Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

His freefall ended abruptly with him flat on his back as though he’d actually fallen. He laid there completely still for a long moment until his entire being seized with a burning that he couldn’t comprehend.

Luckily, the body he was in wasn’t as stupid as he was in that moment and forcibly shut his brain down long enough to force a rasping breath into its lungs. The sudden movement of the chest brought into sharp focus the fact that something was on top of him, weighing him down and scratching at the skin. He sat up abruptly and threw the offending item off. The sheet fluttered innocently to the floor.

He…

What?

It was mostly dark in the room, but there was a train shaped nightlight plugged into an outlet by the door which allowed him to see the vague shape of things at least. There was a nightstand with a lamp next to him. He reached for it, the fingers easily finding the button to turn it on through muscle memory alone.

He blinked as the bedroom came into focus. There was a white bookshelf next to a matching dresser on the wall nearest to the closet. The toy chest was flung open on the opposite wall, more of its contents spilled out onto the floor than packed away inside it.

The mouth felt dry, and he automatically reached for a bottle of water left on the nightstand without really thinking about it. The water was room temperature and a little stale, but he didn’t care.

He had… not expected this. This was, of course, theoretically possible when dealing with time travel powers, but the thought had never crossed his mind. He’d been long dead before Technoblade and Dad had met. No one had even known Techno’s powers were capable of overwriting so much time. Maybe they hadn’t been until Dad fell from the sky.

He pulled more air into the lungs as he set the water bottle aside. Annoyingly, while the body seemed capable of automatically breathing most of the time, whenever he thought about it, the lungs stilled, and he had to manually force them to move again.

He was unsure what to do now. He sat at the edge of the bed. It was strange to feel something pressing back up from underneath him. He thought he could hear a heart beating, but it might have been his imagination.

He studied the room. It was familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. It had been taken apart long ago, but now it was back to what it had been before. The last he’d seen most of this furniture was in an old warehouse. The last he’d seen this room; it had felt like he was going insane.

His eyes fell on the closet. That had been the only thing that hadn’t changed when Dad had moved out. He remembered sitting there staring at it for days once. Right now, it was slightly open, and he could see the shadow of clothing inside.

The impulse that came upon him was as irrational as it was irresistible. He needed to do one thing before he did anything else.

He stood. His legs were steady underneath him though they felt unnaturally tired. Maybe that was just him forgetting how legs felt, maybe not. He flicked on the main light on his way to the closet.

The sweater was near the front of the closet. It was odd to see it intact and unstained. And corporal. The lion face on it sneered at him and he ripped the garment off its hanger. For good measure, he dug the trousers out of the dresser as well.

He walked to the kitchen with purpose. He knew exactly where Dad kept the matches, safely out of reach of an 8-year-old in a cabinet above the refrigerator. He grabbed a chair to climb up onto the counter with. It was strange not being able to just float up to his desired height.

He was very, very careful as he opened the cabinet door above the fridge. He had to stretch perilously on tippy toes to grab the pack of matches deep in the cabinet. Once done, he hopped down off the counter and put the chair back in place.

He grabbed the small pile of clothing from where he’d left it on the floor and marched into the back yard. The neighbors had a fire pit, he recalled, stealing into their yard.

Technically, he knew how matches worked. Functionally, it took him a few tries before one actually lit. He dropped it abruptly onto a pile of dry leaves he’d gathered and piled on top of the sweater.

It was slow to burn and it more melted than properly burned since it was made of polyester. Still, with the addition of some extra firewood, both pieces of clothing burned well enough.

He watched it as it burned. The fire was almost too warm on his face, but he moved his hand closer to the flames anyway to chase the sensation.

Was he Wilbur now?

He didn’t think so. Wilbur was a memory. He wasn’t a person anymore. There were traces of him that lingered certainly. Perhaps all of him was here, just in scattered pieces. However, Ghostbur knew as much about where to start putting Wilbur back together as he would know where to start putting the sweater burning in the fire pit back together. Even now parts of it burned unpleasantly in his lungs.

When he was satisfied that the sweater was nothing but ash, he put the lid on the fire pit to smother the dying flames.

Then, he went back inside.

He didn’t bother putting the matches back where they’d been. He just stuck them by Dad’s keys on the counter.

His body seemed to drag with exhaustion. Which, to be fair, it was the middle of the night. It was 3:35am to be exact. He should probably go back to sleep, but the thought made his unfamiliar heart beat harder. He was irrationally afraid that if he went to sleep, his soul would slip out of his body once again.

Instead, he decided with the smell of burning lion sweater still lingering on his current clothes, that he wanted a sweater, a better sweater. He wanted a big sweater.

His feet knew where to go to get such a sweater even if it took his mind a second to catch up. His Dad’s bedroom door was opening with a soft creak before he realized it.

A snore startled Ghostbur more than it should have, and he looked over to see a man sleeping peacefully on the bed.

He stilled. He’d forgotten, well no, that wasn’t true. He hadn’t forgotten, he’d just decided to force himself to not think about that. His quest for an adequate sweater quickly fled his mind and he ended up standing at the side of the bed.

There was another dimension to agony when you had a body. It hit much, much harder, and this eight-year-old body that had never felt anything of the like almost crumbled underneath it. The stab of grief not yet confronted was as sharp as the stab of a blade, he knew for sure. His heart hurt even though Dad was breathing, calm and safe right here. He put his hands on the bed, dizzy with it.

“Dad,” he said. His voice was unfamiliar in his ears, and it startled him to hear it crack. A twitch ran across Dad’s brow. “Dad,” he said a bit louder. He bounced the bed slightly with his hands. “Wake up.”

“Mmm?” Dad hummed, still very much asleep. “Techno?”

The smallest bit of the unfamiliar pressure in his chest eased at hearing the name. It had seemed like Dad was being taken along by Techno’s powers too when he’d stayed as the world turned back, but it had been a painful possibility that he wouldn’t remember. The pain of having seen him die, at having seen him fall from the sky, remained, but at least he was here now. At least he hadn’t been erased.

“No, Dad,” Ghostbur said. “It’s me.”

Dad’s eyes opened slightly then, and he squinted up at Ghostbur. “Will?” he asked, his voice quiet and still dazed. A large hand came up to touch his cheek, warm in a way the fire could have never been. It seemed to burn the name into his skin the barest amount.

“Hi,” he said. There was another arm on him then, scooping him off the floor.

Dad was still not awake, awake, Ghostbur noted. He curled his body around Ghostbur’s as much as he could and used his wings to hide him away from the world the rest of way.

“Dad?” Ghostbur asked.

A kiss was pressed to his brow. “My boy,” Dad whispered and seemed to fall asleep immediately. Ghostbur looked up at him, fondness prickling at the tip of his fingers in an unfamiliar way.

He thought he’d watch his dad sleep for a while, but after only a few moments, he slipped away into sleep too.

Chapter Text

Phil woke up slowly, his head pulsing with a dull headache. He felt odd. He felt like he’d been run over by a truck, except upon taking stock of his body before even opening his eyes, he couldn’t actually pinpoint any aches or pains. In fact, he thought he felt better physically than he had in a long time.

Even the sheets he felt against his arm when he shifted were softer than the ones he’d grown used too, not to mention the plush mattress underneath him. He wondered if he’d somehow stolen Kurtis’s bed for the night, the only mattress on the farm that was less than 20-years-old, bought as a gift when the man started getting back problems in his old age.

There was also the issue of a warm body pressed up against him. Phil wasn’t exactly known for snuggling up with any of the survivors even if everyone had to sleep in close quarters and it was too small to be any of them besides. Bea the dog came to mind (though she usually slept with Deedee) however Phil’s hand was touching smooth skin and not fur.

Opening his eyes was not easy. Something was trying to draw him back into the oblivion he’d woken from though he didn’t feel truly physically tired. When he did manage to get them open, there wasn’t much to see. Sunlight was streaming through window blinds, leaving bars of light across the bed sheets and rumpled comforter.

He didn’t recognize the bed or sheets at once though they pinged oddly in his mind like a memory he knew existed but couldn’t quite call to mind. He mostly only got a view of his own black feathers puffed up and curled in front of him, covering the curious little warm form completely.

He went to move the wings in a quest to discover what exactly he was hugging but paused when he saw a flash of white within the mass. There was a single white feather amongst the sea of black that he at first didn’t attribute to himself until he tried to grab it and it stayed firm. Strange. Was that a form of aging? He hadn’t thought feathers typically went white like human hair, especially not like that.

He shrugged it off after a moment and returned to the topic at hand. He moved his wings, white feather and all, out of the way, so he could see what was next to him.

The face did not compute at first. Phil’s brain seemed to go offline for a long moment. He knew he knew the face, but the old rusty synapses in his brain did not fire correctly to tell him who it was. His body reacted to the situation before his mind managed to sort out what was happening. He felt his chest start to ache and his stomach turn itself inside out.

His hand didn’t feel like his own as he reached out; he watched it move with detached wonder. He brushed a gentle finger across the little nose and watched as the figure squirmed slightly at being disturbed.

“Wilbur?” Phil asked in a whisper.

The boy went still at the sound of his name and then jolted suddenly awake as though Phil had dumped ice water on his head instead of touching him gently and saying his name. His deep brown eyes were different than Phil remembered. The curl of his hair and the curve of his nose were all things that could be more or less accurately captured in photos, but a 2-D still image of a person’s eyes did not capture the soul within.

Phil had forgotten the truth of them. They seemed deeper somehow than memory said they’d been.

It took a moment for Wilbur to calm down, but once he did, he peered up at Phil. “Hi Dad,” he said.

Was this real, Phil wondered. It couldn’t be, part of his brain was saying, but the rest of it was somehow certain that it was. What had… something had happened.

He cast his mind back to where he’d been and what he’d been doing before he’d woken up. They’d been taking back Zone 8. He’d fought Bad and had won and then Werner had.

Oh.

Well, that explained a few things.

“Um,” Wilbur said after a few moments of Phil not responding to him. He squirmed a little bit in Phil’s arms. “Um, Daddy,” he said. “I need to pee.”

“Huh?”

Wilbur wiggled a bit more insistently. “I gotta go to the bathroom. Let me up.”

Speechless, because they were both supposed to be dead and no depiction of the afterlife Phil had ever heard of involved them still needing to pee, Phil loosened his grip on the boy.

He shot up like a racehorse coming out of the gate. The door to the nearby bathroom slammed shut behind him.

It was his bathroom, Phil realized. This was his bedroom. That’s why it was so familiar, but he didn’t recognize it because he’d sold this house over a decade ago. Slowly, he got to his feet. The carpet felt the same as it once had, and he could see the shadow of an apple juice stain he’d tried to hide by putting a nightstand over it. He pressed his hand to the top of his old dresser, finding it solid under his touch. He could smell the air freshener he always used to buy, a warm vanilla and caramel scent that pinged nostalgically at his nose. It was like he’d gone back in time.

That’s when an option other than him having died and gone to the afterlife occurred to him.

Had he gone back in time? Techno had a time travel power that undid death. It had only ever been his own, yes, but it was possible he could have done so for Phil as well. Why so far back though? All he’d needed to do was rewind to when they were back at Kurtis’s farm a few hours before and warn everyone about the ambush.

Phil heard the sink turn on in the bathroom.

This amount of time… it was unheard of. Then again, Techno’s type of power was rare itself let alone one as powerful as his had already been.

He looked up as the bathroom door opened again.

It was his first time seeing Wilbur alive without assuming it was a dream or that he himself was dead.

“Dad?” he called probably because Phil was staring at him blankly.

“Hey,” Phil said. He took a cautious step forward and then bent to get on his knees in front of him. “Hi, Wilbur.” He reached up to cup the little boy’s face. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Wilbur returned. He must be slightly confused but he didn’t reject Phil’s affection.

Phil leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “Hello.”

Hands reached back for Phil, grasping lightly at the front of his t-shirt as Phil carefully stroked his hand through his son’s hair.

A soft grumbling sound interrupted the moment of silence that had fallen between them.

Phil blinked. “You’re hungry,” he said.

“Um,” Wilbur replied. “Yeah?”

“Breakfast then.”

Wilbur nodded and Phil reached forward to swoop him up into his arms before considering the fact that an 8-year-old maybe didn’t want to get carried around everywhere. Hadn’t Wilbur been in a phase where he hadn’t wanted to be carried around by Phil all the time when he’d died? Phil couldn’t quite remember, but Wilbur didn’t protest the picking up now.

Phil carried him down the steps and had the strongest case of déjà vu he’d ever experienced walking into his old kitchen. (Was it déjà vu if it had definitely happened before… or if he was at least 85% sure it had happened before?)

There was a chair pulled out slightly from the kitchen table that Phil remembered setting Wilbur down in a million times, but he didn’t set him down in it today. Instead, he shifted Wilbur’s weight so he was supporting him against his shoulder with only one arm.

“Let’s see what we have,” Phil said aloud while opening the refrigerator. There wasn’t much, at least not that he could identify. There were a good number of Tupperware containers he didn’t know the contents of, and knowing himself did not trust if he couldn’t remember exactly when he’d made it. There was a pork roast thawing at the bottom of the fridge probably intended for dinner that night. Other than that, it was just the basics. “We have eggs and milk,” he said, “and olives. Why do we have olives? I don’t like olives. Do you like olives?”

Wilbur just tilted his head to stare at him.

“Eggs it is.”

It wasn’t difficult to cook eggs while holding Wilbur. He used to do things like cook with him in his arms since he was a baby. (Toddler Wilbur had been a menace when not being constantly watched especially after he’d realized he could hum at the right frequency and knock things off high shelves into his arms). The motions came back to him as naturally as breathing had come back to him when he’d woken this morning.

Wilbur had no complaints, his feet digging lightly into Phil’s hips.

Once he’d put the eggs and the toast he’d also made onto two plates, he reluctantly settled Wilbur into his seat, lingering to ruffle his hair lightly as he drew away. Phil took his own seat at the table.

They ate mostly in silence. Phil didn’t exactly know what to say and it seemed he’d thoroughly weirded Wilbur out so that he wasn’t saying anything as well. Instead, Phil’s eyes drifted to look at his kitchen. It was… so familiar and so very, very not.

His eyes caught on a calendar on the refrigerator, turned to August of 2002. That calendar on that month was more familiar than it should have been. He didn’t think he’d ever found the willpower to change it again until he’d thrown it away moving out. Phil’s breath caught.

“What’s the date?” Phil asked. Wilbur blinked up at him with a blank expression. “Right. You’re 8. Never mind.”

He wished that he was the type of man to cross out days as they came, but unfortunately, he’d always been overconfident that he’d be able to remember what the previous day was without a red cross over it. He’d usually been right up until this point.

“How did people used to figure out the date without smart phones?” Phil mumbled to himself. “Wasn’t there a number you could call?”

Unsure what else to do, he started searching his house for a phonebook. Wilbur watched him from the table, probably thinking about how odd his father was acting that morning.

He managed to remember how a phone book worked well enough to find the number labeled Time Date and Temperature. Wilbur ate the last bite of his breakfast as the recording of a woman’s voice spoke over the telephone.

“Today’s date is August 6^th, 2002. The time is 6:42am. The current temperature is-” Phil hung up the phone, not caring about the temperature. August 6^th. It was 5 days before Wilbur died. He set the landline phone back on its base with a slow breath and sunk down in the nearest chair.

Wilbur shoved the last of his eggs into his mouth and then stood up from his own chair, walking over to Phil and raising his arms to be picked up much like he had when he’d been a toddler. Phil grabbed him and pulled him up onto his lap.

“Oh Wilbur,” Phil said, hugging him close. His hair smelled like the shampoo Phil always used to buy him (he hadn’t realized he still even remembered the scent) and, oddly, of smoke.

Phil held him for a few minutes and Wilbur returned the embrace with as much force as his 8-year-old arms could muster.

It was only because he was pressed up against Phil so hard that Phil noticed the little twitches. He jerked once and then again.

“Um, D…” Wilbur said, drawing back a bit. “Dad?”

“Yes?”

“Do you…” another twitch, “something to do today.”

Phil shook his head. “I don’t have anything to do. I’m calling off work today.”

Wilbur looked at him, eyes oddly intense. “But wasn’t there something…” another twitch, “there something reallyally… really important.”

“No,” Phil said, sure there was nothing happening with anyone or anything from this time that was more important than what he was doing right then.

Yet, as he looked into Wilbur’s slightly worried eyes, he recalled perhaps there was something from a different time that was rather important.

“Well,” Phil said slowly. “Maybe there is. But.” He found himself gripping Wilbur tighter.

Technoblade was out there. Technoblade was out there, and he was, what? 5? 6 physically? Phil needed to find him. He’d already be making his way out of the Nether, having done it once before. Unfortunately, he was probably doing so with a couple of resets. Considering Phil thought he’d slept for a while after coming back, Techno could already be out of the Nether and in the city or at least fighting his way through the Nether as Phil sat there.

Wilbur twitched just slightly again.

“Um, Aunt Puffy could watch me,” Wilbur suggested. Aunt Puffy? Had Phil and Puffy been that close at the time. He did recall Puffy had babysat Wilbur on occasion, but he didn’t remember Wilbur ever calling her his aunt. Maybe it was a newer thing in this time.

Puffy was certainly an idea though, a better one than Wilbur knew. She was one of the few people he’d be able to even start to trust to watch his son and was the only one who knew Phil now.

“Right,” Phil said. “Puffy. Puffy can watch you. I’ll only be a bit, then I’ll come right home.”

Wilbur nodded and Phil nodded back. Still, he did not let the boy go, but just reached for the nearby telephone with one arm. Luckily, he did remember Puffy’s number off the top of his head, having called her a few late nights after… He brushed a hand through Wilbur’s hair.

Puffy answered on the third ring only sounding slightly confused that he was calling her. “Hi Puffy,” Phil said. “I have a favor to ask.”

Chapter Text

Techno hadn’t given himself a chance to think since waking. He’d snapped back into consciousness in a very distantly familiar cell a few hours ago. It had been the cell they’d given him before he’d become a headliner in the fighting ring. (The one from before he had a name.)

He’d been in the mindset of a reset without truly comprehending any peculiarities of this particular one. He just knew he’d gone back in time, so he needed to act. He had to get out of the cell, out of the fighting ring, and out of The Pit. Then, he needed to find Phil.

The first three steps were… not easy in his current state, but manageable with a few smaller resets and some prior knowledge of the best way to escape these things. It was almost easier this time to get out of The Pit since his escape attempts came in the early morning instead of when the ring was at its fullest. Also, no one even entertained the idea he’d be able to do something like that in his current form. Sure, he was at more of a size disadvantage this time around, but in the end, it didn’t hinder him too much.

It wasn’t until he was out in the early morning light standing in an undestroyed city that he paused to think about what had happened.

He’d reversed time, but it hadn’t been like any of the times he’d done so before. He hadn’t died.

Phil had died.

The reversal also wasn’t only a couple of minutes or even days like usual. He hadn’t dedicated much brain power to staring at his far too small hands and feet, but he’d felt the impact while taking out the grown guards at the fighting ring. Just the fact that he was in the fighting ring meant he’d gone back at least 6 years. It was probably much more.

He’d gone back so many years that Phil wouldn’t even know him.

The realization was perhaps an obvious one, but it stopped Techno in his tracks.

Phil wouldn’t know him. Niki was probably a toddler and Deedee might still be in college judging by how small Techno was right now. They also wouldn’t know him. No one on the surface would know him.

What was Techno supposed to do?

Well…

Find Phil, of course. It didn’t matter if he wouldn’t have any idea who Techno was, the obvious first step was to find Phil. Phil would be Phil at the end of the day. The technicalities like having no memory of Techno’s existence would not matter.

Once he’d found Phil, he’d, well, he didn’t know. Cling to the man’s legs and scream if anyone tried to remove him? Was he physically too old for something like that? He wasn’t sure.

Still, that left the issue of finding Phil. Techno had no idea where to start. The city landscape was vastly different than he was used to. Sure, Techno had seen it briefly from a car or the air a couple of times before its destruction and he had run blindly through it once, but he’d never tried to navigate these streets when they were still, well, streets.

He ended up wandering aimlessly for maybe an hour with no clue as to where he was and unable to find any landmarks. His eyes kept looking for walls separating zones and scorched buildings on the horizon.

People looked at him strangely, likely because he was very small and very dirty and kept squinting at the skyline in open bewilderment.

Eventually, he managed to deduce that the mayor’s tower must just literally not exist yet and subtracting that from his expectations made things somewhat easier. He spotted a suited-up man flying towards a somewhat familiar building that he thought might be Guild HQ before some addition or another and in a different color.

Assuming he’d actually identified Guild HQ, he then knew approximately where he was, but then he realized… he still did not know where he was going.

He needed a destination so he wasn’t just wandering the city (especially since more people were around now to stare at him in concern) and preferably one that would get him nearer to Phil. However, he was not going to the Hero’s Guild even if they’d had no biases against him right now. (He could not assure he did not have any biases against them and did not feel like being the perpetrator of another murder spree so soon.)

The only place he could think of going was the rendezvous point they’d set up before taking back Zone 8. He recalled that Phil had said he’d once lived near it, and perhaps he did in this time. Techno was fully prepared to start knocking on random doors near the rendezvous point until he found Phil, but first he had to actually find the place.

It took him a couple of hours and he mostly went off Phil’s idle descriptions of what the neighborhood and park had looked like before the war instead of off his own memories. Eventually, however, he found it.

The park actually looked like a park in this time with a small pond instead of a muddy hole and a pile of rubble. It was nice and Techno thought he could probably find a place to sleep in the bushes or trees if he didn’t find Phil by nightfall. There were also a few street venders setting up for lunch nearby and a lot of trashcans. So, Techno would be able to find something to eat at least.

First though, he really needed a small rest. His legs burned like hell from walking all over the city after having lived in a cell for however much time his younger self had spent there. He sat on a nearby bench and instantly realized he may have pushed this body a bit much physically because the second he gave it any relief, it just about passed out.

Maybe he should lay down.

His head hit the wooden bench a bit harder than intended as a wave of dizziness settled over him. He curled his legs up to his chest with a groan.

He wondered idly as he laid there when this body had last eaten. He didn’t feel hungry, but that might just be because he was too hungry. He decided it was best to get up and look for food.

In a bit.

He wasn’t quite sure how long he laid there with his ears ringing slightly. He might have even fallen asleep. He didn’t know.

It was a voice that jerked him out of his daze. “Techno?”

It was Phil’s voice and Techno wondered if he’d imagined the last few hours and was back at Kurtis and Deedee’s or even back in the trainyard. Then he realized his face was still pressed into a park bench.

Techno squinted up at Phil, idly noticing that the sun had moved a bit across the sky. He felt slightly better, but also really hungry and thirsty. “Phil?”

“Oh, thank god,” Phil said. “I’ve been looking all over the city for you, but I didn’t actually know what you’d look like or even if you’d made it up here yet.”

“You know who I am?” Techno asked, frowning.

“I do, yes,” Phil said. “I don’t know how, but I do.”

“Huh,” Techno said. “That’s cool.”

“That’s all you have to say?” Phil asked, sounding amused.

He hummed. “Glad you’re alive.”

“Well, thank you,” Phil said. “Actually, really, thank you.”

“Any time, Phil.” Techno set his head back down on the bench then and closed his eyes.

“Are you alright?”

“I don’t think I’ve eaten in a long time,” Techno answered without opening his eyes. “Or drank anything for that matter. I might be dying or going into a comma.”

Hands were tugging at him the second the words left his mouth. “We need to get you something to eat then.”

Techno groaned. “Can’t you just tell me your address and kill me?”

“No,” Phil said firmly. “I cannot.”

“Ugh, fine,” Techno said, forcing himself to sit up and blinking the spots out of his vision the best he could. He stood up, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

“Oh,” Phils said, sounding surprised.

“What?” Techno asked, peering up at him.

“Nothing,” Phil said, staring at him oddly. “It’s just you’re… very small.”

Techno glowered at him, but it just made Phil’s odd expression more pronounced.

“God, and you’re skinny,” Phil fussed, his eyes roving over him. “We really do need to get you something to eat. Come on. There’s a restaurant across the street.”

Techno let Phil lead him almost without any complaint. He did shoot him a confused and disgruntled look when the man tried to take Techno’s hand while crossing the street.

The restaurant was one Techno unsurprisingly didn’t recognize. It was a small diner mostly with booths and a counter people could sit at.

Phil stopped him before walking in and threw his coat over Techno’s shoulders.

“Your clothes are a bit ragged,” he explained. “Just pretend you’re cold.”

Techno shrugged and slipped his arms into the jacket. It fell far past his knees. It was weird being shorter than Phil again. The jacket was warm; he hadn’t realized he was chilly until right then.

They slid into one of the booths and Techno was disgruntled to realize his feet didn’t quite touch the floor when sitting. He was busy frowning at his own feet when the waitress walked over.

“Good morning,” he said extremely cheerfully while grinning at Techno in an odd way. Techno stared back at her blankly.

“Hi,” Phil said for him.

“How are the two of you today?” she asked, still chipper, while handing Phil a normal menu. Techno was accustomed to getting a menu also from the few times he’d dined out with Phil, but instead she set a paper mat in front of Techno along with some crayons.

Techno looked at the paper mat and then at the waitress and then at Phil.

“Could he possibly have a regular menu as well?” Phil asked.

“Oh, of course,” she said. She turned and leaned over the counter to get another menu. “Here you go, buddy.” She plopped the menu down in front of him and then kept looking at him all while smiling. “Having a fancy father-son lunch today, hun?”

“I’m not his son,” Techno said immediately. “And why are you calling me nicknames? We are not on a nickname level of intimacy.”

“…We’re uh,” Phil hesitated as the waitress turned to look at him with less of a smile and more of a pinch to her brow, “currently in the adoption process and we’re not quite using those… terms.”

Techno went to open his mouth to argue that he was not in fact being adopted, but Phil kicked him lightly in the shin. His shin was very bruised, so it hurt far more than Phil had likely intended it to.

“What?” Techno asked, as the waitress walked away, seeming satisfied with Phil’s lie.

“You have to be careful about what you say,” Phil said, lowering his voice so no one else could hear them.

“Why?”

“Because you’re, what? Six?” Phil said. “Just let people assume we’re related somehow. Don’t argue.”

“But we’re not related,” Techno said. “You’re just my friend. My very special friend, but my friend.”

Phil pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose, “and if you say that to any responsible adult with your 6-year-old mouth, they’re going to call the police.”

“Why?”

“Just trust me and figure out what you’re going to eat.”

Techno huffed but turned his attention to the menu. He couldn’t actually read the words, but there were enough pictures, and he knew enough about what diners usually had to make a decision. The waitress came back with glasses of water (which Techno happily accepted) and took their orders.

Phil pushed his own glass of water over to Techno as she walked away. Techno drank Phil’s glass after his own, ignoring the slight stomachache that came from consuming a lot of liquid at once. He still felt thirsty somehow, but figured it was best to take a break on the water for now.

He rubbed his face, feeling extremely tired again. He caught sight of his hand as he did so and drew it back to stare at the too small fingers. “Well,” he sighed. “This is something.”

Phil nodded in agreement and then seemed to hesitate for a moment over something before speaking. “Wilbur’s alive.”

Techno suddenly felt a lot more awake. “What?”

“It’s, uh, about a week before he’d died actually,” Phil said. “So, he’s… yeah.”

Technoblade wasn’t sure what to say. Even though he hadn’t thought about it, the news was not a surprise. It was almost like he’d already known. Maybe he had in a way. He’d done this after all and, well, he knew he would have done that in a heartbeat if he could, and he could, so he had.

It was rather simple if… unexpected.

“That’s great, Phil.”

“It…” Phil paused for a moment and then smiled a smile that was different than anything Techno had seen from him before. “It is.”

Well, that was a new addition to this mess.

Phil seemed to be thinking along the same lines because he sighed. “God, what do we even do now?”

“Honestly, I’m just glad you remember my name.”

“Mayor Werner hasn’t even been elected,” Phil said. “We should actually try to stop that. We’re going to have to stop that, aren’t we?”

“Eventually,” Techno agreed. “Also, maybe get rid of all of the skeletons buried under the city.”

“That’s a good idea,” Phil agreed. “We should just zombie proof the city in general the best we can. Oh, there is going to be so much to do.”

They briefly discussed ideas of what needed to be done while they waited for their food, but truly nothing seemed too urgent. There were many things they couldn’t even start working on for years.

By the time the check came and Phil paid, they were on the topic of more immediate concerns. Obviously, Wilbur wouldn’t be leaving Phil’s sight on the day of his death, but Phil still planned to track down his killer and make sure they were completely out of the way before the date. (Though, Techno imagined if he could reverse time 14 years to bring Wilbur back once, he could probably do it again.)

There was also the concern about what to do with Techno. Obviously, he’d be going back to Phil’s house, but there’d be some technicalities to deal with since Techno didn’t have a birth certificate or anything of the like. Not to mention there was the issue of actually introducing him to Wilbur.

“Wilbur always was a bit of a jealous child,” Phil cautioned as they walked up to what was apparently his front door. They’d gotten a cab, so Techno didn’t have to walk the whole way. “So, I’m sorry if he’s a bit grumpy with someone he sees as a new child in the house. He’ll warm up eventually.”

“I think I can handle an 8-year-old’s dramatics,” Techno assured dryly.

“I know,” Phil said. “Just don’t hold it against him. He’s really a sweet kid.”

Techno honestly didn’t care how ‘sweet’ he was. He was Phil’s kid. Phil’s up until this morning dead kid. The thing could stab him with a knife and Phil would hear no complaints from Techno.

Phil unlocked his front door and led Techno inside. It was a nice house, Techno thought even though he wasn’t seeing much of it. It smelled nice at least and was much warmer than outside. He probably didn’t need Phil’s coat anymore.

“Wilbur,” Phil called. “Could you come here for a minute. I have someone I want you to meet.”

There were hurried footsteps from somewhere deeper in the house. A child (unfortunately slightly taller than Techno currently was) ran into the room at top speed. Phil had to catch him to keep him from falling down.

“Hey, Will,” Phil said, hands lingering as Wilbur managed to get his feet steady underneath himself again. “We have a guest.”

Wilbur glanced over at Techno, seeming to be waiting for something.

“This is Technoblade,” Phil continued. “He’s going to be staying with us for a bit. Technoblade, this is Wilbur.”

Wilbur looked at Techno and Techno looked at Wilbur.

Techno’s first thought upon seeing Wilbur was that Phil’s kid looked absolutely nothing like him. When thinking of Wilbur before now, Techno had always envisioned him as a miniature Phil with maybe a freckle or two in the wrong place, but he looked nothing like the image Techno had in his head of him.

His hair was dark brown, a striking contrast to Phil’s light hair and so full of curls that he could probably hide a dozen pens in it without anyone seeing. His eyes also didn’t resemble Phil’s in shape nor color. His bottom lip was significantly bigger than his top one unlike Phil’s that looked about the same size and his ears weren’t as flat on the top as Phil’s. Maybe their noses were similar, but in the way that meant you probably had a common ancestor 7 generations ago. They had approximately the same skin color, but Wilbur’s had more of a reddish undertone than Phil’s.

He just didn’t look like Phil’s kid at all. If Techno himself wasn’t standing in his own 6-year-old body, he might have assumed Phil had had a psychotic break and had kidnapped a kid thinking it was his own. Even knowing they’d traveled back in time he was about to open his mouth to question the child’s appearance, but then Wilbur seemed to finish studying him.

He smiled at Techno, a smile that took over his face from the curve of his lips to the light creases on his forehead, and oh. There was Phil.

“Hi Techno,” Wilbur said, “I’m your new big brother.”

Techno blinked at the child and the child blinked back. “No,” Techno said. “Absolutely not. We are not doing that.”

“Ah, Wilbur,” Phil cut in. “Techno is just staying with us for a bit. He’s not your brother.”

Wilbur tilted his head at his father, “Mmmm too late,” he said. “He’s my baby brother now.”

“No,” Techno said firmly despite how squeaky his voice was currently. “That is not happening. Don’t call me that ever again.”

Wilbur turned to look him directly in the eyes, his smile twisting into something different. “Baby. Brother. Technoblade.”

“Phil,” Techno complained.

“Wilbur,” Phil scolded, but even Techno could see his heart wasn’t in it. The little devil child clearly sensed this weakness too.

“I’m going to go put all of my best blankets in his new room,” Wilbur declared cheerfully, turning to run up the steps.

Techno turned to Phil. “I thought you said he’d be unhappy I was here. What was that?”

Phil was looking at the stairs Wilbur had just disappeared up. “That was… Wilbur, I suppose.”

Chapter Text

Ghostbur couldn’t help but stare at the reflection in the mirror. He had long gotten used to not seeing his own reflection. Seeing it now was odd; it had startled him when he’d caught sight of it.

“Wilbur, are you okay in there?” Puffy’s voice calling through the door snapped him out of his trance.

“Uh,” Ghostbur replied. “Yeah. I’ll be out in a minute.”

He must have been there for a long time, he realized. His knees were starting to ache where they dug into porcelain. He’d climbed up onto the sink to get a closer look.

He touched the mirror where his face was and was startled to realize he’d left fingerprints behind. He pulled away from the mirror and hopped off the sink. Still staring at himself, he turned on the water and slowly washed his hands.

He’d been distracted when Dad was around. He hadn’t noticed his reflection in the mirror earlier, or at least, he hadn’t attributed any importance too it. He’d been too absorbed with the fact that Dad was seeing him to think of much else. Even the reality of what was surely going on with Techno had briefly slipped his mind. At least, until the resets started and reminded him. He’d then reminded Dad.

Now with Dad not hovering, Ghostbur had time to think and to notice things.

One thing he noticed while drying his hands was an oddly lighter spot in his otherwise dark brown hair. His hair was thick and curly, so he had to dig for the white streak, but it was obvious once he’d separated it from the rest.

“Huh,” he said to his reflection, thinking of Techno’s fully white hair. “Makes sense.” He carefully weaved the small bits of white hair back into his normal brown. He’d need to either cut it or find a way to dye it brown going forward. For now, he was sure Dad and Techno would be too distracted to notice, let alone make the connection.

Puffy was waiting for him outside the bathroom door. She’d been awfully clingy today; Ghostbur wondered if Dad had said something before leaving that had put her on high alert. It was probable considering Wilbur’s death day was less than a week away and Dad was certainly paranoid about it.

“What would you like to do now?” Puffy asked with a gentle smile. The expression looked weird on her somehow. Ghostbur was used to seeing Puffy talking to adults. He’d seen her doing work as a hero and hanging out with coworkers. He’d seen her comfort Dad after Wilbur’s death. He’d even seen her flirt (awkwardly) with Niki.

Ghostbur had seen her on the worst days of her life, and now she was talking to him with a fake smile on her face that adults put on for cute animals and small children. It felt wrong.

“Uh,” Ghostbur said. What he wanted to do was start setting up Technoblade’s new room, but he couldn’t do that with her breathing down his neck. Yet, he could tell just by looking at her face that she wasn’t planning on leaving him alone. He internally sighed. “How about coloring?”

“Oh, that sounds fun!” she said cheerfully. “Where’s your coloring stuff?”

“In my room,” Ghostbur replied. At least, he assumed that’s where it was. It had been a while since he’d touched it.

“Well then, lead the way.”

Ghostbur did, walking down the hall towards his bedroom. It was his first time seeing it in the light of day, and it gave Ghostbur a sense of vertigo when he stepped foot in it.

“Where’s your stuff?” Puffy prompted again when Ghostbur froze in the doorway. Right. He swallowed down the unfamiliar sensation of nausea building in his stomach and stepped fully into his room. His eyes settled on the far too familiar toy chest. His color supplies were probably there, he concluded from vague recollections.

He forced himself to move towards it, kneeling down in front of it to peer inside the already open chest. There was nothing particularly scary about the toy chest, not really. Not without context.

When he touched the side, a full body shudder went through him. People sometimes spoke about a sensation they described as someone walking over their grave. Ghostbur felt that this description was accurate to how he felt right now.

He reached quickly in and grabbed a booklet of papers, a box of crayons, and a thin tray. As he pulled away, he noticed a blot of something where his hand had touched the side of the toy chest.

“Is everything alright?” Puffy asked.

“Yeah, uh,” Ghostbur said. “I think I maybe got some blue paint on my toybox.” And maybe he had. He hadn’t paid much attention before putting his hand there, and it wasn’t as though the blue stain was in the shape of his hand. It was just a light, almost unnoticeable blot of something blue.

He still had to take a breath to remind himself he could.

He shook it off and turned away from the toy chest. He set out the tray on the floor and tore a piece of paper out of the notebook before laying down on his stomach in front of it. Puffy walked over and lowered herself to the floor as well.

“Do you mind if I color too?” she asked.

“Sure,” Ghostbur said.

She flipped to the last page of the booklet of blank paper and used the cardboard back to draw on. It was silent for a few minutes as they both drew.

“What are you drawing?” Puffy broke the silence eventually. It was a fair question. Ghostbur’s hands were small, unpracticed, and using low-quality crayons. It looked like shit.

“A train,” Ghostbur replied, frowning at it. Oh well, he was 8. No one would judge his art skills, not even Techno who was the intended recipient of the drawing. Ghostbur would restrain himself from labeling it as “To Technoblade” or “Welcome Home” until later.

“It’s a very nice train.”

Ghostbur did not roll his eyes no matter how much he wanted too. At least Puffy had just proven his point.

After the train, Ghostbur drew a duck which came out slightly better since it wasn’t as complicated as a train, but still wasn’t good. He decided to label the drawings with arrows so people would at least know what he was trying to make.

…Then again, Techno was the intended recipient, and he didn’t read, so Wilbur would have to explain to him what they were anyway.

“Hey buddy,” Puffy said a while after he’d finished his duck. “I’m going to go grab a glass of water from the kitchen. Do you want anything? Juice maybe?”

“I’m fine,” Ghostbur replied.

She nodded and got to her feet. She didn’t groan as much getting up from the ground as she had at Kurtis and Deedee’s. She was still quite young, still technically a hero trainee if Ghostbur remembered correctly.

Ghostbur almost instantly abandoned the coloring when she left the room. The pictures would be a good way to add color to Techno’s new room, but they weren’t the most important things. Technoblade would need comfy clothes and blankets.

Ghostbur already knew where all of his clothes were, so easily was able to pick out a nice comfy sweater, a pair of soft shorts with an elastic waistband, and some nice socks with little pigs on them. Most of Wilbur’s clothes would be too big on Techno since he would be 6 now whereas Ghostbur was 8, but it would do until Dad could buy him some stuff in his size. He wouldn’t have to keep wearing whatever the fighting rings had put him in.

Then, he needed to find blankets. Ghostbur knew vaguely that there were plenty of blankets in the house. They all came out in the winter months, but it was currently August, so all but the favorites were put away.

He used the desk chair to peak at the shelf at top of his closet and found some of the nice fluffy blankets along with bedsheets (unfortunately, these were twin sized and the guest room had a full sized bed so they wouldn’t work on Techno’s new bed). He pulled down the blankets and sorted them by type and texture. He felt he was missing the nicest blankets, so pulled the chair into the hallway to look in the hall closet. He found a few more there and sorted them into the piles in his room before putting the desk chair back.

Techno would need a warm one, a soft one, and a fun one but Ghostbur would let him decide which ones he liked best.

He’d been too busy with his task of blanket sorting to hear the front door opening downstairs, so Ghostbur was surprised when he heard his dad calling up the steps.

“Wilbur,” he called. “Could you come here for a minute? I have someone I want you to meet.”

And that was all that Ghostbur needed to hear to get him running as fast as he could. Unfortunately, he was not perfectly used to steering his body, so he ended up more stumbling than running down the staircase, but he couldn’t seem to care. Dad grabbed him, slowing him down before he could truly fall.

“Hey, Will, we have a guest,” Dad said, which was silly because they certainly did not have a guest. He glanced over at the small boy standing partially behind Dad almost like he was trying to hide. Oh gosh, he was so tiny. Finally, he was as small compared to Wilbur as he should be. Two whole years younger. He was just a baby and now he looked the part.

“This is Technoblade,” Dad said. “He’s going to be staying with us for a bit.” Then Dad glanced slightly behind himself at Techno. “Technoblade, this is Wilbur.”

Oh, Ghostbur thought, swallowing, an introduction. It had come far too late and far too early, but there it was. “Hi Techno,” he said, meeting his eyes with a smile. “I’m your new big brother.”

It took half a second for the words to register, but then Techno looked aghast. “No.” The horror was apparent on his face. It was kind of funny. “Absolutely not. We are not doing that.”

“Wilbur, Techno is just staying with us for a bit,” Dad lied. “He’s not your big brother.”

“Mmmm too late,” Ghostbur said, and oh how much of an understatement that was. “He’s my baby brother now.”

“No. That is not happening. Don’t call me that ever again.”

Oh, silly Technoblade. So silly. So just like a living person. “Baby brother Technoblade!” Ghostbur sang smugly. He knew he was right.

“Phil,” Techno said, turning his eyes on Dad.

“Wilbur,” Dad said, his tone scolding, but Ghostbur chose to ignore that.

“I’m going to go put all of my best blankets in his new room,” Ghostbur proclaimed, running off before he could be stopped.

Instead of going to his room, he turned to the guest room across the hallway which, by default, would be Techno’s new room. The room was mostly set up furniture wise, but the comforter was an icy beige. Luckily extra sheets were at the top of the room’s closet just like in Ghostbur’s room.

Ghostbur pulled out all of the extra sheets and found one extra comforter that was green. It was still boring, but it was better than beige, so that would have to do. He found the most fun old sheets he could find, which were still just solid colors, but he mixed and matched so the fitted sheet was blue and the normal sheet was orange.

He then set upon the task of stripping and remaking the bed. Getting the fitted sheet on was harder than he’d thought it would be, but he managed it after a couple of tries. He swapped out the pillowcases with one blue and one orange pillowcase and stacked them at the top of the bed.

Once that was done, he started dragging the boxes that had been stored in Techno’s closet into the hallway, so he’d have plenty of room to hang his new clothes. Then, as promised, he transferred all of the blanket piles from his room to Techno’s so Techno could get a good look at them. He also grabbed the drawings he’d done earlier and wrote welcoming things to Techno on them even though Ghostbur knew he couldn’t read them.

He was just transferring the last pile of blankets across the hall (he’d gotten a bit tripped up by stepping on the end of one), when soft footsteps ascended the stairs.

“What are you doing?” Technoblade asked.

“Getting you blankets,” Ghostbur replied. “I already said.”

“Right.”

Ghostbur managed to detangle his legs from the blankets finally and made the final push to haul them to Techno’s room.

He dropped them all and then glanced back at Technoblade who was staring at him from the hallway.

“Where’s Dad?” Ghostbur asked.

“Phil is paying Puffy for babysitting,” Techno said. “It was suggested I come upstairs and see what you were doing. You were making noise.”

“Yeah, well, I was setting up your new room!” Ghostbur threw out his arms at the space.

Techno glanced around the room and then nudged one of the nearest blanket piles. “Is it customary to cover the carpet in houses with blankets?”

“No silly, but you need a blanket, and I didn’t know what you’d like so I got them all out to show you.”

“I see.”

“Come on,” Ghostbur said. “Come pick!”

Techno looked at the blanket he’d kicked. “This one’s fine.”

“No!” Ghostbur whined. “You have to try them all and you have to pick one from each pile!”

Techno pointed again at the blanket at his feet. “This one.”

Ghostbur put his hands on his hips. “I went through all the work to get them down from the closets,” he said. “You have to pick properly.”

Technoblade just stared at him for a bit. “And how do I pick ‘properly’ exactly?” he asked.

“You have to touch them all,” Ghostbur explained. “Then take one from each pile. That’s the soft pile next to you, but there’s also a pile of ones that are heavy and warm and a pile of ones with fun designs.”

Techno took all of this information in with a grimace on his face.

“Please?” Ghostbur said.

Techno sighed, sounding 3 times his age… er, 3 times his actual age, not… 18. However, he did lean down and start touching all of the blankets. Pleased, Ghostbur watched him, pointing out the pros and cons of each blanket when he remembered something about them.

Eventually, Techno deposited 3 different blankets on the bed next to where Ghostbur now sat crisscrossed on it.

“There,” he said. “Are you happy now?”

“Yep,” Ghostbur replied. He hopped up off the bed. “At least about the blankets. There’s a few more necessities we should get from my room. Here, I’ll show you.”

He reached out intending to take Technoblade’s hand, but the boy flinched away the second he saw it approaching, actually taking a step back.

Ghostbur could tell it wasn’t a fully conscious decision to pull away by the look in his eyes, and he seemed to regret it a moment afterwards.

Right. Ghostbur had forgotten in his excitement how… twitchy Techno could be about physical contact. Most people in the future either knew his boundaries very well or didn’t dare try to touch him, so it hadn’t come up in a while. There also seemed to be something different about it today. Ghostbur studied him with sharp eyes. It was partly muscle memory, he postulated, and not of a 20-year-old soldier. It was the muscle memory of a 6-year-old that had died multiple times in a fighting ring the night before.

Ghostbur’s hand was still out in the air between them, and he watched as Techno squared his jar and reached out to take it. This time, Ghostbur was the one to pull away.

“I don’t want you to touch me if it makes you feel bad,” Ghostbur said. Techno blinked at him. His hand was now the one raised awkwardly. “You can just,” he shrugged, “follow me to my room.”

“Yeah,” Techno said. “Alright.”

So, Ghostbur led him across the hallway to his own room. “This is my room,” he said, though he was sure that was clear. “If you ever need anything, you can come get me. Even if my door is closed, you can just knock. Even if it’s in the middle of the night.” He said it seriously, but Techno seemed slightly amused by his words.

“Yeah sure.”

Ghostbur walked into his room and found the pile of clothes he’d made earlier. “I picked you out some clothes you can change into. They might be a bit big, but they’re soft and clean. Dad will get you some better ones later.”

“Thank you,” Technoblade said, taking them.

“And, um,” Ghostbur said, trying to remember all of the things human children needed. “There are extra toothbrushes under the sink in the hall bathroom which is the door next to my room. Uh, you can use any of my soaps and shampoos. There are towels in the bathroom closet too. You can just grab one when you need it.”

“Okay.”

“Your room is kind of bland right now, so I thought you could take the light up globe on my desk and I made you a couple of pictures.” Ghostbur put the train picture on top of the clothing pile in Techno’s arms. “This is a train,” he said. “I wrote ‘Welcome home Technoblade’ on it,” he pointed to the words as he said them. Then he put the duck picture on top. “This is a duck. It says ‘To Techno’ on it.”

“Er… thanks,” Techno said, staring at the pictures. “That was nice of you.”

“And… um. I feel like I’m forgetting something.”

“This is plenty,” Technoblade said.

“No, no,” Ghostbur waved him off. “There’s something else and it’s really important.” He frowned and glanced around his room for a clue. He found it instantly. He gasped, surprised at himself. “You need a stuffed animal!” He needed, in fact, a very specific stuffed animal.

Ghostbur went over to the pile of stuffed animals in the corner of his room. He was pretty sure they were technically supposed to go in the toy chest, but Ghostbur had never put them in that.

He started searching through the pile. “What’s your favorite animal?”

“I don’t have a favorite animal.”

Ghostbur just looked at him with an unamused expression on his face. It made Techno grin slightly. “I don’t,” he said, “and that isn’t necessary.”

“Yes it is,” Ghostbur said, tossing various stuffed animals over his shoulder.

“It’s really not.”

Finally, Ghostbur saw a flash of bright white and grabbed at it victoriously. “Perfect!” he proclaimed, turning to Techno. “It matches your hair.” He jumped up and held the stuffed polar bear out. “Look.”

Techno was frozen, eyes locked on the stuffed animal for a good while before speaking.

“This… is yours?” he asked slowly.

“It was,” Ghostbur said, “but now it’s yours. I’m giving it to you.”

“I…” His eyes looked away from the stuffed animal to meet Wilbur’s gaze. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Ghostbur said. Techno’s hand trembled just slightly when he reached out to take it. An emotion struck Ghostbur as the plushie changed hands from Ghostbur to Technoblade properly this time. It kind of felt like being stabbed again. “You should name him,” Ghostbur said to distract himself.

“Steve,” Techno said instantly.

Ghostbur tilted his head. “That was… a quick answer.” Had Techno named him before but just never said it out loud? That was cute! “Well,” Ghostbur said. “I hope you like Steve.”

Technoblade nodded. “Right, I, thank you. Wilbur.”

Wilbur. His discomfort with the name referring to him as he was now, was less when it came from Techno’s mouth, maybe because the only Wilbur Techno had ever known was already dead.

“I’ll grab the globe,” Ghostbur said. “Then we can finish getting you settled.”

Chapter Text

“Phil,” Technoblade said, the plaintive note to his voice sounding much sillier in a child’s voice than in a man’s, “if you don’t get me coffee, I’m going to go on another murder spree.”

Phil sent him a glare across the kitchen table. Luckily, Wilbur did not seem concerned about the ‘another’ part of that statement; he didn’t even seem to register it. It was amusing (in an aggravating way) that the actual child was acting more mature than the not-child this morning. (And every morning, Phil had come to observe in the last two weeks.) Wilbur was happily chomping on a piece of jam covered toast having already finished his entire vegetable filled omelet and the side of grapes.

“Technoblade,” Phil reasoned. “You are 6. Six-year-olds don’t drink coffee.”

“Yes,” Techno replied, poking at his untouched omelet with a butter knife, “but this 6-year-old is a very nontypical one, and if it’s going to make it through the day, it needs more energy than this body is willing to provide.”

“You have low energy because you’re malnourished,” Phil said. “You need a consistent and healthy diet, not coffee.”

Techno sighed, pushing the plate away slightly to put his crossed arms on the table.

“You can have some of my apple juice if you want,” Wilbur suggested cheerfully.

Techno settled his cheek on his arm, so he was facing Wilbur. “Thank you, Wilbur,” he said. “You have no concept of why that isn’t helpful, but I appreciate the effort.”

“It has sugar,” Wilbur said. “I thought if you can’t have caffeine, it could be a reasonable compromise.”

“Wow, Phil, at least your child tries to be reasonable.”

“Fine,” Phil said. “Fine. You want a compromise? I’ll let you have one small cup of coffee, if you at least eat some of the omelet.”

Technoblade groaned.

“Please. The nutritionist put you on a strict diet.”

“It has vegetables in it,” Techno groused.

“Techno, please.”

“Veggies are good,” Wilbur piped up, “and they make you grow up big and strong.”

Techno groaned again.

“Should I start the coffee machine or not?” Phil asked.

“Ugh.” Techno picked himself up off the table and pulled the plate closer to him. “Fine.”

Phil rolled his eyes but stood up to start brewing the coffee.

“Do you like that shirt?” Wilbur’s voice asked behind him.

“Yes, Wilbur, I like the shirt,” Techno said, bored with the question as Wilbur, for some unknown reason, made sure to clarify this every morning.

Phil had thought at first it was because Wilbur was conscious of the fact that the clothes Techno kept borrowing from him didn’t quite fit right. In fact, Wilbur had bugged Phil constantly for a week about going to the mall to buy Techno his own things. Phil, however, had not felt comfortable having him out in public for at least 48 hours after his death date.

Well, honestly, he still hadn’t felt comfortable about it, but the thing about that gift called life is it did have to eventually move forward. Phil was…trying his best to remember that.

“Are you sure?” Wilbur asked, “because you should always only wear things you like.”

“I am sure, Wilbur.”

Even after the shopping trip though, Wilbur still asked about Techno’s clothes every day. Neither Phil nor Techno could figure out why he’d fixated on that, but it seemed harmless enough. Techno had decided to tolerate the behavior which Phil was grateful for.

Really, Phil had expected there to be less tolerance between the two of them overall, but the anticipated jealousy from Wilbur was nowhere to be found. Wilbur was the opposite of jealous of Techno, in fact. He was almost too clingy when it came to Technoblade. This had been a different thing to worry about as Techno did like his space and had no experience with small children. He seemed to take Wilbur with a grain of salt however, not getting more than passably irritated by the attention. It helped that Wilbur could easily be distracted into clinging to Phil which Phil never was upset about.

“And the pants?”

“The entire outfit is good, Wilbur,” Techno said. “I’m even wearing the fish socks you picked out for me, see?”

This seemed to satisfy Wilbur. “They’re cute!” he said, tone excited rather than oddly seriously concerned as it had been a moment before.

“Yep,” Techno replied.

Phil returned to the table then, the sound of the coffee maker starting to do its job in his ears. Techno had eaten half of his omelet thankfully.

“I’m going to file the final bit of paperwork today,” Phil told him.

Technoblade grunted through a mouthful of grapes, making his displeasure about the situation known once again.

“I know,” Phil said, resisting rolling his eyes. It had been an oddly soft spot for Technoblade when they’d discussed it, “but me legally adopting you really is the most secure option.”

Another grunt.

“Unless you want to risk going into foster care.” The fact of the matter was, Techno was physically 6. If he’d been 16, maybe even 15, they would have tried to get him emancipated minor paperwork, but the only real option for a 6-year-old was being adopted by an adult. As the only adult who knew he was actually 20, Phil was the best (only) option. Techno still didn’t seem to like the idea, though he’d had trouble articulating why to Phil.

There was a third grunt from Techno, but this one was more assenting.

“I still think you should rename him Jeremy,” Wilbur cut in, effectively cutting the tension that had built up during the adoption ‘conversation.’

“No,” Techno said firmly through a mouthful of food.

“Wilbur,” Phil said patiently, “once again, Technoblade is not a cat. You cannot just rename him.”

“I’m just saying,” Wilbur said, kicking his feet, “making his legal name more common would make the courts less suspicious.”

Phil studied his child for a moment and then turned to Technoblade, lips pursed. “Technoblade, why does my child seem to be under the impression we are illegally adopting you?”

Techno just shrugged.

Phil turned back to Wilbur. “Techno says funny things sometimes,” he said, “but the way we are adopting him is 100% legal and there is nothing weird about it.”

Wilbur took a sip of his apple juice. “Okay Dad,” he said.

If he was not an 8-year-old, Phil would have taken his tone as a condescending one. As it was, he wasn’t sure.

The coffee machine beeped then and, considering Techno had made good progress on his breakfast, Phil did reluctantly get up to get him a cup. He grabbed a miniature sized mug he remembered getting at a skating event with a 4–5-year-old Wilbur. It had originally held about 6 ounces of hot chocolate, but today, Phil supposed, it would hold coffee.

He went into the refrigerator to get some almond milk since Technoblade liked it in his coffee and it meant there would be less room for coffee in the mug, but then paused. He recalled one of the tips from the nutritionist was to add nutrient dense food to what Techno was already eating (or drinking in this case). One of the example suggestions was adding butter to bread before making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Phil wasn’t sure if Techno had ever had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in his life (physically or mentally), but the same principle should apply to coffee. In fact, Phil knew for a fact putting butter in coffee was common in some cultures.

So, instead of almond milk, Phil dropped half a tablespoon of butter in the coffee.

Technoblade, having already seen what he’d done, glared at him as he set it on the table. “What is this?”

“It’s butter coffee.”

“Butter coffee is not what we agreed upon.”

Phil crossed his arms. “If you are putting coffee in your malnourished 6-year-old body, you are going to get some nutrition from it.”

“This is an affront to nature,” Techno said.

“It is just a bit of butter.”

“It’s disgusting is what it is.”

“Plenty of people do it,” Phil reasoned. “At least try it before deciding you hate it.”

“I don’t need to try it,” Techno insisted, looking exactly his age. “I already know it tastes bad.”

“Here! I’ll be an impartial party and taste it for you!” Wilbur offered, and then he leaned over in his chair, stuck out his tongue, and dipped it fully into the coffee mug.

Techno watched him sit back up with open mouthed horror.

Wilbur smacked his lips a few times. “I like it!” he declared.

Techno slowly turned to Phil, eyes pleading for help and explanation. Phil, however, could not help him in that moment. He had both of his hands over his mouth, trying desperately not to cackle at his child’s innocent antics.

When it was clear Phil was in no state to provide aid, Techno looked back at the coffee mug. He slid it across the table towards Wilbur, a shell-shocked expression on his face. “You can have it.”

“Ooo yay!”

“No he,” Phil started, but cut himself off, choking on laughter. “He can’t… he can’t have that. He’s eight.”

“It’s too late, Phil,” Techno said, and indeed it was. Wilbur had taken the largest gulp of coffee Phil had ever seen, mostly emptying the, admittedly rather small, mug.

Phil made the executive decision to give up on parenting for the moment, both of his actual child and the 20-year-old. He flopped down into his chair with defeated laughter. “Just go get yourself the rest of the coffee, Technoblade.”

Chapter Text

Techno sighed, running his hand through the short hairs on his head. He had maybe an inch of it now after almost a month being back, and it was growing in unevenly. Areas of his head had originally still had cuts on it from his body’s last “hair cut” and those areas were growing hair slower. He frowned at his own face in the mirror. It was a new mirror, one Phil had bought for him when they’d redesigned the once guest room into a true room. It was a smaller mirror with a golden trim that sat on his new dresser since he’d not liked any of the dressers with built in mirrors.

“Are you alright?” Wilbur’s voice startled him. Apparently, he hadn’t remembered to close his bedroom door behind him, and now Wilbur was hovering outside of it with a curious expression on his face.

“I’m fine,” Techno said.

Wilbur studied him closely, head tilting to the right at the exact angle Phil’s always did when Techno lied about his mental state to him. However, unlike Phil, Wilbur didn’t drop it. “Is it your hair?”

Techno stared at him, surprised by the accurate guess.

Wilbur gave him a rueful smile. “You ran your hand through it and sighed,” he said. “It’s not a big jump.”

“It’s nothing,” Techno said.

Wilbur raised an eyebrow.

“Really,” Techno said. “It’s just short right now, and I prefer it long.”

“Oh,” Wilbur said. “That makes sense.”

“It does?” Techno asked. He honestly felt pretty silly about how uncomfortable his short hair made him. Wilbur didn’t even have the context as to why he wouldn’t want short hair.

“Sure. If you like long hair better, having it short must suck.”

“Yeah… it just doesn’t look like me,” Techno said. Nothing about him looked like him right now, but for some reason, the hair was the one that made his stomach clench when thinking about it. “And there isn’t anything I can do about it except wait.”

Wilbur hummed. “Well, there isn’t anything we can do about the length, but if the problem is it doesn’t feel like you, we could do something about that.”

“And how exactly would we do that?”

Wilbur smiled widely at him. “What’s your favorite color?”

~~~

And that is how they ended up at the nearest CVS.

Techno wondered if Phil would be mad at him for allowing Wilbur out of the house without notifying him first. To be fair, Techno hadn’t exactly figured out what was happening until it was too late. Wilbur had led him down the stairs and then dragged him towards the backdoor. He’d been uncharacteristically quiet, and Techno was usually quiet, so they’d made almost no sound leaving the house. Phil had been in the front room, so they hadn’t crossed his path.

Techno hadn’t realized they were sneaking out until they were already a block away. When Techno had brought up the fact that they probably should have told Phil they were leaving, Wilbur had shrugged.

“This isn’t about him,” Wilbur had pointed out. Which was… true Techno supposed. Still, Phil was a bit touchy about Wilbur leaving the house with him let alone without him. Oh well, Techno was an adult. This was just… babysitting. Without the parent’s permission, but still.

So, now they were in the hair supplies section of a CVS. In particular, they were standing in front of the shelf of hair dye. There was a limited supply of dyes, but they managed to touch on all sections of the color wheel well enough. There was a solid selection of natural colors like brown, blond, and darker red in a few shades. There was also a selection of every unnatural color Techno could think of, but there was only one or two shades of each.

“So,” Wilbur said. “You never answered what your favorite color was. What do you think? Would you prefer a more natural shade? You could dye your hair brown like mine. This one’s close enough to my shade,” he tapped at one of the browns. “Or you could go blonde like Dad.” He paused and seemed to consider it for a moment. “That might be a bit close to white though, so I’m not sure if you want that. Or, do you want something more artificial like the colorful ones?”

“Uh,” Techno said, hesitantly. “I guess maybe colorful?”

“Good choice,” Wilbur replied cheerfully. “Hmm… so…”

“Can I help you boys,” a voice suddenly interrupted. It sounded irritated and a bit accusing.

Techno looked over at the store employee staring at them in clear suspicion and froze, completely unsure what to say. Wilbur, however, turned to the woman instantly, a large, unfamiliar, smile on his face.

“Oh no thank you,” he replied. “We’re just looking at the hair dyes. I have a project for the Fox Scouts!”

“Oh really?” she asked. Some of her skepticism seemed to fade from her tone as she looked at his bright eyes.

“Yeah!” Wilbur confirmed. “We’re doing posters about different hair colors. We’re looking at which ones are natural, which ones come from powers, and which ones are art…arta…” he frowned briefly squinting his eyes before the smile came back, “artisanal. So, my daddy said I could come down and look at the hair colors on display as long as I took my little brother.” He pointed at Techno. Techno was too stunned to protest the title. “He even gave me a whole $5 to spend on candy! I want Twizzlers, but my brother wants Three Musketeers because he likes chocolate, but I like fruity things. Do you like fruity things or chocolate things more, Miss?”

“I… uh, like both?” the woman said, now with a polite, disinterested smile instead of a scowl.

“That’s what Dad always says,” Wilbur said, his tone annoyingly high pitched. “And then he always gets Smarties and then no one is happy.”

“Ah well…”

“But today I have the money,” Wilbur said. “So, there will be no Smarties and…”

She cut him off then, already taking a step away. “That’s very nice,” she said. “It sounds like you have a lot to think about. I’ll leave you to it.”

Like someone had flipped a switch, the large smile dropped off of Wilbur’s face the second the woman turned the corner. “So, you were saying you’d like a more unnatural color?”

Techno could help but stare at him blankly for a moment. “You… you just lied.”

Wilbur turned his head towards Techno with what could only be described as a smirk on his face. “Yes, Technoblade, people do that sometimes.”

“But… but you?”

Wilbur was supposed to be Phil innocent, silly son. There was nothing innocent in the wink Wilbur sent him though.

“Come on,” he urged, “pick a color.”

Still feeling off kilter, Techno turned to the shelf full of hair dye. If he was truly going to commit to this, the color needed to be one that stood out, one that was a clear deliberate choice, otherwise there wasn’t a point to this exercise of self-expression.

His eyes drifted over a light blue to settle on a vivid pink. It was the only pink on the shelf and was objectively ugly. He recalled Niki’s hair had had a bit of faded pink in it when they’d first met. Techno pointed to it.

“That one?” Wilbur confirmed.

Techn nodded and Wilbur plucked the box off the shelf. He then opened the box, took out the contents, and shoved them up his shirt.

“What are you doing?” Techno asked, alarmed.

Before speaking, Wilbur carefully arranged the hair dye box contents, so they were held snuggly by the waistband of his jeans and the fabric of his shirt completely obscured them from view.

“Technoblade, we are 6 and 8,” he reasoned, putting the box back on the shelf, but at the back of the line of pink hair dyes. “The cashier is not going to sell us pink hair dye.”

“So, you’re just going to steal it?”

Wilbur glanced at him, an eyebrow raised. “Yes.”

Technoblade stared at him dumbly for a moment.

“It’s not the worst crime someone could commit.”

And Techno… supposed that was true. Considering the multiple homicides he himself had once committed and then all of the acts designated “terrorism” by the heroes, what was stealing some cheap hair dye?

Except, well, Wilbur was Phil’s 8-year-old child.

“Come on, let’s go buy some chocolate, so the worker isn’t suspicious.” Wilbur turned on his heel and wandered down the aisle towards the front. Techno followed helplessly. He should… probably do something. He was the adult even if he didn’t look like it. Should he really just let Phil’s kid steal hair dye?

“You can pick the candy,” Wilbur said and oh, they were in line at the cash register now. The employee who had interrogated them earlier was now checking out another customer not two feet away from them. “I actually don’t care what we get.”

“Uh,” Techno said. He glanced at the candy selection and pointed at a Crunch Bar.

Wilbur’s eyes lit up. “Great choice!” he enthused. He grabbed one, glanced at the price, and then grabbed a small pack of bubblegum as well. The person ahead of them finished checking out and took their bags.

Wilbur slapped down a $5 bill (Techno wondered where he’d gotten that) and the two packages of candy with more gusto than required. “These ones please!” he said, the same weird smile from earlier on his face again.

“Done looking at the hair dyes?” the employee asked. She did not sound suspicious at all. Was that a good or a bad thing? Techno was unsure.

“Yep!” Wilbur replied, and then started blathering on about the imaginary project. Techno didn’t bother to track what he said, and instead kept his head down. Wilbur spoke the whole time the cashier checked them out; she basically shoved them out the door after bagging their items.

Wilbur swung the bag back and forth as they exited the store, a genuine smile on his face now that they were out of sight.

Phil was going to kill him.