” Sam doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence.

Wilbur slams his body into the door, the heavy weight of the frosted glass and wood swings open. He rushes out, feeling the hot shame of tears start to fall. Was he always this emotional?

“Wil?” Tommy sits up from his seat, his good arm clutching the armrest of the chair.

“Not now, Toms.” Wilbur mutters, wiping away at his face.

Wilbur races out into the hallway, past the receptionist desk and straight down the hall. He’s practically running, his vision is so blurry he doesn’t even notice until he’s already smacked into the chest of someone.

The impact shocks him back to reality and Wilbur reels back, an apology on the tip of his tongue. 

He looks up, seeing that stupid green bucket hat that Phil always wears. Phil freezes with confusion, forcing a smile onto his face that does a poor job at masking his confusion.

“Wilbur? I heard about the fight, what happened?”

Wilbur lets out the sob he’s been holding in for what feels like forever. It’s like a dam crashes to the floor, a floodgate being unleashed. He pulls Phil into a death grip of a hug.

It all happens at the sight of Phil. 

Phil who’s been there for him. And Phil who was no doubt on his way over once again to deal with Wilbur’s mess. 

He was fighting so hard to keep it all in, to hold everything back and wait until he was alone but Phil is right here.

“He’s fucking— Techno’s leaving. Phil, he’s moving away and I— I don’t know what to do.” Wilbur’s voice cracks and he buries his face in Phil’s shoulder.

 His legs feel like jelly, Phil practically holding both of their weight. It’s just so hard. It’s so damn hard and Wilbur is so fucking angry at Techno.

He doesn’t even know why he hit Techno. Why he threw punch after punch at his chest and that one right across his jaw. It was like an uncontrollable explosion. Wilbur was a passenger in his own brain, watching from an outsider's perspective.

“Oh, mate.” Phil sighs, placing a hand on Wilbur's head and one on his back. “We’ll figure this one out, alright?”

Wilbur breathes quietly. “He’s gonna leave me too.” It sounds more like a realisation than a confession. “They always leave.”

“We’ll get through this. Together.”

The word rings in Wilbur’s mind.

Together.

It has an unfamiliar taste.

Chapter Text

Tommy sits just outside the principal's office where Techno and Wilbur are currently getting the talk of their life. He’s facing the hallway entrance and to his side, the receptionist desk where Ponk sits, tapping away information into the computer. It’s oddly peaceful.

Wilbur had run past Tommy, worrying Tommy a little bit. But after 10 minutes of concern, a visit from Technoblade, asking if Wilbur’s okay, and Principal Sam telling Techno to go wait in his office, Wilbur came back.

Tommy’s heart still raced from the fight from earlier. He can still hear the echoes of the fight, ringing in his ear.

At first it terrified him, the sort of fighting he was used to at home, being brought to school. It felt like an infection that oozed from him and onto everything he cared about.

But he realised pretty quickly it wasn’t really an angry fight.

And if it was, they didn’t really mean it.

Phil slides through the door a moment later, giving Tommy a small smile and walking to reception.

Tommy tracks his movements over to Ponk.

They talk, whispering to each other so Tommy can’t hear and his stomach churns with anxiety.

And then Phil turns to him with a soft smile and kind eyes.

“Hey Tommy.” Phil greets quietly, taking a seat next to Tommy. He grips the arm of the metal chair and grins back in a silent greeting. 

“Are my parents getting called?” Tommy swings his legs nervously. Please say no. No. No. No.

“Nah, I just talked to Ponk. They’re letting this one slide for all of you.”

Tommy sighs in relief, letting himself slump back into his chair with a giddy smile. “Thank god.”

“You do have a detention with me though.” Phil shrugs.

“Fuck.” Tommy whispers, smiling.

Phil winks. “Yeah, I know.”

Tommy’s head flicks back nervously to the Principal's office. He can only hear clipped words, muffled through the wall and glass.

Phil’s smile fades a bit. “What happened mate?”

Tommy takes a deep breath, pulling at the sleeves on his shirt. “Techno is moving.”

“Yeah, I heard.” The smile on Phil’s face looks strained but he nods. “Is that what the fight was about?”

“Yep” Tommy chuckles, keeping the mood light. “Wilbur lost it and punched Techno.”

Phil frowns, and looks back through the frosted glass of the principals office. “And what did Techno do?”

“He just took the punches.” Tommy blinks, sitting idly. “Didn’t retaliate at all.”

Fighting in the pit is more addictive than Techno wants to admit. He's only been going for a week- nearly two.

It's a bad habit. It's unbelievably tempting. Especially today.

 Maybe it was everything that happened with Wilbur, but Techno feels destructive. The moment school ended, he knew where he was heading.

 He’s already leaving his only friends and moving schools, why not make the most of this damn pit? The only thing he has to lose is his physical well-being. 

And at this stage, Techno’s confident he doesn’t need it to be perfect.

Techno tries his best to fight ten guys in the Pit. It’s a challenge suggested by Dream; one of which he accepted without much hesitation.

The first four fall with ease. He barely needs to try. Techno is wiping blood off his face with a smile and cracking his knuckles in anticipation.

The next few begin to tire him out. And by the end of it, he’s limping, bleeding, and Dream is rushing in, a smile on his face that Techno protests.

The crowd roars above, whether it be in outrage that Techno is injured or the fact he won, it’s impossible to tell.

Dream enters through the competitors door, running across the hard concrete dirtied ground and carefully picking Techno up. He swings an arm over his shoulder and Techno forces himself into a stand.

“You did brilliantly.” Dream whispers. “Let me help you up.”

“Bite me.” Techno hisses, clutching his abdomen and using Dream as balance to stand. 

With help, Techno stands and Dream acts as his guide out of the room.

“You’re so reluctant to receive my help.” Dream complains once they’re through the exit door. 

“You’re not a very helpful person.” Techno slumps down on a makeshift bed. It’s more akin to a bench with a blanket over it. 

“You weren’t reluctant to accept the challenge. Are you intimidated by me, Technoblade?” Dream coos and Techno gives him a filthy look which shuts him up.

Dream mutters something under his breath and walks over to a cabinet, wrenching it open and pulling out a bundle of bandages and medication. 

“I made a mistake.” Techno groans. Even Techno’s knuckles are split, bleeding from the damage they caused earlier.

“You made several mistakes.” Dream points out and Techno rolls his eyes.

“I shouldn’t have gone for theatrics, I needed to do that more strategically.”

Techno clenches his teeth in pain, pulling his shirt up and seeing irritated red bruising. He’s certain that within the next few hours, they’ll darken in colour to a purple-black.

Dream cringes at the sight but walks over, extending a hand expectantly. 

“Be careful.” Techno murmurs and Dream nods seriously.

“I’m not an idiot, Techno.”

Techno relinquishes his hand to Dream and slowly, with a gentle touch, Dream mends it.

It almost surprises Techno how carefully Dream wraps his hand.

In a weird sort of way, he almost forgot that Dream was able to feel pain too.

“You shouldn’t do any fighting for a week. At the LEAST.” Dream enunciates, eyeing the wounds cautiously.

“Good cash.” Techno shrugs, letting himself fall back fully onto the bed with a sigh.

“Great cash.” Dream agrees. “No more for you until you’re healed though.”

“Nah, I can fight again tomorrow.” Techno confirms, letting his eyes drift shut.

“Absolutely not.” Dream shakes his head.

“Absolutely.” Techno’s eyes open again and Dream meets them with a disapproving stare. “When did you start caring about my safety?”

“Since I invited you into the Pit.” Dream shakes his head. “And since you started bringing great business to our little busted community.”

Techno forces a smile. “Well, let me continue bringing great business.”

“No!” Dream laughs. “Are you crazy?”

“I’ll only take 3 dudes. That’s all. I can take that.”

Dream clenches his jaw. Eyes squinted as he takes in Techno’s wellbeing.

“Swear you’ll win?”

Techno sits up, biting his tongue to stifle a groan of pain that protests his movement. “Cross my heart and hope to die.” Techno traces a finger over his heart and Dream sighs loudly.

“I’m not gonna be there tomorrow. If you lose, I’m not coming to carry you out.”

Techno shrugs. “Good thing Technoblade never loses.”

“You better hope Technoblade never dies either. You’re fucking done for if you’re in trouble, Techno.” Dream stabs an angry finger and caves with a defeated sigh.

Dream sets out the details, writing everything down and running a hand through his hair.

“One fight. Tomorrow. 3 guys maximum. Then you rest for a week. We’ll track your recovery.”

Techno grins.

Maybe raising money so he can leave the system early will be easier than he expected.

Despite everything, Techno really doesn’t like Dream. Respecting the guy is hard enough at the pit, but when Dream starts messing with Techno's friends; he sees red.

He’ll play nice when he needs to, but at school it’s back to normal. They act as though they don’t know anything about each other outside of it.

He thinks about not liking Dream during the morning break when he sees Dream hovering around Tommy like an animal of prey. Tommy, sitting beneath a tree without Tubbo and Ranboo and Dream with his usual friend group wandering around.

It doesn’t matter if Dream and Techno are friends inside the pit. Tommy and Techno are friends outside .

The moment Dream approaches and grabs Tommy’s shoulder, Techno starts walking over.

“Hey!” Techno shouts, across the field. The call lands on deaf ears, Dream smiling maliciously towards Tommy who looks irritated and hides his fright. Tommy masks his fear well, if Techno wasn’t Tommy’s friend he’d have no idea. But Techno knows it’s there.

Dream yanks Tommy forward by the collar of his shirt.

“Hey!” Techno barks and this time a few faces turn. Tommy and Dream included. 

“Techno?” They both say at the same time, turning to stare. Tommy's expression completely changes at the sight of Techno and he turns back to Dream.

“Get off!” Tommy yells with a sudden burst of confidence from the sight of Techno.

 Tommy shoves Dream away with all his strength, a powerful slam into Dream’s chest that should have knocked him away. Instead, Tommy stumbles back and Dream steps forward, reaching for Tommy’s wrist and grabs him around the torso, holding him tightly.

“Tommy! We were having a conversation.” Dream laughs at Tommy’s attempts and he squirms around in Dream’s grip. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Fuck off Dream! I’m not giving you answers.”

“Well personally, I’d love some answers.” Techno announces and steps forward, closing the distance. “Dream, what are you doing?”

“Techno, buddy!” Dream smiles. It looks strained as Tommy struggles to break free. “I was just chatting to Tommy.”

“Really? I also physically abuse people when I chat to them.” Techno drawls with an unimpressed look.

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Dream states with a cold shrug. Techno's expression turns hard, an anger simmering beneath the surface.

“Leave Tommy alone.” Techno spits. Dream could do all the favours in the world for Techno and he’d still protect Tommy.

Dream’s eyebrows scrunch for a moment before Dream flattens his emotion. “Do you really need to be a part of this, Techno?”

Techno huffs. “Do you really need to be harassing a friend of mine?”

Dream laughs with a scoff and lets go of Tommy. Tommy drops to the floor and rushes to stand up, going to Techno’s side. Techno does a once over of Tommy and is relieved to see he’s not injured.

“Tommy’s my friend too.” Dream smiles, sweetness dripping from his voice that doesn't belong there. Dreams vision drifts over to Tommy. “He’s just being a little uncooperative, right Tommy?”

Tommy clenches his jaw by Techno’s side and Techno’s eyes darken.

“You know, I really don’t like liars, Dream.” 

“Is that so?”

“Yeah.” Techno scoffs, placing a protective hand on Tommy's shoulder. “Leave Tommy alone. He’s not your friend.”

Dream tilts his head, green eyes gleaming. “And Tommy’s under your protection?” 

"Obviously." Techno says with a sarcastic amusement.

Dream takes a step closer, a breath away from Techno’s face.

 “Even after the Pit?” Dream whispers. "Surely your financial needs haven't magically disappeared?"

Techno draws his eyebrows together, eye's locking with Dream. "I don't think I need your permission to fight there anymore, Dream. It's not that kind of business."

"But you're willing to fight me?" Dream smiles. “Because I could have sworn you were still injured from that.”

“Yeah? You wanna find out?” Techno hisses, his voice dangerously low. It seems only Dream could be the other person to hear him. 

A challenging look passes across Dream’s eyes but he smiles darkly, instead laughing and backing off.

“You stink of testosterone, Techno.” Dream shakes his head with a chuckle.

“Not used to it?” 

 “Go on, save your friend and leave.” Dream waves a hand, turning back to the rest of his group. They snicker shamelessly at the interaction.

Techno scowls, turning his attention to Tommy and offering an open hand. Tommy takes it and they turn.

“I’ll see you around Techno!” Dream calls. “And you, Tommy.”

Tommy squeezes Techno’s hand. “Thank you.” Tommy whispers with a shaky voice.

“I thought he stopped bothering you.” Techno asks, guiding Tommy away and across the school field.

Tommy doesn’t respond and Techno sighs, squeezing Tommy’s hand back.

“You were alone.” Techno says, although he phrases it more like a question. “Tubbo and Ranboo…?”

Tommy rolls his eyes. “Those idiots got break time detention.”

“What?”

Tommy waves a hand back towards the school. He points to the science block. “Tubbo blew up a small part of the lab and now the two of them are stuck in detention during break.”

Techno hums in acknowledgement. It makes Techno feel a bit better that Tommy wasn’t being ditched by his friends. Although, he’s not sure where Wilbur was. Techno isn’t sure about a lot of things with Wilbur anymore.

“What was Dream asking you for?”

Tommy hesitates in his next step before he shakes his head. “Nothing.”

Techno fights the urge to press for answers, instead focusing intently on leading Tommy away from Dream. Techno spots a group of trees towards the back of the school and decides that's where they'll spend the rest of their lunch.

“What’s… the Pit..?” Tommy asks nervously and Techno shakes his head.

“Nothing.”

Tommy smiles. “I guess that’s fair.”

“Yeah, I guess it is.” Techno ruffles Tommy’s hair.

Phil’s tutoring session is eerily reminiscent of when they first began.

Tommy drums a pen against Phil’s desk, having somehow let himself into the classroom and set up without Phil.

Phil pauses in the doorframe, taking in the sight. “Where are Wilbur and Techno?”

Phil removes his teaching bag from his side and gently drops it down onto the floor, crossing the room to see Tommy.

Tommy groans audibly at the mention. “They’re fucking avoiding eachother. I mentioned Techno coming to tutoring today and Wilbur got all pissy at him so he’s not showing up.”

Phil finishes the thought. “And Techno didn’t come because he probably thought he wouldn’t be welcome.”

Tommy leans his forehead against the palm of his hand, his weight resting against the desk. “They’re so annoying! Wilbur is avoiding Techno like the plague and Techno is acting all guilty and shit.”

Phil sits down in his chair, pulling out a history book he wanted to cover with the boys.

“Well, we can still work. The school supplied me with this history book the other day and I figured we could give it a read.”

Tommy huffs but nods, reaching out for the book and flipping it open to a random page.

It doesn’t take long for Phil to realise that history can sometimes be so, so, incredibly wrong .

Trust Phil, he was there for most of it. Who the fuck got this so wrong?

Phil glances over at Tommy, who writes down notes. Tommy reads the page happily, writing facts down that Phil knows so deeply in his heart are incorrect. Phil does his best to keep his face empty of emotion, although he can’t help it that he cringes each time he looks over at Tommy’s page.

Tommy huffs. “What?!” 

Phil shakes his head and gives a strained smile. “Nothing, it’s fine.”

“You keep looking at my work like it’s personally kicking your dog.”

Phil sighs and twists his head around, reading Tommy’s book. “I’m just not sure how correct this history book is.”

“Phil, it cites all the sources on the back. Aren’t you supposed to know this shit, you’re a teacher.”

Phil bites the inside of his cheek. “No, I know. It’s just… wrong.”

“And you know because…?” Tommy grins mischievously. “Did you live through it? I bet you did, old man.”

“What?” Phil laughs nervously and Tommy laughs too.

“Shut up.” Phil laughs off the statement and Tommy smiles, staring at Phil fondly. “Tommy, do you wanna finish this off in detention? With the others too.”

“Well, the others are gonna be shitty with each other but I have nothing better to do.” Tommy shrugs. “Sure, sounds good. I’ll see ya later, gramps.”

Phil decides to turn the after school detention into a tutoring lesson. 

It seems most fit to get school work done, especially since they’ll all be together.

Tommy holds his head up using his hand, staring at the whiteboard which Phil writes on.

“How is any of this important?” Tommy groans.

Techno taps a pencil against his paper, taking notes silently and Tommy rolls his eyes.

Wilbur leans against Phil’s desk, totally oblivious of the conversation and running a finger along a salt lamp Phil bought.

“Do you think these are actually salty?” Wilbur asks, staring at his finger intently. Tommy shrugs and reaches out. The salt lamp scrapes against the desk and Tommy sniffs it.

“Doesn’t really smell salty.” Tommy pokes his tongue out, lowering his face to the lamp and licking it. His face scrunches up at the taste and Wilbur laughs.

“What did you think it would taste like?” Techno shakes his head. 

Phil thinks Techno looks worse for wear. He has a similar tired look that Wilbur used to have  about him all the time. It’s distinctly different, the tiredness coming from something else, but it worries Phil all the same.

Tommy wipes his tongue down with his hand. “I thought it was plastic!” He says— or rather, tries to say. His tongue is still hanging out so it comes out a bit more jumbled than that.

“Alright..” Phil puts the cap back onto his marker, pressing it between his hands. “We’re not focusing, huh?”

“Sorry.” Tommy leans back into his seat, pushing the salt lamp away and picking up his pencil.

“Is this what every tutoring session is like?” Techno raises an eyebrow. 

Phil notices a little cut that’s healing that goes through his brow. Phil wonders if he’ll be seeing Techno in detention again anytime soon.

Wilbur crosses his arms. “Does it matter? It’s not like you plan on coming in a few weeks.”

“That was a low blow.” Techno scoffs with a forced grin.

They fall silent, both of them locking eyes for a moment before Wilbur looks away.

Tommy groans, kicking against the ground and letting his chair grind against the ground. It scrapes backwards loudly and the attention turns on him.

“Will you too fucking kiss and make up already? I’m tired of you guys arguing.” Tommy groans and Phil chuckles.

“I’ve apologised once before but I can again.” Techno states and Wilbur’s frown grows.

Tommy lets his head bang into the table. “I don’t have anyone to fucking hang out with at the moment because everyones either in detention or bickering like a stupid married couple.” Tommy leans against the table, his head lying in his hand.

Phil bites his cheek in thought. “Have you written the letters yet? The apology ones?”

“How did you know about that?” Techno tilts his head in curiosity. 

“Sam told me. I’m monitoring you two.”

“Oh cool,” Techno nods. “That’s great news. I was worried I’d have to read out some sappy apology letter to Principal Sam.”

Wilbur fixes his gaze on the wall behind Phil. “I haven’t written my letter yet.”

“I have.” Techno mutters with a dismissive shrug. The three of them turn to Techno, Wilbur looking the most shocked.

Wilbur gapes. “What? You don’t even have anything to apologise for. How could you possibly have finished writing your letter?”

Techno presses his lips together and pulls his bag onto his lap. It’s a boring, black, one strap bag, a couple patches which hold it together. He unzips it and pulls out a letter. A neat envelope and all.

Techno holds it out to Wilbur expectantly.

“I wrote it the night after the fight.” Techno admits, waving the envelope in Wilbur’s direction. He pushes it towards him and Wilbur stares. Techno holds it out for a few seconds, Wilbur not making any move to grab it.

 “Wilbur you can either take it or I can throw it in Phil’s trash can, it won’t change anything I’ve already said.”

Wilbur rolls his eyes and snatches it. “You’re so fucking american. ‘ Trash can, ’ you bloody prick. Call it a Rubbish bin.”

Wilbur stares at Techno’s handwriting, surprisingly elegant looking.

It’s like everything comes back to Wilbur at once. That tightness in his throat returns, putting him into a choke hold. And everyone is looking at him. Why is everyone looking?

Wilbur does his best to act careless, nodding a simple thanks and stuffing it into his bag. Techno doesn’t look too bothered, although he’s not the most expressive. Wilbur doesn’t miss the way Techno’s eyebrow tenses for a moment.

“Sorry Phil.” Wilbur clears his throat. “We can keep going now.”

At the end of the session, Wilbur gathers his things and offers to walk Tommy home.

Phil wishes them well and stays at his desk, repeatedly tapping the pen against his desk. Once they’re both out the door, already forgetting the contents of what they just learnt, Phil turns to Techno.

Techno takes a deep breath. “God, your son is difficult, Phil.” Techno laughs but it sounds more pained than anything else. Phil thinks his bruises look worse. He hopes to God they’re not from his foster parents. Although it doesn’t make Phil feel a lot better knowing they’re probably from fights at school he’ll get detention for.

Techno lets his neck go limp, staring up at the ceiling. “Ohh, he’s so difficult.”

Phil gives Techno a sympathetic smile. Stopping his tapping and rolling the pen between his fingers.

“He’s acting like I have a choice.” Techno glares at the ceiling and shrugs. “He doesn’t make any sense, Phil. He is the most illogical person ever. Wilbur is choosing to spend my last two weeks together by ignoring me.” 

The lights buzz quietly from above in the silence that follows the statement. Phil can’t seem to think of much else.

“I feel like I’m already gone.” Techno mutters, shaking his head and beginning to grab his things. Techno piles his papers together, tucking his pencil away and packing up.

“Maybe he’s mad that you threw away your choice.” Phil suggests with a shrug. “Maybe he’s mad that you got a choice and he didn’t.”

 Techno’s eyes flicker over to Phil. He looks at Phil properly, squinting at him in an evaluating manner. 

“Elaborate.” Techno scrunches his eyebrows in thought and it makes Phil laugh at how emotionally illiterate Techno is.

“I mean…” Phil begins, “Wilbur is upset because he thinks you didn’t try. You threw punches and got in trouble for it. You knew what would happen if you pushed your foster family and you pushed. Hell, Techno, where did that bruise on your eye come from?”

Techno jerks back a little at the mention of the bruises but Phil continues.

“You had a chance to stay. In Wilbur’s eyes, you gave that up. And Wilbur’s upset because he didn’t get a choice in if you get to stay or not.”

Techno pinches the bridge of his nose, squishing his eyes shut.

“I don’t… I don’t know how to fix this, Phil.”

Phil hums, drumming his fingers against the wood of his desk. His eyes flicker over to the salt lamp. The warm orange glow it emanates. He was right, the salt lamp does have a calming effect.

“I have an idea.” Phil turns his attention to Techno. “Well, less of an idea, more of a possible opportunity. You might hate it though.”

Techno quirks an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

Wilbur walks with Tommy, the conversation being stale, if not bordering polite.

The conversation somehow manages to drift over to Techno. Wilbur and Tommy cross the road, walking past a large bush of pink roses that catch Wilbur’s eye.

Tommy plucks one off and begins tearing off the pedals as they walk. “Techno’s leaving.”

“Yeah.” Wilbur huffs. “I know, king.”

Tommy blows a strand of hair out of his face and looks back at Wilbur. The sun hits his eyes and he raises a hand to shield his face. “Gonna forgive him?”

“Thinking about it.” Wilbur shrugs.

“Hey Wil, wanna know what I’m thinking about?” Tommy grins in a way that suggests Wilbur doesn’t want to know what he’s thinking about. Wilbur rolls his eyes and shoves him in the back of the head. Tommy yells out in laughter, stumbling but falling back into the rhythm of walking again.

“Prick!” Tommy announces and Wilbur tries to force the smile that Tommy brings off his face. “Didn’t Phil ever teach you respect!”

Wilbur laughs quietly. “No, he didn’t.”

Tommy rolls his eyes, not picking up on Wilbur’s change in mood. “My dad taught me respect and I turned out perfectly.”

Wilbur would almost laugh if it wasn't for the gnawing guilt in his stomach. A voice in Wilbur’s head tells him to tell Tommy that Phil isn’t his real dad. It would be easier on both of them to let Tommy know given how much time they spend with each other.

He decides Tommy deserves to know.

“Phil isn’t my real dad.” Wilbur spits out, like ripping off a bandaid. He says it quickly so there’s no time for him to change his mind.

Tommy trips on his own foot. “What?” He exclaims, staring in disbelief. “You’re adopted?”

“No he’s- I was homeless. For a uh, well, for a while.” Wilbur scratches the back of his head awkwardly. “I ran away from home. When Phil found out, he took me off the streets.”

Tommy stares at Wilbur, analysing him for a long while before raising an eyebrow. “So you pretended he was your dad?”

“I didn’t want anyone to know!” Wilbur swears. “It’s embarrassing and weird and honestly, probably illegal in some way.”

“Oh.” Tommy says, staring at his feet as he walks. “That’s cool.”

“Yea, it’s awesome.” Wilbur admits, humming in thought.

“Wilbur, are you going to read the letter when you get home?”

“What?” Wilbur turns to Tommy, surprised at the change of topic.

“The letter Technoblade wrote for you, idiot.”

“Oh.” Wilbur whispers. It’s obvious he supposes, what other letter would Tommy be referring to? 

“I don’t know if I forgive Techno yet.”

Tommy hums in response.

“Is that… bad? Am I a bad person for not forgiving Techno? You forgave him. Tommy, you were never even mad.”

“We’re very different, Wil.” Tommy shrugs. “It’s not Techno’s choice if he stays. People come and go all the time, I guess. For a really long time, I didn’t let myself get attached to anyone.”

Wilbur’s stomach churns hearing Tommy say that statement. It doesn’t fit right with Tommy’s personality in Wilbur’s opinion. He was such a talkative, energetic kid. He can’t imagine Tommy without any friends.

“Yeah but he didn’t even try to stay.” Wilbur says, a lump in his throat starting to form. “Techno had everything he needed handed to him on a silver platter and he still threw it away!”

“If he had everything he needed, he wouldn’t be sent away.” 

“What, his foster parents? They’re lovely people, they just didn’t expect someone who was so much work. If his parents were awful to him, I’d understand wanting to leave.”

Tommy looks away. “He didn’t want to leave, Wil. Techno just made bad choices and his parents had enough.”

Wilbur glances at Tommy who looks uncomfortable with the conversation. Wilbur is about to offer to change the topic when Tommy sighs. 

“I don’t think you’re a bad person for not forgiving Techno. I think you’re a bad person if you don’t try to forgive him.” 

Wilbur falls silent for a moment but nods his head.

“You’re a smart kid, Toms.” Wilbur reaches a hand over and ruffles Tommy’s hair and he smiles.

“You’re an idiot teenager, Wil.”

Chapter Text

Wilbur thought about the letter all night. Now that it’s morning, it hasn’t gotten any easier. He knows Tommy is going to taunt him during school if he doesn’t read it now.

There is a universe of unknown growing on Wilbur’s chest. 

It is built up of all the feelings that come with Technoblade leaving, of all the uncertainty that Tommy is okay, and all the peculiar set of emotions Wilbur feels for his parents who haven’t contacted him in a little more than four months. The universe of unknown grows a little bit bigger with each second he spends staring at the letter set out on a blanket.

Wilbur paces the room back and forth, occasionally pausing to stare nervously at the wrinkled letter on his bed. His name is written on the front of the beige envelope.

Dear Wilbur .

It’s written in the neat writing of Technoblade. Technoblade who shares his notes with Wilbur in history class. Technoblade who didn’t hesitate to protect Tommy without even knowing him. Technoblade who is one of Wilbur’s closest friends.

 Wilbur’s stomach twists in knots nervously. He paces, chest rising and falling swiftly.

Wilbur pauses by the small mirror hanging in his room. 

The mirror makes him look completely different compared to the one in his room at home.

 He looks less tired, the rings around his eyes mostly gone. At home, he remembers the dark circles below his eyes, the heaviness of his eyelids.

His hair is less greasy; that’s the biggest perk of living with Phil. It’s fluffy now, better groomed now he’s off the streets.

And his face has regained a bit of healthy weight now that he’s eating properly. He looks better, but different. 

Of course, it’s still him. It’s the same frayed cyan sweater and the same imperfect smile. 

Wilbur just didn’t realise how much of him Phil had brought to the surface.

How much that Techno had brought to the surface.

He needs to rip the bandaid off. Get it over and done with.

Wilbur’s mind is reeling. He doesn’t understand how Techno could have written an apology so quickly. It doesn’t make any sense. What does Techno even have to apologise for? It was Wilbur who did the punching. 

Techno didn’t hit back. Never. Not once did he strike Wilbur in self defence.

Wilbur feels guilt wash through him and he has to stop himself from grabbing at his hair and tugging it.

 Maybe the apology is rubbish. Yeah, it’s probably shit. Maybe it’s a bullshitted-two sentence-no effort letter that is meant to only be an excuse so the teachers get off his back.

Yeah, that makes the most sense. Right? 

Right?

Wilbur walks up to the bed and sits down. He grabs the letter with a shaky hand. It has to be a joke. 

That would be on brand for Techno. Techno only wrote the letter to get it out of the way. It would make everything a lot easier for Wilbur. That way, he could just do the same.

And then things could…

Things could go back to normal.

Wilbur misses normal.

He clenches his jaw, turning the envelope over and tearing it open gently.

With a deep breath and an unsteady hand, Wilbur pulls out the piece of paper and reads carefully through the letter.

Dear Wilbur,

I’ve never been very good at apologies. Believe it or not (since it’s so unbelievable that I, Techno, can’t apologise.)

 And I don’t apologise very often; usually because I’m never in the wrong and have nothing to apologise for.

 But this time, I’ll admit, I think I need to make an exception.

I need to say I’m sorry, Wilbur.

I’m leaving in less than two weeks.

 And the more I think about it, it’s my fault. I know I’m not a very apologetic person and I can be difficult sometimes and I’m stubborn, but I’m sorry Wilbur.

I acted out. It wasn’t fair to you.

I caused a few fights, I got into an above average amount of arguments with my foster parents, heck I got countless detentions; I broke about every rule in the good child book. 

The thing is Wilbur, I’ve never been great with people. Adults usually dislike me. And teenagers see me as a fist. I’ve never been great at socialising so I got used to being alone and doing things only for my own benefit.

I’ve always been a problem child. I don’t think I will ever be anything else, the label is engraved into me at this point. But I’ve always been alone and a problem so I barely thought twice about getting into trouble. It was selfish of me.

I wasn’t thinking about how it was affecting anybody else. I’ve never had to worry about that kind of thing until I met you.

You know, at the time I thought I was forced to act the way I act.  

But it just resulted in me losing my friends, my favourite teacher and my best friend. (That’s you, by the way.)

I’m sorry that I chose to fight for the wrong thing. I fought for myself instead of you, instead of Tommy or Phil. Instead of us. 

Growing up in the foster system, that was the first thing I learnt; fight for yourself.  I don’t regret a single thing about punching Dream when we saw him hurting Tommy. 

Considering that was probably the big kicker in why I’m moving away, I’d still do the same thing a thousand times over after having hung out with the little gremlin.

I don’t regret any of the punches I’ve thrown in my time here. I don’t think that’ll change anytime soon either. 

I have always chosen to fight. I don’t know why I didn’t realise this sooner but I should have chosen you.

Wilbur, I know why you punched me. Violence is the answer to most questions (Mr Watson’s opinion be damned) but I understand why you hit me.

I don’t want to leave. I don’t think you want me to leave either. And I am so sorry that I am.

I know you’re angry, you have every right. But I have one more week left and I want to spend it with you and Phil and Tommy. 

I hope you can forgive me.

It’s not an easy task, but I’ve at least made it easier by forgiving you.

I’m sorry for leaving, Wilbur. 

I wish I wasn’t. 

You’re practically my brother at this point. 

I trust you with my life, Wil. 

For the first time in a long time, I mean that genuinely.

I’m sorry,

Technoblade 

Drops of tears spill onto the page and Wilbur clenches his teeth. 

He wants to yell at Techno. He’s not sure why his emotion comes out in anger but it does.

Wilbur’s brain starts to process the words. Techno has a bit more than one week left. He hates to even think about it.

But that’s the truth. 

Wilbur stands up, grabbing his bag. His hands tremble with emotion.

It wasn’t a half assed apology. It was a genuine, heartfelt, letter. From Technoblade of all people.

Wilbur can see the awkwardness of the words. There are parts that Techno has neatly scribbled out. It makes Wilbur feel a little bit more comfortable. They’re both entering unknown waters with their friendship.

Techno isn’t as certain as he comes across. The mistakes make the letter seem human.

Wilbur takes a deep breath, swinging his bag on and rushing out the door to his room. He races down the stairs, skipping a few and ushers himself outside.

After school today, Wilbur is going to apologise to Technoblade. In person.

Techno barely needed to apologise as it was and he wrote so much. The least Wilbur can do is apologise in person. Because it’s not Techno’s fault. God, of course it isn’t Techno’s fault.

They don’t have any classes today and they’re no longer stuck in mandatory detention so he’ll just wait until lunch to speak to Techno.

Techno can barely hear over the sheer noise. The air is stale, the arena being underground makes everything a little more difficult than he’d like.

He should be at school right now. He knows by the lack of people his age and a rough estimation of how long he’s been fighting.

A crowd gathers above him. He’s inside what they call The Pit. Surrounding him on all sides, are viewers. Bidding on their winning dog.

It wasn’t the wisest idea, but Techno was angry at Dream. So instead of fighting three guys like they agreed on, he’s going for five.

The first two went down without a problem. The crowd, screaming in Techno’s ears and becoming a surge of voices, conjoined together.

Techno throws a punch, landing it right in the centre of a man's stomach. He curls in on himself with a groan and collapses. 

There’s no heroism in this. He isn’t helping or protecting anyone. There is nothing noble about his cause. It’s for money. 

It’s so Technoblade can earn the cash of the bidders above him, who place their money on a winning opponent.

Techno doesn’t want to be doing this, he just needs the cash. He wants to be able to have enough money to be financially stable. Enough to get him out of the system and on his feet until he can land himself a job.

What Phil offered is nice, but nothing is confirmed yet. Techno isn’t the kind of guy to put all his eggs in one basket.

Another man approaches Techno, tackling him to the floor. He hears a rib crack but pretends he didn’t. That jabbing pain isn’t there if he convinces himself it isn’t.

The air is knocked from his lungs and Techno gasps, a punch slamming into his nose. He hears a loud crunch and feels warm blood begin to drip down his face. Techno shoves the man back, knocking them around and rolling so Techno is now on top. 

Techno grabs a fistful of hair and slams the man's head into the ground. The opponent is out for the count, the crowd shouting in his ears. 

Techno’s head rings as the final person slams into him, his head knocking against the concrete floor.

Techno thrusts his knee up and twists the person over and onto the ground. 

The crowd screams in shock, a wave of insanity passing through them. The sound is thunderous. Like the clap of lightning striking, right next to him.

Techno doesn’t smile when he wins, instead raising a fist into the air to signify his victory. 

It’s followed by him immediately blacking out, falling to the ground.

There is a universe of unknown on Techno’s chest. 

This time, Dream isn’t there to carry him out.

Phil has officially become the teacher to go to if one of the three boys gets in trouble. He might as well place his claim on them because he’s starting getting reports from other teachers about how they’re doing.

It’s scary thinking about how attached Phil is to the little gremlins.

He imagines things will die down when they’ve graduated. They’ll be another set of people to pass Phil by. He hasn’t risked getting hurt by his immortality and his attachment to mortals in a very long time. Phil can’t help but feel his breath quicken at everything with Wilbur, Techno and Tommy.

The reason Phil is thinking about this? His phone is ringing; a usual bad omen regarding Tommy, Techno, and Wilbur.

His mind races with questions. He hasn’t seen Techno at school at all today. Wilbur seemed fine in his senior class about an hour ago, and Tommy should be in maths class right now (If Phil’s memory serves him right)

So which one of the trouble makers will it be?

Phil picks up the phone, twirling the cord around his hand. “Hello? History 101, Phil speaking.”

“Hey Phil… It’s Eret.” A voice chimes from the other side of the phone. Phil smiles at the sound of his friend and co-worker.

“Eret? Everything alright?” Phil responds, his brows pulled in confusion. Why on earth is Eret calling him? Don’t get him wrong, Eret is lovely. They just don’t talk on a regular basis.

“Yeah, I’m uh… I’m substituting for a class right now and…” Eret trails off and Phil stands up, taking the phone with him towards the door.

“And?” Phil encourages, fiddling idly with the cord of the phone.

“I’ve been told you’re the one to go to for issues with Tommy, right?”

He pauses and lets go of the cord. Ice surrounds Phil’s heart. “What’s wrong?”

Eret hums. “He left class about 15 minutes ago to go to the toilets. Is he known for skipping? I didn’t know he had a record.”

Phil walks back over to his desk, grabbing his keys. They rattle loudly in his hand. “I’ll go check the toilets now. If he’s locked himself in I’m able to get him out.”

Eret chuckles. “Thanks Phil, you’re a lifesaver. I can’t leave a freshman class unattended to go check on him.”

“Thank you Eret.” Phil sighs, hanging up and walking swiftly towards his classroom door.

The walk from his classroom is fairly quick and Phil’s anxiety moves him faster.

It’s not often Phil enters the freshman’s boys toilet. Doing so feels awkward and foreign to him. 

Rows of stalls are opened, right up until the end. 

The very final one is closed. Behind the door, a quiet sniffling. When Phil looks at the floor, he can see a person sitting down, leaning against the side.

Phil feels like he’s violating Tommy’s privacy, listening to the sniffles. It’s best if he just announces his presence instead of drawing it out. 

“Tommy?” Phil calls out. 

The room falls silent.

Phil wonders if it’s even Tommy behind the doors. It’s possible he ditched school entirely.

He tries again. “Tommy? Is that you?”

Tommy is shaking so hard he thinks he might fall to pieces. 

His bag is thrown down next to him, a few papers scattered across the floor which fell out. And then there is Tommy, crying. 

Only babies act the way you do. Stop. Crying.

Phil can’t see him like this.

“Tommy, is that you?” Phil inquires, his voice echoing through the door. 

“Go away.” Tommy answers wetly. 

He buries his face in his knees. 

Tommy sits with his legs drawn to his chest, leaning against the door to the toilet stall. He went to the one at the very end of the toilet block since it’s the biggest and he went with the intent to stay hidden. He just needs to hide. 

He’s so grateful Phil can’t see him. 

                                                             Can’t touch him. 

                                                                                             Can’t hurt him.

“Can I come in?” Phil asks softly and Tommy can feel the door move slightly as a hand is pressed against it.

Tommy shakes his head, muffling a sob. 

He knows Phil can’t see him. Why is he shaking his head?

Use your words, Theseus. Communicate properly or get out.

“No.” Tommy chokes out. A feeble attempt at a verbal response. Tommy wonders why speaking is so hard when you’re upset. It’s a great way to express your emotions and it’s so damn hard.

Tommy raises a hand to his throat  and holds it there, as though it will stop him from choking on his own words.

There’s a pause. For a second, Tommy even feels hopeful that Phil has left. But instead, Phil begins again, speaking softly. Phil uses a tone with kindness Tommy doesn’t deserve.

“Tommy, are you hurt?” Phil questions, a concerned lilt in his voice.

Yes? No? 

There is a universe of unknown inside of Tommy. It crushes him. He can barely breath as it presses down on his shaking body.

Why does Phil care?

He’s hurt, but that’s not why he’s upset. Phil doesn’t need to know if he’s hurt. Being hurt is a weakness.

“Tommy, I need you to tell me if you’re hurt or going to hurt yourself.” Phil knocks on the door gently and it’s enough to make Tommy flinch back, crying so hard he can barely breathe. “If you want the door to stay closed, you need to answer me.” 

Why is he trembling all over? Tommy wishes he could squeeze himself tight enough so that his shaking would stop and he could just disappear.

“I’m not. I’m not hurt or— or any of that shit. I wouldn’t— I’d never do that.” Tommy struggles with his words but he can feel a sigh of relief on the other side of the door.

He hears a shuffle on the other side of the door. A small shadow appears, most likely from Phil leaning or sitting down.

“Then talk to me.” Phil begins quietly, making no effort to be aggressive towards Tommy. “What happened?”

Tommy thinks it’s strange the door hasn’t been yanked open yet. That he hasn’t been forced to stand up and explain himself. Everything seems a lot kinder the way Phil is doing it.

So why can’t Tommy co-operate? Why is he struggling to speak? To find the words?

Phil’s waiting. Don’t keep him waiting. Explain yourself.

Tommy’s voice shakes as he speaks. “I failed the— the maths test I needed help with I— I forgot everything and failed.”

Saying what happened feels stupid.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Stupid.

Is he really crying over a maths test?

“Is that…” Phil trails off, rethinking his sentence. “Is that why you’re upset? Is that why you decided to leave class?”

Tommy doesn’t respond. He can hear their voices ringing in his head. 

“That’s okay mate, we can’t be perfect at everything.” Phil responds with a careful tone. Tommy can’t help the sob that slips out of his throat.

“It’s only a mid-year test.” Phil affirms. “The one at the end of the year is what matters.”

“No it’s— you don’t understand.” Tommy’s voice cracks from crying but he continues. “They check it— they check my mid-year. Phil, my parents check my grades mid year.”

He’s rambling. Tommy knows he is.

But it’s so hard not to. It feels impossible to find the balance between absolute silence and speaking.

“Your parents will understand.” Phil whispers and Tommy’s heart races. His throat is so tight he feels like he might suffocate.

How will my parents understand when even you don’t?

Tommy feels like screaming out everything to Phil but he stops himself.

This hollow, numb feeling that bites into him.

“I can’t go home.” Tommy states, his vision darting across the papers and landing on the maths test. A big red F which tells Tommy everything. “They’re gonna be so fucking pissed.” Tommy whispers, as though he’s talking to himself.

“Tommy, I promise you as a teacher, one test doesn’t matter.” Phil says through the door. “Can I come in?”

He can’t see Tommy, but he sounds like a mess. Through sniffling and broken sentences, Phil can piece together he’s upset he failed his test. 

But for this kind of reaction?

Is there something Phil isn’t seeing? It’s been a long time since Phil was a kid, let alone remembered what it was like to have parents.

“It does matter!” Tommy raises his voice. “It matters so much. I can’t. I just fucking can’t!”

Phil swallows the lump in his throat, standing up and grabbing his keys. “Tommy, I'm opening the door.”

“No!” Tommy shouts, the figure on the other side of the door jolting back and twisting around. Phil can hear the door lock rattle as Tommy grabs hold of it, holding it in place.

“No! Phil I didn’t— I’m sorry, I didn’t wanna get you involved. I’m sorry for talking back.”

There’s an unsteady silence and Phil feels a nauseating guilt.

There’s a protocol he is supposed to follow as a teacher. Questions he is required to ask when a student starts lashing out or locks themself somewhere.

“Tommy I—” Phil stares at the keys in his hands for a long moment. 

“Please.” Tommy murmurs and Phil's heart nearly shatters.

In his mind, a voice screams to let Tommy have this space. If he thinks about it, Tommy nearly always retreats when he’s upset. Tommy keeps his distance for people when  he's sad; it's a trait Phil has noticed over the time he's spent with Tommy.

But it’s the school rule . And Phil is terrified for Tommy’s safety.

“Tommy, can you step back from the door?”

There’s a shaky breath and then he hears a rustle. He sees a shadow of movement; Tommy falling back and sitting on the ground again, away from the door.

Phil stands at the door, hand refusing to move for a few moments before he manages to fight the guilt off. He’s just following protocol.

Phil has to make sure Tommy is okay. If Tommy’s hurt or hurting himself, Phil needs to know.

Phil’s keys jingle loudly in the lock and the sound makes Tommy choke out a cry before a muffled silence. The lock pops and with a great hesitation, Phil pushes the door open.

Paper is scattered everywhere, Tommy’s bag being spilled open. In the corner of the stall is Tommy, covering his head, sitting on the ground and doing his best to stay quiet.

Phil gets down to Tommy’s level, listening to the boy cry. Even in his best attempts to stay quiet, he whispers something.

“Please.” Tommy whispers the word over and over again. “Please, please, please, please, please…”

“You’re okay mate.” Phil murmurs, wrapping Tommy in a hug. 

Tommy sobs harder and grabs onto Phil. Tommy locks his arms around him and Phil holds Tommy as though he is the world.

“I’m sorry dad.” Tommy cries and Phil nearly freezes, his heart in his throat.

Phil feels a lump in his throat, doing his best to soothe Tommy. It’s somewhat normal for students to accidentally call him dad every now and then but the timing throws Phil off.

He cares about Tommy very much and it’s obvious that something is wrong. That Tommy isn’t seeing clearly. Phil’s not too sure what’s causing it but Phil carefully wraps an arm around Tommy.

“Come on mate, we’re going for a drive.” Phil murmurs softly, helping Tommy up. He places a hand beneath Tommy’s arm and pulls him onto his feet.“Let’s clean up this mess and then figure something out.”

Tommy’s sobs slowly come to a stop, helping Phil pack everything up. 

Wilbur cannot find anybody. He missed Techno at lunch, thinking he’d wait until after school.

He places his bag down by his side, slowly, cautiously, taking a seat in his usual chair for detention.

Sitting in boredom are Tubbo and Ranboo, who pass a note between them in silence, occasionally snickering before slapping a hand over their mouth and ducking their faces to hide their smiles and swallow their laughter. The sight alone makes Wilbur smile.

At the front of the classroom, where Phil usually sits, is a different teacher. A substitute of some kind which Wilbur can vaguely recall him being fairly laid back. He even lets his students call him by his first name. What the hell was it? Eret or something.

Wilbur taps impatiently against the desk. He glances over at Tubbo and Ranboo, causing each other to laugh but trying desperately to hide it so as to not get in trouble.

 Wilbur looks over at Techno’s seat next to him, empty and pulled out. As though it’s waiting expectantly for someone to claim it.

Looking over at the classroom door, there’s no movement in the hall.

Wilbur looks into his bag, seeing the scrunched up letter Techno wrote him sitting at the top of a sea of work. He frowns, pulling the letter out and smoothening it down at the corners. 

Where the hell is Technoblade?

Chapter Text

Tommy sits in the back of Phil’s car, staring out the window. He watches the world zip by, a constant blur of colours. Moving, changing. Phil’s eyes flick to the mirror, focusing on driving and the boy in his back seat.

Phil doesn’t think Tommy’s ever looked so small.

He’s got his knees to his chest, a seat belt holding him in place and a hand sitting on the bottom of the glass, tracing patterns into a slightly fogged window.

Phil’s a bit worried about Wilbur walking home in this weather; rain pouring down in droves and a frigid wind that forces the car heaters on.

(Phil knows it isn’t really Wilbur’s home but he treats it as such.)

Phil isn’t sure what he’s doing. Hell, more often than not he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He just knows that there’s no chance he’s making Tommy go back to class or go home. 

So he does what he did for Wilbur. 

The gravel of Phil’s driveway crunches beneath the car and Phil parks, the car blinking off into quiet stillness.

Tommy blinks back to reality, looking over owlishly towards Phil. “your… house?”

Phil twists his keys, shoving the door open and getting out of the car. “Yep.”

Tommy unclips his seatbelt and follows Phil with his eyes. “But I thought….?”

“Nah.” Phil closes his door carefully and walks over to Tommy’s side, opening the door for him. Tommy jolts up, lowering his knees. “Come on mate.”

Phil tilts his head towards the house and Tommy mechanically undoes his seatbelt, standing up silently. Phil shuts the door and looks over at Tommy, who keeps just…

“What?” Phil asks, raising an eyebrow. He makes his way down the gravel path to his house.

Tommy steps away and gives a small shrug, looking towards the house. 

“You’re staring at me.” Phil points out, flicking his keys around on his hand to pull out the house key.

“No I’m not.” Tommy retorts, shoes crunching against the stones below. “I’m just waiting for you to tell me what to do.”

“Well, stop it?”

“Stop….?”

“Yeah, just act normally. You can stay here until you need to go home. And stop giving me that look.” Phil squints at Tommy and his eyes dart away.

“I’m not giving you any looks.” Tommy huffs.

“You are.”

“Am not.” 

“You keep looking at me like- like, really weirdly.”

“No.”

Phil freezes and looks down at his keys. “Tommy, I can take you back to school if this is… you know, weird.” 

“What?”

“I- sorry, I should have asked. I just assumed that you didn’t want to stay at school and your house was-”

“No, this is..” Tommy trails off, glancing between Phil and the house. “This is fine.”

“You don’t have to lie.” Phil shakes his head. “I can take you home.”

Tommy’s eyes widen and he grabs the keys from Phil’s hand. “No! This is fine. I just didn’t realise where we were heading.”

Phil’s eyebrows draw together but he nods. “Alright…”

Tommy slowly gives the keys back, giving Phil a look (and Phil knows it’s a look, he’s just not sure what kind). 

Phil leads the way up to his door, fumbling with the keys in his hand that jingle loudly.

“Wilbur told me.” Tommy blurts out.

Phil nearly trips. “What?”

“You’re not… Wilbur told me you’re not his real dad.”

Phil stops, his heart thundering and looks over to Tommy. He stares silently at his  feet, fiddling with his fingers. 

“Oh.” Phil says, doing a once over of Tommy and unlocking the door. “I’m surprised he finally told you. Wilbur’s very personal.” Phil chuckles, grabbing the door knob and swinging it open.

“He’s an idiot.” Tommy smiles fondly. “I can’t believe you guys pretended to be family for so long without me and Techno realising.”

“It wasn’t that hard to be honest.” Phil shrugs, walking into the house. Tommy follows closely behind, making himself comfortable to the couch.

Tommy sits down cross legged on the couch while Phil makes his way to the kitchen, making two hot chocolates. He puts three marshmallows on the top, a spritz of whipped cream, and a biscuit on the side. It’s Phil’s favourite way to make hot chocolates; he hopes Tommy likes it too.

Phil carries them out, placing it down on the coffee table and Tommy’s eyes light up.

“Is that for me?” Tommy asks, looking hopefully towards Phil.

He laughs, “Who else?” and takes a seat across from Tommy on the couch.

“I-” Tommy bites his tongue. “Dunno, I kinda thought you were upset at me.” Tommy shrugs, picking up the drink slowly and raising it to his mouth.

“Really?” Phil asks, staring at Tommy sadly. “Tommy, why would I be upset?”

“You had to take me out of school.” Tommy whispers, staring into the dark liquid of his drink. “And I failed my maths test.”

“That’s not a reason to be mad.” Phil shakes his head and Tommy glances at Phil for a second, eyebrows furrowed.

“I figured failing tests would upset you even more since you’re a teacher.” Tommy tilts his head and Phil smiles, a hint of sorrow in his eyes.

“You really thought I’d be mad at you?”

Tommy nods, rubbing a thumb up and down the hot ceramic of the mug. “Yeah usually— well, sometimes when I’m in trouble, I get stuff taken away from me. And my parents usually have those things in front of me to make me feel… guilty, I guess. I thought hot chocolate was one of those things.”

Phil frowns, watching Tommy bring the cup away from his mouth, a whipped cream moustache being left behind. “What kind of things?”

Tommy shrugs, wiping the cream off his face. He lets his head flop back against the couch as he recalls a list of things. “Sometimes it’s soft toys or my phone or something. Other times it’s blankets, or meals.” Tommy groans in reminiscence. “They take my door occasionally and it’s the worst thing in the whole world.”

Tommy looks over to Phil in annoyance. “I can handle being cold or hungry, but not having anywhere to myself is frustrating. You know what I mean? I mean, you’re an adult, so probably not. But I like having privacy sometimes.”

Tommy sighs, glancing over to Phil once he’s finished talking. Wordlessly, Phil grabs him and pulls Tommy into an embrace.

Tommy stops mid breath before slowly putting a hand on Phil’s back and hugging him back.

“You alright big man?” Tommy asks, patting Phil’s back. He looks at Phil with concern, an unsteady hand from uncertainty.

“Tommy, if you ever need a place to stay, you can stay here.” Phil states with a finalising tone. He lets go of Tommy and looks him square in the eyes. “I care about you. Wilbur cares about you. If you want to stay here, you can.”

Tommy looks at Phil, blinking slowly and pulling his legs up onto the couch. “Could I…”

He trails off, biting his lip and head darting towards the nearest object, the TV. “Could I stay the night tonight?”

Tommy says sheepishly and Phil nods happily. “Absolutely, mate.”

Tommy splits into a grin and this time, it’s him who initiates the hug. Phil feels a warmth ignite in his chest.

Wilbur has never been more impatient in his life. His head snaps to the source of sound every few seconds.

Technoblade should be here. In detention. With Wilbur.

It’s the final warning flag to Wilbur that something isn’t right.

Wilbur raises his hand after 10 minutes.

The substitute looks up and stares at him calculating for a moment. Wilbur persists, hand straight up into the air and a determined glare.

“Is everything okay?” The substitute asks, his head tilted to the side.

“May I please go to the toilets?” Wilbur asks, bringing his hand back down. He’s not sure if the substitute will even let him leave during a detention.

The substitute bites the inside of his cheek and nods. “You have five minutes.”

“Thank you.” Wilbur says breathlessly. He takes his chance. 

Wilbur throws his bag on, ignoring the fact it’s not shut properly and papers spill out. He practically slams into the door as it’s thrust open and breaks off into a run.

“Hey- leave your bag here!” The substitute shouts. 

By the time Eret has stood up, huffing and running a hand through his hair in frustration, Wilbur breaks out into a sprint, shoes echoing down the empty hall.

By the time Eret has gotten to the door that Wilbur ran out of, there’s no trace of Wilbur ever being there.

Completely having disappeared down the halls and out the door. 

After watching a movie on the couch, Phil remembers he’s still got responsibilities. 

The joys of pretending to have a son and caring for his “son's” friend.

Phil goes to prepare something quick and easy for dinner. His hand guides a knife through a potato, cutting it into small squares and letting it plop into a pot filled with water.

Tommy stands to the side, peeling potatoes that Phil didn’t need to even ask Tommy to help with.

It’s oddly familiar. Phil never realised how fun it was to cook with people. He’s always done it by himself.

They work to a rhythmic beat. Phil, even pulling out a vintage record player he owned back in the day and playing some music in the background while they got to preparing dinner.

At some stage, Phil being lost in his thoughts and the music, his knife cut a small section of his hand.

He flinches from surprise and hisses in pain. 

Well that’s never happened before.

“Oh shit.” Tommy says, dropping his potato peeler on the bench.

Phil  drops the knife and pulls his hand back to inspect the damage. The cut runs along down the side of his finger to the side of his hand. Phil can hardly believe his eyes.

In all his immortal years, this is something he’s never seen.

“Phil, are you alright?” Tommy asks, grabbing Phil’s wrist and lowering the hand to see the cut.

It’s nothing more than a small flesh wound but it shocks Phil just the same. He watches with confusion as beads of red appear at the seam of the cut.

“What is that?” Phil asks with wide eyes.

“It’s alright, it’s not that bad.” Tommy says, reassuring Phil who remains frozen, staring at his index finger.

“No, I know. I mean—” Phil trails off, staring at his finger. “Why am I bleeding?”

He has seen war wounds, bullet wounds, cuts and scrapes, bruises and broken limbs. But never, ever, on him.

 Tommy frowns at Phil, watching his horrified face and reaching over to the sink. Tommy yanks the tap on and lets water drip down. He pulls Phil’s hand forward and runs it beneath the cold of the water.

The wound is not unusual in any regards whatsoever. Water washes over it and Phil even feels the stings of pain.

What takes Phil by surprise, is the fact he has not bled before this moment. Ever. 

It’s rather underwhelming that his first time was to a carrot cutting incident.

Although, despite the carrot scenario, fear still strikes his heart. A cold icy dagger which imbeds itself into his chest.

He is mesmerised by the injury. 

Water rushes over the cut, wiping away the red in splashes. He never expected there to be a fizzing feeling when he bled. 

When Phil pulls his hand out of the water, the cut is nearly gone. 

Tommy watches with wide eyes as the cut heals itself, the water dripping away as the skin mends back together like putty pulling into place. Tommy screams, throwing Phil’s hand away and leaps back.

“What the fuck!” Tommy shouts, tripping over his own foot and leaning against a bench across from Phil.

“What the fuck!” Phil repeats, staring at his hand as pink skin grows over the wound.

“Did you know that happened?” Tommy asks in disbelief.

“That I bled? No!” Phil feels faint.

“No, that you fucking healed instantly! What the fuck do you mean you didn’t know you bled?”

Phil stammers nervously. “It’s a long story.”

“The fuck do you mean?”

“It’s complicated!”

“Phil, what the hell?!”

Tommy takes a shaky breath and grabs Phil’s wrist again, scrutinising where the wound once was.

Tommy scrunches his eyebrows up at the cut. 

“Where the fuck did it go?” Tommy says, turning Phil’s hand over.

“Why the fuck was it there?” Phil whispers, staring at his hand intensely.

“What?” 

“Huh?”

“What do you mean?” Tommy recoils back and Phil turns his gaze to Tommy. 

To say Phil is freaking the fuck out is an understatement of the century. Out of the three chaos causers, Phil expected to tell Tommy last if at all that he was immortal.

Tommy’s eyes go wide, a lightbulb lighting up in his head. He points to Phil’s hand and Phil pulls his hand back, hiding it behind his back like a child caught with a stolen toy.

“Holy shit...” Tommy begins in amazement. “You’re a fucking super hero.”

Phil’s jaw slackens. “What?”

“You have super healing. What the fuck. Phil, that's so cool! Oh my god, I always knew superheroes were real. I always knew. Hah! I fucking called it. I’ve just been waiting for one day to meet someone with power or— or— or to get powers. But this is great!” Tommy laughs manically, running a hand through his hair and breathing quickly.

Phil places a hand on Tommy’s shoulder, the same hand that he cut moments before and Tommy sits down on the ground. Or more falls slowly as Phil lowers him.

“Holy shit superpowers are real. My history teacher has healing powers. Like, instant healing powers. Wait, can you try healing me? No, that’s stupid. Or is it? You know what, you don’t have to tell me everything. I understand if you want to keep this a secret. Oh! Does Wilbur know?”

Phil sucks in a sharp breath as Tommy unravels.

“Do you do hero stuff in your free time? How come I’ve never heard of you? Oh my god. Wait. Please don’t tell me you keep your powers to yourself. That’s so selfish Phil! What the fuck is wrong with you! You could be doing great things with your healing. Not slumming it with high school students like some fucking mega stupid, shit gulping, brain—”

“I’m not a hero.” Phil spits out and his eyes lock with Tommy. “I don’t have superpowers.”

“Phil.” Tommy rolls his eyes and scoffs.

“Tommy.”

“You don’t have to hide it from me.” Tommy swears, placing a hand over his heart.

“Tommy.”

“Phil.”

Tommy grabs Phils arms reassuringly and Phil’s heart has dropped into his stomach, pounding with a ferocity.

It’s been hundreds of years since he’s relived the same terrifying feeling of telling someone he’s immortal. 

“Tommy, I don’t have powers.”

“I watched your hand heal itself in literal seconds.” Tommy laughs. “It’s okay, Phil!”

Phil squints and bites the inside of his cheek. Maybe he can gaslight him?

“I don’t have a hand.”

Wait fuck, not that much.

“I mean- uh, I mean, I don’t have a cut.”

Tommy stares back at Phil with disbelief. 

“Obviously you don’t have a cut, you just superhuman healed it.” Tommy points to Phil’s hand and Phil shakes his head.

“There was no cut. Tommy, there was no cut on my hand.”

“Ohhhh.” Tommy winks in an exaggerated manner. “Right.” Tommy winks again. “There was no cut.”

Phil watches as Tommy struggles to wink repeatedly, his mouth hanging open at the realisation that this of all people is who he’s trusting his secret with.

Tommy sees Phil’s expression and stops winking. 

“Bossman, seriously. I know how to keep a secret if that’s what you’re worried about. Although you really should do some hero stuff—”

“I’m not even supposed to bleed, Tommy.” Phil admits, his heart pounding in his ribcage.

Tommy hesitates. “Wait so your power is—”

“It’s not a power.”

Tommy blinks owlishly and tilts his head to the side. “Then… what…?”

Phil swallows a lump in his throat.

“It’s not superhuman healing. I’m immortal. I’m not even supposed to bleed.” Phil states, keeping his voice as steady as possible. “Nobody alive knows other than you.”

Tommy’s jaw drops, his eyes wide. Phil scratches the back of his head nervously and just as Tommy takes a massive breath in, preparing himself to explode in a ball of questions, the door to the house bursts open. Wilbur swings off the door, soaked to the bone from the rain outside. Tommy chokes on his own spit from pure shock and Wilbur comes stumbling to a stop and looking around desperately.

“Where the FUCK is Techno?” 

Chapter Text

Phil really didn’t think the situation could get any worse until Wilbur burst through the door looking like he’d run a marathon and Tommy choked on the question he had for Phil. 

If Phil’s being honest, he’s a bit grateful for the interruption.

He’s not sure he can handle explaining the immortal thing to Tommy at the moment.

Tommy chokes on the gasp of air he brought into his lungs and goes into a coughing fit but Wilbur pays him no mind, looking around frantically.

“Dad, is Techno here?” Wilbur asks, throwing his bag onto the ground and half running through the different rooms of Phil’s house.

Phil feels his heart soar at being called Dad but he keeps himself quiet.

Phil rubs a hand against Tommy’s back as he coughs and smiles gingerly. “No, why? I haven’t seen him at all today. Everything alright?”

Wilbur finally stops moving, pausing to stare at the scene. Tommy and Phil together in the middle of the room.

“I was gonna talk to him about the letter.” Wilbur says, breathlessly. Wilbur breathes erratically as though he’s just surfaced after being underwater.

Phil does his best to ignore the fact that Tommy is still staring at him. 

His face feels red hot; he really didn’t expect Wilbur to arrive the moment he broke the news to Tommy.

 It’s not easy telling someone you’re immortal, let alone finding out someone’s immortal.

“Did you run here?” Phil asks, glancing over at Wilbur. Wilbur’s brown hair is dripping with water and his clothes look like limp waterlogged sheets. Wilbur nods breathlessly and looks away, back towards the door.

Phil looks back over at Tommy and mouths the words Not now which causes Tommy to straighten his posture and turn to face Wilbur, his expression swapping from shocked to a surprisingly good amused look.  If Phil’s being honest, it surprises him how well Tommy is able to pretend like nothing happened.

Wilbur turns to face Phil.  “I didn’t see Techno at all at school today.” Wilbur says, his knees buckling and he sits down on the ground. “Five second break, hold up.”

“You’re dripping on the floor.” Phil sighs, shaking his head and Wilbur remains unbothered by Phil's complaints.

Tommy laughs at the sight of Wilbur crumbling to the ground, snapping out of his trance. Tommy stretches over to Wilbur, slapping him on the back. “You’re so unfit.”

“I have asthma.” Wilbur holds out the middle finger to Tommy who rolls his eyes.

“Have you tried Techno’s house?” Phil asks, a hint of concern creeping into his voice.

Wilbur shakes his head again. “I didn’t want to walk home after dark so I took my chances and hoped that maybe Techno was here.”

Phil nods and stands up, helping Wilbur to his feet. “You can see him at school tomorrow or after school.” he swears and Wilbur leans his weight on Phil as he stands.

“Why is Tommy here?” Wilbur asks, walking over to Tommy and grabbing him into a bear hug. 

“No!” Tommy screams. “You’re wet! You’re fucking wet!”

Tommy yells out but his scream is muffled against the fabric of Wilbur’s shirt. 

“Phil! Wilbur wetted me!”

Wilbur doesn’t seem to care or notice how Tommy fights him off, squirming as Wilbur tightens his grip mischievously.

 A smile creeps his way onto Phil’s face at the brotherly interaction.

“Why are you even here, idiot.” Wilbur asks, ruffling Tommy’s hair in an undignified manner.

“I’m here to fuck you up, bitch!” Tommy proclaims, pushing himself out of Wilbur’s grip only to immediately jump on him. 

Wilbur shouts out of shock and laughs, the two play fighting on the ground. To add to the chaos, Phil picks up a cushion from the couch and half heartedly throws it on top of them. 

Wilbur grabs the cushion and smothers Tommy’s face. “Accept the hug or perish. Resistance is futile!” 

“What the fuck does that mean?” Tommy yells back, his voice muffled by the cushion he desperately fights away.

“I don’t really know!” Wilbur giggles as Tommy shoves him back and he flops onto the floor. “Techno always says it.” Wilbur says with a sigh.

Oddly enough, Phil feels his heart warmed by the interaction.

“And here’s a pillow.” Wilbur says, throwing a pillow over his head which knocks Tommy in the face.

 “A blanket…” The blanket is thrown over Wilbur and falls onto Tommy like a sheet ghost.

 “You’ll need this pillow case, of course…” The pillowcase lands on the top half of Tommy. 

“and…I think that’s it?”

Tommy huffs, throwing everything off and letting it drop down onto the floor. Wilbur raises one eyebrow and smiles.

“Do you want a toothbrush? We probably have a spare…”

“I’ll be fine. Thank you, Wilbur.” Tommy says, carrying his handful of blankets out of the storage closet and down the hall. 

Wilbur trails behind, careful to avoid stepping on the blanket as it drapes across the ground.

“So, do you wanna like… watch a movie?” Wilbur asks as they enter his room. Tommy dumps the pile of bedding onto the spare mattress Phil dragged out.

Phil’s house is big enough for Tommy to sleep in his own room. The house is far too big for just one man. But there’s something comforting in sharing a room together that Wilbur invited Tommy to stay in his.

“Only if we watch Up.”

Wilbur groans. “You say that everytime I even mention movies. Either that or—”

“Or Moana.” Tommy hums thoughtfully and Wilbur groans again.

“Isn’t Moana for kids?” Wilbur asks and Tommy’s jaw drops.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

Wilbur blinks owlishly and when he opens his mouth up to speak Tommy holds up a disapproving finger.

“Have you seen Moana?” Tommy asks judgmentally.

“No…”

“Then shut up.” Tommy huffs, jumping onto the spare mattress and lying down.

“Fine, we’ll just sleep.” Wilbur rolls his eyes and gets into his own bed, pulling the covers up to his chest and placing his arms on top of the sheets.

Wilbur keeps his lamp on so Tommy can still get into bed without being blind.

“Goodnight Tommy.”

“Goodnight Wilbur.”

Wilbur’s never had a sleepover before. Is that weird to admit? He’s sixteen and he’s never had a sleepover. Tommy is fourteen and he’s had a sleep over before. Tommy’s mentioned they should do a sleepover a few times but Wilbur has never had the courage to ask Phil.

It’s never bothered Wilbur until now.

Aren’t you supposed to do… sleep over things?

“Psst.” Wilbur whispers.

“What?” Tommy whispers back.

“We should.. Talk. Or something.”

“About what?”

“At sleepovers don’t you… gossip about people?”

Tommy hums quietly. “I don’t have anyone to gossip about.”

“Parents.” Wilbur decides firmly and he can hear Tommy’s breath catch in his throat.

“What about them?”

“Not a fan.” Wilbur admits and Tommy snorts.

“Neither.”

Wilbur considers for a moment asking Tommy about his parents. He briefly met Tommy’s mother and she wasn’t particularly friendly. It would be a good opportunity to find out some things that have been on Wilbur’s mind.

“Phil is pretty fucking awesome.” Tommy adds.

“Phil is amazing.”

“One may even say he’s like a superhero” Tommy smiles as though there’s a joke in there Wilbur doesn’t get.

“Sure. But he’s not my real dad.”

“I keep forgetting that.” Tommy mutters.

“Yeah.” Wilbur murmurs. “Sometimes I do too.”

“Do you— and I mean this nicely, do you think Phil is…” Tommy trails off and Wilbur sits up in his bed. Tommy’s mouth is pursed tightly, the corners turned down as he thinks.

Tommy clears his throat. “Have you ever noticed anything weird?”

Wilbur hesitates for a moment. 

What on earth is Tommy talking about? Phil is the most generic, open book person that Wilbur has ever met.

“No? Have you?” Wilbur asks and Tommy laughs loudly, coming to an abrupt halt.

“No!” Tommy states nervously. “Of course I haven’t.”

“Right.” Wilbur lies back down into bed.

“Right… So nothing at all?” Tommy questions.

“No.”

“Nothing like… strange? Unusual? Paranormal?” 

“Tommy?”

“I mean, I’m just asking!” Tommy tugs his blankets up over his shoulder. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Wilbur placates. He’s not sure where Tommy is going with this, if anywhere at all. 

Is this what sleepover talks are usually like?

Tommy shakes his head. “Yeah, sorry. Phil is completely, utterly, undeniably…. Normal.”

“Right.”

“Right.”

Wilbur clears his throat. “Good night Tommy.”

“Goodnight Wilbur.” 

 Tommy doesn’t say anything for a long while and Wilbur thinks for a moment he’s gone straight to sleep.

 It’s only when Wilbur shifts to go turn off his light that he hears Tommy speak.

“I think my parents are mad that I hang out with you and Techno.” Tommy whispers.

“What?” Wilburs shifts so his head is facing Tommy, leaning slightly over the edge of the bed. Tommy lies his head against the pillow, eyes not moving to meet Wilbur’s.

“Well, on the topic of parents, they’ve been really angry lately. More often than not. I think it’s because you guys keep getting me in trouble.”

“And Tubbo and Ranboo don’t?”

Tommy smirks and looks up at Wilbur. “Well, they do. But usually it’s more discrete.”

Wilbur watches Tommy who traces patterns against his mattress with a finger.

 Wilbur debates a question in his mind.

“Tommy do you— are your— what are your parents like?” Wilbur settles on. He eyes the boy out of the corner of his eye and Tommy looks tense. Tommy’s shoulders, brought up by where his head rests on the pillow. He sighs and releases a bit of the tension.

“Dunno.”

“Give me more than that.” Wilbur jests.

Tommy laughs, shrugs a little, and rubs the length of his sleeves. 

“I don’t know. They’re fine.”

“Tell me about them.” Wilbur encourages. Tommy huffs but draws his eyebrows together in thought. He looks to be carefully thinking about his choice of words.

“Well my Mum is pretty strict. And my Dad is uh, well, kinda shit. He’s like my Mum but…” Tommy trails off, “They just want what’s best for me. You know? All parents try to make sure their kid is doing the best, they just encourage me in weird ways.” Tommy finishes and shows no interest in elaborating.

Wilbur bites his tongue. His parents definitely weren’t like that.

Wilbur takes a deep breath inwards. “Tommy, when you broke your arm—”

“Wilbur, can we not—”

“And your mum picked you up from school that one time—”

“Stop.” Tommy says quietly.

“Tommy you looked so—”

“Don’t Wilbur.” Tommy hisses and it catches Wilbur off guard. He’s never heard Tommy use that tone of voice before. Almost defeated but still firm.

“What?” Wilbur asks softly and Tommy rolls over to face away from him. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Wilbur, I’m getting kinda tired. I think I might sleep.”

Wilbur bites his lip while he contemplates. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, can you turn the light off?”

Wilbur frowns. “You don’t wanna keep talking?”

“Nah, I’m good.” Tommy shakes his head.

“Are you sure?”

“Goodnight Wilbur.”

Does he push his luck?

Wilbur hesitates before reaching an arm out to turn the light off.

“Goodnight Toms.”

It leaves Wilbur lying there, more questions than prior, and an unsteady feeling in his stomach.

Dream rolls a ring across his knuckles tiredly, waiting for his phone to ring.

Sapnap was supposed to call him after getting the results of the fights. Of Techno’s fight.

It’s five am and now, as Dream waits inside his car, he’s not sure if there’s reason to worry or not. Dream taps a finger against the steering wheel. Should he just drive to Schlatts and see if everything’s alright?

Bored of waiting, he dials Sapnaps number and he picks it up immediately.

“Dream!” Sapnap sighs with relief.

“What happened to calling me last night?” Dream jokes, leaning forward and starting the car.

“Dude, so much shit has happened.” Sapnap says breathlessly. In the background, Dream can faintly hear the honk of a horn and the wind brushing against Sapnaps phone, ruining the audio.

“Where the hell are you? Is everything okay?”

“No, I’m running around the city because you couldn’t put Techno on a leash! Fucking— I can’t believe you. I thought you said Techno was fighting three guys.”

Dreams heart skips a beat.

“He did.”

“Yea? Really?” Sapnap scoffs. “Tell me why last night Techno fought five people and then fucking dropped off the face of the earth.”

“What?” Dream nearly drops his phone, getting the car to start driving and roaring to life.

“He collapsed and I had to drag him to the fucking infirmatory. Guess what Dream?”

Dream rolls his eyes and sighs inwardly and Sapnap shouts.

“Guess what! He somehow left and now I’m running around trying to find your fucking lost dog!”

“He’s not my lost dog.” Dream spits, turning sharply around the corner in his car and speeding up to the fastest he can without getting pulled over. Dream considers telling Sapnap how he thinks of Techno as more of that. Techno is the only one who stands up to him anymore. They’re not that different at the end of the day.

Dream pinches his nose in frustration. “And how on earth did Techno leave? Schlatt has more guys securing that place than I could count.”

“Your guess is as good as mine!” Sapnap yells down the phone and Dream groans. “God, I still get lost finding my way around The Pit, I don’t know how Techno managed to get out with more broken bones than I can count on one hand.”

“He’s alive though?” Dream clutches the phone tightly and Sapnap hesitates on his side of the phone.

“I— yeah, he was breathing last I saw him. I’ll call you back.” Sapnap sighs.

Sapnap clicks the phone off and Dream presses his lips tightly together, taking a right down the street on his way to Schlatt’s shack. Dream holds the driving wheel tightly in a white knuckle grip before letting out a visceral shout and slamming a fist down against the steering wheel while he drives.

Fucking Technoblade.

Tommy gets night terrors.

Wilbur has never been a heavy sleeper but at four am, Tommy had woken him up to the sound of crying. Wilbur didn’t even know you could cry in your sleep. He was petrified.

It was an easy decision to wake Tommy up, who seemed grateful and even clung to Wilbur for a second before regaining his senses.

And then they decided to leave.

Was it a big jump? Sure. Maybe even a stupid idea.

But even Wilbur was having difficulty sleeping, knowing that Technoblade still thought Wilbur was angry at him.

Wilbur isn’t angry anymore. He never should have been. He just wants to see Techno and spend the time they have left together.

Tommy and Wilbur had scribbled down a note for Phil before they left, obviously. They said they were going to walk to school which gave them an excuse to not be home when Phil eventually wakes in a few hours.

Right now though, Tommy and Wilbur are walking down the cold streets that head towards Techno’s house.

Tommy pulls the blanket over his shoulders, hugging himself tightly.

“I bet he’s just sleeping.” Tommy yawns and looks over at Wilbur who marches into the distance.

The sun puts a soft glow on their skin, a light that rests against their faces. The sunrise isn’t warm enough yet to keep them cosy, but they don’t mind.

“Even Techno wouldn’t skip school for sleep.” Wilbur comments. “Right?”

Tommy shrugs, tightening his grip on the colourful blanket and pulling it up. “Dunno. Tubbo once skipped school because he was protesting.”

“What was he protesting?”

“The fireworks ban.”

“Oh.”

“Yep.” Tommy pops the P and speeds up his pace so he reaches Wilbur’s side.

“Techno’s never skipped school before.” Wilbur mentions as he slows down.

They come to a stop as they reach the driveway of Techno’s house. Outside of the driveway are three cars. 

One work car, a cleaning company, pasted onto the side. The other, a small red car for casual outings. The third, a car topped with a red and blue siren.

Wilbur feels his heart drop at the sight of the police car. It feels like he’s barely breathing, the cop car completely throws him off.

“We’re about to find out why.” Tommy elbows Wilbur in the side, snapping him out of his staring.

“Oh shit.” Wilbur says under his breath and Tommy squeezes his hand reassuringly.

Wilbur isn’t certain this is Techno’s house. He’s never been inside technically but he has walked Techno home a few times. If his memory serves him right, it’s this address.

The skirt past the cars, both of them too nervous, too lost in their thoughts to speak.Wilbur’s stomach twists— he never knew what it was like to see something gut wrenching until then.

Without wasting any more time, Wilbur marches up to the large wooden door and knocks.

A woman with brown hair bundled back is the person who answers the door.

Behind her, sitting at the table is an officer and someone who is, presumably, her husband.

Her eyebrows draw tightly together as she surveys Wilbur. “Can I help you?” 

The woman's eyes drift over to Tommy and her eyes crease with a soft smile at the sight of his blanket.

“We’re looking for Techno.” Wilbur says with a questioning lilt and she tilts her head.

“Techno?” She asks, pressing her lips together.

“Tell us where he is or we’ll fucking shank you!” Tommy loudly announces and Wilbur slaps a hand over Tommy’s mouth, staring at him like he’s just pissed in Satan’s favourite flower pot.

“He’s kidding! He’s just joking.” Wilbur’s eyes flick over to the cop whose head is turned towards the door now. “Sorry, he’s got a few mental problems. I once watched him try to explode a teachers pen using a paper clip and some gum.”

Tommy rips Wilbur’s hand away.

 “What the hell?” Tommy seethes.

Wilbur turns to Tommy, his voice low and face forced in a smile as he speaks through his teeth.

“What are you doing!?” Wilbur complains loudly.

“I thought we were doing good cop, bad cop!”

“Why would we be doing good cop, bad cop!?” Wilbur half yells and he has to restrain himself from picking up Tommy and throwing him

“We need information!” Tommy says, stabbing a finger towards his head. “Use your head! Duh.”

“Do you guys need a minute?” The woman asks, grabbing the door in concern.

Wilbur pinches his nose and reaches a hand out for Tommy’s shoulder.

“Tommy, king, obviously ,” Wilbur squeezes Tommy’s arms and shakes him, “WE’RE NOT FUCKING DOING THAT!”

Tommy shouts loudly in exaggeration, gripping Wilbur back.

“Fine!” Tommy hollers and shoves Wilbur, turning back to the woman. “You better fucking show us where Technoblade is or—”

“Tommy! Two good cops. Not two bad cops.” Wilbur half groans half yells.

Tommy groans loudly and walks back down the driveway, kicking up gravel in a fit. “You never let me do anything!”

The woman watches as Tommy storms away, her eyes tracking him before looking back over to Wilbur who smiles gingerly and stretches out a hand.

“I’m sorry about him. My name is Wilbur.” He introduces and the woman recognises his name, brown eyes going wide. “Do you know where Techno is?”

Tommy huffs, kicking at a pebble that got in his way and flops down against the curb by the road. 

He tugs the blanket tightly around his shoulders, mumbling swears at Wilbur and resting his head in his arms.

Good cop, bad cop was a great idea!

Fucking Wilbur. He’s such a prick.

Wind whips against Tommy’s face and he ducks his head. If Wilbur takes too long, Tommy’s gonna storm in there and set things right.

The sight of the cop car should be more than enough information to know that Technoblade isn’t here! Who knew Wilbur was slow, huh?

Tommy just prays to his lucky stars that Techno is safe.

A bell rings down the road and Tommy’s head snaps towards the sound. A teenager on his bike, waving down Tommy.

“Hey!” He shouts out to Tommy and skids to a halt. 

Tommy’s heart quickens and he looks up. “Yes?”

“Do you know where Schlatt’s Shack is?”

“Come on Tommy!” Dream laughs and grips against the cage that separates the audience and contestants. Dream grabs Tommy’s shoulder in a vice, locking him in place as a spectator of the violence below.

“If you’re such a big man, why don’t you have a go?”

Tommy watches with wide eyes as blood splatters against the wall, the crowd roaring so loudly it’s all he can hear.

Tommy winces back as droplets of blood land on his cheek. When he looks over at Dream, he’s roaring alongside the crowd, cheering on the people below.

The mere mention of Schlatt’s restaurant is enough to get Tommy’s blood to freeze.

Nobody goes there with good intentions.

Tommy clears his throat nervously. “Keep going straight, take two lefts and it should be in sight at the end of that street. If you still can’t find it—”

“—you shouldn’t be there at all.” The man finishes the motto, nodding his head with a smile. “Thanks.”

He says getting back onto his bike and riding down the road.

“No problem.” Tommy mutters beneath his breath. 

A question forms in Tommy’s mind, one he’s not sure he likes the answer to.

Wilbur wraps his hands around a hot drink, having been sat down at the table by the woman.

“And you’re saying you last saw him at a tutoring session?” The cop says, eyeing him cautiously.

“Yeah.” Wilbur says breathlessly, rubbing his thumb against the warm ceramic.

“Techno wasn’t a part of a tutoring group.” A man, Techno’s foster dad, answers, crossing his arms. 

Wilbur’s eyebrows knit together. “He didn’t tell you?”

“He told us briefly when he was hanging out with a few of his friends…” The woman begins and trails off, looking over to her husband who nods. “Techno doesn’t talk to us a lot.”

“He mentioned you, Tommy and Phil.” The man bites the inside of his cheek as he thinks. “A Dream? But only once or twice.”

“Wait, Dream?” Wilbur’s jaw drops open and the man nods.

“Do you not all hang out as a group? Techno’s been spending a lot of time with Dream after school lately.” 

Wilbur’s stomach drops, the hot drink in stomach going rotten and twisting around painfully. He feels like he might be sick.

What the hell is Techno doing with Dream?

The woman huffs at the mention of Dream. “I don’t like the Dream fella one bit. I think he was causing Techno to get into more fights. He’s a terrible influence.”

She jabs a finger against the wooden table to emphasise her point.

“He mentioned Dream as his friend?” Wilbur inquires and the adults exchange glances.

“Yeah”

Wilbur pauses, staring down at the cup in his hand. He’s completely out of his league. Was this a terrible idea?

He doesn’t know the first thing about any of these people. 

“I have to go.” Wilbur announces, his chair scraping back as he stands. 

Tommy’s heart plummets, resting deep in his stomach as he thinks. Was Techno really acting that weird around Dream? The last time Tommy saw them interact was when Techno stopped Dream from bothering him.

Techno scowls, turning his attention to Tommy and offering an open hand. Tommy takes it and they turn.

“I’ll see you later Techno!” Dream calls. “And I'll see you around, Tommy.”

Fuck, Tommy doesn’t want to consider the possibility that Techno is at Schlatt’s place.

“Tommy!” Wilbur shouts, running up to Tommy. “I think Dream did something to Techno!”

Wilbur skids to a halt, tripping over his own foot and pulling Tommy onto his feet.

Tommy stops breathing as he sees Wilbur running over. As those words leave Wilbur’s tongue.

“What’s… the Pit..?” Tommy asks nervously and Techno shakes his head.

“Nothing.”

He knew. Tommy knew what the pit was. Sure, he’d never realised that was its name, but Dream had taken him there once. Tubbo had told him it was a scare tactic. Ranboo had said it was a threat.

Tommy had said it was a nightmare.

Tommy feels frozen in place, slowly dragging his eyes up to Wilbur who stares with concern.

“Tommy?” Wilbur frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“I— I know where Techno is.” Tommy stammers, looking down the road towards where a bike rounds the corner. “He’s not safe.”

Chapter Text

Phil gently wraps his knuckles against the door of Wilbur’s room. Pressing a hand lightly against the doorknob.

“Boys?” He sings, slowly creaking the door open and flicking the light on. His eyes blink to adjust to the swift change, taking in the absolute mess of blankets and pillows scattered around the place. Mountains of fabric that lie in heaps like defeated beings. Beams of light scatter through the window and Phil shields his eyes.

“Wilbur, Tommy, time to wake up..” Phil hums gently and walks in. The silence feels deafening; he’s never realised how awful nothingness can be. Squinting at the mattress, he notices there’s a severe lack of Wilbur. His vision flicks over to Tommy’s bed. Again, there’s nothing. Hmm.

He focuses on a small piece of yellow paper sitting at the edge of Wilbur’s bed. Phil shuffles over, kicking blankets away and picking it up.

It’s a hastily written note and Phil laughs at the chicken scrawl handwriting.

Phil can just barely make out the meaning behind it. Tommy and Wilbur have decided to walk to school.

He’s not upset that Wilbur and Tommy left earlier than usual, he understands that the two of them are probably walking to school right now, chatting each other's ears off.

Phil was just looking forward to having breakfast with them. The plan was to teach them how to make pancakes— God knows that neither of them know how to cook.

Clutching the note tightly, Phil heads downstairs to the kitchen. Maybe he got too comfortable with the constant company, but being alone now makes the silences in his house feel so much louder.

He stares around at the kitchen, not really needing to eat. On the bench, lying idly are the potatoes Phil was preparing last night. Brown oval lumps in need of being peeled and cleaned.

His utensils, knife and peelers, sit on the bench in a dirty bunch.

Phil looks down at his hand, the cut he sustained fading now into a faint shadow of pink. His head slowly drifts over to the kitchen.

He does something stupid. Call it curiosity. 

A five minute break. That’s what he told himself when he sat down on the side of the street.

Now, as Techno clutches the side, the sun beginning to rise— God, he regrets it.

He forces himself to stand. Admittedly, Techno looks like some cracked up roadkill more than an actual person. He leans against a brick wall, his arm pressing into it from the force of his weight that the bricks leave red lines along his arm. 

In reality, Techno didn’t expect to get this far. Staring out from the shadows, to the cars driving past, he almost feels tempted to call out. He cringes at the thought of getting help. Techno’s always been independent. 

In his state of painful delirium, he had left The Pit, escaping without notice and had started heading towards Wilbur’s house. He’s just… well it’s very dark and he can’t exactly move quickly.

Techno breathes unsteadily and takes a step out of the shadows. On the first step his leg buckles and he throws his arm out against the bricks, scraping down until he hits the concrete.

Okay. Fuck. Think Techno: The sun is starting to rise and you’re bleeding out. What would Phil do in this situation?

Phil’s probably smart enough to not get into this situation in the first place. The second best option would be, well, getting help.

He barely made it down the street from The Pit before passing out. Worst comes to worst he heads back?

Techno bites down on his tongue as he stands, hissing in pain and limping onto the street.

He just needs to suck it up for a little bit longer. Just until he makes it to Wilbur’s house. How far could that even be? He’s the human GPS, his sense of direction is impeccable! 

Techno raises a hand to his eyes, squinting out into the road and checking for his next location.

Down the road, a black car slams to a stop in the middle of the street. Techno stares, eyebrows drawn as the car illegally turns in the middle of the road and beelines for Techno.

The window rolls down and the car comes to a screeching halt.

“Techno!” Dream swings his legs out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him.

“The Pit?” Wilbur asks, racing to keep up with Tommy. The wind strikes their face, blowing their hair back as they sprint. If Techno really isn’t safe, they don’t want to waste anymore time. 

“Are you fucking deaf?” Tommy barks, running down the street. Wilbur jogs to keep up, trying to wrap his head around the situation. “Yes! It’s called The Pit.”

“Why would Techno be there?”

Tommy slows down, getting winded as they near the next street. A branch thwacks Wilbur in the face and he holds a hand out to shield himself from the assortment of bushes from peoples gardens as they sprint past.

Tommy hesitates, his face tight. “I’m not sure. Maybe Dream took him there?”

“His parents said they were friends.” Wilbur comments, thinking back on the conversation. His chest heaves as he runs, clothes creating drag against the icy wind.

 His stomach knots itself up at the thought of it all. Dream and Techno; best of friends. The idea leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

“When Dream was harassing me for test answers, Techno looked pissed. I don’t think they’re friends. But I’ve been to the pit before, once, and if Techno is there he’s not safe.”

“So you knew about this pit and didn’t say anything?” Wilbur stares at Tommy in confusion and Tommy keeps his eyes firmly planted on the end of the street.

“I didn’t— Listen, I didn’t think Techno was involved with that kind of thing. I didn’t go there willingly.” Tommy admits and Wilbur groans under his breath.

“I’m gonna kill Dream. He made you go there?” Wilbur asks and Tommy nods. “And you think Techno is currently there?”

“If I’m wrong, then I have no idea where Techno is. This is the only place.” 

Wilbur agrees gruffly and Tommy skids to a halt, his heart skipping for a beat. Wilbur's shoes grind against the concrete, scraping as they stop. He follows Tommy’s line of sight to a black car across the road.

“What?” Wilbur’s gaze flicks between the coal coloured car and Tommy. “What are you looking at?”

“That’s Dream's car.” Tommy pants, his eyes wide.

Wilbur doesn’t need to listen to the rest of the sentence as he sprints over. It’s like something snaps, the final straw that tells Wilbur it’s all Dream's fault.

Tommy stumbles on his shoelace, racing after Wilbur. 

“Wil, wait up!” Tommy shouts.

Wilbur's heartbeat is thunderous in his ears. The heavy beat of a rhythmic drum. He’s gonna kill Dream  if he hurts Techno. If there is so much as a scratch on him.

Wilbur shoves past the car, grinding to a halt on the other side of the vehicle. His shoes scuff against the ground from the abrupt halt and he stops breathing, a hitch in his throat.

It’s like time stops. It’s that same building feeling inside Wilbur that he had when Techno had told them he was moving in the first place. Only this time it’s worse. Angrier. A built up emotion that feels like a kick to the throat.

On the ground is Techno, a hand against his stomach and a face covered with bruises. 

 Techno is covered in blood and Wilbur is terrified that he can’t tell if the blood belongs to Techno or not. There’s so much blood. That can’t all be Techno’s. Right?

Despite it all, when he sees Wilbur he smiles meekly.

Crouched in front of Techno, grabbing his shoulder is Dream. 

Dream who is completely uninjured. 

Dream, who bullies Tommy. 

Dream, who’s head snaps around at the sound of Tommy calling out for Wilbur.

Dream who’s really starting to get on Wilbur's nerves, if he’s being honest.

“Wilbur.” Techno pushes himself forward and Wilbur instinctively steps forward, wanting to help him up. Dream stands between him and Wilbur locks eyes with the man, a fierce determination in his eyes.

Techno gives up trying to stand, letting himself gently flop back against the wall and weakly waves a hand at Wilbur. It feels like torture to see Techno like this.

Techno has always been stronger than Wilbur. 

He’s been Wilbur’s rock; the one who protects and stands up for him and Tommy. To see him hurt, covered in dark drying blood, helpless— it absolutely destroys Wilbur.

“You came for me.” Techno murmurs at the sight of Wilbur and gives a lopsided grin that breaks Wilburs heart. Where was Wilbur when Technoblade needed him? 

“Wilbur?” Dream stands up from his haunches. His green eyes narrow sharply, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “How on earth did you find us?”

Wilbur's gaze drifts over to Dream, eyes squinted and a murderous look in his eyes.

“You fucking bastard.” Wilbur hisses.

Without thinking, Wilbur crosses the distance. In the corner of his eyes, he can see Techno put up a hand and say something. He notices it too late; he plants a punch square in Dream's jaw.

Phil is anxious the entire drive to school; his hand.

Being alone this morning, he figured it was the perfect time to test it. If he heals instantly with water, what could go wrong?

A deep breath, a swift motion, an anxious sigh when he realised nothing happened. There are no words to describe the confusion he felt when the blade couldn’t even leave a pressure mark. Nothing. He couldn’t do it. 

Something’s happening. He’s not sure what. Why did it bleed that first time in front of Tommy and not now? The question consumes his every thought. Every step. Every breath.

He can’t find the answer and it’s destroying him. He’s been confident in his immortality his entire life— why does it now begin to waver?

Walking into his first period class, Phil was expecting to see Wilbur, Tommy, or Techno. Someone to take his mind off of the troubles of immortality.

Instead, when the bell rings and the class he usually teaches Wilbur and Techno rolls around, his stomach drops.

They’re not there. Wilbur and Techno aren’t present for his class.

 And by connection, Tommy probably isn’t here either for the younger history students he teaches later.

God damn it, where the hell are his boys? 

Tommy feels like he’s choking on his own heartbeat when he finally catches up to Wilbur, running across the road haphazardly. He catches up just in time to see Techno on the ground, eyes fluttering to stay open and Wilbur, punching Dream squarely in the jaw.

Tommy would have gasped if it wasn’t for the fact he feels frozen in place. 

“Wilbur, don’t.” Techno raises a hand and leans forward, attempting to get Wilbur and Dream's attention when Dream recoils and punches Wilbur across the face.

From then on it’s chaos. The two of them are at each others throats as Technoblade calls for them to stop.

Tommy barely processes anything as Wilbur goes into a fit of anger fueled delusions. Wilbur swings another punch, a bombardment of closed fist hits to his torso.

The entire time Wilbur is shouting swears and curses. “You bastard! You monster! That’s Technoblade. That’s my fucking friend!” 

Tommy flinches as Dream slams Wilbur against the wall, yelling back. “It wasn’t me. Do you want your ass handed to you? Get out Wilbur! You’re fucking crazy.”

“Wilbur, stop!” Techno calls out but they ignore him. “Both of you!”

Tommy can’t move, there’s too much shouting and punching and before he knows it Wilbur is tackling Dream onto the ground by ramming into him and throwing punches before the man can retaliate and hit Wilbur back.

“What the fuck.” Tommy chuckles quietly, staring in horror. His heart is pumped with adrenaline at the fight, a nervous chuckle bubbling out by accident as he witnesses the fight.

“This,” Wilbur grabs Dreams shirt collar and shoves him into the ground. “This is your fault.” Wilbur seethes. He swings with an unhinged look in his eyes, his teeth bared as he strikes.

Wilbur shouts, volume rising.  “This is for Tommy, for Techno, for everything you prick!”

Dream goes full defensive, throwing his arms up and shielding his face.

“Get off of me!” Dream shoves Wilbur, regaining some space and pushing himself up into a sitting position. “Techno get your friend under control.” 

Wilbur swings a punch, landing it directly onto Dream's cheekbone and Dream smacks back into the dirtied cracked concrete. 

Tommy is only broken by his trance when Techno grabs his arm. Tommy tears his eyes over to Techno.

“Tommy, can you get them to stop? I can’t fight.” Techno squeezes Tommy’s arm, his voice weak. It sets alarm bells off in Tommy’s head how weak Techno sounds. “It’s not Dream's fault.”

The words feel like a weight on Tommy’s chest. If it’s not Dream's fault, then what the hell is Dream doing here? Tommy has about a million and a half questions for Techno but he bites them back until later.

Instead he takes a deep breath, dropping his blanket to the ground before committing to joining the fight.

“Wil!” Tommy calls out, racing over. The fight is a mess of hands. 

Shoving and pushing. Punches and hits.

“Wilbur! Get off him!” Tommy grabs a handful of Wilbur's shirt, pulling him with all his might to no avail. He tugs Wilbur’s shoulder in a desperate attempt to help Dream.

“Why can’t you just leave Techno alone?” Wilbur screams at Dream who keeps his arms up.

Wilbur ignores Tommy, his chest heaving up and down erratically. Sweat shines on Wilbur’s face and Tommy practically begs Wilbur to stop.

“Get off me! Enough, you win!” Dream bellows, his arms shaking from the impacts of Wilbur's hits.  Red patches start appearing from where Wilbur strikes. 

“Wil! What the fuck man, stop it.” Tommy tugs Wilbur up.

“Fuck off Tommy!” Wilbur shoves Tommy back. Tommy lurches back, his body landing with a sickening crack against the wall and Tommy completely breaks down. Wilbur's nose bleeds and Dream’s lip is split, blood pooling by his lips and painting them a bright red.

It’s like a switch turns off, Tommy’s expression looks frozen in time. This terrified, shocked expression as he stays pressed against the brick wall. He doesn’t recoil, doesn’t keep fighting Wilbur, he just stops in place. 

At that moment, he’s not really there. He’s taken back to a different time. Memories of fighting flood through him and he stays still, pressed against the wall by an invisible force.

It only takes a moment for Techno to lurch into action. The moment Tommy is thrown back, Techno pulls himself up using the wall and grabs Wilbur around the waist. Wilbur kicks and screams and Techno shoves him away from Dream.

“Enough.” Techno spits with a defeated look.

Wilbur whirls around, blood dripping down his face and his eyes flick to Techno. His expression softens for a moment, but that’s all that happens. When he sees Dream, his eyes go back to unforgiving. His jaw sets and his eyebrows scrunch together.

Dream groans against the ground, dragging himself up and holding his jaw as it clicks into place. “Jesus…”

“Techno, what the hell is going on?” Wilbur snaps. 

Techno takes a deep breath. “Dream was helping me. He didn’t do…” Techno gestures to all of him. “...this”

“Helping?” Wilbur straightens himself up, wiping the blood onto his sleeve from below his nose. His face is set in a grimace. 

“Wil, I got into a fight I shouldn’t have. Dream told me not to; I did it anyway.” Techno clenches his jaw and nods, tipping his head to the sky. 

Tommy tears his eyes over to Techno, the corner of his lips tilted downwards. “You fought in the pit.” He whispers and it sounds like an accusation. Techno nods silently and Tommy swallows hard. 

“I want to go home. I want to spend time with my friends. I want to cry; not sure if it’s physical pain or not but God, I need a moment of rest. And never, ever, in my life have I wanted caffeine more than this very moment.” Techno sighs.

There’s a long pause before Techno continues.  “I have had— and I mean this, quite possibly the worst night in the history of nights.” He finishes the statement with a soft chuckle and shakes his head. He sniffles quietly and looks back at Wilbur with tears sparkling in his eyes. “The absolute worst .”

The tension releases from Wilbur’s body and he looks at Techno with a worried face.

 Techno opens his arms expectantly. He waves his hand to invite Wilbur over and he doesn't hesitate to slam into Techno who groans on impact. 

“That hurt.” Techno grimaces. Wilbur hugs Techno so tightly he’s afraid he’ll lose him again. Techno looks over Wilbur's shoulder to Tommy, who picks his blanket back up off the ground and stares down at the ground. Techno hopes the kid wasn’t shoved by Wilbur too hard; he does look a little out of it.

“You could have fucking died.” Wilbur says and it sounds like an accusation. 

“Technoblade never dies.” He scoffs and it turns more into a cough. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t go back.” Wilbur shakes his head, gripping Techno tightly. 

Techno squeezes Wilbur. “Honestly, I’m not planning on it.”

“Good.” Wilbur smiles. “If I find you half dead in another alleyway I’ll finish the job.”

“Of course, I’d expect nothing less.” Techno comments.

There's a long pause where they hug in silence before Techno interrupts.

“Wilbur, I think I punctured a lung.” Techno wheezes.

 “......so no more hugging?”

“Yes, Wil. No more hugging. I can’t breathe and I think I just felt something crack.”

 Wilbur releases him with a nervous look at Techno. It’s not the perfect reunion. But these things rarely go to plan. Techno wouldn’t have it any other way. Although there is still the matter of getting him to hospital. 

Oh and… and uh..

“I’m sorry.” Wilbur whispers after stepping back and Techno chuckles wetly. 

That. The apology for their fight when Techno told Wilbur he was leaving.

“I’m sorry too. I should have tried harder not to get kicked out.” Techno mentally berates himself for not trying harder. It's his fault that his foster parents are making him leave in two weeks. Even if Wilbur doesn't think so.

“I was such a prick.” Wilbur sighs. “You have nothing to be sorry about.”

“Not to be that guy or anything but Techno needs a hospital.” Dream cuts in and Wilbur scoffs.

Techno does his best to smile although it’s more strained than usual. It brings Wilbur back to reality; seeing Techno’s condition. 

His face pale and the blood starting to clear up as dried patches scratch off and crumble away.

Wilbur feels a wave of guilt wash over him and looks away as his face feels red hot.

“Obviously.” Wilbur retorts.

“Dream, you should probably go.” Techno admits quietly with a soft look.

Wilbur sneers at Dream before taking a step back and holding a hand out to Tommy. “Toms, give me your blanket.”

Tommy blinks blankly a few times before nodding and stepping forward. Tommy stares down at his shoes and removes the blanket from his shoulders, gently placing it in Wilbur’s hand.

Wilbur takes the blanket and  flicks it once, wrapping it around Techno in one swift motion.

“Believe me, Techno, I want nothing to do with this.” Dream puts both his hands up, blood cracking in the corner of his mouth. “But you need me.”

“We don’t need you.” Wilbur shakes his head. Techno hesitates, clutching the blanket in his hands and staring at the car beside them. Wilbur catches Techno’s eye and pauses.

“I have a car.” Dream offers and Wilbur doesn’t bother looking at him. “I’ll drive you all to the hospital, then we call it a cut and done deal.”

Despite Wilbur’s brain screaming at him to leave right now, to take Techno back to Phil's and work from there, he knows Dream is right. That’s the best decision.

So Wilbur swallows his pride, thick and tight in his throat, and nods.

There has never been a car ride more awkward in the history of car rides.

Wilbur sits in the front, arms crossed tightly to his chest and watching the road as Dream drives.

Techno, in the back, is wrapped in a blanket, his head leaning against the window and eerily quiet. And Tommy who’s eyes flick between everyone nervously before landing on his lap and staying there.

After about five minutes of awkward silence, Dream hesitantly clears his throat. “Do you guys wanna listen to some music?”

Wilbur stays silent and Tommy nods his approval.

Dream reaches over to the radio and unmutes the sound. Elton John blasts loudly across the speakers.

“Shit!” Dream hisses, reaching over and turning it down. The awkward interaction is enough to make Tommy smile and look away, his head darting to stare out the window.

“Elton John?” Wilbur muses and Dream shrugs.

“I’m a fan.”

“If I die listening to Elton John, I’m haunting you.” Techno murmurs, his eyes closing. Dream laughs, turning the music up a notch.

“Elton John is a musical genius.” Dream argues playfully. “Be grateful.”

Wilbur rolls his eyes. “Freddie Mercury was better.”

Dream hides a shadow of a smile. “Freddie Mercury was better. But I’ve only got Elton John in this car.”

Wilbur glances at Dream and nods his approval.

Admittedly, Wilbur feels a little guilty for fighting Dream when he was helping Techno. Especially since afterwards they still used Dream for help. But Dream isn’t his friend just because he offered to give them a ride. Wilbur isn’t going to move on from all of their history because of one act.

“If I die listening to Freddie Mercury I will literally respawn and die again out of spite.” Techno drawls jokingly.

“Stop saying ‘If you die’, You won’t die.” Wilbur shakes his head.

“I feel like death.” Techno admits.

“No you don’t.” Wilbur shakes his head.

“Oh?” Techno leans back fully. “Nevermind then.”

“I need a bit of positivity coming from you two in the back.” Wilbur takes a deep breath and turns to look at them.

“Tommy, king, how are you holding up?” Wilbur asks, looking over at Tommy. He keeps his head ducked but gives the thumbs up and Wilbur takes that as a good sign.

The car slowly rolls to a stop, the long driveway of the hospital and even larger car park being in front of them. Techno stirs, and swings the door open, wasting no time in getting to the hospital doors.

“Tech, let me help you.” Wilbur rushes himself out and walks over to Techno’s side, throwing Techno’s arm over his shoulder and guiding him onto the sidewalk. Tommy jumps out of the car, waiting for them to reach him and Wilbur looks back at Dream's car.

“Good luck.” Dream calls from the window of the car and Wilbur gives a taut nod.

“Thanks.” 

School seems to be a hundred times longer without the presence of Techno, Wilbur and Tommy. When his second class finishes, Phil slumps against his desk in boredom. Two classes going by in stunning silence. Surely he doesn’t depend on the boys this much.

When Phil’s work phone rings, the chunky rotary red telephone in his classroom chattering loudly, he jumps from the sudden noise. It’s most likely the Principal or office asking if he can take an extra class or cover detentions next week. Since none of the three troublemakers are at school, he doesn’t expect anything interesting.

He picks it up tiredly and drones in his usual teacher voice. “Mr Watson speaking, who is it?”

The last thing he expects is a sigh of relief and an ecstatic shout. “Phil!” Wilbur shouts through the phone and he jerks back from the noise as it crackles over the phone.

“Wilbur? Where are you, I thought you were skipping school.” Phil lowers his voice, eyebrows drawn together and staring at the door. 

“Kind of?” Wilbur replies. “It's complicated. Listen, are you busy?”

Phil leans back in his chair, swinging as it swivels from side to side. “No, I’m on break. Why aren’t you at school?”

“Tommy and I went to go find Techno.” Wilbur comments.

“I’m guessing you found him and that’s why you’re calling. Wilbur, how did you get this number?” Phil shakes his head with laughter. “I’ve been meaning to give you my personal one.”

“There’s a list of them in the office. When Tommy, Techno and I were all there I remember seeing yours and I took a photo.” 

“I cannot believe you have my work number and not my personal one. We'll fix that tonight.” Phil rubs a hand down his face. “Why are you calling?”

“Oh, I’m at the hospital.” 

Phil stops swinging on his chair and stands up. 

“WHAT?” 

Chapter Text

Wilbur tugs back the blue hospital curtain, watching as a car screeches into the parking lot, swerving into two parking spaces and stopping. 

Oh. God .

Had time really passed that fast? It had only been, what, 5- 10 minutes since he called Phil.

“Phils here.” Wilbur sucks in a breath and looks over to the hospital bed. Techno groans loudly, stirring from the bed and pulling himself up slightly with a wince. He cranes his neck to see outside of the window and swears silently. 

“Do you think we should get another hospital bed set up for him?” Techno jokes, hand tangled in a mess of the blue sheet on top of him.

“I don’t know if he’ll make it to the room without having a heart attack.”  Wilbur shrugs, biting his lip as he watches a blond man race through the car park. He slams the door to his car shut and runs inside. 

Any minute now, Phil would be bounding through those doors to check on his boys. Admittedly, Wilbur shouldn’t have hung up immediately after telling Phil they were in hospital but he needed to support Techno more than Phil.

“I estimate… ehhh, 50 seconds before he makes it.” Wilbur hums, closing the curtain and strolling across the room to take a seat next to Tommy. The chair groans under Wilbur’s weight, awkwardly adding noise to the stony silence. 

Tommy hasn’t said anything to Wilbur since he fought Dream.

It’s understandable to a point. Wilbur was a little heated in the moment, to say the least. But it’s not like Wilbur did anything wrong . Dream deserved it.

Maybe Tommy was just stressed over this whole thing.

Techno wheezes, “50 seconds? Why so long?” coughing in laughter and recoiling in pain as his body spasms. He leans his face into his arm for a moment before relaxing back down. The sight of Techno grimacing is enough to put Wilbur on edge.

“Stairs.” He says plainly, watching Techno cautiously.

“Personally, I don’t think that’ll stop him.” 

“He’s old.”

“True.”

To nobody’s surprise, it only took a few moments to hear the man thundering down the hall.

“Shit.” Techno whispers under his breath, head melting into the hospital pillow.

Shoes screech to a stop outside of the room and Wilbur exchanges a glance with Techno who raises a knowing eyebrow weakly.

There’s a pause that seems to last a lifetime. Wilbur shuffles to the edge of his seat, debating on standing up to invite Phil in. Just as Wilbur goes to break the silence, the door slams open. Phil’s wild eyes meet Wilbur’s first and he feels a surge of anxiety.

“You.” Phil hisses, eyes narrowing. His hair is windswept back, splayed in wild directions.  “You hung up on me.” 

Phil looks over to Tommy and points a finger. “You— well, you didn’t really do anything wrong but you skipped school!”

His eyes fall on Technoblade and any worried anger he has melts away at the sight. His hand drops to his side and he crosses the room. “Jesus christ…”

Technoblade reaches a hand out and Phil takes it. Techno’s hand feels like ice in Phil’s grip and he cups his other hand over it, warming him with his palm. “Don’t worry it’s not as bad as it looks.”

“You look like a bag of shit that got run over, kicked, and then broke 6 ribs.” Phil deadpans and Techno smiles, holding up two fingers.

“Only two broken ribs.” He corrects and Phil grows pale, looking like he’s about to faint. 

Phil looks horrified but he nods. Techno releases Phil’s hand, anticipating the lecture that Phil was about to splutter out. Phil backs up a few paces, turning away and pacing the room. “Okay, lay it on me. I’m ready.”

Techno huffs out a breath. “You’re sure?” Phil nods tightly and Techno rolls his eyes. “Other than the ribs though, I’ve only got a concussion, a broken nose, a broken toe, a fractured collar bone, a bruised tailbone,  and an ungodly amount of stitches. I lost count.” 

The air in the room goes stale as Phil shakes his head, trying to process all the injuries. Techno takes a deep worried breath before Phil gives a shaky smile. At the least, Phil is grateful that’s the end of the injuries list.

“I also split my lip pretty badly but they didn’t really care about that.” Techno scratches his head in thought.  “Actually, they didn’t care about my sprained ankle either, which I thought was kinda rude to be honest.”

“That’s because you were bleeding out, Techo.” Wilbur complains and shivers at the thought.

“I am never letting you out of my sight again.” Phil murmurs. He shuts his eyes as though he’s about to pass out. His steps falter as he paces.

“Techno, I love you. But if you ever start a conversation with “it’s not as bad as it looks” don’t list things that make it infinitely worse. Finish with that. Please.”

Techno smiles and nods, eyelids starting to slip shut which Techno forces open. “I missed you, old man.”

“I missed you too.” Phil laughs and Wilbur realises he’s tearing up. “Jesus, I’m gonna cry if I have to keep talking to you. Where are your foster parents? I need to talk to them.” Phil distracts himself and Wilbur can’t help but get lost in his own thoughts. 

It seems strange, but Wilbur has never really noticed the connection they all had until now.

Techno hums. “They should be in the waiting room. You probably passed it when you were speed running your visit.”

Seeing Techno in that hospital bed, Phil crooning over him like a protective mother bird, it feels unfamiliar. A voice, buried deep in Wilbur’s chest, whispers that it’s family. The feeling is family.

“I’ll go get them.” Phil replies, walking out the room calmly. In the silence that follows, the room feels much warmer. 

It’s so obvious how much Phil cares about them, sometimes Wilbur forgets they all have parents of their own.

Being with each other, supporting each other, caring for each other.

Wilbur thinks it’s weird this is how he figures it all out— what family really is inside a hospital room.

It’s definitely fitting for their family dynamic though. 

Every second Tommy spends in the hospital feels like agony. 

He’s been avoiding going home because… well, because he’s afraid his parents will find out his maths test results. But he can’t keep avoiding it. He should never have avoided it in the first place.

Skipping school was bad, even if it was to find Technoblade. 

And Wilbur pretending like everything's okay is making it worse. He was clearly angry at Tommy, shoving him back into that wall in the alley way. How was Tommy supposed to pretend nothing happened?

Phil reappears several minutes later with Techno’s foster parents at the door, smiling gingerly. Phil looks over to Tommy and Wilbur and smacks his lips together. “Would you guys mind coming back in a few minutes? I want to talk alone with Techno and his parents?”

Tommy takes a deep breath and nods, looking up from his seat by Techno’s side. “I’m going to get some air then.”

“I’ll join you.” Wilbur adds, standing up and waiting for Tommy to lead the way. Tommy stifles a groan at the thought.

“I might just head home.” Tommy adds. Although the idea of heading home gives him a sense of dread, he needs to bite the bullet. He’d rather deal with that than deal with Wilbur.

“I’ll walk with you for a bit.” The look Wilbur gives Tommy sends a shiver down his spine. 

Tommy crosses the room, immediately beelining down the hall. Behind him, he can hear the scuffle of shoes. Wilbur’s shoes.

“Tommy, wait up!” Wilbur flags Tommy down and does a half jog to catch up. 

Tommy doesn’t slow down, if anything he speeds up. The tiles squeak as he readjusts his pace before it’s just the quiet sound of footsteps.

Wilbur frowns, looking over at Tommy as he walks next to him. “Toms, are you okay?”

“Fine.” Tommy clenches his jaw and walks faster, reaching the stairs and going down them in rushed little steps. Wilbur struggles to keep up.

“You don’t seem fine. In fact, you’ve hardly spoken a word since we found Techno.” 

“Are you angry at me?” Tommy queries.

“No! What? Of course not.” Wilbur retorts, surprised by the question. “Why?”

Tommy bites his tongue, and Wilbur has a thousand question bubbles to the surface all at once. They fight to escape his lips but he presses them shut and states the obvious instead. Why not let Tommy come to him instead of pressuring him into talking?

“Something’s wrong.” Wilbur huffs, keeping in pace with Tommy. They reach the bottom of the stairs and Tommy keeps walking at his quickened pace. He folds his arms against his chest despite there being no chill in the air and Wilbur’s eyebrows tighten together.

Wilbur had expected a funny quip in response. “Way to go, Captain obvious.” or “Only a genius could have figured that one out!” 

Instead he gets stony silence. It makes Wilbur’s stomach sink.

“Tommy?” Wilbur begins softly, lip pointing downwards at being ignored.

“Leave me alone.” Tommy whispers, crossing his arm. 

They make it down the hall and stop only for the automatic doors to slide into action. Cold wind bites against Wilbur for only a moment as they exit the hospital.

Tommy walks outside, ignoring the weather and going down the ramp. Wilbur’s not sure he understands Tommy’s desperation to leave.

“Is it because of all this… The Pit shit? You said you’ve been there once. Is this, like, setting you off or something?” Wilbur asks and Tommy bites down hard on his tongue. “I can help distract you if you don’t want to think about it. We could sit down on the side of the road and make up stories about people who walk past.”

The sun hits down on Tommy’s face, causing him to squint which only adds to his tension headache.

“Tommy, talk to me, man. You know I’m here for you, right?” Wilbur grabs Tommy’s arm and he comes to a sharp stop, breath hitching. Wilbur doesn’t think he grabbed Tommy tightly, in fact he barely touched him at all but Tommy pulls away like he was burnt.

Tommy yanks his arm back after a breath. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

They lock eyes, Tommy’s chest rising and falling as he puffs angrily and Wilbur nods. He tries not to let it show, but Tommy pulling away like Wilbur’s touch was poison, it hurt and shocked Wilbur to his core. “Sorry.” 

Tommy begins to turn away, murmuring under his breath. “And don’t fucking lie to me.”

“Lie to you?” Wilbur questions quietly, walking again a few steps behind Tommy as he leads himself out of the hospital car park and onto the sidewalk. “Tommy, I’m not lying.”

Wilbur feels his stomach do flip flops. What is Tommy talking about?

And why is Tommy so reluctant to talk to him?

“Tommy, I just want to help.”

“Stop.” Tommy shakes his head, speaking in a low tone. Tommy tangles a hand in his own blond hair, covering one of his ears.

“Tommy, I’m here for you!”

“Don’t.” Tommy covers both ears, his pace slowing down significantly as he loses focus. Wilbur’s eyebrows draw together as he stares. There must be something seriously wrong.

“Was it Dream?” Wilbur inquires and reaches out again. “Tommy, I want to help you.” As his fingers grab Tommy’s shoulder he heaves himself away with a gasp. Tommy looks like he’s on the verge of exploding.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Tommy whips around, stumbling backwards a few steps. In his anger, Wilbur thought he might move closer or grab him but Tommy responds like he’s more afraid than anything. The response doesn’t match his tone.

“Stop saying shit that isn’t true.” Tommy seethes.

“It is true!” Wilbur insists and Tommy shakes his head in irritation. “Tommy, I want to help you.”

“No it isn’t! You don’t fucking care about me, Wilbur. Do you think I’m stupid? Because I’m at least smart enough to know you don’t give a damn.” Tommy stabs a finger in Wilbur’s direction, refusing to get any closer than the distance apart they stand at now.

“That is not true and you know it Tomm—” 

“When I told you to stop hitting Dream, you didn’t listen to me.” Tommy starts shaking as he speaks and Wilbur feels a lump rise in his throat. “I had to try yanking you off of him and you didn’t listen to me. You pushed me away- you slammed me into a wall!” Tommy shakes his head with a disappointed laugh. “And believe me Wilbur, I hate Dream. I would have loved to see that prick get what he deserves. But not at the cost of Techno’s safety. Never at the cost of Techno.” Tommy’s voice drops and he looks terrified. 

“I— I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Wilbur splutters as Tommy speaks.

“I trusted you— I fucking trusted you! You said to me I could go to you for help, you’d be there for me.”

“You can.”

“You slammed me into a wall! I trusted you!” Tommy’s voice cracks and he clenches his jaw, regaining his composure. “You promised you’d never hurt me. When I broke my arm from that trampoline, you told me if I needed someone, you’d keep me safe.”

Wilbur blinks for a moment and reels back. “You told me you broke your arm falling out of a tree.”

Tommy’s breath hitches and he pauses, staring at Wilbur with a swift blink. “What?”

“Your arm. You told me you broke it falling out of a tree.”

Tommy freezes for a short moment and shakes his head. “No I— I must have misspoken.”

Wilbur’s face drains of colour. “Tommy—”

“It was a trampoline. You’re remembering incorrectly.” Tommy insists.

“Toms, don’t. You know you can tell me if something happened.” 

Tommy shakes his head vigorously, like he’s shaking away Wilburs help from lodging the idea in his brain. Wilbur wants to reach out, to grab onto Tommy and show him how much he cares.

Wilbur’s too afraid to do anything.

“Why are you lying about what happened with your arm?”

“I’m not. It was a trampoline, you’re just remembering wrong.”

“No I’m not.”

 “Fucksakes… stop changing the subject! Wilbur, shut up.  You don’t care. You’re not even listening to my point right now!” 

Tommy says with a sad disbelieving smile. It makes Wilbur uncomfortable. Tommy looks so upset but he smiles like he knows he’s right. 

“You’re changing the subject.” Tommy shakes his head unwillingly. “You promised you would never hurt me.” He backs up a few more steps and Wilbur stops him from creating more distance by matching his step backwards with one forward. “You promised.”

“Toms, I'm sorry. Genuinely, I never wanted to hurt you or make you think I don’t care.” Wilbur clasps a hand over his heart. “I do care. Tommy, I care about you so much my heart hurts. We’re family at this point; I care about you, Phil, and Techno so much. I don’t think there is anything I care about more than my family.”

Tommy hesitates, staring up at Wilbur with big wide eyes. Tears that threatened to spill finally rolled down his cheeks.

“Then why don’t you act like it?”

Phil is going to have a heart attack. You know what? Scratch that. He thinks he is.

His heart is like a wild animal pounding against its cage.

“Yes.” 

A final answer from Techno’s foster parents.

The word makes his heart burst.

“Don’t tell Wilbur and Tommy.” Techno mutters. And Phil feels his soul get shackled back down to his feet. He narrows his sight at Techno.

“Don’t?” Phil raises an eyebrow and Techno nods weakly.

“I want to tell them when we’re all together. Properly.”

“I’ll sort something out.” Phil hums, scratching his chin and Techno shuffles to his side, grimacing and melting further into the bed.

Phil chortles. “When they find out they might just kill you for hiding it from them.”

Techno scoffs, letting his head smack back against the pillow with a defeated groan. “Technoblade never dies.”

Yeah, Phil was going to get sick of that catchphrase pretty quick.

“I’m trying!” Wilbur proclaims. “I’m just— I’m bad at this stuff. I never wanted to make you feel unloved, Tommy. I don’t know how to show you I care.”

Tommy steps up to Wilbur, getting closer. Wilbur can feel Tommy’s breath on his face. “Shout at me.”

“What?” Wilbur recoils, shocked at the statement. For a split second, he’s hopeful he misheard.

“You wanna show me that you care? Fucking shout at me. Scream at me for being awful and slam me into a wall again. At least when you did it early it was because you cared about something. Not me, but something.”

“No, what the fuck? Tommy, I won't do that.” Wilbur goes to cross his arms but Tommy grabs him, pulling him closer across the sidewalk and into the sun.

“Show me you care! Do something, anything!” Tommy shoves against him and Wilbur pulls himself away. His shoes scuff against the concrete loudly as he falls back, catching himself on his feet. “Fucking react! You don’t make any sense, Wilbur.”

“Why would I shout at you?” Wilbur says quietly, mortified at Tommy’s outbursts.

“Why wouldn’t you?” Tommy dissolves as tears overcome him. “I don’t understand— I don’t fucking— you should be angry at me! You should be shouting or, or punishing me or hate me or anything! Do something, Wilbur! I can’t— why won’t you just hit me— or at least be fucking honest that you’re annoyed I interfered with your fight with Dream.”

Wilbur’s mouth runs agape as he stares at Tommy’s shouting and Tommy only grows more upset.

“If you cared you’d be angry! I acted out against you, I ignored you, I shouted at you. I don’t understand how you can pretend like that’s okay.” Tommy shoves Wilbur when making each point. At the end of each sentence, Wilbur feels himself being pressed backwards from Tommy’s rage.

 Wilbur stumbles backwards a few steps and stares in confusion.

“Stop—” Tommy smacks his hands against Wilbur’s chest, “Fucking— pretending!”

Wilbur grabs Tommy’s hands and he struggles against Wilbur’s grip. He groans loudly as he tries yanking himself away. “Tommy, calm down. You’re being irrational.”

“Fuck you.” Tommy spits, twisting his arms and jolting back. Wilbur tightens his grip and tries to quickly get his point across while focusing on Tommy trying to squirm away.

“Tommy I should never have hurt you. And punishing people for that— it’s not normal, you know that, right? I regret pushing you. That should have never happened and I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again. Tommy I love you and I’m so sorry.”

“Just— just do it already. Fucking hit me.  I don’t know why you— or, or Phil or keep pretending that—”

“Tommy!” Wilbur finally shouts, and he immediately regrets it by the way Tommy goes still, bulbous tears spilling down his face. Calmly, Wilbur reinforces his grip on Tommy’s wrists to stop him from striking Wilbur again.

“You had every right to act the way you have. I don’t blame you for anything.” He lets go of Tommy’s wrist and his hands freeze in place.  “Especially after I pushed you back when I was fighting Dream. I never should have done that. I wasn’t thinking straight and I’m so unbelievably sorry, Toms. I’ve been awful and—”

A cry bubbles out of Tommy’s lips and he wraps Wilbur in a bone crushing hug and Wilbur quickly returns it. Wilbur places a hand on Tommy’s head and he flinches violently into Wilburs chest and stays there. With each flinch, Wilbur feels like his own heart cracks, snapping into pieces.

“I don’t understand.” Tommy sobs and Wilbur keeps one hand on Tommy’s back, rubbing up and down to soothe him. The other, planted in Tommy’s hair, too afraid to move it again and frighten Tommy. “Wilbur, I don’t get it. I don’t understand.”

Tommy mumbles incomprehensibly and it’s all Wilbur can do to comfort him.

“I’m… I’m sorry.” Wilbur responds. “Neither do I.”

He’s not sure what to say. Really, Wilbur didn’t have any idea that Tommy was so on edge until a few moments prior.

So he just repeats himself.

“I’m sorry, Toms. I’m so sorry.”

There’s a long silence and then Tommy pulls away, tears clinging to Tommy’s long eyelashes. “I’m sorry too.” 

They stay like that for a long time. Connected through confusion, tears, frustration and a hug. Tommy pulls away eventually, after settling down a bit and Wilbur feels his heart start to pound again at the thought of having to deal with another outburst. 

Tommy chuckles wetly and sniffles. “I think— Wilbur, I’ve never had this problem with Tubbo and Ranboo… But I think that’s because somewhere along the line I started acting like you were my family. And you don’t… well you don’t act like how my parents act but I consider you my family.” Tommy shrugs in thought. “Because we are a bit like brothers.”

“God, I will literally start crying.” Wilbur announces and Tommy laughs with genuinity. They lapse into silence before Wilbur replies properly. “We are like brothers. Although you’re an idiot for treating me differently because of it.”

Tommy thuds his head against Wilbur. “If we’re brothers, you’re also an idiot by relation.” 

Wilbur snorts. “Prick.”

“We are though.” Tommy comments. “A lot, I think.”

“What, idiots? I suppose.”

“No, we’re like brothers, you dumbass.”

“Oh.. Yeah we are.” Wilbur’s smile broadened. “But maybe not like our actual families. We can make our own disorderly type of family.”

“That’s the only smart thing you’ve ever said.” Tommy glows with joy and nods swiftly. “The actual type of families we have is kinda shit.”

“Yeah, but we can be better.” Wilbur grabs Tommy’s hand. “We can be officially unofficial brothers.”

Tommy’s eyes shone with determination. “Brothers.”

When Wilbur and Tommy come back, their eyes are both red rimmed and their hands are clasped together. Phil greets them at the door to the hospital, walking into the parking lot where they crossed.

“Boys?” Phil calls, a concerned smile on his face. “Are you two alright?”

“Yeah.” Wilbur sighs. “We’re alright.”

Tommy smiles up at him and nods. “I thought Wilbur was angry but we uh, we talked it through.”

Phil pinches his lips together for a moment before nodding, not wanting to force them into saying anything. It wasn’t really his business, despite his curiosity.

“Is Techno staying at the hospital?” Tommy asks and this time when Phil smiles, his entire face cracks open in a grin. 

“He is. His fosters are going to stay with him, but I had an idea.”

Tommy and Wilbur stand to attention and the moment Phil introduced the idea, he could tell they were in.

“Tommy get out of the shopping cart.” Phil yells across the store as Wilbur goes zooming past him, shoving Tommy around in a shopping cart. The wheels screech loudly against the floor linoleum as Wilbur swings the shopping cart through the store.

“Try and catch us!” Tommy calls back with a cackle, leaning over the edge of the cart and holding up his fingers in the shape of an L.

Phil laughs at the sight and half jogs to catch up to where they’ve driven off to.

Okay, maybe taking the two of them shopping was a bad idea. 

It seemed like a reasonable decision at the time! Phil slows to a halt, panting as he rounds the corner.

“Get these.” Wilbur throws three rolls of pink paper streamers into the cart and Tommy picks them up, scrunching his nose up.

“Pink?” Tommy throws it to the side in the cart and reaches over to the shelf, picking up a set of dotted party hats. Content with his choice, he drops it in the cart.

“It’s Techno’s favourite colour.” Wilbur nods.

Phil walks past the cart, picking Tommy up from beneath his arms and removing him from the cart.

Tommy grumbles under his breath but stands up and helps pick things out.

“This is going to be the fucking best goodbye party.” Tommy chortles, bouncing alongside the cart as Wilbur pushes it down the aisle. 

Eventually they make it out of the party aisle, filling up the cart with various items. Balloons, pink streamers, a helium tank, party poppers, napkins and party hats. 

They make it to the toy aisle; Wilbur insists they need to buy a going away gift for Techno.

Phil watches as Tommy and Wilbur go back and forth through the plushies, trying to pick the perfect choice.

“Cow.” Tommy states firmly, holding a floppy brown minecraft cow plush with a weighted body.

“No.” Wilbur says shortly and holds out a different plush. “Sheep.”

“Wouldn’t Techno prefer the pig..?” Phil tries to interject and two sets of eyes slowly pan to face him. Wilbur and Tommy squint before murmuring their agreement.

“I guess…”  

“Probably…” 

Phil ended up buying all three plushies. One for each of them.

How was he supposed to pick only one? 

That would be like picking a favourite child.

Phil wanders idly down the rows of shelves, Tommy practically jumping alongside, adding things for Techno into the cart.

Wilbur’s stomach churns but he taps Phil on the shoulder gently. Phil turns and smiles warmly at him.

“Yeah mate?” Phil asks, kind eyes landing on Wilbur.

“Can we uh— and it’s totally fine if not… of course…” Wilbur trails off and looks down, picking at the skin on his nails. “Uh, could you..”

“Wil.” Phil whispers softly, tilting his head to the side.

Wilbur scratches the back of his neck in exasperation. Was it getting hot in here? He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Can you buy me something?” Wilbur cuts himself off short, staring at a spot across the store, eyes flicking back to Phil nervously for no more than a second and then darting away again.

Phil chuckles and nods eagerly. “What do you need?”

Wilbur crosses his arms and rocks back on his heel. “Maybe just a blanket? For my room at your house.”

“Oh my God, mate.” Phil rubs a hand against his forehead, grabbing onto the shopping cart and immediately walking towards the bedding aisle. “Absolutely, I was planning on heading there next anyway. We have blankets at home but if you want your own stuff, I’m more than happy to—”

“I can help pay for it.”

“No.”

“Phil, I have cash.”

“Mmmm, nope.” Phil pointedly ignores Wilbur as they enter the blanket aisle and Tommy follows along like a puppy dog, looking around excitedly and rubbing his hand over the blankets to test the texture. Wilbur watches Tommy awkwardly and Phil waves a hand at the selection.

“Go for it, Wil.” Phil chimes and Wilbur looks over nervously before copying what Tommy does. Rubbing a hand across the blankets to test their textures.

He eventually settles on a heavy, fluffy teal coloured blanket. He picks up the neatly packed bundle and places it into the cart. 

Phil pats him on the shoulder happily, throwing in a heavy, soft black blanket which Wilbur doesn’t comment on but assumes it must be for Phil.

 Phil looks over to Tommy, who presses his cheek against a cosy looking red blanket before giving it one final pat and walking back over to the cart.

“Tommy, if you want a blanket then grab one.” Phil leans an arm against the shopping cart and Tommy’s eyes light up.

“Really?” Tommy enthuses and Phil glances at him with amusement.

“How else will you be prepared when you stay over for sleepovers?”

“Thank you Phil!” Tommy chirps and practically dances with joy back over to the blanket before throwing it into the cart like a basketball.

Next, by Phil’s insistence, they go to get some personal items for Wilbur.

A globe of the world, a comfy floor rug, a couple posters, some books that Wilbur would most likely end up lending to Techno, candles that smelled so immaculate they spent about 30 minutes trying to pick out a few. Phil even buys items for the guest bedroom which Wilbur thought was nice.

 They definitely were a bit plain with the current decor but buying all this new stuff was bound to brighten things up.

They make it to the lighting section and pick out a more personalised table side lamp.

Wilbur insisted he didn’t need a “personalised” lamp considering he already had a perfectly good beige one but Phil wouldn’t have it. If it was going to be Wilbur's room, why not go all out?

Phil had bought a nice dark blue covered lamp for Wilbur and another lamp (Which Wilbur assumes is for the study) That looks more like a lantern than anything.

As Phil goes to follow Wilbur into the next aisle he spots Tommy staring intensely at a lava lamp, tracing the blobs with his fingers up and down before skipping off after Wilbur once realising they’d moved on.

If Wilbur saw Phil put the lava lamp discreetly into the shopping cart, he didn’t say anything to Tommy. And Phil definitely didn’t press a finger against his lips to tell Wilbur not to say anything.

By the end of it, their cart is more than full. It was time for the house to have some major upgrades. 

When Wilbur sees all of it, he feels overwhelmed.

“Phil.” Wilbur nudges him as they wait in line at the check out.

“Hm?”

“This is too much.”

“What is?” Phil asks, eyebrows drawn tightly as he turns to face Wilbur. Wilbur jabs a finger towards the shopping cart and Phil splits into a smile. “Oh yea, that. Don’t worry, not everything in there is for you. A lot of it is party supplies. Most of it is yours, definitely. But there are some things that Techno will take so that way he’ll finally have some belongings.”

“Is he allowed to take all that stuff with him though? When he ends up going to his next house?” Wilbur frowns at the pile of items. Weren’t foster kids only allowed a small amount of possessions for convenience?

“We can help him move everything.” Phil answers. “And I also bought a few things for Tommy since he comes over so often and I saw him staring at some things I think he really wanted but didn’t want to ask for.”

“Phil, how on earth are you paying for all this on a teachers salary?”

Phil gives Wilbur a sly smile and hums appreciatively. “Wilbur, I’ve worked a lot of different jobs over the years. Some paid a lot, some paid less. I do teaching for fun, not money.”

Wilbur stares down at the pile of items in surprise. 

“Thank you.” Wilbur wraps Phil in a half hug from the side and Phil leans into it.

“Of course Wilbur.”

“So what are we doing after this?”

Phil opens his mouth to respond but pauses upon hearing his name called out from afar.

Tommy runs up to Phil, a crummy old phone in hand. He shoves it into Phil’s face, the screen slightly crusty and dirtied. “Phil, look!”

Phil grabs the phone and pulls it away from his face, eyes adjusting. His mouth twitches as the grime but he says nothing to upset Tommy.

 When he reads the message his eyes go wide and he shakes his head.

“No, absolutely not.”

Tommy nods in big swings with a shit eating grin. “Oh yeah.”

“Nope.” Phil shakes his head, choking down a laugh. “That’s not happening.”

“What’s not happening?” Wilbur raises an eyebrow curiously. Tommy’s eyes ignite in passion, and he claps his hands together. 

“Tubbo’s gonna give us fireworks for the party.”

Chapter Text

“Alright.” Phil turns down Tommy’s street and Tommy feels his stomach churn. “Which one is your house?”

Tommy stares out at the line of houses, standing tall behind fences and untrimmed hedges like soldiers lining for battle. He feels a bit the same way and straightens his own posture.

“You can just drop me off here, I’ll walk the rest of the way.” Tommy’s throat feels tight, like there’s a cherry pit stuck that he can’t swallow. He feels like that cherry pit has been there more often than not these days.

“Are you sure, mate?” Phil frowns from the driver's seat, pulling onto the side of the road. The car whirrs to a stop and Tommy tugs on the door handle, shoving the door open with a heavy thrust.

“Yeah.” Tommy rasps and he meets Phil’s eyes in the car mirror with a taut smile.

“Phil, I’m gonna go with Tommy for a little bit. I’ll walk home later.” Wilbur comments, undoing his seatbelt and jumping out of the car. The car door slams shut. Tommy’s mouth drops open as he undoes his own seatbelt and gets out.

“I’ll see you later then.” Phil grins and Wilbur does a small nod, wrapping around the car and waiting for Tommy to walk over.

Tommy throws himself out of the car with one forced smile towards Phil. There’s no reason to worry him anymore than what he has been today.

Phil starts the car back up, tires scraping against the gravel and Wilbur looks over to Tommy, clearing his throat and staring expectantly.

With a deep breath,Tommy starts off down the street and Wilbur strides alongside him.

Tommy fiddles with his own hands idly, making his way along the sidewalk and Wilbur trails along by his side.

He’s been dreading talking about it. It being Tommy’s home situation.

Wilbur has always been a little too curious about his parents. A bit too suspicious of every mark and bruise. Somewhat protective over Tommy to the point that the mere thoughts of telling Wilbur everything made him feel like throwing up.

Tommy knew from the moment of his outburst that Wilbur would have questions. (If he was gonna lie about his arm he really should remember the excuses he gives.)

Tommy clears his throat awkwardly, crossing his arms across his chest and suddenly remembering how bad his posture is, straightening up as he walks. Like a soldier. Remember to walk like a soldier.

Wilbur takes silent note of the change and smiles.

Wilbur walks next to Tommy, the two of them sharing the sidewalk. Side by side.

“Your parents...” Wilbur begins, unsure of how to start the conversation. The cherry pit gets larger in Tommy's throat. “I know you don’t want to talk about it but I need to know you’ll be okay.”

Tommy clenches his jaw for a second and then releases a breath through his nose. “They’re not that bad.”

“Look, I don’t know what the situation is and you haven’t told me anything and you can refuse to tell me stuff all you want… but I’m not an idiot.” Wilbur stares at Tommy while they walk and Tommy doesn’t lift his gaze from the concrete. 

“Okay.” Wilbur sucks in a sharp breath. “Okay, okay, okay.”

Tommy clicks his tongue, kicking a particular pebble that had the misfortune of coming across his sneaker. Okay .

Without warning, Wilbur claps his hands together, doing a little half skip and facing Tommy.

“We’ll do a questionnaire.” Wilbur exclaims and Tommy can’t stop himself from groaning.

“That’s the lamest fucking thing you’ve ever said.”

“It’s a stroke of genius!” Wilbur proclaims, boldly holding out one finger. “You don’t have to talk in detail about anything you don’t want to and I get an answer on if you’re okay or not.”

Okay . The word starts to sound funny if you say it enough.

Wilbur clears his throat, running a hand along the untrimmed leaves of the hedge they walk past. “Yes or no. Are your parents going to be angry that you skipped school?”

Tommy kicks another unsuspecting pebble along the path, hesitating and Wilbur feels like he’s lost him before the questionnaire even begins.  

It comes in a strong wave; this feeling of losing. Their talk in the hospital suddenly feels like it made no progress and Wilbur’s all too aware of how out of his league he is.

 Tommy has this confusing skill where he tells you so much of what’s going on and yet nothing.

“Yes.” Tommy answers under his breath and Wilbur nearly calls out in relief.

“Are you worried about them knowing about the maths test?”

“Yes.”

Wilbur folds his hands behind his back, slowing his pace but taking slightly bigger steps

“Do you want me to come in with you? Make sure everything’s okay?”

Another hesitation. This one is shorter. Tommy tucks his hands into his pants pocket. “No.”

“Are you… going to be okay?”

There’s an even longer pause and that answers Wilbur’s question more than any words ever could.

“Yes.” Tommy says and he lifts his gaze with a toothy smile towards Wilbur. “I always am.”

Wilbur releases a breath he didn’t realise he was holding in relief.

“Are they abusive?” Wilbur says and the words slip out like soap. The words sound too straightforward and strange coming out of Wilbur’s mouth.

  Abusive . It leaves a foul, unwelcomed taste on his tongue. Tommy makes a sound like he’s just been slapped across the face but Wilbur doesn’t regret asking.

“I don’t— it depends on how you define abusive.” Tommy shrugs and Wilbur feels sick that Tommy’s trying to justify the idea of being abused.

“It’s a yes or no question.” Wilbur purses his lips together, the corners twitching downwards.

Tommy sighs and stops walking outside of a short driveway. Tommy’s driveway, he realises. “Then no.”

“Are you sure?”

Tommy’s neck goes limp for a moment in annoyance before he straightens back up. “Yeah, I’m sure Wil.”

Discontent stirs in Wilbur but he respects Tommy. He knows what it’s like to not be ready to talk about something. He’ll hold off from pressuring Tommy, even if he just wants to make sure Tommy will be okay.

“Tommy there’s this metaphor for people who are struggling and it’s like… If one person is drowning in a pool and the other is drowning in an ocean, they’re both still drowning.” Wilbur recalls, placing a hand on Tommy’s shoulder and lowering his voice.

 “The amount of water doesn’t matter if they’re both drowning. It’s the same for if you’re struggling or if your parents are abusive. Both people are still being abused.”

Tommy laughs loudly and Wilbur pulls his arm back defensively.

“That’s such a bullshit metaphor. It doesn’t work.” Tommy shakes his head.

“Yes it does.” Wilbur retorts, crossing his arms and Tommy groans quietly. 

Fine, I’ll prove it. Who would you save?” Tommy tilts his head knowingly, staring at Wilbur with a waiting glare and Wilbur scrunches his eyebrows together.

“What? No, that’s the point. They’re both drowning.”

Tommy shakes his head. “Okay, but if you had to save one of them.  Pool dude or Ocean guy. Who would you pick? You’d pick the guy drowning in the ocean, right?”

“No- Tommy, the idea is that they’re both drowning. Doesn’t matter from what or how much if they’re both underwater.”

Tommy laughs half heartedly. “No, it does matter. Because if I see someone drowning in a pool and someone drowning in the ocean, I’d think the one drowning in a pool is more likely to survive and I’d help the guy in the ocean.”

“They’re both drowning .” Wilbur re-emphasizes and Tommy gives him a blank stare.

“Meaning what, Wil? That they both could die? That they both need help? Dude, if I was drowning in a pool, I’d want someone to help the person drowning in the ocean first. The water they’re in is deeper and more unpredictable. An ocean is a hell of a lot more dangerous than a pool, even if both people are drowning.”

Tommy huffs and Wilbur pauses, trying to clue in an argument. Wilbur looks up at the clouded sky, watching as the wind slowly twists the clouds into funny shapes. 

Tommy goes to walk towards his house and Wilbur grabs his arm.

“Well are you?” Wilbur asks and Tommy falters, freezing in place. Tommy’s eyebrows pull together in confusion.

Tommy shrugs in a sarcastic manner. “Am I what, Wilbur?”

“Drowning?” 

Tommy’s eyes flicker for a moment before his expression goes flat.

He stays quiet, unsure on how to continue and Tommy shrugs with a sigh.

“The metaphor is stupid.” Tommy grabs his shoulder. “I’m fine, Wilbur, I’ll be okay. Go home and rest, please, you need it. I promise I’ll be alright.”

“You’re so stubborn, it’s stupid.” Wilbur wraps him in a hug that Tommy happily returns. He whispers in Tommy’s ear. “Don’t be a prick. I will always, always , be here. I don’t believe you for a second but when you want to talk about it, come to me.”

Tommy squeezes Wilbur back and the knot in his stomach slowly unties. “Thanks, king. Same goes for you.”

The next few days are a blurry mess of preparing for the party and making sure Techno stays relatively clueless. Phil can’t help but notice how the three of them have bonded over the incident.

Tommy and Wilbur spend their time together after school on the walk to Phil’s house. Then Phil drives Wilbur to the hospital where he stays with Techno for a few hours. And Tommy and Phil spend time together.

After four days, Techno starts insisting he goes home.

They’re hoping Techno gets out of the hospital tomorrow. An early release wasn’t something the doctors recommended but what were they gonna do? Make him stay?

If Phil was being honest, it was all starting to come together. All of it felt oddly domestic and Phil liked it; who knew he was a family guy? 

                            Or uh— wait no, a friend's guy..? 

                                                                    A… teacher… guy? 

What did Phil even define himself as at this point? 

What Phil is trying to say is that it felt like family. 

That wasn’t something Phil had ever had and now it wasn’t something he was prepared to lose.

Tommy cleaned up the bowls they used to make a cake in, secretly licking the cake batter off when Phil wasn’t looking. The Goodbye party was in the final stages of preparation now. Phil’s heart was pounding with excitement.

Tommy dug his pointer finger into the bowl, scooping up the remains while Phil taped pink streamers onto the ceiling. The streamers would dip down before going back up like waves.

Wilbur wasn’t there with Tommy and Phil. He spent a lot more of his time with Techno in the hospital. Wilbur would sit, talk to Technoblade who remained relatively quiet, and waited for his recovery while Tommy and Phil planned out a party. 

“PHIL!” Tommy screams across the house and from the living room, Phil nearly falls off the ladder he balances on. The paper pink streamer in his hand rips from where it’s attached with tape and Phil squeezes his eyes shut. That was the eighth time.

“What?” Phil shouts back, twisting his upper half around towards the kitchen. Tommy looks like a deer frozen in headlights as his shoes slide across the carpet and he stops, swinging off the kitchen archway.

“The cake is on fire.” Tommy states and Phil’s eyes bulge.

“WHAT?” Phil clumsily comes back down the ladder, the metal contraption wiggling and falling on it’s side behind Phil with a loud clatter. Phil rushes past Tommy, pushing him playfully to the side and looking into the kitchen.

Phil searches for the cake and his eyes land on it; a perfectly good chocolate cake with a small lit candle on the top. 

Phil deflates, relaxing in posture at the sight of the small flame and from beside him he hears Tommy muffling a laugh into his hand. 

Phil cranes his neck around slowly to face the culprit. The sight of it only makes Tommy laugh more and he bursts out loud, doubling over in laughter.

“You should have seen your face!” Tommy wheezes, gasping for air and clutching his chest.

“Oh my god.” Phil smiles and looks back over to the delicious chocolate cake. 

He takes a couple steps towards it, shaking his head in amusement, and pinches the candle flame between two fingers. Phil murmurs in contemplation. “Kids are going to be the death of me.”

“ Technically that’s not true.” Tommy points out, wiping a tear from his eye.

Phil raises an eyebrow at him. “I didn’t realise you knew the technicalities of my immortality.”

“Well, this is actually a great opportunity to talk about the big I word.” Tommy walks over, boosting himself so he sits on the counter. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Again?”

“Again. Phil, you said you’re not supposed to bleed, right?” Tommy kicks his legs back and forth and Phil crosses his arms.

He hesitates for a moment before sucking inwardly.

“No, I’m not. In my earlier years I’ve never been able to bleed. When we were cooking dinner together that was the first time.”

“I’ve thought of an answer.” Tommy claims and Phil stares down at him.

“You have my undivided attention.”

“Oh, Phil. Precious Philza. Phil, Phil, Phil. How do we know you’re not just, you know, a mortal now?” Tommy shrugs and Phil feels his heart freeze over with ice. “Maybe something changed and you never even realised it.”

“No.” He shakes his head firmly. “I tested it the next day. I couldn’t bleed again. I went back to normal.”

Tommy jabs a finger at Phil’s hand. “So you’re saying it was a fluke?”

Phil presses his lips together and shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t patronise me.” Tommy rolls his eyes and Phil’s pretty sure Tommy just heard Wilbur say that word and decided to start saying it. “You still healed insanely fast. Also— how does that work by the way? Were you born immortal?”

“No, I— think of it more like a gift.”

“A gift? From who? God? Holy shit did you meet God?” Tommy leans forward in excitement and Phil chuckles. “Oh fuck, is God real? Shit, I knew I shouldn’t have started skipping church.”

“No, no, no.” Phil wheezes, leaning on the counter as he laughs. “It wasn’t God. But it’s a very long story and I don’t need you to know all my secrets.” He taps Tommy on the nose and he scrunches his face up in return.

“So let me get this straight: You were gifted the ability of immortality, you can’t bleed, can’t feel pain, ya-da ya-da ya-da,” He waves his hand around dismissively. “But you bled for the first time… cutting potatoes a few days ago?”

Phil clicks his tongue. “Yes?”

“Wow.” Tommy snorts. “Embarrassing.”

“You’re a twat.” Phil decides and Tommy hums in agreement, pushing himself off the counter.

“Are you going to tell Wilbur and Techno?” Tommy sings, walking out of the kitchen and into the living room.

Phil chokes on an answer. Did he really have a choice? He would have to eventually. It was only a matter of time.

Maybe he just gives everything a few days.

“Not yet.” Phil answers. “When I’m ready.”

Tommy nods in respect and they go back to their actual job, setting up for the party.

It leaves some kind of peace in Phil’s mind that Tommy’s okay with his immortality.

Tommy opens up his phone about an hour later, sucking in a huge breath of excitement to see Tubbo had finally responded. 

“Phil!” Tommy shouts from across the house, running to the front door and tripping over his own foot as he struggles to get his shoe on. He crams his finger into the back and stomps his foot down.

“Phil, I’m leaving!” Tommy calls, his shoes finally firmly on.

“Alright mate.” Phil yells back. “See you tonight!”

“See ya!” Tommy hollers and the pit in his stomach deepens. He swings the door closed behind him, walking down the gravel path of Phil’s house.

He can’t stop thinking about what his mother said to him when he got home a few days ago. He didn’t tell Wilbur, despite the boy offering his help. It’s just not something Tommy’s sure he needs help with.

What his mother said to him was he needs to stop associating himself with awful people.

A warning to stop spending time with Techno, Wilbur, and Phil.

They were a so-called distraction. A terrible influence on Tommy. Tommy reaches up to his bicep and rubs a circle with his thumb over a set of bruises on his arm.

It would take a lot more than just a threat for Tommy to stop hanging out with them.

Even if the threat was coming from his own parents.

“Wilbur, I can walk by myself.” Techno shoos Wilbur away using the end of his crutch and Wilbur narrowly dodges an attack to the knee.

“It’s dark, man. What if you trip and break an ankle?” Wilbur complains, speeding in front of Techno so he can reach Phil’s door first. He grabs the door knob and pushes the door open, leaning his weight against it and being enveloped into the dark warmth of Phil’s hall.

Wilbur holds the door open as Techno limps over.

“Oh no, a broken ankle. How would I cope with the agony of a broken bone?”

Wilbur jabs a finger towards Techno in disapproval.  “I’ll have you know breaking a rib is different from breaking an ankle.”

“Yeah?” Techno laughs, making his way into the silent hall. “Tell me about it.”

Techno leans his weight onto his right side and flicks the hall light on with his free hand.

As the light switches on, Phil jumps up from the other side of the couch, a party hat on his head and a smile on his face.

Phil pops the party popper in his hand with a bang and confetti falls to the floor.

“Surprise!” Phil laughs and Techno looks more faint at the idea of a surprise party than he did when Wilbur found him in the alleyway.

Techno’s eyes slowly gaze over everything; the pink ribbons dangling from the ceiling, balloons crowding the ground and a few filled with helium sitting on the ceiling, snacks laid out on the coffee table by the couch, a pile of presents that Techno can’t even begin to comprehend and 5 pieces of paper taped to the wall that spell out “WELCOME HOME TECHNO”

He sucks in a deep breath, trying to keep his balance on the crutches, suddenly grateful for the excuse. If he passed out from shock, he could just blame his injuries and pretend this wasn’t happening. Because in no world did Technoblade do anything to even gain the karma for his friends to treat him this well.

Wilbur pats Techno on the back and he’s suddenly brought back to earth as though someone has slammed on the breaks of a car.

“Do you like it?” Wilbur smiles hesitantly and when Techno can finally tear his eyes away from the pile of presents, he bursts out laughing and nods.

“This is ridiculous.” Techno uses the crutches to cross the room, eyes dancing around as he can’t pick one thing to focus on. “Where did all this stuff come from?”

“We went on a small shopping trip.” Phil shrugs, walking  around the couch and pulling Techno into a hug. “Good to see you out of a hospital gown, mate.”

“A small trip?” Techno’s face glows as he takes a seat in the arm chair, next to the couch, and puts his crutches to the side. It’s hard to not let the relief of sitting down show but honestly, it’s been exhausting trying to get around on crutches.

Wilbur walks around to the record player, playing some music quietly in the background as Techno adjusts.

He tries not to let his jaw drop open and hang agape but it’s more than difficult. “You guys realise it’s not my birthday or christmas or anything, right?”

“Yep.” Phil nods gallantly, placing his hands on his hips and looking around at his handiwork.

“You realise I’m just an idiot who got himself beaten up?” Techno confirms, raising an eyebrow and letting himself melt into the back of the armchair.

“Well, yeah.” Phil shrugs. “But you’re our idiot, you know? And you had us all worried. So we should celebrate that you’re fine.”

Techno almost wants to argue that he’s done nothing to deserve this but he bites his tongue as Wilbur places the smallest of the presents on his lap. What the hell is Techno supposed to do? He’s never celebrated a birthday or christmas before; let alone been invited to someone's party. Now that he’s having a party, it’s far too overwhelming for his liking.

Techno freezes at the sight of the small present in his arms and makes the mistake of looking back at the full present pile. 

Techno chuckles nervously, delaying the present opening. “Where’s Tommy?”