Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In their defense - they really thought it would be fun.

And it was.

Even though Techno had to sweat for hours in a suit, it didn't stop him from enjoying the expressions of the guests as Phil, dressed in white, with his black feathers bobbing slightly in the wind, walked down the main aisle towards the altar. He had seen the glances exchanged surreptitiously, heard the whispers and slow, hesitant applause - and he relished every second of the awkward atmosphere.

"I'm really happy for you!" Puffy was one of the few who really made an effort to at least sound honest. Maybe because she was already a bit drunk. Techno watched as she gulped down three glasses of champagne before the ceremony even began. But when she hugged Phil, rocking him like he was a little kid rather than a taller friend from the army, he could see that she was speaking honestly. She tried to speak honestly. She tries to believe she can say it honestly. But she clearly had serious problems with that, because when she looked at Techno, her face lost some color. „I really do. Techno is such a…" She paused for a moment. "Such a good choice, yes."

It was one of the nicest words in the room today, and Techno had to admit. Not the most creative, because he was already a 'good creature' and a 'handsome beast', but definitely the nicest.

“It's not about stopping racism. It's about not letting racism to stop you!”said Phil in his very solemn speech they had made together the week before, searching the library for the most lofty slogans possible. Techno could point the finger at people whose expressions said that at this point, personally, they would very much be willing to let racism do its job. But no one spoke on 'or be silent forever.' What a shame. A little chaos would be the cherry on the cake.

But it was fun without it too. Especially when Sam grabbed him with an arm, pressed a glass of wine into his hand, and pulled him a little aside.

"I have to tell you, just in time," he laughed, trying to lower his voice and shout over the music at the same time. "We were all starting to worry that Phil was a little..." He raised his eyebrows significantly. "You know..."

Techno knew. Mainly because Phil, indeed, was 'you know'. Which only made the whole thing five times better.

"I assure you, he never looked at any woman the way he looks at me," he replied, fighting the temptation to turn around and call out to his friend that he had lost a bet. "And vice versa."

It took less than two hours for most of the guests to make the only right decision for their situation and make a mass-raid the bar. And the more alcohol disappeared, the more awkward the atmosphere became.

"I'm just saying that I absolutely don't understand how it works. Between you. Nope." Skeppy was barely on his feet, swaying and propping himself against the table every now and then, but he clearly felt a great need to explain to them exactly why they were about to commit a serious mistake and a crime against nature. Phil looked as if every second of listening to this gave him another reason to live. "No offense." He added quickly, turning to Techno. For a second it seamed as if the remnants of his wits had pierced through the alcohol blackout and suggested that he didn't want to die just yet. "You must be very..." He made a vague movement in the air "whatever."

"Whatever," Techno repeated, grinning in a growing smile. This day couldn't get any better.

And then, just like that, the day had gotten better. Skeppy staggered, looked up and down the room, and his eyes widened suddenly.

"What the fuck is this?"

Phil instinctively stood on tiptoe, grabbing Techno's arm for balance (Somewhere on the side Puffy, heading towards them, abruptly changed course), which was almost comically unnecessary, as Skeppy was staring at the highest point of the room.

"Oh, that's Bad." Phil dropped his heels to the floor, but still didn't remove his hand. "He's very kind. I think you might like each other."

Skeppy scowled at him.

"Sounds weird when you say it," he muttered, but he was already squeezing a new glass with one hand and adjusting his tie with the other. "But fuck it... Hey! You! Big thing!"

Techno raised his eyebrows, glancing at Phil with a mixture of admiration and disbelief.

"He will murder you when he sober up," he whispered, to which Phil replied with a loud laugh. Sometimes Techno was really glad that he never found himself on the other side of any of his friend's jokes. He was definitely comfortable where he was now.

They went home at sun rise when Phil finally got bored of the drunken compliments, and Techno was getting sick of having nowhere to sit down, as some of the guests had converted the chairs into private mattresses.

"I think we're all tired and it's time to go to bed."

Techno was sure that the image of Sam's face would stay with him forever. Good. He will frame it and hang it in the place of honor of the greatest achievements.

It's been a long time since he had so much fun. It had been a long time since he laughed as loudly as every time when Phil deliberately placed his hand so that everyone had to ask about wedding ring. Being married to this man was one of the craziest decisions he had ever made. Being his friend - one of the best.

And the latter was quite serious.

* * *

Phil met Kristin at the funeral. His own, to make it funnier. Techno wasn't quite sure what he thought about all this relationship. He was definitely damned angry - at himself for wanting to leave, and at Phil, who obviously couldn't sit still for days without getting into trouble. But in the end his friend was safe and sound (which cannot be said for the priest he had struck by breaking the coffin lid from the inside) and it was impossible to get angry with him as he spoke passionately about everything he had seen.

Apparently the poets were right - Death was, indeed, a woman. And Phil has just joined a small group of her admirers.

"Did it hurt?" Techno handed him a towel so he could wipe his hair after wash off the remnants of the earth. "Dying?"

Phil frowned in thought, but finally just shrugged.

"I don't know. A little? I guess?"

He sat down in front of the armchair, spreading his wings and beginning to carefully examine one's feathers while Techno started cleaning the other.

"Was it dark?"

"Um..."

"Cold?"

"Maybe?"

He swallowed hard.

"Did you hear what we say to you when you were down there?"

Phil tilted his head back, eyeing him meaningfully.

"I definitely heard you scream at me to stop being ridiculous, or you'd kill me yourself. That could be heard everywhere." he sneered, but seeing that the joke did not really amuse anyone, he sighed heavily. "I don't know, Techno, I didn't think about it, I didn't focus on such crap..."

If Techno were just a little petty and cling to words, he would feel very offended. But he wasn't. Not at all.

"You didn't focus on such crap."

Phil sighed again, and this time it was more of a dreaminess.

"You'd need have to see her to understand. You'd have to look into her eyes... Oh, she had such beautiful eyes... And her hair, dark and..."

Techno rolled his eyes. It was going to be a very long day.

* * *

According to the oath, they were to be together 'until Death do us part.' Techno didn't think Kristin was ever in any way standing between them. In fact, he genuinely liked Her. Not that they had the opportunity to meet in person, Technoblade never died and didn't intend to change this state of affairs. But he saw how Phil's eyes shine when he mentioned Her, how dreamily he stared at times, as if his gaze could penetrate time and space and somehow reach to Her. He said he saw Her in his dreams, and even if Techno wondered if that really was a normal, healthy relationship, he never commented. If someone made Phil happy (and Kristin definitely did), Techno owed them a debt of gratitude.

Though he always thought about it more metaphorically. He hadn't expected Phil to actually burst into his bedroom one night with a screaming child in his arms.

"Oh gods, Techno, you must help me," he blurted out in one breath. Then he almost jumped back as his friend looked sleepily at the infant and, without a word, reached for the sword beside the bed. "Not like that!"

"Oh." Techno put the sword down slowly, not without a little disappointment. One slash would have been enough to silence that dreadful howl, and that was what he was mainly thinking about at the moment.

Phil seemed to have a similar priority list, as he began pacing the room, lightly tossing the baby in his arms and making a strange, rustling sound.

"He was here when I woke up," he reported as the crying finally turned to a whimper. "Kristin said he's mine, but I thought she was just kidding!"

Techno rubbed his eyes, glanced once more at the blanket-wrapped baby, at his friend's pale face, and finally at his clock.

"You made a baby with Death? At five in the morning?" He asked, frowning. "And you couldn't wait till noon?"

"Techno," there was a familiar note of irritation in Phil's voice. He was rarely really angry, even less angry with his friend, but when he did, it usually resulted in damage comparable to a minor natural disaster. Which Techno didn't want at the moment, so despite internal protests, he dragged himself out of bed and stopped next to him, resting his chin on Phil's shoulder so that he could get a better look at the baby. The baby looked at him.

Techno had seen human children, of course he had. They were all loud, snotty and mostly crying at the sight of him, but they were also much larger, and they moved maybe chaotically, but in a rather coordinated manner. The thing in Phil's arms had a hard time dislodging its hand from the blanket, and if it had been placed on the ground, it would probably only move if someone had kicked it properly.

Techno felt that they wouldn't like each other.

"It's kind of… small," he assessed, grimacing. He tried to stab the creature with his finger just to be sure, but Phil slapped it in the last moment and gave him a resentful look. "What? It's not my fault it turned out some lopsided. Are you sure it's yours?"

Phil sighed heavily.

"It's a boy, his name is Wilbur, and he's exactly the size he should be," he replied, and, seeing that that didn't end the subject, sighed a second time. "It's a baby, Techno. Babies are like that."

Techno took another look at the creature, taking advantage of the fact that it just yawned widely and immediately stuffed a small fist into its mouth. As expected - no teeth, no claws.

"So how is he supposed to defend himself if something tries to eat him?"

Phil pressed the baby a little tighter to his chest and looked at him as if for a second he really thought there was "I" behind "something." Techno even wanted to be offended by it, but he could see all too well the panic in his eyes and the desperation mingling with a complete lack of idea what to do. There'll be time to remind him later. Now he just backed up a bit with hands raised.

Phil's shoulders relaxed, and it was clear he felt really stupid.

"That's what he has me for," he said, as if that would explain it all. And in fact, it did in some way. "I'm supposed to defend him."

Techno shook his head.

"All the time? Gods... How did your species survive this long?"

The friend's face tightened.

"You married 'my species'," he reminded him coldly. "So now you will help 'my species' to feed the next generation. Here." Before Techno could protest, Phil grabbed his arm, shifted it into position, and carefully placed the living bundle in the new makeshift cradle. "Hold him."

Techno stared at him.

"Phil, no, I don't-"

"Watch his head," he instructed before turning to face the door. "I need to find something to eat."

Techno instinctively tried to stop him, but the baby clearly didn't like the movement. It whimpered again, fidgeting, stretching its arms and kicking its tiny legs as if asking to fly to the floor immediately.

Techno stared at it with mounting terror.

"Phil." He tried again, but there was no sign of his friend in the bedroom. He was left alone, with a small, useless thing that he was supposed to help survive for some unknown reason. "Phil, don't leave me with this-!"

He hesitated, looking for a good word, but at the same moment the creature in his arms opened its eyes and suddenly looked at him with a strange attention. Techno wasn't going to be worse. So he was staring as well.

When Phil returned a few minutes later, with the bottle and the milk borrowed from the neighbors, this is how he found his son and friend. Staring at each other as if their lives depended on winning this silent competition.

And then, on cue, Wilbur began to cry and Phil had to run to the rescue.

"When..." Techno, never taking his eyes off baby, cleared his throat. "Will he always be so... useless?"

Phil was eager to lecture him to not use such terms, but his son was temporarily unable to accept any non-liquid food, and he spited up half of it, so yes, he was kinda useless.

"He will grow," he assured him, hoping it would be as soon as possible. He didn't know much about children. Even less on babies. And the only person he had to help was Techno. It will be a miracle if the three of them don't kill each other.

"When?"

"Soon. You won't even realise."

Techno just looked at the child in disbelief. And then carefully, slowly, and gently, he ran a finger through his dark hair.

"Wilbur, right?" he made sure. "That... doesn't sound that bad."

Chapter Text

Phil learned much later that growing up with piglins was a bit different than with humans. Perhaps due to the harsh conditions in Nether, or maybe the nature of the species as such, but the young ones almost immediately had to be prepared to take care of their own survival. The herd cared for them collectively, educated them and defended them against threats, but no one felt sorry for their vulnerability the way people did with their own offspring. Techno has never seen a human baby before. Nor had he ever had the opportunity to see any adult devote whole days to the almost incessant care of a creature utterly incapable of survival on its own. No wonder he didn't understand.

No wonder that he looked at Phil warming up the milk in a bottle and he muttered something about pampering a brat. That he would lay the boy on the floor and stand beside him, his arms crossed over his chest and his expression expectant.

"I won't be carrying you," he repeated as Wilbur waved his arms in the air in a disorderly manner. "If you want food, find it yourself."

That sometimes, when the baby started crying, he would stand by the cradle, look sternly at the boy and say, "Hush," as if he really expected the baby to listen.

"If any zombies came through that window now," he said, shouting over crying, "you'd be first in line to eat." You want that? Do you want to be eaten?

"Oh gods, Techno!" Phil walked past him, taking the baby out of the cradle himself and tossing it gently in his arms. "Come on, come on, kid, be quiet... Techno, he doesn't understand you."

Techno crossed his arms, looking sternly at him now as well.

"He just knows you'll come to save him if he screams a little," he said with such conviction that his friend just stared at him in mute shock. "You pamper him and don't be surprised if he doesn't listen to you later."

Phil opened his mouth, for one, two, three seconds trying to find some rational answer.

"I'm not pampering him!"

He didn't find a rational answer. But at least Wilbur had stopped crying, curious about the raised voices just above his head.

"You don't even let him walk! You carry him everywhere!"

"He's two months old!"

"That's two too many!"

"What's that supposed to mean!? Techno, he can't walk!"

Techno, already gearing up for a possibly insanely brilliant answer, suddenly froze and closed his mouth. His shoulders dropped a bit, and when he glanced back at the baby in his friend's arms, his eyes were much softer and his voice calm.

"Oh." He swallowed, reaching out to run a finger through Wilbur's hair. He was always gentle, a little scared, that one wrong move would hurt the child (which, in fact, was true), but this time he seemed overwhelmed by the delicacy of the little creature. "Oh, that's... Okay. That's okay. We'll figure something out." He nodded, perhaps more to himself than to anyone else. "But this armor I made for him can be a little... uncomfortable.I'll make him a new one. Better one. More... suiting."

It took Phil a few seconds to understand three things. First: Techno had an even less understanding of how human children function than he had. Second, it was with a somewhat surprising calm that he assumed Wilbur was disabled. Thirdly:

"You made him an armor."

Techno looked up at him.

"And a sword."

"And a sword."

"Well, you said he would grow up eventually." He frowned. "I'm waiting, Phil, but he's... He's really bad at it, isn't he?" He held out his hand once more, and this time Phil handed him the baby without hesitation, helping to hold it in his arms. The boy whimpered softly, but stopped as Techno stroked his tiny hand with his finger. "I told you he came out lopsided," he muttered, but somehow it didn't sound like an insult. "But it's nothing. We can figured something out."

Phil watched him closely as if he were seeing him for the first time.

"You made him armor," he repeated, this time asking for something else entirely.

Techno swallowed.

"Of course. He's your son. Would it be a little silly if he accidentally killed himself or something, right?

Phil's lips twitched in a slight smile.

"That would be silly," he admitted, sitting on the bed and flopping the mattress beside him, signaling his friend to do the same. "You know, when I say it will grow, I don't mean... right now. It will take him a while. Like several years."

Techno's eyes widened.

"Several years?" He repeated incredulously. "He'll be like walking monster bait for a several years?"

"Yhm."

"He'll be useless for several years?"

"Maybe more."

"I'll have to defend him for several years?!"

Phil hesitated.

"Well, you won't, not really. He's not your baby. You don't have to... do anything."

Even to his own ears, the words sounded strangely out of place. Perhaps because Techno was still holding Wilbur in his arms and didn't look like he was going to let him out of them. Perhaps because they were both still wearing their wedding rings, because since the baby showed up in their house, the neighbors have started crossing the street just to avoid them, and Phil love to upset them even more. Or maybe he just subconsciously knew that he was saying something damn stupid, which both of them both know was pointless and meaningless.

Techno glanced at Wilbur and his eyes immediately softened.

"I'll make you smaller armor," he whispered, hoping Phil wouldn't hear. "And you will love it."

* * *

Wilbur hated armor. No matter how they tried to fasten it, there was always a gap to slip out of, some bite-on harness, some hinge that could be bent. He was six years old and he would love to run barefoot through a forest full of monsters, laughing each one in the face. Not because Phil had neglected vital education and hadn't taught him how many ways any creature, even the smallest, could turn a child into dinner. Not because he didn't understand, or because he was too stupid to see the magnitude of the danger. He just knew that always, no matter when and where he went, the most dangerous creature in the area followed him step by step, alert and ready to attack.

Phil had witnessed three times Techno grabbing a monster lurking on his child with his bare hands and twisting his neck without blinking, before deciding that for his own health he would not take a walk together. Wilbur had been used to his bodyguard's vigilance since he was a baby, so he didn't even flinch when the sharp teeth or claws of a predator flashed inches from his face before Techno crushed them with downright indecent ease. Phil, who had never been lucky enough to experience such sights before, ended up close to a pile each time.

"I'm just asking you to be more careful," he practically begged an average of three times a week at breakfast. And, also three times a week on average, Wilbur and Techno exchanged meaningful glances.

"Dad's whining again," the boy replied, stuffing almost all of the toast into his mouth and smearing jam over his cheeks.

"Your father likes to dramatize," Techno muttered, tossing him napkins.

Phil didn't even have the strength to remind them that he was still seated at the table with them and he could hear everything perfectly. In fact, he might as well disappear and they probably wouldn't even notice. Well, maybe after a few days when they suddenly realized that they no longer had any authority to disrespect.

He didn't mind the two were so close. In fact, it was a very nice surprise. Phil had never admitted it aloud, but he was a bit afraid that even growing up with Techno, Wilbur might be a bit scared of him. Or at least be aware of his strength and the ease with which a guardian could inadvertently hurt him. But maybe the kids don't think that way, or maybe his son was just different, but never, not even for a moment, did he look at Techno any other way than at a big, slightly hairy friend who always comfort him when he had a bad dream, and to whom he ran for backup every time he was in troubles.

Once, only once, he insisted on going to the neighboring village and trying to make new friends. In their hometown, the neighbors got used to the sight of their unconventional family and nobody was particularly impressed by it, but as soon as they went away a bit further, the eyes of passersby became much less friendly, and the children gathered in the square ran away at the mere sight of them.

"They're afraid of you," Wilbur said, frowning as he thought about something as deeply as six-year-olds could. And then he looked at Techno as if he had a fluffy, completely harmless pooch in front of him. "What, like you're scary?"

Techno raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe it will surprise you, but yes."

The boy looked at the deserted plan once more, pouted, and turned abruptly on his heel.

"I don't want to play with them. They are stupid." He grabbed Techno's hand and pulled him along. "We're going home."

In the evening, after they had somehow managed to get the boy into bed, Phil listened to the story with growing pride and some new twinge of regret.

"He's gonna get in so much trouble and it's our fault," he said, tapping his fingers on the table top.

Techno just shrugged.

"Not 'our'. You're quite normal."

Phil scowled at him.

"I'm the guy who married you for a joke and then made himself a child with Death. Don't pretend I'm any more normal than you are."

The corners of Techno's mouth twitched slightly.

"I said you like to dramatize."

He did get hit with a salt shaker, but in a someway Phil did feel a little better.

* * *

It's reportedly normal for children to go through a rebellion phase at a certain age. It gets much less normal when one of the two adults in the house always takes their side completely.

"But brush your teeth!" Phil called as his son sprinted out of the bathroom. "Hey! Did you hear me?"

He heard. He heard perfectly. He just chose to ignore him.

"Teeechnooo! Dad orders me and is picking on me!"

Phil gasped with indignation. The air was even more open when he heard from behind the closed door:

"Phil, don't pick on him."

He knew it was non-pedagogical, and he was giving a very bad example of diplomacy first and emotional coping second, but somehow he didn't really care.

"I'm not picking on!" He shouted back, kicking at the door and then running after the boy.

He found him tucked behind the couch, and somehow, though he squealed and kicked and struggled in all directions, Phil managed to pick him up and carry him back into the hallway.

"Teeechnooo!" Wilbur was clearly having the best time of his life laughing so loud he finally got a hiccup. "Techno, save me!"

The door opened slightly and main fucking protector stuck his head out to see what was happening. Phil took the opportunity to push the door harder, put the baby on the floor, and immediately step back, locking the room behind him.

"Here! Take care of him, if you're so great!"

For a moment there was silence throughout the house, broken only by the giggling of a child.

"You want..." Techno cleared his throat a little hesitantly "to brush your teeth?"

Predictably, Wilbur laughed even louder.

"No!"

"Oh, Okay. Then we won't."

Phil opened the door a second time, scooped his son into his arms, and accompanied by squeals, mumbling curses under his breath, walked with him into the bathroom.

"Why do I have to do everything myself? I can't be the only one responsible in this house!"

He wasn't. It definitely wasn't. Instead, he was close to tears when a few hours later, in the glare of the rising sun, he stood on the threshold of his friend's bedroom, clutching a wailing baby in his arms.

"Techno. I fucked up." He admitted at the start and if he hadn't been so sleepy and so scared, he would probably be embarrassed with how desperate he sounds. "Help."

Techno held out his hands without a word.

"Give it to me and go get the milk."

When Phil returned a few minutes later, Wilbur was already sitting up in bed, staring at the new baby with fascination.

"I named him Tommy," he announced proudly. "But he won't sleep in my room. You can take him."

Phil was too tired to argue, so he passively accepted both ideas.

Chapter Text

Surprisingly, caring for two children turned out to be a much more difficult challenge. Phil made a big mistake working on simple math and assuming that one plus one equals two, completely forgetting that real children, unlike numbers, don't stand up politely, quietly waiting for them to be added up. In the real world, children interacted with each other and made everything five times worse and ten times more difficult. In the real world, Wilbur didn't want to understand why Tommy gets more attention, why Phil devotes almost all of his time to new baby, and why he should suddenly share toys. And, most of all, why Techno even wanted to get close to the screaming, spitting creature when he could play with him at the time.

"Your dad needs to sleep or he'll die," Techno explained, pacing around the room. For twenty minutes or so the baby he had tried to lull to sleep had continued to cry, but Phil, buried in a pile of sheets, snoring softly, never even flinched. There was a serious concern that in all the chaos he was going deaf. "And every time he meets Death, he brings home a child." He looked at his charge with sudden seriousness and severity. "We don't want any more children, Wilbur," he said, as if the boy had ever asked for his own brother.

"I didn't want this one either," he said, glaring at Tommy menacingly, but the latter, of course, didn't care.

Wilbur was looking forward to the day his brother would finally understand him. And when he learns to walk. He will then be able not only to be rude to him, but also to push him once or twice...

Techno just grimaced as he glanced over his shoulder at the pile of sheets.

"A little late now," he muttered, sounding almost as unhappy with the fact as Wilbur. That's why he was always his favorite. Dad was cool, sure, but he whined, make him brushed his teeth and he brought home the babys. Techno has never done any of these things. His advantage in the hierarchy of awesomeness was undeniable. "Have fun for a while alone. Then I'll come to you."

Wilbur didn't like to play alone. But he even less liked being home in the middle of a summer afternoon with a crying baby behind the wall, so he pulled on his shoes and stamped as loudly as possible so that no one would think he was in a good mood, he went out into the yard. The lack of Techno assistance meant that the nearby forest turned from a fun obstacle course into a death trap, condemning him to the garden and choosing between stabbing the ground with a stick or throwing stones at the fence. Great. As soon as Tommy is a bit older, he will tie him to a tree for the day so that he can feel what it is like to be bored to death.

He stopped abruptly and frowned, repeating his flawless plan in his head once more. He slowly turned his eyes to the side, towards the only tree in the yard. It was impossible to climb, he had tried hundreds of times, but no matter how he placed his feet, he would always slide down the rough bark. He couldn't even reach the lowest branches, so he didn't have anything to grab onto and pull up higher either. It was a pity, because the tree, leaning slightly to the left, reached with its branches almost to the very roof, and if he managed to reach the top, perhaps he would be able to walk over them to the top of the house.

If he had a ladder it would be a lot easier. But dad kept it locked in a shed, with hammers and swords and all the other cool stuff that Wilbur couldn't touch because apparently once and somewhere a kid was stupid enough to hurt himself, so all parents went into collective hysteria. Wilbur wasn't stupid. He knew how to use a sword and a hammer. But he didn't know how to open the lock without a key, so he just sat by the shed's door offended. Mostly at the fact, that he had no audience to show how offended he is.

It wasn't fair. Dad could use the tools, although he was irresponsible and thoughtless, as Techno said. Techno could also use them, although he kept complaining, and if he didn't like something, he could always get a divorce. Whatever that last meant. In any case, they were both terrible and didn't deserve the right to use tools at all. Especially dad, because as he'd been using them lately to make that stupid ivy support, he'd left the garden a mess. And he didn't mount it anyway and it still lay in the grass and...

And it almost looked like a ladder.

Wilbur was on his feet faster than ever before. He picked up a structure that was twice as tall, but surprisingly light, made of boards tucked into a slightly crooked checker. He glanced towards the house. Dad wouldn't be thrilled if he caught him, he would give a whole lecture on safety and common sense and other boring stuff. But the curtains on the windows were closed, and Techno was probably too busy with Tommy's screams to go out into the yard.

The makeshift ladder was a bit too long and not very steady on the ground, but it was just enough support for Wilbur to jump to one of the lower branches. He pulled himself up against the trunk with his feet, and after a few seconds of testing the strength of his own muscles, he managed to straddle the branch. He smiled triumphantly and glanced quickly at the house again, but once again Tommy had proved useful and successfully distracted the adults.

From the ground, the tree didn't seem so tall. In fact, Wilbur didn't remember ever getting that high. And, although he would never admit it, he enjoyed the whole climb less with each passing meter up. But he couldn't back down. Not because he didn't want to - he just realized long ago that he had no idea how to get down. He might start screaming and wait patiently for dad or Techno to come to his rescue, but he probably wouldn't have survived such a disgrace. He wasn't a coward. And he was not afraid of heights at all. He'll climb onto the roof, no matter what, and only then will patiently wait until someone from the adults notices him. He'll pretend to be offended when they finally take him off, and he'll insist that he was having a great time until they came and spoiled everything. And then he'll agree never to do it again because he's actually veery good kid and no, he doesn't want his dad to die of fear someday.

The plan had one drawback. Well, two, actually. One right and one left leg, apparently absolutely unfit for working at heights. Wilbur didn't even notice when he lost his balance. The whole world just suddenly flipped, the wind pounded in his face, branches slapped him painfully on his arms and legs... and then there was darkness. Quick, short bang! and nothingness.

And then it suddenly became bright.

The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was his father's face.

He was lying on the hard ground, his head was buzzing, his whole body heavy and sore. But as he looked into his father's eyes, red with tears and full of boundless terror, he smiled broadly.

"I meet mom!"

He had no idea why dad started crying again. Or why he had drawn him to his chest and held him in his arms as if he was afraid that he might not have another opportunity to do so. Why did he look so shocked and devastated when Wilbur just wanted to tell him something nice.

Mom knew it would be like that.

"Oh, he's going to be so mad at you," She laughed as she led him down the tunnel, farther and farther away from such a pleasantly warm light. "Don't scare him like that again."

Wilbur nodded, trying not to blink so that he could look at Her as long as possible and remember Her as accurately as possible. She was so pretty he could forgive his dad for wanting to visit Her. Even if it made him bring home weeping nasty creatures.

He didn't want to leave Her at all. He squeezed Her fingers tight as She tried to remove Her hand from his grasp, and he shook his head, but She only crouched down in front of him to kiss his forehead.

"It's not time yet," She said. "I couldn't do this to your dad."

Neither would Wilbur. Even if dad was angry and screamed more than usual, and at night, when he thought Wilbur was already asleep, he sat in the living room for a long time and cried silently. Techno kept him company, but seemed more lost in his own thoughts.

"I told you it was a miracle your kind survived," he muttered suddenly, and dad slowly, very slowly, revealed his face and looked at him sharply.

"Fuck you, Technoblade," he said dryly, but the longer they stared at each other, the more the tension between them decreased, until Dad shook his head and smiled faintly.

Wilbur returned to bed with the belief that he doesn't understood his family.

And that it doesn't bother him at all.

* * *

Wilbur was when he met Puffy. One summer day, she appeared on the doorstep of their house unannounced, wearing shiny high boots, a red coat, and a large hat pulled over thick white curls.

"Ah! You must be Wilbur!" She was glad when he opened the door for her, so he knew immediately that she was not local. The neighbors had never been happy to see him. Probably because wherever he appeared, Techno followed two steps behind him. "Heard so much about you!"

She leaned down and, taking his face in both hands, lightly squeezed his cheeks, the way dad used to do with Tommy when he sat grumpy too long. Wilbur wasn't grumpy and was definitely not a baby, but before he could protest, Puffy frowned, tilted her head to look at him from a different angle, and withdrew her hands herself.

"You're not like them at all," she said, which was strange and a little unkind, because Wilbur had gotten used to the idea that he looked like his mom, and he was very comfortable with it. Maybe not when dad looked at him sometimes with some strange longing and sadness, but most of the time - very, very happy. He was about to say it aloud, but Puffy just waved her hand. "Well, that's the way it is." She smiled again. "Are your fathers home? Can you call them?"

It took Wilbur a long time to get the facts together. He wasn't good at math (he was very hopeless to be honest), but the last time he checked, the number of fathers in his house was a constant and a single value.

"But I have only one dad."

Puffy blinked. She was so surprised Wilbur rethought the question to be sure.

"My dad's name is Phil," he replied slowly. "And he's one. I have no more."

The colors drained from Puffy's face. She stared at him with ever-larger eyes and looked almost scared, though Wilbur was absolutely sure that one dad was a very good result anyway. Sure, two would be a nice perk, but he knew kids who didn't have any. Probably because of such greedy people who bought more for themselves so that there wouldn't be enough for others.

He had nothing else to add, so for the next few seconds they just stood silent, staring at each other, until somewhere down the corridor sounded heavy footsteps and Techno appeared behind him, one hand leaning against the door, the other holding Tommy on his shoulders. He had to bend to catch on the door frame, which made him look a bit funny, especially with his tired, sulky face.

"Puffy, hey," he muttered impassively. Tommy reached for his ear, targeting gold earrings, but somehow Techno foresaw this and blindly slapped his hands lightly. "Nice to see you."

Puffy covered her mouth with hands, let out a low squeal, then clutched her heart dramatically.

"Techno! Gods, I thought you were dead!"

Tommy made another attempt to win gold and failed again.

"I'd love to, believe me," Techno took the boy off the back of his neck, but held him close. Away from the distracting trinkets, Tommy finally realized they weren't alone, glared at the visitor with large, frightened eyes and immediately buried his face in Techno's arm. Techno just sighed heavily. "You don't want a baby? I'll sell him cheaply. Even for free."

Wilbur knew he was just joking, but in truth Puffy seemed quite willing to pat the deal. She chattered happily, trying to get baby's attention while Tommy twisted in all directions as far as possible from her. As much as Wilbur liked to torment his brother himself, he didn't much like it when others did so.

"He's shy," he explained when the boy let out a very dissatisfied squeak and gripped his hands tighter on the Techno shirt. "And he doesn't like strangers. And he doesn't speak, like, generally."

"Oh." Puffy stepped back a bit and, like any adult who did something wrong and felt stupid, she immediately started pointing out somebody else's mistakes. "And you shouldn't scare me like that! It's very rude."

"I didn't!" Wilbur took offense on the spot. "I didn't scare her!" He added when Techno raised an eyebrow. "She said I have several fathers! And I don't!"

His guardian hummed in understanding as he looked at Puffy.

"Why would he..." he began, but suddenly stopped as if he remembered something. "Oh." A broad smile spread across his face. "Oooh...! Yeah! I'm feeling better already. This day may still be good. Phil! Phil, you have to come here!"

When the five of them sat at the kitchen table a few minutes later, after a brief greeting and a few hastily exchanged whispers, dad looked equally, if not happier. Techno, on the other hand, lost some enthusiasm, because Tommy was not convinced that Puffy wasn't planning to kidnap him and the only way to calm him down a bit was to let him play with Techno hair. After taking the scissors from him, which he had miraculously always found. Since he was two years old, he began to show great interest in a future hairdressing career. Or mowing the lawns. He didn't have enough talent for any of the above, but he made up for in enthusiasm.

Wilbur liked Puffy. She was kind, she brought them gifts and talked about distant sea voyages in such a way that he could almost feel the breeze on his face and hear the sound of the waves. And she didn't look strangely at Techno. For some reason, most people looked at him strangely, sometimes with fear and sometimes with superiority and contempt. The latter were especially strange, because if Wilbur had a big, hairy piglin in front of him, he'd rather be nice to him. If only to not be convinced that these first people did indeed have reasons to be afraid.

"Well, enough about me. Tell me, how are you?" Puffy smiled widely, looking at the faces of the others. "You can start with why your child wanted to give me a heart attack."

Dad looked as if he hadn't dreamed of anything else, but at the last moment he hesitated and looked at his children one by one.

"Wilbur, take your brother up to the room, okay?" He asked, trying to convince Tommy to let go of Techno's hair, which proved to be an extremely difficult task.

Wilbur scowled, let out a hollow groan, so that no one would overlook how much he was suffering and how much pressure he was, but he reluctantly slid off his chair and shuffled his way to the kitchen cupboard. From one of the cups with the broken ear, he pulled out a gold chain, and with the other he scooped up a packet of petals from the top shelf.

"Hey, Tommy, Tommy!" He shook the box to make a scratchy noise. His brother immediately twitched his ears and turned his head towards him. "Look what I have! See? Want it? Want it?"

The baby's eyes widened, wandering from one treasure to the next, and he immediately released his pink hair as he stretched his arms out towards his brother.

Phil looked at his older son.

"Wilbur, I asked you not to train your brother like a dog," he admonished, but even he had no way to deny that the method was extremely effective.

Tommy allowed himself to be led into the room and, bribed with petals, spent the next few minutes crumbling to a carpet in relative peace. Peace definitely didn't reign in the kitchen, from which for a long moment one could hear a high-pitched, raised voice and two familiar laughs.

When an hour later Puffy got ready to leave and came to say goodbye to them, she was looking at both boys as if they were part of some very unfunny joke. But she brightened a bit when Tommy waved her shyly this time, before he put his hands over his face to magically become invisible.

"Wilbur, tell me..." She looked at the older boy with genuine curiosity. "Who's Techno for you then?"

Wilbur frowned.

"Techno?" He repeated, not really understanding the meaning of the question. "Techno is Techno."

He never found out if that was a right or wrong answer.

Chapter Text

Tommy was five when he realized that sometimes he shouldn't do certain things, even if he really wanted to.

He shouldn't be taking Wilbur's guitar without asking and then running around the house with it.

"Something could have happened to you," Dad scolded him, making a very stern face. "You could have fallen over and hurt yourself."

"You could have damaged it!" Wilbur added from behind him, cradling the instrument to his chest and looking very eager to hurt his brother himself.

Nor should he eat anything he can get his hands on, especially if it's greenish, lying on the ground and smells strange.

"Either you're very stupid," Techno muttered, carrying him carefully towards the house after he found him in the back yard vomiting in the bushes, "or your mother really wants you back."

Tommy didn't understand that last remark, but he was momentarily afraid to open his mouth so he had no way of asking.

He shouldn't climb trees. He shouldn't call his neighbors' son (twice his size) a moron. He shouldn't eat sweets before dinner. He shouldn't go far from home.

He shouldn't be stealing.

He heard the last rule practically every day, repeated over and over and over again, but to be honest, he never bothered with it. Does anyone get hurt if he take a few trinkets? It's not like he really wanted to collect all these things, most of them on closer inspection turned out to be completely useless, like silver screws or old coins. But when they shone in the sun, their glow seemed to beckon him, and he couldn't think rationally or focus on anything else.

"Isn't that your bird thing?" Techno asked once, when he had to take off his gold earrings so that Tommy would finally leave his ears and let him eat dinner in peace. "Magpie's dark instincts?"

Dad grimaced slightly, but nodded.

"Probably," he admitted, watching his younger child twist the earrings in his fingers. And then he smiled and looked at his friend a little maliciously. "Though you can't tell me he couldn't inherit it from your part of the family."

Techno rolled his eyes.

"Unlike you, my part of the family has good taste. You pick up any garbage that comes into your eyes."

While Tommy didn't like that statement at all, there was a little too much truth in it to argue about it. Besides, he got earrings - he was temporarily busy.

He knew that the older he got, the less people laughed at his behavior, the more they got upset when he accosted them on the street to check their bracelets or watches, the serious dad was when he teaches him that he must learn to say no to his instincts.

Tommy didn't know what "instinct" was. He knew, however, that he couldn't concentrate on this talk, because the ring on dad's finger suddenly flashed in the glare of the sun shining through the window.

He couldn't focus on his father's harsh voice. Or on the later, much milder assurances that it's perfectly normal for him to feel this way, he just needs more self-control. He couldn't focus on anything but that one single flash that he miraculously still had before his eyes, even as the sun went down and the blinds were pulled down on the windows.

He remembered sitting next to Techno, cuddled against his side, with Wilbur playing a very sad song on his guitar on the other side od cauch. And Tommy was sad too, because the candlelight didn't match how beautiful the gold ring reflected the light, how it flickered with all the colors, like for a split second when he looked at it he felt really happy and he knew, he just knew that if only he had it in his hands, he could keep this feeling forever. He hated not being able to have something. He didn't like to be refused, when people tugged their hands out of his grasp, when they hid bracelets or necklaces from him, when they took treasures from him, and he knew he would never get them back. Even if he only saw something for a fraction of a second, even if it was something utterly useless or even ugly, for a moment, sometimes briefly, sometimes very, very long, he felt an unimaginable longing.

The feeling last very long that night, and he would roll from side to side and want to cry at the thought of a treasure that he couldn't hold.

So he slipped out from under the covers, crept as softly as he could into dad's room, and tiptoeing in the shade cast by the furniture, carefully picking up the ring from the bedside table.

You don't want to do anything wrong. He just wanted to feel good again, turning the evil jewelry in the dim candlelight, admiring it from all sides. After all, he didn't take it forever. He'll put it back as soon as his head gets a little quieter, or he gets bored, or when he finds something new and nicer. Yes, exactly. Tommy wasn't a thief. He just took things that he needed and then gave them back, when they became useless. Unless he just forgot.

He slipped out of the house as soon as the sun came up, with the ring in his pocket and growing conviction, taht he was in very much trouble. Dad will notice. Dad always noticed everything. He will notice and wont be pleased. If Tommy didn't like anything more than not being able to have things, it was the face dad made whenever one of his sons made a serious mess. He said he wasn't angry, just very disappointed, but in reality he was both angry and disappointed and probably a few other things too.

So Tommy had two options: confess to everything, or run away and count on a few more hours of peace. The ring flared in the sun as he picked it up to say goodbye, and so the decision was practically made for itself.

It wasn't a good decision. It was a very, very bad decision, and he know it perfectly well when a few hours later he burst into the house and run to his room. He leapt onto the bed, pulling the covers on the top of himself, curling up in a tight ball and trying as hard as I can to hold back the tears. He was doing extremely poorly, and when a few minutes later the door to the room cracked open, Tommy was ready to throw himself into his father's arms and accept absolutely any punishment, just to get rid of his remorse.

But it wasn't dad.

"Um... Do you want sandwiches or something?" Techno shifted from foot to foot, glancing at the plate in his hand, then at the crying child.

Somehow it made Tommy feel even worse. So, continue with all logic, he began to cry even more.

Techno sighed loudly and reluctantly crossed the room to sit on the bed next to him.

"Come on, stop with that," he consoled, which in his performance, as always, sounded more like a rebuke. "What did you do this time?"

Tommy needed a few deep breaths to calm himself down a bit before he could make a meaningful sentence.

"Cause I... I took dad's ring," he confessed, sniffing loudly. "The golden one. And I wanted to give back! Really! But I took it outside and it fell out somewhere, and I couldn't find it anymore. And now I don't have it."

Techno was silent for a moment.

"Oh."

He said nothing more. No "Nothing happened" or "We'll fix it somehow," just one single "Oh." Tommy wished he wouldn't say anything. He wished he wouldn't come here at all. He would rather sit alone now than sit with Techno, who was horrible and insensitive and only made things worse!

But then a big hand suddenly stroked his back and he was pulled to his warm side, so he immediately forgot that he was trying to get angry. Because although Techno was, indeed, horrible and insensitive and hopeless at comforting, he always made an exception for them.

"Dad is gonna be very angry?" He muttered, wiping his nose with his sleeve and looking up at him with hopeful eyes.

Techno exhaled slowly.

"I think he will," he admitted, but his hand continued to slowly move up and down the boy's back, slightly softening the harsh words.

Even so, Tommy grimaced and, hiding his face in his shirt, started to cry again.

"But I didn't want to do it! It's not fair! Cause... Cause I can't do otherwise, and it's not fair! And I don't want to be like that, but... But I just can't! I see something and I want to have it and if I don't get it, it's suddenly very loud!" He just sat up, grabbing Techno's hand, putting his hand to his forehead. "Right here!"

Techno looked at his hand for a moment, seeming to see something more in it, maybe even a little too much. And then suddenly he withdrew his hand, first lightly slapping the boy on the forehead with his finger.

"You'll grow out of it," he said, sounding so confident that for a second Tommy actually believed him. But then he remembered that Techno always sounds that way, especially when he's wrong, and immediately lost all enthusiasm.

"Not I won't," he grunted, pulling his knees high up to his chin. "I'm just stupid."

"You are." Techno nodded, smiling slightly as the boy gasped and glared at him indignantly. "But that has nothing to do with it. It's just your..." He waved his hand in the air. "A birdlike thing." 

Tommy wrinkled his nose.

"I don't want birdie stuff."

"I don't doubt. Who would?" He shrugged, and this time Tommy smiled too. Techno was really terrible at comforting. But he always managed to amuse him sooner or later. "Take a look." He held both hands out in front of him. Each of the fingers, from the root to the very tip, was covered with rings of all kinds, and although Tommy had gotten bored and lost interest in them years ago, he still felt a surge of excitement every time he saw them. "I got them all from your father. And I assure you, he didn't buy any of them."

Tommy's eyes widened as he slowly ran his fingers over his jewelry. Techno let him do so without trying to rush him, then gently stroked his head.

"You can come to me when it's... loud again." He cleared his throat, looking away. "We'll figure something out."

The boy looked at him uncertainly.

"Really?"

"Yhm. I used to help your dad when he suddenly wanted to get shiny things."

Tommy smiled slightly.

"Like rings?"

Techno rolled his eyes.

"Like a crown."

"Oh. And you helped him stop wanting?"

"No. But I helped him get it. He was a very good king for a while. Before he got bored.

Tommy wasn't sure any of what he heard actually helped him. Especially since dad was actually very angry. And sad, which was five times worse. But despite everything, he felt a little better with the thought that perhaps one day his head would no longer contain dozens of voices hungry for everything that was shiny. And if not, maybe he will find someone who likes to get rings.

Chapter Text

Tommy was good at sword fighting. As good as a complete self-taught one, whose only weapon is made of wood and whose only opponent stuffed with straw. But if they had been attacked by a squad of scarecrows, he would have been able to do win!

"No way, you're still too young," dad said, when Tommy begged for access to any real weapons for the third time in a week.

"I'm thirteen!"

"And this was supposed to be an argument for? You're just proving I'm right,” he said dryly, but then sighed, his face softening. "Tommy." He put his hand on the boy's cheek, but he moved away, making an insulted face. "I just want you to be safe. You're gonna hurt yourself, and that's it."

"I will not!"

"You hurt yourself on average every three steps," Techno interjected from above the book, because he was a mean, hairy traitor and didn't understand anything.

"You see?" dad smiled triumphantly. "Techno agrees with me."

Techno put the book down on his lap, frowning.

"No, not at all. I'm just saying it's a good idea."

Tommy had never felt so fond of him as he did right now. Which was definitely not to be said about his father.

"He stumbles over his own legs," he said in that calm but harsh tone that meant you just said something very stupid and you were given a last chance to call it off, "so you want to give him the sword?"

Techno shrugged, completely immune to his murderous glare.

"He's always getting into trouble. We cannot run after him forever and save him. Let him take care of himself," he said, because he was absolutely the best friend Tommy had ever had, and he wasn't that hairy at all, just a little bit, for the charm. "I'm not saying send him to the war. But he will need good discipline, and the sword is a good teacher."

Dad crossed his arms over his chest.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard from you."

The corners of Techno's mouth twitched slightly.

"I was literally just quoting you."

Tommy laughed, but immediately fell silent under the angry glare. Father didn't look at all amused. In fact, as he stood in the center of the living room, his face scowling and raised feathers, it was easy to understand why some people were so afraid of him. Tommy, of course, wasn't one of them. Mostly. Unless he got himself into some kind of trouble.

"Quote it, both of you." He draws his eyebrows as he looks from son to friend and back again. "No. Absolutely not. And there's no discussion."

There was indeed no discussion. Probably because Techno was never good with words and he definitely preferred to act rather than having pointless arguments. So when he entered Tommy's room two days later at sunrise, he only said a short "Come on" and closed the door behind him. They tiptoed down the corridor, quickly scooping up all the necessary things and not stumbling over every possible piece of furniture in the way. Only after they closed the door behind them and ran another few hundred yards, leaving the house far away, did they dare to breathe a little louder. Techno pulled a leather breastplate and boots from his backpack, and Tommy could feel the morning dew on his socks as he hurriedly changed his clothes.

"We'll be fucked when dad finds out," he said, because while he was excited and naturally not designed to think about the consequences, his father's face, threatening and stern, was quite etched in his mind. Though not hard enough to make him hesitate as Techno handed him the sword.

"If he finds out."

They exchanged knowing looks.

"Ooh, you guys are totally fucked!"

Wilbur, standing in the doorway of the room, which he absolutely shouldn't open without permission, only needed one glance at the bandage in his Techno hand, a small cut on his brother's arm, and two swords dropped on the floor to tell the whole story.

Tommy has sometimes forgotten how much he hates him and dreams of being an only child. It wasn't one of those moments.

"We're not!"

Wilbur's smile widened even more.

"Just wait until I tell dad about it."

Tommy picked up his sword, holding it towards his brother in a mute but very suggestive threat.

"You won't say anything," he said, while Techno sighed and placed his hand on his wrist. Then he twisted it slightly, correcting his hand position, because having a good foundation is the first step to victory.

Wilbur tried to look both at them and at the tip of the blade in front of his nose at the same time, before he finally got bored of squinting and pushed the blade aside in one movement.

"Because?" He raised his eyebrows high, and oh, Tommy could already feel the satisfaction rising in him at the mere thought of tearing that biting smirk off his face.

"Because then I'll say that you sneak out of the window every night" he replied, with all his being absorbing the sight of his brother, from which all self-confidence vanished immediately. And the colors on his face. "And you take the guitar. And you're dating someone."

Wilbur swallowed, but kept trying to make up for it.

"I'm an adult, I can do whatever I want." He straightened up to seem even taller, but when Tommy opened his mouth, gasping for a lot of air and getting ready for the loudest 'Daaaad...!' in his life, he immediately leapt at him, covering his face with his hand. "Okay! Fine! Now, be quiet. I won't say anything, okay? So shut the fuck up."

Techno cleared his throat somewhere behind their backs.

"You're dating with somebody?" He asked, in a tone that betrayed that he just wanted to make sure there was no dealer or trafficker under the 'someone'.

But Wilbur was blushing to the top of his ears anyway.

"It's none of your business," he grunted, just as Tommy sang singing:

"Wilbur has a girlfriend!"

Techno raised his eyebrows.

"A girl?" He repeated, suddenly a little happier. :Oh, great. I can't wait for the neighbors to find out."

Wilbur blushed even more if possible.

Techno was a good teacher. Demanding and most of the time very disappointed, but Tommy had a fervor of steel and a goldfish memory, so any remark about his horrible posture and absolute unfitness rolled off him like water off a duck. Which he apparently was in part, judging from how often he heard him moving more lopsidedly than Wilbur when he got drunk for the first time in his life.

"You have to think," Techno growled every time he knocked him to the ground in three moves without any problems. "You can't just throw yourself at me with-"

Tommy never listened further. He was too busy throwing himself at his target with a battle cry.

It took a good two months for him to hear any praise for the first time. It said, "You're getting good at dressing wounds," but it was still a positive comment! Anyway, although Techno kept his face stone-faced throughout his training, and his gaze was cool and sharp, he lost a lot of harshness very quickly as soon as they put down the armors. He talked about types of weapons and more or less secret ways to kill virtually anything. He made silly jokes and even worked out a whole ten-point scale of how dead his apprentice would be if he faced a real opponent today, then complained that Tommy really shouldn't be so happy that he had finally gone from nine to eight. And when they sat by the stream, cleaning their weapons and washing away evidence of the crime, he usually reached for the boy's hand on his own to dress minor abrasions and wounds.

"Your hands are getting used to the sword," he said once, running his fingers over the inside of his smaller hand. And although Tommy damned hated the blisters and cramps that sometimes kept him awake and made his cutlery almost fall out of his hands at dinner, as he felt the rough, callous Techno's skin here against his, he couldn't wait to actually get to the same level someday.

They didn't talk much about it. Their first unwritten rule was "Don't mention training, and if Phil finds out - run." The second, apparently much more important, Techno was repeating aloud and practically every day: "Never touch the sword when I'm nowhere nearby, or I'll beat you so much that you will dream of getting stabed." And while Tommy always rolled his eyes and complained, he definitely preferred not to test the truth of these threats.

So when he sneaked out of the house on a sunday night with a sword tied to his belt, he was very careful not to make even the slightest noise.

Subconsciously, he sensed that he was doing something very stupid. That he stupidly puts himself in serious trouble and abuses the trust he has been blessed with. But he was tired of learning the basics, and fed up with lectures on posture, and sick of swinging his sword in a void. He was thirteen years old, he was no longer a child! He deserved a real challenge and a real adversary, not stuffed with straw and now unavailable because his father's crows had made a nest in it. He wanted adventure and he wanted to prove himself and to everyone that he could do better!

And maybe if he had actually focused on his mission, instead of imagining him triumphantly returning home with the head of a wild beast on his sword, he wouldn't have screwed up so much. Perhaps he would have heard something in time if he had not been humming the winning song under his breath, or he would have noticed something if he had not been swinging his sword in all directions, or he would have chosen to run in time if he had not only heard "I know how to kill you!" in his mind.

The spider, apparently, was thinking the same thing. And it went from theory to practice a little faster. Tommy couldn't even see the creature dodge from his blow and came close enough to sink its teeth into its calf. All he was sure of was blinding pain and his own screaming and a long, messy string of curses as he pressed against the wound, desperately trying to keep the venom from spreading throughout his body. His hands were shaking and he couldn't straighten up and he was absolutely sure he was doing it wrong, but he gritted his teeth and, lying on the cold, wet ground, twisted with pain in an unnatural position, his fingers gripped the wound until the greenish venom from it passed into dark, almost black blood. Somewhere in the back of his head he had the thought that it was still a bad sign, that he shouldn't stop, but the first wave of pain was over and he was finally able to breathe and he couldn't do anything else. He wouldn't admit that he was crying. Or that he'd been damn sorry to leave his messenger at home. Or that he was calling out to his father, choking on tears and promising himself that if he only somehow survived, he would never, ever disregard any prohibition. He didn't care if he was going to be in trouble, he didn't care how disappointed Techno would be, and how much Wilbur would make fun of him, and how much dad would get angry - he just wanted someone to come over and finally stop the pain.

No one came. But over the course of the next hour, the pain slowly eased until it finally turned into an unpleasant tingling sensation, and Tommy found the strength to lean on his own sword and stagger to his feet. It took him much longer to come home than he would have liked. The sun was beginning to break over the horizon when, shuffling with his feet, hand to mouth, at least as much as possible to suppress heavy breathing, he slipped into his room as silently as he could. Quite automatically, he dropped his sword and with one kick he hid it under the bed before he grabbed clean clothes from the cupboard and locked himself in the bathroom. He did not have the strength to stand in the shower, so he just sat in the tub, still wearing his clothes, sweaty and sticking to his body, and after turning on the cold water for several more minutes, he kept his head under the stream. He wasn't sure if it actually helped his fever, or if it just sobered him up a bit, but at least he was able to slowly and consistently shed layers of clothes by throwing them to the floor. Each time it took him more and more energy, and when he finally managed to disentangle himself from his trouser legs and aimed the water directly at the wound, he had to grit his teeth against his own hand so as not to scream.

The leg didn't look good. It looked exactly like any badly cleaned and unprotected wound after an hour of rolling in pain on the ground would look like. Techno would probably go crazy about it. Dad would probably have had a heart attack, and only come back from death to kill his younger child with his bare hands. Not that it would make any sense, because Tommy hadn't planned on telling either of them. He sat in the tub, panting heavily, watching the water still stained with dirt and blood, and he didn't even consider calling for anyone. He was tired of calling for one night.

Eventually, he had to leave the bathroom, mostly because Wilbur was clearly losing his patience as he was knocking on the door and was seriously threatening to break it down. He struggled to pull on his fresh clothes, wrapped the old ones in a sack and hid them deep behind a bathtub where no one had ever looked, and to be sure he looked at himself again in the mirror. He looked terrible, but much more like someone sick than close to death, which was a milestone. If he plays his part well enough, coughs a little and sniffs a few times, dad will just let him stay in bed for a few days. The wound will heal, his face will regain its color, and no one will ever know of his embarrassment and stupidity. He just needs to remember to change dressings regularly and you'll be fine. For sure. After all, it couldn't be worse, right?

It could. And it was.

Perhaps because he didn't change the dressing regularly at all. He tried, he really did! But when, after sleeping all day, he woke up, sweaty, with fever and convulsions, and shrugged off his trouser leg, he realized with horror that he was unable to tear the dressing off the wound. The bandage, soaked with blood and greenish pus, stayed firm as long as he didn't try to pull really hard, which in turn ended in an absolutely unbearable pain. Perhaps the universe was giving him the last, desperate signals that it was time to stop playing hard and ask for help. Maybe it was supposed to reason with him and convince him that it was time to admit to someone wiser how much he had fucked up. If so, the universe really underestimated his stubbornness. When Techno came to call him for dinner, Tommy said he wasn't hungry. When dad looked in on him moments later to see how he was doing, he dismissed him with a wave of his hand and a weak joke. When Wilbur climbed onto the roof with his guitar on his back a few hours later, Tommy hadn't even considered joining him, lying in a deep, delirious sleep.

It was bright. He knew that it was a very poor description that did not specify anything at all, but he remembered only that much. Light and white, on every side he would turn. And a figure that seemed to be part of the background time and at the same stood out so much that at first he stepped back, frightened. And then he looked into Her eyes, warm and familiar and so similar to his brother's, and felt his breath tremble in his throat, as tears came to his eyes, and his arms lifted and stretched out towards Her in a silent, childlike plea. And maybe he was actually a child at that point. Maybe he was very, very small and saw His mother for the first time and he just wanted to know that She was really here and would never leave him again.

She wasn't entirely material. He felt as if he was squeezing a very thick smoke that could have passed between his fingers at any moment, which only made him cling to Her even more, desperately wanting to hold Her back. And She was warm. Not like a fever he has almost forgotten, or a very hot summer, but rather like a hot bath in the winter, in which you can relax after a busy day. Tommy could definitely get used to it. He could get used to Her hands on his back and the glare that blinded him even through closed eyes, and to the fact that when She spoke his name it felt like he had heard it many, many times, as if She had been around all these years and he just never looked closely enough.

But at last She pushed him away, gently but firmly, and Her face hardened.

"You shouldn't be here," She said sternly, and Tommy curled his shoulders, looking down. Somehow, though She didn't even raise Her voice, he felt a lot worse than picking the scolding from dad. "You're too close. I can almost feel you." As if in evidence, She brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead, and when he shyly looked up, Her gaze was much gentler. "You're just as stubborn as your father."

Though She said it almost tenderly, there was a strange sadness and reproach in Her words, and Tommy suddenly felt cold, even with all Her warmth and light.

He swallowed hard.

"Am I... dead?" He asked, although he knew the answer perfectly well. He knewsaw who She was. And that if there were any other possibility of seeing Her, their father would have found it long ago.

As expected, She sighed softly.

"Not yet." She looked at him sadly. "But you're close."

For the second time in minutes, Tommy felt he was going to cry.

"Oh," was all that went through his lump in his throat. Very weak last words, if anyone would ask him for his opinion. But also strangely adequate to his case.

And then his mother suddenly put Her hand on his cheek, and only then did he realize that he was actually crying.

"Your dad already knows," She said, smiling slightly. "He's trying to help. I shouldn't have told him, it's against the rules, but... You're so young." She sighed, shaking her head. "Your brother has already reached his limit of stupid deaths, please don't try to imitate him."

He tilted his head, pressing his face tighter in Her hand.

When he opened his eyes again, he felt a different hand, bigger and a little rough but just as warm and safe. Dad was leaning over him, clutching the vial of glistening liquid in his other hand, and Tommy suddenly realized he had a strong, bitter taste in his mouth. And then he choked and coughed, and suddenly it dawned on him how much his lungs burned, how his ribs ached with each deep breath, how heavy his head was, and how the world spun in front of his eyes whenever he tried to sharpen his eyesight.

Dad withdrew his hand and grabbed his shoulders as Tommy instinctively tried to roll over to his side. Instead, he lifted him to a seat and stood behind him, letting him rest his back against his chest. He said nothing, just stroked his hair while the boy learned again how to breathe properly.

"You stupid, terrible child," he sighed at one point, resting his forehead on his son's shoulder and holding him a little tighter than necessary. "Don't you dare scare me like that again. I cann't loose you."

Tommy didn't have the strength to answer. He probably wouldn't have found the right words anyway. All he could do was cuddle closer to the familiar warmth, finally feeling really safe.

He really could be as stubborn as his father. But that only meant that whenever Tommy stubbornly pursued his death, dad was even more determined to drag him back.

Chapter Text

Tommy expected that as soon as he caught his breath and managed to keep his eyes open for more than a second, he would immediately regret not being dead. But dad, although clearly on the verge of fury, tense, with pursed lips and a sharp, stern look, didn't start shouting at him. He didn't say he was disappointed, or called him stupid, or even announce that as soon as he recovered, he would personally make sure that he felt five times worse. Instead he brought him some water, placed a cold towel on his forehead and checked the fresh dressing to make sure it was holding up well before kissing his forehead and walking out of the room, closing the door quietly.

Not that Tommy was complaining, really. He was just fucking surprised and not at all sure he liked this unusual variation. For even though the father's gestures were gentle and he looked at his son with some strange tenderness, it was impossible not to notice that he was angry. Quite furious. And if he wasn't mad at him... Tommy could only think of one person who might seem more guilty than he was in this whole situation. So when a few minutes later, trying to get to the bathroom on his own (he might have been close to death, but he was also Her son - he had his dignity), he heard two familiar raised voices from the living room, he was not at all surprised. Worried and eaten inside with remorse, but not surprised.

"I told you he was too young!" Dad was pacing the room, arms waving messily. Large black wings with spiky feathers jiggled nervously and over and over again almost knocked lamps off the table or the pots off the windowsill with them. "But noooo, you had to prove your point!"

Techno, sitting on the couch with a serious but almost indifferent expression, seemed insultingly calm for someone in the middle of a typhoon. He had a first-aid kit on his lap and crookedly stuck colorful baby patches on his burned fingers. Tommy realized they had run out of healing potions a good few days ago, and no one was bothering to replenish their supplies. Techno had to make one especially for him, in a hurry and certainly without due care. Instantly he felt even worse, and it had nothing to do with the unpleasant tingling sensation in his leg.

Techno put the last blue patch on, took a critical look at his handiwork and finally looked up at his friend.

"He's thirteen," he said dryly, and oh, even Tommy, with a terrible headache and his leg numb from sitting on the hard hall floor, knew that was a very wrong answer. "We at his age-"

"And maybe I just don't want him to be like us?" Dad, which was quite easy to predict, bristled even more.

For some reason, he always got nervous when someone used that argument. He claimed that he just wanted 'something better' for his kids, but Tommy didn't quite understand what he meant. 'Cause maybe he would scream a little too much sometimes and be too demanding and make up a million stupid rules like coming home before sunset, but other than that, he was fucking awesome. Tommy would give a lot to be half as strong and brave one day. But maybe he shouldn't say it out loud, because the last time he did, dad looked like he was going to cry.

Techno's eyes followed him as he paced the living room - the epitome of tranquility, admiring the beauty of the volcanic eruption.

"You can't keep him under your wings forever," he said finally, when one of the black wings finally dropped the pot on the floor. The pottery broke in two, but no one paid much attention to it. "You may not want him to fight, but he has to learn to defend himself."

"But not now!"

Techno frowned, straightening a bit. Even he seemed to be slowly losing his composure.

"Then when? When he'll be too old to stick anything in his head? He already has bad habits from running with a stick and beating whatever he falls into."

Dad stopped abruptly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"So I'll forbid him to run with the stick and the problem will be solved."

"Oh, great," Techno snorted, just as Tommy was going through a very intense, yet silent, indignation. "Very good idea. Are you planning to do it personally or send your birds on him? Let them peck at him as soon as he comes close to some branch. Can you hear how ridiculous you sound? He's thirteen years old! He's not a baby anymore! You can do whatever you want, but he won't listen to you anyway."

Tommy, who had been very encouraging him so far, immediately regretted having no other ally. Preferably one that selects words in a slightly less self-destructive way.

Dad pursed his lips, and his wings twitched to show that they had just crossed the invisible line and were heading at full speed towards utter destruction.

"So I should reward him for it?" He asked, quietly and with such murderous calm that any thinking creature (and most of the mindless as well) would sense it was time for a tactical retreat.

Any but not Techno. Because Techno, as he repeatedly pointed out, never died. Perhaps that was why he forgot that there are things worse than death.

"You have to think rationally," he instructed, which sounded condescending to the same degree that Tommy could hear the funeral march in the background.

He was never afraid of his father. Not really. He might panic whenever he got into trouble, but it never occurred to him that his dad would really hurt someone in their family. But now, as he leaned cautiously around the door frame, feeling the atmosphere in the room cooler, he realized that the same man who had read him fairy tales, kissed him goodnight and played hide and seek with him, had once fought in a wars. And he didn't lose even once.

"And your methods were super rational, right? All these secrets? Challenging my authority?" He clenched his hands into fists. "Perhaps he would have listened to me a little more if you hadn't urged him to lie to me!"

Techno jumped up from the couch.

"I was trying to help! He needed it!"

"He's too young! It's too dangerous!"

"We live in a dangerous world, Phil!"

"It's dangerous because of people like you!"

Suddenly, the room went damn silent. Tommy listened to his own quivering breath, not daring to lean around the corner again. He didn't want to do it anyway. Observing the battle might have been fascinating in its tragedy, but looking at the wreckage that was left behind was only painful. He heard quick, firm footsteps and instinctively cringed, trying to penetrate the wall, but Techno didn't even glance his way as he walked the entire corridor in three steps, grabbed his ax and left the house, slamming the door loudly.

Normally it wouldn't be such a bad sign at all. Dad and Techno often did this when they had a bad day or just needed to fend off. But never when they argued. In fact, Tommy couldn't remember them ever having spoken like this to each other before. They argued, of course, and sometimes managed not to speak to each other all day long, only to release all the tension suddenly with one silly joke or an eloquent look. He had never seen them so angry with himself. He never looked at his father, feeling a cold shiver run down his spine. He had never seen Techno reach for a axe fearing that he might use it against his own family at any moment.

"You can stop hiding now," he heard, and he jumped, his heart leaping to his throat. He swallowed hard, tilting his head uncertainly around the doorframe. Dad, sitting in the same place as Techno before, smirked. "You wouldn't know how to be quiet even if your life depended on it, would you?"

He looked bloody tired. His face was much paler, his wings pressed tightly against his back, and it was obvious that he had no strength left for any further fights and just wanted to think things over and begin to regret most of the words he had said.

But he still looked at his son with obvious disappointment, and Tommy didn't dare meet his eyes, even standing right in front of him. He still had his honor, though, so gathering all the remaining courage, he forced himself to look up.

"It's not Techno's fault," he said softly, and then hung his head again as his father's eyes darkened. "He told me I couldn't walk into the woods alone, but I just..." He bit his lip, trying hard to hide how much he was starting to tremble. But there was little he could do about sniffing. "Because I thought that if I can prove that I can do it, you will let me learn."

He wasn't sure if he really expected that this confession would change anything. Maybe in his heart he was counting on a tender cord in his father's heart that would soften it enough so that he could even begin to dream of avoiding the consequences. Maybe he wanted to make dad feel sorry for him or be touched by this idiotic, reckless desperation. But no matter what he wanted, he never got it. Father's gaze remained cold, his tone sharp, and there was no sign of him being any calmer.

"Then you were very wrong. So fucking wrong." He straightened up. "Bring me your sword."

This time Tommy couldn't stifle a soft sob.

"Dad-" he tried again, but then he fell silent, silenced with one gesture.

"You really don't want to upset me any more. Trust me."

Tommy did. Therefore, although his leg started to burn him again and his eyes blurred with tears, he hobbles to the room without further protest to pull his sword out from under the bed. When he was giving it to his father a moment later, slurping his nose and crying completely openly and without any resistance, he kept his fingers on the gilded hilt a little longer, knowing all too well that he was saying goodbye to it for a very, very long time.

"I'm sorry..." he whimpered as the cool metal finally slipped from his fingers.

Dad stared at the sword intently for a moment, carefully running his fingers over the blade. Then he sighed heavily and rubbed the corners of his eyes with his fingers.

"It doesn't change much now. And you are really goddamn lucky that I'm not raising you like it was in my days. Go back to bed."

He didn't have to repeat twice. Tommy was more than willing to get out of his sight as quickly as possible and immediately turned away, only to trip over his own feet and stagger against the wall. And maybe it was just that show of clumsiness, or the fact that he grimaced and hissed in pain (because although the potion gave him strength, the wound still hurt like hell), or maybe just how miserable and somewhat pathetic he looked at that moment, but dad's anger died down instantly.

"Tommy." The boy stopped, but didn't turn around. :Call me if you need anything, okay?"

Tommy wasn't so gullible as to think he had just calmed it down once and for all. He was definitely still in serious trouble, and he still felt terrible about it. But there was something reassuring about the thought that even though dad was angry with him, some things just never changed.

Techno didn't come back until the evening. As Tommy sluggishly nibbled on his dinner and Wilbur peered at them all uncertainly, as if he was afraid that one wrong move would get him in trouble as well, the fourth seat at the table was left empty. Dad glanced at it from time to time, looking more and more tired each time, until he stood up without a word, put the plate in the sink and shut himself up in his bedroom.

Wilbur instantly relaxed and immediately took the opportunity to slap his brother on the back of the head with such force that he almost nosed his sandwich.

"You fucked up," he grunted, as if he were suddenly very old and had any right to reproach him.

Tommy opened his mouth to be indignant, but ultimately only looked down and muttered something incoherently. He didn't like to admit defeats, but this time he really had nothing to defend himself and preferred not to sink into it any further.

Wilbur, of course, treated it like a request for more.

"You couldn't sit still, huh? You had to do such stupid things or the world would end."

Tommy pursed his lips, still stubbornly staring at his hands.

"Piss off," he grunted softly, blinking as the contents of his plate began to blur dangerously.

"You're stupid and irresponsible and you always have to mess things up, right? Always!"

Tommy inhaled sharply, trying very hard not to listen, but the countdown continued and he couldn't see the end of it.

"I'm surprised Techno even thought you could be trusted with anything. And now he's fucked by you, of course. Can't you just once-"

Wilbur stopped abruptly, and it took Tommy a moment to realize that he was probably surprised by the slurping of his nose and tears dripping onto his plate. It surprised him, at least, but though he quickly wiped his face with his sleeve, his eyes were still wet and he couldn't even catch his breath.

Great. Just perfect. It was at this point that he needed to be ridiculed and humiliate himself even more than ever before. The perfect end to a perfect day.

But Wilbur wasn't laughing at all. He stared at him in amazement for a moment, then his face softened and, stretching out his arms, he pulled his brother towards him.

"Hey, come on, don't cry..."

Tommy, trying to break free at first, but more for appearances than for actual will, rested his temple on his shoulder, his hands clasped on the sleeves of his T-shirt.

"Give me a break now," he stammered out, which sounded much more pitiful than he had planned. So, of course, it made him cry even more. "I know I fucked up! But- But I apologized! What else should I say? I'm sorry, okay? I didn't want it to turn out that way!"

Wilbur sighed heavily, resting his cheek on his head. He was way too tall, and that's another proof that the world has never been fair.

"Just think sometimes before you do something."

"I'm trying! But it's hard to think when you all yell at me!"

A shadow of a very bitter smile flashed across Wilbur's face.

"When we don't yell, you don't try at all,'' he said, and although Tommy didn't like his tone very much, or even the fact that he was being instructed by someone who sneaked out of the house almost night after night to do the hell knows what with whom and where, there was a little too much truth in it for him to deny it. "Did it hurt?" He nodded at Tommy's calf and the boy flinched at the mere mention. "Oh." Arms tightened around him a little tighter. "Oh, Tommy..."

He felt idiotic, crying like a baby and letting himself be soothed by the gentle rocking and softly humming melody. But Techno hated him, Dad didn't even want to look at him and he needed something nice, he needed that little affection and closeness and his stupid, annoying brother who was useful at times. He knew Wilbur would not make fun of it, that they would most likely never mention it and pretend that nothing like this had ever happened. So he just took the opportunity.

Techno came home in the morning. Tommy knew for sure, because he was awake that night, sitting on the sill of the ajar window and watching dad appear on the terrace time and time again, gazing for a moment at the edge of the forest on the horizon and then disappearing back home. The moments grew longer and the night grew colder, and Tommy, wrapped in two thick blankets, suddenly realized that his father hadn't moved from his seat on the porch in just a few minutes.

Under normal circumstances, Tommy would probably have brought him a blanket, or at least throw a sweatshirt out of the window for him. But at the moment, to tell the truth, he was a little too scared. Getting out of my father's sight was the best way to avoid another row, so he'd decided to stick with it for now. Even if he felt a little selfish about it for some reason.

The sun was just beginning to loom over the horizon when Techno rested his ax against the railing of the stairs. His pants were dirty with mud, his red coat slung casually over his shoulder, and his fur was wet and ruffled, but he moved as steadily as ever, and there was no sign of him ending his hunt with even a single scratch. Most likely that could not be said of each of the monsters that mistook him for an easy target.

From upstairs, Tommy couldn't hear the conversation, especially since his exhaustion was starting to buzz his head and stifled a yawn every now and then. But he saw Techno stop a few steps outside the house as if he wasn't sure if he should be back. Tommy wasn't sure which possibility worried him more: that Techno didn't want to come back at all, or that he thought he wasn't welcome. But before any of them could be confirmed, dad said something softly and his friend's shoulders instantly relaxed and he took a step forward.

Tommy watched them for a moment, trying to fight back the sleepiness, but his eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and though he could have sworn he only blinked, when he reopened his eyes the sun was already much higher in the sky. Two mens sat side by side on the porch, wrapped in a red cape, Techno's head resting on dad's shoulder, as if they hadn't jumped at each other's throats a few hours earlier.

It was a nice sight. Not only because Tommy, although he would never admit, liked his family happy and complete, but also because he had secretly hoped in his heart that, once it was time to let go of the blame, he would get amnesty himself. Or at least a slight leniency.

By the late afternoon when dad sat on the edge of the bed, he seemed much calmer. Though he still looked at his younger son with an almost painful disappointment, and Tommy couldn't meet his eyes, let alone speak. But when the silence began to drag on unpleasantly and he ran out of loose threads to tear from his shirt, he decided it was better to take the risk rather than sit on the ticking bomb for longer.

"I'm sorry."

It sounded much weaker than he wanted it to be. Perhaps because he had repeated it so many times in the last few days that he was slowly beginning to understand how little it changed. 'I'm sorry' didn't make my leg hurt any less. It didn't diminish the terror in dad's eyes as he watched his child struggle for breath. It didn't heal Techno fingers that were burned in their hasty concoction. It didn't compensate for the abuse of trust or all of his nerves, and it certainly didn't make his behavior any less idiotic.

And dad knew it perfectly well, because he just looked at him with disappointment.

"For what?" He asked, and although he didn't raise his voice, Tommy still curled his shoulders. "For almost getting killed? For puting yourself in danger? For not telling tell anyone?"

The honest answer was 'For everything,' but Tommy had the sense to bite his tongue in time. Dad didn't want his despair and remorse. He wanted proof that Tommy understood.

"I'm sorry I didn't listen to you."

He was never particularly good at choosing words, he usually relied on Wilbur for that. But this time he really, really tried. And it was probably obvious, because when he glanced nervously at his father, he could have sworn he could see a hint of sympathy in his face.

"I would love to believe that you are honest," he sighed heavily, rubbing the corners of his eyes with his fingers. "But I'm sure you wouldn't be sorry at all if you got away with it. But maybe it's my fault." He straightened and looked down at his son, frowning. "I thought you were mature enough to be trusted and asked for something. But you are probably still a child and I must watch over you at every step."

Tommy swallowed.

"You don't have to-" he began, but he immediately fell silent when his father crossed his arms.

"Really?" He tilted his head, waiting a moment, as if challenging him to actually try to finish the thought and see how it would end for him. "Tommy. You almost died. Do you have any idea... Can you at least try to imagine how I felt when I found you? If it weren't for your mother-”He broke off and closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, for a second Tommy could have sworn he could feel the same warmth that mom's hand had left on his skin. "I cann't loose you. I can't lose any of us. I have to make sure you're safe, even if it's going to make you angry with me."

Tommy took a deep breath.

"I'm not angry," he said, because although he still felt sorry for the sword he probably wasn't going to see anymore, and although he still thought it was damn unfair, he just couldn't get angry.

Dad's face softened visibly.

"I'm glad," he replied, quietly and calmly. Then he spread his arms wide. "Come here."

Tommy needed no more encouragement. Before he knew it, he was locked in a tight grip, huge, heavy wings covering his back, and for the first time in two days, he finally felt really safe.

"But you're still angry?" He asked, hoping a little for a miracle, but dad just laughed, briefly and a little artificially.

"Like hell!" He snorted, but immediately combed the boy's hair to soften the words a little. "But it's okay now."

And in fact - it really was.

Chapter Text

Tommy should never hear this conversation. He shouldn't wake up in the middle of the night feeling as if someone had poured a handful of sand in his mouth, he shouldn't gather enough to actually emerge from under the duvet and shuffle into the bathroom for a glass of water, and he certainly shouldn't see his brother slipping down the hall with a candle in his hand. Normally, he would have ignored the whole situation and went back to the warm bed to put everything out of his mind immediately. After all, not the first time, and probably not the last time, he had witnessed clumsily squeezing through a narrow corridor window and a slow, mumbling, swearing way down the gutter. Only this time Wilbur didn't stop at the window. He didn't have a guitar either, he was barefoot, in pajamas, and the faint candlelight illuminated his face just enough to show that he was pale, tense, and he must have been crying.

It was this last thing that made Tommy shut his mouth at the last moment and ducked farther behind the table to avoid being seen. Wilbur never cried. Even when zombies attacked him and he almost lost his arm. Even when he argued with his girlfriend and stayed in the room all week, playing sad songs and eating only chocolate. Even when he did something really stupid and dad got really angry and tears were probably the only way to pacify him a bit - Wilbur wasn't crying. Never.

Well, almost never.

This one, only time, happened right after Tommy's sword ended up locked in a shed, and Techno, aside from asking about how he felt, didn't want to talk to him and only sighed heavily every time when Tommy tried to apologize. Wilbur then brought him some stealthy sweets and kept him company by playing his guitar softly.

"You've seen Her, haven't you?" He asked suddenly, his fingers still in the middle of the chord. But the sound faded for a moment longer, slowly spreading through the air, and Tommy realized it sounded familiar. Not like a song you heard once and now looms somewhere at the bottom of your memory. More like very vague memories, so blurry that the senses begin to blend and penetrate.

Wilbur repeated the chord, and Tommy suddenly felt his cheek warm, almost burning and utterly immaterial at the same time. Like light gathered and squeezed so tightly that it takes a permanent form.

He touched his face, but didn't expect to actually find Her hand.

"Yhm..." he muttered and pulled his good leg up almost to his chin.

Wilbur put his guitar on his lap and moved a little closer until their arms touched.

"How was She?"

Tommy swallowed, staring at the fresh bandage on his calf.

"She said you were stupid and I was supposed to be better than you," he sneered, but he himself couldn't pretend the joke had amused him for long. "She was... warm," he said much, much more quietly, almost in a whisper, but he knew Wilbur heard him anyway, because he reached into his hair and ran his fingers lightly through it. "And nice. And a little…” He hesitated, gathering himself to look at his brother. "A little like your music."

Wilbur didn't laugh at the comparison, didn't tell him it was weird, or ask what it meant, as if Tommy knew and understood any of it himself. Instead, he just pulled him closer and allowed him to hug him tightly around the waist like when they were younger, and not ashamed of wanting a hug sometimes..

Tommy didn't cry that day. He was too tired for that, and he still felt the warmth on his cheeks too clearly, still remembered his mother's face, calm and smiling. But when he finally pulled away and looked up, Wilbur had wet eyes and made no effort to hide it.

So this time it was Tommy who hugged him, pretending he didn't see anything.

And so seeing him in the hallway, his cheeks glistening in the candlelight, Tommy didn't hesitate a second before following him, tiptoeing before Wilbur disappeared into the Techno room at the far end of the hall. He had left the door ajar, probably because the lock was creaking terribly and could wake up the whole neighborhood. Not that Tommy was complaining, crawling as close to the doorframe as possible on all fours and squinting to see as much as possible in the dimness.

Wilbur sat down on the edge of the bed, put the candle down on the bedside table, and without much fuss, grabbed the sleeping man's arm, shaking him vigorously. Or rather trying, because he had just enough strength to ruffle his fur.

"Techno," he hissed softly, trying again. "Techno, wake up, please." This time he hit his arm with his fist and then withdrew his hand to rub the knuckles. "Techno, come on. I'm feeling strange..."

Techno made a hollow grunt of dissatisfaction and pressed his face harder into the pillow.

"And I threw up."

The sound repeated.

"Gods, Wilbur, you're nineteen-"

"I think I might be pregnant."

Tommy put his hand over his mouth, though he was absolutely sure he wouldn't have spouted a word anyway. And he wasn't alone, because although after a few tense seconds, Techno turned and sat on the bed, he didn't say anything. Instead, he watched with a straight face as Wilbur twisted nervously and twisted his fingers, his eyes flickering in all directions.

"I feel weird," he repeated, lowering his voice to a whisper. "For some time. And I think... You know."

Tommy didn't really know, to tell the truth. He knew in general, of course he did he wasn't stupid, and he wasn't a child anymore, but wherever he looked at his brother, he didn't look any different than a week or even a month ago. Certainly not as if it had an extra parasite inside.

For the moment, however, he wasn't in a position to ask questions. And even if he did, he probably wouldn't have the opportunity, because Techno took a deep breath and for a moment he looked angry, like he was about to start screaming and freaking out and making a million excuses. And then he just sighed heavily.

"Why?" He asked, quietly and probably more to himself.

Wilbur curled his shoulders, stared at the floor, and cleared his throat, clearly embarrassed.

"How detailed explanation do you need?"

Techno shook his head.

"Why does your family keep doing this to me?" He clarified, rubbing the corners of his eyes with his fingers. Tommy suddenly realized he must be really old. Maybe even dad's age. It was hard to define it on a daily basis because, well, he didn't age in the same way as humans, but sometimes, in moments like this, you could tell by his tone and gestures that he had seen and experienced much more than he would like to. "Does your father know?"

Wilbur shook his head.

"I came to you," he replied. And although for Tommy it was more than obvious, because he himself was a million times more likely to get support first and then go to war, Techno probably saw something more in this statement.

He straightened, and when he looked at the boy again, his eyesight was sharp, and there was not even a trace of his previous sleepiness.

"You want me to..." he cleared his throat. "Should I do something about it?"

Wilbur opened his mouth, then closed it without saying a word. He opened it again, stared at his own hands, and shook his head.

"I don't know..." he confessed in a strange trembling voice and hastily wiped his eyes with his sleeve. "I don't know."

Techno's face instantly hardened.

"Hey, if you want to whine, go elsewhere," he huffed, but as much as he tried to sound scary, there was a growing hint of panic in his tone. "You know I can't- I'm not- Oh gods..."

Tommy was fed up. Wilbur might have been stupid and annoying and the absolute worst, but he was his brother, and Tommy hated seeing him like this. Except, of course, when he was driving it himself, but this is different. He won't sit idle when his family clearly needs his help and wisdom.

Techno didn't even seem surprised to see him.

"What? You're pregnant too?" He sighed, making room for him on the bed.

Tommy shrugged, pleased to temporarily focus all his attention on himself. First, because Wilbur had time to wipe his face and pretend he wasn't crying at all. Second - he just liked being the center of attention. He deserved it.

"I don't know, I haven't checked lately," he sneered, and when two heads turned towards him, he quickly added, "I'm kidding!" I'm kidding, I'm kidding, I'm a child!"

Techno sighed heavily.

"At least that's a good news."

"Dad's gonna kill me," Wilbur whispered suddenly, hiding his face in his hands. He looked terrified and at the same time surprisingly reconciled to his fate.

Tommy, pulled his legs up onto the mattress, sitting down a bit more comfortably and resting his back against Techno's bent knees.

"That would solve the whole problem, wouldn't it?" he said, and immediately earned a smack on the back of the head for it. "Aua! Come on! It's not my fault! I'm just saying."

"Then say no more," Wilbur hissed, and although he was clearly irritated, his hands were trembling and his eyes were still moist, so Tommy dropped his tone in an instant.

"Hey. Come on." He moved a little closer, nudging his brother with his shoulder. "It's not for real, is it? Dad..." he wanted to say 'He won't be angry' but such an obvious lie wouldn't go down his throat. "He'll swallow it somehow. I guess.

"I think he'll be really pissed off," Techno muttered, very supportive as always. Sometimes it was easy to forget why everyone in the family would come to him for help when he was clearly unfit for it.

Tommy wrinkled his nose.

"Didn't he make us by accident?"

"He wasn't nineteen. But you definitely have thoughtlessness in your genes."

Tommy opened his mouth to be indignant about it, but looked at the long scar that marred his calf, and suddenly somehow lost all motivation.

"It won't be bad," he said instead.

Wilbur groaned loudly.

"It'll be terrible."

"For you, yes. I will have a great time". He grinned, nudging his brother with his shoulder again. And again and again, until he had also earned a shoulder blow himself, and the corners of Wilbur's mouth had not lifted slightly. "But I won't share the room. Put your cradle elsewhere."

"I hope you don't have to put anything up anywhere," Techno muttered.

"I hope it's just a bad dream," Wilbur groaned.

"I hope it's gonna be a boy," added Tommy, who had started to quite enjoy the vision of someone younger to mess around.

He enjoy it much less when Wilbur kicked him off the bed.

* * *

Dad, surprisingly, wasn't angry at all. Wilbur told him two weeks later when all the signs in heaven and earth had confirmed that yes, unfortunately he had to prepare for an accelerated paternity course. But so far he was mostly a kid, trying to tell his parent some bad news and somehow survive. His hands were shaking and he stuttered and looked like he wanted to cry again, but held back in case he needed to run away and needed visual acuity.

However, dad gave him no reason to do so. He listened to the entire slightly teary monologue in silence, studying his older child with a strange, almost unnatural concentration, as if he was seeing him for the first time in his life and also knowing him all too well. Then, when the boy's voice broke and he could only sniff his sleeve loudly, he hugged him tightly. He was much shorter, but somehow Wilbur managed to shrunken enough to slide his head under his father's chin, wrapping his arms tightly around him and letting strong hands hold him tightly, caressing his back soothingly, repeatedly combing his hair.

"It's okay, hush now," Dad sighed, and although he seemed tired and a little sad, his tone was so sure that no one who heard him would dare to say otherwise. "We'll be fine, don't worry. I'm here and I love you and I will support you no matter what, got it?"

The same evening, when Wilbur finally fell asleep on the couch, tired of all the apparently unnecessary stress, dad took his armor and sword and left the house without saying a word.

"It's dark," Techno said over his shoulder, but he didn't seem willing to stand in his way. He might be hopeless at reading emotions and interpersonal contacts, but his survival instinct was top notch.

Dad didn't come home until the morning, when Tommy, sleepy and disheveled, was just finishing his second batch of cereal. His armor was dirty, with a few leaves in his hair and a red streak on his cheek, but the sword was suspiciously (and quite significantly) clean.

Techno glanced up at him from the book.

"Feel better now?" He asked, and though his expression was neutral, he seemed a little amused. Tommy didn't have the faintest idea of what. Personally, he tried very discreetly to disappear from the kitchen.

Dad rested his sword on the table, sank heavily into a chair, and reached for his friend's half-finished coffee.

"Much better."

Chapter Text

Tommy liked Sally. Wilbur brought her home a few weeks later and officially introduced her as his fiancée. Dad smiled politely, though his gaze remained cold and stern. Techno was much less subtle and pulled Wilbur aside on the first occasion.

"You know I can still-" he began in a slightly too loud whisper, but stopped when dad grabbed him by the collar and dragged him farther into the living room.

Tommy had no idea what their problem was. Sally was nice. Redheaded and stressed out, but nice. And she brought him some chocolate, but it had nothing to do with a sudden surge of sympathy and he didn't get bribed at all, and he's not a stupid kid who doesn't understand the situation at all! But he certainly didn't understand why the atmosphere at the table was so tense and why he was the only one who actually ate, instead of nibbling food with a fork (Sally), smearing it on the plate (Wilbur) or hang on one activity and try to cut the table (Techno) . Dad didn't even grab himself food, sitting across from the girl, his arms crossed and his expression very judgmental.

"I just want everything to be clear," he said at one point, leaning over the table to put his hand on her shoulder and look straight in the eyes. Techno and Wilbur froze instantly. Tommy tried to swallow whatever was in his mouth and choked on a potato as a result. "It's not because you're a girl. Really, trust me. The point is, my son is pregnant and I have to blame someone for it, and you're the closest." He smiled wryly. "But make yourself at home."

Wilbur buried his face in his hands. Tommy only noticed now that he had a shiny ring on one of his fingers, and he immediately lost interest in any conversation at the table.

"Can you hold hands as you walk down the street?" Techno asked two long hours later, and that was the first thing he said at the table except for the hollow murmurs.

Dad frowned, then smiled broadly, this time completely sincere. And maybe just a little spitefully.

"That's a very good idea. The neighbors have become absolutely annoying lately, something has to be done with them."

Wilbur, already tense and clearly regretting not so much the meeting as his own birth in general, now scowled and glared at his father with resentment.

"We're not gonna do any show."

Dad waved him off.

"In a few months you'll be one big 'show' yourself, what's the harm to start now?"

For reasons Tommy couldn't understand, Wilbur didn't speak to anyone for the next three days.

"Hormones," Techno explained, cleaning his ax. "Get used to it."

* * *

Tommy stopped liking Sally two months later when he got home and found himself standing in the doorway, thinking that he probably would rather stay on the other side. The whole house was filled with the sound of a guitar, as loud as it was disjointed, sounding a little like the instrument itself was as close to a breakdown as its owner, who was howling loudly somewhere in the room. Dad, standing outside the door with an extremely worried face, repeatedly pressed the door handle, knocked and called his son's name, trying to shout over cry and music. Techno, watching the whole scene from a safely distant couch, seemed to be the only peaceful refuge in the ocean of chaos, so Tommy instinctively joined him.

"Sally broke up with him," he explained in response to a questioning glance. "Not that I wouldn't have foreseen it..."

Dad scowled at him.

"Shut up, Techno," he hissed, then his voice softened as he knocked on the door again. "Wilbur, please, open up. I know you're sad, but-"

"But you shouldn't," Techno muttered, a little too loud.

The music stopped abruptly, with a single long blast, as if someone had thrown a guitar to the floor. And then the door swung open and Wilbur showed up fully adorned, with a blanket over his shoulders, a runny nose, and a red, teary face.

"You don't understand anything!" He screamed, jerking back as his father tried to hug him. He ran under his outstretched arms, burst into the bathroom, and, locking the door, start crying again with a loud sob.

Tommy looked at dad, apparently determined to knock on each door in turn, then at Techno, who was muttering under his breath "And I warned you that it will be...", and finally at his hands, still dirty with mud. And suddenly he decided that he really didn't want to be here. That he didn't want to be part of this whole situation. His brother was howling as if his life had just lost its meaning, his father was trying to save what he could, and Techno seemed to recognize stoicism as the only correct solution in the confrontation with such powerful forces of nature. Tommy had a hard time finding his place in all of this. He wasn't sure what to do. He was just Tommy - he was introducing chaos to their family, not mending its consequences. And now he was sitting on the couch, in the eye of the hurricane, and his main thought was that there was no way to wash his hands with a blocked bathroom.

No one even noticed when he slipped silently into his room.

Eventually Wilbur calmed down a bit. He still hasn't left the bathroom, but the painful howl turned into a soft sob, and dad finally gave him a break, reassuring him five times before that he could come to him at any time and that everything would surely be alright. Techno disappeared somewhere shortly thereafter. He didn't say a word, but took his boots, jacket, and ax. Tommy felt sorry for any monster that would come across him that night.

It was already dark outside when he left the room to scrub his hands with dishwashing detergent in the kitchen for no other way. He smelled like lemon and mint now, and he didn't like it a bit.

He cleared his throat as he stood in front of the bathroom door, took a deep breath, and raised his fist to knock. Then he put it down, knowing full well that he had nothing wise to say. No brilliant idea or a brilliant solution to the problem. After all, he was just Tommy. But still, even being just himself, he wanted to help somehow. So although it was a bit silly and maybe childish and probably inadequate to the situation, he crouched down in front of the door and slipped a candy bar into the bathroom in front of a narrow gap just above the floor.

At first he still only heard silence, but after a moment, as he was getting ready to leave, quiet footsteps sounded and a long shadow fell across the floor. Someone on the other side sniffed loudly, rustled something, and suddenly an empty, crumpled piece of paper slipped through the slot.

Tommy smiled, got up quickly, and rushed to loot kitchen cabinets for sweets. He rushed back down the hall, hesitated, and a little shyly entered his brother's room before returning to the still-locked door.

Wilbur was either fucking hungry or planning suicide from an overdose of sugar because he was taking whatever passed through the door. Tommy was happy to share his supplies, leaning his back against the doorframe himself and nibbling on a peanut bar only a little less willingly than usual.

"I've got your guitar, too," he said, squeezing the last bar of chocolate through the crack. "But I don't think it will fit..."

It was quiet for a moment and he was beginning to fear that he had said something stupid after all, when the lock clicked suddenly, the door swung open, and he was pulled inside so violently that he almost fell over on the sink. He somewhat clumsily removed the instrument from his shoulder, but when he turned around, Wilbur was no longer at the door, instead he was just stepping into the tub, where he made himself a nest of eternal despair from the blanket and towels.

Tommy put a lot of effort into not commenting. Instead, he placed the guitar in his brother's outstretched arms.

"Move over," he muttered, poking his knee. And while the bathtub was definitely a one-man size, and nobody really designed it for a very sad concert, neither of them complained.

"I want to die," Wilbur muttered, from one sad tune to another.

Tommy raised his eyebrows.

"Mom would be pissed," he said, and was pleased to notice that the corner of his brother's mouth twitched slightly.

"Meh. She probably thinks I'm hopeless anyway. She couldn't be more disappointed than She's now."

Tommy wound a loose trouser thread around his finger.

"Tubbo and I broke the dam," he confessed.

Wilbur was so surprised he stop playing.

"What?"

"We thought it would be fun!" He threw up his arms. "But I think we flooded someone's field and he was not thrilled. And maybe he saw which way we were running, so if an angry farmer came with a pitchfork, you don't know me, got it?"

Wilbur looked at him silently for a moment, with a mixture of shock and disbelief. And then his mouth twitched, he put his face in his hands, and for a second Tommy was afraid he'd made him cry again before he heard the familiar laugh.

"Gods!" He tilted his head back, and although he still looked like seven misfortunes, and he must have been having some sort of nervous breakdown, it was still a sight a hundred times better than the tearful, suffering nightmare a few hours ago. "It just hit me that my child will have your genes."

Tommy had no idea what that meant, but he could tell when someone was making fun of him.

"Not at all!" He indignant and the frogs strengthen the words kicked his brother in the calf. "You are stupid and your child's too, and I won't share anything with you! Fuck you!"

Wilbur, for some reason, laughed even louder. Tommy felt himself starting to smile too, so he quickly turned his head to hide it. After all, he had a reputation and he had to maintain it.

Wilbur's song, sad and somewhat disheveled, gradually turned into a quiet, soothing melody, and Tommy suddenly recognized it with familiar notes. Their mom's song. They had never officially called it that way, but they both understood, especially on those sleepless nights when neither of them could sleep and they met on the roof of the house. Tommy was pretty sure Wilbur was just seeing him through his window, awkwardly rolling up the sill and gutter, but he never mentioned it. He didn't have to. Not when Wilbur was bringing the guitar, he'd sit next to him and play that one song until Tommy was asleep, his face pressed against his brother's shoulder and the warmth of a hand on his cheek.

"Here." The music stopped suddenly, and when he opened his eyes, Wilbur had already pressed his ring into his hand. "For you. You like that kind of things."

Tommy twisted the trinket in his fingers, trying to ignore the instinct that told him to hide the treasure as soon as possible before someone tried to take it from him.

"Shouldn't you give it back to her or something?" He asked cautiously, because he really didn't know much about the whole engagement thing and preferred not to make it all worse.

But Wilbur only shook his head.

"I've already given her too much," he sighed, and the sound of the guitar filled the bathroom again.

* * *

Fundy was born a few months later in the middle of the night because, as Techno said, no child in this house could patiently wait until morning. Tommy, forcibly dragged out of bed, slept practically the entire event, curled up in a chair in the hospital waiting room. He only remembered that it was unpleasantly white and light all around and dad was panicking as he paced the corridor in circles. His ruffled feathers jiggled nervously, and he paused again and again to listen before returning to making a hole in the floor. When Techno finally poked him on the shoulder and then practically lifted him upright, Tommy's thoughts were still far, far away. Forced to suddenly revert to reality, he was angry and grumpy and wanted to say a lot of very nasty things.

"You look like shit," he said as soon as his eyes fell on his brother.

In his defense, Wilbur really did look like he had just come back from Hell, scraping his way to the surface on his own. But he certainly didn't lose an gram of character along the way, because he immediately snapped back:

"Fuck you, dickhead."

"Hey!" yelled their father, from whom all the tension must have finally disappeared, for despite his angry tone his face was gentle and his eyes slightly moist. He sat next to his older son, letting him rest his head on his shoulder, brushing his fingers through his hair. "Don't swear in front of the baby!"

Tommy was about to be indignant that he wasn't a baby at all, but he realized in time that it wasn't about him, but about the bundle in his brother's arms. He stood on his toes, trying to see something between the folds of the blue blanket, but all he saw was a tiny hand as the baby cried softly. Phil glanced at him, smiled the same way he always did when he could see through his children, and held out his arms.

"Can I?" He asked, and as Wilbur carefully, though somewhat relieved, handed him a whimpering bundle, he slowly rose from the mattress and circled the bed.

Tommy immediately seized the opportunity, glancing at his new (and only) nephew over his father's shoulder. Then he looked at Wilbur. At the baby. And at his brother again.

"But he''s-" he began, but stopped when he felt the slight thump of his wing against his back. He cleared his throat. "Ginger. Very ginger. But it suits him..."

Techno, literally breathing against his neck for a few seconds, gasped a little louder.

"It's a fox."

"His name's Fundy," Wilbur interjected in a weak, tired voice. He looked like he was struggling with sleepiness, but he grinned as the little one stretched in his grandfather's arms.

"It's a stupid name," Tommy muttered, but more on principle.

"It's a fox," Techno repeated, a little louder, looking around as if he didn't understand why everyone suddenly went crazy and couldn't see the obvious.

"Fundy," Dad repeated, with a surge of tenderness and affection Tommy had never seen in him before. He carefully stroked the little boy's head, and a pair of red fox ears twitched slightly in response.

"Has a tail too?" Tommy asked. Wilbur rolled his eyes but nodded. "Whoa."

"Guys. It's a fox."

"Our little Fundy..." Dad leaned in to kiss the baby on the forehead.

And it was this gesture and the fact that a small, ginger tail actually appeared from the coils of the blanket, made Techno lose all patience.

"It's a fox, damn it!" He growled, leaning against the bed rail so abruptly that Wilbur flinched, and Dad instinctively pressed the baby closer to his chest. "Where did you go and with whom!?"

Wilbur, instantly awake, blinked in shock.

"Excuse me?"

"Techno, stop-"

"No, Phil!" He straightened, pointing to the baby with such accusation as if it had chosen for itself what set of accessories it wants to be born with. "This is a hybrid. His son" this time swung at Wilbur "is a hybrid. I want to know how it happened and with whom."

Tommy wrinkled his nose.

"Why are you so mad? All in all, he looks pretty cool."

"It has nothing to do with whether he looks cool. And you-”He turned back to Wilbur and suddenly froze, his eyes darkening. "You don't know," he said dryly and with a distinct sense of disappointment. "You have no idea whose child this is."

Tommy backed up a bit, suddenly very much unwilling to be here now. He glanced at his brother, who alternately opened then closed his mouth until he squealed "Dad!"

Their father, just busy rocking the baby in his arms, looked first at one, then at the other, and closed his eyes for a few seconds.

"Techno, give him a break," he asked, which, of course, had the opposite effect.

Techno spread his arms wide and turned dramatically as if asking an invisible crowd, 'Can you see it too?'

"Of course!" He snorted, and Tommy slipped behind his back as quickly as possible to sit down beside the Wilbur, which everyone must have forgotten for the moment. "And as always you will defend him! I told you this is how it ends when you pamper him, but of course you didn't listen to me and here we go now...!"

Tommy leaned over his brother, lowering his voice to a whisper.

"You really don't know whose Fundy is?"

Wilbur pursed his lips.

"Mine," he replied firmly, and then, a little less confident and much more defensive, added, "I'm pretty and have a lot of friends."

Tommy looked at him in disbelief, but he didn't want to risk another question. Not when their father sucked in a breath, his wings flapping in silent menace.

"I wasn't pampering him at all," he growled, taking a step towards his friend, straightened proudly and clearly irritated. "And even if I was, he's my son and I will raise him as I like."

Wilbur let out a soft whimper and held out his arms, making a face as if he wanted to run to save his baby, trapped between two rough elements, but too afraid of falling victim to them himself. Tommy glared at him, sighed softly, and, trying to be invisible, slipped past the bed. He almost got hit by Techno when he raised his arms dramatically, but somehow he dodged in time and carefully, trying to pretend he wasn't there, pulled Fundy from dad's slightly too stiff arms.

"The last time I checked, he was my son too!" Techno yelled, and Tommy froze with the baby in his arms, halfway towards his brother's waiting hands. "You're my husband, so they're my children too, and I have the right to ask what a bloody miracle my grandson is a goddamn fox!"

It got very, very quiet in the room.

"I'm your what?" Wilbur stammered out, blinking his big, wide-eyed eyes.

"Are you dad's who?" Tommy squealed, jumping away from the two men like burned. "What the fuck?!"

"Don't swear in front of the baby!" Dad growled, but then he sighed heavily, rubbed his temples, and when he spoke again he sounded much, much calmer. "It was a long time ago, for a joke and it has nothing to do with you."

Wilbur's face changed smoothly from shock to indignation.

"You got married for a joke?!"

Techno shrugged

"You slept with hell knows who for no reason at all, so you're the last one to comment."

Wilbur ventilated, straightening on the bed, but as he didn't have the strength to get up, he fell back on the pillows.

"Give me my baby back," he said to his brother, but Tommy was already backing toward the door, shaking his head.

"No! I'm taking him out of here. You're all abnormal and I hate this family and he'll be better away from you. I'll raise him myself and teach him to eat moss and acorns... or whatever the foxes eat, and-" He stopped suddenly, when suddenly he saw a flash from the corner of his eye and instinctively turned his head away. It turned out to be just a metal tray, but another, terrible thought had already occurred to him. "You got married." More stated than asked. "You had wedding rings."

Techno grimaced slightly.

"The past tense rightly used."

"I'm still a little angry about that," Dad sighed, and Tommy felt he wanted to scream for a million different reasons simultaneously.

"You're not gonna feed my son moss, you moron! You have to give him back to me!"

"Wilbur, calm down and stop screaming."

"No! I'm not talking to you! And I want my baby!"

"That he's yours, we already know. I'm curious to see whose else."

"Techno!"

Tommy screamed, turned on his heel, and ran out of the room.

They didn't let him out of the hospital. Apparently, he looked very suspicious as he raced down the hall with a tearing baby in his arms. But at least, albeit a little unintentionally, he managed to stave off the family crisis in this way. Wilbur was too busy making sure Fundy didn't lose a single red hair, and dad and Techno yealling at him for being stupid and utterly mindless, to argue further about whose genes accounted for a pair of ears and a tail. Tommy decided to pretend that was the plan. He dedicated himself to saving the family and keeping it in its original form. Whatever it was.

"Did you really get married?" He asked a few hours later as the tension eased a little and Wilbur fell asleep, cradling Fundy to his chest as if afraid someone would try to steal him again.

Dad, stroking his son's hair alternately with his grandson's, looked up and smiled, his eyes flashing.

"You don't even know howfunny that was."

Somehow Tommy couldn't see the promised comedy.

"Does mom know about it?"

"Of course. This is how I met her. When I died, She joked that someone mourns me a lot. I said, 'Ah, yes, it's Techno. A month ago we got married to make our friends feel bloody awkward. I hope the funeral will be even better.' She found it hilarious."

"This family is a nightmare," Wilbur muttered suddenly, but it was hard to take him seriously as he stared at his son with absolute affection. "You're not gonna be like that, are you, Fundy? You'll be the normal one."

Tommy honestly doubted it. On the other hand, until a few hours ago he wouldn't have believed that his father could ever get married to anyone other than his mother, so maybe he just shouldn't assume anything and take it for granted. Especially since Fundy, despite his very few human accessories, actually seemed quite normal. Yet.

Tommy stepped closer to brush his fingers over the red ear and watch them both twitch slightly. He smiled.

"But he eats acorns, right?"