Chapter Text
Tomiel glanced back and forth between the two brothers with an amused smile on his face. Wilbur didn’t really appreciate how much entertainment he seemed to draw from their very real crisis. While telling their dad that they had done a dark magic ritual (the original plan) was one thing, having to inform him that there would now be a demon near Wilbur at all times for the rest of his fucking life was another beast entirely. Especially considering the demon could change his mind and kill Wilbur at pretty much any moment, and there was nothing anybody could do to stop it oh god, why did he ever think summoning a demon was a good idea it was just supposed to be a joke and now he was probably going to fucking die-
No, he needed to calm down. Deep breaths. In and out. He was the older brother, so he had to step up and come up with a plan of action. It was his noble duty. His sacred burden to bear. (Wilbur firmly ignored the fact that Techno had been the responsible sibling between the two of them since his baby brother had grown old enough to develop the most basic of reasoning.)
Wilbur felt incredibly bad about the whole situation. It was his fault. He could only be glad that Tommy was bound to him. If Techno had been the one to get tied to a demon until his inevitable death, Wilbur would be absolutely drowning in that guilt. This stupid little summoning had been his own idea, and he’d never stopped to consider that it might be a mistake. Demons were apparently real, and he had endangered his little brother all for the sake of what could hardly even be considered a prank. It wasn’t even that funny!
Dad would be so disappointed in him.
Dad. Techno had brought up an excellent point there, one that caused Wilbur’s anxiety to skyrocket for probably the twelfth time in this past hour. He sure was having a great day. What were they supposed to tell him? For some reason, he felt that approaching their father and saying ‘Yes we decided to try dark magic, as a bit, and now there is a demon from hell in our house for the foreseeable future. Don’t worry though, he’s probably not going to kill us because a guy he says he doesn’t even like would be upset if he did!’ might not exactly go over too well. There was at least a thirty percent chance that bluntly revealing the truth may backfire, a tad bit.
Mind racing, he finally came to a conclusion. All they would need to do is iron out a couple minor details, but this could work. It had to. At the risk of sounding like a character in an extremely cliche action film, he had a plan. This was the only way. He was taking matters into his own hands. One final heist, for old times’ sake- Wait. Fuck. That wasn’t right. He’s gotten off topic. This was definitely not the time to get distracted. Taking a deep breath, he mentally steeled himself. He would have to talk to the demon.
“Tomiel?” He asked hesitantly, still wary of the very dangerous creature from literal hell that probably hated him.
It made a noncommittal noise in response, which Wilbur took as an invitation to continue. “How, uh- How far away exactly can you go with the whole bond… thing?”
Tomiel’s nose wrinkled a bit as he considered the question for a few moments before answering. He crossed his arms, annoyance coloring his tone. The minute display of displeasure from the powerful entity made Wilbur’s blood turn to ice. “Not fuckin’ far. If you are in the middle of your house I probably wouldn’t even be able to get outside.”
“Well- well fuck!”
Alright, plan A of ‘have the demon just go somewhere else’ was officially a bust. Honestly, it had been naive and idealistic of Wilbur to think the solution could be something so simple. The faint spark of hope he’d seen in Techno’s eyes when he started talking fizzled out, and Wilbur was hit by another sharp pang of guilt. If worse came to worst, he’d try to take full blame to spare Techno their father’s wrath (or, more accurately, his crushing disappointment.)
Dad would get home in only seven hours, so every second that ticked by felt like a countdown to their doom. Time was short and this was a much bigger mistake than when they’d accidentally smashed Techno’s bedroom window. Wilbur may be a man who had a way with words, but even he couldn’t think of any way to spin the situation that could make it seem like anything short of a colossal fuck-up. Downplaying and covering up their mistakes was his specialty. If he couldn’t talk his way out of this, they’d just have to stop Dad from ever finding out it had happened.
Wilbur straightened out to his full height, eyes blazing with newfound determination. “Alright. Tomiel, we’re going to need you to hide when Dad gets home. He can not see you.”
The demon scoffed. “Who the fuck do you think you are, giving me orders. You’re lucky I’m letting you live, I don’t have to do what you say. Bitch.” The insult at the end was tacked on, almost as an afterthought.
He winced. It wasn’t as though Tomiel were being unreasonable, but this whole thing would be so much easier if he cooperated. Keeping the demon a secret from Dad was absolutely vital, and he was certain Techno would agree. Lying to Phil was always difficult, but never before had Wilbur been so justified in his deception. Even if they hadn’t technically broken any of his official rules, he was pretty sure ‘don’t do actual fucking magic and get stuck with a demon’ was at very least an implied expectation. The kind of thing that would make Phil say “Oh my fucking god. I shouldn’t have to tell you not to do that!”
Making the saddest and most pathetic expression he could muster, Wilbur gave Techno a sharp elbow in the side as wordless order to play along. He made a few sniffing noises, trying to sell the idea that he was on the brink of tears. He could only pray that his two years of drama class and countless hours spent manipulating strangers into buying him candy bars wouldn’t fail him now. Wilbur’s dignity had been abandoned long ago, left behind in favor of trying to get the demon to work with him at all costs. He was not above begging. It seemed his best bet would be to garner some pity.
“Please?” Wilbur asked in a small voice, complete with an artificial waver halfway through.
Tomiel appeared wholly unimpressed by the entire display. “Fuck off.”
Wilbur dropped the act with a frustrated groan. He pretended not to hear Techno’s mutter of ‘L’ from beside him. Even if he didn’t react outwardly, the comment made him half-reconsider his backup plan of taking all the blame. Staring at the demon intensely, Wilbur was doing hundreds of tiny calculations in his mind. One could practically hear wheels turning behind his eyes at a speed that would make a computer fan overheat. Tomiel, at the moment, had absolutely no reason to care if Wilbur got grounded for several long years.
He would simply have to change that!
“You’re bound to me, right?”
“Yeah, I literally explained that just a minute ago. Is your human memory that fucking weak? I knew you were inferior creatures, but damn.”
Wilbur raised both hands in a placating gesture, fighting to keep a smirk off his face as he put his plan into motion. “So if I don’t leave this house, neither can you?”
“Yeeeees?” Tomiel drew out the word, squinting suspiciously. His tail started to lash back and forth.
Wilbur threw an arm forward, pointing at the demon with a wild glint in his eyes and a victorious grin. “If you don’t cooperate and hide from Dad, you’ll be stuck in our ‘stupid little human house’ for the forseeable future, because I will be grounded for the rest of my life!”
He could hear Techno laughing at him, but in this moment that didn’t matter. Wilbur felt like Phoenix Wright, winning a case despite all odds. Not that he had played the games, but had seen enough memes to approximate that this was pretty close. Probably. If not, then nobody heard him create the inaccurate simile in his own head and he could not be ridiculed for it. Living with a younger brother, he was already subject to enough good natured bullying, thank-you-very-much!
The defeated slump of the demon’s shoulders told Wilbur everything he needed to know. Being a master manipulator, it was mere childsplay for him to get this infernal creature to bend to his wills. He would politely request anyone who may or may not be observing his life somehow, perhaps through written word, to not bring up the fact that he had fake cried and it had failed miserably. Please just let him have this. He is so often bullied, victim to the cruel whims of fate as whatever force controls his life uses him as a metaphorical punching bag. The butt of every joke. Just a silly little clown for the people to laugh and throw cheese at, and Wilbur does not want to eat cheese today.
“Fine, whatever. I’ll- I’ll fuckin’ hide or something. But do not think this means you can order me around, bitch. I will find a jail and put you inside of it, and then you will have to drink a toilet or something. This is how humans work, Tubbo has told me.” The demon punctuated each sentence by jabbing a single finger forward sharply. Wilbur really wished he wouldn’t. Those claws looked incredibly sharp.
Tubbo. That sure was a sound Wilbur had heard. Apparently agreeing with the sentiment, Techno was bold enough to ask: “Tubbo? So do all demons have weird names?”
“Your name is Technoblade.” The demon replied flatly.
“...Well you didn’t have to point it out.”
Wilbur didn’t even attempt to hide his laughter, feeling vindicated for his brother earlier implying that Wilbur was living proof of human incompetence. Hurtful, and completely inaccurate. In fact, Wilbur had successfully rigged a horse race twice at the same time, and made several thousand dollars. He is not currently focusing on the part where he was never actually able to cash in on this win, because he is a minor and not legally allowed to bet on horse racing. They refused to give him the money, no matter how many homemade disguises he brought. That aspect of the entire situation wasn’t his fault, so it simply doesn’t count.
“We still have hours until Dad gets home.” Techno pointed out. He turned to the demon, his eyes shining with poorly concealed malicious intent. “Tell me, Tomiel. You ever played monopoly?”
…Maybe Wilbur had been incredibly wrong when he said that Techno was the responsible one.
Phil began his drive home, exhausted from work but excited to see his sons again. He always hated when he had to be gone overnight for work, and made it clear that on no uncertain terms would he travel away from his children for even a moment longer than was strictly necessary. Even on occasions like these, when he got scarcely an hour to decompress after his flight before heading to his meeting. It may be exhausting, but his kids were worth it. He would never forgive himself if they ended up feeling neglected because of his career.
He worked doing graphic design marketing for video games, and often would have to travel to give his pitch to clients. He loved what he did, and was lucky enough to be far too valuable to ever be fired. In addition to having an eye for cinematography and layouts, he was told that his fatherly aura made him more likable when giving presentations. As much as it irked him, he had little doubt that any employee the company didn’t see as an integral asset would be fired for trying to prioritize their family.
As he pulled into the driveway, he breathed a small sigh of relief to see the house still in one piece. As much as he loved his boys, every day he questioned how Wilbur had managed to talk him into leaving the pair without supervision. If he came home one day to the house reduced to ash and rubble, he would hardly feel surprised. Wilbur was the type to recreate Greek fire just because somebody bet him twelve cents he couldn’t. Not to mention that one time Techno had accidentally started a medium-sized cult.
Parking and exiting the vehicle, he noted a deafening lack of noise from the house. It was just before ten, so there was absolutely no way they were already asleep. While Techno could sometimes spend hours zoned in on a book reading quietly, Wilbur was always creating some sort of unholy cacophony. Whether it was his music, an impassioned rant about absolute nonsense, or yet another failed attempt at making his own rube-goldberg machine. For all his intelligence, Wilbur had tragically never managed to develop common sense. It was his biggest shortcoming. As for Techno, that sort of wisdom was something he possessed and yet chose to ignore.
Phil approached the front door with caution, knowing full well there could be some sort of trap laid out as a prank. Failing to locate any trip wire, he opened the front door and mentally braced himself for whatever he might find. Standing only a couple feet from the door with an innocent yet suspiciously stiff smile plastered onto his face, was Wilbur. Techno was nowhere to be seen.
“Alright. What crazy shit have you done this time, Wil?” He asked, voice tired.
“Nothing!” His son answered a bit too quickly. The sentence that followed did nothing to alleviate Phil’s suspicion. “We just- uhhh… Just… chilled?”
With his current heart rate, it was a wonder these boys hadn’t put him in the hospital yet. “Just chilled, hm? So I won’t be getting any calls from the local police department?”
“No, it’s nothing like that! Uh- I mean-”
“So you agree that it is something?” Phil couldn’t help but grin victoriously. He wouldn’t dare deny that Wilbur was dangerously clever, but as his father he always managed to weasel out a confession of some sort.
“Fuck.” He made no attempt to restrain a chuckle as Wilbur finally realized his own slip-up.
Walking deeper into the house, he felt a pang of relief at every window and fragile object that was still intact. No holes in the wall, either, so Wilbur probably wasn’t covering for something Techno had done. For a bookworm, he sure was proficient in property damage when he wasn’t paying attention. Phil still vividly remembered the time Techno, at age thirteen, had somehow managed to kick down an entire door by accident. All the boy had had to say for himself was a monotone “Oops.”
It wasn’t until he reached the living room that Phil saw what Wilbur had been trying so hard to hide. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he shouted “Wiiiil! What the fuck is this?”
Wilbur rushed into the room from where he’d stayed standing near the entry, probably having been plotting some alternate method of justifying whatever this was while he was out of sight. Phil gave him the Dad Look™, sighing as he saw the familiar cogs of a scheme in progress turn behind Wilbur’s eyes. He had no doubt that whatever his son came up to justify this would be an oscar-worthy performance, with about four words of truth at most.
The teen gestured wildly as he spoke, trying very hard to sound confident. “So you see, there was this- this terrible accident! Tragic, really! An- an elephant escaped from the zoo, but they didn’t notice and this is why it isn’t on the news, and-”
“Wil.” Phil replied flatly.
“I- yes, father?” The smile on his son’s face was growing increasingly fake as the conversation wore on.
“There are claw marks on the ceiling, and the wall is scorched. A chunk of the sofa is missing. What did you do.”
Wilbur’s shoulders slumped, and he let out a sigh. Head turned away, he muttered something under his breath.
“What was that?” Phil goaded.
“We played monopoly…”
In any other family, this would likely require further explanation. In the Minecraft household? The story checked out. He just hoped nobody had gotten injured this time. Phil was one hundred percent convinced that game was designed only to elicit a violent reaction from the players, as it seemed to be the only route their games had ever gone down.
Phil ran a hand down his face, and he could practically feel his hairs graying. “Wil, I banned monopoly in this house for a reason. How did you even find the board?”
Wilbur grinned cheekily. “...Would you believe me if I said I looked very hard?”
“Wilbur, I love you, but we both know you’re absolute shit at finding things.” Phil laughed.
“Alright, alright!” His hands raised with palms faced outwards in the universal sign of surrender. “...Techno found it.”
Somehow, this was entirely unsurprising. They often joked that Techno must have been a tracker dog or something of the sort in a past life. No matter where in the house something was hidden, he would find a way to locate it. It was almost terrifying, how competent he was. One time Phil had, in a last ditch effort, sealed Techno’s phone inside a plastic bag and buried it in the backyard. He’d woken up the next morning to a note on his bedroom door, smudged with soil, saying nothing but “Get good.” Phil realized now that he should have set that stupid game on fire when he had the chance.
Suddenly, a loud thumping noise echoed from upstairs. This was the moment it struck Phil that Techno had yet to greet him. While his younger son was a lot less touchy-feely, he was still quick to rush in for a hug every time Phil returned from a work trip. It was unlike Technoblade to make himself scarce. The disappointed parental look returned, as he turned to stare at Wilbur.
“What have you done to your brother?”
“Nothing! He’s just- hiding! We’re- Uh… Playing hide and seek!”
Phil could’ve sworn he saw Wilbur mouthing something and frantically gesturing to somebody behind him, but when he turned around to check there was nobody there. Odd. Wilbur definitely seemed slightly less tense when he turned back to him, though. His parent-sense were telling him that something was up here. He really hoped it was just a weird bit they were doing. While it wouldn’t be too far-fetched for them, nothing was outside the realm of possibility when it came to those two.
“So if I go check upstairs, I’ll find Techno? And he won’t be restrained in any way?”
Wilbur was sweating. “Well, there’s no need to go look! You’ll- you’ll ruin the game!”
“Wil, I swear to god if you’ve duct taped your brother to a wall-”
“I would never!”
Phil gave him a pointed look.
“Okay- well- I would, but I didn’t!”
Unconvinced, Phil made his way up the stairs. As he looked around for any sign of the siblings’ rivalry having gone too far one again, he couldn’t help but reflect. Was it truly so much to ask that one day he come home from a trip and not immediately be met with some manner of chaos? He loved his boys, he did, but they would someday be the death of him. Being a single father wasn’t easy. He could never bring himself to regret adopting the pair, though. For all he wished for a brief reprieve from the absolute havoc they wrought wherever they went, the house would feel empty and lifeless without their ridiculous little schemes.
He heard another noise from Wilbur’s room, the sound of his closet door rattling slightly. Either Wilbur had locked Techno in a closet, or… wait. Phil was abruptly reminded of the claw marks he’d seen on the ceiling. The rest of the property damage could be written off as a game of monopoly gone too far, but his sons were only human. Those deep furrows could not have been produced by their blunt nails.
Fucking god.
Not again.
“Wilbur, be honest with me.”
“Yes, father Minecraft?”
He refrained from rolling his eyes at the moniker, to make it clear that he was being serious at the moment. Wilbur would not use his (admittedly hilarious) jokes to get out of this one. Phil was an extraordinarily patient man, (one would need to be to deal with these two) but he certainly had his limits. The line between “tolerable” and “Phil losing his goddamn mind” was not a thin one, but by god did his sons manage to play jump rope with it.
“Wil, have you brought wild animals into our home again?”
Wilbur froze, flashing the least convincing smile Phil had seen in years. “Nope!”
Phil stared at his eldest son, hoping his eyes conveyed how incredibly little he believed that statement.
“It’s not fair that you won’t let that go! It was one time!”
“You’ve done it five times. Seven, if we count the feral stray cats-”
“-Which I don’t!” Wilbur huffed, crossing his arms.
He sighed. “I’m going to open this closet door, and if I see a wild animal in there you are grounded for at least a month, more depending on how dangerous it is.”
“Heyyyyy, Phil, Philza, come on man. This feels- this feels like profiling! Just because I’m a seventeen year old named Wilbur, you assume there’s animals in my closet? That’s messed up, dad. WAIT-” The teen reached out an arm as if to physically prevent his father from opening the closet, but it was too late.
The door hinges creaked ominously as it swung open, and the pair both held their breath and braced themselves (for entirely different reasons.) The sight that met them was a shock to both parties. There, standing in the closet, half hidden by a dusty old trench coat Wilbur had stolen from a guy at the grocery store, was a familiar gangly teen. With his rose pink hair and a chronic case of resting bitch face, the figure was absolutely unmistakeable.
Technoblade gave an awkward half-wave. “Hullo kings.”
Now, Phil was too busy reeling over the fact Wilbur had been telling the truth to process how many details were off. Techno’s hair was a few inches too short, his voice held a poorly repressed British accent, and never in his life had he referred to anyone as “king.” As it stood, he managed to miss all these tiny inconsistencies.
“Well. I suppose I owe you an apology, Wilbur.”
He glanced over at his older son, and saw him once again making strange and frantic hand gestures. Phil’s brow furrowed. It was suspicious, sure, but he chose to write it off as another of Wilbur’s many eccentricities. He felt vaguely bad for the false accusations he’d been making just moments prior, and to immediately attempt to call out his son again would make his apology hollow and meaningless.
Had Phil turned to look, he would have spotted the real Technoblade looking absolutely flabbergasted in the doorway behind him, before hurriedly scuttling away.
He didn’t though.
Wilbur breathed a sigh of relief as Phil headed back out to his car to get his suitcases. It looked like they were in the clear, at least for the moment.
Fuck, this was going to be stressful.