Chapter Text
Phil rolls his eyes, only half listening to the argument his sons are in the middle of as they stroll through the streets of L’manberg’s night market.
“You do not need another knife, Wilbur,” Technoblade groans. On that Phil can agree, the man has at least a dozen already.
The brunette pulls them toward a knife vendor anyway. “But Tech, I wanna stab more people!”
“Technically,” he reasons, “buying more knives won’t increase the amount of people you stab.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. More knife equals more stab, duh.” Phil snorts at his antics, he can tell the other is just as amused, but still determined to prove his point.
“You are an idiot,” Techno huffs, “increasing your total number of knives does not increase the number of knives you can wield at once nor your skill. That doesn’t even account for increasing the number of people you can actually find to stab, which more knives also won’t do.”
“But knives,” he says, gesturing at the knife stand as if the weapons would prove his point for him, “ knives, Techno.”
“Come on you too,” Phil insists, ushering them away from the stall and ignoring Wilbur’s whines of protest. He throws an apologetic smile over his shoulder at the vendor who had been watching the argument with a bored stare.
The streets are flooded this time of night, with all kinds of people chatting, bargaining, selling, buying and sitting on curbs eating delicious, steaming food. In many ways the night market is more alive than the day one.
Sure, it’s a dangerous place full of dangerous people both buying and selling very dangerous things, but it’s not only villains and mobsters who shop and sell there, it’s normal people too. For lots of people it’s an escape from the stress of everyday life. Prime knows no one in L’manberg has it easy, at least in this part of the city.
Phil likes to see all the different kinds of people laughing and joking and having fun, it’s a stark contrast to the same streets during the day. During the day there are people slumped up against brick walls wherever you look, or sat on curbs with poorly made cardboard signs begging for primes of food or anything you have to spare . Most people prefer to forget about that truth and waste their money on pointless jewels and endless silk scarves. The night market is a great place to do that.
He’s even seen a few richer people from High End visit the night market, all faux fur coats and diamonds the size of their fists on necklaces and rings. Phil assumes for them it’s about glorifying the ‘nitty gritty life’ and wanting a taste of The Slums. If most of them spent one day in The Slums they’d probably run home to their white marble mansions with courtyards and angel sculpture fountains. Whatever, not the time to be mad about that now.
They pass the weapon section of the market and soon the clothing section too. While passing through Phil debates buying a new bullet proof jacket for work, but decides his current one works just fine. The trio finally enters the last sector of the market, mostly containing cages of various mutated or battle trained animals of all kinds. The main vendor for the section smiles and waves them over to his stand.
The man’s name is Bad, a demon hybrid with a kind face who has been running the beast keeping sector of the night market for pretty much as long as Phil can remember. A couple years ago they bought Floof, a battle trained husky, and when his sons were younger, a sheep Wilbur named Friend. Unfortunately the sheep had passed on a while back, but they continue to be loyal customers of Bad’s.
Today the man looks a little stressed as he greets Wilbur and Techno with little nods before addressing Phil, “hey Phil.”
“Hey, Bad, how have you been?” a questioning note clear in his tone.
“Oh just fine!” he laughs anxiously, “yeah me and Skeppy have been adjusting well to the apartment, Rat a little less so but, eh, you know. I actually did want to talk to you about something if that’s alright?” he asks.
Phil nods, “yeah sure, what’s up, mate?”
“Well,” Bad says, fiddling with his shirt, “I have a little bit of a problem.” He reaches down behind the counter and disappears out of view for a moment before reappearing with something little cradled in his arms.
Phil squints and realizes the little thing is a tiny, sleeping kitten hybrid, with fluffy golden hair and similarly colored ears, besides their dark orange tips, as well as a swishing tail and a pink, little button nose. He hears Wibur and Techno gasp and hum respectively as they too see what’s in Bad’s arms. Phil wonders what Bad could possibly want from them that would involve this kid, most of the business they do with him is related to their… line of work, which isn’t exactly a kid friendly environment.
Bad nods in agreement, even though none of them have spoken. “He’s adorable, but I can’t sell him, obviously,” a shudder runs down his spine, “I would never sell a hybrid kid, but,” Bad pauses, wincing a little, “I also can’t keep him. A kid is just…too much for me and Skeppy right now, we would never be able to handle it. I was hoping,” he starts, “that you guys might want to take him off my hands?”
Ah, there it is.
The blond man shakes his head in wonder, not as a no, just as a ‘wow’. The kid shifts in Bad’s arms and lets out a little mew. Phil involuntarily chirps. Everyone pauses, looking at the tiny kitten.
It’s clear he’s in need of help, but all of them have so much on their plate already, how would they ever be able to juggle villain life and raising a literal child?
Regardlessly, Phil’s birdbrain chants, flock, flock, flock, fledgling, baby, flock.
“How old is he?” Techno finally pipes up after the long silence.
Bad purses his lips. “I don’t know, my guess is maybe two? Obviously his hybrid traits have manifested, but I think they’re fairly new, his eyes haven’t even opened yet.” It's true, his tiny eyes are squinted shut, eyelashes fluttering occasionally. Phil wants to reach out and smooth his thumbs across the kitten’s eyelids. He holds back, just for now.
Wilbur makes a sound in between a warble and a coo. “He’s just a baby.”
“If you don’t think you can do it I absolutely understand, kids are a lot of work, especially with your situation–”
Phil barely has to look at the other two–to look at how they look at the kitten–to know their decision.
It’s true, kids are a lot of work, and it’s been nearly a decade since either Techno or Wilbur were at a difficult sort of age, raising another, especially one who’s hybrid traits have just manifested, would be tricky to say the least. There’s also the fact that between the three of them they know next to nothing about cat hybrids. But then Phil looks at the kid, all tiny and fluffy, cradled in Bad’s arms and purring. That’s all that it takes, the sound of the kitten purring and Phil’s resolve is broken, he really does have shit willpower.
“We want him,” Phil says, glancing to the side to see Wilbur nod furiously and Techno’s lips quirk up slightly, it assures him in the decision. “We want him,” he repeats firmly.
Bad’s eyes widen and his face breaks into a giant grin. “Oh really? Thank you so much, you have no idea how much this means– if you hurt him I will find you and remove all of your vital organs– now, if you need any help just give me a call!” The demon hybrid gushes, voice breaking off into something low and dark like an eldritch horror as he threatens them, before becoming cheery and light again. He easily hands Phil the baby, turning around to rummage through the back shelves of the stall.
He stares at the child, almost unsure of how exactly to hold him, but he quickly settles in, shoving his face into Phil’s soft shirt and continuing to purr contently.
Phil glances at his other two sons and then back down at the kitten, blinking at him as his chest rises and falls in his sleep. He coos happily at the kid who mewls in response, his nose scrunching up before he sneezes the cutest sneeze Phil has ever heard.
“Okay,” Bad says, returning with his arms full before dumping an assortment of bags and boxes on the countertop next to the cash register. “He doesn’t talk but I’m pretty sure he can understand some English. He can eat pretty much whatever, but he needs a lot of protein, specifically meat and preferably fish. I’ve got wet cat food for you,” he says, slapping one of the boxes, “it’s a little gross, but it’s also a quick and easy way to get him that protein. Then these are just some of the toys he likes playing with,” Bad points to a bag and then to a tupperware with a red lid saying, “and those are some cookies I baked this morning, don’t worry, Skeppy wasn’t anywhere near them,” they all pause to laugh at that before Bad continues, “oh also he loves climbing and jumping on things, so I would clear some counter space for him if I were you.”
Phil says, “thank you for this Bad, what do we owe you?”
“Oh, nothing!” the man says, waving a hand. “Consider it me paying you back for taking the kitten. Any questions about him?”
“Does he use a litter box?” Techno asks.
Wilbur wrinkles his nose. “Gross,” he says and Bad laughs.
Phil hadn’t thought of that, it wouldn't be a dealbreaker if he did, but it definitely would be somewhat of an inconvenience.
“No, he can use a toilet,” he pauses before saying, “probably not by himself though.”
Phil nods and thinks a moment before asking, “does he have a name?” Bad smiles at this.
“It’s Tommy.”
ᓚᘏᗢ
When they get home, Phil sets Tommy down on the sofa while he puts away the stuff they’d gotten from Bad, along with their other purchased items from the night market, calling, “watch him for me, okay boys?”
Both his sons shout affirmative responses and go to join the kitten on the couch. Wilbur stares at the kid, curled comfortably against a throw pillow and purring softly. He’s about as tiny as the pillow, and spread out he’s probably less than the length of one of Wilbur’s arms.
“He’s so small,” Wilbur comments.
Techno snorts, snarking, “that’s how kids work, dumbass.”
Wilbur smacks him on the arm lightly. “I know that,” he pauses, thinking before asking, “is he sleeping? Or just laying down?”
“I don’t know. It’s hard to tell with his eyes closed,” Techno points out, looking thoughtfully at the kid.
“How does that work?” Wilbur asks. “I mean, the eyes closed thing. Was he able to open his eyes before his traits manifested, or were they always closed?”
Techno just shrugs. “Ask Tommy when he’s older.”
“He probably won’t remember.”
His brother tilts his head before replying, “I guess not.”
They both look down at the kitten, who takes that moment to yawn widely and arch his back, unfurling and stretching his arms out on the couch. He crawls forward, almost falling off the edge of the couch before Wilbur catches him and drops him into his lap.
Tommy lets out a little oof! before burrowing his face into Wilbur’s sweater, ears pinned back and purr vibrating against him. Wilbur reaches down to scratch his head, making the kid purr even louder.
Techno chuffs, looking at the two with an amused glance. “You going soft, Wil?”
“No,” Wilbur glares, hoisting the kid up into his lap further. Techno just shakes his head, smiling as Phil comes back into the room.
The blond man plops down on the couch in between Wilbur and Techno, cooing as he sees the baby in Wilbur’s arms.
Tommy obviously notices the shift in weight, lifting his head and looking around blindly, before crawling out of Wilbur’s lap and onto the couch cushion. He bumps into Phil’s leg and lets out a surprised mewl. Phil chuckles, lifting the kid onto his knees gently. Tommy leans into Phil’s hand as he scratches under the kitten's chin and they all smile a little.
“So,” Phil says, still scratching the kid in his lap, “how much do you two know about cat hybrids?”
Both Wilbur and Techno shrug, which Phil takes to mean ‘definitely not enough to raise one’. Great.
“Okay, what about…just, toddlers? In general?” he asks, voice slightly strained.
Wilbur thinks for a moment before raising his hand and saying, “...they like knives?”
“What?” Phil and Techno ask at the same time, to which the brunette shrugs again.
“I did when I was a toddler.”
Phil face palms and Techno throws back his head and laughs. This…was going to be a lot more work than he thought.
Phil almost considers regretting the decision, but then he looks down and Tommy is purring, rubbing his face up against the man’s leg and he thinks that he could never regret a decision like that.
Maybe this wouldn’t be so difficult after all, he thinks to himself. (He forgets to knock on wood.)
As it turns out, getting Tommy to sleep isn’t too hard. Initially Phil had wanted to put him in the nest, but he kept swiping at the man’s feathers and it became clear that it wasn’t going to work.
After that, Techno volunteers to have the kid in his room, and Tommy curls up neatly on the pillow Techno isn’t using, purring softly.
The two fall asleep quickly, Techno to the sound of the kitten’s purrs, and Tommy to the sound of Techno’s light snoring.
Phil is eternally thankful that Tommy was so cooperative in going to bed, however a problem arises when they wake up…and can’t find him.
“Are you sure you didn’t feel him get up in the night?” Wilbur asks from his place sitting cross-legged on the couch. Phil is next to him with his head in his hands and Techno is in the kitchen behind the sofa pacing.
The pink-haired man groans at the question. “No, for the fiftieth time Wilbur, no, I didn’t feel him get up and I would tell you if I did.”
“Oh no,” the brunette pales, “what if he was kidnapped?”
Phil lifts his face from his hands to sigh. “Tech would have heard someone coming into the room, you know how ight of a sleeper he is, mate.”
“But by that logic Techno also should have felt it if Tommy left the bed!” Wilbur argues, raising his voice slightly.
Techno is about to make a sly retort, but stops still when he hears it.
A tiny, high-pitched meow coming from his bedroom.
In an instant everyone is dashing from the conjoint kitchen/living room, down the hall and into his room.
Wilbur throws the sheets off the bed and is about to scatter the pillows too, but Phil rests a firm hand on his arm and points to the little orange tail poking out from under the pillow. Under the pillow Tommy slept on.
“Oh my god,” Techno groans, rubbing his temples, “he was under the pillow.”