Chapter Text
Technoblade pushed his braid over his shoulder as he tugged his luggage out of the trunk of Phil’s car. His brown roots were showing again. He hadn’t had time to redye it at home, so he’d brought some pink dye with him.
“No,” Tommy whined. He tugged on Technoblade’s shirt. “No, Te’no—”
“It’s just a week,” Technoblade said. He set his bag on the ground and patted Tommy’s shoulder. “I’ll be fine, Tommy.”
Tommy pouted. “But—”
“Tom.” Phil put a hand on Techno's, which had begun to rest on Tommy's shoulder. “He’s gonna be back in just a few days, okay?”
“Here, maybe you can help me take my bags.” Technoblade held out the lightest of his two bags, a backpack.
“Fine,” Tommy grumbled, grabbing it and putting it on.
“Now you look like you’re going to camp, too,” Phil commented.
Tommy’s eyes widened, and they seemed to sparkle as he stared up at Phil. “Can I?”
“No,” Technoblade and Phil said at the same time, and Tommy visibly deflated.
“Maybe when you’re older,” Phil said.
“Everything’s a ‘when you’re older.’” Tommy huffed. “I’ll get to learn about Mom when I’m older. I’ll get to go to camp when I’m older. I’ll get to stay up when I’m older— what can I do now?!”
“Now, you can help me and Techno.” Phil ruffled Tommy’s blond hair.
Tommy sighed.
“Name?” Some guy with a clipboard walked up to the group and paused when he saw Technoblade. “You— when did your hair get pink?”
“Heh?” Technoblade frowned, grabbing his bag. “I’ve been dying my hair since I was a kid…”
The guy frowned, then looked over to his right. “Uh, okay then. What’s your name?”
“Technoblade Minecraft,” Technoblade said.
Still frowning slightly, the guy looked at his clipboard and wrote something down. “Alright… I’ve got you checked in— you’re in cabin three.”
“Thanks, uh—” Technoblade cut himself off. “What’s your name?”
“Sam.” The guy smiled.
“Thanks, Sam,” Technoblade said. “Do you know who my cabinmates are gonna be?”
Sam looked down at his clipboard. “Cabin three— Technoblade Minecraft, Wilbur Soot, Fundy Fisher, and George Newman.”
Technoblade nodded. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. I hope you enjoy camp.” With a smile and a two-fingered salute, Sam disappeared.
“Wilbur is a funny name,” Tommy said.
“That’s not very nice, Tommy,” Phil lightly chastised, but he chuckled awkwardly. Technoblade looked over to see Phil staring at the ground with a confused expression.
”Dad?” Technoblade asked.
Phil blinked, looking up. He cleared his throat. “Tommy, you wanna bring Techno’s bag to his cabin? I’ll wait by the car.”
“Okay!” Tommy turned to look around, eyes scanning the area.
“Cabin three’s over there.” Technoblade pointed, then picked up his bag. “‘Bye, Dad. See you in a week!”
“Goodbye, Tech,” Phil said. “Be good.”
Technoblade waved best he could while holding a bag and took off in the direction of the cabin. Tommy followed him.
“Do you have to?” Tommy asked.
“I want to,” Technoblade said. “Summer camp’s gonna be fun! Maybe one day you’ll join me here.”
“Maybe one day,” Tommy muttered bitterly.
“It’ll be sooner than you think,” Technoblade said.
“One day is too far.”
“Nah.”
“It is!” They arrived at the cabin, and Tommy pushed the door open.
There were two guys inside— one was a redhead who was unpacking his bag, and the other was a brunet who appeared to be asleep on the bottom bunk of the bed on the right.
The redhead looked over and laughed. “Wil, take off the wig.”
“Heh?” Technoblade frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I just saw you, like, ten seconds ago— the wig’s a bit much. If you’re gonna wear a wig, at least don’t put it on in front of the cabinmates you’ve known for three years.” The redhead pulled a stuffed fox out of his bag and tucked it in the crook of his elbow as he grabbed a pillow and threw it onto the top bunk, above the sleeping brunet. “If George were awake, he’d agree.”
“Is that George?” Technoblade set his bag down and motioned at the sleeping brunet.
The redhead nodded. “Yep! Come on, Wil, you can take the wig off now— is this Technoblade?” He pointed at Tommy.
“This is my brother Tommy,” Technoblade said. “I’m Technoblade.”
The redhead threw his head back with a laugh. “Uh-huh.”
“Fundy, what are you laughing about?” A new voice asked. Technoblade turned to see someone walking through the still-open door.
Technoblade froze, eyes locking with the brunet who looked almost exactly like him. They had the same brown eyes, the same simple glasses, the same three freckles on their right cheek. The only apparent difference was in their hair— Technoblade’s was pink (save for the brown poking through his roots) and fell halfway down his back in a braid, and this guy’s was curly and brown, barely reaching his earlobes.
For a moment, Technoblade and the brunet just stared at each other, wearing matching expressions of shock, and then Tommy broke the silence. “Te’no, this guy looks like you!” Tommy shrugged off Technoblade’s backpack and raced forward, hugging the brunet.
The brunet looked down at Tommy for a moment before his eyes flicked back up to Technoblade. His wide eyes traced Technoblade’s frame for a moment. “Uh, so you’re Technoblade?”
“Yeah,” Technoblade said. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Wilbur.” The brunet returned Tommy’s hug for a moment before setting his hands on Tommy’s shoulders and gently pushing him away so he could see his face. “And you are?”
“I’m Tommy!” Tommy grinned.
“It’s nice to meet you, Tommy,” Wilbur said.
“Wil?” The redhead said.
“Yeah, Fundy?” Wilbur let go of Tommy’s shoulders and looked over.
The redhead, Fundy, looked between Wilbur and Technoblade for a moment. “Do you know this guy?”
Wilbur shook his head. “No, I— I’ve never seen him before in my life.”
“Tommy,” Technoblade said. “Do you want me to walk you back to Dad?”
“I don’t wanna go!” Tommy complained.
“I’m gonna walk you back to Dad, okay?”
“But—”
“Tommy.” Technoblade gave Tommy a pointed look. “I’m gonna walk you back to the car.”
“I’m a big man!” Tommy huffed. “I can go on my own.” With that, he pushed past Wilbur and ran off.
“Tommy—” Technoblade sighed. “There he goes.”
“Are brothers always like that?” Fundy asked.
“He’s your brother?” Wilbur asked, eyes widening once more. He turned to look after Tommy. “What are brothers like?”
“Uh—” Technoblade looked over at the remaining bunk bed. “Wilbur, are you on the top or the bottom?”
“I’m good with whatever.” Wilbur waved a hand. “I’ve never had a brother. Is Tommy cool?”
“Yeah, he’s great.” Technoblade grabbed his backpack, the one Tommy had dropped, and he threw it across the room. It landed on the top bunk opposite George’s bunk bed.
Fundy screamed and ducked as it went flying by, dropping his fox stuffed animal as he did so.
“Chill, fox guy,” Technoblade said. He grabbed his bag and hauled it over. “It’s not gonna hurt you.”
“It might!” Fundy frowned, picking up his stuffed animal. “If it hits my head, I’m a goner!”
Wilbur walked over and patted Fundy’s shoulder. “It’s okay. You remember your first year? You threw some things too.”
Fundy sighed. “Yeah…”
“Welcome to Camp Logsted,” Wilbur said, turning to smile at Technoblade. “First year?”
Technoblade nodded. “My dad wanted me to do something besides fencing this summer.”
Wilbur nodded. “I’ve been here for…”
“Three years,” Fundy said. “George has been here for five— I’ve been here three as well.”
“Oh, yeah. Every year there’s a new fourth cabinmate.” Wilbur counted on his fingers as he said, “My first year it was some person named Eret, then they left and it was Karl, then Quackity, and now you’re here.”
“Cool,” Technoblade said. “So you three know each other pretty well?”
“I don’t know George very well,” Wilbur said, sticking a thumb in the direction of George. “He’s nocturnal.”
“So am I, partially,” Fundy said. “So we’ve spoken a bunch.”
“Yeah, if you can’t sleep well with noise, you’re a goner.” Wilbur shook his head. “They talk until midnight, when Fundy goes to bed, and then George is up reading or something— I’m not really sure.”
“He reads, yeah,” Fundy said.
“Why did you guys come here?” Technoblade asked. He leaned against the ladder and chucked his bag up top.
“My parents wanted me out of the house,” Fundy said.
“My mum thought it’d be good for me,” Wilbur said. “Said something about socializing and doing more than just music.”
“I think George is just here,” Fundy said with a shrug.
Technoblade nodded, opening his mouth—
“Cabin three?” Sam asked, poking his head in.
“Yeah?” Wilbur asked, looking over.
“You all ready?” Sam asked. “Breakfast’s starting in five minutes. Is George—”
“He won’t be coming,” Wilbur said. “As usual, just save some dinner for him.”
Sam nodded. “See you guys soon.” He smiled and walked off, closing the door behind him.
“Well.” Wilbur clapped. “Let’s head off, shall we?”
“Wait, where are your bags?” Technoblade asked.
Wilbur smiled. “They’re around.”
“‘Around’?”
“It’s time for breakfast, innit?” Wilbur looked over to Fundy, who looked as if he were trying not to laugh. “Mister Sam won’t get mad at us if we’re late, of course— he’s chill like that— but I hate being late. Let’s go!” He took off, racing out the door with his trench coat-like jacket swooshing behind him.
Fundy put a hand on Technoblade’s shoulder, and instinctively, Technoblade grabbed his arm and threw it, sending Fundy flying towards the door.
“Sorry!” Technoblade’s eyes widened, and he brought a hand up to cover his mouth. “I— force of habit!”
Fundy got to his feet and shook himself off with a wince, rubbing the back of his head. “It’s… it’s okay, Technoblade.”
“I am really sorry,” Technoblade repeated. “I take wrestling and fencing… I’m always on the defensive.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’re all buddies here.” Fundy smiled. “Let’s just head to breakfast.” He winced as he took a step. “Ow.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“Are you sure—”
“Yes.”
Fundy limped over to the door and headed outside with Technoblade at his heels. Wilbur waved from where he was up the path. “Come on, slowpokes!” he yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth.
“Might take a minute!” Technoblade called. “I think I injured Fundy!”
“You what?!” Wilbur broke into a sprint as he raced back towards the cabin. “Fundy, are you okay?!” Wilbur got to his feet, turning to look at Fundy.
“Uh, I’m fine,” Fundy said. “Just… I was kinda yeeted across the cabin.”
Wilbur’s mouth fell open. “Huh?”
“It’s my fault,” Technoblade said, raising a hand. “He put a hand on my shoulder and my training kicked in.”
Wilbur gaped at Technoblade for a moment.
“My dad’s been sending me to karate, fencing, wrestling, and basically any other self-defense classes since I was six,” Technoblade said, shrugging. “Force of habit.”
“So— you threw him across the cabin?!”
“Yeah?”
“It’s alright, Wil,” Fundy said. “Let’s just get to breakfast.”
Wilbur pressed his mouth into a thin line but nodded. “Okay. Breakfast time, I guess. Let’s go. Fundy, do you need help walking? Is it your leg that’s injured, or…”
“My leg, yeah.” Fundy shrugged. “I’ll probably talk to the camp nurse about it or something.”
“Do you want me to walk there with you?” Wilbur asked.
“Let’s get breakfast first,” Fundy said. “I didn’t eat before I came.”
Wilbur nodded. “Do you need any help walking?”
Fundy took a step with a grimace. “Er— maybe?”
“Here.” Wilbur moved to stand next to Fundy. “You can lean on me or whatever you need to do.”
Fundy put his arm around Wilbur’s shoulder, and Wilbur did the same in turn.
“I’ll be your crutch,” Wilbur said with a smile. “Come on.”
Fundy sat next to Wilbur, who sat next to Technoblade by the fire. The camp itself was smaller than Technoblade had thought it would be. There were only four cabins, three of which had four people in each, and one of which had two people. Only one cabin was girls— Hannah, Niki, Puffy, and Alyssa— and the others were boys.
The girls were surprisingly calm. If Technoblade was one of only three boys in a group of twelve or so boys (because of the camp leaders also being men), he’d be on the defensive every waking minute. But Niki and Puffy were laughing with each other; Hannah was sitting by some kid named Badboyhalo, and the two were roasting marshmallows as they laughed with each other. The two seemed to be close friends, and Technoblade wondered if they had met at camp before or if they knew each other from somewhere else.
The funny thing about Badboyhalo and Hannah was that they were the only two people not to get eggs during breakfast.
“As the first day of Camp Logsted comes to a close,” Sam said. “I propose that we play getting-to-know-you games!” He stepped onto a stool near the fire, in the middle of the group.
Wilbur leaned over to Technoblade and whispered, “They do this every year.”
“Ah.” Technoblade scrunched up his nose.
“Now,” Sam said. “Ponk, can you give me two rolls of toilet paper, please?”
There was a, “Yep!” and then someone threw two rolls of toilet paper at Sam.
Sam caught them expertly, then held one out to Wilbur. “Take as much as you need.”
Without saying anything, Wilbur grabbed two squares and handed the roll to Technoblade.
“What’s it for?” Technoblade asked, raising an eyebrow at Sam.
“Just take as much as you need,” Sam repeated.
“Wilbur?” Technoblade looked over at Wilbur.
Wilbur hummed. “Take as much as you need, Technoblade.”
“What does that mean though?!”
“Just do it, please,” Sam said.
Technoblade sighed and took two squares, same as Wilbur. He then passed it to Niki, who sat on his other side.
Niki grabbed three squares, and the roll went around the circle.
“I guess we don’t need the other roll.” Sam hummed when the roll returned to his hold, and he grabbed one square. “Ponk, take these.” He threw the half-gone roll and the full roll, and Technoblade watched them disappear into the darkness that was the area away from the fireplace.
“So what do we do with these?” Technoblade asked, lifting the two squares he held.
“Wilbur, you’ve been here a while. You know the drill.” Sam stepped down from the stool he’d been standing on. “Care to explain?”
Wilbur scrunched up his nose, mirroring Technoblade’s face (literally— he looked eerily similar to Technoblade as he did so). “Fine.” He got to his feet and jumped onto the stool, holding his arms out to balance himself. “I’m Wilbur, and I have two squares of toilet paper. This means I have to tell you guys two fun facts about myself. So— number one: I play guitar. Number two: I live with my mum, and I never met my dad.”
“Thank you, Wilbur,” Sam said. “Uh, new guy. I can’t remember your name. You go.”
“Me?” Technoblade asked.
“Yeah.”
Technoblade looked down at his two squares as Wilbur sat down next to him. “Uh, I’m Technoblade; I live with my dad, and I never met my mom.” At this, Wilbur’s eyes widened, and he frowned, running a hand through his curls as he stared at Technoblade, who just ignored him in favor of continuing, “And, uh… I won my school’s fencing tournament a couple weeks ago.”
“Thank you,” Sam said. “Niki?”
“Are parents gonna be a common theme here?” Niki asked. She fingered her three squares. “Uh, I’m Niki. I live with my mom and my sister, Puffy.” At that, Puffy chuckled. “My favorite food is chicken alfredo, and I love to draw.”
“Next,” Sam said.
“My name is Puffy, and I hope to one day be a therapist.” Puffy held up her one square, then looked over at Badboyhalo.
“I’m Badboyhalo,” Badboyhalo said. “You can call me Bad if you want. I enjoy coming to camp every year—”
“Technoblade,” Wilbur whispered, poking Technoblade’s arm.
“What?” Technoblade muttered, turning his attention away from Bad in favor of looking at Wilbur.
“You never met your mom?” Wilbur asked.
“No.”
“I never met my dad.”
“Uh, okay—”
“We look alike,” Wilbur continued. He turned to stare into the fire. “When’s your birthday?”
“That’s quite abrupt, isn’t it—”
“Is it in between summer and autumn?”
Technoblade froze, narrowing his eyes at Wilbur. “How did you know—”
“August?” Wilbur raised his eyebrows.
“This is freaky.” Technoblade scooted away. “What are you, psychic?”
“My birthday is August fourteenth.” Wilbur’s eyes bore into Technoblade’s soul. “When is your birthday?”
“August… fourteenth,” Technoblade said.
“You know what this means, don’t you?” Wilbur asked.
“That you two should be paying attention instead of whispering?” Sam asked, putting a hand on Wilbur’s shoulder.
“Sorry, Sam,” Wilbur said. “We’ll pay attention now.”
Sam nodded. “Good.”
“We’ll continue this talk later,” Wilbur told Technoblade, turning to face the person who was speaking. Technoblade didn’t know his name.
Technoblade held back a sigh, not paying attention to whoever was speaking in favor for turning over what Wilbur had told him in his mind.
They had the same birthday; they looked basically identical. Wilbur lived with his mother and had never met his father. Technoblade lived with his father and never met his mother….
Technoblade had some serious questions for Phil when he got home.
“I suppose it’s my turn now,” Sam said, bringing Technoblade’s attention back to the fire. Apparently everyone had gone. “I have one fun fact, and that’s that I got this camp from my grandfather.”
“What’d I miss?”
Everybody turned towards the sound, and Technoblade faltered upon seeing George.
George yawned, stretching his arms above his head.
“George, how nice of you to join us,” Sam said. “Awake, finally?”
“Apparently.” George yawned again, hooking his thumbs in his pockets. He blinked sleepily. “Did you save me some dinner?”
“Of course.” Sam smiled. “You know the drill.”
George nodded. “Cool. See ya later.” He turned and ambled towards the mess hall.
“And that’s George for you,” Fundy said. Most of the circle laughed— Technoblade did not.
“He’ll be back to the cabin in an hour or so,” Wilbur explained, moving to lightly punch Technoblade’s arm.
Technoblade caught his hand before he could do so, giving Wilbur a level stare.
“What, Technoblade? It’s a friendly motion.” Wilbur blinked in confusion.
Technoblade let go of Wilbur’s hand, then paused. “You, ah, may call me Techno if you want.”
Wilbur smiled. “You can call me Wil if you want.”
Technoblade nodded. “Thanks, Wil.”
This time, when Wilbur lightly hit Technoblade’s arm, Technoblade didn’t stop him.
“Alright, campers, that’ll be all for tonight,” Sam said. “Feel free to stay here until ten, when you’ll have to go to your cabin, but you’re good to go back now if you’d like.”
“Come on, Techno,” Wilbur said. “We should talk at the cabin, in private.” He got to his feet, and Techno did the same, following after when Wilbur walked off.
“So… what, you think we’re twins?” Technoblade asked.
Wilbur nodded. “Yeah! This is exciting! I’ve never so much as had a brother, and now… whoa. A twin.”
“Huh,” Technoblade said.
“Do you know anything about Mum?” Wilbur asked.
“I know she was pretty, but that’s about it.”
“And how do you know that?”
Having arrived at the cabin, Wilbur pushed open the door and held it open for Technoblade.
Technoblade entered. “Well, I found a picture on my dad’s desk, and when he caught me looking at it, he told me it was my mom. I, uh… I kinda stole it.”
“Did he tell you her name?” Wilbur inquired. “Was it Kristin?”
“He didn’t tell me a name, no,” Technoblade said. “Uh, maybe I could show you the photo, and you could say whether or not she’s your mom?”
Wilbur nodded. “Okay.”
Technoblade made his way over to the bunk bed and climbed to the top, opening his suitcase. The pink hair dye was on top, and just beneath that was the photo. “It’s, ah, ripped down the middle,” Technoblade explained.
Wilbur’s eyes widened. “Wait! I-I think I have a photo of my dad— did I bring it?” He paused introspectively, tapping his chin. “I’ll go check my bags—”
“Don’t you wanna see if it’s your mom first?” Technoblade asked.
“Right.” Wilbur snapped his fingers. “Sorry… I’m very scatterbrained right now.”
“That’s alright.” Technoblade climbed down and held the photo out.
Wilbur’s eyes somehow got even wider as he grabbed the photo. “Yeah, that’s my mum!”
Technoblade’s mouth fell open as he stared down at the photo with a newfound awe. “So… we gotta be brothers, then.”
“Twins,” Wilbur corrected. “We’re twins, Techno!”
“Twins,” Technoblade muttered. “That’s… that’s weird.”
Wilbur nodded, turning to pace as he let his hand fall to his side. “This photo is a half… my photo is a half— do you think they fit together?”
“They might—”
“I’m gonna go grab mine!” Wilbur stopped pacing, set the photo on a nearby table, and turned to give Technoblade a smile. “I’ll be right back.” With that, he turned and bounced out the front door.
“Why isn’t your stuff in here?” Technoblade wondered aloud, brow furrowing together. “And… where is it?”
He sighed, grabbing the photo and staring at it as he leaned against the ladder. His mom— Kristin, apparently— stood with a toddler. Because of the toddler’s bouncy brown curls, Technoblade had always assumed it was him. He was a natural brunet, after all, and his hair did curl when it was shorter.
The tear on the photo cut off Wilbur’s arm, but Wilbur was looking in that direction, his cut-off arm reaching out.
“I got it,” Wilbur said, and Technoblade looked up.
“Where are your bags, anyway?” Technoblade inquired.
“Around.” Wilbur shrugged, walking further in as he held out the photo. “Do they match up?”
“Table.” Technoblade pointed and set his photo on the table, and Wilbur set his photo on it as well.
“They match,” Wilbur breathed. He pushed the two photos together, and sure enough, they fit together perfectly.
Wilbur’s photo showed Phil with a toddler— Technoblade?— who was sitting on his shoulders, arms raised in the air and a huge grin on his face.
Together, the pictures depicted a family. Kristin and Wilbur on one side, Wilbur’s arm raised to hold Phil’s hand. Phil was holding Wilbur’s hand with one of his hands and making sure Technoblade didn’t fall with the other. Everyone was smiling, Phil’s smile being the largest of the group.
Without warning, Wilbur pulled Technoblade into a hug, and Technoblade made a noise of protest.
“Brother!” Wilbur exclaimed. “I— oh, prime— I’ve—” He laughed.
“Uh,” Technoblade said. He pried himself from Wilbur’s grip. “I’m not a big hugger.”
“Sorry.” Wilbur used his palm to wipe at his eyes. “I— prime. I have a brother.”
“You have two brothers,” Technoblade said. “Because of Tommy.”
“Tommy!” Wilbur laughed disbelievingly. “What’s Tommy like? What’s Dad like— what’s Dad’s name?”
“Philza,” Technoblade said. “But everyone calls him Phil. Tommy’s… he’s great. He was adopted when he was two, and I was… seven, I think. I don’t remember it very well, but I do remember Tommy immediately being very touchy. Which I don’t mind— I think it’s great that he has something to ground himself with. I’m just… not very touchy-feely myself. You seem touchy, though. I think you two would get along.”
Wilbur nodded. “And what’s Dad like?”
“That one’s harder,” Technoblade said. “It’s hard to explain— almost like you gotta be there for yourself.”
Wilbur’s eyes lit up. “That’s genius!”
“What is—?”
“We could switch!”
“Switch?” Technoblade frowned.
“Well, of course, we’d have to get my hair pink somehow…” Wilbur thought for a moment, tapping his chin. “You’d have to get a haircut—”
“Woah, woah— I’m not cutting my hair!”
“Don’t you wanna meet Mum though?” Wilbur asked.
Technoblade faltered, glaring at nothing in particular.
“It’s not like I’m thrilled to become a freaking… pinkette or whatever,” Wilbur said. Then, he paused. “Shoot. How am I supposed to get pink hair so we can switch?”
Technoblade debated just… not mentioning the pink dye he had in his suitcase.
Wilbur frowned, running a hand through his curls as he began to pace again. “Maybe if we gather a bunch of pink flowers— no…”
“I have dye.”
“If you’re messing with me, I will slap you,” Wilbur said.
“I’d like to see you try,” Technoblade snapped back without thinking. Then, he ducked his head in slight embarrassment. “Sorry, but uh, no— I’m not messing with you. I actually have some dye.”
Wilbur nodded. “I could ask Sam for some scissors— I’m sure he has some.”
“Would he agree to let us mess with our hair?”
“I can talk to him,” Wilbur said confidently. “I’ve known him for years, so I might be able to talk him into it. Besides, I don’t think there’s anything in the rulebook saying that we can’t.”
Technoblade nodded. “Okay. We’ll see how this goes then.”