Chapter Text
In his two entire years of living, Technoblade has never found anything less intriguing.
He was staring at a rather ugly bundle of cloths that was screaming so loud he was sure it would turn into demon spawn at any given moment. Not that Techno would complain if that really happened; he would take a demon as a brother over whatever this was any day.
“I don’t like it,” Techno said, nudging Wilbur. “Can we get rid of it?”
“We can’t get rid of a baby. That’s immoral,” Wilbur replied, thinking he was so very smart for knowing a big word like “immoral” at only three years old.
“It’s not immoral if the baby looks like that,” Techno retorted, and Wilbur frowned a bit at the fact that his two-year-old brother also knew the word.
“That,” Phil said, appearing behind the two out of nowhere, “is your new brother. Tom. He’s going to be here forever, so you might as well get used to his volume.”
“Tom is a stupid name,” Techno supplied.
“I think it’s alright,” Wilbur replied.
“Nah, Theseus is a better name,” Techno said with finality. Peering up at Phil, he continued, “I read about him in my Greek mythology book.”
Wilbur frowned some more. He didn’t know what Greek mythology was.
Technoblade did not, in fact, get used to Tommy’s volume.
The nickname had been coined by the troublemaker himself when he decided that Tom was indeed a stupid name. Tommy had two Ms – double the loop-de-loops – and was much, much cooler. Now a rather rabid three-year-old, he raced around on stubby legs and shoved crayons into walls.
And Technoblade was very tired.
The book he had read stated that normal three-year-olds sleep over ten hours a day, but then again, the book was extremely useless when trying to deal with the monster that was Tommy. Techno’s brother was beyond not normal; he was a machine of destruction intent on making his family’s life that much more difficult. With the dangerous newfound ability to speak coherent sentences, Tommy babbled endlessly about colors and shapes and…moths(?). Technoblade often found himself shutting the door and praying that Tommy doesn’t discover how to pick locks, despite being a devout atheist.
Technoblade also often found himself hanging out with Wilbur when they were both slightly frightened of the toddler who ran rampant in their home. The two of them didn’t have much in common, but through a shared horror, they found themselves bonding. Wilbur enjoyed Techno’s quiet nature, and Techno enjoyed Wilbur’s guitar strumming as he reread his favorite books.
It’s times like these – chatting about nothing in particular, the occasional Minecraft game, simply enjoying each other’s presence – when Techno feels that in a world where Wilbur and him were not blood brothers, they would have still found their way to each other.
And there were moments when even Tommy calmed down for a few minutes to stare happily at a picture book Techno read to him, his miniature face glowing. Wilbur would scoot up next to them, his beloved guitar in his arms, and Phil would beam at his sons, and everything would make sense. Because what were they, if not brothers in every universe?