Chapter Text
“Your pretend…friend?” Wilbur echoed, disbelief flooding him. This was too good of a coincidence. It was Just! Too! Good!
“Yes, something like that,” Techno sighed, setting his cup of coffee down. It was a regular black coffee. Wilbur had gotten himself a mocha, with extra sugar. He wasn’t a fan of overly bitter drinks. “My other friend is returning from West Essempii, and I’ve been hiding the fact that I haven’t really made any friends.”
“Well…” Wilbur took a sip from his drink, keeping it about a centimetre above the table as he smiled over at the man opposite him. “It’s not really pretend, is it? We’re friends now.”
Techno stared back at him, an incomprehensible look on his face. Wilbur didn’t know what was going through his head, but all he knew was that his own heart was soaring in triumph at securing this friendship.
“Well,” Techno echoed him, “I suppose we are.”
Grinning, Wilbur finally set his cup down, clasping his hands together on the table while slightly leaning forward. He needed to pull this off perfectly. With this, he would assume the cover of a widowed man and milk Techno’s sympathy, in order to get Tommy into Snowchester Academy. This was for Operation Strix; there was no time for pretend friends. “Actually, I need a favour as well.”
He smiled sheepishly, ducking his head down and letting his curls hide his eyes. Tommy was being uncharacteristically quiet, watching the two of them chat amiably without so much of an interruption. “My son, Tommy here, needs to get into Snowchester Academy. You see,” he sighed, lowering his eyes, “my wife passed away recently. It was always important to her that Tommy got the best education, you understand that, right?”
“Yes,” Techno murmured, “my condolences.”
“It’s alright – I’ve been coping. He looks so much like her, with the blonde hair and all. Snowchester Academy requires two family members to be present for the family interview. I’ve been unable to get into contact with my family, nor my late wife’s. We were,” he laughed, making sure his voice cracked just so that it sounded bitter enough, “something like star crossed lovers. We ran away from the West because our families disapproved. They won’t pick up my calls.”
“I miss Mummy,” Tommy mumbles, shifting in his seat.
Wilbur barely even registered it, only making a mental note to buy Tommy his favourite brand of apples later. Someone was teaching the child to lie, and while it wasn’t a really good thing for Tommy’s development, it was a good thing for Operation Strix.
“I just want to make sure Tommy gets in. Please, I know it’s a little preposterous, but I need you to pose as my brother, and as Tommy’s uncle. Could you do that for me?”
Techno met his gaze, a soft sort of look in his eyes and Wilbur knew that he had won.
“Of course. Give me the details?”
As he paid for the coffee, Techno waited outside, watching over Tommy. Wilbur drew out the cash from his wallet, handing it over to the cashier. With the chattering of the other customers and the bell sounding every time someone walked into the shop, it was difficult to hear anything else.
When the cashier took the money, they replied softly, “I’ve received ten dollars in cash, the change will be two dollars. Woof.”
Alert, Wilbur waited for the second confirmation.
The cashier slid the two dollar note across the counter. “Come back next time! Woof.”
Wilbur took the cash and placed it into his wallet. Cipher D then.
When he left the shop, he took Tommy’s hand and prepared to bid Techno goodbye.
“The party is on Saturday, right?” He asked.
“Yes, Saturday evening, around 6:30PM. My friend lives a little far away from this area of town, somewhere down Crowe’s Street. I’ll meet you at the Southeastern train station at about 6:10PM. We could walk there; it’ll only be around a 20 minute walk,” Techno replied, “do be punctual. I’m not very good at lying to Phil.”
“Phil?”
Techno blinked. “Oh. Yes, Phil’s my friend’s name. He’s terribly perceptive sometimes. My parents died when I was very young, so he’s always been worried for me.”
“I understand,” Wilbur said. “I’ve a friend who’s similar. He’s very sharp, but likes to pretend he isn’t.” Dream always played the fool, and at times, Wilbur was surprised whenever he switched back to his work persona. Dream was a constant, along with Kinoko Agency. “I’m sure Phil’s a lovely friend.”
“Yes,” Techno replied, a smile playing across his lips, far more genuine and open than anything Wilbur had seen from him, “he is.”
“I’ll see you at the party this Saturday then.”
“See you,” Techno said, bringing a hand up to wave goodbye.
Wilbur waved back cheerily and took off with Tommy leading the way home.
When they reached home, Wilbur immediately pulled the two dollar note out of his wallet.
“Toms,” he said, turning to look at the child, “go take a nap alright? You’ve had a long day.”
“Okay Wilbur,” Tommy replied happily, less difficult than he expected.
Humming, Wilbur ruffled the boy’s hair and watched him toddle off to his room. Bless that child. Unfolding the paper note, he flipped it over to reveal the encrypted message. Drawing a pen out of his pocket, he rewrote the message in English, quickly deciphering it as he went along.
Kinoko Agency had trained him since he was young – he was a pro at this.
“Chekhov – we regret to inform you of this last minute side mission. You are to recover valuable antiquities stolen from West Essempii and destroy the smuggling ring responsible for the theft. Strike when the smugglers meet the buyer, on this Saturday, 5:30PM.”
Saturday?
“Okay,” Wilbur shrugged the backpack onto his shoulder, adjusting the strap so that it was tight enough to not fall off, “here’s the plan – we finish this in 40 minutes and I use the last 20 minutes to clean up and head over to Techno’s party. Got it?”
“How are we going to finish this in 40 minutes?!” Dream whisper-shouted, the goggles strapped over his eyes as he fumbled with his equipment. They were on the rooftop of a nearby warehouse, near the port where the artefacts were stored. The cold wind grazed against Wilbur’s cheeks, reminding him to pull his cloth mask down in order to conceal his identity. “Chekhov, I deal with information and equipment. I’m not trained for the field!”
“You’re trained enough,” Wilbur replied flippantly, keeping an eye out for their targets. The streetlamps of the city twinkled in the early evening, underneath the light of the gradually setting sun. “About two million dollars worth of artefacts. If one or two go missing, Kinoko won’t even notice.”
“Oh,” Dream breathed, “oh. You can count on me then.”
Glancing at the other’s wide grin, Wilbur rolled his eyes.
Techno pulled his brand new coat closer to his torso as the chilly breeze whipped through his hair. It was currently 6PM. He had arrived a little earlier, afraid that Wilbur might’ve had the same habit of showing up early for meetups.
However, as he looked around the empty train station, he reckoned that he had been wrong.
“Stop right there!”
“Fuck, why’re there so many of them!” Dream yelled, hurriedly pushing the cart of valuables as they ran from the smugglers. A gunshot rang out and Wilbur swore as he reached into his own pocket to draw his own weapon.
Boots slamming against the concrete, they took a sharp left, Dream running slightly behind due to the cart slowing him down. “The cart,” Wilbur muttered, unable to raise his voice with all the noise filling his ears, “we need to ditch it.”
“What?” Dream shouted back. He had more or less given up on the mask, cramming it just underneath his goggles to reveal his mouth and his nose. The cart rattled along, its wheels sliding so quickly against the floor it could’ve sparked with electricity as it struggled to keep up with their speed.
“The cart,” Wilbur repeated, louder this time. “Ditch it.”
“Who do you work for?!”
Blindly, he whipped back and shot a bullet, not quite caring where it landed as long as it got their pursuers to scatter and slow down just a bit. “Carry the crate.”
“Fuck,” Dream cursed, then again, “fuck. You better pay me double after this.”
With that, he pivoted on his left foot, slamming the cart to a stop with the break in momentum. Wilbur himself staggered to a halt, chest heaving with exhaustion as he raised his gun again and aimed sharply for the smugglers. Grouped up nicely like sheep, they were easy targets for him. With consecutive deafening shots, he took down a fair number and bought enough time for Dream to stumble to his feet, crate in his arms.
Glancing at his watch, Wilbur noted the time – 6:10PM. The time of his meeting with Techno at the train station. There was no way he would make it, so he would have no choice but to directly join Techno at the location of the party. They were already close to the get-away van.
“Let’s go!” Dream whooped, heaving the crate in his arms while he took off, Wilbur quick on his heels as they made their escape. His heart was thudding against his ribcage; adrenaline ran through his veins and allowed him to keep up the constant routine of r un, turn and shoot, continue running. He knew he was going to tire out soon, from the way he was beginning to lose control of his breathing, choosing to inhale shallowly through his mouth instead of using the double breathing technique that helped boost his energy.
Eventually they made it to the van, which was parked rather conspicuously by the warehouse they had staked out on. Wilbur yanked the backdoor open, letting Dream stuff the crate haphazardly into the back and slammed the door close once the blonde was done. Jerking the door to the driver’s seat open, he shoved himself inside the same time that Dream got into the passenger seat.
He twisted the key that was already in the ignition and slammed his foot onto the accelerator, letting the vehicle wail as the gears in the engine grinded together as they sped out of there. Accompanied by Dream’s shriek of surprise at the speed that they were driving at, Wilbur kept his eyes on the road, his mind overworking as he tracked the seconds passing into the night.
A minute or two of undisturbed driving passed, and Dream had twisted around, reaching into the crate of valuables that had spilled out during their rough journey.
“Holy shit,” the man whispered in awe, picking out something that glinted prettily underneath the dim light in the car, raising it up to his eye. Wilbur looked over, meeting the sight of a pair of tiny ruby earrings, accompanied with silver along its borders. “What a beauty,” Dream whistled appreciatively.
Techno had his ears pierced, didn’t he? Was it strange to give another man jewellery? It probably doesn’t matter, he mused, it can be an apology for being late.
With his right hand still on the steering wheel, Wilbur reached out with his left hand and snatched the earrings out of Dream’s grasp.
“Hey!”
“I need it for Operation Strix,” he replied nonchalantly, while stuffing it into his jacket pocket. Maybe he could get a cheaper replica after giving it to Techno. Siblings wore matching things, right?
He spared a glance at his watch – 6:15PM.
However, that brief moment of inattention was all it took to ruin them.
“Watch out–!” Dream yelled, a split-second before all Wilbur saw was flashing lights and another car slamming into their side.
Shivering from the biting cold, Techno stood alone.
It was 6:20PM, ten minutes past their arranged meeting time. Sighing, he made his way to Crowe’s Street.
Was this what it was like to be ditched by a friend? He chewed on his bottom lip, shoving away the curl of betrayal in his stomach. Maybe he shouldn’t have expected so much from someone who was nearly a stranger. Damn it, what was he going to tell Phil?
And oh no, Phil had mentioned other friends, hadn’t he? Groaning, Techno braced himself for the embarrassment that was to come. Skipping the party wasn’t an option – the interrogation that Phil would give him would be mortifying.
When he did reach Crowe’s Street, he inhaled deeply before ringing the doorbell.
The door swung open, letting out the soft music and chatterings of the occupants inside, and revealing Techno’s dearest friend.
“Oh Techno!” Phil exclaimed, a wide smile on his face, “you’re later than you’d usually be. You’re rarely ever late and it’s been so long since I’ve seen you!”
“Hey Phil,” he replied, heart warming at the sight of his old friend. Maybe this party wouldn't be too bad, even without Wilbur. “It’s been a while, yeah.”
“Come on in,” Phil led him in, gently closing the door behind them.
Being inside Phil’s home brought back memories of just the two of them, Phil helping him with his schoolwork when he was still in highschool and drinking tea by the horrible fireplace that Phil always neglected to clean. Techno exhaled, finding comfort in the familiarity of his surroundings.
“Philza Craft,” someone crowed in a high-pitched voice from the living room, twisting in their seat on the sofa to face the two of them. “Who’s your friend?”
“Quackity, I just told you guys ‘bout him!,” Phil laughed, agreeable as well. “This is Techno. I used to look out for him, but he’s a pal now .”
“Hullo,” Techno raised an arm to wave stiffly. New people were always difficult to get used to. He observed the room – there were only two other men and a woman.
Quackity, the first one who spoke, had a beanie pulled over his head, only letting little tufts of dark hair peek out from beneath the hat. Techno didn’t even have the patience to wonder why he was wearing a hat inside. Beside Quackity was a woman with a bob, in a shade not unlike his own hair. She smiled pleasantly as he looked at her, eyes crinkling in friendliness. On the sofa, sitting next to Quackity, was another man with a shock of orange hair. He had kept his coat on, the dark fabric swallowing his figure as nodded politely at Techno.
“These are my friends who accompanied me during my work in the West,” Phil said. He pointed at Quackity, saying, “That’s Quackity,” turning his hand slightly to the right, “Fundy, and that’s Niki over there by the fireplace.”
“Lovely to meet you all,” Techno bowed his head slightly.
“Weren’t you going to introduce your friend to me?” Phil frowned just the slightest, more puzzled than irritated. “Are they running late?”
“Well uh– He’s– Yes, he’s running a little late,” Techno stumbled over his words, somehow ending up at another lie. Hell, he had no idea where Wilbur was. “I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”
“I do hope so,” Phil replied lightly. “Come sit, we have so much catching up to do.”
And from then onwards, Techno was sucked back into the ordinary. As he listened to Phil and his friends recount their stories of their time in the West, he was unpleasantly reminded of his own workplace. Wasn’t it just like this? Spending time with people he didn’t really know – with the exception of Phil – nodding along and pretending to care?
He was offered some bread that Niki had made and he took it, biting through the soft crust and chewing slowly while continuing to listen. He gave a few remarks here and there, some non-committal hums and easy comments of ‘oh really? or ‘is it?’
There was a strange buzzing in his ears – it was a quiet nose, underlying the amiable chatter in the room and gentle thrums of Phil’s favourite classical instrumentals. His stomach felt like it was hanging low in his gut, an uneasy sensation that only worsened whenever anyone in the room addressed him.
“What sort of work do you do?” Quackity had asked, peering curiously at him.
“Administrative stuff. Filing and data entry,” he replied, not quite sure what else to say about it.
“How…riveting,” Fundy remarked quietly.
At that, Techno cracked a mirthless smile. “It’s all very exciting,” he drawled, voice flat with little inflection.
Phil was the only one who laughed, letting out a chortle that made his heart twinge. “I’ve definitely missed you, Techno.”
“I’ve missed you too,” he replied, leaving much room for silence and further elaboration. The odd few seconds of quiet passed and quickly, Niki stepped in to turn the conversation elsewhere. Phil offered him another warm smile, one that told him it’s alright, I understand what you mean.
And Techno had never felt so alone.
Conversation, banter and whatnot – each joke was a gambling chip, each compliment was a reveal of a hand and each anecdote was merely a bid. The four of them played without him, as he sat by Phil’s side and watched over his friend’s cards. There was room for him, he knew, but he remained a spectator as he always did. (He had always found comfort in solitude, yet there was a sense of disconnect that he couldn’t get rid of – the blip of time between 6:10PM and 6:20PM; the distance between a half-lie and the truth.)
Soon enough, as time ticked onwards till 7:15PM, Techno decided that he had enough. Phil knew how much he despised social niceties – he would leave when he wanted to, and right now, he wanted to go home and just forget all about the past 24 hours.
However, right as he had managed to muster up the courage to part his lips to announce his departure, the doorbell rang – once, twice, thrice and then four times. Three times more than courtesy would’ve allowed.
“Your friend?” Niki raised her eyebrows.
He couldn’t help the shake of his head. Surely not.
Standing up, Phil went to get the door, unlatching the lock and pulling it open to confirm Niki’s suspicions. There stood Wilbur Soot, in a dusty black coat and a blue scarf thrown casually over his shoulders, along with a horrible scrape on his forehead. Blood welled up in pinpricks from the injury, a small trail beginning to run past his right eye.
“Good evening,” Wilbur gasped, looking as if he had run his way here. He gripped onto the doorframe for his dear life, seemingly leaning his whole weight against it as Phil gaped in shock. “Dreadfully sorry for being late; my name’s Wilbur Soot, Techno’s brother.”
Brother?
Horrified, Techno realised that Wilbur must’ve mixed up their stories by mistake. How was he going to explain having a long lost brother to Phil?
“Brother?” Phil echoed his thoughts, reaching a hand out to help support Wilbur as the two of them stumbled into the house. “I don’t– Techno, I didn’t know you had a brother?”
“I,” Techno was at a loss, but he had to push on, “I didn’t know either. At the time that I met you. You see- Wilbur and I aren’t technically brothers. We’re, uh– we’re cousins. We found each other and decided to call ourselves…brothers.”
“So you’re not brothers?” Quackity asked, frowning in confusion.
“No, yes, we are brothers; I’ve just explained that and–”
“No,” Techno replied, more firmly than before. “Cousins. We met by coincidence.”
“Yes,” Wilbur nodded, his gaze somewhat glassier than Techno would’ve liked. A concussion, perhaps? “We met at the tailor’s. With my– with my son.”
The other four continued staring at Wilbur, who had been gently led to a soft armchair with white cushions. Techno didn’t miss the wince that left Phil when he realised that Wilbur’s jacket was dirty enough to stain the covers. “Your son?” Niki asked.
“My son,” Wilbur smiled, far nicer than a concussed person should’ve been able to manage. So not concussed, maybe? “His name’s Tommy. He saw Techno and wanted to talk to him.”
That wasn’t exactly what had happened but considering that Wilbur was conscious enough to lie, Techno was already grateful enough. “Yes, we found out that we were related after Tommy pointed out that we looked alike – after some family tree tracing, we were pleasantly surprised to find out that we were cousins,” he let the lie slip off his tongue easily.
Phil was still staring at him like he had grown a second head and Techno wanted the ground to swallow him up right there and then. “Huh,” Phil sighed, “strange times.”
There was a lull in their conversation, now that the excitement over the reveal of Wilbur’s identity was over. Face still prickling with heat, Techno watched Wilbur nearly doze off in the chair he was sitting in. At least one of them had a peace of mind.
“Sorry, could we please get to the part where it explains why Mr Soot is bleeding?” Fundy interjected bluntly, breaking the silence that had made all of them stiff and awkward.
“Yeah, can we get to that bit?” Quackity demanded at the same time that Phil exclaimed, “Right, I’ll get the first aid kit!”
“Dr,” Wilbur corrected, right before wincing and clutching his head with a hand, “it’s Dr. Soot. I’m a psychologist.”
“My apologies,” Fundy replied drily.
Still completely mortified, Techno sank into his seat on the sofa, hoping that this night could just pass quicker. If Wilbur was going to be late, then he might as well have not shown up at all, he thought bitterly. However, he immediately backtracked after thinking that – Wilbur was about 30 minutes late but he had shown up anyway, even though he was clearly injured. Why was he late?
“So how did you…” Niki trailed off, vaguely waving a hand around a spot on her forehead that mirrored Wilbur’s. “Get thi–”
“A patient,” Wilbur cut her off, leaning forward in his seat while blinking multiple times as if to prevent himself from falling asleep in the plush chair. “I had a very violent patient today. No one in the office wanted to handle him, so I stepped up. I wouldn’t’ve if I’d known that he’d make me late for the party.”
Oh – was it normal for a psychologist to deal with such patients? Techno frowned to himself. Well, it wasn’t like he was a psychologist. When people got violent with him, he got violent back, so he wouldn’t know anyway.
“Oh dear,” Niki breathed. “The two of you should return home if you’re feeling unwell. I’m sure Techno wouldn’t want you to stay while suffering from that wound.”
“No!” Wilbur replied, rather loudly. Clearing his throat, he added, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to raise my voice – I’m alright with staying! Techno did promise me that he would introduce me to Phil.” Then he turned to look at Techno with an easy smile, eyes crinkled like crescents. Techno couldn’t help the sigh that came after he saw that smile – all was forgiven then; there was no use feeling bitter over something that was never meant to hurt him. Wilbur didn’t ditch him on purpose and that was what mattered.
“We’ll head off after Phil helps him with that scrape,” Techno replied, hesitating a little before adding on, “I’m just really glad you’re alright.”
“Me too,” Wilbur said and all was well.
After some fussing from Phil, some disinfectant getting into Wilbur’s eye (which had him yelping quite comically) and a few rounds of exchanging goodbyes, they took their leave.
Right at the door, Phil stopped him, grabbing him gently by the arm and saying, “I’m happy that you’ve made a friend, Techno. Even if that friend turned out to be your cousin, who is apparently also your pseudo-brother.” As he looked into Phil’s eyes, he knew that his friend had truly meant it. Somehow, it didn’t make him as happy as he thought it would – for some reason, the sincere tilt of Phil’s head and that familiar grin that he had known since he was a teen, didn’t have his heart soaring.
A bit of him thought that perhaps it was envy – over the fact that Phil had friends other than him, and that Phil would always find socialising far easier than Techno ever would. Another bit of him reckoned that it was nostalgia, over the idea that they were both moving on. Techno had finally (in a way) managed to make a friend and Phil didn’t have to fret over him not having a proper support system whenever they weren’t in the same city. He wasn’t upset, but he couldn’t deny that little curl in his stomach that told him that he wasn’t exactly jumping for joy either.
However, he knew that he was content.
Hearing that, Wilbur replied before Techno could, “I’m happy to have met Techno too. I wished we had known each other earlier, but it is what it is. I’d like to thank you for looking out for him, Phil – Techno told me about how his parents passed on early in his life, and how you cared for him.”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Phil shook his head, “it was the right thing to do. And Techno has always been rather… enduring, for a lack of better words.”
“Come off it, old man,” Techno scoffed. “No need to talk about me like I’m not here.”
“I think so too – we’ve just known each other for a bit, but,” Wilbur glanced him quickly, brown eyes illuminated by the light above Phil’s door, “I think it’s very brave to shoulder a certain sort of loneliness like he has – solitude is difficult for most, especially when it can feel like it’s just you against the world.”
“Yes,” Phil replied softly, and Techno felt like this was a conversation not meant for him to hear. “I suppose so.”
His face prickled with heat, hearing the two of them talk about him in that manner. He was used to being alone; his night job as a hitman required him to work solo. He couldn’t have a spouse or meet up with friends constantly, or else he would have to make up countless excuses about his whereabouts. Being alone wasn’t as brave as Wilbur was describing it to be, but under the gentle light and with their conversation sotto voce, he found himself softening with those words. Maybe he had found a sort of ordinary that was unlike anything else.
Quietly, Wilbur led Techno to the van, which Dream had long vacated along with the valuables that they needed to return to Kinoko. He was feeling much better after resting a bit at Phil’s place and now his head was clearer. Chewing the inside of his cheek, he dreaded the explanation that he would have to give to Techno.
When they got into the vehicle, Wilbur launched a flurry of apologies onto Techno. “I am so, so sorry for being late! And for the brother thing! And for making your friend patch me up!” He rambled, tugging at his hair. He really hadn’t intended to be late, but the mission had taken too long and then they had gotten into a near car crash, which took a while to clean up. Meeting Techno’s gaze, he knitted his eyebrows up together, hoping that Techno knew that he was sincerely sorry.
“It’s okay,” Techno sighed, looking far too unbothered for someone who had been technically stood up. The man rubbed the back of his neck, tilting his head downwards as he pulled his eyes away from Wilbur. “You had a difficult patient, right? That’s out of your control. All is forgiven.”
“Yeah,” Wilbur mumbled, while twisting the key into the ignition. He still felt bad about it, but it was over already. Thankfully, he still picked up those earrings so maybe that would make up for his late arrival.
Yet, there was no way that Chekhov could get a break in East Essempii – after about 10 metres of driving, a gunshot rang out, followed by the ear-piercing shriek of glass shattering behind them.
“What in–” Techno shouted, twisting his neck back to look behind them. “Was that a gun? That was a gun, wasn’t it?!”
Heart quickening, Wilbur resisted the urge to scream in annoyance. He just wanted to go home, take a nice bath, and spend some time with Tommy. Was it really that hard to get that?
“Wilbur!” Techno yelled as another shot rang out, ducking his head down as Wilbur jerked the steering wheel towards the right, swerving them down a different street. “What is going on?”
“My patients,” he replied calmly, focused on leading them back towards the port where it would be far easier to get rid of the attackers. “They suffer from very strong delusions,” he said solemnly, “they think that we’re robbers and that they’re the police, chasing us down. Unfortunately, they must’ve followed me here after I was done with their treatment.”
“How do they– how do they have guns?” Techno demanded, his long pink hair getting into his face as he kept turning back in order to look at their pursuers. Through the rearview mirror, Wilbur could see that there were at least four of them in a car, chasing them down the street.
“The, ah, officers in the hospital are sometimes allowed to have guns for self-defence, whenever patients get violent. During the scuffle, I think they must’ve taken the weapons from the officers. Dangerous stuff indeed,” Wilbur replied, wincing at the screech of the wheels against the asphalt every time they took a turn.
“Isn’t that illegal? Can’t we call the police?” Techno sounded more afraid than shocked now, so Wilbur took one hand off the steering wheel (which, in hindsight, must’ve freaked Techno out even more) and patted the other on the shoulder. “No, we cannot,” he said simply.
“What do you mean ‘we cannot’?!”
“They’re patients. It wouldn’t be ethical to send them to jail when they need treatment. Don’t worry, I’ve got this,” Wilbur grinned at him, giving him a thumbs-up before continuing to keep his eyes on the road.
“I had no idea psychology was such a dangerous field,” Techno muttered.
Eventually, he caught sight of the glittering waters as well as the stacks of containers of the port. As they got closer, they drove by tall lines of warehouses and containers, which was exactly what Wilbur needed in order to lose the smugglers. Sparing another glance back, he veered the van down another turn and slammed onto the brakes, stopping the vehicle right next to a warehouse.
Swiftly unbuckling his seatbelt, remembering to switch the ignition off, he muttered a hurried “C’mon!” at Techno and got out of the van. In the distance, he could hear the smugglers’ car screeching to a halt nearby. Swallowing thickly, he reached into his pocket to find the pistol he had kept on him, not drawing it out yet in order not to shock Techno.
He led the way through a narrow alley between two large containers, keeping his footsteps light and thanking the heavens that Techno was sharp enough to do the same. Once they reached the end of the alley, he pressed his back against the width of the container, craning his neck to catch a quick glimpse of the smugglers on their trail.
Turning to Techno, he raised a finger to his lips, signalling to him to stay quiet. Then, he pulled the gun out of his pocket, raising it up close to his face with both hands. As the sound of footsteps began to get louder and louder, he held his breath. Two people, it seemed.
Silently counting down, he whipped around at just the right moment, aiming a hard kick at the torso of the first one and slamming the top of the barrel into the face of the other smuggler. The crack of a nose bridge rang out, followed by a gunshot and a choked yell as Wilbur shot directly at his stomach. When the two of them didn’t get up, Wilbur whirled back towards Techno and met his wide-eyed stare.
“Are you allowed to do that?” Techno asked, furrowing his brow.
“It’s,” Wilbur paused, before continuing, “exposure therapy. First, we play into their delusion and then we finish the storyline that’s in their head. The good guys need to win for the story to end, right?”
“I thought we were the robbers?” Techno shifted his weight from one side to another.
Oh. Right. This was nothing a bit of gaslighting couldn’t fix. “No?” Wilbur raised an eyebrow. “We’re the policemen in this one. They’re the robbers.” He walked past Techno, leading the way briskly as they went down another thin corridor, this one in between two large warehouses.
Techno blinked. “Are you sure? I swear you told me that–”
“No,” Wilbur repeated firmly, “I said that we’re the robbers.”
“Wait, then why were they chas–”
Before Techno could finish his sentence, Wilbur heard the creak of metal ring out from above them. Looking up, he caught sight of a figure jumping down from the stairs by the side of the warehouse on the right, directly on top of Techno. Just as he was about to shove the other man out of the way, Techno swiftly dodged the falling attacker and hit them right in the jaw with a quick swing of his fist.
Wilbur’s lips parted in surprise. That was certainly unexpected, but he wasn’t complaining.
“Oh no,” Techno exhaled, staring at the unconscious smuggler at his feet. “I shouldn’t have attempted to…treat them. My bad.”
“You’re very skilled at self-defence,” Wilbur remarked.
“Phil taught me when I was a kid,” Techno supplied.
“They’re here!” A muffled voice called out from behind them, interrupting their conversation. Followed by another round of gunshots, the two of them just barely dodging the shots. How Techno managed to have the same reaction time as him, he had no idea. With the smugglers so close to them, they needed to pick up their pace.
“Run!” He shouted, breaking into a sprint. Concerned for his own life (as he should), Techno followed him, his white coat flapping in the wind as he kept up with Wilbur’s pace. Sparing a glance at Techno to check if he was alright, Wilbur was once again, pleasantly surprised to find that the other man didn’t seem to have any trouble with keeping up. In fact, Techno looked like he was yet to break a sweat.
Huh. That was strange for a regular civilian. Maybe Phil had made Techno run laps as a kid, as a part of stamina training along with the self-defence classes.
And so they kept running, Wilbur turning back occasionally to shoot at their pursuers. Run, look back, shoot. It was beginning to loop in his head and take its toll on his body, as he began to feel his lungs strain with the pressure of his heart beating at miles per minute, just to keep sprinting. There was a ringing in his ears while he struggled to keep his mind clear. They couldn’t keep this up forever.
“Hey Wilbur,” Techno suddenly broke their silence, “I know this might not,” he paused to gasp for air, “be a good time, but– how would the whole fake brother thing work?”
The fake brother thing. Distantly, Wilbur remembered the earrings – he frantically patted around his jacket pocket, only to find that the pocket was empty. Had the earrings slipped out somewhere during their run? Or during the escape with Dream? He scowled. It was no matter; he could get new ones some other time. And– oh yes, he had also prepared a contract to ensure that Techno wouldn’t back out of their agreement.
“Like, the legal aspects of it,” Techno added, huffing as sweat trickled down his forehead. His hair was a mess, soaked with sweat and plastered against his neck and the sides of his face. He had clearly broken several sweats a while ago.
“Forged papers,” Wilbur replied, “and stop running once we reach the yellow container upfront. We take a left from there.”
“Papers?” Techno repeated, confused. “You have forged papers?”
They took the left at the yellow container, finding themselves at a rather empty spot, with high walls and a few broken crates laying about. It was a dead-end, but Wilbur did have a plan to finally end it here. They had made it far enough into the port, where it would be easy to leave behind the dead bodies for Kinoko to clean up later.
“Well,” Wilbur panted, his mind frazzled from the millions of thoughts going through it. He was multitasking in his head, noting the sound of approaching footsteps and letting his eyes flicker all around their surroundings in order to find an escape or some sort of cover for them. “I’d do anything for Tommy. Even if it’s less than legal.”
“I..” Techno trailed off. Spotting a large enough crate, Wilbur grabbed the other’s wrist and dragged them towards it, crouching behind it with his back twisted in order to watch out for anyone coming behind them. “I understand, I think. I’d probably do the same for Phil.”
“Yes,” he mumbled in reply, fumbling with his jacket pocket to take out the contract he had printed out before the mission, before the party. He needed Techno to agree to it; he needed to ensure that the other wouldn’t suddenly up and leave, endangering Operation Strix. As he unfolded the crumpled piece of paper, he turned to Techno, saying, “I’ll need you to sign this, to confirm our agreement.”
Frowning, Techno tilted his head. “A contract? Why would you need that?”
“Sorry?” Wilbur looked at him, puzzled. Why wouldn’t he need the contract? What if Techno suddenly left? What if Wilbur somehow fucked up, or pissed the other off, and Techno would just… leave.
“I’m not going to– I won’t just– Look, friends don’t have legal contracts binding them to the friendship right? Also– now ?”
“Huh?” Wilbur stared at him dumbly, then quickly swivelled around once he heard the tell-tale sounds of footsteps getting closer. He could hear faint yells in the distance. Fuck. They needed to get out of here, they needed to get the fuck out and soon. “We can talk about the contract later; my patient is very dangerous at the moment and we need to leave.”
“No, Wilbur,” Techno tugged on his sleeve, his frown deepening. “We’re friends.”
Friends? No, Chekhov didn’t have friends. Chekhov had work partners, pretend friends and now, a pretend brother.
“Yes, yes,” he muttered, just to get Techno done with it. Fuck, was that another gunshot? He thought he knocked out the ones with guns earlier. His pulse quickened as he could now make out the shouts.
“Find him! He can’t be too far!”
“Wilbur,” Techno repeated, grabbing his arm and turning him to meet his gaze properly. Wilbur stared back, head overloaded with escape plans and can Techno just agree to sign the fucking contract already? “We’re friends. You don't need me to sign a contract to be your fake brother. I’ll do that. I won’t just ditch you suddenly. As your friend, I’ll be your fake family. Even without a legal binding contract.”
And then it clicked, along with the sound of a gun cocking somewhere near them. Oh. Five? Three? Metres away.
“Yes,” Wilbur murmured, standing up and wrenching his arm out of Techno’s surprisingly strong grasp. He swayed on his feet. He was tired. There was blood trickling down his forehead from the cut he took earlier. The wound must’ve reopened. His head was pounding, as if there was a ping pong ball bouncing around the inside of his skull. “You’re right.”
He gripped the paper tightly in his left hand, digging through his pocket to find that emergency explosive Dream had given him. This would cost Kinoko thousands to clean up, but he needed to live. Techno needed to live. They both needed to go back home, explain the news to Tommy and carry out Operation Strix. Wilbur needed this.
“Fucking–” A man took a double-take at his sudden appearance. “Hey, he’s here!” He hollered, likely calling out his other friends. There were about three of them at the moment, carrying assorted weapons and there was that gun. “We have you cornered. Surrender yourself, now.”
There were more approaching footsteps, boots slamming against concrete as they made their way closer. The first man shot at him, but it was merely a warning shot towards the ground. “I said now!”
“Wilbur?” Techno called out from behind the crate, about a metre away.
Fuck, he needed this quick.
“You’re right, Techno – I don’t need the contract.” The explosive was in his hand now, all he needed was to–
“Is your patient alright?” The other asked. Damn it, stop asking questions, Wilbur’s mind pleaded. He managed to twist the clip off, hearing the sharp noise of a click.
Just five–
“I don’t need the contract,” he repeated, keeping his sights on the attackers. “For better or worse, we’re friends now.” He swung his arm back, letting the momentum guide him as a panicked cry came from the attackers once they realised what he was doing.
Two–
“And I suppose – we’re family now too. Contract, or no contract.”
One.
The explosive clattered to the feet of their attackers and the deafening blast that followed shook him to the core as Wilbur ducked to the ground, rolling towards the crate to get cover. The crash of metals and wood blended together, along with what seemed to be the shattering of glass from the warehouses’ windows. He brought his hands up to his ears, keeping his eyes open and was shocked to see that Techno was doing the same.
Curled up with his knees to his chest, hands to his ears and eyes wide open. His pink hair was frizzy, all tangled up and his white coat was dirtied with dust and stains from their adventure. And what shocked Wilbur the most, was the brilliant grin on the man’s face. Techno was– his lips were moving; he was saying something.
Stunned, Wilbur read the words from the other’s lips, noting the light from the glass shower twinkling in Techno’s eyes.
“Cheers to being brothers.”
And somehow, by no intention of his, Wilbur smiled back.