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“Coat.”
At that, Wilbur bursts into a fit of laughter. Tommy glares at him, removing the coat from its hanger and holding out in front of him (it looks Techno’s size, so it will have to do). Why does Wilbur make fun of him for everything he does?
“What? Why’re you laughing at me, bitch?”
“No, it’s…hah…it’s…” Wilbur sniffs, an arm wrapped around his middle, trying not to succumb to another round of explosive giggles. “You really just pointed at a coat and said, ‘Coat.’ You’re really a child.”
“I’m not a child, you dickhead!”
Maybe that wasn’t the best thing to shout in public. Not when the surrounding shoppers (and a store assistant) turn to stare. One of them being Phil, of course, who hurries over with the hastiest steps ever. Wilbur takes deep breaths, while Tommy fumes, making constipated sounds. Phil regards the two of them with a glare that is not quite a glare, but more the disappointed gaze of a father.
“What was that I heard, you little shit?”
“Dad, Wilbur bullied me!”
“And I take pride in that,” Wilbur says snobbishly. Tommy aims a kick at his shin, and Wilbur yelps. Phil sighs.
“What are you two looking at anyway?” he asks, peering over their shoulder at the brown, woollen coat in Tommy’s hands. “Why would Techno need a coat?”
“Because he gets cold, Dad. He gets all chilly and needs to deck himself out in parkas even in summer.”
“No, he doesn’t.”
“Yes, he does!”
“What about this?”
Phil and Tommy glance over at Wilbur, who stands by a row of mannequin heads and wigs. He removes one—a long wig of straight pink hair, threaded with locks of white. He holds it up for Phil and Tommy to see.
“This would suit Techno, wouldn’t it? I mean, until his hair grows out again.”
“I’m going to take so many pictures,” Tommy mutters. He would. It would be an entire chapter in their photo album.
“Yeah, let’s get that.” Phil whistles. His phone buzzes and he answers the call.
Wilbur holds out a hand to Tommy. Tommy stares at it. “What?”
“Give me your coat, gremlin.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
“I’m going to pay for the stuff. You can get arrested for theft for all I care.”
Tommy fakes a gasp. “You wouldn’t. I’m much too big for you to bully around like this.”
“Says the little boy who needs Father Philza to—”
“Don’t talk about him like he’s a priest.”
“Give me the fucking coat.”
“The cake’s ready,” Phil announces, slipping his phone back into his pocket. He turns to Wilbur and Tommy, and there is a glint in his eye that shuts them both up immediately. “Let’s go pick it up and get home. See how Tubbo and Ranboo are doing.”
“Who thought it was a good idea to leave them at home alone, anyway?” Tommy mutters. “They’re going to mess up the house! I know they will!”
“That remains to be seen,” Phil says serenely.
*
The bakery is cosy, warmth seeping into Tommy’s bones the moment he steps through the door. The bell jingles overhead, and Niki turns around. She smiles and waves, returning Wilbur’s greeting.
“Your cake is right here.” Niki retrieves a box from under the counter and places it beside the register. “That’ll be…twenty pounds.”
Wilbur takes the cake from her and Phil hands over the money. Tommy stares, mouth-wateringly, at the delicacies in the display window. Chocolate cake, lemon cake, strawberry cake…
“How’s, um, how’s Techno doing?” Niki asks.
Phil raises a brow. “Doing pretty good. Coming home today, actually. This cake’s for him.”
“Oh, really? That’s great!” Niki smiles, clasping her fingers together. “Oh, I have, um…here!”
She spins on her heels and grabs a box from the counter behind her. She places it into a plastic bag and hands it to them as well.
“There we go,” Niki says. “Some raisin bread to celebrate his recovery.”
Tommy takes the box of bread; it’s big enough that he can hug to his chest. “Thanks, lady.”
Phil and Wilbur thanks her as well. Niki waves them off as they leave the store with a jingle of the bell.
*
“No!”
Tommy pushes the door open seconds before a balloon smashes him in the face. He yelps, almost dropping the box of bread. Tubbo almost barrels into him as well, chasing after the deflated balloon.
“Hey, watch it!” Tommy snarls. Tubbo merely sticks his tongue out at him and grabs the balloon off the ground, darting back to where Ranboo is tying a bunch to the light fixture. Wilbur nudges Tommy into the house, and Phil follows closely behind.
“Okay, you little shits. What else have you…” Phil starts, before trailing off. Tommy can understand why, because he, too, is rather…discombobulated. At what, you ask? At the fairy lights draped over the fan, what appears to be a Christmas Tree in the centre of the living room, but mostly at Kristin’s leopard print clothes strewn all over the couch, and the television, and the countertop. Virtually anywhere that Ranboo and Tubbo can reach (and given Ranboo’s height, that is a lot of places).
“Why the hell are Kristin’s—” Phil splutters. “What have you done?”
“We wanted the place to look fancier,” Tubbo says. “And Mum just happened to have a lot of fancy clothes.”
“You really spoil your wife, Dad,” Wilbur says solemnly. “Sometimes, I think you are too nice. And that is a character flaw.”
“This is not a matter of being nice or not!” Phil sighs, dragging a hand across his face. “We are not putting Kristin’s clothes where we may potentially get cake on!”
“You just need to wash it. Don’t get so riled up, Dad.” Tommy hums, proceeding to set the box of raisin bread down on the coffee table, on Kristin’s jacket. She wouldn’t mind. Kristin’s way nicer than Phil that way.
“What do you mean! I’m the one washing it by hand! You can’t just throw this kind of stuff in the washing machine!”
“Details, details.” Wilbur waves his hand dismissively. “Look, this is all for Techno’s Welcome-Home party, right? I’m sure Mum wouldn’t mind.”
“I’m going to get the tablecloths,” Phil says, striding to the storeroom.
Ranboo’s eyes widen and watches as Phil goes. “We have tablecloths?”
*
“Alright, here we are.”
Kristin pulls into the driveway, parking the sedan just in front of the house. Techno slips his phone into his pocket and glances out the window. It’s been a while since he was here, no longer trapped in those white walls. No longer smelling the sterile scent of medicine and listening to the insistent whirrs of machines or other people.
Peace and quiet, at last.
Techno unbuckles his seatbelt and steps out of the car the exact moment a crash resounds from within the house. Kristin hardly bats an eye at the subsequent, despondent scream. Techno blinks.
Relative peace and quiet.
“I wonder what they’re doing,” Kristin says and closes the door behind Techno. “Let’s go and find out, shall we?”
Knowing them…Tubbo probably just beat Tommy at Mii Party or something and now Tommy’s throwing a tantrum. Wilbur and Ranboo are probably standing to the side, observing the chaos. Phil is probably having a bath right about now, from the apparent lack of—
“Get back here, you little shit!”
Scratch that. Phil’s definitely chasing after Tommy, who may have climbed the wall like a cat. He tends to do that whenever he feels threatened.
Kristin turns the key in the lock and steps away. “The honour’s all yours, Techno.”
A smile spreads across Techno’s face. It’s been far too long since he’s laid his palm against the rusted bronze of the doorknob, since he’s felt its biting cold. Techno twists the knob and pushes the door open.
Only to be met by a face full of cake.
“Happy birthday!” Tubbo shouts.
“It’s not his birthday, though,” Ranboo mumbles. Techno swipes at a hand across his face, at the gooey substance dripping all over his clothes and the welcome mat.
“Techno! Help me!” Tommy screams. Techno cracks open an eye. Behind Tubbo and Ranboo, Tommy has somehow managed to climb into the cupboard, hissing at Wilbur like a cat. Behind Techno, Kristin chuckles.
“Ignore him,” Tubbo says, and pats Techno’s shoulder. “Happy birthday.”
Techno shivers.
“Welcome home, mate.” Phil emerges from the kitchen, carrying a plate with a loaf set upon it. His jaw drops at the mess upon the ground. “What the heck happened here?”
“Come on, kids. Let’s get in the house.” Kristin shuts the door with a click and locks it behind her. “Will, could you go get the mop?”
Techno sidesteps the mess of cake on the ground. Tubbo and Ranboo drag him to the kitchen to get his face washed. Techno hardly flinches when he hears the tell-tale slam of furniture and Tommy’s screeches of pain. The neighbours are going to come and complain again.
“Here’s the bread,” Phil says. “It’s a present from Niki.”
Techno nods. Niki’s that quiet girl who sits in front of him, who bakes the tastiest treats and brings them to class to share. As per expectations, the raisin bread in front of him looks delicious—Techno could probably eat that for days.
“Here’re the presents,” Wilbur says, gesturing at two misshapen…items on the table, wrapped in glittery paper that hurts Techno’s eyes. “You should open the bigger one first, though.”
Techno does not have a good feeling about this.
“Here’s the cake,” Phil says, gesturing to a piece of…incomplete confectionery from whence that slice that assaulted Techno must have come from. “Uh, but I think you’ve already gotten a taste.”
That, he did. It’s chocolate. Rich, rich chocolate. The type that Tommy would get sick from after two bites.
“And here’s the knife,” Tommy says, holding the blade in his hand. Techno has never seen such a menacing sight.
Kristin leans the mop against the wall and joins them at the table. Techno glances from the cake to the presents, and then the bread. He wasn’t quite expecting this, to be totally honest. He was expecting a quiet welcome home, expected to listen to Wilbur snicker at Tommy’s constant losses to Tubbo and Ranboo at Mii Party, expected a tranquil dinner at the table.
But this?
“Welcome home, Techno.”
This is nice too.