Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sharp scribblings of pen on paper coupled with the loud clacking of the keyboard drowned out the first time the doorbell rang. His desk was covered in mountains of half-eaten fast food delivery orders, empty cups of ramen and crinkled cans of energy drinks, hiding his sight of the door. 

The second time it rang was during a brief pause in his duties, leading Technoblade to trudge over to his door, bags under his eyes as heavy as a whale and open it to see nothing. 

That was, until he looked down. 

A mop of blonde curls, blue-grey eyes that seemed to be popping out of his face, a plain red and white baseball tee, and a blue lightsaber slung around his hip holding up a box of tissues at Techno. 

“Hey! I’m Tommy Innit! I’m your new neighbor!” The boy, Tommy, shoved the box of tissues closer to Techno. 

“Uh…I’m Technoblade.” 

“Techno Blade?” 

“Uh no, it’s sort of like a mononym.” 

The boy nodded like he understood-- he couldn’t be older than four, and Techno had to wonder why the child was the one greeting the neighbors rather than his parents. “You live next door? Unit B3?” That particular unit had been vacant for a couple of months now, he knew the landlords were getting antsy trying to find someone to fill it, though he couldn’t imagine how a three-person household was going to survive in a studio apartment. 

“Yup!”

Wait, this is a studio apartment complex-- they probably don’t even allow small kids. “Where are your parents? I thought there was a no-little kids policy--” 

“Ah, don’t worry about that, Techn-no-blade, only Big Men here!” Tommy said, clapping his hand over his lightsaber as if to say that he was the big man and not the child in question. 

“But your parents--?”

“Just me. I’m the only Big Man living next door.” 

Tommy was quick to make his exit after leaving the high quality box of tissues in Techno’s care. Techno just stood there in his doorway, his door still wide open as the kid walked back to his own apartment, letting the air push the door closed. On the kid’s door was a colorful, hand-drawn sign that said ‘Jedi Master Tommy’ in bold letters.

So, his neighbor was a four-year old. A four-year old that lived alone.

Okay. He wasn’t quite sure what he was going to do with that information yet. It wasn’t really his issue, was it? Well, it was sort of every citizen’s duty to make sure the law is upheld, and Techno was pretty sure that a four-year old living alone was not okay, but why would the landlords lease an apartment to a four-year old if someone higher up didn’t know about it? 

Technoblade ultimately decided to put the information in the back of his mind, sit down and continue writing. He was on a strict deadline to finish this short story up so his editor would see it before the collection was sent off to be printed. He was working his way up to finishing the manuscript of his first novel, but he needed to pay the bills, so short stories were the way he went. 

Techno sunk back into his rickety old chair and continued to type before he was overwhelmed with the need to use the bathroom. The way to the toilet was fraught with piles of garbage, dirty clothes, and miscellaneous items that he swore he lost when he went looking for them a few days prior. 

It wasn’t fun living like this, but his deadlines came first-- even if it meant Techno hadn’t bathed in a week. That was the struggle in living in a studio apartment with only a half bath. Luckily, the bath-house was just a little more than a block away, but it did make bathing on a regular basis slightly less convenient. 

While bent over on the toilet going over his notes, his doorbell rang again. He quickly finished his business and ran to the door only to see the little shit that gave him tissues earlier. “Tommy.” 

The sun was setting behind the boy as he gave Techno a little wave. “Hey Tech-no-blade.” 

“Can you stop saying it like that? It’s just Technoblade.” 

Tommy ignored him. “I noticed there’s no tub or shower. What’s up with that?” 

Techno sighed. “Didn’t the landlords give you the run-down before you signed the lease? This is a half-bath apartment. You only have a toilet and a sink.” 

“Huh?” shrieked Tommy, piercing Techno’s eardrums with the shrill sound. “Am I supposed to just die then?” 

“Uh… It’s not that deep. There’s a bath-house down the road; that’s what most of us use.” 

“Oh.” The boy went silent, which seemed to be uncharacteristic of him from what Technoblade could tell after two or so hours of acquaintance. Techno went back into his house momentarily to grab a spare pen and a scrap of paper and began poorly drawing a map. By the time he returned to the doorway, the sky had turned a navy blue. He handed the map to the little boy. Tommy examined it carefully before nodding. “Thank you, my young padawan.” 

“Yeah, no problem…” 

He receded back into his studio apartment, closing the door but leaving his hand over the doorknob, allowing the interaction to process through his brain. 

Child showed up.

Child complained.

Child left with map to a bath-house down the street in the dark. 

Oh well. 

Not my problem, not my problem, not my problem. 

Techno sat back down at his desk, changing his computer screen from his Google doc to a new window. The news tabs popped up, different headlines flashing at him-- wars with former allies, natural disasters killing hundreds, a bad cop caught red-handed, and the bad institution wouldn’t penalize him-- local: pedophiles in the area, reports of missing children. 

Before Techno had even realized, he had grabbed his shower caddy, his wallet and was racing out the door after Tommy, his greasy hair falling in his face as he stumbled down the stairs of the building. The boy’s little legs hadn’t brought him that far, just by the dumpsters, and Techno’s heart flipped with relief at seeing the boy safe.

“Padawan Blade?” 

They were going to need to amend the way Tommy addressed Techno, but that could come later. “I’m-- uh-- I’m also getting a bath,” he stumbled on for an explanation.

“Oh. Okay.” Tommy kept skipping down the street without a care in the world while Techno stomped after him, checking his slowly dying phone for any news updates about the local pedophile. 

They entered the bath-house wordlessly, neither much for conversation, yet Tommy sat himself down right next to Technoblade in the bath, splashing and messing around while Techno just closed his eyes and enjoyed the soak. 

He didn’t realize how much he missed bathing until he had first dipped his toe into the steaming hot water, allowing the heavy air to surround him and purify his lungs. When Tommy moved onto the showers, Techno decided he would too (mostly to make sure he and the kid got out at the same time so he could walk him home too). 

The showers were communal without any dividers for individuals, save for one in the corner for special cases. Technoblade and Tommy took two showers available next to each other and began to scrub their heads with shampoo. Techno made sure to lather his scalp in the creamy substance, his long blossom hair relaxing underneath his fingertips. 

He’d managed to wash most of the shampoo out when he heard a loud screech from next to him. Out of the corner of Techno’s eye, he witnessed Tommy claw at his eyes and double over as if someone had gut-punched him. 

“Techno!” he cried, his eyes squeezed shut, shampoo spuds in the corner of his eye. “My eyes are on fire!” 

Techno stood with his hands at his sides, unsure of what to do in this situation. He was only twenty-two and an only child-- he didn’t know how to take care of a kid! 

Tommy just continued to stand opposite to Techno, eyes squeezed shut with more shampoo being washed into his eye. Techno made the executive decision to grab the boy’s sopping wet head and pull his bangs back and shoving him under the water, effectively waterboarding the four-year old. 

After Techno was sure all of the shampoo was out of Tommy’s eyes, he kept Tommy still under the showerhead and dug his hands through Tommy’s hair, getting rid of any excess shampoo still sitting on his scalp. 

“All good now?” Techno finally asked, breaking the silence. 

“I could’ve finished washing my hair myself,” Tommy said, his lower lip jutting out as if he were daring to pout.

“Yeah, and you’d also walk out of this place blind too. Pick your poison, kid.” 

“I’m not a fucking kid! I’m a Big Man!” Techno did not deign to respond. Tommy’s shoulders hunched inwards as if he were trying to make himself appear smaller. “Still… it’s been a while since anyone’s washed my hair for me…” His voice was uncharacteristically quiet with a certain submissiveness unseen in the child as of yet. It startled Technoblade, but not enough that he would poke any bears about the matters alluded to.

The rest of their stay in the bath-house was uneventful. Techno managed to finish washing his own hair completely, and he even let Tommy brush through it while he talked his ear off about Star Wars lore. Tommy had a clear bias for the prequels era, which Techno appreciated, but he was still a dutiful fan to the franchise as a whole. He’d been waiting for the day another Star Wars film would grace the silver screen again, and Tommy was rightfully ecstatic when Techno informed him that a new one was coming to theaters sometime at the end of the year. 

“I’m so gonna go!” Tommy practically yelled. 

“It’s definitely one for the family.” Tommy didn’t answer. “Tommy,” Techno tried again, “Are you really livin’ alone?” 

“Yeah,” Tommy responded ever so casually. 

“Well… Where are your parents?”

“Don’t have ‘em anymore.” 

Whoops. Landmine. 

Now, Technoblade was an artist by trade, and not the kind that required any elaborate collaborations. He saw his editor on a need-to-meet basis and anyone else was sort of faulty, so his conversational skills took a tumble after getting out of college. But this-- well, this was a mess worse than any other blunder he could’ve made. 

How do I fix this? How do I fix this? How do I fix this? “You know, orphans killed my parents.” 

Huh???

“Really?” 

This wasn’t a lie, but it suddenly also didn’t feel like an appropriate answer to his first response. Still, Technoblade was in too deep at this point. “Yes.” 

“You must be really lonely then.” 

Techno felt like he was stabbed in the back. Him? Why would Techno be the lonely one? He was the adult-- he lived with it all already, but oh. Techno stopped his feet in his tracks, allowing Tommy to catch up, his little feet moving two times faster than Techno’s long ones. Tommy looked up at Techno, his dull blue eyes refusing to reflect anything off of them. “Are you lonely?” asked Techno. 

“Me?” Tommy breathed. 

Every part of Techno just stopped working, looking at Tommy’s face in such a ghostly manner. “Nevermind. Come on, let’s head back.” 

They returned in relative silence. Tommy continued onto his own unit when Techno entered his, and for the first time in a week, Techno decided to get a good night’s sleep rather than toil away at his stories. 

Techno was watching TV for a spot of inspiration for his own work when his doorbell rang the first time that day. He quickly paused the show he was watching and reached the door, somehow unsurprised that the one standing in front of him was his little neighbor. 

“Hello, my young padawan.” 

“Let’s pretend I already graduated to knighthood,” Techno said.

“You didn’t complete the trials, my young padawan.” 

Techno rolled his eyes. “Whatever. What do you want?” 

“Will you be home this evening?” 

Techno scratched the back of his head, looking back at his messy desk with the open yet very empty Google doc. “Yeah, I’ll be around.” 

“Cool,” said Tommy, dragging out the ‘oo’ sound for as long as possible. Tommy turned on his heel without another word and continued on down the hall. 

“Wait!” Techno heard himself call out. “Where are you going?” 

Tommy turned around, a large grin on his face. “Nunya.” 

“Huh?” 

“Nunya business!” he turned and ran down the stairs before Techno could respond. Fearing the worst, Techno threw on real-people clothes and flew out the door.

He was huffing and puffing by the time he caught up to Tommy, who was leisurely skipping down the street, sometimes opening his lightsaber and slicing through the air before closing it again, not forgetting to make the corresponding lightsaber noises. 

“So, why are you following me?” Tommy finally asked.

“I’m not followin’ you. We’re just walkin’ in the same direction.” 

“Oh, cool.” 

They continued to walk in the same direction into the grocery store. 

Tommy stopped questioning Techno’s presence too much. 

On their way in through the sliding doors, they were stopped by a shrill sound. 

“Sunshine? Is that you?” Tommy’s eyes seemed to flash with the first light Techno had seen in them as a tall and lanky man with an overabundance of curls on his head with flannels and corduroy pants rammed right into Tommy, wrapping his arms tightly around the wannabe Jedi. “Tommy!” 

“Let! Go! Of me! Wanker!” Tommy shrieked. The wanker released Tommy after a few extra cuddle moments, an elated grin on his face. 

“Thanks for the tissues the other day. Good quality.” 

Tommy shrugged, a curious rosy look on his cherub cheeks. “Well, I know how to pick ‘em, Wilbur.” 

Wilbur looked away from Tommy and glanced up at Techno. “Oh, I know you! I’ve seen you take out your trash sometimes! You’re my neighbor! I’m Wilbur Soot.” Wilbur did not offer his hand as greeting, choosing to keep them in his pocket, but he did give a slight bow of his head with a soft smile. So while Techno was not very familiar with how social introductions worked, he didn’t think of Wilbur as any sort of threat.

It was also quite odd how Techno had been living in his apartment for a year and had never really formally met any of the other tenants. 

“I’m Technoblade.” 

“What a cute name!” 

“That’s the first time anyone’s ever said that.” 

“Well, it’s nice seeing you guys. I’m all finished up here-- oh shit, my groceries!” Wilbur’s head shot back to the angry grocer who had finished bagging his things, sending a death glare over at him. “See you later, sunshine!” 

Tommy smoothed his shirt down, and patted his hair, making sure he looked just the same as before Hurricane Wilbur hit. 

Everyone seemed to know Tommy by name in the grocery store, which Techno supposed wasn’t as weird-- if it were any other kid, sure, but Tommy was different. For one, he’d probably come in alone and paid alone. Techno was quite curious as to where he got the money from. 

They walked up each aisle, Tommy picking up two different brands of a product and weighing them in his hands before throwing one in the cart. Techno just silently pushed the cart, trying to ignore the whispers of the middle-aged ladies they passed. “Oh what a cute pair of brothers,” or “What a sweet older brother to let the little one do the shopping!” Techno would never correct them-- that would be too awkward-- but every time they passed a new one, his hands curled tightly around the handlebar of the cart, squeezing tightly into his palm. 

It was just weird, okay? No one had ever gossiped so overtly about him before! And the kid too! He was so unbothered by it!

“Hey Technoblade, how long are you going to follow me around?” 

“I’m no--” 

“Some people are starting to call us brothers. It’s getting… Y’know.” Tommy made some expressions and hand movements that Techno couldn’t quite translate into words-- not for vulgarity, but for lack of understanding. 

“Yeah, I noticed,” Techno hissed.

“It’s stupid, innit? You’re nothing like my brother, anyway.” Tommy threw a bottle of ketchup into the cart and kept moving, not waiting for Techno to continue to push the cart. So the kid at least had a brother. 

Where was the brother???

Techno’s hand slid down his face before he begrudgingly followed after Tommy. Techno watched over Tommy as they got in line to check-out. Tommy had a little Jedi-themed wallet with stacks of dollar bills inside. 

Tommy’s grocery list only ended up filling two bags, which he insisted on carrying himself despite Techno offering to help. 

“Are you some wrong’un? Did I move in next to a wrong’un?” 

“Heh? What does that even mean?” 

“Do you follow around all your neighbors like this? Or is it just me because you think I’m some snot-nosed brat who can’t do anything for himself? Because you’re a wrong’un either way!”

“Well if I’m… What you just said either way, then I suppose it’s for the latter reason.” 

“Speak English!” whined Tommy.

“Bruh.” 

“I’m not a kid,” Tommy said, stopping in his tracks. “I’m a Big Man. I don’t need you or anything.” 

“You’re the one who asked to hang out tonight, aren’t you?” 

Tommy practically jumped out of his shirt from indignation. “No! I asked because I need to borrow your TV! The new episode of Little Jedis is dropping tonight!” 

Oh. 

“Well, sounds like you do need me for something then.” 

Tommy’s mouth opened and closed like a fish before they just puffed up and he stomped away. 

When they returned, Tommy went back to his apartment first, but Techno wanted to check if the laundry units were free before heading back up. Their apartment building had one washer and two dryers, which was very strange, and no amount of petitions to the landlords for an extra washer would convince them to spend that sort of money for their tenants. 

This was all to say that the washer was running. 

When he headed back up to his place, the neighbor he had met an hour before, Wilbur, was heading down. He had taken his flannel off in favor of just some band t-shirt, and he carried a guitar case on his back.

“Hello Technoblade!” Wilbur said cheerfully, locking his door from behind him. 

“Off to… work?” asked Techno.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m in a band, but I do a little bartending for a quick buck.” 

“So you’re just a bartender.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” 

There was an awkward silence.

“So Tommy’s not secretly living with you, right?” asked Wilbur.

“Huh?” 

“Like, he’s not related to you or anything?” 

“I had never met the kid before yesterday.”

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

“It’s just weird, isn’t it?” Wilbur asked, leaning on his door with his arm. “What’s a four-year old doing living alone?” 

Techno could only shrug. Life’s greatest mystery lied in the sole tenant of unit B3. 

Techno finally decided to round up all the garbage in his apartment and haul it out back to the dumpster. On the way down, he passed a glimpse of blonde curls. It seemed as though Tommy had also thought it was a great time to collect his trash and throw it away, though his bags were adorably smaller than that of a normal person. 

Tommy and Techno made eye contact but no efforts were put into a conversation. On their way back, they had to pass the first floor units. Techno walked with his eyes at his feet, but Tommy was quick to notice a foot poking out one of the doors, the shoe hanging off the tip of the individual’s toes. 

“Hello? Hello? Mister? Are you okay?” Tommy asked, banging on the door even though it was already open. What resulted was the door effectively being thrown open, slamming into the man that was laying flat on his stomach at the door. 

The man in question was an average-sized man with shoulder length blonde hair and a bit of stubble, wearing a green t-shirt and dark sweatpants. He was surrounded by cans of beer, one of them still half full. 

“Sir?” Techno supplied. 

The man pushed himself up, facing the two intruders. The first thing to notice about this man was that his eyes were swollen shut, puffy red. “I’m all good!” the man slurred. “Just had an interesting night. Got too exciting.” 

“Sorry for botherin’ you,” said Techno, turning on his heel, but Tommy’s feet were planted in this man’s apartment. 

“Do you have ice? You need ice.” 

“Ice?” inquired Techno. 

“Ice! Padawan, go get ice!” Techno was surprised to be met with such urgency from the little boy, as if ice was the most important thing in the world.

“I… I have ice in my fridge if you need it,” the man on the floor said. Tommy raced further into this strange man’s apartment, digging in his freezer until he had some ice cubes wrapped in a kitchen towel, and pressed it against the man’s eyes. 

“There you go, Master Phil.” 

“Thanks, Tommy.” Ah, so it looked like this wasn’t a strange man to Tommy. If Techno could guess, he probably already introduced himself to this man and gave him tissues. 

“Why’re you crying, Phil?” 

The man-- Phil-- took the towel in his own hands and continued to hold it up to his eyes. “Ah it’s nothing. Who’s this? A friend of yours?” 

Techno finally realized Phil was referring to him. “Oh, no. I’m a neighbor. I live upstairs. I’m Technoblade.” 

“I’m Phil Craft. Sorry for being so unseemly in our first meeting, mate.” 

“No worries. Just good to see you’re okay--” 

“You know I got a call from my wife last night,” said Phil, cutting Techno off. “She works in the U.S. Long business trip. She was meant to be home next month, but I got the news last night she’ll be staying an extra six months. She won’t be here til the winter. I just miss her is all.” 

“Sorry to hear that,” said Techno.

“She’ll come back, Phil!” Tommy gasped. “She loves you, so she’ll come back. I’m sure of it!” 

Phil lifted the towel off his eyes, giving Tommy a kind look. “You think?”

“I know!” 

Phil squeezed Tommy’s shoulder. “I’ll trust you on that.”

They left Phil on his couch with a glass of water and two pain reliever pills. “Tommy, hey.” Techno stopped Tommy with a hand on the boy’s head. “How’d you know he’d been cryin’? How’d you know what to do?” How was this four-year old more perceptive than me, a twenty-two-year old college graduate?

Tommy shrugged, continuing to walk back to his house. “I’ve seen a lot of Big Men cry.” 

Techno pushed his finished short story all strung together with twine towards his editor, who flipped through the pages really quickly before beginning his notes. Techno just sat and stared at the candle he lit to clear up the stench of the garbage he had taken out earlier that day. His editor never really notices when they meet up at Techno’s apartment, which is something they do sparingly. 

From the other side of the wall, he heard a loud thunk and then nothing at all, but his editor was quick to try and regain his attention. “Technoblade, are you sure about this plot? I mean, it’s fine, it’ll have tons of readers, but it’s a bit uninspired…” 

When his editor left and the doorbell rang, Techno was quick to open the door. 

It was Tommy, knees red but covered in an onslaught of plain little bandaids piled on top of each other. He presented his knees proudly to Techno, even adding a bit of jazz hands. “Look and see, my padawan!” 

“See what? That you patched yourself up?” 

“Yeah! I tripped while practicing Form IV, but I fixed it!” 

Techno crouched down, stroking his chin with his index finger. “Looks like you even cleaned it up nicely.”

“I sure did!” boasted Tommy. “I disinfected it, screamed a little, and then covered it with bandaids.” 

They stood in silence. “Are you waiting for me to say somethin’?” Tommy stared up at him with that look children give you when they can see through your soul. “Ah. Are you looking for praise? ‘Good job?’” 

Tommy huffed, crossing his arms tightly against his chest. “Okay, well now you ruined it--” 

“Nah, nah, I mean it, Tommy. Good job.” Against his better judgment, Techno stepped to the side, widening the door so Tommy could enter. “I have somethin’ for you if you want it. A reward.” Techno grabbed a sharpie off his desk and returned to Tommy, uncapping it with a pop. He began to draw something silly at first, but it ended up being the best showcase of his non-existent artistic abilities yet.

On Tommy’s right leg, he had drawn a little cartoon pig with a crown on its head. One eye was looking left while the other was looking right. On Tommy’s left leg was a little cartoon raccoon with a green bandana around its neck and mischievous eyes. 

When Technoblade had finished, Tommy’s dull eyes seemed to brighten. It was like looking at the sea at night with the moon reflecting off the world; it was beautiful. 

“Thank you,” Tommy whispered. “Thank you Technoblade.” 

The little boy had run off back to his apartment, a small little smile meant for no one but himself hidden away, proud to be the owner of those two bandaids.

Chapter Text

Tommy was quick to make himself at home on Techno’s futon on Wednesdays, which was when Tommy’s little Star Wars show dropped at midnight. Techno only bothered to tell him it was too late for him to be watching TV once, the first night he came over. Tommy ranted about how much of a ‘Big Man’ for so long, that Techno found he didn’t care enough to hear it a second time and promptly switched on Disney+ for Tommy. 

This was the third week of Star Wars nights with Tommy. Technoblade was a casual fan of the franchise, but this specific show was geared more towards children rather than teenagers and adults. Still, it had nice enough animation and a plot that didn’t make Techno claw his eyes out, though the dialogue could use some work (but that was quite on brand for Star Wars anyway). 

Tommy loved the dialogue-- he’d sit up close to the TV--so close that one might think he was trying to enter the TV-- and repeat it back to the characters with his full chest. “The force is strong with me!” he’d practically scream, his eyes like stars, and Techno would have to throw a book at his back to make him quiet down. Gently, of course. 

Well, if Techno thought Tommy was loud, Techno had to steal back the remote in five minute intervals because Tommy kept cranking the volume to its height. They were lucky Wilbur usually worked in the evenings and couldn’t complain about the volume, but there was still Phil downstairs. The old man probably wanted his sleep. 

“Turn it down,” Techno reminded him for the umpteenth time. 

“Apologies, my young padawan.” 

Techno’s head flopped onto his table. No use in correcting him. Techno would just have to trick Tommy into letting him ‘pass his trials,’ whatever that meant. 

In this episode, there was a master and a padawan lost on some backwater planet, constantly being met with obstacles in getting back home and requiring the viewer’s help to get them back to their ship. 

Sometimes Tommy liked to act out the scenes if he was feeling really pumped about the plot, which coincidentally, he was at that very moment. He hopped onto his feet and circled the room, taking out his plastic lightsaber and waving it in Techno’s face while spouting some mumbo-jumbo about the force being strong with Technoblade. 

Well if it’s so strong, then why am I still a padawan? He thought to himself, though quickly caught himself. I’m not a padawan. That’s silly. 

“Get that thing out of my face,” Techno chastised. Tommy zoomed over back to the TV screen, sliding up impossibly closer. “Don’t sit so close. Your eyes are going to burn off.”

Tommy scooted back. “Sorry. You probably can’t see the screen like that, huh?”

“That’s not the problem--”

Tommy turned to face Techno, cutting off the older man’s words. One side of his lip was curled up as well as one eyebrow, morphing his face into some made-for-TV-film villain character. “Though there’s hardly any room to sit. Force, Techno, you really need to clean up around here!”

“That’s it. Get out.”

The next evening, on the way to the bath-house, Techno was a little caught up on the Safari app of his phone rather than what nonsense was coming from Tommy. 

After three weeks of watching episodes of Little Jedis, not to mention as a writer, Techno was just the tiniest bit interested in some of the behind-the-scenes details of the show. It was a Star Wars property, but he’d never seen people talk about it on online forums (places he frequented often), nor was it highly marketed by Disney, even to kids. The characters were some obscure, made up characters just for the show that barely fit into the rest of the expanded universe, which honestly was a pretty large drawback for a franchise that existed to just continue building on previous works. Yet, the show already had two seasons under its belt. 

While soaking in the baths, Tommy singing the Star Wars score as off-key as possible, Techno decided to just outright ask: “Why do you like Little Jedis so much? Is it your favorite Star Wars show or somethin’?”

Tommy shrugged as he played around with his little shower duck. “Eh, I guess.”

You guess?? Why was Techno suffering through weeks of Little Jedis if Tommy didn’t even like the show that much? 

“So you must really like the characters then?” Tommy shrugged again. Techno leaned his head back, softly hitting the brick wall. The entire bath-room was one big echo-chamber for one kid around Tommy’s age who didn’t want to leave, screaming like his world was ending. Techno’s face twitched out of annoyance, but he ignored it. “You stumped me, kid. What’s the draw, then?” Perhaps he just really loved all Star Wars shows.

“It’s special. It’s my show, innit?”

Techno couldn’t really argue with that. Well, he might just try. “Well, is it that special that you’d stay up so late? I mean, kid, do you even have a bedtime? I remember when I was younger, my dad always put me to--” Techno cut himself off as he realized the error of his ways. 

Whoops. Landmine. 

That seemed to be a recurring thought more and more often. 

If Tommy was offended by the slip up, he didn’t quite show it, though he did lift himself out of the bath, stepping out and walking towards the screaming brat and his struggling father. Techno reached his arm, about to say something to avoid Tommy doing something that would get him in trouble, but it was too late. 

“Hey! Youngling!” Tommy called, walking up to the brat. “Why’re you crying? You’ve got all you need right there!” Tommy thrusted his finger at the father of the brat. “So don’t cry now! Cry when you really need your tears, got it?”

The brat sniffled, the tears ceasing. He nodded slightly and that was all the brat’s father needed to scoop him up and carry him to the changing rooms, patting his back lightly in semblance of comfort. 

Techno got out of the bath, standing behind Tommy but saying absolutely nothing. “He’s lucky,” Tommy said after a moment of silence. “He won’t ever need a TV at night to just be there.”

Techno froze. It wasn’t about Little Jedis at all, was it? It was the comfort of continuity. Little Jedis had always been there for Tommy, even if someone important wasn’t. 

Tommy looked up at Techno with a little smile. “Good news, by the way. My TV is finally arriving this weekend! I won’t need to borrow yours anymore.”

“Oh,” replied Techno. “Good.”

“Yeah. Good.”

And it was good, wasn’t it? No more late Wednesday nights having to fight to turn down the volume of Little Jedis. No more one-sided re-enacted scenes. No more Tommy on Wednesday nights. 

Suddenly, Tommy gasped, jumping in place like a cartoon character. He had a stern face when he looked at Techno again. “But don’t get me wrong. Little Jedis is great, but it’s not like I need it or anything. I don’t need TV because I’m a Big Man, y’know?”

Techno sighed. “I know.”

Next Wednesday, Techno only heard Little Jedis through the walls by the obnoxiously loud volume and floor thumping from the scene reenactments. A small part of him still wanted a front row seat. 

Techno was just bringing down a load of laundry when he ran into Wilbur and Phil, who were conveniently doing laundry at the same time. The moment Techno stepped into the laundry room, his two neighbors looked at him with a shadow of curiosity. 

“So?” asked Wilbur, sidling up to Techno’s side as he started throwing his colors and whites into the same load. It was too expensive to wash them separately. 

“So, what?”

“Little Jedis’ last episode drops next Wednesday,” Phil informed him like it was something that Techno should’ve just known. 

“Oh. Sad to see it go.”

Wilbur violently banged his head against the top of the washing machine. “Not you!” he cried. “It’s about Tommy! He’s going to be so sad! It’s his favorite show!”

“... I know.”

“You don’t get it. The show’s been canceled. It’s the last episode ever.”  

At first, Techno’s mind went blank. He didn’t quite know what Phil and Wilbur wanted out of him-- some sort of reaction? What words did they want coming out of his mouth that would make them go away? 

But then he remembered the bath-house. He remembered the little kid and his father, and then he remembered how Techno himself had to constantly turn down the volume, and how loud Tommy had it on his first watch alone. 

Alone. 

He’d be alone without Little Jedis, wouldn’t he? 

“You’ve noticed it, haven’t you, mate? How Tommy’s always spouting out-of-this-world dialogue? Like a Jedi?” Calling me a padawan. “That show is his entire way of life. It’s going to be devastating.”

Techno stopped loading his laundry, his basket still half-full of sweatpants and graphic tees. “What do you want me to do?”

“I took Tuesday night off,” said Wilbur. “I say we have ourselves a little watch-party.”

This was looking to be more trouble than it was worth. Techno finished putting his laundry in, the other two men waiting expectantly for his answer. After inserting eight quarters, he turned to them with a tired look. “Fine.” 

On the last Wednesday of August, Technoblade, Wilbur, and Phil crowded around the door of unit B3, locking obnoxiously loud so the tenant inside could hear them over the sound of the abominably loud Star Wars soundtrack. 

It took a minute for Tommy to get to the door and then jump for the doorknob, but the neighbors outside were patient. “Hello?” 

Wilbur threw his arms open, ready to swoop in for a hug. “Sunshine! We’re here to watch Little Jedis with you!” 

Tommy’s face resembled a goldfish, cheeks puffed out and eyes almost bulging out of their sockets, moving every which way. “Really?” he murmured in disbelief. 

“Of course!” Wilbur said. “Can we come in?” Tommy nodded, widening the door with the help of his plastic lightsaber, and the three men funneled into the studio apartment. Techno had never been in Tommy’s apartment, but he wasn’t super surprised by the decor. There were Star Wars and Marvel posters up on the walls, but only in the lower half-- probably for lack of reach. His bed in the corner was fitted with Star Wars sheets with a little cow plushie tucked into the sheets. 

What Techno was surprised by was how normal and mundane the furniture was. Tommy had a small little wooden table with four chairs and a box of high quality tissues at the center, plain white dishes, blue dish towels, and a stepping stool so Tommy could reach the sink. 

The clash of it all made Techno stop breathing for a moment. 

It was a completely normal apartment, but there was always that thought in the back of Techno’s mind: this is a child’s apartment. This child lives here alone. 

“Welcome aboard, Master Phil; Padawans Technoblade and Wilbur.” 

“When are my trials?” asked Techno in a tired voice. 

“The Force will know,” Tommy said in a wise voice, bowing to Techno before going over to the TV and scooting as close to it as humanly possible. The episode had entered its first scene: the master and padawan duo were fighting some sort of Sith acolyte (not a Sith lord, though-- okay, sue Techno for brushing up on his Star Wars lore, okay?) and the two Jedis needed to hide away and regroup. 

Techno was back on volume duty, stealing the remote away to lower the volume, but it really didn’t matter as much since all of the tenants of the building were in the same room. There were two floors: floor A and floor B, with three units on floor B and two units on floor A. From what Techno understood, Phil was the only tenant on floor A at the moment, the second unit remained vacant, while Wilbur, Techno, and Tommy all leased the units on floor B. 

Half-way through the episode, Wilbur’s phone began to ring incessantly. He ignored it at first, but after seeing the caller ID, his face drained of all color and he excused himself from the apartment momentarily. 

Phil looked like he wanted to go after Wilbur and see if he was alright, but Tommy was tugging on the man’s arm, pulling him up so Phil could help with one of the reenactments. Tommy decided Phil would be the Sith acolyte while Tommy was the master character and Techno his padawan. 

“I’m not doin’ this,” Techno said with a scowl.

“Oh yes you are,” Phil rebutted, pulling the novelist to his feet. “What? Too scared of the power of the Dark side?” It looked like Phil was also brushing up on his Star Wars knowledge. 

“Uh… No.”

“I’m not afraid of the Dark side! The Force is strong with us!” Tommy widened his stance, swinging his lightsaber around wildly. He was the only one with a lightsaber. He swiped at Phil’s legs, never hitting hard enough to do damage but enough to make Phil laugh. Even Techno couldn’t hold back a chuckle at this little thing practically biting Phil’s legs off. 

When Wilbur returned, they were once again seated, all sitting within eye-burning distance of the TV. The master and padawan had to work together to take down the Sith acolyte, using their Force powers together to blast him into the cold recesses of space. 

Kind of dark for a kid’s TV show, but it was sort of fitting for a Star Wars property. 

Wilbur, Phil, and Techno headed out shortly after that. Phil left Tommy a head-pat, Wilbur a hug that was violently swatted away with Tommy’s lightsaber, while Tommy and Techno just offered each other subtle nods.

As Tommy was about to close his door, Techno stopped his walk back to his own place. “Hey kid,” he called, his back still turned. “You’re gonna be okay even though Little Jedis is over, right?”

“I don’t need TV anymore. I’m a Big Man.”

Techno tilted his head back, staring at the moon as he let out a deep breath into the late summer air. “Okay.”

Wilbur swung his keys on his index finger as he whistled a tune as he came up the stairs. When he turned the corner, he did not expect to see some short, shadowy figure at the end of the hall, standing ominously with a pillow in his arms. 

Oh wait. 

“Tommy?”

Tommy came out of the shadows, not that his face looked any better than when he was just some shadow demon. He had the makings of some deep-set bags under his eyes, and it seemed as though he had an ever present frown permanently etched onto his face. “Hello Padawan Wilbur. Done with work?”

“Yeah… It’s 3 AM. What’re you doing out here?”

“I-- uh… Nothing! Fuck off!” Tommy turned on his heel and ran back to his door, though his exit was complicated by his inability to reach the doorknob on the first try. 

Wilbur thought the interaction was unusual, but probably not the strangest thing in the world. Maybe Tommy just needed air.

But next evening, right before Wilbur headed off for his shift, there Tommy was, staring at Wilbur from across the hall with dead bug eyes and that same deep frown. He looked like he had something to say, and yet the words didn’t come out, so what was left was this strange look of constipation instead.

“Are you off to work?” he asked instead. 

“Sure am, sunshine!” Wilbur answered, swinging his guitar case in the air a little. Tommy nodded and then continued walking back to his apartment, leaving Wilbur even more confused than last night.

On the way home from his shift, which seeped into the early morning, Wilbur noticed a slant of light leaking from Tommy’s unit. Was he still awake, or did he sleep with the lights on? From Wilbur’s memory, Tommy wasn’t normally like that. Usually he was lights out with the rest of the world. 

Wilbur had half a mind to just knock on his door and hand the kid a melatonin, but Wilbur also was familiar with Tommy’s temperament. He wanted to be seen as this ‘Big Man’-- accepting help was the same as accepting that he was a child and he couldn’t take care of himself, and even if it was true, Tommy probably felt it was better to live in the delusion than anything else.

He half-suspected Tommy was having nightmares, but he had no real way of knowing unless he was right there in the room with the boy, so Wilbur just unlocked his door and turned in for the night, brainstorming alternate methods of outreach.

He was awakened by the sound of heavy footsteps and loud greetings-- Techno and Tommy no doubt. Techno had loud, thundering footsteps that made one want to cover his head with his pillow, while Tommy was always a thousand percent louder than the average human being. 

It was what made him shine. 

By this time, Wilbur had already come up with an idea. He peeped out his window through the blinds, watching Techno and Tommy take their bags of garbage down. Wilbur grabbed the small bag of garbage he was accumulating next to his sink and tied it up quickly, racing out the door behind his two neighbors. 

“Good morning, Tommy! Techno!” 

Tommy just looked downright awful. Somehow he looked older than Phil, if that was even possible. 

“Morning,” Tommy said, drawing out the consonant sounds. 

“Say, Tommy, how would you like to have a fun time?” 

Tommy’s face pinched up into something twisted. “That’s what a wrong’un would say.” 

“No, no, no. Nothing like that. Have you ever had a sleepover before? Have you ever slept over at someone’s house?” Tommy shook his head. Wilbur pulled out what was left of his high school theater days and put it all into this little performance. “That’s a downright shame! You know, we should have one! Just to try it out, huh?” 

Tommy scratched his chin as he observed Wilbur, who was trying to hide his smile. “You don’t work?” 

“Nope!”

“Well… I suppose. It’s important for Jedis to try new things.” 

Wilbur clapped his hands together before remembering he was holding a garbage bag in one of them and he ended up slapping his face with his garbage. 

Neither Tommy nor Technoblade had the decency to hide their laughter.

Wilbur and Tommy separated for an hour so Wilbur could look presentable for the day-- he had come out to meet Tommy earlier in his work clothes from the previous night, but now he had on a fresh outfit and his hair was all moussed up and looking like a manageable mess. 

Tommy wore the same thing he wore everyday-- that red and white baseball tee and khaki shorts with his little lightsaber clipped to his side. 

They started their day out going to a diner and eating heartily while making stupid jokes that started off somewhat understandable until they were practically speaking a language only the two could understand. A waitress walked past them and raised an eyebrow as they cracked up at the word ‘jar.’ 

They sat in a park while sharing earbuds and listened to Wilbur’s band’s music and some other bands Wilbur liked. For two hours they bopped their heads along to the music while watching dogs catching frisbees and children falling from the monkey bars.

They went back to Wilbur’s apartment and watched a Star Wars movie. He wasn’t sure which one it was even though Tommy insisted on giving him play-by-play commentary. They met up with Techno to head to the bath-house, and they were back at the apartment by 10 PM. 

It was the earliest Wilbur had gone to bed in years. 

Wilbur made sure Tommy had brushed his teeth and washed his face before tucking him into Wilbur’s bed, Wilbur slipping in right next to him. Tommy’s PJs consisted of a button up short sleeve sleep shirt with a little Mandalorian sewed into the breast pocket, and matching pants with Baby Yoda designs all over them. 

“Alright. Do you want cuddles, Toms, or just straight to bed?” 

Tommy tapped his finger to his chin before opening his arms up to Wilbur. “You can have cuddles. Come here.” 

Wilbur fully meant to have Tommy in his arms, but it seemed as though Big Man Tommy had a different idea, drawing Wilbur into his little arms and hugging Wilbur’s shoulders and head. Wilbur just smiled into the pillow, shutting his eyes gently. 

Tommy too shut his eyes shortly after, his breathing evening out and his mind, rather than having those shadowy figures that haunted him in the loneliness of his apartment, was full of bright colors and three clear and defined people, running in a field of flowers with him. 

“You can always stay with me when you get lonely. Or Phil and Techno. We won’t mind. Nobody will think less of you for asking for help.” 

Tommy hugged Wilbur tighter. 

Chapter Text

The teacher sat with her head in her hands, her elbows aching from being smashed against the rickety, plastic folding table they had set up in the school foyer to help regulate the traffic of parents and children trying to find classrooms and the gym, where the principal was to make a speech for the beginning of the school year. 

Next to her was a box of colored paper cut out into different shapes meant to act as nametags, a mug of sharpies, a pile of pins, and a list of the kids she was meant to check in. After handing out a couple dozen of these name tags to couples with their kids, or just a singular parent and their little one, she was a bit dazed when she handed a star-shaped paper to a little boy with a lightsaber on his hip and crossed his name off as she watched him write down his name on the nametag: Tommy Innit. 

It was only after he had passed through the foyer and into the hallway of classrooms that she registered that the boy was alone without a guardian. 

The bristles of his overused toothbrush scraped against his gums so hard, Technoblade was surprised his mouth wasn’t bleeding. He couldn’t help it, though. The more he thought about that interaction with Tommy, the more his blood boiled, the more his arm moved with its own violent intentions. 

Really, he should stop getting worked up while brushing his teeth.

It had been by chance that Technoblade had opened his door so early in the morning for the thing healthy people call ‘fresh air’ that he had crossed paths with his little neighbor, who was skipping down the hall in strange, matching clothes. 

“Tommy, what’re you doin’ up so early?” He had decided to ask out of politeness and not because he was genuinely curious as to what a four year-old was doing dressed like a finance mogul with a matching bucket hat at eight in the morning. 

Tommy gave him the glare of all glares and crossed his arms. “Taking out the trash.” 

There was not a trash bag in sight.

“Why’re you dressed like that?” 

Tommy fiddled with the rim of his hat. “Trash-dumping is a respectable business.” 

“I didn’t say it wasn’t. Listen, if you’re goin’ somewhere, I can go with you.” 

Tommy shook his head. “No.” 

Techno sighed, rolling his eyes. “You know it isn’t safe for you to wander around alone, right?” 

“Shut the fuck up! Shut the fuck up! Shut the fuck up!” Tommy shrieked in quick succession, almost running out of breath trying to get all the words out. “I can do this on my own! You’re annoying!” 

“Uh… Fine,” was all Techno got out. “You know I don’t have to watch out for you.” 

“No one asked!” Tommy yelled before running around the corner and down the steps, out of Techno’s sight.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Out of sight, out of mind. 

Out of sight, out of mind--

Techno ran his toothbrush under the water, relieving his gum of the self-inflicted torture. He was finally up at what everyone seemed to call a ‘reasonable hour,’ and any waking hour not spent writing or outlining or brainstorming was an hour wasted. Techno only made exceptions for bathroom and grocery runs. 

He left the bathroom door slightly ajar as he made his way over to his computer. His floors were finally free of the garbage that made an ocean of his apartment. Ever since Tommy had come over to watch Little Jedis, Techno made time to tidy up every now and then, just in case the kid or any of his other neighbors popped in and called some sort of health concern hotline. 

Slumped over in his chair, hitting a pencil on the edge of the desk and staring at an empty document, Techno was truly living the life of a starving artist. He remembered a time when his cheeks were fuller and his eyes were brighter-- ideas came easier then. They used to flow off the page-- he had so many of them. He was paralyzed by his creations. 

Now, he was paralyzed by the emptiness behind his eyes. Everything he had written in the past few months, if not years, had been on a basis of survival. To fit the market, Technoblade learned to become a flexible writer, never surpassing a word count, always making sure everything came together with a nice little ribbon. 

Techno rubbed his eyes. The past didn’t matter. A younger Technoblade was supported by his relatives when his parents were killed by a group of orphans. The college fund his parents had started for him was enough to get him through four years, but now he was on his own, surviving for himself. 

Still… Nothing came. He knew what was trending, still the words lacked the proper flow. The characters lacked a depth outside of a shallow name. 

Techno was filled with grace when the incessant knocking on his door came. Before he could finish swinging the door open, a foot was already through the door, a complaint already passing through the lips of his trespasser. “Where’s Tommy? I know you’re hiding him, Technoblade!” 

His neighbor was dressed in a muted flannel and jeans, a beanie causing his unbelievably overgrown fringe to pop out. He clutched a box of munchkin donuts in his hands.

“Why would I voluntarily keep the kid here?” Techno drawled, leaning on the doorknob. “He left early this mornin’.” 

“Where?” 

“I dunno. He wasn’t very forthcomin’ on information. All I know is he definitely didn’t want anyone goin’ with him.” Techno’s hand tightened around the doorknob, that hot, bubbling feeling coming back in full force. Why couldn’t the kid just see Techno was trying to look out for him? If he was so mature, he’d understand how dangerous it was to be a kid walking around alone. 

“Tommy’s gone?” someone asked from behind Techno. He turned to see the final neighbor wave from down the hallway, approaching them at lightning speed. 

“Yes, Phil! Should we file a police report?” Wilbur asked. 

“Police report? He’s not missin’,” Techno said, rolling his eyes, though it seemed he had rolled them too far when he saw something that could be considered quite helpful to Wilbur’s dilemma (definitely not Techno’s). A mother and daughter pair racing down the street, the mother juggling her phone, keys, bag, and her daughter’s hand as she dragged her down the street, though that wasn’t the helpful part. 

The little girl happened to be wearing the same exact horrendous get-up Tommy had been (minus the lightsaber). Navy blazer, plaid skirt, and a bucket hat to match. “Come on, we’re gonna be late if you don’t hurry along,” the woman urged her daughter, practically dead-lifting the little girl off her feet to make them move faster. It was quite impressive. 

“I almost forgot it’s back-to-school season,” Phil chuckled.

“Phil,” said Techno.

“Yes?”

“It’s back-to-school season.” 

“Yes, I just said that, Technoblade.” 

Wilbur smacked his palm into his forehead. “It’s back-to-school season!” 

Phil’s smile dropped from his face. “So then… Tommy’s at school?” 

Tommy looked down at his messily drawn name tag with pride. ‘ Big Man Tommy’ he had written, in hopes that in starting the nickname himself, it would catch on quickly and people would just refer to him as such. 

Most kids and their parents decided to walk around the school and check out the classrooms first, but Tommy didn’t feel the need to do that since he didn’t have a parent to show his classroom.

He sat alone in the gym in one of the plastic folding chairs and watched as the families slowly funneled in to take their seats. Seats filled up quickly, but the two seats directly on Tommy’s right and left remained noticeably vacant. Someone sat next to one of those chairs, a little boy and his father, but Tommy was alone. 

The boy turned to him. He had a messy mop of brown hair that nearly covered the entire top of his face and a goofy grin that was terribly inviting. “Hi! I’m Tubbo!” 

“I’m Tommy.” 

Tubbo nodded, before glancing at the empty chairs around him. “You’re alone,” he noted. “Where’s your mama and papa? Everyone else came with theirs.” 

Tommy chuckled, shaking his head in a dramatic manner. “Tubbo, Tubbo, Tubbo, my friend. Of course my parents are here.” 

Tubbo looked around. “Where?” 

Tommy pointed at the chair next to him. “Right here. My mom is an all powerful user of the Force, so powerful that she doesn’t need a physical form! She’s everywhere!” 

Tubbo’s eyes almost fell out of their sockets. He missed the way Tommy’s fingernails curled into his palms, too short to draw blood, but hard enough to leave the imprints of a struggle. 

It wasn’t hard to find Tommy’s kindergarten. They were the only school with the guts to put the kids in something so atrocious for daily activities. It was a ten minute walk from their apartment, and an even shorter run, though they had to drag Wilbur along just like that mother had to drag her child along. It was made all the more difficult considering Wilbur’s impressive height.

Still, they made it to the kindergarten, a cute little building decorated in laminated paper decorations of anthropomorphized school supplies and autumn symbols. The teacher handing out name tags in the foyer was just about ready to pack up, every name crossed off the list.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Phil called, almost ramming into the table. “Is Tommy Innit here?”

“Who are you?” asked the teacher, her lip curling up on instinct at the sight of three out of breath grown men. 

“Relation?” she asked. 

“Father!” Phil claimed, while Techno and Wilbur hastily yelled, “Brother!” 

The teacher began to nod in understanding, muttering something about how unusual she found it that a boy showed up alone earlier. She pointed them in the direction of the gym, down a long winding hallway, where the principal’s speech had supposedly already begun. 

They didn’t bother with the nametags, they just ran in the direction they were told to. They were motivated by the thoughts of their failures, their lack of vision. How could they not realize it was the back to school season? That the little boy next door would be enrolling in some sort of program? That he was completely and utterly alone when navigating this new world of education?

How alone he must feel in a sea of parents holding their children’s hands with such care and affection, and his hands were empty. 

They stopped at the metal double doors that led to the gym, scanning the crowd for an obnoxious four year old. Wilbur and Techno did most of the heavy lifting for this part, considering they towered over the general population and Phil was just coasting at the average. 

All the children looked the same in their vomit-inducing uniforms, but only one had a lightsaber strapped to his belt. There he was, right in the front, sitting sandwiched between two empty folding chairs, his legs swinging back and forth as he waited for nothing in particular.

Phil, Wilbur, and Technoblade began to push their way to the front, sliding past the groups of people loitering in the spaces between the chairs for no other reason except to be a general nuisance to the world. 

Tommy was staring off into space, fiddling with his crooked nametag, completely unaware of his surroundings as Phil scooped him up off his chair and took his seat, setting the little boy back down on his lap as Wilbur and Techno took the neighboring seats.

Tommy looked up with his bright eyes, his head swiveling back and forth, surprise printed on his face. “What?” he gasped, as if he could scarcely believe people would show up for him. Perhaps that was his reality; perhaps they really did shock him this time. 

Techno just stared at the kid as he waited to catch his breath. Then he spoke: “You know, you don’t have to go through everythin’ alone, right?”

Tommy crossed his arms as Phil drew him closer to his chest. “I-I-- don’t slander me, Technoblade. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Slander, huh?” Techno smirked. “That’s a big word for you.” 

Wilbur leaned over with a grin, pulling his box of munchkin donuts out of his jacket. He unlatched the lid, revealing smushed balls of sugary goodness. “I brought some donuts for us to enjoy! What do you say, sunshine?” 

Tommy was practically salivating. “I can have some?” 

“Of course! They’re for us!” 

With a bit of hesitance, Tommy stuck his hand into the box and grabbed a handful of mush, throwing it into his mouth like they were seeds. His face was covered with glaze and donut crumbs, but at least he was smiling. 

Tommy looked down at his nametag, pawing at it with his grubby fingers before looking up at Phil. “My nametag’s crooked. Could you, um, could you fix it?” 

“Of course, mate!” Phil’s smile reached his ears as he unclipped the nametag and then repinned it to Tommy’s shirt, making sure to remark how nice Tommy’s handwriting was even though it was atrocious and illegible. 

“See?” said Techno, “No need to be shy about asking--” 

Tommy punched his arm. “I am not shy!”

Techno chuckled. “Alright, alright. Whatever you say.” All four of them turned their attention to the front of the room once the principal took center stage. 

Tommy let a little smile out. 

His little secret.

After the opening ceremony, Techno bringing Tommy to and from school became their norm. Sometimes he switched off with Phil, but it was mostly Techno due to his highly flexible schedule as a writer. Phil, who was a freelance software engineer, still had places to go and things to do during the day, but Techno was very liberal with his hours and the locations at which he could work. 

Wilbur, Techno, and Phil had to go and explain Tommy’s situation-- or, what they understood of his situation-- to the administration and made sure it was okay for them to be taking charge of Tommy, sort of like pseudo-guardians. Apparently the school was aware of a legal situation with Tommy and the State, so there wasn’t too much trouble in that respect.

Their walks home mostly consisted of Tommy recounting his day and explaining how many people he’d recruited to the Jedi religion.

Today wasn’t any different, until mid-story, Techno’s phone began to ring. 

“Are you gonna answer that?” asked Tommy.

“Uhh…” Techno didn’t even bother looking at the Caller ID. He stopped walking, waiting for the ringing to stop. Techno had something called ‘phone call anxiety’ which was a symptom of a larger problem he had which was called ‘generalized anxiety disorder.’ 

No way was he answering his phone. Nuh uh, not him. It took a while, but his phone calmed down and they resumed their walk.

Then it happened again. With a huff of annoyance, Techno took his phone out of his pocket and peeked at the Caller ID.

“Oh. It’s my editor,” he said quite plainly. He let it ring for a few more seconds before picking up. “Hello? Uh, good… Right now? I mean, I’m a little-- no, no, I can swing by. Yeah, yeah, see you soon.” The call was over in thirty seconds. 

“What was that about?”

Techno ran his hands through his hair. “My editor wants to talk about the rough draft I sent him of my novel. That guy really knows how to hit me where it hurts,” he mumbled. “I’m not sure I can take it today.” 

Tommy used the butt of his lightsaber to tap his chin. “Okay, I’ll go with--” 

“No.” 

“What? You didn’t even let me finish the thought!”

“I already know I won’t like it.” 

Tommy pouted his lower lip jutting out as he put his hands together in a praying motion.

“No,” Techno repeated.

Tommy’s eyes grew bigger and even more blue.

“No--”

Tommy and Techno sat at a wide wooden table, Techno’s editor sitting with his hands folded neatly on the table across from them, eyeing the unexpected addition warily. 

Techno cleared his throat. “Sorry about this guy,” he said, pointing his thumb at Tommy, who was too busy picking at the flakes coming off the table to pay attention. “He just followed me here.” 

“I didn’t know you had a kid, Techno. You’ve always looked younger--” 

“Oh no, we’re not--” Tommy and Techno said in unison. 

“Brother?” 

“No, no! I’m his Emotional Support Neighbor! I’m Tommy.” 

The editor just nodded slowly, leaning down to grab a massive manila folder out of his bag. He took out all the pages in it, flipping through them to see if he had everything before pushing it towards Techno. 

“I made some notes, but I wanted to go through it with you so we’re on the same page.” 

Techno grabbed the stack, leafing through it. Tommy watched Techno’s face for any changes to his facial expressions. Besides a quick eye twitch and a brief eyebrow furrow, Techno remained pretty much stoic. 

Tommy made grabby hands for the manuscript. Techno rolled his eyes and pushed it over to him. 

All of the words on the pages were printed incredibly small, and the editor’s notes were written in shorthand, so for a four year old whose literature abilities were limited to writing his own name and the alphabet, he struggled a little. 

Techno slid the manuscript back over. 

“So, what’d you think overall?” asked Techno. 

“I think,” the editor trailed off before hardening his gaze. “I think you can do better. Your prose is stilted and mechanical--” 

“I like it that way!” Tommy interrupted.

The editor stared at him in disbelief.

Tommy stared right back. 

“The premise of the novel is based on cliches--” 

“Mmm, cliches! I love those!” Tommy announced.

The editor stared at him again.

Tommy stared right back. 

“And I don’t think this story has much vision--” 

“We should all be blind anyway,” the sagacious Tommy lectured. The more the kid spoke, the deeper Techno fell into the recesses of misery. He knew taking Tommy would be a mistake. The only reason he let him come was because he would’ve erupted into a tantrum in the middle of the street, or alternatively he’d just follow him all the way to his editor’s office.

There was no winning against a four year old, especially a hyper independent four year old who was convinced he had the same freedoms and understandings as a full grown adult. 

The editor held his face in his hands for a moment before taking a deep breath and once more staring at Tommy. “Can you even read?” 

“Wha-- what?” Tommy spluttered. “Of course I can read-- can you even write? ” 

The moment Tommy pulled out a marker and notebook from his backpack and slid it over to the editor to prove himself was the moment Techno knew he had to step in so he could salvage his precious relationship with his editor. He clapped a hand over Tommy’s mouth. “Okay, Tommy, cut it out. I’m sorry he’s like this. He’s had too much sugar today.” 

Slowly, he let go of Tommy, hoping he got the hint. 

Luckily, his editor didn’t seem to think too much about Tommy’s insults. He kept a thin-lipped smile on his face at all times, like when one went to a family function but lacked that connection and shared memory with their family members so all one could do was smile and nod. That was the kind of guy the editor constantly looked like. 

Awkward family function attendee. 

Techno couldn’t take the heat in the room. “Do you mind excusin’ me for a second?” Then he turned to Tommy. “Behave.”

All he needed was a few moments outside by himself, enough so he could get some air around his neck and down his sweatshirt to stop the perspiration from moistening his clothes. More than that, he needed to divorce himself from this embarrassment.

Tommy and the editor remained alone in the room. While Tommy viewed it more like one of those showdowns in a Western, the editor was content to just pick at his nails while they waited for Techno to return. 

“You there,” Tommy called, slamming his palms down onto the table. “Why’re you so mean to Technoblade? He’s a great writer!” 

The editor paused his pickings. “I also think he’s a great writer.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes. “Then why’re you so mean?” 

“I never thought I was being mean-- maybe a little blunt-- but it’s important to give good feedback to writers with such great potential.” 

Tommy thought about his words, his head slumping down into the care of his arms. Because Techno was a great writer, his editor was pushing him harder? So, in order to be a great writer he had to be stronger!

Tommy understood it better, but he still felt a little off. “What do you like about Techno’s writing?” 

The editor didn’t take long to come up with a response. “I think he has a great mind for themes. His character work is spectacular, and he understands structure really well, I guess. The problem is that he lacks vision beyond what’s popular. He’s uninspired.” 

Tommy didn’t really know what all those words meant, but he could feel the editor’s feelings come through his words. The editor was sort of the same as Tommy-- they both just wanted what was best for Technoblade. 

“I think Technoblade has a great future in store as soon as he figures out what’s really important beyond himself,” the editor continued, glancing over at the manuscript. There were so many words in there, but there were no feelings. Tommy couldn’t feel the feelings through the paper. 

Technoblade knocked, poking his head through the door to signal he was ready to come back in. He was surprised to see Tommy had scooted his chair over to the other side of the table so he was sitting next to the editor, matching the editor’s mannerisms.

“What’s this?” he asked, awkwardly sliding back into his own seat. 

Tommy cleared his throat. “Technoblade, you’re uninspired!” 

…

So they were ganging up on him now.

The sun was setting when the meeting with Techno’s editor finished up. Techno yawned as he stretched his arms, his stomach rumbling after missing his window for an early dinner. 

“You’re editor’s a good guy,” said Tommy. “You should listen well.” 

Techno rolled his eyes. “Yeah? Well, don’t follow me to these meetin’s again. This could’ve ended a whole lot differently.” By differently, he meant dropped by his editor, and not just ruthlessly bullied by a four year old with a Star Wars hyperfixation and a forty year old caffeine addict. 

“I just wanted to do something for you, since you did a lot for me.” Techno didn’t really know what Tommy meant by that until Tommy took off his school hat, hugging it close to his chest. 

Was this… Thanks? For taking him to school? Techno didn’t do it with the expectation of having the gesture returned. Still, it was sweet in its own way. By anyone else it would’ve been an impertinence and quite rude, but coming from Tommy…

Yeah, it was sweet. 

Not that Techno would ever say that to Tommy. 

“I’ll be your Jedi Bodyguard,” Tommy continued, “fighting injustice on your behalf. That means I do have to go with you to your next meeting.” 

“Uh… No.” 

“Yes.” 

“No.” 

Tommy’s eyes grew wider.

“...Fine.” 

The two walked back in relative silence, which meant Tommy made weird noises and Techno ignored them. When they got back, Wilbur was waiting on the steps that led to the second floor of the building, his foot up against the wall. Phil leaned against the wall as Wilbur had his guitar, strumming softly while humming.

Upon seeing the two return, he put his guitar down and grabbed Tommy, pulling him into a tight hug. Tommy, of course, didn’t take that lying down and pushed against the hold until Wilbur had enough Tommy Time and let him back down. 

“Where were you guys?” asked Wilbur. 

“I was protecting Techno on a Secret Mission. Can’t say more,” Tommy informed them. 

“Well, you’re back just in time. Wil was about to show me a new song.” 

“Song?” Tommy’s eyes shone with delight. “Let’s hear it!” 

The evening air swelled with music as Wilbur delighted them with his talent, and ended it with a sing-along, all four of them in a dissonant harmony.

Chapter Text

Tommy practically punched Wilbur’s front door. When he got no response, he began to slam his body into the door, making as much noise as possible. He geared up to try it one more time, but Wilbur opened the door just in time, resulting in Tommy falling through the threshold. 

Wilbur caught him with his leg, letting Tommy wrap around his shin to balance himself. “Why’d you open the door?” Tommy barked. “That could’ve really hurt!” 

“Were you knocking just for the hell of it?” Wilbur laughed, running a hand through his messy curls. He wore a large white T-shirt and plain blue pajama bottoms-- it was Saturday at noon but it was clear Wilbur had only just woken up. 

“No, no. You did good,” Tommy sighed, walking past Wilbur and making himself at home at Wilbur’s kitchen table. “I have a propoposition for you.”

“Proposition? That’s a big word, Toms, I’m impressed!” 

Tommy rolled his eyes. “You would.” 

“Okay, I think you’ve been spending too much time with Technoblade.”

Tommy pointedly ignored Wilbur’s comment. “Take me shopping.” He dug through his coat pockets and dumped out a wad of cash, arranged from ones to tens. It was no small amount of money, and it did make a man wonder where a four year old was getting this sort of money. This was among many financial questions a man would have about a four year old living independently down the hall.

Wilbur heads over to his counter and begins brewing up some coffee. Not even Tommy’s loud voice and bright demeanor would be enough to keep him awake so early in the day. “What are we shopping for, sunshine? Toys?” 

“Clothes.” 

Wilbur paused. “Clothes? I didn’t know you were into being trendy and all that.” 

“Of course! I’m a Big Man! I have to look cool!” 

Wilbur nodded along like he agreed with Tommy’s words, but he secretly supposed that the little boy must have formed a crush on someone in his class. Wilbur was well aware of what a good outfit could do for someone, though the thought that Tommy went to a school with uniforms didn’t really occur until later.

He downed his watery coffee and dropped the mug in his sink, promising to dress quickly and take Tommy to the mall. Tommy’s enthusiasm was infectious. The boy tapped his fingers and hummed the Star Wars theme while Wilbur hopped around while pulling on his skinny jeans and flannel. 

Wilbur ever so slightly lowered himself and offered Tommy his hand. Tommy narrowed his eyes and curled his lip as if Wilbur just made a rude gesture toward him, then stomped out the front door.

Wilbur shrugged. 

He was still a cute kid. 

They took the train to head further downtown. Wilbur planned to show Tommy the magic of the mall and all the little stores in there. Perhaps, if they had time, he’d introduce Tommy to thrifting, but that was some high level fashion there and he wasn’t sure if Tommy could handle the enormity of the task at so young an age. Thrifting required patience, grit, determination and faith. To stand in one aisle for thirty minutes going through an overly populated rack, miss after miss after miss until the right article of clothing is found? It was not for the faint of heart. 

They started off somewhere light. A store that anyone could find something in-- H&M. 

Wilbur perused through their crewnecks, flannels, khakis, and beanies while Tommy stared up at a Baby Yoda T-shirt.

Wilbur added it to the mix. 

He dumped the pile of clothes on Tommy’s head and sent him to the fitting rooms. Without knowing what Tommy liked or didn’t like, Wilbur couldn’t pick new items for him to try on. Anything else would be a waste of time.

It was a few minutes of hearing nothing but the rustling of clothes and some grunts here and there. “Are you doing alright in there? Everything okay?” Wilbur called from outside the curtain.

“Yes!”
“You don’t need help tugging something on?”’

“No!” 

Wilbur shrugged and slumped down on the floor, his back against the very thin wall that made up the fitting room, his long legs stretched out over the hallway, making it a difficult path for others to cross if they wished to try something on. 

“So tell me about them,” said Wilbur as he picked at his fingernails.

“Who?” 

“Who do you have a crush on?” 

“I said I don’t!” Tommy protested.

Wilbur grinned, sticking his head into the changing room. Tommy was smoothing out the Baby Yoda shirt over his chest and modeling it as if he were on camera. “Come on, Tommy, no need to be coy. You know I can keep a secret. It’ll be between you and me--” 

“I don’t! I don’t have a crush, you stupid bitch!” 

A light tap on the shoulder caused Wilbur to remove himself from Tommy’s dressing room and turn around. A young woman in a heavy cardigan and bell bottom jeans was leaning down with a way-too-big smile. “Hello sir! We’ve received complaints from other customers about a homeless looking man blocking the fitting rooms--”

The curtain flew open and Tommy stepped out in cargo pants, the Baby Yoda t-shirt under red flannel, converse, and a black beanie to cover his ungroomed curls. “Wilbur! Wilbur! How do I look?” 

Wilbur rubbed his chin as he feigned contemplation. Tommy looked very cute-- that much was obvious. He looked like a mini Wilbur with the style of dress and the way the front curls poofed out under the force of the beanie. “Very chic, sunshine!” Wilbur crouched down and opened his arms wide, waiting for Tommy to run right into his hold, but Tommy just beamed and turned to the next poor soul.

“Hey! Woman! How do I look?” 

The lady, taken aback by Tommy’s sudden entrance, blubbered, “G-great! You look great!”

“I look cool?” 

“Very cool,” she affirmed. 

Tommy ran up to a teenage couple by the clearance section, modeling his outfit. They applauded him and gave him thumbs up. He did the same to the old woman by the accessories, the mother in the shoe section and the businessman looking at the lingerie. 

It seemed like Tommy was dead set on impressing just about anyone who had eyes. That wasn’t quite right either, because Tommy did exit the store briefly to ask the old blind man with a walking stick what he thought of his outfit, which led to Wilbur dragging him back into the store.

Tommy amassed quite an audience for his next couple of outfits, and while Wilbur remained head coordinator, all sorts of people were heading into the racks to give Tommy something to try on. 

By the end of their session, Tommy had all sorts of outfits he could mix and match, yet he still went back on the train in his regular red and white baseball tee with his ripped-up blue puffer jacket over it. It was so bad that there was a piece of duct tape covering a gaping hole in the jacket.

Still, Tommy looked so happy on the way back, humming the Star Wars theme and kicking his feet. 

On the walk back from the train, Tommy stretched his limbs, the bag of clothes hanging loosely in his grip.

“Success!” Tommy declared. “You’re really good, Wilbur!” 

“Anytime, Toms. You know I’ll always be free for you,” Wilbur replied earnestly. “But who are you trying so hard to impress?”

“The world,” said Tommy. “I want everyone to like me. And Techno’s TV said people like someone with nice clothes.” Ah, curse Techno for always having some shitty gossip news channel on in the background when he wrote. He had been unknowingly brainwashing the kid into thinking it took these kinds of efforts to be liked. 

“Listen, Toms--” Wilbur cut himself off when Tommy stopped in his tracks, turning half way around to look Wilbur in the eyes.

“And the more people like you, the more friends you have. If everyone’s my friend, no one can hate me, right?” 

How does one formulate a response to that? The logic was sound, but the place it was coming from was downright concerning. Tommy was four years old, a fact sometimes forgotten by the way he spoke or the way he insisted on making his own meals, taking out his trash, paying his bills-- living alone. 

He shouldn’t be worrying about universal acclaim so early on, and the worst part was Wilbur was hardly in any position to help or correct. Tommy was right-- that was how the world worked. The more one appears correctly, the more well liked one would be. But there was no such thing as being liked by everyone. What is appreciated by some might be reviled by others, and there was no way to control the way people thought or felt. 

“This is important to you. You don’t like being hated?” Wilbur asked, kneeling on one leg to speak to Tommy as an equal. It was rhetorical. It was something he already knew, but Wilbur verbalized it, it was easier for him to process, easier for him to find a solution with Tommy. 

“Yeah.” 

“I’m not just a musician,” said Wilbur, “I’m also a performer. When people come to hear my music, they also come to see me. Sometimes, if I don’t meet their expectations, people leave.”

“But that’s stupid! Your music’s great!” 

Wilbur shrugged. “That’s what they miss out on. And you know what? I’m glad they leave. I don’t want people like that around me or my music. Maybe they stay for a little while, but they’re not there to appreciate me for what I’m worth. They don’t like what they can’t understand.” 

Tommy nodded. “Fake fans.” 

“Fake fans!” Wilbur confirmed with a smile, stretching out his hand for Tommy. “I’d rather have one real fan than a thousand fake fans.” 

“Are you my real fan?” asked Tommy, tentatively sliding his hand into Wilbur’s grip. Wilbur closed his hand around Tommy’s smaller one.

“Always.”

In that short moment of weakness for Tommy, Wilbur managed to pull him into a tight squeeze, swaying them back and forth while Tommy tried to grab his lightsaber.

“Let me go! Let me go, Wilby!”

The world seemed to stop along with Wilbur when he stopped swaying. “Did you just call me Wilby?”

Wilbur had all sorts of patrons sit at his bar-- old men in biker gangs, thirty year old women stood up by their Hinge date, nineteen year olds trying to pass off as twenty three year olds; but never in his five years of bartending did he ever have a four year old as a patron.

“One diet coke, barkeep.” 

“Tommy,” Wilbur said sternly, “What are you doing here? How did you even get in?” 

“I said my real fan Wilbur Soot was in here, and the guy let me in!” Tommy replied with far too much cheer than usually present in this type of bar. 

The bar Wilbur worked at was perpetually dark. The fluorescent lights flickered way too often to be functioning light bulbs, the walls were decorated with taxidermy and targets for darts, and when karaoke wasn’t playing, there was either Wilbur on the stage or some obscene punk band that couldn’t keep a rhythm and always ended up gyrating on the stage. 

All this to say, it wasn’t a place for kids.

“It’s really stinky,” Tommy commented as he tapped on the bar surface for his diet coke. Wilbur lost control of his body for a second while his thoughts were running wild and ended up serving him the diet coke anyway. 

“What are you doing here?” Wilbur repeated. 

“I wanted to see you play! You said you were performing.” 

Ah. Wilbur did mention off-handedly (multiple times very explicitly) that he’d be performing tonight. It wasn’t as if it was a very rare thing, but it was the first time his boss was letting him play during their busy hours, which meant Wilbur had a chance at more exposure. He didn’t think Tommy would hunt down the address of the bar Wilbur worked at, hop on the train alone this late at night and come see him!

“You stay here, okay? I’m calling Phil.”

“Phil’s asleep.” 

“I’m calling Techno.” 

“Techno’s--” Tommy couldn’t really refute that one. Techno’s sleep hours were so random they were practically unpinnable. He was either awake for seventy two hours straight or he would be passed out for a week. The only times he was absolutely awake was when he had meetings with his editor or he had to bring Tommy to and from school. 

Wilbur only hoped this was one of Techno’s all nighter binges.

It took two rings for Techno to pick up. “Hullo?” 

“Techno… You have to get your ass down to my bar!”

“Wil, I already said I’d make it to the gig--”  

“No, no! I don’t care about that! I mean-- yes, you better come to the next one, but more importantly, Tommy showed up to this one!” 

The line was silent. “...Be there in a few.” 

As soon as Techno hung up, Wilbur turned around to bring Tommy into the employee break room, but he was astounded to find a small crowd forming around Tommy as he stood on the bartop with his lightsaber out doing a strange jig. The old biker, the stood-up millennial, and the nineteen year old all began clapping and singing sea shanties with Tommy.

It was quite infectious-- soon the whole bar was in an uproar, clapping and stomping, sone whistles here and there.

Tommy eventually pointed the lightsaber at Wilbur. “Barkeep! Your guitar!”

“Me?” Wilbur gawked, already moving to grab his guitar. People cheered from the first strum, igniting a passion in Wilbur he hadn’t felt since the moment he first picked up a guitar. He’d played in front of these people for years now, but never had he ever received such warm reception from them. 

As he finished the first song, there were already people screaming, “Encore! Encore!” with Tommy leading the pack, though Wilbur was almost certain Tommy didn’t understand the word, he just wanted to go along with the crowd. 

He was pulled out from behind the bar and towards the stage, the synchronous clapping continuing until he thought of another song to sing. 

It was a fast paced song full of screaming and headbanging and he could hardly see when his hair fell over his eyes, but in the corner of the bar, there was a shade of pink Wilbur started thinking he could notice anywhere. Techno stood with his hands crossed and face devoid of any emotion, but there-- on his hand-- a finger was tapping along to the beat of the song. 

Wilbur sang louder. 

After his performance, Wilbur had to fight his way through the crowd to reach Technoblade and drag the novelist to the bar so he could grab Tommy. Tommy himself had three empty glasses diet cokes.

“Wilbur! Wilbur! You were really good!” Tommy exclaimed, raising his hands over his head. There was something off about the look in his eyes-- his blue eyes looked extra charged, as if he overdosed on sugar and he was about to ricochet off the sides of a screen like a screensaver. “Technoblade! What are you doing here?”

“The better question is, what are you doin’ here? Bruh, you can’t be at a bar.” The question was rhetorical-- Techno didn’t care why Tommy was at the bar. He just grabbed the back of Tommy’s shirt collar and dragged him to the door, though he was stopped by the bouncer. 

“Diet cokes,” the bouncer said, pointing back at the bar. Dangling from mid-air, Tommy patted down his coat and pant pockets but came up with nothing. 

“Oops?” 

Techno rolled his eyes and dug through his pocket, stomped over to the bar and slammed a ten dollar bill down. “Keep the change, Wil.” 

“Come again, Technoblade!” Wilbur smiled, waving ferociously.

“We will!”

“No!” Techno and Wilbur barked in unison.

Still, the next night the four year old made a home in one of Wilbur’s bar stools nursing a half-empty diet coke. 

Wilbur rested his forehead against the edge of the bar, practicing the breathing exercises his high school therapist told him about. His hand was already under the counter sending an SOS text to both Phil and Techno, though Wilbur would’ve been surprised if Phil was still up at this hour. “Tommy, what are you doing here? If you want to hang out, we can do it at home. But this isn’t a place for a kid like you.” 

“What if I brought Techno or Phil?” 

“Don’t circumvent the issue.”

“But we had fun yesterday, right?” 

Wilbur couldn’t deny it. “Yeah, but you don’t have to come to a place like this to have fun with me, okay? Didn’t we just have a ton of fun making mocktails the other day--” Wilbur stopped himself, letting the flood of memories reveal the truth.

Two days ago, Wilbur had invited Tommy over to try some mocktails he was working on. He made one especially for Tommy that was orange juice based with some grenadine syrup, and Tommy had raved about it after the first sip. 

They had been sitting at the table when Wilbur’s phone began to ring.

“Oh shoot, it’s the landlord. Give me a second, okay?” Wilbur hadn’t waited for a reply from the boy to answer the call. On Tommy’s part, he didn’t seem too invested in the contents of the phone call, considering he took the time to down not only his own drink, but Wilbur’s glass too.

Still, after Wilbur hung up, Tommy asked: “What was that all about?” 

Wilbur had sighed, grabbing his cup from the table and making himself a new drink. “My lease is going to be up soon, and I’m being harassed about renewing it. But, y’know, I’ve lived here probably the longest out of any place I’ve lived, and… Maybe it’s time to find a new place.” Wilbur had started humming in between thoughts, finishing up the drink before adding: “But I kind of love living next to you and Techno and Phil, so, I’m probably going to sign.” 

By the time Wilbur had turned around, the boy was gone and the door was left ajar.

It had only now occurred to Wilbur that perhaps Tommy thought too much about their conversation. 

“Wilbur, if I get drinks from you everyday, does that mean you’ll be here forever?” 

Wilbur almost dropped the glass he was drying off. A smile creeped up on his face as he shot diet coke into a cup with ice and slid it over to Tommy. “Alright, let’s do this one more time. I’m your bartender, Wil. You wanted a diet coke?”

Tommy’s hands gripped the diet coke gently, pushing his half empty cup to the side. He stared into the sugary brown drink like he was staring at the stars. Such wonder, such awe, all because it was served by someone special.

“Not so fast,” a familiar bass voice protested. “Who’s payin’ for that?” 

“My treat tonight, Techno,” Wilbur smiled. “Sit down. I’ll grab you a drink too.”

“If you say so,” said Techno. 

They went into the later hours of the night just sitting at the bar and laughing until Tommy face planted onto the counter, sleep’s spell completely overtaken him and Techno had to carry him back to their apartment complex.

Quackity knocked three times on the door. There was no doubt in his mind that the door with the printer-paper sign that read Jedi Master Tommy was the door he was looking for, but it did little to hide the nerves from this assignment. The hand clutching his briefcase was slick with sweat and the hair around his neck was beginning to look like he’d just gotten out of the shower.

It was supposed to be a simple assignment-- one he had looked upon with revile when it was first handed to him by his supervisor, yet it was given to him with such a serious face, with such importance, that messing this up felt like a serious crime. 

The door opened, and Quackity admittedly looked around at nothing until he glanced down and saw a kid in full Jedi robes and plastic New Year’s glasses that had 2023 as the lenses.

The eponymous Jedi Master Tommy.

“Hey! Tommy, right?” 

“You got the money?” the kid replied in the gruffest voice he could muster, which for a four year old, wasn’t very good, but the effort was applaudable. Tommy didn’t wait for Quackity to answer. He widened the door so Quackity could step through. 

The apartment was quite nice, and the little messes here and there were bearable and expected from a child. Quackity took a seat at the table, and Tommy joined him shortly with two champagne flutes filled with orange juice.

“Bon apetit,” said Tommy, downing the juice as if it were a shot. Quackity sipped his much slower. While Quackity was drinking, Tommy hauled a box that looked reminiscent of a 2000s boombox with a microphone attached to it. “And now, a performance.”

Quackity put his cup down to clap with an aggression he didn’t know he was capable of until it happened. “Let’s goooo! The crowd’s going wild!” 

Tommy pressed a button, and the song from the remastered Star Wars:Return of the Jedi, Jedi Rock’s, began to play. 

And Tommy sang along.

It was actually quite impressive that he knew the lyrics to a song in a completely fake and alien language AND could pull off some of the category. Some of Quackity’s cheers were real (all of them were). 

It wasn’t as if he wasn’t impressed with the dedication to the welcome party that Tommy had thrown him, but he didn’t realize Tommy would be so young. His supervisor mentioned the client was a child, but not one this young. And living all on his own? It was all a bit much to wrap his head around in the span of six hours.

After Tommy was finished performing, he took a few big gulps of air before falling over and laying on the ground like a corpse.

“Name?” he then asked. 

“What?” asked Quackity.

“What’s your name?” 

“Quackity. I’ll be supervising your account from now on.” Quackity dug through his briefcase until he found what he was looking for-- a small manila folder packed with enough cash to last someone a month. 

More than enough for a child. 

Tommy got back into his seat, flipping through the money as if he were counting it (as if he could count). He leaned down to grab something for Quackity-- a brown paper bag-- and pushed it over the table. “Can I ask you a question, Quackity?” 

“Shoot.” 

“Where does the money come from?”

Quackity faltered.

He was warned about this. 

He was warned about all of this. 

The Star Wars obsession, the orange juice champagne dupe, the karaoke, and the question. There was an entire list from Quackity’s predecessor on how to proceed with the kid to have a successful visit. 

And on that list, underlined twice in red was do NOT tell the truth about money. Say money is from a generous donor. 

Quackity had asked why they couldn’t tell the truth. He hadn’t known then that the money had come from his mother’s life insurance. That telling him that would be a confirmation of something Tommy didn’t know-- that his mother was gone. 

“A really nice guy,” Quackity replied.

“I wish I could meet them,” said Tommy. “But since I can’t, it means I have to be nice to everyone, just in case.”

“That’s a good way to live, Tommy,” Quackity said, packing up his things, his hands tight around the handle of his briefcase. “I’ll see you next month.”

The walk back to the firm was plagued with questions and doubts. How long was the boy going to live like this? Alone and unaware of his mother’s death-- that her life insurance is what is funding his lifestyle? Who would be the one to tell? Would his generosity with the money turn into bitterness? 

When he saw people, would he no longer look upon them kindly for the possibility that they could be his benefactor, or would he still smile at them and try to make them laugh?

What kind of person would Tommy become?

Despite the settlement of autumn in the air, it was still just warm enough for Phil to pack a picnic and bring Tommy along. They had a red and white picnic blanket, a wicker basket that belonged to Phil’s wife and a bunch of snacks and sandwiches ready and packed.

They were on their way out of the apartment complex when they crossed paths with Wilbur, who for once in the middle of the day did not look like he just woke up from an extra tumultuous session of sleep.

“Mm! That smells like a picnic!”

“Keen nose, Wil,” Phil laughed. “We’re heading to the park right now.”

Techno rounded the corner, the bags under his eyes heavier than the bags of garbage he just launched into the dumpster. “Picnic, huh?”

“Both of you should come!” Phil offered.

“No!” Tommy cried. “They’re going to eat all our food, Phil!” 

“Sorry, mate. But more people means more fun.”

This seemed to tide Tommy over. Techno never said no to free food and Wilbur had already planned on crashing the picnic date whether he was formally invited or not, so the four of them headed to the park near the complex, just a few minutes away. 

They set up under a great big tree obscured by dozens of bushes that created a wall and hid them from the playground part of the park. The autumn leaves occasionally drifted down from the tree and into their laps, but it was all in good fun.

Tommy instantly made a mess of his face with spoonfuls of jam. Wilbur stopped Phil from wiping it off, taking out his phone and setting up the camera. “Hold still, sunshine.”

Techno grinned, taking his phone out too. Not one to be left out, Phil zoomed in on Tommy’s face.

Instantly, Tommy began headbanging and vibrating. Every effort to get a clear photo of the kid was thwarted by his lightning speed movements. 

“Come on, Tommy, hold still!” Phil laughed. Tommy answered by running away with his arms straight out behind him as if he were a Naruto character. Wilbur and Techno had given up at this point, intent on stuffing themselves with Phil’s snacks, but Phil was now on a mission.

He chased after Tommy with his phone in front of him, snapping photos at any moment given to him. Techno had grabbed his pocketbook and began narrating Phil and Tommy’s antics, practicing the joyful bonding of what appeared to be a father and son, but the reality was that this was quite a serious thing for both Phil and Tommy, really putting every effort they had to fulfill their goals. But at the end of the day, Phil’s picnic basket was still empty and all his photos were blurry or purposefully obscured by a random object Tommy had found on the fly. A bird, a rock, a raccoon, or one of the other boys. 

Tommy had danced around with an L on his forehead and jumped back and forth, laughing maniacally at Phil’s failure.

“Not one good picture,” Phil lamented.

“Get good, old man!”

“Well, there’s still this one of the back of your head. It’s probably good enough to send to Kristin.” 

“As long as it’s not my face.”

Techno perked up. “You avoided gettin’ your picture taken at your school too. Is there something wrong with gettin’ your picture taken or somethin’?”

Tommy didn’t deign to respond, he just shrugged. His eyes glazed over and he grew quiet, drawing his knees to his chest. There was a war being fought in his mind, this much was evident to the three adults, but there was not much they could do if Tommy didn’t reach out first.

All they knew was that he didn’t like pictures of his face being taken, much less circulated. 

The screams and the cries in Tommy’s head died down when Phil grabbed him suddenly, placing him so their noses were almost touching. Phil just stared at Tommy, studying every detail until there was no part of Tommy’s face he wouldn’t know.

“What’re you doing, Phil?”

“Since I can’t take a picture of you with my camera, I’m using the camera in my head. That’s alright, yeah?”

Tommy nodded, staring right back at the older blonde man, using the camera in his head to take a picture of Phil, of Techno, of Wilbur, of the beautiful day out in the park. 

Chapter Text

It wasn’t a shock to see Phil at Techno’s door anymore. Before, he had been the man that lived downstairs, barely even able to recognize his face out of a sea of people. Now, Phil was a constant in his life. 

The only shock was that Phil was on his knees with hands clasped together. “Techno, mate, I’m in deep and I need your help.” 

Techno was quick to pull Phil onto his feet and into his apartment. Really, he expected theatrics from the other two, but not Phil. “What’s up?” 

“Listen, I know we decided that you would bring Tommy to school and I would go to PTA meetings--” Techno would do a whole lot for the kid, but PTA meetings were where he drew the line. “--but I’m swamped with this one client. He gave me a hard deadline but it’s a lot of cash, so I was wondering--” 

“No.” 

“Techno, come on! There isn’t even anything on the docket today; it’s just a standard meeting.” 

It didn’t take long for Phil to wear Techno down, mostly because one look at Phil and you could tell the man was truly struggling. He had black bags under his eyes and some wrinkles beginning to form all over his face, but that could very well be due to age, not that Phil would admit it. He was very steadfast with the fact that he was only in his mid-thirties, as if that would save him from the sands of time. 

Techno could understand a harsh deadline as a short story writer and novelist. And when the money’s good, the money’s good. “Can’t you ask Wilbur?” Techno tried as a last ditch effort. 

Phil shook his head. “He picked up a double today. He’s already at work.” 

Techno groaned extra loud and long to make sure Phil knew how displeased he was, but that didn’t stop him from grabbing his keys and heading out the door. Tommy would have to wait in the schoolyard for an extra hour. The PTA liked to meet immediately after school to accommodate stay-at-home parents. 

That was the last time he trusted Phil.

Phil was a liar.

“There isn’t even anything on the docket today; it’s just a standard meeting--” LIAR.

The moment he sat down in the circle of little kid chairs in an abandoned classroom with all the other PTA members which was made up of mostly stay-at-home moms and one dad, he was handed a thick, maple-scented packet with a colorful header that said ‘FALL FESTIVAL PLANNING <3’ and a long list of roles needed to execute the annual fall festival. 

Techno had half a mind to just turn around and leave the meeting, but he was already getting really mean looks from the moms and one dad for just existing. Perhaps it was because he showed up in sweats and his hair was up in a messy bun that looked more like a ponytail because it was that shoddy, and his face was paler than the moon on a clear night because of how little time he spent outside, but was that really a reason to judge him. 

The president of the PTA, Puffy, the mother of a child in Tommy’s class who was always ill, stood up and began to speak. “Hello everyone, and welcome to the October meeting. I see we have a new face here today…” 

Everyone looked at Techno.

Techno covered his face with his hand. 

“Do you mind introducing yourself? You’re one of Tommy’s guardians, aren’t you? I see you dropping him off sometimes.” 

Techno nodded slowly, hoping it was enough and the moms and one dad would leave him alone, but it was not. 

He knew they knew who he was, and he knew what they thought of them. All of them. These parents found it hard to hide their judgments and speak in whispers. Techno heard them all when he dropped Tommy off and picked him up. How ‘unsuited’ the three of them were to take care of a kid, like they asked for this schedule. How Wilbur looked homeless, how Techno looked sloppy, how Phil looked aloof. Poor Tommy Innit was the consensus among parents. They picked them apart for literally anything-- their criticisms of Phil were hardly even valid-- still. It wouldn’t be good for Tommy to start making a scene and making enemies on the PTA. He just took a deep breath and introduced himself. “Yeah, uh, hullo. I’m Technoblade. I’m subbing in for Phil.”

Puffy gave him a quick smile and then moved on. “Okay, we are really busy this month, you guys! Fall Fest is just two weeks away! The packet I’ve supplied you is a list of things we need done! We’re running short on people to staff the event like booths, and we also need help setting up everything the day before and taking it down the day after…” 

Silence.

Everyone in the room followed Techno’s example and kept their heads down and their faces covered. Making eye contact with Puffy was the same as accepting the job. 

Techno leafed through the packet, staring at the list of jobs. Against his better judgment, he found himself raising his hand. “I could do some of this stuff.” There was a continued silence in the room. Techno felt almost obliged to say more to dissolve the uncomfortable atmosphere. “I could do a lot of this stuff myself, actually.” 

“Really?” Puffy gasped with delight. “Well, I mean, that’s great! Thanks for your help, Technoblade! You just saved the whole festival!” 

“Yeah,” Techno said, grieving the free time he put aside to re-outlining his novel. “No problem. I just figured that’s, like, what I’m supposed to do. As a guardian.” 

With the meeting adjourned, Techno was the first to race out of the room, so he missed the flabbergasted looks the other parents finally allowed on their faces. It was more than a moment of shock, but a re-evaluation. When everything one once thought of a person was flipped on its head, the only thing a person could do was re-evaluate, not the other person, but rather themselves and their judgments. A lesson their children were being taught was one they were learning right there in that room.

Don’t judge a book by its cover. 

This lesson was furthered the day of the festival. 

They had chosen the last truly warm day of the year to hold it on. Everybody was still in T-shirts and tank tops, and though the leaves were already falling from the trees, there was a water gun fight happening in the parking lot of the festival grounds, just next door to the kindergarten.

There would be snow next week. 

But for now, the weather was great and the booths were fully operational. There were carnival games, bouncy houses, and a professionally set up small-scale ferris wheel that would need a whole lot of fundraising over the next year to make that back along with the profits from the festival.

Tommy’s eyes lit up the moment he stepped through after paying his ticket. He was flanked by his friends Tubbo and Ranboo. Puffy was right behind them, herding them over to a food stand. 

“Wilbur?” Tommy gasped, jumping up and down out of excitement. Wilbur stood behind the booth, his head smashed against the tarped ceiling as he handed out cotton candy to already over-sugared kindergarteners and primary schoolers. 

“Hey, sunshine!” 

“You’re here!” Tommy spun around with wonder, suddenly becoming aware of how many of the booths were run by people he knew. The hot dog stand was run by Phil, who wore a hairnet over his blonde hair. The ring toss was covered by Techno’s mean editor, the fish scoop was run by an acquaintance from the bath-house, and darts was run by one of Wilbur’s co-workers from the bar. “Everyone’s here!” 

Wilbur leaned down and handed him a blue cotton candy, patting his head. “Free of charge. For everyone’s favorite gremlin.” Tommy smiled and smashed his face into the cotton candy. Tubbo stepped up to ask for his flavor of cotton candy, but Wilbur stopped him. “Five dollars.”

“Why so expensive?” Tubbo cried from the shock. Puffy sighed fondly and took out her wallet, passing Wilbur a ten to pay for both Tubbo and Ranboo, seeing as they were cousins. The three boys were quick to run off after getting their cotton candy, and Puffy wasn’t worried about them, seeing as she knew other parents would keep an eye out on the boys, and Tommy was naturally responsible. 

She noticed a tail of pink hair behind one of the booths, stacking crates one on top of the other. He was sweating up a storm, taking breathers every now and then to wipe his forehead. Puffy stopped at a drink station and bought a water bottle before walking over.

“Hey, Technoblade. Good to see you.” 

He startled, a terrified look on his face that settled one he saw who approached him. “Right. Yeah, hullo.” Techno turned around to begin his work once more.

“I wanted to thank you,” Puffy continued, pressing the cold water bottle against his arm. “This all looks so great; you really did save the festival.” Realizing that this was turning into a continued conversation, Techno took a break and accepted the water, cramming the water down his throat at record speed. “We were all really surprised you volunteered. Thankful, don’t get me wrong, but surprised.”

“Why?” 

Puffy shrugged. “It didn’t really seem like you.” 

Techno glanced down at her, his impassive face revealing nothing about his thoughts. He almost looked a bit threatening. “Can I be real for a moment? I did not want to do this. The atmosphere was just really awkward at the meetin’.” 

“I get that.” The PTA was just really lucky that Techno couldn’t stand awful atmospheres, because they gained a microdetail-oriented planner out of it. From the corner of their eyes, the two adults noticed Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo run past them. Tommy and Tubbo had both ganged up on Ranboo and were attempting to stab them with the paper cones that came with the cotton candy. 

“He looks happy, right?” Techno asked her suddenly. 

Puffy gaped, trying to find the right words. Tommy was smiling and laughing, out of breath from all the running. His eyes were bright and wild, the way a kid should look. “Yeah. He looks happy. That’s really sweet how much you care. You’ve done all of this for Tommy… As a mother, I could hardly say I’d do half of this.” 

Techno shrugged, a low chuckle rumbling from his throat. “We can put all this effort in all we’d like, but at the end of the day, none of us are his real family. Sometimes I wonder if his smile would be bigger if they were here instead.”

Tommy stopped running for a moment to make eye contact with Technoblade, stomping over to where he and Puffy stood. “Padawan Blade! Thank you for your service!” 

“It’s nothin’,” said Techno, waving the boy off. “Just go and have fun, alright?” 

Tommy saluted, turning on his heel before he remembered something. He unclipped his lightsaber from his belt and handed it to Techno. “For being such a good padawan, you can hold my lightsaber today!” Techno knew this was just code for my lightsaber is getting in the way of my running, so can you hold it for the rest of the day? 

Still, Techno took it with good humor and put it on top of one of the crates he was stacking.

Puffy walked away with a new understanding of not only Technoblade, but Phil and Wilbur too. About judgments. How Tommy Innit could perhaps be so lucky to have people like them taking care of him, despite the heartbreak of the past.

When Ranboo sneezed, it usually resulted in a giant glob of snot hanging from their nose. They were always quick to take out their Five Nights at Freddy’s tissues out and wipe it off, but when they dug through the inside of their desk, there were no tissues to be found. 

It was then and only then that they realized that they left the tissues on the kitchen counter. “Aw man,” they whined, slumping their head on their desk while they still had a massive snot bubble coming from their nose. “No tissues!” 

Tubbo was quick to dig through his own desk, showcasing his Minecraft bee tissues. “Wanna try mine? They’re pretty cool.” 

Ranboo examined the package while another classmate came over with Iron Man tissues. “No, try mine! Iron Man is cooler than Minecraft.” 

“Slander!” Tubbo cried. “Take it back!” 

Tommy laughed haughtily over by his desk, sashaying over to the growing group of tissue showcasers, his own pack ready in hand. It had a plain blue top with just a description of the tissues. Moist-soft tissues. “Try mine. It’s the best of the best, Ranboob.” 

“But the cover is boring,” said Tubbo. “There’s no character on it.” 

“Yeah,” the others agreed.

Tommy drew his tissues close to his chest, his face tight with offense. “What? Fuck you guys! These are the best tissues on the market. Ranboob, come on! Try mine!” Ranboo glanced over at Tubbo’s selection with guilt, their hand steadily reaching for the bee tissues. “Traitor!” 

“Yours do look boring, though,” Ranboo said in a small yet matter-of-fact voice.

Tommy wasn’t going to take that lying down. He would show everyone that tissues didn’t need a cute design to be the best tissues. 

It wasn’t hard to drag Techno to the store with him, who always seemed to need to buy more groceries whenever Tommy wanted to go. There, they were met by the nice grocery lady who always listened to Tommy talk about his favorite brands of tissues and other groceries. 

She was in the home supplies aisle restocking some other items, but she flashed them a smile when she saw them approach. “Hey, Tommy! Good to see you today!”

“And also with you,” Tommy replied with a deep bow. “How are the tissues?” 

Grocery Lady snapped her fingers as if she just remembered something. “You’re gonna love this, Tommy. The brand you recommended restocked.” 

Techno gave them both a look of confusion. Probably to say: why is a four year old giving a grocery store tissue brand recommendations? But he didn’t verbalize it. They headed down to the tissues. Techno went ahead and grabbed the generic store brand tissues-- the one that came in a pack of eight. Quantity over quality, that’s what Techno always said. 

Grocery Lady and Tommy were scratching their chins as they looked at the tissues Tommy liked. It was the same brand Tommy always kept on the center of the table and the same brand he gave to everyone when he first introduced himself to his neighbors. 

He glanced over their shoulders, his eyes almost exploding right there and then when he saw the price. Four dollars PER box? Techno’s eight-pack was four dollars. This was a robbery! Grocery Lady was robbing this child!

And who knew that gift would be so expensive? It almost made Technoblade feel bad for ripping through them while he had a summer cold. 

Tommy grabbed a box and stored it under his arm while Grocery Lady grabbed another brand of tissues and showed it to Tommy. “Have you tried this one yet? It’s my personal favorite.” 

“No,” Tommy said, “Never.” 

“Oh, it’s so good! So silky! A little pricey, but so worth it.” 

Tommy nodded with understanding. “Must have good ingredients.” 

Techno watched this all from a respectful distance, every now and then making facial expressions to give away his thoughts. He always thought he had such a good poker face, but it couldn’t be farther from the truth. Or perhaps the conversation was so ludicrous that even he couldn’t help but break. 

Ingredients? What kind of a four year old worried about the ingredients in tissues? What kind of a four year old even understood that sort of thing?

Tommy’s eyes were practically blazing with passion as Grocery Lady continued to sell the idea of the tissues. “They’re really fluffy too. They don’t even make your nose all that red when you blow. AND they smell great!”

“That’s the best part of the tissue!” Tommy declared.

Why is he a connoisseur of tissues? Techno screamed in his head.

Tommy ended up being very susceptible to marketing schemes and bought two boxes of Grocery Lady’s tissues and a box of his own favorite. The whole walk back, Tommy berated Techno for his poor tissue purchases as if Tommy hadn’t just been scammed out of fifteen dollars on just three boxes of tissues. 

“Come on, I mean, only an amatoor gets generic brand,” Tommy laughed, mispronouncing the word amateur. 

“I’m happy with my purchase,” Techno replied, speaking more about his wallet than his own emotions. 

“Expensive tissues are softer. They’re called ‘moisture-rich.’ Did you know that?” 

“No, I did not.” Techno hoped that would end the conversation.

Tommy kept going. “They have ingredients to absorb, like glickerin and sortibol. They suck up moisture from the air. Cool, right?” Techno was almost positive the boy meant glycerin and sorbitol, but he was honestly more impressed with the fact that Tommy knew those facts off the top of his head. “Best tissues ever. And it makes them sweet.”

“Sweet?” Techno questioned. That seemed like the least important thing to get from a tissue. Maybe he meant the smell. Techno kind of just wanted the conversation to end since he didn’t have a stake in it. 

They went their separate ways for the night, and Techno decided to give himself a break on writing by watching 60 Minutes while eating cup ramen. He was only half paying attention, as his mind was inevitably pulled back to his novel. Most roads of his mind led back to his novel, especially when it was at such a delicate stage. 

Techno ended up pulling out a piece of paper and writing down notes while the TV blared. It was some story about child neglect and psycho parents. They had the child victim, now much older, there in the studio for an interview. They didn’t say anything of much consequence until the interviewer asked an interesting question. 

“With no adults around, how did you eat? What did you survive on?”

The victim took a long, drawn out breath, playing with the hems of their nice ironed blouse before answering with a shaky voice, “Tissues.”

Techno’s eyes shot up, his novel long forgotten. 

“Tissues?” the interviewer asked again.

“Yeah, tissues. There was always a box somewhere. Even tissues can taste good when you’re starving.” The victim let out a laugh like what they said was funny, but the interviewer didn’t react and neither did Techno.

No, Techno was far too busy replaying the past few months of his life. The tissue box Tommy had graciously given to him. The one he kept on his table. The recommendations to the store. Knowing and caring far too much about the ingredients of tissues.

It was all adding up.

Two weeks later, they were back at the grocery store, standing in front of the tissues. Techno still had tons of tissues left, but it seemed Tommy had already plowed through his. 

“Tommy, were the tissues you bought sweet?” 

Tommy looked up. He didn’t seem surprised by the question, almost as if it was something normal to ask a person. “Yeah. They were pretty good. I don’t know if they’re better than the ones I had before.”

Techno paused everything. Paused blinking, paused breathing. “Right,” he said after a long stretch of silence.

Tommy picked up a new brand, rotating it in his hands while he searched for the list of ingredients. “Oh wow! Look at this one! It’s got the good stuff!” He held it up to Techno so that he could see, but all Techno did was snatch it out of his hands. 

Tommy gasped while Techno threw the generic grocery brand at him. “Here. Take these; they’re cheaper.”

Tommy stuck his tongue out. “But these are gross!”

“You don’t need to eat tissues anymore.” Tommy retracted his tongue back into his mouth. “You’re not alone anymore. Ingredients don’t matter.” 

Wordlessly, Tommy took the tissues from Techno, staring down at the eight-pack as a million things raced through his head. “Yeah,” he finally said. “I’m not alone.” 

Techno lightly knocked on the door, garbage bags in hand. 

Tommy was quick to answer. His apartment smelled heavenly. The sweet scent of chicken, rice, mashed potatoes, sauteed greens, and fresh bread filled Techno’s senses and made his stomach rumble, all of a sudden very empty from the cup of ramen he had a couple of hours ago. 

“Uh, here you go,” he said, refocusing on the task at hand. “The garbage bags you wanted.” 

“Thanks, Padawan Blade!”

“Hey! Hey! Is that Technoblade I see?” Wilbur called from down the hall. The musician and Phil were both peeking out from behind Wilbur’s door, waving wildly for Techno’s attention. The two of them approached Techno and Tommy. “You told me you were busy this evening.”

“I am,” said Techno.

“No you’re not! You’re chatting with Tommy and hogging all his attention! You promised us a drink!”

“No I didn’t!” Techno protested.

Phil laughed. “You did, mate. You said after you finished your next collection of short stories, we could take you out for a drink. Didn't you finish up last week?” 

Techno did say that, but he was hoping to gaslight his way out of the situation. “I’m still working on my novel though.” 

“Don’t care,” Wilbur said, “you said short stories.” Wilbur’s very short attention span was stolen away by the buffet he saw on Tommy’s table. Just from what he could see at the door, he knew it was a feast. “Wow, Tommy! I didn’t know you could cook! Are you expecting company?” 

“No,” Tommy shrugged. “It’s all for me.” 

“Wow,” Phil added. “It almost makes me a little hungry myself,” he joked. 

“I want to try some!” Wilbur declared, crouching down so he could squeeze the life out of Tommy. Tommy was used to this, though, and he artfully dodged. 

To Phil he said, “If you’re hungry, you can have some.” 

“What about me?” Wilbur pouted.

“If you’re feedin’ Phil, then…” said Techno.

Tommy rolled his eyes, but he welcomed them anyway. It was as if he used every dish and pan he owned to create this meal. Techno couldn’t remember the last time he had a meal like this. It must have been forever ago. 

At four years old, Tommy was already a better cook than perhaps 90% of the population. He really understood the art of spice and why it was bad to undercook chicken.

And those mashed potatoes… Oh, Techno dreamed of mashed potatoes like these.

As thanks for the meal, Wilbur and Techno did the dishes while Phil and Tommy watched a rerun of Little Jedis before Tommy headed off to bed. 

Techno and Wilbur conversed in quiet voices as Tommy blasted the TV at full volume. “So, are we gonna get that drink…?” Wilbur asked.

Techno sighed. “Fine.” 

“You won’t regret it,” Wilbur cheered.

“Don’t you think it’s weird he made so much food for himself?” 

“Yeah, it really was a lot. I mean, we almost had leftovers!” Upon noticing the sullen look on Techno’s face, Wilbur’s cheerful mood became somber. “I’m sure it’s nothing. You know how Tommy is; he’s naturally strange.” 

When they finished, Tommy said his goodbyes in his Star Wars jammies, waving at them as they went off to get that promised drink. 

“We should do this again sometime,” Phil said off-handedly before Tommy shut the door. “Nothing beats a nice meal with a bunch of friends.”

It must have sparked something within Tommy. Two days later, the three neighbors received a piece of notebook paper slipped under their doors. A colorful crayon invitation to Unit B3 for a ‘nic3 meal wit frens.’ 

They all arrived at 6:30 PM. Tommy had set up a red carpet, and he wore a red bowtie to really add to the tasteful host role. The kitchen already smelled of beef and peppers; the promise of a delicious dinner.

The table was preset with four places, and they all made light conversation while they waited for Tommy to bring their meal to the table. Every now and then Phil would send glances over to the kitchenette, worried Tommy might spill something hot all over himself, but trust won out in the end and he stayed out of Tommy’s way. 

When the meal finally arrived, Phil, Wilbur, and Technoblade were a little… surprised to say the least. After the sumptuous meal they received two days ago, they were expecting to be blown out of the water with whatever Tommy decided to serve them, but this… This was something else. Something unexpected.

For all Tommy had to serve was a plate of nachos. 

It looked delicious, no doubt. It was piled high with meat, cheese, avocado, pico de gallo, and sour cream. The chips were large and sturdy.

It just wasn’t the feast they were expecting. 

“Oh shit!” Tommy gasped, “I almost forgot!” 

The three men let out their sighs of relief, only to be disappointed when Tommy came back with the TV remote and a Yule Log video pulled up with tasteful background music. 

Techno decided to bite the bullet. “So… Is this it? Is this all you made?” 

“Techno!” Phil admonished. “Don’t be rude!”

“Yeah! Tommy worked hard on this! Are you saying you don’t appreciate his work?” Wilbur added, even though he most certainly was having similar thoughts to Techno. 

“Don’t worry, Techno. It’s really good, I promise!” Tommy guaranteed. 

Techno pulled out a chip, dipping it in the nachos and pulling out some toppings. He plopped it in his mouth and almost passed out due to the flavor. 

So good.

Wilbur and Phil behaved similarly, gushing about how good it was. Phil was practically shoving his face full of nachos while Tommy watched them happily, standing up a little to reach the center of the table. 

Tommy couldn’t be happier as he watched his friends dig into the meal he made for them, where laughter was a familiar sound and no one was hungry. Who needed so many dishes when the people present were more than enough to satiate some hunger?

Chapter Text

It was a clear night in the park. Usually it was a difficult task to see the beauty of the sky in the city landscape, what with all the light pollution, but it seemed that karma was on their side. Jack hiked up the small hill, bush leaves brushing up against his work pants as he climbed. He wore a beat up old blue backpack slung around one shoulder and a new digital camera around his neck. 

Up ahead there stood a bench that overlooked the rest of the park, enshrouded by the natural green. Everything was still in the privacy of nature, except for twin legs swinging back and forth as a precocious four year old waited for his companion to arrive. 

“Ayup,” said Jack, setting down his backpack on the bench and sliding in. 

“Ayup,” replied Tommy with a grin. He wore a red and white baseball tee and khaki shorts, but the night had caught that early November chill, forcing Tommy to cover up somewhat with a blue hoodie. 

It looked new. 

All of his clothes looked new.

Nothing like the sort of patchy sweaters they wore in the group home, always covered in lint and cat hair. 

There was something fresh about the way Tommy looked. Perhaps the word Jack was looking for was healthy, but it was hard to decide. Maybe it was, but it wasn’t as if people like Jack and Tommy could ever really know what the word meant without some guidance. 

Jack unzipped his backpack and grabbed something hidden. Tommy’s eyes flashed with surprise when Jack jumped to his feet and let the red blade of his lightsaber shoot out.

“Duh DUH duh duh DUH duhhh!” He sang in the tune of the Star Wars main theme. Tommy shrieked with laughter as he slid off the bench, unsheathing his own blue lightsaber. They circled one another while singing the main theme until Tommy made the first move, batting at Jack’s lightsaber with a certain fervor only the youths could muster up. 

Jack lost graciously, falling onto his back and letting Tommy stick the lightsaber by his neck. “You lost, sith!”

“I’ll be back one day!” Jack declared, picking himself up. He had some mud stains on his bottom, but it wasn’t anything a little laundry detergent couldn’t get out. 

They made themselves at home on the bench once more, staring at the stars and waiting for something to happen. 

It was Bonfire Night after all.

They had made this promise to each other a long time ago, back in the days of the group home. In all honesty, Jack hadn’t even been sure Tommy would remember. It was so long ago, and so much had happened to the kid. 

“It’s been a while, Tom.”

“Yeah, it has been, Darth Tonitrus.”

Jack put his hands on his hips and turned to Tommy with a high-arched brow, as if he were an old woman about to give the boy the sternest talking to. “You know, you shouldn’t be out so late all alone. I could’ve picked you up.”

“I’m a Big Man,” Tommy replied. “You came from work, right?” He’d clearly spotted the logo on Jack’s pants. 

He worked a manual labor job for a construction company. It was a good gig considering he was fresh out of the system with no real prospects. It put a roof over his head and fed him, so Jack couldn’t really complain about his situation. It wasn’t that bad, actually. He’d seen his fellows from the group home have it worse after getting the boot. 

“Yeah. It’s good for what it is.”

Tommy shifted in his seat, twiddling his thumb. He looked like he had something he really wanted to say but didn’t know how to say it. “I’m sorry,” he decided. 

Jack was a bit taken aback. “For what?”

Tommy had done a lot of stupid things, but that was because he was young. He couldn’t be more than four now, and he was even younger when Jack had seen him last. Whatever he had to apologize for was inconsequential. Perhaps Tommy had terrorized Jack in the group home, but he made his peace with the fact that it was because he was young. 

“I ran away without saying goodbye.”

“Man, how is that your fault?” Jack snapped, not intending for it to come out as harshly as it did. “We heard what happened, Tom. We know your brother tracked you down. If anyone would understand, it would be us. ‘Do what you have to do.’”

Tommy lowered his head, processing what Jack had said. Despite the harshness in tone, Jack really hoped Tommy felt the concern seep through. He decided to soften his words. “Really, don’t worry about it. Besides, you remembered our promise to see the fireworks.”

It had been a silly conversation the two had while in the group home. They had been talking about Star Wars, a shared interest the two had. Somehow the conversation deepened to just talking about stars, all the while Jack had been fiddling with his camera. He had saved up for it with odd jobs around town. 

“Have you ever seen the stars on a clear night?” Jack had asked. “It’s really fucking pretty.”

Tommy had shaken his head. He’d seen pictures. He’d seen Star Wars. 

 “You know what’s cooler, though? Fireworks. They’re kind of, like, star explosions in a way.” Jack had actually seen fireworks before. He managed to take some pictures. He went through his camera roll with Tommy looking over his shoulder, showing him the little star explosions on earth. 

Tommy’s eyes had shone with wonder. He had wanted to go. Jack had turned the camera on Tommy, snapping a quick candid. “Next time I take pictures of the fireworks, how about you come too? I’ll teach you. How about next Bonfire Night?” 

“Yeah!” Tommy cheered. “Promise!” 

Tommy had been more than eager to learn the ins and outs of the camera. He let Jack take pictures of him and the other residents of the group home until Tommy was able to take the pictures. He had the camera in his bag the night he fled the group home. 

Tommy glanced at his own bag on the bench, half unzipped. Jack’s old camera was nestled between a sandwich packed by Phil and some binoculars Tommy had bought while shopping with Wilbur. He took it out, rotating it in his grip. 

“I’m also sorry for stealing this. I didn’t mean to. I just couldn’t forget.” 

Jack took the camera, his fingers caressing the dials on the top. He turned it on, speeding through the camera roll. The storage was completely full, drained by the spam of photos of all of them at the group home, silly candids of Tommy and Jack, and of course, the pictures of the sky Jack had taken that sparked their journey. 

There were no recent photos.

It was a time capsule. 

Tommy unhooked the SD card from the side of the camera and grabbed Tommy’s palm, carefully placing the small chip in the boy’s palm. “Take this and keep it safe. If you want to remember, then this will have all the memories.” 

Tommy’s eyes glistened as he took the SD card with both hands. “You’re not half bad, Darth Tonitrus!” 

Jack choked his response back when he heard an explosion, their hiding spot illuminated by vibrant colors in the sky, fizzling out after moments of brilliance. Seeing it in person was a vastly different experience from pictures. Even videos. 

Twenty four frames per second could not capture the astonishment of seeing a single light shoot through the air, the bated breath when it looked like it would fizzle out, only to result in five more explosions, all in different colors of neon. It was like watching a real life war in the stars. 

Tommy jumped off the bench and waddled over to the edge of the lookout, letting the light reflect in his eyes as he witnessed his world expand with wonder.

The cold winds brought a new resident to their little apartment building. The once vacant unit of A2 finally found a resident for the short span of a month, but that did not stop this new resident from climbing the stairs up to unit B3, knocking on the door and waiting with slight annoyance and agitation. 

The door opened, and his face changed.

“Hello?” greeted Tommy, his hand making its way to his lightsaber when he saw the man’s appearance. Shaggy blonde hair, lazy eyes, Nothing but a white hoodie and distressed jeans with gold chains around his neck and looped around his belt. 

“Hey,” said the stranger. “I’m Punz. I’m renting A2 for the month. Just wanted to give my greetings and all that.” 

“Just a month?” questioned Tommy. 

Punz shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets. “Here for a business trip.” They fell into silence. Perhaps Punz was waiting for a response from Tommy, but the four year old gave no indication of wishing to continue the conversation. “The sign on your door said Jedi Master Tommy. I’m guessing that’s you?” 

“Obviously,” Tommy replied, as if there was any doubt. As if anybody else in their building was qualified to call themselves a Jedi Master. Wilbur was getting there, but he lacked the patience required of a knight of the Jedi Order. Technoblade was so far from his trials, yet the poor guy was constantly striving to earn Tommy’s approval to move onto the next title. So sad. Phil was technically a monster, Tommy supposed, but he was also senile so it sort of canceled out. 

“Well, anyone that’s a Jedi Master is cool in my books. I actually have a favor to ask. I wouldn’t trust anyone other than a Jedi Master to help me.” 

This piqued Tommy’s interests. A mission for a Jedi Master? “What is it?” 

Punz got down on one knee, putting his palms together in prayer. Tommy couldn’t help but think Punz looked a lot like Princess Leia with the white hoodie. Suddenly the way he dressed wasn’t offensive to his eyes but majestic and royal. “I hate traveling alone. It’s so boring. Maybe you can hang out with me while I’m here; show me around.” 

There was another long stretch of silence between them as Tommy stared Punz down and Punz’s knee began to wobble from lack of structure. 

“Yeah, okay.” 

“Cool,” said Punz, getting to his feet quickly. He wobbled for a bit before finding his footing with the assistance of the wall. He soon left to greet the rest of the building, but not before promising their first outing to be the bath house down the street. 

The promise lingered as the day passed them by. Technoblade returned to his apartment after being out all day. Uncharacteristic of him, but he had business to attend to that even he couldn’t ignore (and believe him, he tried his hardest). Night had already fully settled around them when he jammed his key into his lock with haste, in a hurry to grab his bath items. Tommy had a terrible temper when people didn’t work on his time. 

Like clockwork, Tommy came out of his own apartment with his bath house bag on his back, his shower cap sitting loose on his head like a beret. 

Techno scowled. “Just give me a minute.” 

“It’s okay,” said Tommy, uncharacteristically forgiving. “Senator Punz and I are going together.” 

“Senator Punz--?” Techno questioned for a moment before remembering the guy that moved in next to Phil had made his rounds earlier this morning. Techno didn’t have a strong opinion on the guy, and he didn’t feel like he had to make one considering his stay was so short. In all honesty, Technoblade didn’t think he’d have to interact with the guy at all for that exact reason, but now he was fraternizing with Tommy. 

Apparently Punz wasn’t good enough to be a Jedi or a Sith though, trapped in the role of a senator of the Galactic Republic. 

“Yeah, Senator Punz and I will go to the bath house together. For as long as he’s here.” Tommy then had the gall to look sheepish, pushing his index fingers together like some nervous school girl. “So, we’ll have to break up for the month. I know I didn’t promise to go with you everyday, but I felt like you deserved to know.” 

Techno relaxed, making it easier to unlock his door now that he wasn’t in a frenzy to get in. “Cool.” 

Tommy doubled down. “So you and me? We’re not going together this month.” 

Techno sent him a thumbs up. “Got it.” 

“I know it’s hard to swallow, but you’ll get through it,” Tommy consoled.

“What’s hard to swallow?” Techno snapped. It wasn’t as if taking Tommy to the bath house was some prize. In fact, Techno would probably consider it a blessing. Suddenly he had some more free time in his schedule to keep writing. Techno should probably thank Senator Punz-- Punz. 

“Yeah, Punz said he’d also take me to school and pick me up, so I don’t need you.”

Hmm. That one kind of stung.

  Techno appreciated the free time for sure, but… All of his roles were so easily replaced? 

“Whatever,” Techno drawled. “Do what you want for all I care.” He finally managed to open his door and slammed it just as quickly as soon as he stepped inside. 

This interaction clearly did not weigh as heavily on Tommy’s mind as it did on Techno’s, as he was in quite the chipper mood in the bath house with Punz, not even sparing a thought for his pink-haired neighbor. 

Punz and Tommy were shampooing their hair while Punz made idle conversation. Tommy was more than happy to fill Punz in on the details of their building. He talked about Wilbur and his performances at the bar, Phil and the mysterious software he always said he was working on for a client but no one had ever seen, and Techno’s novel. 

Punz focused a lot on Techno. “You usually come here with him, right?” 

Tommy hummed affirmatively. “He kind of just follows me even though I tell him to fuck off. He doesn’t like when I walk alone at night.” 

Punz looked particularly disturbed to hear the foul mouth on the four year old, but he recovered quickly. He gathered the shampoo on his head and slathered it over his face, creating a beard out of the suds. Tommy pointed and laughed once he saw it, remarking, “Wow! You look like Ki-Adi-Mundi!” 

Punz, who had brushed up on his Star Wars knowledge, didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry at the comparison. He couldn’t tell if Tommy was saying that because of the shampoo beard or his forehead, which was on full display with the shampoo slicking his hair back. 

Their fun didn’t stop in the bath house. Punz spent a lot of time over at Tommy’s apartment. He’d bring treats for Tommy to try, and no self-respecting four year old would turn that down. 

One cloudy day, Punz came by with dirt cups, gummy worms included. Tommy practically pissed himself from the excitement; it had been so long since he had dirt cups. These ones were high quality too, with silky chocolate pudding and finely crushed oreos. Both Punz and Tommy each had two gummy worms.

“This was my favorite dessert from when I was a kid!” he exclaimed, as if he wasn’t still a kid.

“A co-worker recommended it,”  Punz replied. Punz took his gummy worms out and pressed their faces together on the table as if they were kissing, and Tommy’s head practically blew off.

“ I used to do that!” Tommy shouted, grabbing his own gummy worms and smashing them together with kissing noises included. 

Outside on the balcony, the rain began to pitter patter on the absorbent rotting wood. Punz sent a cursory glance over at the sky, remarking on the beginning of the rain. “You know, I have an activity for the rain.” 

Punz and Tommy crawled over to the glass door, watching as drops of water hit against the window. “You see the drops at the top?” Punz pointed to an aggressive one coming down at a rapid pace. “I bet that’s going to be the first one to get to the bottom.” 

Tommy gasped in recognition. “Well I bet it’s going to be this one!” he countered, pointing at a bigger droplet that was shooting from an angle. Tommy didn’t need the rules explained to him; he knew this game very well. Tommy hid his glances, watching Punz’s face as the man fixated on his droplet rather than track his own droplet.

Something shifted.

The month was flying by quickly for everyone but Techno. He constantly felt like he was dragging his feet everywhere in his life. At first he was grateful from the break of being Tommy’s guard dog, but now he felt useless in every respect. His only job was to stare at his screen and conjure up words, but he felt wholly uninspired when the world seemed locked in a standstill. 

One morning he decided to stay by his laundry and wait for it to finish drying rather than go back up and use his time to write. He watched the machine rumble with an apathetic fascination. It didn’t interest him in the slightest, but he couldn’t look away. 

There was a knock on the wood of the doorway made by Punz to announce his entrance. He wasn’t carrying any laundry. “Hey Technoblade,” said his neighbor. “Good to run into you.” 

“Yeah,” said Techno and he was content to leave it at that, but Punz’s beady gaze was hungry for a meatier response. Techno really hated dealing with people. “Hey, thanks for helpin’ out with Tommy. We all really appreciate it.” 

That was a lie. Technoblade knew for a fact Phil and Wilbur decidedly did not appreciate Punz’s help and were actively plotting ways to get Punz to move out sooner. Techno expected that sort of behavior from Wilbur, who was easily jealous of anyone that could capture Tommy’s attention, but Phil was sort of left field for it. Whenever Techno asked about it, Phil just insisted he had a bad feeling about the man and hoped his business resolved swiftly. 

A very political response for someone who had been searching Amazon for ways to attract roaches into someone’s apartment mere minutes prior. 

“Well, I’m the one that asked Tommy to hang out with me. Besides, I heard you were a novelist. I figured you could use the time.” Technoblade’s eyebrow raised involuntarily. He didn’t really like this guy’s assumptions. Punz didn’t seem to pick up the tension coming from Techno. “So, Tommy’s been here for a while, right? You must be pretty close with him.” 

“Sources would claim,” Techno responded half-heartedly, already mentally checking out of the conversation. 

“Sweet kid. How much do you know about him, though?” 

…Aaand Techno was back. “What do you mean?” 

“Didn’t you find it odd that a four year old just moved into this building? Completely alone? Where’s his family? Who’s paying for all of it? Don’t you wonder? I’m so curious, but Tommy never says anything about it.” 

“So you’re askin’ me?” 

Punz nodded.

Techno lifted himself off the folding table he had been leaning on, getting up close and personal with Punz. “I don’t wonder about it because it’s his business, and I respect that. Even if I knew somethin’, I wouldn’t tell you. Got it?” 

Punz took a strategic step backwards. “Right. My bad.” 

The curtains were drawn.

The lights were off, the only illumination coming from a laptop screen. A manila file rested on the table next to the device, opened to a legal document with a photo clipped to it in the corner. 

It was late; the world was asleep, but Punz was wide awake, dialing a number into his phone. Someone responded on the third ring. “Sorry for the late call, man. I have an update on the case.” He stared at the document, looking at the picture of little Tommy in his school uniform with a wide smile on his face. 

It was hard to get a picture of him. 

The boy was so guarded. 

“Yeah, yeah. Just smoothing out the details, but this is definitely your brother, Dream. Yeah, yeah, I really found him.” 

After the laundry room confrontation, Technoblade’s opinion of Punz soured completely. He was right there with Wilbur and Phil searching Amazon for stupid gimmicks to get the tenant of A2 to move out. 

“What brought on the change?” asked Wilbur, downing a glass of wine in one gulp. He said it helped fuel his spirit of revenge. Revenge for what, Techno didn’t know considering Punz hadn’t personally victimized Wilbur in any way. 

“Phil’s right. I mean, the guy’s sketchy.” 

“My radar is never wrong,” Phil said smugly. 

“He’s more than sketchy. He’s fucking weird. Why’s he hanging out with Toms? And why is Tommy ignoring me! I told him one of our favorite bands dropped a new EP and he said he’d listen to it with Punz!” wailed Wilbur. “Like, why’s he so special? I bet he doesn’t even know the name of the frontman’s cat!” 

It seemed like Wilbur had different reasons for his internal alarm bells going off. Well, it didn’t really matter, as long as they were going off.

Phil shrugged. “He’s suspicious for sure, but Tommy likes him, so we kept quiet.” 

It seemed like Phil and Technoblade had different definitions for ‘quiet.’ Techno’s idea of quiet was letting Punz do as he pleased and take over Techno’s duties for the month. Phil’s idea of quiet was breaking into Punz’s apartment in the middle of the day to spread foods that would attract roaches all over his baseboards. 

“He said somethin’ to me yesterday that rubbed me the wrong way,” Techno explained. “He was askin’ all about Tommy’s past. You know…” 

They knew. 

“You think he’s a narc?” asked Wilbur. 

Phil had a solution for this, like he always did. 

It just wasn’t what Techno expected to be doing on a Thursday night. Well, he didn’t expect to be getting wine drunk with his neighbors while searching through Amazon for mean tricks either, but he digressed.

Somehow the three of them found themselves banging their fists on Punz’s door. They had to stop at Phil’s place first so he could pick something up, but then they were there. Wilbur was a little too drunk for this, but honestly they could use his aggression. 

Punz opened the door, surprised to see his three adult neighbors at his door so late at night. “Hey guys--” 

“Cut the shit,” Phil spat, his voice heavily dosed with vitriol. It was strange to hear from the usually mild-mannered Phil, and it definitely made Wilbur and Technoblade re-evaluate Phil as a person.

Phil pushed his way into Punz’s apartment, shoving wads of dollar bills into his chest. “I know your kind very well. So you’re gonna tell me what I want to know. This is enough, yeah?” Punz grabbed the money, smoothly pocketing into his hoodie. He stepped aside and let the rest of them enter.

Techno kind of felt like a kid again, standing in a grocery store covering his face while Phil was kind of like a dad arguing with the poor cashier over an upcharge. He could tell Wilbur felt the same just by looking at him. 

“His brother hired me. He’s an old high school friend with whom I just recently got back into contact. I don’t know the situation, just that he said his little brother ran away. Wasn’t hard to follow the paper trail-- this address, the restraining order against his brother… Explains how clammy he is, doesn’t it?” Punz stared them all down, his discerning gaze sending shivers down Techno’s spine. “But you guys kind of knew, didn’t you?” 

“Are you going to tell his brother where he is?” Wilbur asked in a low voice.

“That’s what I was paid to do,” Punz answered with a shrug.

“Are you fucking serious?” Wilbur exclaimed. “Do you have any idea of the damage--” 

Punz put his hands up in surrender. “Hey, Tommy has a restraining order. He’ll be protected in a way--” 

Phil didn’t even wait for the man to finish before he was grabbing the collar of Punz’s hoodie and drawing his arm back. Techno was quick to pull Phil back. He was uninterested in catching a charge when Tommy would need them to be at their best.

“Is money really more important than ensuring a little boy’s safety?” Phil seethed.

“Uhh, yeah.” Punz rolled his eyes. “Come on, I’m doing him a favor. I’ll be reuniting him with real family. People that can really take care of him. What are you guys even doing? You’re just his neighbors. You really think this can continue forever? You guys can’t stop what’s coming.” 

It was so sudden, Techno barely had time to react. Phil shook him off, reeling back once more. Punz braced for the pain, but he was saved just in time by none other than Tommy, dressed in his bath house gear and smacking Phil’s shins with his little blue lightsaber.

“No! Phil! You can’t let the Dark Side consume you! You’re a Sith!” 

Phil instantly released Punz, letting the man catch himself with the wall. Tommy scowled, holding his lightsaber in Form III, the form best used for defense.

He was defending this slimeball. 

“Sunshine--” Wilbur started, but Tommy turned his blade onto the musician. 

“Sith lords!” 

What could they even say to that? From Tommy’s perspective, they probably look like a bunch of delinquents ganging up on his new friend. They could hardly get a word in to explain themselves with Tommy kicking them out. 

He even apologized to Punz, not knowing that Punz was going to majorly screw him over in the worst way.

It well and truly felt like Punz had won. They went to the bath house like always. They made their silly shampoo beards like always. They walked back and chatted about Tommy’s interests like always. Punz walked Tommy up to his door like always. 

It was as he was saying good night that Tommy’s face sobered up. Complete and utter stone. 

“Punz,” he said earnestly, “Are you going to tell my brother you found me?”

Punz trapped his smile on his face, hoping the charisma would help him escape the encounter, but Tommy just stared at him with his unnerving blue eyes, a maturity that should not have bloomed so young staring at him with blank eyes. 

Punz didn’t know how to answer. 

Techno was already awake when he received three knocks on his door. Before Tommy, one could not imagine Techno up at this ungodly hour. Yet, his routine was irrevocably altered by the four year old’s school schedule. 

Now he had all this time that he didn’t know how to use.

So imagine Technoblade’s surprise when Tommy was the one at his door, fully dressed in his hideous school uniform. “Why are you still in your PJs? I’m gonna be late!” 

“What.” 

Tommy’s cheeks puffed out in annoyance. “You’re walking me to school? Come on, I bet you’ve been lonely without me.” 

Techno followed Tommy like a ghost the entire way to school, almost as if he was in a state of shock that Tommy came back to him after their fight last night. “Hey, kid? What about Punz? What’s goin’ on?” 

“He left,” Tommy replied. “He said he had some business and then he left.” His response was way too casual. Something was up. The only explanation was that Punz was going to turn in the report and Tommy’s brother would know where he was and Tommy would be in danger and, and, and-- 

Why was Tommy so nonchalant?

Oh, he had no idea, did he? 

Techno practically herded Tommy to school before dialing a conference call between Wilbur, Phil and himself. 

Ten minutes later, the three of them were standing in front of Tommy’s school with their arms crossed, mustering up their meanest looks. 

No one was getting past them without a fight. 

The mothers picking up their kids were a bit flabbergasted when they saw three full grown men crab-walking in front of a kindergarten, but they recognized all three of them from the festival and other school activities so they weren’t entirely put off by their shenanigans. 

One person that was put off by their shenanigans was Tommy, who was downright cranky when they walked him home with their arms linked together.

“What the fuck are you guys doing?” he hissed, kicking his legs out as he dangled precariously off the ground. He was linked with Wilbur and Technoblade. “You’re embarrassing me!” 

“We’re just protecting you,” Phil explained. “A chain of defense.” 

“Protecting? Fuck you, guys! I’m a Big Man! I don't need two padawans and a dying Jedi Master to protect me!” 

“Yeah, but four’s better than one, right? Better odds,” Wilbur placated. 

This did nothing to smooth Tommy’s annoyance, considering this ‘chain of defense’ persisted into the evening. The three men stood outside Tommy’s door, not even coming inside. They forced him to link arms on the way to the bath house, and on the way back. 

It was all a bit too much for Tommy, who began to scream that a murderer was out to get him until they let him go. 

He turned to face them, his eyebrows practically permanently furrowed down. “I. Don’t. Need. You! I am a Big Man! I am a Jedi!” 

They could barely react before Tommy ran off, speeding back to their apartment building. 

“Maybe it’s overkill,” Phil acquiesced. “Maybe we call it a night.” 

Wilbur was ready to argue, but even he could see the strain their tactics had on their relationship with Tommy, so he relented and they all went their separate ways. 

Techno stopped at his door. He was going to go inside. He was going to watch some TV. 

Then he stopped at Tommy’s door, giving the featheriest of knocks. “Hey, kid. Can we talk?” 

“Oi! Fuck off! I’m practicing my form!” 

No doubt he meant his lightsaber form. 

Right, well out with it then.  “Why are you mad at us?” 

Tommy was quiet. Techno couldn’t hear any movement anymore, which means he stopped completely. “I’m not weak. I can take care of myself!” 

Techno slumped against Tommy’s door, his frame dragging down until he was sitting with his knees drawn to his chest. “Okay. I have another question. Answer, don’t answer-- I won’t fight you. Just-- why do you want to live alone?” 

It was a question that they’d all been wondering since the beginning. There had to be someone willing to take him in-- relatives, family friend, foster parent. How legal was Tommy living here actually? Techno didn’t know a lot about the law, but one would think Tommy was tiptoeing a line here. 

There was a clear, active choice in living alone. In living the way he did.

“To be tough. To get stronger.” 

“Okay, so is this a forever thing then?” 

“No.” 

“So then--” 

“No further comment! I’m training!” 

Techno knew he was truly being ignored when Tommy started slashing at their shared wall.

Phil and Wilbur were at the entrance of their apartment building when Techno returned from dropping Tommy off from school. Wilbur down on the steps with his feet pressed against the wall while Phil leaned on the wall. 

“So? Is he still mad?” asked Wilbur.

“Furious. He didn’t even mention that The Mandalorian was goin’ to start airin’ again soon,” Techno relayed. “And the only reason he let me drop him off is because he promised me. I just want to be clear that he didn’t promise--” 

“Okay, okay, be coy if you want Techno, but we know the truth,” Wilbur cooed.

Techno scowled. “What truth?” 

“You care so so so much about Tommy.” 

“He didn’t say anything about me, did he?” asked Phil. “He barely looked at me this morning.” 

Techno shook his head. Tommy had barely said the entire walk, which was quite impressive for the boy who never shut up. Tommy despised silence; he was the sort of person to start saying random words or make funny noises just to fill the void.

“It’s all so strange,” commented Wilbur, “all that strength stuff you told us about. I mean, he doesn’t plan on living alone forever. So what’s it all for? He’s not doing this to prove a point.” 

“I think it’s not about the strength to live alone, but the strength it takes to live with a person. A certain person. That’s what he’s trying to build,” Phil said. There was a solemnity to his words. It was sad realization after sad realization. It was wishing you could change a person’s mind for them. 

Techno wished it didn’t have to be like this. He wished Tommy’s brother wasn’t a terrible person that he felt he needed to protect himself from. He wished Tommy didn’t still love his brother despite it all. He wished Tommy would accept help. He wished for a lot of things that would probably never happen. 

The three of them hung out there for most of the day unbothered by passerbys until one of them turned out to be very familiar to them.

Their white hoodie-clad P.I. enemy Punz returned once more with a sleazy grin on his face. “Hey, neighbors.” 

Wilbur was the first to jump up this time, fists balled together with all the anger and frustration that had been brewing over the last few days. “You motherfucker! You really going to show your face around here again? What the fuck do you think-- wait a minute-- where the fuck did you even go?” 

“I submitted my report, of course. Payday, baby.” He even had the nerve to flash a stack of bills. 

Phil stepped in between Wilbur and Punz, deciding to take the high road today. “Did you really give Tommy’s location up?” 

Punz fanned the money. “Uh, yeah.” He leaned over Phil and Wilbur to look at something past them. “Hey, Tommy.” 

Tommy was back already, clutching the straps of his backpack tightly. Techno glanced at his phone, realizing he had been so caught up in it all that he forgot to pick Tommy up. God, he was really screwing everything up. 

“Hi, Punz. I wasn’t expecting you.” 

“Back from school, huh? I miss those days.” 

“I’m heading to the park, actually. Me and Tubbo are going to build a sand palace before it snows.” Techno couldn’t fathom how Tommy could have a casual conversation with this traitor. 

The four adults followed Tommy to the park, intent on supervising his playdate. While Tommy was busy pelting sand in Tubbo’s face, Punz was all too open in his answers as Phil, Wilbur, and Techno ruthlessly interrogated him. 

“Well? When’s D-day?” Wilbur spat. 

“Oh, Dream’s pretty excited. I bet he’s on his way here as we speak. He could be here by tomorrow morning for all I know.” 

“Tomorrow?” Techno gasped.

“Well, what do we do? Do we kidnap Tommy? Hide him?” 

Punz shook his head. “Nah, you won’t need to do any of that.” All three neighbors stared blankly at the P.I. “My job was to find Tommy. Technically I don’t have to give out his address.” 

“Wait, what the fuck?” 

Punz continued: “I know a guy that owns an apartment building. It’s empty because it’s going under renovation, and I handed Tommy’s brother that address.”

“So what was all this fuss for then? Why did you change your mind?” Techno growled. Deep down he still didn’t like this; he still didn’t trust Punz. Placing trust in the wrong person could be fatal for Tommy, and he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t let that happen to Tommy. 

Punz shrugged. “I’m not completely heartless, y’know. And Tommy, he had me all figured out. He asked me straight up about his brother. I guess I wasn’t all that subtle. Dream told me all about Tommy-- his favorite desserts, favorite games, favorite shows. I made Tommy my friend that way. My fault for underestimating a kid-- they see a lot more than we think they do. 

When he first asked me, I tried to lie. But he practically begged me, wanting me to pass a message along to Dream. To tell him to, ‘wait for him to be better,’ ‘to be stronger.’ I said I would.” 

It was as Phil had theorized. All of this: living alone, doing everything on his own without help, being a Big Man, it was all to protect himself against his brother. To prove to his brother he’s worthy of love.

In the distance, in the sand pit, Tommy threw another handful of sand at Tubbo. He aimed for the other boy’s chest, but it landed on his face, sprinkling into Tubbo’s eyes. He howled with pain, clutching his eyes as tears began to glisten in the corners. 

“Hey!” Tommy called. “Stop being a pussy, Tubs! Sand is nothing in the face of real danger! You have to be a Big Man!”

Tubbo looked like he would’ve rolled his eyes if he could move them. “What do you know about being a Big Man?” 

“Big Men are strong! And Big Men are reliable and can protect people! People want to keep around Big Men,” Tommy spluttered. “And if I had been just a little bigger before, I wouldn’t have ruined Dream’s life. So, I know a lot about being a Big Man!”

While a moving sentiment, it didn’t relieve Tubbo of the irritation in his eyes from the sand, and he did end up crying out all the grains. Still, there forged a bond of respect between the two boys, and the neighbors understood something new about Tommy.

The walk back to the apartment building was quiet. Everyone had something on their minds. Tommy walked a few paces ahead of everyone else.

“Whatever his brother did to him, does he think it’s his fault?” Techno whispered. 

Wilbur nodded solemnly. “I used to think like that. That if I was a better kid, my parents would love me better. If I was less annoying, if I did everything right… I thought my parents’ violence was my fault. Like it was deserved for not being good enough. Strong… I don’t know if it was strength.” 

Techno tried to hide his surprise at Wilbur’s mention of his past. They shared a lot of common interests, so it was a bit foreign to touch on subjects that weren’t within the scope of those branches. Not to mention, Techno would be the first to admit he could be a little closed off emotionally. He probably wouldn’t have been the person to admit those things to. 

It left a sour taste in his mouth.

Techno took a few wider strides to catch up with Tommy, falling back once he matched the little boy’s pace. “Hey kid,” he said. “Let’s race.” 

Without another word, he began to run, but he made sure to keep his strides short so as to let Tommy get ahead. He kept pace with Tommy until the apartment building was in sight and purposely fell back, letting Tommy win. 

He jumped for joy, plastering an ‘L’ on his forehead with his thumb and index finger. Wilbur, Phil, and Punz all clapped in honor of Tommy’s victory.

“A loss for the padawan, once again!” Tommy declared with a pretentious laugh. “You never had a chance; I train everyday!” 

“You train, but you train alone,” said Techno. “How far do you think you can get by yourself?”

“W-well, you’re supposed to do it alone,” Tommy stuttered, “It builds character! It-- It-- muscle!” He started flexing his skinny little arms in lieu of an actual argument. 

It almost made Techno laugh.

“It’s a hoax.”

“Huh?” 

“I will no longer be your padawan,” Techno declared. “I’m fallin’ to the Dark Side effective immediately.” 

“What?” Tommy squawked. “You can’t do that!” 

“Well, you’ll have to get stronger to beat me and I you, right? We fight each other and get stronger together. You need someone to match you.”

Tommy’s eyes had been pretty empty these past few days. No doubt the weight of having an entire lifestyle upheaved was quite stressful on the rambunctious four year old. But at that moment, Techno saw a spark light itself in those blue eyes.

“Yeah!” Tommy practically vibrated his way up to his apartment, leaving the adults alone once more. 

Phil had a bittersweet look on his face. Happy eyes paired with a sad smile. “Techno… It’s not forever.”

“You know how stubborn that kid can be. Even if we say it to his face: ‘you don’t deserve to feel this way,’ he won’t listen.”

“Techno’s right,” Wilbur added in a small voice. “The best thing we can do for him is to just be there. Guide him to the truth, but not shove it in his face. And when he realizes, we’ll be there. We’ll be there, right?” 

“Yeah,” Phil and Techno agreed in unison. “We’ll be there.”

Chapter Text

The snow fell outside the window as the classroom of children were hard at work learning to color within the lines. There were those who were quite talented in that particular art, much like Ranboo, those that needed some guidance like Tubbo, and those that ignored every direction given by the teacher to draw a completely separate thing in the corner of the page like Tommy. 

The teacher crouched down next to Tommy, her eyebrow quirked up as she waited for the little boy to acknowledge her presence next to him, but he was so focused on what he was working on, the teacher almost felt as if she would be a bad person for stifling Tommy’s overflowing creativity. 

She decided to look over Ranboo’s shoulder instead, who was sniffling away as they finished coloring in their rainbow cat. Ranboo glanced up at the teacher with wet eyes and mucus running down their nostrils and into their mouth. “Teacher, I don’t feel very well.” 

“Oh, really?” The teacher tried to act surprised even though it was quite obvious Ranboo was going through it. That, and it seemed as though Ranboo had a new illness every week and had receipts to prove it with how many tissue boxes they went through. The teacher wasn’t sure her classroom budget could take much more of Ranboo’s illness. 

Tommy rolled his eyes from where he sat. “Ugh! You are such a pussy, Ranboob! Just suck it up!” 

“Tommy!” the teacher reprimanded. She turned back to Ranboo. “It’s good that you tell me you’re sick. What if Tommy takes you down to the nurse’s office?” 

Tommy’s face scrunched up with disgust. “Make Tubs do it.” 

“I would certainly do that if Tubbo and Ranboo were on speaking terms,” the teacher explained. Tommy sighed very loudly before sliding out of his seat and pulling Ranboo out of the classroom and towards the nurse’s office. He was very familiar with the route since Ranboo was his buddy and Ranboo went there often. 

It usually ended with their mother picking them up halfway through the day. 

The nurse wasn’t in when they arrived so Tommy just got Ranboo settled on the little cot next to her desk. Ranboo settled nicely and just stared at the wall while Tommy continued to stand expectantly at Ranboo’s side. 

“Can I help you?” asked Ranboo.

Tommy dug through the pockets of his pants and produced an orange, unpeeled and unsliced. It was warm and slightly mushy from sitting in Tommy’s pants pocket for half a day, but he offered it to Ranboo anyway. “Eat this. It gives you superpowers.” 

“That’s a lie,” said Ranboo, but they took it anyway to be nice. 

“No, it’s true. It’s healthy, and superheroes are healthy, so…” Tommy trailed off, thinking the logic explained itself, but Ranboo didn’t really think so. Still, the gesture was appreciated, and though Ranboo still ended up going home with their mother thirty minutes later, eating the orange gifted by Tommy made them think that maybe believing enough would grant them superpowers. 

The next day, however, Tommy was practically swaying in his seat as they learned the alphabet. His face was as red as a tomato and the back of his uniform was soaked even though he never got wet and it was freezing outside. 

The teacher once more came to their table to inspect the three of them. “Tommy, are you alright? You look a little ill.” 

“All good!” He gave her a thumbs up, pulling out an apple from his pocket and munching on it. The teacher gently tugged the apple away from his mouth and set it down on the table. Tommy hadn’t even been able to bite down; it was the full apple with some shallow teeth marks indented on the side of the fruit.

Ranboo grabbed the teacher’s skirt. “I don’t feel so well right now.” 

“Oh, okay,” said the teacher, helping Ranboo onto his feet, but keeping her eyes trained on the other sick one. “Um-- Tubbo, can you take Tommy to the nurse’s office--” 

“Fuck off! Fuck off!” Tommy screamed. “I’m not sick!” 

“Tommy! Watch your mouth around other children!” In the first few weeks of school, the teacher had tried to correct Tommy’s potty mouth with little success. She had given up and decided the next best thing was to just try and police his vocabulary in an area she could control, but even that was a Herculean labor. 

“If he says he’s not sick, he’s not sick,” Tubbo shrugged, returning to his worksheet. 

“Teacher, I’m going to throw up,” said Ranboo.

“Please don’t do that just yet,” the teacher begged, practically begging Tommy to follow her to the nurse’s office, but he ran to the window and plastered himself against the glass.

“I’m cooled down now! All good! Fuck off!” 

“To--” 

“I’m going to barf now.”

“No!” The teacher cried, racing to grab the trash bin next to the door of the classroom. She’d take Ranboo to the nurse’s office herself, but she couldn’t just leave the other twenty four or five year olds without supervision. 

They’d start to revolt! 

Everyone watched with horror as Ranboo erupted, chunky beige liquid launching from his mouth and into the trash bin in a perfect arc, making even the most disgusted four year old swoon with awe. 

“Tommy, please!” The teacher pleaded as a last ditch effort, but Tommy was a steadfast individual. She was surprised that someone so young was so earnest. It was also incredibly inconvenient. 

“Fuck! You! I am strong!” 

“I can’t do this,” the teacher decided before taking out her cell-phone and dialing the first emergency contact under Tommy’s name. After she secured a wrangler for Tommy, she called Ranboo’s mother to alert her of Ranboo’s ill antics.

Twenty minutes later, her knight and shining armor arrived with an apologetic look on his face, though Ranboo’s mother was still on her way. “Sorry, is he being a menace?” 

“Do you even have to ask?” 

The teacher led Phil further into the classroom, by the window, where Tommy had all but hidden himself behind the plastic curtain. The problem with hiding behind the plastic curtain was that it was very much see-through and also a terrible hiding spot. 

“Hey Toms; it’s Phil,” Phil greeted, getting down on one knee as he leaned on the vent next to the window. “Why don’t you come back to my apartment? I’ll take care of you.”

“Fuck you, old man!” 

“That’s not very nice, now is it?” the teacher reprimanded, but Phil waved her off, used to Tommy’s playful temper, though he deduced that Tommy probably wasn’t playing around here. “Look, it’s only natural that you got sick, Tommy. You can’t be running around in the morning without a winter coat.” 

Tommy stilled. He probably hadn’t expected to be so directly called out, but Phil wasn’t the type to mince words and he wasn’t the type to continue to coax someone who didn’t want to be coaxed. Tommy needed someone direct with him, and so Phil would offer that. 

“I’m not sick.” 

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.” 

“You are.” 

“I am the epitome of health!” Tommy declared, pronouncing ‘epitome’ as ‘eh-pit-ohm.’ Tommy’s case was exponentially weakened by the fact that he sneezed after he said that. It sounded like a very watery sneeze by the way he sucked in the rest of the excess mucus rather than rubbing it off on his sleeve. 

Yeah, everyone was real convinced. 

“Tommy,” Phil sighed, ready to launch into a lecture about treasuring one’s body and how much of a temple it was, though he felt quite hypocritical about the subject considering how he treated himself when he had a harsh deadline. Technoblade and Wilbur weren’t any better to give the lecture. 

Maybe Tommy was right…

No! No, he was four years old. It was different. 

“Look, Phil! I am fine! I am strong! I’m not a pussy like Ranboo!” 

Said Pussy was on the complete other side of the room next to the trash bin waiting for their mother to come to pick them up. Everyone was so engrossed with Tommy’s melodrama that they didn’t want to walk Ranboo to the nurse’s office, and the teacher really couldn’t leave these kids unattended for a minute, or else someone like Tommy would take advantage of the vacuum of power. 

Kindergarten politics was quite a harrowing terror. 

A knock on the door turned everyone’s attention away from Tommy. Puffy was there in her fast-food manager uniform and a massive purse on her arm as she smiled at the class, very put off by the way everyone looked at her. “I’m here to pick up Ranboo.” 

“Right! Right!” The teacher snapped into attention, grabbing Ranboo’s tiny backpack and handing it over to Puffy. “He threw up and he has a tiny fever.” 

“Thanks,” replied Puffy, grabbing Ranboo’s hand and taking him out of the classroom. 

Then, and only then did Tommy pop out from behind the curtains, and in a move to surprise everyone, he ran out of the classroom, sprinting after Ranboo. 

“You little shit!” Phil cursed as he ran out after him. The teacher couldn’t do anything but stay with the rest of the kids and make sure no one else ran out of the room on her watch.

Neither Tommy nor Phil had to run very far, as Puffy and Ranboo were moving at a snail’s pace due to Ranboo’s sluggish movements. Tommy nearly head-butted the other boy as he approached in an attempt to slow down quickly from his rapid acceleration. 

It helped that Phil managed to grab Tommy’s collar and yank him back in time. 

“Ranboo! Are you stupid?” 

“Uh… I hope not,” said Ranboo. “Why?” 

“Every week you always go home! People will think you’re weak because you’re always sick! If you hide it, then no one will know!” 

“I’m sorry you think I’m weak,” started Ranboo, their eyes lidded. It was clear to the adults that Ranboo was one projectile vomit away from passing out, but they let the child get their words out. “But my mom says it’s good I know my limits. And isn’t it better that I go home before making everyone else sick? It’s kind of selfish to pretend to be anything but what I am.” 

Tommy was stunned into silence (an incredibly hard feat). Phil would’ve shaken the kid’s hand if he wasn’t sick.

Tommy had no such worries when he stepped up next to Ranboo and punched their shoulder, screaming “I’m sorry” at the exact same time, as if punching Ranboo would somehow drown out this moment of humility for the golden haired boy. 

Ranboo’s eyes just crinkled as if they were smiling. It was hard to tell through the surgical mask they always put on after declaring they were sick, but these sorts of things friends kind of just knew. 

Ranboo and Tommy parted ways after that, both heading home with their respective adults, and the teacher was finally at peace with a group of kids not stuck in a sick-off.

Tommy was usually adamant about walking everywhere he went. “I’m a Big Man!” he’d always say, but today he tugged on Phil’s pant leg and reached his arms over his head. Phil stared at the little boy for a few moments, forgetting to blink from the shock. 

The second thought that passed through his head was: Wow! Poor Wilbur is missing this!

And Tommy was promptly scooped up and cradled all the way back. Upon returning to the apartment complex, Phil took him to his own unit rather than Tommy’s. He had stocked more medicine and comfy items than Tommy’s apartment, which was filled with the necessities and then Star Wars trinkets. 

Tommy complained the whole time, begging to have his The Mandalorian jammies and his cow plushie and he wanted something warm to drink like cocoa even though drinking cocoa while sick was ill-advised. He was quite the high maintenance patient. 

Techno had noticed them walking back on his way back up from doing his laundry. He carried a nice, warm basket of clothes with him as Phil kicked his door open, and he was quite curious as to why Tommy was in Phil’s arms rather than being carried.

The second thing he thought was: Wow! Wilbur is missing this! Ha! 

But his kinder side won out in the end and he knocked on Wilbur’s door on the way back to his own apartment. Wilbur was slow to answer after an especially raucous shift at the bar. He looked like a ghoul hanging against the door when he finally answered, his voice raspy as he snapped. “What?” 

Technoblade was not at all taken aback at Wilbur’s reaction. One of the most important things about living next to Wilbur was knowing that he was not a morning person despite it being early afternoon. “I have some information I think you might want.” 

“Just say it, man. I can’t play your mind games this early.” 

“I want a favor.” 

“Fine, fine,” Wilbur said, clearly not understanding how much a favor could really cost.

“Well, here it is. Tommy’s home early from school. I didn’t pick him up-- Phil did. And do you think he walked?” 

“Yes.” 

“No.” 

Wilbur cocked his head to the side. “I don’t get it. How else would he get home if he didn’t wal-- oh, that motherfucker!” Wilbur pushed past Techno, leaving his door wide open as he raced down to Phil’s door, fully intent on breaking the door down even if he opened up. 

Techno listened to the commotion downstairs with a small smile, his mood lifted now. 

It was the small things, really. 

His mood was ruined when Wilbur came back up with Tommy’s keys and dragged Techno to Tommy’s unit so they could pick up a care package of items, because apparently the little gremlin was sick. 

It was probably because he was running around in the negative temperatures without a coat on. 

Wilbur hummed a jolly tune as he picked up some of Tommy’s essentials while Techno just stood and watched. He glanced at Tommy’s cluttered table, noticing the centerpiece was still a box of tissues, though they were the generic store brand that Techno recommended rather than the rich, scam brand he used to buy.

The ‘tasty’ ones. 

“All set,” Wilbur announced, his hands full of toys, clothes, and blankets. “This is going to be so much fun.” 

“He’s sick.” 

“This is going to be so much fun for me,” Wilbur specified. “He’s gonna be all cute and cuddly and he won’t hit me with a lightsaber when I try and pick him up--” 

“He’s sick.” 

“You are such a party pooper. Why are you still following me?” They had already arrived back at Phil’s unit, and Techno couldn’t really come up with an answer. His feet had just unconsciously followed Wilbur to where the rest of the action was. 

Tommy looked quite pitiful in Phil’s bed, the pillows fluffed up and the nightstand cleared for the cold medicine. Wilbur dumped the things in his arms on the end of the bed. “Well, hello sunshine! Look at you!” 

“I’m going to put death threats in your mailbox,” Tommy hissed. 

That almost got Wilbur to stop.

“Aw! You’re so cute when you’re angry!” The musician even went as far as to bop him on the nose, knowing full well Tommy’s energy was rapidly draining and he wouldn’t have a lot of fight left in him to stop Wilbur. 

Instead, he turned to the next best thing.

Hired guns.

“Techno, make him stop!” he whined. 

Techno took a step back. “Keep me out of it. I’m just here to watch.” 

Phil turned his head from the little kitchenette. “No the fuck you’re not. You either stay and help, or fuck off to your own place.” 

What a harsh ultimatum, Wilbur and Techno both thought but did not contest. 

Wilbur was more than happy to help take care of Tommy, but Techno was a little hesitant to get near the snot-nosed child when he was like this. Even more defensive of the plan was Tommy himself, who despite acquiescing that taking care of one’s self was important because it was selfish to others not to, he still had a hard time reconciling the fact that he himself was sick and needed to be taken care of. 

Not to worry, Phil was very good at taking care of people. He took care of his mother in her old age until she passed on, and he took care of his wife whenever she fell ill. He was happy to have someone to take care of while Kristin was overseas. 

The first task was to change Tommy into his pajamas, which Tommy made absolutely clear he could do it himself, and the three adults felt they would give him that much. 

Next, they had to administer the cold medicine. One sip and Tommy was spitting it out and making a mess of Phil’s duvet, though he didn’t harp on it. All it did was make him hold Tommy’s head in place while Techno squeezed his nose shut and Wilbur shoved the medicine down his throat. 

Highly effective.

After pajamas and medicine, Tommy was pliant enough that he just wanted to sit there and stare at whatever was in front of him, so Wilbur put on a movie and cozied up to Tommy, pulling the boy under his arm. 

Techno decided to continue to be useful and tidied up the things that Wilbur just dumped on the end of the bed and then shuffled into the kitchenette to help Phil cook dinner. He chose a light meal, just chicken noodle soup and some bread rolls so Tommy didn’t upset his stomach. 

“Where’s Henry,” Tommy groaned.

“Who?” asked Wilbur in a sickeningly sweet falsetto, tickling Tommy’s stomach. “Who, who, who?” 

“Henry! My cow!” 

Oh.

Wilbur leaned over and grabbed the cow, placing it in Tommy’s hold as he readjusted the hold he had on the four year old. He chose Up as their movie because he remembered explaining the concept of the balloon house to Tommy once and learned that he had never seen the movie before.

After a few minutes, Tommy was engrossed with the animation and hardly recognized movement when Techno set down a bowl of chicken noodle soup next to him. “Hey, kid. Time to eat.” 

“Later.” 

“Now. It’s not healthy to run on an empty stomach.” 

Tommy glared daggers at Techno but still picked up the bowl anyway. Wilbur tried to wrestle the spoon out of Tommy’s grasp in an attempt to feed him, but even a sick and dizzy Tommy had limits to control and elbowed Wilbur in the neck. 

“Tommy, you have to let me take care of you!” Wilbur choked, clutching his Adam’s apple tightly. 

“No! You’re just treating me like a baby! I’m a Big Man!” 

Wilbur’s mouth opened and closed as he tried to think of a retort, but Techno grabbed him by the arm and pulled him outside of the unit before he could get anything out. 

“You’re bein’ too pushy,” said Techno.

“He is still a baby! Why won’t he--” Wilbur sighed, holding his head in his hands as he tried to come up with words to explain the weight on his chest. “I just feel guilty. And I know I shouldn’t, and I know his situation is out of his hands and our hands and everyone’s hands, but--” 

“We’re all doin’ our best to do right by Tommy, but there are limits. Some of the limits are put in place by Tommy. I mean, you get it, right? You remember what it’s like to be spurned by the world.” 

“Yeah,” Wilbur unwillingly agreed. “It’s just so hard to see history repeat itself and know you can’t just fix everything immediately.” 

“But we are fixin’ things,” Techno urged, “It just takes time. Isn’t it a miracle that he let Phil carry him home at all? That he’s stayin’ in Phil’s apartment rather than stickin’ this cold out alone?” 

That seemed to be enough for Wilbur. 

He sidled up back to Tommy’s side and just watched the movie with him. Tommy managed to down half the bowl before feeling full, and Techno and Phil decided to join the other two on the bed to watch the movie before all four of them fell asleep. 

Tuesday nights Techno still went over to Tommy’s apartment to watch some sort of TV until it was an appropriate hour for Tommy to go to sleep. Sometimes Phil, Wilbur, or both would join them, and they would just chat and watch TV together.

This particular night it was Technoblade, Tommy, and Wilbur sitting around Tommy’s table while they waited for their show to come on. Hulu had really lost itself in the ads, but it was a Disney property, so what were they really expecting?

One ad snapped all of Tommy’s attention away-- snapped all of their attention away from the conversation. It wasn’t hard when the tremendously loud Star Wars theme blasted all of their eardrums. 

“Oh my god! Oh my god oh my god oh my god--” Tommy kept repeating as he ran up to the TV, his eyeballs peeled to the screen. It was a live-action movie trailer-- Techno remembered hearing about a new Star Wars movie in passing and thought Tommy had already heard about it. The kid knew what type of blasters the clones in The Clone Wars used, so he just assumed. 

It turned out a new movie was new information. Looked like it would be in theaters in the coming weeks, which had Tommy vibrating in his spot. What got Tommy bouncing off the walls was a brief shot of a familiar character brandishing a lightsaber. 

“Do you know who that is? Do you know who that is?” 

“Yeah,” answered Techno.

“That’s Jeern Murununuh! From Little Jedis! Oh my god oh my god--” 

“Please don’t hyperventilate,” Techno pleaded as he grabbed an old paper takeout-bag and slid it across the table for Tommy. He didn’t take it, but he didn’t calm down either. It was just a stream of consciousness coming out of that kid’s mouth. While Techno was bound to listen against his will, Wilbur’s phone rang. 

“Sorry guys, I have to take this really quick.” 

Tommy reached for the remote and turned down the volume just as their show came on. Wilbur shuffled to the corner of the room and pressed his phone tightly against his ear as he answered. He didn’t say much-- Wilbur got these phone calls a lot, and he hardly ever spoke when he received them-- it was mostly hums of responses and shaky head nods even though the caller couldn’t hear a head nod. When he returned from taking these calls, he was always a little sullen and a little less brighter than he had been a few minutes prior.

This call was no different. 

When the person finished speaking to him, Wilbur slinked back into his seat, typing away at his phone. 

“Wilbur, Wilbur, did you hear that Jeern Murununuh is going to be in the new movie?”

Wilbur popped his head up. “Oh? That’s good, right? You like that one?” 

“Yeah!” Tommy practically shouted, unsheathing his lightsaber from his side and waving it over his head. “Jeern Murununuh is the cool character in Little Jedis! He passed his trials and became a knight, and then he kicked Sith butt, and he’s strong and he’s kind and, and, and--” Techno wordlessly pushed the paper bag closer to Tommy as he looked close to hyperventilating at this point. 

Tommy decided it was better to just fall off his chair. 

“Strong, huh? What’s it like to be strong?” Wilbur mused, clutching his phone tightly. 

Tommy couldn’t answer.

Wilbur worked the closing shift yet again. It was tiring and it was demeaning but it meant his manager liked him a lot more and gave him more stage time when business was lagging. He locked the front doors and headed out the back, his guitar bag slung across his chest. 

When he turned around, he was met with a group of burly men with excess hair and an abundance of tattoos with all sorts of satanic insignias. Not the sort of type Phil would approve Wilbur hanging around, yet it was the sort of crowd Wilbur had found himself in a couple of years ago when he was down on his luck and desperate for just about anybody’s approval. All it did was get him entrenched in a world from which  he’d been desperate to escape with varying degrees of success.

“You’re Wil, right? Schlatt’s boy?” 

Wilbur slipped the keys to the bar in his back pocket, his back pressed up against the metal door, wishing he could run back in and barricade himself until he could call for help.

It was an impossible venture, and it would’ve failed miserably anyway. “Yes.” 

“Schlatt says he hasn’t seen you in a while. Says you’ve been picking up, but you haven’t been coming around.” 

“I’ve been busy,” Wilbur lied. 

“Schlatt wants to see you, Wil. Will you go see him?” 

“When I have more time--” 

“That’s not good enough. Schlatt’s starting to think you don’t want to see him.” 

“I--” Wilbur’s eyes flitted across the alleyway and to the exit where a car passed them despite the early hours of the morning. There were people out, and people helped people. 

What’s it like to be strong? Wilbur had asked. 

He hadn’t expected an answer, and he didn’t get one, but who could define personal strength other than the individual himself? Would he live his life like this all the time? Would he avoid Schlatt until he was gray and senile, still running from the violence of an old friend?

“I don’t want to see Schlatt again. I won’t go see him ever. I won’t pick up his calls either. I’m done. Go and tell Schlatt that.” 

He shouldn’t have said that.

Tommy was just too excited about this movie. He had nothing else to talk about besides that movie, and he made that Techno’s problem. 

Walking to school? New Star Wars movie.

Walking back? New Star Wars movie.

Taking out the trash? New Star Wars movie.

Washing up in the bathhouse? New Star Wars movie.

“Please stop. Just one second, please talk about literally anythin’ else!” Techno begged, almost on his hands and knees at the top of the steps to their apartments. 

Tommy smiled. “I think my lightsaber needs a wash.” 

“No!” Techno wailed, his mind completely destroyed by Star Wars. How could he look at the world and not see Star Wars, feel Star Wars, be Star Wars? 

Their argument was broken up when Wilbur stepped out of his door for the first time that day. He was wearing sunglasses despite still being inside and he wore a black turtleneck with gloves on. It wouldn’t have been completely unreasonable considering it was winter, but there was just something off about the way Wilbur walked and the way he tried to get past them without so much of a greeting. 

“Wilbur,” Tommy said. 

Wilbur came to a halt. 

“Yes, sunshine?” His voice was hoarse.

“Who hurt you?” 

Techno blinked, examining Wilbur and seconds away from chastising Tommy for being invasive for no reason, but the look on Tommy’s face was so serious, and Wilbur did seem off.

And then he took off the sunglasses.

A big, bold mess painted his eyelids violet, swollen shut in one eye. 

“Wilbur!” Techno exclaimed, getting to his feet. “What happened? Are you okay? A-a--” For a writer, Technoblade could not have been more at a loss than he was at that moment. Wilbur still had enough face in him to push them both into his apartment, forgetting to close the door behind him as he sat them both down at his table. With not enough chairs, Wilbur was the odd man out standing with his arms crossed tightly, keeping all his weight on one side of his body. 

It seemed as though Tommy had quite the discerning eye, and he slid out of his seat and forced Wilbur to sit down instead. 

“It’s really nothing, you guys. Just a fall on the way back from work.” 

“You’re lying.” 

“Tommy,” Techno admonished.

“No! Techno, he’s lying! Why are you lying when you’re hurt?” Tommy yelled, his watery gaze flooding Wilbur with feelings of guilt. 

He was a liar.

He wasn’t strong. He thought he could be, and he wasn’t, and now he was here looking like a mess in front of people that didn’t deserve to see him like this. 

“I want to take care of you too,” Tommy mumbled, creasing the ends of his shirt as he looked down, obviously embarrassed by the sentiment but still fully meaning it. He shuffled over to Wilbur and punched his leg, causing Wilbur to wince since it was his bad leg, but it got the point across just the same. 

“A couple of years ago, I left home. No money, no savings-- just the clothes on my back and my guitar. I met a guy, couple of years older than me, and I thought he was my friend. He’d let me sleep on his couch; he paid for some bartending classes; he liked my music. And then, well, things got better for me. I got a job at the bar, got an apartment here, and I paid him back for everything. We were friends. Y’know? He really did a lot for me. But it wasn’t enough; h-he said that the money wasn’t enough for how much he really invested in me-- so I kept giving him more and more and more-- and when we saw each other, he was always nice at first but he got mean, and finally I had it. Last night I told his men that I wouldn’t see him anymore, wouldn’t pay him anymore, and--and--” 

“They jumped you,” Techno gasped under his breath. 

Wilbur nodded solemnly. “They said they’d be back. He knows where I work-- where I live--” 

“Do you need me to beat some people up?” Techno asked at the same time that Phil made his presence known by asking, “Did you go to the police?” 

Everyone jumped out of their skin when they saw Phil. He had entered when he saw the door open with the intention of returning a pair of scissors he borrowed from Wilbur two days ago and just happened to overhear the very heavy conversation. 

“Phil, we’re going to put a bell on you one of these days,” Techno deadpanned. 

“Sorry, sorry, it’s just that you all were so sad-looking, and I didn’t really want to interrupt,” Phil explained, setting the scissors down on the kitchenette counter. “And Techno, you shouldn’t threaten to beat people up. We don’t even know if you can take them yet.” 

So you’re not against violence, you’re just against bad odds. 

Tommy pulled on Wilbur’s pant leg. “Wilbur, you have to go.”

“What?” Wilbur breathed. 

“You can’t stay here anymore. Your best bet is to move away.” 

“Isn’t that a little overboard? Come on, I’m sure we can work somethin’ out with this guy,” Techno reasoned.

Tommy shook his head. “This fuck knows where you work. Where you live! You can’t be Wilbur anymore.” 

Wilbur leaned down and caressed Tommy’s cheek, callused fingers dragging down the side of porcelain cheeks, lamenting the experiences this child had to go through in order to stand here today to produce this wisdom for Wilbur. 

In a bout of childishness, he cried, “But I want to stay with you all. I promised you-- I promised I’d be there--” 

“Tommy, it’s better if Wilbur just goes to the police,” Phil advised. 

“...Or we beat him up--” 

“No!” Tommy shrieked. “No, you don’t get it! He won’t stop! He won’t ever stop!” He ran around the table and pushed past Phil, chased by the shadows back to the solitude of his own apartment. 

A note slid under Wilbur’s door. 

It was crinkled college ruled paper from a notebook with obnoxious writing in crayon. 

A note from Tommy.

I’m goNna KILl U!!!

Wilbur could even hear his little footsteps pounding against the floor as he ran off. While odd, it wasn’t the strangest thing Tommy had ever done, and so Wilbur just left the note on his kitchen table and continued strumming his guitar. He had already planned to follow Phil’s advice and go to the police, and he understood Tommy was probably just throwing a tantrum.

That was, until ten minutes later another note slid under his door.

In darker crayon it read: U R DED!!!

And then his footsteps carried him away.

Wilbur put it on top of the other note and decided to make a snack.

Ten minutes went by, and a new note passed through.

i’M WAtcHINg YOu!!

Enough was enough. Wilbur ripped the door open before Tommy could run away. “Come back, you little wanker!” He grabbed Tommy by the collar of his shirt and yanked him back towards Wilbur, turning him around and forcing him to look up at Wilbur. “Are you trying to annoy me to death, or just into moving out?” 

“Moving out,” Tommy confessed all too quickly. 

“I’m going to the police, so I don’t have to go. I don’t have to leave you guys.” 

“Your friend loves you too much to stop fighting you,” Tommy said, and Wilbur’s heart broke for this child. “He’s your friend, right? And you loved him. And now he’s mean but you wish he was nice still, and it’s your fault. Just like it was my fault Dream got mean.” Tommy clasped Wilbur’s hands in his own and squeezed them tightly. “You don’t have to be like me! You can still fix things!”

No, no, no I can’t, Wilbur screamed in his head, looking at how earnest this little boy was. How he was convinced his brother’s abuse and mistreatment was all his fault. How skewed the world must be for Tommy to think this way. And we shouldn’t have to fix things. 

But other parts of Tommy’s logic made sense. Schlatt did know where he lived and where he worked. It wasn’t sensible to continue living here, especially since they wouldn’t know how long the police would take to investigate the matter and take care of it. It could take years. They might not even pick up the case at all. 

All four of them helped pack Wilbur’s apartment up. One of Wilbur’s co-workers and a fellow musician offered to let him stay at his place while Wilbur looked for a new apartment and job elsewhere. 

For now, Wilbur’s furniture would be put in Phil’s storage unit, and he would live on just his suitcase. He was packed and ready, the sun coming down behind him as they stood at the entrance of their apartment building, ready to say their goodbyes to Wilbur. 

“Are you sure about this, Wilbur?” Techno asked for what felt like the millionth time. “I mean--”

“I’m sure, Techno,” Wilbur replied with a sullen smile. “It’s temporary, but it’s necessary. I hope one day we can all live together again one day.” His voice wobbled, but the sentiment covered them all like a warm blanket, comforting them with promises of the future. 

Tommy wore a heavy brown robe with a long hood that covered his face.

Jedi robes, Techno supplied in his mind. Worn like he was in mourning.

“Take care of yourself, Wil, okay? And don’t ever let go of your passion. I know we’ll see you on a stage one day, and we’ll just be one in the thousands of people that will come to your shows,” said Phil, squeezing Wilbur’s arm. 

They all glanced down at the little Jedi Master. 

“Don’t you have anythin’ to say, Tommy?” 

“Fuck off,” Tommy muttered. 

Wilbur got down on one knee and lifted the hood away from Tommy’s eyes. His cheeks were streaked with tears. “Hey, sunshine, I don’t want to see any storms on your face, okay?” Tommy wiped his eyes and turned away, his cheeks reddening from the attention to his tears. “Tommy. It’s not your fault. You didn’t do shit to your brother. His problems are his own, and I know I’m leaving, but you have to know: none of it was you. It was never you--” Wilbur choked back a sob. “You are strong. You’re the strongest person I know, okay?”

“Okay,” Tommy said, his voice strained as the emotions clawed at the insides of his throat, threatening to let loose the storm.

But Wilbur wanted his sunshine.

And more than that, he didn’t want Wilbur’s last memories of him to be one of a crying little boy. 

He was a Big Man. 

Wilbur opened his arms, knowing well that Tommy would just bat him away again with his lightsaber, but it was for old time’s sake, really. To his surprise, Tommy ran into his embrace, smashing his face into the crook of Wilbur’s neck. 

“It’s okay,” Wilbur said in hushed tones, “This isn’t goodbye. I know it.” He stood up, Tommy still hugging him tightly. Phil added himself to the hug, and Techno felt awkward being left out and feeling highly emotional despite what his face looked like, he joined in as well. 

When they pulled apart, Wilbur set Tommy back on the ground and grabbed his suitcase. “Hey Wilbur,” Techno called. “I’m cashin’ in that favor.”

“What?”

Wilbur had almost forgotten all about that, and he couldn’t possibly figure out what Techno would want-- Wilbur had absolutely nothing besides himself at this point. 

“Don’t be a stranger.”

Wilbur laughed. “Okay. Okay, I won’t.”

The three remaining residents watched as Wilbur walked off into the sunset with his guitar on his back, his suitcase rolling behind him, and a wide smile as he looked toward his future, though he didn’t forget to look back one last time.

Chapter Text

Sapnap crossed his arms against his chest as he observed his Little Buddy attempt to dribble a basketball. It was an absolutely devastating attempt; he kept throwing the ball at the floor and trying to catch it before it could come back up too high with the palm of his hand. It would then wean off the gravity of the bounce until it just rolled away, and his Little Buddy had to go and catch it. 

Sapnap hadn’t wanted to do this, but if he wanted to keep playing basketball like his dad wanted him to, then he had to put up with the Little Buddy system. It was the school system’s way of integrating physical activity more heavily in the younger kids’ lives. They play as one team and each older kid is assigned one or two younger kids to watch over and guide. 

It was Sapnap’s luck that he was paired with the most useless kid in existence: Tommy. 

Sapnap heard the rumors surrounding Tommy-- that he had no parents, he lived alone in an apartment, and his guardians were his three weirdo neighbors. It would only make sense that Tommy never had anyone to teach him about sports, but that didn’t mean Sapnap wanted to be the one to do it. 

When Tommy came back with the ball in his hands, Sapnap gestured for him to come over. “Forget dribbling. Let’s try passing.” 

“Okay, Master Sapnap!” Tommy chirped. 

That was the other thing-- the kid was absolutely obsessed with Star Wars, to the point that he called everyone ‘Master’ or ‘Padawan’ depending on how he viewed someone, and he carried a lightsaber everywhere. A lightsaber he attempted to bring out onto the court on one of their scrimmages and the coach had to yank it off his side and hide in her purse. 

Tommy waddled over to the red line that other pairs were lined up around to also practice passing. 

“So, I’m going to pass this to you. It’s going to hit the floor halfway to us, okay? And then bounce into your arms. You catch that. Then you do it back to me. Got it?” Sapnap explained.

Tommy gave him a big thumbs up. 

Sapnap pushed the basketball to the ground and watched as it bounced over to Tommy. Tommy just barely caught it, the ball slipping through his fingers before eventually being caught by Tommy’s knee. 

Okay, good. That was some progress.

Then Tommy returned the ball. 

Instead of lightly bouncing it back to Sapnap, Tommy threw the ball over his head and slammed it down onto the ground, shooting it straight into the air, barely missing the ceiling. Sapnap sprinted to catch the ball before it came back down and hit the pair practicing closest to them. 

“Y-you! Not like that!” Sapnap chastised when he returned with the ball. “Didn’t you see how I did it?” 

“What?” squawked Tommy. “That was epic! The other team won’t know what hit them!” 

Sapnap took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose so he didn’t lose his cool. Tommy didn’t know better; it wasn’t worth the anger. 

“It’s against the rules. We’ll do it again, okay? Lighter.” 

Sapnap bounced the ball over to Tommy once more. Tommy didn’t catch this one, so Sapnap had to wait for Tommy to retrieve the ball and come back to the red line. The boy fixed his footing before thrusting the ball away from his chest and towards the floor. Rather than hit the ground halfway between the two of them, Tommy managed to get it three quarters of the way before it eventually ricocheted and slammed into Sapnap’s abdomen, sucking the air out of his lungs. He fell onto his side, coughing up a lung.

The whistle blew as Sapnap got to his feet, rubbing his elbows, which were burned when he fell to the floor, his skin rubbing hard up against the sleek gym floor. Sapnap jolted as the coach yelled for all of them to huddle up. His vision grew dark, a hand flying in front of his eyes. 

As fast as he saw it, it disappeared, making way for the fluorescent lights of the gym to greet him once more. 

“Sapnap! Innit! Over here!” The coach called once more, her tone lighter. Sapnap glanced over at Tommy, who was just staring at Sapnap like he had something on his face. It was a little off-putting. He thought Tommy would’ve hustled over to the rest of the team by now, but for some reason he stayed back by Sapnap. Maybe it was for some sort of unnecessary loyalty to Sapnap as his Big Buddy. 

“Come on,” Sapnap muttered, jogging over to the outer layers of the team huddle. 

The first big game of the basketball season approached like a racecar making its way around the track and cutting corners. Sapnap could hardly believe that he was already sitting there on the bench already, the other team in a huddle on the other side of the gym while his coach ran over the notes on her clipboard. 

Tommy sat next to him while sucking on his water bottle. There were no rules about Buddies sitting next to each other. Tommy just found Sapnap and slid in next to him even though Sapnap knew Tommy’s friend Tubbo was on the team. Sapnap didn’t mind the company in the midst of the crowd, but sometimes he felt Tommy’s presence was a little too overbearing. It was as if his little eyes were constantly making holes in the back of his head, watching him when he thought no one else noticed, observing Sapnap as if he were some sort of specimen in a lab. 

“Starting line up,” the coach announced. She started listing off a few names. Sapnap felt giddy as soon as he heard his name announced. Being on the initial lineup for the first game of the season was a big deal to fifth graders. It meant the coach thought you were a valued player. “...And Tommy. Sapnap, keep an eye on Tommy while out on the court, kay?” 

Sapnap’s perception was shattered instantly. 

Tommy of all people was on the starting lineup? He couldn’t even dribble for shit! Still, Sapnap did not voice his disagreement. He just stood up and began to do some extra stretches in an attempt to hype himself up. Maybe this was a good thing. If the coach wanted him to play in the startling lineup, then perhaps what it really meant was she trusted not only Sapnap’s basketball skills but also his leadership skills and ability to teach. 

One of Sapnap’s friends elbowed him in the arm cheekily. “You excited? Starting lineup. God, I’d be so nervous if I made the starting lineup. I can’t believe we’re actually letting the tots play.” 

Sapnap tried to hide the pride in his smile. “We’re all gonna do great. We’ve got this, even with the tots.” 

He couldn’t help the worried glance he sent over at Tommy. He thought he was sneaky, but Tommy was already staring at him, still, as if he knew what Sapnap was really thinking. As if he knew how Sapnap really thought of him. 

The game started like normal. 

Sapnap played offense and made sure Tommy was too. Sapnap knew from scrimmage experience that if Tommy were put on defense, he’d forget he had to be on someone three seconds into the game and start running around in circles to amuse himself. 

Sapnap fought for the ball ferociously, stopping just short of maiming his opponent in the toss up. His focus was on the game, naturally, but if his eye wandered to the bleachers in search of a familiar face, well, he couldn’t help it. 

This was the first game of the season. He wanted his father to be there, see him in the initial lineup, see him absolutely killing it in the game. He couldn’t catch a single face. 

Sapnap passed the ball to a friend, running to the other team’s side of the court. “I’m open, I’m open!” he called. Right behind him, Tommy sprinted to catch up with him, keeping his feet moving as soon as he was right in front of him. It was almost like Sapnap had him on a leash or something.

Sapnap’s friend launched the ball overhead and Sapnap jumped to catch it, dribbling it to the ground as he pushed past the opposition and performed a layup. The ball teetered on the edge of the basket, eventually falling one way.

Into the basket.

“Yeah!” Their team erupted into cheers as their score went up on the large panel attached to the wall in the corner of the gym. 

“We killed it!” Tommy cheered, slapping Sapnap’s leg as it was the closest part of him Tommy could reach. “We’re a dynamic duo, Sapnap!” 

Sapnap paused in the middle of his festivities. “--What?” 

“We killed that shot,” Tommy explained further, but all it did was cause more confusion. No way this kid was taking half-credit for Sapnap’s shot. 

“Hey! Sapnap! Innit! Quit dawdling!” The coach roared, violently pointing at their end of the court, where the other team was breaching their defenses with much ease with Sapnap and Tommy arguing on the other end of the court. 

Sapnap’s limbs locked in place, his vision freezing over until he saw nothing but that hand coming closer and closer to his face with palms stretched out; until he heard nothing but screams of disapproval and disappointment. 

He didn’t feel the tremors rampaging through his body until he felt a hand cover his clenched fist, the warmth of flesh on flesh bringing Sapnap back to the real world. Tommy was standing in front of him, holding his hand. He wasn’t looking at Sapnap’s face, but rather what was directly in front of him. 

His eyes were vacant, as vacant as Sapnap’s own when he was in his trance.

No judgment. 

“What are you--” Sapnap muttered, cutting himself off when he felt Tommy squeeze his hand. 

“I had a friend who did this for me,” Tommy told him quietly, unmoving even as the game roared on around them, their team bringing the ball back to the opponent’s side of the court. “When my eyes freeze. This is nothing. You’re okay.”

The assurance surprisingly assuaged Sapnap’s worries. There was a smidge of embarrassment from having to be talked out of a panic attack by a four year old, but if it was what helped him play the game, Sapnap could learn to be grateful.

He snapped his hand out of Tommy’s grip, adjusting his face to a look of annoyance. He could be grateful in secret. “Okay, back in the game.”

Sapnap rushed off, waving his hands over his head so his teammates could know he was open. He got into a prime position for passing and eventually received the ball. He dribbled it a couple of times, his feet moving as fast as his brain as he tried to look for a good angle to shoot. Defense was covering him pretty well, jumping up and down and waving their arms so he couldn’t get a clear shot unless he wanted it to be struck down by some over-excited sixth grader. 

Tommy was standing next to him, growling and baring his teeth at the defense like that was any sort of help. With the clock low on time, Sapnap had no choice but to take his shot. He shot it in the air, hoping it would be enough to get through the defense's arms, but defense caught its trajectory in time and slapped it on its side out of the way. 

Sapnap let out a gasp of horror before immediately moving to grab the ball but he stopped mid-turn when he saw the ball come down on Tommy’s face, ricocheting off the boy’s forehead and shooting back up in the direction of the basket, going back and forth on the edge before it…

Went in.

It went in. 

The timer buzzed, announcing the end of the first quarter.

Sapnap jumped in place while cheering until he noticed Tommy flat on his back with a bright red mark on his forehead. Tommy managed to lift his arm and give them all a thumbs up. “Good one…” he croaked before clocking out. 

Technoblade was an existence full of regrets as he looked down at the two eager five year olds standing in front of him, practically buzzing through their winter coats. He then looked down at the four year old on his side, a passive look on his face, but Techno knew Tommy pretty well at this point. He also knew to look at Tommy’s clenched fists shaking with excitement to know Tommy was just as excited about this excursion as everyone else.

Technoblade ended up in this situation through a very unusual circumstance, and that was his big fat blabbermouth. 

On the walk home from Tommy’s school yesterday, Technoblade had off-handedly mentioned a detail about work. It was really small. He was just trying to make conversation… He couldn’t quite remember how it was brought up, honestly-- it probably stemmed from Tommy’s rant about the new Star Wars movie in theaters-- yeah, that was probably it.

“You know,” Technoblade had said, “My editor said I should go see a movie. Take notes on story and character, so I’ll probably be headin’ tomorrow--”

“The movies? Like, in the theater?” Tommy asked, stars shining in his eyes as he stopped in place to get this thought out.

“Uh, yeah, like the theater--”

“Okay! No need to say anything more, Darth-Darth-Darth--” That was the other thing. Tommy had been on a hunt to figure out a Sith name for Technoblade after he proclaimed he had fallen to the Dark Side. 

He hadn’t been successful so far. 

“Since you’re asking so nicely, I will go with you to see the new Star Wars movie.”

“...What?” Techno said, a bit taken aback. He ran through his words, and nowhere in them did he believe he implied an invitation to Tommy. 

But then again, this was Tommy. He had the natural talent of breaking the laws of the universe by making something out of nothing. 

That was Techno’s blabber-mouth moment. If he hadn’t mentioned the movie to Tommy, then Tommy wouldn’t have gone and bragged to all his pint-sized buddies the very next day that he was going to see Star Wars after school. When Techno showed up to pick up Tommy, he had instantly been hounded by Tommy’s friends Tubbo and Ranboo to get him to let them come with them on the movie-going experience.

Technoblade didn’t have a problem saying no to kids. He did it all the time to Tommy. But then the mothers came up from behind the kids with pleading expressions-- please take my kid for a few hours please take my kid for a few hours please take my kid for a few hours -- and Technoblade crumbled. 

Now they were here, standing in front of the mall where the movie theater was.

As soon as they walked through the automatic doors, they were assaulted with all types of smells: perfume, greasy fast food, sweat from a failing karate dojo, and of course, popcorn. 

Tubbo ran ahead of the group, fascinated with the massage chairs in the middle of the hall. He kept jamming his fingers into the coin slot despite not having any coins and not having a finger that would fit in the coin slot.

Once Techno managed to pull Tubbo away from the massage chairs, he found out that Ranboo had disappeared with a snap of their fingers. Techno’s head whipped around both ways until he finally noticed Ranboo tugging on a piece of gothic clothing near the front of Hot Topic.

Tommy was surprisingly well-behaved compared to these two wanderers. Techno really thought Tommy would be some sort of instigator, pulling everyone every which way, but he patiently waited for Techno to wrangle everyone together with not even as much as a foot tap on the mall tile. 

“Can we go watch the movie now?” asked Tommy. 

“Yes please,” Techno practically begged. He wished he had a leash to put on all these kids. Someone who was not in his position could judge all they want, but once they walked two moons in his shoes, they’d understand.

Technoblade was first and foremost a strategist. He wouldn’t show up to a movie theater without a plan, and the plan was five dollar movie days on Thursdays. 

Techno stepped up to the register, ready to order four tickets to the new Star Wars when he saw the three boys crowd around a rectangular pillar with four different movie posters on each side. Tommy stood in front of the Star Wars poster, practically on his knees worshiping it, but Tubbo and Ranboo were ‘oohing’ and ‘aahing’ at a LEGO movie poster. 

“Hey, hey! Technoblade!” Tubbo called, “Can we see this? The trailer is so awesome!” 

Techno scratched the back of his head, glancing back at the register worker who had the most tired face he’d ever seen on a young person (and Technoblade had looked in a mirror a couple of times in his life), before looking back at the kids.
Tommy had gotten up from the floor with a look of defeat on his face. It was uncomfortable to see that on such a proud person. 

Still, Techno didn’t want Tommy’s friends to be annoying him the entire time. He also didn’t want to disappoint Tommy. The easiest solution was to just take the pressure off of himself. “Your call, Tommy,” he said. “What movie?” 

Tubbo and Ranboo turned their begging over to Tommy. Tubbo listed all the pros of going to see the LEGO movie rather than the Star Wars one. “You love LEGO. LEGO is cool. You like LEGO more than both me and Ranboo. Don’t you want to see LEGO?”

“Alright, alright!” Tommy snapped, huffing and puffing his way over back to Techno’s side, his figure slightly obscured behind Techno’s legs. “Just buy the stupid fucking tickets,” Tommy spat. 

“Uhh… Okay.” Techo slid a twenty over to the employee and he was handed back four tickets to the LEGO movie. 

Techno was glad that that ordeal was over, but a new challenge arose when they made it to the snacks stall. There were small shelves full of candy and behind the counter was a glass case full of buttered popcorn. The posters plastered above the snack stall advertised pizza, hot dogs, cotton candy, and churros, all for an exorbitant price. Really, it was like the movie theaters saw the store price of these items and then doubled it.

Complete robbery.

But technically speaking, this was Tommy’s event as host. Tommy’s friends were put in Techno’s care for the afternoon for this. He couldn’t let Tommy look like a cheapskate if he didn’t buy these kids some popcorn and some drinks. 

When it was his turn in line, he held up four fingers: “Four drinks and two large popcorns please.”

“Can I get some M&Ms?” asked Tubbo, already ripping a bag off the candy shelf.

This seemed to engender the meek Ranboo. “I’d like some chocolate covered cookie dough, please.” 

At least one of them was polite about it. Techno looked down into his wallet and held back some tears. He couldn’t let Tommy look bad. 

“...Yeah,” he drawled. “Anythin’ for you, Tommy?” 

He practically cringed as he said it. 

All he had wanted to do was to take some notes on a movie!

“No,” Tommy snarled, turning his head away with such gusto Techno was sure his neck would snap. Technoblade could only shrug and swipe his card, closing his eyes before the total popped up in front of him. 

If I can’t see it, it can’t see me. 

Those were the rules in drama clubs, as told by Wilbur. When waiting in the wings, if one could see the audience, then the audience could most definitely see them. Ever since Wilbur told him that, he’d been using it in his everyday life to avoid hardships, and Techno was sure it would work in horror movies when a killer eventually breaks into the apartment complex and picks them all off one by one.

Wilbur was lucky he got out while he could.

Well, perhaps the killer was Wilbur’s debt collector friend all along. 

They made their way to the theater-- correction: Technoblade herded them into the theater. He had to trap them all by sitting in the aisle seat, and unfortunately for Tommy, he got stuck all the way on the other end.

The real misfortune was actually that Techno was stuck sitting next to Tubbo, which meant he had to share his large popcorn with the kid, made worse by the fact that as soon as they sat down, Tubbo ripped open the M&Ms and dumped the entire bag into the popcorn. 

“What the heck?” Techno wheezed in a low voice, careful not to offend the other movie-goers. “Would askin’ hurt you?”

“Yeah, sometimes I get abdominal pain from it,” Tubbo replied in a very serious voice. 

The movie itself was quite lackluster, clearly not an artistic endeavor despite being a LEGO animation. Technoblade had seen Youtube LEGO videos better than this movie.

Not that he could remember the movie that well, seeing as he spent the majority of the time shushing Tubbo and Ranboo, who were apparently the type of people to comment and criticize the movie loudly. It would’ve been funny in a living room, but Techno was overly aware of the glares coming from around the theater. 

Tommy, shockingly, was the quietest one from their group. He did not speak at all during the movie, barely even reaching over to grab any popcorn. Ranboo managed to tear through their tub alone. Not even the kernels remained.

What a truly terrifying child. 

They filed out of the movie theater. Tubbo and Ranboo filled the silence as they lauded the movie for its visual effects and tear-jerking ending. Techno and Tommy had dry eyes, but Technoblade managed to accrue some moisture when he saw a familiar figure in the drop-off zone in front of the mall. 

Puffy hailed them over in her massive blue SUV. She looked more refreshed than she did when Techno saw her last a couple of hours ago. 

“Hey! Tubbo, Ranboo, ready to go home?” It seemed as though Puffy made a deal with Tubbo’s mom to bring him home considering the two were cousins. 

Tubbo patted his stomach and released a contented sigh. “Yeah. I could use a nap.”

“Try bedtime,” Puffy shot back with a laugh. She directed her gaze at Techno. “Hey, thanks for doing this. It was really nice. Do you guys want a ride back to your apartment--”

“No!” Tommy said very quickly in a sharp voice. “We’ll take the bus!”

Puffy was speechless for a moment, her lips opening and closing until she just pressed them into a thin-lipped smile. “Okay. Well, Tubbo, Ranboo, say goodbye to Tommy.”

Tommy was usually a hugger, but this time he only offered a handshake to Tubbo and Ranboo. They both played along anyway, but Techno could tell something was eating away at Tommy. 

When Puffy finally drove off, Techno allowed himself to relax a little. Maybe a little too much. He crouched down, letting his arms fall loosely in front of him as he finally exhaled. Technoblade could say very definitively that he hated kids.

It wasn’t enough to bear this hatred just in heart. He needed to speak it into existence. “**** those kids, bruh.”

It would’ve been fine if they hadn’t interfered with his work. He didn’t take any notes on account of the fact that he was constantly shushing them and making sure they didn’t piss themselves or choke on popcorn kernels (specifically Ranboo, and it only happened twice).

Tommy crouched down too even though he really didn’t need to since he was already shorter than four feet, and leaned his entire body on Technoblade. 

Techno froze up. 

“What’s up with you?” he asked, lightly pushing up against Tommy. Tommy wasn’t the type to initiate positive contact with people outside his age group. He always hated when Wilbur tried to hug him or when Phil tried to carry him or when Techno pulled him out of the dumpster (though Techno suspected Tommy hated that for different reasons). 

Tommy remained silent.

“Hey, come on. Don’t be all moody and then not say anythin’ about it. That’s so annoyin’.”

Tommy turned his head away, puffing his cheeks out in a pout. “You’re my neighbor,” he muttered harshly. Techno immediately erupted into laughter, not even caring how Tommy’s cheeks flamed up at the reaction of his admission. “Oi! Fuck you, bitch!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Techno said through his laughs, clearly not meaning it one bit. “It’s my fault for tryin’ so hard to make sure you and your friends had a good time.”

Tommy stood up and crossed his arms, pointing his nose to the sky in a standoffish manner. “Fuck you, you liar! You’re not sorry!” 

Techno threw his hands up in mock surrender as he got to his feet. “Okay, okay. Here’s the deal. I didn’t get any notes with those two boomboxes, so… I’m goin’ back in to watch Star Wars. If you wanna come…” 

Tommy’s demeanor changed instantaneously. “I’ll come! I’ll come!” He skipped all the way back into the mall, Techno following a short distance behind, a fond smile on his face hidden by his hand.

The register worker made no indication that they remembered who Technoblade was, which really soothed Techno’s nerves. He was always embarrassed about walking back into stores he left. 

Two tickets, two drinks, one large popcorn with no M&Ms and one crowded theater later, Technoblade and Tommy were finally watching the new Star Wars movie.

It sucked.

But no one hated Star Wars more than Star Wars fans. 

Rainy days were some of Techno’s favorites. It meant he could stay in the comfort of his apartment with a hot cup of coffee and allow himself to be cozy. Sometimes the stir-crazy shocked him into some good ideas when it came to his writing. 

Even though it was December, the temperature fluctuated enough that there were days that they received rain rather than snow. That tended to be a drag since it meant the existing snow would turn into slush and Techno’s ratty sneakers would be soaked when he eventually had to catch up with the world once the rainy day was over. 

Techno never noticed this before, but he suspected this never happened-- but this particular rainy day saw their resident four year old leave his apartment with a long umbrella and two pieces of cardboard connected by strings over his shoulders. Technoblade only saw this because he happened to be staring out his peephole. He was only staring out his peephole because he was waiting for his food delivery to arrive. 

Technoblade had half a mind to stop Tommy in his tracks immediately and interrogate him, but this particular rainy day was feeling quite boring. He missed when Wilbur would just enter whenever he pleased to bother him about some stupid micro-issue that always got him riled up. 

Yes, Techno followed him.

Someone needed to make sure the kid didn’t get himself killed, and he was on overtime since Wilbur’s departure and Phil had another enormous assignment with a nearing due date. They strolled through the streets, Techno always ten feet away from Tommy at all times. Tommy tied his lightsaber to the umbrella to give it some height and protect himself from the rain while all Techno had was his hoodie. It was fine; it needed a wash anyway. 

They finally arrived at the bus stop of all places, right as one of the city places released a stream of people. Some of them had the foresight to bring umbrellas, some of them didn’t. That was when Technoblade finally read Tommy’s sign.

COME 1 COME ALL

FREE UMBRELLA RIDE

Techno face-palmed. He was about to make his presence known and pull the kid back home when a young woman approached Tommy. She was dressed in business casual with her hair clipped up, already soaking up some rain. “Do you know Newbury Street?” she asked Tommy.

“Of course!” Tommy replied, pulling his umbrella over her head. 

Techno’s protests were caught in his throat as Tommy and the woman began to walk off in the direction of Newbury Street. He felt he was too far into this to just leave, and how terrible of a guardian would Technoblade be if he just left Tommy to wander the streets with strangers?

So he kept following him.

The lady on Newbury Street wasn’t his only customer. Tommy had boatloads of people approach him for the simple arrangement of an umbrella walk to their destination. 

Tommy was at it until the rain weaned into a drizzle and his service was no longer required.

Then he just went home.

It was the most peculiar thing…

Until it happened again. 

It rained just two days later-- still no snow, but rain-- and Tommy had the same setup as last time. Technoblade considered shoving this problem onto Phil. After all, Techno had his own work to do. He had short stories to mangle and novels to fail at writing.

Yet, he was stalking a four year old.

No, he wasn’t stalking. He was doing his duty as a responsible adult while maintaining a respectable distance away where he didn’t have to confront Tommy over whatever this was. Was it a cry for help? Was it the simple joys of being a Good Samaritan that made Tommy do this? He didn’t accept payment or tips. He didn’t let anyone else hold the umbrella. 

People at the bus stop knew Tommy by name now. 

The arrangement became clearer this time around.

Tommy really liked hearing people talk. It was an interesting development since Techno knew firsthand how much Tommy loved the sound of his own voice. But he seemed to earnestly enjoy the stories people would tell about their day as he walked them to their destination. 

It made Techno wonder what he was missing in all this. Why was Tommy doing this? It wasn’t as if Tommy wasn’t allowed to be a good person, but he never really had the inclination before. 

On the walk back to the bus stop to grab a new customer, Tommy finally took a moment on the street to stop. He turned around. Technoblade hid behind the corner of the building he was scaling, but Techno had a feeling Tommy always knew he was there. 

This was confirmed moments later. “I know you’re there, Phil.”

Ah. 

Not quite. 

Techno didn’t know whether to be proud of his sneaking skills or offended that Tommy mistook him for Phil. 

He decided they weren’t mutually exclusive and stepped out of the shadows. 

“Hullo,” Techno said with a small wave. He instantly stuck his hands back into his hoodie pockets. He was already freezing for standing out here for so long in only a hoodie. It may be warm enough to rain, but it was still pretty goddamn cold overall. 

“Oh!” Tommy sighed. “It’s just you, Techno!”

“What does that mean?” Was he not enough of an authority figure for him? Sure, Techno didn’t own a belt, but he felt he did enough in Tommy’s life to gain certain respects. 

Tommy stared at him blankly. “I thought it was Phil, and then it wasn’t. It’s just you.”

“When did you start makin’ sense? It’s gettin’ scary.” Tommy’s critical thinking skills and rationalizations had only gotten better after Wilbur’s departure. He was an awfully mature kid for his age already, but his flames had turned into embers. He was sullen and morose and he didn’t speak as much and Techno had to start missing two people then. Wilbur, and the Tommy that took Wilbur with him. 

“I’ve always made sense. I’m kind of epic like that.”

“Right…” Techno drawled, before clearing his throat and deciding to just cut to the chase. Before he could, Tommy shook his umbrella, gesturing for Techno to join him under the miracle invention. Technoblade didn’t need to be told twice. His hoodie was absolutely soaked. “So, are you goin’ to tell me why you’ve been handin’ out umbrella walks?”

“I just like the bus stop,” Tommy answered. Techno waited for more to come out, but Tommy kept his mouth shut. The last thing Techno wanted to do was pry. Not because he didn’t care-- that excuse stopped working after about two weeks of knowing Tommy-- but because he didn’t want to put pressure on an open wound. 

They walked in silence all the way back. A new bus was just arriving, the automatic doors swinging open and allowing the passengers off. Tommy watched with bated breath the stream of passengers, his eyes scanning every head, every eye. 

Techno did a double take when he noticed a tall brunette get off the city bus. He had fluffy curly hair and wore a black sports jacket. 

“Wil--” Tommy called out, the umbrella clattering to the ground. 

But when the man turned his head, it turned into a stranger’s face. 

Tommy closed his mouth instantly, taking a step back and towards Techno. Techno leaned down and grabbed the umbrella, covering both him and Tommy fully. He cleared his gaze of any pity it might have held and just kicked the back of Tommy’s knee. “Come on,” he said, “Let’s go back now.”

Tommy nodded dumbly and they headed down the street back to their apartment complex. Tommy didn’t need to explain; Technoblade understood.

He understood that Tommy saw Wilbur’s face in every crowd. He understood that Tommy thought that maybe he would see Wilbur at the bus stop, even if it was wishful thinking, and he thought that offering a service at the bus stop might be a good excuse to linger by the bus stop. 

Techno understood it well, but Tommy still wanted to explain. 

“I-I-I just want to see him again. No picture. No video. I want to see him. I know it’s not safe. Just a look would’ve been alright--”

“I get it, Tommy.” It felt cruel to watch Tommy struggle to justify his actions. It wasn’t as if they weren’t in touch with Wilbur. He still called every now and then. They texted often. It just wasn’t the same. It wasn’t the same when he wasn’t next door strumming his guitar and humming out a tune so sublime, and he couldn’t crawl out of his apartment in the middle of the afternoon. “I-- I miss him too.”

Tommy stopped in his tracks. Techno stopped too. Tommy grabbed Techno’s pant leg, his head hanging low. Technoblade let Tommy pretend the water on his face were raindrops and not tears.

Chapter Text

It was a quiet Friday afternoon filled with the sound of crayon rubbing against printer paper and the soft hum of the Star Wars main theme coming from the boombox on the far side of the room. He had drawn four figures: three small stick figures with pink, brown, and blonde hair, and then a massive stick figure that loomed over them, also blonde.

He gave the big stick figure a cool red and white tee. 

His coloring session was paused prematurely by three raps on the door. Tommy wasn’t tall enough for the peek-hole, but he didn’t really need it since he memorized how the important people knocked on doors. Techno liked to smash his fist against the door, Wilbur liked to use his knuckle to make a clear-cut sound, and Phil was a very normal three raps kind of man. 

Tommy knew by the number that it was Phil, but the intensity of which he knocked caused some concern. He opened the door wide and made room for Phil to just walk right in. Phil looked absolutely ragged compared to his normal appearance. His hair was tangled and messy, his clothes wrinkled and stained and his eyes were lifeless. Not a coherent thought behind them.

“Hello?” Tommy greeted. 

Phil trudged in and collapsed into one of Tommy’s kitchen chairs. Tommy looked out of the threshold and took note of the desert of a hallway before closing the door and climbing back into his seat. He put his drawing to the side, but Phil noticed it and latched onto it.

“This is nice,” Phil complimented, rubbing his thumb up and down the side of the paper, where there was some open white space next to Phil’s stick figure. It was due to poor planning on Tommy’s part, but he didn’t expect anyone to actually see his drawing. 

Tommy’s face flushed red and he attempted to reach for the paper, but Phil turned away, pulling the drawing close to his chest. “I miss her.”

Her? Since when was Wilbur a her? 

Tommy stared blankly at Phil, hoping that it would unnerve him enough to continue his moping and make some sense.

It did.

Phil continued: “My wife, Kristin. Remember when I told you she’d be returning soon?”

Tommy nodded, as he did remember it quite vividly. He had never seen Phil look so happy. He had practically broken into Techno’s apartment to give them both the news. His eyes had been such a startling blue that day. 

Phil’s wife, Kristin, had allegedly been working overseas for what was supposed to be six months but had ended up being around a year. When this was initially proposed to the couple, Phil had wanted to follow her, but she had denied it on account of not wishing to completely uproot their lives. Little did she know that her stay would be extended this amount. 

“I got a call from her just now. Said she’s delayed another month. I don’t know if I can do another month without her, Tommy.” He looked back down at Tommy’s drawing, to the white space left next to Phil’s stick figure. “She should be right here, next to me.”

Phil put the drawing back down on the table, smoothing the edges he crinkled from how tightly he held it. He apologized for bursting into Tommy’s apartment and left just as quickly as he arrived. 

Tommy didn’t like when Phil was sad. He didn’t like when anyone he loved was sad because it made Tommy sad. And if the world could be rid of sad people, Tommy would give just about anything-- but there was nothing Tommy could do to rectify the situation.

It wasn’t as if Phil’s wife was going to magically come back from the U.S. (if she was even there), and Tommy couldn’t fly without a guardian, and he knew Technoblade would say no.

Turned out that the first part wasn’t as unlikely as it seemed two days ago. 

Technoblade had a meeting with his editor, so Tommy was left alone to head to the grocery store. It was a six minute walk and noon, so there was no real harm in going alone. He carried his whistle like Wilbur had taught him to, just in case there was any danger. 

Tommy swung his grocery bags back and forth as he walked, humming The Imperial March under his breath as he stopped in front of the entrance to the yard of their apartment building. There was a woman standing by the walls with her face pressed into the bricks as she stared at the building, enraptured with the sight. 

The apartment building wasn’t a nice building by most standards, so it was strange why this woman felt so inclined to stop on her walk and just look at it. The stairs were creaky, the foundation was old, and there was definitely a health code violation somewhere in the walls. 

“Hello,” said Tommy. 

The woman turned, and she looked familiar, but Tommy couldn’t immediately put his finger on it. She had a round face and wide brown eyes, dark brown hair that framed her face and fell around her shoulders, and an incredibly puffy purple winter coat. 

That was when Tommy noticed the purple suitcase.

“Hi!” the lady gushed, crouching down to Tommy’s level. This was good. Tommy didn’t like it when people talked down to him. 

“Are you a stalker?” he asked. 

The woman blinked a couple of times until she grew a grin. “No, nothing like that! I’m actually a tenant here.”

Tommy stilled. 

Wilbur’s apartment had been vacant for around a month. He thought he still had more time until they all gained a new neighbor, someone to take Wilbur’s place. Tommy thought he’d be ready for that moment, but here, now, he knew he was not. He would never be ready to have someone take Wilbur’s place. 

She extended her hand out to Tommy. “My name’s Kristin Craft. I take it you’re Tommy?”

Tommy almost passed out from relief. “That’s Phil’s name!”

“Yes. I’m Phil’s wife.”

“Y-you’re Phil’s wife? You’re real?”  

For the past six months, they could only really take Phil’s word for everything. They’d seen one or two photos that were hung around Phil’s apartment, but who was to say they weren’t photoshopped? The fact of the matter was that a few months ago, Technoblade, Wilbur, and Tommy made a bet on whether Phil actually had a wife.

Technoblade wanted to give Phil the benefit of the doubt, but Wilbur had managed to convince Tommy that Phil’s wife was fake. Perhaps all this time Phil had been lamenting not having a wife at all, not a wife that was ‘working overseas.’

But now Tommy owed Technoblade twenty dollars, and Wilbur would too if he could’ve been there to see her.

The worst part was that she looked exactly like the photos, so Tommy couldn’t even say Phil hired a woman to be his wife.

“Nice to meet you,” he said dejectedly, shaking her hand with little effort. “Do you have twenty dollars?”

Kristin shook her head. “Sorry, I spent all my cash on the cab getting here. I had to be discreet.”

“Why?” asked Tommy, and then suddenly he remembered why Phil was sad a few days ago. “Hey! You’re not supposed to be here for another month! You made Phil cry!” While Phil didn’t cry in front of Tommy and he had no concrete proof of this ever taking place, Tommy was just sure Phil went back to the privacy of his apartment to cry his heart out. 

“I did?” Kristin looked away for a moment, probably a couple of thoughts flitting through her head. “Oh, perhaps I’m being cruel.”

“Yeah!” Tommy said. And then: “Wait, what? What’d you do to Phil?”

Kristin sighed. “I lied to him. I told him I had to work an extra month overseas, but that’s only because I wanted to surprise him when I showed up today. But he’s been sitting in the apartment all day. I haven’t been able to break in all day.”

Tommy’s view of Kristin changed instantaneously. 

Anything for a prank. 

That was the fifth thing Wilbur taught him. 

“I can help you!” Tommy offered, his demeanor shifting completely from accusatory to bright sunshine. “I know all about breaking into Phil’s apartment.” 

He had observed Wilbur do it once after a long shift at the bar. He had efficiently picked Phil’s lock and made it in two steps before being punched by Phil, who thought Wilbur was an intruder. 

They laughed about it in the morning.

Tommy was supposed to be asleep then-- it was the witching hour, after all, but he still had bursts of insomnia back then. After that exchange, Tommy begged Wilbur to teach him how to lockpick in exchange for one fifteen-second long hug-- one Wilbur never actually cashed. 

They practiced on Techno’s door a couple of times (Techno had been out cold inside the apartment, slumped over his desk watching some news program, and to this day he still didn’t know they had practiced breaking into his apartment). 

Tommy led Kristin to Tommy’s own apartment and told her to wait there while he baited Phil. He knocked on Phil’s door with his lightsaber and waited for him to answer. When he did, he told Phil about a butterfly he saw by the park.

“There’s no butterflies out during winter, mate,” Phil replied. 

“This one’s a winter butterfly. You have to come see it. And lock your door behind you.”

Tommy really wanted to try lockpicking again. 

Phil succumbed to Tommy’s demands and threw on his coat and closed the door behind him.

They journeyed over to the park, where Tommy started pointing at random bushes to keep Phil’s attention. He was right; there were no butterflies. But there were tons of other creatures to keep Phil occupied. Phil crouched down next to Tommy and listened intently as Tommy pointed at a frozen worm, a frosted leaf, and a ripped up paper towel. 

He ended up having so much fun looking at random things in the park with Phil that he had completely forgotten he had to pick Phil’s locks so Kristin could break into Phil’s apartment. It had been a while since it had just been him and Phil. It had been a while since it had been Phil and anyone, really. After Wilbur left, Phil had just… dug into his work. It was new assignment after new assignment, and it had been really lonely. 

They spent two hours in the cold-- after a while they ended up making a snowman before Phil told him it was dinnertime. 

They chatted on the way home, the sky a navy blue after the sun had set early. Phil invited Tommy over for dinner, promising to make a feast for the two of them, and Tommy readily accepted, still forgetting Kristin was up in his apartment. 

They approached Phil’s door and noticed the lights on from the crack under the door. Phil paused, putting his foot in front of Tommy to stop him from barging in. “I think somebody broke in.” 

“Do you think it could be Wilbur?” Tommy asked, desperation edging into his tone. He bit his cheeks. 

“No, no. Come on, mate, you know better than to expect Wil around these parts.” 

Phil scaled the wall and opened his door a smidge and took a peek in. With the front of his boot, he swung the door open and jumped into the threshold with his hands close to his face in a defensive position. 

It was almost comical watching Phil change from aggressive defense to ‘just-saw-a-ghost.’ His face turned whiter than it had been before, which was an incredibly hard task, and he started wheezing as if someone gut punched him. 

“Oh, Phil, you’re back! The door was unlocked so I just let myself in.” Tommy squeezed through Phil’s legs and walked in, noting Kristin in the kitchenette cooking up some chicken in a pan. She covered the pan and put the wooden spoon down and gave Phil a kiss on the cheek. 

Phil was a statue. 

“Oh yeah, Phil, I forgot to tell you your wife is real,” said Tommy, tugging on Phil’s pant leg. This seemed to rock Phil out of his stupor. He blinked rapidly, taking his surroundings in once more. He looked down at Tommy, then back at his wife. 

Then he fell to his knees, clinging onto Kristin’s clothes. “Kristin!” he cried, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. Tommy took a step back, allowing Phil to let the emotion out. Kristin smiled softly and patted Phil’s hair gently, caressing the top of his head. 

“I’m back, lover.” 

This only made Phil hug her legs tighter, almost making her fall forward, but she held on tight, just letting Phil have his moment. 

Tommy wrung his hands together, happy to take the sight in, but also quite disgruntled, as he explicitly remembered telling Phil to lock his doors. Clearly he did not if Kristin could just break in by herself. Still, Tommy did get to look at dead bushes with Phil all afternoon, and that was a treat in itself. 

When Phil calmed down, he moved to the kitchen table and waited for Kristin to finish making her meal. She had been slow-cooking some rotisserie chicken steeped in salsa for some tacos. She had given Tommy a knife and some red onion to chop, but Phil was quick to confiscate it much to Tommy’s chagrin. 

All the while, Kristin had recounted the tale of how she came up with her scheme to prank Phil, and while he was laughing, there was a wet sound to it, as if he were still crying internally. When Kristin finished the chicken, she brought the pan over to the table and let it sit on top of a cork, serving Tommy a tortilla and some chicken. 

Tommy never had a taco before, so Kristin taught him how to hold it properly and eat it. He was messy, but it was so good-- some of the best food he ever had! Of course, nothing beat that plate of nachos he shared with Wilbur, Technoblade, and Phil. 

Nothing beat a nice meal with friends.

Technoblade drummed his finger against the surface of the table as his editor handed him back the manila folder full of papers Techno had handed him a week ago. It contained the first draft of the novel he had been working on. It was a newer idea, one he had come up with around three or four months ago after scrapping his thirty other novel ideas. 

He had decided to start anew after his editor had eviscerated the last manuscript he had turned in-- the one Tommy had been present to see him get eviscerated. This was an entirely new concept with new characters, new setting, new plot, and he had been freaking out the entire day in preparation for this meeting, where his editor would tell him the truth.

This was a career-defining moment for Technoblade. He had gotten a head start in the publishing world with his short stories, but novel-writing was the real goal, and if he could get a proper deal, then he’d be made. He’d be a real writer.

If he didn’t, well… What was the point of trying again? All he’d ever be was a short story writer.

“I love it. I love it, Technoblade. Phenomenal job.” 

Techno was a deer in headlights for a split second before he opened the folder and flipped through the draft, noting all the green and red marker written all over the pages. “Y-you do?”

His editor had never said anything so nice before. 

“It’s like you’ve gotten a fresh perspective. I’ve got a publishing house that might be interested in it, but they’ll need a polished manuscript by Friday.” 

“Friday-- this Friday?” 

It was Sunday.

“Yes,” his editor affirmed. 

Friday was fine. Friday was totally do-able. If he pulled some all-nighters, and ran rather than walked to school with Tommy, he was sure he could complete in time. He’d need a six pack of energy drinks, but he could totally make due. He’d done worse with more time in his undergrad days.

Tommy had his little Christmas recital on Thursday night, but he could show up to that. Maybe Phil could go for him. 

It would all work out.

“Well, Technoblade? Are you ready to take the next step of your literary career?” his editor asked, leaning over to shake his hand. Technoblade didn’t like touching other people, but he was so excited he decided to follow social etiquette and take the man’s hand. 

Technoblade’s faith in Phil was misplaced. 

It was dark when he returned from his meeting, and he had planned to just head up to his apartment and work away at his editor’s comments, but the laughter from Phil’s apartment made him stop in his tracks. He’d never heard such boisterousness come from Phil’s apartment-- Wilbur and Tommy’s apartments? Sure, all the time. 

But Phil? 

Techno decided to knock on Phil’s door and check on him. It had been a while since they had really spoken since Wilbur’s departure, and Techno did need to ask him about that favor with Tommy’s recital. He figured he’d pop in quickly, ask how Phil was doing and then lay it on him. 

He rapped on the door and heard a muffled voice say, “Oh, it’s Technoblade!” that sounded suspiciously like Tommy. Phil opened the door and clapped Techno on the shoulder wordlessly, herding him inside the apartment. 

There was a woman sitting at Phil’s table stuffing her mouth with a chicken taco while Tommy was wiping his face with a napkin, as his face was covered in salsa and cilantro by an obnoxious standard. 

“Phil, uh, hey. Didn’t know you had company--” Well, he did, but he didn’t know Phil had real company. Now this was awkward. 

The woman looked familiar though.

“Techno, I want you to meet my wife, Kristin.” 

Ohh. That checked.

“Wait, she’s real?” Techno’s gaze zeroed in on Tommy, who shrunk under the sheer intensity of a man who felt he was owed forty dollars. Twenty of which he would not receive any time soon due to external factors. 

“Tommy said something similar,” said Phil. “Did you guys think Kristin was fake?” 

Techno through his hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, I bet she was real. It was Wilbur and Tommy that--” 

“Liar! I never said she was fake! I just-- I just--” Tommy sputtered, failing to come up with a reasonable story. It was hard to lie one’s way out of explaining how one doubted someone’s spouse was made-up. Phil didn’t want Tommy to hurt his brain anymore than he was, so he just forgave him and reminded him to pay up later.

“So, what brings you by, Tech? Just a hospitality visit? It’s unlike you,” Phil said. Normally if someone wanted to talk to Technoblade, they would have to approach him, as was his shut-in nature. It was rare to see Techno on the offensive in a social situation.

“I just heard a lot of noise over here. Wanted to check in on you, old man.” 

“Shut up, you little shit,” Phil laughed, making a plate for Techno as they conversed. “I’m doing great now that Kristin’s here. Could you believe she lied about coming home late to prank me? And now we’re going on a trip to Italy for Christmas. We leave tomorrow.”

Agh, crap. 

“Did you happen to buy the plane tickets already?” Techno asked while trying to get rid of the cringe on his face. 

“I bought them months ago,” Kristin piped up. “You know how plane ticket prices can be.” 

Techno sighed. 

He did. 

“Aw, Phil! My Christmas Recital is on Thursday!” Tommy whined. 

“Shit!” Phil hissed. “Techno’s just gonna have to record it for us to watch when we get back, right mate?” Phil said, sending the look of a beggar over to him. Techno tried to avert his gaze, but the heart of a good man took over and he accepted the look with a nod. “Yes. Totally can do. Of course.” 

“Maybe we can send a copy over to Wilbur!” Tommy suggested. 

“Yeah…” said Techno, and he had never missed his neighbor more than that moment even though his terrible work schedule probably would’ve barred him from going to the recital as well. 

This was fine. Honestly, whenever things started piling on top of one another like this, it only fueled Techno’s ambition to be able to complete it all. Why should Tommy’s routine suffer for Techno’s career? It was foolish.

No. He’d take Tommy to school and the bathhouse and the recital, and he’d finish the edits on his manuscript seamlessly. 

He bid everyone good night and reiterated how good it was to know Kristin was real before heading up to his apartment to get ready for his and Tommy’s trip to the bathhouse. He was surprised to find his door unlocked, seeing as he explicitly remembered locking it. He considered the possibility that Tommy could have picked his lock, but he didn’t think it was plausible since he was four years old. 

What kind of a four year old could pick a lock?

The truth of the matter was that Tommy could indeed pick locks, but it was not him. For an apartment in their building had been broken into like Tommy had intended, just not Phil’s.

When Techno opened his door, he was greeted by an old friend who had helped himself to all of Techno’s snacks. 

“Skeppy?” 

Skeppy turned around, pausing the TV as he waved at Techno. “Hey. Welcome back.” 

Techno closed the door behind him and put his things down on the table. He hadn’t seen Skeppy in a little over a year, when they parted ways after being college roommates. 

“What’re you doin’ here?”

“I have to crash here for a few days. My roommate’s son is visiting for the week and we don’t really get along. He’s a little firecracker.” Techno didn’t pry further because he didn’t care much. What he did care was that his personal space was being encroached upon, and on such an important week for him. 

Skeppy seemed to notice this instantly when he noticed the manila folder. “Did you hit big, Technoblade?” 

“What are you talkin’ about?” he replied, playing it coy. 

“Come on, Techno, you’re like, the best writer I know. If anyone’s gonna hit it big right out of college, we all knew it was going to be you! So?” 

Techno was too excited about the prospect to keep mum. He had wanted to tell Phil and Tommy, but with Tommy’s Christmas Recital, he didn’t want anyone thinking he was incapable of holding up his end of the deal, so he held off on telling them. He had a feeling Phil would cancel his Italy getaway if he knew about the manuscript, and he didn’t want to do that to the man. He just reunited with his wife after all. 

“Yeah, well, I might get a book deal if all goes well here. Second draft is due on Friday, so I’m really crankin’ down this week. So, you can stay here and all, just don’t get in my way.” 

“When have I ever gotten in your way, Technoblade?” Skeppy said with a sly grin.

Techno could think of twelve just off the top of his head. There were so many occasions that Techno had actually started a running list in one of his old school notebooks. He wasn’t going to dig for it now because he didn’t have the time, but when he did have time he’d certainly try. 

Techno set his phone down on the table next to Skeppy and grabbed his bathhouse bag, making sure his shaving cream was in there since he forgot it last time. “I’m goin’ to the bathhouse. I’ll be back soon. Don’t finish my snacks off, okay?” 

“No problem,” Skeppy saluted, and Techno knew then and there that he would have no snacks when he returned. 

In the haze of his annoyance, he didn’t realize he left his phone on the table as he left for the bathhouse, and missed a text notification from one of the moms at Tommy’s school with a picture of the poster of Tommy’s recital. 

Skeppy hatched a devious plan.

Despite Techno pulling an all-nighter, he still had enough energy to walk Tommy to school in the morning. Skeppy was knocked out on the floor in what appeared to be the world’s most uncomfortable sleeping position, his legs stretched out and his arms crossed overhead as his cheek dug into the carpet, but Skeppy seemed to be content enough. 

Techno grabbed his keys, jingling them in his hand as he made his way to the door. “Where you goin’?” Skeppy murmured in a sleepy haze. 

“I’m takin’ the neighbor to school. I do this everyday. I'll pick him up too-- I’ll bring back donuts or somethin’.” 

Skeppy went back to sleep after that, but when he woke up two hours later to the smell of stale grocery store donuts and the sound of Techno’s fingers clattering against the keyboard, his plan locked into place. 

He had been putting pieces together in his mind since last night when he had seen the text sent from one of the school moms, and after a short interrogation of Technoblade, he learned the full story. 

How Technoblade and his neighbor basically co-parented a four year old that lived alone. It would’ve been sweet and fuel to make fun of Techno in the future if Skeppy wasn’t such a good friend sometimes and realized how good of a deal Techno had with this manuscript. 

The man looked like a zombie as he stared at his computer screen, having replaced his normal glasses for blue light glasses, and that was only after a day of working. He had to get this done by Friday. How could he do that with this misplaced responsibility for some neighbor kid. 

Thus, in the afternoon, Skeppy made the executive decision to take a walk down to this kid’s kindergarten. He managed to get his hands on Techno’s signature and just wrote a little note about how Skeppy would be picking him up for the rest of the week. 

The school took it surprisingly well, which was a bit concerning for the security of the school, but was great for Skeppy, who walked to the kid’s classroom with ease. 

The teacher called over Techno’s neighbor, and the kid was incredibly skeptical. 

“Who the fuck are you?” he asked, clutching the straps of his backpack ever so tightly. 

“I’m Technoblade’s friend, Skeppy. See? It says it in this note.” 

Skeppy handed the note to the boy, who looked it over and then looked back up at Skeppy. “This is Techno’s signature… Okay, if you really know Techno, then what does he look like?” 

Skeppy scoffed. “A pig.” 

The kid looked up at his teacher. “He’s legit.” 

The kid left with Skeppy with no further reservations, which only served to put Skeppy off. This kid should have a better scope of ‘stranger-danger.’ 

Once they were out on the street, the boy started the real line of questioning. “Where’s Technoblade? How do you know Techno? Are you holding him hostage--” 

“Woah, woah, slow down!” Skeppy urged. “My name’s Skeppy. Techno is my old college roommate. I’m basically his best friend.” 

“Tommy,” the kid introduced in return. 

Skeppy continued: “I’m staying with him this week to help him out with his manuscript. If he finishes his second draft by Friday, they’ll make it into a book, so he needs to be really focused. He doesn’t have time to take you places. You get it, right?” 

Tommy appeared pensive, kicking his feet out as he walked. He was silent as they made their way back to the apartment building. It was as if a four year old was truly capable of complex thoughts and emotions, on how to properly process them and perceive others with them. 

Techno was at the foot of the stairs of the apartment dressed in only a hoodie and sweatpants. His hair was in a messy bun and his face was discolored. He was clearly in a rush, or else he would’ve put his winter jacket on. “Tommy! Sk--Skeppy?” 

“I decided to help you out and pick the little booger up.” 

Techno sent a menacing look over to Tommy. “And you just went with him? No questions asked?” 

“He had a note,” Tommy shrugged. 

Techno pinched the bridge of his nose, releasing a deep breath. That was probably very cathartic for him. “Okay. I’m goin’ to get back to work. Tommy, I’ll see you later, okay?” He shoved his hands into his pockets and shuffled back upstairs, slamming his apartment door. 

Skeppy and Tommy parted ways as well, Skeppy following Techno in and Tommy going back to his own apartment. 

Techno labored away at his computer until it was late in the evening. Skeppy had brewed him a ramen cup just like they used to have in their college days (and like Techno still did) until it was bathtime. 

Techno gathered his things and rapped on Tommy’s door. Tommy answered the door in full bath regalia and a sullen look on his face. “We’re not bath buddies anymore,” was the first thing out of the toddler’s mouth. 

“What? Why?” 

“You don’t need to take me to school either. Or the store. Or to the park. Or to my playdates.” 

“Bruh, what’s with you?” It was as if a flip had switched in Tommy. Techno thought he had finally broken down that independence barrier Tommy had built high around himself, but it seemed as though he had laid out the bricks once more.
“Hey Tommy, you coming?” a new voice asked. Skeppy stuck his head out from behind Techno’s door, dangling a caddy in view. 

Techno almost slapped a hand over his face out of the exhaustion he knew Skeppy was going to cause him this week. 

Skeppy and Tommy headed to the bathhouse, and Techno followed them, engendered by the threat to his carefully established routine. He had already told himself he could do everything and turn in the manuscript on time, so why did Skeppy have to complicate things? 

“Aren’t you super busy? You don’t have time to do this stuff!” Skeppy hissed in a low voice. 

“I still need to bathe, idiot,” Techno replied in a venomous tone. 

Skeppy was acting like heading to the bathhouse with Tommy was some grand burden, when honestly it was a calming moment in Techno’s day. 

“Aren’t you being a little too… What’s the word, Techno? When you’re taking things lightly?” 

“Nonchalant?” Techno couldn’t believe they graduated from the same university.

“Yeah! You’re being too nonchalant about all this. I mean, isn’t this a big deal for your career?” 

“Relax. I know my limits.” His limits were actually unlimited. If he put his mind to something, he could accomplish absolutely anything. That was Techno’s secret power. He said he could do it all, and so he would. 

They spent half as much time in the bathhouse as they normally would, and he could tell Tommy was rushing his nighttime routine just for Techno, which only served to annoy Techno more. 

He could do this. 

After two days with no sleep he was a zombie while walking Tommy to school, but at least he was doing it. Skeppy insisted on accompanying him, though Skeppy and Tommy would probably argue that it was Techno who insisted on coming with them. 

This was their routine for two more days. 

On Thursday morning, Techno was practically crawling on the pavement, looking like some horror creature rather than a respected, published author. He had never felt worse in his life, but the pain and lack of sleep only motivated him to do better. He had a little less than twenty four hours left and damn it he was going to accomplish everything.

“Techno, are you sure you should be doing this?” asked Skeppy. 

“This is my routine!” he said through gritted teeth. 

“Your deadline’s tomorrow morning!” 

“So?” 

“Don’t you know what today is?” asked Skeppy, his mind flashing to that text from the school mom. Tommy paused, eagerly awaiting Techno’s response. Rather than his regular school hat, he wore a fluffy santa hat. 

“Uhh… The night before my deadline?” 

Skeppy furrowed his brow and patted Techno on the shoulder. “Yeah, buddy. Your deadline. Focus on that--” Skeppy cut himself off when he noticed the little Santa run off. His school entrance wasn’t far from where they stood, so he made no effort to follow, but Techno was a bit concerned. Usually Tommy would make some large announcement about why he was running away, but he was silent.

Utterly silent. 

Techno and Skeppy sat in Techno’s apartment for the majority of the day. Skeppy scrolled on his phone while Techno continued to fight through the edits his editor advised. Around mid-afternoon, Skeppy suddenly got up from where he sat and announced he would be taking a walk, and Techno thought nothing of it. 

Skeppy’s true location was Tommy’s school, where the recital would be taking place. He had decided long ago he’d show up in Techno’s place, take a video or two, and make sure the kid at least had a photo or two to remind himself of the occasion, not that he’d remember it. 

Skeppy didn’t remember a whole lot from when he was four. 

The recital took place in the small kindergarten classroom. All the parents were forced to sit in the tyke-sized chairs as the kids assembled in the front of the room in two rows. Tommy was in the front row at the end, standing next to a short kid with the heaviest bangs he’d seen on a toddler, and the tallest toddler ever standing directly behind him. 

Tommy didn’t appear surprised to see Skeppy, but he didn’t appear happy either.

He looked rather despondent about the whole affair, as if he wasn’t even really there. 

The teacher welcomed all the parents in and made a little speech about the recital the kids had put together. “Our class wanted to give a little present to the parents, who work so hard. As a thank you from our class to you, here is O Christmas Tree!” 

The teacher jogged over to the speaker and hit play, and a crunchy backing track began to play as the kids all took the biggest breath known to man in unison. 

“O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree! How lovely are thy branches!” they all sang off key and with terrible breath support. If Technoblade were here he’d be dying from hiding his laughter--

That was when Skeppy saw it. On the other side of the room, face hidden by an iPhone camera but still recognizable by that greasy pink hair was Technoblade, who was smiling while trying to get Tommy’s attention. 

The moment Tommy locked eyes with Technoblade, his entire demeanor shifted. His back straightened, shoulders squared, and he began to sing with his whole chest. “YOUR BOUGHS SO GREEN IN SUMMER-TIME!” the boy practically shouted before tapering off, returning to a soft whisper for the next line. 

Skeppy would’ve felt bad if he hadn’t been so incensed at Techno’s presence in the first place. He jumped out of his kiddie chair and marched over to Technoblade, pulling on his hoodie to grab his attention. Techno merely glanced over at Skeppy, trying to keep his eye on steadying the frame of the video. 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Technoblade? I thought you’d forgotten!”

“How could I forget this? I planned my whole week around it.”

Skeppy couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Are you stupid? Come on, this is the deal of a lifetime! You’re going to throw your career away for this?”

“I’m not. I only have the last three chapters to finish.”

“You know he’s not your responsibility. He’s just-- he’s just your neighbor!”

“I know, but I made a promise. I don’t go back on my word. Nothing would exist without that kid-- I’d still be writing short stories, uninspired and lost in a spiral of words without him. He’s proof that the little things, what I’m recordin’ right now, are the most vital parts of life. I won’t miss that. Even if this all goes away tomorrow, it’s still important that I see this now, and that he sees me here, with him. Maybe I’m not enough for him-- maybe none of us were enough for him-- but that won’t stop me from tryin’ my best. I promised to be there.”

Skeppy couldn’t rebut such heartfelt words. He slithered out of the classroom and decided to really take a walk around the block, trying to understand where Technoblade stood. For as long as he knew the man, he knew him to be the stoic and detached type. He had friends, but he didn’t have a circle, and he had no immediate family to speak of, no ties to a known human being besides himself. 

Techno was a statue on a pedestal, untouchable by a normal human. 

It was a tough pill to swallow, to try so hard to be the sort of person that could touch Technoblade in any human sense and fail miserably, only to know that some complete strangers who had known him for far less managed to do it so easily. 

When the recital finished, the kindergarten turned the kids loose to their parents. Skeppy was outside the school walls, back pressed against the bricks as he waited for Techno and Tommy to come out. 

The walk home was silent and in the air hovered an awkward energy built of misunderstandings and misconstructions. When they reached the apartment entrance, Skeppy stopped Tommy from going up the stairs. He glanced at Techno, who had an impassive look on his face, and looked down at Tommy. 

“Hey little guy, I just wanted to say… Um… Sorry for ruining your schedule and all that. You know, you’re the one that’s really been pushing Techno to finish the damn draft and… I’m sorry for making you feel like a burden.” 

Tommy refused to look Skeppy in the eye, for Skeppy had refused to come down to Tommy’s level. Instead, he turned to Techno, who had respectfully crouched down to his level. They had a staring contest, glaring at each other until the other gave out. At least, that was what it looked like from an outsider’s perspective. 

Perhaps they were conversing with their gazes, apologizing and rationalizing in a way only the two of them could understand. Something was different in Tommy’s eyes-- a new light unlike one seen in him before. He’d been happy before; he’d been impressed and proud and delighted, but this was a different sort of positive emotion. 

It was the feeling of needing someone and being needed right back. 

Tommy shuffled over to Techno and placed his hand on his knee. Technoblade, with as much grace as a boar, covered Tommy’s with his own, trapping it under his touch-- his very human touch.

Tommy and Techno were bundled up tightly. They both had scarves choking the daylights out of them, knitted hats to keep their ears warm, fluffy gloves and puffy coats to keep the heat in. 

It was Christmas Eve. Only the two of them remained in the apartment building, and it made for a very drab holiday season. Techno was never one for decorations, but Tommy was. He decorated their hallway and his apartment, a little bit of Techno’s, and he even left an ornament hanging on Wilbur’s old door. 

Phil and Kristin weren’t due back until after the New Year, though they kept Techno and Tommy updated with all the pictures they were taking. 

It was by all means going to be a very quiet Christmas. Tommy already knew Santa wasn’t real, so it wasn’t as if Techno had a facade to keep up, but it seemed Tommy still had faith in the Christmas Miracle; something, somehow, would go his way if he wished upon a shooting star. 

It was by chance that Technoblade received a text from a mutual friend early that morning to truly lighten up their Christmas. 

Tommy and Techno spent the day baking cookies while watching the 1978 Star Wars Holiday Special Techno had found on some movie-pirating website. It had really made Tommy’s day and really made Techno want to gauge his eyes out. 

Then it turned evening, and Techno informed Tommy they had somewhere to be. He packaged the cookies while Tommy got ready, all swaddled up in his winter attire, and then they were out the door. 

It took a thirty minute walk total and two bus trips to make it to their destination. They were downtown by a family diner that was decorated lavishly for Christmas. They had twinkling lights twirled around their lampposts, a Christmas tree inside with lights, ornaments, tinsel, and a shining star crowning the top of the tree. 

They hustled inside and took a seat in a corner booth. “Why do we need so much space? It’s just us two. Why did we come so far for a diner?” asked Tommy, his face scrunched up in confusion as he pulled off his winter ensemble. 

“Just wait,” Techno said, tapping his fingers together eagerly. Techno had his back to the door, so he could only wait to hear the chime of the bell over the door and the clack of heels against polished tile. He could only watch as Tommy’s eyes grew to the size of moons as their mutual friend approached, sliding into the booth next to Tommy and pushing him up against the window. 

He hardly looked different. His hair was longer, still covered by one of those knitted beanies, a black mask covering the bottom half of his face, and his winter coat was a ripped up brown trench coat, but he was the same Wilbur. “Merry Christmas, sunshine!” 

“Wilbur?” Tommy gasped. 

Wilbur dug through his pockets and tossed two boxes wrapped up and tied with little ribbons onto the table. “Sorry about the mask,” Wilbur continued as nonchalantly as possible, though Techno could feel the vibrations hit the table from Wilbur’s bouncing leg. “I feel like the city is giving me asthma.” They all knew there was a secondary reason to the mask, but they let it float off into the atmosphere, not allowing reality to touch the beauty of Christmas Eve.

“Wilbur! It’s you!” Tommy said, clinging to Wilbur’s arm, as if letting go meant losing him forever. He didn’t know how long he would have Wilbur, so he would cherish the time. 

It was a Christmas Miracle. 

“How’re you doin’, Wilbur?” 

Wilbur’s eyes crinkled, and Techno could tell he was smiling. “I’m doing great, Techno. I’m really doing great. I’m getting it together. I’m-- I’m doing great.” 

“That’s good. That’s really good.” 

Wilbur pushed the presents closer to the recipients. “Open them!” 

Tommy tore into his first, absolutely floored when he saw a Jeern Murununuh keychain for his backpack. That sparked a monologue about how much he loved the latest Star Wars film and how cool Jeern Murununuh was in that one fan service scene that Technoblade didn’t really care for all that much. 

Techno politely ripped the wrapping paper off and smiled when he saw a fountain pen. These presents were expensive but they were from the heart. 

I’ve been thinking about you, is the story they told. 

“Should we order?” asked Technoblade, his arm moving to pick up a menu, but stopped when he heard something slam into the window of the diner. Two faces smushed up against the glass, poking incessantly trying to get their attention. 

“Phil?” Wilbur, Techno, and Tommy said in startled unison. Phil and his wife were outside in their coats laughing while holding their stomachs. They eventually made their way inside to greet the flabbergasted trio. Wilbur stood up to wrap Phil up in a hug while Techno and Tommy greeted Kristin. 

“What are you-- what are you guys doin’ here?” asked Techno. He thought they were in Italy! How did they even find where they were? 

“We’re here to celebrate Christmas with you guys!” Kristin explained. “Italy was fine, but Phil was feeling a bit homesick without you guys.” 

Phil released Wilbur and guided his hand over to Kristin. “This is my wife, Kristin.” 

“You’re real?” Wilbur wailed. He sent a furtive glance over at Technoblade, who was staring at him intensely. He wordlessly pulled a twenty out of his pocket and slipped it over to the writer. 

“Come on, you guys! Why the fuck would you doubt I had a wife?” 

This was met with three blank stares.

The five of them packed into the booth, and Techno was grateful he chose the corner booth to fit them all. Techno pulled out his phone and laid it flat on the table, swiping through his camera roll until he landed on the prize. 

“O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree--!” rang out of the phone speakers. Tommy instantly slammed his face into the cushions of the booth as Phil, Kristin, and Wilbur cooed and awed at Tommy’s performance. Tommy was equal parts embarrassed and happy that he had people to coo over him at all. 

A waitress came by to take their order, and they decided to get breakfast food so close to midnight. They laughed and caught up as if no time had passed at all since they last saw Wilbur and when Kristin was but a figment of Phil’s imagination. 

“Did you tell them, Techno?” Tommy prompted out of the blue. 

“Tell them what?” he said through laughs. 

“About your book deal!” 

“You got a book deal? That’s great!” Wilbur exclaimed. 

Phil pulled Techno in for a side hug and Kristin congratulated him and patted his hand. Now it was Techno’s turn to act coy, hiding his face behind his bangs and trying to recoil from the touch out of embarrassment, but he couldn’t hide from these people, these people he loved so much. 

“Yeah, yeah, I did. It’ll be out late next year. Some movie studio is movin’ to buy the film rights too.” 

They whooped and hollered in Techno’s honor, caution to the wind as they disturbed the rest of the diner; they didn’t care. It was an occasion of celebration: Kristin had returned to Phil finally, Technoblade’s career was moving forward, Tommy sang at his recital, and Wilbur was there in the flesh. 

The lights glimmered on the Christmas tree, the star shone, and they were all incandescently happy in that moment. 

They would have to part ways with Wilbur after the clock struck twelve with nothing to leave him but a box of poorly decorated Christmas cookies, but they would see him again. 

There was no such thing as forever in a world built of small moments, always threatening to stop existing if one looked away for too long. When Tommy gave Wilbur the box of cookies, he made sure their fingers brushed against one another, proof of their human connection. Proof that there was someone there who loved him for who he was in the moment, and not some poor amalgamation of an ideal, and that their distance was just a small moment in a blip of their time.

Technoblade clapped him on the shoulder, his touch lingering as his hand slid down the side of Wilbur’s arm.

Phil hugged him. 

Kristin hugged him too.

They’d go back to their apartments, and they’d struggle in the morning, as humans tend to do, but they’d do it together. 

Loneliness did not exist in the light of their love. 

Tommy grinned the whole way home, his keychain dangling from his coat zipper.