Work Text:
The one thing you needed to learn about the Watson family was that they did not fuck around.
Well, that was true in one sense. In the other it couldn’t be further from reality, because the Watson kids were absolute experts at following the creed of “fuck around and find out”. What they didn’t fuck around in was the discipline of making plans, making arrangements, and following through on schemes. This was how Phil had secured tenure at the school before he’d even been working there ten years, how Tommy had managed to evade punishment for that stunt he pulled on the roof of their primary school that one time with Tubbo, and how Wilbur and Techno, the twins, had orchestrated their best work yet - convincing their dad to let them start a prank war.
“Come on, we’re year elevens, you’ve got to let us have a bit of fun before we go,” Wilbur had complained one night at dinner.
“It’s not America! You don’t get to have your ‘senior pranks’ or whatever they do! You get in, you get your GCSEs, you get out. Deal with it.”
“I resent that remark,” Techno had grumbled. “C’mon, it’s not like we’re gonna fail.”
“You won’t fail. I have no such reservations about Will.”
The teen in question’s jaw dropped in disbelief at his father’s flippancy. “Hey, that’s so rude!”
“Look at your mocks, mate.”
“It’s not my fault I forgot when they started.”
“Studying’s important no matter when the exam is. Look, you’re gonna be a bad influence on Tommy.”
Tommy paused mid-bite of his pasta. “They could never influence me,” he proclaimed, mouth still half-full, “for I am too strong-minded. I would simply do what I thought was better.”
“Need I remind you two of the time you pushed each other down the stairs? Honestly, you’re more work than you’re worth. Put a lid on it.”
“Come on, Dad!”
“You’re really gonna leave us hangin’?”
“Yes,” Phil answered with an air of finality and went back to his food.
“Well -” Wilbur, ever the wordsmith, scrabbled for more persuasive devices, “what if we promised to keep it all out of the art department?”
“That’s the bare minimum.”
“And out of the house, as well, we’ll keep it on campus. No mess in your direction.”
“The whole school is my direction because they’re my employers. If you two get caught fucking around, you’re gonna put a bad sight on me.”
“Hold on,” Tommy interrupted, having paused between bites this time, “what’s all this about two?”
“Tom -” Phil cut himself off to sigh “- you’ve got a clean record at the minute. You’re not even on report. Keep it that way, please, please keep it that way.”
“I could be on report if I wanted to.”
“And what’s that gonna do for my credibility? These two already helped run the last art teacher out of the school. I heard she was crying every lesson.”
“I hated that woman,” Techno muttered.
“Fucking awful teacher. I might have gone in for Art GCSE if it weren’t for Miss Jennings,” Wilbur agreed.
“Honestly, I can relate. Stupid instruments are the only reason we even knew she existed.”
“It’s tragic, honestly, it is!”
“Anyway,” Phil dragged the conversation back on track from his children’s hands by force, “I’m already known as the teacher whose kids are just extraordinary menaces. Tommy, I know you’re just as bad, but the rest of the staff don’t yet. So you’re not joining in on the prank war, and, ideally, you two aren’t having it in the first place. Can you please just help me out here?”
Techno and Wilbur shared a look.
They looked at Tommy.
Tommy looked back, wide-eyed and expectant confusion on the top half of his face, the bottom half occupied with chewing spaghetti.
They looked at each other again.
“Fine,” Wilbur acquiesced, “I promise you won’t hear a word about it again.”
“And,” Techno added, “if you do, you have free reign to ground Tommy.”
“Wh- what about you?!”
“We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it,” Techno replied easily. “What’s the word, Dad?”
“You’re so blatant, you know.”
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Philip.”
“You’re clearly just gonna do it anyway, but quietly enough that I don’t hear about it.”
“In no way was that what we were implying.”
“Yeah? You’re not gonna have a silent prank war? You swear?”
“Mmm, on Wilbur’s life.”
“Oi, fuck off!”
“Okay, on Tommy’s.”
“Bitch.”
“Tommy, please don’t start swearing already, you’re barely twelve.”
“Sorry, Dad.”
“And please don’t let your brothers drag you in on this scheme, okay, mate? I really would love to see you end the year with no red flags on the system.”
“I know, I know.”
“Right, that’s settled, then. Boys, you’re on dish duty. I’m gonna go back to marking.”
The twins shared a look again as their father left the room. Each knew the other was silently counting to twelve from the moment the door slammed gently shut behind him. On twelve, they stood and, while Wilbur moved the plates across to the counter, Techno rounded the table to lean over Tommy’s shoulder.
“We’re totally gonna have a silent prank war. You have three days and then we make our move. Good luck.”
So, day one Monday, Tommy immediately sought out Tubbo when he got to school in the morning. Helpfully, he was in their usual meeting spot - in front of the as-yet-unopened school library.
“Good morning,” he greeted, scribbling answers into a schoolbook that lay horizontal on a locker door. “How was your weekend?”
“It was alright. Will and Techno have - they’ve so-li-ci-ted me for an important excursion.”
“Yeah? Aren’t they too busy for you now, with their exams and all?”
“No. Will and Techno would never be too busy for me.”
“I highly doubt that. What is it?”
“We’re gonna have a secret prank war,” he stage-whispered.
“Oh,” Tubbo replied at completely normal volume. “What do you do in a secret prank war?”
“Shhh!” he insisted. “It’s like a normal prank war, but we’re gonna do it all without my dad knowing.”
“There’s no way you can get away with having a whole war and Mr Watson not catching you.”
“Maybe not just me - but that’s where you come in, Tubbo, my friend.”
“You’re so-li-ci-ting me too?”
“Precisely. I’m thinking I come up with the ideas, and write the plans down, and you act as my distraction agent. My dad’s gonna be watching me the whole time to make sure I’m not messing around - but there’s no way he’ll be watching you! It’s genius.”
“Sounds complex. I’m in.”
“Fantastic. Right, what are we thinking?”
Tubbo made a noise of discontent. “Can we wait until the library opens? I’m still doing my homework for period one at the minute.”
Tommy investigated the page. “Wow. Your handwriting’s even worse on a wall.”
Day two Tuesday and they’d worked through both of their homeworks for the rest of the week (even though Mrs King always set work on Wednesdays to do for Fridays, so it was a bit of a fruitless endeavour). That left plenty of free time to hunker down in the library and discuss their plans.
“Can we keep the noise down, please?” the librarian called at intervals, having an effect on literally no-one.
“So if we’re making the first move,” began Tommy, “we don’t have to worry about anything big. Putting something stupid in their lockers or swapping out their books would do.”
“Do you know their locker combinations?”
“No, but I have a pair of scissors I can jam down the side.”
“Tommy,” Tubbo rolled his eyes, “aren’t we meant to be being secret?”
“Fine, fine.”
“Anyway, I know their combinations.”
Tommy blinked. “How the fuck do you -”
“Sometimes I just watch people,” Tubbo explained, completely straight-faced.
“... Right. Moving on. What can we put in them?”
“I was thinking chickens.”
He blinked again. “Wh- Tubbo, we can’t put chickens in Will and Techno’s lockers.”
“Why not?”
“That’s not a first play! What about… What about a bunch of glitter.”
“That could be a shout. It’s less fun when you open it, though. Doesn’t go everywhere, just sort of sits there.”
“Well, we’re doing a silent prank war, I think my dad would hear about things going everywhere. Then again, he is an art teacher; he’d probably also hear about a glitter problem.”
“What about a whole load of marshmallows?”
“That…” Tommy paused to consider the mental image. “Could work, actually.”
“We can get some from the Co-op after school.”
“Yeah, long as they don’t see us go by when they’re at the bus stop, we’re sorted! Tubbo, that was a great idea. This is why you’re my best mate.”
“I thought it was because we’re ride or dies.”
“Yeah, and you’re my ride or die because you have great ideas. Alright, we just have to make it through Maths and Geography, and then Operation M to the A to the R to the Shmallow can truly begin.”
“That’s a really conspicuous name.”
“Shut up, Tubbo.”
Suffice to say, Wilbur and Techno did not enjoy opening their lockers on day three Wednesday and getting a faceful of about three bags of marshmallows each.
“Okay, the gremlin has made his first move,” Wilbur muttered to Techno over their History revision session, “how did he even get into our lockers?”
“You ask me as if I know. What are you thinking for a retaliation?”
“I’m still mulling it over. We could put a chocolate milk at the bottom of his bag and see how long it takes for him to notice.”
“Mmm, too slow. It’s gotta be something we’ll be done with before Friday. Something on the back of his blazer?”
“Too cartoony. Actually…”
Wilbur ducked his head back into learning about the Cold War for a few seconds as the teacher passed them. “Go on.”
“Do you still have your blazer from when we got here?”
“What, the tiny ones?”
“Exactly.”
“Techno, you’re a mastermind.”
Day four Thursday started, unfortunately for Tommy, with the unpleasant realisation that the only blazer he could find was at least two sizes too small. Techno and Wilbur had had their growth spurts relatively late in their secondary school career, but even at twelve Tommy was already well on track to be taller than them when he reached their age. This, to his dismay, meant he would have to go to school in a comically small blazer, and everyone would see.
“Tom,” Phil tested in the car ride to school, “what’s up with your blazer?”
“Must have shrunk in the wash.”
“You’ve not washed it in two weeks.”
“Well, maybe it was a delayed reaction.”
Techno, beside him, and Wilbur, having his turn in the front seat, shared a look when Phil returned his eyes to the road.
Tubbo was waiting outside the library as always and choked on his laughter when Tommy rolled up, thoroughly unamused. “Surely not.”
“They got me, Tubs. I didn’t even know they still had their old blazers.”
“Can you tell whose it is?”
“Will’s,” he observed easily, “Techno used to chew on the sleeves of his. At least this one’s still intact.”
“Okay, well, I would offer you mine, but I’m pretty sure it’s the same size. Just… keep your head down or something.”
“Thanks, Tubbo, never would have thought of that,” Tommy muttered. “In the meantime, we need to fight back, right? Any more bright ideas?”
“Not right now. Get back to me at lunch.”
However, he didn’t need to wait that long, because halfway through second period Science Tommy struck gold, and he rushed down the corridor that breaktime to share his discovery.
“Chemicals, innit?”
“I have no idea what you mean by that.”
“We were doing pH levels in Science, right? And it made me think about those volcanoes you see on telly, the science fair things, right?”
“Oh, yeah, I know what you mean!”
“What if we do that - but it’s like, mentos and coke in someone’s bag? And then if they make a mess you can’t trace it back to us! Delayed reactions and shit.”
Tubbo nodded, impressed. “Do we have any mentos?”
“Not yet.”
Another after-school trip to the shops later and they were ready. Again, Techno and Will were at the bus stop as Tommy and Tubbo passed - but this time, unfortunately, they managed to catch the twins’ eyes. Still, just because they’d been seen didn’t mean they’d been sussed; besides, the pair were gone, presumably on a bus home, by the time the boys had made their purchases. The plan was simple and yet perfect.
Techno took one look at Wilbur’s drink on day five Friday and announced, “that’s a bomb.”
“Huh?”
“That’s a bomb,” he repeated, “one of the kids rigged it.”
“How the fuck do you rig a bottle of coke to be a bomb?”
“You never seen coke and mentos?”
“Ah. Of course. That’ll be why they were -”
“At the store, yeah.”
“What do we do with the bomb, then?”
“I don’t know. Dispose of it safely would be the logical answer.”
“However, I think you know where I’m about to go with this…”
Techno thought for a second - then his eyebrows lifted in clarity. “Oh, absolutely.”
The display they produced in the middle of the tarmac netball pitch on the playground was unmatched.
Tommy and Tubbo watched, faces pressed up against the glass, from inside the library. “They’re just too good!” Tommy complained quietly, “they thought past us. What do we do?”
“I thought it was their turn?”
“Tubbo, my friend, I don’t think you understand. All is fair in love and war. And while it’s debatable on if I love my brothers - this is nothing if not war. We can take a second turn whenever we like.”
“Oh. Do you want to tell on them for making that mess on the court? That would definitely get in their way.”
“No, no, my friend, that’s cheating! Plus, my dad would definitely hear about it, and he might link it back. Our revenge for them foiling our plans has got to be sneaky.”
“Okay. What if we… um… Steal their glasses?”
“Too easy. Over too fast. Also, how?”
“Just sneak in while they’re sleeping and yoink!”
“Tubbo. You fool. You imbecile. You absolute cretin. You idiot.”
“Yeah?”
“I’ll give it a shot.”
That evening at dinner, Phil surveyed his three sons as they all bit into burgers. Techno’s was vegetarian (since swearing off pork products for no reason other than liking pigs at a remarkably young age, he’d eventually expanded to most meats); Wilbur was poking around at the tomato slice in his (he had always been a bit iffy about texture); Tommy was simply demolishing (growing boy, after all - maybe that had something to do with the blazer situation). They all presented themselves as the picture of innocent children.
“You’ve not been fighting this week, have you, boys?”
“Not at all,” Wilbur assured him.
“Because I heard something about a spilled bottle of coke all over the playground earlier, and Mrs Jackson said you might have been behind it, or at least you were nearby.”
“No clue.”
“Really? Techno, Tommy?”
“I’m gonna be honest with you, Dad, I’ve barely talked to Tommy all week,” Techno corroborated. It went un-implied that he didn’t need to talk to Tommy to be able to feud with him at this point - such was their siblingly bond that at this point they could fight without a scent of verbal communication in the whole exchange.
“Yeah. Normal week for me,” Tommy lied, smiling unconvincingly. “Which reminds me - can I have Tubbo over for a sleepover tomorrow?”
“If his parents say yes. And if you cook for yourselves.”
“Mm,” nodded Tommy, “however, consider. Pizza.”
“You want pizza delivery?”
“I second this suggestion.” Wilbur raised his hand in solidarity.
“You’re paying.”
“Dad, I am literally twelve.”
“Pocket money,” Phil explained seamlessly. “How much is pizza? A tenner per? That’s a month’s pocket money.”
“Or,” Tommy argued, flicking his eyes back and forth between his brothers, hoping they’d get the hint, “we can share the load.”
“Boys? You mind paying for Tubbo’s food?”
Techno sighed. “I’m the one with the job.”
“You work at the charity shop. You don’t get paid for that.”
“Still!”
“What Techno means,” Wilbur cut in, “is that of course we’ll share the load in the name of pizza.”
“Alright. Have your sleepover. I don’t wanna see you fighting each other while I’m busy or anything, though!”
“We would not dream of it,” lied Tommy, again.
Nothing much happened day six Saturday until Tubbo rang the doorbell, at which point Phil welcomed him in and Tommy created a phone note entitled “PLANS” as Tubbo took his shoes off (they weren’t barbarians in the Watson household). They quickly retired to Tommy’s room, luckily across the hall from Techno and Wilbur’s so that they wouldn’t be heard as easily, but unluckily sharing a wall with Phil’s office, which he was currently inside of, because his marking never seemed to end, even on the weekends.
“So are we going ahead with the plan?”
“Yeah. The hard part is gonna be staying up late enough to catch them sleeping. Luckily, I’ve been stashing spare cokes down the back of my bed for months now, just in case - if we time it right the caffeine will keep us up for long enough to outlast them.”
“You’ve been stashing them for months? What plans have you had this whole time?”
“Illegal ones, Tubbo, extremely illegal ones.”
“Oh. Sounds about right.”
The two warring teams briefly met in the middle for pizza.
“How’s your afternoon been, Tommy?”
“Oh, you know, very normal. Very unremarkable. Nothing interesting going on.”
“Good,” Techno nodded solemnly, “us neither.”
“You sure? You not got anything planned?”
“Nothing whatsoever. How have you been, Tubbo?”
“I’ve been good, I’ve been good.”
“You know,” Tommy said quietly, “I still think pineapple on pizza is an abomination.”
“Yeah, well you don’t have to eat my side of the pizza, do you?”
“We still had to pay for it!”
“Tommy,” interrupted Wilbur, “why are you complaining? You apparently like mint flavour in your coke.”
“What the fuck gives you that idea?”
“Apparently, your drink got mixed up with mine yesterday.”
“Funny,” Tommy immediately rebutted, “that’s really funny, you know?”
“Yeah?”
“Because your old blazer got mixed up with mine the other day. Took me the whole afternoon to find it.”
“That’s a weird coincidence.”
“Weird indeed.”
Phil walked in to grab a couple of slices of pizza. All four boys stared him down surreptitiously the entire time. He walked back out slowly and without turning around.
“We’re gonna fucking thrash you,” Tommy hissed.
“I’d like to see you try,” Wilbur whispered back.
Techno made a motion to slit his throat.
Tubbo chewed on a bite of pineapple.
That night, Tommy and Tubbo sat up against the wall on the bed, watching manhunt videos to stay awake. Ten ticked over to ten-thirty, ten-thirty ticked over to eleven, and still they sat awake, occasionally sipping from their caffeinated beverages to keep them going. They would not fall asleep - the plan was to stay up until one or two in the morning and then check on Wilbur and Techno’s rooms to see if any light crept through the doorway; if not then they would each make their move and steal their glasses, either off the side table or off their face, whatever was needed. They’d played rock-paper-scissors to see who had to face off Techno, the more threatening of the twins, and unfortunately Tommy had lost. Still, he wasn’t scared. He would not fall asleep.
He would not fall asleep.
He would not fall asleep.
Day seven Sunday brought with it a few unfortunate realisations. The first was that - “fuck!” - he had fallen asleep. The second was that that meant the plan for their secret second turn in the prank war had gone un-executed. The third was that - “what the shit?” - both his and Tubbo’s hands had been placed in a bowl of water, now cold. He shook his hand semi-dry in the open air and swiftly woke up Tubbo, whose sleeping head was buried in the crook of Tommy’s neck up to that point, and who had not been remotely stirred by the swearing beforehand.
“Wh- huh?”
“Tubbo, we’ve fucked it.”
“Huh?” He looked up at Tommy - pulled back into his own personal space - looked down at the bowl of water - pulled his hand out - shook it too.
“Oi, don’t splash me!”
“You splashed me!”
“Irrelevant.”
“What do you mean, we’ve fucked it?”
“We fell asleep. Dad’s come and put the laptop on the floor. And Will and Techno...”
...have taken the opportunity to try and prank us. Tommy scoffed.
“Oh, I’ve seen this one on telly too! Aren’t you supposed to wet yourself?”
“Precisely, Tubbo. They have tried to prank us with piss.”
“Well, that was rude.”
“It’s more than rude, Tubbo, it’s offensive! We need to stop them!”
“We do, we really do. What do you propose?”
“I would piss in their cornflakes, but I think that would be a bit too on the nose. No, this needs to be something subtle but effective.”
“Right. Let’s go to breakfast first, though.”
Breakfast was tense - all four boys stoically sat and supped on spoons of cereal while Phil watched, unimpressed with their poker faces. Many glances of steeled determination were swapped between the same sides, and many glances of rage between the opposing teams.
“How did you sleep?” Phil asked the twins at one point.
“Not too badly,” Techno yawned, “something was keeping me up, I didn’t get to bed until like one.”
“One? Really now, Techno, you’re so close to exam season, you need to be keeping your sleep schedule on sensible time.”
“Come on, Dad, I’m not the one who needs to worry about my grades.”
“Oi!” Wilbur shot Techno a look like he’d rather be punching his twin.
“You know what I mean.”
Wilbur dropped his spoon into the bowl and sat back, arms crossed. He wouldn’t move until the end of the conversation.
“Either way,” Phil continued, unwary, “you should both be getting to bed early and getting a good night’s rest. This is the first step of your future, you know.”
“Yeah, that’s what you say,” muttered Techno.
Once they’d eaten and Phil had headed upstairs to get some time to himself for the morning, Tommy checked in with Techno.
“You were up waiting for us to fall asleep so you could do your fuckin’ piss prank, weren’t you?”
“Oh, absolutely. I have no idea how you two figured you could outlast a couple of sixteen year olds who’ve been staring at blue light since we were your age.”
“We had the power of caffeine on our side.”
“And you still lost? Cringe.”
“Whatever. We’ll fuckin’ show you.”
“Go ahead. We’re goin’ out this afternoon with Dad. Hit us with your best shot.”
And, well, Tommy Watson was not one to take a challenge like that lightly.
Over the course of the afternoon, while Techno and Wilbur and Phil were out doing who knew what at who knew where, Tommy and Tubbo were ~scheming~. Subtle but effective was a difficult prompt to fulfil - but Tommy hit upon the perfect idea ten or twenty minutes into their scouring the internet for ideas that weren’t just “pie in the face” or “water balloons”. It was something Phil might feasibly not even spot, or even the twins themselves, but it would absolutely fuck up their day until they worked out what was going on. And, yes, it took them a good hour to get all the way around both Techno and Wilbur’s bedrooms and move every single piece of furniture two centimetres to the left, but when it was done they were able to stand back and admire their handiwork. Perfectly unsettling.
Tubbo was pulling on his coat to finally go home for the evening when they heard the first sign that their scheme had been successful - the unmistakable yell of Wilbur having stubbed his toe on the bedpost.
The boys nodded at each other. It would be tough for the twins to top that one indeed.
Day eight Monday brought with it an air of tension that Wilbur and Techno carried with them all the way out of the house, into the car, back out of the car, and into their usual hanging-out spot that they occupied in the morning before either of their friend groups arrived at normal not-the-son-of-the-teacher hours. Honestly, more and more it had become the only time they spent with each other outside of lessons and a family environment - it was nice to have a little bit of time just for the two of them every day, and without it who knew what their relationship would end up like.
“Come on, man,” Wilbur said quietly over top of their phones, “we need to thrash him.”
“I’ve never been good at this part,” Techno shot back, “you’re supposed to be the big concept guy. I’m just supposed to make the blueprints.”
“Well, multitask for a second, can you?”
“I’m trying.”
Wilbur caught his breath - then sighed. “Sorry. I’m just a bit wound up, you know?”
“Whatever he did to our rooms, it was good. He threw us off our rhythm.”
“Exactly, so we need to thrash him, alright?”
“I know. Can we get away with hair dye in the shampoo?”
“He uses the same one we all use. It’d get Dad too.”
“Damn.”
“Plus, Dad would definitely know if Tommy’s hair changed colour against his will. Not to mention I have no idea how it connects to dress code?”
“I do, actually,” Techno cursed, “zero tolerance for non-natural hair colours.”
“You been looking at that? You gonna go blue or something?”
“Shut up.”
“Oh, come on, I bet you’d look great in bright green!”
“I don’t wanna dye my hair green,” he insisted.
“You should. We have boring hair. All brown and shit. Lucky Tommy got the blonde genes.”
“Whatever - one last stand, alright? We have to be smart about this.”
“Why don’t you ask Skeppy?”
“I haven’t talked to Skeppy in like a couple weeks.”
“So talk to him again! He’s good at this, innhe?”
“I guess.”
“When does he usually show up?”
“Literally on the late bell.”
“That gives us -” he checked “- like half an hour to think.”
“We can do half an hour. Come on. Believe in yourself. Believe in me.”
“... You know what? I do believe in you and me.”
They nodded at each other. The final prank was in the works.
On the dawn of day nine Tuesday Tommy eyed his brothers the entire car ride (Wilbur had the front seat) to school. They didn’t meet his stare - Wilbur hummed quietly under the radio and Techno tried to read the book that he had balanced on his knees out of Phil’s sight; they all knew if he was spotted Phil would complain that he’d get sick and he’d be forced to stop. Tommy was determined not to get caught out today. Whatever prank they had coming, he’d simply evade.
He met Tubbo, as usual, outside the library. Tubbo was doing his homework again.
“Why don’t you just do it at home?”
“Too noisy,” Tubbo shrugged. “That’s why we always go over to yours.”
“Right. Anyway, we need to be on fucking guard today, alright?”
“For a prank?”
“Precisely, my friend. You don’t let a thing get past you. We’re gonna evade and we’re gonna escape, and then we’re gonna strike back just like fuckin’ ninjas.”
“Sounds good.”
“What’s that work anyway?”
“It’s for Art.”
“You have Art today?”
“I do.”
“Ah, shit, that’ll be when they strike, when my dad’s distracted. Tubbo, my friend, you’re off duty for today.”
“Okay. I hope you manage your evading.”
“Thank you, Tubbo, thank you. I’m gonna play FNAF now.”
“Have fun.”
The day passed almost too quietly for Tommy’s liking. Every break he was looking over his shoulder for one of his brothers to approach, paranoid about what they might have up their sleeves, staring for a flash of brown hair or the familiar round glasses type they shared or the sturdy shoes Phil bought each of them because he knew they would run straight through a puddle if it meant getting to the bus stop before the bus did.
No sign of them by break.
No sign of them by lunch.
At the end of the day, Tommy was extremely suspicious, because he hadn’t seen Wilbur or Techno all day. He went looking for Tubbo on his way out of form and found him fast enough - so it wasn’t just a Tommy problem, then.
“Did you evade?”
“I suppose so,” Tommy frowned, “I didn’t see either of them all day. We should check for them at the bus stop just in case.”
Sure enough - there, in the crowd of students waiting for a bus - Wilbur and Techno. Innocent as the day they were born. (Luckily, not nearly as naked.)
Tommy frowned again, harder this time.
“Are we sure they did something?” Tubbo asked. Tommy slapped him in the arm without looking back.
“Of course they did something. I just don’t know what yet.”
They went back to get their bags. Nothing happened.
They got on their respective buses home. Nothing happened.
Tommy played some GTA and texted his friends and ate dinner with his family. Nothing happened.
Tommy went back upstairs to do homework and opened his bag and “FUCK -”
Not real.
Fake spider in his bag.
How the fuck did they manage to slip past him?
“Tommy?” Phil checked from downstairs. “Something wrong?”
“Nothing, dad,” he yelled back.
“You sure?”
“I’m alright, dad.”
Phil was silent. Phew. Conflict avoided. They had free reign to continue the war.
Or maybe they didn’t - because on day ten Wednesday, Tommy murmured “nice one” to Techno as they passed each other on their way in and out of the bathroom, and Techno muttered back, “what?”
“You were quick, is all I mean.”
Techno picked up his toothbrush. “Quick about what?”
“Your next go.”
He wet the bristles. “What? The spider?”
“No, the contacts.”
He squeezed out some toothpaste. “Huh? We were waiting for you to make a move.”
“No you didn’t!”
He put the brush in his mouth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Really? Explain this, then!”
Tommy thrust his phone out into Techno’s face. Techno paused his brushing and leaned back to focus his eyes on the screen. “What does that say?”
“You fuckers changed all my contacts to say WAR OVER!”
“I… did not do that.”
Wilbur made a half confused, half offended noise from behind his bedroom door. “Tommy fucking wiped all my contacts!”
“It wasn’t me, dickhead!” he fired back immediately.
“Well who else was it, your mate from school you keep running around with?”
“You lot were the ones who fucked with my phone.”
“I’ve done nothing to your phone!”
“You obviously did.”
Techno, still brushing, rolled his pitifully long-sighted eyes.
“What, what?”
He didn’t reply. Wilbur shoved past Tommy to reach his own toothbrush, and the morning continued.
“What was all that shouting about?” Phil asked in the car ride to school.
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Wilbur said, smiling through his pain. All three boys had all their contacts changed. It would take them weeks to recover. This was truly a heinous attack.
“Well, whatever it was, I hope you’re not fighting. That would be a damn shame.”
Tommy looked at Phil. He didn’t look back - he was focused on the road - but he grinned. And all at once, all three brothers understood.
So the prank war had a clear victor in the end, they supposed. Not exactly the win either team had been hoping for - but hey, at least it perpetuated the family reputation.
The Watson family - the entire Watson family - did not fuck around.