Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Hey Phil!”

Phil waves to his coworkers and slings his shoulder bag down onto his desk. “Hey Niki, hey Q. How was the weekend?”

Quackity shrugs, eyes on his computer. “Fine.”

“Pretty good,” Niki answers. “Sorry about Quackity. He’s been in a mood since he showed up.”

Phil smiles at her. “Not your fault, mate. C’mon, Q, cheer up.”

Quackity rolls his eyes. “You get woken up in the middle of the night by a powered causing trouble and tell me how cheerful you are the next day.”

Niki gives Phil a see what I mean look, then frowns at Quackity. “Really? I didn’t hear anything about that.”

“Yeah man, some guy manifested pyrokinesis in a McDonald’s and gave the police a runaround for a few hours. Here, let me…” Q taps at his computer, then turns the monitor so Niki and Phil can see a news article pulled up. Phil scans the first few sentences, and it seems to agree with what Quackity’s been saying.

“Poor guy was 43, apparently,” Niki comments, shaking her head sympathetically. “It’s hard to have your whole world upended like that. Especially so late.”

“Isn’t that a bit old to manifest a power?” Phil asks.

“Phil,” Niki says, voice mock-disappointed.

Phil laughs. “I know. We work at the Department of Power Control. I should know. But don’t powers come by twenty?”

Niki shrugs. “Usually. They can manifest at any age, though.”

“Tell me about it,” Q scoffs bitterly. Phil winces in sympathy. Quackity used to have two fiances, but it fell apart after one of them manifested some kind of time power. Phil heard the story driving Q home after a particularly exhausting office holiday party.

“That’s still… late,” Phil replies. He’s not even forty yet, and can’t imagine the kind of upheaval that manifesting a power would cause. It’d be worse because of his job, he thinks. Bit awkward to suddenly show up to work with a suppressor implant.

Niki smiles wryly. “You’d be surprised what you don’t find when you’re not looking.”

“Let’s refocus on my problem: the noise from the fucking chase,” Quackity interjects. He swivels his computer back to facing him as Niki rolls her eyes and leans back in her chair.

“Oh, yeah, because everything’s about you,” Niki mocks.

“Well, yeah. Anyway, the asshole tried to dodge the enforcement unit for, like, hours. Why do people even do that?”

“It’s hard,” Niki says quietly. “Manifesting is scary enough, and getting the cops called on you only makes it worse.”

“They’re not gonna kill a powered if they don’t resist, though,” Phil adds. He’s not sure how much of an opinion he has on the topic, but he doesn’t want to get left behind. “Just make sure nothing bad happens until they can get the implant.”

“I mean… the implant isn't fun either. Most people describe it as feeling like something’s missing, all the time.”

“What do you care?” Quackity asks. “Getting soft, Agent Nihachu?”

Niki sighs, but she’s grinning. “I haven’t been an agent in years, Q. It’s just Ms. Nihachu to you.”

Quackity shrugs. “Once in enforcement, always in enforcement.”

Niki glances away, and Phil cuts in to fill the silence. “Hey, give us desk guys some credit.”

Q raises an eyebrow. “I’m a desk guy too? I’m not giving the field people all the glory.”

Phil glances at the clock and snaps his fingers. “Alright, we’re already running late. What’s new today, team?”

Niki flicks through an app on her phone briefly. “Ugh, I’ve got meetings all afternoon. And the deadline on that briefing got moved up to today.”

“Goddammit,” Phil groans. “Can’t they leave us alone for five minutes?”

“You’re telling me, dude,” Quackity agrees.

“Maybe more enforcement people should retire and become desk people,” Niki laughs. “It’d make everyone’s lives easier.”

“But then we’d have fewer enforcement people,” Q points out, already focused back on his computer. Phil starts to boot up his own computer, and he can already imagine all the alerts waiting for him from the powered incident last night.

“We’ve got plenty of enforcement,” Niki tells them. “And they need us as much as we need them. It’s two sides of a coin.”

Quackity fakes a yawn. “Is this gonna be on the test? I’m a full grown man, I don’t need life advice about the workings of the government agency I work for.”

“I think I already know too much about how this place runs,” Phil jokes. “If I knew more, I’d just have to write more briefings.”

Phil leaves his office tired, but not unsatisfied. Thank whatever gods may be, nothing too big got dumped on his team, and they actually managed to get caught up. It won’t last the week, but he can still celebrate a small victory. He keeps his head up as he walks down the street to the parking garage, looking from building to building.

He has a great view when the first-story windows blow out of a government building next to his office.

People cry out and stumble back around him, but Phil feels rooted to the spot. Holy shit. He fumbles his phone from his pocket, trying to get the camera open.

Flames billow from the window frames, casting heat across Phil’s face as he stares into the chaos. He sees a few silhouettes running down an alley, away from the street, and on instinct he takes steps after them, taking photos when the heat is too much for him to get closer.

He can taste smoke from the windows, he realizes distantly, staring into the fire and letting it burn spots in his vision. That’s probably a bad sign.

“Phil!”

Phil startles and turns toward the voice to see Quackity on the steps of their office looking at him. He takes a step away from the fire, then another, as Q waves him over.

“What were you doing?” Quackity asks once Phil’s closer.

“Saw some people running away from the fire,” Phil answers breathlessly. “Not like scared, but like they set it, I dunno. I took pictures, but I don’t know if they came out.” He opens his phone to look at the photos and scrolls through them. Most are terrible, the firelight rendering the figures shadows at most, but… “Holy shit.”

Quackity leans over to look. “Holy shit.”

One of the pictures is clear: a young man with a bright white streak in his hair running down the alley, looking back at the camera.

Two days later, Phil can’t stop thinking about the photo. By all logical thought, he should send it to the police, who would send it to Department of Power Control enforcement units, who would find and arrest the man in the picture. The more Phil looks at it, the more sure he is that the man is a pyrokinetic. He hasn’t sent the picture in, though. In fact, he hasn’t shown it to anyone other than Quackity right after the fire.

“Phil? You good?” Niki says, leaning over her desk toward Phil and Quackity.

Phil blinks. “Hmm? Oh, yeah, just lost in thought, sorry.”

“Still stuck on the fire?” Quackity asks. “Is it the—”

“I’m fine,” Phil cuts him off. Quackity keeps trying to bring up the photo, but Phil doesn’t want to face any more pressure to turn it in. It feels… wrong somehow. “What were you saying, Niki?”

“I was just wondering if you guys have any news about the fire the other day,” Niki answers, looking concerned. “I haven’t been keeping up.”

Quackity shrugs, easily dropping the subject of the photo. “They’re saying it was an attempt to destroy some records. Probably by a powered. They’re gone now, so we’re fine.”

“Do you think they’re gonna catch whoever did it?” Phil muses, trying to seem natural.

“Probably?” Quackity guesses. “Why do you care?”

Phil shrugs quickly. “Just curious, I guess.”

After work, Phil takes a walk to clear his head. He chooses to stay away from his office and the site of the fire, instead going to a greener area of the city. The air is nicer here, he thinks, even though objectively it’s probably not.

He’s painfully aware of his phone in his pocket, and the single photo he’s kept from the fire that’s on it. He’s practically memorized the details of it, from the flames licking off one alley wall to the singed coat on the man in the picture.

He should turn it in. It’d be as simple as texting the photo, location, and date to the enforcement number. It’s his legal and moral responsibility.

He knows, deep down, he’s not going to.

Phil scrubs one hand through his hair, then pauses as he looks back up at the street.

He squints down the sidewalk at a man ahead of him. He could swear it’s the guy from the photo, but it can’t be. Surely someone who recently set a government building on fire wouldn’t appear openly in public wearing the same trench coat.

The man turns his head, looking up at a tree growing along the street, and Phil can clearly see the white streak in his fringe.

Shit.

Phil’s following him down the street before he thinks it through.

Is it unethical to follow someone you know to be a criminal? Phil has to stop himself from laughing at the absurdity of the question and situation, then really thinks about it for a second. It doesn’t… seem unethical? He can ask if it’s the same guy from the photo, and decide what to do from there.

Although, come to think of it, he should probably start a confrontation like that in public. He doesn’t want to be alone with someone capable of setting fire to a government building.

He puts on speed and catches up with the man as they turn down a street away from the green area of the city.

“Hey,” he calls, trying to sound confident.

The man stops. “Hey?”

“Hey,” Phil says again. Why did I do this?

“...Do I know you?”

“No. Uh, no.”

“Okay?”

Phil gets his phone out of his pocket and pulls up the photo. “Is this you?” he asks, showing it to the man.

There’s a long beat of quiet. “Shit.”

“So… yes?”

The man grabs Phil’s arm and starts pulling him down the street, walking fast and cursing under his breath.

For a moment, Phil’s too shocked to do anything but stumble along. When he recovers, he tries to keep up, tucking his phone away. “What’re you doing?”

The man doesn’t answer, just keeps walking. Phil can feel his hand shaking where he’s gripping Phil’s arm, and wonders if he’s as nervous as Phil is.

“Um— I’m Phil?” Phil tries. “What’s your name?”

This seems to throw the man a bit, judging by how he briefly stumbles. “I’m… Soot,” he answers after a second. He keeps his fast pace, turning the corner. “Shut up.”

“Am I being kidnapped?” Phil asks. I shouldn’t have walked up to him. I shouldn’t have gone out today. God, I shouldn’t have taken that picture.

Soot looks at him for a split second. “I think so?” he says, sounding just as uncertain as Phil.

“Okay.” It’s all Phil can think of to say.

They keep walking for a few more minutes, Soot tugging Phil down block after block as they get farther from the city center.

Eventually, they reach what looks like a small apartment building and climb the front steps. Soot tightens his grip on Phil’s arm and repeatedly presses the call button for one of the units. He mutters to himself as he does, too quietly for Phil to understand.

After just a second, an irritated voice comes through the box with, “Fucking what?”

“Let me in,” Soot demands. “Right now. Open the fucking door.”

With a loud buzz and click, the door unlocks. Soot pulls Phil in, down a narrow hallway, and up a couple flights of stairs.

“Where are we?” Phil asks, trying to get out of Soot’s grip. Soot just holds tighter, although Phil can still feel his shaking.

When they reach the door that’s apparently Soot’s, Soot uses his free hand to bang on it and calls out, “Open the fucking door, will you?”

The door is opened by a young man, about Soot’s age by his looks. The first thing Phil notices about him in particular is his hair: reaching almost to his hips, three-quarters of it an almost-blond light brown and the ends deep pink, as if he had been dying it but stopped. He looks from Phil to Soot and back, and all Phil can think is that he’s intimidatingly tall.

“What did you do?”

Chapter Text

Wilbur smiles at Techno, trying to defuse the situation. “It’s okay, just let me in.”

Techno just stares. “Who’s this guy?”

Phil waves awkwardly, next to Wilbur. “I’m Phil,” he says.

“He’s got a picture,” Wilbur tries to explain. “Please just let me in.”

“I think I’ve been kidnapped?” Phil offers. Wilbur sighs. If he could, he’d shove Phil inside and deal with this there, but he doesn’t think he could push past Techno with Phil fighting him.

Techno stares between the two of them. “Fine.” He steps aside, and Wilbur pushes Phil in ahead of him. Techno closes the door and locks it, and Wilbur lets go of Phil. Phil steps away, but doesn’t make a move to leave. Tommy, perched on the couch, is clearly listening but doesn’t come closer. “What happened?”

Phil looks at Wilbur, clearly waiting for him to explain. Wilbur shoves his hands into his pockets, trying to hide the way his tremor is intensifying with stress. “He came up to me on the street with a picture of… the fire. I can’t just let him take that to the cops.” He realizes he sounds defensive, but doesn’t really care.

“It’s been two days, mate,” Phil protests. “If I was gonna turn you in, I would’ve done it already.”

“Well it’s too fucking late for that now, innit?” Wilbur snaps.

Techno holds up a hand, stopping Wilbur’s outburst in its tracks. “Focus. Did you tell him your name?”

“Yeah, I’m Phil,” Phil says.

Techno grits his teeth. “Not you. For now, just assume I’m talkin’ to him.”

“No,” Wilbur answers, then adds, “He asked, and I said Soot.”

“Well, that was stupid,” Techno says in that blunt way he has.

Wilbur huffs. “I panicked, okay?”

“So… is Soot your name or not?” Phil asks.

“No,” Techno and Wilbur growl at the same time.

Tommy laughs from the couch.

“Is he supposed to be here?” Phil asks, pointing to Tommy.

“Yeah.” Wilbur tenses without meaning too. If Phil has a problem with Tommy, he is out, cops or no cops.

“Is… that supposed to be here?” Now Phil’s pointing to the large doll perched on a shelf behind the couch.

“Oh, the haunted doll?” Techno deadpans. “Yeah, it came with the apartment.”

“He did not,” Tommy retorts. “Uncle Nasty is a valued family member. He doesn’t have a ghost in him.”

Wilbur barely suppresses a shudder.

“I… it seems like he might have a ghost in him, mate,” Phil says.

Wilbur tries to shake his head at Tommy without visibly shaking his head. The last thing they need is for Tommy to try to convince Phil the doll is haunted and accidentally reveal that he’s powered. It’s hard to subtly use telekinesis.

Techno shifts in a way that draws the attention of the room back to him. “Okay, decision on Phil. Since someone grabbed him off the street and he has more grounds to accuse us of a crime now, I guess we have to keep him. Wi— Soot, watch local news until he’s reported missing and we can ask ransom or something.”

“Oh shit, I got kidnapped,” Phil murmurs, seemingly to himself.

Techno plants one hand on his hip. “I’m not happy about this.”

Wilbur mimics his posture. “Well you’re not in charge, so suck it up.”

For a moment, they just stare at each other, neither willing to be the first to back down. Technically speaking, no one’s in charge. It’s a very flat team structure. In practice, though, Techno thinks he’s in charge because he’s been outside the law the longest, and Wilbur has never answered to anyone in his life and he’s not starting any time soon. He’s not afraid to point out how much he’s sacrificed for their cause, but right now doesn’t seem like an appropriate time.

“Techno?” Tommy calls from the couch. “Dinner’s screaming.”

As he says it, the distinctive sound of a pot boiling over comes from the stove, and Wilbur and Techno both jump. Techno hurries to the stove and stirs the pot until it calms down.

“Techno?” Phil asks quietly. “Is that your name?”

Techno nods, still at the stove. “Technoblade.”

Phil makes a quiet surprised sound. “A real name, or like Soot?”

Techno shrugs. “Does it matter? It’s what I’m called.” Wilbur knows Technoblade isn’t Techno’s legal name, but he doesn’t know what Techno’s legal name actually is. He doesn’t really know much about Techno at all from before three years ago, when Techno’d thrown his lot in with Tommy and Wilbur.

“Is dinner almost ready?” Tommy whines, draping himself over one arm of the couch. “I’m hungry.”

“Few more minutes,” Techno answers. “Be easier if someone would help,” he adds sarcastically.

Phil steps forward, then hesitates. “Can you two not cook?” He sounds genuinely confused, poor soul.

Tommy shakes his head, melting further over the couch. “Hopeless.”

“I’m a goddamn chemist,” Wilbur sneers. “I can cook. In theory.” Understanding how the ingredients go together can’t force his tremor to leave him alone when he’s actually cooking. When Phil looks confused, he holds his hands out to show off the shaking. “Brain damage,” he bites out, then shoves his hands back in his pockets. Murder attempt, he doesn’t say. The government you seem to like so much tried to kill me just for standing by Tommy, he doesn’t say. I lived, bitch, he doesn’t say.

Phil blinks. “Okay. Techno, what do you need me to do?”

Techno starts instructing Phil, and Wilbur slumps in his chair at the kitchen table, head down in his hands. Making the best of a bad situation isn’t really in his skill set, and he envies Phil for seeming so calm right now.

He feels a gentle hand on one arm, and looks up to see Tommy looking down at him.

“You good?” Tommy murmurs.

Wilbur glances at Techno and Phil, engaged in conversation at the stove, and quietly answers, “I’ll be alright. Dude freaked me out, is all.”

Tommy pulls his chair out to sit, and under the cover of the scraping sound asks, “What’s he got?”

“A picture of me at the scene of the fire a couple days ago,” Wilbur groans. “It’s really clear, too.”

Tommy settles in his chair and sighs. “So we’re out?”

“Yeah. Soon as we can send him back, probably.” Wilbur’s voice is so quiet that for a moment he’s afraid Tommy didn’t hear, but then Tommy glances away, clearly trying to hide disappointment. “I’m sorry,” he says. “This isn’t what I promised you.”

Tommy smiles wryly. “I’m pretty sure you promised me my power wouldn’t be suppressed. You’re doing a pretty good job of that so far.”

Wilbur puts his head back down in his hands. “I promised you a better life. I don’t know what I’m doing, Toms.”

“I don’t think any of us do. Hell, at this point I don’t think Techno knows what he’s doing. It’s okay, Wil.”

“What’s okay?” Techno is standing over them all of a sudden, bowls in his hands.

“Everything,” Wilbur answers flippantly. “What about you?”

Techno’s quiet for a second, then shrugs. “Dinner’s ready. I like this guy you kidnapped already, he’s very helpful.”

Wilbur rolls his eyes, but sits up to let Techno set the dishes down.

Techno’s made mac and cheese for dinner, and for a few minutes they eat in awkward silence. The meal doesn’t taste like much to Wilbur, but that’s been a thing since the brain injury, and he’s used to it.

“So how long have you guys been in town?” Phil asks eventually.

“Six months,” Tommy answers.

There’s another minute of silence. “Have you known each other longer than that?” Phil prompts.

“Worked with Techno three years,” Wilbur answers. “Tommy and I have known each other eight years, though.” Known is an understatement. He and Tommy have been practically brothers almost since they met.

Phil nods. “So your relationship with them is purely professional?” he asks, looking toward Techno.

Techno shrugs. “At first. Turns out I’ve got a soft spot for incompetent losers who need justice.”

Phil laughs. “C’mon, they can’t be that bad.”

“Sure, now they’re fine. Mostly.” Wilbur swears to god Techno glares at him on mostly. “Should’ve seen ‘em three years ago.”

Tommy laughs too. “It’s lucky he stuck around, really. Definitely needed it.”

“Please,” Techno responds. “not stickin’ around would’ve been a moral failin’ three years ago.” He turns to Phil, gesturing like they’re gossiping at school. “Picture them. Him—” pointing to Tommy “—fifteen, a full head shorter, half starvin’. Him—” now pointing at Wilbur “—wearin’ sunglasses indoors, short sleeves on a frigid day, actively tryin’ to wander away from the conversation. And they come up to me and they say Technoblade we need your help. How can I say no?”

Phil’s laughing by halfway through the little speech, but Wilbur pouts at the description. “In my defense,” he cuts in, “I was severely concussed and not processing a lot. That’s not my usual state.”

“You tell him, Wi— Soot,” Tommy adds. “We’re perfectly competent men.”

“Go out on your own then,” Techno challenges. “See how long you last.”

Wilbur shifts sulkily in his chair. He knows the answer is not long as well as Techno does, but he’s not gonna give Techno the satisfaction of saying it out loud. Especially in front of their guest.

No one talks the rest of dinner. Wilbur lets his fork rattle against his bowl with his tremor, just because he knows it bothers Techno.

They let Phil sleep on the couch, even though that means Wilbur and Tommy have to cram into the same bunk of their bunk beds. Generally, Tommy takes one bunk of the beds in the corner of their studio apartment and Wilbur and Techno trade between the other bunk and the couch, but Phil kind of throws a wrench in that.

Wilbur doesn’t necessarily mind sharing with Tommy. It reminds him of being much younger together, happier even if they were just as scared.

“I am not babysitting the hostage,” Wilbur whispers, jabbing a finger at Techno in the narrow hall outside their apartment.

“You wanna leave Tommy with him?” Techno raises an eyebrow.

Wilbur feels himself pull back without meaning to. Phil seems harmless enough, but he clearly works for the government if he was at the fire. Does Tommy have the awareness and control to keep his power under wraps alone? “You stay back. You said we’ve gotta keep him.”

“You brought him home like a puppy you found,” Techno fires back. “I swear, half the hard choices we have to make are your fault.”

Wilbur hisses. “All I’ve ever tried to do is protect that kid. You keep your goddamn nose out of it.”

Techno narrows his eyes. “I’m busy. You stay with Phil or Tommy does.”

Wilbur throws the apartment door open. “Fuck you,” he calls to Techno, letting his voice rise from a whisper. “Tommy! You’re off with Technoblade. Have fun.” He can’t keep the bitterness from his voice, even though he hates himself for it.

Tommy turns to Uncle Nasty, in its usual perch behind the couch. “Uh-oh, dad and dad are fighting. Don’t worry, we’ll be fine.” He walks past Wilbur to the door, shoving playfully at Wilbur on his way out. “Don’t break Phil while we’re away.” He closes the door softly behind him.

Phil, sitting on the couch, looks cautiously at Wilbur. Wilbur flops on the couch next to him, staring at the wall.

Phil pulls a phone from his pocket.

Wilbur’s gaze snaps around. “Hey. What do you think you’re doing?”

Phil smiles stiffly. “I need to text my boss I’ll be out today so no one worries. Is that okay?”

Wilbur thinks about it. It makes sense, from a pure-kidnapping perspective. But… frankly, Wilbur wants Phil out as soon as possible. And that means getting his missing status noticed. “No. Put your phone away.” Phil does.

“Tommy’s a good kid,” Phil says quietly after a moment.

“How do you know his name?” Wilbur demands.

“You’ve said it,” Phil answers, like it’s an apology. “A few times.”

“Oh.”

“I can pretend I don’t know it if you want?”

“Nah. Cat’s out of the bag. Why are you telling me?”

Phil shrugs. “He is. It’s nice how much you care for each other.”

“Thanks.” Wilbur doesn’t know where that came from. He kind of likes it though; it’s been a long time since someone approved of him. He stand off the couch. “Hey, do you wanna help me with chemistry?”

“I’ve never been good at that. Are you sure?”

Wilbur dismisses the question with a wave of his hand. “You don’t need to know anything. I need someone to be my hands.”

Phil stands, watching as Wilbur pulls his equipment from a cabinet and lays in on the kitchen table.

“Alright, I’m in,” Phil tells him. “What’re you making?”

“Smoke bomb,” Wilbur lies. He hopes Phil really is bad enough at chemistry to not realize the ingredients on the table are for real explosives. “I need this and this open first.” He nods to the jars in question, and Phil pulls the lids off.

“Is there a… recipe?”

“It’d be a formula in chemistry. And no. Writing’s become terribly inefficient since…” he gestures, showing off his tremor, “so everything just stays in my head.”

“Oh.” Wilbur lets himself feel a bit proud at the slight impressed note in Phil’s voice. “Is that a power?”

“Hmm? Nah, I’m just a freak.” He’s always had a great memory. He’d never expected how much he’d come to rely on it. (He’d never expected how much the few missing minutes of his injury would bother him because of it.)

“I kind of thought you had a power, from the photo.” Phil’s voice is quieter now, and he’s looking into the jars of chemicals. “Pyrokinesis?”

Wilbur tries to stay visually calm. “Nope, sorry. Only regular non-powered crime around here.”

“...Alright.”

Chapter Text

Phil wakes up the second day to the sound of coffee being made. He blinks his eyes open and sits up on the couch, and sees Techno at the counter watching a coffee maker buzz.

“Mate?”

“Mornin’ Phil. Do you drink coffee?”

Phil tries to think through his half-asleep haze. “Um… I’ll take a cup if there’s extra?”

Techno nods. “Alright. Probably will be extra, I’m the only one who drinks coffee around here.” He glances up. “Other than you, I guess.”

Phil stands, shaking off tiredness and the crick in his neck from sleeping on the couch. “Do you usually make coffee for your hostages?”

Techno hesitates. “Never kidnapped someone before. Still tryin’ to figure it out.”

Phil had kinda figured. “I’ll say you’re doing well so far. I’m pretty comfortable.”

Techno frowns. He leans forward over the coffee maker and jiggles it. “Is this thing workin’? I swear to god, if it’s broken…”

Phil steps closer. “Can I check? I use the instant coffee pod things, but I know a bit about coffee makers.”

Techno steps back, and Phil winces as the curtain of his hair almost touches the hot coffee pot. “Be my guest. I dunno if I can trust someone who likes instant coffee, though.”

Phil laughs awkwardly. Are we supposed to trust each other? He looks at the coffee maker, which is buzzing but apparently not running water through the grounds.

“It’s alright if you can’t fix it,” Techno tells him. “I don’t drink coffee every day, I’ll be fine.”

“No, I want to fix it,” Phil replies lightly, opening the lid and fiddling with parts of it. Nothing seems mechanically blocked, and he frowns. “Maybe it’s the circuitry?” He closes it back up and turns his attention to the few buttons on the front.

“Really, it’s okay.”

Phil just shakes his head, even though he doesn’t really know what he’s doing. He touches the buttons, trying to imagine how the wires might not be connecting. With a sudden click, it starts working. “There we go,” he says, looking at Techno as if he knows what happened.

Techno nods appreciatively. “Thanks.”

Phil smiles despite himself. “No problem, mate.”

A few hours later, Phil finds himself alone with Tommy. Soot and Technoblade promised they’d be quick and shot several nervous looks at Tommy, but Tommy doesn’t seem worried. He’s perched on the couch, having an animated conversation about absolutely nothing with the creepy ventriloquist dummy-type thing on the shelf.

“Can I ask what you’re doing with the doll?” Phil asks hesitantly.

Tommy turns to look at him. “That’s Uncle Nasty,” he answers, voice bright. “He’s my best friend, even if Wi— Soot thinks he’s haunted.”

Phil gives the doll a suspicious stare. “Is he haunted?”

Tommy’s clearly fighting a smile. “No. He’s perfectly fine and I love him.”

“What apartment number are we in?” Phil tries to sound casual, hoping that Tommy’s air of caring less than the other two isn’t an act.

“3C,” Tommy answers immediately. He turns his gaze back to Uncle Nasty, and Phil nods to himself.

“Do you know how much longer you’ll be here?”

Tommy shifts his posture, angling inward in a way that makes him look younger somehow. “I dunno. We move around a lot, y’know? Lots of disappearing. Why?”

“Just… wondering.”

“Okay.” Tommy’s quiet for a few minutes, tapping his foot on the couch, and Phil wonders how bold he can be before Tommy catches on. “I like you,” Tommy says suddenly.

“Oh. Thanks?”

Tommy nods. “You have dad energy. You seem like you yell less than Soot and Techno.”

“Do they yell a lot?” Phil watches Tommy’s body language, but the young man (teen? Phil hopes not) still seems mostly comfortable.

“I mean, only when they’re stressed. And only at each other.” Tommy shrugs. “They feel better when they have something present to fight,” he adds, lowering his voice to a stage whisper.

“Oh.” That’s… concerning.

Tommy puts his head down on his arms. “Better than nothing,” he says, the cheer in his voice painfully thin. “They love me. I love them. Life is good.”

Phil had already been going to the door, ready to see if Tommy would stop him from just walking out, but he stops. He looks back at Tommy, who’s no longer smiling. “Hey,” he says quietly, stepping back toward the couch. “It’s alright.” For a minute, he wonders if this is a trick. He wouldn’t put it past someone who grew up around Soot and Technoblade to be capable of that sort of acting.

But Tommy looks up at him with a kind of grief and earnestness in his eyes, and Phil doesn’t think anyone could fake that expression. “Phil. It’s not alright.” His voice is light, almost playful. “You’re leaving, right?”

Phil blinks. “I… yeah,” he admits.

For just a second, something inscrutable flashes across Tommy’s face, and Phil feels really afraid for the first time since he’s been here. Then the lopsided smile is back, and the feeling is gone. “Go,” Tommy says.

“What?”

“You’re not gonna turn us in. Soot’s a paranoid mess. Get out before him and Techno get back.”

Phil doesn’t have to be told a third time.

He calls his boss after he’s found his way home, to apologize and claim he’s been sick. Luckily she believes him, and tells him to come back if he feels better tomorrow.

When he gets to work the next day, Niki and Q both seem relieved to see him.

“What happened, dude?” Quackity demands, leaning conspiratorially over his desk toward Phil and Niki.

“Just got sick,” Phil laughs. “Really, it’s nothing. Ate something bad, I think.”

“Glad you feel better,” Niki comments, and something about the way she looks at him makes Phil’s skin crawl.

“Me too.” Phil laughs again, stiffer, and pretends to have just noticed an email.

Phil’s glad to be in his own house again, to have spent the night in an actual bed again, but he still feels vaguely sick to his stomach from the incident.
It’s not fear. Frankly, despite… everything, Phil never believed those three meant him harm. They seemed more panicked than anything, the kind of people who do desperate things in desperate times but could never plan something like that.

It’s guilt, Phil realizes suddenly, watching Saturday morning television without absorbing any of it. He feels like he’s abandoning them by leaving them behind. He feels like they need help.

You can’t feel bad for people who are probably terrorists, Phil admonishes himself. You don’t even know why they were trying to burn a building.

…They seemed so young, though. He can’t stop thinking about Technoblade’s quiet gratitude for help in the kitchen, Tommy’s mix of cheer and sadness, Soot’s raw protective anger over Tommy.

Maybe he could just make them a casserole or something? A small symbolic gesture to avoid getting caught up in whatever they’re doing without totally abandoning them.

Phil nods to himself and clicks off the TV. He can do that. He’s got a casserole recipe lying around somewhere, for a fairly simple dish he’s brought to every potluck he’s ever been invited to.

The kitchen in Phil’s apartment is a mess, and during the time it takes him to locate the recipe and ingredients he can practically hear Quackity’s mocking laughter at the idea of making a casserole for the people who kidnapped him. Universe, he’s glad he doesn’t have to explain this to anyone.

He needs help from his phone to find their apartment again, and he’s thankful for his past self, who thought he might start running after New Year’s and downloaded a route-tracking app. He looks up at the small, grimy apartment building and thinks it looks familiar enough.

The name on the door buzzer for apartment 3C is totally unrelated to any name the three residents gave Phil, but that’s… probably normal for terrorists. At any rate, the voice that comes from the box is definitely Tommy’s, distorted from the tinny speaker.

“Hello?”

“Hi?” Phil responds hesitantly. Why did I think I’d get in? Stupid.

After a long moment of the speaker buzzing empty air, Phil hears the door unlock. With a deep breath, he goes inside, propping the casserole dish against one hip. It’s warm but not uncomfortably hot against his side as he navigates the narrow hallways and stairs.

On the third floor, Tommy’s in the hall, and a smile breaks across his face as he sees Phil emerge from the stairwell.

“Fuckin’ knew it was you,” Tommy whispers once Phil’s in earshot. “Knew I was right about you.”

Phil starts to ask what about Phil Tommy was right about, but before he can get the words out, Tommy slips through the door labeled 3C and closes it behind him.

Bewildered, Phil knocks on the apartment door.

Soot opens it, stares in silence for a second, and closes it again.

Phil frowns. Can’t a man do something nice for the criminals he vaguely pities without having to jump through hoops first? He knocks again.

“Go away,” Soot calls through the door.

There’s a moment of muffled talk, then the door opens to reveal Tommy, smiling brightly. “Phil! What a surprise, come on in.”

Phil almost asks why he’d say that, bites his tongue, and enters the apartment.

It looks the same as when he’d left: bunk bed, small couch, and table fighting for floorspace; grimy wooden bathroom door facing down a grimier glass door to a cramped balcony; kitchen counter looking like it’s been asked to beat the cabinets in storage ability. Technoblade’s leaning on the counter, hand almost-subtly hovering over a knife laying on the surface. Soot is sitting on the table, glaring daggers at Phil and Tommy.

Phil leads with, “I brought dinner,” hoping the promise of food will calm them down.

After a second, it seems like he’s right. Tommy’s smile grows brighter, Technoblade moves away from the knife, and even Soot seems confused rather than angry now.

“Why?” Soot demands.

Phil shrugs awkwardly. “I— well, I felt kinda bad. I thought it might help.”

“It does,” Technoblade answers, sounding vaguely surprised. “That was… nice of you.”

“It’s nothing, really,” Phil replies. “Should I leave it on the table, or…”

“Why don’t you stay for dinner?” Tommy offers with a grand gesture to the table. “People don’t do nice things for people like us often. Least we can do is let you stay.”

“Are you sure?” Technoblade asks warningly, looking at Tommy and stepping away from the counter.

“Let the kid have his moment,” Soot cuts in, standing to face Technoblade. When Phil looks at him, there’s something hard behind his eyes that makes Phil almost want to step back. “It won’t hurt you.”

For several seconds, Soot and Technoblade just stand, staring each other down. Soot isn’t short by any means, but next to Technoblade he looks fragile, long coat hanging off his frame and hands shaking in loose fists.

Tommy gestures Phil to come further in. “They’ll sort it out,” he whispers. “You’re staying.”

As if on cue, Technoblade relaxes his shoulders. “Fine. Phil can stay. You owe me one, Soot.”

Soot curls his lip. “Call a collection agency.”

Tommy rolls his eyes and pulls plates from the cabinets.

Once they’re all seated, Phil thinks that agreeing to stay may have been a mistake. “So… how were your days?” he asks. He’s aware his voice sounds small and tense, but he’s never been a great actor.

“Oh, it was fine,” Wilbur answers, sounding just as awkward as Phil. “Trying to figure out if you had called the cops on us.”

“I haven’t,” Phil protests. “I’m not going to.”

Technoblade’s gaze is burning into Phil. “Why not?”

Phil shrugs. He’s been trying to answer that for himself for days now. “It just feels… wrong. I— I think you guys need help I can give.” He surprises himself in saying it aloud.

Technoblade keeps his stare on Phil, but Soot drops his gaze to his plate with something unreadable but soft in his expression. Phil looks back at Technoblade, trying to pick any emotion out of the younger man’s face. Technoblade reaches up and twists a strand of hair around a finger without seeming to notice, as if he’s just as uncomfortable with the stare-off as Phil is.

Finally, Technoblade sighs softly. He glances at Tommy, who’s trying and failing to smother a grin. “How much of this did you plan?”

Tommy’s smile breaks out in full, and he shakes his head. “All a beautiful coincidence, Mr. Blade.”

Phil could swear that Tommy winks at him the next time Techno isn’t looking.

Chapter Text

Phil’s promise doesn’t seem empty, to Techno’s surprise. After dinner he washes dishes with Tommy’s help, and scribbles his phone number on a sticky note that he leaves on top of the microwave.

Wilbur grins at Techno and raises his eyebrows as if to say I told you so. Techno grits his teeth. “Don’t be like that.”

Wilbur just keeps smiling and nods toward Tommy and Phil in the kitchen. Reluctantly, Techno turns to look at them.

They’re comfortable, happy. Tommy laughs, too loud for the apartment, and swats at Phil, leaving soap on Phil’s arm. Tommy’s remembering not to use his power, passing dishes to Phil without having to hesitate a moment over physically reaching for them.

Tommy looks eighteen, Techno realizes. Techno’s so used to thinking of Tommy as the kid who came to him years ago, seeing Tommy watch the world with a wariness that usually comes with age, that it’s almost strange to see him seem exactly eighteen.

For a horrible second, Techno has to ignore the hope that Tommy doesn’t figure out he could be happier without Techno and Wilbur.

He can’t take his eyes off them until they’re done.

As he leaves, Phil checks over and over again that they won’t lose the note with his number, that they’ll call him if they need anything. He does, eventually, leave though, and Tommy turns to Techno and Wilbur with a grin.

“I told you he was different,” Tommy crows.

Techno isn’t sure whether to disagree or agree. He doesn’t yet have a verdict on Phil.

Then Wilbur nods slowly and says, “He does seem… sympathetic,” and that makes up Techno’s mind. Wilbur’s judgment is terrible.

“He works for the government,” Techno reminds them. “He could be undercover.”

Wilbur scoffs. “No one’s ever undercover outside of movies, Technoblade. That’s not a thing that happens.”

Techno doesn’t push it. If this is something they’ll regret, they’ll rely on Techno to fix it whether he warned them or not.

Late that night, Techno stands on their cramped balcony, trying to get some air. It’s his night on the couch, so he doesn’t have to worry about disturbing Tommy when he goes to bed, and he’s taking the opportunity to stay up late clearing his head.

He leans over the railing, trying to catch sight of what stars he can, then draws back into the concrete cradle of a balcony that he spends so much time in.

In his worst moments, he thinks he hates it here.

As he looks at the floor, his eye catches on a piece of paper— no, an envelope— tucked neatly behind an empty planter by the railing. Techno stoops, picks it up between two fingers, and feels his face settle into something close to blank when he sees the ornate capital S in the old-fashioned wax seal.

The Syndicate. Nothing unusual here except that they’ve apparently figured out how to get on his balcony.

He’d expected this, of course. He’d signed up for it years ago, agreed to be a part of something bigger than himself when he was, in retrospect, maybe a little too young to be allowed to do that. Despite the years, though, he still believes in the cause. How could he not, when he’s looking through the glass balcony door at where a blanket covers the sleeping form of his very personal reason to hate tyrants?

He cracks the seal and rolls the wax into a warm smooth ball in his hands and wishes he felt something about it.

Techno wakes up the next morning to watery autumn light and the sharp beeping of the alarm on his watch.

He stumbles to the kitchen counter, scans the sea of sticky notes smothering the upper cabinets, and realizes he has to work today. It’s not much, an odd-hours job as a bouncer at a bar that was willing to pay him under the table to stand there and look intimidating, but it fills the gaps.

That doesn’t mean he always has to like it, though. He definitely needs a cup of coffee today.

He fills the coffee maker with water and grounds and starts it up. It’s not as easy or as efficient as instant coffee, but Techno hates that stuff. There’s just something nice about real, brewed coffee.

The coffee maker buzzes, but water isn’t flowing into the karaf. Techno sighs.

Before thinking about it, he’s picked up his phone, flipped it open, and dialed the number on the sticky note Phil left.

It rings twice before Phil picks up. “Who is this?”

“Techno. Sorry it’s so early, I wasn’t thinkin’ when I called,” Techno answers, voice still slow with tiredness.

“Nah, it’s fine, mate. I’m up anyway,” Phil replies. “What’s up?”

“Coffee maker’s broken again,” Techno tells him. “What’d you do last time?”

“To be honest? I don’t really know. I just kinda… poked it. Have you tried that?”

“Um… I will now.” Techno pokes at the coffee maker halfheartedly, but nothing happens. “It’s not workin’.”

“Yeah, sorry, I don’t know.” Phil pauses. “What’re you doing up so early anyway?”

“Work.”

Phil makes a quiet surprised sound, grainy over the phone. “Really? What do you do?”

“Bouncer. It’s not usually this early.”

Phil laughs. “Yeah, I can see that. Has the coffee maker done its thing yet?”

Techno glares at the offending machine for a second, but it still doesn’t do much more than buzz. “Nah. I’m gonna be late if I wait on it any longer, though. Thanks.”

“No problem, mate. Sorry I couldn’t help.” Phil hangs up while Techno’s still staring at the coffee maker in sleepy anger.

The only good part of the early shift is that Techno’s done by the early afternoon. He arrives at the apartment to find Wilbur and Tommy out, and figures he may as well see what he can find about Phil. To that end, he ends up at one of the outdated computers at the public library.

Techno starts to type Phil’s name into the search bar, then realizes he doesn’t know Phil’s last name. Good job, me. Didn’t even get the hostage’s name before he walked out.

He tries just searching for Phil and their city, but nothing relevant comes up. Apparently, the guy keeps to himself online better than most.

Although… he saw Wilbur at the scene of the fire in the early evening. Given the location of the archives they burned, he was probably leaving work. Techno looks up a map of the city and scrolls to the right street.

It’s mostly government buildings, which Techno knew already, but he still mouses over each one, looking at the services housed there. He gets to the building immediately next to the archives and feels a brief chill run over him.

He gets back to the apartment again, and Wilbur and Tommy are home this time.

Techno doesn’t even give them time to greet him. “Did either of you know where Phil works?”

“No?” Tommy answers, blinking in confusion. “Have you seen him?”

“Not since he left. But something seemed off, and I did a little pokin’. And you know what’s right next to the fire?” Techno pauses for emphasis. “Department of Power Control.”

Tommy looks at him skeptically. “And you think that’s where he works?”

“It makes sense,” Techno insists.

“You have no proof,” Wilbur says, rolling his eyes as he shuffles things around on the counter to try to make room.

“You have no proof he doesn’t work there.”

“That’s not how proving things works.”

“You welcomed him in without knowin’ anythin’ about him, and you’re mad at me for tryin’ to correct that?”

“Correct that?” Wilbur scoffs. “He’s a good guy. He wants to help. Why are you being so paranoid about it?”

“I’m not bein’ paranoid, I’m bein’ smart. He says he wants to help, he acts like a good guy, but what if he’s lyin’? What if he’s from the government?”

Wilbur sighs aggressively, turning away from the counter to stare at Techno. “Oh my god, listen to yourself. ‘What if he’s from the government?’ People aren’t undercover in real life, Technoblade. Calm the fuck down.”

Tommy stands and grabs Uncle Nasty from the couch. “Y’know what? I’ll be on the balcony if you need me.”

Techno nods at him, then turns back to Wilbur and crosses his arms over his chest. “Sorry, you were asking me to calm down?”

Wilbur nods back as if Techno wasn’t being sarcastic. “Yeah. Chill. Phil’s not gonna hurt us.”

“You don’t know that,” Techno retorts. “You don’t know him. We can’t afford that gamble, Wilbur.”

“Everything we do is a gamble, Techno.” Wilbur’s almost yelling now, leaning forward off the countertop, and Techno matches his posture. “We can’t avoid every single risk just because something might blow up in our faces, we—”

“Can you afford to lose this one, though? Do you know what it would mean to lose this one?”

“Do I know what it means to lose?” Wilbur demands. “How the fuck can you ask that? Tommy and I were losing before you ever came on the scene. Think before you fucking talk, how about?”

“That doesn’t mean you need to keep making bad bets.” Techno catches his hands forming fists and forces them to relax. “I’m going to take a walk,” he bites out. “We can discuss more civilly when I get back.” He can feel Tommy’s eyes on his back through the balcony door as he slams the front door behind him.

Techno paces around the block for almost half an hour, by his watch. The air outside is crisp with a fall-afternoon chill. Techno doesn’t necessarily feel calmer, but his anger simmers to a more manageable level. Technically, Wilbur’s right that Phil may not work for the Department of Power Control, and even if he does he probably isn’t out to get Tommy specifically. Tommy hasn’t expressed wanting to tell Phil everything. It’s probably fine.

Techno lets himself into the apartment building still trying to figure out a way to say all that that doesn’t make it sound like Wilbur won the argument.

The first thing Techno notices when he opens the apartment door is that Phil is there.

“Hi Techno,” Wilbur says, too casually to not know exactly what he’s doing.

“What did you do.”

Wilbur shrugs, the picture of nonchalance. “I’m mixing the chemicals you asked for. Tommy’s busy with dinner and you were out. You do want this done, don’t you?”

Techno grits his teeth. “I swear to god, Wilbur.” Moments like this, he wishes Wilbur’s expertise was even slightly less helpful in Syndicate assignments.

Phil looks up from where he’s carefully filling a little plastic tube with what looks like powder bleach. “Are you two okay?”

“We’re fine,” Wilbur answers, smiling. “Techno here has it in his head that you work for the Department of Power Control, and he’s… worried.”

“Oh.” Phil looks between the two of them for a second. “Well, he’s right, I guess. I’m a data analyst.”

For once, Techno doesn’t like the feeling of vindication. “Wilbur.” Tommy, at the stove, stands tense and still.

“I’m still not gonna turn you in,” Phil adds, looking from person to person. “I’m not a cop, I promise.”

Wilbur snorts. “You can say that again.”

“See, when you say things like that it makes me think helping you might be unethical,” Phil laughs. “You didn’t even explain why I’m putting household cleaning products into tiny tubes.”

“They’re centrifuge tubes, first of all,” Wilbur answers. “Use the right words. And you’re doing it because my hands shake too much.”

Phil laughs again, a little more nervously. “That doesn’t tell me why you need these?”

“Don’t answer,” Techno cuts in.

“You’re not my lawyer,” Wilbur shoots back.

Suddenly, there’s a loud clang from the kitchen area and Tommy says, “Oh shit,” just a little louder than could be casual. All three adults spin to look.

Tommy’s smiling awkwardly at them over a spatula on the floor in front of him and a very much on fire pan.

“Oh, shit,” Wilbur echoes. “Um—”

Techno takes a step back. “Uh, water? Tommy?”

“No,” Phil interrupts, then repeats the word a few more times. “Not a wood fire.” He stands from the table and rushes toward Tommy. “Tommy, get a lid for it.”

Tommy reaches blindly into a cabinet behind him, eyes on the fire, and pulls out a lid just a bit too large for the pan. Phil takes it, places it over the fire, and all four of them breathe a sigh of relief as the flames die down.

“Water only makes grease fires worse,” Phil tells them. “It’s alright, happens to everyone.”

Wilbur gives Techno a look that’s clearly meant to say we need him. Techno looks away to pretend he doesn’t agree.

Chapter Text

Phil isn’t leaving, and neither is Tommy, and it is glorious.

Sure, it took a little scheming. Isn’t Tommy entitled to a little scheming, given the life he leads? Sure, it’s been almost two months and it’s still a little awkward. That’ll fix itself soon, Tommy’s sure.

The important part is that Phil is becoming a fixture of Tommy’s life, and he’s steady and even-tempered in all the ways that Wilbur and Techno aren’t. Tommy loves Wilbur and Techno, absolutely, with all his heart. They just… could use a counterweight sometimes, and Phil coming to dinner or hanging out provides that counterweight without Phil really seeming to try.

Tommy wrenches himself back to the present.

“You’re ready?” Wilbur’s asking, fussing with Tommy’s jacket sleeves. With his tremor, he really only makes it messier, but it’s the thought that counts.

“I’m fine,” Tommy laughs. “I’ll be warm enough. Phil has your number if something goes wrong. It’s gonna be okay, Wil.”

“I know that,” Wilbur mutters. “I was making sure you knew that.”

Tommy rolls his eyes. “If you say so. You’re allowed to worry, you know.”

Right on time, the buzzer by the door goes off. Wilbur ruffles Tommy’s hair. “Off you go, gremlin. Have fun.”

Tommy’s out of the apartment and at the building door as quickly as he can be. Finally, after weeks, he convinced Phil to take him around to the public museums in the city and convinced Wilbur and Techno to let him go. For Tommy, who hasn’t been to a formal school since fourteen, this is extremely cool.

Phil’s waiting by his car outside the building, and Tommy has to resist letting rocks on the sidewalk drag along next to him. It’s natural to him to reach out with his telekinesis with strong emotions, but it’s also something so obvious that he’s gotten good at avoiding it. He might trust Phil, but showing his power is… big. Phil works for the Department of Power Control, even if he doesn’t like talking about it.

“Hey Phil,” Tommy calls, waving.

Phil waves back. “Ready?”

“I was born ready,” Tommy answers, climbing into the passenger seat of Phil’s car.

Phil laughs. “That’s good. You’re sure Wilbur and Techno are okay with this?”

“Of course they’re okay with it,” Tommy replies. “I wouldn’t lie to you about having permission.”

“I mean… you lied to them to get me in,” Phil points out. “I don’t know your endgame.”

Tommy rolls his eyes. “That was weeks ago, get over it. Besides, I got what I wanted. You stuck around.”

The first museum is called “Natural History,” and Tommy doesn’t know what the fuck that means, but it seems like it has all kinds of sciency things in it. Phil lets Tommy take the lead, even though Tommy’s practically bouncing off the walls and barely lets Phil answer one question before he has another.
“What’s this one called?”

“Velociraptor,” Phil answers, reading off the plaque. Tommy could read it himself, but doesn’t want to. “Huh, this says they were smarter than rabbits but not as smart as dogs.”

“I saw one in Jurassic Park,” Tommy adds. “I liked that movie. What’s the next one called?”

Phil scans the plaque. “Another kind of velociraptor.”

“I’ve already seen one of those,” Tommy sighs. “Do you wanna see something else now, Phil?”

Phil looks at Tommy with a mischievous light in his eyes. “How do you feel about slushies?”

Tommy grins. “Are you suggesting I have a sugary drink that will definitely get Techno mad at you for providing it? My feelings are very positive.”

When they get to the museum doors, it’s raining. Phil glances at Tommy. “Do you mind it?”

Tommy shakes his head. “Do you?”

Phil shakes his head right back. “Nah. I’ve always liked the rain, actually. Did you know I’ve seen lightning strike near me five times, but I’ve never been hit?”

Tommy nods appreciatively. “I’ve never seen lightning strike nearby.”

Phil smiles. “Maybe today’s our lucky day.”

They walk in the rain to a convenience store, and Phil buys Tommy a blue slushie and himself a red one. They go back outside, sit on a wet bench in an empty park, and let the rain run down their faces and water down their drinks.

“Tell me about yourself,” Tommy says, speaking slightly louder than usual to be heard in the rain. “Why do you work at the Department of Power Control?”

Phil shrugs. “They were hiring data analysts when I graduated, and they’ve got good benefits. It wasn’t anything ideological. To be honest, I don’t really know what enforcement’s up to most of the time. They send me graphs, or data, and I make a slideshow and tell them if the numbers are good or bad.”

“Huh.” Tommy’s glad Phil doesn’t seem to care about powers, although it seems like he also doesn’t get the harm of the powered-control laws. That’s not a topic Tommy feels like he can bring up without revealing himself. He scuffs his toe through the mud.

“How about you?” Phil asks. “You don’t have to say anything, I know it’s… sensitive, but how’d you end up here?”

With no warning, Tommy feels the old burning in his chest and throat, the physical weight of the guilt he thought he’d shaken. He chokes it back, takes a drink of his now-quite-wet slushie, hopes the rain hides his face some. “It’s… complicated.” It is not complicated even a little bit. “I… my parents died when I was really little. I met Wilbur in foster care, and we got really close. Then… y’know, shit went down. He picked me over his whole life. It’s… yeah. Hey, can I tell you a secret?” Tommy finishes impulsively.

“Sure,” Phil replies uncertainly. “A Wilbur-and-Techno secret, or a just-you-and-me secret?”

“Just you and me,” Tommy says, already starting to regret asking. He shouldn’t tell, and he’s not sure it’ll make sense without bringing up his power or even if he can bring himself to tell it, but the burning is back and it’s eating him up and he trusts Phil.

“Go on,” Phil says, then gets rainwater in his mouth and laughs and coughs.

“Y’know Wilbur’s brain injury?” Tommy begins quietly. He hesitates, then all at once continues, “It’s my fault. The people that hit him were trying to hit me.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath, but Phil doesn’t interrupt. “They— it was dark, and the—” he catches himself about to say enforcement “—people, they were trying to take me out and Wilbur got between them and me and they knocked him out and— he doesn’t remember. He doesn’t know it’s my fault. You can’t tell him, Phil, please—”

Now Phil does cut him off. “How old were you?”

“Fifteen,” Tommy admits. He didn’t even need to be close to being a grownup to do that, and he doesn’t want to know what that says about him.

“Was there a reason people were after you?”

Tommy almost mentions his power. Almost. “It’s— a bullshit reason. Same reason they’re after us now. And it wasn’t Wilbur back then, just me they wanted to hurt.”

Phil nods thoughtfully, looking at the ground. “It’s not your fault, Tommy. Unless there’s something big I’m missing, you did everything you could. You said they knocked him out— you got both of you out safely after that?”

Tommy nods miserably. “Please don’t tell him.”

“I won’t,” Phil promises. “But it’s not your fault, and I don’t think Wilbur would care as much as you think. He cares about you, I can see it, and you know what, Tommy?” Tommy looks up at Phil, almost in tears in addition to the rain. “I think he’d do it again, if he had to. You have people who care about you.”

Tommy sniffs. After a second of drawing a circle in the mud with his toe that quickly gets washed by the rain, he gives in to his impulses and slides across the bench to hug Phil. Phil hugs him back, and it feels safe and warm even though they’re both soaking wet with cold rainwater. Tommy presses against Phil’s shoulder, feels his chest shudder embarrassingly, but Phil just holds him closer and shushes him quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Tommy hiccups. “I don’t— I didn’t mean to—”

They both jump at a blinding flash and a ground-shaking thunderclap shake the bench. Tommy’s startled out of tears. “Was that—?”

Phil nods, a small smile on his face. “Lightning, right close by. I guess it is our lucky day.”

Tommy laughs. “Does that mean we should go?” The air smells fresh and clean, not at all how he expected electricity to smell, and he breathes it in with wonder.

Phil shrugs. “Maybe. We’ll probably be fine, but we should avoid wide open spaces.” He takes a sip of his slushie and makes a face at how much water is in it at this point. “Maybe nature’s trying to tell us to go dry off.”

Tommy sighs. “Alright. Will you drop me off, then?”

“You can come by my place and dry off some first,” Phil offers. “It’s closer than yours.”

Tommy lights up. “Yeah!” He grabs Phil’s hand to pull them out of the park, clinging to their soaked slushies.

At Phil’s car, Tommy hesitates. “Is this okay? Will I ruin the seat?”

Phil shrugs. “The car’s shit anyway. It’ll be fine.”

Tommy shrugs and climbs into the passenger seat. Outside of the rain, it’s less comfortable to be in his wet clothes, and he shifts in the seat.

Phil looks out at the empty streets and laughs. “Guess we picked a bad day to go out, huh?”

“Meh, I had fun,” Tommy replies. “Besides, I dunno if Wilbur and Techno would’ve agreed to let me go if they weren’t busy for the day anyway.”

“Oh, man, do you think they’re just as wet as us?” Phil asks, wincing. “Should we see if we can pick them up or something?”

Wilbur and Techno are currently in the process of committing identity fraud to avoid getting kicked out of their apartment, if they didn’t lie to Tommy about what they’re doing. “Nah, they’re… probably fine.” The fewer questions Phil asks about their illegal activities, the better.

Phil, luckily, accepts the answer. “Alright. This is where my place is, anyway.” Phil pulls into the parking garage of an apartment building that’s much nicer than Tommy’s, mainly in that it looks like it’s a real apartment complex rather than whatever probably-illegal operation Tommy’s landlord is running. “C’mon. I don’t have clothes that’ll fit you, but you can towel off and I’ll drive you home.” Phil stops the car and gets out.

In his eagerness to get inside and be a little drier, Tommy doesn’t grab his slushie from his lap and it falls on the concrete. Without thinking, he twitches a hand upward and pulls it back, gathering the watery slush into the cup before grabbing it from midair.

“Tommy?” He turns, and Phil is staring wide-eyed from the other side of the hood of the car. Shit. Phil opens his mouth, closes it, and says, “Was that… you?”

Tommy can feel his heartbeat in his throat. “I told you it was a bullshit reason,” he mutters.

There’s a moment while Phil visibly processes the information. Tommy glances around the garage, but it seems to only have empty cars, thankfully.

Tommy follows Phil on the brisk walk to Phil’s apartment, and once they’re inside Phil turns and Tommy knows before he even opens his mouth that he’s got questions. Tommy sighs to himself.

“Telekinesis?” Phil gestures with one hand, looking confused and slightly overwhelmed.

“Got a problem?”

“No. I— no.” Phil sounds almost surprised, but vehement. “That’s why you live like that? It’s really better than being suppressed?”

Tommy grimaces. “Yeah.” He can’t explain it to non-powereds. Even Wilbur and Techno don’t really get it. “It’s like… you know how power drainers make powereds sick?” Tommy’s stomach turns just thinking about power drainers, a primitive and non-implanted form of suppression. He’s been near them enough to be very familiar with the awful feeling of being cut off from his power on top of the physical symptoms.

“Yeah.” Something Tommy can’t name flashes across Phil’s face, but it doesn’t seem aggressive and Tommy doesn’t dwell on it.

“Having an implant doesn’t have all the symptoms, but it’s still… uncomfortable even beyond being suppressed. Plus, it’s wrong,” he spits. “I shouldn’t have to suffer because of how I am. I didn’t choose to be powered, and I won’t live with non-powereds making all these rules to hurt me.”

Phil nods. “I… hadn’t thought of that, honestly. I didn’t know.” He gives Tommy a small smile. “I’m okay with it, Tommy. Cross my heart.”

Tommy releases tension he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Thanks.”

Phil’s smile softens. “Now stop dripping on my floor, yeah?”

Chapter Text

“Why are we going to the post office, exactly?” Tommy asks, matching Wilbur’s stride down the street.

“I’m not quite sure,” Wilbur answers, trying to keep his voice light but only succeeding in sounding dangerously tense. “Techno’s contacts need this mailed, apparently.” He lifts the envelope in his hands briefly, giving it a disgusted look. It’s a normal envelope, the address for someplace called Nemesis Florals (terrible flower shop name, if you ask Wilbur) in another city, the name on the return address nothing Wilbur’s ever seen before. Even after years, Techno’s underworld contacts haven’t become all of their contacts.

Tommy catches Wilbur’s expression and casts a reproachful look back. “It’s for the best we don’t know.”

Wilbur scoffs. “For his best, maybe.”

Tommy doesn’t disagree. After another block of walking, he asks, “How much longer do you think we’ll get to stay here?”

Wilbur shrugs. “A while, I hope. It’s a pretty good location, strategically, with the government offices and all. And Phil.” He adds Phil as an afterthought, as if the man wasn’t the first thing Wilbur thought of when he thought of the draws of their current city. Phil is mostly Tommy’s, he reminds himself. It’s not fair to be jealous when Tommy’s had so much less over his life than Wilbur.

Tommy grins. “And Phil.”

They reach the post office in amicable silence, and Wilbur leaves the envelope in the mailbox with the most distant collection time. It’s petty, he’s aware, but it feels good.

Tommy notices. “Take that, Technoblade,” he mutters.

Wilbur laughs. “You prick.”

“That’s what you get for keeping us in the dark.”

They keep going down the street, not turning back toward their place, laughing. Wilbur feels giddy, a little drunk on sunlight and Tommy’s good mood. He hasn’t been really drunk in a while— Techno never was willing to put up with him like that— but he remembers the feeling. “Things really are going our way for once, aren’t they?”

Tommy looks at him with a bright smile. “I always did believe you, Wil.”

“What?”

“I believed you,” Tommy repeats, as if saying it more slowly will make Wilbur understand it. “When you promised a better life, I always believed you, and you did it.”

A warmth blossoms in Wilbur’s chest at the casual declaration. “I did.” Well, Phil did, but that’s okay. When everything might finally be alright, it doesn’t matter who made it that way.

They turn the corner to the sight of a glossy black car with blue lights flashing on top— a power control enforcement car, prepared to take someone into custody. Tommy grabs Wilbur’s hand, but doesn’t give a sign of his nervousness other than the tight grip. Wilbur keeps his eyes forward, only the slightest stumble in his step showing his surprise. To someone who doesn’t know them, they’re just two young men reasonably scared of whatever powered enforcement is tracking down.

The car’s intercom crackles. Wilbur grits his teeth but keeps walking. He doesn’t dare check in with Tommy. “Stop,” the voice over the car’s intercom demands. “Don’t move.”

It’s someone else. It has to be someone else. Wilbur speeds up, pulling Tommy with him. The sooner they’re around the corner, the sooner they’re safe and Tommy can get out of range of the power drainer in the car.

“I said stop. You, in the red.”

Tommy stops dead, but it takes Wilbur a couple steps to be pulled to a stop. He turns back.

Tommy looks terrified and vaguely sick, and Wilbur’s not sure if it’s the power drainer or just the situation. “Go,” Tommy whispers. He tries to loosen his grip on Wilbur’s hand.

Wilbur only holds on tighter, his tremor shaking both their arms. “I promised you,” he whispers back.

The door of the car opens, and an agent in a black enforcement uniform steps out, a saccharine smile pasted across their face. “Hey,” they say, looking at Tommy. “Tom, right? This is probably a big mix-up, but you’re gonna have to come with us, okay? Just you.”

Tommy’s free hand twitches slightly, and he winces without being able to move anything. Wilbur tugs at his hand, and Tommy’s face sets into determination.

“Okay?” the agent repeats.

Tommy runs, and Wilbur follows.

The enforcement car starts up and follows them, sirens screaming, but Wilbur and Tommy know these streets. They’ve prepared for this exact scenario. They duck through alleys and parks, and eventually end up pressed into an alcove in an alley, the enforcement sirens blocks away and fading.

“What happened?” Wilbur murmurs, partially to Tommy and partially to himself. “How’d they even know to try to find you?”

“I don’t know,” Tommy replies, voice shaking. He leans forward against Wilbur’s chest, and Wilbur brushes his fingers over Tommy’s hair, trying to be soothing. “I don’t— we were careful, I don’t know, I— I wanted to stay, Wilbur, we—” he cuts himself off. Wilbur feels his hand go limp where it had been gripping Wilbur’s shoulder. “Oh my god.”

“What is it?”

“Phil.”

“What?”

“Phil.” Tommy’s hand tightens again on Wilbur’s shoulder. “I— I told Phil. It was an accident, but he said it was okay, he—” Tommy trails off again, and he’s properly crying now, making small choked noises as he tries to stay quiet. “It had to have been Phil.”

A stone settles in Wilbur’s stomach. I should’ve listen to fucking Technoblade. “Okay,” he says, and he hears more authority in his voice than he feels. “We’ve gotta go. We can— I can get us on a train, I think, out of the city. We’ll be okay.”

Tommy’s still shaking against Wilbur. “What about our stuff? I don’t have Uncle Nasty, Wil. What about Techno?”

Wilbur shakes his head. “We have to go, Tommy.” Tommy’s had Uncle Nasty since he was a kid, and even for Wilbur, who hates the thing, it hurts a little to think of leaving it behind. They just don’t have the time, though, if Tommy’s back on the enforcement radar. “I’ll call Techno on the train, okay? I’ll tell him what happened. He’ll catch up.” Or he won’t. Techno’s way of doing things has never let them stay anywhere they liked for very long. Maybe, Wilbur thinks, it’s time to try something new.

Half an hour later, Wilbur’s looking out the window of a train as the city falls away behind him. Tommy, understandably exhausted, is asleep on Wilbur’s shoulder.

Wilbur flips his phone open and dials Techno, cradling the phone to the ear opposite Tommy. After a couple rings, it goes to voicemail, and Wilbur’s almost relieved.

“Hey Techno,” he says quietly into the phone. The train car isn’t very full, but Wilbur still thinks he needs to be cautious with his words. “Everything’s kind of gone to shit.” He whispers, “Enforcement,” then continues at a normal volume, “Tommy and I are on a train out. Phil’s the traitor.” Tommy stirs, and Wilbur gently shushes him until he’s still again. “Watch your back. Don’t bother with us. You could always do better, right?” Wilbur lets a hint of mocking sarcasm color the last sentence, then hangs up with a satisfying click. Sure, maybe he’s taking out general frustration on Techno, but it’s fine. Techno’s thick-skinned.

Wilbur brushes one hand over the top of Tommy’s head, swallows back a lump in his throat, and looks out the train window to the future.

Chapter Text

Techno doesn’t get a chance to listen to Wilbur’s voicemail until he’s home from work, and even then he only bothers because the apartment shouldn’t be empty. He ignores the knot in his stomach as he hits play on the message.

It starts with a second of some rhythmic noise, then Wilbur’s voice, quiet and tired. “Hey Techno. Everything’s kind of gone to shit. Enforcement. Tommy and I are on a train out. Phil’s the traitor. Wa— shh, Toms, it’s okay, hush— Watch your back. Don’t bother with us. You could always do better, right?” Even over the tinny flip phone, Techno can hear the way Wilbur’s voice drops into coldness as the message goes on.

Techno puts the phone on the kitchen counter without even closing it. “Bruh,” he mutters to himself, then, louder, “Goddammit.” He takes a deep breath.

Phil. Really.

It makes sense. It’s the only thing that makes sense.

Techno had just thought he would have noticed.

But if that’s it, then that’s it. They had a good run, but it’s time to move on. He starts to cross the room to grab a pen and paper, to inform the Syndicate of the turn of events, then thinks idly that he should change something about himself to mark this. He doesn’t want to be constant, reliable, unchanging Technoblade in the face of what he’s starting to think might be the aftermath of losing his family. He catches sight of his hair, still pulled back in a braid, in the bathroom mirror.

He pauses, watches the pink end of the braid swing with momentum. He catches it in one hand, twisting it around his fingers. He scans the kitchen counter for the scissors he knows are on there somewhere, but he can’t find them in the clutter. Without really meaning to, his hand settles on a knife instead. It’s not easy, but he slides the knife through the braid, just above where the last of the pink fades out.

The buzzer by the door gives its loud static sound, and Techno startles, almost dropping the knife. He puts it down safely and answers the buzzer.

“Who’s there?”

“Phil. Can I come up?”

For a moment, Techno wants to turn away, or even better, yell at him through the buzzer, then he collects himself. He can learn more about Phil’s motivations if he can have a calm conversation. If he understands what happened, he can keep Wilbur and Tommy safe and— wait. Techno remembers that they’re gone.

He pushes the button to unlock the door anyway.

Phil comes through the door a few minutes later, smile on his face. “Hey, Tech— oh god, your hair. Are you okay?”

Techno realizes he still has the end of his braid in one hand. Without the hair tie, the rest of the braid has come undone, falling in loose waves over his shoulders. “Oh, yeah.” He shrugs. “It… felt right.”

“Sick of the color?” Phil asks.

Techno just shrugs again. If anything, he’s sick of the natural color, a brown so light it’s almost beige. He used to be careful about keeping it pink, but he’s been so busy for… years, now, that he’s fallen out of the habit. “Where are Tommy and Wilbur?” he asks instead of answering.

Phil looks convincingly confused. “I was hoping you knew. Wil told me he had something to show me?”

“They’re actually out right now,” Techno says. “Sorry.”

“So why’d you ask me where they were?”

Techno blinks. “I thought you might know.” He pauses, trying to look like he just thought of a question. “You work for the Department of Power Control, right?”

“I— yeah? Bit awkward now, but yeah. Why?”

“Phil, are you in enforcement?” Techno asks, all in a rush. He’s not sure how casual he sounds. He’s never been a good liar.

“What? No. Techno, do I look like I’m in enforcement? I’ve been a desk guy all my life.” He laughs stiffly, giving Techno a suspicious look.

“Really.”

“...Yeah.”

“So where are Wilbur and Tommy, then?”

“Mate, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Phil says, voice rising.

“Wilbur. And. Tommy.” Techno can’t stop himself from practically growling the words. “Who did you tell?”

“Who did I— about what, Tommy?” Phil exclaims. “Fucking no one! I told him it was fine, and I wouldn’t fucking lie to him, Techno.”

“Then why is enforcement back after them?” Techno demands. He’s aware he’s yelling at this point, but he can’t be bothered to calm down. Distantly, he’s aware it feels good to turn everything outward like this. “If you didn’t arrest Tommy yourself, which of your enforcement buddies did? How’d anyone there know he’s still alive?”

Phil’s face flashes to horror. “What? I swear that wasn’t me.”

“Who else could it have been, Phil? I should never have let you in,” Techno bites.

“Where would you be if you hadn’t let me in?” Phil snaps back, expression settling back into anger. “You needed me, even if you’re too proud to say it.”

“Where would we be? Where would we be? Tommy would be safe if it weren’t for you.”

“He wasn’t happy,” Phil yells, and a clean, chemical smell fills the air. With a sharp crackling sound, electricity jumps over Phil’s skin, a blink-fast spiderweb of light. Phil freezes, eyes going wide.

Techno stills. “Get out of my apartment.” Phil must have a lot of control to have kept a power like that completely hidden, but strong emotions can break even the best control.

“Techno— I—” Phil stutters, taking a stumbling step backward.

Techno’s heard whispers of deals like this, powereds working with enforcement to avoid being suppressed, but he’d always thought it was a myth. “I told you to get out of my apartment.” He clenches his fists, and realizes he’s still holding the end of his braid.

Phil leaves without another word, walking fast but unsteadily.

Techno leaves the end of the braid on the table and goes to the balcony, both to get some air and make sure Phil actually leaves the area. There’s someone else on the sidewalk in front of the building, sharply dressed but wearing a beanie hat, black hair framing their face.

Phil emerges from the building, arms clutched around himself. If Techno didn’t know better, he’d swear Phil was scared of something. Phil visibly startles when he sees the other person on the sidewalk, and they start talking, but Techno can’t hear them.

The stranger is stepping towards Phil, waving their hands, shoulders thrown back. Phil takes a step back for every step forward the stranger takes. The stranger shoves at Phil’s shoulder, and even from three stories up Techno sees a spark jump between them. The stranger recoils and Phil takes yet another step back. The stranger pulls the sleeve of their blazer over their hand, grabs Phil by the wrist, and starts walking entirely too quickly to not mean business.

Techno watches them leave, watches Phil try and fail to pull away, and thinks that maybe he’s misinterpreted the situation somehow.

Come to think of it, maybe he should call Wilbur back.

Chapter Text

“Quackity, please, listen,” Phil hears himself saying.

Quackity’s grip is like a vice around his wrist, and with his free hand Q is dialing a number on his phone. “Aiding and abetting is a crime, Phil,” Quackity snaps. “One that I won’t be guilty of.”

“I’m not dangerous— and neither is he, Q, c’mon. I swear I didn’t know about this—” Quackity has his phone to his ear, ignoring Phil, and Phil cuts himself off. Nothing he could say could convince Q, and he knows it, but he can’t just not try.

Phil is reeling from the revelations of— god, has it only been ten minutes?— and he doesn’t think he’ll get time to process anytime soon if Quackity has a say in it. He’s been yelled at by Techno, yelled at Techno, discovered that Tommy’s apparently being actively hunted by enforcement, learned that Quackity, his coworker, was the one who’d seen Tommy’s accidental display in the parking garage and reported it, and on top of everything he seems to have manifested a power. He’d be laughing if he wasn’t almost crying.

There’s a tinny voice coming from Quackity’s phone that Phil can’t make out, but he’s sure it’s some kind of enforcement or emergency services dispatcher. The phone is full of circuitry, elaborate wires, and Phil can see it somehow in the kind of second sight that’s been opening up the past few minutes. He wants to close his eyes against it, ignore how awful and overwhelming it all is, but he tried that back in the apartment building and it only made the second sight clearer.

He feels like if he tried he could sort out the different parts of the phone’s wiring, maybe even change it somehow. He flinches away from the temptation even as some part of him knows it would feel right.

A car door opening brings Phil back to the present. “In,” Quackity says, and pushes at him, and Phil’s too disoriented to object.

Once Q turns the car on, Phil immediately wants to get out. There’s something wrong with the car. Phil doesn’t know enough about cars to know what it is that’s wrong or if it’s dangerous, but he can see and feel something sparking and fluttering in the car, a current that isn’t falling naturally. Phil pulls at the door handle, but it’s locked.

Quackity looks at him with disgust as the car starts moving. “Pull yourself together, Phil, act like an adult. This is for the best.” He says it through gritted teeth and even over everything inside his head Phil thinks that maybe Q isn’t doing this for Phil. “You’ll be normal in, like, a week.”

Electricity crackles along Phil’s arms again. It doesn’t hurt but Phil winces. “It’s the car,” he tries to explain. “Something’s wrong with your car, I can—” he fishes for words “—feel it.”

Quackity’s frown deepens. “Jesus, Phil, can’t you stay away from it for ten seconds?”

Phil doesn’t know how to make Quackity understand that he can’t turn it off. Even if he could, he’s starting to think he doesn’t want to. The sparks jumping between his fingers, the feeling that if he wanted to he could change things, even the invasive second sight— they’re a blossoming, not an intrusion.

In the end, neither he nor Q say anything until they’re pulling up to a high fence around a barbed wire building and the car is swarmed by people in black enforcement uniforms. Phil feels his breathing speed up again as the situation larger than holy shit, the car is broken sinks back in.

“Wait, no, wait,” he says quietly, but doesn’t do much to fight against the hands on his arms, pulling him inside.

Phil’s been to a prison once before, on a school trip as a kid. They’d walked through the halls, talked to an inmate, and even seen the holding cells for powereds. Phil had felt mildly sick to his stomach while they were in the powered wing, but he’d chalked it up to being unnerved by the whole experience. Now, as he’s pulled into range of the power drainers in the powered wing and nausea hits him like a truck, he thinks maybe he should’ve thought more of that early episode.

The sickness comes first, along with the sparks running over his skin slowing to a stop, then his second-sight sense gutters and vanishes and all of a sudden he feels so empty. He barely registers being left alone in a cell.

He catches himself swaying on his feet and forces himself back to reality.

The cell is small, and consists mostly of a toilet and sink, two beds with thin mattresses, and a large vent buzzing cold air directly next to one of the beds. Phil steps forward, away from the barred door, and almost stumbles.

“Shit.” He’s shaky on his feet as he continues into the cell, vision blurring as time goes on. He folds up onto one of the beds, realizes too late it’s the one with the vent by it, and decides he doesn’t have it in him to get back up.

Before, Phil hadn’t thought he’d had a power, because why would he? He wasn’t the kind of guy things like that happened to. He wasn’t any kind of special, certainly not the horrifying kind of special that came with being powered.

Now, cut off from his power, Phil is realizing that even unmanifested it formed some central part of him.

He feels like he’s tried to lean on something only to find it wasn’t where he expected it to be, and now he’s falling.

I’m going to feel like this forever. Phil’s shoulders shudder with the thought, sending a spike of pain through his head. He understands, suddenly, what Tommy had been saying about being suppressed. To go through life like this, with this indefinable something missing, would be…

Phil curls into himself, trying to hold back tears. It’s hard to breathe in that position after a while, but when he uncurls the vent is blowing frigid air and his head pounds.

At some point, the walls start bending, twisting into nauseating shapes as he watches. Just as it’s almost too much and he wants to try to get up and stop them, he blinks himself awake. The walls are still, even as he glares at them.

Phil turns to press his face into the mattress, making a show of ignoring the nightmare.

Phil keeps blinking in and out of consciousness, and the sensory tricks don’t get better. His vision swims. Whispers drift from the corners of the room. Phil almost rolls off the narrow bed trying to get away from the feeling of an electric current running over his skin.

When he’s awake, he’s sometimes aware that he’s hungry and sometimes just nauseated. He thinks he hears the sound of boots patrolling the hallway more frequently than he should. It’s possible he’s dreamed some of that.

He couldn’t guess how long he’s been here if he had the energy to try. He hopes he can just have the suppressor implant and be done with it, then hates himself for that hope.

A woman’s voice is coming from the vent. Phil pushes himself closer to hear it better.

“Phil? Is that you?” It sounds like Niki, from work, but that’s silly. The voice isn’t even real, why would it be Niki?

Still, though, Phil forces himself to make a noise of agreement.

“You know Tommy?”

Phil’s first thought is to deny it. Tommy doesn’t want people to know about him or find him. But… what would imaginary-Niki-in-the-walls be able to do to Tommy? He nods.

“Phil? I can’t see you, just hear you.”

Well. Niki can see fine. Why can’t imaginary-Niki-in-the-walls? Phil doesn’t say anything, thinking about enforcement patrolling the halls more than they should.

“Just talk. You’ve been alone in a room with a power drainer for more than a full day at this point. No one will care if you talk to yourself.” If Phil hadn’t already been sure he was dreaming the voice, he would be now. Niki wouldn’t know why he was worried unless she’d done this before. Niki, real Niki, used to be in enforcement. She wouldn’t bother talking to a powered in prison, let alone multiple.

And, wait, a full day? Phil hadn’t realized that much time had passed. That feels unfair.

“Phil?”

“Mhm,” Phil mumbles. “I know Tommy.” He isn’t sure how many of his words actually get out, but imaginary-Niki-in-the-walls doesn’t keep pressing.

“Good. Hang in there, alright? Someone's coming to get you.”

“No,” Phil interrupts. He's not the kind of guy things like this happen to. Nothing is going to happen. And how would Niki know anyway?

“Just a little longer, okay? See you soon.”

Phil rolls over and waits to drift awake.

At the very least, things have stopped getting worse. He definitely feels bad, but he’s reached some kind of plateau. In an awful way, he’s even starting to get used to the emptiness.

Phil remembers that Tommy very well might be in this exact situation right now. He hopes Tommy’s safe. He hopes Tommy gets away again.

With a curl of horror, Phil realizes that this is what happens to every powered caught by enforcement.

Phil used to make his living helping enforcement, even if he was never in the field himself. He’d made population maps, taken educated guesses at where powereds would pop up, graphed trends.

If he’d manifested a power at a normal age, would the Department of Power Control have even hired him? Sure, he probably wouldn’t have wanted to work there, but still. For the first time, Phil seriously thinks about what opportunities he would’ve missed by having “powered” on his driver’s license or an implant scar on the back of his neck.

Thinking too hard makes his head hurt worse, and he stops with a quiet pained noise.

He’s aware now that he’s hungry, and his mouth is dry. Maybe he’s woken up? Imaginary-Niki-in-the-walls said it’s been more than a full day, and Phil trusts her. It’d make sense if part of what he’s feeling was hunger or thirst.

He wonders if anyone’s tried to offer food or water. He hasn’t heard the cell door open any of the times he’s heard boots pass outside. Maybe he was just asleep when they came.

He hopes imaginary-Niki-in-the-walls comes back. He misses the real Niki, too. Going back to work will be awkward, but she’ll be understanding. She’s like that.

He doesn’t miss Quackity.

The walls start moving again. Phil covers his eyes with his arm even though he doesn’t want to move and waits to wake up.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been in the cell, or how much longer he’ll stay. Imaginary-Niki-in-the-walls would have no way of being right about the time, and anyway he doesn’t know how long it’s been since she vanished.

Every so often, he tries to read his watch and figure out the day, but the hands of the watch blur in and out of his vision, and move in ways they shouldn’t.

He wonders if they’ll let him have some water before he gets the implant. Thinking about the implant is upsetting and makes his stomach turn.

He shakes himself awake and hears boots in the hall again. This time, they stop. The door swings open with a quiet sound.

Phil rolls to face the room instead of the wall. It’s a lot, and makes his vision go dark for a second.

There’s someone in the room in shiny black enforcement uniform boots, and Phil traces the rest of their uniform with his gaze as he tries to focus his eyes. They’ve got handcuffs in one hand, catching the light uncomfortably. Perhaps Phil’s being taken somewhere.

He hesitates over their face, sure he recognizes it. It’s just a little too far away to see as more than a broad, square jawline and beige-brown hair.

They step closer, and their face comes into focus, and Phil has to struggle to reconcile the face and the crisp enforcement uniform.

There’s a hand on his shoulder, pulling him upright, and Phil lurches forward, trying to keep his feet under him. Cold metal closes around one wrist, then the other.

“Techno?” Phil slurs, watching Techno’s hard brown eyes drift from blurry to clear and back.

“Shut up,” Techno whispers, and then the hand on Phil’s shoulder is pushing him forward, and they’re moving.

Chapter Text

Phil stumbles along in front of Techno, unsteady on his feet and feeling nauseated by the motion. After a few turns, though, he can feel that they’re getting farther from the power drainers, and his head starts to clear.

He remembers that his fever-dream version of Niki predicted that someone would come for him, and wonders if maybe what he was hearing was some kind of wiretap and not a hallucination at all. It still doesn’t make sense, though, because why Niki?

Phil looks around, trying to take in his surroundings. There don’t appear to be many guards around the areas Techno is leading them, but Phil doesn’t remember much of the walk in, and it all just looks like a prison to him.

The worst of the sickness from the drainer is fading, but Phil’s still weak and shaky from hunger and the lingering effects. His second-sight electricity sense returns, but only dimly.

Just as Phil’s about to ask what’s going on, they emerge into a parking garage full of black vans and cars with blue enforcement lights on top. Phil tenses, but the cars are all off and seem empty. Techno stops them and turns Phil to face him, and before Phil can get his thoughts in order, Techno’s talking. “We’re getting out of here. Looks like the Syndicate’s taken a likin’ to you.” He sounds bitter about that.

“The what?” Phil asks, and winces at how scratchy his voice is.

“You’ll see. Here.” Techno pulls a bottle of water out of a pouch on his belt and presses it into Phil’s hands. “Drink it slowly.” Next to where the water was, Phil can see a small gun holstered on Techno’s belt. Phil feels a knot settle in his stomach, but doesn’t say anything.

Once Phil’s managed to get the bottle open, he has to force himself to slow down like Techno suggested. He can almost feel his headache loosening its hold. “What are you doing here?”

“I told you, the Syndicate seems to like you. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“What?” Phil finishes the water bottle and awkwardly puts the cap back on. “Are you gonna uncuff me?”

“Later.” Techno looks nervously around the parking lot. “We’re supposed to meet someone in the far corner over there. That’s the last stop, then there’s a car with the keys in it waiting and we can get out of here. Got it?”

“No?” Phil offers. “Who—” he chokes on air, coughs, and has to lean on Techno while his vision clears. “What are you doing?”

“Shush,” Techno tells him brusquely. “It’s been two days you’ve been in there, you feel bad and you’re gonna feel bad for a few more hours at least. Less questions, more listening to me. C’mon.” Techno starts to move through the parking lot, and Phil follows. He squeezes the now-empty water bottle gently, then stops when he hears how loud it is. A couple times, he stumbles and Techno has to steady him.

In the corner Techno had indicated, Phil’s surprised to see Tommy, standing by a car and tapping nervously on the side mirror.

Techno’s surprised too, given by the way his stride stutters before he stops and plants his feet. “Tommy.”

“Hi,” Tommy replies quietly. “Am I in the right place? Wilbur’s in here somewhere, he was looking for you, the call we got was weird but— oh, you’re angry, um—”

From behind Techno, Phil can’t see Techno’s face, but Techno’s hands are clenching and unclenching rhythmically and his shoulders are pinned back. “I thought you didn’t want me to bother with you,” Techno says coldly.

“What?”

“That’s what Wilbur told me.” Techno’s tone almost makes Phil want to step back. “On the train? You were there, I heard him talk to you on the call. What are you doing here, Tommy?”

Tommy stutters for a second before answering, “Wilbur and I got a call yesterday from this lady called Nemesis who knew you? She told us to come back and how to get in here and that you’d be here for us. I— thought you knew, I thought— sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry to me. You knew, didn’t you? Or you wouldn’t have taken a Syndicate call.”

“A what? Techno, this is weird. Can we get Wilbur and go?”

Phil blinks and sees his vision go fuzzy. Instinctively he tries to grab something to stay upright, but his hands are still cuffed and the motion only upsets his balance more. He ends up half-perched on the hood of a nearby car and mutters, “I’m fine. It’s fine, gimme a minute.”

He blinks his vision clear to see Tommy staring at him. “Phil?” Tommy starts to reach forward, then checks himself. “What’re you doing here? What happened to you?”

Phil fishes for a simple explanation. “I’m powered? Apparently?” is all he can come up with. “I, uh, I don’t feel great right now.”

Tommy makes a sympathetic sound. “I bet not. Techno, can we go? Phil needs to rest.” Phil nods along. He’s barely been moving, but he’s exhausted.

“Oh, yeah, because you’re here for Phil,” Techno says sarcastically.

Irritation twists Tommy’s face. “Can you stop? I care about other people, okay? And maybe you don’t, but don’t take it out on us.”

Phil hadn’t noticed Techno was still moving his hands, but he sure as hell notices when Techno goes still. “I don’t care about other people?” Techno asks in a carefully measured tone. “I don’t care about other people?”

“That’s what I said,” Tommy replies after a second. “You’d rather be the hero than let Wilbur and I know whoever the fuck sends you jobs. Hell, right now, you’d rather be right than let Phil recover somewhere safe.” He’s right, it’s not safe in this parking lot, and Phil feels like he might crash if he can’t properly sit down soon.

“I’m not the one who wants to be the hero, Tommy.”

“What? Sorry, you are the one with the top-secret plans and underworld contacts and methods, right? We’re talking about the same person?” The snark in Tommy’s voice is an open challenge, and Phil wonders what kind of stress turns the normal teenager he remembers from the museums into this person.

“You’re the one who’s always thought he was the hero.” Techno’s voice is still like the surface of deep water. Phil still can’t see Techno’s face, but he certainly doesn’t want to move to get a better vantage point.

“I’m not the hero, I’m just trying to survive.”

“Then why do you want more? Why do you want to be involved in worse if you’re just trying to survive?” Tommy’s silent, opening and closing his mouth, and Techno answers for him. “Because you think we’re the heroes of this story. You wanna waltz through life like your righteousness will protect you. Well I’ve got news, Tommy: we’re not the good guys. We live in the shadows because the light burns people like us. We wanna die standin’ instead of livin’ on our knees, but that doesn’t make us the heroes. We’re the villains, Tommy. We’re not the ones who get the happy endin’s.”

“I don’t care about a happy ending, Techno, I just want— I just—” Tommy stops, looking almost lost.

Techno’s hand settles over an object at his hip, and if Phil were just a little more awake he thinks he’d be scared. “So what'd’ya say? You wanna be the hero? You wanna be the martyr?” He pulls his hand away from his hip faster than Phil can react to the memory that he’s got a gun in that holster.

Well, at least Phil’s fully awake now, adrenaline jittering through his veins.

Tommy holds his hands up. “Woah! Calm down, Techno, let’s just go, okay?”

“No,” Techno snarls. “You wanna be noble, you get to be noble.” The gun catches the light where it’s leveled at Tommy, and the surface reflects unevenly in a way that makes Phil wonder what it’s made of. Techno’s finger is on the trigger, but Phil can see his hands shaking slightly.

“Where’d you even get a gun?” Tommy demands. “All these years of guns are dangerous, Tommy, you can have a knife if you’re lucky and now you’re gonna shoot me?”

“I have contacts.” Phil can’t see Techno’s face, but he can practically hear the wry smile. “I didn’t choose to come here by myself, you know.”

“Won’t they be mad if you shoot Tommy?” Phil interjects. “You’re here for him and Wilbur too.”

“Oh, they’ll be mad. Luckily, the worst they can do is send someone after me, and I’ve got a gun. And think about it, Tommy. You’ll be a rallying point. Poor little powered shot by a nonpowered maniac, imagine the headlines.”

Tommy is looking Techno straight in the face. “You can’t shoot me. You’ve never shot a gun before, I know it, and you don’t have the nerve.”

Techno shrugs. “I’ve got eight tries.”

“Mate, c’mon. We can talk this out like adults,” Phil tries again. “Just put the gun down, okay?”

“Talkin’ it out never did any good,” Techno sneers. “And this is how adults solve things. Didn’t you just learn that the hard way?”

Phil hesitates over the fact that Techno may have a point— certainly no one’s tried to talk it out with Phil over the past few days, including Techno. “Okay,” Phil agrees. “Then let’s be better than that. That’s what you want, right? A better world?”

“We all have to make sacrifices—”

“Technoblade.”

Phil turns at the new voice and finds Wilbur emerging from between two cars behind them. Techno spins, pointing the gun at Wilbur.

“Stay out of this,” Techno says.

“No. You involve Tommy, you involve me.” Wilbur steps closer, shoulders set.

“You’re willing to die for him?”

“If it ever comes to that, yes. But I don’t believe you’re willing to shoot him.”

“And why not?”

Wilbur shrugs easily. “You just don’t strike me as the type. You need a reason, and you don’t have one.”

“Feel free to give me one.”

“Wil?” Tommy asks. The anger has stripped away from his tone, leaving just fear. “Why are you still walking closer?”

Wilbur doesn’t stop. “Because Techno won’t do it, will he? He’s not gonna shoot people he’s spent so long with.” Wilbur’s barely two feet from Techno now, and Phil feels sick with anxiety.

“I thought you had more sense than this,” Techno comments.

“I thought you had more sense than this.”

Tommy shifts back and forth in place, like he wants to get closer. “Hey, hey, let’s all calm down a bit, yeah? No need to shoot anyone, or get shot?”

“I agree,” Wilbur says, continuing to slowly approach Techno. “What exactly do you hope to accomplish with the gun, Techno?”

Even Phil can see the way Techno has to search for an answer. “Tommy seems to want to be the hero. I just thought I’d help him out.” He smiles blankly.

“Mhm. Because good guys die, and bad guys don’t.”

“Life’s not a movie. The Greeks had it right.”

“Well, then we can be the bad guys.”

“What?” Tommy interrupts. “Why?”

“I mean, it doesn’t matter,” Wilbur answers. “We’re right. We know we’re right. So why try to be heroes?”

Phil glances nervously between the three men in front of him. If this is going to end in a murder, at this point he’d rather it just be over with. This is definitely more than he’d been bargaining for when he’d decided they needed help. A spark jumps between his fingers and the hood of the car he’s perched on, and he realizes that these people might be his best chance now. How encouraging.

“So what’d’ya say?” Wilbur continues, barely inches from the barrel of the gun. “Do you want to die the hero, or live long enough to see yourself become the villain?”

After an endless second, Techno clicks on the safety and lowers the gun slowly back into the holster. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

Tommy breathes a ragged sigh of relief the moment the gun is away. It’s still on Techno’s hip, which is unsettling, but at least no one’s getting shot right this minute.

Wilbur fishes the keys he took from the unlocked car they’d found out of his pocket and hands them to Techno. Wilbur can drive, technically, but his tremor makes steering a little unreliable and he prefers to avoid it.

Techno takes the keys and glances back at Tommy and Phil. “Which car did this come from?”

“I’ll show you,” Wilbur answers, fighting a smile in a way that says he’s enjoying being in charge.

Tommy lets Phil hold his shoulder for balance as they walk. As they make contact, a series of what feels like static shocks jump from Phil’s hand to Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy winces and Phil frowns. “Sorry, mate,” Phil murmurs. “I don’t know how to stop it yet.”

“It’s alright.” Tommy bites back questions about Phil’s power, mostly when the fuck did this happen? Phil’s clearly shaky, his skin is pale and too warm to the touch, and he still has the remains of the scared, hollow look of someone cut off from their power. Answers will come when Phil feels better, Tommy assures himself.

Wilbur manages to find the unlocked car first try, despite it looking identical to every other black enforcement car in the parking lot to Tommy.

Techno puts his hand on the door, then pauses. “Oh. Tommy, here.” He tosses something at Tommy. Tommy catches it and finds that it’s a small key. “For Phil.”

“Thanks.” Phil leans against the adjacent car while Tommy unlocks his handcuffs.

As the car pulls out of the parking lot and they turn onto a street thankfully empty of police or enforcement, Tommy watches Techno in the rearview mirror. Techno’s cut his hair since Tommy saw him last, the tight braided updo it’s currently in showing no hint of pink. His face is as blank as it always is when Techno’s focused, but at red lights his eyes flicker around the car and Tommy sees what he could swear is nerves or maybe even regret.

Tommy won’t lie to himself and say he wasn’t scared. For a moment there, he really thought Techno would shoot him.

But at the end of the day it’s still Techno. It’s still the guy who said yeah, okay when Tommy and Wilbur were a trainwreck three years ago, the guy who tosses a blanket over Tommy when Tommy falls asleep on the couch, the guy whose face fills with affection when he’s watching Tommy and Wilbur and thinks no one’s looking.

Tommy thinks that maybe it’s all still fixable.

Techno pulls off the road a long while later, down a small side road with towering concrete buildings looming over it. “Alright, everybody out.”

“What?” Tommy demands. “Where are we? Where are we going?”

“Train station a couple miles from here,” Techno answers, opening his door. “We can’t just drive up in an enforcement car. We’re leavin’ it here, I’m sure they’ll find it.”

“But Phil,” Tommy protests. “He can’t walk that far.”

“I’ll live,” Phil says, opening his own door and climbing out. “It’s fine.”

Tommy grits his teeth, but doesn’t push it further.

“Oh, and Techno,” Wilbur says, snapping his fingers as he gets out. “Leave the gun.”

Techno hesitates. “It’ll be fine. I can cover it with my shirt and it’s ceramic. No one will notice.”

“That’s nice, but I’m not worried about someone else,” Wilbur replies dryly. “Leave it, Techno.”

Techno shrugs and takes the holster off his belt. “That’s fair.” Tommy releases tension he hadn’t realized he was holding as they step away from the car and the gun. “I think the station’s that way.”

“You think?” Wilbur asks.

Techno scowls. “It’s that way.”

And they’re off. Tommy doesn’t think they’re in the same city anymore, or at least not in the parts Tommy’s been in, and he’s on edge as they walk down the streets. They don’t see many people, but the late afternoon sun casts far too many shadows for Tommy’s comfort.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Tommy asks Phil after the older man stumbles on the uneven sidewalk and takes an uncomfortable second to recover.

“I’m fine, Tommy, really,” Phil says with a smile, but he keeps a hand on Wilbur’s shoulder after that.

“So, Techno,” Tommy asks. Techno raises his eyebrows. “Care to explain what the fuck happened the past few days?”

“What do you mean,” Techno replies, voice carefully flat.

“Well, for one, Phil got arrested for being powered, apparently. You cut your hair. Wilbur and I got an incredibly weird phone call telling us to come back and meet you in that parking lot. What’s going on, Techno?”

“A lot,” Techno sighs. “The Syndicate seems like it’s not happy to work with just me anymore.”

“You keep saying Syndicate without explaining what that is,” Wilbur points out.

“It’s… my contacts. An organization against tyrants and injustice.”

“Is that the terrorists you guys work for?” Phil asks quietly, eyes on the sidewalk.

“We’re not terrorists,” Tommy retorts.

“Nah, they’re kinda terrorists,” Techno corrects him with a shrug. “For a good cause, but still.”

“Oh.” Tommy pauses. “Should we be talking about this in front of Phil?”

“I guess it depends on if Phil’s in or out. Phil?” Wilbur asks, stopping on the sidewalk.

Phil looks up, and Tommy winces at the exhaustion written on his face. “Hmm?”

“Are you sticking with us, or going your own way?” Wilbur asks again. Even Techno stops and turns, watching Phil.

Phil gives a tired laugh. “I don’t think I have much of a choice.”

“I mean… you were kidnapped. Twice now. You still technically haven’t committed a crime if you go to the authorities now,” Techno says.

“Other than the crime of existing,” Phil says back. “Now that I’m powered.”

“Technically you were always powered,” Tommy jumps in. “It only manifested recently.”

“Right. But I think I’d rather stay with you than go back. It’s…” Phil trails off, looking away uncomfortably.

Tommy nods. “Suppression’s a bitch. I told you.” The group starts walking again. Sparks run down Phil’s arms, and Wilbur winces.

“Sorry,” Phil says quietly. Tommy can’t help staring, trying to figure out if the sparks came from anywhere and if they’ll happen again. Phil glances at him. “You good?”

“Yeah.” Tommy shakes himself and looks away.

“Ask your questions,” Phil tells him, smiling gently.

“When did you manifest? What is your power, anyway? Did you know you were powered when I told you mine? What happened?”

Phil laughs. “Okay, maybe not that many questions.” He thinks for a long moment, and Techno quietly points as the front of the train station comes into view. “I didn’t know until a couple days ago. After… after you and Wilbur went wherever you went, Techno and I fought over it, and that’s when… yeah.”

Tommy looks to Techno, who sighs through his teeth. “Sorry. I didn’t… I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions,” Techno says, not looking at Phil. “I thought you’d betrayed Tommy, and I didn’t realize you didn’t know you were powered. It’s not an excuse, but you can see how it looked.”

Tommy has to resist the urge to demand to know what entity has possessed Techno to make him give a genuine apology for once in his life.

Phil just nods. “You came back. That’s what counts.”

The four of them stop at the front gate of the train station.

“Here we are,” Techno announces. “If you’re all with me, we’re going to Kinoko. That’s where the Syndicate wants us.”

“Tommy,” Wilbur says, gesturing. “You’re with me to get tickets. Phil and Techno, wait here. Techno’s too threatening and Phil looks half-dead. Tommy, we’re going for pity. Scared, but not of me.” Tommy nods and falls into step next to Wilbur as they start into the station. Phil sinks shakily onto a bench on the sidewalk behind them.

Tommy falls easily into character as they walk, and he sees Wilbur doing the same. He stays barely a step behind Wilbur, draws in his shoulders, and keeps his eyes down.

At the ticket counter, a man gives them a wary once-over and asks their destination.

Wilbur turns back briefly to check in with Tommy, a pretty believable look of overwhelmed confusion on his face. “Kinoko?” he tells the man in the kiosk. “Do you go there? Here, I can spell it for you, it’s…” he grabs at the pen and little pieces of paper on the desk, exaggerating his tremor. Tommy has to focus on not laughing as Wilbur scrawls the city name on the paper, making a show of trying and failing to write neatly. “Here?”

“Yes, we have a line there,” the clerk says, already looking tired of Wilbur. “How many tickets?”

“Four.” Wilbur rushes to stutter a clarification, something about their parents or someone, the sentences jumbled beyond understanding but still sounding eager and open.

“I— yeah, okay,” the clerk cuts him off. “How are you paying.”

“Here, I’ve got— oh no, um—” Wilbur answers, fishing cash from his pocket and fumbling coins onto the floor. Tommy isn’t sure if this is Wilbur’s money or stolen, and he doesn’t think he wants to know. Wilbur turns back to look at Tommy. “Can you…?”

Tommy nods quickly, ducking down to collect the coins. He lays some in Wilbur’s hand and some on the counter. Wilbur promptly drops the coins again while counting the bills aloud. It takes several rounds of Wilbur handing over cash, insisting he’s miscounted and taking it back, attempting to find exact change with coins from his pockets and on the counter, and stuttering apologies over Tommy’s quieter stuttered apologies, but they leave the kiosk with four tickets and don’t have to show ID. Tommy’s not even sure Wilbur paid the full price.

They return to Phil and Techno outside. “Gottem,” Wilbur says quietly, handing two tickets to Techno.

“We’ll wait a few minutes, then follow you in,” Techno says.

Wilbur nods, frowning like he was about to say that. He doesn’t protest, though, just follows Tommy into the station. They weave through the crowd of travelers, and Tommy has to remind himself that ducking his head or flinching away from people only makes him stand out more. Wilbur grabs his hand and smiles reassurance at him. As they pass an unattended convenience shop display, Tommy knocks a yogurt into his pocket to give to Phil.

They arrive at the appropriate terminal and settle in the hard narrow chairs. Wilbur taps on the metal armrest, his tremor giving the sound a slight rattle.

Later, Techno and Phil arrive and sit next to Tommy and Wilbur. Under the fluorescents, Phil looks even worse, but he stares around the station with barely-disguised wonder, tracing his eyes between the lights and over tracks. Tommy wonders what he sees. Tommy hasn’t seen anything of Phil’s power other than the sparks he can’t seem to control, but he’ll have to wait to ask questions until they’re somewhere a little more private.

“Here, Phil,” Tommy passes Phil the yogurt and its plastic spoon.

Phil looks pleasantly surprised. “Thanks, mate.” Tommy doesn’t mention it’s stolen.

It takes almost an hour for the train to arrive, but eventually they end up in their seats, Wilbur and Tommy behind Phil and Techno. By the time the train’s pulling out of the station, Phil’s asleep against the window.

“I miss Uncle Nasty,” Tommy mutters.

Wilbur scoffs. “Of course you do.”

“I wish we could’ve gotten our stuff.”

“Me too.”

“Do you think we’ll be okay?”

Wilbur thinks about it for a moment, and Tommy wishes he wouldn’t do that. “I promised you, didn’t I? I… kinda fucked it up again, but we’ll start over. We’ve got each other.”

Tommy makes a face. “I hate starting over.”

Wilbur laughs sadly. “You’ve done a little more than your fair share, huh?”

“So have you.”

“I chose you. You didn’t choose you.”

Tommy thinks about Wilbur’s injury. He dreams about it, sometimes, the sickening sound of a nightstick connecting with Wilbur’s skull, the dead weight of Wilbur’s semiconscious form, the way Wilbur’s eyes didn’t focus properly for days. He thinks about how Wilbur chose him, so irrevocably, and doesn’t even remember.

“Hey Wilbur?”

“Hmm?” Wilbur locks eyes with Tommy, and for once there is nothing in his expression except care.

Tommy’s stomach twists and sours his resolve. He looks out the window at the setting sun. “Thanks.”