Chapter Text
Techno would like it to be put on record that he did not hate the holidays.
Thanksgiving, despite its frankly awful roots, was a nice day off, even if neither him nor Phil could cook very well, and even he could be charmed by Christmas lights and the notion of sitting by a quiet fireplace.
But the holiday season ? With all the people running about worrying about the perfect gifts, or the right sweater that bordered on cute and ugly, or missing their overpriced flights?
That he would openly admit he hated.
And if he got called a “grinch” about it? He really couldn't care less.
Which is to say, why the new hot chocolate stand outside his apartment annoyed him so much. The sheer crowd gathered around it was enough to turn Techno off of it, spilling from the outside into the lobby, all these people clustered around this small little table with several gleaming silver canisters on it and cups stacked to the heavens. And then there were the workers, but looking at them, Techno didn’t think they were old enough to be considered that. The older of the two looked barely a gangly sixteen and the younger was probably scrapping ten. Though considering the amount of the crowd that was older women cooing at the two boys, maybe that was helping their business.
The two brats were probably just tenants' kids looking for a quick buck over the holiday break. (Techno ignored the way their cheeks were thinner than kids’ ought to be, baby fat fading sooner from lack of food, the way their clothes clung to their skin almost as much as dirt clung to the clothes themselves, the way their gloved hands shook in the winter air.) Either way, it wasn’t Techno’s problem. As long as they didn’t-
“Sir! Are you interested in buying some hot chocolate?” A light, bordering on an artificially cheery voice called out. No matter. No way were they talking to him.
“Oi! Pink hair! Would you like some hot chocolate?” A significantly less cheery (but also determinedly younger) voice called out. There was the sound of a light hit on padded fabric and some muttered scolding, presumably from the older to the younger following it. And then the voice called again.
“I mean, uh, Mr.Sir with the cool hair! Would you like to buy some hot chocolate?” Another sigh came from the older boy but he seemed to give up on making the kid a proper salesman.
Though Techno noted sighing as he turned around, he did get his attention, so maybe he’s plenty good enough anyway. Facing the table head-on, he notices the crowd seems to have dwindled significantly since he first came downstairs, as the morning lot make their way to work or for a more filling breakfast than mediocre hot chocolate sold by the grubby hands of a small child. The two behind the table seemed little like each other in looks, one a lanky brunette with equally dark eyes, the other a blond kid with large blue eyes and furrowed brows. They were both smiling, the elders the smile of a convincing salesman while the youngers looked to be an almost painfully forced grin.
“So sir,” The elder started, voice smooth and pleasant like the muffled carols fading into earshot from behind the closed lobby doors, “Would you like to buy a cup of hot chocolate? It’s freshly made and only 2 dollars! If you buy two, you can get them for $3.50. And a tray of four is only 5!” The teen beamed at him, bright enough to nearly distract from the greasy shine of his hair or the tattered tips of his gloves. Techno opened his mouth, trying to come up with an excuse before settling on a simple answer.
“No.” The boy's smile didn’t falter, though something in his eyes did seem to dim at the stark refusal. The younger child, however…
“No?” The shrill cry from the younger seemed to be a cross between devastated and furious. Techno was almost impressed by the volume he managed to get on a single word (though judging by the red in his face and his open mouth, he was gearing for more), or he would have been if he didn’t feel the dreaded dredges of a headache creeping in the corners of his brain. He prepared himself to speed-walk away (not run of course) from a screaming child, before the older brother tugged on his arm and whispered something in his ear. He couldn’t make much out from where he stood, the noise of the city nestling in his ears too much for the quiet speech to be heard clearly, but he could make out a bit about “catching more flies with honey than vinegar”. Hmm, fairly smart advice coming from a fresh-faced kid. Too bad Techno was no fly.
Still, it seemed to work on the blonde brat, who took a few breaths and whose face slowly went from an angry red to the usual flushed face someone gets from time spent in the cold. He settled back into his seat and put that fake smile on again, looking a bit more of a proper businessman (albeit half the height). And then his expression changed further. His eyes widened (how did they get wider??) and seemed to well with tears, extra shiny under the Christmas lights plastered on the building entrance. His lip began to quiver and Techno felt his stomach drop.
Oh no. Not a crying child.
Technoblade could handle many things, but a crying child was not one of them. Unless you could count leaving it behind as handling it, but apparently the majority of people did not. The kid began to sniffle, and almost like they had a secret sense for this thing, Techno could see others on the street begin to look. Curious bystanders and nosy soccer moms with unneeded concern were looking and Techno was beginning to sweat. The older brother was making a show of trying to calm the blonde one down, soothing him and making apologies to Techno and all the others watching as the boy began to cry in earnest, but Techno could swear for a second he was smiling. The little brat was scamming him.
But, with the weight of a dozen bystanders eyes on him (eyes turning judgemental as the boy continued to “cry”) and the boys sniffles turning to sobs, Techno thought of a favorite quote of his:
“ He will win who knows when to fight and when not to fight.”-Sun Tzu
And pulling a fiver out of his wallet, Techno decided this was not a fight he wanted to wage at 8 am.
“Actually, I’ll have a hot chocolate. Just one. You can, uh, keep the change.” He slid the bill into the blond kid's hand, watching as the little fakers’ eyes cleared of tears after a few seconds before he beamed up at Techno, smugness shining in his eyes instead of tears. The older kid handed him a cup of hot chocolate. At least his hands were warm now. The brunette had the gall to smile at him before chirping;
“Have a nice day! And come again!”
Techno hurried away as fast as he could before he could get roped into any more of a child’s scams. He pulled his phone out to text Phil. He had to warn him about the scam going on in front of their building. Knowing him he’d get swindled at the moment one of the kids pulled out a ‘please’.
He took a sip of the hot chocolate he paid too much for and scowled.
It wasn’t even good.
----
Phil felt his phone buzz in his pocket, once, twice, three times.
He sighed, pausing in the putting on of his coat in favor of pulling out his rapidly vibrating phone. He clicked it on to see a multitude of notifications from Techno. Usually, he would only text if something monumental happened (his train was more than 10 minutes late or he saw a particularly good dog). Looking at the texts he seemed to be going off about some hot chocolate vendor who’d taken up outside the building, about how they were “a scam” and “lowering the property value”.
Probably some indie food truck looking to test their luck in this part of town. The perfect thing to annoy Techno, overpriced food, and something big and gaudy to go along with it. It’d probably be gone in a few days, once it’s found the building to be mostly made of older folk and working families who didn’t care to spend a fourth of a paycheck on the “upscale version” of a hot chocolate.
Phil laughed to himself as he shot off a response to Techno, assuring him he wouldn’t fall for “their scams”, whatever that meant. He really didn’t know why Techno was freaking out so much, despite what Techno liked to say, Phil was far from gullible and could stand his ground in most situations. Why he thought he would get swindled by some hot chocolate seller, Phil had no clue.
Phil didn’t even like hot chocolate much.
---
“And that will be 15 dollars total, for a whole carton of hot chocolate! Thank you so much for your business sir! Look, Tommy, 15 whole dollars, just for us!” The brunet boy grinned down at his little brother, eyes shining as he handed Phil a carton of hot chocolate like you could buy at a Dunkin Donuts or any other chain coffee shop. The blond boy, Tommy as the other called him, beamed back up to him, though his was a bit sharper and definitely showed more teeth.
Phil thought he was adorable.
Okay, so it didn’t end up being a fancy food truck looking to spread its overpriced goods on their poor apartment complex. Instead, it was a rather sad-looking table, the kind that folds up and one could carry, with several metal containers of hot chocolate on it, and a small homemade sign with the prices on front. And it wasn’t run by some 30 year old with an unfortunate mustache, but a pair of kids, all wide-eyed and dirt-stained.
And so yes, Phil ended up buying some hot chocolate. A lot of hot chocolate. Enough for their whole office floor actually. Phil mentally groaned as he waved at the boys and walked away.
Techno was going to give him so much shit for this when he found out.
Still, it was hard to think about that as he turned away from the stand. An image of the two boys flashed in his head as he headed towards the subway. The two were clearly underfed, if not malnourished and certainly unwashed (thinking about it, they almost definitely should not have been handling drinks) and so young. The eldest looked like he should be worrying about midterms and what to get his little brother for Christmas, not selling their entire stock of hot chocolate for the day so they can eat. And the younger should be playing in the snow, not practicing sales pitches. Maybe he was just looking too much into it. Maybe they were just trying to save some extra cash for the holidays for their family. Maybe they did have a warm place to go back to. Phil wasn’t a naive man, but no one could say he wasn’t a hopeful one!
He was much less hopeful thinking about what Techno’s response to his “betrayal” regarding the hot chocolate stand would be.
----
“Bruh, seriously. I warned you and everything.” Techno’s voice greeted him as soon as he came in through the door, steady tone undercut with an over-dramatic sense of betrayal. “This is a backstab of the highest order.”
“I’m sorry mate, but I had to buy it. They were shivering. What if they need the money for new gloves? Besides, it was cheap, cheaper than you would get at a chain” Phil tried to plead, laughter leaking into his posture, despite the seeming seriousness of the talk.
“Phil it isn’t even good hot chocolate. You betrayed me over mediocre hot chocolate and puppy dog eyes.” Techno shook his head, expression grave.
“You literally bought some too! You fell for the same thing, you can’t be mad at me about that,” Argued Phil, nearly throwing up his hands before remembering the container of hot chocolate he held.
“Phil I was subjected to mild amounts of peer pressure, I cannot be held accountable for my actions.”
“Wha-Mate! Look, how about this. I’m sorry I bought the hot chocolate after you told me not to. I won’t do it again.” (He was definitely going to do it again.)
“Fine. As long as you don’t support those two (probably) orphans lowering the property value again.” (He knew Phil would 100% do it again)
“Deal.”
“Deal.”
----
Over the next week, the days ticking down until Christmas, the hot chocolate vendors frustratingly continued to have a Presence in Techno’s life.
They were there when he came down for work, they were there when he came back to walk Floof on his lunch break, and somewhat concerningly, they were still there when he came back from work one night when he got stuck in a broken down train on the subway for an hour, the streetlights the only light in the near oppressive darkness, so rare in the city.
The two were still sat there, ears and noses a bright red and slight forms shaking as pedestrians walked by their quiet attempts for a sale. It seemed their tactics didn’t work as well late at night, with everyone else determined to get home and their voices too shaky from shivering to be considered suave.
Techno had managed to steadfastly ignore the stand and it’s owners existence for the most part this past week, walking straight by any call to him from either brother, lest there be any more phony tears attempts.
But tonight he stopped as he approached the building, a street light flickering shadows on the thin cheeks of the boys and sending a pang of something straight to Techno’s gut. It definitely wasn’t concern for the two or anything as...touchy-feely as that, he simply didn’t want there to be two frozen orphans when he came down for work the next day, that would be a bit harder to ignore. Obviously, it was for purely selfish reasons that he stalked over to the table and pulled out his wallet. The two boys seemed to stare at him for a second, eyes wide and a bit glossy before they caught up to the situation at hand and switched to “selling mode”.
“Oh hello sir, are you interested in trying another cup of our hot chocolate? It’s perfect for a warm drink before bed!” The older boy needlessly went through his sales pitch, almost impressively smooth for the late hour and low temperature.
“No need to sell me on it, kid. How much do you have left?” He inquired, cutting to the chase as quickly as he could, he did not want to be here any longer than he had to. The kid blinked at him for a second, lost in the abrupt departure from the typical to and fro of sales, before looking at the remaining metal canister on the table. He picked it up and tilted it gently from side to side, humming as he tried to guess from the weight alone.
“Oh, uh...probably about eight or so cups left.” He looked back up at Technos eyes closed off but with a tiny glint of hope deep inside.
“And how much would that be?” Techno sighed.
“Eight dollars, sir.”
Wordlessly Techno passed over a ten-dollar bill, watching as the younger got out a tray while the elder pocketed the money and poured out eight cups of hot chocolate. The two looked back up at him as they handed him his trays of hot chocolate, eyes wide with something Techno didn’t want to read into.
“Thank you for your patronage sir!” The younger said, in a tone that pushed Techno to think he didn’t really understand what he was saying but had been trained to.
Technoblade swallowed, immediately more uncomfortable under the gaze of these two kids, and hurried back towards the lobby doors with a mutter “no problem” but twisting around to call behind him as he managed to pry the door open with his foot (his hands full with hot chocolate).
“And don’t call me sir!”
----
Entering the elevator Techno felt immediate dread.
Phil. He was going to be insufferable about this. Maybe he could dump the hot chocolate before he got to the apartment? But that would be a waste of ten dollars.
So caught up in his contemplation, he found himself in front of their shared apartment door before he knew it, trays of slowly cooling hot chocolate in his hands. He stared at them for a second, and then back at the door. His key was deep in his pocket and he knew he couldn’t get it without spilling some hot chocolate and he did not want to pay an extra cleaning bill for chocolate stains on their hallway carpet.
Sighing, he summoned his dignity and knocked on the door with his elbow, schooling his face into the most deadpan expression he could. The door opened, a confused Phil behind it. He glanced down at Techno’s arms and the trays he held and understanding seemed to dawn on him, a smile growing on his face.
“Not. A. Word. Phil.”
Phil’s resulting cackle as he closed the door behind them was response enough.
-----
Phil couldn’t say he didn’t expect something like this.
Techno always had a softer heart than he liked to portray, though usually, he showed it more to animals than other people. He always stopped for squirrels crossing when driving, he liked to feed the alley cats by their apartment on the weekends, and Phil had never seen anyone more attached to their dog than Techno.
So really, it was no surprise to Phil that he found himself endeared to the two boys who took up root outside their building for the past week, despite the rocky beginning. Despite Techno’s numerous protests and the attempted death glare he aimed at Phil as he laughed at him (which he really ought to know Phil was well immune to by now), there was no doubting it. Techno was attached to them.
And really Phil couldn’t say anything, since he was too.
Over the past week, he found himself stopping by the table every day, though he did not buy another large container like the first day (Techno had been right about one thing, it was not very spectacular hot chocolate). He had started talking to the boys, at first learning their names (Wilbur and Tommy), and then their ages (16 and 10) and as the week went on, little bits about them. Wilbur liked music but had quickly gotten sick of the recycled Christmas carols playing overhead. Tommy had an express fondness for animal crossing, despite never having played it (apparently an old babysitter of the two had shown it to him and he was quickly enamored). Wilbur, despite running this stand, really couldn’t stand hot chocolate and much-preferred apple cider. Tommy, on the other hand, adored the stuff, especially with marshmallows.
Despite himself, Phil found himself storing this information in his mind like he’d have some use for it. Like he’d need to know these random kids' hobbies or favorite drinks. Like they didn’t have parents and friends back home who already knew these things.
But as time went on, the more Phil saw and the more Phil learned, and the more he doubted that they did.
He saw the way their gloves were more holes than fabric (though Tommy’s were replaced by ones in far better conditions halfway through the week, the stand having proved fruitful enough for that). He saw the way Tommy’s pants fell past his shoes, rolled up and still too big, while Wilbur’s sat an inch above his ankle, indicative of a wardrobe that couldn’t keep up with a teenage boy's growth spurt. He saw the way the two stuttered at the mention of school, how they froze at any questions about their parents.
More and more Phil wanted to bundle the two up and take them into his warm apartment, to sit them by the fireplace and tell them they didn’t need to worry about clothes or warmth or food anymore. There was a reason Techno liked to tease him about being a mother hen (and no, it wasn’t just because of that one trip to the fair). But he held off. It was likely these kids didn’t want his help, and an approach like that would just scare them off.
Hopefully, the two did have a place to go, one warm and full of company.
There was a storm coming on after all.
-----
The winds howled against the window panes, the skyline broken up by flurries as the snow came down from above. The sky was a strange dark light, as the morning sun tried to peek its way through dark snow clouds. The world outside their windows was a blurred image, static from the flurries and light blurred from the melting snow on the window pane.
Despite the outside weather, Phil was rather comfortable. They had a small fire crackling away in the fireplace, an old movie playing on T.V and a warm glow off of the Christmas tree in the corner. Despite never being very religious, Phil had a fondness for the holiday season and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it. He always took care to decorate the apartment for the season, lights and stockings, and of course, the tree. Techno didn’t really care either way as long as he didn’t blare Christmas music 24/7, and Phil found himself enjoying this morning blizzard.
His phone pinged with a message from Jack, the building’s lobby manager, saying he had a package downstairs. It was probably something he’d ordered online a few months back and forgot about, or something from a relative cross country, though he was quite surprised to be getting anything this morning, in this weather. It was hard to tell from up here, but it looked like at least a foot of snow out there.
Nevertheless, he sighed and pulled himself up from his chair, putting the movie on pause (he may have seen it a dozen times before but the ending was his favorite part anyway) and heading out the door.
He hoped his leaving didn’t wake Techno, on one of the very few days he let himself sleep in. With work being canceled, and the frigid temperatures outside, it was the perfect day for him to sleep the day away and Phil did not want to be the one to ruin that for him.
A grumpy Technoblade was not fun to deal with.
Stepping out of the elevator, Phil was greeted by cheery Christmas music, warm lighting, and a near barren lobby, save for Jack behind the desk. He looked up from whatever he was working on and waved Phil over.
“Ayup Phil, having a good morning?” He greeted, eyes tired behind his glasses but his smile was genuine. Jack was pretty young for his position, only nineteen, but he was extremely dedicated to his job as well as friendly, good-natured despite all the things that seemed to go wrong around him.
“Pretty good, all things considering.” Phil gestured to the world outside, something catching his eye as he did. He turned his head to look outside and squinted, trying to focus through the thick flurries, stomach twisting with a possibility he hoped it wasn’t. His eye caught on something yellow and blue, and the shine of metal. The image cleared for a second and his gut instinct he really wished was wrong was proven right.
Outside was a familiar hot chocolate table and two familiar boys. He couldn’t see much of their condition from here, but he knew they could be doing well out there. He doubted it’d be comfortable for a grown man in warm clothes and with a healthy diet, never mind two malnutritioned, ratty-clothed kids.
Jack seemed to catch his distraction and followed his eye-line. His body seemed to sink in on itself as he sighed.
“I tried to get them to come inside, they were already here when I clocked in this morning but they refused. I gave them a blanket from my office but they wouldn’t accept anything else.” The bags under his eyes seemed to show themselves further as sad acceptance entered his voice. “The older kid, Wilbur, just kept insisting they had to sell the hot chocolate. I tried to tell him he wasn’t going to get any customers sitting out there today but he wouldn’t listen.”
Phil, attention firmly held by the boys outside, nodded at what Jack was saying, before pulling away from the desk and wandering outside.
He was immediately hyper-aware of his lack of coat and other winter-wear, having come down expecting a short trip to the lobby, not a trek outside. He pushed this aside easily, as he trudged through the winds and shin-deep snow until he found himself in front of a familiar table.
The two looked awful, even through the veritable shield of snow the storm provided. He couldn’t see most of Tommy, his face being tucked as much into Wilbur and his jacket as he could, but his small form was shivering violently and his ear poking out of his hair was a deep red, bordering on purple. Wilbur looked worse, as he raised his head at the sound of Phil’s approach. His eyes were glassy and red was burning high on his cheeks like a fever. His arms were wound tight around Tommy but Phil could see his arms shake with exertion, his whole body jerking with forceful tremors. A blanket Phil recognized from inside the lobby was wrapped around them, but it looked to do little to block out the chill.
“Phil?” Wilbur spoke, his voice scratchy and so quiet it was nearly swallowed by the wind, a far cry from the smooth salesman he liked to portray. His eyes drifted up to Phil’s face but wandered as if he was having trouble focusing. Phil’s stomach tightened with sympathy, he couldn’t imagine how awful the poor boy must be feeling.
“Hey Wil,” Phil spoke as gently as he could without letting the wind carry his words away. Tommy stirred from his place in Wilbur’s lap but didn’t do more than try to turn towards Phil’s voice, seemingly too out of it to grasp more than two voices speaking, never mind the conversation itself. “How about you come inside? It's really warm inside, plenty of blankets and hot drinks.” Though Phil supposed, looking at their table, the one thing they weren’t lacking was hot drinks.
“Can’t,” Wilbur whined, tears springing to his eyes, much to Phil’s horror. “Hav-Have to sell the hot chocolate. Can’t go back b-before.”
Phil wanted to hit whoever engrained it in this kid that business was more important than health, that he was better off freezing to death than losing out on money, but he forced himself to remain calm, keeping a reassuring smile on his face. He racked his mind for what to do, before pulling out his wallet and holding it up. Wilbur’s eyes swung to it, still glazed and slightly unfocused.
“How about this: I give you enough money for all this hot chocolate and you two come inside to outlast this blizzard. Does that sound good?” He tried to fit as much warmth as he could into his voice, doing everything he could to convince this kid to come with him, to let him help him. He could see Wilbur try to think it through, thoughts muddled by the cold but still trying so hard to be smart. He opened his mouth for a moment, but seemed at a loss for words, before giving a tiny nod, so small it was almost lost in the rest of his shiver-driven motions. Phil felt a rush of relievement at the nod, so glad it worked.
Now to get these kids inside.
He urged Wilbur up from his chair, frowning as he saw the way the teens’ legs shook as he tried to support him and his brother’s weight. Phil reached out to take Tommy, meeting a second of hesitation from Wilbur before a particularly large shiver had him handing over Tommy to brace himself on the table, lest he collapsed to his knees in the snow. Phil found himself with an armful of ten-year-old, who surprisingly didn’t put up a fuss at being moved, only turning his face into the new source of warmth with a small sigh, a sound that tugged on Phil’s heartstrings.
Holding Tommy the best he could with one arm, he wrapped the other around Wilbur’s too-small shoulders and urged him forward, slowly but as steadily as he could, taking care not to slip in any ice or step in any particularly deep snow pockets as they moved towards the lobby doors. He could feel Wilbur shiver under his hold, violently without rhyme or rhythm, and hurried to open the door as soon as they reached it, keeping Tommy steady in his arms. There was a blast of heat as the lobby doors opened, the warm air burning on his frozen cheeks, the odd melting sensation one felt after coming in from the cold spreading over his body. He could only imagine how strange it felt for Wilbur and Tommy.
They trudged their way in, bringing a fair amount of snow with them (he’d apologize to Jack for the mess later), and then took moment just standing there, as their frigid limbs unlocked a bit and the shivering subsided, if only a little. Jack stood behind the counter, a strange mix of emotions on his face, but none of them looked like anger so Phil counted it as a win. He started to step forward again, wanting to get the boys up to his apartment as soon as possible and out of their soaked clothes (and into what he had no idea), but Wilbur seemed frozen to his spot. Phil tried to nudge him forward with a small press of his free hand to his back and was quite alarmed when the boy’s knees buckled and he fell onto the carpet below. He could hear Jack let out a swear at the muddled thud that sounded, and turned to see Jack coming out from behind the counter. As soon as the man approached he pushed Tommy into his arms, gently, of course, ignoring the squawk the sounded as soon as he did and knelt down to Wilbur.
“Wilbur? You alright?” He tried to keep his voice soft as he laid his hand on Wilbur’s shoulder, trying to ignore the small jolt he felt as he touched down. The boy let out a soft whine at the touch, and his eyes opened just a little from the squeezed shut position he’d had them in before. Phil winced at the glossy sheen over them, a sure sign of fever, he noted (based on his definitely reliable medical knowledge). He seemed to not be focusing on anything, eyes staring blearily upwards like he wasn’t even hearing Phil at all. He let out a curse under his breath, and in one fluid movement (ignoring the cracking in his knees) picked Wilbur up, scooping an arm under his knees and another around his back. He turned to Jack, who now looked to be having a staring contest with a grumpy-looking Tommy, and made a motion with his head towards the elevator. Jack caught his eyes and seemed to get the idea, carrying a disgruntled Tommy towards the elevator as Phil carried his own confused passager, who seemed to be staring up at the lights on the ceiling like they were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. The worst part about it was that despite his lanky form, he wasn’t hard to carry at all, far too light under his worn-out layers. He felt a sense of protectiveness curling in his stomach, and a determination to see it through strumming through his veins. He was going to help these kids.
The elevator door dinged, and he and Jack both stepped through, holding their respective slowly thawing child. Some tinny music played as the doors slowly closed, an awkward tension in the small room as the situation slowly seemed to sink in.
“How do you think Techno will take this?” Jack asked suddenly, something almost mischievous in his voice, as he turned his head to him, an eyebrow raised.
Phil just closed his eyes and sighed as the lift kicked into gear. This was going to be a long elevator ride.
And he didn’t even get to pick up his package.
—--------
Technoblade woke up to the sound of voices.
He immediately didn’t like this for several reasons. Number one being it meant he was awake, on one of the only days he really wanted to sleep in. Number two, voices meant people. As in plural. As in more than just Phil. Techno sighed, rolling over, suddenly aware of how awake he’d so quickly become, the feeling of his skin on sheets and hair dragging on his pillowcase enough to spur him out from under his blanket mound and up to investigate whatever intrusion Phil had welcomed into their apartment.
He padded over to the door, hesitating for a moment as voices trickled in from under the crack. He wasn’t eavesdropping or stalling, he was just…getting a tactical advantage. Simple as that. His brow furrowed as he listened. One of the voices was clearly Phil, his familiar voice seemingly lined with humor and worry in an incredibly Phil-like mix. One of the other voices– was that Jack Manifold? The lobby manager? What was he doing in their apartment? And then there was a sneeze and a sniffle and a not quite stifled whimper…
No. No way. Not only did Phil bring a sick person into his apartment.
He brought a sick child into his apartment.
Curse Phil’s old man bleeding heart. Techno sighed, letting his head rest on the door for good measure before straightening up and (to his dismay) facing whatever situation was going on outside. Like a reasonable adult would do.
Techno wished he was still in bed.
—--
The found of Techno’s bedroom door opening froze Phil to the spot, wincing from his place in the kitchen rummaging around for any kind of cold medicine a child could take.
His searches hadn’t been very fruitful so far, only yielding a nearly empty bottle of advil, half a box of allergy pills and a bottle of cough syrup thats expiration date had rubbed off but judging from the way it seemed to had solidified, was definitely unusable. Jack had been tasked with getting the two boys settled on the couch, much to his (and Tommy’s displeasure). Wilbur had been easy, already being basically unconscious when they’d arrived at the room, he’d barely shifted when laid down on the couch before letting out a sigh and falling asleep. Tommy on the other hand, seemed to have woken up much more fully on the ride up, and was very displeased with the situation. Phil did not envy Jack at the moment, he just hoped the man was caught up on all his shots.
The door opening sent an almost wave across the room, even Tommy stopped squirming for a second as Techno walked into the room, looking much more rumpled than anyone in the room but Phil had ever seen him. His pink braid had loosened in his sleep, strands fallen out and sticking up everywhich way, and his baggy sleep pants (covered in small polar bears, a gift from Phil a few years back) creating quite the funny picture, at least it would, if it weren’t for the deep set scowl on his face.
“Phil,” He started, voice even lower than normal as he fought off the remaining vestiges of sleep, “Why have you brought people into our house? Not only that, but kids and Jack Manifold of all people.” Jack opened his mouth at that, but seemed to think better of saying anything, especially when Tommy sent a particularly vicious kick into his stomach. Tommy was promptly dropped onto the couch, bouncing onto the ground with a thud, though he got up barely a second later, nary a scratch. He popped his head up, tiny face scrunched up (though in anger or thought Phil couldn’t tell) before he seemed to come to a conclusion, as he sprung onto his feet and ran full speed at Techno’s legs. No one was expecting this. Not Jack, not Phil and certianly not Techno. The only person in the room seemingly unaffected was Wilbur, who just burrowed into the blanket he’d been wrapped in further.
Techno blinked down at Tommy, who had buried his face into his knees with his arms wrapped around. He had stiffened at the touch, but Phil could see him soften slightly at the sight, or maybe it was from the clear heat radiating from the boys forehead, but nevertheless he made no motion to pry the boy off. He did however, look at Jack Manifold, who was watching this whole situation, slightly flabbergasted and said,
“Why are you here?” Jack spluttered some sort of response before throwing up his hands and turning to Phil.
“Look, I have to go, I can’t leave the lobby unattended for too long and since your buddy here is awake you should be good, right? Call down if you need anything or decide to call an ambulance or something.” Phil nodded, motioning for him to go. As he left Phil called quietly too him.
“Would you mind checking if you can find any medicine? We don’t have anything good for lowering fevers that Tommy can take.” Jack threw a thumbs up his way and turned down the hallway. Satisfied, Phil turned back to the slightly baffling (and extremely adorable) sight taking place in his apartment.
It seemed Techno had managed to pry his new found blond barnacle off his legs and instead was holding him out in front of him in a slightly awkward manner, but judging from the pleased expression on Tommy’s face, he didn’t mind. Techno on the other hand, looked much more displeased with the situation, though he couldn’t quite hide the soft look in his eyes, similar to the look Phil was familiar with from when he saw a dog on the street or a cute video of baby turtles online.
Despite himself, surrounded by two street kids with raging fevers, no medicine and a blizzard outside, Phil felt himself smiling. Looking around the room, at Techno, Tommy and Wilbur he felt like this could be something real, something whole. Despite the situation, with the Christmas decorations up and the old movie still paused on the T.V, the atmosphere felt rather…homey, in a way Phil hadn’t anticipated.
Still, there would be time to think about that new development later, when the kids were settled and the storm quieted. Instead, he made himself busy, with Tommy under control for now with Techno, he had time to wet a couple of dish rags in the sink, ringing them out until he had two damp cool clothes. Neither he nor Techno were amazing cooks (nor were they fully stocked on groceries) but he was sure they must have some canned soup somewhere.
A squawk-sounding cry from behind him broke Phil out of his musings and as he turned around he couldn’t help but let out a laugh at the sight. It seemed that in Tommy’s docile state, Techno had managed to wrap him in a blanket in away he could break out of, much to his displeasure if his shrieking was to be of any note. Techno looked equal mixture pleased by his move and disgruntled with the shrieking, which Phil couldn’t blame him for.
Despite his size, Tommy was turning out to be quite loud. He just hoped none of the neighbors would complain. Watching the boy struggle for a few moments, it was clear he was just as quickly tiring himself out. His struggle grew sluggish and slow, flushed cheeks going redder as he stopped shrieking to breathe, eyes blinking slower and slower. Eventually, he stopped moving, instead choosing to scowl up at Techno (and Phil as he came into view) even as he snuggled further into the blanket he was wrapped in, looking a near mirror to his older brother who was still passed out on the other end of the couch.
He handed one of the damp clothes to Techno, who took it with no complaint but a slight nose wrinkle and the feeling of it before pressing it gently to Tommy’s forehead, inciting a new round of strangled hisses and honestly rather concerningly intense swearing, which Techno stopped bye simply dumping another blanket on top of him.
That was fine. Probably.
Instead, Phil made his way to the other sick boy on his couch. Wilbur looked both better and worse than he did outside. The inside lighting made clear the fever spots on his cheeks, and the thinness of his frame after being freed from his thick winter clothes was incredibly concerning, but his shivering had mostly stopped, at least the intense ones that had wracked his frame before. As gently as he could, Phil placed the cool cloth on his forehead as he did with Tommy, fondly brushing away his grimy curls as he did. The motion sent Wilbur’s eyes fluttering open, bleary and confused and clearly tired. Phil resisted the urge to coo at his frankly adorable expression, with the blanket drawn up to his chin and eyebrows furrowed. Instead, he kneeled down by his head and continued petting his hair, as steady as he could.
“It’s okay Wil, you’re alright. Just go back to sleep and let yourself rest to get better. We can talk later.” Phil soothed, letting his voice and hand in Wilbur’s hair soothe him back to sleep. Whatever problems they had could be solved later, when their fevers had broken and the storm had quieted. For now, all they had to do was enjoy the cozy atmosphere in the apartment and the company of each other.
Everything else could wait.