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"That's a baby," Tubbo says.
Tommy makes a disagreeing noise, but the set of his mouth betrays his uncertainty. "You don't know that, man," he says, probably just to be contrary.
"I do, actually" Tubbo retorts. "That's literally— literally, one hundred percent a baby."
"No, Tommy's right," Ranboo says from behind them, where he's tucked himself down to a more manageable, slightly less intimidating height, like a folding chair. "There's those, y'know, species that only grow so big, they only grow so big, right, some planets just don't. Um. Let people grow all that tall."
"Unlike you," Tommy cuts in bluntly.
"Unlike me."
"No, this is a whole entire baby," Tubbo says despairingly, gesturing to the little alien boy that's huddled near the wreckage of what was probably once a wall made out of blackstone bricks. "Look, let's just—" he turns to the alien, softening his voice to a croon. "Hey, lil' guy, what's your name? Are you alright?"
The aforementioned lil' guy turns big eyes up at him, then raises his arms in what is literally the universal gesture for pick me up, I’m really cute.
"Ba," the alien says plaintively.
"Well, shit," Tommy mutters. "It's an alien baby."
Intergalactic travel has been Tommy's lifelong dream— going all over the universe, meeting new people and seeing new places, trying everything life has to offer, just like the rest of his family did before they mellowed out. He wants it all, and he knows exactly how to get it:
He's going to start a delivery service.
There's always a shortage of intergalactic transport vehicles— and they’re exempt from travel tolls on most planets. It’s the perfect plan. He’s brilliant.
"I dunno, big man," Tubbo says dubiously. He's got dirt smeared across his cheek and streaked up his arms, and he's wheeling a barrow full of the stuff across the rocky ground of the small moon that Wilbur's been trying to make habitable. "It doesn't seem like such a great plan."
"What do you mean," Tommy groans. He's doing his best to look like he's working, too, when in reality he's been packing and unpacking the soil from around a sapling for half an hour. "My plan is fantastic. I've never had a bad plan, ever."
"Sure," Tubbo replies, flopping down next to Tommy. Tommy is beginning to dislike his doubtful voice. "Where are you gonna get your ship? How are you gonna start your business? Will Phil even let you?"
Tommy pauses. "My plan is perfect," he says again, instead of answering. Tubbo sighs. "... So that's a no, then?"
"Sorry, Big T," Tubbo says apologetically, then picks up the handles of his wheelbarrow and continues down the path. Tommy looks down at the sad, drooping leaves of his sapling and pouts.
It takes an entire three days on Wilbur's moon for someone to notice that he's sulking, slouching about as people mill around with their dirt and water and stupid oak plants. Unfortunately, the person who notices is Technoblade.
"Bruh," the alien grumbles. Tommy is poking listlessly at a row of sprouts, and his brother lightly bats his hands away before squatting next to him. "Tommy, you're gonna fuck up my potatoes."
Tommy scowls petulantly but lets off. Techno messes with the stalk of the poor plant he'd been harassing, nudging it upright and packing the dirt more tightly around it. Then he turns towards Tommy. "Alright, what's wrong."
"Fuck off," Tommy scowls, and Techno just raises an eyebrow, mouth tilting into an unimpressed line. Tommy swats at him. "Ugh, seriously, I'm fine."
Techno eyes him for another moment, before sighing. "Alright, alright," he says relentingly, clambering to his hooves. "You're sure?"
"I'm a big man, Technoblade."
"Uh-huh," Techno replies, and before Tommy can complain about the doubt evident in his low drawl, Techno raises his head, scans the area for a moment, and then shouts, ear-piercingly loud, "Ayo, Phil!"
"Fuck you," Tommy says vehemently. The distant shape of Phil pauses, before turning and heading towards them with a flap of his mismatched wings. "I hate you so much. You're the worst. I will kill you so dead."
"Technoblade never dies," Techno says right as Phil comes to a graceful stop in front of them without spilling a single drop of water from either bucket he's got in his hands. Tommy scowls as hard as he can.
"Yeah, mate?" Phil asks, glancing between the two of them. Techno looks down pointedly at Tommy, who retaliates by doing his best to mimic a turtle retreating into its shell. "Alright, what's wrong?"
So the good thing is that Phil is fine with Tommy striking out on his own. The bad thing is that Techno, of all people, isn't. The ensuing shouting match draws baleful stares and makes Tommy feel sort of like he really would rather be a turtle— he hates arguments, and he hates when his family argues. Wilbur, following the commotion, ends up watching next to Tommy, and he's uncharacteristically quiet as the two fight: that Tommy's too young, that he should be allowed to explore, that it's dangerous out there, that he can't be caged. The pitch black feathers of Phil's good wing puff up, making him look bigger than he is despite the handful of inches that Techno has on him.
It's several minutes of back and forth until they tire themselves out, and Wilbur clears his throat in the quiet lull. Techno and Phil turn towards them as Wilbur sets a hand on Tommy's shoulder.
"Tommy," he says. "You'll be careful, right?" Tommy nods enthusiastically.
"I'm always careful," he says, which is a blatant lie that makes the other three roll their eyes in tandem. "I'll be super careful, I promise."
Wilbur crosses his arms. "There you go," he says. "Techno, you were younger than he is when you stowed away on Phil's ship, and you turned out fine."
"Debatable," Techno grunts, but sighs. "Yeah, I guess."
Phil's feathers relax against his wing again, shoulders dropping. Just like that, they're back to normal. "So what are we gonna do about the ship?"
The ship issue is simpler to solve than everyone thinks: they have their old ship lying around on the moon, unused ever since they upgraded to the Jukebox. She's a little old and slightly battered, having been on the wrong side of interplanetary law enforcement a few times, but it's nothing a fresh coat of paint won't fix. The only thing left to do is to try and convince Tubbo, once again, that Tommy is a genius who won't let them die in the vast expanse of space.
The look Tubbo gives him is both exasperated and resigned when Tommy corners him at the moon base. "You're not gonna leave me alone about this, are you?"
"Nope," Tommy says crisply, slinging an arm over his best friend's shoulder and gesturing grandly. "It's us against the universe, Tubs! Are you ready?"
"Please be joking about the against the universe part," Tubbo groans. "We're going to be the most law-abiding delivery service out there, okay?"
"Sure," Tommy replies cheerfully, not even listening. Tubbo sighs.
And just like that, TnT's Interstellar Delivery Service is born.
The baby alien— Michael— settles down just fine on their ship.
In the two days since they left the rubble of the Nether Outer Rim planet that they found Michael on, they've learned a few things about their newly acquired baby: he speaks very little Netherscript, even less Basic, and he loves shiny things, food included. They blend the few golden carrots they have into makeshift baby food, and he's obsessed with the rings Tommy's brother had left behind on the ship. Tubbo and Ranboo are his favourites; Tommy, shrugging nonchalantly, declares himself too young for a kid, anyways, then gleefully exclusively refers to them as Michael's fathers for the next four days. Michael likes watching the stars streak past and being tossed around.
And he's adorable. That, too.
The haphazard trio agree almost immediately that they aren't equipped to handle a baby long-term, much less a Nether species baby— they're barely able to handle the three of them, after all. It’s probably the only thing, ever, that they haven’t argued about. After some hemming and hawing, they come to the conclusion that there's only one thing they can really do: return to Wilbur's moon and beg for child-rearing advice.
("I turned out fine," Tommy says. Tubbo shakes his head despairingly at Ranboo from behind Tommy, Michael slung over his shoulder like a sack of Techno's moon-tatoes.)
So they chart their course for Moonbur and settle in for the trip.
Michael catches on to Basic fairly quickly, as he toddles after each of them on the ship; he learns the words for food, play, up, down, sleep, potty, and stars within a couple of days. He seems to understand the necessities— their names, though, not so much.
"Boo," Michael says, and then, plaintively, "up."
He raises his stubby little arms, capped off by tiny little hooves, in a clear request.
Stars, he is so freaking cute.
"It's Ranboo, beloved," Ranboo tells him helplessly as he scoops the baby up. Michael shrieks in delight, not listening. "You hear that? Ran-boo."
"Boo!"
"Yeah, okay, alright." Ranboo sighs and bounces Michael on his hip. "Boo, it is, beloved."
"Boo find Bo?"
"Tubbo?"
"Bo!"
Ranboo can't help himself— he laughs. "Alright, alright, Boo find Bo."
Aforementioned "Bo" is arguing with Tommy in the cockpit. Tommy has his feet kicked up on the ship's dash, which Tubbo absolutely hates, eyebrows furrowed in an impressively deep frown; Tubbo has his arms crossed stubbornly as they face off.
"And it's not even a real word," Tubbo is saying as Ranboo gets within earshot. "It's literally just the name of your favourite song—"
"One of my favourite songs," Tommy argues. "It's not like the Nuclear—" and he rolls his eyes so hard it must hurt— "is a better name. It sounds so fuckin' scary, man, who wants to get a package delivered in the Nuclear?"
"Are you guys arguing about the name of the ship again?" Ranboo asks, amused, as he ducks into the cockpit. Michael squeals joyously, little hooves scrabbling at Ranboo's arm as he reaches for Tubbo. "It's been so long, seriously, just pick one." He upends Michael— gently— into Tubbo's lap.
"It's not that easy, big man," Tubbo complains as he rights Michael, leaving the alien to try catching the blinking lights on the dashboard. "Because Tommy is so fu— freaking stubborn—"
"I am not—"
"—and you won't pick a side, either." The look Tubbo gives him is pointed, and Ranboo wilts, chastised.
"I think they both sound fine," he defends. The duo scoff, then glare at each other. "Guys."
"I say we let Michael pick," Tommy declares, leaning over to tickle Michael's side gently. Michael laughs, high and loud. "Whaddya think, little man? The Mellohi or the Nuclear?"
Michael blinks his big black eyes at Tommy, then looks up and up at Ranboo. There's a moment of silence, interrupted only by the hum of the ship's engine, before he points. "Boo."
Tubbo snorts.
"... The Boo?" Ranboo says dubiously. Tubbo shakes his head, already distracted with playing some nonsense game with Michael, but Tommy hums consideringly.
"Add a 'B' to the end of that…"
"No," Tubbo and Ranboo chorus, and Tommy slumps with a sigh.
Ranboo is an accident, sort of.
Tubbo and Tommy aren't super sure what they do or say wrong, only that the recipient of the package frowns down at it, says something clipped in Ender to the others hovering over their shoulder, and turns to the duo, purple eyes piercing. Tubbo gives them a nervous grin as their friends crowd around the doorway behind them.
Then their mouth stretches open, revealing long lines of razor-sharp teeth, and they screech.
Tommy screeches back— not out of fear, of course, he reassures Tubbo later— and he grabs Tubbo’s arm in a vice grip, turning tail and sprinting down the long path that leads up to the imposing purpur mansion. The Enderians are hot on their heels, loudly clamouring; the two round a corner and watch as the gate that blocks the street off from the long driveway closes slowly. Shit.
"Shit," Tommy says out loud, voicing Tubbo's thoughts, and Tubbo makes a mangled noise of agreement; desperately, they scan for an alternate route as they barrel towards the gate. Their ship idles on the other side, her red and green lights blinking intermittently. "What do we do?!"
Tubbo is trying to come up with an undoubtedly brilliant answer when another figure cuts them off— a lanky Enderian with a shock of half-white hair. Tubbo grits his teeth as he and Tommy almost trip over themselves wheeling to a stop, ready to turn and cut through the thicket of chorus trees lining the driveway. Before either can, though, the Enderian crouches and cups their hands together.
"Jump!" they urge. Tubbo stares at them, uncomprehending, and they nod. "Come on, come on!"
Tommy leaps into action first; he steps into the alien's cupped hands, and they launch him over the gate with a fluid motion. He tucks himself into a ball and rolls into a heap on the other side with an oof, otherwise unharmed.
The Enderian looks at Tubbo meaningfully. Tubbo gulps, takes a deep breath, and takes a running start.
For a moment he's airborne, and the world spins; then he's hitting the endstone on the other side, bones jarring with the impact. Breathing heavily, he stares out into the sunless sky of one of the End System's inner planets.
"Tubs?" Tommy asks tentatively, and Tubbo hauls himself to his feet just in time to see the Enderian that had helped them teleport to their side of the gate. "Oh, what the fuck," Tommy breathes, and then the aliens that had been chasing them round the corner.
"Alright, go, go, go," their Enderian chants in Basic, ushering them towards the Nuclear; her ramp descends with a hydraulic hiss, and they all stumble aboard in a tangle of limbs. Behind them, their pursuers shout something, a long finger pointing accusingly through the gate bars, and Tommy gives them an enthusiastic middle finger in return as Tubbo scrambles for the cockpit. He can hear the door rising, cutting off the last sliver of their angry customers' faces with a neat click, as he drops into the pilot's seat, readying to take off as fast as possible. He can hear Tommy sliding to the ground in the entryway, heaving a sigh of relief as they start down the endbrick street.
And then— "Oh, shit," Tommy says, and Tubbo snaps to attention. "Tubbo, we just kidnapped an alien."
"Oh, shit."
Aforementioned kidnapped alien wanders into the cockpit; they stare at Tubbo, who stares back, as Tommy scrambles to his feet and races after them. "Hey, dickhead, wait!" The Enderian turns to look down at Tommy— and that's really weird, Tommy being looked down at. Tommy, very clearly nervous, wipes his hands on his shirt and says, as sternly as possible, "what's your name?"
"Oh," the alien says in Basic, wringing their hands together. "I'm—" they lapse into a clearly Ender accent. Tommy squishes his face up amusingly.
"Rainbow?"
"No," the alien sighs. "∷ᔑリʖ𝙹𝙹."
"Ranboo," Tubbo tries. "Ran-boo. Ranboo."
"Yeah," the alien says. "Ranboo. ∷ᔑリʖ𝙹𝙹."
"Rainbow?" Tommy repeats, in the tone of voice that means that he's actually just trying to be as annoying as possible. The alien scrunches his face up.
"Right," Tubbo says. "Well. Welcome aboard?"
Wilbur steeples his fingers, looking all pensive and shit in the flickering blue light of the hologram. Tommy has his communicator set up in the communal space of the Mellohi, and the familiar backdrop of Wilbur’s moon base is barely visible behind his brother.
“So you decided to keep him,” Wilbur says, exasperated. Tommy, who very well knows Wilbur’s judging voice, scowls. “Tommy, you can’t just keep alien babies. You can’t just keep any babies, actually, there’s— there’s adoption processes to go through, legally, plus neither you nor Tubbo are old enough to have a kid.”
“Well,” Tommy says gruffly, “he’s really cute. So.”
“Tommy,” Wilbur says. He sounds a lot like Phil when he says Tommy’s name like that, which is something that Wilbur would absolutely hate to hear. “Seriously—”
Ranboo walks in, a chorus fruit smoothie in one hand and what looks like a dried endermite in the other. Tommy gestures furiously for him to leave, or at least to duck out of the communicator’s range— he’d told Wilbur about Michael, of course, but not the Mellohi’s second alien charge. His attempts, though, are futile.
“Who the fuck is that,” Wilbur says. Tommy puts his head, very gently, into his hands.
“That’s Ranboo,” he mutters. Ranboo waves his purple smoothie.
“Hi,” he says. “I’m Ranboo.”
“Tommy,” WIlbur says, with the tired voice of a man who’s just lost the last shred of hope he had. It's another tone that Tommy knows well. “You can’t keep collecting aliens.”
“Oh,” Ranboo says. He takes a bite of his endermite. “They didn’t collect me, they kidnapped me. There’s a warrant out for their arrest on like, half of the Inner Rim End planets.”
“What?”
“Don’t worry,” Tommy hurries to say. “All the jobs we have lined up after we stop by Moonbur are in the Hypixel solar system.”
Moonbur, he sees Wilbur mouth to himself incredulously. Ranboo nods alongside him, swallowing an endermite leg before he speaks.
“Anyways, Michael is Tubbo and I’s— me and Tubbo’s— Tubbo and my’s..?” He winces. “Urgh, Basic grammar.”
“Tubbo’s and mine,” Wilbur says automatically, then, “You’re clearly not old enough to have a kid, either.”
Ranboo droops. Tommy scowls defensively, because— well, between the three of them, they make up at least one responsible adult, right?
When he says as much to Wilbur, his brother just laughs. It’s a strained laugh, tinged with a bit of hysteria, but a laugh nonetheless, so Tommy hovers his finger over the end call button.
“No,” Wilbur says. “I know for a fact that there isn’t a single braincell on that ship. Tommy—”
“We’re only a few parsecs out so seeyousoonbye!” he says all at once, and before Wilbur can protest, hangs up. Then he slumps over as Ranboo takes a loud sip of his smoothie.
“That went pretty well,” the alien says cheerfully. Tommy shakes his head against the table.
“Phil’s gonna be so mad,” he groans. “Out of all the illegal things I could have done, kidnapping a child?” He pauses. “Kidnapping two children?”
“I’m not a child,” Ranboo protests mildly. Tommy lets out a quiet, garbled half-scream.
“Phil is gonna be furious,” he groans. Ranboo’s spindly hand, thankfully clean of endermite crumbs, pats his shoulder sympathetically. “Where’s Michael?”
“In the sleeping quarters with Tubbo, I think,” Ranboo says, backing away when Tommy rises with single-minded intent.
“I’m going to go cuddle him,” Tommy announces. “And neither of you are going to make fun of me for baby-talking him.”
“Sure,” Ranboo says drily. “No promises on Tubbo’s behalf, though.”
Tommy rolls his eyes and pockets the communicator.
Marrying Tubbo is an accident, sort of.
Whenever Ranboo tells Tubbo this later, he gets an affronted look in reply, followed immediately by the reminder that Ranboo joining the ship's crew was also an accident, thanks, and that it was the best accident ever, so jot that down.
Tommy usually just laughs.
But Tommy's also the one that gets them their rings: pretty, handcarved deepslate things inlaid with small diamonds, when they land on moon SSN-8 of the Hermit solar system. Ranboo has never been to the Hermit system— nor have Tubbo or Tommy, for that matter, with its security being as strict as it is— and all they're dropping off is a few boxes of medals and making a quick fuel stop before they leave. Tommy wanders off when Tubbo and Ranboo go to find their customer, and returns to the ship a few minutes after they do with two ring boxes in hand.
"Wh," Ranboo says eloquently when he pops his box open. Tommy shrugs, but the tips of his ears are pink.
"Well," he says. "If you guys are married, you might as well."
"Is this diamond?" Tubbo asks.
"We're not really married," Ranboo says at the same time. Which is true— crossing cups is only one of the marriage rites in Ender culture. They never did their bows, and to be completely honest Ranboo is a little miffed that no one was dressed up for his impromptu wedding.
"Yes, it's diamond, and yes, you're married," Tommy says, because he loves to make Ranboo's life hard. "Or are you saying you don't want to be married to Tubbo?"
"Yeah," Tubbo says, grinning. "You don’t want to be married to me? You'll break my heart, Boo."
"We're not really married," he says again. "We just crossed cups, there wasn't the, you know, ceremony, or bows. Or vows. You guys do vows, right?"
"So if we have an actual wedding, you'll say we're married?" Tubbo asks.
It's a trick question. Ranboo knows it's a trick question.
"Yeah," he says.
He wakes up three days later to tinny music playing through the ship's speakers and a trail of white and purple flower petals marking a path from his sleeping quarter out into the hall. There's a suit hanging on the door.
Don't be late, the note stuck to it reads in Tommy's messy scrawl.
Oh, no.
Ranboo is halfway tempted to go back to bed, but against his better judgement, he puts the suit on— it's a little loose in the shoulders, and short in the legs, but he kinda likes it. Then he steps out of the sleeping quarters and follows the flowery trail, past the storage rooms with packages stacked in haphazard piles and the fluorescent white lights of the hallway, all the way to the communal area.
Which has been draped in purple fabrics and decorated with more flowers. It looks like—
"Did you turn our dining room into a wedding venue," Ranboo asks. Tommy is standing behind their table with a huge, annoying grin, and Tubbo is waiting at the end of what looks like his and Tommy's bedsheets, spread out to make an aisle. It's really not a question, because Tubbo has a ringbox in hand.
"Yes," Tommy says proudly. "Hurry up, get over here. We didn't do all this work for nothing."
Technically, nothing is stopping Ranboo from wheeling around and walking back to his sleeping quarters. Technically, Tommy can't legally officiate any wedding, on any planet, so this is all for nothing anyways.
But Ranboo walks down the aisle towards Tubbo, who hands him his ring with a wide grin. Tommy produces two cups of what looks to be goldberry juice from under the table and clears his throat pompously.
"Pogchamp," he says gravely, and holds the cups out. "Okay, do the drink thing."
Ranboo has to lean down so that Tubbo can tip the cup towards his mouth comfortably, and he accidentally spills some down Tubbo's chin. Still, though, they're both grinning as they set the cups down.
Then there's a bit of silence. Tommy clears his throat again. "Uh, vows. Ranboo?"
Well. Vows. Ranboo flounders for words for a few seconds, because he hadn't exactly been given the time to prepare, before he manages to stutter: "Uh, I heard the tax benefits for married folks are pretty good."
Tommy lets out a sound that might be a laugh, but sounds more like a croak. Ranboo's shoulders inch towards his ears in embarrassment, and defensively, he mutters, "it's true, isn't it?"
"Yeah, yeah. Stars, Ranboo, that was pretty shit." Tommy turns to Tubbo. "Tubster?"
Tubbo grins, reaching out and taking Ranboo's hands. "Ranboo," he says gravely. "Sorry for kidnapping you, man." Then he nods and lets go of Ranboo.
"It's fine," Ranboo says, at the same time that Tommy mutters, "Those were the absolute most shittest vows I've ever heard."
"Well, we can't all be Phil and Kristin," Tubbo rolls his eyes. Tommy leans over the table to cuff his ear, and Tubbo ducks with a shriek.
It's a pretty bad wedding. And it's not legally viable on any planet in any known solar system. But still Ranboo bows towards the ship, then to Tommy, and then to Tubbo, and he's smiling the entire time.
(A couple weeks later, they get legally married in the Greater. Because, well, taxes.)
“Why do you have a rocket launcher,” are the first words Tubbo hears Tommy say to Technoblade, as soon as they're off the Nuclear. Technoblade gives him a once-over and, apparently satisfied by the sight of Tommy’s disgruntled face, lowers the aforementioned rocket launcher away from Ranboo’s head.
“You didn’t tell me there was another guy on board,” he says, clearly miffed, and alright, letting Ranboo off the ship first was probably a bad idea. Tommy opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again.
“Why do you have a rocket launcher,” he repeats. Techno ignores him completely as his focus shifts to Tubbo, who has Michael propped up on his hip; Ranboo, trying and failing to be discreet, sidles over to hide himself behind them.
“Hi, Mister Blade,” Tubbo says in the least nervous way possible as the alien makes his way over. “This is Michael.”
“I told you, Techno’s fine,” Technoblade tells him absently, stooping to be eye-level with Michael. Michael looks up at him, babbles nonsense, and Techno responds in Netherscript, low and gruff. Tubbo bounces Michael lightly.
“Wanna say hi?” he coos. “This is unc— Technoblade. Can you say that?”
“I hope you know that this baby’s older than all of you combined,” Techno tells Tubbo, amused. Tubbo laughs. Techno doesn’t.
"You're joking," Tubbo says after his laugh has trailed off into an uncertain silence.
“Nether species tend to age slowly,” Techno explains. Ranboo stares down at Michael, looking like his world has just been rearranged as Michael kicks his feet. “If I had to guess, he’s already past his first century."
Tubbo has about a hundred questions to ask. What comes out, appalled, is: "How old are you?"
Ranboo lets out a strangled noise. Techno looks at Tubbo flatly, but amusement dances in his eyes.
"How old do you think I am?"
Thankfully, Tubbo is saved from answering when Phil and Wilbur appear over Techno's shoulder, like guardian angels. Phil gives Tubbo a pitying look and steps forward.
"Cute kid," Phil says, prodding Michael's cheek. Michael squeaks out a laugh and flails, trying to grab his finger. "Much cuter than Tommy was, anyways."
"I take offense to that, you know," Tommy tells Phil, and then, to the rest of them, "are none of you gonna back me up?"
"Do you want us to lie to you?" Wilbur asks him. Tommy gives him an indignant look of outrage, already moving to hit him over the head. Tubbo watches on, helplessly, as he and Ranboo are abandoned in favour of a squabble fit for five year olds, scuffling in the moondust.
"Really, though," Phil says as the pair argue on in the background, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. "Kidnapping aliens?"
"Not on purpose," Tubbo says, appropriately chastised, and to his credit, Ranboo nods emphatically in his defense. Philza sighs, but he's smiling.
"Well," he says, and looks pointedly at Techno, "far be it from me to judge you on that one. After all, I'm not allowed back in the Nether solar system."
This time, Tubbo is too afraid to ask if he's joking.
Wilbur insists on showing them around Moonbur, pointing out the new landmasses and settlements that have sprung up in their absence. As they walk, Tommy catches his brothers up on their adventures— with significant embellishments, but Tubbo isn't going to call him out on it, mostly because Techno and Wilbur already keep exchanging unimpressed glances behind his back— while Phil gently needles Ranboo for details about their three questionable weddings.
("I didn't think Sapnap was considered an officiant," Phil says. "Or that his bounty hunting schedule allowed for much marriage-legalizing."
"The Dream Team is full of surprises," Ranboo says wisely. Phil laughs.
"Oh, I'm aware," he says, shifting his mechanical wing.)
The tour concludes back at Moonbur's main base, after a loud, lengthy argument as to whether or not the Prime River should be renamed the Pog River; Wilbur refuses. Tommy calls him an idiot. At some point, Techno gently pries Michael out of Tubbo's arms and trails after the rest of them sedately, Michael perched on his shoulders as Wilbur leads them through the storage rooms. Most are occupied by materials, banks of seeds and compressed soil, but some hold hints of the family's eclectic past— Tubbo spots the veritable hoard of copper wing-frames that Phil has discarded as they pass one cluttered room.
“This should be it,” Wilbur says cheerfully, raising the steel-panelled door of a storage unit to reveal its interior, boxes stacked on one side and a collection of larger items on the other. “Take your pick, I don’t think we’ll be needing the baby stuff anymore.”
“Hopefully,” Phil adds, laughing as he steps back to let both Tubbo and Ranboo enter the room. “But seriously, take whatever. Tommy hasn’t needed this shit in years.”
“Or so he says,” Wilbur mutters. The communicator strapped to his wrist beeps at him, and he rolls his eyes towards the ceiling with practiced exhaustion. “Phil, the bats are loose again.”
Phil clicks his tongue. “And who was it that wanted bats anyways?” Still, when Wilbur stalks out of the room muttering under his breath, Phil follows, peeking back in to tell Tubbo and Ranboo sternly, “Behave, guys. No fires.” Tommy and Techno watch them pass from their seats on the floor, Michael pulling at Techno’s earrings with a single-minded determination.
“Not gonna help us?” Tubbo asks him. Tommy leans over and stares into the room, making a face at the cardboard boxes.
“The Blade is teaching me more Netherscript,” he tells Tubbo haughtily. “Also, I don’t want to help you guys clean all that shit back up.”
“Language,” Techno mutters scathingly. Michael yanks at his earring.
“Shit!” he parrots in Basic, and Tommy chokes down a laugh when Techno turns a deadly glare on him.
Tubbo abandons Tommy to his brother’s wrath, rejoining Ranboo in the storage room as Tommy does his best to use Michael as a shield against Techno’s jabbing. Together they start peering through the boxes, starting from the top of the pile in a loose attempt at organization.
(It only takes a few minutes for Tubbo to realize that this is a room full of items he can tease Tommy about later, like the little red and white onesie that looks exactly like Tommy’s favourite shirt. Ranboo meets Tubbo’s eyes as soon as they unearth it and they make the immediate, silent agreement to have Michael wear it as much as possible.)
By the end, they have a few boxes full of toys and clothing, plus a children’s booster seat that they manage to dig out from the other side of the room. Tommy and Techno have resettled in the hall, Michael nestled snugly in Techno’s lap with an earring firmly in his grasp; when Tubbo emerges, three boxes balanced precariously on top of each other, he scrambles from Techno’s lap and toddles over with his prize.
“Good for you, sweets,” Tubbo says as he sets the boxes down, pretending to examine it carefully. Michael giggles, and Tubbo looks over at Techno. “Are you gonna want this…?”
“I don’t think I could get that back from him if I tried,” Techno drawls, and waves his hand. “Don’t worry ‘bout it.” He rises as Ranboo follows with a fourth box and the booster seat, sauntering over to heft Tubbo’s boxes into his arms. “Got everything you wanted?”
“Mm-yup,” Ranboo says, casting a nervous glance at Tubbo. “So I think we’re… we’re taking these to the ship, I think. Yup.”
“He means the Mellohi, he’s just stubborn,” Tommy announces, swooping in to scoop Michael up and trailing after Techno. Tubbo mimes choking him before taking the booster seat from Ranboo.
“It’s the Nuclear, actually,” he mutters snidely, and Tommy gives him a dark look over his shoulder. With remarkable synchronicity, Ranboo and Techno heave a long, tired sigh.
Wilbur and Phil are sitting out in the hangar by the time they get up there, equal parts disheveled and peeved. Wilbur has his hands buried in Phil’s primary feathers, tugging a twig from his plumage, while Phil nurses a few long scratches up his arms.
“Bats?” Techno asks, amused, when he catches sight of them. Wilbur makes a face at him, dropping the stick to the ground.
“Don’t,” he grouses. “Are you taking those back to the ship?”
“The Mellohi,” Tommy immediately corrects. Tubbo kicks at his ankles.
“Shut up,” he mutters. Phil snickers at them as he and Wilbur join the group, heading past the Jukebox to where the Nuclear is landed. Apart from the boxes for Michael, there’s another haphazard pile of bags by the door. When Tommy catches sight of them, his expression goes wobbly for a second before he shuffles up to Phil and knocks his head against his shoulder.
“Aww,” Phil drawls. “You’re welcome, Tommy.”
“I didn’t say shit,” Tommy grumbles. The Nuclear’s door opens, and Tubbo smothers a grin as he enters. He ends up setting the booster seat in the co-pilot’s chair, even though Michael prefers to sit in his lap while he’s piloting; he can hear Ranboo leading Techno and Wilbur towards the storage area with the rest of their things. He straps the booster seat down and makes towards the entrance of the ship again, pausing by the doorway.
“You’re leaving so soon?” he can hear Phil asking Tommy from just outside. Tommy gives a grunt of affirmation.
“We’ve got a bunch of deliveries to Hypixel,” Tommy replies, and Phil sighs. Tubbo can practically hear the fond headshake.
“Kids these days, always in a rush,” he jokes. Tommy sputters indignantly.
“I’m a big man, Philza, in case you haven’t noticed. I got a kid and everything.”
“He’s not even yours!” Phil laughs. “Tommy, all I’m saying is that next time, you three should stay for dinner.”
Tommy grumbles a bit, but his voice holds an undercurrent of happiness when he speaks again. “Yeah, sure,” he mutters. “I missed you guys, I guess.”
“Good,” Phil says. “We missed you too, you little shit.” Tommy groans, like the affection physically hurt him. Phil’s voice softens. “The first few weeks, Techno was worried sick all the time ‘bout you, it was ridiculous.”
“He’s an idiot,” Tommy scoffs. Phil tuts at him.
“He was worried,” he repeats. “But we’re all glad that you’re happy.”
Tommy scuffs his foot against the ground. “Yeah, well,” he mumbles, “Tubbo and Ranboo are great.” Then he audibly cringes. “Don’t tell them I said that.”
“Too late,” Tubbo crows, stepping out of the ship. Tommy’s head whips towards him, his entire face going pink. “I heard you! You even like Ranboo!”
“I never said that,” Tommy snarls, but the overall effect of his embarrassed anger is greatly lessened by the alien in his arms. Phil leans against the Nuclear and laughs as the other three file out of the ship, varying levels of smug in their expressions. “I will strand you on our next delivery, I swear by the stars.”
“No you won’t,” Ranboo declares, looping a lanky arm over Tommy’s shoulder. “You think we’re great! You can’t leave us in the endless void of space!”
“You can’t leave Michael stranded,” Tubbo adds with a grin. Tommy looks down at Michael, who still has Techno’s earring clutched in his hands.
“Shit,” Michael agrees, and the sound of their laughter echoes off the hangar walls.